The Innocent by Evelyn Piper Page A

No change in our patient since I told her Andrew had to be out of the picture. Despairing calm characterizes her activities.
    Wednesday: No change.
    Thursday: I find Edna standing around idly, waiting for me to make a move. I will not make it.
    Saturday: Edna asked for the afternoon off. I asked whether she was ill.
    Not ill. “I don’t feel just right, Mrs. Carter. I don’t know—”
    Not ill, it wasn’t illness. It isn’t easy to lose a dream. I know. It isn’t true: ’Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. When I lost my dream of life with Charles, when Claire took him away, it was much worse than before I dreamed the dream.
    â€œI just don’t think I can stand not going away with you on account of Andy,” Edna said. “I just don’t think I can stand it. I look at Andy—I look at Andy and—”
    I tossed this bomb. “Do you think Mr. Carter would leave me, if I wanted him to?”
    Edna must have thought “yes” was insulting. She wouldn’t look straight at me when she said Charles would leave me if I wanted him to.
    â€œWell, that’s a good thing, Edna, because if Mr. Carter stood in the way of everything I wanted, the way your Andrew does—” I left it at that.
    â€œYes?” she asked, breathing the question so softly that she could tell herself she hadn’t asked it.
    â€œI’d see he left me, that’s all. Not that it would be as easy with Mr. Carter as it would be with your Andrew. Your Andrew is a sitting bird, drunk and helpless half the time!”
    Her lips went dry. She needed to lick her lips with her tongue. “What do you mean, Mrs. Carter?”
    â€œYou’re too good for what I mean, Edna. I’m not as good as you are.”
    That was like Claire. She was taunting the girl with her goodness, making “good” goody-good. Claire was daring the girl, double-daring her.
    She tossed her head. “I’m not good. I’m not good at all. You don’t know, Mrs. Carter—Lately—”
    I said flatly that I could get rid of Andrew if he stood in my way and nobody would be the wiser.
    Edna: Crime doesn’t pay.
    She had taken the dare. She wasn’t being goody-good, she was saying, simply being practical.
    I told Edna not to be naive. Given certain conditions, crime does pay. I said given these certain conditions I was perfectly sure that there wouldn’t be any awkward questions asked if Andrew were found dead, dead drunk. Drunk dead!
    At first she couldn’t take the juxtaposition of these two words, Andrew and death. She skittered at first, then she came back to it, making a hypothetical discussion, of course. I explained that to the police. Edna’s motives, the desire to be educated, to help her people, was not a motive for murder. I assured Edna that when the payment for a crime is not in cash but in spiritual dollars, they can’t tot it up. They don’t do higher mathematics. I said that of course the crime passionel was an accepted motive, but there was no other man for Edna. She was in love with her people, head over heels, madly.
    Madly?
    Yes, she is a little mad now, I think.
    â€œYou’re mad,” Marjorie said. “You’re the one.” The mad scientist experimenting with people? Not Claire. She wasn’t mad in the least. She was cool and calculating. She was doing this to write a best seller. She was deliberately goading Edna, giving her motive and then giving her means. To see how far she would go?
    Marjorie tried to remember Edna’s sister’s exact words. Grace had said, “Edna did a bad thing. They’re coming for Edna today.”
    Now Edna’s got to work on herself. Now I keep mum until she comes back for more.
    It is hard laying off Edna. There is such a satisfaction, such a kick out of this business. I suppose I am in a way drinking her blood to keep myself alive. I