Menfreya in the Morning (30 page)

I put out my hand and she took it. The touch seemed to bring her out of her trance.

“Don’t you fret,” she said. “I wouldn’t let nothing bad happen to you. I’m never going to leave you, Miss. So don’t think it.”

I smiled at her. “I didn’t think it, Fanny,” I said.

“All right then. Eat up that egg and don’t let’s have any nonsense.”

I obeyed, smiling to myself. I had thought I stood alone— but there was always Fanny.

I was very anxious to hide my fears, so I asked Jessica to ride with me the next day, and we went into Lansella together. People threw us some curious glances, but I was sure that to be seen together was the best way of allaying suspicions. Jessica behaved as though nothing had happened, but I was very unsure of her. There were moments when I thought she was secretly amused at my anxiety to make people believe we were the best of friends.

I promised I would go and have nursery tea with her and Benedict next day, and when I arrived I found Benedict alone in the nursery standing on a chair.

“I’m a monkey,” he told me. “Monkeys climb; did you know?”

I told him I did know.

- “Ill be an elephant, if you like. They have trunks and walk like this.” He climbed down, got on all fours and lumbered about “Would you like me to be a lion now?** he asked.

I said I would rather he were himself for a while, which amused him.

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Jessica came out, and I was at once aware of his affection for her and ashamed of the surging jealousy within me, I should have been pleased that we had a good nursery governess for him; Jessica had certainly shown herself skill-ful in the nursery, and to have won his affection did her credit. I thought: But she is usurping my place … everywhere … throughout the house.

Then I felt ashamed and said quickly how well Benedict was looking and how grateful we all were to her for her care of him.

“It’s my job,” she replied. “But I never thought I’d be a governess to Gwennan’s child that day when they carried her into the house.”

“Poor Gwennan. Benedict is so like her. I see her in him every time I look at him.”

I had sat down, and Benedict came to put his hands on my knees and look up into my face.

“Who’s he like?” he asked.

“He was like an elephant just now, and now he’s like himself.”

That made him laugh.

Jessica brewed tea in the brown earthenware nursery teapot. “It always tastes so much better in these old brown pots,” she said lightly as she poured. “Is it because we always remember them from our childhood?”

She talked about nursery days hi her home, when her mother was alive. She was the only child and must have been beautiful from the day she was born; they had doted on her. How different her childhood had been from mine!

“I used to sit on a high stool in the dispensary,” she told me, “watching Father make up the medicines, and he used to say “This for The Influenza’ or The Ulcer came in to see me today.’ He thought of all his patients as the disease they had. Mother used to say it was bad for me to hear so much of illnesses, but Father said it was right for a doctor’s daughter.”

She was being affable. Perhaps, I thought, she was as anxious to reassure me as I was to reassure the community.

“You take sugar?” she asked.

I nodded. “Yes, please. I have rather a sweet tooth.”

Benedict was staring at me. “Show me!” he cried. “Show me the sweet tooth.”

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I told him that it meant I liked rather a lot of sugar in my tea, and he was thoughtful.

“If it had been possible,” Jessica was saying, “I should have liked to be a doctor.”

“A noble profession,” I agreed.

“To have the power … to a certain extent … over life and death …” Her eyes glowed. I was struck by the way she put it. Power?

My thoughts were diverted immediately because Benedict had taken a spoon and, before we had noticed what he was doing, had put a spoonful of sugar in my tea.

“That’s for your sweet tooth,” he shouted.

We were all laughing. It was quite a pleasant teatime.

We were at dinner, discussing the ball we were giving at Menfreya. A fancy-dress ball, we had told Harry Leveret when he had called with his mother for a game of whist the previous evening. The Leverets came frequently since the reconciliation; and with William and Jessica, we were able to make up two tables.

“I always remember,” Harry had said, “the fancy-dress ball your father gave at Chough Towers.”

