‘ People don’t want me. I get in on your ticket. ” And because she believed it and acted that way, it came to be true. Now Deborah doesn’t know I’m going on with our diary I can write exactly what I feel. It’s such a relief.

” September 3rd. Pendorric! What a wonderful old house. I love it. And Petroc! What is it about him th-‘t’s different from everyone else in the world! Some magic! He’s so gay, but sometimes I’m frightened. He doesn’t seem to be entirely with me.”

I had come to several blank pages in the book, but after that the writing went on.

” July 3rd. I found this old diary to-day. It’s ages since I wrote in it. The last time was just before I married. I see I’ve only put the months and days and left out the years. How like me! Still, it doesn’t matter. I don’t know why I want to write in it again. For comfort, I suppose. Since the twins were born I haven’t thought of it. It’s only now. I woke up last night and he wasn’t there. I thought ‘of that woman, Louisa Sellick. I hate her. There are rumours about her. I suppose he’s still seeing her—and others. Could anyone be all that attractive and not take advantage of it? If I’d wanted a faithful husband I ought not to have married such an attractive man as Petroc.

I notice things. I’ve seen people at parties talking. They brightly change the subject when I come up. I know they’re talking about Petroe and me—and some woman. Louisa Sellick probably. The servants look at me—pityingly. Mrs. Penhalligan for one—even old Jesse. What are they saying? Sometimes I feel I’ll go mad if I let things drift like this.

When I try to talk to Petroc he’ll never be serious. He says, Well, of course I love you. ” And I snap back: And how many others too?” ‘ Mine’s a loving nature. ” he answers. He can never be serious. Life’s so amusing to him. I want to shout at him that it’s not so amusing to me. When I think of the old days in Father’s house I remember how I used to love parties. Everyone made a fuss of me. And Deborah was there—she used to be as pleased as I was with my popularity. Once she said: ” I enjoy it just as though it were mine. ” And I answered ” It is yours. Deb.

Don’t you remember we always used to say that we weren’t two people-but one. ” In those days that satisfied her.”

I had been so excited by what I read that I hadn’t noticed what was happening to myself. I had actually yawned several times during the reading, and my lids now seemed so heavy that I couldn’t keep my eyes open.

If I had been less enthralled I should not have been surprised, but the contents of this diary should surely have kept me wide awake. I was determined to go on reading.

” August 8th. Deborah has been here for the last fortnight. She seems to come more often now. There is a change in Deb. She’s become more alive. She laughs more easily. Something has changed her. Other people may not notice—but then they don’t know her like I do. She borrowed my riding hat the other day—the black one with the band of blue round it. She stood before the looking-glass and said: I don’t believe anyone would know I wasn’t you—not anyone.” And actually she has grown more like me since she became more lively. I know on several occasions the servants called her by my name. It amused her very much. I had an idea that she longed to be in my place. If only she knew. But that’s some thing I wouldn’t tell even her. It’s too humiliating. No, I couldn’t even tell Deborah about all the times when I wake up and find Petroc not with me, how I get up and walk about the room imagining what he’s doing. If she knew what I had to suffer she wouldn’t want to be in my place. She sees Petroc as so many others see him—just about the most fascinating man anyone could meet anywhere. It’s different being his wife. Sometimes I hate him.

” August 20th. There was another scene yesterday. Petroc says I’ve got to be calm. He says he doesn’t know what’U happen if I don’t control myself more. Control myself! When he treats me like this! He says I’m too possessive. He says, Don’t pry into my life and I won’t pry into yours.” What sort of a marriage is this?

” August 27th. He has not been near me for more than a week. Sometimes I think everything is over between us. He can’t stand scenes, he says.

Of course he can’t, because he’s in the wrong. He just wants to go on living his own way-which is more or less the same as before he was married; but everything must seem all right on the surface. There mustn’t be scandal. Petroc hates scandal. The fact is he’s lazy. That’s why he married me. Pendorric needed money. I had it. It was simple. Marry money and there’s no need to worry. Why does he have to be so amusing, so charming on the surface—so feckless and cruel underneath? If only I could be as lighthearted as he is! If only I could say Oh-that’s just Petroc. I must take him as I find him. ” But I can’t. I love him too much. I don’t want to share him.

Sometimes I think I’ll go mad. Petroc thinks so too. That’s why he stays away. He hates it when I lose control. Father used to hate it too. But Father was kind and gentle with me. He used to say, Barbarina my dear, you must be quiet. Look at Deborah. How calm she is. Be more like your sister, Bar barina. ” And that used to help. I’d remember that Deborah and I were like one. She had all the calmness in our nature. I was the volatile one. Father might deplore my wildness; but it was what made me attractive and Deborah a little dull. Deborah ought to comfort me now but even she has changed.

” August 29th. From my window I saw Deborah come back from a ride to-day. She was wearing a hat with a blue band. Not mine this time.

She’s got one exactly like it. As she came round from the stables the children were just going out with their nurse. They called to her. ‘ Hallo, Mummy,” they said. Deborah stooped and kissed first Morwenna, then Roc. The nurse said: Morwenna’s knee is healing up nicely, Mrs. Pendorric. ” Mrs. Pendorric! So the nurse and the children had mistaken her for me. I felt angry. I hated Deborah in that moment and it was like hating myself. I did hate myself. It was some minutes later when I said to myself, But why didn’t Deborah explain?” But she didn’t.

She just let them think that she was the children’s mother—the mistress of the house.

” September 2nd. If this goes on I think I shall kill myself. I’ve been thinking about it more and more. A quiet sleep for ever and ever.

