She went on: “Yes, I killed her. I went to her on that day. I talked to her. I begged her to let Roderick go. I tried to reason with her. She told me she would never, never release him. She was going to stay here. She shouted. Perhaps that was what the servant girl heard and thought it was you, Roderick, at whom she was shouting. She knew I hated her. Well, she said she hated me, too. Then suddenly, in her anger, she moved sharply. I saw her face distorted with pain. I could see that she was in acute agony. ‘Give me … my pills,’ she gasped. Something within me said: Now is the moment. It’s the opportunity. You can change everything. There might never be another chance. I poured the water into the glass. I took out the bottle of pills. I tipped them into the water … five … six … it might have been seven. They took a little time to dissolve. She was moaning. I gave them to her … and she drank. Then I took the glass and put it back on the top of the cabinet. I watched her for a few seconds. She lay back gasping. I could see she was growing a little quieter. I left her. Then … Gertie went in and found her dead.”

I could see that Roderick was as shocked as I was.

We were both speechless while Lady Constance stared ahead, her eyes fixed in space. I knew she was living it all again.

She gripped our hands.

“I’ve told you. It is as though a great weight has been lifted from my mind.”

“You did it for us,” said Roderick.

“And for myself. Oh, how happy these last years could have been if I had not had to kill to reach them.”

She lay back in her pillows. The emotion and effort of talking had exhausted her and she was breathing with difficulty.

“It is all over now,” said Roderick. “Nothing can change it. Try to rest.” He turned to me. “I think we had better call Dr. Doughty.”

“No,” she said. “I feel better … relieved. I haven’t told you everything yet. I have written to the coroner’s court. I didn’t know if that is the right people to tell, but it will no doubt suffice. It will go to the right hands. It is a long time since it happened. Do you think they will remember? You see, it’s here in this house. I have to rid the house of it … suspicion … uncertainty … doubt. There may be some who suspect you, Roderick … and you, Noelle. That has worried me a lot. When we left that courtroom I was exultant. I did not think beyond that at the time. We were free. It was over. I had triumphed. And I did … to a certain extent. But it was not as simple as I had thought it would be. And then, when I had that attack, I thought I could go at any minute. I knew I had to tell, otherwise the secret would go with me to the grave, and for the rest of your lives this doubt would hang over you. It has to be told. You know the truth. And so must others. It is not good enough to tell just you. In a way I am not sorry for what I did. There was something evil about her. She would never have gone. I could see that in her face. She cared only for her own advantage. I had to do it. Sometimes I say to myself: I have committed murder, but good came out of it.”

She died three days later. We were very sad. She had been so much a part of our lives.

Roderick said: “We must put the past behind us. We must forget.”

“Yes,” I answered. “Perhaps we shall, in time.” It was true that Lisa had had an evil effect on our lives. She had been responsible for my mother’s death, yet I could not help finding excuses for her. I suppose there are excuses for us all. But she is dead now, and we must obey the command of Lady Constance. We have come to happiness and we must forget by what dark road we had to travel to reach it.