Gossamer Cord

The Open Window

INCOHERENT WITH GRIEF, my father found it difficult to talk. It all seemed so unreal. Dorabella, so full of life, so young and beautiful…I could not believe that I should not see her again. She was part of my life, part of me. She could not be dead. It was some mistake. I could not believe it. I would not believe it.

It was like one of those ridiculous legends.

She went for a swim, they had told him. She had died in exactly the same way as her predecessor, Dermot’s first wife. It was too neat. There was a touch of unreality about it.

My father could not tell us very much. I really believe he had been too stunned to take in what was said. All he knew was that she was dead.

Gordon Lewyth had telephoned. He had said he had some terrible news and he did not know how best to break it. Then he said that Dorabella had gone for a swim. She had evidently made a habit of taking a swim in the early morning. The time of the year was hardly the best, but she had said she found the coldness invigorating.

It could not be true. She had never been enthusiastic about swimming. She had swum at school with the rest of us, but no physical exercise had ever greatly appealed to her.

There was something wrong somewhere.

Gordon had had to get into touch with Dermot, who had been away for a few days on one of the other estates. He was prostrate with grief. The entire household was in chaos.

My mother stood still, clenching her hands. Her face was ashen. She was looking at me with a blank expression of misery and disbelief.

Then she was clinging to me, sharing the misery, refusing to believe this terrible thing was true.

“It can’t be. It can’t be,” I insisted. “I don’t believe it.”

My mother said: “We’ll leave at once. We’ll go to Cornwall. I want to know what this is all about.”

“We’ve missed the ten o’clock train,” said my father. “We’ll find out what time the next one goes.”

It was late when we arrived in Cornwall. There was, of course, no one to meet us, but we were able to hire a car to take us to the house.

I believe they were not surprised to see us.

“We had to come,” said my mother simply to Gordon and Matilda, who were in the hall to greet us.

“This is terrible,” said Matilda. “I can’t believe it.”

“We want to hear exactly what happened,” said my father.

Matilda insisted on some food being prepared for us, although none of us felt in the least like eating.

We sat in the drawing room and talked.

Matilda seemed too shocked to say much, and it was Gordon who did most of the talking.

“It was so sudden, so unexpected,” he said. “She went down to bathe, presumably before the rest of the household was awake.”

“Did anyone see her?” I asked.

“No, but we knew she went. She had mentioned it. She said she had discovered the delights of early morning bathing. We said it was too early in the season because the water doesn’t warm up until mid-summer, but she insisted that she liked it as it was. When Dermot was away she did not come down to dinner always. He had gone to the Brenton estate and it was too far to go there and back in one day. She had swum the previous morning. I saw her coming into the house and she said the sea was wonderful first thing in the morning and it really was the best time for a swim. And then…the next morning…”

“What happened then?” demanded my mother. “Nobody saw her…?”

“No. We didn’t see her around much in the mornings. We thought she had breakfasted and gone off to Poldown to shop. When she did not come back for lunch, we grew anxious and then one of the gardeners came in and said her clothes were on the beach…her bathrobe and her shoes. There was no doubt that they were hers. So…there is only one explanation. We informed the police. Boats have been out looking for her. A plane flew over. There was no sign of her. She must have been carried right out to sea. Perhaps her body will be washed ashore.” He turned away, biting his lip.

“It is so unlike her to go swimming,” I said.

Gordon nodded. “Yes, we thought it strange. But she insisted that she liked it. The currents can be very strong there, and…”

“Didn’t anyone tell her?” I asked desperately. My grief was so bitter, so intense, that I wanted to blame someone for this devastating catastrophe.

“It could happen to anyone,” said Gordon. “People are bathing all the time…and now and then…”

“I can’t take it in…”

“Her clothes were there…and she was gone.”

I could only sit there, limp with misery, clinging to that persistent disbelief. It was the only way I could endure this.

“Poor Dermot,” went on Matilda. “He is heartbroken. He blames himself for not being here. He is suffering terribly…so soon after his marriage…and he is so proud of the little boy. I can’t bear to think of it.”

There was nothing anyone could say.

We sat back in blank and hopeless silence.

I went up to the nursery to see Tristan. He was sleeping.

Nanny Crabtree came and embraced me, holding me tightly against her. She kept saying: “This terrible thing …my Miss Dorabella.”

“Nanny, it’s not real. It can’t be true, can it?”

She shook her head and turned away. She had always been embarrassed about showing emotion.

Her eyes were red-rimmed and she sniffed. She had a habit of sniffing. It usually meant disgust or criticism.

She said: “And what about this motherless mite? I expect Lady Denver will take him.”

“Nothing has been arranged.”

“Well, it will be, and the sooner the better. We’ll get out of this place. I never liked it. There’s something creepy about it. All this talk about quarrels between families, and what’s going to happen to you if you do this and that. I never heard such nonsense. Yes, that’s the best thing. We’ll get my boy to Caddington and back to the old nurseries there.”

Her lips trembled momentarily and I knew she was thinking of Dorabella and me there as children.

She went on: “That’ll be best and it’s the only thing to do. Here?” She looked contemptuously and sniffed again. “That’ll be it, and the sooner the better.”

I went over and looked down on Tristan.

“He’s got a look of you, Miss Violetta,” she said. “Well, it’s natural like…he reminds me more of you than of his mother.”

Sleeping as he was, she lifted him up.

“Here, sit down,” she said. I did so and she put him on my lap.

A great tenderness swept over me. He looked so vulnerable. I felt a momentary easing of my desperate unhappiness. Here was something left to me of Dorabella.

When I left the nursery I went straight to my mother’s room. She was sitting at the window, staring blankly out. She turned to me and smiled wanly. I said: “I’ve been to the nursery.”

“Poor Nanny,” she said. “She’s heartbroken.”

“She thinks that we should take Tristan back to Caddington with us.”

“That is our intention…your father’s and mine. We’ve already talked about it. It’s the natural thing.”

“Nanny Crabtree doesn’t like this place.”

“I don’t think any of us will want to come here again.”

“What about Dermot? Tristan is his son, remember.”

“Dermot seems not to know what he wants.” Her voice was faintly critical. Like me, she wanted to blame someone. No doubt she was thinking that if he had not been away at the time it would not have happened. Why wasn’t he looking after his wife? Why didn’t he forbid her to go bathing on the very beach where his first wife had died? Forbid Dorabella? That would be like urging her on. Poor Dermot! He was as desolate as we were and could not bear to do anything but shut himself away with his misery.

My mother was now thinking, If only Dorabella had never met Dermot. If only we had never seen this place! If only she were safe at home with her children around her.

I understood. She wanted to get away from this house…as Nanny Crabtree did. We had to blame something, if it was only the place.

“I’d like to get away as soon as possible,” she was saying. “You don’t think that there has been some mistake? I can’t get out of my mind that she is not dead. I know it’s fanciful, but she and I…well, there were times when we were like one person. Often I knew what she was thinking…and I can’t get over this…well, almost certainty…that she is…somewhere…that she will come back.”

“I know, I know…” said my mother soothingly. “I can’t believe it, either. But we have to face it…and we shall do that better when we get away from this place.”

