by Pat Herbert
“She is a little pale, and the doctor says she must take it easy for a while yet. But it’s early days.”
To tell the truth, he was a little worried about his child wife, as he liked to call her. She wasn’t very strong, he knew; when he held her in his arms sometimes, he felt as if she would break. But the doctor had reassured him that there was no immediate cause to worry. He tried to believe this, but each day she looked paler than the day before. Her confinement had been very hard, and it was a miracle she had survived it at all. He still couldn’t get the sound of her cries of agony out of his head. The doctor had told him it was normal for a woman to cry like that in labour, but he was horrified that he had been the cause of her suffering.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Hannah quietly, bringing him back to the present.
Richard Latimer now had somebody else to worry about. First his wife, and now his sister. Although Hannah was sensible and fairly intelligent (for a woman), he still felt responsible for her, never having been quite able to abnegate that responsibility to her husband.
“Do give her my best wishes. I will call and see her in a day or two when she is a little stronger,” Hannah continued, patting his hand as she saw the worried expression on his face deepen.
“I pray that day will be soon,” said Richard with feeling.
“I’m sure it will, dear,” said Hannah. She paused, her hand still on his. “Richard,” she began again, “do you remember what you said to me on my wedding day?”
“I said many things to you on that day, Hannah dear. What in particular?”
“About being there for me if ever I needed your help? Remember?”
“Of course. I will always be here when you need me.”
“Your poor wife is much more in need of your sympathy than I, but ...”
Richard tutted this away, only too eager to be of help. He studied her pale, worried face with concern. “What’s wrong? Let me ring for Edith to get you some refreshment...”
“No, please, I require nothing, just your ear,” she protested.
Richard sat down and looked closely at her. “Tell me,” he encouraged her. “What is troubling you?”
“It’s – it’s Humphrey. He’s – er, he’s got someone...”
“Got someone?”
“He has been having a liaison – for some years now.”
“My dear, I’m so sorry...” Richard tried to look suitably shocked at this revelation, but he knew only too well what was going on. He had known for years about his brother-in-law’s dalliances.
“It’s not that I mind so much,” she continued, dabbing her handkerchief at her eyes. “He has had liaisons before, and I’ve turned a blind eye. As long as he never left me and didn’t bring shame on our household, I could bear it. And he won’t leave me because I have money and he hasn’t.”
“I’m sure he won’t leave you,” said Richard unconvincingly. “Anyway, he can’t get his hands on your money – father won’t let him. You need have no fear of that.”
“Papa’s not too well, though, is he? He continues to suffer so with the gout. I’m wondering what will happen when he – is no longer there to protect me ...”
“Please don’t worry. He is still a relatively young man. He’ll outlive us all.”
“I don’t think so. Your confidence is misplaced, brother. He isn’t the man he once was, and I fear I can no longer rely on him to look after my financial interests as he has done in the past. I’m very worried that Humphrey is trying to get power of attorney over me.”
“What on earth makes you think that?” This was a new one on Richard.
“He’s my husband. The law is on his side. He is entitled to make free with my money in the absence of my father.”
“But why should he? You’re in sound health. And certainly, you are completely in your own wits.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” sighed Hannah, reaching for her handkerchief once more. “He tells me I say and do things I don’t remember.”
Richard was very worried now. “Are you saying that you think you may be losing your mind?”
“I fear it, Richard, I do indeed. And if father dies, and I am considered unfit, Humphrey will get his hands on my money and have me locked away in an asylum. And then he will be free to go off with this woman who seems to have him under her spell. I see it all, as clear as crystal. It will be as that fortune teller at the fair last spring warned me.”
“Please, Hannah,” said Richard, “you’re frightening yourself unnecessarily. You really are. We all say or do things we don’t remember. It doesn’t mean you’re losing your mind.”
She sighed. “I wish that were true, but you’re not with me every day to see what he does to me. He even accused me of stealing his watch. Stealing it! As if I don’t have money enough to buy him a dozen watches.”
“How dare he!” Richard was beside himself with anger. “If anyone is stealing anything from anyone it’s him stealing from you!”
“Let’s not go into all that, Richard. It could be true. I could have taken it without knowing. There’s something wrong with my mind.” She put up a hand as Richard opened his mouth to deny it. “No, you don’t understand. You see, the watch turned up in my sewing basket last evening. He was angry with me and threatened to call a psychiatrist to examine me.”
“Oh, my dear,” said Richard, thoroughly shaken. “We must get a second opinion if he does. You’re as sane as I am. It was just a case of absent-mindedness, that’s all.”
“I hope you’re right. If you are, then it is Humphrey’s doing. I don’t want to believe that he is planning all this so he can get his hands on my money and get his floozie into the bargain. But if that is so, I seem powerless to stop it happening.”
Hannah’s shoulders heaved as she began to cry in earnest now. At a loss how to reassure her, Richard put his arms around her and held her tightly while she wept.
