The hero had feet of clay and, oddly enough, that increased my tenderness for him. I believed I could love the weak man perhaps even more than the all-conquering hero.

I wanted to see more of him. I would take him to Castle Folly. He should know Rosaleen and Harriman and they should know him.

I was sure Rosaleen had chosen him as the man I should marry. And myself ? I did love him. I had been convinced of that when he had told me frankly what had happened, and yet I still felt that there was something more I had to learn, that he was holding back even more than he told.

He had talked so earnestly, so sincerely. He had been weak, certainly, but his weakness had grown out of his compassion for Laura, and a desire to do what was right. He had not loved her, and I fancied that, from the first, there were doubts as to whether the child was his, but when she threatened to kill herself, he could not endure the possibility that he might be responsible for her death.

And now his life was in disorder and he was calling to me to help him.

There were moments when I contemplated going to him and saying, “Yes, Lucian, let us marry. Let us make the Grange a happy house, a home for Bridget, and send Jemima away.” And then I would hesitate. I did not know everything. Why did I have this strange feeling that he was not telling me all the truth?

Wait, said caution. And a few days after that meeting with Lucian, there came the letter.

The handwriting was faintly familiar, and it took me right back to the schoolroom at Commonwood House. I knew from whom it came. I took it to my room so that no one should be there when I read it, and my hands were trembling when I slit the envelope.

Dear Carmel, I was deeply moved when I read your letter so much so that I could not reply for some time. That is why there is this delay. Of course I remember you. I wondered how you found me. But perhaps you will tell me that when we meet.

I was not sure at first whether I could do it. You see, I have tried hard to distance myself from what happened and your letter brought it all back. But do not think I was not deeply touched. I should very much like to see you. Perhaps we could meet somewhere quiet. just the two of us. I thought out-of- doors where we could be sure not to be disturbed.

I see that you are at an address in Kensington and I thought of the Gardens there. I am living in Kent and it is an easy journey by train to London. I could be there about ten o’clock next Wednesday. Suppose we meet at the Albert Memorial? Then we could find a seat and talk. If that is not convenient for you, we could choose another time.

Write to me at the above address.

Thank you, Carmel, for thinking of me.

Kitty. By the way, address me as Mrs. Craig.

I read and re-read the letter. Then I wrote to her. I should be at the Albert Memorial next Wednesday.

It was clear that Kitty was anxious that no one should know of this meeting. I could well understand her desire for absolute anonymity.

But I had to tell Dorothy. I owed it to her. Had she not been instrumental in making the connection, and I knew I could trust her completely.

“How exciting!” she cried when I showed her the letter.

“I wish I could come with you.”

“That’s entirely out of the question,” I said at once.

“If she saw I was not alone, she might go away.”

Dorothy realized that.

“And she is Mrs. Craig,” she said.

“Could Jefferson Craig have married her? Good heavens! Who would have thought of that?”

We agreed to say nothing to Lawrence about it, and I was glad that she saw the necessity for that. I was also relieved that Gertie had not yet returned from her honeymoon. I knew she would have guessed something had happened and made an effort to learn what it was.

I was at the Albert Memorial at exactly ten o’clock. It was easy for me. I only had to walk there. She had not arrived, but I was not alarmed, for I knew she would find it difficult to judge exactly the time the journey would take. Eight minutes passed before I saw her hurrying to our rendezvous.

I went towards her and, for a few seconds we stood looking at each other. Then she held out her hands and I |j took them both in mine.

She had changed considerably. There were signs of grey in her golden hair; she had lost that air of serenity which had once been a feature of her personality. Even if I had not known her history, I should have realized that she was a woman who had suffered much tragedy.

“Carmel!” she said in that well-remembered voice.

“I am so pleased to see you.”

“And I you. I have thought about you so much and have wondered where you were.”

Her lips trembled and there were tears in her eyes. She seemed suddenly her old self. But we must not have an emotional scene in public.

“Let us find a seat and sit down,” she said.

“I know just where,” I said.

We walked away from the Memorial and into the Gardens.

She said: “I’m sorry I kept you waiting. It is difficult when one relies on trains.”

“Yes,” I said.

Then we were silent, for making light conversation seemed banal and we knew that when we were seated there would be so much to say.

I had selected the seat for our purpose some days before. There was a stretch of ground just behind the flower walk and one isolated seat looking over it.

We sat down and she said: “Well, Carmel?”

“Oh, Miss Carson …” I began.

“You should call me Kitty now that I am no longer your governess.”

“Kitty, tell me what you are doing now.”

“I live very quietly.”

“You are Mrs. Craig. Have you a husband?”

“Yes.”

“Can you bear to talk of it?”

“It is what I have come to do.”

I braced myself. I said: “I want you to know that I only recently heard what happened. I went away with my father.”

“I know Captain Sinclair took you away when the others went to their aunt.”

“I was with him in Australia. He was shipwrecked. That was not very long ago. And then I came to England and that was when I learned”

“So, all those years, you did not know.”

“No. I thought you would all have been at Commonwood House.”

“It must have been a shock to learn the truth.”