I could not explain to her that, although everything pointed to the fact that Dorabella was dead, I had a feeling that she was somewhere, and I would one day find her. I could not and would not accept the fact that she was dead.

My mother said she would speak to Matilda. She would tell her that we would go away and take Tristan with us.

I was amazed, later, when she told me that Matilda was shocked by the suggestion.

“She looked at me with real dismay,” my mother told me. “She said, ‘I don’t know whether Mr. Tregarland would agree to that. The child is his grandson. This is a big estate and when Dermot inherits, Tristan will be his heir. It’s a tradition in the family that the heir is brought up here.’ I replied that we were not proposing to cut him off from his family. It just seemed more convenient for us to take him to Caddington. After all, we are his grandparents and it would be easier at our place. I could see she was shaken by the idea. She said she would put it to Mr. Tregarland. I said, ‘You mean Dermot?’ ‘Dermot and his father, of course,’ she answered. I then remarked that I thought Dermot would know very little about bringing up a baby and that his father would not be very interested. I was sure, also, that she herself had too much to do with running the household to want to take on the care of a young child. ‘There is Nanny Crabtree,’ she said. ‘She would stay, of course.’ I was astounded. I thought they would have been only too glad for us to take him.”

“Well, what is going to happen?”

“I don’t know. She talked as though it were the old man who would make the objections. I can’t quite see that somehow. I expect it will be all right.”

But it was not. Mr. Tregarland was adamant.

He said: “I appreciate your feelings, and I am sure the boy would be very well looked after with you, but he is a Tregarland. He is my grandson. He will own this place one day. No, no, I thank you for your kindness, but I could not allow the boy to leave his home.”

Both my mother and I were dumbfounded.

My father said: “We shall have to accept. His father will insist that he stay.”

“I don’t think Dermot would insist.”

“He will stand with his father, poor chap. He is stunned by this. He has lost his wife. It is natural, I suppose, that he does not want to lose his son as well.”

There was a great deal of discussion and at last my mother had to accept the fact that she was not going to be allowed to take Tristan back with her.

As for myself, I was in a quandary.

There had been a time when I had felt I wanted to get away from this place, and now I was realizing that I did not want to go.

I could not rid myself of the notion that Dorabella was alive. I felt certain that one day I should see her again. There was a mistake. I thought of the most wildly impossible solutions. She had drifted out to sea; she had lost her memory; she had been picked up by a ship. She was alive somewhere. Her body had never been found, and I knew that until it was I should believe she was alive. It was ridiculous, of course, but I had to cling to something. She and I had been so close; we were, as she said, like one person; there was that bond between us…that gossamer cord to which she had once referred. I felt it there now.

I dreamed of her and in that dream she came to my room as she had in reality. She said: “Remember your promise. If I am not there, you will look after my baby. Swear…”

And I had given my promise. It had been a sacred one. I had to keep it.

I said to my mother: “Dorabella once said a strange thing. She made me swear that I would look after her child if she were not here.”

“What?” cried my mother.

“She came to my room one night. She said we had always been like one person and if anything happened to her I was to look after her child. I swore I would. When you go…I shall stay here.”

“Violetta, listen to me. That sounds noble, but you can’t shut yourself away down here. It is not fair to you. Oh, if only they’d be sensible and let me take Tristan!”

But I had decided that, whatever the opposition, I must keep my word to Dorabella.

I had a chance to speak to Dermot. He looked strained and all the gaiety was gone from him. His eyes were bloodshot, and I noticed how his hands trembled. I hardly recognized him as the merry, insouciant young man whom we had met in the Böhmerwald.

He kept saying: “I can’t believe it, Violetta. I can’t believe it.”

“Nor I,” I told him.

A wild look came into his eyes. “And, to go that way…” he murmured. “What does it mean?”

I shook my head.

“It’s the same…it’s so strange…How could they both…in the same way?”

“She shouldn’t have gone to bathe.”

“I knew. I didn’t think that could happen. People do bathe in the early morning.” He put his hands over his eyes. “She took to it suddenly. For a week or so before. She used to go down to the beach in the early morning. I was surprised, but she was always surprising me. It was what made her so attractive.”

“Yes, I know. Some idea would come to her and she would be all enthusiasm and then she’d forget all about it.”

He nodded miserably. Poor Dermot. He had really cared deeply for her. I had come to realize that he was rather weak, leaving everything in the hands of Gordon Lewyth, wanting a life devoid of responsibility.

“Dermot,” I said. “There is one thing I want to ask you. It is about Tristan.”

He gazed at me questioningly, with tears in his eyes, and I went on: “Dorabella once spoke to me very seriously. I think she must have had some premonition that she was not going to live. It was just before his birth and I imagined she thought she was not going to survive. She and I were exceptionally close…as twins are sometimes. She asked me if I would look after Tristan if she were not here. We would have taken him back to Caddington with us, but your father does not wish it. But I have given my word to Dorabella and I want to keep it. I must keep it. I want to stay here for a while…to look after Tristan.”

“I am glad,” he said. “I feel that is what she would have wanted.”

“She did want it. She made me swear I would. Dermot, will it be all right for me to stay until I can work something out? At the moment I feel so muddled and uncertain about everything. But if I may just stay…”

“But of course. You will be very welcome.”

“If you would tell Matilda and your father that Dorabella particularly wanted me to be with the boy…”

“I will speak to my father and Matilda.” He looked suddenly resolute. “I know it would be what Dorabella would have wanted. Thank you, Violetta. I am glad you will stay.”

My parents left soon after that. They were reluctant to leave me, but everything was so inconclusive. How long did I intend to stay, my mother was wondering. She said I was putting myself into a backwater. She would be thinking that Richard Dorrington could help me to grow away from this terrible grief. At times like this it was better to look ahead to the future.

The baby was too young to miss his mother, and Nanny Crabtree was remaining. She thought in due course the Tregarlands might realize that Tristan would be better off with his maternal grandparents.

When I had said goodbye to them, I felt very melancholy and went to the nursery to see Tristan.

It brought me comfort to hold him in my arms. Nanny Crabtree stood by watching. We were her children…myself as well as Tristan, and she knew what the loss of Dorabella meant to me.

She said: “He knows you. Look at his little face. You and me, Miss Violetta, we’ll see that he’s all right.”

A few days after my parents returned I received a letter from Richard.

My dearest,

I have been talking to your parents. What a terrible tragedy this is! I have heard that you intend to stay with the child. Your mother has explained to me.

I hope you are thinking about our marriage. It is what I want more than anything on earth. Do write to me. I shall come down to see you there as soon as I can arrange it. Then we can talk of the future.

I am feeling this with you. I have heard from Edward, as well as from your mother, how close you and your sister were, and I know what you must be suffering. I wish I could be with you to show you how deeply I feel for you.

Please write to me. I want to be in constant touch.

All my love to you,

Richard

It was a comforting letter. I was reminded of how kind and understanding he was.

It amazed me that, ever since I had heard that devastating news, I had not given him a thought.

I was surprised when Jowan Jermyn called at the house. One of the maids came to tell me that he was in the hall and had asked to see me. I noticed the look of surprise and excitement on her face.

