After she had gazed out of the window for so long that the falling snowflakes made her eyes ache, Scarlet was suddenly aware of a horse and rider approaching. It was Garrett! She became agitated, not knowing whether to be relieved or apprehensive. As he drew nearer she was not surprised to find that she was both: relieved because, at long last, she would know the worst, and apprehensive because of the possible consequences of his return. She watched him veer off left towards the stables, and it struck Scarlet that there was something odd about the way he was astride his horse, something strange in his whole manner. He seemed to be falling sideways, swaying like a man wounded… or drunk! But no, how could he be drunk, she reproached herself. Garrett was not a drinking man.
A few moments later, Scarlet heard the sound of raised voices below. Going onto the landing, she leaned over the gallery, and was astonished to see Garrett and his father in the hall, angrily confronting each other. ‘You’re drunk, man… have you no pride?… behaving in such an undignified manner in front of our guests!’ Edward Summers was struggling to get up from his wheelchair, his face red and furious. ‘I never thought I’d see the day when I was ashamed of my own son!’
Without a word, Garrett lunged forward to grasp the arm of the chair. ‘If you’d made her welcome in this house, things might have been different,’ he yelled, angrily whipping the chair from him so that it careered wildly in a semi-circle, almost unbalancing and dislodging its astonished occupant. Mr Thornton stepped forward and quickly steadied it. ‘Go easy there, son,’ he said in a serious voice. ‘Don’t you think it might be an idea to go and get some shuteye… sleep off the booze, eh?’
Garrett made no reply. Instead he remained arrogant, his legs widely splayed and his confused bloodshot gaze going from his father to Jonathan Thornton, then resting on the petite Nancy Thornton, who had stayed by the dining room door, quietly observing the unseemly behaviour of the young man she had always seen to be a gentleman. She wondered what could have happened to bring him bursting into the dining room in that way, using such obscene language that she had never thought to hear in this house.
For the briefest moment a look of shame crossed Garrett’s unhappy features. Then he looked up to see Scarlet there and the sight of her incensed him. With a growl, he turned away from the little group and stumbled up the stairway towards her. ‘I should have listened to my father!’ he shouted. ‘He said you’d only bring heartbreak. He was right, wasn’t he, eh? He was right!… I saw you, Scarlet… you and… him!’
So! He knew. She could do nothing else but face it. Aware of the three below, with all eyes looking to her, Scarlet retreated into the bedroom. She left the door open, and waited. His approaching footsteps were unsteady, shuffling. Not at all like her father’s, which had been heavy and rhythmic. Yet even though the sound of their footsteps were different, the effect on Scarlet was exactly the same. They struck terror in her heart! She was a child again, waiting for the inevitable.
Suddenly, he was at the door, his arms outstretched and holding onto the door frame in order to keep his balance, staring at her in disgust as he demanded in a quiet voice, ‘Why, Scarlet?… aren’t I good to you?’ There were tears in his eyes. Scarlet was engulfed with shame; but then she was on the defensive as he went on more scornfully. ‘Haven’t I given you a good home?… You, and the girl… his daughter. Haven’t I pretended all along that Cassie was mine?… Lied to my father and given her a respectable name?’
‘Don’t Garrett… please, don’t.’ Scarlet was horrified. She could imagine how Garrett’s cruel revelation had been received by Edward Summers, who must have heard it all. She knew how thrilled he would be by the news that Cassie was not Garrett’s child after all, just as he had always believed. But what of the American visitors, Scarlet thought with a new burst of shame, they must surely be appalled at such news? No doubt they would share the views of their host, that his daughter-in-law was nothing but a fortune-seeker, a social parasite, an opportunist, a woman of ill-repute who gave her favours freely! Scarlet was mortified. And furious. She could not forgive Garrett for bringing little Cassie into an argument that was not of the child’s making. ‘YES!’ Her voice sailed across the room, startling him. ‘Cassie is his… as you say, you lied to give her a name.’ Her dark eyes blazed into his. ‘But she was never yours. I was never yours! So, we’ll go. That’s what your father would want. It’s what you want, isn’t it, Garrett?… ISN’T IT?’
‘YES! GET OUT!’ He staggered aside, the tears rolling down his face. ‘If it’s him you want, then get out. Go on! Go to him… and to Hell with the pair of you.’ As she brushed past him, he caught her by the arm. ‘Take the girl,’ he told her, ‘but the boy, he’s mine. Leave him.’
