The Widow's Confession Read Online Free PDF Page B

and the smile she gave Edmund was one of such intense sadness that he hardly
knew what to do or say.
    ‘I am so very glad you are here with my nephew,’ she said. ‘So very, very glad. He has long needed company. He has long needed a friend.’

CHAPTER FOUR
    I accept my own agency in all that happened. I strongly believe there is no other way to live. Those who cast everything into God’s hands – how comforting that
must be. I have never been able to surrender control in that way. You must tell me, one day, how you do it. As when I had recovered from the first wave of bitterness after we left New York, I
accepted that I had played my part in shaping my fate, so I will not blame others for any suffering I underwent that summer in Broadstairs.
    When the first girl’s body was found on the beach, I need not have been there. The gentlemen actively tried to stop me from accompanying them, but with what would have been considered
indecent firmness, I insisted on going. Despite what I said, my decision to go was mostly informed by curiosity for, parched by my sterile travels, I thirsted for experience.
    I did not know my decision would haunt me. I can hardly believe I hurried towards it, towards
her
, as though seeing her dead would be another experience, another sketch for my
portfolio. How foolish and heartless that seems. My only excuse is that perhaps I feared that I myself was dead in some way, and wished to compare a living death with a real one.
    When Delphine opened her eyes, she could not hear the sea or the wind, and the window showed a clear sky, the light merciless. It was the perfect morning for painting, and she
rushed to dress and gather her drawing materials. Despite her cousin’s warnings that she should not go out alone, she cherished such mornings. In London she had asked her dressmaker to
produce a drawing dress – one that could be fastened at the front, by her own hands, and did not require her to have help dressing on a day such as this. She put it on. Then she swathed
herself in her voluminous, hooded cloak, pinned up her hair, and tied her black bonnet on.
    She went outside, into the small garden before the cottage. As she had guessed, the light was perfect, every shadow hard-edged. So it was that she saw Mr Benedict’s servant. He was
hurrying from the direction of York Gate and the beach, and carrying an easel under his arm. He paused and looked in her direction, but with unseeing eyes, it seemed, for without any
acknowledgement of her presence he turned away, to his left, and began to stride up Albion Street, towards the hotel. The combination of his looks – a shocked expression with an extreme
pallor – and the urgency of his movement made Delphine leave her sketchbook in the hall and follow him.
    There was no one on the street but them, and the man’s pace did not slacken, so Delphine had to hasten to keep up with him. As she expected, he turned into the Albion. When she reached the
reception she saw signs of his hurried entrance – the easel left leaning haphazardly against the counter. The hotelkeeper would not like it, she thought, scraping the wood. The room was empty
and the sound of raised voices drew her on to the coffee room, where the servant was talking in an agitated manner to Mr Benedict and Mr Gorsey. His back was to Delphine, but the tone of his voice
as he said, ‘We must go there, quickly,’ indicated extreme distress.
    Along with Gorsey, Mr Benedict saw her immediately, and despite the look of grave concern on his face, his eyes sparked at the sight of her as the hotelkeeper held up his hand commandingly to
silence the servant.
    ‘Not in front of the lady,’ said Mr Gorsey.
    ‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry about Mrs Beck,’ said Benedict. ‘I am sure she is unshockable.’ His eyes roamed her face, as though he was savouring her expression. ‘My
fellow artist,’ he said, ‘were you out roaming on this fine morning?’
    ‘What has happened?’ she