Kirkland Revels

by Виктория Холт

  I thought of Fanny’s pursed lips and my father’s ” bad turns.”

  No, I was not eager to return to Glen House; yet I was not sure that I wanted to stay at the Revels. What I wanted was to clear away this ignorance which shut me in like a fog. I believed if I could do that I should understand . what?

  I walked each day and my footsteps always seemed to lead me to the Abbey. I had found in the Revels library an old plan of the place as it must have been before the 1530’s and the Dissolution, and it took my mind from morbid thoughts to attempt to reconstruct the old building on those ruins. The plan was a great help and I was able to identify certain landmarks. I was excited when I came upon what must have been the chapel of nine altars, the monks’ dorter, the gate house, the kitchens and the bake houses I also discovered the fish-ponds.

  There were three of these, a grassy bank separating them from each other.

  I wondered whether Friday had fallen into one of these and been drowned. Impossible. They could not be very deep and he would swim to the bank. Nevertheless I called him whenever I came to the Abbey, which I knew was foolish even as I did it; but I could not bear to face the fact that he was gone for ever. I must continue to hope.

  I remembered the day when I had first seen Dr. Smith at this spot and he had said that Friday ought to have been brought here on a lead. As soon as I had recovered sufficiently from the shock of Gabriel’s death, I had gone to the old well to look for Friday, but there was no sign of him there.

  One day returning from my walk I took a new route and consequently arrived at the back of the house instead of the front, so I entered through a door I had not hitherto used I was in the east wing of the house a part with which I was not yet familiar. All the wings, I discovered, were almost identical with each other, except that the main staircase which led down to the hall past the minstrels’ gallery was in the south wing.

  I mounted a flight of stairs to the third floor, knowing that there were communicating corridors between the wings, and I thought I should easily find my way to my own apartments But this was not so, for I found myself in a maze of corridors and I was not sure which was the door which communicated with the south wing.

  I hesitated because I was afraid I might walk into someone’s private room.

  I knocked at several doors, opened them and found a bed room or’a sitting-room, a sewing-room, but not the corridor I was looking for.

  I could either retrace my steps, leave the house and enter by the front door, or continue my search. I decided on the latter realising that it was the only thing to do, for how could I be sure that I would find my way out of such a maze?

  In desperation I tried more doors, only to be disappointed. At length when I knocked on one a voice said: ” Come in.” I entered and Aunt Sarah was standing so close to the door back;! that she startled me and I jumped back.

  She laughed and put out a thin hand with which she clutched my sleeve.

  ” Come in,” she said. ” I’ve been expecting you, my dear.”

  She ran round me as I entered she seemed more nimble than she was when with the rest of the family and quickly shut the door as though she was afraid I would try to escape ” I know,” she said, ” you’ve come to see my tapestries That’s it, isn’t it?”

  ” I should greatly enjoy seeing your tapestries,” I told her. “

  Actually I lost myself. I came in by the east door. I have never done that before.”

  She shook a finger at me as though I were a naughty child ” Ah, it’s easy to lose your way … when you don’t know. You must sit down.”

  I was not sorry to do so because I was quite tired from my walk.

  She said: ” It was sad about the little dog. He and Gabriel went together. Two of them … lost. That is sad.”

  I was surprised that she remembered Friday, and felt at a loss with her, because it was perfectly obvious that at times her mind wandered, that she flitted from past to present in a manner which was disconcerting; but there were occasions when she was capable of unexpected clarity.

  I noticed that the walls of this large room were hung with tapestry, all exquisitely worked in bright colours ; I was looking at it in fascination when she noticed this and chuckled with pleasure.

  “That’s all my own tapestry,” she said.

  “You see what a large space it covers … but there is so much more to be done. Perhaps I shall fill every bit of the walls … unless I die.

  I am very old. It would be sad if I died before I had finished all I had to do.” The melancholy expression was replaced by a dazzling smile. ” But that is in the hands of God, is it not? Perhaps if I ask Him in my prayers to let me have a little longer. He will. Do you still say your prayers, Claire? Come and look at my tapestry … come closer. And I will tell you all about it.”

  She had taken my hand; her fingers were restless and moved continually; they felt like claws.

  ” It’s exquisite work,” I said.

  “You like it? Claire, you didn’t work hard enough at yours. I have told you many times that it is easy … easy … if you persevere.

  I know you had a great deal to do. You used to say that Ruth was such a wilful little thing. Mark was good though … and then there was a new one coming …”

  I said gently: “You have forgotten, Aunt Sarah. I am not Claire. I am Catherine, Gabriel’s widow.”

  “So you have come to see my tapestry, Catherine. It is time you did. I know you will like it … you more than any.” She came close to me and peered into my face. ” You will figure in my tapestry. I shall know when the time has come.”

  ” I?”

  I asked, bewildered.

  ” Here. Come close. Look. Do you recognise this?”

