Rebecca's Tale

by Sally Beauman

  “I want to say something to you,” she began, after we’d been sitting there in the sun for a while. “It’s about my father, and, no, it’s not about his health, or not directly. I want to ask you not to judge him.”

  That took me by surprise. If Ellie knew me better she’d realize I’m in no position to judge anyone. “Why should you think I would?” I said.

  “You might. People here have. Journalists have. And my father’s suffered accordingly. He’s learned to live with that—but he likes you. How you think of him matters to him—not that he’d ever admit that. He’s proud, as you’ve probably seen. I’m sure he’d never defend himself. So I want to do it for him.”

  “Ellie—you don’t need to do that.”

  “Yes, I do. I want you to understand. People here accuse my father of a cover-up. I know they’ll have told you this. I know you’ll have read all the articles, those damn stupid books. They say Rebecca’s death was never investigated properly, that more could have been done—I don’t know what, and neither do they, but that doesn’t stop them. They talk and write such rubbish—some people even claim my father invented all that evidence about Rebecca’s having cancer and being mortally ill. Well, he didn’t. They’d never have traced that London doctor if it hadn’t been for my father. And Rebecca was dying—I hope you’re in no doubt about that? Dr. Baker sent written confirmation. I’ve seen the letters.”

  “I’ve never doubted that, Ellie.” I hesitated; I knew how defensive of her father she was, and this was difficult territory. I could see that the Colonel’s hands had been tied. Even so, he did not believe himself blameless. Should I risk pushing Ellie on this point? I decided I would. “I’ve asked your father several times,” I said, “but there’s still something I’m not clear about. What did your father think at the time? What did he believe in his heart, Ellie?”

  Ellie gave me a look that might have been scornful or amused—I couldn’t tell because of those dark glasses. With a restless gesture, she swung her legs off the wall, and produced a packet of cigarettes from her pocket. I’d never seen her smoke before—but then I’ve scarcely talked to her without her father being present. “In his heart?” she said now, lighting her cigarette. She gave me a small glance that I was almost sure was amused. “Well, it’s always difficult to read people’s hearts, of course…. But he knew—of course he knew. Not at the very beginning. I’m sure he believed in the accident at sea at first. He had no suspicions when that first woman’s body was found and Maxim identified it as Rebecca’s. He pitied Maxim then—everyone did.”

  She paused. “It was later that everything changed, when Maxim went abroad and he remarried. That caused such a scandal. My mother was appalled, and people like the Briggs sisters—they were bewildered, I think. You see, they’d all believed Maxim loved Rebecca, that he adored her. And then, when she wasn’t cold in her grave—that’s the way Elinor Briggs put it—he came back from France with a child bride. It was like Hamlet—you know the line in Hamlet?”

  “ The funeral baked meats did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables’?”

  “Exactly. My father tried to defend Maxim. I know he was shocked, too, because he’s old school; conventions matter to him. But he was loyal to Maxim, and he was very short with people who criticized him…. I’ll tell you when his doubts began: It was when Rebecca’s boat was found. My father was there when they raised it. They went down to the boathouse cove at dawn—and that’s why he’s avoided that place ever since. It haunts him. They took Je Reviens to that little deserted creek, the one near James Tabb’s old boatyard. That creek silts up at low tide, and it was disused even then; no one ever goes there—do you know it?”

  “I’ve passed it.”

  “They wanted somewhere quiet, and private. A fine and private place…” Ellie looked away toward the water; the smoke of her cigarette curled. “My father was there as magistrate; Maxim was present, of course, and our local doctor, Dr. Phillips. The harbormaster was there and a police inspector…. It was all very official. You have to remember that, at that point, everyone believed that Rebecca’s body had already been found, so no one knew whose body this was; they didn’t even know if it was a man or a woman. When the body was finally brought ashore, and they came to identify it, Maxim tried to touch Rebecca’s rings—she was still wearing them. My father didn’t tell me that until years afterward, but I know it was then that he started to have doubts. He saw something in Maxim’s eyes, maybe. Then, after the inquest, he was deeply uneasy….”

