Endless Night (14 page)

Phillpot went and knelt down by her. He got up almost at once.

“We'll get hold of a doctor,” he said. “Shaw. He's the nearest. But—I don't think it's any use, Mike.”

“You mean—she's dead?”

“Yes,” he said, “it's no good pretending anything else.”

“Oh God!” I said and turned away. “I can't believe it. Not Ellie.”

“Here, have this,” said Phillpot.

He took a flask out of his pocket, unscrewed it and handed it to me. I took a good deep pull at it.

“Thanks,” I said.

The groom came along then and Phillpot sent him off to fetch Dr. Shaw.

S
haw came up in a battered old Land Rover. I suppose it was the car he used for going to visit isolated farms in bad weather. He barely looked at either of us. He went straight and bent over Ellie. Then he came over to us.

“She's been dead at least three or four hours,” he said. “How did it happen?”

I told him how she'd gone off riding as usual after breakfast that morning.

“Has she had any accidents up to this time when she's been out riding?”

“No,” I said, “she was a good rider.”

“Yes, I know she's a good rider. I've seen her once or twice. She's ridden since she was a child, I understand. I wondered if she might have had an accident lately and that that might have affected her nerve a bit. If the horse had shied—”

“Why should the horse shy? It's a quiet brute—”

“There's nothing vicious about this particular horse,” said
Major Phillpot. “He's well behaved, not nervy. Has she broken any bones?”

“I haven't made a complete examination yet but she doesn't seem physically injured in any way. There may be some internal injury. Might be shock, I suppose.”

“But you can't die of shock,” I said.

“People have died of shock before now. If she'd had a weak heart—”

“They said in America that she had a weak heart—some kind of weakness at least.”

“Hm. I couldn't find much trace of it when I examined her. Still, we didn't have a cardiograph. Anyway no point in going into that now. We shall know later. After the inquest.”

He looked at me consideringly, then he patted me on the shoulder.

“You go home and go to bed,” he said. “You're the one who's suffering from shock.”

In the queer way people materialize out of nowhere in the country, we had three or four people standing near us, by this time. One a hiker who had come along from the main road seeing our little group, one a rosy-faced woman who I think was going to a farm over a short cut and an old roadman. They were making exclamations and remarks.

“Poor young lady.”

“So young too. Thrown from her horse, was she?”

“Ah well, you never know with horses.”

“It's Mrs. Rogers, isn't it, the American lady from The Towers?”

It was not until everyone else had exclaimed in their astonished
fashion, that the aged roadman spoke. He gave us information. Shaking his head he said:

“I musta seen it happen. I musta seen it happen.”

The doctor turned sharply on him.

“What did you see happen?”

“I saw a horse bolting across country.”

“Did you see the lady fall?”

“No. No, I didn't. She were riding along the top of the woods when I saw her and after that I'd got me back turned and I was cutting the stones for the road. And then I heard hoofs and I looked up and there was the horse agalloping. I didn't think there'd been an accident. I thought the lady perhaps had got off and let go of the horse in some way. It wasn't coming towards me, it was going in the other direction.”

“You didn't see the lady lying on the ground?”

“No, I don't see very well far. I saw the horse because it showed against the sky line.”

“Was she riding alone? Was there anyone with her, or near her?”

“Nobody near her. No. She was all alone. She rode not very far from me, past me, going along that way. She was bearing towards the woods, I think. No, I didn't see anyone at all except her and the horse.”

“Might have been the gipsy who frightened her,” said the rosy-faced woman.

I swung round.

“What gipsy? When?”

“Oh, must have been—well, it must have been three or four
hours ago when I went down the road this morning. About quarter to ten maybe, I saw that gipsy woman. The one as lives in the cottages in the village. Least I think it was she. I wasn't near enough to be sure. But she's the only one as goes about hereabouts in a red cloak. She was walking up a path through the trees. Somebody told me as she'd said nasty things to the poor American young lady. Threatened her. Told her something bad would happen if she didn't get out of this place. Very threatening, I hear she was.”

“The gipsy,” I said. Then, bitterly, to myself, though out loud, “Gipsy's Acre. I wish I'd never seen the place.”

I

I
t's extraordinary how difficult it is for me to remember what happened after that. I mean, the sequence of it all. Up to then, you see, it's all clear in my mind. I was a little doubtful where to begin, that was all. But from then on it was as though a knife fell, cutting my life into two halves. What I went on to from the moment of Ellie's death seems to me now like something for which I was not prepared. A confusion of thrusting people and elements and happenings where I wasn't myself in control of anything any more. Things happened not to me, but all around me. That's what it seemed like.

Everybody was very kind to me. That seems the thing I remember best. I stumbled about and looked dazed and didn't know what to do. Greta, I remember, came into her element. She had that amazing power that women have to take charge of a situation and deal with it. Deal, I mean, with all the small unimportant details that someone has to see to. I would have been incapable of seeing to them.

I think the first thing I remembered clearly after they'd taken Ellie away and I'd got back to my house—our house—
the
house—was when Dr. Shaw came along and talked to me. I don't know how long after that was. He was quiet, kind, reasonable. Just explaining things clearly and gently.

Arrangements. I remember his using the word arrangements. What a hateful word it is and all the things it stands for. The things in life that have grand words—Love—sex—life—death—hate—those aren't the things that govern existence at all. It's lots of other pettifogging, degrading things. Things you have to endure, things you never think about until they happen to you. Undertakers, arrangements for funerals, inquests. And servants coming into rooms and pulling the blinds down. Why should blinds be pulled down because Ellie was dead? Of all the stupid things!

