The Secret Woman (15 page)

“Who cares? I have always suspected the humble. Come, sir. You are not dancing. This music inspires me so and I have not much longer.”

And we danced and I knew that he was reluctant for me to leave. But I left a full twenty minutes before midnight. I had no intention of being discovered by Lady Crediton. Besides, I remembered Monique would no doubt be waiting to hear what had happened. I could never be sure what she would do. She might suddenly decide to see for herself. I pictured her coming down and looking for me and perhaps betraying me.

She was awake when I got up to her room and inclined to be sullen. Where had I been all this time? She had felt so breathless; she had thought she was going to have an attack. Wasn't it my place to be with
her
? She had thought I would just go down and come straight back.

“What would have been the good of that?” I demanded. “I had to show you that I could deceive them all.”

She was immediately restored to good humor. I described the dancers, the plump Restoration knight who had flirted with me; I imitated him and invented dialogue between us. I danced about the room in my costume, reluctant to take it off.

“Oh, Nurse,” she said, “you're not in the least like a nurse.”

“Not tonight,” I said. “I'm the Chatelaine of the Castle. Tomorrow I shall be the stern nurse. You'll see.”

She became hysterical laughing at me; and I became rather alarmed. I gave her an opium pill and taking off my costume, I put on my nursing dress and sat by her bed until she slept.

Then I went to my room. I looked out of the window. I could hear the strains of music still. They would have unmasked; and were dancing again.

Poor Rex, I thought maliciously. He wouldn't be able to evade Miss Derringham now.

***

June
7th.
There is a strange flat feeling throughout the Castle. The Derringhams are leaving. Last night was the great finale, the great ceremonial ball. Everyone is talking about it. Edith came into my room on a pretext of inspecting Betsy's work but actually to talk to me.

“It's very surprising,” she said. “There was no announcement. Mr. Baines had made all the arrangements. We were going to celebrate in the servants' hall naturally. They would expect it. And there was simply no announcement.”

“How very odd!” I said.

“Her ladyship is furious. She hasn't spoken to Mr. Rex yet. But she will. As for Sir Henry he is very annoyed. He did not give Mr. Baines the usual appreciation and he has always been
most
generous. Mr. Baines had promised me a new gown because he was sure that after the announcement Sir Henry would be more generous than usual.”

“What a shame! And what does it mean?”

Edith came close to me. “It means that Mr. Rex did
not
come up to scratch as the saying goes. He just let the ball go by without asking Miss Derringham. It is most odd because everyone was expecting it.”

“It just goes to show,” I said, “that no one should ever be too sure of anything.”

With that Edith heartily agreed.

***

June
9th.
Lady Crediton is clearly very upset. There have been “scenes” between her and Rex. The acrimonious exchanges between mother and son could not go entirely unheard by one or other of the servants and I gathered that there must have been some lively conversation behind the green baize door and at that table presided over with the utmost decorum by Baines at one end and Edith at the other. Edith of course learned a great deal and she was not averse to imparting it to me. I was very interested and rather sorry that my special status in the household prevented my joining those very entertaining meals when the conversation must have been so lively—I am sure it made up for the celebration they missed.

“My word,” said Edith, “her ladyship is in a nice paddy. She reminds him what he owes to her. You see Sir Edward had a very high opinion of her and she still has a business head on her shoulders. She's the one who always has to have the last say in all business matters. And if she couldn't cut him off with a shilling—as the saying goes—she could divert a big proportion of the shares. That was her word, ‘divert.' Mr. Baines heard it distinctly.”

“To whom I wonder would she divert. To Captain Stretton?”

“Never! She could tie things up in some sort of trust…perhaps for Mr. Rex's children, if he had any. But she could make it so that he didn't have all that much say in things after she'd gone. No more than he has now. Her ladyship is in a fine paddy, I can tell you.”

“And Mr. Rex?”

“He keeps saying he wants time. He doesn't want to rush into anything and all that.”

“So he hasn't definitely decided
against
the marriage.”

“No. It's just that he hasn't committed himself. He'll come to it.”

“Can you be sure of that?”

“Oh yes, it's what her ladyship wants and she always gets what she wants.”

“She didn't…once.”

Edith looked surprised and I pretended to be embarrassed. “Well, it's common knowledge,” I went on. “I was thinking of how put out she must have been about the Captain and Mrs. Stretton…but she had to accept that.”