Twisting from his grasp, she nodded. The boy would not come with her anyway; he was afraid of her. She was afraid of him! Quickly she made her way to the nursery. One look at the nanny’s shocked face told Scarlet that she also had heard everything. Cassie was almost dressed for her ‘walk in the snow’. White-faced and desperate now to be gone, Scarlet came into the room, feeling relieved that at least Cassie seemed unaware of what had transpired. She realised that she owed a debt of gratitude to the other woman, who had no doubt diverted the child’s attention from the raging arguments. ‘Please collect my coat,’ she instructed the nanny, who faced her with a hostile and accusing look. ‘I’ll finish dressing Cassie.’ Quickly the woman departed, slamming the door behind her.
In a surprisingly few moments the door was flung open wide. Scarlet fastened the ribbon under Cassie’s bonnet, then looked up, holding out her arm to collect the coat she had sent for. She was shocked to see that the woman who had entered the room was not the nanny, but Ruth Taylor, the housekeeper. ‘Don’t come back to this house,’ she told Scarlet, her face frozen in a malicious smile as, ignoring Scarlet’s outstretched arm, she flung the tweed coat at her feet. Without a word, Scarlet picked the coat up and hurriedly put it on. Then, sweeping Cassie up into her arms, she stormed past the housekeeper and out of the room. As she went speedily down the stairs, she could hear Garrett calling, ‘Go on! Go to him… I never want to see you again!’ She did not look back, but continued across the hall, her head held high when she passed within a painfully short distance of Edward Summers and the Thorntons. She could feel the animosity of the two men, but suddenly, when there was the gentle touch of a hand on her shoulder, she was made to pause. It was Nancy Thornton, her blue eyes filled with kindness. ‘He doesn’t mean what he says,’ she murmured, ‘he loves you, my dear.’ Briefly, Scarlet touched her hand in gratitude, thinking how right the dear soul was. And how very wrong. She found herself wishing there had been more time to get to know Nancy Thornton. She was a good woman; unlike me, Scarlet tormented herself, unlike me!
As she went from the house, Scarlet was unsure of which way to go. Her first thoughts were to seek out Shelagh, dear kind Shelagh, who would help her decide for the best. But then she recoiled from the darker images of her father and Greystone House. She could not bring herself to go there. John Blackwood’s cottage, then? His wife would not be pleased to see both Scarlet and her child appear on the doorstep, but Scarlet had nowhere else to turn. John would go for Shelagh, and together she and Scarlet could talk things through. It was settled. There was no alternative!
Choosing the most direct route to nearby Dunster, Scarlet headed towards the moors; she knew a short cut, and though it would bring them near the high cliffs, she was not deterred. She hurried on, her urgent footsteps noisily crunching the settling snow, and the sharp thin air whipping her face; the tiny frozen snowflakes penetrated her collar and settled in the crevice of her neck. ‘Cuddle close to Mummy,’ she told the child, but then was surprised to see Cassie’s face uplifted to the skies, her small pink tongue catching the snowflakes and a look of sheer joy on her face. Scarlet smiled. As long as she had Cassie, nothing could hurt her any more. Or so she thought!
Back at the house, Garrett was torn with crippling remorse. What in God’
s name had he done?… taunting her about Silas and the child, when he had given his word that he would never use the past to hurt her! How could he have told Scarlet that he never wanted to see her again? And by what right did he order her to leave her son?… cruelly claiming that the boy was his alone! He was hurt, yes… and seeing her in Silas’s arms had made him crazy. But what kind of man was he, to drown himself in drink? What kind of weak coward would do such a thing, instead of facing up to it and dealing with it all in a civilised manner? In the years they had been married Scarlet had never lied to him, never cheated him, yet she had not been happy, he knew that. What they had between them was a delicate strand of affection and companionship. It was all he could ever hope for. Scarlet was not like other women. He had never wanted other women. Now, through his blundering insensitivity, he had snapped that delicate thread between them and he was desolate! He must make amends. He had to go after her, take the boy to her, show her that they could be a family once more. He would even leave his father’s house. Nothing mattered to him, except that he must chase after her, before it was too late, and beg her forgiveness. Blinded by his fear of losing Scarlet, and with his thinking dulled by the effects of prolonged drinking, Garrett staggered towards the nursery.
