Philippa Carr - Gossamer Cord

“I suppose that’s so. It mightn’t be a bad idea to find out what is in Seth’s mind.”

“I’ll see what I can do. What is happening in the outside world?”

“You mean that part in which we are all extremely interested at the moment?”

“I do indeed.”

“Well, things don’t get better. They are moving toward some climax. The latest news is that, for the first time in British history, there is to be military conscription in peacetime.”

“That sounds as though they are really expecting war.”

“If Hitler moves into Poland, there will be. I don’t think there is any doubt about his intentions, and now the days of appeasement are over, equally there can be no doubt about ours and those of the French.”

“Conscription? Does that mean…?”

“Able-bodied young men will be called up for military service.”

I looked at him in dismay.

“I expect they would say I was doing useful work by running the estate. On the other hand, if it came to conflict, I should have to be there.”

I continued to look at him. He laughed suddenly and, taking my hand, kissed it.

“It is nice to know you care,” he said.

It was a beautiful day. May had come and there was warmth in the air. When I came out of the house I saw Dermot sitting on a seat in the garden. I went over and sat beside him.

“It’s a lovely day,” I said.

He agreed. He was looking down on the beach with that infinitely sad expression, thinking, I knew, of Dorabella.

“I wonder what’s going to happen,” I said, trying to turn his thoughts to other things. “Do you think there’s going to be war?”

“I suppose so.”

“There is such uncertainty everywhere.”

He nodded and we fell into silence. I could see it was useless to try to lift him out of his melancholy.

He said suddenly: “The time goes on. They will never find her. She’s gone…forever.”

I put my hand over his and he went on: “You and I—we were the ones who loved her most.”

I said: “There are my parents. They loved her dearly, too.”

“It is not quite the same.”

“My mother hides her grief but it is there. I never found that miniature I gave her.”

“She thought a great deal of it. She often told me how she felt about you. She used to laugh about the way in which you helped her out of trouble. She said she was a monster who thought up the wildest adventures and always at the back of her mind was the thought, Violetta will have to get me out of this.”

“Yes, it was like that with us.”

“She said you were her other self. She called it a cord between you. She said you were the better half.”

“Oh, Dermot, I can’t bear to think of her.”

“Nor I.”

After that we were silent. It was no use trying to talk of other things. She was uppermost in our minds and she would keep intruding. She had once said, “Don’t ever think you’ll be rid of me. I shall always be there.”

It was true, of course.

I sat with him until Jack came to take him in.

I watched them. Jack was strong and gentle and helped Dermot into his chair. He lifted his hand to me as Jack wheeled him into the house.

I went down the slope to the beach and stood there watching the waves.

“Dorabella,” I said. “Where are you?”

Next morning, when Jack went into Dermot’s room, he found that he was dead.

THE HOUSEHOLD WAS IN turmoil. The first I knew of it was when Matilda came to my room while I was preparing to go down to breakfast. She was very pale and obviously trembling.

“Something terrible has happened,” she said; and she told me how Jack had gone into Dermot’s room to wake him with his early morning cup of tea.

“He said he knocked on the door and when there was no answer he went in. He said good morning and, as there was no response, he went to the bed and saw at once what had happened. The bottle of pills was near the bed and it was empty. Jack knew at once what he had done. There was a glass which had contained whisky. Poor Jack, he is in a terrible state. We all are.”

“Oh, poor Dermot,” I said. “He was so unhappy.”

“He never got over Dorabella’s death. I can’t believe this has happened. Gordon is taking charge of everything. He has sent for the doctor. Oh, Violetta, this is terrible. What else is going to happen in this house?”

That was a bewildering day: the comings and goings, the whispered conversations, the terrible knowledge that another tragedy had struck us and that there was death in the house.

I kept thinking of our conversation in the garden. I was not surprised in a way. I should have seen it coming. He was in despair. That had been clear. I could understand this. His marriage had been brief and fruitful…and then she had gone, stupidly, foolishly, because of an impetuous whim she had been taken away.

The entire house was in a state of shock. Matilda’s usual calm had deserted her. She was so shaken that the doctor gave her a sedative and advised her to take a rest.

Gordon was calm and essentially practical. The doctor talked to him—obviously relieved to be able to discuss what must be done with someone who was capable of doing it.

It was a nightmare day.

I had a talk with Gordon in the evening.

“There will be an inquest, of course,” he said. “The doctor obviously knows what happened. He is not altogether surprised. He said Dermot was very depressed. Before all this started, he could be high spirited at times and right down at others. He was not the sort who could cope with tragedy. When he heard that it was unlikely that he would walk again, the doctor was afraid he might attempt to take his life. He had been about to suggest that the pain-killing pills should only be administered by Jack or someone near at the time he needed them, but that would have had its difficulties. He might have wanted to take them in the night. It was a very sad case but, as the doctor said, not altogether unexpected in the circumstances.”

It was a household in mourning.

Matilda was too shaken to leave her bed that day and it was Gordon who had had to break the news to old Mr. Tregarland.

When he came out of the old man’s bedroom he was clearly disturbed. I was waiting to hear how the father had received the news of his son’s death. He was stricken with grief and horror.