Surprise, of course, that he had the temerity to call, and excitement at the thought of what a stir this news would create when she released it.

It was true that he had been invited to the house for lunch, but that was some time ago, and since then there would have been plenty of rumors. I had no doubt that Dorabella’s death would be attributed to some uncanny connection with the feud.

I went down to the hall, and there he was, standing with his back to the fireplace, his hands clasped behind him.

He came forward and took my hands, holding them firmly in his.

“I am so sorry,” he said earnestly.

I found it hard to speak and he went on: “I had to call. Perhaps I should not have done so. But there is no other way of getting in touch with you.”

“Thank you for coming,” I said.

“I should so like to talk to you,” he went on. “I heard you were staying here for a while, although your parents have left.”

“That’s so,” I said. “There is the baby…”

“Could you come and have lunch somewhere?”

“Do you mean today?”

“If that is possible. I have a car outside.”

I hesitated. My spirits lightened a little at the prospect. I could leave a message for Matilda that I should not be in to lunch today.

As we drove through the country lanes, he said: “I know a quiet place close to the moor. We can talk in comfort there.”

“I suppose you know everything that has happened,” I said.

“I don’t know about everything, but there is no talk hereabouts of anything but this tragedy.”

“It seems incredible to me still.”

I was staring blankly ahead, seeing her face, laughing at me, scorning me because of some priggish sentiment I had just expressed. I would have given anything to hear her laugh like that again.

He took his hand from the steering wheel and placed it over mine for a moment.

“So,” he said, “you have stayed on though your parents have gone.”

“Yes. I am helping with the baby.”

“Yes, with the nanny whose name is Crabtree.”

“She was nanny to my sister and to me. Mother procured her for Tristan.”

“Her name is often mentioned.”

“You mean by the gossips.”

“Oh, yes, she’s something of a dragon by all accounts. At least she hasn’t much time for the people around here.”

“I think she despises most people who weren’t born within the sound of Bow Bells.”

“Ah, I see.”

We were silent for a moment. I sensed that he wished to talk about the tragedy but was not sure what effect it would have on me.

We were seated opposite each other in the small hotel on the edge of the moor, when he regarded me gravely and said: “Do you mind talking about it?”

“It is uppermost in my mind,” I confessed.

“Do you think it was all a little strange…?”

“Yes, I do,” I replied.

“Do you believe in coincidences?”

“I suppose there are such things.”

“Yes, I suppose so, but…”

“You mean the way she died?”

“Yes. Two in the same way. Doesn’t that sound a little odd to you?”

“Yes.”

“You know what they are saying here?”

“I can guess.”

“That it is the revenge of the Jermyns on the Tregarlands, of course.”

“Oh, they can’t really believe that.”

“They can. They seize on this as a proof that the feud is as firm as ever; and the attempt to break it has not pleased my unfortunate ancestor.”

“I suppose it could have come about naturally. Dorabella was not a strong swimmer. Dermot’s first wife was, according to her mother. I cannot understand why Dorabella should have suddenly decided she wanted to take an early morning swim. If only I had been here…I should never have left. She did not want me to. In fact, she pleaded with me to stay. I said I would come back soon and she would be able to come home to us when the baby was older…and this happened when I was not there…”

“Do you think if you had been here you would have been able to prevent it?”

“I just have a feeling that it might not have happened then.”

He was silent for a while.

“It is odd,” he said. “Two of them to die that way. People here naturally put their own construction on it. Of course, it could have happened quite naturally. My ancestor did not want to live and she walked into the sea, never intending to come back; Annette…she could have had a sudden attack of cramp…and your sister, well, that could have happened to her, too. It is just an extraordinary coincidence that a man should have two wives who die by drowning at the same spot.”

“What are people suggesting?”

“I don’t quite know. But…I am a little uneasy. I think…you should be watchful.”

“What do you mean? That you…suspect something?”

“I don’t know what I feel. I just don’t like the thought of your being there…in a place where two such events could take place.”

I looked at him in surprise. He had always struck me as being a practical man who would scoff at fancy.

“What on earth do you think could happen to me?”

“I don’t know. I merely think that you are there where extraordinary things happen. That’s why…I want you to be watchful.”

“What am I to watch for?”

“I don’t know. That’s just it. I have this vague uneasiness, though. If it were anyone else…it wouldn’t occur to me.

I looked at him questioningly and he returned my gaze steadily.

“I care what happens to you,” he said. “Perhaps that is why I am particularly sensitive.”

“That is very kind of you,” I replied.

He shook his head. “It is something over which I have no control. All this seems too contrived to be natural, and I am uneasy because you are in the midst of it.”

“Would you feel better if I went home?”

He smiled at me ruefully. “I was not at all pleased when you stayed away so long. In fact, I was definitely displeased. I had rather you came back for reasons other than this one.”

“How I agree with you on that!”

“Get in touch with me…at any time if you need anything. Telephone me. Do you have the number?”

I said I did not and he gave it to me and I put it into my handbag. I felt an uplifting of my spirits such as I had not known since I heard of Dorabella’s death. I was so gratified that he was concerned for me.

I told him then that I had promised my sister that I would look after Tristan if she were unable to be there.

“It was very strange,” I said, “almost as though she knew she was going to die. She made me swear because she did not want anyone else to look after him. So I am here because they would not allow us to take Tristan back with us.”

“That is something I should be grateful for. If they had allowed you to take him, you would probably never have come here again.”

“That might well have been. At least, the visits would be rare.”

He stretched across the table and took my hand.

“I should have had to come to see you,” he said. “You know I would do that, don’t you?”

“Well, no. It hadn’t occurred to me that you would.”

“Well, it does now, I hope.”

“Since you tell me.”

“Listen,” he went on. “I have been thinking a great deal about this. If at any time you need someone to confide in…to help…”

I tapped my handbag and said: “I have your number. I can get in touch with you at any time…and I will.”

I met Seth in the stables. When he saw me his face changed and he looked almost furtive.

“I did tell ’ee, Miss, ’twere so.”

I knew what he meant. He had warned me of the ghost of the sea and I had shown my disbelief. He was now telling me how wrong I was to be skeptical.

“Poor lady, her be gone…her be gone like t’other. Reckon her was beckoned in, this one…not like t’other.”

His words were thick and slurred and it was not easy to understand what he was saying. I often wondered whether he knew himself; but I supposed there was some reasoning in that muddled head of his.

He leaned his big ungainly body against the walls of the stables.

“ ’Ee be wanting Starlight, Miss?” he asked.

I had changed my mind suddenly.

“No, thanks,” I said. “I think I’ll take a walk.”

He nodded and mumbled: “I did tell ’ee, didn’t I, Miss? Didn’t believe me, did ’ee? Poor lady…who’d a thought. She was a laughing lady, she were…just like t’other. They wouldn’t listen. They laughed…but it got ’un in the end.”

“Did you see my sister go down to bathe?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Not that ’un,” he said.

“Then did you see the first Mrs. Tregarland go down to bathe, Seth?”

A cunning look came into his eyes. “No, no. I didn’t see nothing. Ask her…I didn’t see.”

“Ask whom, Seth?”