‘Come back here, you bloody fool… you’ll be the death of the boy!’ Edward Summers had been alerted by the frantic housekeeper and was horrified to see his son stumbling towards the outer door. He was clutching a thick woollen blanket, which all but covered the small sleeping child inside. ‘Have you lost your senses?’ the old man yelled.
At the door Garrett turned, a look of contempt on his face as he told his father, ‘I must have lost my senses!… or I would never have let her go. Believe this, old man… as long as I’m alive, Scarlet will always come first. Before you, before all that you have planned for me. Without her, none of it means a damned thing. I wanted you to make her welcome in this house and you couldn’t even do that for me! Well… to Hell with you. I’ll get her back. Don’t fool yourself that it’s ended!’ He saw the shock and pain on his father’s face. And he was satisfied. With a last scathing glance he fled from the house towards the stables, where he quickly saddled and mounted the same dark hunter that had brought him home not two hours ago. Pressing the child into the curve of his loins, he held it fast and headed for the path which he knew Scarlet would take. He also was aware of the same short cut, which he had followed many times as a boy in his search for the black-eyed girl who had bewitched him.
Scarlet glanced up at the skies. Strange, she thought, how on the ground the snow lay like a sea of sparkling white, while the skies above became heavy and grey, seeming oppressed by the sheer weight that pressed them down. When the moors were cloaked in soft white snowflakes, there was an unusual beauty about them. And mortal danger! The snow had been falling steadily, disguising familiar landmarks and confusing the boundaries that guided the walkers. The little-used path along which Scarlet now trudged was narrow and precarious, having a wooded bank on one side that fell down to the brook, and a cliff edge on the other. Beyond that there was a sheer drop of some eighty feet into the rock-strewn valley below. Scarlet trod carefully, answering Cassie’s constant pleas to ‘play in the snow’ with false assurances that ‘we’re almost at the cottage, sweetheart… soon you can play in the snow. Soon.’ The truth was that the journey had become painstakingly slow and Cassie’s slight form had begun to weigh heavily on Scarlet. Yet she dared not rest, nor ease her burden by putting the child to the ground. It was too dangerous. She began to wish she had kept to the road.
Looking into the distance, Scarlet was relieved to see the church spire piercing the skyline. Beyond that was the ridge above Greystone House. The skyline grew increasingly familiar and, seeing it, Scarlet smiled; thank God, she thought, holding the child closer to her. John Blackwood’s cottage was not too far away now.
‘Scarlet!’ From behind, a little way from the bend in the path, there came a muffled sound of a horse’s hooves, and a man’s voice. ‘Scarlet!… where are you?’ It was Garrett, come to take her back, Scarlet left the path and hid behind a tree. ‘Go away,’ she murmured beneath her breath, ‘it’s over between us!’ Still he called. ‘I have our son… your son. Forgive me, Scarlet. We’ll go away… make a new life. Please, Scarlet… answer me. Talk to me, PLEASE!’ There were tears in his voice, and though she hated him for the coward he was, Scarlet was moved by his plea. She felt pity for him, and a measure of guilt for the part she had played in his misery. If she did not talk to him now, he would only seek her out later. It must be settled, She began inching her way through the bracken, towards the path.
Suddenly, everything happened at once! On emerging from the woods, Scarlet saw that Garrett was still some way off. The moment she appeared in his vision, he smiled and spurred the horse on. But then, without warning, the dark hooded figure sprang out, its arms raised wide towards the horse. Terrified, the poor creature whinnied in alarm, rearing up high on its back haunches as the sinister figure came at it again and again, forcing it back, relentlessly pursuing it on the cliff’s edge. Surging forward, Scarlet began screaming, ‘NO, SILAS!’ In the few frantic moments when she ran the short distance that seemed never-ending, the whole tragic scene unfolded with startling speed before her eyes. In her shocked mind the sound of laughter rang out: wild, insane laughter. She saw the horse fighting desperately for a foothold. She saw him slide over the precipice, and out of her sight to the depths below, taking with it the two souls on its back. For the rest of her life she would remember Garrett’s shocked and disbelieving expression in the moment before he was gone, and the sound of naked horror in his voice as he stared into the shadowy evil face that was hidden from Scarlet’s view. ‘YOU!’ His voice rang out like a death knell. Then the scream, the awful heart-piercing scream, as he fell headlong to his death, the tiny bundle torn from his grasp and plummeting with him. The scream went on, two seconds; longer; reverberating outwards, into and beyond the aftermath of unnerving silence. A silence that was like eternity.
