“I can’t bear to think of it. My father was always so meticulous. Any sign of decay anywhere and he had it seen to at once.”
“It is the only way. There is something odd going on there.”
“And what of her … Maria?”
“She is besotted by him, I hear. She was from the time they met. In a way they suit each other.”
“I was surprised when I heard she was married. For some time I thought it was to you.”
He stared at me incredulously.
“Well, I was told by a prospective Member of Parliament who had been here sounding out the population. He said she had married ‘the chap from the Manor.’ Naturally I thought of you.”
“Unaturally,” he said. “What were you thinking of, Annora?”
“I, er … just thought you might have found her attractive … and I always knew you had a special feeling for Cador.”
He looked at me in such puzzlement that I wanted to tell him that I loved him. I wanted to tell him about my doubts and misgivings which had started on that Midsummer’s Eve. I wanted to say: Let’s forget it forever. It doesn’t matter. Whatever happened then I would put aside, because I knew my only chance of being happy again was with him.
He was looking into the past too, I believed. Was he remembering that morning when I had ridden over to the Manor with a note for him? I could see now what a terrible hurt I had inflicted on him. I wondered whether he could ever forget or forgive it.
It was not for me to say, I am ready to take you, Rolf. It was for him to decide whether he wanted me after what I had done to him.
“Cador, yes,” he was saying. “It always seemed to me the most wonderful place on Earth. When, as a boy, I rode over with my father, I always gasped at the first glimpse of those towers. I used to wish that I had been born there. I certainly wished it could be mine. But not in that way. Good Heavens, Annora, what an idea!”
“Are you still interested in antiquities?”
“Yes, as enthusiastic as ever. Old customs and that sort of thing. But I couldn’t have married that woman for all the castles and stately homes in England.”
We laughed and I said: “Would you like some tea? Some coffee?”
“Some coffee, please.”
“I shall have to make it myself. But don’t worry. I know how. I did quite a lot of cooking in the Mission which is run by Peterkin and his wife.”
“Oh yes. I’ve read about that place in the papers. Your uncle has given a great deal of support to it.” He looked at me searchingly. “Such a lot of things happened in a short space of time. I feel I’ve been living in a backwater while you’ve been out in the world.”
He watched me while I made the coffee.
I said: “Most of what happened was not very pleasant, Rolf.”
He nodded.
“All that scandal with my uncle and the Cresswells. But it seemed nothing compared with what happened after.”
There was silence while I set out the cups on the tray.
“You have become domesticated,” he said with a smile.
He carried the tray into the sitting room and I poured out the coffee.
“I learned from the newspapers about what was happening to you. It seemed strange that it should be that way after … Well, we had been pretty close, hadn’t we?”
“Always … until …”
“Things change.”
“Rolf, I’m very sorry for what I did to you.”
“You did the right thing.”
I was aghast.
“Yes,” he said. “It would have been wrong for you. It was better to make the break while there was time, even if it was at the last moment … rather than go and make a mistake.”
“But …”
“Don’t worry about it, Annora.”
“Have you … forgiven me?”
“My dear Annora, there is nothing to forgive really. It seemed right for us then, didn’t it? It seemed natural. I think we were carried away by childhood memories. And that, of course, is not a good reason. It wasn’t the past we had to think about but the future. It’s over now. Let’s forget it.”
Those words were like a tolling bell telling me of the love which was dead.
“After all,” he went on, “we’re still good friends … the best of friends.”
How often had those words been spoken, I wondered, to end a broken love affair. “We’re good friends … the best of friends.”
Friends are good to have, but when one has been hoping for more, how sad those words are!
“What about those Cresswells?” he asked. “There was a big scandal about Joseph, wasn’t there? It ruined his career.”
“Yes. And then of course there was my uncle.”
“That shady business of his. He seems to have shrugged all that aside.”
“He would. He knows how to make life go the way he wants it to, and when he comes to obstacles he just treats them as though they are not there. He’s very interested in Helena’s husband and is giving him his support.”
“Oh, yes, Matthew Hume. That was a good book he wrote.”
“He was collecting the material when he was with us in Australia. Matthew and Helena are very happy now. They have another child.”
“You were very fond of the first one.”
“Jonnie is adorable. He did a great deal for me when I was so desolate.”
He nodded. “There seems to be quite a friendship between your family and these Cresswells.”
“Well, Peterkin married Frances. She is the one who opened the Mission, and of course my Uncle Peter gave a lot of money to that.”
“And there was the son.”
“Joe Cresswell, yes.”
“I gather he is a great friend of yours.”
“Yes. He gave up his ambitions to become a Member of Parliament at the time of the scandal. I told him he was wrong to give up. He ought to have been like Uncle Peter. Just shrug it off. After all, it was not his affair. It was his father who was involved. I don’t see why it should affect him.”
“The sins of the fathers …”
“Very unfair. However, I’m trying to persuade Joe to make an effort to get into Parliament. I don’t think he will be happy until he does.”
“You found parliamentary circles interesting?”
