“Yes, I heard. I was ever so shocked. A lovely man like that.”

“You don’t want to think of lovely men anymore, Kitty … except, of course, Charlie.”

She hunched her shoulders like a child and smiled.

“Oh, I’m glad it’s all right,” she said. “I’ve had it on my mind ever since.”

I asked about the baby and Charlie and I walked back with her to the stable quarters to see the child. I told her I was expecting one. Her eyes lit up with pleasure. Kitty was a good girl at heart, and I knew it was as though a great burden had dropped from her shoulders.

She had really been very upset because she had betrayed a confidence. But now she had confessed and had been forgiven.

I RETURNED to Edinburgh and was happy during the months that followed. I could think of little but the coming of the baby. While I was able, I visited Zillah frequently. I was surprised at her interest in the coming child.

Once, when I was coming away from the house, I met Hamish Vosper. He was flashily dressed in a brown check suit and wore a carnation in his buttonhole. With an exaggerated gesture he swept off his hat to greet me and I noticed his black hair glistening with pomade.

“Why, if it isn’t Miss Davina! My word, you look in the pink of health!” His eyes assessed me with something like amusement, I thought.

“Thank you,” I said.

“All going well?” he went on.

“Very well.”

“That makes two of us.” He winked.

“I see you are very prosperous.”

He slapped his thigh with an exaggerated gesture. “Can’t deny it. Can’t deny it.”

“Well, good day.”

I was glad to escape. I found him as repulsive as when he had sat in the kitchen watching the maids slyly while he pulled at the long black hair on his arms.

MY SON WAS BORN in the May of that year 1902—in the same month that the war with South Africa was finally over and the Peace of Vereeniging was signed, depriving the Boers of their independence.

I wondered how Lilias was getting on. There would be tremendous relief out there, I was sure.

My days were taken up with my son. We called him Stephen after Ninian’s father who, with his wife, was so delighted with this grandson that I was sure they almost forgave me for being who I was.

As for myself, I could forget, at this time, all that had gone before.

I took the child to see Zillah. She was delighted. It had never occurred to me that she would have much time to spare for children. Her illness had changed her. In the past she had seemed to be straining for excitement, looking for adventure; now she seemed almost reconciled at times.

I was happier than I had thought possible, for I could not regret anything which had brought me to this state. I remembered Zillah’s saying that if that nightmare had not come to pass, I should not have met Ninian. Stephen would not have existed.

I wrote to Lilias telling her about the wonder child and, now that the war was over, I heard from her. She was expecting a child. The bond between us seemed stronger than ever. We had both come through tragic times together and both found happiness.

Happiness was sometimes fragile; but now I had Ninian and my baby, I felt secure.

The months passed. Stephen was beginning to smile, then to crawl, and then to take notice. He liked Zillah. He would sit on her lap and gaze at her. He was quite fascinated by her red hair. She still took a great deal of pains with her appearance. Her skin was delicately tinted, her eyes bright under her darkened brows. Sometimes I thought she could not be so very ill—except that she was thin.

One day there was news which startled us. Hamish Vosper had been killed in a fight by a rival. There was a hint of something called the Edinburgh Mafia.

It was revealed that for some time there had been trouble between two rival gangs, both engaged in nefarious practices, and that Hamish Vosper, who was the leader of one, had been killed by the other. Such men, said the press, were a disgrace to the fair city of Edinburgh.

They were suspected not only of deciding which horses were allowed to win races, by the use of drugs so that they could back the outsider winners, but many other crimes.

“We want no such gang rule in Edinburgh,” wrote one commentator. “The death of Hamish Vosper is rough justice on one of our ignoble citizens.”

I went to see Zillah when I heard the news. Mrs. Kirkwell received me in a mood of subdued triumph.

“I always knew that Hamish Vosper would come to a bad end,” she said. “I don’t want to speak ill of the dead, but the master ought to have got rid of him years ago when he was caught with that maid. Well, I’ve seen something like this coming. I said to Kirkwell, ‘He’s up to no good, mark my words. There he was in his fancy clothes, throwing his weight about.

