I had been with Dorabella all the morning and after lunch she had her rest. I set out for Cliff Cottage.
I had not told her where I was going. In fact, I was still uncertain as to her reaction to Dermot’s first marriage. I think it was one of those subjects which were vaguely unpleasant, to be thrust aside and not spoken of.
It was a warm day, but there was little sunshine. The sea was a dullish gray color, quiet but with a sullen look about it.
The gulls were noisy. When I came down the east cliff into Poldown and walked along the harbor I saw the fishermen there mending their nets. Some people were buying fish that had come in that morning and the gulls were screeching wildly, looking for tidbits which, for some reason, could not be sold and were flung back into the river, where they were immediately seized on by the swooping birds.
One or two people recognized me.
“Oh, ’ee be back then?”
“Not much sun about today.”
“Nice to see ’ee, Miss. Lady up house well, I hope?”
It was rather pleasant to be remembered.
I thought of what Jowan had said about the news service. I expected they were all well informed.
I crossed the ancient thirteenth-century bridge to the west side and started to climb up the cliff. It was steep and I paused every now and then, not so much to get my breath as to admire the weird formation of the black rocks with the waves gently swirling around them.
I came to Cliff Cottage. It looked as neat as ever. Boldly I opened the wooden gate and went up the short path. There was a porch on which were stone containers in which flowers grew. The front door had frosted glass panels.
I rang the bell and waited.
There was a short pause. I could see her through the glass peering at me. I wondered if she would recognize me. After a few seconds, when I feared I might not be let in, the door opened and Mrs. Pardell stood facing me.
“Oh,” she said. “It’s you. So you’re back, then.”
“Yes. How are you?”
“I’m all right, thanks.”
“And…er…the…”
Her face was illuminated by a smile. “It took,” she said. “It took a treat.”
“Oh, I am so relieved.”
She looked at me for a moment and I thought her Northern shrewdness would reject my enthusiasm for the gushing insincerity it was. But, like most people with obsessions, she could not believe that they were anything but marvelous in the eyes of all.
“You like to see it?” she asked.
“Oh, I should love to.”
“Come on, then.”
Proudly she took me to it. I was shown the spot. It was like a shrine. The plant looked bigger than when I had brought it. I thought to myself, Thank you, little plant. It is clever of you. Through you I have gone up in the estimation of this uncommunicative lady.
“It’s done wonders,” I said.
“I can tell you I’ve taken a bit of trouble. I saw where it was up at that place, and I reckoned I knew the spot to put it. Gets the sun—but not too much—and there’s shelter…”
“Oh, yes. This sturdy plant here…protects it in a way.”
“That’s so.”
“I am so glad.”
She nodded. “It was thoughtful of you to bring it. I was that pleased…”
“I could see how much you wanted it. And why shouldn’t you share it? I knew you would appreciate it.”
“Well, thank you.”
Was that to be all? I wondered. The end of the mission?
I felt deflated.
I said desperately: “If there is anything else you liked, I daresay I could get it for you.”
It was the right note. I could see the cupidity in her eyes. I had offered the irresistible.
“That’s gradely, that is. There might be one or two.”
“Well, you mustn’t hesitate to ask.”
“I take that as a real kind thought.”
I was glowing with confidence.
“Your garden is a picture,” I said. “This is the best time of the year, I suppose.”
“Spring is better,” she said. “Least I think so.”
“Yes, spring. We’re getting on in the year now.” I inhaled the air. “It’s gloomy today. It makes one thirsty.”
It was a hint and she hesitated for a moment. “Would you like a cup of tea?”
“Oh, that would be wonderful.”
So once more I had effected an entrance and I was in the sitting room with the picture of Annette of the saucy smile and ample bosom smiling at me.
Then I thought, go carefully. I was not going to give up now, if I could help it. That offer of more plants had been a good one. It was irresistible to her, and it was becoming something of a passion with me to discover more of Annette, and her mother could surely tell me as much as anybody.
She came in with a tea tray on which were two cups, milk, sugar, and a teapot over which was a cosy of pink and beige wool, obviously homemade.
She was a knitter then. That might be a subject to embark on, but alas one of which I was abysmally ignorant, as I was of gardening.
She poured out the tea.
I said: “This is very pleasant.”
She did not comment, but she did not look displeased.
“What an interesting teacosy,” I went on.
That was the right approach.
“You have to make these things yourself if you’re going to get what you want.”
“So you knitted that?”
“It’s not knitted. It’s crocheted. I do knit a bit, though.”
“Are you knitting at the moment?”
“A jersey,” she said tersely.
“That sounds interesting.”
“Had trouble getting the wool. This place…”
“You’d probably get what you want in Plymouth.”
“It’s a long way to go for a bit of wool.”
“You are really very talented,” I said rather obsequiously. “Making these things…and the garden as well. That’s really a show place.”
I was going too far. My desire to get onto the subject of her daughter was getting the better of my common sense.
She said: “How is your sister?”
“She is quite well. She gets tired easily.”
“Reckon you’ll want to be with her when her time comes.”
