The Black Opal

Echoes from the Past

Elsie was waiting for me when I arrived in Sydney. We clung together in our misery. We hardly spoke at all as we drove to the house. Then she asked a few questions about my leg. The bones were not broken but there were deep cuts and bruises. I had suffered mainly from shock and concussion.

Mabel, Adelaide and Jane were waiting, but the air of well-being had completely disappeared. It was a house in mourning.

Neither Elsie nor I could speak of him on the first night. The great comfort was that our grief was understood and shared. Something had gone from our lives which could never be regained.

I lay sleepless that night. I kept going over scenes from the past. He had filled my life, and now he had gone there was nothing left.

If only we had not been in that spot on that night. Many people had said “If only’ at some time in their lives. If only this … if only that … It was the well-worn cry of those in despair. I thought of that ceremony on the island and the way in which they had tried to hold us back. That wise old man had known that Toby was going into danger. Perhaps he did indeed have special powers. Perhaps he could see into the future. He had lived all his life on that island; he would be weather-wise. He could have seen the signs of the coming storm. He had been warning us, urging us to delay our journey. Oh, if only we had taken heed! If only … if only.

And so I went on.

Daylight came at last a dreary day lay ahead because he was not there and we were weighed down by the dreadful knowledge that we should never see him again.

A few days passed and suddenly we found that we could talk of him.

Elsie recalled stories of him. I would listen and then tell my own.

Then one day she said to me: “Carmel, this won’t do, you know. Think how he would laugh at us if he were here. We had the joy of knowing him, and he brightened our lives. But when something’s over and you know that all the wishing in the world won’t bring it back, you’ve got to accept it as it is. We’ve got to bestir ourselves.”

I said: “You’re right. But how?”

“That’s what we’ve got to find out. We’ve got our friends and we’ve got some good ones.”

She was right. The Formans were always trying to cheer us up. I saw a great deal of James and Gertie. Joe Lester was constantly around; and everyone we knew did all they could to help us. We were constantly invited out to dine and there were a great many callers.

One day Gertie said to me: “I’ve heard from Aunt Beatrice. She’s ever so keen for me to go and see her.”

“You mean, the aunt in England?”

She nodded.

“We always got on when I was little. She didn’t have any children and I think she liked to think of me as hers. We write regularly. Now they’re getting things into shape here, I don’t think they’d mind if I went over to stay with her for a bit.”

“It sounds exciting.”

“Doesn’t it? You ought to come.”

I looked at her in amazement.

“Why not? You can’t mope all your life.”

“Mope …?” I said.

“You’re not like you used to be. I know it was awful and how fond you were of each other, but you can’t go on mourning for ever.”

“Go home,” I murmured.

“My father says if I’m so set on it, I’d better do it. He’ll pay my fare and run to a small allowance while I’m there. You wouldn’t have to bother about that. You’re an independent woman now.”

She was right. Toby had left the bulk of his fortune to me and it was not inconsiderable. Elsie had been taken care of, too. It suddenly occurred to me that, if I wished to, I could travel. Gertie was watching me closely.

“Well?”

“I hadn’t thought about going home.”

“Think about it now. My mother suggested you might like to go with me.

She said it would do you good. Get you out of yourself. You’re never going to get any better while you sit around remembering. What do you think about my going home? “

“I hadn’t thought about it really.”

“You haven’t thought about anything but yourself for the last months.”

Gertie had kept the frankness of our younger days when she had never disguised the truth, however brutal. She went on: “The trouble with you is that you are shut in with yourself. Something awful happened to you and you won’t let yourself-or anyone else-forget it.”

Then suddenly she laid her hand on my arm.

“I’m sorry,” she went on.

“I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Yes,” I said.

“You should. It’s true.”

“It’s that thing I’ve heard about taking your troubles out and teaching them to swim rather than drowning them.”

I was thoughtful and, after a pause, she went on: “Well, you could consider it.”

I went home and told Elsie what she had said. I knew that Elsie would not want me to go away, and she was very thoughtful as she listened.

To her aunt,” she said.

“Well, we have heard a great deal about Gertie’s aunt. I guessed Gertie would go sometime. She’d made up her mind. I think … perhaps it would do you good to go with her.”

“Do you?”

“There’s nothing like a complete change when these things happen. I rather think you have accepted grief as a permanency. It was such a terrible blow. It was the worst of tragedies. He was so lovable and meant so much to you. We can’t forget him, but he’s gone, and we can’t let him dominate our lives. I am sure, if he were here, he would say the same. You don’t have to decide right away. You should think about it, though.”

“Elsie,” I said, “I should hate to leave you.”

“You mustn’t feel that. I love to have you here, of course. You’ve been my daughter. But you have your life and here … it’s hard to forget. You ought to be meeting people fresh people. You could at home. I have something to tell you. Then you will see that I should not be so lone and lorn that you have to stay and look after me. I am thinking of getting married.”

“Elsie!”

“Yes. Joe and I have been friends for a long time. Toby used to say, ” You would have done better to have married Joe. He’d have made a better husband than I ever would. ” In a way he was right. It wouldn’t have been the same, though. It’s all over now, so Joe and I can marry and it’s what he’s wanted for a long time. And I want it too, so I shouldn’t be alone.”

I was amazed, but when I thought of it, I wondered why I should have been. Perhaps Gertie was right when she said I had been absorbed in my own life. Joe was such a steady friend. There was no doubt of his love for Elsie. I thought how amused Toby would have been by the situation, and I found myself smiling for the first time for months. Elsie put her arms round me and hugged me.