Chapter Four
September 1894
Olivia Ayrton-Williams paced up and down her luxurious Regent’s Park flat awaiting the arrival of her lover. She had some news for him, and it wasn’t good news. Life had dealt her a cruel blow this time.
She had trifled with the feelings of others, particularly men, most of her life. They fell at her feet as a matter of course, and it bothered her not a jot how she hurt or abused them. Her first husband had been putty in her hands, but he had died suddenly, leaving her, if not exactly in debt, not as comfortably off as she had expected. Men were there to be used in Olivia’s opinion; they weren’t much good otherwise. But now the tables had been well and truly turned.
Where was he? Humphrey had promised to be there at three o’clock, and it was now past four. Something must have detained him unless he had no intention of keeping their rendezvous. It was a regular Thursday afternoon arrangement, and he had never failed to keep their tryst before. But today, when she had such awful tidings to impart, he was conspicuous by his absence. She began to wonder if he was clairvoyant. Did he have an inkling of what lay in store for him this afternoon?
As the clock chimed the half-hour, she heard the familiar ring on her doorbell. She forced herself to remain calm. Even though she was very anxious to see him, she wasn’t going to rush to open the door. She waited until he had rung a second time before she slowly descended the stairs to admit him.
“My darling,” he said, “I’m so sorry I’m late. I just couldn’t get away any sooner.”
“Never mind,” she said calmly. “Come in, do.”
The rain, which had been threatening all afternoon, had begun in earnest, and the darkening sky portended there was plenty more to come. Humphrey, having left the office in a hurry without his umbrella, dripped his way up the stairs behind his lady love.
“How about a cup of tea?” he ventured, sensing Olivia’s annoyance and not really expecting to get one.
“In a while, Humphrey,” she said as she closed the door after them. She could see he was shivering with the wet and c
old but wasn’t prepared to play the administering angel. That had never been her role in life, and there was a much more pressing matter to deal with first. “Come and sit down. Oh yes, do remove your coat and mind the drips on the parquet.”
Meekly hanging up his coat, he came and sat down beside her on the sofa. “I am so sorry, darling,” he said again.
If he hoped to placate her by apologising, he was to be disappointed. Her face was set in a cold, stony mask, and it began to dawn on him that there was something more bothering her than just his lateness and the possible damage to her parquet.
“It doesn’t signify, Humphrey,” she said impatiently, “how late you are. You are here now, which is the main thing.”
“Yes, well. You know I would have got here sooner if I could,” he said. He cleared his throat. “Are you sure there’s nothing else bothering you?”
She didn’t reply. Her eyes, as beautiful and as emerald green as ever, didn’t meet his.
“You’re not planning to leave me, are you? I promise I will get my wife committed to an asylum, it is just taking longer than you or I expected.”
“Oh, stop it,” snapped Olivia. “You have been telling me that for three years until I’m sick of hearing it.”
“I – I’m sorry,” he tried again. “What is it, Olivia? What’s the matter?”
She turned to face him. “I have some news for you, and you are not going to be pleased. I certainly am not.”
“What is it, darling?” he asked, reaching for her hand.
“Prepare yourself for a shock, Humphrey,” she said, pushing his hand away.
“My dear, please tell me. You’re worrying me. Don’t keep me in suspense.”
“You and I are going to have an addition to our company,” she announced.
Humphrey was confused. He had visions of another man muscling in on Olivia. He would punch his lights out if that were the case. “Who is it?” he demanded.
“I think, Humphrey, it is a little too early to tell.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh really,” she said, more cross than worried now. “Do I have to spell it out for you? It seems that I must. Very well. I am going to have a child – your child, Humphrey.”
“Oh my God!”
This wasn’t what he had expected at all. Humphrey Downing wasn’t an unintelligent man, but he could be stupid. Considering the kind of relationship he and Olivia had been having for so long, the only unexpected thing about it was that it hadn’t happened sooner.
“Is that all you can say? Calling on our maker will not help us now,” said Olivia sternly, still maintaining her composure. “What are you going to do about it is more to the point.”
“I – I believe there are people who – er – can help...” he ventured, not sure what people they were or where he could gain access to them.
“What people? Help in what way?” Olivia, unlike Humphrey, knew such people existed in back alleys, although she never expected to have cause to visit one.
“Well, to – er – help rid us of this – er – little problem.”
“Little problem? It may be a little problem to you, but it’s I who have to suffer the consequences.” She decided to face him squarely with the facts: “These methods are dangerous; didn’t you know that? I could die. I could die either way. If I have it or if I don’t.” She paused. “I’ve always been rather delicate,” she added, looking the picture of robust rude health as she said it.
“Don’t you worry, darling,” said Humphrey with determination. “I will ask Hannah for a divorce. To hell with her money. We’ll manage on what I earn. We’ll survive.”
Olivia looked horror-struck. “No, Humphrey. That is not what you are going to do. You are going to rid yourself of your wife, by hook or by crook.”
“Yes, I agree. I will divorce her...”
“No. You will not. We must have her money. There are ways to disencumber yourself, Humphrey.”
“Yes – by driving her out of her wits.”