“Oh yes, very. I helped Helena and Matthew during the election.”
“It must have been fascinating.”
“It was really … an entirely new way of life.”
“Yes, of course.” He looked at his watch. “You make a very good cup of coffee. I must be going. It has been so pleasant to see you, Annora. I hope you are not going to run away too soon. You must come over to the Manor. I have some curios to show you … some instruments we have dug up. Bronze Age, I guess. Someone from the Museum is coming to see them.”
“I’d love to look at them, Rolf. And I’d love to see you again.” He took my hands and held them for a long time.
A few weeks passed. Mr. Tamblin asked me if I was ready to put the cottage up for sale. I said: “Not yet. I should like to stay here in peace for a little while.”
“Sales take a long time to go through,” he pointed out.
“I know. But just at the moment I don’t want to think about selling.”
I saw Rolf now and then. Knowing how fond I was of riding, he told me to use his stables when I wanted to. I took advantage of the offer and often when I was riding, I met him, and we rode as we used to, galloping our horses along the shore. I looked up and saw the towers of Cador and remembered how I used to stand there, looking out through the battlements at the sea. I was overcome with sadness. There were too many memories here. Sometimes I thought I ought to go back. Rolf was fond of me, but it seemed that he had given up all thought of our marrying. I had deceived myself into thinking that we might come together again. Why is it that one thinks if one repents, everything can go on as before? Of course he would never trust me again. If we decided to marry how did he know that
I should not reject him again?
He invited me to dine at the Manor. Expectantly I went. But there were other guests and although he was the perfect host, it was just a pleasant evening.
He called at the cottage and I gave him coffee. Usually Kitty made it. She delighted in playing the maid and looking after me. I had rarely seen such a change in a girl. She loved the country; she had her friend Mabel; she was a welcome visitor to the Cador kitchen; her life had changed miraculously. I made up my mind that whatever happened I must keep her with me.
I looked forward to the morning rides. I always hoped that I would meet Rolf. I invariably did, and the thought came to me that he looked for me as I did for him.
We talked a great deal about the old days, and I noticed how often the Cresswells came into the conversation. He was also very interested in Jonnie.
I talked very enthusiastically about the child and about the Cresswells. The weeks I had spent at the Mission, I told him, had done a great deal for me.
I tried to make him realize what a wonderful woman Frances was—so strong, so determined, and so unsentimental for all her desire to do good.
“Like her brother Joe?” asked Rolf.
“Not in the least. Frances is herself and no one is quite like her. She changed Peterkin completely. I used to think he would never do anything, and when we met her and went to the Mission, he found a purpose in life and he fell in love with her.”
“Well, she is one of the Cresswells.”
“She reminds me of Uncle Peter in a way. She kept her head up when all that was going on. She didn’t let it affect her work.”
“And now your uncle is climbing out of the slime of scandal with the help of the Cresswell Mission.”
“They are such a charming family. I spent a week-end there once … long ago, it seems, before all that happened. Mr. and Mrs. Cresswell are so delightful. It was good to be in the heart of such a family.”
“Which contained Frances and Joe.”
“Yes and all the others. Oh, I do wish Joe would try to get back.”
“I’ve no doubt you will persuade him.”
We had come to a field and he broke into a gallop.
They were happy mornings. I did not want to give this up, for always in my heart was the hope that something would happen … some little word, some little action, and I would be confessing how I felt and he would tell me that he had never changed.
Then the rumors started.
Kitty had been out with Mabel and she told me that one of the boys from the stables had been in the woods when he had seen a fire.
“It was where the old witch’s cottage used to be,” said Kitty. “It wasn’t an ordinary fire. There was something funny about it.”
“Funny?” I asked. “How can a fire be funny?”
“Ghostly. Like it wasn’t there … and yet it was.”
“Do you mean it kept disappearing?”
“I don’t know, but young James was so scared he just ran, and he didn’t stop running until he was back in the stables. He said it was like having the Devil at his heels.”
I told her that there had always been a certain feeling about that particular part of the woods since one Midsummer’s Eve when a mob had set fire to the cottage.
“I expect it was just a tramp making a fire,” I said. “What else could it have been?”
“Mrs. Penlock thought it might be Mother Ginny come back to haunt the place. Mr. Isaacs even said he wouldn’t go near it for a gold watch … not even for a farm.”
I did not take much notice. But the rumours intensified. Someone saw a figure there. It just appeared among the trees. It wasn’t possible to see who it was but it looked like an old woman.
Few people went to the woods and certainly no one did after dark. There was a certain tension everywhere. It reminded me of those days just after that Midsummer’s Eve. People looked a little furtive and I wondered how many of them were remembering that night.
I went down to the quay one morning with Kitty to buy some fish. Jack Gort was there with his creels and his tubs.
I said: “Hello, Jack. Had a good catch?”
“So-so, Miss Cadorson,” he answered. “Could have been better. Wind’s a bit strong. Couldn’t stay out as long as I’d have liked to. I dunno. These winds do blow up sudden, like something’s behind it all.”
“Oh?” I said.
