The Secret Woman (12 page)

“Not always. I shall always remember you, Chantel, at the inquest. You weren't frivolous then.”

“I have my serious moments.”

“I can't get Aunt Charlotte out of my mind.”

“Stop it,” she said sternly. “You
must
get her out of your mind. It's all over. It's finished. What you have to think of now is what you are going to do. Is it very bad?”

“Very. The debts are double, treble what I thought. Aunt Charlotte seemed to lose her judgment. She bought the most unsalable things. I shall never get half what she paid for them, and toward the end she let the debts mount up. At one time she was always so meticulous.”

“Her illness changed her. It does change people.”

“It certainly changed her.”

“You ought to get away, Anna. This is no place for you.”

“Chantel, it is sweet of you to care so much what becomes of me.”

“Why Anna, I look on you as my sister.”

“We have not really known each other long.”

“Time is not always the foundation on which friendship is built. You can know more of some people in a month than you can of others in years. All that happened here brought us together. I'd like us to stay like that, Anna.”

“I want it too. But you have sisters.”

She grimaced. “It's odd how one loses touch with one's family. My sister Selina married and stayed in the village where my father had his living, Katey married a doctor and went up to Scotland.”

“And do you never see them?”

“I haven't since I nursed Lady Henrock; you see I came straight to you and there wasn't time to go home; and it's so far away in any case. Right up in Yorkshire.”

“I expect they would love to see you.”

“They were years older than I, grown up when I was born. I was the afterthought, they used to say. My mother grew sentimental before I was born; she took my name from an old tombstone in the graveyard beside the vicarage. Someone named Chantel was buried there. She departed this life aged twenty-four years. Chantel Spring, her name was. My mother said, If it's a girl I shall call her Chantel Spring. And she did. I'm Chantel Spring Loman. At least that's the story I heard. I never knew my mother. I killed her getting born.”

“Killed her! What an expression. You speak as though it were your fault.”

“One feels a certain responsibility.”

“My dear Chantel, that is quite wrong. You should get that out of your head without delay.”

“Look here,” she said with a laugh, “I came to give you my advice not ask for yours.”

“Well what is yours?”

“Don't worry. Sell up if you have to. And then we'll go on from there.”

“You're a comfort to me, Chantel.”

Then we talked about the Castle and what had been happening up there. She was certainly excited about the place. She was like a girl in love, I thought, but with the Castle. Unless that was a blind. I was certain that she was very interested in Rex Crediton; but she did not seem in the least bit apprehensive, although she had said he could not possibly be serious about the nurse.

I didn't want her to be hurt, as I had been. It seemed an odd coincidence that she whom I had really begun to think of as the sister I always longed to have, should become too interested in one of those brothers—as I was in the other—too interested, that was, for our comfort.

I felt so much better when she had gone. I was cheered; I felt that whatever was going to happen I could cope with it.

I longed to hear more about the Castle; she took her journal away and said that she must “make it up” as soon as possible. I told her I was longing to read the next installment.

“And you must write yours too, Anna. I want to know everything you do, everything you think, nothing held back. It's the only way to see the truth.”

I agreed.

***

It was some time before I read her journal again. In the meantime I had come to the conclusion that I would have to sell up. I had even considered selling the house. I saw a house agent who told me that this would not be easy. It was an interesting house but no repairs had been done for years. The roof was leaking; there was woodworm in one of the doors and dry rot on the river side. “You're too near the river and the place is damp. Houses like this are very picturesque but they need fortunes spent on them from time to time. Don't forget this one has been standing here for the last four hundred years. It would be folly to put the house up for sale because so much has to be spent on it you would get practically nothing for it.”

The best suggestion he could make was that I let the house for a peppercorn rent with the proviso that the tenant must keep it in good repair. This meant that for the privilege of living in the house the tenant would have to see to that leaking roof, that woodworm and dry rot.

“It seems a possible way out,” I said.

“Believe me,” was the answer. “It's the only way out.”

