Voices in a Haunted Room

by Philippa Carr

  I blew out the candle and got in beside him.

  David did not go to the rehearsal; nor did Dickon. I sat with Gwen Farringdon at the back. Fiona came in late and sat with Harry close by.

  Lady Pettigrew was in command and it was amusing to see her hawklike eyes on the Reverend Mark Pollick, who had a will of his own and was very definite as to how matters should be conducted in his own church.

  Lord Pettigrew walked in with Millicent on his arm. I saw Jonathan rise and they stood before the Reverend Mark with Lady Pettigrew audibly commanding Millicent to stand up straight and speak up.

  It was really rather funny and as my mother said, unnecessary.

  The music, chosen by Lady Pettigrew, was very stirring. The choir had been assembled to sing the anthem, and as the music filled the little church, I saw Harry Farringdon take Fiona’s hand and they turned their faces towards each other and smiled.

  I thought: It is all over for you, Evie.

  And I wondered how deeply she had felt for him. Evie was not a girl who betrayed her feelings. There was something secretive about her—just as there was about her sister.

  Evie might have been more realistic than her grandmother and could have known that the Farringdons would not willingly have agreed to a match between her and Harry; and yet on the other hand, if Harry had been sufficiently in love, I was sure John and Gwen could have been persuaded to give way to his wishes. Now he was behaving with Fiona as, not long ago, he had with Evie.

  We went back to the house, all talking about the wedding rehearsal and saying how beautiful the music was. Lady Pettigrew exuded satisfaction, so I presumed she was sure everything was as it should be.

  When we were at dinner that evening Lady Pettigrew said she had something to tell us, and she thought this was the moment to make the announcement.

  “A little bird has whispered to me,” she began in a somewhat coy manner quite alien to her usual forceful utterances, “that we have a matter to celebrate.”

  There were exclamations of surprise at the table.

  “Fiona and Harry… My dears. God bless you both. You have guessed. Fiona and Harry have become engaged to be married. Is that not charming? I know John and Gwen are absolutely delighted and so are Fiona’s parents, because they have all told me so. Dear Fiona, your happiness… and yours too, Harry, but that goes without saying… for what is Fiona’s will now be yours… and yours hers.”

  All raised their glass and Harry and Fiona sat close together, their hands clasped, looking faintly embarrassed but undoubtedly happy.

  “It seems that weddings are infectious,” said Dickon.

  “It must have been that lovely ceremony in the church which made them feel they wanted it to happen to them,” said my mother.

  Then once more everyone drank the health of Fiona and Harry.

  Afterwards when I was in the drawing room with the ladies while the men were drinking their port at the table, I found myself next to Gwen Farringdon, who was looking very pleased.

  She whispered to me: “I’m so glad. Fiona is such a charming girl. And we like the family. There was one time when I was very much afraid…”

  “Afraid?”

  She came a little closer. “Oh, you remember, there was that girl he rather liked. She was most unsuitable. She had that dreadful grandmother.”

  “You mean Evie Mather.”

  “That’s right. John and I were afraid… but then Harry’s not the sort to rush into anything, you know.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “Well, that was all a long time ago, but we did have some qualms, I can tell you. However, all’s well that ends well.”

  Millicent joined us. “What are you two whispering about?”

  “We were talking of weddings,” I said.

  “Seeing how happy you and Jonathan are has had its effect on Harry,” said Gwen.

  “Sent him flying into an engagement, I see,” said Millicent. “It’s very satisfactory. The Brownings are the right sort.”

  “Absolutely. John and I are delighted… just like your parents.”

  “And now all we have to do is live happily ever after,” commented Millicent.

  I could not sleep that night. Tomorrow was the wedding day. I kept thinking of Jonathan and wondering whether anything would happen at the last minute to stop his marriage to Millicent.

  What nonsense! As if it would! He wanted this marriage as much as the Pettigrews did. Dickon wanted it. It was the way they managed their affairs.

  That night I said to David: “I’m surprised your father allowed you to marry me.”

  “What?” cried David.

  “I brought you nothing. Everything we had was lost in France. How strange that he should raise no objections to our marriage.”

  David laughed. “If he had, it would have happened just the same.”

  “What if you had been cut off with a shilling!”

  “I’d rather have you and a shilling than Eversleigh.”

  “That’s a pleasant note to retire on,” I said.

  But I kept thinking about Jonathan, who would be Millicent’s husband tomorrow—and I could not entirely forget Evie Mather.

  Jonathan and Millicent were married on the following day. The ceremony passed without a hitch. Millicent looked beautiful in her white satin gown with the Pettigrew pearls about her neck and Jonathan was a very handsome bridegroom.

  We went back for the reception and during it Lord Pettigrew made a speech in which he formally announced the engagement of Harry Farringdon to Fiona Browning.

  Toasts were drunk, more speeches made, and Jonathan and Millicent left for London. The guests who had come for the day began to leave and only those staying in the house remained.

  It had been a wonderful wedding, everyone proclaimed; and now that the bride and groom had disappeared, there seemed little reason to continue the rejoicing.

  My mother said we should go the next day. She hated to leave Jessica long, and I certainly felt the same about Amaryllis.