  “It’s the house …”

  She laughed gleefully and pulled me away from the tapestry I was studying, drawing me towards a cupboard which she pulled open. Stacks of canvases fell out. She picked them up laughing. She no longer seemed like an old woman, her movements were so agile. I saw that there was a cupboard within the cupboard, and this she opened to disclose skein upon skein of silks of all colours.

  She stroked them lovingly. ” I sit here and I stitch and stitch. I stitch what I see. First I draw it. I will show you my drawings. Once I thought I should be an artist and then I did my tapestry instead. It is so much better, do you not think so?”

  ” The tapestry is lovely,” I told her. ” I want to look at it more closely.”

  ” Yes, yes.”

  ” I want to see that one of the house. It is so real. That is the exact colour of the stones.”

  ” Sometimes it is not easy to find the right colours,” she said, her face puckering.

  ” And the people … why, I recognise them.”

  ” Yes,” she said. ” There is my brother … and my sister Hagar, and there is my niece Ruth and my nephew Mark he died when he was fourteen and Gabriel and Simon, and myself …”

  ” They are all looking at the house,” I said. She nodded excitedly. “

  Yes,” she said, ” we are all looking at the house. Perhaps there should be more looking at the house…. You should be there now…. But I do not think you are looking at the house. Claire didn’t look either. Neither Claire nor Catherine.”

  I was not sure what she meant and she did not explain, but went on:

  “I see a great deal. I watch. I saw you come. You didn’t see me.”

  ” You were in the minstrels’ gallery.”

  “You saw me?”

  ” I saw someone.”

  She nodded. ” From there you see so much … and are not always seen.

  Here is the wedding of Matthew and Claire.”

  I was looking at a picture of a church which I recognised as that of Kirkland Moorside; there were the bride and groom, the latter recognisable as Sir Matthew. It was astonishing how she had managed to convey a likeness with those tiny stitches. She was undoubtedly an artist.

  ” And Ruth’s marriage. He was killed in
a hunting accident when Luke was ten. Here it is.”

  Then I realised that here on the walls of this room was Rockwell history as seen through the eyes of this strange woman.

  She must have spent years of her life recapturing these events and stitching them on to canvas.

  I said: ” You are a looker-on at life. Aunt Sarah.”

  Her face puckered again and she said almost tearfully:

  ” You mean I haven’t lived myself … only through others. Is that what you mean, Claire?”

  ” I am Catherine,” I reminded her.

  “Catherine,” she said, “I have been happy looking on See, I have this gallery … this tapestry gallery … and when I am dead people will look at it and they will know more of what happened to us than they can know from the picture gallery. I am glad I did my tapestry pictures instead of portraits. Portraits have little to tell.”

  I walked round that room and I saw scenes from the life of Kirkland Revels I saw Ruth’s husband being carried on a stretcher from the hunting field, and the mourners about his bed. I saw the death of Mark, and in between each of these scenes was a picture of the house and those recognisable figures gazing at it.

  I said: ” I believe that is Simon Redvers, among those who look at the house.”

  She nodded. ” Simon looks at the house because it could be his one day. If Luke were to die as Gabriel died, then the Revels would be Simon’s. So you see he is looking at the house too.”

  She was studying me intently and from the pocket of her gown she took a small note-book; and while I watched she sketched a figure. She managed to suggest myself by a few deft strokes of her pencil.

  ” You are very clever,” I said.

  She looked at me sharply and asked: ” How did Gabriel die?”

  I was startled. ” They said at the inquest …” I began.

  ” You said he did not kill himself.”

  ” I said I did not believe he could have done it.”

  “Then how did he die?”

  ” I do not know. I only sense within me that he could not have done it.”

  ” I sense things within me. You must tell me. We must discover. I must know for my picture.”

  I looked at the watch pinned to my blouse. It was a gesture which meant that I must be going.

  ” I shall soon have finished the one I am working on. Then I shall want to start it. You must tell me.”

  ” What are you working on now?” ” Look,” she said, and she drew me across the room to the window.

  There on a frame was the familiar picture of the house.

  ” You have done that one before.”

  ” No,” she said, ” this is different. There is no Gabriel to look at the house now. Only Matthew, Ruth, Hagar, myself, Luke, Simon …”

  I felt stifled suddenly by the room and the effort of trying to catch at her innuendoes. She was indeed a strange woman, for she managed to give the impression of innocence and wisdom . almost simultaneously.

  I had had enough of symbols. I wanted to get to my room and rest.

  ” I lost my way. Tell me how I can get back to the south wing.” ” I will show you.” She was like an eager child trotting at my side, as she opened the door and we went into the corridor.

  I followed her and when she opened another door I went through in her wake to find myself on a balcony similar to that of the tragedy.

  ” The east balcony,” she said. ” I thought you would like to see it.

  It is now the only one over which no one has fallen to death. “

  There was a strange curve on her lips which might have been a smile.

  ” Look over,” she said. ” Look over. See how far down it is.”

  She shivered. And I felt her little agile body pressing me against the parapet. For a horrible moment I thought she was trying to force me over.

