I could not rid myself of a terrible sense of guilt, and I was desperately trying to. I was saying to myself: This is a house of tragedy. Who are you to meddle in the lives of these people? What are you trying to do? To change Alvean? To change her father? To discover the truth about Alice? What do you think you are? God?
But I wouldn’t blame myself entirely. I was looking for a scapegoat. I was saying to myself: He is to blame. If he had been different, none of this would have happened. I’m sure of that.
I had lost control of my feelings and on the rare occasions when people like myself do that, they usually do it more completely than those who are prone to hysterical outbursts.
“No,” I cried out, “of course you had no idea that she was so advanced. How could you when you had never shown the slightest interest in the child? She was breaking her heart through your neglect. It was for that reason that she attempted this thing of which she was not capable.”
“My dear Miss Leigh,” he murmured. “My dear Miss Leigh.” And he was looking at me in complete bewilderment.
I thought to myself: What do I care! I shall be dismissed, but in any case I have failed. I had hoped to do the impossible—to bring this man out of his own selfishness to care a little for his lonely daughter. And what have I done—made a complete mess of it and perhaps maimed the child for life. A fine one I was to complain of the conduct of others.
But I continued to blame him, and I no longer cared what I said.
“When I came here,” I went on, “it did not take me long to understand the state of affairs. That poor motherless child was starved. Oh, I know she had her broth and her bread and butter at regular intervals. But there is another starvation besides that of the body. She was starved of the affection which she might expect from a parent and, as you see, she was ready to risk her life to win it.”
“Miss Leigh, please, I beg of you, do be calm, do be reasonable. Are you telling me that Alvean did that—”
But I would not let him speak. “She did that for you. She thought it would please you. She has been practicing for weeks.”
“I see,” he said. Then he took his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped my eyes. “You did not realize it, Miss Leigh,” he went on almost tenderly, “but there are tears on your cheeks.”
I took the handkerchief from him and angrily wiped my tears away.
“They are tears of anger,” I said.
“And of sorrow. Dear Miss Leigh, I think you care very much for Alvean.”
“She is a child,” I said, “and it was my job to care for her. God knows, there are few others to do it.”
“I see,” he answered, “that I have been behaving in a very reprehensible manner.”
“How could you … if you had any feeling? Your own daughter! She lost her mother. Don’t you see that because of her loss she needed special care?”
Then he said a surprising thing: “Miss Leigh, you came here to teach Alvean, but I think you have taught me a great deal too.”
I looked at him in astonishment; I was holding his handkerchief a few inches from my tear-stained face; and at that moment Celestine Nansellock came in.
She looked at me in some surprise, but only for a second. Then she burst out: “What is this terrible thing I’ve heard?”
“There’s been an accident, Celeste,” said Connan. “Alvean was thrown.”
“Oh, no!” Celestine uttered a piteous cry. “And what … and where … ?”
“She’s in her room now,” Connan explained. “Pengelly’s set the leg. Poor child. At the moment she is asleep. He gave her something to make her sleep. He’s coming again in a few hours’ time.”
“But how badly … ?”
“He’s not sure. But I’ve seen accidents like this before. I think she’ll be all right.”
I was not sure whether he meant that or whether he was trying to soothe Celestine who was so upset. I felt drawn toward her; she was the only person, I believed, who really cared about Alvean.
“Poor Miss Leigh is very distressed,” said Connan. “I think she fancies it is her fault. I do want to assure her that I don’t think that at all.”
My fault! But how could I be blamed for teaching the child to ride? And having taught her, what harm was there in her entering for a competition? No, it was his fault, I wanted to shout. She would have been contented to do what she was capable of but for him.
I said with defiance in my voice: “Alvean was so anxious to impress her father that she undertook more than she could do. I am sure that had she believed her father would be content to see her victorious in the elementary event, she would not have attempted the advanced.”
Celestine had sat down and covered her face with her hands. I thought fleetingly of the occasion when I had seen her in the churchyard, kneeling by Alice’s grave. I thought: Poor Celestine, she loves Alvean as her own child because she has none of her own and perhaps believes she never will have.
“We can only wait and see,” said Connan.
I rose and said: “There is no point in my remaining here. I will go to my room.”
But Connan put out a hand and said almost authoritatively: “No, stay here, Miss Leigh. Stay with us. You care for her deeply, I know.”
I looked down at my riding habit—Alice’s riding habit—and I said: “I think I should change.”
It seemed that in that moment he looked at me in a new light—and perhaps so did Celestine. If they did not look at my face I must have appeared to be remarkably like Alice.
I knew it was important that I change my clothes, for in my gray cotton dress with its severe bodice I should be the governess once more and that would help me to control my feelings.
Connan nodded. He said: “But come back when you’ve changed, Miss Leigh. We have to comfort each other, and I want you to be here when the doctor returns.”
So I went to my room and took off Alice’s riding habit and put on my own gray cotton.
I was right. The cotton did help to restore my equilibrium. I began to wonder, as I buttoned the bodice, what I had said, in my outburst, to Connan TreMellyn.