No more Petroc. No more jealousy. Some times I long for that. I often remember the Bride story. Some of the servants are sure Lowella Pendorric haunts the place. They won’t go in the gallery where she hangs, after dark. This Lowella died after a year of marriage, having ;a son ; she was cursed by her husband’s mistress. The Pendorric men haven’t changed much. When I think of my life at Pendorric, I’m ready to believe there might be a curse on the women of the house.

” September 3rd. Petroc says I’m getting more and more hysterical. How can I help that? All I ask is that he should be with me more, should love me as I love him. Surely that’s not asking too much. All he cares about is that he should miss none of his pleasures, which means women—women all the time. Though I believe he’s kept on with this Louisa Sellick. So he’s faithful to her—after his fashion. There’s one other thing that he cares about: Pendorrie. What a fuss the other day When they discovered woodworm in the gallery. The wood’s particularly bad in the balustrade—near Lowella Pendorric’s picture—the one who was supposed to have died because of the curse, and haunt the place. That’s what’s made me think of her so much. ” September 12th. Deborah is still with us. She doesn’t seem to want to go back to the moor. She certainly has changed. Sometimes I think she’s growing more like I used to be, and I’m becoming more like she was. She’s inclined to use my things as though they were hers. We did this in the old days but it was different then. She comes into my bedroom and talks. It’s odd but I fancy she’s trying to get me to talk about Petroc, and when I do she seems to shy away. The other day when we were talking she picked up a jacket of mine—a casual sort of thing in mustard colour. ” You hardly wear it,” she said. ” I always liked it.” She slipped it on and as I looked at her I had a strange feeling that I am Deborah and that she’s so longing to be in my place that she is Barbarina. I felt it was myself I was looking at. Is Petroc right? Is all that I’m suffering driving me crazy? Deborah took off the jacket but when she went out she slung it over her arm and I haven’t seen it since.

” September 14th. I cry a lot. I’m so wretched. No wonder Petroc hardly ever comes near me. For some weeks he’s been sleeping in the dressing-room. I try to tell myself it’s better that way. Then I don’t know whether he’s there or not, so I don’t have to wonder whom he’s with. But of course I do.

” September 20th. I can’t believe it. I must write it down. I think I’ll go mad if I don’t. I could bear the others; but not this. I know about Louisa Sellick and I can understand it-arid up to a point forgive it. After all he wanted to marry her. It was because of Pendorric that he married me. But this. It’s all so unnatural. I hate Deborah now. There isn’t room for the two of us in this world. Perhaps there never was. We should have been one person. No wonder she’s going about deceiving people—not correcting them when they call her Mrs. Pendorric. Petroc and Deborah!

It’s incredible. But of course it’s not. It’s inevitable in a way.

After all, so much of me is Deborah and so much of her me. We are one—so why shouldn’t we share Petroc as we have shared so many other things? Gradually she’s been taking what’s mine—not only my husband but my personality. The way she laughs now—the way she sings. That’s not Deborah; it’s Barbarina. I go about the house outwardly calm letting the servants think that I don’t care. I stand there smiling when they talk to me and pretend to be interested as I did to-day when old Jesse talked about bringing something into the hall—some plant or other. It’s getting too cold out of doors or something and he doesn’t think the hothouse is quite right for it. Yes, yes, yes, I said, not listening. Poor old Jesse! He’s almost blind now. I told him not to worry; we’d see he was all right. And Petroc will, of course. That’s one thing about him—he’s good to the servants. I’m writing trivialities to prevent myself thinking. Deborah and Petroc —I’ve seen them together. I know. It’s her room he goes to. It leads from the gallery not far from that spot where the picture of Lowella Pendorric hangs. I lay listening last night and heard the door close.

Deborah who is getting like I used to be—and Petroc. How I hate them—both! There shouldn’t be two of us. I’ve tolerated others but I won’t tolerate this. But how can I stop it?

” September 21st. I’ve decided to kill myself. I can’t go on. I keep wondering how. Perhaps I’ll walk into the sea. They say that after the first moment of struggle, it’s an easy death. You don’t feel it much.

My body would be washed in and Petroc would see it. He’d never forget.

I’d haunt him for the rest of his life. It would be his punishment and he deserves to be punished. It would be the legend coming true. The Bride of Pendorric would haunt the place, and I, Barbarina, would be that bride. It seems somehow right—inevitable. I think it is the only way. “

The rest of that page was blank and I thought I had come to the end of the diary. I yawned, I was very tired.

But as I turned the page I came to more writing, and what I read startled me so much that I was almost wide awake.

” October 19th. They think I am dead. Yet I art still here and they don’t know it. Petroc doesn’t know. It’s a good thing that he can’t bear to be near me, because he might discover the truth. He’s away most of the time. He goes to Louisa Sellick for comfort. Let him. I don’t care now. Everything is different. It’s—exciting. There’s no other word for it. I shouldn’t write in this book. It’s all so dangerous, but I like to go over it again and again. It’s ‘funny—really funny because it makes me laugh sometimes—but only when I’m alone. When I’m with anyone I’m calm—terribly calm. I have to be. I feel more alive now than I have for a long time-now that they think I’m dead. I must write it down. I’m afraid I’ll forget if I don’t. I had made up my mind how I would die. I was going to walk into the sea. Perhaps I’d leave a note for Petroc, telling him that he’d driven me to it. Then I’d be sure that I’d haunt him for the rest of his life. It all happened so suddenly. I hadn’t planned it that way at all. Then suddenly I saw how it could be done. How a new bride could take the place of Lowella Pendorric, for it was time she rested in her grave, poor thing. Deborah came into my room. She was wearing my mustard-coloured jacket, and her eyes were bright; she looked sleek and contented, and I knew, as well as if she’d told me, that he’d been with her the previous night. You’re looking tired, Barby,” she said.