The Black Swan (8 page)

Pedrek embraced us all.

He said to Rebecca, “It’s been a long time.”

Rebecca replied, “Yes, I know, but …” and he nodded, understanding, I felt, as he always would.

We got into the carriage and our luggage was put in beside us.

“The children are all agog,” said Pedrek. “Nanny Billings has made a great concession. They are going to be allowed to sit up a little later tonight because you have come home.”

“The darlings!” said Rebecca. “I’ve been away so long. I hope they haven’t forgotten me.”

“They certainly have not!” Pedrek assured her. “Every morning, Nanny Billings tells me she is asked, ‘When is Mummy coming home?’”

“That’s a relief,” said Rebecca. “I should have hated to have my children look on me as a stranger.”

“Well, High Tor waits to welcome you. I can tell you, the entire household has been in the throes of feverish preparation ever since it was known you were coming.”

“What a lovely homecoming,” I said.

“It’s true, Lucie,” said Rebecca. “I know how pleased everyone will be to see you and Celeste.”

We drove through narrow lanes where the hedges brushed against the carriage; we wound round and round and caught glimpses of sea and moorland, until we came into open country and there was the house in all its glory—the happy home of my dearest Rebecca and her family.

Even the horses seemed pleased because they were near home; and in spite of everything I was beginning to feel more at peace and more remote from the scene of sudden death.

Rebecca and Pedrek had chosen this house because it was more or less halfway between Cador and Pencarron, the house of Pedrek’s grandparents. Pedrek now, of course, ran the Pencarron Mine which he had inherited from his grandfather—although I think the old man still had an interest in it. It was about a mile or so from High Tor so within easy distance for Pedrek.

High Tor was a misnomer really as it stood on a slight incline which could hardly be called a tor. It was an interesting house. Celeste had once lived in it, for it had belonged to her family, the Bourdons, before they went to Chislehurst and later to Farnborough.

I remember that at one time Pedrek and Rebecca had decided against it and then afterward had fallen in love with it again.

It was an old house, having been erected in the late sixteenth or early seventeenth century. I had always been told that it was in the Inigo Jones style. It was the first time I had heard his name and I was very impressed because I could see that everyone else was. But I had always been enchanted by the leaded windows, the gables and the pediments; and I loved old houses; they set me thinking of what had happened to all the people who had lived in them over the years.

High Tor was especially interesting to me because it was in one of these rooms that Belinda had been conceived. It was here that Leah Polhenny had come to repair the tapestries which the Bourdons had brought from France, and while she was here had been seduced by Jean Pascal, Celeste’s brother, and the son of the house. So it was really in this house that our story had begun—mine and Belinda’s.

No wonder it had a fascination for me.

We went through the gateway into the courtyard. A groom came running out.

“Welcome home, Mrs. Cartwright.”

“Hell, Jim,” cried Rebecca. “It’s good to be back.”

Rebecca could scarcely wait for the carriage to stop before she leaped out. She was longing fervently to see the children.

And there they were, one on either side of Nanny Billings, and when they saw Rebecca they rushed forward and threw themselves at her.

They were all talking at once. The children were squealing with joy. Alvina wanted to show her mother her new painting book, Jake his toy engine.

Lucky Rebecca, I thought, to have such a family. And, indeed, as she held them to her the sorrow and drama of the last months seemed to pass away from her.

“And what have you to say to your Aunt Lucie and your Aunt Celeste?” she asked the children.

They came and stood before us. I knelt and put my arms about them.

“Now,” said Nanny Billings briskly, “we mustn’t get too excited. We are going to stay up a little longer because this is a special day.”

The children laughed together and we went into the house.

The hall was large, as they usually are in such houses, with a high vaulted ceiling supported by thick oak beams. The butler and housekeeper had appeared to welcome us and tell us that our rooms were ready and we could go to them right away.

“We’ll have a quick wash and then something to eat,” said Rebecca. “It’s been a long journey and we’re a little tired.”

“In the small dining room in half an hour,” said Mrs. Willows, the housekeeper. “Unless that will be too soon.”