  When I went to my room I found Mary Lee putting my things together; she told me my mother had sent her to do what she could for me.

  “There’s very little, Mary,” I said. “I can manage.”

  She went on folding my things.

  “I shall be glad to get back,” I said.

  “Yes, Madam. To see the little babies.”

  “They’ll soon be old enough to travel with us.”

  “The wedding was beautiful, wasn’t it, Madam?”

  I nodded. I could not bring myself to speak of it. Beautiful! Jonathan so cynical… realistic, he would say; and Millicent, was she the same? I think there was a little more to it for Millicent. In spite of her rather worldly approach and an attitude which might have indicated indifference, I had caught a gleam in her eyes as they rested on Jonathan. He was an extremely attractive man. Was it possible that he had found a way to Millicent’s heart which I had thought must be a replica of her mother’s, only to be softened by conquest and material advantage?

  “And what a surprise about Mr. Harry and Miss Fiona.”

  “Yes, it was.”

  “They talk downstairs,” she said. “They say Mr. Harry was one for shilly-shallying. He never seemed to be able to make up his mind.”

  “Well, he has now, Mary.”

  “Madam, I was wondering…”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, it’s about Miss Mather at Grasslands. At one time we thought… well, we all thought something was coming of that.”

  “Well, we were wrong, Mary.”

  “I wonder… what Miss Mather will think…”

  It was what I had been wondering about. However, I changed the subject and said that I could well manage the rest, which was dismissal, and Mary was too well trained a maid not to realize that.

  We returned to Eversleigh the day after the wedding.

  My mother and I went straight to the nursery, where we were delighted to find that all was well in the good hands of
Grace Soper.

  We played with the babies and marvelled at the manner in which they had grown, and delighted in their intelligence, which we were sure was more than that of normal children.

  Yes, it was good to be home, and I wished, as I had so many times, that my life was less complicated—as it would have been if Jonathan had never intruded into it.

  Try as I might I could not forget him and he was often in my thoughts. I wondered about Millicent and wondered whether she was going to be bitterly hurt. I had always felt that she was a young woman who could take good care of herself; but when I thought of that potent charm of Jonathan’s—so like that which had brought his father so many conquests and what he wanted in life—I did wonder.

  I tried to interest myself more in David’s ways. We read together and talked for hours on our favourite subjects; he taught me a little archaeology and again we still discussed the possibility of going to Italy when the war was over.

  I made a habit of riding round the estate with him. I wanted to know all that was happening; I wanted to share his life and atone for my infidelity. That was not possible, but I could try.

  I went to see Aunt Sophie to tell her about Jonathan’s wedding. She scarcely ever left her room, Jeanne told me. “Alberic’s death is a terrible setback for her.”

  “Is she still brooding on it?”

  “She mentions it every day. She gets quite angry about wanton murderers being allowed to escape justice.”

  “Shall I go and see her?”

  “Yes, do go up. She likes to see you—although she doesn’t always seem welcoming. Dolly Mather is with her now.”

  “Is she here often?”

  “Oh yes. She’s always been about. You know Mademoiselle d’Aubigné has taken a great liking to her. She is so sorry for her.”

  “I understand that.”

  “And I’m glad. The girl cheers her a good deal.”

  “Jeanne,” I asked, “have you seen anything of her sister, Evie?”

  “No, I have not. She used to come here sometimes with Dolly, but Mademoiselle never cared for her in the same way. No, I can’t say I have seen Evie lately.”

  “I’ll go up.

  Aunt Sophie was seated in a chair which had been placed by the bed; she wore a long mauve dressing gown with a hood of the same colour to hide the damaged side of her face.

  I went to her and kissed her. I smiled at Dolly. “How are you?”

  “I am well, thank you,” said Dolly quietly.

  “That’s good. I’ve come to tell you about the wedding, Aunt Sophie.”

  “Get a chair for Mrs. Frenshaw, Dolly,” said Aunt Sophie, and Dolly immediately obeyed.

  I described the rehearsal and the wedding reception. Dolly listened intently, her eyes never leaving my face. I always felt a little uncomfortable under her scrutiny, and I often avoided looking at her, for I found my eyes unconsciously resting on that strangely drawn-down eye.

  “A great deal of excitement, I am sure,” said Aunt Sophie. “You didn’t hear anything while you were away, I suppose?”

  “Hear anything? You mean about the war? They talk about little else.”

  “I meant about Alberic.”

  “Why, Aunt Sophie…”

  “I mean about finding his murderer. It is a sorry state of affairs when innocent people are shot at and drowned and nothing is done about it.”

  “I think they tried…”

  “Tried! They don’t care. They thought he was just a poor émigré. But one day I am going to find out who murdered him… and when I do…”

  She paused and I wanted to say: Yes, Aunt Sophie, what will you do? What would you do if you knew the truth?

  She said: “I would kill the one who murdered that poor innocent boy. Yes, I would… with my own hands.”

  She looked down at her hands as she spoke, long, tapering fingers, very pale, the hands of one who has never in the slightest way laboured physically.