“I thought,” said Gordon, “that we were going to have another death in the house. His face turned purple and he opened his mouth to speak but there was no sound. He just stared at me and he was shaking in every limb. I thought he was going to have a stroke. This has been a terrible blow, coming after everything else. He has taken it very badly. We shall have to be very careful with him. The shock has been too much.”

Mr. Tregarland stayed in his room for several days. Matilda went about as though in a bad dream. I did not go into the town. I could imagine what people were saying. There was a curse on Tregarland’s. It went back a hundred years to when the Tregarlands and the Jermyns were such enemies.

There was no question of the verdict that Dermot had committed suicide while the balance of his mind had been disturbed.

Gloom descended on the house. And not only there. The possibility of war was the constant topic. It was certain that the Germans were preparing to take some action.

Jowan and I met as usual, but I felt uneasy about that. The servants whispered together. Look at what is happening. It was one blow after another for the Tregarlands.

Jowan said: “It is certainly mysterious. I wish you weren’t there, and on the other hand I wouldn’t want you to go away.”

“These disasters are a string of coincidences,” I said. “Life is so strange. Dermot’s death is explainable. I know how miserable he was. He had lost both of his wives and it is certainly odd that they should both die by drowning. As for Dermot himself, he was so miserable, his horse was out of control, and there was a suggestion that he was not quite sober. There is an explanation for that.”

“It’s true. I wonder what will happen next. I believe there may well be a war. That will change things for all of us.”

“You seem certain…”

“It is the way things are going. This alliance…what is it they call it? The Pact of Steel, which Hitler is making with Italy. It looks as though he wants to be sure he has a strong ally before he makes some move.”

“Surely he will not act against the British and the French?”

“That remains to be seen. There has been too much appeasement in the past. He may think it will continue. Let us hope that he stops in time to prevent our all being plunged into war.”

“This is all very depressing and I was looking to you to cheer me up!”

“Oh, dear! I’m sorry. Is it so very bad at Tregarland’s?”

“Naturally. Old Mr. Tregarland seems to have changed. He is so overcome with grief at Dermot’s death. He stares into space. It is as though he is trying to understand, as though he is searching for some explanation for all these disasters.”

“Poor old man! It is a good thing he has Gordon Lewyth to look after everything.”

“He is the great bulwark. Matilda, who is usually so calm and practical, seems to be utterly shaken by all this.”

“Well, let’s look on the bright side, eh? Let’s try and forget what has happened. After all, there has to be a turning point somewhere.”

We had come to an open space.

“Let’s give the horses a bit of fun,” he said, and started to gallop across the field. I followed him.

There seemed to be no end to the melancholy.

That night, at dinner, Matilda told us that Mrs. Pengelly’s baby had been found dead in her cot. “The poor woman is prostrate with grief,” she said. “The shock was terrible. She had fed the baby, put her in her pram in the garden, and left her. Then she had gone into the house and came out twenty minutes later to find her dead.”

“But what happened?” I asked.

“They don’t know yet. The child was suffocated in some way. She was blue in the face and not breathing.”

“But there must have been some reason,” I said.

Gordon said: “It is not the first time this sort of thing has happened. The doctors cannot give an explanation. The child just ceases to breathe…and in a few moments is dead.”

“But…” I began.

“There must be some reason, of course,” went on Gordon. “But the doctors don’t know what it is. These child deaths are not exactly common, but several babies have died in that way. The medical profession is researching it, and I expect they will find the cause, but so far it is a mystery.”

“There was a case over at St. Ives only a few months ago,” added Matilda. “Poor Mrs. Pengelly. It’s no consolation to her, but at least she knows it is no fault of hers.”

“You mean to say that babies can really die like this?” I asked.

“Yes. They die in their cots. They are usually round about three months old, but they can, I believe, die this way up to two or three years. The strange thing is that the doctors don’t know what happens to cause it.”

“But while they don’t know, how can people take precautions against its happening?” said Matilda.

“I have never heard of it before,” I added. I was thinking fearfully of Tristan.

As soon as the meal was over I went to the nursery.

“He’s asleep,” said Nanny. “Come in and have a chat.”

“I want first of all to make sure Tristan is all right,” I said.

“All right? He’s sleeping the sleep of the innocent, bless him.”

I looked down on him. He was hugging his teddy bear. He looked angelic, and I was relieved to see he was breathing rhythmically.

“What did you expect?” demanded Nanny Crabtree. “I’m glad he’s got that teddy. It’s a change from the old blanket he used to suck. My goodness, it was difficult to wean him from that. And what a fuss there was when I washed it. It nearly broke his little heart. But I got him on to this teddy. I’m a bit scared though of those bootbutton eyes. I wonder if they’ll come off?”

I sat down and told Nanny about the Pengelly baby.

“I heard about that one in St. Ives,” she said. “It makes you wonder.”

“I immediately thought of Tristan.”

“He’ll be all right. I’m going to keep my eyes on him. Why, what’s the matter with you?”

“I don’t know, Nanny. So many terrible things are happening here…”

She came to me and put her arms round me. It was as though I were a child again.