Chapter 40 A Fall From Grace #2
She flared up in an instant and cried passionately: ‘You have never loved me or cared about what I wanted, and I hate you!’
And then, even as he shrugged and turned away from her to look over the edge of the terrace to the garden below, I saw her lovely face suddenly change to one of a Greek Fury. Then she ran forward and gave him an almighty push in the small of the back that sent him, flailing, over the low parapet.
There was a cry followed by a most sickening thud as he hit the flagstones below.
I ran forward and it was only then that Bea, turning, realized she was not alone.
In an instant, the mask of a Fury changed to the face of a frightened young girl and she fell down in a dead faint.
My first thought was to look over the parapet to where Caradoc’s body lay. One look at the strange angle of his neck told me the worst even before Wykes, who was standing next to the body, looked up and said: ‘It’s no use, sir: he’s dead.’
I hurried downstairs, pausing only to tell Mrs Fry there had been a terrible accident and to go to Bea, who was in a dead faint on the upper terrace, and outside found all the servants standing around the body of their master.
I told them I had been present when Caradoc lost his footing and fell, but had been unable to prevent it.
I observed, to my unease, that Wykes looked steadily at me while I said this, but said nothing in contradiction … then.
In the confusion that followed, with Bea hysterical and Mrs Fry only capable of wringing her hands and moaning, I took over and did what had to be done. I knew myself in any case to be the executor of Caradoc’s will.
I stayed there that night, although I got little sleep once the formalities were over and the body had finally been removed. The doctor had administered a sedative to Bea, who had remained throughout in her room.
Early next morning Wykes came to me after my solitary breakfast and told me that he had seen Bea purposely push her father off the terrace and his conscience was troubling him because he had not told anyone of this last night.
He then said he had long wanted to return to his native Yorkshire and open a small garage and if I should help him attain this, he would forget all he had seen.
Of course, I insisted he was quite wrong, and if he did any such thing, my word would certainly be believed over his.
After some thought, however, I said I would be willing to pay him such a sum on behalf of Miss Caradoc, in appreciation of his years of service to her father – provided we never heard from or saw him again, for in that case I would straight away inform the police that he was attempting to blackmail me with a trumped-up story, and these terms he accepted.
I had much to do during the course of that morning and discovering that Miss Madoc had run away the previous evening while we were at dinner was the least of my worries at that time.
Bea had remained in her room, saying she could see no one, but later that morning I insisted that she grant me an interview alone with her, during which I told her about Wykes’s threats – and that I myself knew the truth of the matter, for I had both heard and seen her entire interview with her father.
Being still infatuated with her, I had managed to convince myself that I had imagined that look of a Fury on her lovely face the previous evening and assured her that I was certain she had not meant to harm her papa.
She wept and said of course she had not.
I am ashamed of what I did next. I told her that while I believed her, others might not, but if she consented to marry me, I would deal with Wykes and that, as my wife, she would be quite safe. Also I would do all in my power to make her happy – and I fear she had little option but to agree.
She confessed that she had assisted Miss Madoc to run away, but that the story Caradoc had told me was not true.
Miss Madoc had been in love with the brother of her friend and they had been secretly engaged.
I was glad of this and wrote to Miss Madoc by way of her friend’s aunt in London, whose address I found in Caradoc’s papers, telling her the circumstances of the accident and assuring her that she was free now to pursue any course she wished.
Bea and I were quietly married on Saturday 30 August 1919, in the presence of just a few of our friends.
My wedding gift to her was a rope of huge South Sea pearls with matching earrings, Mrs Fry having said pearls were most suitable in the circumstances.
Bea seemed very pleased with them and with my suggestion that we belatedly honeymoon in London in the New Year.
I added Caradoc to my name to please her, since she thought Jones too commonplace.
Mrs Fry left us to live with other relatives and we settled at Triskelion. Given the circumstances, Bea seemed happy enough, finding her chief pleasure in purchasing new clothes and persuading me to buy her jewels.
I was so occupied with the aftermath of my friend’s death, as well as the new business, that at first I managed to convince myself that I could make Bea happy.
Slowly, it was borne upon me that I bored her. Not only that, but I began to fancy I sometimes caught a look of actual dislike upon her face.
In compelling her to marry me, I can see I deserved this and certainly it made me no better than her father, and his attempts to make Arwen marry him. Nor do I now think true happiness will ever come of our union.
Also, despite my best efforts, I could never quite banish the recollection of that expression on her face when she pushed her father off the terrace. In my heart, I knew I had not imagined it.
Bea may have grown to hate me – especially since she suspects she may be with child – but as I said at the start of this document, I hope I have wronged my wife in even suspecting her of wishing to cause my death. I want to believe I have, but I cannot quite bring myself to do so.
If my suspicions are true, then telling her of this deposition should keep me safe. What our future lives together will become, I do not know. But I must be prepared to reap what I have sown.
Signed this day, 18 November 1919
Hugh Caradoc-Jones
When Rhys put down the papers, you could have heard a pin drop in the room.
Predictably, it was my mother who broke the silence.
‘Great Bouncing Borgias!’ she said with enormous relish.