  Poor Aunt Sophie, she looked so defenceless… tired and old, except for the shine in her eyes and the determination in her voice.

  “Oh yes,” she went on, “nothing would deter me. And I shan’t rest until those who did this wicked thing are brought to justice.” Her voice sank to a whisper. “It is someone here… someone close to us… Think of it! We have a murderer in our midst… and I shall not rest until I have found that murderer.”

  “Aunt Sophie, you must not upset yourself. It is bad for you.”

  “Bad for me! What is good for me? To lose the people I am fond of? To have them taken from me… wickedly done to death?”

  “There is much that we do not know,” I said.

  “This I know,” she said: “Wicked murder has been done… and if no one else will bring that murderer to justice, I will.”

  “But Aunt Sophie…”

  “You think I’m talking nonsense, don’t you? But I know something of what goes on here. I have my friends.”

  Jeanne had come into the room.

  “Mademoiselle Sophie,” she said, “you must not excite yourself.”

  “Oh Jeanne…” For a moment Sophie leaned against Jeanne. “It is such a wicked world, and I have only to love someone and that is disaster for me… for them.”

  “No, no,” said Jeanne. “That is not so. There is much that is good.”

  Jeanne nodded to me over Sophie’s head, indicating that I should leave.

  I rose and said: “Well, Aunt Sophie, I must go. I’ll come in again and see you later.”

  Jeanne came after me.

  She said: “It’s this obsession. She was like that when… You remember that tutor, when he went away: She thought fate was against her then and she never believed the things they said about him. She thought it was a conspiracy to take him from her. She was so much better—and then this has to happen with Alberic. She works herself into it. I don’t like it. It’s going right back and I thought she was much better when we came to Enderby.”

  “We are so thankful that you are here to look after her.”

  “I always shall be until God takes one of us away to another world. I wish they could solve that mystery. I think that would help a lot. If they could find the man who shot him… and if he were brought to justice, I really feel she would begin to grow away from it.”

  I rode sadly back to Eversleigh.

  July had come in rather sultry. I had not seen Jonathan since his wedding. He had remained in London and he and Millicent might have spent a week or so at the Grenfells’ house in Maidenhead.

  One morning I decided to go with David, who was proposing to look at some cottages which were in need of repair.

  It was a dull morning—a trifle misty but it would be hot when the mist cleared. The woods were looking beautiful now. I glimpsed foxgloves in the glades between the trees and the poppies made a dash of scarlet against the gold of the corn.

  When Jonathan was away I could forget the past for hours at a time—and then I think I was really happy.

  David was talking now about the possibility of several of the cottages needing repairs to the roofs.

  “It was the same at Clavering,” he was saying. “I set all that in motion there. It looks as though there’ll be a similar problem at Eversleigh. You ought to have come to Clavering with me. When Amaryllis gets a little older we’ll all go. Gerrand’s an excellent manager, but I do think we should put in an appearance more often.”

  “Dickon never goes now,” I said.

  “Well, no, but he keeps an eye on things though. He always goes through accounts and that sort of thing himself… as he does here. But I have always felt his main interest was in London.”

  “Secret matters?”

  “I’m glad not to be involved in that.”

  “I am glad too. It is better so…”

  “Much more suited to Jonathan. In fact we both fitted into our different niches very satisfactorily… don’t you think?”

  “Yes, I do, and I’m glad you got this particular niche.”
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  “The best thing I ever got was you, Claudine.”

  Was it? I wondered. If you knew everything, would you really think that? And the weight of my sin enveloped me and spoilt the beauty of the morning.

  “I want to go and have a look at Lammings Bridge,” said David. “I thought it was a little shaky yesterday. It may need propping up a little.”

  “It would be disastrous if it collapsed while someone was riding over it.”

  “Yes, the river is fairly deep at that point. It could be dangerous. We’ll just call at the cottage first and tell them I’m sending a thatcher along to look at the roofs. There might be other things that need attention.”

  I knew it was David’s policy to talk to tenants and explain what was going on, and that made it easy for them to bring their troubles to him. I realized afresh that morning what an ideal relationship he had established with the tenants. It could never have been the same when Eversleigh was Dickon’s main concern. I think they must all have been afraid of him.

  I was proud of David and my spirits rose again.

  Yes, I was happy. I thought, as I had a thousand times before: I must never make him unhappy. I owe that to him, and the only way I can make sure of that is by keeping my secret.

  “We mustn’t forget the bridge,” said David.

  “Come on then.”

  There it was—Lammings Bridge, named, so I believed, after the man who had built it more than a hundred years ago. It was small wonder that it was in need of repair since it had stood the stress of weather and traffic all that time.

  We dismounted and tethered our horses to some bushes on the bank. David prodded the wood.

  “Yes,” he said, “it’s a little broken here. Can easily be patched up though, I think. Oh, not a great deal to be done… if taken in hand quickly.”

  I leaned on the parapet and surveyed the scene. It was very peaceful with weeping willows trailing into the water and loosestrife giving a touch of purple to the banks. Then I saw something in the water. I stared. It looked like a woman.

  “David,” I called shrilly.

  He was at my side immediately.

  “Look!” I cried. “What’s that? Over there?”