Gossamer Cord

by Philippa Carr

  I wondered what effect that visit had had on his feelings toward me. I think mine had undergone a change. That was unfair, of course. He had been justly disappointed.

  That day Jowan Jermyn telephoned. Would I ride out with him to Brackenleigh, which was on the other side of the moor?

  I agreed and we left at ten thirty. We would have lunch, he said, at a place he knew there. He had to call at one of the farms. I might find that interesting.

  It was just what I needed.

  It was very pleasant. Spring was on the way and the hedgerows were bright with flowers in patriotic colors of red, white, and blue.

  He knew that I had had a visitor from London.

  I said: “I see the circulation of news is as good as ever.”

  “It is always to be trusted,” he said “And there was trouble over the little boy?”

  “We have had a very anxious time. Tristan is all right now and we are very thankful. But he was really dangerously ill.”

  “I heard the doctor visited frequently.”

  “Poor Nanny Crabtree was very distressed.”

  “You must tell me all about it while we are having lunch. It’s single file here. Just follow me.”

  I did until we came to the moor. We galloped then and came to the King’s Head—a pleasant-looking inn. The sign over the door depicted the crowned head of some rather indeterminate monarch who might have been one of the Georges.

  Over the table Jowan said, “Tell me about the visitor.”

  “He was a friend from London. A lawyer.”

  “And he came down to see you?”

  “Yes.”

  “A great friend?”

  “We met in London. He is a friend of Edward’s. You know who Edward is?”

  He did not, so I gave him a brief summary of Edward’s place in the family. He was intrigued by the story.

  “My mother regards him as her son,” I said.

  “You have inherited her talent for looking after motherless infants.”

  “You mean Tristan. Well, he is my sister’s son.”

  He nodded. “And the lawyer? You were not able to entertain him in the manner which he was expecting.”

  I could not help smiling. “Why do you need me to tell you anything? You have such an excellent service of your own.”

  “Nevertheless, tell me. I like to hear it from the horse’s mouth.”

  “Tristan had a cold, a rather bad one. Nanny Crabtree called the doctor, who said he should stay in bed and be kept warm,” I went on to tell him about the open window and Tristan’s kicking off his bedclothes which had brought him close to pneumonia.

  “We sat up with him all night…Nanny Crabtree and I. She didn’t want anyone else. She blames someone for coming in and opening the window.”

  “And taking the clothes off the baby’s bed?”

  “Oh, no. We thought he threw them off.”

  “Was he in the habit of doing that?”

  “No. He never has before.”

  “So he only does it when he is in a draught.”

  I looked at him intently.

  “Well,” he said. “It was what he did, wasn’t it?”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “Why should he do that?”

  “We can’t ask Tristan why he kicked off his bedclothes. I suppose he was restless, probably feverish and too hot.”

  “I wonder why someone should come into the nursery and open the window.”

  “Mrs. Lewyth thinks that Nanny Crabtree opened it and forgot to shut it.”

  “I suppose it is a possibility. Is she forgetful?”

  “I have never known her be, especially where her charges were concerned.”

  “And with a child already sick. Doesn’t it sound strange to you? I wish you weren’t staying there.”

  “Where else should I stay?”

  “I mean it’s a pity you can’t take the child to your mother. But that is not entirely true, for if you did, what about me?”

  “You?”

  “Think how desolate I should be if I could not see you.”

  “Would you be?”

  “It is not like you to ask foolish questions when you know the answer.”

  I did not reply, and nothing was said for a few moments.

  I ate a little of the salmon which had been placed before me, and I felt happier than I had for some time. Tristan’s quick recovery had lifted my spirits and I always had enjoyed Jowan’s company.

  He said at length: “Have you made any plans as to what you are going to do?”

  I shook my head. “I am still uncertain about everything.”

  “Something might be decided for us before long,” he said.

  I looked at him questioningly and he went on: “I mean what is happening abroad.”

  “Does that involve us?”

  “There is a possibility that it will. The way things are going, perhaps I should say a certainty. Do you like the food here?”

  “Very much.”

  “We might come again. I often have to come this way.”

  He talked to me about the farm at which we should call. There was some question about building another barn.

  “It won’t take long. I thought you might like to see something of the estate.”

  It was an interesting afternoon. I chatted to the farmer’s wife while Jowan was with her husband, and heard what a good landlord he was to his tenant farmers.

  “Couldn’t be better,” she said. “We’re lucky to be on the Jermyn estate. ’Tis not so good over at Tregarland’s. Oh, sorry, Miss, I forgot you came from there. It was terrible about your poor sister, and I heard the little one’s been poorly.”

  So it had already spread as far as this.

  We rode back the way we had come. I felt better than I had since I lost Dorabella.

  When I said goodbye, he took my hand and looked at me intently.

  “Take care,” he said. “Especial care.” An almost imperceptible frown crossed his face as he went on: “Remember, I am not far away.”

  “Comforting thought,” I replied lightly, but I meant it.

