As we rode along I thought I heard the sound of a shot. I stopped and listened. Someone potting a hare or rabbit in the woods, I thought. The workers on the land did it often.
Without thinking I allowed Tomtit to lead where he would and took the familiar road to Enderby.
I stopped in a clump of trees and looked at the house. I tried to think of practical things and I thought while Carlotta is here we must talk to her about doing something about the house.
My gaze wandered over the creeper-covered walls, now so beautiful, gleaming reddish in the pale sunshine of an autumn day. I looked towards the fenced-in land close by. It was very silent. The summer was over, there were few flowers left—just a sprinkling of campion and shepherd’s purse, a clump of gorse here and there, and woolly seed heads of thistles and a little roundwort.
So many of the birds had gone now. I saw a sparrow hawk hovering, looking for prey, and heard the sudden cry of a gull.
That meant stormy weather. They flew inland when gales and wind and rain were threatening. I marvelled how they could sense these conditions long before we could. We were about three miles from the sea and whenever we heard the gulls we always said: “Bad weather on the way.”
It was warm for November. What was the old saying: “A cold November, a warm Christmas.” Perhaps it worked the other way too.
As I sat there taking comfort from the contemplation of nature, which I had been able to do from the time I was aware of anything at all, I saw a movement in the fenced-off land. I was not far from the gate and could see through the bars. I remained still and silent, wondering who it was who had ventured there.
It was a man. He came to the gate and unlocked it. I saw that it was my father and that he carried a gun under his arm.
My impulse was to call to him; then I decided not to. Ever since Belle had been trapped there he had shown a disinclination to talk about the land. I decided therefore that I would not let him know I was here. He might wonder why I came. I hid myself among the trees. It would not be easy to explain the impulse which prompted me. So I thought: Let well alone.
I watched him walk away in the direction of the Dower House. Then I continued my ride.
When I returned Carlotta was back from hers. Matt had returned to Grasslands and we did not see him again that night.
The next morning he came over in some consternation.
“Belle has not been home all night,” he said.
I was very concerned.
“It is so unlike her,” he said. “I know she likes to roam about on her own, but she always returns at night.”
“You don’t think she is caught in a trap, do you?”
“Oh, no. Your father has shown his disapproval of them. I don’t think anyone would use them after what happened to the Rooks.”
“Let’s go out and look for her,” I said.
We went everywhere we could think of. We even went into the fenced land and I got the key of the house and we explored that.
They had been Belle’s favourite haunts but there was no sign of her.
It started to rain while we were looking.
“That will bring her in,” said Matt. “She hates the rain.” We went back to Grasslands. Matt went all over the house and grounds calling to Belle, but there was no sign of her.
That brings me to that day when my whole world was turned upside down—a day I cannot bear to think of even now.
The sky was overcast and it was dark when I awoke. It had been raining heavily during the night, and although it had let up for a while, by the appearance of the clouds it would start again at any moment.
Matt came over in the morning.
I saw him coming and called: “Any news of her?”
He shook his head blankly.
Carlotta came down in her riding habit. “Let’s go out and look for the dog,” she said to Matt.
They went off together. I could have gone with them but I declined as I had the previous morning and they made no effort to persuade me.
I could not concentrate on my lessons, and Miss Leveret said: “I think we’d better abandon lessons until that dog is found.”
The day seemed endless again. What had happened to time? The clouds were still heavy but the rain had kept off. I decided that Tomtit could comfort me and, who knew, I might come across Belle. Hurt perhaps, shut up somewhere. It was possible; she had a passion for exploring, she might have crept into some hut and the owner could have come along and locked her in not knowing she was there.
As usual I went past Enderby and suddenly a thought hit me. It was about here that I had heard the sound of a shot. I had seen my father emerge from the land with a gun under his arm.
No. It was impossible. I marshalled my thoughts. The shot which I had heard could reasonably be supposed to have been made by my father. Had I not seen him with the gun under his arm?
Belle had been fascinated by the land and by Enderby generally.
It seemed possible that he had found the dog there, been so angry—his temper was fierce when aroused—and shot her.
To kill Belle—that lovely, happy, friendly, creature whom I had loved so much! And to think it had been done by my father, whom I also loved.
I would not believe it.
But the more I thought of it the more likely it seemed.
I slipped off from Tomtit’s back and tethered him to a tree.
“I won’t be long,” I said. “Wait for me. There’s a good boy. But I must go in there. I must see what I can discover.”
Tomtit pawed the ground twice. An answer to my pat. He understood. He was to wait for me.
I climbed over the gate and was inside the enclosure. I suppose it was because of the rumours attached to the place that I felt a sense of evil. It was as though eyes watched me, as though trees would take on the shape of monsters if I turned my back on them. Little girl fears. Relics of my childhood days when I had plagued Emily Philpots to tell me gruesome stories by day and then when darkness fell wished I hadn’t.
