‘No, no, I can’t believe that.’
‘Because you don’t want to believe it. You want to back out now.’ He got to his feet, and she rose too, facing him as she cried, ‘You know that isn’t true.’
As they stood with their eyes riveted on each other, Maggie’s voice came in between them asking quietly, ‘How did the child react to her—your wife I mean, Master Michael?’
‘React?’ He was looking at her across his shoulder. ‘Why do you ask that? What does it matter?’
‘It might matter a lot. For the past week the child has been screaming at nothing, or supposedly so.’
‘My God!’ The words came slow and deep. They had a surprised sound.
As he turned his gaze from Maggie, Rosamund had the impression that he was shrinking before her eyes: she watched him shake himself, literally shake himself, as if throwing off something distasteful, something evil. He walked to the French window and looked out across the fens, and both she and Maggie stood silently gazing at him. When, after a time, he turned he found their eyes waiting for him and in tones threaded with awe he said, ‘She’s not alive. I know she’s not alive, she can’t be. But the child used to scream whenever she walked towards her in a certain way, because then she knew she was going to be thrashed. I didn’t know it was happening for a long time, this thrashing business. She used to do it when I went out fishing with the men. It was when one of the fishermen’s wives saw her at it and she told me…’ He stood rigidly still, not saying anything for some minutes, and when he did go on he spoke as if to himself. ‘I set a trap for her—she thought I was away. When I found her at it, I thrashed her with the same stick she was using on the child. It was the day after this that she was missing. Some people thought I had killed her, until three days later they found her clothes behind the rocks half a mile up the coast. It was then young Anthony confessed to the priest, and the priest brought the boy to me, to tell me he had watched her undress and swim out naked towards the point of rock where the waters of the bay met the open sea.’
Rosamund could not bear to look at him any longer. Her head was bowed deep on her chest. She was taking into her own body his suffering, his mental suffering over the years.
Maggie interposed, ‘When her body was washed up, how did you recognise her?’
‘I knew her body, Maggie, I knew Camilla’s body only too well. I had been ensnared by it. The body that was washed up was hers. If she has followed me here it isn’t with her body, but with her spirit. The evil in her that has taken shape. And the fens are the place for spirits.’
‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Will you stop talking like that, Master Michael. I would rather have it that she’s alive and on her two feet than imagining her spirit is abroad, and in this place of all places.’
Rosamund’s eyes were tightly closed. He knew her body. The words seemed to cut through her. He came towards her once more, and slowly and gently raised her chin from her breast, and again he said, but quietly now, ‘My wife is dead, Rosie.’
‘Let me go home, Michael.’ The request was whispered, and it was answered by a sudden shout, ‘No! By God, no! I tell you this is a fantasy. Gibson saw your sister, he imagined it was her. I got a shock myself the first time I saw your sister.’
‘The child’s been screaming, Michael.’ Her voice was trembling.
‘All right, she’s been screaming, she’s seen something. She’s seen the evil that bred her. But my wife is dead.’
‘Michael…’ She was appealing to him, holding out her hands. ‘Michael, do something for me, will you? Will you go down to the boat at the end of the Cut?’
His eyes were narrowed now, telling her nothing, nor did he answer.
‘Mr Gibson thought he saw my sister leaving that boat the other night. Will you…will you go and…and see who’s there?’
‘Yes. Yes.’ He nodded his head slowly. ‘I’ll go to it now, this minute, if that’ll put your mind at rest…But you’ll wait here until I come back.’
She was staring at him, saying neither yes nor no.
He turned from her, went past Maggie and towards the hall door, and there he stopped, and, looking back, he said in a tone which she remembered from the first night she had met him, ‘I’ll expect to find you here when I get back.’
She stood by the window and watched him striding down the drive and across the field towards the wood. When he was out of sight she turned to Maggie, where the old woman was sitting on the edge of the chair rocking herself back and forwards.
‘I must go home, Maggie,’ she said.
‘No! No! No, Miss Rosie, ma’am, don’t do that. Wait as he says. For God’s sake, wait.’