“I shall probably go home before that. It is not until November. But, yes, I shall want to be here then.”
She twisted her lips in a slightly mocking way, and, to my surprise, she said: “My girl…she was going to have a baby.”
Here was triumph indeed. I could scarcely believe I was hearing correctly.
“Yes,” I said. “That was a great tragedy.”
“Brings it back,” she said. “This new wife…”
“It would, of course,” I said encouragingly.
She looked at me intently. “You want to be careful of her…that sister of yours. There was something fishy…”
“Oh?” I said, daring to say no more for fear of stopping this much-desired and unexpected turn of the conversation.
“Well,” she went on, “after that other one…”
“Which other one?”
“People here are full of fancies. It was a long time ago. It was the same time of year. That old story. Have you heard the talk about those two families quarreling, and the girl going into the sea and not coming back?”
“Yes, I have heard of it. And you mean your daughter…?”
“She went swimming. People said there was something that made her go then. They found her body. She wouldn’t have gone swimming. Hadn’t she been told not to?”
I was a little lost but afraid to stop the flow. I said tentatively: “Do you feel there was some connection between your daughter’s death and that girl long ago?”
“It was drowning for both of them. Happen that’s what got people talking. Two drowned, you see.”
“It may be that several
people have been drowned off this coast.”
“Happen. But then these two were connected with the house. You know what these people here are like? They say some spirit beckoned her into the sea. It’s a lot of rot. But that’s what they say…and there were the two of them.”
“The girl in the legend killed herself because she was not allowed to marry the man she loved.”
“That’s the tale. My Annette would never have killed herself. She wanted that baby, she did. How could she have gone swimming of her own accord when she knew it was dangerous for the child? That’s what I’d like to know.”
“Then how…?”
“Who can say? All I know is that I don’t believe she would have risked that baby’s life. I wasn’t pleased about what happened. I never wanted her to do that sort of work. She liked it, though. She’d never been what you’d call a quiet, good girl. There was always men about her. She liked that. She was one to go her own way. Wouldn’t listen to advice.”
“She was very pretty,” I said.
“That’s what they all said. Turned her head a bit. I never thought a daughter of mine…”
She stopped and stared ahead of her. I could imagine the upbringing. There would have been few demonstrations of affection from her mother. I wondered what her father was like. I could imagine him—grim, dour as his wife, working hard, getting his compensation when he was unable to work any more, coming to the Cornish coast which the doctor had said would be better for his health than the harsher climate of the North.
Annette may have looked elsewhere for expressions of affection, for laughter and gaiety. I wondered if she had found what she sought with Dermot.
I could scarcely believe that Mrs. Pardell, who had been so reticent, should now be talking to me thus. I imagined it was because I was the sister of Dermot’s second wife, who had replaced her daughter. Perhaps it was something to do with the fact that she was going to have a child. The position was similar. Annette had been going to have a child, too.
It suddenly occurred to me that she might feel it was her duty to warn me in some way. Mrs. Pardell was a woman who would do her duty, however she might wish not to.
She leaned toward me suddenly and said: “I don’t believe she went swimming of her own accord that day.”
“What?” I said, taken aback.
“She wouldn’t have done. I can’t tell you how much she wanted that child. It changed her. Mind you, we hadn’t been on the best of terms because of what she’d been up to. But she wouldn’t have gone. She knew it was putting the child in danger. I don’t because she would never have done that…and nobody could make me believe it.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“I expect you know something about it. It gets round. It’s the sort of thing people talk about. You know she was working there at the Sailor’s Rest. There she was, every night, laughing and joking. They were pleased to have her. She brought the customers in. I used to lie in bed waiting for her to come home every night. I said, ‘I’d rather see you cleaning someone’s house than doing that sort of job.’ It wasn’t a lady’s job and we’d tried to bring her up right.”
“I understand,” I said soothingly.
“There’s no need for me to tell you. I expect you know already how these people talk. That young man and his new wife has brought it all up again. When he married for the second time everyone was talking about Annette. With her, it was a case of having to get married. I don’t think he would have asked her otherwise and she’d still be there at the Sailor’s Rest. She might have married that young farmer at Perringarth on the moor. He was mad about her. But there it was. That Dermot Tregarland had to do the right thing by her. He seemed a decent young fellow then, but you can imagine what it was like up at Tregarland’s.”
She paused for a while before she went on slowly: “You might wonder why I’m telling you all this. It’s not like me to talk of it, but I’m thinking of your sister. I think you ought to look out for her.”
“Look out for her? In what way?”
“I don’t rightly know. It happened to my girl. It was about this time of the year…”
“I don’t see the connection.”
“Well, I just thought…you see…Annette and me…we wasn’t on speaking terms for a long time. When I heard she was going to have a baby and no wedding ring, I was flabbergasted. I told her her father would have turned her out. She laughed at that. Annette laughed at everything. She was never a good girl, always wayward, but…”
“I think she sounds rather lovable.”