***

So I made up my mind. I was going to sell up, pay the debts; let the house. I should have little—perhaps nothing; but I should be free of encumbrances.

What I should do then had still to be decided; but these arrangements took so long to settle that I still had months in which to think about my future.

Meanwhile events were taking place at the Castle and of these I learned through Chantel—but chiefly and most vividly through her journal.

May 9th
. I went to see Anna today and heard what they are advising her. I think it will be good for her to get away from the Queen's House and all its associations—as long as she doesn't go too far and I can't see her now and then. I wish there was a means of getting her to the Castle. What fun it would be if we could talk over things as they happen. Today Edith Baines came to my room to bring some medicine Dr. Elgin had left for my patient and we talked. She is very different from her sister Ellen. Very dignified—mistress of the maids and wife to Mr. Baines! She regards me as an equal which means I am treated to graciousness without condescension which is amusing, and also profitable. I believe Edith knows a great deal about the “secrets” of the Castle. She did confide in me that there would shortly be a bit of a “to-do” in the household. Lady Crediton had summoned her yesterday and told her that she had invited the Derringhams for the first week in June. “So,” said Edith, “we shall have some fun and games, and that makes work. Mr. Baines has been told to have the ballroom floor repolished; and I hear she's already been seeing the gardeners.”

“The Derringhams?” I said. “They would be important people I imagine since Lady Crediton thinks so highly of them.”

“In a way,” said Edith, “they're our rivals.” Edith always implies she has a share in the Lady Line. “But all very friendly, of course. Sir Henry is a friend of Mr. Rex and of her ladyship. As a matter of fact I think Sir Henry and Lady Crediton have decided that Helena will do very well for Mr. Rex.”

“
Do
very well?”

“A match. Link the businesses. That's always a good thing. My goodness, what a power we'd be—Creditons and Derringhams together.”

“It all sounds reasonable,” I said.

Edith raised her eyes to the ceiling: “It makes work. And some of those girls are so lazy. You've no idea. At least we'll get Mr. Crediton safely married. After the Captain doing what he did.”

“The Captain's a very mysterious person to me.”

“That's what comes of…well,” Edith folded her arms primly. “It's not the same, is it? After all, who was his mother? She seems like a lady, and there she is waited on hand and foot up in her turret. Jane Goodwin waits on her—thinks the world of her. But I mean to say, who was she to start with? Although of course she was a lady's maid.” Edith had a close knowledge of the social hierarchy of those who served the rich.

This was cozy. People like Edith were the best sort of informants. They were so righteous; they had such a sense of family. Edith, for instance, would have been astonished if she were accused of gossiping. Her respect for the family was great but so was her interest in it; and in talking to me she was not discussing it with one of the
lower
servants.

“I should think Mrs. Stretton was very beautiful when she was young,” I prompted.

“I fail to see that that excuses her.”

“And what of Sir Edward?”

“It should have been hushed up. But…” Her eyes had fallen on a speck of dust on my cabinet which seemed of as great concern to her as the conduct of Sir Edward with his wife's lady's maid. I hastily diverted her attention from it. I did not want young Betsy whose task it was to dust my quarters to be scolded on my account. I wanted to be on pleasant terms with everyone.

“Why wasn't it hushed up?” I said quickly.

“My mother told me. She had a post in the household before her marriage and that was why I was taken on in the first place.
Mrs.
Stretton—as she calls herself—is nearly twenty years younger than her ladyship, who was married fifteen years before Mr. Rex was born. It appears that Sir Edward believed her ladyship was barren. She was a wonderful help to him; she understood the business; she entertained when necessary—she was an excellent wife in every way but one. She could not produce a healthy child. And of course what Sir Edward wanted was a son to carry on the business.”

“Naturally, he'd want a son.”

