“We shall see,” she said and she left the library.
It was to her brother she turned first. She sought James in his office and told him the whole, unhappy story. She ended, “It seems I’ve been foolish again.”
James reminded her. “I was against this marriage as I was against your marrying Sir George.”
She nodded, and in a rueful tone asked, “Do you by any chance remember the old Gypsy woman who lived on our estate in Surrey?”
“Yes,” her brother said.
“On a stormy afternoon, years ago, she predicted I would have three marriages, and only the third would turn out well. And she said something of the same sort to Nancy. Maybe she saw more in her crystal than we thought.”
“Don’t give the Gypsy credit,” James said. “I fear it has to be your choice of husbands which we must blame. The question is what shall we do about this bounder, Layton?”
“I began to doubt him even before we were married,” she confessed.
“The difficulty is, he can make many of your charges against him seem merely the accusations of a scorned wife. And then there will be all the scandal.”
She listened to her brother with dismay. “You’re hinting I must accept this dreadful situation. Let him go on living under my roof, doing his best to win mother to his side, and poisoning her mind against me. Not to mention that he is sleeping with my best friend, nor his thieving from the poor fund!”
“The Society is his creation and the thefts will be hard to pin down. I will consult our lawyers. In the meanwhile I suggest you go down to our place in Surrey.”
“And let him remain at Berkeley Square?”
“Yes.”
“But mother is too ill to leave. She’ll remain under his evil influence.”
James shrugged. “Mother can be evil enough on her own. She doesn’t need Ernest Layton to guide her. In any case, she’ll have Mrs. Warren as a buffer. I doubt that Layton will spend much time at the house once you’re out of it. I’m concerned about you and your health. Hilda, the children, and I will be in Surrey. You have gone through a great deal. You need a chance to recuperate.”
She said, “All right. If you think it the wisest plan.”
Surrey proved a glorious reprieve for her. She spent many hours reading, and she enjoyed showing Hilda’s children all the fascinating places about the estate she’d known as a youngster. The hovel where the old Gypsy woman once lived was gone. But the barns remained, and the lovely gardens. In the warm weather, she was able to temporarily forget the grim situation back in London.
She tried to keep her mind free of thoughts about Ernest Layton. Helping her in this were the glowing letters she received from Scotland, telling her of the success of her medical plan for Invermere. The young doctor was doing well. Jock and Heather were in excellent health and planning their annual holiday in Edinburgh.
Reading the letters made her think of those other days. She pictured the fine stone commemorating John and listing her as his loving wife! It was ironic that their relationship, which had not been a legal one, had been more a marriage than the real ones.
Hilda came to sit by her on the veranda. “Was the word from Scotland good?”
“Yes. The doctor is well liked. Dr. Marsh picked a good man.”
“You miss the hospital?”
“I miss Invermere,” she sighed. “I had my happiest years there. Yet I can’t go back. At least not yet.”
Her sister-in-law said, “I had a letter today from a girl I knew long ago. A Frulein Spahn. She is employed in a school of nursing headed by Pastor Theodore Fliednor. The school is in Germany but many English ladies have trained there, including Florence Nightingale.”
Joy was at once interested. “I have read about her in the London papers. She wants to pioneer a new type of nursing. Isn’t she now at a hospital in Alexandria operated by the Sisters of Saint Vincent de Paul?”
“Yes,” Hilda said. “She was born in Italy, that is why she has the name Florence, after the city. She has moved about the world a good deal, though she cannot be much older than you. Fraulein Spahn says that Miss Nightingale was a star pupil at the School for Nursing Deaconesses.”
“What is your friend like?”
Hilda smiled. “She is a tiny girl, with blonde hair — even lighter than yours. A good-natured person, with a Dresden china figure.”
“And she is dedicating her life to nursing?”
“Yes. I spoke of you in my letters. She has asked if you might wish to attend the school in Kaiserworth.”
“I’ve really known nothing about it until now. And I doubt if the training would match what I gained under John’s direction.”
