Philippa Carr - [Daughters of England ]

by Gossamer Cord

  One morning a letter arrived for me. It was from Mrs. Pardell. She wrote that it was a long time since she had seen me, and she would be glad if I would call that afternoon at three o’clock.

  I was astonished. I felt there was something very mysterious afoot, for I was certain she had been in the house that day when I had called, and for some reason she did not want to see me. However, she did now.

  At three o’clock I was at the cottage. I looked up at the windows. There was the shadow of what must be a figure behind the curtains, as there had been on that other occasion. I knocked on the door. It was opened almost immediately.

  I stared. I felt the blood rush into my face. Then I started to tremble. A hand stretched out and I was pulled into the cottage. I was overcome by shock and disbelief.

  She was laughing and crying all at once.

  “Violetta! Violetta …I couldn’t bear to be away from you. That old cord was pulling me all the time. I’ve come back.”

  I stammered: “Is this…real…? Is it really you, Dorabella?”

  She drew back a little and looked intently at me. She was beautiful…tearful and wildly happy…contented because we were together.

  “Dorabella,” I murmured.

  “Yes, yes it really is. I’m back with you again—the prodigal’s returned. Oh, Vee, dearest sister, my darling twin. You will have to help me out of this one.”

  I started to question. “When…? Why…? How…?”

  “It’s wonderful to be back with you. I should never have left. I never will again.”

  “Dorabella!” I cried. “What is this all about? What have you done? Where have you been?”

  She looked at me searchingly. “You look strange, sister. I’m really here. Do you think I’m a ghost?”

  “Tell me, please, what this is all about.”

  “First of all, I’m here. I’m back. I’m really here and we’ve got to talk…quickly.”

  “Yes, we have to talk. What are you doing here…in Mrs. Pardell’s house?”

  “Come into the sitting room. You look as if you are going to pass out at any moment.”

  “Dorabella, I can’t believe this.”

  “I know you can’t.” She pouted slightly in a gesture I remembered so well. “I thought you’d be glad to see me.”

  “Oh, Dorabella, it’s what I wanted more than anything.”

  “Well then, be glad. Show me you’re glad.”

  “Of course I am. But I’m bewildered.”

  “Well, prepare yourself.”

  “I am prepared. Tell me.”

  “There are two versions.” She was rapidly becoming her old self. She grinned slightly. “One for public consumption, the other for your ears alone. Then you can advise me and tell me what I ought to do.”

  “Well, get on with it.”

  “We’re one person, aren’t we? No matter what happens. We have to stand together, help each other.”

  “Please tell me.”

  “Your version first.”

  “I want the true one.”

  “Very well. But you are going to be rather shocked. Perhaps you’d better have the other one first. It’s more respectable.”

  “I want the true one.”

  “Then it will have to be your version.”

  “For Heaven’s sake, stop prevaricating!”

  “Well, it was like this. I couldn’t stand it here. I had had enough. I knew it was a mistake…Dermot and me. He seemed so different once he was here. In Germany he was such fun, so gallant. You remember how he brought us out of the forest mist? Then at Tregarland’s it was all different. The old man always watching. Matilda so prim…and Gordon…I never understood him. Then there was the sea. I’d hear it at night. It was as though people were whispering, taunting. Anyway, I knew I’d made a mistake. I wanted to get away. Then I met this man…”

  “What man?”

  “Wait…and hear it in good time. He was painting on the cliff. You did meet him once…that Christmas at the Jermyn place. He and the German were there. He was the French one, Jacques Dubois, an artist, and I went on meeting him. He wanted me to go to Paris with him. I said, How could I? And he said it was possible. We started to make plans…half in fun at first. But I just had to get away from that place…all that spookiness going back hundreds of years.” She paused and looked pleadingly at me. “I can see you are very shocked with me. Shall I go on?”

  “Don’t be silly. Of course you’ll go on.”

