Philippa Carr - Gossamer Cord

He looked at me and half nodded. “Not to say,” he went on. “ ’Er was beckoned, ’er was. ’Er had to go in. It was what ’er wanted.”

“I don’t understand, Seth. Who wanted what?”

“Wasn’t what ’er wanted. ’Er had to, didn’t ’er? But ’tweren’t I, Miss. ’Er ’ad to and ’er went.”

Gordon had come into the stable. I wondered how much of this conversation he had heard.

“Oh, hello, Violetta,” he said. “Are you going for a ride?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a good day for it.”

I wondered whether he would understand what Seth was trying to say.

I began: “Seth was telling me…”

A look of terror came into Seth’s face.

“I didn’t say nothing,” he mumbled. “I didn’t know nothing.”

“About the first Mrs. Tregarland’s accident, I think it was, Seth,” I said.

“No. No, I didn’t say nothing.”

Gordon was watching him intently. Seth lowered his eyes and shuffled away.

Gordon turned to me. He patted Starlight’s flank and helped me to mount.

“Poor Seth,” he said quietly. “He’s worse some days than others. Enjoy your ride.”

As I went out I heard him say to Seth: “I want to have a look at Black Eagle. I thought there might be something wrong.”

I rode on, thinking of Seth’s words. It was a pity he was so incoherent. One could never be sure whether what he said was actual fact or some figment of his addled mind; but I did feel he was trying to say something which was worrying him and for which he must make excuses.

Jowan was waiting for me. As always he looked delighted to see me. We rode onto the moors and, finding a sheltered spot, tethered our horses.

We sat leaning against a stone—one of a little group of six clustered round one of a much larger size. I remarked that they looked like sheep around the shepherd.

I could not forget my conversation with Seth and, as Jowan noticed my preoccupation, I told him about it.

“Poor Seth,” said Jowan. “It is sad that he had that accident. He would have been a bright young boy but for that.”

“It is sobering to think that one small incident can change our lives. I wish I knew what he was trying to say. It was almost as though he were making excuses.”

“For what?”

“Something he had done in connection with the first Mrs. Tregarland.”

“Oh…what did he say exactly?”

“It’s hard to tell what. Something he didn’t do. It was almost as though he were making excuses for some action. He kept saying it was the ghost who called her into the water.”

“He was excusing himself?”

“Well, it was so muddled, almost as though he were being blamed for something he hadn’t done.”

“Did he say he was there?”

“He never says anything as straightforward as that.”

“Did he sound as though he had been there?”

“Well, yes. And he might have gone on but Gordon came into the stables just then and he stopped.”

“Did Gordon hear?”

“Some of it, I suppose.”

“I wonder what he thought of it.”

“Well, no one takes much notice of Seth.”

“Sometimes people like that know more than you think they would. It is just possible that he might have some information, something the rest of us don’t know.”

“You mean about Annette’s death?”

“H’m. It always seemed a bit odd to me…that the champion swimmer should be drowned. It was not as though there was a gale.”

“I thought it might have been cramp.”

“Possibly. But why should Seth say it wasn’t his fault?”

“He’s obsessed by it.”

“Why?”

“Because he believes that ancestress of yours who drowned herself wants other young women to do the same…if they are connected with Tregarland. It’s a sort of revenge on the family.”

“I suppose that’s so. It mightn’t be a bad idea to find out what is in Seth’s mind.”

“I’ll see what I can do. What is happening in the outside world?”

“You mean that part in which we are all extremely interested at the moment?”

“I do indeed.”

“Well, things don’t get better. They are moving toward some climax. The latest news is that, for the first time in British history, there is to be military conscription in peacetime.”

“That sounds as though they are really expecting war.”

“If Hitler moves into Poland, there will be. I don’t think there is any doubt about his intentions, and now the days of appeasement are over, equally there can be no doubt about ours and those of the French.”

“Conscription? Does that mean…?”

“Able-bodied young men will be called up for military service.”

I looked at him in dismay.

“I expect they would say I was doing useful work by running the estate. On the other hand, if it came to conflict, I should have to be there.”

