celebrated `Brides-in-the-Bath’ murderer, who refused to pay the instalment due on the bath in which he had drowned one of his wives, on the ground that he had no longer any use for it. Of course any notion that murder should go with an expansive temperament is romantic nonsense. A good many murders are mean, simply because their perpetrators are nasty little men. All the same Bennison’s rejoinder lacks the grim, even if unconscious, humour of Smith’s.
Bennison was acting in character when he refused to summon the doctor a second time. That is usually wise enough. Nothing attracts suspicion like the unusual gesture. Yet there are limits; it is equally unwise to arouse needless animosity. Husbands who appear indifferent to their dying wives are likely to displease the wife’s family; and such displeasure turns easily to suspicion. Bennison would probably have been wiser to have damned the expense, and paid the second fee, even at the risk, surely an outside chance, that the doctor might still have saved her.
That was not the only evidence on Sunday that he had concluded death to be inevitable. He asked Helen and Mrs Turnbull what sort of funeral letters they thought he should get, and the following morning he took his black trousers to Mrs Ramsay, a neighbour who did tailoring repairs. Everything must be done properly. He called on the Porteouses twice, and bade them prepare for the end. It was no more than a matter of hours, he said. He was quite correct; she expired around noon on the Monday. `I have seen many a deathbed’, he told Mrs Ramsay, `but never a pleasanter one than my wife’s.’ At the time he was even more ecstatic: `Thank God she has gone to Glory,’ he cried, `she has gone home.’
Even some of his fellow enthusiasts might have considered this was overdoing it. There should be a measure in all things, and it is better that bereaved husbands show themselves at least as sensible of their own loss as of their late partner’s translation to eternal bliss. Even the godly are expected to display merely human feelings on such occasions, which are rare enough to be remembered.
Of course some sort of pious sentiment was expected. Jean had already expressed herself in such terms. She was probably sincere, poor creature, as in his own peculiar way he was. Others were less easily convinced. It was not long before Helen was wondering whether the Lord had worked unaided in the affair. Almost everything Bennison did after the death might have been calculated to fan her suspicions.
He was first unduly anxious to press on with the funeral, fixing it for the Wednesday afternoon at two o’clock. Both Helen and Mr Hay were surprised by the speed. Bennison explained to the minister that, `it did not do for poor people to keep a corpse in the house too long’. That was probably true enough, what was generally felt. No doubt in a small dwelling a corpse was not the most convenient article. There were no spare bedrooms where it could be stored. Nevertheless Bennison gave the clear impression that he wanted the body out of the way, and the whole business over and forgotten, as soon as possible.
On the same day came the death of the dog, and few were ready to believe Bennison’s airy assurance that that meant nothing. At the very least it was a strange coincidence. Helen, Mrs Moffat, and Mrs Porteous all shook their heads over the matter.. Tongues wagged.
Even more damning was Bennison’s conduct towards Margaret Robertson. On the Monday afternoon, within a few hours of Jean’s death, Mrs Porteous found Margaret making tea in the Bennisons’ kitchen. She knew who she was, though she was to claim that she had never seen her in the house before. At the trial there was argument about this. Bennison stated in his declaration that Margaret had been to tea in the house before his wife’s death, and even Helen had to admit, under cross-examination, that she had seen her there while her sister was alive. `There was a
Bennison was acting in character when he refused to summon the doctor a second time. That is usually wise enough. Nothing attracts suspicion like the unusual gesture. Yet there are limits; it is equally unwise to arouse needless animosity. Husbands who appear indifferent to their dying wives are likely to displease the wife’s family; and such displeasure turns easily to suspicion. Bennison would probably have been wiser to have damned the expense, and paid the second fee, even at the risk, surely an outside chance, that the doctor might still have saved her.
That was not the only evidence on Sunday that he had concluded death to be inevitable. He asked Helen and Mrs Turnbull what sort of funeral letters they thought he should get, and the following morning he took his black trousers to Mrs Ramsay, a neighbour who did tailoring repairs. Everything must be done properly. He called on the Porteouses twice, and bade them prepare for the end. It was no more than a matter of hours, he said. He was quite correct; she expired around noon on the Monday. `I have seen many a deathbed’, he told Mrs Ramsay, `but never a pleasanter one than my wife’s.’ At the time he was even more ecstatic: `Thank God she has gone to Glory,’ he cried, `she has gone home.’
Even some of his fellow enthusiasts might have considered this was overdoing it. There should be a measure in all things, and it is better that bereaved husbands show themselves at least as sensible of their own loss as of their late partner’s translation to eternal bliss. Even the godly are expected to display merely human feelings on such occasions, which are rare enough to be remembered.
Of course some sort of pious sentiment was expected. Jean had already expressed herself in such terms. She was probably sincere, poor creature, as in his own peculiar way he was. Others were less easily convinced. It was not long before Helen was wondering whether the Lord had worked unaided in the affair. Almost everything Bennison did after the death might have been calculated to fan her suspicions.
He was first unduly anxious to press on with the funeral, fixing it for the Wednesday afternoon at two o’clock. Both Helen and Mr Hay were surprised by the speed. Bennison explained to the minister that, `it did not do for poor people to keep a corpse in the house too long’. That was probably true enough, what was generally felt. No doubt in a small dwelling a corpse was not the most convenient article. There were no spare bedrooms where it could be stored. Nevertheless Bennison gave the clear impression that he wanted the body out of the way, and the whole business over and forgotten, as soon as possible.
On the same day came the death of the dog, and few were ready to believe Bennison’s airy assurance that that meant nothing. At the very least it was a strange coincidence. Helen, Mrs Moffat, and Mrs Porteous all shook their heads over the matter.. Tongues wagged.
Even more damning was Bennison’s conduct towards Margaret Robertson. On the Monday afternoon, within a few hours of Jean’s death, Mrs Porteous found Margaret making tea in the Bennisons’ kitchen. She knew who she was, though she was to claim that she had never seen her in the house before. At the trial there was argument about this. Bennison stated in his declaration that Margaret had been to tea in the house before his wife’s death, and even Helen had to admit, under cross-examination, that she had seen her there while her sister was alive. `There was a
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