Kirkland Revels

by Victoria Holt

  " I am going to help you, Catherine."

  "Then tell me what this is."

  Still he hesitated. Then he said: "You must realise that 179 if I tell you, I do so because I want you to understand the need for you to listen to my advice."

  " I will listen to your advice ... only tell me."

  Still he paused and it was as though he were seeking the right words.

  Then suddenly they came rushing out. " Catherine, you know that I have for some years made a habit of visiting Worswhistle."

  "Yes, yes."

  " And you know what Worstwhistle is."

  " Yes, of course I know."

  " I am in a very trusted position there and I have access to the records of patients. As a medical man ..."

  " Naturally," I interrupted.

  " A close relative of yours is in that institution, Catherine. I do not think you know of this ... in fact I am sure you do not. Your mother has been a patient at Worstwhistle for the last seventeen years."

  I stared at him; I felt as though the walls of the room were about to collapse upon me; there was a rushing in my ears. It seemed to me that this room with its roll-top desk, this man with the gentle eyes, were dissolving and in their place was a house made dark, not because the Venetian blinds were always drawn, but because there was always there an atmosphere of brooding tragedy. I heard a voice crying in the night: " Cathy ... come back to me, Cathy." And I saw him, my tragic father, going off regularly each month and coming back dispirited, sad, melancholic.

  " Yes," went on the doctor. " I fear it is so. I have never met your father but I am told that he is devoted to his wife, that he pays regular visits to the institution. Sometimes, Catherine, she knows who he is. Sometimes she does not know him. She has a doll which at times she knows to be a doll; and at others she thinks it is her child . you, Catherine. At Wortwhistle all that can be done for her is done . but she will never leave the place. Catherine, you see what I mean? Sometimes the seed is passed on. Catherine, do not look . so stricken. I am telling you that we can care for you . that we can help you.

  That's what I want to do. I am only j| telling you this so that you will put yourself in my hands. Believe me, Catherine. "

  I found that I had buried my face in my hands and that I was praying.

  I was crying: " Oh, God, let me have dreamed this. Let it not be true."

  He had risen and was standing by my chair; his arm was about my shoulders.

  "We'll fight it, Catherine," he said.

  "We'll fight it together."

  Perhaps the word "fight" helped me. It was a lifelong habit of mine to fight for what I wanted. I kept thinking of that vision I had had.

  The curtain had been pulled about my bed. Who had pulled it? There had been a draught from the door. I would not accept this theory that I was the victim of delusions.

  He sensed the change in my mood. " That's the spirit, Catherine," he said. " You don't believe me, do you?"

  My voice sounded firm as I said: " I know someone is determined to harm me and my child."

  " And do you believe that I would be so cruel as to concoct this story about your mother?"

  I did not answer. There were my father's absences from home to be explained. How could he have known of these? And yet . I had always been led to believe that she had died.

  Suppose it were true that my mother was in' that place it was not true that my mind was tainted. I have always been calm and self-possessed.

  There had never been any signs of hysteria. Even now when I had been subjected to this terror, I believed that I had been as calm as anyone could hope to be in the circumstances.

  I was as certain as I ever had been that whatever had happened to my mother, I had not inherited her insanity.

  " Oh, Catherine," he said, " you delight me. You are strong. I have every hope that we wilt fight this. Believe me, it is true that your mother, Catherine Corder, has been in Worstwhistle for the last seventeen years. You accept that, don't you, because you know that I would not tell you this unless I had made absolutely sure. But what you won't accept is that you have inherited one small part of her insanity. That's going to help us. We'll fight this."

  I faced him and said in a firm voice: " Nothing will convince me that I have imagined these things which have happened to me since I came to the Revels."

  He nodded. " Well then, my dear," he said, " the thing for us to do is to find out who is behind this. Have you any suspicions?"

  " I have discovered that several people possessed a monk's robe five years ago at the time of the pageant. Luke had one. 181 Simon Redvers had one. And both of them are in line to inherit the Revels."

  He nodded.

  "If anyone has been deliberately seeking to harm you ..." he murmured.

  " They have," I answered vehemently. " They have."

  " Catherine," he said," you are exhausted by your emotions. I should like you to go home and rest."

  I was aware how weary I was, and I said: " I should like to be at home.

  I should like to be in my room ... alone to rest and think of all this."

  "I would drive you back but I have another patient to see."

  " I don't want them to know that I've been to see you. I want to walk home and go in ... just as though nothing unusual has happened."

  " And you want to say nothing of all this?"

  " At present, yes. I want to think."