  “All right, then. Prepare for the worst. I had to get away. I thought it would be fun to go to Paris—la vie bohème. Mimi and Rudolfo. Your tiny hand is frozen—all that. It sounded so romantic. We wondered how I could do it easily…without causing too much bother. So we worked it out. There was all that talk about the Jermyn girl who, a long time ago, walked into the sea and cursed the House of Tregarland for ever. Then there was Dermot’s first wife who died at sea, and you know how they all thought this was part of the curse. So I thought…if I could do it that way, they’d all think I was another victim of the Jermyn ghost and it wouldn’t hurt Dermot so much. So I started that bathing in the morning plan. I smuggled a few things out before. Jacques would have the car waiting nearby to take them. So when I actually went I could slip away easily.”

  “You took my miniature with you.”

  “I had to take that. It was like taking part of you. I couldn’t do without it. Though I did think it might be missed. But I couldn’t leave that. Jacques said I could buy what I wanted in Paris. We thought a lot about how to make it look authentic. Then we waited for the night when Dermot was away. I put my bathrobe and shoes on a rock. It was nearly midnight. The household was asleep and Jacques was waiting for me. We drove down to Portsmouth to the ferry. By the time the household was awake we were crossing the Channel.”

  I stared at her in disbelief.

  “You could do that! You could leave Tristan.”

  “I knew you would look after him…and you’d do it better than I could. You’d promised. And Dermot…well, he would find someone else probably.”

  “Dorabella! How could you!”

  “I knew you’d say that. You’ve said it a hundred times in the past. You ought to have learned by now that I do things like that. You’ll always be saying it, I suppose. Well, I’ve done it again.”

  “And what are you doing here?”

  “As I told you, it didn’t work. I soon saw that. I was bored with all those painters. Paris was wonderful for a while. I bought some clothes and that was exciting. But I kept thinking of you and the parents and what I’d done to you all. I wanted Tristan. I just knew I’d made a big mistake.”

  “And what about this…Jacques?”

  “To him it was just a light-hearted affair, fun for a while. It wasn’t the life for me. Then there was this talk about war. There were some English people in Paris. They were always saying we ought to go home. And I was homesick. I didn’t want to go back to Tregarland’s and all that that meant. I wanted to see you, Daddy and Mummy, and Tristan. How is Tristan?”

  “He’s well. Nanny Crabtree and I see to that.”

  “I knew you would. That’s been my comfort. So I came back. I’ve been here for two weeks. When I got back I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t just turn up. I was in London for a while. Then I was afraid I’d run into Edward. Most of all I wanted to see you…and Tristan. I knew you’d work out for me what I could do and we’d decide between us.”

  “I can’t believe this…even of you. And why are you here in Mrs. Pardell’s cottage?”

  “I wanted to be near. You know what gossip there is here. I thought of getting in touch with you. I remembered Mrs. Pardell. She’s always hated them up at Tregarland’s, hasn’t she? She hated Dermot particularly because of her daughter Annette. I knew that you had had some contact with Mrs. Pardell and she had been quite friendly to you. She wasn’t one to mix with people, and her cottage was fairly isolated. I decided I could see what I could do through her. I waited until it
was darkish and I went to her cottage.”

  “Good Heavens! You must have given her a shock!”

  “She wasn’t so shocked as some might have been. She doesn’t believe in ghosts. I stood at her door and I said, ‘Mrs. Pardell, you know my sister. I am Dorabella Tregarland. They think I’m dead, but I am here and alive and I am hoping you’ll help me.’ She turned rather pale and I could see the old Northern common sense and rejection of ghosts and such daft things battling away there and triumphing.