‘Maggie’—Rosamund drew in a shuddering breath -’I believe that his wife is alive. I mustn’t stay, Maggie. If I’m here when he gets back he won’t let me go. It mustn’t happen, Maggie.’
‘Oh, Holy Mary. That this had to come upon him. He’s been dogged all his life. Look, if you desert him in this hour of his need it will be the finish of him, I know it will.’
‘Maggie, I’m finding it terrible, I’m finding it unbearable. Can’t you see I want to stay? With all my heart and soul I want to stay. But I can’t, for I know that his wife is in that boat at the bottom of the Cut. Something tells me, something in here.’ She placed her hand on her breast. ‘You know yourself that she is alive. The child was not screaming at a spirit, she smelt her mother. Susie may be deprived of normal sense, but she’s got a sense that we haven’t. People like her can smell fear. She feared her mother and she smelt her. Oh, it’s dreadful, it’s dreadful.’ She covered her eyes with her hands, and, almost following Maggie’s pattern, she rocked back and forth, before collecting herself again and saying, ‘I’m going, Maggie; I’m going home. Tell him…tell him I’ll be back in the morning.’
‘I’ll tell him no such thing. I won’t be able to tell him any such thing, for when he gets back and finds you gone the devil himself won’t be able to get near him. You don’t know the man you’ve married. He’s both God and the devil rolled into one, and that you’ll find if you love him. I love him, I’ve loved him since he was a baby in long clothes. I know him; you’ve got a lot to learn yet. So start right now. Wait until he gets back.’
Rosamund made no answer to this, but, turning from the old woman’s bright steely blue eyes, she ran out of the room…She was still running when she reached the swollen river, where, having forgotten to put on her wellingtons, she splashed through the water to the boat. She seemed to be running still as she pulled frantically on the rope, and when the boat ground against the bank she leaped out and raced into the house like someone flying from the devil himself. She was making straight for the stairs, when both her father’s and Jennifer’s voices checked her, and she stopped, holding on to the balustrade but not looking towards them.
‘What is it, Rosie? What’s happened? What’s the matter?’ Jennifer was by her side, a different-sounding Jennifer, the old Jennifer.
‘What is it, my dear?’ Henry Morley was at her other side now, his arm about her shoulders. ‘What’s happened? Come on in and sit down.’
She flung her head back and tried to shake them off but her father firmly turned her about and led her into the sitting room, where, standing on the hearth looking anxiously towards her, was Andrew.
‘What is it, Rosie?’ He too was bending over her. ‘What’s happened? Has…has anyone done anything?’
She could not reply. She could only shake her head and try to stop the lump in her throat from choking her.
‘Your feet are wringing wet. Good gracious! Look at you. You must get those shoes off. I’ll get your slippers.’ But Jennifer did not go immediately to get the slippers. Crouching down in front of Rosamund, she added in deeply troubled tones, ‘What is it, Rosie? What’s happened?’ Then she asked as if the two of them were alone, ‘Is it him?’
The word ‘him’ seemed to arouse her father to sudden indignation, for he cried, ‘If he’s done anything I’ll go acros
s there and I’ll…’
Rosamund forced herself to speak. ‘No. No, please. All of you.’ She shook her head wearily. ‘I’ll tell you later. Get me a drink…tea…anything.’
‘Yes, yes, of course, my dear.’ Henry Morley almost ran from the room, and Jennifer, saying, ‘I must get your slippers, you must get these wet things off,’ rushed after him. Rosamund was looking up at Andrew.
‘In trouble, Rosie?’
‘Yes, Andrew. Great trouble.’
‘Can I do anything?’
‘I only wish you could.’
‘You’ve only got to ask me, you know that.’
‘Yes. Yes, I know that, Andrew, and you’d be the first one I’d ask.’
‘You can’t tell me?’
‘No. No, not yet.’
As she finished speaking her father came hurrying back into the room; he hadn’t the drink with him but in his hand he held a telegram form. He was endeavouring to cover his concern with a smile as he said, ‘This’ll cheer you. Andrew brought it over at teatime. It was addressed to you but we opened it, just in case. It’s from Clifford—he’s coming tomorrow.’
