Then Evelyn came and said we should go home and she and Grace argued somewhat. While that was happening, Petruchio was putting black paint on his face for the next play and the player dressed as Katharina asked me my name and said it was a funny one, and I said everyone said that, and then he showed me the properties they used in the plays. Up close they did not seem nearly so fine. Then he feigned to stab himself with a knife and I was frighted and cried out as I saw blood spurting out, but then he showed me it was only red ribbons. It was all most fascinating and I asked him if he liked to play ladies and he said not so much as he used to because only boys should play ladies, on account of them being smaller and having high voices, but that because the theatres had been shut for so long by old Oliver all the boy players had grown up, as he had. Besides, he said, there are now women on the stage in London, so there will soon be no more boy players anyway. Perhaps he could tell I was thinking what it would be like to be a player and dress up and make-believe rather than have to be married, as he said: “Perhaps one day you will be a fine actress in a playhouse in London, and I shall come and see you playing Katharina, and I will say to all the fine people: ‘I knew Mistress H when she was but a girl.’” And instead of bowing, remembering he was in a gown, he curtseyed low to me, which made us both laugh.
At that moment Evelyn came and snatched my hand and marched me away so I could not even say goodbye to Katharina. She looked furious.
“Will Grace not come with us?” I asked.
“No,” she snapped. “The little fool will get us all in a deal of trouble.”
And indeed she did. Grace did not come home before our father’s return, but was not missed until supper, when the whole story came out. Evelyn, Frances and I were sent to our room with no supper and no light, where we lay awake, listening for the latch on the garden gate. It never came.
In the morning, we went down as usual for prayers, which were unusually full of hellfire and damnation, and when we had finished our father detained us before we sat down to breakfast. I remember that he did not look at us while he spoke, but kept his eyes turned steadily towards the window.
“Children, I have very bad news to impart to you, concerning your sister. It is the worst sort of news.”
At this, I burst into tears, as I knew poor Grace must be dead. I had worried all night that she may have fallen down a hole, or into a river, or been attacked by murderers on her way home in the dark. Now I knew it was true, and it was all my fault, because I had caused my sisters to stop and watch the players.
“Your sister, whose name my lips refuse to speak, has left this house and will never return. Her infamous behaviour has disgraced us all. It will be a most wonderful thing if our family ever recovers from the shame she has brought upon our house. No respectable man will wish to attach his name to that of a family bemired in vice of the most reprehensible and evil kind. Your sister has ruined us.” He paused for a moment and seemed to hold his breath. Still looking out of the window, he said: “Her name is not to be mentioned again. She is dead to us.”
We sat down to breakfast, but my sisters and I could not eat. My father ate in silence. It was as though the world had ended.
2
One evening, many months later, Frances and I were sitting in the bedchamber I shared with Evelyn hemming handkerchiefs, which was our usual occupation when our father decided we had been reading too much, when Evelyn came in, her face as white as the cotton in my hand.
“Whatever’s the matter?” I asked.
“I’ve seen Grace,” Evelyn said and burst into tears.
When she could speak again Evelyn told us Grace’s tale. That day at the fair the player (Petruchio) had given Grace strong waters and “ill-used” her and she had been too ashamed to come home and face Father. She thought she loved the player and determined to stay with him – they had been to London and he was kind at first but abandoned her when she announced she was with child. “Of course,” Evelyn added. Now she was ill and starving and begging Evelyn to intercede with our father on her behalf. “On her way here, even… to eat,” Evelyn broke down, sobbing into Frances’s shoulder, “she had to… with men… just to eat.”
I didn’t then understand what this meant, let alone how Grace could be having a baby, for Evelyn had not mentioned her being married.
“Where is Grace now?” I asked.
“I left her at the crossroads. She will not come until I have spoken to Father.”
At this Frances jumped up and snatched up her shawl.
“I will go to her,” she said, and ran out.
“He will be kind, will he not, Evelyn?”
Evelyn looked at me.
“I’m sure when he knows she carries his grandchild his heart will soften towards her,” she said and kissed me on the forehead before telling me to stay in our room and disappearing downstairs. I lay down on our bed to await the outcome of the interview but almost immediately heard raised voices. I ran out onto the landing and saw Father emerge from his study, followed by Evelyn, who was hanging onto his sleeve.
“Please, Father, I beg of you, if you won’t have her back at least let her come in and eat something. Grace is—”
Sometimes something happens that changes everything. My father struck Evelyn, hard, across the face.
“I forbid you to mention her name again!” he said. “Ever!”
Evelyn stood absolutely still, her hand to her cheek, staring at him. Something had shifted in her.
“I’m going to bring her back,” she declared, and moved towards the door. My father sprang forward and snatched her by the arm.
“If you leave this house now, you may never return.” His voice sounded strangled. His face was purple. “You are as wicked as she is.”
“It is not me that is wicked!” cried Evelyn, struggling to free herself.
“Don’t go, Evelyn!” I cried, running down the stairs. But she went to the door and was gone.
I stood before my father, trembling.
“Punish me, Father!” I cried. “I was the one who made them watch the play! It’s all my fault! Beat me, lock me up, do what you will, but please don’t send my sisters away!”
He said nothing, but looked at me in a strange new way.
“Evelyn!” I cried, and ran to the door. As I grabbed hold of the latch a sound made me turn back. Father had fallen to his knees, gasping, and was clutching his chest. I knew I should do something. Should I run for the doctor? Or should I stay and help Father? He collapsed sideways and lay on the floor. I hopped from foot to foot, afraid to approach him, afraid to leave him. I snatched his coat from its hook, wrapped it into a bundle and endeavoured to make a pillow for his head. I knelt beside my father, watching him, his deep scooping breaths becoming more laboured, then shallower. Then he was quiet for a few moments and with a great moan he was still.
Now I had killed Father as well as Mother.
Straight after the funeral the whole family gathered at our house, to decide what was to be done with me, Evelyn and Frances, now that we were orphans. That is to say, the whole family except Grace, who was not at the crossroads when my sisters had gone to find her that night. We learned from Clarissa’s husband that she had been taken up by the watch and conveyed to the House of Correction. He was not without influence in the town, being himself a clergyman, and had contrived matters so that her connection with our family was not made public. Clarissa beamed round the table at this great achievement, although we knew that this meant Grace’s baby would be taken from her as soon as it was born. It didn’t seem anything to smile about to my childish mind.