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My guilt is buried with the roses to live forever in the earth. Even the beauty of those blooms cannot absolve me from the sins I have committed in the name of misbegotten love.”
All three of them stared at each other in silence. Then their heads turned to stare out the window, where the colorful rose blooms turned their faces to the sun.
* * *
“My grandfather coveredup the deaths of all her children, one of whom might have been his.”
After that first, grim discovery, all three of them waded into the stacks of papers and extensive journal notes to mine for further proof of misdeeds. Hanna’s heart went out to Gillian, whose flattened lips and furrowed brow showed the conflict she had to feel about her grandfather’s history.There was a reason her father hid these journals from her. My heart goes out to him, too. I can’t imagine what it must be like to learn this about your own father.
They’d found the proof they’d hoped they wouldn’t see. Records and notes regarding the birth of William Pritchard, Marion’s second child, who hadn’t lived two months past his first birthday before Marion claimed an accident with a knife. Not even the late Doctor Turner had believed that story, but by then, he’d fallen in too deep with Marion to resist when she asked him to write a less suspicious reason for death in the records.
“The only thing that sickened and died was her heart,” Gregory had said, as he set one of the records aside. “Gillian, I’m so sorry we brought all this up for you.”
“I’m not,” Gillian had replied at once. “This is horrible, and it changes everything I thought I felt for my grandfather, yes. But you can’t turn away from the truth. Not even when you want to. Nothing’s learned by keeping the facts in the dark.”
At that, Gregory had looked as thoughtful as Hanna felt.We’ve all got our secrets, for ourselves and for our families. He’s even keeping them from himself. Would it help to let them out into the light again?She had no answers, though, and she doubted he did, either.
“One of them might have been his?” Hanna asked, as Gillian made her declaration.
“They were shagging on the regular. When her last baby was born in 1932, one Ruby Pritchard, my grandfather noted little Ruby had a rather prominent feature that ran in his family. He was terrified her husband would notice. By then, Norman Pritchard had eased off on his travels and was at home more often. My grandfather writes about an exchange where Mister Pritchard said he was glad Marion had a doctor about so often, given the unhealthiness of the children.”
Hanna winced. “Oof.”
Gillian nodded, face grim. “Oof, indeed. Especially when little Ruby did sicken and die at four months, with signs of a poisoning. That was when my grandfather started to wake up, and consequently, when Marion Pritchard changed up her game. Little hints about my grandfather’s depth of involvement and the implications of it, alternating with comments about her undying love and the thought that they could be together forever.”
“So, guilt and affection, applied repeatedly,” Gregory said with enough wry bite to indicate he knew that routine too well now.
“That’s the one,” Gillian said as she read through the following entries. “He was very hesitant to write off Ruby’s death, but he did it and tried to convince himself it wasn’t poison. She died late in 1932. Early in 1933, Norman Pritchard died suddenly at home one night. That one was ruled a stroke, perhaps brought about by the strain and heartbreak of losing a third child, according to the records.”
“And the journals?” Gregory asked.
Gillian snorted. “Poison. The same one that killed Ruby. The Widow Pritchard put on her mourning clothes for the public and took them off for my grandfather. Now he’d covered up the death of three childrenanda prominent member of the community, but he had no more reason to sneak around with her. She was spending money on him, she was introducing him to powerful people as the valiant doctor who tried to save her children and her husband, and then, she was taking him to her bed. He liked all the attention too well, even as his shame ate at him.”
“He fell in too deep and didn’t know how to get himself out,” Hanna said.
“And didn’t even know if he wanted to,” Gillian added. “There are multiple entries where he notes he doesn’t even recognize himself anymore, and sometimes, he doesn’t care. Life is coming up roses– Oh, God, that was the worst phrasing.”
Hanna grimaced. “That was actually terrible. So, with Norman out of the way, and no children alive, your grandfather had no obstacles left to spending time with the rich widow he’d started to sell his soul for.”
“None whatsoever. The entries dwindle for a while, here, but there are a few important notes. Marion wanted him to move in at Greenhill Hall, give up his practice and live off what she inherited from her husband. She talked about more children. My grandfather refused on all counts and would not go public with their relationship. He couldn’t bring himself to leave, but neither could he convince himself to stay. They existed in an awkward limbo.” Gillian flipped rapidly through the rest of that journal.
Gregory brandished the journal he held. “I think I found where it picks back up. 1939. The war started. Norwich was under threat, as was a lot of England, but Greenhill Hall was out in the country. He had to move his records and some of his possessions here to protect them. It was safe enough to be one of the places the children were evacuated in Operation Pied Piper.”
Hanna’s nerves tingled. “We know Marion Pritchard took in one of the children fleeing the cities. Looking for the replacement child the doctor wouldn’t give her?”
“That’s what this journal says,” Gregory said. “Doctor Turner the Elder hoped this time it would be different. This was someone else’s child, who was potentially doomed to die if he stayed in a city anyway. This time, the doctor could have a greater say in what happened, and perhaps protect the child. A way to redeem himself and what he hadn’t done with Patricia, William, and Ruby.”
Gillian groaned and scrubbed a hand over her face. “Because that’s a good idea, grandad. Four’s surely the charm.”
“He thought it was.” Gregory ran the tip of one finger beneath the lines as he read them. “With his encouragement, Marion hired on a governess to care for and educate her new charge. Her name was Janette Byrne. He did her initial health examination, and he notes how sweet and earnest she is. He thinks she’ll be a good influence on Marion, who has grown both more settled and harder throughout the years.”
“Which is what happens when you murder children and a husband,” Hanna observed. “Marion sounds like she was an extremely unhappy woman and maybe not well-wrapped.”
“Maybe not. Doctor Turner intended to go with her to choose one of the refugees, but one of his patients had an emergency. When he returned, he met Stuart Marsh, who seemed miserable and terrified, but trusting of Janette. Marion, on the other hand, looked disgusted. She seemed to have believed she would be able to choose a pre-grown child from the shop, clean and polite, who would fawn over her with gratitude for rescuing them.” Gregory’s nose wrinkled as he read the words.
Gillian stared. “That’s not how this works! Any of it!”
“Stuart didn’t think so, either. He bonded with Janette, and Marion grew more and more displeased with having an urchin in her house.” Gregory tapped the book. “Not my word. It says ‘urchin’ here.”