“Ah, that was Sir Edward's will. There was no going against that. But there's no Sir Edward now, is there? And her ladyship has taken his place. You mark my words, Mr. Rex will come to it sooner or later. A pity he had to hang about like this…when you think of all those preparations Mr. Baines made for the staff celebration.”

“Very unfair to Mr. Baines,” I commented; and wondered whether I had gone too far; but Edith was incapable of recognizing irony. It certainly had been
inconvenient
for Mr. Baines.

***

June
13.
I have heard today—through Edith—that Sir Henry is taking Miss Derringham on a long sea voyage. It will be very beneficial to the health of them both.

“They are going to Australia,” said Edith. “They've a branch there. So have we, of course. After all, many of our main voyages are to Australia and back. So naturally we've our branch there. Sir Henry's not the sort to go for the pleasure alone. But of course they're going because of the disappointment.”

“What does her ladyship think of that?”

“She's furious. Do you know it wouldn't surprise me if she punished Mr. Rex.”

“Send him to bed without his supper?”

“Oh, Nurse, you are a one for jokes. But she was talking about solicitors and all that.”

“But I thought it was only a postponement and that he just wanted Time.”

“Suppose she meets Another out there?”

“But surely there isn't another shipping line like ours!”

“There is certainly not,” said Edith stanchly. “But Sir Henry has fingers in lots of pies. He's a man with wide business interests. He might have someone else in mind for Miss Derringham.”

“Then what shall
we
do?”

Edith laughed. “You can bet her ladyship's got the trump card up her sleeve.”

Yes, I thought; and I wondered what would happen when she used it.

June 18th.
The Captain has come home. What a stir there is in the house. He is not as important as Rex, of course, but somehow he makes his presence felt. For the last few days Monique has been impossible to control—alternating between excitement and depression. “You'll
love
the Captain, Nurse,” she told me.

“I think that is an exaggeration,” I replied deciding to be the cool nurse.

“Nonsense! All women do.”

“Is he so devastatingly attractive?”

“He's the most attractive man in the world.”

“It's a mercy we don't all think alike on such matters.”

“People think alike about him.”

“Wifely prejudice,” I retorted, “and very admirable, of course.”

She tried on her dresses, exhausting herself; then she was depressed. I found her crying quietly one afternoon before he came back. It was not unusual that she should cry but that she should do it quietly was.

“He doesn't want me,” she gasped between sobs.

“What nonsense,” I said nonsensically. “You're his wife. And pray calm yourself. You want to be well for his return. Now come along. What shall you wear for the great occasion? These beautiful corals. How lovely they are!” I slipped them round my neck. I loved beautiful things and they became me as much as they did her. “These,” I said, “and that long blue dress. It's most becoming.” She had stopped crying to watch me. I took it out of the wardrobe and tried it against myself. “There,” I said, “don't you think that's lovely. Don't you see how right for a dutiful wife?” I composed my features in a humble and devoted expression which made her smile. I was finding that I could often lure her from a stormy mood to a sunny one by one of my little acts.

She talked about him then. “We did not know each other so very well when we married. He had come to the Island…only twice.”

I pictured the big gleaming ship and the irresistible Captain in his uniform; the beautiful girl and the tropical island.

“He was brought to the house by a friend of my mother's,” she said. “He dined with us and afterward we walked in the gardens among the fan-shaped palms and the fireflies.”

“And he fell in love with you.”

“Yes,” she said, “for a time.”

Her lips were beginning to tremble so I started to play the amorous captain and the dusky beauty in the garden where the fireflies flitted about the fan-shaped palms.

Oh yes, poor Monique was certainly difficult during those days.

And when he was in the house it changed, because without meaning to he made his presence felt. And when I saw him I realized the attraction. He was certainly good looking—taller than Rex, more blond, lacking that reddish tinge which was Rex's; but their features were similar. The Captain laughed more readily, talked more loudly; and I should imagine was less guarded than Rex. He was the adventurer type—the sea rover; Rex's adventures would be confined to business deals. Rex seemed pale in comparison with the Captain whose skin was deeply tanned; his deep blue eyes were more startling than Rex's topaz-colored ones.

