She folded it, put it in the envelope, addressed it, and attached the stamp.
She stood up and walked downstairs and out of the front door into the warm sun. The pillar box was at the end of the street. The post would be collected in half an hour. If Samuel returned to his hotel in time, he would have it long before five o’clock.
Again she hesitated, standing with it in her hand next to the red pillar box.
But if she did not post it he would come in an afternoon, perhaps with other people there, and the conversation would turn to Alys, as it had every other time. Caroline would ask about her, and it would all come spilling out, now or tomorrow, or the day after. Here on the hot pavement in the bright sunlight she was cold as remembered pain filled her, the struggle, the anger swelled back like a tide, the helplessness, the knowledge she could not fight, could not escape, could not refuse, could not even slip into the mercy of oblivion. She had tried that, tried to die, but one did not die of misery.
She let go of the letter and heard it thump on the others lying inside the box. It was done. Now to return home and carry out the rest of the plan. Alys would have done something like this-to protect herself.
Then there was nothing to do but wait. Caroline had already said that she did not intend to go out. Perhaps she was hoping Samuel Ellison would call. That was possible.
The old lady spent a wretched day. She thought it must be the most tense and miserable time of her life. She had no more excuses to remain upstairs unless she pretended to be ill, and she did not want to behave in any way other than usual, in case it aroused suspicion. No one must ever know what she had done.
But she could hardly bear to look at Caroline. Her own thoughts consumed her. Perhaps it would be easier if she called on someone else, but she must be there in case he came early, or should Caroline change her mind and decide to go out. She might need all her wits to counter such a thing.
This afternoon would make up for all the years of the past when she had done nothing but endure, like a coward. It would wipe all that away, cancel it as if it had never been. She would be rid of it. The thought of that freedom was like a crushing burden lifted. She would not despise herself anymore, nor feel that boredom of shame like a stone inside her.
She would have liked to talk about something trivial, to keep her thoughts occupied, but she could think of nothing, and it would be out of character. She and Caroline never chatted in friendly, inconsequential fashion. So she sat in silence while Caroline wrote to Charlotte in Paris, and there was no sound in the room but the flames in the hearth, the occasional fall of ash as the coals collapsed, and the scratch of Caroline’s pen over the page.
Then suddenly it happened. The maid was at the door.
“Mr. Ellison has called, ma’am. Shall I say you are receiving?”
Caroline looked surprised. “Oh! Yes, please tell him we are.” She was smiling. She looked very elegant in her afternoon dress, and there was a slight flush to her cheeks.
The door opened again and Samuel came in, his eyes going straight to Caroline. He could not keep the pleasure from his face. He barely glanced at Mariah.
“How nice to see you,” Caroline said courteously. “It is a little late for tea. Would you care for some other refreshment?”
“Thank you,” he accepted, coming farther into the room. “I hope it is not an inconvenient hour?” At last he acknowledged the old lady. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Ellison.”
This was going extremely well. She could hardly have orchestrated it better. She rose to her feet.
“If you will excuse me,” she said, grasping her stick. “I shall return directly.” And without further explanation she left the room. She must send the other letter immediately. It was already written. There was an all-purpose manservant. He would deliver it if she gave him the necessary cab fare. She had that ready also.
She went up to her room and fetched the letter. She knew it by heart. It was very simple.
She took the envelope and several shillings and gave them to the manservant.
He looked startled.
“Will you take this to Mr. Fielding immediately, please,” she requested. “It is most urgent, a matter of the utmost importance.”
“ ’E’s in rehearsal, ma’am,” he protested. “ ’E won’t want to be interrupted.”
“Of course he won’t,” she agreed. “But he will want even less the disaster which will happen if you do not deliver this to him at once and see that he reads it. If you have any loyalty to him at all, do as you are told!”
“Yes, ma’am.” Looking puzzled and unhappy, he obeyed.
Mariah went back upstairs, checking the clock on the landing, wondering how long she would have to wait.
Perhaps she should go downstairs again, in case Samuel was aware of being unchaperoned and left? Or Caroline perceived the impropriety of it and asked him to go.
She turned and walked back, still uncertain.
She stood at the top of the stairs and saw the parlormaid go across the hall with a salver with a decanter of whisky and a glass. Excellent! At least he would remain until he had drunk that.
She would go down in five minutes, or maybe ten. How long would it take the servant to go to the theatre, and Joshua to read the letter and come back? He would come, surely? If he didn’t it would only be because he already suspected something and did not care. That was not true. He was certainly an actor, but he was a decent man, gentle, unusually honest. She had noticed that about him. He had unfortunately liberal ideas about some things, but he was essentially loyal and kind. He would care very much. No one could be betrayed without pain.
She refused to think of that. She was stupid to have allowed her mind to wander to such thoughts.
She watched the clock. Eight minutes, and she could not bear the tension. She went down the stairs again slowly, gripping the banister. She reached the bottom and crossed the hall.
What if he had mentioned the letter, even shown it to Caroline, and she had denied it? What if they had guessed the truth, and he was at this moment telling her all about his mother and why she had gone. The hall swam around the old lady. She struggled for breath.
She could not go in. She couldn’t bear it! There was nowhere to run. Her heart was pounding so violently her body shook. She could hear it in her ears.
She stood there paralyzed. Seconds ticked by. Or was it minutes?
She had to know. Nothing could be worse than this. It was as bad as knowing, and yet every so often there was this hope so sharp it was like sickness, leaving her dizzy. Knowledge, even despair, would be worse.
She walked towards the withdrawing room door and opened it. It was like a dream, like moving underwater.
Samuel was sitting in the chair Joshua usually chose, and Caroline was very upright in the one opposite. Her color was high, and they both turned rather quickly as they heard the door.
Mariah looked at Samuel. She did not want to meet Caroline’s eyes. He did not look any different. He seemed puzzled, but not contemptuous, not angry, certainly not knowing. He did not understand. . not yet.
The old lady took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“I have. . a slight. . headache,” she said with difficulty. She had meant it to sound casual, quite natural, but she had not the control of her voice she had wished.
Samuel murmured something.
“If you don’t mind,” she went on. “I shall go into the garden for a little while. I shall be just around the corner. The air might do me good.” And without waiting for either of them to reply, she crossed the room and went out of the French doors onto the small patch of grass, and down the steps out of sight.
It was another ageless fifteen minutes before she heard the voices and came back up the steps to eavesdrop at the French doors.
Joshua was standing just inside the withdrawing room. Samuel was by the fireplace and Caroline was in between them. Even from where she stood, Mariah could see the color high and bright in Caroline’s neck and staining her cheeks.