  “Because of Tabb’s evidence? Because the boat had been deliberately scuttled?”

  “Well, obviously,” she replied, her tone cool. “That inquest was a farce. The coroner must have been a fool. But it wasn’t just that—it was something less tangible. Has my father ever talked to you about Rebecca’s burial service?”

  I shook my head. This subject, as I’d learned, was verboten for Colonel Julyan.

  “Maxim and he quarrelled about it,” she went on. “Maxim insisted on Rebecca’s being buried in the de Winter crypt, and my father knew Rebecca hadn’t wanted that. But Maxim wouldn’t listen. He insisted it all had to be done quickly, immediately after the inquest.”

  “What about the other woman—the woman whose body he’d misidentified? She was already buried there.”

  “I know. Her coffin had to be removed. I think that was done during the inquest. Frank Crawley probably made the arrangements—he usually did. I know there were police present. They spirited her away, at a time when they knew there’d be no danger of publicity because all the journalists were at the coroner’s court. I don’t know what happened to her then. Nobody was interested in her, poor woman.” There was a pause; when I didn’t speak, she turned away, frowning, her gaze resting on the water below us. “I can understand the secrecy up to a point,” she went on. “You’ve read the newspaper coverage. My father loathed publicity of that kind, and it was anathema to Maxim. So I see why those arrangements had to be made in that surreptitious way—but when it came to Rebecca’s burial, why did that have to be such a shabby hasty affair? She’d been Maxim’s wife; there were people here who loved and admired her—and yet she was buried like a pauper, or a criminal.”

  “That caused comment presumably?”

  “It caused offense,” Ellie said sharply. “No one in Kerrith even knew the funeral was happening, and we only did because my father was attending it. I can remember that night so well: My brother was away at school, but the rest of us were here; my mother was very distressed, and so was my sister, Lily—Lily worshipped Rebecca. She’d come home—she lived in London then—because she wanted to go to Rebecca’s funeral. And then she couldn’t, because there wasn’t a funeral as such, just this horrible, hasty, guilty interment. When my father came back that night, his face was white—ashen. I’d never seen him look like that. He wouldn’t speak to any of us. He went into his study and shut the door on us.

  “I’m certain my father believed Maxim was guilty then. But he’s never discussed it with me. He won’t talk to anyone about what happened that night in the crypt—and he doesn’t like talking about what happened later the same night at Manderley, either. If he does, he’s always reticent, or nearly always. He leaves out key details—he’s good at that, as no doubt you’ve noticed….” She hesitated, and glanced at me. “I hope you forgive him for that. He loved Rebecca very dearly, you see. And he’s an old-fashioned man, so he’ll move heaven and earth to suppress any information he thinks reflects badly on her.”

  I could hear the appeal, and I was touched. “There’s no question of forgiveness,” I began. “I understand that. I respect it. I won’t say it doesn’t infuriate me when he dodges my questions. But you have to admire the turn of speed—”

  “I thought you might say that,” she said, interrupting me, her tone dry. “I can see you might admire the way he evades questions. You’re quite dexterous at that yourself. Maybe you’ve picked up some tips from him. More coffee?”

  She
had removed the dark glasses as she spoke; she smiled, and in a demure way, with no further comment, refilled my cup. Until she began speaking again, I had the unpleasant sensation that I’d given the wrong answer, or she suspected me of insincerity. Ellie could be disconcerting, as I was beginning to realize.

  I think I must have said the right thing, however, for she then moved on to the whole issue of what had happened at Manderley on the night of Rebecca’s funeral—and she gave me some very interesting information, describing events that Colonel Julyan has resolutely avoided from day one.

  Within an hour or so of the interment, no more, Colonel Julyan had been called back to Manderley. There—and I’d had no inkling of this—he’d been confronted by Maxim, the second Mrs. de Winter, the ubiquitous Frank Crawley, and a very drunken Jack Favell. Favell had several bombshells to drop. First, he produced a note from Rebecca that he had not offered as evidence at the inquest earlier that day, although he had attended it. This note had been hand delivered to the porter at his block of flats by Rebecca, shortly before she left London for the last time. Second—and without the least sign of shame and embarrassment, apparently—he’d announced that not only had he and Rebecca been lovers, she had been about to leave her husband for him, and would have done so, had she not died. I stared at Ellie.

