bonnet sent to her to mend by her sister the week before her death, and the child went to the Robertsons’ house to get a straw bonnet for her doll.’ A dressmaking connection scarcely justified what was happening now. Not only was Margaret there making tea, an act of enormous symbolic importance (though none of the witnesses could have described it in such words) but she and Bennison were seen together outside, walking as they had been wont to do before his wife’s death. He entrusted her with the delivery of some of the invitations to the funeral, and they were seen together in the gloaming with letters in their hands - Mrs Wilkie (she of the coal-cellar fowls) stated that Miss Robertson had brought the letter inviting her son to the funeral. Worst of all, Bennison removed to the Robertsons’ on the Monday evening, and spent the night there.
His behaviour defies rational explanation. It is as if he was blind to the possibility that he might be suspected of murder. He was quite remarkably stupid; stupid to the extent of imbecility, showing to a quite unusual degree, that commonly remarked criminal incapacity to associate actions with consequences. The Robertsons were equally naive, and their complicity had never been suggested. When they realised how their reputation was compromised, their proclamations of innocence were to be loud, Margaret’s sister, Mary, asserting that when Bennison visited the house, `his conversation was always religious’. Such assurances, incapable of proof, could not of course allay scandalous rumour. The rumours were inevitable. When a man has been paying marked attention to a girl, and his wife dies, and then he moves into the girl’s lodging, one cannot expect tongues to be silent.
Helen in particular wanted to know the truth. She had no special animus against Bennison. She said at the trial that she would always be grateful to him for his kindness to her sister in early years - an observation that offers a revelation of the wretched condition in which Victorian wives could languish. Helen and Bennison do not seem to have been on bad terms though. Elizabeth Grindlay, who also visited jean on the Sunday, saw him rest his hand on Helen’s shoulder at one moment, the touch being neither evaded nor apparently resented. Still, Helen did not believe the death was natural, and she was certain her sister would not have killed herself. `She knew the value of her soul too well even to think of such an act’, she said. What then had happened? She made no accusation at this point. She just wanted to know. By the Tuesday night she had a strong impression that `something was wrong .
Early on the Wednesday she proposed that jean be opened for examination. Bennison was horrified. `He said his feelings could never stand it’. The subject was resumed after breakfast and he continued obstinate. (Helen’s evidence on this point was corroborated by Mrs Moffat.) At last Bennison said that he would bring Dr Gillespie. He disappeared for halfanhour, returning to say that the doctor was unavailable, being in the country. He had then gone in search of Dr MacDonald (as he termed him), but he was in Edinburgh attending a class. So it was all no good.
There was nothing that could be done immediately. Bennison set off for Edinburgh himself on unspecified business. Perhaps it was simply an excuse to be out of the house; he can hardly be blamed for not finding its atmosphere congenial that morning. In his absence Helen conferred with Agnes Turnbull and another friend, Margaret Law, as well as Mrs Moffat. They all agreed that action should be taken.
The funeral however went on as planned, there being scarcely time to prevent it. It took place in Pilrig cemetery at two o’clock. Bennison wore his repaired trousers, and the deepest black. Yet even he can hardly have failed to be aware by this time of the suspicion with which his neighbours and acquaintance were eyeing him. Events were running out of control. Still
His behaviour defies rational explanation. It is as if he was blind to the possibility that he might be suspected of murder. He was quite remarkably stupid; stupid to the extent of imbecility, showing to a quite unusual degree, that commonly remarked criminal incapacity to associate actions with consequences. The Robertsons were equally naive, and their complicity had never been suggested. When they realised how their reputation was compromised, their proclamations of innocence were to be loud, Margaret’s sister, Mary, asserting that when Bennison visited the house, `his conversation was always religious’. Such assurances, incapable of proof, could not of course allay scandalous rumour. The rumours were inevitable. When a man has been paying marked attention to a girl, and his wife dies, and then he moves into the girl’s lodging, one cannot expect tongues to be silent.
Helen in particular wanted to know the truth. She had no special animus against Bennison. She said at the trial that she would always be grateful to him for his kindness to her sister in early years - an observation that offers a revelation of the wretched condition in which Victorian wives could languish. Helen and Bennison do not seem to have been on bad terms though. Elizabeth Grindlay, who also visited jean on the Sunday, saw him rest his hand on Helen’s shoulder at one moment, the touch being neither evaded nor apparently resented. Still, Helen did not believe the death was natural, and she was certain her sister would not have killed herself. `She knew the value of her soul too well even to think of such an act’, she said. What then had happened? She made no accusation at this point. She just wanted to know. By the Tuesday night she had a strong impression that `something was wrong .
Early on the Wednesday she proposed that jean be opened for examination. Bennison was horrified. `He said his feelings could never stand it’. The subject was resumed after breakfast and he continued obstinate. (Helen’s evidence on this point was corroborated by Mrs Moffat.) At last Bennison said that he would bring Dr Gillespie. He disappeared for halfanhour, returning to say that the doctor was unavailable, being in the country. He had then gone in search of Dr MacDonald (as he termed him), but he was in Edinburgh attending a class. So it was all no good.
There was nothing that could be done immediately. Bennison set off for Edinburgh himself on unspecified business. Perhaps it was simply an excuse to be out of the house; he can hardly be blamed for not finding its atmosphere congenial that morning. In his absence Helen conferred with Agnes Turnbull and another friend, Margaret Law, as well as Mrs Moffat. They all agreed that action should be taken.
The funeral however went on as planned, there being scarcely time to prevent it. It took place in Pilrig cemetery at two o’clock. Bennison wore his repaired trousers, and the deepest black. Yet even he can hardly have failed to be aware by this time of the suspicion with which his neighbours and acquaintance were eyeing him. Events were running out of control. Still
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