A Woman's Vengeance Page #8

You had better go now, Miss Braddock.

Oh very well, but I thought

she would be pleased.

After all, when a criminal

gets his deserts ..

That's enough.

When a criminal gets his deserts.

But is he a criminal?

I still don't believe it.

I didn't believe it, either.

Now, after everything they brought

out at the trial .. one must believe it.

Must one?

I've just been reading a

very interesting book.

An analysis of cases of people who are

condemned for crimes they didn't commit.

But they proved it.

They proved it in these

other cases, too.

Sometimes it was a matter

of deliberate false witness.

Sometimes it was nothing more

than circumstantial evidence.

Piled up.

It all pointed in one direction.

The conclusion was obvious.

And inevitable.

And yet that conclusion was wrong.

After all the case is closed now.

It can never be reopened, never.

So what is the good of

talking about it? It's just silly.

I don't want to discuss it any more.

They proved it at the trial. That's it.

Not to my satisfaction, I just can't

believe that Maurier is responsible.

Then who was?

What about Emily herself?

Suicide? No, Emily would never

have committed suicide.

Yet she often complained

that she was tired of life.

I never heard her say that. Never.

Neither did nurse Braddock

if I remember correctly.

I must say I was very surprised

when she said that at the trial.

I don't know what she

said. I don't care.

Maurier cared. It carried a great

deal of weight with the jury.

Somebody who'd been with Emily day and

night for the best part of two years.

Never heard a whisper of suicide.

Yet suicide was the

main line of defence.

I'm not interested in lines of defence.

I'm interested in the truth.

I'm interested in justice.

And if you are trying

to insinuate things.

If you are accusing me of

telling lies, just because ..

Why do you let me go on?

Why don't you stop me?

People don't like being

stopped as a rule.

You ..

You were very fond of poor

old Henry, weren't you?

Yes, I liked him. I liked him very much.

Emily used to say that if she died,

you and Henry ought to get married.

Married?

Him .. and me?

Why that's monstrous! How dare you.

I'm only repeating what Emily said.

You talk about me as if I were

one of those women of his.

One of those .. those ..

It's as disgusting as it's contemptible.

I'm sorry, doctor Libbard.

Don't apologise to me. I'm not

the one who's got insomnia.

What do you mean?

Youre getting all worked up

about Henry's tastes in women.

It doesn't help you to sleep, you know.

You don't imagine I spend my

time thinking about that, do you?

Well, you were thinking

about it just now. Quite loudly.

Do you ever think about poor Emily?

Of course I do.

After all, she was my best friend.

And when you do sleep.

Do you ever dream about her?

Those are the dreams

that make me wake up.

I suppose you dream of her as

she was when she was dying?

Yes.

And sometimes I see her sitting

out there in the garden.

Just as she was drinking that coffee.

I thought it was the medicine he was

supposed to have put the medicine into.

Yes, of course. The medicine.

I mean the medicine. I don't

know why I said coffee.

Henry didn't give her

the coffee, did he?

I really don't know.

Somebody must have.

Anyhow, it's of no importance is it,

seeing that everything has been proved.

Quite.

Quite.

Oh, I wish it were all over.

All over?

You seem to think this business is

like something in the movies.

Or in a novel.

You seem to think it has an ending. At 8

o'clock next Friday week, to be precise.

I don't know what you're driving at.

I'm driving.

At some way to make you sleep.

Well, this has been a very

interesting talk, Dr Libbard.

But whether it's going to cure my

insomnia, that's another question.

Personally, I put more faith

in sleeping tablets.

Janet.

Do you remember meeting a young

Doctor Carter at my house this spring?

Yes.

I've known him since he was

a boy. He's a very nice fellow.

Kind, sensible, conscientious.

And he's turned out to be

a first class psychiatrist.

No thanks. I don't want

to see a psychiatrist.

But you want to get well, don't you?

- I'm not ill!

Not that way.

I know you. You're going

to tell them I'm mad.

And then they'll lock me up and

torture me until I say things.

It's a plot. Everyone is

plotting against me.

Nobody is plotting anything.

That's a lie. You said it yourself.

You want me to go to a

doctor for mad people.

It won't do any harm. He will ask a few

questions and find what's on your mind.

I've told you again and again.

I haven't anything on my mind!

It's just that I can't sleep.

But he'll help you with that.

He'll put you to sleep if you let him.

You mean he'll hypnotize me?

Well, what's so alarming about that?

Send me to sleep and then make me

say a lot of things I don't want to say?

When I shan't even know I've said them.

No .. no, I won't.

I won't.

- Janet.

Don't touch me.

I'll kill you, do you understand?

A Miss Spence to see you, Maurier.

Don't mind us.

Carry on as if we weren't here.

It is difficult to believe

that you are quite real.

Nothing is quite real anymore.

[ Clock chimes ]

That clock.

When one thinks about time.

Draining away like blood from a wound.

And you can't stop it.

It just goes on. Quietly flowing

until there isn't any more.

Then you're dead.

Was that half past three?

Yes, that was half past three.

Four and twelve makes sixteen.

Twenty-four.

Forty hours.

A little more than forty hours.

It's like being.

At the edge of a huge black pit and

something is pushing you from behind.

Perhaps it would be more bearable

if it made some kind of sense.

If at least, one could believe that

there is such a thing as justice.

There is.

Janet.

I didn't do it.

I swear by all that is sacred.

Sacred?

What is "sacred"?

Do you remember that night?

That night when there

was a thunderstorm?

You talked of Benjamin Franklin sending

up his kite to attract the lightning.

A sort-of scientific practical joke.

Well, sometimes the joke comes off.

Sometimes the lightning comes

down the string and then ..

Well, people get killed.

Get killed?

And whose fault is it they get killed?

The fault of the lightning?

Or the fault of the man who thought it

would be fun to play tricks with it?

I don't understand what you mean.

Well, don't try.

Just imagine a little

group of boys at school.

"What does your father do?"

"Oh, he's a Barrister."

"What is yours?"

"He's an engineer."

"And yours?"

"My father is dead."

"He died before I was born."

"He died in a place called

Wandsworth prison."

Janet, don't ..

Did I ever ask for mercy?

Did you ever think of showing it?

Never.

I never said anything when you

amused yourself at my expense.

Janet, I didn't do that.

What else were you

doing all those years?

Beckoning me on. Calling me to you.

And then at last, when I came to you ..

You hit me across the face and then ran

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