“Oh no … that will be just right,” said Rebecca.

The children came with us up the stairs. My room was next to that of Celeste. It was the one I always occupied on my visits to High Tor.

Rebecca was looking at me anxiously. She had been aware of my preoccupation on the train. I was thinking of the number of times I had stayed in this room. Everything will be different now, I reminded myself. We can never go back.

“Come along, children,” said Nanny Billings.

Alvina looked as though she were about to protest. Rebecca knelt down to kiss her and whispered that she would come along to tuck her in … and perhaps tell her a story, and that seemed to satisfy her.

When Rebecca and I were alone in my room, she said, “Something’s happened, hasn’t it?”

I looked at her in surprise and she hurried on, “I mean yesterday … last night. I felt there was something. …”

I nodded.

She said quickly, “Tell me later. I’ll come along tonight for a chat.”

I felt suddenly relieved. I had been wondering whether to share my misgivings with Rebecca, and now I knew that I would.

“I’ll have to leave you now,” she went on. “See you downstairs in half an hour.”

When I had dressed I tapped on Celeste’s door. She was ready and waiting.

“How does it feel to be in your old home?” I asked.

“A little strange,” she replied.

“It must be very different now.”

“Very different.”

“I suppose it was rather grand when your parents had it … all that Gobelin tapestry which Leah came to repair. …”

“There were some fine pieces, but here … there is … love.”

I was silent as I went downstairs with her. Lucky Rebecca! I was wondering whether Joel and I would be able to build ourselves a life like this.

Joel was my hope now. It was a sad quirk of fate that he should happen to be out of the country at the time when I needed him so much. But he would soon be home, and it would be different then. We would start at once to build a new life together.

I fancied the conversation at dinner was a little labored. I guessed that Pedrek had made up his mind not to talk of my father’s murder and, as all that had followed as a result of it must be uppermost in our minds, a restraint was put upon us.

I think we were all relieved when the meal was over.

“It has been a long day,” said Rebecca. “We shall all feel better after a good night’s sleep.”

I had not been in my room more than five minutes when there was a tap on the door. I knew it was Rebecca who had come for our talk.

I was at the dressing table brushing my hair and she came and sat in the armchair facing me.

“What’s happened, Lucie?” she asked.

I told her and she was clearly shocked.

“But … who could it have been?”

“I don’t know, but I have a terrible feeling that they have hanged the wrong man.”

“But you recognized him. You picked him out. He had the sort of appearance which could be easily recognized. The way his hair grew was enough and then there was the scar. All that is not very usual. And he was known to the police as a terrorist. He had been involved in that sort of thing before.”

“I know. It seemed certain. But if he were dead and buried, how could he have been down there in the street?”

“Let’s try and look at this clearly. I think you may have imagined you saw this man.”

“But, Rebecca, he threw pebbles at my window. He was down there. He took off his hat and bowed to me … as though he were mocking me.”

She was silent for a few moments, then she said: “You were … still are … in a highly emotional state, Lucie. Most people would be. That sort of shock has its effect. You were actually there. You saw the whole thing … and you and your father were very close. You were closer to him than anyone else. It’s bound to have a deep effect.”

“Rebecca, if you think I imagined I saw that, you must also think that I am unbalanced … mentally.”

“Of course I don’t. It could happen to anyone.”

“Do you mean to tell me I
imagined
I heard pebbles at the window?”

“I think you might have been dreaming. You went to the window and there was a man. He may have seen you … and bowed …”

“He took off his hat. He was standing under the lamp. I saw his widow’s peak quite clearly. It was what he wanted me to see.”

“You must have imagined it.”

“I tell you I saw it clearly. Rebecca, there are only two explanations. One is that what I saw was his ghost and he has come back to haunt me, or they have hanged the wrong man … and I am responsible.”

“I don’t believe either.”

“You believe that your mother came back after death and made you look after me.”

She was silent.