“You’ve got to break away from it, too,” she said. And after that I began to think seriously about going home.

I had broken out of that depression in which I had been living for so long, and Gertie carried me along on her enthusiasm. It would be some little time before we could go and Elsie thought we should leave in the New Year. Then we should reach England when spring was on the way, which would be a very good time to arrive.

There was much correspondence with Aunt Beatrice, who lived with her husband. Uncle Harold, in a Kensington square. Gertie remembered staying there.

“It’s what they call a family house,” she explained.

“When they married they thought they’d have a big family. They were still hoping when we left. They were very upset about our going. James and I often stayed with them and they looked forward to having children in the house.”

“Do you think they will want me?”

“Of course! And if you don’t like it, you can go somewhere else. You don’t have to worry about money and all that.”

“It seems very convenient.”

“Convenient! It’s perfect. You’ll love Aunt Bee.”

“I hope she likes me.”

“She will. That’s if you come out of mourning. Nobody will like you if you stick to that. You’ve got to remember there are other people in the world.”

There was no doubt that Gertie was good for me.

The Formans were a little sad at the prospect of Genie’s going. I had an idea that her roots were so firmly set in England that she might not want to come back. Moreover, James would be leaving home for the opal grounds very soon, for it seemed that the property was in good order now and he could go with a good conscience.

I saw James frequently. He was not very pleased about my going.

He said: “You will come back, won’t you?”

“I don’t plan to stay,” I said.

“You might change your mind once you are there.”

“It doesn’t seem likely.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to forget it all and come with me instead?”

“I don’t think that would be right for either of us, James.”

“The offer is still on.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s fun, you know. It would be a complete change.”

“As Gertie is always saying this will be.”

“If you don’t come back I may come for you when I have a fortune to offer.”

“I don’t want a fortune.”

“I know. But it would be nice to have it all the same. Don’t forget me, will you?”

“No. I never would. And thank you for all your under standing.”

“Oh I’m the understanding kind. Remember that too.”

“I will.”

Gertie and I were constantly together. We shopped; we made plans; and in due course booked our passages on the Ocean Star.

Elsie wondered how I would feel about going to sea again. She thought the trauma of shipwreck might have had such an effect on me that I would not be able to bring myself to go again.

I had no qualms. I did mention to Gertie that I should feel closer to Toby at sea, to which she retorted quite rightly “What maudlin nonsense! Don’t say that to any one else or they’ll think you’ve got bats in the belfry. I am going to sea with you, and I don’t want Toby to be with us all the time.”

It was brutal, but it was for my own good, I knew. She went on gently:

“I’ve got the plan of the Ocean Star. My word, she’s a beautiful ship.

Look, we can see exactly where our cabin is. “

It was late January when Gertie and I set sail. Joe and Elsie had married just after Christmas.

It had been a quiet ceremony and Joe had taken up residence at Elsie’s house. I was delighted, because I knew it was what he had wanted for a long time. Elsie too was contented.

Joe’s nephew, William, who had long wanted a property of his own, had taken over the management of Joe’s. Joe kept an interest in it and would always be close at hand to advise. He and Elsie would pay periodic visits to William, and the arrangements were to the utmost satisfaction of both William and Joe, as well as Elsie.

The Formans with Elsie and Joe came to see us off. It was a moving farewell, and even Gertie seemed a little tearful and looked as though she were wondering whether she was wise to make the journey-but only very briefly.

James held my hands tightly and reminded me that I must come back, and added: “Before long, or I shall come for you.”

I nodded, and we kissed.

We stood on the deck, waving to them as the ship slipped away: and I could not help thinking of the day I had first come here on the Lady of the Seas, how Toby had been with me and how happy we were.

Aware of my thoughts, Gertie hustled me off to our cabin and in her practical way sorted out who should have which berth and which wardrobe space should be allotted to me.

I knew there would be much to remind me, but I must stop harking back to the old life. I had to go forward and start afresh.

I was familiar with shipboard life, but every ship is different and although the general rules apply, they are varied slightly to fit in to each particular vessel.

The Captain was very pleasant. He had known Toby and when he realized who I was, and that I had actually been on the Lady of the Seas when she had sunk, he was particularly kind to me.

I realized quickly that I had been right to come, for, looking forward to going home, I could feel myself moving away from my tragedy, and I knew I was getting nearer to adjusting myself to life without Toby. I even convinced myself that he was looking after me, applauding me, urging me along the path I was taking. It helped. But it was inevitable that there must be moments which brought back poignant memories.

It would have been easier if we had not taken almost the same route back to England as that of my first journey out; but I did my best not to think of it, and Gertie was a great help to me. I was always aware of her watchful eyes on me, and I was deeply touched because she did so much want me to enjoy the visit.

I think I managed very well. We had pleasant travelling companions; the weather was benign. Gertie and I usually went ashore with a party from the ship. The story of our getting lost in Suez was related with much hilarity and it struck me afresh how time turns disastrous happenings into comic adventures. However, there was a great deal of laughter about the two little girls who had climbed a rope-ladder to board the ship.

Suez, it seemed, was a place where things happened to us, commented Gertie, for, as we were about to board the launch which was to take us back to the ship, I saw a man who seemed familiar to me.

I stared. Then I recognized him.

“Dr. Emmerson!” I cried.

Gertie was beside me.

“It is!” she exclaimed.

“Really, here of all places!”

He was a little disconcerted. During the passage of time, girls of eleven change more than men in their twenties or thirties. He stood looking at us, faintly puzzled. Then enlightenment dawned.

