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Eunice Parchman was a quiet, middle-aged woman who came to work as a housekeeper for the Coverdale family in the English countryside. She looked plain, spoke little, and seemed extremely careful about everything she did. George Coverdale, a middle-class man who had recently married for the second time, and his wife Jacqueline were pleased with her at first. She cleaned well, cooked acceptably, and kept to herself. They liked that she didn’t gossip like other maids. But Eunice carried a secret so heavy that it shaped every part of her life: she could not read or write.
From her earliest days, Eunice had grown up poor and neglected. Her father had been strict and violent, and her mother had shown little affection. At school, she was teased for being slow, and the teachers soon gave up on her. Because she could not read, she left school early and took cleaning jobs, pretending she could read by memorizing patterns and copying what others did. She learned to hide her illiteracy behind silence, fear, and anger. Her greatest terror was that someone would discover her secret, and that fear became her life’s guiding force.
When Eunice began working for the Coverdales, she felt both admiration and hatred toward them. Their big house, their smooth manners, and their quiet confidence made her feel small and angry inside. Yet she depended on them, and she worked hard to appear reliable. The Coverdales—George, Jacqueline, and George’s two teenage children from his first marriage, Giles and Melinda—saw Eunice as harmless, though a bit strange. They never suspected that she lived with constant suspicion and jealousy toward them.
Eunice lived in a small room in the house, watching television alone at night. Television was her only way of escaping into stories, because she didn’t have to read. But even that comfort grew mixed with bitterness. She couldn’t follow written instructions, couldn’t read letters or notes, and she feared that one day her employers might leave her a written message she couldn’t understand. To protect her secret, she often lied or pretended not to hear when someone called to her from another room.
One Sunday, at the village church, Eunice met Joan Smith, a rough, outspoken woman who worked at the post office. Joan was also poor and angry at the world. She blamed rich people for her struggles and filled her days with gossip and bitter talk about how unfair life was. Eunice and Joan quickly became friends. Joan admired Eunice’s quietness, and Eunice liked that Joan talked enough for both of them. They shared tea, went to the village shop together, and sometimes drove around in Joan’s small car. But Joan’s bad temper and dislike for the Coverdales began to rub off on Eunice, feeding her hidden resentment.
Jacqueline Coverdale was kind but slightly proud. She often left small notes for Eunice—reminders about errands or cooking instructions. Eunice could not read them and grew increasingly nervous that Jacqueline would find out. Once, when Jacqueline asked Eunice to write down a grocery list, she froze, pretending to have forgotten her glasses. These moments filled her with rage and shame. The more polite and trusting the family was, the more she hated them for making her feel inferior.
Eunice’s friendship with Joan deepened into something darker. Joan often talked about how the rich thought they were better than others, and how they needed to be “taught a lesson.” Eunice listened quietly but never argued. She began to feel that Joan was the only person who understood her. When Joan suggested that the Coverdales looked down on Eunice, she didn’t deny it. Together, they began to feed each other’s anger, creating a small world full of suspicion and contempt.
As the months passed, Eunice became colder toward her employers. She ignored their friendly gestures, refused to eat with them, and watched them secretly from behind doors. One day, Melinda tried to teach Eunice to use the household diary to record errands. When the girl handed her a pen, Eunice grew pale and snatched her hand away. That night, she cried alone in her room, blaming the family for humiliating her. The next day, she called Joan and complained that the Coverdales were mocking her. Joan told her that people like them always did, and Eunice began to believe it fully.
Jacqueline Coverdale prepared for her husband’s birthday party—a quiet family celebration. She invited a few friends but mostly wanted a simple evening. Eunice helped with the preparations, setting the table and cleaning the silverware. Outwardly she seemed calm, but inside she felt like she was walking toward a wall that was closing in. Joan visited her that day and noticed how tense she was. Together they drank tea and gossiped, but the conversation turned bitter. Joan began speaking wildly about how unfair life was, how people like the Coverdales had everything while others suffered. Eunice didn’t stop her.