  “She said, ‘Come in, then.’ And so I went in and I told her the tale I had prepared, for I guessed that if she had known I had eloped with a French artist, I should not have been allowed to darken her doors. Hence the story I had concocted. I could not be happy at Tregarland’s, I told her. There was something that frightened me about the place. I constantly thought of the first Mrs. Tregarland, her daughter, who had met her death in a strange way. In other words, I was afraid. I could see that went down well. I took to early morning bathing, I told her. It was not something I would have done normally, but when people are in the mood I was in, they do strange things. On that morning I went into the sea. I think my head struck a rock. In any case I was only half conscious and I was carried out to sea. By a very extraordinary stroke of fortune a fishing boat was nearby. I was picked up unconscious. They took me back with them to the North of England somewhere. A place near Grimsby. I was in a hospital there. I could not remember exactly where it was. They kept me there. I could not remember my name. Then gradually memory came back and I remembered that I wanted to get back to my sister. But I was afraid to go back to Tregarland’s. There was something mysterious there which I could not understand. I could not bring myself to go back…nor did I know what to do. Mrs. Pardell was sympathetic when I told her about Tregarland’s. She thought I shouldn’t go back to that place. She had a spare room, and I could use that till I made up my mind. She said, ‘You ought to find some way of letting your sister know, because she’s been real cut up about this.’ I said I wanted time to think …I couldn’t go back to that house yet…and you were there. She told me Dermot had died and how. Believe me, Violetta, I was very, very sad about that. I felt responsible. I suppose I was in a way. Mrs. Pardell understood that I wanted to wait awhile, particularly when I stressed there was something about the house which frightened me.”

  “Did she believe this fantastic story?”

  “Yes, why shouldn’t she?”

  “Because it is so implausible. You struck your head on a rock enough to make you lose your memory, then you float gracefully out to sea and are picked up by a fishing boat? What is a fishing boat from Grimsby doing fishing off the Cornish coast? Even suppose the story about hitting your head was true, the boat which picked you up would have belonged to one of the fishermen from Poldown. He’d have said at once, ‘Here be that Mrs. Tregarland…her that went swimming in the early morning.’ And you would have been taken to West Poldown hospital and the family would have been informed without delay.”

  “It was a good story. Don’t pick holes.”

  “It is an impossible story. Go on, though!”

  “Mrs. Pardell believed it. I told it so well. I am just giving you a brief synopsis. I gloss over the difficult parts and look vague if they ask difficult questions. Remember, I did lose my memory.”

  “One of the maids saw you on the cliffs.”

  “I know. But she thought I was a ghost, of course.”

  “She did.”

  “Well, that’s what I did. So what am I going to do now?”

  “The first thing we shall do is telephone the parents. Can you imagine what they have been through, what I’ve been through?”

  “I know. It was awful of me. But you see, I meant to write to you and you could all have come to Paris to see me…if I had stayed there.”

  “You’ll come back to us. The sooner the better.”

  “I can’t tell people I ran away…just like that…staged my disappearance. I won’t do it.”

  “It will be difficult. I don’t know what the authorities will say. They made a search, you know. All along the coast. They won’t be pleased with all the trouble you’ve caused. You’ll be reprimanded rather severely, I imagine. I don’t like the true version at all. You left your husband and child of a few months to go off to Paris with an artist you scarcely knew.”

  “Put like that it does seem thoughtless.”

  “Thoughtless! People would call it wanton. You’d never live it down. It would be remembered for ever. Tristan would know when he grew old enough to understand. People will remember, if you don’t.”

  “You haven’t changed, Violetta. Still the old crusader for the right. What shall I do?”

  “We’ll have to work out a better story than yours.”

  “Yes. Go on.”

  “We’ll have to keep to the swimming idea…otherwise we shall be in trouble. I don’t think you should have hit your head on a rock. The sea was cold. You were exhausted. You had swum too far out. You were on the point of drowning. You were picked up by a yacht. The owner came from the North of England and had been to Spain. He was on his way home. Your experience had been such a shock that you temporarily lost your memory. You were taken to Grimsby, or wherever it was.”

  “I only thought of that place because it’s biggish on the map and it was a long way off.”