He laughed.

“Is it really Carmel … and Gertie?”

“Yes, it is,” we cried together.

“Lost in Suez,” he said.

“What a business, getting you on board.”

“With that rope-ladder,” gurgled Gertie.

“Still, we did it. And you are travelling on this ship?”

“Yes. Home.”

“What a coincidence. So am I.”

We chattered as the launch took us out. He told us he had been in Suez for the last two weeks talking to the doctors there. He had a practice in Harley Street and was attached to a London hospital.

“When we last met,” he said, “I was going out to Suez to study at a hospital there. Well, I did all that, came home and settled, as it were.”

“Do you often go to Suez?” I asked.

“No. Not now. I just happened to pay this flying visit, doing a talk on some new development.”

“How strange that you should be on the same ship as we are, going home.”

“Things happen that way sometimes.”

The voyage changed after that. We saw a great deal of Dr. Emmerson. He seemed to seek me out. At first Gertie was with us, but one of the new arrivals at Suez was Bernard Ragland, and he and Gertie liked each other from the start. He was interested in medieval architecture, and was attached to one of the London museums hardly the kind of subject to attract Gertie, but she suddenly became interested in it.

Dr. Emmerson knew about the shipwreck and he under stood what the loss of Toby meant to me, so I was able to talk frankly to him. I found that a relief and would sit on deck and chat for long stretches at a time. He told me of his life and career, how he had worked for a time in Suez. He spoke of the suffering he had seen there among the poor, and somehow he drew me away from my personal tragedy as no one had before; and he made me see that Gertie was right when she had said that I had indulged too much in brooding on my own misfortunes.

Looking back on that voyage, I see that a great deal happened during it and no one could have said it was uneventful.

The sea had been especially kind to us, even in those areas where it could be notoriously unpredictable. We had sailed smoothly; we had met pleasant acquaintances some of whom we had made tentative arrangements to see again, which would most likely never materialize; in fact, it had been a trip like many others superficially, but it was to be important, not only to me, but to Gertie.

As soon as I stepped ashore in the company of Dr. Emmerson, Gertie and Bernard Ragland I knew that I had passed an important barrier. I had set a distance between myself and the past.

Aunt Beatrice and Uncle Harold were waiting to greet us. Gertie rushed into Aunt Beatrice’s arms.

“You’re here, you’re here!” cried Aunt Beatrice. She was plump and rosy and rather large. Uncle Harold was thin and slightly shorter. He stood looking on, faintly embarrassed, but pleased and as welcoming in his way as Aunt Beatrice was in hers.

“This is Carmel,” Gertie announced.

“You’ve heard about her. And this is Mr. Bernard Ragland,” she went on with pride, and Aunt Beatrice seized his hand and shook it warmly. Then Uncle Harold did the same.

“And this is Dr. Emmerson.”

“So pleased to meet you,” said Aunt Beatrice.

“It’s wonderful to be home,” said Gertie.

Aunt Beatrice and Uncle Harold exchanged glances of gratification, which implied that Gertie should never have gone and how wise she was to come back.

And soon after, Gertie and I went off with her family and Dr. Emmerson and Bernard Ragland their separate ways. They had already made promises to see us again.

And there we were, on our way to Kensington, while Gertie and Aunt Beatrice chattered all the time and Uncle Harold and I sat listening and smiling.

Those first weeks in London were full of experiences and time passed quickly. There were long periods when I did not think of Toby and I realized that, if I allowed myself, I could be very interested in what was going on around me.

Aunt Beatrice and Uncle Harold-Mr. and Mrs. Hyson -were completely hospitable. The family house was comfortable. I was sure they would have made the most loving parents. They were devoted to Gertie and clearly enjoyed having her with them. And they welcomed me, too.

The house was in a square, in the centre of which was a large and well-kept garden for the use of residents of the square. The key to the gates of this garden was kept hanging just inside the back door and I took the opportunity of going there to sit now and then. It was very peaceful to be shut in among the trees, through which one could just get a glimpse of those tall houses, standing like sentinels guarding the peace of the square.

The house was roomy; at the top was that part which had been intended for the children who never arrived. Those apartments were now given over to Gertie and me. Gertie was familiar with them from the days when she and James used to visit the house. There had been their playroom, and in the large cupboard were games draughts, chess, jigsaws, snakes and ladders and ludo.

It should have been rather sad to contemplate the dreams of these two pleasant people which had never materialized, but somehow one could not, for they had not become in the least embittered: and now that Gertie and I were here, they seemed entirely reconciled.

“They are a wonderful pair,” Gertie told me.

“It was a blow to them when my people decided to go to Australia. Now, here I am and it’s good to be back. They’re a lesson to us, those two. Don’t you agree?” she added pointedly, and I laughed, because I knew she meant that the lesson was chiefly for me. I thought then that it is indeed a boon to get a glimpse of ourselves as others see us.

The Hysons liked to entertain and having Gertie with them gave them excuses to do so.

They had some spacious rooms which were suitable for this and they determined to make good use of them. Within a week of our arrival, Dr. Emmerson whose name I had by now discovered was Lawrence and Bernard Ragland had been asked to dinner.

We had a very pleasant evening together and the episode of our rescue in Suez was related once more, although I am sure Gertie had told them all about it in her letters.

Gertie listened as though enraptured to some details about the differences between Gothic and Norman architecture and how, in the early fourteenth century, builders were not content with the simple styles and sought some thing more decorative. I was amazed to see her so earnest.