I couldn't help being excited by his arrival. But I did wonder whether his coming had added any happiness to the house. I daresay his mother was delighted to see him; and I wondered whether I ought to have a word with him regarding the seriousness of her illness; but perhaps that was for Dr. Elgin to do. Lady Crediton was cool toward him for obvious reasons and I heard from Edith that this seemed to amuse him rather than upset him. He was that sort of man. I was sorry for poor Monique because it became very clear to me that she was not happy. You're fickle, Captain, I thought; the exotic little flower once plucked no longer charms you.

And I was thinking a great deal about Anna. I always do; but particularly now that the Captain was home. But it was long ago that he went to visit her and caused such trouble with old Miss Brett. I could understand the fascination he had had for Anna, though.

***

June
20th.
The Captain came to my room this morning, nonchalant, at ease, very much the man of the world.

“Nurse Loman,” he said, “I wanted to speak to you.”

“Certainly Captain Stretton. Do sit down.”

“About your patients,” he went on.

Ah yes, he would be concerned about his wife and his mother.

“They are both a little better at the moment,” I said. “Perhaps it is due to their pleasure in your return.”

“Do you find any change in my wife since you've been here? Has her complaint…worsened?”

“No.” I watched him covertly and wondered what his feelings were for Monique. I suppose there is nothing more nauseating than to be pursued passionately by someone one does not want. I believed this to be the case with him. And I wondered: Is he hoping that a benevolent fate will give him his freedom? “No,” I went on. “Her condition is much the same as when I arrived. It depends a great deal on the weather. During the summer she will be a little better, especially if it is not too damp.”

“She was better in her own land,” he said.

“That's almost inevitable.”

“And…your other patient?”

“Dr. Elgin will be able to give you more details than I, but I think she is very ill.”

“These heart attacks…?”

“They're really a symptom of imperfections in the heart.”

“And dangerous,” he said. “Which means that at any time she could die.”

“I think that is what Dr. Elgin would tell you.”

There was a brief silence and then he said, “Before you came here you were on another case.”

“I was at the Queen's House. You probably know the place,” I added craftily.

“Yes, I know it,” he admitted. “There was a Miss…”

“Brett. There were two Miss Bretts. My patient was the elder and her niece lived with her.”

He was rather easy to read, this Captain. He was not as subtle as Rex. He wanted to ask about Anna; and I felt a little more friendly toward him. At least he remembered her.

“And she died?”

“Yes, she died. Rather suddenly.”

He nodded. “It must have been rather alarming for Miss…er, Miss Brett.”

“It was decidedly unpleasant for us both.”

“She took an overdose of pills, I heard.”

“Yes. That was proved at the inquest,” I said quickly and I discovered that when I had mentioned the matter in the past I had spoken as though I defied anyone to deny it. That was what I did now.

“And Miss Brett is still at the Queen's House?”

I said: “Yes, she is.”

He stared beyond me; and I wondered whether he was thinking of calling on Anna. Surely not. That would cause quite a scandal now that he had his wife actually living at the Castle. But one thing I did know; he was not indifferent to her.

Young Edward came in, looking for his father, I believed. He had little time for me now; there was no one for him but his father. His eyes were round with adoration. He had shown me the model of a ship his father had brought him. He took it to bed with him and clutched it all night, Miss Beddoes said; moreover he had nearly driven her frantic by sailing it in the pond, and had all but drowned himself; she had caught cold getting him out. He carried the boat under his arm now, and saluted the Captain.

“All present and correct?” asked the Captain.

“Aye aye, sir. Gale blowing up, sir.”

“Batten down the hatches,” said the Captain with a serious face.

“Aye aye, sir.”

I watched them. The Captain could charm a child as easily as he could women. He was that sort of a man.

***

June
21st
. Monique spat blood this morning and the sight of it so frightened her that she had one of the worst asthmatic attacks as yet. I believe there had been a scene between her and the Captain on the previous night. He occupied a room close to hers in the turret—and because I was not far off and Monique never controlled her voice, I often heard it raised in anger or protest. When Dr. Elgin came he was very grave. He said he thought her condition would worsen with winter. The English winter climate would be no use to her. He really thought she should get out before the autumn was over. After he had seen both of the patients he had a long session with Lady Crediton.