When George and Jacqueline went out briefly to buy wine, Eunice invited Joan inside the house. They watched television and talked about the Coverdales’ wealth. Joan’s voice grew louder, and her words more hateful. When the family returned, they were surprised to see Joan sitting there. Jacqueline, still polite, offered her tea. But Joan, drunk with anger, refused and muttered rude things under her breath. George asked Eunice quietly to ask her friend to leave, but Eunice stood still, her face empty.
As evening fell, the family gathered in the living room to watch television before dinner. Joan stayed, pacing the room like a restless cat. Eunice moved behind the family, her eyes on the television. Joan began talking about religion, sin, and punishment, her voice full of strange passion. The family tried to ignore her, but the tension in the room grew unbearable. Suddenly, Joan turned off the television and shouted that they were all sinners. Before anyone could react, Eunice picked up George’s shotgun from the corner of the room.
In a cold, mechanical motion, Eunice shot George first. He fell instantly. Jacqueline screamed, but Joan grabbed her. The children tried to run, but Eunice turned the gun toward them. The house filled with echoing gunfire. Within minutes, all four members of the Coverdale family lay dead on the floor. Eunice and Joan stood silently, breathing heavily, the television dark in the background. For a few seconds, there was only silence.
After the shooting, the two women acted as if nothing terrible had happened. They tidied the living room, turned the television back on, and made tea. Then they left the house calmly, locking the door behind them. No one in the village suspected anything that night. It wasn’t until the next morning that a deliveryman found the door locked and the house unnaturally quiet. When police broke in, they discovered the scene of horror inside.
The investigation shocked the entire community. The Coverdales had been respected and kind people, with no known enemies. When police traced Eunice and Joan, they found them easily. Eunice sat quietly when arrested, showing no emotion. Joan shouted and cursed the officers. During questioning, the police soon discovered Eunice’s illiteracy, which explained much of her behavior. But even when she was told that this would not have mattered to her employers, she didn’t seem to believe it.
The trial drew great attention. The courtroom was filled every day, people whispering about the quiet housekeeper and her loud friend. Eunice said almost nothing. She watched the proceedings with a blank stare, occasionally glancing at Joan, who kept shouting about class injustice and betrayal. Psychiatrists described Eunice as emotionally detached, with a lifetime of fear and shame that had turned into hatred. They said that when Joan’s influence met Eunice’s secret anger, the result was explosive.
During the trial, it became clear that neither woman felt true guilt. Joan insisted that the family had “deserved it,” and Eunice agreed with her silently. The judge and jury listened to the story with disbelief. It was hard for anyone to understand how such ordinary people could carry out such cruelty for no clear reason. In the end, both Eunice and Joan were found guilty of murder. They were sentenced to life imprisonment.
Inside prison, Eunice kept her old habits. She avoided talking, watched television, and continued to hide her illiteracy as best she could, though there was no longer any need to. Joan, meanwhile, talked endlessly about politics, religion, and punishment until other prisoners grew tired of her. Years later, Eunice died quietly in her cell, still a mystery to those who tried to understand her.
The tragedy of the Coverdales remained in people’s minds for many years. Some blamed the class divide, others blamed mental illness, but many felt that the true cause was simpler—the terrible power of ignorance and fear. Eunice’s inability to read had not only closed her world but had trapped her in a prison of her own mind. Every written word she saw reminded her of her shame, and every act of kindness from her employers deepened her anger because she saw in it only pity.
Even after her death, the story was remembered as one of senseless destruction born from something small but poisonous. It reminded people how something as simple as not being able to read could twist a person’s entire life. The Coverdales’ house stood empty for a long time, and villagers often crossed the road rather than pass by it at night. In the silence of that place, the echo of a television still seemed to linger, like a ghostly reminder of the night when fear, ignorance, and resentment destroyed four innocent lives—and the two women who took them.