“It’s true. I wonder what will happen next. I believe there may well be a war. That will change things for all of us.”
“You seem certain…”
“It is the way things are going. This alliance…what is it they call it? The Pact of Steel, which Hitler is making with Italy. It looks as though he wants to be sure he has a strong ally before he makes some move.”
“Surely he will not act against the British and the French?”
“That remains to be seen. There has been too much appeasement in the past. He may think it will continue. Let us hope that he stops in time to prevent our all being plunged into war.”
“This is all very depressing and I was looking to you to cheer me up!”
“Oh, dear! I’m sorry. Is it so very bad at Tregarland’s?”
“Naturally. Old Mr. Tregarland seems to have changed. He is so overcome with grief at Dermot’s death. He stares into space. It is as though he is trying to understand, as though he is searching for some explanation for all these disasters.”
“Poor old man! It is a good thing he has Gordon Lewyth to look after everything.”
“He is the great bulwark. Matilda, who is usually so calm and practical, seems to be utterly shaken by all this.”
“Well, let’s look on the bright side, eh? Let’s try and forget what has happened. After all, there has to be a turning point somewhere.”
We had come to an open space.
“Let’s give the horses a bit of fun,” he said, and started to gallop across the field. I followed him.
There seemed to be no end to the melancholy.
That night, at dinner, Matilda told us that Mrs. Pengelly’s baby had been found dead in her cot. “The poor woman is prostrate with grief,” she said. “The shock was terrible. She had fed the baby, put her in her pram in the garden, and left her. Then she had gone into the house and came out twenty minutes later to find her dead.”
“But what happened?” I asked.
“They don’t know yet. The child was suffocated in some way. She was blue in the face and not breathing.”
“But there must have been some reason,” I said.
Gordon said: “It is not the first time this sort of thing has happened. The doctors cannot give an explanation. The child just ceases to breathe…and in a few moments is dead.”
“But…” I began.
“There must be some reason, of course,” went on Gordon. “But the doctors don’t know what it is. These child deaths are not exactly common, but several babies have died in that way. The medical profession is researching it, and I expect they will find the cause, but so far it is a mystery.”
“There was a case over at St. Ives only a few months ago,” added Matilda. “Poor Mrs. Pengelly. It’s no consolation to her, but at least she knows it is no fault of hers.”
“You mean to say that babies can really die like this?” I asked.
“Yes. They die in their cots. They are usually round about three months old, but they can, I believe, die this way up to two or three years. The strange thing is that the doctors don’t know what happens to cause it.”
“But while they don’t know, how can people take precautions against its happening?” said Matilda.
“I have never heard of it before,” I added. I was thinking fearfully of Tristan.
As soon as the meal was over I went to the nursery.
“He’s asleep,” said Nanny. “Come in and have a chat.”
“I want first of all to make sure Tristan is all right,” I said.
“All right? He’s sleeping the sleep of the innocent, bless him.”
I looked down on him. He was hugging his teddy bear. He looked angelic, and I was relieved to see he was breathing rhythmically.
“What did you expect?” demanded Nanny Crabtree. “I’m glad he’s got that teddy. It’s a change from the old blanket he used to suck. My goodness, it was difficult to wean him from that. And what a fuss there was when I washed it. It nearly broke his little heart. But I got him on to this teddy. I’m a bit scared though of those bootbutton eyes. I wonder if they’ll come off?”
I sat down and told Nanny about the Pengelly baby.
“I heard about that one in St. Ives,” she said. “It makes you wonder.”
“I immediately thought of Tristan.”
“He’ll be all right. I’m going to keep my eyes on him. Why, what’s the matter with you?”
“I don’t know, Nanny. So many terrible things are happening here…”
She came to me and put her arms round me. It was as though I were a child again.
“There,” she said. “It’s all right. Nothing’s going to happen to our baby or to you…not now that you’ve got Nanny Crabtree to look after you.”
I just stayed there close to her and I felt like a child again. It would be all right because the all-powerful Nanny Crabtree would make sure of that.
There was a great deal of excitement when Polly Rowe, one of the kitchen maids, came in one afternoon and declared she had seen a ghost.
She was brought to me by the housekeeper, who said: “You’d better hear this, Miss. It sort of concerns you like.”
Polly, flushed and very conscious of her newly acquired importance since she had been the one to see this amazing phenomenon, could scarcely speak, so great was her excitement.
“There on the cliff, Miss,” she said. “On the west side…I was coming back after going to see my mother—over there to Millingarth—and I did see this…ghost. Her were coming straight to me. So close we was…we passed on that narrow path where it drops down to the sea.”
She shivered at the memory.
“Her were wearing something over ’er ’ead…so you couldn’t see her face like. But I knew her. There weren’t no mistake…’twere her all right. Her were looking for something, looking out to sea, ’er was. Her looked like her used to…but different…”
“Who was it?” I asked.
“It were a ghost, Miss. She were all shadowy like. She looked straight at me. I believe she knew me. Well, I’d seen her now and then, hadn’t I? She walked past me, floated as they ghosts do, and then she was gone. I was all shaken up…I couldn’t move. And then her’d gone.”