“But I think we both know that’s not possible, at least not before the child is born.” Her expression was meaningful.
“I suppose not.” Humphrey looked defeated.
“No, we are far beyond that now,” said Olivia, watching him closely. If she enjoyed seeing him squirm, she tried not to show it. “Desperate situations call for desperate measures.”
“W-what do you mean?”
She waited a moment before replying. “There’s no way to dress this up. I mean murder, Humphrey. Murder!”
Later that evening, Humphrey sat at the supper table opposite his wife, staring at the newspaper without taking anything in. The world could be ending for all he knew. He looked across at the woman he had married, the woman he had lived with (off) for five years and saw only her innate goodness staring back at him. True she had denied him his connubial rights often enough but, for all that, she had been a dutiful wife in all other respects. How could he do what Olivia wanted? Murder his wife! Murder her? How could he ever do such a thing?
Apart from anything else, what method could he use? Poison would be the most convenient, he supposed. There was some rat poison in the garden shed, as well as weed killer. Both substances contained arsenic, he believed. Could he, in all conscience, feed his unsuspecting wife sufficient quantities to kill her? And how long would it take? He knew that small quantities of arsenic over a long time period could have the cumulative effect of heart failure, or severe gastric illness leading to eventual demise, both of which would generally be regarded as natural causes. It was more or less undetectable unless there were grounds for suspicion causing a post-mortem to be held. He had visions of his wife’s body being exhumed before he had even put her in the ground.
He rustled his paper and tried to read the headline again. Something about a forest fire in America killing six hundred people. What a tragedy, he thought, but these people had no impact on his own life. How could he feel sympathy for them when he didn’t know them, and they lived on the other side of the world? His thoughts swiftly returned to his wife who was sipping her tea with a rather unladylike slurp that never failed to annoy him and tonight he felt like throttling her for that alone.
Could it, he wondered, be possible to actually ease her out of this life after all? Not by throttling her, of course, but would she be such a loss if he carried out Olivia’s wishes? Then he and Olivia would be set up for life. He could even think about what being a father would mean, something he hadn’t had time to come to terms with yet.
No, no! How could he think such thoughts? Hannah Downing slurped her tea again.
As this sound reached his ears, his thoughts returned to the arsenic in his garden shed.
Chapter Five
September 1894
Humphrey had been driven into a corner, one very much of his own making. He didn’t see it that way, of course. Instead, he felt very sorry for himself and wondered why such misfortune should have come to him, of all people. It didn’t occur to him that, if he had remained a faithful husband, he would not be in this difficult situation now. He was trapped. His mistress was about to give birth to his baby, and his wife was in the way. He sat in his potting shed staring at the weed killer.
He couldn’t do it; he knew he couldn’t do it. Olivia was demanding he get rid of his wife as soon as possible to make an honest woman of her. The baby was due in the New Year, which left him only a few months to achieve this end. Even if his wife was conveniently dispatched in the next couple of weeks, he could hardly marry his mistress straightaway. Even the slow local constabulary would smell a rat if he did that. He fingered the rusting tin of weed killer, removing a cobweb from it as he did so. It hadn’t been used for a while.
He visualised himself spooning in a few grains of the substance into Hannah’s cocoa each night, stirring it well and hoping the three spoonfuls of sugar he put in would help to disguise the taste. Yes, he thought. He could do that, couldn’t he? He sat on, contemplating
his options. Finally, he took the tin down from the shelf and tucked it into his breast pocket.
That evening he dismissed Fanny earlier than usual.
“You go and meet that boyfriend of yours, Fanny,” he said with a smile. “It’s about time you had an evening off.”
Fanny stared in astonishment at her master. This was a turn up for the books and no mistake. She was only allowed one evening off a month, and he usually begrudged her that.
“Really, sir? May I?” She gave an involuntary curtsey.
“Of course, my dear, you’ve been working so hard lately. You deserve it.”
He must be going senile, she thought happily. She quickly removed her apron before he had time to change his mind. If she hurried, she’d catch Billy in the Feathers. He always had a pint or two in there about this time of night.
When she had left, he set about making the cocoa. Carefully donning a pair of old gardening gloves, he opened the tin of weed killer and tipped a minuscule amount of its contents into his wife’s cup. As the milk boiled, he added the liquid slowly, stirring it as he did so. He then added three heaped spoonfuls of sugar, before resealing the tin and returning it to his breast pocket. He tapped his pocket nervously and then picked up the tray.
Hannah Downing was sitting at her dressing table combing her hair. She sighed as she looked at her bloated face and tired eyes, recalling the days when she had been positively sylph-like. As she reached her ninety-ninth brush stroke, her husband came through the dressing room door carrying a tray. On it, laid out neatly on a lace doily was her Royal Doulton china cup filled with steaming hot cocoa and beside it a plate of Fanny’s best homemade biscuits.
Hannah was not only surprised at her husband waiting on her like this; but she also wondered what he had done with their maidservant. It wasn’t her night off, as far as she knew.