  " You are very brave, Catherine."

  " I wish I were wiser."

  " You are wise too, I think. I am going to ask you to do me a favour; will you? "

  " What is it?"

  " Will you allow Damans to walk back with you?"

  " That is not necessary."

  " You said you would take my advice, and this news of your mother has been a great shock to you. Please, Catherine, do as I say."

  " Very well. If Damaris has no objection."

  " Of course she will have none. She will be delighted. Wait here and I will' go and fetch her. I am going to give you a little brandy first.

  Please don't protest. It will do you good. "

  He went to a cabinet and brought out two glasses. He half filled one and gave it to me. The other he filled for himself.

  He lifted the glass and smiled at me over it.

  "Catherine," he said, "you will come through all this. Trust me. Tell me anything you discover which you think is important. You know how much I want to help."

  " Thank you. But I can't drink all this."

  " Never mind. You have had a little. It Will help to revive you. I am going to find Damaris."

  He went and I was not sure how long I remained alone. I kept going over it in my mind: My father's leaving Glen 182 House and not returning until the following day. He must have stayed a night near the institution . perhaps after seeing her he had to compose himself before returning home So this was the reason for that house of gloom; this was why [ had always felt the need to escape from if. He should have warned me; he should have prepared me. But perhaps it was better that I had not known. Perhaps it would have been better if I had never known.

  Damaris came into the room with her father. She was wearing a heavy coat with fur at the collar, and her hands were thrust into a muff. I thought she looked sullen and reluctant to accompany me, so I began to protest that I was in no need of companionship.

  But the doctor said determinedly: "Damaris would like a walk." He smiled at me as though everything were normal and he had not almost shattered my belief in myself by his revelations.

  " Are you ready?" asked Damaris. " Yes, I am ready."

  The doctor shook my hand gravely. He said I should take a sedative to-night as I was sleeping badly, implying to Damaris, I thought, that this was the reason for my coming I took the bottle he gave me and thrust it into the inside pocket of my cloak; and Damaris and I set out together.

  "How cold it is!" she said.

  "We shall have snow before morning if this continues."

&nbs
p; The wind had whipped the colour to her cheeks and she looked beautiful in her little hat which was trimmed with the same fur as her muff.

  " Let's go through the copse," she said. " It's a little longer but we shall escape the wind."

  I was walking as though in my sleep. I did not notice where we went.

  I could only go over and over in my mind what the doctor had told me, and the more I thought of it the more likely it seemed.

  We stopped in the shelter of some trees for a while for Damaris said she had a stone in her boot which was hurting her. She sat on a fallen tree-trunk and removed the boot, shaking it and then putting it on again. She grew red trying to do the buttons up.

  Then we went on, but the boot was still hurting her and she sat down on the grass while the operation was repeated. " It's a tiny piece of flint," she said. " This must be it." 183 And she lifted her hand to throw it away. " It's amazing that such a little thing could cause such discomfort. Oh dear, these wretched buttons."

  " Let me help."

  " No, I can do them myself." She struggled for a little while, then she looked up to say: "I'm glad you met my mother. She was really very pleased to see you."

  " Your father seems very anxious about her."

  " He is. He's anxious about all his patients."

  " And she is, of course, a very special patient," I added.

  " We have to watch her or she will overtax her strength."

  I thought of Ruth's words. She was a hypochondriac and it was because of the doctor's life with her that he threw him self so wholeheartedly into his work.

  But my mind was filled by one thought only as I stood there among the trees.

  Was it true? I did not ask that question about my mother because everything fitted so well. I knew that must be true. What did I mean then? I had asked the question involuntarily: Am I like my mother? In doing so I had admitted my doubts.

  Standing there in the woods on that December day I felt that I had come as near to despair as I had in my whole life. But I had not touched the very bottom yet. That was imminent but at that moment I believed that nothing worse could happen to me.

  Damans had buttoned her boot; she had thrust her hands into her muff and we were off again.

  I was surprised when I found that we had come out of the trees on the far side of the Abbey, and that it was necessary to walk through the ruins to the Revels.

  " I know," said Damans, " that this is a favourite spot of yours."

  " It was," I amended. " It is some time since I have been here."

  I realised now that the afternoon was fading and that in an hour or so it would be dark.

  I said: " Luke must take you home." "Perhaps," she answered.

  It seemed darker in the ruins. It was naturally so because of the shadows cast by those piles of stones. " We had passed the fish-ponds and were in the heart of the Abbey when I saw the monk. He was passing through what was left of the 184 arcade; silently and swiftly he went; and he was exactly as he had been at the foot of my bed. I cried out:

  " Damaris! There 1 Look! "

  The figure paused at the sound of my voice, and, turning, beckoned.