  Death in the House

  SUMMER WAS ALMOST WITH us. Richard wrote now and then, but he did not suggest paying another visit to Cornwall. My mother also wrote. She wondered whether there was any hope of my coming to Caddington. I could travel with the baby and Nanny Crabtree quite easily now, she was sure. She herself was going to London frequently since the birth of Gretchen’s baby—a little girl whom they had called Hildegarde.

  It was June. I had paid another visit to Mrs. Pardell. She seemed quite pleased to see me. She was obsessed by the belief that Dermot had murdered both his wives and nothing would shift her. She thought he had strangled them, carried them out of the house, and thrown them into the sea.

  “There was no sign of strangulation on Annette’s body when they found her,” I protested. “If there had been, it would have been quickly noticed.”

  “She had been in the sea all those days, hadn’t she?” insisted Mrs. Pardell.

  “I think the evidence would still be there.”

  Nothing would convince her, but she said it was nice to talk to somebody about it. “And you lost your sister, I lost my daughter. It links us…if you know what I mean.”

  I felt faintly depressed after my visit to her.

  I was seeing Jowan more frequently. He introduced me to Joe Tregarth who was his manager. He was clearly devoted to Jowan. He told me it was a pity Jowan had not come into the property before and that it was a pleasure to work for someone who knew what he was about.

  Whenever I went into the town I was aware of the looks which came my way. True, there was slightly less interest than there had been because the mystery of Dorabella’s disappearance was becoming stale news, yet I was still part of one of those old legends which would be revived every now and then.

  I found a morbid fascination in the gardens. I used to sit there in the afternoons and look over the beach th
inking of Dorabella. I pictured her again and again, going down there that morning, plunging into the cold water and being lost forever. But I could not believe it happened like that.

  It was late afternoon. I had been sitting there for about half an hour when I heard footsteps descending and, to my surprise, I saw Gordon Lewyth coming toward me.

  “Good afternoon,” he said. “You come here often, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” I replied.

  “May I sit with you?”

  The seat was a stone ledge cut out of the rock. There was room for about four people on it.

  He sat down. “It doesn’t make you happy, does it, sitting here?” he said. “It brings it all back.”

  “Yes. I suppose you are right.”

  “And yet…you find it irresistible.”

  “I cannot understand it at all,” I told him. “That my sister should suddenly start bathing in the morning. It would be decidedly chilly, and she was never the Spartan type.”

  “People have strange fancies.”

  “I cannot believe that she is dead.”

  “But she has gone, hasn’t she?”

  “Her body has never been washed up.”

  “That does not mean she is alive. Some are never seen again. She could have been washed out to sea…or lying on the ocean bed.”

  I shivered.

  He said: “I’m sorry. But I reckon the sooner you face up to the fact that she has gone, the better. You’ll start to get over it then. You’d be better away from here.”

  “Yes, I think so. But I could not go without Tristan.”

  “I don’t think he will be allowed to go.”

  “I understand that he belongs to this place, but Dermot would not stop his going.”

  “Dermot is in a mood to be indifferent about everything at the moment.”

  “It was such a tragedy for him.”

  “As for you. I think you would be happier with your parents. You’re brooding here. You can’t escape from it.”

  “If only I could take Tristan…”

  “The child has to stay here. His grandfather insists on that.”

  “And I have promised my sister to look after him if she were not here to do so.”

  “Did she have a premonition that she might not be?”

  “She must have had.”

  “That’s very strange.”

  “So many strange things have happened.”

  “It is the interpretation which is put on them. We Cornish are by nature superstitious. I wonder why. Perhaps because we have had a harder life than some. The population is made up of fishermen and miners—both hazardous occupations. When there are fatal accidents at sea or in the mines these legends are born. They will tell you that the knackers who live underground are the ghosts of those who murdered Jesus Christ. There have been many who have said they have seen them. ‘The size of a sixpenny doll,’ one man told me. I imagine a sixpenny doll in the old days might have been about six inches high—dressed like an old tinner, which is what they call miners in these parts. Miners had to leave what they called a ‘didjan,’ which was part of their lunch for the knackers, otherwise they could expect trouble. Imagine the hardship for those who found difficulty in providing their own frugal meal.”

  “You know a great deal about the old legends and customs.”

  “One picks it up over the years, and I have lived here all my life…though not in this house, of course. I am not one of the family.”

  “I thought there was a distant connection.”

  He hesitated for a moment, then smiled wryly.

  “Oh, there might be. I was telling you about the legends. It is the dangerous occupations. People think of ill luck that could befall them. They talk of black dogs and white hares seen at the mineshafts which are a warning of approaching evil. You must understand that people who are often facing danger look for signs. Now they say that Jermyns and Tregarlands should never have become friendly and, because they have, there will be disaster.”

  “Do they really think that my sister’s death is due to that?”

  “I am sure they do. They will say that someone brought about this evil.”

  “Myself!” I cried.

  He nodded and looked at me in an odd sort of way.

  “They say it is not right that foreigners should come here and meddle with something that has been going on for generations.”

  “Foreigners!”

  “Born the wrong side of the Tamar,” he said with a smile.

  “That is all ridiculous.”

