The Gossamer Cord (39 page)

In the kitchens they would all be talking of what Polly had seen. She would be reveling in her new importance and no doubt embellishing her story.

I could not sleep that night. I could see Dorabella’s mischievous face before me. I remembered an occasion when we were about eleven years old. There was a house in the neighborhood which was reputed to be haunted. Terrified, we often prowled through it, for there was a broken window through which we could climb. Once we had been there when some other children must have decided to do the same. We cowered in one of the rooms, listening to the sound of stealthy, cautious footsteps.

“Let’s play ghosts,” Dorabella had said. We were wearing light capes and we took them off and covered our faces with them. Then we confronted the other children.

“Go away or we’ll get you,” chanted Dorabella in hollow tones. “We are ghosts.”

The children turned and fled while Dorabella and I collapsed on the floor in helpless laughter.

And now…Polly had seen
her
ghost on the cliff…or thought she had.

What a long night it was! It was nonsense, I kept telling myself. There was no substance in the story. It was just typical of the superstitions which were never far from people’s thoughts in this place.

It was not until dawn that I slept.

I wanted to talk to someone and the only one I really wanted to see was Jowan. I telephoned his number which took me through to his office quarters.

“Mr. Jermyn is not here,” I was told.

I asked if they knew what time he would be back.

“This is Miss Denver speaking,” I added.

“Oh, Miss Denver, he’s gone to London.”

“Oh? When will he be back?”

“I’m not sure. It depends how long his business keeps him there. I’ll leave a note to say you called.”

I thanked him and rang off.

I felt desolate. He had not mentioned to me that he was going. But then, why should he keep me informed of his business arrangements?

I was deflated, for when I was troubled I had made a point of consulting him.

I could not stop myself brooding. She had been seen on the west cliff. It was nonsense, of course. Just the wild imaginings of a hysterical girl who was now enjoying the notoriety of someone singled out by the powers that be for contact with the supernatural.

If there were such things as ghosts and Dorabella was one of them, surely I was the one she would want to visit?

How I missed Jowan! I wanted so much to talk to him, to listen to his sane views; perhaps I was relying on him too much. I was deeply hurt that he had not told me he was going to London. I wondered if I had let myself believe he was more interested in my affairs than he actually was.

He was amused by the local disapproval of our relationship, of course, and was interested in the old customs and superstitions—and what had been happening at Tregarland’s was all part of that. But his main care was the Jermyn estate, and if he had had to go to London urgently, it would not occur to him to tell me.

I wanted so much to talk to someone. I thought of Mrs. Pardell. Her cottage was close by. I would go to see her and ask what she thought about the story of the ghost.

I wondered whether an account of this had reached her already. If it had, it would be interesting to get her views of the subject.

I came to the cottage and paused for a while to look at the neat garden. I opened the gate and, glancing up, I saw a figure behind the lace curtains. She would have heard the faint creaking of the gate. I stood by the door, expecting her to open it. When she did not, I knocked.

Nothing happened.

I lifted the heavy knocker and knocked again. I could hear the sound of it reverberating. Still I waited. Then I thought I heard footsteps, but no one came to the door.

I stood back and looked up at the windows. There was a shadow at one of them…someone was standing behind the lace curtains. I was sure of it. What could it mean? She knew I was here and did not want to let me in.

I walked down the path and turned back to look. Was it fancy or did I again see that shape behind the curtains? It was there…and it was gone.

This was strange. I believed Mrs. Pardell had been in the house. Well, I supposed, it must be that she did not want to see me.

A few days passed. The story of Dorabella’s ghost was discussed frequently.

“She have come back,” people said. “Her be looking for her husband. He’ll have gone over, and she be searching for him.”

One might have asked why search here if he had “gone over” to join her.

I was expecting to hear that someone else had seen her, but so far no one came forward to say so. When I went into the town people looked at me with interest. I was at the center of the drama, and they did not forget that I had brought myself into this by trying to patch up the quarrel between Tregarland and Jermyn.

