"And Ismene's. Don't tell me you anticipated that!"
"No, that was a shocker. It's a confusing story; let me see if I got it straight. Ismene and Clara are in fact older than Edmund. They were infants when their father discovered that he was being cuckolded by none other than his own brother. The guilty wife—already pregnant, one presumes—and the dastardly deceiver fled Papa's righteous wrath. He moved to another part of the country where the shameful story was not known and told everyone, including the girls, that their mother was dead.
"In the meantime dastardly deceiver and his paramour settle in Virginia, where they are accepted as man and wife, and proceed to have two children of their own—the half-brother and sister of Ismene and Clara. The old lady gradually goes bonkers, shame and guilt preying on her soul, and is locked up in the attic. But she has enough wits left to know who the two girls are, and to realize that Edmund is about to commit the deadly sin of incest by proposing marriage to his own sister."
"But is Edmund aware of that?"
"The doctor says he is."
"He's prejudiced," Karen insisted. "And so are you. You never liked Edmund. The way the doctor discovers the truth leaves Edmund in the clear." She selected a few pages from the pile on the table and read aloud.
"It was some time before Ismene recovered from the swoon of horror that had bereft her of her senses to find a hand supporting her head and another holding a cup to her lips. A sip of the cordial restored her; dashing the cup away, she rose up in a frenzy of indignation and disbelief.
" 'It cannot be true! Reason, affection, simple decency recoil from such horror.'
" 'Good,' said Dr. Fitzgerald's quiet voice. 'You have recovered. I had not underestimated your courage and strength. You will not, should not judge until you have heard the facts. Listen now, while I tell you how I came to this discovery.
" 'I was struck when I first saw them together by the resemblance between Clara and Isabella—and to a lesser extent between them and Edmund. The trained eye of a physician observes characteristics of bone structure and of such seemingly trivial structures as the configuration of the ear, that others would pass over. Still, I thought little of it until I spoke with that miserable sinner who has paid a terrible price for her crime. Her ravings might have been only senile wanderings; yet when she spoke of her "daughters" and of the sins of the parents' generation being repeated by the next, a dreadful suspicion dawned. It might be no more than that; but the horror of that possibility demanded investigation. I proceeded to carry this out, corresponding first with your father's legal representative in C——, where you had dwelt. He was able to inform me of the name of the northern city from which the gentleman and his infant daughters had removed; further correspondence with individuals in that place resulted in the information that there was no record of your mother's death and burial, and that certain elderly citizens of the city remembered the old scandal. You may say, and I would not blame you, that this does not constitute proof. To me it is proof enough to cast serious doubts upon the course you may be contemplating, and to require confirmation or refutation before you decide.' "
Karen looked up from the page. "See? Edmund wasn't even born when this happened—if it did happen. How could he know?"
"What do you mean, if it happened? Are you suggesting the doctor invented the story?"
"He's got a damned good motive for turning Ismene against Edmund. She's a wealthy heiress, and he loves her."
"Hmmm. That's true." Peggy lit a cigarette. "Quite a dilemma for the poor girl, isn't it? One of her suitors is a liar and a whole-hearted villain, the other is lily-pure, and she has no idea which is which."
"And no way of finding out for herself," Karen said. "As a woman in that day and age she had no legal rights. If Edmund is a villain, she is completely in his power; she can't order his carriage or command his servants to drive it; she can't even mail a letter without his seeing it; and she has already prejudiced the neighbors against her. If she runs away with the doctor and he turns out to be a rat, she's equally powerless."
"I don't think the doctor is a rat."
"It's his word against Edmund's. I did read on a little more," Karen admitted. "I was too tired to write it out, but I wanted to see what she'd do."
"She confronts Edmund?" Peggy asked interestedly. "That's in character for her, isn't it?"
"Yes, I suppose so, though it's rather foolish of her. Actually he catches her off guard. In great horror and agitation she rushes off to her only refuge, her house of stone. Edmund finds her there and demands to know what has distressed her. Still shaken, she blurts out the story."
"And he says—"
"Denies it, of course. First he rages up and down, cursing the doctor and threatening to horsewhip him, set the dogs on him, and so on, if he ever dares show his face at Ferncliffe again. After he's calmed down he promises Ismene he will take all the necessary steps to prove the story is a fabrication."
"Such as?"
"He mentions locating the record of his parents' marriage, for one thing. He's a little vague about other steps. But," Karen insisted, "a marriage certificate would be enough. That's where I am at the moment; poor Ismene is in a distracted state, not knowing which man