I went on, “So you
do
believe that the dead can return … if there is something which is very important to them. Our mother did when I was left with Jenny Stubbs. She wanted me in the house where I belonged and she came to you and put all that into your mind. That’s what you’ve always believed, Rebecca. Well, if she could come back, why shouldn’t he? Our mother came back to do good, but she was a good woman. Fergus O’Neill was a man who killed people because they did not believe what he believed, because they did what he did not want them to. He killed for what he could call a cause. He would come back for revenge.”

“Lucie, you must put the whole thing out of your head. You’re overwrought. You have been through a greater ordeal than you realize. You’ve got to get back to normality. I’m so glad you’re here. You’ll be better quickly here … I shall look after you.”

“As you always have, Rebecca. I can’t think what my life would have been like without you.”

“We’re sisters, aren’t we? I suffered terribly when our mother died. I hated your father for marrying her and taking her away from me. That was bad for me. Then it began to be better between us and that made me a lot happier. Lucie, we have to remember that we go through a great drama when we suffer a terrible loss. We are not quite ourselves. Yes, we can become a little unbalanced. We see things out of proportion. We don’t always see clearly …”

“You think I saw nothing last night, don’t you?”

“I don’t know. I think you may have had a nightmare … that you awoke startled and were half-dreaming when you went to the window and you saw the man in the street. He was dressed for the opera. That’s not surprising. He was probably returning from the opera. He looked up at the window. He saw you and took off his hat and bowed. Well, he’d probably had a little too much to drink. He was in a merry mood … he saw a young woman at the window … and, well, he bowed.”

“But his face …”

“My dear Lucie, you saw the hat and the cloak. There was just the light from the street lamp. You imagined the rest.”

“Do you really think that could be so?”

“I think it is the most likely answer.”

I closed my eyes. It was what I hoped. Rebecca’s calm common sense was beginning to have its effect.

Of course she must be right. It had been no ghost I saw. It was not Fergus O’Neill who had been down there. Fergus O’Neill was dead. He had paid the penalty demanded by the law. He was a murderer.

Rebecca saw that she was convincing me and she was pleased.

“Now,” she said, “I am going to bring you something to drink.”

“The inevitable hot milk?” I asked.

“It’s the best thing. Trust Rebecca.”

I flung myself into her arms. “Oh, I do,” I assured her. “I always have. You have always been there when I needed you.”

“And always will be. You know that.”

I did. I was feeling a great deal better; and when she appeared with the hot milk, I drank it and was soon fast asleep.

Rebecca had been right. Cornwall had a healing effect. We had crossed the bridge between tragedy and the new life which we had to make for ourselves.

I was thinking more and more of Joel. Soon he must be home and then our engagement would be announced. We would plan our future. We would have a house in London and, I supposed, live at Marchlands. He would have to be in both places … convenient for Parliament and for his constituency. I should wait up for him when the House was sitting late; I should have a supper waiting for him. It would be the familiar pattern, with Joel instead of my father.

I must stop thinking of the past. I had to plan for the future. It would be wonderful. It was just the present that was so hard to live through.

But the bridge was here and we were crossing it.

I had always been fascinated by Cornwall. It was, I supposed, natural that I should be, since it was in the Duchy that I had been born. Rebecca saw that my days were full. I was glad I had told her about my experience. She understood now my preoccupation, my nervous tension; and she had done her best to wipe it away with her sound common sense … which she had done … almost.

It was not difficult to fill our days. There was so much to do. The gardens at High Tor were a delight. There were no orderly flower beds; shrubs and trees grew naturally; and in a way it resembled the gardens of Manor Grange at Manorleigh. The children loved to play in the gardens and I was with them a great deal. There was the paddock round which they rode their ponies on lead reins. Both Celeste and I were expected to watch their performance and applaud. We also rode. Of course, we had to visit Pencarron, the home of Pedrek’s grandparents who made a great fuss of us.

Then there were trips to Cador to my own grandparents. Cador I loved especially, for it was in that grand house that I had spent the greater part of my childhood. I did not remember very much of those early days in Jenny Stubbs’s cottage; but to be in Cador again with its battlemented tower and its view of the sea always affected me deeply.