“True,” Hilda agreed. “But you could obtain an official degree from Kaiserworth. If you plan nursing again that might be useful.”
“I’ll think about it,” she sighed. “It could be a way of escaping the mess which faces me in London.”
With the coming of Autumn, Joy had no choice but to return to London. Ernest was living at Berkeley Square, and acting as if he owned it. Her mother continued to dote on him, and he had been careful to continue catering to the stern Lady Susan.
The evening of her return he managed to intercept her in a hallway and ask, “Joy, hasn’t this foolishness gone on long enough?”
She said, “I wish to have nothing to do with you.”
“Do not be so harsh on me,” he begged. “I allowed you to summer in Surrey. I hoped that when you returned we might pick up our marriage.”
“Thank you, no.”
He frowned. “You are making my position impossible. I have only your mother to speak a kind word to me. Your brother and his wife ignore me. My friends ask continually where you are.”
“Let them.”
“I have the books in order now.”
“No doubt,” she said with sarcasm.
“The Lord Mayor has praised our work.”
“You may have patched up the accounts. But I saw enough to know you’re an embezzler.”
He went white, and left her without attempting to say anything more. In the days which followed they adroitly avoided any meeting. Joy was sure the servants had noticed, and were gossiping about the tense situation. But James had not had any encouraging word from his lawyers, so she continued her life under torment.
One evening in late September, she retired to her room early because of a nagging headache. She was about to undress for bed when there was a knock on her door.
She asked, “Who is there?”
“Robert, the butler, ma’am,” came the reply from the aging servant. “There is a gentleman downstairs asking to speak with you.”
She opened the door. “Did you tell him I had retired for the night?”
Robert’s thin face showed concern. “I did, my lady. But he is most persistent. He insists on seeing you.”
“All right,” she said. “I’ll be down in a moment.”
She saw that her dress was neat, and arranged her hair. Then she went down to find a gloomy-looking, middle-aged man in a shabby overcoat waiting for her.
The man said, “I’m sorry to have caused you this inconvenience, my lady.”
“What is it?” she asked.
“I’m Inspector Lester of Scotland Yard,” he said crisply. “My business with you is official.”
Her eyes widened. “Official?”
“Yes,” the Inspector said. “Perhaps it would be best if you sat down.”
Staring at him she sat in the nearest chair. “Do tell me why you are here!”
Inspector Lester eyed her sympathetically. “You are the wife of Ernest Layton, M.P., aren’t you?”
“I am,” she said. Her heart pounding faster. “Why do you ask?”
Soberly he said, “Brace yourself, my lady. I have bad news. I regret to say your husband was murdered around nine this evening.”
She touched a hand to her throat. “Ernest murdered?”
“Yes.”
“I cannot believe it!”
“It is true, I fear.”
The room was swaying about her. She asked, “Tell me the details.”
“We know only a little. He was killed in a flat in a poor section of the city. A young woman whom your husband was visiting became involved with him in an argument. She stabbed him with a kitchen knife. The doctor claim’s the wound was near the heart, and he died almost at once.”
Tautly, she asked, “What was he doing in this girl’s flat?”
Inspector Lester looked embarrassed. “I understand he had been seen there often. The girl is known to be a prostitute. The old woman who rented the room to her claims your husband went there regularly.”
The shock was passing, but she felt nauseated by it all. “How is the girl?”
“In a bad state,” the Inspector said. “We’re not through questioning her yet. She’s been hysterical. But I gather your husband promised to set her up in style somewhere and then told her he was dropping her.”
She nodded grimly. “That sounds like my husband.”
“There will be a scandal,” the Inspector said with a sigh. “The papers are bound to make the most of it. Mr. Layton being an M.P. and so active in work for the poor.”
“I realize that.”
“We’ll do what we can to make the case seem less sensational. But most of the facts are bound to get out,” he said. “I’m sure you realize that.”
Joy said, “I’m sorry for the girl. I’d like to help her.”
The Inspector shrugged. “The best thing you could do would be hire a good lawyer to represent her. She will need first class counsel.”