He forced the piece of paper into her hand, and her eyes hardly glanced at it. That’s all she needed now, to know that Clifford was coming tomorrow. She flung the telegram aside. ‘He can save himself the trouble.’ Her voice was angry. ‘He’s weeks too late. Anyway, when he comes I won’t be here.’
As the two men stood dumbly looking down on her, she asked herself where she would be if she wasn’t here. It was silly to talk like that.
Jennifer now came into the room with Rosamund’s slippers, and, taking charge of the situation with a quiet assurance that would have surprised Rosamund had she given a thought to it, she said, ‘Come along into the kitchen; it’s warmer there, and you’re frozen. You can change in there. Come on now.’ And she put her hand under Rosamund’s arm and helped her to her feet. In the kitchen she pressed her into a chair and actually stripped her wet stockings off and as Rosamund watched her doing this she thought, Everything’s all right with her, anyway.
‘It’s him, isn’t it, who’s upset you?’ Jennifer wasn’t looking at Rosamund as she said this, and when she did not receive an answer she went on, ‘Don’t go across there any more, finish with him. He would have had to look after the child himself, anyway, if you hadn’t been here. He’s nothing but a great big bullying brute. As I said to Andrew, nothing seems the same since he came back.’
No, nothing had been the same since he came back, that was true, and nothing would ever be the same again. She wondered what Jennifer would say if she said to her now, ‘I married him this morning, and an hour ago discovered that his wife was alive.’ Jennifer would say, ‘Well, what do you expect? That’s the kind of thing he would do.’ Yes, that’s what Jennifer would say.
It was just on dusk and they were all in the sitting room. The conversation was desultory, carried on mostly between Henry Morley and Andrew, with Jennifer chipping in now and again. Rosamund had scarcely opened her lips. She longed to be alone, but she knew that if she went upstairs it wouldn’t be to sleep, but to sit at the window and think, and brood, and look across the fens towards the house. So she sat with them, not listening to what was said, for all the while her mind was crying out bitterly against what had happened. Consequently, when the thundering rap came on the door it startled the others but brought her immediately to her feet.
Her father, looking at her quickly, also rose. ‘Stay where you are,’ he said now. ‘I’ll see to whoever it is.’
Henry Morley had left the sitting-room door open, and the three of them stood looking towards it, listening. They heard the latch of the front door being lifted, and then they heard Henry’s voice saying, ‘Yes, Mr Bradshaw, what can I do for you?’
‘I’ve come for my wife.’ The voice was not loud, but it was deep and the words came into the room weighed heavily with arrogance.
Rosamund turned from the startled looks of both Jennifer and Andrew, and, putting her hand across her mouth, she went to the window. Her father’s blustering voice followed her, crying, ‘What! Now look here, what do you mean? What’s all this?’
She heard Jennifer saying, ‘Oh, Rosie! Rosie!’ as if she had heard she had committed a crime. And it was perhaps just that: a crime.
Jennifer was behind her when Andrew said quickly, ‘Come away, leave her be. Look, come into the kitchen.’
‘But Andrew…’
‘I tell you, Jennifer, leave her alone.’
‘I don’t believe you.’ Her father’s voice was loud coming from the direction of the hall. Then from the sitting-room doorway he demanded, ‘Is this true, Rosamund?’
Could she say no? She said nothing, but bowed her head.
When the silence began to stretch her nerves still further, her father said, ‘Rosie you should have told us. You shouldn’t have done this on the…the sly.’
‘There’s a reason why she did it on the sly—I asked her to.’
‘Well, sir, all I can say to you is…’
Rosamund turned quickly on him, crying, ‘Father, please, please. I’ll explain later. Leave me alone, will you, please. Oh, please.’ She had said me, but she meant us. She watched her father divide his amazed and angry glance between them before turning slowly and leaving the room.
She walked now from the window towards the fireplace. Her body was shaking and she averted her gaze from him. But his next words brought her round to him.
