The House on the Strand

by Daphne Du Maurier

  The decision taken, she had no further thought for her nephew but went to the door of the great hall, escorted by Sir John, who flung it open, only to stagger back with the force of the wind.

  "You'd be well advised," she said with irony, "to travel in comfort at my side, despite that sick boy, rather than feel the wind on your back when we reach high ground."

  "I have no fear for myself," he began, and then, seeing the steward close behind him, added, "You understand, my wife is delicate, and my sons also. The risk would be too great."

  "Too great indeed, Sir John. You show prudence."

  Prudence my arse, I thought, and so did Roger, judging from his expression, and Joanna's too.

  The lumbering chariot was drawn up outside the further gate, and crossing the court in the blustering wind we escorted the widow to it, whilst Sir John mounted his horse. Then we returned once more to the hall. The monk was piling covers about the half-conscious Henry.

  "They are ready and waiting," said Roger. "We can bear the mattress between us. Now we are alone, what hope have you of his recovery?"

  The monk shrugged. "As you said yourself, he is young and strong, but I have seen weaklings live and stalwarts die. Let him remain at the Priory under my care, and I will try certain remedies."

  "Watch your skill on this occasion," said Roger. "If you should fail you would have to answer for it to his father, and in that event the Prior himself could not protect you."

  The monk smiled. "From what I understand, Sir Otto Bodrugan will have trouble enough protecting himself," he answered. "You know Sir Oliver Carminowe lay at Bockenod last night and left at dawn, telling none of the servants of his destination? If he has ridden in secret along the coast it would be for one thing only, to seek out his lady's lover and destroy him."

  "Let him try," scoffed Roger. "Bodrugan is the better swordsman."

  Once again the monk shrugged. "Possibly," he said, "but Oliver Carminowe used other methods when he fought his enemies in Scotland. I would not give much for Bodrugan's chances should he be caught in ambush."

  The steward signaled him to silence as young Henry opened his eyes. "Where is my father?" he asked. "Where are you taking me?"

  "Your father is home, sir," said Roger. "We are sending for him, he will come to you in the morning. This night you are to rest at the Priory in the care of Brother Jean. Then, if you feel stronger and as your father so decides, you can be moved either to Bodrugan or to Trelawn."

  The young man looked from one to the other in bewilderment. "I have no wish to stay at the Priory," he said. "I would rather go home tonight."

  "It is not possible, sir," replied Roger gently. "It is blowing a full gale and the horses cannot travel far. My lady is waiting for you in the chariot, and will take you to the Priory. You will be safely in bed in the guest-chamber there within half an hour."

  They bore him on the mattress, still protesting weakly, through the hall and across the court, to the waiting vehicle, stretching him full-length at his aunt's feet. Then the monk climbed in beside him. Joanna looked at her steward through the open window. The veil had blown back from her face, and I noticed how her features had coarsened since I saw her last. Her mouth was slacker, and there were pouches under her full eyes.

  She leaned close to the window, so that her nephew could not hear. "There have been rumors," she said softly, "of possible trouble between Sir Oliver and my brother. Whether Sir Oliver is in the neighborhood or not I cannot say. But it is one of the reasons I want to be away, and quickly."

  "As you will, my lady," answered the steward.

  "Neither Sir John nor I wish to take part in the dispute," she said. "It is not our quarrel. If they come to blows my brother can take care of himself. My strict charge upon you is that you side with neither, but concern yourself solely with my affairs. Is that understood?"

  "Perfectly, my lady."

  She nodded briefly, then turned her attention to young Henry at her feet. Roger signaled to the driver, and the heavy vehicle pursued its course up the muddied road towards the Priory, followed by Sir John on horseback and an attendant servant, both riders bent low on their saddles, lashed by the wind and rain. As soon as they had topped the brow and disappeared, Roger walked swiftly through the archway into the stableyard and called for Robbie. His brother came at once, leading a pony, his mat of unruly hair falling over his face.