The mirror showed me a face that was ravaged by grief and anxiety, eyes which burned with anger and resentment, and a mouth that was tremulous with fear.
I sent for hot water. Daisy wanted to talk, but she saw that I was too upset to do so and she went quickly away.
I bathed my face and when I had done so I went down to the punch room and rejoined Connan and Celestine, there to await the coming of Dr. Pengelly.
It seemed a long time before the doctor returned. Mrs. Polgrey made a pot of strong tea and Connan, Celestine, and I sat together drinking it. I did not feel astonished then, but I did later, because the accident seemed to have made them both forget that I was merely the governess. But perhaps I mean it made Connan forget; Celestine had always treated me without that condescension which I thought I had discerned in others.
Connan seemed to have forgotten my outburst and treated me with a courtly consideration and a new gentleness. I believed he was anxious that I should not blame myself in any way, and he knew that the reason I had turned on him so vehemently was that I wondered whether I had been at fault.
“She’ll get over this,” he said. “And she’ll want to ride again. Why, when I was little older than she I had an accident which I’m sure was worse than this one. I got it in the collarbone and was unable to ride for weeks. I could scarcely wait to get back on a horse.”
Celestine shivered. “I shall never have a moment’s peace if she rides again after this.”
“Oh, Celeste, you would wrap her in cotton wool. And then what would happen? She would go out and catch her death of cold. You must not coddle children too much. After all, they’ve got to face the world. They must be prepared for it in some way. What does the expert have to say to that?”
He was looking at me anxiously. I knew he was trying to keep up our spirits. He knew how deeply Celestine and I felt about this, and he was trying to be
kind.
I said: “I believe one shouldn’t coddle. But if children are really set against something I don’t think they should be forced to do it.”
“But she was not forced to ride.”
“She did it most willingly,” I answered. “But I cannot be sure whether she did it from a love of riding or from an intense desire to please you.”
“Well,” he said almost lightly, “is it not an excellent thing that a child should seek to please a parent?”
“But it should not be necessary to risk a life for the sake of a smile.”
My anger was rising again and my fingers gripped the cotton of my skirt as though to remind me that I was not in Alice’s riding habit now. I was the governess in my cotton gown, and it was not for me to press forward my opinions.
Both Celestine and Connan were surprised by my remark, and I went on quickly: “For instance, Alvean’s talents may lie in another direction. I think she has artistic ability. She has done some good drawings. Mr. TreMellyn, I have been going to ask you for some time whether you would consider letting her have drawing lessons.”
There was a tense silence in the room and I wondered why they both looked so startled.
I blundered on: “I am sure there is great talent there, and I do not feel that it should be ignored.”
Connan said slowly: “But, Miss Leigh, you are here to teach my daughter. Why should it be necessary to engage other teachers?”
“Because,” I replied boldly, “I believe she has a special talent. I believe it would be an added interest in her life if she were to be given drawing lessons. These should be given by a specialist in the art. She is good enough for that. I’m merely a governess, Mr. TreMellyn. I am not an artist as well.”
He said rather gruffly: “Well, we shall have to go into this at some other time.”
He changed the subject, and shortly afterward the doctor arrived.
I waited outside in the corridor while Connan and Celestine were with Alvean and the doctor.
A hundred images of disaster crowded into my mind. I imagined that she died of her injuries. I saw myself leaving the place, never to return. If I did that I should feel that my life had been incomplete in some way. I realized that if I had to go away I should be a very unhappy woman. Then I thought of her, maimed for life, more difficult than she had been previously, a wretched and unhappy little girl; and myself devoting my life to her. It was a gloomy picture.
Celestine joined me.
“This suspense is terrible,” she said. “I wonder whether we ought to get another doctor. Dr. Pengelly is sixty. I am afraid …”
“He seemed efficient,” I said.
“I want the best for her. If anything happens to her …”
She was biting her lips in her anguish, and I thought how strange it was that she, who always seemed so calm about everything else, should be so emotional over Alice and her daughter.
I wanted to put my arm about her and comfort her, but of course, remembering my position, I did no such thing.
Dr. Pengelly came out with Connan, and the doctor was smiling.
“Injuries,” he said, “a fractured tibia. Beyond that … there’s very little wrong.”
“Oh, thank God!” cried Celestine, and I echoed her words.
“A day or so and she’ll be feeling better. It’ll just be a matter of mending that fracture. Children’s bones mend easily. There’s nothing for you two ladies to worry about.”
“Can we see her?” asked Celestine eagerly.
“Yes, of course you can. She’s awake now, and she asked for Miss Leigh. I’m going to give her another dose in half an hour, and that will ensure a good night’s sleep. You’ll see a difference in her in the morning.”
We went into the room. Alvean was lying on her back looking very ill, poor child; but she gave us a wan smile when she saw us.
“Hello, miss,” she said. “Hello, Aunt Celestine.”
Celestine knelt by the bed, took her hand and covered it with kisses. I stood on the other side of the bed and the child’s eyes were on me.
“I didn’t do it,” she said.
“Well, it was a good try.”
