The Barringtons had left Grasslands when we came to France. They said they would not want to come back for it could never be the same to them after Edward’s death. In time they would see what they would do about the house.

And when I married, my parents suggested putting it up for sale.

Jake and I did not go back to Grasslands. We left France with my parents and parted from them at Dover—they to go to Eversleigh, Jake and I to Cornwall.

My mother’s parting words were: “Be happy.”

My father’s were: “You’ll be all right. Jake’s the man for you. He’ll look after you.”

I wondered what their thoughts were about Edward’s death. What did they say to each other when they were alone? Did they accept the theory of Edward’s suicide? Toby’s evidence had made that seem almost plausible. Yet I who knew Edward so well, had my doubts. I wished I could throw them aside but they lingered with me … and they came back to me in odd moments. Even when I was most happy, they would intrude.

We went to London now and then and my parents always contrived to be there when we were. That first Christmas after Edward’s death they came to Cornwall. It was hard to believe then that it was only a year after that fateful night.

It was scarcely a merry Christmas to me. There were too many echoes from the past. I lived it all again, returning from Eversleigh, going to Edward’s room, talking to him, handing him the glass. And the morning’s discovery. Then I must go over the questions which crowded into my mind. Did Edward do it because he knew? Had he realized that Jake and I were lovers? Was I to blame?

When my son was born how proud I was! How proud was Jake! We called him Jake and he was soon Jacco which in Cornwall means a conqueror. He certainly conquered the hearts of all who saw him. The servants adored him and Jake thought him the most perfect child who had ever been born; and although I laughed at him and said he saw in Jacco an image of himself, I shared his view of our infant son.

I should have been completely happy. I was … almost. It was just that now and then the doubts would come. How had Edward met his death? Could it really have been that the decision to die had been his?

Always … always … the same niggling doubt.

The months passed quickly, and when I knew I was to have another child I was delighted. Jacco was now eighteen months old and a bonny boy.

And then I achieved what I had wanted so much. I had a daughter.

It was three days after her birth. I lay in bed with my little girl in her cradle beside me. Jake was at my bedside when one of the servants came in to say that there was a gentleman who wished to see me. He had come from a long way and was a stranger in these parts. “A foreigner,” the maid called him; but that could apply to anyone who was not Cornish.

Jake said he would go and see who it was.

It must have been about ten minutes later when he came back to my room and the stranger was with him. Jake brought him to the bedside and gave him a chair.

“This is Mr. Tom Fellows,” he said. “I have brought him because he has something to say to you.”

“Mr. Tom Fellows,” I said, looking at him intently for his face was vaguely familiar.

He said: “You are wondering who I am, Lady Cadorson,” he said, “and I must apologize for calling on you at such a time. But this is a matter of extreme importance. It is due to a deathbed promise that I am here.”

I remembered the name Fellows. It was a Fellows who had hanged after the Nottingham riots for his part in them.

He said: “I see you are wondering who I am. We met once in Mr. Barrington’s factory when I was with my father guarding the looms.”

My mind went back to that momentous day. Yes, I had seen the looms and the man named Fellows guarding them.

“I remember,” I said.

“You know my brother. He came to work for you. He called himself Toby …”

“Toby! Your brother!”

“Yes, he was my brother. After your husband’s death he came back to Nottingham.”

“But he was not Toby Fellows …”

“He changed his name. His own was known. When he came back he worked in horticulture. He was felling a tree in the forest. There was an accident and he was badly hurt. He lived for a week and during that week what he had done weighed heavily upon him, and he made me swear that I would find you and give his confession to you in person.”

“What… was his confession?”

“Let me explain. He was a young lad when our father was hanged. Ten years old. He adored his father. He used to listen to him for hours. Our father was a leader in a way. He used to talk to the men and rally them together.”

“Was he one of the leaders of the Luddites?”

“No. He saw the folly of breaking up the looms. He said that improvements had to come. On that day he was caught up with the rioters. He worked with them. You know what happened. He was sentenced to death. My brother never got over it. That was Tobias … Toby for short. He became obsessed by revenge. He used to say ‘an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.’ Yes, he wanted vengeance. Your husband represented the enemy. He would not be content until a life had been taken for the one his father lost. You know the rest. He came to work for you. He had decided that only when Edward Barrington or his father was killed would justice have been done. He was always a strange lad—going in for boxing at the fairs, and he thought it was a heaven-sent opportunity when he was asked to work in the sick room. He killed Mr. Edward Barrington in just retribution, he said, for the murder of his father. But faced with death himself he was horrified by what he had done. He said he could not rest until you were told because suspicion hung heavily over certain people, including you from whom he had had nothing but kindness. He prevailed on me to find you, to bring you to him that he might confess all and when that could not be done he begged me to find you and tell you in person.”

“It was good of you to come,” I said. “I understand the poor young man’s feelings.”

“I wish I could have found you before he died. I wish I could have gone back and told him I had seen you. He excused himself by the fact that Mr. Barrington was an invalid who would never recover, and he insisted that he would not have stood by and seen someone else accused of the crime which he had committed. He said he had made it appear as suicide.”

“Then my husband never said what Toby told the coroner he had. I found it hard to believe that he would discuss such a matter with him.”

“My brother said he had tried to make it so that no one would be accused. He would never have allowed anyone to stand trial for murder. He just wanted justice done … ‘an eye for an eye.’ He kept stressing that.”

Jake had stood up. “I think my wife is a little tired. Our daughter is but a few days old.”

“Forgive me,” said Tom Fellows. “But I had this duty to discharge.”

“How can I thank you for coming,” I said.

“I will see that you are given some refreshment,” Jake told him and turned to look at me with a rather special smile.

I lay in my bed. I could see my baby’s cradle—it was on rockers, the cradle which had been used by the babies of the family for the last two hundred years.

I was glad of those few moments alone for I was filled with an emotion which I should have found it impossible to hide.

The haunting fear had been swept away now that I knew the truth. It was dazzling, revealing and irrefutable.

Jake came back.

“The poor fellow hadn’t had a meal for twenty-four hours,” he said.

He came to the bed and taking my hand smiled at me.

“Well,” he said, “so now you know. I didn’t do it.”

“Jake,” I said. “I’m so glad.”

“I always used to tell myself that you believed I did it and yet… you married me all the same. I was hurt to be under suspicion, but I always said to myself, ‘She loves me truly. She has married me even though she believes I may be a murderer.’ What more could a man ask for than that his love should take him, sinful as she believed him to be!”