Lament for a lost lover

“Out of my regard for you. I thought you might come to realize it gradually. But when you keep flinging him at me ... the sainted husband ... it was more than I could bear. I am not a saint. I have been involved, doubtless, in more amorous adventuring than Edwin ever was ... but I could never be as deceitful as he was. I could never have lied to you as blatantly, nor would I have brought a mistress and a wife on such an errand ... unless of course they knew the circumstances and agreed to come.”

“Harriet ... and Edwin,” I murmured. “It just is not true.”

“I am going to show you something,” he said.

“What?”I demanded.

“I found it on his body. Harriet came in in a state of distraction. She was safe, though I think the intention was to kill them both and leave them there ... exposed ... a lesson to sinners. That would have been typical of Jethro. But she escaped and came to me. She told me what had happened and I had him brought into the house. It seemed best then to let you think he had been killed because of his work and to hurry you and Harriet Main out of the country.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“No, you trusted Edwin. You trust the wrong people, as I am showing you.”

“It is merely your word ... and I don’t trust you.”

“Then I will prove it to you. Wait there a moment.”

He had gone but I could not wait. I followed him up the stairs to his room. I stood in the doorway watching him as he lighted the candles and opened a drawer. He brought out a piece of paper and, coming towards me, put an arm about me and drew me gently into the room.

The paper was bloodstained, and I recognized Harriet’s writing.

“I kept it,” he said. “I suppose I knew that one day I might have to show it to you.

Sit down.”

I let him put me into a chair and he held me close while I read. I do not want to record those words. They were too intimate, too revealing, and they had been-written by Harriet. I knew her writing too well to doubt it. There could be no doubt of their pleasure in each other. There could be no doubt of their intimacy ... an intimacy such as I had never dreamed of. She reproached him a little for marrying me. Poor Arabella! That was how she wrote of me, how they must have spoken of me. It was clear that they had been lovers from the beginning, before he had asked me to marry him, that when he had married me, he had gone on wanting her. Of course. Of course. It was so easy to understand now. She was sublimely beautiful.

No one could compare with her. It was understandable. Charles Condey had been a blind.

She had never had any feeling for him. My mother-in-law had seen more than I had. That was why she had insisted that I play Juliet. But how innocent she was ... as innocent as I. As though that could have made any difference. So they had met when they could. They had deceived me, told me lies. “Alas, my love, I must go out tonight ... this secret mission.” And he was going to Harriet. Harriet! I could see her laughing with him. “You managed to get away from her, then? Poor Arabella! Always so easy to deceive.” It was true ... right from the beginning.

I had believed she had hurt her ankle and was staying for that reason. I had believed she wanted to help me stay with Edwin and she had wanted him herself. I had believed ...

Leigh, I thought. It was so. It must be so. Leigh was Edwin’s son. My lips formed the boy’s name. “Leigh ...”I said.

“Of course. There is a likeness in the boy. It’ll be more noticeable when he gets older.”

“Why ... ?” I began.

He knelt down by my chair and, taking my hand, kissed it. I let it lie in his.

“Because you had to know. It’s always best to know. I told you in a fit of passion.

Perhaps it was wrong. But it’s best to know, Arabella.”

I was silent. He went on: “When you saw her again on the stage, I was afraid you were going to ask her to come here. You must never do that, Arabella. You must never trust that woman again.”

“I thought she was ...”

“I know you thought she was your friend. She could never be a friend to anyone but herself. Forget her now. You know the truth. It’s over, Arabella. It was over years ago. Seven years have passed. Let them both pass out of your life as well.” I said nothing. I sat there in a daze. I kept thinking of scenes from the past. They were going round and round in my head. Their faces gazed at me, laughed at me, sneered at me. I thought I could bear no more.

I wanted to run away and yet I wanted to stay. I could not bear to be alone now. Carleton said: “It has been a shock. Here. Give me the letter. I am going to destroy it. It is better that it is lost forever.”

“No,” I said, “don’t.”

“What would you do with it?” he asked. “Read it again and again? Torture yourself with it?” He held it in the flame of the candle. I watched the edge of the paper scorch and shrivel before it burst into flame. “There, it is gone. Forget now that it was ever written.” Carleton dropped it in the grate, and I watched it until there was nothing left but the charred remains.