Connan was standing at the foot of the bed.
I went on: “Your father was proud of you.”
“He’ll think I was silly,” she said.
“No, he doesn’t,” I cried vehemently. “He is here to tell you so.”
Connan came round to the side of the bed and stood beside me.
“He’s proud of you,” I said. “He told me so. He said it didn’t matter that you fell. He said all that mattered was that you tried; and you’d do it next time.”
“Did he? Did he?”
“Yes, he did,” I cried; and there was an angry note in my voice because he still said nothing and the child was waiting for him to confirm my words.
Then he spoke. “You did splendidly, Alvean. I was proud of you.”
A faint smile touched those pale lips. Then she murmured: “Miss … oh miss …” And then: “Don’t go away, will you. Don’t you go away.”
I sank down on my knees then. I took her hand and kissed it. The tears were on my cheeks again.
I cried: “I’ll stay, Alvean. I’ll stay with you always.” I looked up and saw Celestine watching me from the other side of the bed. I was aware of Connan, standing beside me. Then I amended those words, and the governess in me spoke. “I’ll stay as long as I’m wanted,” I said firmly.
Alvean was satisfied.
When she was sleeping we left her and as I was about to go to my room, Connan said: “Come into my library a moment with us, Miss Leigh. The doctor wants to discuss the case with you.”
So I went into the library with him, Celestine, and the doctor, and we talked of the nursing of Alvean.
Celestine said: “I shall come over every day. In fact I wonder, Connan, whether I shouldn’t come over and stay while she’s ill. It might make things easier.”
“You ladies must settle that,” answered Dr. Pengelly. “Keep the child amused. We don’t want her getting depressed while those bones are knitting together.”
“We’ll keep her amused,” I said. “Any special diet, Doctor?”
“For a day or so, light invalid foods. Steamed fish, milk puddings, custards, and so on. But after a few days let her have what she wants.”
I was almost gay, and this swift reversal of feeling made me slightly lightheaded.
I listened to the doctor’s instructions and Connan’s assurance that there was no need for Celestine to stay at the house; he was sure Miss Leigh would manage and it would be wonderfully comforting for Miss Leigh to know that in any emergency she could always ask for Celestine’s help.
“Well Connan,” said Celestine, “perhaps it’s as well. People talk. And if I stayed here … Oh, people are so ridiculous. But they are always ready to gossip.”
I saw the point. If Celestine lived at Mount Mellyn, people would begin to couple her name with Connan’s; whereas the fact that I, an employee of the same age, lived in the house aroused no comment. I was not of the same social standing.
Connan laughed and said: “How did you come over, Celeste?”
“I rode over on Speller.”
“Right. I’ll ride back with you.”
“Oh, thank you, Connan. It’s nice of you. But I can go alone if you’d rather …”
“Nonsense! I’m coming.” He turned to me. “As for you, Miss Leigh, you looked exhausted. I should advise you to go to bed and have a good night’s sleep.”
I was sure I could not rest, and my expression must have implied this, for the doctor said: “I’ll give you a draught, Miss Leigh. Take it five minutes before retiring for the night. I think I can promise you a good night’s sleep.”
“Thank you,” I said appreciatively, for I suddenly realized how exhausted I was.
I believed that tomorrow I should wake up, my usual calm self, able to cope with whatever new situation should be the result of all tha
t had happened today.
I went to my room, where I found a supper tray waiting for me. It contained a wing of cold chicken, appetizing enough on most occasions, but tonight I had no appetite.
I toyed with it for a while and ate a few mouthfuls, but I was too upset to eat.
I thought it would be an excellent idea to take Dr. Pengelly’s sleeping draught and retire for the night.
I was about to do so when there was a knock on my door.
“Come in,” I called, and Mrs. Polgrey came. She looked distraught. No wonder, I thought. Who in this household isn’t?
“It’s terrible,” she began.
But I cut in quickly: “She’ll be all right, Mrs. Polgrey. The doctor said so.”
“Oh yes, I heard the news. It’s Gilly, miss, I’m worried about her.”
“Gilly!”
“She didn’t come back from the show, miss. I haven’t seen her since this afternoon.”
“Oh, she’s wandering about somewhere, I expect. I wonder if she saw …”
“I can’t understand it, miss. I can’t understand her being at the show. She’s afeared of going near the horses. You could have knocked me down with a feather when I heard she was there. And now … she’s not come in.”
“But she does wander off alone, doesn’t she?”
“Yes, but she’ll always be in for her tea. I don’t know what can have become of her.”
“Has the house been searched?”
“Yes, miss. I’ve looked everywhere. Kitty and Daisy have helped me. So’s Polgrey. The child’s not in the house.”
I said: “I’ll come and help look for her.”
So instead of going to bed, I joined in the search for Gillyflower.
I was very worried because on this day of tragedy I was prepared for anything to happen. What could have happened to little Gilly? I visualized a thousand things. I thought she might have wandered onto the beach and been caught by the tide, and I pictured her little body thrown up by the waves in Mellyn Cove as her mother’s had been eight years ago.
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