I thought then: This is Gertie in love.

Lawrence was beginning to think of him as Lawrence by this time did not talk intimately of his profession. I supposed diseases of the skin would be a less welcome subject at the dinner-table.

I was becoming very interested in Gertie’s relationship with Bernard Ragland and so were her aunt and uncle.

Aunt Beatrice said to me one day when Gertie was out:

“What do you think, Carmel? Gertie seems to be getting very friendly indeed with that nice Bernard.”

I agreed.

“Well?” said Aunt Beatrice.

“She hasn’t known him very long.”

“Ships are different from ordinary life,” said Aunt Beatrice sagely, although I believed she had never sailed on one.

She paused.

“Romantic, somehow. I wonder…” She lifted her shoulders.

I guessed she was seeing a wedding, organized by herself . the young couple settling into a nice little house not far off. And then the nursery . Aunt Beatrice being at hand to help . taking over the duties of a mother.

It startled me a little, but it did seem to me that Gertie was in love. I could imagine the scorn she would once have poured on a conversation about linenfold and the advantages of stone over brick which she now seemed to find entrancing.

Lawrence had become a frequent visitor, too, and I wondered whether Aunt Beatrice speculated on our relationship as she did on that of Gertie and Bernard. Surely not. Lawrence was a good deal older than I. He must be over thirty, whereas Bernard would be in his mid-twenties, perhaps a little more but not much.

Sometimes I took Lawrence over to the gardens and we would sit there and talk. On one occasion he mentioned the shipwreck.

“I often think about it, Carmel,” he said.

“It stunned you, didn’t it?

You were so devoted to him. “

I agreed.

“You’d rather not talk about it perhaps,” he said.

“No … no, I don’t mind with you.”

“You’ve got to start living, Carmel.”

“That’s what Gertie tells me. She has been so good for me.

“You are just preserving your grief. He wouldn’t have wanted you to do that. He was so lighthearted by nature. He would have wanted you to be the same.”

“When you go on grieving, you spoil things not only for yourself … but also for others, as Gertie tells me. What I have to do is learn how to stop.”

“You’ve been better since you’ve been here.”

“Yes, I know.”

“It’s over, Carmel. In no way can you change it. You’ve got to forget.”

“I know. But how?”

“By making a new life for yourself.”

“I’m trying.”

“If I can help …”

I smiled.

“I know you are a wonderful helper. There was that other occasion.”

“Never to be forgotten,” he said with a little grimace.

“You were the gallant rescuer. Poor James, he never forgets the part he played.”

“Oh, poor casual James who deserted you!”

“I told you about his dreams of making a fortune in the opal fields.”

So we talked of Australia and the life there; and again I was surprised that I forgot my unhappiness for a while.

Gertie had become engaged to Bernard Ragland. It was a month since we had arrived in London.

“It’s quick,” I said.

“Quick! What do you mean? There was all that time on the ship and now we’ve been home all these weeks. To you it may seem quick. To me it is just romantic.”

“Are you happy?”

“Blissfully.”

“Oh Gertie, how wonderful!”

“It is, isn’t it? There must be something about Suez. Fateful for us.”

“For you, you mean.”

“What a good thing that we were on that ship. Just imagine, if we had not been, I should not have met Bernard.”

“Wonderful. Think what a lot you are going to learn about architecture, ancient and modern.”

We laughed and she said: “You shall be my bridesmaid. But perhaps you’re a bit old for that. I think they call them Matrons of Honour.

Matron sounds a bit solemn. Perhaps it’s Maid of Honour. I like that it sounds royal “Oh, Gertie, I can’t wait.”

“Oddly enough, nor can I.”

She came into my room that night to talk. She told me about the splendid qualities of Bernard, how he was respected throughout the country for his work, and what a wonderful future lay before her.

“I’m so proud of him, Carmel.”

“You’re going to be absolutely unbearable, I can see,” I told her. And we giggled together as we had all those years ago on the Lady of the Seas.

Aunt Beatrice and Uncle Harold were wildly excited and talked continuously of the engagement. Where would the young couple live?

Kensington was a desirable area. There were some lovely little houses in Marbrock Square just round the corner. I could see that Aunt Beatrice was already planning that house-the nurseries in particular. Her lost dream was hovering close, in another form perhaps, but near enough. There would be a little garden-a garden was really necessary with children.

Bernard wanted to take Gertie to meet his family. They lived in Kent and she was duly asked for the weekend. Aunt Beatrice thought it would be ‘nice’ if I went with them. I think she had an idea that I would act as chaperone. She had some rather old-fashioned notions which came out occasionally. To my surprise, for I had thought Gertie would scorn the idea, she was in favour of it.

“It will be comforting to have you there,” she said.

“I might want your advice.”

I was astounded, but Gertie in love was not quite the self-assured young lady she had been before. She was faintly nervous and very anxious to make a good impression on her family-to-be.

“I suppose you feel they must be paragons to have produced the god-like Bernard,” I said.

“I do want them to like me,” she admitted.

It was gratifying to have our roles reversed. I was now the one who had to advise and look after Gertie.

We were to leave London on the Friday afternoon and take the train from Charing Cross into Kent where the Ragland residence was situated.

Bernard would escort us. There had been a great deal of discussion as to what we should wear. Gertie had packed and unpacked her suitcase three times. I told her not to be so nervous. Of course they would like her and, if they did not, well, what did it matter? Bernard did, or he would not have asked her to marry him.

