Within a week a letter came back from Richard. He must have read mine and sat down immediately to reply. He wrote:
‘My dear wife, your letter filled me with the utmost pleasure. I must impress on you to take care of yourself. I shall be with you just as soon as is possible, which must be by the end of the month. Then I shall hope to stay for a longer time—unless of course something unforeseen should happen. At the moment this seems unlikely. It might well be that your mother and sister could visit us. I should not wish you to undertake the journey to them at this time, and as the weeks go on you will need to take more and more care. I assure you that I am thinking of you when I am not occupied with military matters. You know how deep my affection is for you. Your husband, Richard Tolworthy.’
I smiled over the letter. It was not a passionate love letter by any means; but it was sincere and every word in it rang true.
I would not have had it otherwise.
There was one night when I could not sleep. I lay in the big bed and thought of Richard’s coming home and how we would talk and plan for the child. Life had taken on a new dimension. The thought of being a mother must make it so. I felt older, wiser. I had to be. I would have a new life to guide. I wondered whether I should be adequate.
My mother would be delighted and apprehensive. She herself had waited five years for my brother Fennimore and she would be so pleased, because no bride could have been quicker to conceive than I had.
I used to talk to Bersaba when I lay in bed, whispering and making up her comments. It seemed so strange that our lives should have suddenly diverged when they had run along side by side for so many years.
And as I lay there musing I was suddenly aware of a strange sound which broke the silence of the night. I wasn’t quite sure what it was, but it sounded like laughter … strange uncanny laughter, though not in the least mirthful. I sat up in bed and looked towards the window. A light flickered and went out. There it was again.
I knew whence it came. The castle!
I was out of bed in a second and, wrapping my robe about me, went to the window and watched. Then I heard the sound again. Laughter followed by a piercing scream. It was very odd.
I thought: Someone is in the castle.
From the window I could only see the turrets, but there was one room from which I could get a better view.
I lighted a candle, mounted the newel staircase and went into the Castle Room. It looked eerie by the faint light of a moon. I stood at the window and held up the candle. I could only see my own face mirrored there, so I set down the candle on the table and, going back to the window-seat, knelt there watching the turrets.
Then I saw the light again. It flickered and went out. It was as though someone was carrying a lantern, the light of which showed as he passed the machicolations of the turret.
I opened the window and leaned out, trying to get a little nearer to the castle, and then suddenly I was sure I saw a face. It appeared on the battlements—a disembodied face, as it were, peering out at me.
I felt my blood run cold, for it scarcely looked human, and for a matter of seconds it seemed to be staring at me. Then it disappeared, and the light with it.
I had seen that face before. I knew it belonged to the man I had seen in the woods. I had recognized the thatch of hair and the heavy brows, though I could not make out the mark on his face.
‘Strawberry John,’ I murmured.
Then I felt my hair stand on end, because as I knelt there at the window I knew that I was not alone in the room. For a few seconds I believed myself to be in the presence of something uncanny, and I was afraid to turn round. Indeed in those seconds I felt as though I were petrified, for I could not move. I was trembling with terror.
Someone was standing behind me. Someone was coming towards me. Fleetingly I remembered how Richard had not wanted me to come to this room.
I forced myself to turn sharply.
Mrs Cherry was standing behind me. She looked unlike her daytime self, because her hair was in two plaits which hung one over each shoulder and she was wearing a cloak of brown worsted which she clutched round her.
‘Mrs Cherry!’ I cried.
‘My lady, what are you doing up here? You’ll catch your death … and the window open.’
‘I thought it was …’ I began.
‘I know, you’ve been having nightmares, I reckon. What possessed you to come up here? I heard footsteps on the stairs. I’m a light sleeper, and I thought it was Meg walking in her sleep. We have to watch her. Then I come in here and find you, my lady … and in your condition.’
‘Mrs Cherry, something’s happening …’
‘Look, my lady, I’m going to get you back to bed. Why, you’re shivering with the cold. This is a nice thing, this is. The General would never forgive us if aught happened to you. Now you come on. It’s chilly in this room. I’m going to get you back to bed and quick as a flash of lightning.’
‘There’s somebody in the castle,’ I said.
‘Nonsense. No one could get in. It’s all locked up. The General’s orders. It’s dangerous, he says, and it’s downright forbidden for any one of us to go in there.’
‘I saw a light there. And I saw … a face.’
‘Now, my lady, you’ve been having nightmares. A nice soothing posset is what you want. I’m going to get that for you right away.’
‘I tell you I was not dreaming. I was wide awake and I heard the noise … a sort of laughter, and then I saw the light, so I came up here to see better and then there was the face.’
‘It was a trick of the light, I reckon.’
‘No. It wasn’t … I think it was … the man I saw in the woods.’
‘Strawberry John!’
‘I couldn’t see the birthmark. It was just the shape of his head and all that hair.’