  “You’re sure about this?”

  “Absolutely sure. At one time, my father would never have discussed what happened that night. But he’s changed since his heart attack. Since you began asking your questions, too. He talks to me now much more openly.” She hesitated. “Maybe you haven’t realized quite how much it preys on his mind.”

  “But, I don’t understand—why was your father there? Why did Maxim ask him to go over to Manderley? He can’t have wanted your father to witness a scene like that, surely?”

  Ellie gave me a quick glance that might have been approval; I couldn’t tell, because she’d replaced the dark glasses. She gave a shrug. “Oh, I agree,” she replied. “But Maxim had a plausible reason. Favell had turned up at Manderley, none too sober, and tried to use Rebecca’s note as a way of extorting money, you see. Favell always was after money—you’ll discover just what a vile man he is when you meet him tomorrow. It is tomorrow you’re seeing him, isn’t it?” She paused. “Make sure you ask him about that note. It must have been the last thing she ever wrote, and—this is the intriguing part—in the note, Rebecca said she had something she urgently needed to tell Favell. She asked him to meet her at Manderley, at her boathouse that same night…. Which seems a rather strange request if you’re intending to drive back there, go out in your boat, and commit suicide.”

  “It certainly does. Did Favell do as she asked?”

  “No, apparently not. I don’t know why; you’ll have to ask him. But the point is, that note cast doubt on the suicide verdict—presumably that’s why Favell thought he could make money out of it. He assumed the last thing Maxim would want was that verdict’s being overturned, or any further investigations. And I suspect he was right about that. Even so, Maxim called his bluff. That’s when my father was asked over there—as magistrate rather than friend—and Favell was invited to put his evidence and his accusations to him.”

  “He produced the note? Your father read it?”

  “Oh, certainly. Then Favell blustered and boasted—made all the claims about himself and Rebecca. And accused Maxim of killing her. Claimed Maxim was insane with jealousy—gave him a motive, in other words.” She paused. “I gather it became very ugly. My father couldn’t believe that Maxim was allowing this man to say these things about Rebecca, in what had been her home, and within hours of that terrible funeral. It got worse, too. Mrs. Danvers was called in, to confirm that Rebecca had been unfaithful. Can you imagine my father’s reaction to that? A servant being cross-questioned about Rebecca’s loyalty as a wife? He was appalled. But he could see this had to be investigated. That’s why he suggested they look into Rebecca’s final movements. If they knew what she’d done that last day in London, he thought they might discover what she’d wanted to tell Favell so urgently. Mrs. Danvers produced Rebecca’s diary—”

  “Mrs. Danvers?” I said sharply. “Why on earth would the housekeeper have Rebecca’s diary?”

  “I don’t know—I’ve never thought about it.” Ellie frowned. “It wasn’t a journal kind of diary, I’m sure. Just an appointments book. Mrs. Danvers kept everything after Rebecca died—her room, her clothes, nothing was altered. I remember Maxim’s sister, Beatrice, telling my mother that. But then Mrs. Danvers worshipped Rebecca. I think she’d looked after her as a child at one point. Surely my father told you that?”

  “Yes. He mentioned it. Even so, a diary, her personal papers—it seems odd—never mind. Go on, Ellie.”

  “Well, they looked at the diary entries for the last day of her life. And that’s when they discovered the appointment with that consultant. My father insisted they go to see him…. You see, he was a woman’s specialist. A gynecologist.”

  I stared at her dark glasses; a scene the Colonel had never described to me, a scene that I’d heard of only at third- or fourth-hand, disentangled itself from the veils of gossip, and began to take on a new shape. I’d been looking at these events with hindsight, I realized, from the wrong end of the telescope. Viewed in the sequence they actually happened, they took on new shape. Revelations of infidelity; an appointment with a gynecologist…

  “Rebecca and Maxim had been married five years,” Ellie went on. “There had been no children. There was no heir—and there had been speculation about that locally. So, when my father discovered she’d consulted a London doctor, not her local doctor; when he heard the man was a women’s specialist…you can imagine what he thought.”