  “We shall have to be vague about all this.”

  “But if I lost my memory…”

  “There were pictures in the papers. The yacht people who were going home would have soon discovered. Then…you were in your swimming costume, so you couldn’t have come from anywhere but Cornwall. It all sounds so very implausible. The only one you told your fantastic story to was Mrs. Pardell.”

  “Yes.”

  “And she did not question it.”

  “No. She was too interested in the Tregarlands and the way I felt about that.”

  “You’ll have to tell our parents the truth, of course.”

  “Do I have to?”

  “Of course. Daddy will find a way of getting round all this. The sooner they know the better. They have been terribly unhappy.”

  “Bless them, Violetta, you’ll tell them, won’t you?”

  “I will do that at once. Then they’ll come down and we can talk to them and work something out.”

  “I knew you’d work it out.”

  “You’re such a devious schemer. I should have thought you could have thought up a better story than that one.”

  “Well, I had to lose my memory, didn’t I? I had to do the swimming. It was really all due to that legend. I wanted them to think I was just another victim of the Jermyn ghost.”

  “That part was ingenious, but it is no use planning an elaborate story if you haven’t worked out a suitable ending. It was you who was here that day when I called. You peeped through the curtains.”

  “Yes. I wanted so much to speak to you, but I wasn’t ready, I told myself I was a fool to let you go, but I could not see you just then. Mrs. Pardell understood. I must say, she has been a great help to me. Who would have thought it?”

  “You know what has happened at Tregarland’s?”

  “I know that Dermot died and that Matilda has gone mad.”

  I decided that this was not the moment to tell her that Tristan would have died but for the vigilance of Nanny Crabtree and myself.

  Moreover, I was filled with joy because she was back. I forgot all the grief and anxiety she had caused. She was back again and that was the most wonderful thing that could have happened.

  I now applied myself to the task of extricating her in the best possible way from the net she had woven about herself.

  I wanted to laugh—with happiness rather than amusement—at the manner in which she gazed at me; she was completely confident that we should work this out together and, because I was there, I would get her through, as I had been doing all our lives.

  The first thing I did when I returned to Tregarland’s was to
telephone my parents. I was glad my mother answered.

  “You must prepare yourself for wonderful news,” I said. “Dorabella is safe.”

  I heard the gasp and the words which came tumbling out.

  “She is well,” I went on. “I have seen her. I can’t tell you on the telephone. Both of you, get the first train. That will be quickest. I’ll tell you all about it when I see you. Don’t worry. She’s well. We’re longing to see you. I’m so happy.”

  I could picture her. She would rush to my father. They would cling together, laughing and crying. Just at first they would not care how it had come about. All that would matter would be that she was alive.

  They would catch the first train and would probably arrive at midnight or later.

  Then I went and told Nanny Crabtree. She stared at me in amazement. Then the tears started to run down her cheeks and we fell into each other’s arms.

  “I’ve seen her! I’ve seen her! Oh Nanny, it’s wonderful.”

  There were the inevitable questions. I pushed them aside. It was not so difficult because all that really mattered was that she was back.

  I told Gordon and James Tregarland that she was here. She had been rescued and had lost her memory. I could not go into details because I did not know what they would be told. The news was spreading through the household and that meant it would soon be through the neighborhood.

  Then I went to Cliff Cottage and brought her to Tregarland’s.

  There was an emotional scene between her and Nanny Crabtree. Then she went to Tristan. He gazed at her in bewilderment. Then he turned to me and held out his arms.

  “He’ll get to know you in time,” I said.

  I was amazed that the story which we finally put together when my parents arrived was accepted. This was due, I believe, to the fact that weightier matters arose at that time; and the strange disappearance and reappearance of the second Mrs. Tregarland slipped into insignificance beside them.

  During that August Hitler made a non-aggression pact with the Soviet Union and that, with the Pact of Steel with Italy, showed clearly that he was preparing to march into Poland.