Philippa Carr - Gossamer Cord

“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.

“Seems to have some sense in it,” she said, and it was characteristic of her that she should immediately think of that occasion when Tristan had been in danger from the open window.

“I never opened that window,” she declared. “I do know that. Someone must have. And he wasn’t in the habit of throwing his clothes off. And him with that cold on his chest…I could murder them as hurts little children.”

“We’ve got to make sure he is not left alone…night or day.”

She nodded. “And Miss Dorabella…?”

“Well, that is the part that doesn’t fit. We can’t think why anyone would want her out of the way.”

“And we know her. She might have got into her head that she wanted to swim, and if she did, there’d be no holding her back. ‘I want this and I’m going to have it.’ That was her all over. And Mr. Dermot himself…”

“That might have been either way. Oh, Nanny, don’t you see how careful we have to be! We must not take chances. There’s a lot against what we think may be, but because of Tristan we mustn’t dismiss anything.”

“I see that all right. No matter if we are barking up the wrong tree, we’ve got to make sure our boy is safe. I tell you what we’ll do…and this will be just between you and me. You know that divan thing…in the nursery? I’ll sleep on that. Nobody will know. Then I’ll be on the alert…day and night.”

“Nanny,” I said, “I shan’t sleep well in my bed. I’m going to take my turn of watching with you. I am going to sleep in the nursery with him.”

“There’s no need,” said Nanny Crabtree. “I shall be on the watch sleeping in the same room.”

“I shouldn’t rest in mine,” I said. “I’ll be wondering what’s happening all night.”

She looked at me and nodded slowly. “I know you,” she said. “Well, all right then. You shall sleep here on the divan and I’ll be in my room with the door open.”

I was already planning. “I shall come up quietly when the household has retired, and go back to my room before it starts stirring. It is very important that no one else should know of these arrangements…no one in the house.”

“I see that. We mustn’t give it away.”

“Tonight, then…”

“Tonight,” said Nanny Crabtree.

So that was how it was. I would lie on the divan, and in the starlight I could see the outline of the cot. I slept lightly. The slightest sound from Tristan’s cot awakened me and would set me listening.

Sometimes I thought: Can this really be true? Are we dramatizing the situation? Could Gordon possibly have murder in mind? He had been present when his mother had talked of the Pengelly baby. Had I imagined he seemed especially alert? I tried to remember what he had said. It was something the medical profession did not understand. The doctors were researching; they would discover the cause in time. But as yet the deaths were accepted as due to circumstances beyond their knowledge. How easy it would be to snuff out a young life!

My thoughts went back to that day when he had found me caught by the tide. He had gone to great efforts to save my life. But he did not want to be rid of me. I did not stand in his way.

It was hard to believe such a thing of someone one knew. But how well did I know him? He had always been something of an enigma and—I had often felt—a little sinister. Or was I imagining that now?

I had slept on the divan for two nights and this was the third.

There was no moon but the sky was cloudless and the stars bright.

I was looking out of the window at one which was particularly bright—a planet possibly. I remembered Dorabella’s saying to me on such a night: “That’s God’s eye watching us. He saw you take that cake when Cook wasn’t looking. You stuffed it into your pocket. He wrote it down in his little book and you’ll answer for it one day.” And I had retorted: “You ate most of it, so you’ll suffer more.” “It’s not eating it that counts, it’s stealing it,” was her reply.

Memories of Dorabella would go on like that for ever.

A stair creaked. I was alert. My heart was beating fast as I sat up in bed listening. There it was again. Stealthy steps coming toward the nursery!

I slipped out of bed and stood behind the door. I was there just in time before it was slowly, cautiously, opened.

I could not believe this was happening, although I had been waiting for it. It was like a performance which I had been rehearsing. I saw the pillow first…the whiteness was clear in the starlight.

Then, like a dream—a nightmare, really—I saw that what we had imagined would happen was taking place in actual fact.

A figure had moved toward the cot, bending over the sleeping child. I ran forward crying, “Nanny, Nanny! Quick…!”

The figure turned sharply. Not Gordon. Matilda!

Nanny Crabtree was there…a walking stick in her hand, ready to strike.

Matilda Lewyth turned to face us. Her eyes were wild with what seemed to me like madness.

“What…what do you think you are doing…?” she cried.

“What are you doing here?” said Nanny.

“Get out,” cried Matilda. “Get out…both of you.”

“It is you who will have to get out of my nursery,” said Nanny Crabtree sharply. “How dare you come in here and try to kill my baby?”

“What are you talking about?”

Matilda had dropped the pillow. She fell into a chair and covered her face with her hands.

“Nanny,” I said. “Go and wake Mr. Lewyth. I think he is the one who will know what is best to be done about this.”

“You watch then and give me that pillow.”

Matilda and I were alone and she lowered her hands and looked at me.

I said slowly: “You were going to kill him. You were going to kill Tristan. You thought it would be easy. You were going to pretend that what happened to Mrs. Pengelly’s baby happened to him.”

She did not answer.

“And the others…” I said. “Matilda, what does it mean?”

But I knew what it meant. Jowan’s discovery had made it clear. She wanted Tregarland’s for her son, hers and James Tregarland’s, and she had been ready to remove anyone who stood in his way. She, who had seemed so gentle, so self-effacing, so eager to please, was a murderess.

How thankful I should always be to Jowan. But for his warning Tristan would have died tonight.

I shall never forget Gordon’s coming into that room. He took one look at his mother. I knew that Nanny had told him what had happened. And what I saw in his face, although it was acute horror, was not surprise.

He was clearly deeply shocked. He went to her and put an arm round her.

“Mother,” he murmured. “Mother…oh, what have you done?”

She began to sob tempestuously. He comforted her and turned to us.

“I’ll take her to her room. I’ll give her something to make her sleep. She’ll go mad if I don’t. Oh, my God, this is terrible. Please, let me take her away. I’ll come back. There are things I can tell you. I want you please to try and understand.”

Nanny Crabtree said: “My baby could have been killed!”

Matilda was shaking. I thought she would have some sort of fit. She began to tear at her clothes and her hair in a frenzy of madness. She threw herself at Gordon.

“It was for you,” she said. “For you…my boy. It was your right…”