He turned away, shaking his head, and I saw a certain fear in his eyes.

“I didn’t see nothing,” he went on. “I didn’t. Her just went into the sea like. Nothing to do with I.”

Poor Seth. He really did not know what he was talking about. He was obsessed by the legend. His eyes were worried, his loose mouth slightly, open. He was puzzled, as though trying to understand something, and my question had clearly disturbed him.

He disappeared into one of the stalls and I heard him talking to one of the horses there.

“All right, my beauty. ’Tis old Seth. Don’t ’ee worry…only old Seth.”

I came out of the stables. I had an hour or so before I need go back. Nanny Crabtree was busy in the nursery and liked to be free at this time. If, as she said, she could get the lord and master off to sleep, she would have the time to do what had to be done.

I came out into the fresh air. It was invigorating with a light breeze blowing in from the sea with its salty tang and smell of seaweed.

I took the cliff road to Poldown and no sooner had I reached the little town than I wished I had gone another way.

There were too many people about and, because of my involvement with the Tregarland tragedy, I was an object of interest.

I passed the wool shop. Miss Polgenny was standing at the door.

“Good day to ’ee, Miss Denver. How be you then? ’Tis a nice day.”

Her little eyes were alert with curiosity. I could see the thoughts in her mind. I was the sister of “her that went for a swim and was drowned.” “ ’Twas all part of the curse.”

They believed that—most of them. Their lives were governed by superstition.

“Good to see ’ee, Miss.” That was one of the fishermen mending his nets. I knew that as soon as I passed, he would be talking to the man beside him. “That was her from Tregarland’s. Her sister it were…”

There was no escape.

I crossed the bridge and started up the west cliff.

The sea looked docile. There was only the faintest ruffle and little white patches of froth on the tips of the waves as rhythmically they washed the black rocks. Back and forth they went, murmuring soothingly as they did so.

I came to Cliff Cottage and paused to look at the garden. There was the plant I had brought from Tregarland’s. It was flourishing, I perceived.

I think she must have seen me from behind the neat lace curtains, for the door opened and she came down the path toward me.

“Hello, Miss Denver,” she said.

“Good morning, Mrs. Pardell.”

She came out and stood close to the fence. She said, rather anxiously, I thought: “And how are you?”

“I am well, thanks. Are you?”

“Looking at the flowers then?” she said, nodding. “Eee…like to come in for a bit? Perhaps a little chat…a cup of tea?”

I said eagerly: “I’d like that.”

Then I was in the sitting room looking at the picture of Annette, while Mrs. Pardell went into the kitchen to make the tea.

She came in with a tray and when she had poured out the tea she said: “It was a terrible thing…”

I knew what she meant and said: “Yes.”

“I know how you are feeling. None could know better.”

“That’s true.”

“It was the same, wasn’t it? It seemed a bit queer to me.”

“It was such a coincidence.”

She looked at me steadily. “I don’t like it,” she said. “It makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

“Wonder…?” I repeated.

She drew her chair closer to mine. “You’re staying there now,” she said.

“It is because of the child.”

“Isn’t there a nanny…from London or somewhere?”

“Yes. She was my nanny…mine and my sister’s. My mother arranged for her to come. She trusts her.”

“That’s good,” she said. “I’m glad she’s here.”

I told her: “I promised my sister that if anything happened, I’d look after the baby.”

She nodded. “So there you are. These people here…they talk about ghosts and things. I’ve never had much patience with that sort of thing. Ghosts…my foot. It wasn’t ghosts who got rid of my Annette.”

“Got rid of her?”

“You’re not kidding me she wouldn’t look after herself in the water. And what about your sister?”

“She wasn’t by any means a champion swimmer. In fact, I was surprised that she went bathing in the early morning.”

“It’s clear to me.”

“What is clear?”

“Well, a man has two wives. They both die in the same way, and not long after he married them. Doesn’t that say something to you?”

“What does it say to you?”

“That it’s a funny business, that’s what. He marries, then gets tired of them, and then it’s goodbye, nice knowing you, but I’ve had enough and it’s time for a change.”

“Oh, no,” I said.

“What else? They both went the same way. Convenient, wasn’t it? There was the sea ready and waiting.”

“But how…?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. It worked once. Why not try again?”

“You don’t know Dermot Tregarland.”

“Don’t know my daughter’s husband, my own son-in-law, you might say.”

“He was that, but you didn’t know him.”

“I was never asked up there, but I knew of him. In any case, they are now gone. My daughter, your sister. Of course he got rid of them.”

“Mrs. Pardell, this is absurd. If he had wanted to get rid of them, he wouldn’t have killed the second in the same way as the first. It makes people wonder. It calls attention…”

“Look here, Miss Denver, you’re too innocent. What about those Brides in the Bath? That man went round murdering women for their money, after he’d married them. He got them in the bath and drowned them. He did several of them that way.”

“This is different.”

“I don’t see how.”

“I know Dermot Tregarland well. He couldn’t commit one murder…let alone two.”

“You’re too trusting, Miss Denver. If you read any of those detective stories you’d see. It’s always the one you’d least suspect.”

“It could have been accidental.”

She shook her head. “You won’t get me believing that. I know how you feel about your sister. Didn’t I go through it all? You’re living up there, Miss Denver. You’ve got to keep your eyes open…that’s what you’ve got to do. You watch out. I reckon something very funny is going on up at that place. Have another cup of tea.”

“No, thanks. I am sure you are misjudging Dermot Tregarland.”

“I wish to God my Annette had never married him. I reckon if she hadn’t she would have been alive today. I’d have got over her having a baby out of wedlock, but I couldn’t get over this. I just want to know…if only I knew…”

“I understand what you mean,” I said. “If one knows, there is nothing to be done, one accepts it.”

“That’s right.” She looked at me shrewdly. “You’re a sensible girl, Miss Denver. You keep your eyes open. See if he’s got another in mind for number three.”

“Oh…I’m sure not. He is absolutely devastated with grief.”

She looked disbelieving. “Well, he would let you think that, wouldn’t he?”

“It’s genuine. I know.”

“Murderers are clever people. They have to be to get away with it.”

“But not two wives, Mrs. Pardell. Not two in the same way.”

“How about that Bluebeard?”

In spite of everything, I could not help smiling.

“Look here,” she said. “Don’t you be too trusting. You watch out. I’m glad you came by. I’ve been thinking about you. It was good of you to bring that plant. I wouldn’t like anything to happen to you.”

“To me?”

“Well, when people start trying to find out what people don’t want brought to light, they’re in danger. It always works that way. You watch out, but don’t let him see you’re watching.”

The picture of Annette smiled at me. She was dead. Her body had been washed up on the beach a few days after she had been drowned. And Dorabella…perhaps one day…hers would be found.

I said goodbye to Mrs. Pardell and promised her I would call again.

I made my way back to Tregarland’s. Poor Mrs. Pardell! I was thinking. We were all the same. Our grief was so intense that we wanted to blame someone, and she had selected Dermot. Poor, brokenhearted, rather ineffectual Dermot. It was difficult to imagine him in the role of Bluebeard. In fact, it was so absurd that I found myself smiling in a way I had not done for some time.