That was why, I remember, I felt quite grateful to Dr. Shaw. He dealt with such things so kindly and sensibly, explaining gently why certain things like an inquest had to be. Talking rather slowly, I remember, so that he could be quite sure I was taking them in.

II

I didn't know what an inquest would be like. I'd never been to one. It seemed to me curiously unreal, amateurish. The Coroner was a small fussy little man with pincenez. I had to give evidence of identification, to describe the last time I had seen Ellie at the breakfast table and her departure for her usual morning ride and the arrangement we had made to meet later for lunch. She had seemed, I said, exactly the same as usual, in perfectly good health.

Dr. Shaw's evidence was quiet, inconclusive. No serious injuries, a wrenched collar bone and bruises such as would result from a fall from the horse—not of a very serious nature, and inflicted at the time of death. She did not appear to have moved again after she had fallen. Death, he thought, had been practically instantaneous. There was no specific organic injury to have caused death, and he could give no other explanation of it than that she had died from heart failure caused by shock. As far as I could make out from the medical language used Ellie had died simply as a result of absence of breath—of asphyxia of some kind. Her organs were healthy, her stomach contents normal.

Greta, who also gave evidence, stressed rather more forcibly than she had done to Dr. Shaw before, that Ellie had suffered from some form of heart malady three or four years ago. She had never heard anything definite mentioned but Ellie's relations had occasionally said that her heart was weak and that she must take care not to overdo things. She had never heard anything more definite than that.

Then we came to the people who had seen or been in the vicinity at the time the accident happened. The old man who had been cutting peat was the first of them. He had seen the lady pass him, she'd been about fifty yards or so away. He knew who she was though he'd never spoken to her. She was the lady from the new house.

“You knew her by sight?”

“No, not exactly by sight but I knew the horse, sir. It's got a white fetlock. Used to belong to Mr. Carey over at Shettlegroom. I've never heard it anything but quiet and well behaved, suitable for a lady to ride.”

“Was the horse giving any trouble when you saw it? Playing up in any way?”

“No, it was quiet enough. It was a nice morning.”

There hadn't been many people about, he said. He hadn't noticed many. That particular track across the moor wasn't much used except as a short cut occasionally to one of the farms. Another track crossed it about a mile farther away. He'd seen one or two passers-by that morning but not to notice. One man on a bicycle, another man walking. They were too far away for him to see who they were and he hadn't noticed much anyway. Earlier, he said, before he'd seen the lady riding, he'd seen old Mrs. Lee, or so he thought. She was coming up the track towards him and then she turned off and went into the woods. She often walked across the moors and in and out of the woods.

The Coroner asked why Mrs. Lee was not in court. He understood that she'd been summoned to attend. He was told, however, that Mrs. Lee had left the village some days ago—nobody knew exactly when. She had not left any address behind. It was not her habit to do so, she often went away and came back without notifying anyone. So there was nothing unusual about this. In fact one or two people said they thought she'd already left the village
before
the day the accident happened. The Coroner asked the old man again.

“You think, however, that it
was
Mrs. Lee you saw?”

“Couldn't say, I'm sure. Wouldn't like to be certain. It was a tall woman and striding along, and had on a scarlet cloak, like Mrs. Lee wears sometimes. But I didn't look particular. I was busy with what I was doing. Could have been she, it could have been someone else. Who's to say?”

As for the rest he repeated very much what he had said to us.
He'd seen the lady riding nearby, he'd often seen her riding before. He hadn't paid any particular attention. Only later did he see the horse galloping alone. It looked as though something had frightened it, he said. “At least, it could be that way.” He couldn't tell what time that was. Might have been eleven, might have been earlier. He saw the horse much later, farther away. It seemed to be returning towards the woods.

Then the Coroner recalled me and asked me a few more questions about Mrs. Lee, Mrs. Esther Lee of Vine Cottage.

“You and your wife knew Mrs. Lee by sight?”

“Yes,” I said, “quite well.”

“Did you talk with her?”

“Yes, several times. Or rather,” I added, “she talked to us.”

“Did she at any time threaten you or your wife?”

I paused a moment or two.

“In a sense she did,” I said slowly, “but I never thought—”

“You never thought what?”

“I never thought she really meant it,” I said.

“Did she sound as though she had any particular grudge against your wife?”

“My wife said so once. She said she thought she had some special grudge against her but she couldn't see why.”

“Had you or your wife at any time ordered her off your land, threatened her, treated her roughly in any way?”

“Any aggression came from her side,” I said.

“Did you ever have the impression that she was mentally unbalanced?”

I considered. “Yes,” I said, “I did. I thought she had come to believe that the land on which we had built our house belonged to
her, or belonged to her tribe or whatever they call themselves. She had a kind of obsession about it.” I added slowly, “I think she was getting worse, more and more obsessed by the idea.”

“I see. She never offered your wife physical violence at any time?”

“No,” I said, slowly, “I don't think it would be fair to say that. It was all—well all a sort of gipsy's warning stuff. ‘You'll have bad luck if you stay here. There'll be a curse on you unless you go away.'”

“Did she mention the word death?”

“Yes, I think so. We didn't take her seriously. At least,” I corrected myself, “I didn't.”

“Do you think your wife did?”

“I'm afraid she did sometimes. The old woman, you know, could be rather alarming. I don't think she was really responsible for what she was saying or doing.”

The proceedings ended with the Coroner adjourning the inquest for a fortnight. Everything pointed to death being due to accidental causes but there was not sufficient evidence to show what had caused the accident to occur. He would adjourn the proceedings until he had heard the evidence of Mrs. Esther Lee.