  “He thought Rebecca had been expecting a child?”

  “Yes. He did. And, if that proved to be the case, then obviously everything was altered. The suicide verdict would inevitably be overturned. But Rebecca’s boat hadn’t sunk by accident. It was scuttled. So that left only one alternative. I think my father could see the hangman’s noose tightening around Maxim’s neck as they drove to London….” She paused. “But it wasn’t just that—do you understand? There were other implications, too, very serious ones.”

  “I see. I see.” I stood up, and walked across to the edge of the terrace; I looked at the yachts swaying at anchor. Why had Colonel Julyan never told me this? It would have meant that, driving to London, he must have been considering the possibility that Maxim de Winter had killed not only his wife, but also her unborn child. If so, it raised a terrible question: Could Maxim have killed Rebecca believing her to be pregnant? I couldn’t begin to answer that, and neither, I suppose, could the Colonel, but the images it conjured up in my mind were dark and terrible ones. Where had it happened? On the shore—no, not on the shore, and not on her boat either. In the boathouse, in the place I’d been standing this morning. Of that I felt suddenly, and irrationally, certain.

  The scene was very sharp in my mind, and I could feel my attitude to Maxim de Winter hardening. I’ve been trying to fight that inclination ever since—I was conjuring the scene out of the air, and I had no proof. But I still can’t dislodge it.

  I listened to the few remaining details of Ellie’s story with less attention—they were already familiar to me. Had Rebecca suspected how ill she was, I wondered, or had the news come as a complete surprise to her?

  “My father spent that night in London,” Ellie was saying, and I realized I’d scarcely heard her for the last few minutes. “He was terribly overwrought. He’d spent the whole day trying to conceal his thoughts. He went to stay with Rose, at her house in St. John’s Wood. I expect he wanted to talk it over with her…” She paused. The dark glasses turned in my direction. “Rose had a house in London then. In fact, she still has. She’s there now. She’s working on a new book. She’s on sabbatical from Cambridge, did my father tell you?”

  I dragged myself back to the present with some difficulty. “No,” I said. �
�No. He’s been steering me away from Rose. He likes to pretend she’s a recluse in the Fens. Of course, I did know that was misleading. In academic circles, your aunt is very well known. She—” I stopped myself.

  “Ah, yes,” Ellie said, her tone dry. “You were an undergraduate at Cambridge, weren’t you? I’d forgotten that.”

  I don’t think she had forgotten it—not at all. I changed the subject quickly. I was furious with myself for making that slip, and I didn’t want to get drawn on the issue of Cambridge, past or present. We talked for a little while longer, about her father, the predicament in which he’d then found himself, and his decision to draw a line under the whole affair.

  “If that inquest had been held in Scotland,” I said, “there could have been a ‘not proven’ verdict. It’s a pity that option doesn’t exist in England.”

  “Isn’t it?” Ellie replied. “Why does Scotland have a different legal system? I wish I knew Scotland better—I’ve never been there, and neither has my father. So we’re very ignorant. Unless I looked at a map, I wouldn’t know the difference between Perth and Peebles.”

  Her tone was innocent. Was she fishing, or teasing me? I couldn’t tell then, and I still can’t. I looked at my watch, and discovered that punctual Terence Gray was about to be late for Sunday lunch with the Briggs sisters.

  We began to walk back toward the house, and I suddenly found I was reluctant to leave. I wished I didn’t have that lunch with two elderly women, fond though I am of them; I’ve been spending so much time talking to people twice my own age that I’d almost forgotten how it felt to talk to someone of my own generation. I was realizing that I should have talked to Ellie about all this much earlier; I should have asked her about Rebecca. Ellie was observant, and with her I didn’t have to fight my way through interminable evasions and circumlocutions.

  “How old were you when you first came back to The Pines?” I asked as we rounded the house, making for the side gate that leads directly out to the lane.