in vain and they continued as unyielding as ever. Over time my wife grew fretful for the many comforts that had accompanied her life in her earlier days. She found it hard raising a child without the benefit of a household of servants to make life easy. I did all I could to maintain her good spirits and encourage her to trust in love, but in the end she became convinced that the only way forward was for me to move to Oxford, where I had friends in positions of influence, and try my fortune there, where if things went favourably for me I might earn more and we might in a year or two be able to lead the leisured life she hankered after. So with a heavy heart I left Bampton and set up in rooms in Oxford.
‘I was lucky. I found work and was soon earning more than I had before, and although I missed my wife and child a good deal, I tried to make myself believe it was all for the best. In her letters, which were not frequent, I got the impression that she was happier too. Whenever possible I came back to see them both, and so for six months we went on. Once, about a year ago, my work brought me unexpectedly upriver and I thought it would be a pleasant thing to surprise the two of them with an impromptu visit.’ He swallowed, shifted in his chair. ‘I made a discovery then that altered my relationship with my wife for ever. She was not alone. The person with her – the least said about him, the better. The child’s way with him told me that this man was a regular in the household, an intimate of the family. Harsh words were spoken and I came away.
‘A little later, and while I was still in a quandary about what to do, I received a letter from my wife in which she proposed to live with this man as his wife, and saying that she wished to have no more to do with me. I could have protested at this, of course. I could have insisted that she obey her vows. As things have turned out, I rather wish I had. It would have been better all round. But in my disarray I replied that since it was what she wished, I agreed to the arrangement, and that as soon as I had earnt what I needed to provide a proper home for her, I would come for Alice. I wrote that I expected this to be before a year was out, and from that day I threw myself into my work in order to make it so.
‘I have not seen my wife since that time, but have recently taken on the lease of a house and was making arrangements to live there with the child. I expected that one of my sisters would come and be a mother to her. This morning, on the point of realizing these plans, I received a visit from my father who came with news of my wife’s death. He told me at the same time that Alice was missing. From others I have learnt that my wife was abandoned by her lover some months ago, and that she and the child have been in need ever since. I can only presume that it was out of shame that she did not contact me.’
Through his entire account, Robin Armstrong’s gaze was drawn persistently to the child’s face. More than once he lost the thread of his tale, and had to drag his eyes away from her and concentrate to pick up where he had left off, but after a few sentences his eyes would drift back and find her again.
He sighed heavily.
‘It is a story I would not willingly have told, for not only does it expose my poor wife’s sad folly to the wider world, but it puts me in a bad light. Do not blame her, for she was young. It was I who encouraged her to a secret marriage, I whose weakness in crisis led to her downfall, her death and the loss of our daughter. It is a sad story unfit for the ears of good people like yourselves. I ought perhaps to have told it with greater delicacy. Had I my wits about me, my story would have been less blunt in the telling, but it takes a little while for a