There was a constricted feeling in my throat which made me feel as though I were going to choke. I was more desperately unhappy than I had ever been in my life. It was due to him. I would not face the truth, but I really cared more deeply than I had about anything else that he should regard me with such contempt.
These were the danger signals.
I had need now of my common sense.
I rose from my bed and locked my door. I must make sure that my door was locked during the last night I would spend in this house. The only other way to my room would be through Alvean’s room and the schoolroom, and I knew he would not attempt to come that way.
Nevertheless I felt unsafe.
Nonsense, I said to myself, you can protect yourself. If he should dare enter your room you could pull the bell rope immediately.
The first thing I would do would be to write to Phillida. I sat down and tried to do this but my hands were trembling and my handwriting was so shaky that the note looked ridiculous.
I could start packing.
I did this.
I went to the cupboard and pulled open the door. For a moment I thought someone was standing there, and I cried out in alarm; this showed the nervous state to which I had been reduced. I saw what it was almost immediately: the riding habit which Alvean had procured for me. She must have hung it in my wardrobe herself. I had forgotten all about this afternoon’s little adventure, for what had happened in the solarium and after had temporarily obliterated everything else.
I packed my trunk in a very short time, for my possessions were not many. Then, as I was more composed, I sat down and wrote the letter to Phillida.
When I had finished writing I heard the sound of voices below and I went to my window. Some of the guests had come out onto the lawn, and I saw them dancing down there. More came out.
I heard someone say: “It’s such a heavenly night. That moon is too good to miss.”
I stood back in the shadows watching, and eventually I saw what I had been waiting for. There was Connan. He was dancing with Lady Treslyn; his head was close to hers. I imagined the sort of things he was saying to her.
Then I turned angrily from the window and tried to tell myself that the pain I felt within me was disgust.
I undressed and went to bed. I lay sleepless for a long time and when I did sleep I had jumbled dreams that were of Connan, myself, and Lady Treslyn. And always in the background of these dreams was that shadowy figure who had haunted my thoughts since the day I had come here.
I awoke with a start. The moon was still visible and in the room in my half-awakened state I seemed to see the dark shape of a woman.
I knew it was Alice. She did not speak, yet she was telling me something. “You must not go from here. You must stay. I cannot rest. You can help me. You can help us all.”
I was trembling all over. I sat up in bed. Now I saw what had startled me. When I had packed I had left the door of the cupboard open, and what appeared to be the ghost of Alice was only her riding habit.
I was up late next morning because when I had slept, I had done so deeply, and it was Kitty banging on the door with my hot water who awakened me. She could not get in and clearly she wondered what was wrong.
I leaped out of bed and unlocked the door.
“Anything wrong, miss?” she asked.
“No,” I answered sharply, and she waited a few seconds for my explanation of the locked door.
I was certainly not going to give it to her, and she was so full of last night’s ball that she was not so interested as she would have been had there been nothing else to absorb her.
“Wasn’t it lovely, miss? I watched from my room. They danced on the lawn in the moonlight. My dear life, I never saw such a sight. It was like it used to be when the mistress was here. You look tired, miss. Did they keep you awake?”
“Yes,” I said, “they did.”
“Oh well, it’s all over now. Mr. Polgrey’s already having the plants taken back. Fussing over them like a hen with her chicks, he be. The hall do look a sorry mess this morning, I can tell ’ee. It’s going to take Daisy and me all day to get it cleared up, you see.”
I yawned and she put my hot water by the hip bath and went out. In five minutes’ time she was back again.
I was half clothed, and wrapped a towel about me to shield myself from her too inquisitive eyes.
“It’s master,” she said. “He’s asking for you. Wants to see you right away. In the punch room. He said, ‘Tell Miss Leigh it is most urgent.’”
“Oh,” I said.
“Most urgent, miss,” Kitty repeated, and I nodded.
I finished washing and dressed quickly. I guessed what this meant. Very likely there would be some complaint. I would be given my notice because I was inefficient in some way. I began to think of Miss Jansen, and I wondered whether something of this nature had happened in her case. “Here one day and gone the next.” Some trumped-up case against her. What if he should trump up a case against me?
That man is quite unscrupulous! I thought.
Well, I would be first. I would tell of my decision to leave before he had a chance to dismiss me.
I went down to the punch room prepared for battle.
He was wearing a blue riding jacket and he did not look as though he had been up half the night.
“Good morning, Miss Leigh,” he said, and to my astonishment he smiled.
I did not return the smile. “Good morning,” I said. “I have already packed my bags and should like to leave as soon as possible.”
“Miss Leigh!” His voice was reproachful, and I felt an absurd joy rising within me. I was saying to myself: He doesn’t want you to go. He’s not asking you to go. He’s actually going to apologize.
I heard myself say in a high, prim voice, which I should have hated in anyone else as self-righteous and priggish: “I consider it the only course open to me after—”
He cut in: “After my outrageous conduct of last night. Miss Leigh, I am going to ask you to forget that. I fear the excitement of the moment overcame me. I forgot with whom I was dancing. I have asked you to overlook my depravity on this occasion, and to say generously—I am sure you are generous, Miss Leigh—we will draw a veil over that unpleasant little incident and go on as we were before.”