Ah,’ I said to Kirkwell. ‘He’s up to no good, mark my words.’ It’s terrible to think that he was here … one of us, you might say … though never really that. And then after you’d gone … he used to come here … even going up to see Mrs. Glentyre. I never could understand why she allowed it.”

I went up to Zillah. She was looking better. I thought, something has happened.

She said: “I feel fine today. Just like my old self.”

“You certainly look it. Have you read the newspapers today?”

“Why yes. You’re thinking about Hamish.”

“It’s rather shocking … particularly as he was here and we knew him.”

“Yes.”

“I never liked him … but to think of him … dead …”

“These things happen. It seemed he was living dangerously, and when you do that you can’t be surprised if you come to a bad end.”

“Had you any idea … ?”

“Well … yes … I guessed he was up to no good. He was that sort. He was dabbling in all sorts of things … playing with fire, you might say. Well, he got burned.”

“You must have seen him quite recently. I met him here not long ago.”

“He used to come to the house. He wanted the Kirkwells to see how he’d got on. Foolish man. A lesson to us all, Davina.”

I was surprised at her attitude. But then Zillah had always surprised me.

Ninian’s comment was: “Gang warfare. This sort of thing has been going on in some places for years. It’s not what one would expect in Edinburgh. But it is an indication that it can happen anywhere. Let’s hope that will be the end of it … here at least.”

ZILLAH CONTINUED TO IMPROVE. She was quite lighthearted. I was seeing more of her, for she so enjoyed having Stephen with her.

I vividly remember one conversation I had with her at that time. Stephen was playing in a corner and we were both watching him.

Zillah said suddenly: “He’s the most adorable child. I never thought I should want children. But, do you know, when I see him I think of what I have missed.”

“Perhaps you’ll marry again.”

She smiled at me ironically. “It’s a bit late in the day to think about that.”

“One never knows. You are so much better. You could be cured. You’re not old and you are very beautiful.”

She laughed quite lightheartedly.

Then I said: “I worry about Stephen sometimes.”

“Worry? There’s nothing wrong with him, is there?”

“Oh no. He’s in perfect health. I just think that someone might say something.”

“Say what?”

“Someone might remember. It might come out that his mother stood trial for murder … and what the verdict was.”

“That’s all over and done with.”

“Not as far as I am concerned, Zillah. It will always be there. How would one feel to learn that one’s mother might have been a murderess?”

“Stephen would never think that.”

“How could he help it? The question is there and always will be.”

“It’s a morbid thought.”

“But it is the truth, Zillah.”

“People are going to forget … by the time he grows up.”

“There could be some to remember. Not long ago someone referred to Madeleine Smith, and that happened fifty years ago.”

“It was a very famous case.”

“Mine was very well-known.”

“You must stop worrying about it. Stephen is going to be all right.”

She spoke with conviction, but I could see that my words had made her very thoughtful. She knew that what I had said was true.

I told her the truth about Roger Lestrange then; how, through Kitty, he had discovered who I was; how he had the newspaper cuttings of my trial; how he was going to use me, if need be, to indicate that I was an unconvicted murderess who might be ready to try the same methods again.

She was deeply shocked. “It’s hard to believe …” she whispered.

“Nevertheless it’s true. Now you see what I mean? It will be there as long as I live.”

She was silent for a few moments, staring blankly before her. Then she reached for my hand and pressed it firmly.

She said slowly: “You must stop worrying about it. You’re going to be all right. Stephen is going to be all right.”

I CALLED ON ZILLAH and, to my surprise, Mrs. Kirkwell said she had gone out.

Mrs. Kirkwell’s lips were pursed disapprovingly.

“She’s not fit,” she went on. “I told her so. ‘You must be mad to think of going out, Mrs. Glentyre,’ I said. She was well wrapped up, but she looked far from well … and she’s so thin. You notice it in her outdoor clothes.”

“Why should she go out? She hasn’t been out for some weeks, has she?”

“Only when she gets this letter. That’s the only time she goes out.”

“She had a letter then?”

“Yes. It comes now and then. And then she always insists on going out.”