Mrs. Pardell’s words and I thought how very mistaken she was.

He was sitting in the garden looking down the slope to where the sea gently lapped the black rocks.

I went and sat beside him and he smiled at me rather feebly.

I said: “Dermot, you must not brood.”

“And you?” he asked. “Are you brooding?”

“We both have to stop it.”

“I can’t get it out of my mind. Why did she do it? And why wasn’t I here?”

I laid my hand on his arm.

“We have to try to put it behind us.”

“Can you?” he demanded almost angrily.

“No. But we have to try.”

“I keep thinking of her. Do you remember how I first saw you, outside that café place? I looked at her and I knew from that moment. I knew she was the one. She was different from anyone I had ever met. She was so full of gaiety and everything seemed a joke. You know what I mean. You laughed at things just because you were happy, I suspect, not because they were particularly funny.”

“I know what you mean.”

“There was no one like her…and she’s gone. She’s out there somewhere. Do you think we shall ever find her?”

“I just feel that we shall. Poor Dermot, you have been through this…twice.”

His manner changed slightly. He seemed to draw himself up and his face stiffened.

“That,” he said, “was different.”

“She was drowned, too.”

“It wasn’t the same. Dorabella…she was everything.”

“Annette…”

“I don’t talk about that much. But this…I know you cared about her …as I did. She was very close to you, wasn’t she? I was afraid, always afraid that I was going to lose her. Oh, not like this. I thought I shouldn’t be enough for her. She would find someone else. Sometimes…”

“She was your wife, Dermot.”

“I know, but…”

“I don’t understand,” I said. He frowned and I went on: “Tell me…”

“Well, she was not the sort to go on with something just because she was expected to. She had no respect for conventional behavior. She always wanted to break free from it.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

He was silent and I could see he wished he had not said what he had.

He said: “Annette…she was fun. Jolly, good-hearted. But for the child, it would never have been. With Dorabella it was different.”

“I understand.”

“I can’t settle to anything. It all seems blank and not worthwhile. I leave everything to Gordon…more than ever.”

“Well, you always have, haven’t you?”

“Yes. He’s so capable. He makes me feel…inefficient. I was taking more interest when Tristan came. You see, in time, this will all be his…first mine, of course. But Gordon will always be there. But now this has happened, I just don’t care about anything.”

“But there is Tristan to think of.”

He just sat there, staring out to sea.

“I’m glad you’re here, Violetta. I’m glad you’re with the baby.”

“It was her wish, you know.”

“I know. Nanny is good, but she is getting old now. It is better for the baby to have someone young, and you…you’ll be like his own mother. You will stay here, won’t you?”

I said: “Everything is so uncertain at the moment. I suppose it would be better really if I went to Caddington, taking Tristan and Nanny Crabtree with me.”

“My father is against that.”

“I know. He has made it clear. Well, it is all too soon. We’ll see how it works out.”

I sat with him a little longer and we looked out to sea and thought of Dorabella.

Nanny Crabtree was faintly perturbed.

“Tristan’s got a little sniffle. Not much, but I don’t like it and I’m keeping him in today.”

“I’ll come up and see him,” I said.

He was lying in his cot, whimpering a little.

I went over and picked him up. That satisfied him for a few minutes. He had an endearing habit of gripping my finger and holding on to it tightly, as though determined not to let me go.

“He looks a little flushed,” I said.

“A bit,” she replied. “He just wants to be kept warm, that’s all.”

At midday there was a letter from Richard.

He had written, “Dearest Violetta,”

I am arriving on Thursday. I have discovered there is a hotel in Poldown…West Poldown. It’s a place called Black Rock Hotel. I have booked a room and shall be staying for a few days. I have Tregarland’s number and I’ll give you a call as soon as I arrive. There is so much to talk about.

See you soon.

All my love,

Richard

Thursday, and it was Wednesday today!

My feelings were mixed. I wanted to see him, of course, but he would try to persuade me to leave Cornwall, and that was something I could not consider, at least not yet.

Well, I should hear what he had to say and I would make him understand that I had promised Dorabella to take her place with her son and that it had been a sacred promise which I must keep at all costs.

He was reasonable. He would see that.

I thought about him all the afternoon, recalling what a pleasant time we had had in London, and I was definitely looking forward to seeing him again.

The first thing I did next morning was to go to the nursery to see Tristan.

“Still sniffling,” said Nanny Crabtree. “So it is another day indoors for you, my lord.”

In the late afternoon there was a call from Richard. He had just arrived at Black Rock Hotel. He wanted me to have dinner with him that night. Could I come to the hotel or should he come to me? If I came to the hotel we could be alone together. He had ascertained that he could get a car at the hotel and come and pick me up.

We arranged that he should do this.

I told Matilda that he was coming. She seemed rather pleased. She said it would do me good to see him.

She was very friendly when he arrived. Gordon happened to be there and they were introduced; and after a short time I went back with him to Black Rock Hotel.

It was a pleasant place with a lounge overlooking the sea. The black rock, from which the hotel took its name, was very much in evidence and Richard and I sat in the lounge looking out on it.

“You will be coming home soon,” Richard was saying.

“I don’t know what is going to happen. We’re just drifting along at the moment.”

“I know. It was such a terrible shock.”

“Then there is the baby.”

“I understand that he has an excellent nanny.”

“Yes, but it is not the same, is it?”

“Isn’t it?”

“Oh, no. He has lost his mother…and he looks to me, I know.”

“Oh, I am sure he is too young to miss her.”

“In a way. But somehow…I think he needs me.”

Richard looked faintly disbelieving.

“Perhaps it is difficult for you to understand,” I began.

“Oh, no…no,” he said. “I understand perfectly how you feel. All this was so sudden, so absolutely shattering. You can’t really sort things out at first. I have been talking to your mother.”

“What did you say to her?”

“It was she who thought you should leave Cornwall and come home. She thought they might see reason down here and let the baby come with you. She said that would be by far the best for everybody, and she reckons that is what it will come to eventually.”

“I don’t know.”

“It would be the best surely. If you made up your mind…about us…well, it would only be natural that your mother should take the child.”

“He belongs down here, you see. One day he will inherit everything. His grandfather wants him to be brought up here.”

“Your mother tells me that the grandfather is rather an odd character, and she wonders if he is resisting in order to be perverse. She says she is sure that at heart he is quite indifferent about the whole matter.”

“There is, of course, Tristan’s father to be considered.”

“He’s rather a weak person, according to your mother. He goes where he’s put.”

“That’s not entirely true. But at the moment he is suffering deeply from a terrible shock.”

“Of course. But that’s enough of these people. What about you? Tell me…have you thought any more…about us?”

“I haven’t been able to think about anything but all this.”

“You’ll get over it…and then…”

“Dorabella had been with me all my life until she married. And now she’s gone, I can’t believe it. I can’t think about anything else.”

He looked crestfallen, and I fancied just a little impatient.

“I’m sorry, Richard,” I said. “It’s just impossible for me to see very far ahead.”

“I understand,” he said soothingly. “Let me tell you what is happening in London. My mother was hoping you’d come up and stay for a while. There are a lot of things she wants to show you about the house.”