More than ever I wished that Jowan was here. I felt lonely without him. I wanted to discuss Dorabella’s “ghost” and the unwillingness of Mrs. Pardell to see me. That had surprised and hurt me. I knew that she prided herself on her bluff honesty, which made it all the more strange. She was not the sort to hide behind curtains. Rather I should have expected her to open the door and say, I don’t want to see you, and then tell me why.

Her behavior after Jowan’s going to London without telling me added to my bewilderment.

Then there was a call from Jowan. My spirits rose at the sound of his voice.

“I’m back,” he said, “and I want to talk to you.”

“Yes, yes,” I said eagerly. “When?”

“Suppose I pick you up in an hour. We’ll have lunch at the Stag’s Head on the moor. I’ll tell you all about it then.”

I was excited. The pall of gloom had lifted.

He came on time and greeted me affectionately, but said nothing of significance until we were at the inn. He had chosen a secluded table where we could talk in peace.

I found it hard to contain my impatience, but it was clear to me that he would say nothing until he was ready to do so.

We ordered our food and it was only when it was on the table that he leaned toward me and said: “I’ve made a discovery. I think it may be significant.”

“In London?” I asked.

He nodded. “It was the only place where I could get it. I wanted to keep it to myself in case it came to nothing. It was not easy. I was not sure of dates and could only guess. It would have taken less time if I had had more details.”

“You’re keeping me in suspense.”

“I have unearthed Gordon Lewyth’s birth certificate from the records. He is the son of Matilda Lewyth and James Tregarland.”

“Oh!” I said.

“I suspected it might be the case, but I wanted to make absolutely sure.”

“I understood that his father was dead, and that because Matilda was a distant connection of the family, they came to Tregarland’s.”

“That was the story. It would have made a big scandal to bring his mistress and illegitimate son to Tregarland’s. Not that James Tregarland would care very much about that. He must have had his motives. Do you realize what this could mean?”

“Tell me what is in your mind.”

“I have been very uneasy about your staying there. There is something rather sinister about it all. I cannot believe in all these coincidences. Annette Pardell was the first to die.”

“I suppose they would say your ancestress was the first.”

“She drowned herself and that could have given them the idea.”

“Who?”

“Let’s see if we can work that out. The significant point is that Annette was going to have a child. After Dermot, that child would inherit Tregarland’s. It’s a big estate and has become prosperous in the last years.”

“Because of Gordon rather than Dermot.”

“Exactly. I’m theorizing, of course. But that is all I can do. It is you I am concerned about.”

I felt a pleasant glow creep over me and it was not due to the sparkling wine.

“I’d get you out of there quickly,” he went on, “but you won’t go without the child, Tristan. I can’t see how you could kidnap him. Suppose Annette died because she was carrying the child who would be heir to the estate? Now Dermot is dead.”

“And Dorabella…?”

“That’s the part that doesn’t fit. Her son was already born. I can’t understand that. Why your sister? That is what rather spoils my theory.”

“You think that someone murdered Annette because she was going to have a child?”

“Yes. The child would follow Dermot.”

“But she went swimming.”

“I don’t believe she did. She wouldn’t have done that. She was warned against it. She was too experienced to be so foolish.”

“That is what Mrs. Pardell said. She is convinced that Dermot killed her.”

“Dermot would never kill anyone.”

“Mrs. Pardell thought he was tired of Annette and that later he was tired of my sister, too, that he was a sort of Bluebeard who married women and then, when he was tired of them, just killed them.”

“A likely tale and absolute nonsense!”

I said suddenly, as a terrible fear came to me: “There was that time when Tristan was so ill. Someone must have gone into his room, uncovered him and opened the window, hoping it would kill him, which it might have done if Nanny Crabtree hadn’t gone in in time.”

“That fits,” he said. “Annette’s possible heir, then Tristan. And…what of Dermot?”

“Are you suggesting that someone in the house murdered Dermot?”