  "Ride like the devil to Tregest," Roger said, "and warn Lady Isolda to stay within doors. Bodrugan was to have sailed here to the creek tonight, but he will never venture in this gale. Whether Sir Oliver is with her or not--and I doubt it--she must get my message without fail."

  The boy leaped onto the pony's back and was away, streaking across the field, but in an easterly direction, our side of the valley, and I remembered that Roger had said the ford was impassable because of the tide. He would have to cross the stream higher up the valley, if the place called Tregest lay the other side. The name conveyed nothing. I knew there was no Tregest on the ordnance map today.

  Roger made his way across the court and through the gate in the wall to the sloping hill above the creek. Here the strength of the wind nearly blew him off his feet, but he continued downhill towards the river, into the driving rain, taking the rough track that led to the quayside at the bottom. His expression was anxious, even haggard, quite different from his usual air of self-possession, and as he walked, or rather ran, he kept looking towards the river mouth where it entered the wide Par estuary. The sense of foreboding that had been mine when I returned from the expedition across the bay was with me once again, and I felt that it was with him too, that somehow we shared a common bond of anxiety and fear.

  There was some shelter when we came to the quay because of the hill behind us, but the river itself was in turmoil, the wavelets short and steep, bearing upon their crests every sort of autumn debris, floating branches, logs and seaweed, which, as they were driven towards the quay or passed it in mid-channel, were skimmed by a flock of screaming gulls endeavoring with outstretched wings to stern the wind.

  We must have seen the ship simultaneously, our eyes turned seaward, but not the brave craft I had admired at anchor on a summer's afternoon. She staggered like a drunken thing, her mast broken, the yards upon it hanging halfway to the deck, and the sails dropping around the yards like shrouds. The rudder must have gone too, for she was out of control, at the mercy of both wind and tide that bore her forward but broadside on, her bows turned towards the shallower sands where the seas broke shortest. I could not see how many were on board, but there were three at least, and they were endeavoring to launch from the deck a little boat that was caught up in the tangle of sail and fallen yards. Roger cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, but they could not hear him, because of the wind. He sprang onto the quay wall and waved his arms, and one of those aboard--it must have been Otto Bodrugan--saw him and waved in answer, pointing to the opposite shore.

  "This side the channel," shouted Roger, "this side the channel," but his voice was lost in the wind. They did not hear him, for they were still working hard to launch the boat from the ship's side.

  Doubtless Bodrugan knew the channel well, and if they launched the smaller boat they would have little difficulty in getting ashore, despite the short seas breaking above the sand-flats on either side. It was not like open sea, rock-bound and dangerous, and, although the river was broadest where the craft drifted, she could at worst only run aground and wait for the falling tide.

  Then I saw the reason for Roger's fear, and why he strove to attract Bodrugan and his sailors to the quay. A line of horsemen was riding on the opposite hill, some dozen of them, in single file. Because of the contours of the land the men aboard were not aware of their presence, the clump of trees masking them from the vessel.

  Roger continued to shout and wave, but those on board took it as encouragement for the successful launching of the small boat, and replied in like fashion. Then, as the vessel drifted on up-channel, they managed to
lower the boat over the side, all three men dropping into it a moment afterwards. They had a hawser fastened from the ship's bows to the stern of the small boat, and while two of the men bent to the oars and pulled towards the opposite shore the third, Bodrugan, crouched in the stern, holding fast to the hawser in an attempt to turn the vessel in the same direction as themselves.

  They were too intent upon their task to pay further attention to Roger, and as they drew slowly nearer to the opposite shore I saw the horsemen on the hill dismount by the belt of trees. Taking advantage of the cover they crept down towards the creek, where the land dipped suddenly to the water's edge, forming a spit of sand. Roger shouted for the last time, waving his arms in desperation, and forgetting my phantom status I did the same, without sound, more powerless as an ally than any spectator at a football game cheering a losing side, and as the small boat drew nearer to the shore so their enemies, screened by the belt of trees, came closer to the spit of sand.

