Margaret Harrison to Harwood Lathom
15, Whittington Terrace, Bayswater 20.10.29
Oh, Petra, my dear, my own dear at last!
When I heard your voice on the phone this morning, telling me what had happened, I didn’t know how to believe it. It all seemed so strange. And when I hung the receiver up, I had to pinch myself to be sure it wasn’t a dream. I went upstairs, and there was the girl in her dressing-gown on the landing. She must have been hanging over the stairs, for she said, “Oh, ma’am. Whatever’s happened? I heard the telephone a-ringing and looked out and heard you talking. Has there been an accident, ma’am?” I said, “Yes; a dreadful accident. Mr. Harrison’s dead.” She stared at me, and I said, “He’s poisoned himself with eating some of those nasty toadstools.” She began to cry, “I knew he would! Oh, ma’am, what an awful thing. Such a nice gentleman as he was.” That seemed to make it real, somehow. “A nice gentleman”—well, she wasn’t married to him. She couldn’t know how I was feeling. That was just as well, wasn’t it, Petra? She hung about and brought me some tea, sniffing and sobbing over it. I couldn’t say anything, but that was all right. She thought I was stunned with grief, I suppose. I did feel stunned. I can’t realise, even now—though I’ve just seen it in the paper. Fancy that! People keep on calling, but I’ve said I can’t see them. I want to be alone with my freedom.
Oh, Petra—didn’t I tell you that God was on our side? Our love is so beautiful, so right —He had to make a miracle happen to save it. Isn’t it wonderful—without our doing anything at all! That shows how right it was. I am so glad, now, that we didn’t do anything of the terrible things