I remembered it in every detail. I had worn the dress which had somehow been important in my life, because it had marked a turning point That night I had realized that I could be attractive, because the dress had brought out my rather medieval looks, and I had been accentuating them ever since.

The dress still hung in my room. I looked at it often and longed for an opportunity to wear it, though I had worn the snood now and then.

I was delighted, therefore, at the prospect of an opportunity to wear it again, but I knew I should not do so without arousing poignant memories of Gwennan in the gallery with me, of our creeping down, two young girls on the brink of adventure. I wondered whether Harry remembered too.

“I remember my father’s parties.” I smiled, thinking of the London house and the elaborate displays. I saw a child leaning over the banisters, listening and hearing no good of herself.

“Memories?” said Bevil tenderly. He had been at great pains since the island adventure to show me he cherished me; and I had been feeling happier. If only Jessica were not

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here, I thought, I believe I could be completely happy.

But there she sat, smiling serenely, listening intently; and the free-and-easy way in which conversation was carried on showed clearly that she was accepted as a member of the family.

“Costume always provides a problem on these occasions,” said William. “But I do know an excellent firm who supply them.” He smiled at me. “I used them in your father’s time.”

“I have my costume,” I replied promptly. “I wore it at one of my father’s affairs.”

Jessica had leaned slightly forward. “Do tell me about it What does it represent?”

“It’s just a period dress. Actually it must have belonged to one of the Menfreys because there’s a portrait of her wearing … well, if not the identical dress, one so like it that I can’t tell the difference.”

**How exciting! I hope you’ll show me.”

“Certainly.”

“I suppose,” went on William, “I had better see about hiring some costumes. You must tell me what you would like to be.”

“I think I shall try to make my own,” said Jessica. TTien she looked a little startled, but even hi that iroment I felt she was not truly so, and entirely sure of herself. That is … if I am invited.”

“But naturally,” cried Sir Endelion.

She smiled deprecatingly. “After all I am only the nursery governess.”

“Oh, come, come, my dear.” Sir Endelion was giving her his goatish look. “You mustn’t think of yourself as anything but a friend of the family.”

“Well then,” said Jessica, “as Mrs. Menfrey is providing her costume, I shall do the same.”

I took out the dress and held it against me. I was certain my eyes seemed brighter and that my skin took > on a new bloom. I let the dress fall to the floor while I put on the jeweled snood. Then I held up the dress again.

Even as 1 smiled at myself I felt the pain of memory. I could never forget Gwennan.

“Gwennan,” I whispered to my reflection, “if only you hadn’t run away, if you’d lived and married Harry and

gone to Chough Towers and had your children there, it would have been wonderful. You would have been my sister, and Jessica Trelarken would not be here looking after your son.”

But life had to be accepted for what it was.

I felt a desire then to look again at the circular room which was said to be haunted by the sad governess, and to see once more the woman who had worn a dress so similar to mine that it could have been the same one.

I had been meaning to talk to Bevil about the house, for it seemed wrong to have so much of it that was never used. We ought to go through those old rooms and have them renovated so that we could give house parties, fill the place with gaiety, as Harry was doing at Chough Towers.

A few days later I found time to go and look at the portrait of the woman in my dress. As I made my way to the deserted wing I assured myself that I was not a nervous type, and I was even inclined to be skeptical of the supernatural, but when I pushed open the door and stepped into the wing I was not so sure. Perhaps it was the protesting whine made by the door which set my nerves on edge. I had forgotten it, and it startled me as I broke the silence. I laughed at myself and went along the corridor where Gwennan had once led me. It was gloomy for there was only one window high in the wall, and that was in need of cleaning. It was ridiculous. This part of the house should be attended to. I could imagine Sir Endelion shrugging his shoulders and not wishing to go to the expense of opening up the wing, and Lady Menfrey, of course, agreeing with him.

I started back. It was as though a clammy hand had touched my face. I cried out involuntarily, and my own voice echoed back to me. In those seconds I felt an icy shiver run through my body.