‘Oh no, my lady. That couldn’t be. Come along down. I want to get you back to bed. I wouldn’t go wandering round in the night if I was you. Some of these stairs are tricky and a fall in your condition wouldn’t be the slightest bit of good to you and it might cause great harm. It wouldn’t be the first time a nasty fall had put an end to someone’s hopes. Now come on. I’ll have no peace till I see you back in your warm bed. And I’m going to bring up a hot brick for you, wrapped in lovely flannel, and one of my best soothing possets. Then in the morning you’ll feel right as rain and see it was only a nightmare.’
I could see it was no use talking to her, so I allowed her to lead me back to my room. I was at least comforted by her presence. I don’t know what I had expected to see when I turned from the window and came face to face with her. It was such an anticlimax when I had been expecting something supernatural to see that round rosy face looking at me in concern.
I was still shivering as she carefully tucked me in.
‘Now you wait and I’ll get that hot brick and my posset. We’ll be quiet because we don’t want to wake the rest of the household.’
I lay in bed waiting for her return. It was no use her stating I had had a nightmare. I had seen the flickering light. I had seen the face at the turret. I was not such an imaginative person that I had made that up.
She came first with the brick, which was a comfort. Wrapped in red flannel it gave out a gentle warmth and the shivering was soon giving way to a cosy comfort. ‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ she said, and she was as good as her word. She had a small pewter goblet and in it some concoction which she said was sweet to the taste and soothing to the body.
She handed it to me and said: ‘Sip it, my lady. That’s the way it does most good. I don’t reckon there’s many as knows more of the secret of herbs and things that grow in the ground than I do and if there are I’d like to meet them, for it’s always a good thing to improve your knowledge. Some of the General’s important guests—great soldiers like himself—have talked of the flavour of my stews and all it was was a touch of burdock, lady-smock or old man’s pepper. You can do a lot with them … There they are all in the ground giv
en us by the good God, and all we have to do is make use of them. Now in this posset I’ve got a sprinkling of thyme. That gives pleasant dreams, so my grandmother found out, and she passed it on through the family like, and there’s just a spot of poppy to make your sleep easy. Is it pleasant, my lady?’
‘Yes, it’s sweet … but not too sweet, and it does have a pleasant tang.’
‘I knew you’d like it. You’ll be asleep in no time.’
‘But I am sure I saw the light and the face. I won’t have it that it was fancy. As for a nightmare, I was fully awake.’
She was thoughtful for a moment. Then she said: ‘Strawberry John, you say. This face, it had a look of him?’
‘I can’t be sure. There was only the moonlight and his face was against even that. It was therefore in shadow. The shape of his head reminded me …’
‘I’m just wondering if that crazy Strawberry John got into the castle somehow. That just could be.’
‘How could he?’
‘If he got over the wall.’
‘Could he climb it? And there are glass flints at the top.’
‘You know that then, my lady.’
‘Yes, I noticed them when the sun was shining the other day. The little bits of glass were glistening.’
‘The General is so determined that everyone should stay out. But there is Strawberry John. He’s not quite right in the head, that’s why we don’t take much notice of him.’
‘He’s a poacher, you say?’
‘Yes, he does a bit of poaching. People round about are generous to him. They’re sorry for him. He being what you might call two happorth short. Now since you’re so sure you saw the light and the face, I just wonder whether he got in somehow. I’ll speak to Cherry and Mr Jesson. I’ll get them to run him to earth one day and question him. The General would want to know if it’s possible for anyone to get in there … and you can be sure he’ll put a stop to it if he knows what’s going on.’
I felt soothed by the thought that Strawberry John might have got into the castle, for I would not allow Mrs Cherry to convince me that I was a stupid hysterical creature who had imagined the whole thing.
I was beginning to grow sleepy. The warmth of the bed and soothing posset were working.
‘Thank you, Mrs Cherry,’ I said. ‘It was good of you to look after me.’
‘Oh, I’m only doing what the General would wish, my lady. We’ve got to take special care of you … now.’
She tiptoed out and I was soon asleep and did not wake until the sun was streaming into the bedchamber.
The next day I thought I would like to talk over what had happened with someone and I immediately thought of Ella Longridge. There was something about the farmhouse kitchen which was in direct contrast to the castle. Everything there was so simple; I imagined there was nothing in that big and homely room which was not of practical use. There was something direct about both the Longridges—matter-of-fact, down-to-earth, honest, good people.
Of course Richard did not agree with their views, which I knew were against the King in some way, and Richard, as a soldier, would be intensely loyal. It occurred to me that he would support the King even if he disagreed with his policies. Richard was a man who would have a certain standard of behaviour and never diverge from it. Luke Longridge was different. I wondered what he wrote in those articles which his sister had mentioned.
But it was not Luke I felt an urge to see. It was Ella, and the more I thought of that kitchen with the appetizing smell of baking coming from the oven and the sound of ale being poured into a pewter tankard, the more I wanted to be there.