At length we were in the train which would take us down to Maidstone.

Bernard told us there would be a fly at the station to take us to the house. The parents were very much looking forward to meeting us.

I sat back in my corner seat, watching them and thinking how wonderful it must be to be as happy as they were, and now and then glancing out at the countryside.

Then suddenly it happened.

The train had run into a small station. I glanced out at the bold letters proclaiming its name and I was immediately jolted back into the past.

Easentree.

It was familiar. I had been here before. I remembered it clearly.

Nanny Gilroy had said: “Now, come on, Estella. Have you got everything? Don’t you dare leave anything behind. I wonder if Tom Yardley will have brought the trap.”

It had been a rare event. It was not often we went on the train. We had gone to London to buy boots which we could not get in the local shoe shop. Easentree was the nearest station to Commonwood House.

As the train pulled out of the station I sat in a daze. I was right back in the past. Commonwood House. Mrs. Marline making everyone unhappy. The doctor’s trying to pretend everything was all right. Miss Carson . what had become of Miss Carson?

“Wake up!” said Gertie.

“You’re half asleep. We’re nearly there.”

Gertie was drawing me out of my dream of the past.

The weekend was a success. The Raglands were by no means formidable, and seemed as ready to like their future daughter-in-law as she was to like them. In such circumstances, they could hardly fail to do so.

Members of the Ragland family were all eager to meet Bernard’s choice, and there were some pleasant family gatherings.

As for myself, my thoughts kept going back to the past and memories of Commonwood House persisted in coming back, and I was filled with a desire to see the house again. I wondered who was living there now.

Suppose I went back?

There would be strangers. The family would have left when Dr. Marline died and, of course, the girls and Henry went to live with their Aunt Florence. She was my aunt too, of course. I wished that Toby had told me more. I realized that he had been very reticent about his family which was, after all, mine.

I saw myself walking along the path approaching the familiar door, reaching up to the knocker. But I should not have to reach now that I was grown up.

I rehearsed what it would be like.

“I hope you don’t mind. I happened to be passing and I used to live here once. I wondered …”

Why not? People did such things now and then. It was not so very unusual.

I pondered it over the weekend while Gertie was reveling in the approval of her in-laws-to-be, and before it was over I had decided that I was going down to Easentree. I could take the fly as we did with Nanny Gilroy. I could hardly let it drop me at Commonwood House as though I had come specially. No. I would go into the little town.

There was a hotel. What was it called? The Bald-Faced Stag. Estella and I had jeered at the name. What did they expect? A stag to have a beard? I could hear her voice distinctly.

That was how it was during that weekend. Voices kept coming back to me from the past.

I could take the fly and alight at the inn. Then I could walk down the hill to Commonwood House.

I had made up my mind.

Aunt Beatrice and Uncle Harold wanted to hear all about the visit.

“We must invite Bernard and his parents here for a weekend,” she said.

“We ought to be looking at houses. These things take longer than one thinks to find. For one thing, we have to get the right place.”

And, as the happy couple planned to have a short engagement, there was no reason why they should not start looking now.

Gertie was too happy to notice that I was somewhat preoccupied with a matter outside her concerns. She talked constantly about herself and she wrote to her parents.

“They won’t like it,” she said, ‘because it means I shall be here and they’ll be there. Bernard says we’ll be able to pay them the occasional visit. He gets long leaves and he can save them up. Mother and Dad might be able to come and see us . if they can get away.

Then it won’t be quite so bad.

“As for you, Carmel, you don’t want to go back yet. You’ll have to stay and see me married.”

“I can’t stay here with your aunt and uncle for ever.”

“They love having you. Besides, what are you worrying about? You could go and stay anywhere you liked. Perhaps you’ll get married.”

“You are like lots of people. Having put your head in the noose, you want to see everyone else doing the same.”

“Don’t be cynical. It does not become you. There is no question of nooses. You don’t know what it means, obviously. It’s the best thing that can happen to you.”

“I hope you continue to believe that.”

“Now let’s talk sense. Aunt Bee is mad about my seeing this house in Brier Road. She’s made an appointment for next Tuesday. Want to come?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, I thought of visiting.”

“You mean, someone you knew in the past?”

“Y … yes.”

“You mean next Tuesday?”

“Yes, I did really.”

“Make it another day and I’ll come with you.”

“I think I ought to go alone. Just at first … you understand?”

“Of course.”

I was glad.

Gertie had never been greatly interested in other people’s affairs and, of course, she was now completely immersed in her own.

So I arranged on the following Tuesday to put my plan into action.

I arrived at Easentree. I was lucky. The fly was in service and it was not long before I reached the Bald-Faced Stag. I began to walk down to the common. I noticed the shops in the street which comprised the town. Miss Patten, who kept the haberdasher’s, was still there, as were the post office, the butcher’s, and the baker. I went swiftly down the hill and, when I had been walking for about fifteen minutes, I saw the wood and the common.

My heart was beating fast. I was rehearsing what I would say. It sounded false.

“I was just passing and I thought you wouldn’t mind. Natural curiosity. You see, I lived here until I was ten years old. Then I went to Australia. I have only just returned.”

No one was on the common. There was the pond and the seat. And there was the house . hidden by the shrubs that looked overgrown. In my day they had been neater than that.

As I approached, I was amazed that it appeared to be so unkempt.

There was the gate. I opened it and walked towards the house. I stopped and gasped. It was Commonwood, of course, but how different!

Some of the windows were cracked . one or two actually broken. The brickwork was chipped in places. It looked as though part of the roof had fallen in.