  “Of course. But it is what they believe.”

  “But that feud, it’s so absurd. You think so. Everyone with any sense would. Mr. Jermyn does, too.”

  “But there are many who don’t. They love their old superstitions. They don’t want them changed. The miners and fishermen don’t. They fear the mines and the sea. Look at the sea now. Do you see that ruffling of the waves? There are a number of what we call white horses. It’s quite rough down there.”

  “The wind has sprung up while I have been sitting here.”

  “It is very treacherous…unpredictable.” He moved slightly toward me. “It can be smooth, inviting, and then suddenly the wind arises. You haven’t seen what a real storm can be like yet. You haven’t seen fearsome waves…forty-…fifty-feet-high waves. They can lash against the rocks. It is like an enraged monster. Oh, yes, you must be very careful of the sea.”

  I felt his eyes on me as he went on: “There is danger down there. Even in this garden. Just imagine if you should lose your footing—a loose stone, a shifting of the earth. It happens. You could go hurtling down…down onto those black rocks.”

  I felt a sudden fear as I fancied he moved even closer to me.

  I said: “It didn’t occur to me.”

  “Well, it wouldn’t. But you must take care. It looks so peaceful now, but things are not always what they seem. Always remember…the dangers of the sea.”

  “Mr. Lewyth, Mr. Lewyth, are you there?” One of the maids was coming down the slope toward us. It was as though a spell was broken. I gave an involuntary gasp of relief.

  “A terrible thing have happened, sir,” said the maid. “Mr. Dermot has had an accident. He have been took to the hospital.”

  “Accident!” cried Gordon.

  “Fell from his horse, sir. Mrs. Lewyth did send me to come and fetch you.”

  Gordon was already striding up the slope to the house. I followed.

  Gordon, Matilda, and I drove to the hospital in Plymouth to which they had taken Dermot. We were not allowed to see him immediately, but we did see the doctor.

  “He is badly injured,” we were told.

  “He’s not…?” began Matilda.

  “He’ll recover, but it is going to be a long time and then, perhaps…”

  “Oh, my God,” murmured Matilda.

  Gordon said: “You mean it is a permanent injury?”

  “It is possible. It involves the spine. It was a very bad fall. It could have killed him.”

  “Do they know how it happened?”

  “He was apparently galloping too fast and…er …it seems that he was, well, not exactly intoxicated, but…er…not entirely sober either.”

  I said: “He has suffered a great grief recently. He lost his wife.”

  The doctor nodded.

  “You may be able to see him when he comes out of the anesthetic. We had to do an operation—a minor one—but we can see that there is little that can be done.”

  “Does it mean he must stay here?”

  “Oh, no. He’ll be out of here in a few days…if there is nothing further we can do. A little therapy perhaps. But that is for later. We’ll have to see.”

  We were left in a waiting room and told that we should be called when we could see Dermot.

  “This is terrible,” said Matilda. “What is happening…? Things haven’t really been right since Annette’s death. It all seems so bewildering.”

  “Life is sometimes
like that,” said Gordon, glancing at his mother. “This was an accident. No one can be blamed for it.”

  “I expect the evil forces will be blamed,” I said.

  Gordon nodded. “He might recover,” he said. “Doctors don’t always know.”

  It was some time before a nurse came to us. She told us we could see Dermot now, but must not stay too long.

  Dermot was lying in a bed in a ward occupied by several others. The curtains about his bed were drawn back by the nurse.

  He looked pale and very ill. He smiled at us faintly.

  “I’ve made a mess of things,” he said with a weak smile.

  “My dear Dermot,” said Matilda, “we are all so concerned for you.”

  “I’m still here,” he said almost regretfully.

  “What happened?” asked Gordon.

  “I don’t know. One moment I was galloping along, and the next I hit the ground. Poor old Sable just went on.”

  “I know,” said Gordon. “She came back to the house.”

  “I must have been careless,” said Dermot.

  “Well, rest now,” soothed Matilda. “You will be all right. But it will take time.”

  “Time,” he said, and closed his eyes.

  A nurse came to us and signaled that we should leave.

  We looked at Dermot. His eyes were closed and he seemed unaware of our departure.

  As was expected, there was a buzz of speculation. What was happening up at Tregarland’s? It was clear enough, wasn’t it? Something was wrong. It was one trouble after another. Death for the first Mrs. Tregarland; then the young woman from foreign parts starts meddling, bringing a Jermyn to Tregarland’s. It stood to reason that the ghost was not going to stand by and allow that to happen. The trouble with foreigners was that they did not know anything about the spirit world. This would show them.

  There were two young women taken by the sea—though the first was before the meddlesome creature arrived and was just a warning that the quarrel was as fierce as it always had been. Then the master fell off his horse and it was reckoned that it would be a long time before he would be in the saddle again. It was a warning. It was saying clear as the nose on your face: Don’t meddle with what you don’t know.

  I felt a great desire to get away from the place. I could, of course, pack and go home tomorrow, but what of Tristan? As Richard would have said, the nanny was quite capable of looking after the child. If only I could take him with me.