  Then he turned away and went on. Now the figure had disappeared behind one of the buttresses which held up what was left of the arcade ; now it was visible again as it moved into the space between one buttress and the next.

  I watched it, fascinated, horrified, yet unable to move.

  I cried out: " Quick 1 We must catch him."

  Damaris clung to my arm, holding me back.

  " But there is no time to waste," I cried. " We'll lose him. We know he's somewhere in the Abbey. We've got to find him. He shan't get away this time."

  Damaris said: " Please, Catherine ... I'm frightened."

  " So am I. But we've got to find him." I went stumbling towards the arcade, but she was dragging me back.

  " Come home," she cried. " Come home at once."

  I turned to face her.

  "You've seen it," I cried triumphantly. " So now you can tell them.

  You've seen it!"

  " We must go to the Revels," she said. " We must go at once."

  " But ..." I realised that we could not catch him because he could move so much faster than we could. But that was not so important.

  Someone else had seen him, and I was exultant. Relief following so fast on panic was almost unendurable. Only now could I admit how shaken I had been, how frightened.

  But there was no need to fear. I was vindicated. Someone else had seen.

  She was dragging me through the ruins and the house was in sight.

  "Oh, Damaris," I said, "how thankful I am that it happened then ... that you saw."

  She turned her beautiful, blank face towards me and her words made me feel as though I had suddenly been plunged into icy water.

  " What did you see, Catherine?"

  " Damaris ... what do you mean?"

  "You were very excited. You could see something, couldn't you?"

  " But do you mean to say you didn't!" 185 " There wasn't anything there, Catherine. There was nothing."

  I turned to her. I was choking with rage and anguish. I believe I took her arm and shook her. " You're lying," I cried. " You're pretending."

  She shook her head as though she was going to burst into tears.

  " No, Catherine, no. I wish I had ... How I wish I could have seen if it meant so much to you."

  " You saw it," I said. " I know you saw it."

  " I didn't see anything, Catherine. There wasn't anything." I said coldly: " So you are involved in this, are you?"

  "What, Catherine, what?" she asked piteously. " Why did you take me to the Abbey? Because you knew it would be there. So that you could say that you saw nothing. So that you could tell them I am mad!"

  I was losing control, because I was thoroughly frightened I had admited my fear when I thought there was no longer reason to be afraid; and that was my undoing. She was clutching at my arm but I threw her off.

  "I don't need your help," I said.

  "I don't want your help. Go away. At least I've proved that you are his accomplice."

  I stumbled on. I could not move very fast. It was as though the child within me protested.

  I entered the house; it seemed quiet and repelling. I went to my room and lay on my bed, and I stayed there until darkness came. Mary-Jane came to ask if I wished to have dinner sent up to me; but I said I was not hungry, only very tired. I sent her away and I locked the doors.

  That was my darkest hour.

  Then I took a dose of the doctor's sedative and soon I fell into merciful sleep.

  There is some special quality which develops in a woman who is to have a child; already the fierce instinct is with her. She will protect that child with all the power of which she is capable and, as her determination to do so increases, so it seems does that power.

  I awoke next morning refreshed after the unbroken sleep 186 which the doctor's sedative had given me. The events of the previous day came rushing back to my mind, and even then [ felt as though I were at the entrance of a dark tunnel it would be disastrous for me to enter, but into which I might be swept by the bitter blast of ill-fortune.

  But the child was there, reminding me of its existence. Where I went there must the child go; what happened to me must have its effect on the child. I was going to fight this thing which was threatening to destroy me--not only for myself but for the sake of one who was more precious to me.

  When Mary-Jane came in with my breakfast she did not see that anything was different, and I felt that was my first triumph. I had been terrified that I should be unable to hide the fear which had almost prostrated me on the previous day " It's a grand morning, madam," she said.

  " Is it, Mary Jane

  " A bit of a wind still, but any road t'sun's shining."

  " I'm glad."

  I half closed my eyes and she went out. I found it difficult to eat, but I managed a little. The sun sent a feeble ra
y on to the bed and it cheered me; I thought it was symbolic. The sun is always there, I reminded myself, only the clouds get in between. There's always a way of dealing with every problem, only ignorance gets in the way.

  I wanted to think very clearly. I knew in my heart that what I had seen had been with my eyes, not with my imagination. Inscrutable as it seemed, there was an explanation somewhere.