“Oh,” I said faintly.

“As for Mary Grace, she is already very fond of you.”

“Did she do that portrait?”

“Yes, and it was much admired. There are two more people clamoring for her work. You see what you have already done for the family. Oh, Violetta, it can be so good, I know it can. Please, please, do think about it. I am so sure it is the right thing.”

But I was not. It was reasonable, of course, for him to think that my mother should care for the baby, but he simply did not understand. I was glad to see him, of course. But somehow it was not quite as it had seemed in London.

He told me he could stay for only two more days. He just had to be back in London by Monday and would have to leave on Sunday. It was a pity it was such a long journey.

“I’ll come down again soon,” he said. “Give me a ring when you have made up your mind. I shall be waiting for it.”

I felt that he was taking too much for granted. He could not understand my uncertainty. He seemed so sure that I was going to marry him.

I wished that I could want to. He did not seem to realize that what had happened had made me unable to make any plans. My mind was still with Dorabella. If she had died naturally, would it have been different? But I could not rid myself of the strange feeling that she was not dead, because I had not seen that she was.

It was an unsatisfactory evening and I was not sorry when the time came to drive back to Tregarland’s.

The next morning early, Nanny Crabtree came to me in some anxiety.

“I want the doctor to come and look at Tristan,” she said. “I don’t like that cold of his.”

“Why, Nanny, is he worse?”

“He’s wheezing. He’s past the sniffle stage. And now it seems to be getting onto his chest. I’d just like the doctor to see him.”

“We’ll send for him right away. I’ll give him a ring.”

She nodded. “Well, it will set our minds at rest.”

I went to see Tristan. He looked pale and lay in his cot with his eyes closed. He was certainly not his usual self, and I wanted to be there when the doctor came.

I telephoned Richard, for I had arranged for him to pick me up at ten o’clock. I was going to take him for a tour of the countryside, lunch out, and return about four, when he would drop me at Tregarland’s and collect me to take me back to the hotel for dinner.

I said that after the doctor had been here, I would call him and we would meet later.

The doctor did not arrive until eleven o’clock. He apologized for being so long. One of his patients was about to give birth and he had been delayed with her.

He examined Tristan.

“Rather a nasty chill,” he said. “Just keep him away from draughts. He should be all right in a day or so.”

Matilda, who was present, said: “Nanny Crabtree will look after him, I know.”

“That I will,” declared Nanny Crabtree.

“You know how it is with children,” said the doctor. “They are up and down. We want to make sure that it doesn’t settle on his chest. Wrap him up warm…coddle him a bit. He’ll be fine in a day or two.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” said Nanny Crabtree.

When the doctor had gone, Matilda said to me: “What about your friend?”

“I postponed our time of meeting. I will ring him now.”

“It is nearly lunchtime. Why don’t you ask him to have it with us?”

I telephoned Richard and gave him Matilda’s invitation. He accepted, but I sensed he was not very pleased. I was learning something about Richard. He hated his plans to be disrupted.

He came. It was quite a pleasant lunch. Dermot was not present. He could not face meeting people. Gordon was there and he and Richard got on well together.

By the time lunch was over, it was nearly half past two and there would not be much time for us to drive far, so we decided to sit in the gardens.

It was very pleasant there with the house behind us and the sea facing us. Paths wound down to the private beach. I could never look at that beach without imagining Dorabella down there…taking off her robe and putting it with her shoes at the top of the rock which protruded from the water so that they would not be carried out to sea.

It was not really a very satisfactory day. Richard was certainly a little put out because of the disruption to our plans, which I sensed he felt had not been necessary. The child had a cold and for that reason his brief stay here had been spoiled. He was very charming though and talked of what was going on in London. We spoke of Edward and Gretchen and the plays he had recently seen. I think he was trying to make me see what a rewarding life I should have with him. He spoke of his work and the case he was now working on. His client was accused of fraud and he was beginning to doubt his innocence.

“What happens when you are trying to convince the jury of something you don’t altogether believe in yourself?” I asked.

“What I have to think of is the best thing for him if he is found guilty.”

“You must learn a great deal about human nature,” I said.

“Yes…perhaps.”

We talked of the situation in Europe, which he said was becoming more and more depressing. He did not know where it was going to end. It had been a mistake for England and France to give way over Austria. It would not stop there. There was going to be trouble in Czechoslovakia next. Hitler was instructing Konrad Henlein to agitate there.

“Henlein is the leader of the German minority there, and he is arranging demonstrations by the Sudeten Germans. Of course, Hitler’s next plan will be the annexation of Czechoslovakia. There is an uneasy feeling everywhere.”

“What do you think will happen?”

“The fact is, there is a growing fear of war. Hitler will take Czechoslovakia. People here say, ‘It is a long way off. What is it to do with us?’ They can’t see any farther than their noses. All they can do is bury their heads in the sand. They call those who see the danger ahead ‘war mongers.’ We should be arming. Chamberlain knows it. I believe he is abandoning his policy of appeasement. He wants us to arm ourselves as quickly as we can.”

“Do you think there will be a war?”

“It’s a possibility. And we should be unprepared if it happened now. Even so, there are those who vote against arming ourselves. The Labour Party, the Liberals, and a few Conservatives will vote against it…and then…”

“You paint a gloomy picture, Richard.”

“Yes, I’m sorry. But the way we are going, it does seem grim. They can’t really think that Hitler will be satisfied with Austria. He’ll soon have Czechoslovakia. Then he will try for Poland, and after that…what? It is the people who scream for peace who make the wars.”

“Let us hope it never happens.”

“None of these catastrophes would happen if people would only show a little foresight.”

“Do you think something can be done now?”

“It’s getting late. But if we and the French and the rest of the world stood together, that could be the end of Hitler’s search for Lebensraum.”

I said: “I think of Gretchen.”

“Yes, poor girl. I know she is very anxious indeed.”

“I am glad she is here with Edward.”

“She thinks of her family and her country.”

“Isn’t it sad to contemplate what can happen to people?”

I was looking down at the beach and in my imagination she was there, throwing off her robe, running into the sea.

No, no, I thought. I cannot believe it of Dorabella. There would be a chill in that sea…most people did not bathe until May at least. Dorabella had liked comfort. She was inclined to be lazy. I did not believe it. I could not.

I was aware of Richard beside me. “Don’t think I am not interested in what you are saying,” I murmured. “It’s just that I can’t stop thinking of Dorabella.”

“You should get away,” he told me. “It’s the best thing. Get right away from all this.” He took my hand and pressed it. “In London…it would be different. There’s so much to do. You wouldn’t have time for brooding.”

“Perhaps you are right,” I said. “But not yet, Richard. I have to wait. I have to make myself see what I should do.”

He nodded patiently and we went on sitting there. Matilda came out to join us.

“I do hope you’ll stay to dinner,” she said. “It is so nice for Violetta to have her friends down from London.”

Richard accepted the invitation.

Before he left he reminded me that he had to get back to London and tomorrow would be his last day.

“We’ll do something special,” he said.

It was early morning of that Saturday when Nanny Crabtree burst into my room. I had just awakened and was lying in my bed, contemplating getting up. Richard would be coming at ten o’clock. I must be ready. I would try to make up to him for the disappointment of the previous day.