“Her ladyship had had several failures. Sir Edward was in despair. Then her ladyship was pregnant but no one thought her pregnancy would come to a satisfactory end. It never had before and she was nearly forty. The doctors were dubious and even feared for her life. It became known that Valerie Stretton was about to have a child—and Sir Edward admitted parentage. Sir Edward wanted a son—legitimate if possible—but he wanted a son. There were two chances of getting one and Valerie Stretton seemed the more likely one. He was always a law unto himself. He snapped his fingers at local scandal and no one dared oppose him—not even Lady Crediton who was furious that her lady's maid should be kept in the house. But Sir Edward always had his way—even with her ladyship. The strange thing was that her ladyship was brought to bed only two days after Valerie Stretton had given birth. Sir Edward was wild with joy because his mistress had had a healthy boy; he'd got his son. And a few days later Lady Crediton's boy was born. He'd got two sons, but he wasn't going to lose one of them. Sir Edward, they said, tried for everything and that was why he had got such a great deal. He wanted his wife and his mistress; and what Sir Edward wanted was done. So the two boys were to be brought up in the Castle and Sir Edward doted on both of the boys, though of course he was very strict with them. He was always talking about “my sons.” Valerie Stretton's was christened Redvers, but Lady Crediton wanted everyone to know who was the important one, so her baby was christened Rex—the King. Rex would inherit the business; but Master Red would be very well looked after; he'd have a share…a minor one of course; and Red was all for going away to sea and Rex was all for juggling with money. So they were different in their ways. But Rex is the Crediton. I wonder Sir Edward didn't make Redvers change his name too. I've heard that if anything should happen to Rex…”

“You mean if he died?” I said.

She looked rather shocked. Death was “anything happening”—I must remember that.

“If anything happened to Rex,” she said firmly, “why Redvers would be the heir.”

“It's all very interesting,” I said.

She admitted it. “My mother was here, you see, before the boys were born. She often talked of what happened. I remember her talking about the day the ship was launched. It was quite a to-do—launching the ships. Sir Edward saw that it was done in the proper way because he used to say it was good for business. He wanted everyone to know that the Lady Line had added to its power.”

“Naturally,” I said soothingly.

“All the ships as you know are ladies. And Lady Crediton was going to name this one. It was all arranged; she was going to break a bottle of champagne on the side as they do, you know. They had decided to name the ship
The
Lucky
Lady
or something like that. The day before the launching there had been trouble at the Castle. Her ladyship had discovered Sir Edward's feelings for Valerie Stretton and what was going on. She was most upset. She knew his tendencies, but that it should be in the Castle…right under her very nose you might say…made her very angry. She wanted to dismiss Valerie Stretton but Sir Edward wouldn't hear of it. Oh yes, there was a rare to-do that day. And the next she went out to name the ship and when they all expected her to say ‘I name this ship
The
Lucky
Lady
' or whatever it was, she said instead, ‘I name this ship
The
Secret
Woman
.' Defiance you see!”

“What a flutter that must have caused.”

“The only Woman among the Ladies! But they kept it that way. It shows you, don't you think, the sort of woman she was. Liked her own way and got it. But this was one thing in which she didn't get it. She wanted to send Valerie Stretton away. But oh no, said Sir Edward. She stays. It was funny, too, that her ladyship accepted it and Valerie stayed on as the nurse. They were always cool and distant to each other. But there you are, Sir Edward was no ordinary man.”

“He was like an Eastern potentate with his wives and children all under one roof.”

“I wouldn't be knowing about that,” said Edith. “But there's not much I don't know about the Castle.”

***

May
11th
. I thought my patient was dying last evening. She had a terrible attack of asthma and was gasping for her breath. I sent Betsy for Dr. Elgin and when he came he told me that I must be prepared for these attacks. They were dangerous. When she had recovered a little he gave her a sedative and he came to my sitting room (next to my bedroom in the turret) and talked about her.

“It's an unfortunate situation,” he said. “She would be better in a climate to which she is more accustomed. The sudden changes here affect her. The damp's no good to her. And she has a touch of consumption, you know. Her temperament doesn't help.”

“She seems an unhappy woman, Doctor.”

“This marriage is a bit incongruous.”

“Why has she come here? As her husband is so rarely here there doesn't seem much point.”