Mrs. Pardell nodded her head without speaking. Then she went on: “When she got married and went to the big house, there was a lot of talk. I was in a way proud of her. He must have thought a lot of her, because there was his father up there, and I know he wouldn’t have liked it…her being a barmaid. She came to see me once or twice. There was one time…I knew it would be the last for some time because she wouldn’t be able to do that walk till after the baby was born. She had her car and she drove into Poldown, but she’d have to do the climb up the west cliff on foot. I am glad I saw her three days before she died. After all, she wasn’t the first one by a long chalk who had had to get wed in a bit of a hurry. She was happy enough. Dermot was a good husband and she could make him go her way. She said to me: ‘I can’t wait for this baby to come.’ She’d talk frankly about it, which I can’t say I liked very much. Sort of immodest, but Annette was like that. She said: ‘I can’t do anything now, Mam. It’s no good fretting about that. I can’t go swimming.’ I said: ‘Of course you can’t, you silly girl, in your state.’ ”
She sighed and I, amazed by this flow of confidence, just sat back quietly, fearing that at any moment it might stop.
“She’d always loved the water. I remember when we first went to the seaside. She was about eight years old then. I took her down to the seaside. She held up her hand…wonderstruck like…and ran right into the sea. After that it was swimming at school. She took to it like a fish. Regular champion she was. Won prizes. I could show you.”
“I should like to see them some time.”
“ ‘Well,’ she said to me: ‘It’s awful, Mam. I can’t swim. The doctor said no…some time back. It could hurt the baby.’ ‘Well, who’d want to swim in your state?’ I said. ‘I’d like to, but I wouldn’t do a thing to harm this baby. Mam, I’ve never wanted anything more. I’m going to love that baby like no baby was ever loved before.’ That’s what she said.”
She looked at me, her eyes blazing.
“Are you going to tell me that she went swimming on that early morning?” she demanded.
“But…she was in the water…the cross-currents…”
“Cross-currents, my foot. She could have swum in the roughest sea, that one. But she didn’t go in that morning. You’re not going to tell me she went in of her own accord.”
“Are you suggesting that she was lured in…by some spirit…of that girl who died long ago?”
“That’s what people here said at the time. But I don’t hold with all that nonsense.”
“Then what do you think happened?”
“I don’t know. But you’ve got a sister up there. She’s going to have a baby. They say there’s some curse put on Tregarland’s by them Jermyns. It’s all nonsense, but…Well, you look after that sister of yours. You wouldn’t want what happened to my girl to happen to her.”
She sat back in her chair, looking into her cup where the tea had grown cold. She looked exhausted.
She was like another person. The hard shrewdness was just a veneer. She was a woman mourning a daughter whom she had loved and lost.
I said: “I am sorry…”
She looked at me searchingly. “You really mean that, don’t you?” she said.
“Yes, I do.”
She nodded and we were silent again. I knew it was time for me to go.
I stood up and said: “If you will let me know what cuttings you would like, I am sure there would be no difficulty in ge
tting them.”
She gave me a rare smile. I felt glad that she was not regretting her confidences. In fact, I had a notion that she felt better for talking to me.
It was almost as though we were friends.
When I left the cottage I felt bemused. She had so convinced me that Annette could not have gone swimming of her own accord. When? How? On those wild cliffs one could almost believe there was some foundation in the legends which abounded here.
I walked thoughtfully down the west cliff and into Poldown. I crossed the old bridge to the east side and made my way toward the sea.
On impulse, I decided I would go back right along the shore rather than take the cliff road. I set out, my thoughts still with Annette. I could picture her clearly, for the photograph told me a good deal. She was a girl who loved pleasure, and she was determined to get the most out of life; she was very attractive to the opposite sex and well aware of it. She was impulsive, living in the present; she was everything that her mother had taught her not to be.
A slight breeze was blowing in from the sea. I walked close to the frilly-edged waves and listened to their murmur.
A young couple with a small boy, carrying bucket and spade, came along. Holiday makers, I thought. We exchanged smiles as we passed.
Deep in thought, I went on. I came to a barrier of rock which went out into the sea. I scrambled over it and found that I was in a kind of cove. There was another rock barrier which shut it in. The high cliff protruding over it made it look rather cosy, shut in by the rocks on either side as it was.
I decided to sit down for a while and to go over my conversation with Mrs. Pardell. I settled with my back to the cliff, thinking how strange it was that she had suddenly begun to talk to me. I congratulated myself afresh as to the cleverness of my approach. Perhaps I had caught her at a moment when she felt the need to confide in someone. Poor Mrs. Pardell! How very sad to lose the daughter for whom, in spite of her disapproval, she had cared deeply.
I wondered what life had been like in that cottage when Annette became a barmaid at the Sailor’s Rest. I imagined her admirers, Dermot among them. He was perhaps rather susceptible. He had almost immediately fallen in love with Dorabella. It might have been the same with Annette. I could imagine the quick romance, the consequences, and when she knew she was going to have a baby, he was brave enough to fight the family opposition and marry her.
Philippa Carr - [Daughters of England ] Page 16