Scarlet remembered screaming also. But there was nothing she could do. She was helpless, and they were dead. Garrett, her son… both dead. A grim warning in the back of her mind shone through the terror. NOW HE’LL KILL YOU, it said; and she knew she must hide. Quickly! The figure turned. ‘WHY?… who are you?’ she asked, her tears blinding as she tried in vain to penetrate the shadows. It was Silas! Who else? Now the figure was moving towards her, and she asked again, ‘WHY?’ The silence clung like a fog. She was lost. And back came her own answer. He was insane! She felt the child trembling in her arms, quietly sobbing. The heart froze inside her. Fear pushed up into her throat. Suddenly she was running, gasping for breath as Cassie’s arms clung round her throat. On and on, deeper into the woods, stumbling, tripping, desperation driving her blindly forwards. Behind her she could hear the footsteps, determined, rhythmic, just as they had always been, closing in, gaining ground. Cassie was like a dead weight on her. She could not go on; but she must. She must! HIDE! That was it! She would hide.
Quickly she wound her way into that part of the wood where the trees became dense, effectively forming a canopy overhead, a thick impenetrable blanket that kept out both snow and daylight. Here, pressed hard into the broad trunk of an ancient tree, she waited. In the distance, she could hear him, always pursuing, his footsteps crashing through the tangle of roots and shrub. Cassie’s sobs filled the eerie silence. ‘Don’t cry, sweetheart. Be very quiet!’ Scarlet turned the child until the sobs were smothered. ‘You mustn’t cry… mustn’t cry!’ Softly, she rocked her. ‘Ssh.’ The sobs broke; only the trembling went on. The child knew the danger and was terrified.
In a burst of stark realisation, Scarlet felt the blood trickling down her face. The wound on her temple was wide and jagged, the skin ripped apart by an intrusive branch as she had frantically made her way deeper, ever deeper into the woods. The left side of her coat was in tatters. Bits of twigs and leaf fragments were mingled with litt
le Cassie’s hair, and a long thorny spike hung from her shoulder, leaving in its wake a thin meandering bloodied scratch. With silent, deft movement, Scarlet tore the twig away, dropping it carefully to the ground. A grey wave of resentment swept over her. Why had he come back? Why couldn’t he have left her alone? She knew why! Silas needed her. She needed him in the same way. NO! NO! She was transported back, over the years, a small haunted creature hunched and frightened in that attic. The past rose up to swamp her. It wouldn’t let her go. The past, the future. NOW. It was all the same!
Dear God! He was so near she could reach out and touch him! He had only to swing round and he would see her! The sweat ran down her back. Don’t let Cassie cry! She saw the child’s big frightened eyes intent on that lone unearthly figure. Don’t let Cassie cry! Her fearful heart was thumping so furiously, she was certain he must hear it. For what seemed like a lifetime, the figure stood motionless, staring round, peering deep between the trees. She could see its breath curling in the cold damp air. Her arms were breaking. Cassie was trembling against her. Dear God, don’t let her cry.
The figure moved away, going slowly, searching, until it was swallowed up in the blackness. Scarlet waited a while, frozen with terror and loath to move, lest he was still within earshot. Even a tiny twig snapping underfoot would bring him down on her! The footsteps died away in the distance. NOW! ‘Ssh, Cassie… don’t make a sound,’ she whispered. The way back was easier. Wet and bedraggled, she just followed the light at the rim of the trees.
She was almost there! Suddenly, a hand descended on her, gripping her shoulder and swinging her round. The piercing pain shot through her temple. She opened her mouth to scream, and when the shrill, broken sound shattered the air, the soothing voice told her, ‘It’s alright, Mrs Summers… you’re safe.’ At once, she recognised Garrett’s foreman. She began laughing. And crying. He had seen the broken remains of her husband and son. He saw how bloody and torn were Scarlet and the girl; how shocked and terrified. He knew how treacherous the moors were, and he thought it fortunate that they had not all gone over the precipice. He took the small sobbing girl into his arms and helped Scarlet out of the woods. She was like a limp rag against him, deathly silent, then hysterical, talking about ‘the devil’ and how he meant to kill them all! She was demented by her loss. He understood.
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