I was wishing I hadn’t come now. What did I hope to find? If he had shot Belle … No, I would not believe it. I could not bear to think of that dear creature lying stiff and silent with a shot through her head.
I was being foolish. My father often went out with his gun. He had just decided to look at the land. Perhaps he had been contemplating what he would do with it. There had been so much talk about that lately.
Nevertheless I went walking on. The leaves were wet and slushy. The wind had brought the last of the leaves off the trees and bushes. My feet made a swishing noise which broke the silence of the air.
“Belle,” I called softly. “You’re not hiding here, are you?”
I kept thinking of her as she had looked at the charades, when she had bounded in and laid the dirty old shoe at Matt’s feet—a tribute of love and loyalty. I could see her at this moment, her head on one side, her tail thumping the floor as she had sat down revelling in the old shoe as though it were the Golden Fleece or the Holy Grail.
“Belle, oh, Belle, where are you? Come home, Belle.”
I had come to that spot where she had found the shoe. And then I noticed … The ground had been disturbed recently. It had been dug up and carefully replaced. A terrible understanding came to me. I knew that Belle was underneath that soil.
I stood staring at the patch for some time. I was so overcome by emotion that I could not move.
Two dreadful realities struck me. Belle had been shot and my father had killed her and buried her.
“Oh, father, how could you?” I murmured. “What harm had she done? She came in here and she found the shoe. It was natural to her; she was delighted with her find. Why were you so angry when she was caught in the trap? Why is it so important?”
That was the question. Why?
It had grown dark in the wood. A heavy raindrop fell on my upturned face. The threatened rain was starting again.
The gloom in the wood had increased. It was overpowering. It was evi
l … evil … all around me. I sensed it. It was true about the will-o’-the wisps. They were here in this evil land which turned good kind men like my father into murderers. For Belle had been murdered. I called it so because Belle was very dear to me. And my father, who was also dear to me, had done it. What was it about this evil spot which changed people?
I had to get away from it. I wanted to be alone to think. I wanted to see Matt and tell him what I had discovered. Or did I? I would not tell anyone that I had seen my father with a gun.
Then the most fearful thought of all struck me. What was hidden in this place which could have this effect on my father?
I was seized with a sudden fear. I must get away. I was caught up in something evil and I must escape from it as soon as I could.
I started to run and as I did so it seemed that the trees reached out to catch me. I found progress difficult through the sodden leaves. I caught my foot and for a horrible moment thought I was going to fall. The prospect of spending a night in this place appalled me.
I caught at a tree trunk. My hand was grazed from the contact but it saved me from a fall. I rushed on. I was caught and held and felt faint with horror but it was only a bramble which had caught my sleeve. At last I came panting to the gate.
The rain was now pelting down. I was going to be saturated if I went back in this. Moreover, it was falling in such sheets that one could hardly see where one was going.
Then I thought of the house. How I was to wish later that I had not done so. But then perhaps it was inevitable and best for me to know.
I untethered Tomtit, who whinnied with pleasure at the sight of me.
“It can’t last long like this,” I said to him. “We’ll wait a bit. There’s an outhouse close to the house.”
I took him over and it was difficult to find our way in the blinding rain. There was just room for him in the shed. I patted him and he nuzzled against me.
I decided to wait in the house porch because I could get more shelter there.
Murmuring that I would not be long and that we would go as soon as the rain abated a little, I stumbled towards the house.
I reached the porch and leaned against the door. To my amazement it opened. It had evidently not been properly shut.
I went inside. It was a relief to get out of the wind and rain. I stood in the great hall and looked towards the minstrels’ gallery.
How gloomy it was. There was an atmosphere of menace, I always thought, in this house even when the sun was shining. But in the gloom it really was forbidding.
Even so it offered comfort after the conditions outside.
I don’t know why it is one can sense human presence but one often does, and as I stood there the firm conviction came to me that I was not alone in the house.
“Is anyone there?” I said. My voice seemed lost in the sound of the rain outside. A sudden flash of lightning illuminated the hall. It startled me so much that I gasped. A few seconds later came the roar of thunder.
A great desire came to me. “Get out.” It was as though a voice was warning me. I stood uncertainly. The darkness outside had deepened. It was like the dead of night.
Then suddenly the hall was lit up by another flash of lightning. I was staring at the minstrels’ gallery expecting to see something there. There was nothing. I braced myself for the tremendous clap of thunder. The storm was right overhead.
I stood leaning against the wall. My heart was beating so fiercely that it seemed as though it would choke me. I waited for the next burst of thunder. It did not come. As I stood there, the darkness lifted. I could see the curtains at the gallery. I could have fancied they moved, but that was only fancy.
And yet I had the conviction that someone was in this house.
“Go away,” said the voice of common sense.
But I could not go. Something was impelling me to stay.