‘Have you got her here?’
‘You mean…you mean Susie?’
‘Who else?’
‘No. No.’
He stared at her for a long moment before speaking again and rapidly now, ‘I thought she had followed you…and you, on this occasion, wouldn’t bring her back…And she’s not with you?’ His eyes were screwed up. ‘My God! Where can she be then? Rosie!’ He was standing close to her, his face not inches from her own and his words were tumbling out. ‘Come on. I’ll have to look for her, but come back with me. We’ll talk this over. I’m nearly mad; you realise that, Rosie? I’m nearly mad. One thing on another piling up…there’s a breaking point. Please…’ He had her hands imprisoned and held against his chest.
‘What did you find at…at the boat?’
‘Nothing, not a thing. It was locked up. I waited for over an hour, there was no-one to be seen anywhere about. And another thing’—he shook his head slowly—‘Camilla loved comfort, she would never have lived on a thing like that. It’s a little two-berth cruiser—the whole idea is fantastic.’
‘I must have time, Michael. It must be proved.’
‘Proved? I’ve told you. Do you think that if there was the slightest doubt in my mind I’d do this to you. Look, Rosie.’ He moved now slightly back from her. ‘I’ve been begging and praying. I’ve been asking and pleading for you to come back. Soon I’ll stop doing that and I’ll make you. I’ll take you whether you like it or not…’
‘You can’t do that.’
‘Can’t I? You’ll see. Well now, once more I’ll ask. Are you coming? I’ve got to go and look for the child. It’ll soon be dark…Well?’
She knew as she looked at him he was capable of carrying out his threat. If she said she wouldn’t go with him she could see him quite clearly forcing her out of the house, carrying her out of the house, fighting both her father and Andrew in the process. She did not want any more scenes. Quietly she said, ‘I’ll come and help find Susie, then you can force me to stay in the house, that’ll be up to you, but I don’t consider myself married.’
‘Don’t say that, Rosie.’
‘I do say it. I’ll go on doing so until I have proof that the woman who has been on the fens these last few days is not your wife. And there has been a woman on the fens, I’ve told you I’ve seen her.’
When he did not answer but stared at her with pain-filled eyes she could not bear to look at him any longer. She could only mutter, ‘I’ll get my coat.’
In the hall, near t
he front door, her father and Andrew were waiting, and, looking towards them, she said, in a voice she tried to keep steady, ‘The child is missing; he…he thought she might be here. I’m going to help find her…’ Now she looked directly at her father as she added, ‘But I’ll be back later tonight.’ She was conscious as she finished speaking that Michael was standing in the doorway behind her, but he said nothing to contradict her statement.
It was Andrew who now spoke. Looking at Michael, he said, ‘Can I be of help?’
She fully expected a staccato refusal to this offer, but instead she was surprised to hear Michael say quietly, ‘I would be grateful. It’ll soon be dark and impossible to go far with the water everywhere…’
A few minutes later the three of them were going down the steps of the house, and Rosamund, pausing and turning to her father, asked him gently, ‘Would you look along the river this side?’
‘Yes, yes.’ He nodded somewhat numbly at her, before adding, ‘But I can’t see that she’d be over here—she’d have to cross.’
Rosamund did not say, ‘Anything is possible.’ Things that were unnatural had this very day been accepted, believed, such as an evil spirit walking the fens and causing a child to scream.
Jennifer called to her now, ‘Be careful, Rosie. You’ll come back, won’t you?’
She made no answer to this, and a few moments later they were in the boat. When they reached the other side it was she herself who said, ‘It’s no use keeping together, I…I’ll go towards the Goose Pond.’
Michael was looking hard at her and he let out a deep breath before he said, ‘Very well. I’ll take the stretch beyond the house towards the main road.’ Then, turning towards Andrew, he asked him, ‘Would you mind taking the Cut bank towards the Wissey?’
‘Yes, yes, I’ll do that. But what if one of us comes across her? Shouldn’t we have some sort of signal?’
The Fen Tiger (The House on the Fens) Page 17