Commonwood was a ruin. I stared at it in dismay. It looked grim and forbidding.

My first impulse was to turn and run away. But I could not do so. I had to find out what had happened to it. Why, when the doctor had died, had they not sold the house? Why had practical Aunt Florence and her husband for I imagined she had one allowed a valuable property to become a worthless ruin?

I felt a sudden sense of revulsion. It was so different from what I had expected. But something was urging me on. I stepped forward towards the house.

I was standing now close to the front door. The windows on the ground floor were all cracked. The lock on the door was broken. I pushed it.

It gave a protesting squeak and swung open.

I stepped into the hall with the doors leading from it to Mrs. Marline’s sitting-room and bedroom with the glass doors which opened on to the lawn.

My heart was beating wildly now. I fancied I was being warned not to venture further. There was something eerie about the place. It was not the Commonwood House I had known. Why had it become like this? I must get away. Forget it. It belonged to a past which was best forgotten.

What good could I do by trying to resurrect the past? It was obvious what had happened. The children had gone away; all those who had once been part of this house were dead or dispersed and for some reason the house had been allowed to fall into decay.

Go back to the town, I told myself. Have a meal in the Bald-Faced Stag and ask them to arrange for some conveyance to get you back to the station. Then, forget about the past and Commonwood House. It is over for ever.

But the impulse to go on was irresistible. Just a step into the hall.

Just a few more moments to recapture the ambiance of the old days . the feeling of being not as the others, the outsider who was there on sufferance because the doctor had a soft heart, to savour once more the feelings of that unwanted girl, soon to be loved and cherished by the most wonderful of men.

I made my way across the tattered carpet. It had once been brown with a blue pattern on it; now it was damp and torn and the blue was barely visible. An insect scuttling across it startled me.

I opened the door of a room and looked in. My mind flashed back to one of the last occasions when I had seen it. Adeline . frantic with fear, and Mrs. Marline shouting at her. Miss Carson coming in.

I had not realized how vividly those scenes had impressed themselves on my memory.

The door to the garden was shut. Through the glass panels I could see how neglected it was. I remembered how I had listened to conversations and tried to piece together what was happening in the grim household.

I turned away and looked up at the staircase and, before I could warn myself that a house in such condition might be unsafe, I started to ascend them. I was on the landing, close to that room which had been shared by Dr. and Mrs. Marline before her accident. Empty now. I glanced up the stairs. How quiet it was. How different. I kept thinking I heard whispering voices. Nanny Gilroy, Mrs. Barton and the district nurse . shutting the kitchen door, drinking tea and talking secrets.

Then suddenly I heard a sound. I could hear my heart beating. A sibilant whisper. It was coming from the room below. Voices down there. Ghostly voices in an empty house.

I do not think I was particularly fanciful, but from the moment I had come into the house I had thought there was something eerie about it.

Perhaps there is about most derelict houses. They seem to preserve something, some character of the people who have lived in them over the years; and when one has known them, and been aware of some mysterious happenings, it is not surprising that one’s imagination is stirred.

When I heard a light footfall I was no longer in doubt. I was not alone in the house.

There it was again . that sibilant whisper.

I was in the room which had been the Marlines’ bed room. I stood very still, waiting. I was not sure what I expected. Did I think the ghost of Mrs. Marline was going to appear and ask me what I was doing there?

What right had I to be here . of ever having been here? Yes, I was her brother’s child, and that was the reason why I had been allowed to stay. But Mrs. Marline would say that people had no right to beget children out of wedlock and the children had to suffer for that.

It was a light step on the stairs. There was no doubt now. I was not alone in this house.

I stood cowering in the room as the steps came nearer. I had pushed the door to so that it was half closed. Whoever was there was very close now. There was a pause. I could hear the sound of light breathing and then the door was slowly pushed open.

I caught my breath. I was not sure what I had been expecting, but the sight of a small boy was reassuring. He was not alone. There was another, slightly smaller boy behind him.

We stared at each other. I gathered he was as astonished to see me as I was to see him.

He said in a frightened voice: “Are you a ghost?”

“No,” I said.

“Are you?”

He lifted his shoulders in silent mirth and the other boy came to stand beside him and stare at me.

Then he went on: “What are you doing here?”

“What are you?” I retaliated.

“Looking.”

“So am I.”

“It’s haunted, you know.”

“This house … ?”

“All of it. The garden as well. It’s a real haunted house, en’t it.

Will? “

Will nodded.

“Do you live near here?” I asked.

He nodded and pointed vaguely in the direction of the common.

“Why is this house falling down like this?” I asked him.

“Cos it’s haunted.”

“Why is it haunted?”

“Cos there’s a ghost. That’s why.”

“Why are there ghosts here?”

“They came to do the haunting, of course.”

I calculated how old they were. The elder looked about eight, the other a year or so younger. They would have been babies or as yet unborn when I had left here.

“Did you know the people who lived here?” I asked.

“Only ghosts.”

I could see I was not going to learn much from them.

“We’re not supposed to come here,” volunteered the younger one.

“He dared me to,” said the elder.

“My mother says the house could fall down on you. Then you’d be buried with the ghosts.”

“It’s unsafe,” said the other.

“They’re always saying they’re going to pull it down.”

“And build another house?” I asked.

“Who’d want to live here?”

“Why not?”

The boys looked at me in amazement, and the elder said:

“It’s haunted, that’s why.”

I felt I owed them a reason for my being here, and I said:

“I was passing … and it looked interesting.”