  Then she said suddenly: ” You don’t believe he killed himself. You don’t believe it.”

  I drew away from the parapet and moved towards the door. I felt relieved to step into the corridor.

  She went on ahead of me and in a short time she had led me to the south wing.

  She had now become like an old woman again and I imagined that the change came when she left the east for the south wing.

  She insisted on accompanying me to my own rooms even though I told her I now knew the way.

  At. the threshold of my room I thanked her and told her how I had enjoyed seeing the tapestries. Her face lighted up; then she put her fingers to her lips.

  ” We must find out,” she said. ” Don’t forget. There’s the picture to do.”

  Then she smiled conspiratorially and went quietly away.

  It was a few days later when I made my decision.

  I was still using the rooms in which I had lived with Gabriel and I found little peace in them. I was sleeping badly-something that had never happened to me before; I would fall asleep as soon as I went to bed but in a few minutes I would awake startled as though someone was calling me. On the first few occasions I thought that this was indeed so and got out of bed to see who was outside my door. After a few times I was convinced that it was some sort of nightmare. I would doze and be startled again; and so it went on until the early hours of the morning when I would be so exhausted that I actually slept.

  It was always the same dream—someone calling my name.

  Sometimes it seemed to be Gabriel’s voice calling Catherine. At others it was the voice of my father calling Cathy. I knew I had been dreaming and that this was due to the shock I had suffered.

  Outwardly I could seem calm enough, but inwardly I was beset by misgivings. Not only had I lost my husband but, if I had to accept the verdict that he had killed himself, I could only think that I had never really known him.

  If only Friday had been with me I could have been happier. They were the two I had loved, and to have lost them both together was a double tragedy.

  There was no one at the house with whom I could make a real friendship.

  Each day I asked myself: Why do you stay here? And the answer was:

  Where would you go if you left?

  I was wandering among the Abbey ruins one golden after noon calling Friday as I did now and then, when I was startled by the unmistakable sound of footsteps.

  Even in daylight I could be overawed by the place and it says a great deal for the state of my nerves that I should not have been entirely surprised to see the figure of a black-robed monk emerge from the cloister.

  Instead I saw the contemporary and sturdy figure of Simon Redvers.

  ” So you still hope to find your dog,” he said, as he came towards me.

  ” Don’t you think that if he were here he would lose no time in coming home?”

  ” I suppose so. It was rather foolish of me.” He looked surprised to hear me admit my folly, I sup posed. He had an idea that I was a very self-opinionated young woman.

  ” Strange …” he mused, ” that he should have disappeared the day before …” I nodded.

  ” What do you think happened to him?” he asked.

  “He was either lost or stolen. Nothing else would have kept him away.”

  ” Why do you come here looking for him?” I was silent for a while, because I was not entirely sure why I did. Then I remembered the occasion when I had met Dr. Smith here, and how he had told me that I should not bring Friday to the ruins unless I did so on a lead. I mentioned this to Simon.

  “He was thinking of the well,” I added.

  “In fact, he said Friday was in danger of toppling over. He stopped him in time. That was when I first met Dr. Smith. It was one of the first places I went to when I was looking for Friday.”

  ” I should have thought the fish-ponds might have been more dangerous.

  Have you seen them? They are worth a visit. “

  ” I think every part of these ruins is worth a visit.”

  “They interest you, do they not?”

  ” Would they not interest anyon
e?”

  ” Indeed not. They are so much a part of the past. So many people have no interest in the past … only in the present, or in the future.”

  I was silent and after a while he went on: “I congratulate you on your serenity, Mrs. Catherine. So many women in your position would have been hysterical; but then I suppose with you it was different….”

  ” Different?”

  He smiled at me and I was aware that there was no real warmth in that smile.

  He shrugged his shoulders and went on almost brutally:

  ” You and Gabriel well, it was no grande passion, was it … at least on your side.”

  I was so angry that I was unable to speak for a few seconds “Marriages of convenience are as one would expect them to be, convenient,” he continued in what I can only call an insolent tone. ” It was a pity though that Gabriel took his life before the death of his father … from your point of view, of course.”

  ” I … I do not understand you,” I said.

  “I am sure you do. Had he died after Sir Matthew, so much of that which he inherited from his father would have been yours…. Lady Rockwell instead of plain Mrs…. and there would have been other compensations. It must have been a great blow to you, and yet … you are the perfectly composed yet sorrowing widow.”

  ” I think you are trying to insult me.”

  He laughed, but his eyes flashed angrily. ” I looked on him as my brother,” he said. ” There are only five years between us. I could see what you had done to him. He thought you were perfect. He should have enjoyed his illusion for a little longer. He would not have lived very many years.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  ” Do you think I accept his death … just like that? Do you think I believe that he killed himself because of his weak heart? He had known about that for years. Why did he marry and then do this thing? Why?

  There has to be a reason. There always has to be a reason. Following so soon after his marriage, it is logical to believe that it had something to do with that event. I could see what he thought of you.