“Well … all this going on in the woods. Fires and figures like … It don’t be healthy if you’m asking me.”
“You don’t believe Mother Ginny’s come back to haunt all those people who sent her to her death?”
“Oh, ’twas her own doing. Her should know that. But they say as some don’t rest and I reckon she be one of them.”
“Poor Mother Ginny! It was a terrible thing that happened to her, and those who had a hand in it might be conscience-stricken.”
“Oh, ’twas her own doing,” he insisted. “Her ran right into the fire.”
“You were there, Jack …?”
“Aye.”
“With half the people in this place.”
He nodded. “You be right there, Miss Cadorson.”
I thought: They should feel uneasy. Let them remember. That way it may never happen again.
I went back with Kitty.
Mrs. Penlock called to see me.
“Oh, ’tis nice to see ’ee settled in,” she said. “I reckon you won’t want to be leaving.”
“I’m quite comfortable here.”
“But for all that, ’tis not the place for you. Up at the big house, that’s where you belong to be.”
“That’s all over, Mrs. Penlock.”
“’Tis a strange life. A bit topsy-turvy it do seem. But you’ve got that nice girl Kitty to do for you … couldn’t be a nicer girl. She and Mabel get along like a house on fire. She’s got such tales. I reckon that London be a terrible place, and wasn’t it wonderful the way she went to that Mrs. Frances? I reckon she’s a bit of a saint, that one. Could do with more like her in the world. Kitty just about idolizes her. It’s Mrs. Frances this and Mrs. Frances that … and she’s got a good word to say for you, too. Then she talks about that nice brother … a fine, upstanding fellow … just the sort of brother she’d expect Mrs. Frances to have.”
“I can see she is keeping you well-informed.”
“I like to hear about what’s going on up there. And I’d like to see you nice and happy. I always had a soft spot for you … even more than your brother and I’ll say it even though he’s gone. I can see you now, sitting on that high stool at the table watching me kneading the dough … and every now and then when you thought I wasn’t looking that little hand would shoot out and take a raisin or a nut. I saw you. ‘I’ve got eyes in the back of me head,’ I used to tell you; and you said, bright as a button, ‘Your hair’s covering them so you can’t see out of them.’ Sharp little thing you was. You were the favourite in the kitchen, I can tell you now, and there was a few tears shed when you was pushed out and Madam came to take your place. Nothing will make me believe she has a right and that goes for Mr. Isaacs and the rest of us.”
“You’ve all made me feel so welcome back here,” I said.
“Welcome! Why shouldn’t ’ee be in your own cottage … and what should be your home, too. And would be if I had any say in it. We like to see you about and we like your Kitty, but I suppose you’ve got to think of the future and what we all want at Cador … from our side of the house, that is … is your happiness. We was all upset when you turned down Mr. Rolf. But you know what’s best, I reckon. We’d like to see you married to someone nice … and with babies … even if we do have to read about them in the newspapers.”
“Why should you read about them in the papers?”
“Well … Parliament and all that, you know. If you was to marry one of them … they put it in the papers when there’s a baby.”
I realized that Kitty had talked a great deal. She was devoted to Frances and that meant Frances’s bro
ther; and I expected she had already decided that I was going to marry Joe and was glorifying my relationship with him to such an extent that the Cador staff had decided he was the man for me.
It was no use trying to stop gossip. It had always been and always would be.
I found myself becoming obsessed by that presence in the woods. Very few people went there nowadays and when they did it was usually in twos and threes. They saw nothing. It was only if you were caught alone, they said.
I was overcome by a desire to discover.
I went there one morning. I sat by the river where Digory and I used to throw stones into the water, straining my ears for the sound of a footstep, the crackle of bracken which would tell me that someone was close.
There was nothing but the sounds of the woods, the faint breeze ruffling the leaves on the trees, the gentle murmur of the water.
After a while I rose and went to the clearing. There was the burned-out cottage and beyond it the broken-down shed and the overgrown garden where Mother Ginny used to grow her magical herbs.
And as I stood there thinking of that terrible night, the half-broken door of the old shed creaked and started to open. I felt a shiver of alarm. They were right. There was a presence here. What I expected, I was not sure. The ghost of Mother Ginny as I had last seen her, mud-bespattered, her grey hair wet from the river …?
A man stood there.
I gasped and we stared at each other. Then it struck me that there was something vaguely familiar about him. He seemed to feel the same about me. Then a wild idea came to me. I said: “You … you are Digory.”
“I know you now you speak,” he said. “Miss Cadorson.”
“Digory! So you have come back.”
“I served me term,” he said. “I always intended to come back. There’s something I have to do.”
“How are you living?”
“Here.”
“In that old shed?”
“I’m used to roughing it.”
“But what do you live on?”
“There’s fish … hares … rabbits … I’ve got these woods to myself.”
“I’ve thought a lot about you, Digory. I’ve wondered where you were. We were in Australia …”
He nodded. “It was in the papers. Everyone was talking. I’m sorry for you, Miss Cadorson.”
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