“We’ve got to go home now. It’s dinner-time and our mum don’t half go off if we’re late.” He gave me a disappointed look.

“I thought you’d be a ghost, not just an ordinary person.”

“You’re not sorry,” said the other.

“You’re glad. You wasn’t half frightened.”

“I wasn’t!”

“Yes, you were.”

They started downstairs, their voices echoing through the house.

“I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were.”

I looked out of the window and saw them running across the lawn.

Then slowly I made my way downstairs and out of the house.

I stood looking over the common. No one was about.

The experience had disturbed me. I could not rid myself of the feeling that there was something eerie and menacing about the place. I was glad to be out of it. I did not want to go there again. I wanted to get right away and forget it all.

I should probe no more. I expected the Grange was still there but I was not going to look.

I made my way back down the hill into the town. I would have a light meal at the Bald-Faced Stag, and then go to the station and back to London.

I was about to cross the road to the inn when a rider came along. His horse was rather frisky and, as I was about to step out into the road, it reared up on its hind legs, whinnying. A man, who was also about to cross, halted and stood beside me. We both watched the horse and rider.

“Rather tricky,” said the man to me. There was something familiar about his voice.

I turned to look at him and I knew at once. It was Lucian Crompton.

“Lucian!” I cried.

He stared at me in surprise and then I saw recognition in his eyes.

“Why … it’s Carmel!”

We stood gazing at each other for a few moments. Then he said: “Well, this is a surprise. Where have you sprung from, after all this time?”

“I’m here for the day … from London. In fact, from Australia.”

“Really! And we meet like this! What luck!”

It came flooding back again. This was the pleasant part of the memory.

I was remembering how he had found my pendant and had it repaired, how he had always been kind to the outsider.

Our pleasure in the encounter was undoubtedly mutual.

“We must have a talk,” he said.

“What are your plans? You are here for the day, you said.” He looked at his watch.

“It’s just about lunch-time for me. What about you?”

“I was going to have something light and then get the train back.”

“Why don’t we have lunch together? I want to hear what you’ve been doing all this time.”

The man with the horse had gone on now and we crossed the road. Lucian led the way to the Bald-Faced Stag.

He was well known there and a table for two was found for us.

Now that I was seated opposite him I could see that he had changed. He was no longer the lighthearted boy I had known. When he was not smiling, there was a vaguely strained look about him. I calculated he must be about twenty-five or -six years old. He looked older. He had certainly changed. I supposed I had too.

As though to follow my thoughts, he said: “You haven’t changed much, Carmel. Just grown taller. It was only for the first moment that I did not know you.”

“Tell me what has been happening to you.”

“My father died three years ago … unexpectedly. He had a heart attack. That meant I had to take over the estate.”

“I suppose that keeps you occupied.”

He nodded.

“I’m sorry about your father,” I said.

“It must have been a great shock. And your mother?”

“She’s well. Camilla married and went to live in the Midlands. She has a little boy now.” He paused and hurried on.

“I have a daughter. She is two years old.”

“Oh, so you are married.”

“Was,” he said.

“Oh … I’m sorry.”

“My wife died. It was when the child was born.”

I thought: No wonder he has changed, with the death of his father . the death of his wife.

“And you … are you married?” he asked.

“Oh no. I left school not very long ago.”

Tell me about yourself. You went away so suddenly. Everything broke up, didn’t it? “

“Did you know my father was Captain Sinclair?”

“I did hear a rumour of it.”

“I went away with him. His ship was based mainly in Australia and he thought it best, in the circumstances, for me to stay there.”

“Yes, I suppose it was.”

“So I stayed … and then … he was drowned. He went down with his ship.”

He did not know this and I told him as briefly as I could, but it was impossible to hide my emotion.

“You were very fond of him, I remember. It must have been terrible for you.” He smiled at me with a tenderness that was touching. These things happen. One has to accept them. There is nothing else to do, is there? “

He reminded me then so much of those days when he had understood how I felt as the one who did not belong.

“Everything happened so suddenly,” I said.

“It seems unreal now. I went to Australia with my father and on the way he told me I was his daughter. It was like a dream come true.”

“You were happy in Australia?”

“Oh yes, very.”

“And you have been there all these years? And now you’ve come to visit the old home.”

“I was horrified when I saw Commonwood House. It really was such a pleasant place. I thought they would have sold it.”

They tried to, but nobody would buy it. “

“Why not?”

“A house where a murder has been committed?”

“A murder?”

He looked at me incredulously.

“Didn’t you know? The papers were full of it. People could talk of little else at one time. Even now, you hear an occasional reference to it. “

“Murder?” I repeated.

“Of course, you went away before it started to come out. Perhaps that was why your father … Oh yes, I expect that was the idea. It wouldn’t have been reported in the Australian papers.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“Well, there was the trial and things were revealed. Then they couldn’t sell the house. Everyone knew what had happened there.

People get superstitious. I’m not surprised they couldn’t sell it. Who wants to buy a house which belongs to a man who has been hanged for murder? “

I felt numb with shock.

Lucian went on: “So you did not know that Dr. Marline was found guilty?

The governess was deeply involved, but she got off. She was going to have a child. Some people thought that helped her. But there wasn’t enough evidence against her. There was some person . a writer or some thing . who took it up and campaigned for her release. “

I murmured: “Dr. Marline. Miss Carson. It’s hard to believe. Dr. Marline would never have murdered anyone … not even Mrs. Marline.”