I had a notion that he was mocking me, but I was suddenly so happy that I did not care.
I was not going. The letter to Phillida need not be posted. I was not to leave in disgrace.
I inclined my head and I said: “I accept your apology, Mr. TreMellyn. We will forget this unpleasant and unfortunate incident.”
Then I turned and went out of the room.
I found I was taking the stairs three at a time; my feet were almost dancing as they had been unable to resist dancing last night in the solarium.
The incident was over. I was going to stay. The whole house seemed to warm to me. I knew in that moment that if I had to leave this place I should be quite desolate.
I had always been given to self-analysis and I said to myself: Why this elation? Why would you be so wretched if you had to leave Mount Mellyn?
I had the answer ready: Because there is some secret here. Because I want to solve it. Because I want to help those two bewildered children, for Alvean is as bewildered as poor little Gillyflower.
But perhaps that was not the only reason. Perhaps I was a little more than interested in the master of the house.
Perhaps had I been wise I should have recognized the danger signals. But I was not wise. Women in my position rarely are.
That day Alvean and I took our riding lesson as usual. It went off well and the only remarkable thing about it was that I wore the new riding habit. It was different from the other, for it consisted of the tight-fitting dress of lightweight material and with it was a jacket, tailored almost like a man’s.
I was delighted that Alvean showed no signs of fear after her small mishap of the day before, and I said that in a few days’ time we migh
t attempt a little jumping.
We arrived back at the house and I went to my room to change before tea.
I took off the jacket, thinking of the shock these things had given me in the night, and I laughed at my fears, for I was in very high spirits that day. I slipped out of the dress with some difficulty (Alice had been just that little bit more slender than I), put on my gray cotton—Aunt Adelaide had warned me that it was advisable not to wear the same dress two days running—and was about to hang up the riding habit in the cupboard when I felt something in the pocket of the coat.
I thrust in my hand in surprise, for I was sure I had had my hands in the pockets before this and nothing had been there.
There was nothing actually in the pocket now but there was something beneath the silk lining. I laid the jacket on the bed and, examining it, soon discovered the concealed pocket. I merely had to unhook it and there it was; in it was a book, a small diary.
My heart beat very fast as I took it out because I knew that this belonged to Alice.
I hesitated a moment but I could not resist the impulse to look inside. Indeed, I felt in that moment that it was my duty to look inside.
On the flyleaf was written in a rather childish hand “Alice TreMellyn.” I looked at the date. It was the previous year, so I knew that she had written in that diary during the last year of her life.
I turned the leaves. If I had expected a revelation of character I was soon disappointed. Alice had merely used this as a record for her appointments. There was nothing in this book to make me understand her more.
I looked at the entries: “Mount Widden to tea.” “The Trelanders to dine.” “C to Penzance.” “C due back.”
Still it was written in Alice’s handwriting and that made it exciting to me.
I turned to the last entry in the book. It was under the twentieth of August. I looked back to July. Under the fourteenth was written: “Treslyns and Trelanders to dine at M.M.” “See dressmaker about blue satin.” “Do not forget to see Polgrey about flowers.” “Send Gilly to dressmaker.” “Take Alvean for fitting.” “If jeweler has not sent brooch by sixteenth go to see him.” And on the sixteenth: “Brooch not returned; must go along tomorrow morning. Must have it for dinner party at Trelanders on eighteenth.”
It all sounded very trivial. What I had believed was a great discovery was nothing much. I put the book back into the pocket and went along to have tea in the schoolroom.
While Alvean and I were reading together a sudden thought struck me. I didn’t know the exact date of her death, but it must have been soon after she was writing those trivial things in her diary. How odd that she should have thought it worth while to make those entries when she was planning to leave her husband and daughter for another man.
It suddenly became imperative to know the exact date of her death.
Alvean had had tea with her father because several people had come to pay duty calls and compliment Connan on last night’s ball.
Thus I was free to go out alone. So I made my way down to Mellyn village and to the churchyard where I presumed Alice’s remains would have been buried.
I had not seen much of the village before, as I had had little opportunity of going that far except when we went to church on Sunday, so it was an interesting tour of exploration.
I ran almost all the way downhill and was very soon in the village. I reminded myself that it would be a different matter toiling uphill on my way back.
The village in the valley nestled about the old church, the gray tower of which was half-covered in ivy. There was a pleasant little village green and a few gray stone houses clustered round it among which was a row of very ancient cottages which I guessed were of the same age as the church. I promised myself that I would make a closer examination of the village later. In the meantime I was most eager to find Alice’s grave.
I went through the lich gate and into the churchyard. It was very quiet there at this time of the day. I felt I was surrounded by the stillness of death and I almost wished that I had brought Alvean with me. She could have pointed out her mother’s grave.