I saw at once that there was something wrong. Nanny Crabtree was pale and her eyes were fierce. She was greatly agitated.

“I want the doctor at once,” she said.

I struggled up.

“It’s Tristan?” I cried. “He’s worse…I’ll telephone the doctor right away.”

“Do that. It’s on his chest…having difficulty breathing. Get him quick.”

I picked up my dressing gown and ran downstairs, Nanny Crabtree at my heels.

She stood beside me while I telephoned.

The doctor said he would be with us in an hour.

“How bad is he?” I asked Nanny.

“God alone knows. Four o’clock this morning, it was. I thought I heard him cough. It woke me. It’s a habit you get when you’re with children. I went in and there he was…all the bedclothes off…and, could you believe it, that window beside his cot was open…just enough to let in a draught. I couldn’t believe it. I had tucked him in so he couldn’t throw anything off. I had that window shut. There’s a cold wind blowing in from the sea. It must have been one of them maids, though what she was doing in my nursery I don’t know. I’d seen to him and he’d gone off to sleep…”

“He must have been terribly chilled.”

“To the bone. That’s what’s brought this on. I only hope it’s not going to turn to pneumonia. He’s too little. If I find out who opened that window, I’ll be ready to kill the one who did it.”

I went up to see Tristan. He was tucked in with extra blankets and there were hot water bottles on either side of him. His face was flushed and he was shivering every now and then. His eyes had lost their brightness. He opened them for a second or two and then closed them. I felt sick with anxiety. I knew that he was very ill.

“I wish that doctor would come,” said Nanny Crabtree. “He’s taking his time.”

“He said in an hour. It’s not fifteen minutes yet. Nanny…how is he, really?”

“Not too good. He’s had this chill. He was sleeping and warmly tucked in when I left him. I thought he’d be better in the morning. Children throw things off easy. They worry you sick, and then in half an hour they’re right as rain. I was a bit anxious about him. You always are…you never know what can flare up suddenly. It was four o’clock…I just heard that cough and there I was. I felt the draught as I came in. He was lying there…uncovered, with that wind blowing in right onto him. Well, I shut the window fast as I could and I got him wrapped up and warm. He was like a little iceberg. But he’s taken a chill, no doubt of that. I wish that doctor would come.”

I washed and dressed and was ready when the doctor arrived. He went straight to Tristan and I could see by his expression that we had done right to call him immediately.

He said: “We’ll have to take care of him. It’s not pneumonia…yet. Well, we’ll do our best. He’s a strong little fellow, but he is young, very young. He didn’t seem all that bad when I saw him last.”

“I found him with the clothes off him,” said Nanny. “He was just in his little nightshirt…”

“Well, we’ll see what we can do.”

I could not believe this. Dorabella dead and now the child threatened. There was something evil in this place.

Matilda was deeply concerned.

“Poor little mite,” she said. “I thought it was just a cold and, in fact, when the doctor came yesterday, I didn’t think it was really necessary.”

“I’m glad he saw him yesterday,” I said. “He can see what a big change there has been.”

“It’s not…dangerous?”

“The doctor thinks it could be. It’s so sudden. I feel…” I turned away and she slipped her arm through mine.

She said: “I know. One thing after another. Life can be like that sometimes. Everything seems to go wrong.”

“Nanny went in this morning. She found him frozen. He had thrown off the bedclothes and the window was open—the one by his cot.”

“Did Nanny leave it open?”

“Oh, no! She would never do a thing like that. The wind was blowing straight down onto his cot and she wouldn’t let him be in a draught. The result might have been disastrous. Thank goodness she woke up when she did.”

“I suppose he kicked off his bedclothes. But who opened the window?”

“Nanny says she doesn’t understand it. She said she tucked him in so tightly that he couldn’t have thrown off the bedclothes. And she certainly didn’t leave the window open.”

“She must have. I expect she forgot. She is a little old.”

“I never thought of her age. She’s as efficient as ever. She looks after Tristan as she did after us. Little escapes her.”

“But to leave a window open like that.”

“I can’t believe she did.”

Matilda shrugged her shoulders. “Well, it has happened. The thing is to get Tristan well. Dr. Luce is very good. He will do what is best. Do you think I could see Tristan?”

“I don’t know what the doctor’s orders are. Let’s go up and see Nanny.”

Nanny Crabtree came to the nursery door.

“I’ve got to watch him,” she said. “If there is a change I’m to call the doctor at once.”

Matilda looked startled. “Is it as bad as that then?”

Nanny said: “I don’t want him left. Miss Violetta, I want you here.”

“Your friend…” began Matilda.

I had forgotten Richard. I looked at my watch. It was nine thirty. I had promised to be ready by ten.

“You should go out and have a pleasant day with him,” said Matilda.

“I couldn’t have a pleasant day. I’d be thinking all the time of what was happening to Tristan.”

“You should be here, Miss Violetta,” said Nanny Crabtree. “I don’t want anyone coming in here and opening windows.”

She looked fierce and angry. Matilda exchanged a glance with me.

I said to her: “You see that he is really ill.”

She tiptoed to the cot.

“Poor little thing,” she said. “He does look poorly.”

“I’ll pull him through,” said Nanny Crabtree. “And then I’ll have something to say if I find anyone opening windows in my nursery.” She turned to me. “I don’t want him throwing off the bedclothes. He’s got to be kept warm. The doctor will be back this afternoon to take a look at him.”

Matilda said: “If I can be of any help…”

“That is kind of you, Mrs. Lewyth,” said Nanny. “But we’ll be able to manage.”

Matilda looked at me helplessly.

I said to Nanny: “I’ll be back in a moment,” and went out with Matilda.

“You really shouldn’t disappoint that nice young man,” she said.

“I can’t help it.”

“I could be up there to help Nanny. You should go off with your friend.”

“I couldn’t. I must know what is going on. I shall telephone him and explain.”

I did. He was amazed and dismayed, and a little indignant. I could understand that. He had made this journey to see me. Yesterday had been a disappointment, and now this.

He said he would call at the house in the afternoon and rang off.

I felt very sorry, but my thoughts were really with Tristan. I knew he was in a precarious state. The doctor had hinted as much, and the fact that he thought it necessary to call again this afternoon confirmed that.

Nanny Crabtree and I sat in the nursery, every now and then glancing toward the cot. If he as much as moved, Nanny Crabtree was there, murmuring endearments, watching tenderly.

When she talked to me her indignation was apparent.

Someone had come into the room and opened the window. Why? Was it one of those fresh-air people who thought it wasn’t healthy unless you were blasted off your feet, and didn’t get goose pimples from the cold? If she could find the one who opened that window, she’d see that they didn’t show their face in her nursery ever again.

“I mean to say…to open a window. Why?”

I could not answer that question, and Matilda’s hint that Nanny was getting old and could have forgotten to shut it came into my mind. No…never. Not when she had been wrapping Tristan up and had been told by the doctor to keep him warm.