***

June
25th
. We have had a death in the house. Jane Goodwin awakened me at four o'clock this morning and begged me to go to her mistress; I scrambled into my slippers and dressing gown but by the time I reached Valerie Stretton she was dead. I was horrified. I had known of course of her precarious condition but when one comes face to face with death and realizes that one will never see the person again, one feels shaken. I know I should be used to this by now—and I am to some extent. But I have never been so shocked by a patient's death before. I had become so interested in this woman's story and I was getting to know her. I believed that she had something on her mind and I wanted to discover what, that I might understand her case. There was that occasion when she had had her first attack and I knew she had been out because of the mud on her boots. I felt there was some drama in her life which was still going on, and I had wanted to understand it. And now she was dead.

***

June
27th
. A house of mourning is a sad place. Lady Crediton finds it most inconvenient, Edith tells me. After all these years her rival is dead. I wonder what she really feels. What passionate emotions erupt within these walls. The Captain is grieved. She was after all his mother. Monique is alarmed. She is afraid of her own death. Edward is bewildered. “Where is my grandmamma?” he asked me. “Where has she gone?” I tell him she has gone to heaven. “In a big ship?” he asked. I said he should ask his Papa, and he nodded as much as to say Papa would surely know. I wonder what the Captain told him. He had a way with children…children and women.

The west turret is the turret of death. Lady Crediton does not wish the funeral gloom to penetrate to the rest of the Castle. In Valerie's old room the blinds are drawn; the coffin stands on its trestles. I went in to see her for the last time; she lies there with a white frilled cap hiding her hair and her face looks so young that it seems one of Death's roles is that of a laundress to iron the lines out. I can't help thinking of her coming to the Castle all those years ago, and of her love for Sir Edward and his for her. All that violent passion and now he is dead and she is dead. But their passion lives on for there is the Captain, virile, so vital, so alive to give proof to it. And there is young Edward too, and the children he will have, and their children, and on forever, so that that love affair will have left its mark for generations to come. I feel frustrated that I had not been able to discover what had frightened this poor woman and what may well have hastened her death. I went back and back again to that darkened room to take a look at her. Poor Valerie, what was her secret, whom did she go to meet? That was the question. That person whom she had gone to meet, the person who had written the letter to her. That was the one I should like to discover. I should like to say: “You hastened her to her death.”

***

June
28th
. Last evening at dusk, I went along to that chamber of death and as I put my hand on the door handle I heard a sound from within. I felt a strange sensation in my spine. I am not superstitious and my profession has made me familiar with death. I have laid out people for their burials; I have seen them die. But as I stood outside that door I did feel this strange sensation, and I was afraid to go into that room. Lots of foolish images flashed into my mind. I imagined she would open her eyes and look at me and say: “Leave me and my secrets alone. Who are you to pry?” And I was shivering. But this foolishness passed and I heard that sound again. It was a stifled sob from a living throat. I opened the door and I looked in. The coffin loomed up in the gloom and there was a shape…beside it. For a moment I thought that Valerie had left her coffin. But only for a moment. Common sense returned, and as soon as it did I saw that it was Monique standing there. She was crying quietly.

I said sharply: “Mrs. Stretton, what are you doing here?”

“I came to say good-bye to her before…”

“It's no place for you.” I was brisk, efficient, as much for my own benefit as for hers. I could not imagine how I could have been so foolish. I had almost had an attack of the vapors.

“Oh, it is terrible…terrible…” she sobbed.

I went to her and shook her firmly by the wrist. “Come back to your room. What possessed you to come here! You will be ill if you act so foolishly.”

“My turn next,” she said in a whisper.

“What nonsense!”

“Is it nonsense, Nurse? You know how ill I am.”

“You can be cured.”

“Can I, Nurse? Do you really believe that?”

“With the right treatment, yes.”

“Oh, Nurse…Nurse you always make me laugh.”

“Don't laugh now. You come back to your room with me. I'll give you some warm milk and a little cognac, eh? That will make you feel well.”

She allowed me to lead her from that room and I have to admit that I was glad to get outside. For some odd reason I couldn't get out of my mind that something in that room was watching us…that it was probing into our innermost thoughts.

She felt it too for she said as the door closed behind us: “I was frightened in there…yet I had to go.”

“I know,” I soothed. “Come along now.”

I got her to her room where she began to cough a little. Oh dear! That fatal telltale stain! I would have to report it to Dr. Elgin.

I said nothing of it to her.

I tut-tutted as I got her into bed. “Your feet are like slabs of ice. I'm going to get you a hot-water bottle. But first the hot milk and the cognac. You should not have gone there, you know.”