“That would clear the decks a bit, wouldn’t it?”

I looked at him in disbelief. “You mean…for Gordon?”

He nodded. “Listen. Gordon has been brought up there. He runs the estate…excellently. He is devoted to it. He regards it as his. He is Tregarland’s son, but because his mother was not married to his father when he was born…”

“You think she is now?”

“No. I don’t know why James didn’t marry her, but it seems he hasn’t. But I feel sure that if he had no legitimate heirs everything would go to Gordon.”

“You are suggesting that Gordon killed Annette…and perhaps Dermot?”

“Who else?”

“But Annette was supposed to have been caught by the tide, by cross-currents or cramp…”

“Is that plausible?”

“Not entirely.”

“And Dermot?”

“He might have taken those pills himself. On the other hand, he might not. It leaves the way clear, except for…”

I was staring at him in horror. “If this is so…Tristan is in danger…imminent danger.”

He nodded.

“Jowan, I’m frightened.”

“I knew you would be. The child will have to be watched day and night. If I am right in what I am thinking, there will be an attempt on his life.”

“How…?”

“It was attempted before. There is one thing that baffles me. It is your sister’s death. She was not in the way. Dermot was the one…and now Tristan. Dermot is dead and we cannot be sure how he died. It might have been by his own hand, as the coroner’s verdict decided. It would seem that this was a reasonable deduction—apart from one thing. Someone would profit from his death. But there was no reason to be rid of your sister. If there had been a child on the way, yes. But presumably there was not. And that is where the theory falls down.”

“I have always felt a little uneasy about Gordon, but it is hard to imagine people one knows as murderers.”

“The most unlikely people often are. When I found—as I suspected might be the case—that he was in fact James Tregarland’s son, I had a good deal of confidence in my theory. It was only on further consideration that I realized that there were doubts.”

“Jowan, what are we going to do?”

“I think try to find proof.”

“How?”

He lifted his shoulders. “It is difficult to know. One thing of which I am certain is that you must watch the baby carefully.”

I said: “It would be easy for them. There has been that death of a child, an unexplained death which happens to children now and then. It is accepted as something of which the doctors are unsure.”

“I have heard of that. Young babies die unexpectedly and inexplicably. It baffles the medical profession, although I have no doubt that in time they will discover what lies behind it.”

“Oh, Jowan, I am so glad you are here.”

He put his hand across the table and touched mine.

I went on: “And I am glad you went to London when you did.”

He released my hand and smiled at me. “You are in the thick of it. How I wish you were not.”

“I am glad I am there to watch over the baby. I shall have to take Nanny Crabtree into my confidence. Do you think that is wise?”

He was thoughtful. “It’s only a theory,” he said.

“Yes, but the child could be in danger.”

“You have told me something of her. She was your nurse and you know her well. I suspect she is the sort of woman who would do anything for her charges.”

“You could certainly trust her to do that.”

“Then take her into your confidence. Tell her your fears and use your discretion as to what you can tell her. I just feel that the child must be watched, for if there is someone in the house who wants to be rid of him, he is in great danger.”

“I shall tell her then. I feel relieved that we can take some action. All these things that are happening around me make me wonder what is coming next.”

I told him about Polly’s seeing Dorabella’s ghost.

“What will they think of next?” he asked.

I also mentioned that I had called on Mrs. Pardell, who had not let me in, although I felt certain that she was in the house.

“Some whim, possibly. Though I should have thought she would have come downstairs, opened the door, and told you to your face.”

I smiled.

“Oh, I am so glad you are here,” I said again.

He replied rather flippantly: “Well, it is nice to be appreciated.”

But I felt he was both touched and immensely pleased.

I
WENT STRAIGHT TO
Nanny Crabtree and told her that I wanted to speak to her very seriously.

I began by saying that what I had to tell her was for her ears alone. It might not be true. It was only a theory, but if it were correct, Tristan was in danger.

She was alert and for once listened intently.