“But who was it?”
She looked at me fearfully. “It were ’er. It were Mrs. Tregarland, that’s who ’twas.”
“You mean …the first Mrs. Tregarland?”
She shook her head. “Oh, no, Miss, it were the second…the second Mrs. Tregarland.”
“My sister…?”
She looked at me fearfully…nodding.
I put out a hand to steady myself and leaned against a table.
“You all right, Miss?” said the housekeeper.
“Yes, yes, thank you. Where were you when you saw this, Polly?” I asked.
“Out there on the west cliff, Miss…not far from Cliff Cottage.”
“And you are sure you recognized her?”
“Well, Miss, she had this scarf over her head, hid her face like…a bit. But it was her all right. She was quite close. We was almost touching on that narrow bit. There she was, and when I turned round she was gone.”
“Gone? Gone where?”
“I don’t know, Miss. They ghosts do come and go as they’ve a mind to. They’ll go through walls and cliffs if they want to.”
“I think you must have been mistaken, Polly.”
Polly shook her head. “ ’Twere her all right…only in ghost form. That was the only difference.”
“What does it mean?” I was talking to myself really, but Polly answered:
“Her can’t rest. ’Tis because of Mr. Dermot, sure enough. He’s gone, too. Reckon they’re looking for each other. They do say it is like that when you get to the other side.”
I said: “Thank you for telling me, Polly.”
“I thought ’twere due to ’ee, Miss. You being her sister like.”
When she had gone I sat down to do battle with my emotions. Dorabella
seen on the cliffs. Then I told myself not to be foolish. Polly had seen someone who had borne a resemblance to her and had imagined the rest. The whole household was in a nervous state. It was reasonable to believe that Polly had seen someone like Dorabella on the cliff and that had given rise to her speculations.
In the kitchens they would all be talking of what Polly had seen. She would be reveling in her new importance and no doubt embellishing her story.
I could not sleep that night. I could see Dorabella’s mischievous face before me. I remembered an occasion when we were about eleven years old. There was a house in the neighborhood which was reputed to be haunted. Terrified, we often prowled through it, for there was a broken window through which we could climb. Once we had been there when some other children must have decided to do the same. We cowered in one of the rooms, listening to the sound of stealthy, cautious footsteps.
“Let’s play ghosts,” Dorabella had said. We were wearing light capes and we took them off and covered our faces with them. Then we confronted the other children.
“Go away or we’ll get you,” chanted Dorabella in hollow tones. “We are ghosts.”
The children turned and fled while Dorabella and I collapsed on the floor in helpless laughter.
And now…Polly had seen her ghost on the cliff…or thought she had.
What a long night it was! It was nonsense, I kept telling myself. There was no substance in the story. It was just typical of the superstitions which were never far from people’s thoughts in this place.
It was not until dawn that I slept.
I wanted to talk to someone and the only one I really wanted to see was Jowan. I telephoned his number which took me through to his office quarters.
“Mr. Jermyn is not here,” I was told.
I asked if they knew what time he would be back.
“This is Miss Denver speaking,” I added.
“Oh, Miss Denver, he’s gone to London.”
“Oh? When will he be back?”
“I’m not sure. It depends how long his business keeps him there. I’ll leave a note to say you called.”
I thanked him and rang off.
I felt desolate. He had not mentioned to me that he was going. But then, why should he keep me informed of his business arrangements?
I was deflated, for when I was troubled I had made a point of consulting him.
I could not stop myself brooding. She had been seen on the west cliff. It was nonsense, of course. Just the wild imaginings of a hysterical girl who was now enjoying the notoriety of someone singled out by the powers that be for contact with the supernatural.
If there were such things as ghosts and Dorabella was one of them, surely I was the one she would want to visit?
How I missed Jowan! I wanted so much to talk to him, to listen to his sane views; perhaps I was relying on him too much. I was deeply hurt that he had not told me he was going to London. I wondered if I had let myself believe he was more interested in my affairs than he actually was.
He was amused by the local disapproval of our relationship, of course, and was interested in the old customs and superstitions—and what had been happening at Tregarland’s was all part of that. But his main care was the Jermyn estate, and if he had had to go to London urgently, it would not occur to him to tell me.
I wanted so much to talk to someone. I thought of Mrs. Pardell. Her cottage was close by. I would go to see her and ask what she thought about the story of the ghost.
I wondered whether an account of this had reached her already. If it had, it would be interesting to get her views of the subject.
I came to the cottage and paused for a while to look at the neat garden. I opened the gate and, glancing up, I saw a figure behind the lace curtains. She would have heard the faint creaking of the gate. I stood by the door, expecting her to open it. When she did not, I knocked.
Nothing happened.
I lifted the heavy knocker and knocked again. I could hear the sound of it reverberating. Still I waited. Then I thought I heard footsteps, but no one came to the door.
I stood back and looked up at the windows. There was a shadow at one of them…someone was standing behind the lace curtains. I was sure of it. What could it mean? She knew I was here and did not want to let me in.