  Suddenly the hawser parted as the larger vessel ran aground, and Bodrugan, flung off his feet, tumbled among his men and the small boat upset, throwing all three of them into the water. They were already so close to the opposite shore that the river had no great depth where they received their ducking, and Bodrugan was the first to stand, the water up to his chest, while the others floundered beside him, and Bodrugan answered Roger's final warning yell with a triumphant cry.

  It was his last. The band of men were upon him and his companions before they had time to turn their heads or defend themselves, a dozen against three, and before the driving rain that burst upon us, heavier than ever, blotted them from view I saw, with sick revulsion, that instead of dragging their victims up the spit of sand to finish them there, by sword or dagger, they were thrusting them face-downwards in the water. One was already still, the other struggling, but it took eight men to hold Bodrugan down. Roger started to run along the river's edge towards the mill, cursing, gasping, and I knew it was useless, that we ran in vain, for long before he could summon help it would be over.

  We came to the ford below the mill, and, just as he had told Joanna earlier, the water ran swiftly here, and deep, almost to the door of the forge itself. Once again Roger put his hands to his mouth.

  "Rob Rosgof," he yelled, "Rob Rosgof," and the frightened figure of the blacksmith appeared at the door, with his wife beside him.

  Roger pointed downstream, but the man gestured with both his hands in denial, shaking his head, then jerked his thumb up the hill behind him, this play without words suggesting he had known of the ambush and could do nothing, and he dragged his wife with him inside the forge and barred the door. Roger turned in despair to the mill, and the three monks I had seen there on the Sunday morning, when Isolda's children crossed the ford, came through the yard to meet him.

  "Bodrugan and his men have been driven ashore," cried Roger. "His vessel's aground, and an ambush lay in wait to destroy them. They are dead men, all three, against a dozen fully armed."

  I hardly know which showed the more strongly upon his face, his anger, or his grief, or his powerlessness to help.

  "Where is Lady Champernoune?" asked one of the monks. "And Sir John Carminowe? We saw the carriage at the house all afternoon."

  "Her nephew, Bodrugan's son, is sick," answered Roger. "They have taken him to the Priory, and they themselves are now on the road to Bockenod. I have sent Robbie to Tregest to warn the household there, and I pray God none of them ventures forth, or their lives could be in danger too."

  We stood there, below the millyard, uncertain whether to go or stay, and all the time straining our eyes towards the river, where the curving banks above the creek hid the stranded vessel and the murderous scene on the spit of sand.

  "Who led the ambush?" asked the monk. "Bodrugan had enemies once, but that is long past, with the King firmly established on the throne."

  "Sir Oliver Carminowe, who else?" answered Roger. "They fought on opposing sides in the rebellion of '22, and today he does murder in another cause."

  No sound but the wind, and the turmoil of the river as it coursed between the narrowing banks, with the gulls skimming the surface, screaming. Then one of the monks pointed to the bend in the creek and cried. "They've launched the boat, they're coming up with the tide!"

  It was not a boat, at least not the whole of it, but what seemed in the distance to be part of the planking stripped from its side, and set afloat upstream as jetsam, circling slowly as it drifted with the current. Something was lashed to it that now and again bobbed to the surface, then disappeared, only to reappear again. Roger looked at the monks and I at him, and with one accord we ran down to the edge of the creek where the eddy carried the driftwood and the scum, and all the while, as we waited, the planking rose and fell with the force of the tide, and the thing that was lashed upon it rose as well. Then there was shouting from the opposite bank, and through the belt of trees rode the horsemen, their leader ahead. They cantered down to the road by the forge, and the shouting ceased, and they stood there watching in silence.

  We plunged into the river to drag the plank ashore, the monks with us, and as we did so the leading horseman shouted, "A birthday package for my wife, Roger Kylmerth. See that she receives it with my compliments, and when she has done with it tell her that I await her at Carminowe."

  He burst out laughing, and his men with him, and then they turned their horses up the hill and rode away.

  Roger and the first monk drew the plank ashore. The others crossed themselves and began to pray, and one of them went down upon his knees at the water's edge. There was no knife wound upon Bodrugan, no sign of violence. The water streamed from his mouth and his eyes were open. They had drowned him before they lashed him to the plank.