How could I find it among these rows of gray crosses and headstones, I wondered as I looked about me helplessly. Then I thought: The TreMellyns would no doubt have some grand memorial to their dead; I must look for the most splendid vault, and I am sure I shall quickly find it that way.
I saw a huge vault of black marble and gilt not far off. I made for this and quickly discovered it to be that of the Nansellock family.
A sudden thought occurred to me. Geoffry Nansellock would lie here, and he died on the same night as Alice. Were they not found dead together?
I discovered the inscription engraved on the marble. This tomb contained the bones of defunct Nansellocks as far back as the middle seventeen hundreds. I remembered that the family had not been at Mount Widden as early as there had been TreMellyns at Mount Mellyn.
It was not difficult to find Geoffry’s name, for his was naturally the last entry on the list of the dead.
He had died last year, I saw, on the seventeenth of July.
I was all eagerness to go back and look at the diary and check up that date.
I turned from the tomb and as I did so, I saw Celestine Nansellock coming toward me.
“Miss Leigh,” she cried. “I thought it was you.”
I felt myself flush because I remembered seeing her last night among the guests in the solarium, and I wondered what she was thinking of me now.
“I took a stroll down to the village,” I answered, “and found myself here.”
“I see you’re looking at my family’s tomb.”
“Yes. It’s a beautiful thing.”
“If such a thing can be beautiful. I come here often,” she volunteered. “I like to bring a few flowers for Alice.”
“Oh, yes,” I stammered.
“You saw the TreMellyn’s vault, I suppose?”
“No.”
“It’s over here. Come and look.”
I stumbled across the long grass to the vault which rivaled that of the Nansellocks in its magnificence.
On the black slab was a vase of Michaelmas daisies—large perfect blooms that looked like mauve stars.
“I’ve just put them there,” she said. “They were her favorite flowers.”
Her lips trembled, and I thought she was going to burst into tears.
I looked at the date and I saw that it was that on which Geoffry Nansellock had died.
I said: “I shall have to go back now.”
She nodded. She seemed too moved to be able to speak. I thought then: She loved Alice. She seems to have loved her more than anyone else.
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her about the diary I had discovered, but I hesitated. The memory of last night’s shame was too near to me. I might be reminded that I was, after all, only the governess. And what right had I, in any case, to meddle in their affairs?
I left her there and as I went away I saw her sink to her knees. I turned again later and saw that her face was buried in her hands and her shoulders were heaving.
I hurried back to the house and took out the diary. So on the sixteenth of July last year, on the day before she was supposed to have eloped with Geoffry Nansellock, she had written in her diary that if her brooch was not returned on the next day she must go along to the jeweler, as she needed it for a dinner party to be held on the eighteenth!
That entry had not been made by a woman who was planning to elope.
I felt that I had almost certain proof in my hands that the body which had been found with Geoffry Nansellock’s on the wrecked train was not Alice’s.
I was back at the old question. What had happened to Alice? If she was not lying inside the black marble vault, where was she?
FIVE
I felt I had discovered a vital clue but it took me no further. Each day I woke up expectant, but the days which passed were very like one another. Sometimes I pondered on several courses of action. I wondered
whether I would go to Connan TreMellyn and tell him that I had seen his wife’s diary and that it clearly showed she had not been planning to leave.
Then I told myself I did not quite trust Connan TreMellyn, and there was one thought concerning him which I did not want to explore too thoroughly. I had already begun to ask myself the question: Suppose Alice was not on the train, and something else had happened to her, who would be most likely to know what that was? Could it be Connan TreMellyn?
There was Peter Nansellock. I might discuss this matter with him, but he was too frivolous; he turned every line of conversation toward the flirtatious.
There was his sister. She was the most likely person. I knew that she had been fond of Alice; they must have been the greatest friends. Celestine was clearly the one in whom I could best confide. And yet I hesitated. Celestine belonged to that other world into which, I had been clearly shown on more than one occasion, I had no right to intrude. It was not for me, a mere governess, to set myself up as investigator.
The person in whom I might confide was Mrs. Polgrey, but again I shrank from doing this. I could not forget her spoonfuls of whisky and her attitude toward Gilly.
So, I decided that for the time being I would keep my suspicions to myself. October was upon us. I found the changing seasons delightful in this part of the world. The blustering southwest wind was warm and damp, and it seemed to carry with it the scent of spices from Spain. I had never seen so many spiders’ webs as I did that October. They draped themselves over the hedges like gossamer cloth sewn with brilliants. When the sun came out it was almost as warm as June. “Summer do go on a long time in Cornwall,” Tapperty told me.
The sea mist would come drifting in, wrapping itself about the gray stone of the house so that from the arbor in the south gardens it would sometimes be completely hidden. The gulls seemed to screech on a melancholy note on such days as though they were warning us that life was a sorrowful affair. And in the humid climate the hydrangeas continued to flower—blue, pink, and yellow—in enormous masses of bloom such as I should not have expected to find outside a hothouse. The roses went on flowering, and with them the fuchsias.