But who else? One of the maids who came up after Nanny Crabtree had left Tristan for the night? It was ludicrous. But if she had brought something in, thought the room seemed stuffy, might she not have opened the window? No one would have done such a thing. Could it really be that Nanny Crabtree herself had really forgotten to shut the window?

Whatever happened, it was done, and had its dire effect.

All through the morning we were with Tristan. Nanny Crabtree would not allow him to be left alone. If she had to go out of the room for a few minutes, she wanted me to be there.

Richard came in the late afternoon and wanted me to go back with him to the hotel. I said I could not concentrate on anything. I should be thinking of what was happening here.

“Tristan is very ill, indeed,” I said. “Nanny Crabtree wants me here.”

He said little and Matilda suggested he stay to dinner. He did. I went down to it knowing that Nanny Crabtree would let me know if there was any change. The doctor had been there and had said that at least the child’s condition had not worsened.

A pall hung over us all. Dermot joined us. There was a look of haggard misery on his face. Gordon tried to entertain Richard and they talked about the estate, the law, and the situation on the Continent. I was glad when the meal was over.

Richard left soon after. He was a little aloof. He would be leaving for London early next morning, for he was not sure how the trains ran on Sundays and he must be back in town by Monday.

It had been a disastrous visit; but my thoughts were all with Tristan.

During the night Nanny Crabtree and I took it in turns to sit with Tristan. I had a few hours sleep on her bed while she was on the watch.

In the morning, Tristan seemed to be breathing a little more easily. The doctor came and said he was well pleased. He thought we were going to avoid pneumonia after all.

“Now,” said Nanny Crabtree to me, “you are going to get a good night’s sleep tonight.”

“And what of you?”

“I shall sleep, too. I’ll be at hand, though. I think he’s over the worst, out of danger now. It never ceases to amaze me how quickly the young recover.”

I did sleep. I was exhausted and the first thing I did in the morning was to go to the nursery.

Nanny Crabtree was smiling happily.

“Come and look at him. There he is. Why did you want to give us all that trouble, eh, my lord? You little rogue, you. You had us worried. Now look at you.”

I kissed him and he gave a little cluck of pleasure.

I was filled with thankfulness.

I wrote to Richard telling him how sorry I was that his stay had been disrupted. Tristan had almost completely recovered. The doctor had said that in a few days he would be back to normal.

“It was such a pity, Richard,” I wrote, “that it should have happened just then. I am so sorry…”

I pictured him reading the letter. He had been very disappointed, indeed, and I was sure that he was thinking there had been no need for all the fuss. The child was not ill after all.

I wondered what effect that visit had had on his feelings toward me. I think mine had undergone a change. That was unfair, of course. He had been justly disappointed.

That day Jowan Jermyn telephoned. Would I ride out with him to Brackenleigh, which was on the other side of the moor?

I agreed and we left at ten thirty. We would have lunch, he said, at a place he knew there. He had to call at one of the farms. I might find that interesting.

It was just what I needed.

It was very pleasant. Spring was on the way and the hedgerows were bright with flowers in patriotic colors of red, white, and blue.

He knew that I had had a visitor from London.

I said: “I see the circulation of news is as good as ever.”

“It is always to be trusted,” he said “And there was trouble over the little boy?”

“We have had a very anxious time. Tristan is all right now and we are very thankful. But he was really dangerously ill.”

“I heard the doctor visited frequently.”

“Poor Nanny Crabtree was very distressed.”

“You must tell me all about it while we are having lunch. It’s single file here. Just follow me.”

I did until we came to the moor. We galloped then and came to the King’s Head—a pleasant-looking inn. The sign over the door depicted the crowned head of some rather indeterminate monarch who might have been one of the Georges.

Over the table Jowan said, “Tell me about the visitor.”

“He was a friend from London. A lawyer.”

“And he came down to see you?”

“Yes.”

“A great friend?”

“We met in London. He is a friend of Edward’s. You know who Edward is?”

He did not, so I gave him a brief summary of Edward’s place in the family. He was intrigued by the story.

“My mother regards him as her son,” I said.

“You have inherited her talent for looking after motherless infants.”

“You mean Tristan. Well, he is my sister’s son.”

He nodded. “And the lawyer? You were not able to entertain him in the manner which he was expecting.”

I could not help smiling. “Why do you need me to tell you anything? You have such an excellent service of your own.”

“Nevertheless, tell me. I like to hear it from the horse’s mouth.”

“Tristan had a cold, a rather bad one. Nanny Crabtree called the doctor, who said he should stay in bed and be kept warm,” I went on to tell him about the open window and Tristan’s kicking off his bedclothes which had brought him close to pneumonia.

“We sat up with him all night…Nanny Crabtree and I. She didn’t want anyone else. She blames someone for coming in and opening the window.”

“And taking the clothes off the baby’s bed?”

“Oh, no. We thought he threw them off.”

“Was he in the habit of doing that?”

“No. He never has before.”

“So he only does it when he is in a draught.”

I looked at him intently.

“Well,” he said. “It was what he did, wasn’t it?”

“What are you thinking?”

“Why should he do that?”

“We can’t ask Tristan why he kicked off his bedclothes. I suppose he was restless, probably feverish and too hot.”

“I wonder why someone should come into the nursery and open the window.”

“Mrs. Lewyth thinks that Nanny Crabtree opened it and forgot to shut it.”

“I suppose it is a possibility. Is she forgetful?”

“I have never known her be, especially where her charges were concerned.”

“And with a child already sick. Doesn’t it sound strange to you? I wish you weren’t staying there.”

“Where else should I stay?”

“I mean it’s a pity you can’t take the child to your mother. But that is not entirely true, for if you did, what about me?”

“You?”

“Think how desolate I should be if I could not see you.”

“Would you be?”

“It is not like you to ask foolish questions when you know the answer.”

I did not reply, and nothing was said for a few moments.

I ate a little of the salmon which had been placed before me, and I felt happier than I had for some time. Tristan’s quick recovery had lifted my spirits and I always had enjoyed Jowan’s company.

He said at length: “Have you made any plans as to what you are going to do?”

I shook my head. “I am still uncertain about everything.”

“Something might be decided for us before long,” he said.

I looked at him questioningly and he went on: “I mean what is happening abroad.”

“Does that involve us?”

“There is a possibility that it will. The way things are going, perhaps I should say a certainty. Do you like the food here?”

“Very much.”

“We might come again. I often have to come this way.”

He talked to me about the farm at which we should call. There was some question about building another barn.

“It won’t take long. I thought you might like to see something of the estate.”

It was an interesting afternoon. I chatted to the farmer’s wife while Jowan was with her husband, and heard what a good landlord he was to his tenant farmers.

“Couldn’t be better,” she said. “We’re lucky to be on the Jermyn estate. ’Tis not so good over at Tregarland’s. Oh, sorry, Miss, I forgot you came from there. It was terrible about your poor sister, and I heard the little one’s been poorly.”

So it had already spread as far as this.

We rode back the way we had come. I felt better than I had since I lost Dorabella.

When I said goodbye, he took my hand and looked at me intently.

“Take care,” he said. “Especial care.” An almost imperceptible frown crossed his face as he went on: “Remember, I am not far away.”

“Comforting thought,” I replied lightly, but I meant it.