I walked down the path and turned back to look. Was it fancy or did I again see that shape behind the curtains? It was there…and it was gone.
This was strange. I believed Mrs. Pardell had been in the house. Well, I supposed, it must be that she did not want to see me.
A few days passed. The story of Dorabella’s ghost was discussed frequently.
“She have come back,” people said. “Her be looking for her husband. He’ll have gone over, and she be searching for him.”
One might have asked why search here if he had “gone over” to join her.
I was expecting to hear that someone else had seen her, but so far no one came forward to say so. When I went into the town people looked at me with interest. I was at the center of the drama, and they did not forget that I had brought myself into this by trying to patch up the quarrel between Tregarland and Jermyn.
More than ever I wished that Jowan was here. I felt lonely without him. I wanted to discuss Dorabella’s “ghost” and the unwillingness of Mrs. Pardell to see me. That had surprised and hurt me. I knew that she prided herself on her bluff honesty, which made it all the more strange. She was not the sort to hide behind curtains. Rather I should have expected her to open the door and say, I don’t want to see you, and then tell me why.
Her behavior after Jowan’s going to London without telling me added to my bewilderment.
Then there was a call from Jowan. My spirits rose at the sound of his voice.
“I’m back,” he said, “and I want to talk to you.”
“Yes, yes,” I said eagerly. “When?”
“Suppose I pick you up in an hour. We’ll have lunch at the Stag’s Head on the moor. I’ll tell you all about it then.”
I was excited. The pall of gloom had lifted.
He came on time and greeted me affectionately, but said nothing of significance until we were at the inn. He had chosen a secluded table where we could talk in peace.
I found it hard to contain my impatience, but it was clear to me that he would say nothing until he was ready to do so.
We ordered our food and it was only when it was on the table that he leaned toward me and said: “I’ve made a discovery. I think it may be significant.”
“In London?” I asked.
He nodded. “It was the only place where I could get it. I wanted to keep it to myself in case it came to nothing. It was not easy. I was not sure of dates and could only guess. It would have taken less time if I had had more details.”
“You’re keeping me in suspense.”
“I have unearthed Gordon Lewyth’s birth certificate from the records. He is the son of Matilda Lewyth and James Tregarland.”
“Oh!” I said.
“I suspected it might be the case, but I wanted to make absolutely sure.”
“I understood that his father was dead, and that because Matilda was a distant connection of the family, they came to Tregarland’s.”
“That was the story. It would have made a big scandal to bring his mistress and illegitimate son to Tregarland’s. Not that James Tregarland would care very much about that. He must have had his motives. Do you realize what this could mean?”
“Tell me what is in your mind.”
“I have been very uneasy about your staying there. There is something rather sinister about it all. I cannot believe in all these coincidences. Annette Pardell was the first to die.”
“I suppose they would say your ancestress was the first.”
“She drowned herself and that could have given them the idea.”
“Who?”
“Let’s see if we can work that out. The significant point is that Annette was going to have a child. After Dermot, that
child would inherit Tregarland’s. It’s a big estate and has become prosperous in the last years.”
“Because of Gordon rather than Dermot.”
“Exactly. I’m theorizing, of course. But that is all I can do. It is you I am concerned about.”
I felt a pleasant glow creep over me and it was not due to the sparkling wine.
“I’d get you out of there quickly,” he went on, “but you won’t go without the child, Tristan. I can’t see how you could kidnap him. Suppose Annette died because she was carrying the child who would be heir to the estate? Now Dermot is dead.”
“And Dorabella…?”
“That’s the part that doesn’t fit. Her son was already born. I can’t understand that. Why your sister? That is what rather spoils my theory.”
“You think that someone murdered Annette because she was going to have a child?”
“Yes. The child would follow Dermot.”
“But she went swimming.”
“I don’t believe she did. She wouldn’t have done that. She was warned against it. She was too experienced to be so foolish.”
“That is what Mrs. Pardell said. She is convinced that Dermot killed her.”
“Dermot would never kill anyone.”
“Mrs. Pardell thought he was tired of Annette and that later he was tired of my sister, too, that he was a sort of Bluebeard who married women and then, when he was tired of them, just killed them.”
“A likely tale and absolute nonsense!”
I said suddenly, as a terrible fear came to me: “There was that time when Tristan was so ill. Someone must have gone into his room, uncovered him and opened the window, hoping it would kill him, which it might have done if Nanny Crabtree hadn’t gone in in time.”
“That fits,” he said. “Annette’s possible heir, then Tristan. And…what of Dermot?”
“Are you suggesting that someone in the house murdered Dermot?”
“That would clear the decks a bit, wouldn’t it?”
I looked at him in disbelief. “You mean…for Gordon?”
He nodded. “Listen. Gordon has been brought up there. He runs the estate…excellently. He is devoted to it. He regards it as his. He is Tregarland’s son, but because his mother was not married to his father when he was born…”
Philippa Carr - [Daughters of England ] Page 31