“He had his supporters. He had a reputation for caring and great concern for his patients, and many of them thought highly of him.” He looked at me with an odd expression, and I thought for a moment he wanted me to accept the doctor’s guilt.

“He had a motive,” he went on.

“His wife was giving him a bad time and he wanted to marry Miss Carson who was to have his child. There couldn’t have been a stronger motive.”

“I still don’t believe it. Miss Carson was such a good person. We all loved her. She did more for Adeline than anyone. People like that can’t commit murder.”

“People can be goaded too far. That must have happened in the Marlines’ case. It must.”

“I wish I hadn’t discovered all this. I just thought the doctor died and the family dispersed. All these years, I have known nothing about this.”

“Your father obviously thought it better that you did not know.”

“You must have been here when it was all happening.”

“I was away at school. Henry left and went to his aunt. I didn’t know anything about it until it was all over. Then the doctor was dead, the house empty and the rest of them gone.”

We were silent for a while, after which he said: “I think it was wise of your father to do what he did. If you had not come back, you need never have known about it. I can see it has upset you. I am sure he would have realized how you would feel.”

“I really belong to the family,” I said.

“Mrs. Marline was my father’s sister … my aunt, in fact. My father must have thought it better that I should not know, as I was connected with them.”

“I am sure that is what he had in mind. I am sorry this has depressed you. This should have been a pleasant reunion of old friends.”

“I am so pleased to see you again, Lucian.”

“And I you. Tell me about Australia.”

Over sherry trifle and coffee we talked, but my thoughts were really with the Marline tragedy. I felt sure it was on Lucian’s mind too.

I told him about Elsie and her goodness to me; and how Toby had died and she had married her good friend Joe Lester, and how relieved that had made me, because it had enabled me to leave her with a good conscience.

“You don’t plan to go back, then?” he said.

“Well, not at the moment. Later perhaps.”

“Is there anything … anyone … you want to go back for?”

“My friend Gertie is here. I suppose we are rather like sisters. We went to school together. I’m quite friendly with her brother. Well, with all the family really. We all came out to Australia together. They were emigrating. “

I told him something about the life out there and how the Formans had bought a property not far from Sydney, and including an account of the sundowner’s visit and its consequences.

He was very interested and wanted to hear more about James.

“He’s ambitious. He plans on making a fortune out of opals … or perhaps he’ll turn to gold. But I think opals seem to fascinate him.

There’s some place called Lightning Ridge, where there have been some exciting finds. According to James, the best black opals in the world are to be found there. “

Lucian was staring into his coffee cup.

He said slowly: “A fascinating stone, the opal. They interested me at one time. The colours are so beautiful.”

“There is a certain superstition about them, I believe. They are said to be unlucky.”

“That grew up because they break easily,” said Lucian.

“It’s absurd to think a stone can be unlucky.”

“Of course,” he said vehemently.

I was suddenly transported back to Commonwood House in my thoughts.

That was not surprising. Scenes from the past had so often intruded, and now, here I was, not far from the place where it all happened. I was seeing poor Adeline sitting on the floor in her mother’s bedroom, with the contents of the drawer which she had pulled out all around her.

“I wanted to show Lucian the opal ring …”

“What’s the matter?” said Lucian.

“Oh … I was just thinking. I have never really forgotten what happened at Commonwood House. It keeps coming back to me. There was a scene in the house just before Mrs. Marline died. You were there. You had been talking about opals. You and Henry went off somewhere and

Adeline poor Adeline went to her mother’s bedroom to look for the opal she had. She wanted to show it to you. She pulled out the drawer. There was this scene.”

Lucian was sitting back in his chair, his eyes cast down.

“Poor Adeline,” he said.

“Mrs. Marline was very angry and Adeline was terrified of her. Miss Carson comforted her and then she fainted. I suppose a great deal was clear to some of them. I was in a sort of mist. I knew certain things without realizing their significance.”

“It’s no use going back over it,” said Lucian.

“It’s finished. Nothing we can do can alter anything.”

“I know. And I didn’t mean to talk of it. It was all because of the opals and thinking they were unlucky … and it was just after that when Mrs. Marline died.”

“I told you everything pointed to Dr. Marline. It’s horrible and it’s all in the past. Tell me what happened to James.”

“Well, he hadn’t begun to search when I left. He will go soon, I believe. He would have gone long ago if it hadn’t been for the sundowner.”

“Would you like a liqueur to drink to James’s success?”

I declined and we sat there talking, though I could not forget the tragedy at Commonwood House. There was something else I wanted to know about. That was Lucian’s marriage, but I sensed his unwillingness to talk of it.

I was a little puzzled about him. There were moments when he seemed genuinely delighted to see me, and others when he seemed to find the encounter slightly disconcerting. Had that been when we talked of the happenings at Commonwood House?

I mentioned Gertie’s coming wedding.

He said: “You will obviously be here for some time. I get to London occasionally. Perhaps we could meet again. Give me your address. I suppose you will be there for a little time yet.”

“I am rather vague at the moment about what I shall do.

Gertie’s people are most hospitable, but obviously I can’t encroach on them for ever. I think they are certain to want me to stay until the wedding. However, I shall see. “

I wrote out my address and he carefully put it away in his wallet.

He ordered a fly and took me to the station. As the train moved slowly out of the station, he stood, hat in hand, looking after me rather wistfully, I imagined.

I sat back in my seat, thinking about this strange day. The derelict house, the shocking revelations, and my thoughts then turned to Lucian. Of course, he had known great tragedy. He seemed like a man with a secret. I wondered if that were so.