I rode out in the early morning. I would call, spend an hour there and be back in time for dinner, and no one would know that I had been. After all, they had invited me to call when I wished and it might be that when Richard returned he would not wish me to continue the friendship. How friendly could one feel towards a man whom one had challenged to a duel? Perhaps it was not good wifely conduct to seize an opportunity to act against what might well be her husband’s wishes, but I did want the Longridges to know that I at least felt nothing but friendship for them, no matter how their views differed from those of my own family. My mother used to talk a great deal about tolerance. She believed it was a good thing, and that belief was something I had inherited from her.
So I set out and in a short time the farmhouse came into view. I rode into the yard and was about to dismount when I was seized by cramping pains.
I managed to get off my horse, and as I did so I was dizzy and I knew that I could not stand much longer, so I let myself slide to the ground and it was there that a serving-maid found me.
‘You’re ill, mistress,’ she cried and ran into the farmhouse.
Ella came out all concern.
‘Why, it’s Mistress Tolworthy,’ she said. ‘Here, Jane, help me into the house with her.’
I was able to stand and they helped me in, and very soon I was lying on a settle with rugs around me.
The dizziness passed but the pain continued.
‘I don’t know what is happening to me,’ I stammered. ‘I meant to call on you …’
‘Never mind now,’ said Ella. ‘Stay there and rest.’
That was all I wanted to do, and very soon I did know what was happening to me. I was losing my baby.
Ella Longridge put me to bed and sent over to Far Flamstead for Grace, who came and very soon confirmed my fears.
‘You’re safe enough, mistress,’ said Grace. ‘Why, ’twas nothing to speak of. ’Tis just the sorrow of losing it. But at this stage you soon recover and you’ll have more. ’Tis a warning to us, though, that we’ll have to take very special care of you. Must have had a shock like.’
She had brought some of her herb medicines with her, and she said that I shouldn’t move for the rest of that day but I’d be well enough to come home tomorrow, she was sure, although she’d want to see me first.
Ella said that Grace must stay the night and accompany me back the next day. She would feel happier with Grace in the farmhouse.
So there I lay in this plain bedroom with its bare boards and sombre colours, and I thought of what losing my baby would mean. My dreams had evaporated. I had lost the child just as I was becoming sure of its existence. I was glad I had not told my mother and sister; I was sorry that I had told Richard. I would have to write to him now and tell him that I had lost the child.
Ella came and sat by my bed; she brought her sewing with her, not embroidery, which I supposed she would consider frivolous, but the plain material she was stitching into garments for herself and her brother.
She told me how sorry she was that this had happened, and although she was a spinster who had no intention of marrying, she could well understand my feelings.
‘I wonder what went wrong?’ she said.
I told her what had happened the previous night.
‘That explains it,’ she said. ‘The shock must have brought on this miscarriage.’
‘I felt nothing at the time.’
‘I believe it happens like that sometimes. I wonder who was there in the Folly?’
‘You have heard of Strawberry John, have you, Mistress Longridge?’
‘I have. He is a strange-looking man. Very strong, I believe. His father was a very strong man indeed and John inherited that strength. He has this mark on his face and it is easy to identify him because of it. One doesn’t hear of him often. I don’t know where he lives …nobody seems to know.’
‘Mrs Cherry, our housekeeper, suggested that he found some way into the castle.’
‘That seems a very likely explanation. What a pity that you happened to be disturbed by it.’
‘I don’t know what my husband will say when he comes back. He is insistent that no one goes near the castle as it is unsafe.’
‘I dare say he will demolish it.’
‘I don’t know. He feels it would not be right, as his ancestor set such store by it.’
It was comfort
ing talking to Ella and later in the day her brother came in, but as she insisted on my remaining in bed and the Longridges would not think it fitting for me to receive a gentleman in my bedchamber, I did not see him.
I slept peacefully that night and in the morning felt well enough to get up.
Grace pronounced me fit to travel, but Luke Longridge would not hear of my riding, and he took Grace and me back to Far Flamstead in one of the farm carts which was drawn by two horses. He said he would send a man over with my horse and Grace’s later that day.
Mrs Cherry seized on me, and murmuring something about my night’s adventure in the Castle Room which had brought this on, insisted that I go to bed.
I felt a little weak and very depressed, so I allowed her to take me there.
I was indeed sad. I did not realize until now how much I had counted on having my baby. I recalled now the nights in the big bed which had filled me with apprehension and which I had been inclined to forget while Richard was away. In my heart I had said it was worthwhile because I was going to have a baby. But now there was no baby.
These thoughts I could not explain to anybody, and when Grace and Meg kept telling me that I should soon have another, I could not help dwelling rather morbidly on the necessary preliminaries.
I wondered whether I was unusual, but I didn’t think so. I had heard it said by married ladies, whispering together, that it was a woman’s duty to submit to her husband’s needs, however uncomfortable and distasteful this might be; and I knew now what they meant.
I was certainly depressed, and I thought more and more of Trystan Priory, and it occurred to me that what I wanted more than anything now was to see my sister.
I told myself I could talk to her. There was a good deal she would not understand, of course. How could she, an unmarried girl and a virgin? But still I should find some comfort in talking.
Then Richard returned home.
He was solicitous and very concerned because of what had happened.
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