Then I put my hand to my face and realized I had, as on another occasion, walked into a cobweb.

I wiped it off as best I could and tried to laugh at my folly, but I knew my nerves were taut, and I could not prevent myself peering over my shoulder.

I wanted to turn back, but I knew if I did I should despise myself, so I went forward and came to the door which had replaced the sliding panel. Again that protesting whine as I stepped into the circular cavity of the buttress.

A faint shaft of light came through the slit in those massive

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walls. There was the long mottled mirror, the trunk—and that was all.

I caught my breath in a little sob, for the door had moved on its hinges, and I heard again that noise which sounded like a groan.

Could it be true, I asked myself, that a woman had lived here, and the rest of the household were unaware of it? I pictured her lover looking like Sir Endelion. No, he would have been young and would have looked more like Bevil. I imagined him silently coming here to see her.

I touched the walls; they were very cold. She had had little comfort here. But what would have happened to her if she had been driven from the house by the mistress—the woman in my dress—and had nowhere to go. Any shelter was better than none—besides, she had the support of her lover.

I walked round the circular room, through the narrow opening, up the twisting, narrow flight of stairs to the parapet round the buttress tower. The air seemed so strong after the confinement of the circular room that I felt intoxicated. I stood there breathing deeply. Far, far below me the sea was whirling playfully about the rocks, sending up little spurts of white spray. I could just see the tips of the treacherous Lurkers and … the island.

Then I was alert. It was the sound of a step on the stone stairs. I was mistaken. Naturally one became a little fanciful in a place which had such a legend. No. There it was again. Is it true then, I asked myself, that the governess who died here could not rest and returned to the scene of her last days on earth?

I tried to laugh at myself, but I felt trapped—shut in by the stone staircase leading to the haunted chamber on one/ side, and on the other by the sheer drop to the sea.

Seconds seemed like minutes; I had turned and, gripping the parapet, kept my eyes on the narrow opening. I heard the sound of deep breathing and there was a shadow hi the opening … and the governess was looking at me. For a moment I believed I was seeing a ghost, and then I caught my breath, for it was not the governess of long ago who had come to haunt me, but the governess of today who had followed me here.

“Jessica!” I cried.

She laughed. “I believe I startled you. I’m so sorry. *

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saw the door to the wing open and I couldn’t resist exploring. I’ve never been to this part of the house before.”

Had I left the door open? I didn’t believe I had.

“It needs repairs and a lot of attention,” I said, trying to make my voice sound matter-of-fact.

She came and stood beside me on the parapet, her eyes level with mine.

“Is it true,” she said, “that this part of the house is haunted?”

“You wouldn’t believe that sort of nonsense, I’m sure.”

Tro Cornish, and you know what we Cornish are. It’s all very well for you prosaic English …”

“Yes,” I said coolly, “I know that you’re a superstitious race, but I should have thought you had too much common sense to believe these stories.”

“During the daylight I’m skeptical, but not always when darkness comes … or when I’m hi a place like this. This story was about a governess, wasn’t it?”

“So the tale goes.”

She laughed. “I’m naturally interested in a Menfreya governess. Do tell me the rest”

“She became pregnant, hid herself up here, gave birth to a child and died. No one knew she was here except her lover, and he was away. When he came back he found her and the child dead.”

“Quite a feat, keeping someone hidden away in the house where his family were living.”

The room was supposed to be sealed off then.”

“It almost is … now.”

We were silent; I was aware of our isolation. I could well imagine the long-ago governess* loneliness and terror when she knew her child was about to be born. I shivered.

“I wonder what really happened,” said Jessica quietly. “Do you think the wife murdered her?”

“Murdered her! That’s not the story.”

“It wouldn’t be. But do you think she didn’t know. She must have seen how things were between her husband and the governess. I mean … wouldn’t a wife know?”

I repeated blankly: ‘That’s not in the story.”

She gave a little laugh. A gull suddenly swooped to the sea, and his melancholy cry was like jeering laughter.