“It's the child, of course. Until Mr. Rex Crediton produces an heir, I suppose the boy is important. Moreover they want him brought up in the business more or less. It's entirely due to the child that she is here.”

“It seems hard luck on the mother.”

“It's an unusual situation. You've probably heard that the boy is Sir Edward's grandson—wrong side of the blanket though it may be. But they want family in the business and the more the merrier; I know it was always a sore point with Sir Edward that he had only two sons. He had visualized a large family of them. It seemed to be the one thing over which he had no control and that irked him. Lady Crediton seems determined to carry out his ideas. So that is why young Edward is here to learn the shipping business with his a, b, c.”

“I think Mrs. Stretton is homesick. By the way where is her home?”

“It's an island in the Pacific—not far from the Friendly Isles. Coralle is the name. I believe her father was French and her mother half Polynesian. She's like a fish out of water here.”

“The attack last night followed a display of temper.”

“That was to be expected. You must try to keep her calm.”

I smiled ruefully. “She reminds me of a volcano ready to erupt at any moment. The worst possible temperament for one suffering from her complaint.”

“You
must
try to keep her happy, Nurse.”

“Her husband might do that…if he came home. I sense that his absence is the cause of her unhappiness.”

“She married a sailor, so she should expect absences. Watch her diet closely. Never let her take a heavy meal—small and often is the rule.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Just a glass of milk or cocoa with bread and butter for breakfast. And at eleven, milk…with perhaps an egg. She could take the egg in the milk. With the midday meal she might take a little wine but not much; and before retiring, a glass of milk with a teaspoon of cognac in it.”

“I have the diet sheet, Doctor.”

“Good. If she were happy, she'd be better. These distressing attacks are the result of inner tensions. She'll sleep it off now, and you'll find she'll be calm enough when she wakes.”

When the doctor had left, I realized how alarmed I had been. I had really thought she was going to die. I can't pretend that I was fond of her; there was something quite unlovable about her; but I thought if she died, I should no longer be at the Castle. And that thought made me very concerned. But of course it is the nature of my work. I am at one place for a while and then, as Edith would say, “something happens” and my services are no longer required. It's a rootless existence; and it has been brought home to me since I came to Langmouth—first when I had to leave Anna and now at the prospect of leaving the Castle. I am growing far too fond of this Castle. I like its thick walls and the fact that it's a fake endears me to it in a way. I think I should have liked Sir Edward. What a pity he died before I came. I have seen his son Rex several times. We seem to meet frequently—more frequently than could be put down to chance. I am enormously interested in him and long to know about his childhood when Valerie Stretton was his nurse, and what he thought of his half brother Redvers. I wish the Captain would come home. I am sure my poor patient would be happier if he did; and it would be interesting to see how they all get on together.

***

May
12
. Last night I was with my patient when she was coming out of her sedation. Her name is Monique. Such a dignified name does not really suit her. I picture her lying on sandy beaches under palm trees gazing out at the coral reefs about the island. She wears coral quite often and it suits her. I picture her meeting the Captain who would have perhaps gone to this Coralle to pick up copra and fish or something like that to take back to Sydney. I imagined her with exotic red flowers in her hair. He was captivated surely and foolishly, for he married her without thinking how she would fit into Castle Crediton society. But this was pure imagination. It probably happened quite differently.

As I sat beside her, she started to mutter; I heard her say: “Red. Why…Red… You don't love me.”

Quite revealing for it shows that he is constantly in her thoughts.

Suddenly she said: “Are you there, Nurse?”

“Yes,” I soothed. “Try to rest. It's what the doctor wants.”

She closed her eyes obediently. She was really beautiful—rather like a doll with her thick black hair and long dark lashes; her skin looked honey yellow against the white of her nightdress; her brow was low. I thought, she will age quickly. She couldn't have been more than twenty-five now.

She was murmuring to herself and I bent over to listen. “He does not want to come back,” she said. “He wishes it had not happened. He wishes to be free.”