Joy stood up, more in control of herself. “You have been kind, Inspector. I do not think anyone could have been more considerate.”
“Thank you, my lady,” he said. “In due course the body will be released and you may make arrangements for burial.”
“My brother, Sir James Canby, will take that duty over,” she said. And she saw the Inspector out.
Having James take the brunt of everything was a great help to her. He arranged a private funeral. Only close friends and members of the family were invited. Among the mourners was the eminent author, Charles Dickens.
The novelist was at the graveside when the mortal remains of Ernest were lowered into the ground. He came to speak with Joy following the ceremony.
Dickens told her, “We have met before. But you were not married to Layton then.”
“No,” she said. “Thank you for coming to his funeral.”
His pleasant face was sad. “I felt I should. I have recently lost my father. A bad shock. I still suffer from it though it happened many months ago.”
“Ernest would be pleased to know you were here.”
Dickens said, “I’m sure the circumstances surrounding his death have made it most difficult for you. I did not guess he had this other side. He managed to keep that part of his life well concealed.”
She said, “I have guessed certain things for some time. I was not entirely surprised by what happened.”
“You have my sympathy,” Dickens told her. Then he bowed and went on his way.
James selected the best barrister in London for the girl. He told Joy, “I have persuaded Richard Graham to take the case.”
She recognized the name. “He is well known as a lawyer for the defense. I’ve read about his success.”
James smiled. “He is something of an actor in court. He already has his line of defence planned, a poor waif trying to protect herself from a wealthy seducer.”
“Which is more or less the truth.”
“There’s no doubt Ernest led the girl to think he was greatly in love with her. Then, when he told her she could go back into the streets, she went temporarily insane and stabbed him. The defence will be temporary insanity. Graham has brought it off with many juries in the past.”
“Spare no expense,” Joy said. “And while she is waiting for trial I want her to have every luxury the law will allow us to offer her.”
James gave her a questioning look. “Do you want to meet her?”
“No,” she said. “But make it clear I bear her no malice.”
Her brother said grimly, “We do owe her something, I’d say. She solved the problem of Ernest Layton for us. And he came to the end he richly deserved.”
She said, “One other thing. I wish to wind up the affairs of his poor group.”
“Why?”
“I do not want more scandal. I doubt if he ever got the books properly in order. If there is any deficit I’ll make it up. Then wind up the group’s affairs and turn any money left over to some other more worthy charity.”
“Won’t Layton’s board raise some trouble?”
“They can form a new group if they like,” she said.
“I’ll look after the matter,” James promised.
Later she went to her mother’s bedside and told the old woman, “I have Ernest’s business all settled. I propose to leave London.”
“Why?”
“I wish to earn some official nursing credits,” she said. “I plan to attend a school in Germany. Then I shall return here to do nursing work among the poor. I want to make some good of my life.”
“I doubt you’ll get any thanks for it,” her mother said unhappily.
“My satisfaction will be in the work, not thanks,” she said.
Shortly after, James saw her to the railway station. In her travelling cloak of heavy, black wool she looked less than her years, for all the troubles she had experienced.
She told James, “I wish I could be here and at Kaiserworth at the same time.”
Hilda kissed her goodbye. “I’m sure you are making a wise choice.”
“I pray so,” Joy said.
The train whistled shrilly, and there was a last minute flurry of activity as latecomers crowded aboard the train. A porter helped her into her compartment. She leaned out the window as the train began leaving the station, and saw James and Hilda a distance back on the platform. She waved to them, and they waved in return — she was again saying goodbye to London.
She arrived in Germany early that November. When she reached the town of Kaiserworth on the Rhine, late one afternoon, she found a carriage to take her to the Deaconess Training School for Nurses. The driver knew scant English, but he recognized the name of the school, and nodded his ancient head in a friendly way.
He drove her through the narrow, cobblestoned streets of the town. On this gray November day there was hardly anyone out. The tiny shops with their multipaned windows seemed to have few customers. She marvelled that this amazing experiment in nurses’s training should be taking place in this remote spot.