I was in a state of shock, I believe. I was obsessed by the certainty that my father had killed Belle and buried her in the forbidden wood and that there was some dark secret there which I dared not discover. I felt that it would wrench the whole structure of my life if I found out.
It was as though I could hear voices, whispering voices, voices of the Rooks fabricating tales about my father, gossip, rumour. But there was something there. Normally I should be afraid to stay in this house. Now, although I sensed more than I ever had before that atmosphere of doom which hung over it, it did not frighten me. Or perhaps I was so afraid of reality—of what might lie under the soil of the forbidden wood—that I could not feel this fear of the supernatural. There was so much that could be explained to the human mind going on around me—that was if one could piece the evidence together.
There was another flash of lightning, less brilliant than those which had gone before, and some seconds passed before I heard the thunder. The storm was moving away. It had become lighter.
I wondered why the door was not shut. We always locked the doors when we left. It was not as though it was empty of furniture. All Robert Frinton’s furniture had been left here when he died and had remained since. Carlotta had wished it that way and it had been her house and her furniture—left to her by the adoring Robert Frinton, uncle of the father whom she had never known.
I looked up the staircase and it was as though some force impelled me to mount it.
I did so slowly. I could still hear the rain pelting down outside. I looked into the gallery. There was no one there.
Someone must have forgotten to lock the door, I told myself. Why not go out? Go to comfort poor Tomtit, who would be waiting patiently for me in the outhouse.
But I went up the stairs. I was going to look through the house to see if anyone was there.
I had a fantastic idea that the house was beckoning me on; I could almost fancy it mocked me.
“Silly little Damaris, always such a child.”
That was like Carlotta’s voice.
“When I, as a child, went and explored the haunted house I hid in a cupboard. It was called Carlotta’s cupboard after that. Robert Frinton said he was reminded of me every time he used it.”
Carlotta had loved to tell me tales like that when she was younger but so very much my senior—seeming to be more so then than now.
Oddly enough my fear had left me, although never had the house seemed more sinister. It was simply because I was not really here. I was in the wood looking down at that patch of land which I believed to be Belle’s grave.
Now I had reached the first-floor landing. I thought I heard whispering voices. I stood still listening. Silence … deep silence.
I imagined it, I thought. It was easy to imagine voices with the rain pelting against the window and the wind sighing through the branches of the trees which would be completely leafless after this violent storm.
I opened the door of the bedroom which Carlotta had liked best of all. The room with the four-poster bed with the red velvet curtains, the bed where I had come across her lying and talking to herself.
I stepped into the room. I took a few paces forward and almost tripped over something lying on the floor. I looked down. There was enough light to show me a riding habit … dove grey with a hat with a little blue feather.
I gave a little gasp. At that moment a flash of lightning illuminated the room and I saw them clearly. Carlotta and Matt. They were lying on the bed … naked … They were entwined about each other.
I took one look and turned. I felt sick. I did not know what to do, what to think. My mind was a blank. As I shut the door the clap of thunder burst out.
I ran. I did not know where I was running. All I wanted to do was to get away. I could not bear to think of what I had seen, of what it implied. It revolted me, nauseated me.
I did not know where I was running. I was unaware of the rain beating down on me. I came to the gate of the forbidden land. Where to hide? Where to be alone with my jumbled thoughts? In there … there at the side of Belle’s grave.
I climbed the gate and went st
umbling through the leaves. I flung myself down beside the disturbed earth. I lay there trying hard not to think of that scene in the bedroom.
It was dark. It was still raining but it was a softer rain now. I felt dazed and lost to the world. I was not sure where I was. Then I remembered. I was in the wood and Belle was murdered and I had seen something in the bedroom at Enderby which I could never forget. It had shattered my own personal dream; but it had done more than that. I did not want to know anymore. I wanted to forget. My father … my mother … my sister … I could not bear to be with them. I wanted to be alone … by myself … here in the forbidden wood.
My mind started to wander, I think, because I fancied I saw the will-o’-the-wisps dancing around me as though to claim me as one of their band. I was not afraid of them. I understood something of human unhappiness now. I just wanted to be wrapped round in nothingness. “Nothing, nothing,” I whispered. “Let it stay like this for ever.”
It was long after that night before I wrote again in my journal. They found me in the morning. It was my father who came into the wood looking for me and carried me home. Tomtit, sensing that something was wrong, had late that night left the hut and gone back to the Dower House. They were at that time very anxious about me and when he came back alone they were frantic with anxiety.
Then they searched … all through that night of rain and storm.
I had a raging fever and I came near to death. For a whole year I was in my bed. My mother nursed me with all the love and tenderness of which she was capable.
They didn’t question me. I was too ill for that. It was more than three months before I discovered that the Pilkingtons had left. Elizabeth had grown tired of the country, they said, and had left for London and put Grasslands up for sale. Matt had left a week or so after that terrible night.
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