“Yes. I was devastated. Perhaps it was impertinent of me to try to find you. It was through a friend who was interested in such cases. I knew that Mr. Craig had helped you and it was a shot in the dark. She had written to him through his publishers and she thought they might forward a letter to him. “

“That explains it. Oh, Carmel, it was …”

“Don’t. Don’t. It must be terrible for you to talk of it, even now.”

“I must not be foolish. I have come to talk … to tell you. And, Carmel, I want you to know. I could not bear that you should believe as so many people believed. I am going to tell you … so that you know how it really happened. You already know what they did to Edward to the doctor …”

I nodded. She could not speak for a moment.

Then anger burst forth.

“It was false. It was wicked. And they did that to him. He was innocent, Carmel. I know he was.”

I took her hand and pressed it.

“It was what I felt,” I said.

“That is why I was so anxious to hear from you.”

“Who could believe such a thing of him? He was the gentlest man who ever lived.” Her voice broke again.

“I must be calm. We were always friends, you and I, weren’t we? I know that he was innocent. You will believe me?”

“Yes,” I said fervently, “I will.”

“There is only his word.”

That is enough,” I said.

“Carmel, how glad I am that I came to you! But what use is it? It is done. But I shall not rest until the world knows he was innocent and all I can say is that I know because he told me. That is all I can say. When he knew they were going to arrest him, he said to me, ” Kitty, my dearest, they are going to accuse me of murdering Grace.

Everything points to me, and there is no way of proving that I am innocent of that crime. I was not in her room. I did not touch those pills. I know nothing about them. And I want you to know, and to believe I speak the truth. I shall forget all else. ” And the next day we were arrested … both of us.”

We were silent. I did not know what to say to her, but my own belief in his innocence was confirmed.

It was some time before we could speak. Then I said: “I am glad I came. I have always been sure that he was innocent, and now I am absolutely certain.”

“He would have told me,” she said.

“He would never have lied to me.”

She was calmer after that and I think I conveyed to her the sincerity of my belief.

“I was on trial with him,” she said.

“Those days are not very clear to me now, for which, I suppose, I must be thankful. Not many people stand on trial for their lives. He had his enemies. That pernicious old woman. How she revelled in it!”

“You mean Nanny Gilroy?” I said.

“I always disliked her.”

“Mrs. Barton was influenced by her … and there was the district nurse, too. They all knew how difficult Grace Marline was to live with. That could not be denied. It was evidence against him. But, of course, it was his feelings for me that convinced them. Oh, Carmel, think of it! Those letters he wrote to me, read in court … those intimate, loving, damning letters! What a fool I was to keep them!

They searched my room and found them. They had been such a comfort to me . and how was I to know? You must not condemn us. “

“Condemn you! How I wish there was something I could have done to help you!”

“You must forgive me. I become emotional. I was so angry with that wicked woman … with her innuendoes. She hated me from the moment I came into the house. And to think she knew … and was tittering about us! I loved the doctor, Carmel. I want you to understand. It wasn’t as they made out. It was true love … which is never to be laughed at and sneered at… as they did. I hope, Carmel, that you will find a love as tender and true as mine for Edward Marline and his for me. It was worth living for . dying for . Oh no, not the way he did. “

“Please don’t distress yourself. Perhaps we had better not talk of it.”

“But I have to talk … and I want you to know. It does me good to talk to you, because you believe as I do.”

“I do. I always knew, within me, that Dr. Marline was innocent. I always wanted proof that I was right … and now I have it … from you.”

“Proof ? Only my word.”

“That is good enough for me. I wish it were for the rest of the world.”

“I will try to talk to you calmly and reasonably,” said Kitty.

“You know what happened at the trial. Edward was found guilty and they hanged him. They could not come to a decision about me. I was going to have a child and they do not hang pregnant women. There was a great deal of discussion. Jefferson Craig was in court.

“I must tell you about Jefferson. He has written a great deal on crime and the criminal. He believed from the start that Edward was innocent.

He felt there had been a miscarriage of justice. He was certain that someone else had given Grace Marline the overdose. There must have been several in the household who hated her.

“And there was the remote possibility that she had taken it herself, by mistake perhaps. There was another trial for me, and, as a result of Jefferson’s articles which had appeared in the papers, a certain amount of public sympathy was engendered for me. I have always believed that it was largely due to this that I was acquitted. I came out of that court a free woman, but with uncertainty hovering over me.

But Jefferson was there. He had found a lodging for me. There was a woman there to look after me and he used to visit me from time to time. This was not a case of romantic love. I was just a “case” to him.

Jefferson’s cases were his life. He had been particularly struck by mine. He was at that time in his late sixties.

“I don’t know how I should have survived without him. I was in a state of deep depression. I had terrible nightmares. I did not want to live.

Jefferson reminded me that I was carrying Edward’s child. He made me feel that, because of the child, I had not lost Edward completely. He told me afterwards that, at that time, he had feared that I might have taken my life. Jefferson thinks in terms of “cases” He had studied mine with the single-mindedness which he brought to all but I do think that mine was of special interest to him. He decided that I needed an occupation. Work was the antidote to boredom and a lacklustre interest in life. I needed work. I thanked him for what he had done for me, told him I could never repay him, and he said that there was a way I could repay him. I could help Mrs. Garfield.