I continued to look at him. He laughed suddenly and, taking my hand, kissed it.

“It is nice to know you care,” he said.

It was a beautiful day. May had come and there was warmth in the air. When I came out of the house I saw Dermot sitting on a seat in the garden. I went over and sat beside him.

“It’s a lovely day,” I said.

He agreed. He was looking down on the beach with that infinitely sad expression, thinking, I knew, of Dorabella.

“I wonder what’s going to happen,” I said, trying to turn his thoughts to other things. “Do you think there’s going to be war?”

“I suppose so.”

“There is such uncertainty everywhere.”

He nodded and we fell into silence. I could see it was useless to try to lift him out of his melancholy.

He said suddenly: “The time goes on. They will never find her. She’s gone…forever.”

I put my hand over his and he went on: “You and I—we were the ones who loved her most.”

I said: “There are my parents. They loved her dearly, too.”

“It is not quite the same.”

“My mother hides her grief but it is there. I never found that miniature I gave her.”

“She thought a great deal of it. She often told me how she felt about you. She used to laugh about the way in which you helped her out of trouble. She said she was a monster who thought up the wildest adventures and always at the back of her mind was the thought, Violetta will have to get me out of this.”

“Yes, it was like that with us.”

“She said you were her other self. She called it a cord between you. She said you were the better half.”

“Oh, Dermot, I can’t bear to think of her.”

“Nor I.”

After that we were silent. It was no use trying to talk of other things. She was uppermost in our minds and she would keep intruding. She had once said, “Don’t ever think you’ll be rid of me. I shall always be there.”

It was true, of course.

I sat with him until Jack came to take him in.

I watched them. Jack was strong and gentle and helped Dermot into his chair. He lifted his hand to me as Jack wheeled him into the house.

I went down the slope to the beach and stood there watching the waves.

“Dorabella,” I said. “Where are you?”

Next morning, when Jack went into Dermot’s room, he found that he was dead.

THE HOUSEHOLD WAS IN turmoil. The first I knew of it was when Matilda came to my room while I was preparing to go down to breakfast. She was very pale and obviously trembling.

“Something terrible has happened,” she said; and she told me how Jack had gone into Dermot’s room to wake him with his early morning cup of tea.

“He said he knocked on the door and when there was no answer he went in. He said good morning and, as there was no response, he went to the bed and saw at once what had happened. The bottle of pills was near the bed and it was empty. Jack knew at once what he had done. There was a glass which had contained whisky. Poor Jack, he is in a terrible state. We all are.”

“Oh, poor Dermot,” I said. “He was so unhappy.”

“He never got over Dorabella’s death. I can’t believe this has happened. Gordon is taking charge of everything. He has sent for the doctor. Oh, Violetta, this is terrible. What else is going to happen in this house?”

That was a bewildering day: the comings and goings, the whispered conversations, the terrible knowledge that another tragedy had struck us and that there was death in the house.

I kept thinking of our conversation in the garden. I was not surprised in a way. I should have seen it coming. He was in despair. That had been clear. I could understand this. His marriage had been brief and fruitful…and then she had gone, stupidly, foolishly, because of an impetuous whim she had been taken away.

The entire house was in a state of shock. Matilda’s usual calm had deserted her. She was so shaken that the doctor gave her a sedative and advised her to take a rest.

Gordon was calm and essentially practical. The doctor talked to him—obviously relieved to be able to discuss what must be done with someone who was capable of doing it.

It was a nightmare day.

I had a talk with Gordon in the evening.

“There will be an inquest, of course,” he said. “The doctor obviously knows what happened. He is not altogether surprised. He said Dermot was very depressed. Before all this started, he could be high spirited at times and right down at others. He was not the sort who could cope with tragedy. When he heard that it was unlikely that he would walk again, the doctor was afraid he might attempt to take his life. He had been about to suggest that the pain-killing pills should only be administered by Jack or someone near at the time he needed them, but that would have had its difficulties. He might have wanted to take them in the night. It was a very sad case but, as the doctor said, not altogether unexpected in the circumstances.”