  Roger untied the hawser strands and bore him in his arms, with the water dripping from his hair, towards the mill. "Merciful God," he said, "how am I to tell her?"

  There was no need. As we turned towards the mill we saw the ponies, Robbie upon his own, Isolda mounted on a second, her hair loose upon her shoulders, wet and lank, her cloak billowing out behind her like a cloud. Robbie at a glance saw what had happened, and put out his hand to seize her bridle and turn her pony back, but in a moment she had dismounted and came running down the hill towards us.

  "Oh, my love," she said, "oh, no... oh, no... oh, no..." her voice, that had started clear and strong, trailing off into a single cry.

  Roger laid his burden on the ground and ran towards her, and so did I. As we took hold of her outstretched hands she slipped out of our grasp and fell, and instead of holding on to her cloak I was scrambling among bales of straw piled against a corrugated tin shed across the road from Treesmill farm.

  14

  I lay there waiting for the nausea and the vertigo to pass. I knew it had to be endured, and the quieter I remained the quicker it would go. It was already light, and I had sense enough to glance at my watch. It was twenty-past five. If I gave myself a quarter of an hour, without moving, all should be well. Even if the people at Treesmill farm were already astir no one was likely to cross the road and come to the shed, which was hard against the wall of an old valley orchard, the stream a few yards away from where I lay, all that remained of the tidal creek.

  My heart was thumping, but it gradually eased, and the dreaded vertigo was not as bad as that previous time when I had come to at the Gratten, and had the encounter with the doctor at the lay-by at the top of the hill.

  Five minutes, ten, fifteen... then I struggled to my feet, and slipping from the orchard walked very slowly up the hill. So far so good. I climbed into the car and sat another five minutes, then started the engine and drove equally carefully back to Kilmarth. Plenty of time to put away the car and lock up the flask in the lab, then the wisest thing to do would be to go straight to bed and try to get some rest.

  There was nothing more I could do, I told myself. Roger would take Isolda back to that Tregest place, wherever it was, and poor Bodrugan's body would be safe in the care
of those monks. Someone would have to carry the news to Joanna at Bockenod. Roger would take care of that, I felt sure. I now had a regard, even an affection for him, he was so obviously moved by Bodrugan's appalling death, and we had shared the horror of it together. I was right to have had that sense of foreboding on the beach below Chapel Point before sailing back to Fowey with Vita and the boys. Vita and the boys...

  I drove into the garage just as I remembered them, and with the memory came full understanding. I had driven home in one world with my brain still in the other. I had driven home, part of my brain completely sensible to the fact that I had the wheel in my hands and belonged to the present, while the rest of me was still in the past, believing Roger on the way to Tregest with Isolda.

  I began to sweat all over. I sat quite still in the car, my hands trembling. It must not happen again. I must take a grip on myself. It was just on six o'clock in the morning. Vita and the boys, and those damned guests of ours, were all asleep upstairs, and Roger and Isolda and Bodrugan had been dead for more than six centuries. I was in my own time...

  I let myself in at the back door and put the flask away. It was fully light by now, but the house was silent still. I crept upstairs and into the kitchen, and put on the electric kettle to make myself a cup of tea. Tea was the answer, a steaming cup. The purr of the kettle was oddly comforting, and I sat down at the table, remembering suddenly how much we had all had to drink the night before. The kitchen still smelled of the lobster we had eaten, and I got up and opened the window.

  I was in the middle of my second cup when I heard a creak on the stairs, and I was about to streak down to the basement and remain perdu when the door opened and Bill came into the room. He grinned sheepishly.

  "Hello," he said. "Two minds with but a single thought. I woke up, thought I heard a car, and suddenly had the most fearful thirst. Is that tea you're drinking?"

  "Yes," I said. "Have a cup. Is Diana awake?"

  "No," he replied, "and if I know my wife after a binge, not likely to, either. We were all pretty well stoned, weren't we? I say, no hard feelings?"