When she was dry and warm she began to prepare the scene. The water lapped just below the rock, extremely still. It was the dead moment of low tide. Upon the top of the rock Felicity drew a large circle of sand, and within the circle she drew a triangle of salt. In the arcs of the circle which lay outside the area of the triangle she laid small heaps of poppies and dog roses. At the peak of the triangle, which pointed out to sea, she laid her electric torch which had been bound round with St John’s wort. This faced towards the centre of the triangle and was to be illuminated when the ceremony started. In the right-hand apex of the triangle stood a copper cup containing white wine, a new penknife, also purchased that day, some camphor and aloes in a packet, a large bottle of lighter-fuel, a live beetle in a matchbox, the supersonic whistle which Felicity had taken from her brother, and a pack of Tarot cards. In the centre of the triangle stood a tripod under which lay some laurel twigs mingled with wood shavings. Perched in the tripod was a handle-less aluminium saucepan containing milk and olive oil. In the left-hand apex of the triangle lay an image of a human figure about eight inches high which had been made out of Miss Carter’s nylon stockings stuffed with paper. Beside the image lay a fork made of a single hazel twig, since the image must not be touched by hand during the ceremony. There was also a box of matches which Felicity had stuck into the bosom of her bathing-costume.
Now everything was ready. Felicity began to feel nervous and a bit frightened. She looked up and down the coast. There was no one in sight. Only the randomly piled up boulders, shapeless and brown, stretched away in both directions. She looked out to sea. The declining sun was striking its last beams upon the sea. The moon was higher and smaller and less pale. Out of the hazy light a black shape came slowly and steadily towards her, moving very close above the surface of the water. It was a cormorant. It came straight in towards the coast and perched upon a rock a short distance away. Felicity switched on the electric torch. The light shining through a wreath of leaves illumined the uneven surface of the rock.
Felicity opened the ceremony with two silent invocations. The first was the invocation of the Spirit who was to be bound by the rites to perform for her what she desired. This Spirit was not Angus, but a greater than Angus to whom Felicity had not given a name and towards whom she rarely allowed her thoughts to turn. The invocation was wordless. Felicity had written down various spells for use on such occasions, but they had all sounded so silly that she had decided to abandon the vulgar medium of words. She had also decided that it was neither necessary nor desirable to specify exactly what it was that she wanted done. The general nature of the ceremony made that clear enough and the details could safely be left to the Spirit. The second invocation, also wordless, was one which Felicity appended to all her magical activities. It was to the effect that whatever else the Spirit, or spirits, should decide to do as a result of her rites, they should not reveal the future. Felicity had a horror of knowing the future. She feared very much that this might turn out to be one of the penalties of being psychic, and she was uneasily aware that unless they are carefully controlled spirits have a tendency to blurt out things to come.
After that, Felicity took the new penknife and made a small incision in her arm. This was for use later, but she felt, guided here she was sure by Angus, that it was advisable to make the incision before she used the knife for various other purposes. She then cut up the laurel twigs and set light to them. This was not enormously successful. The wooden shavings burnt quite merrily, but the laurels, which were rather green, merely became black at the edges. After several attempts they began to burn a little and the milk and oil in the saucepan became warm. Felicity threw on to the fire first the camphor and then the aloes. The flames began to burn yellow and green and a strange pungent smell arose from under the tripod. After some of the laurel had at last got burnt Felicity allowed the fire to die down and very carefully scraped up some of the ash which she was sure was laurel ash and dropped it into the copper cup of white wine. She stirred it and then lifted it to her lips. It tasted far from pleasant. Felicity took a sip or two and put it down. No more was demanded by the ritual, and she feared to poison herself. She then took the Tarot pack in her hand.
This was a crucial moment, since if the draw from the pack was contrary, or non-significant, the ceremony could not go on. Felicity knew from experience that she was able to interpret almost any draw in a way favourable to her designs. This was one of her psychic gifts. She was nervous all the same about what the pack might tell her. In relation to the Tarot Felicity had developed her own private symbolism. She had identified various figures in the pack with people that she knew, the more important people in her world appearing usually in two roles. Her father was the Emperor, and also the King of Swords. Her mother was the Empress and the Queen of Swords. Donald was the Juggler and also the Fool. She herself was the Queen of Cups. The mystic figure of the Pope represented the unknown person who was to appear one day to transform her life. The figure of the Papessa or High Priestess was her own transfigured personality, still distant from her and covered by a veil. For the purposes of the present ceremony Miss Carter was represented by the Moon Card and the Queen of Pentacles.
Felicity held in her hand only the cards of the Major Arcana and the court cards of the four suits. This reduced the chances of a meaningless draw. She cut the pack and then drew out five cards which she laid face downwards upon the rock. She paused solemnly, breathless. Then she began to turn the cards over one by one. She looked - and could scarcely believe her eyes. From left to right the cards she had drawn were these: the Empress, the King of Swords, the Broken Tower, the Hanged Man, and the Moon. This was extremely easy to interpret and very favourable to her ceremony. The centre card was always crucial. Here, Felicity took the Tower struck by lightning to symbolize the magical rite itself which was to divide her father from Miss Carter. Her father’s card and Miss Carter’s card were placed on different sides of the Tower. Her father appeared in his material guise as King of Swords, not in his spiritual guise as Emperor. The two women appeared in their spiritual guises. But her mother was placed next to her father, while Miss Carter was at the far end next to the Hanged Man. Felicity was not able to interpret the Hanged Man - but she decided that he didn’t matter. The omen was in any case extremely favourable.
She proceeded with the ceremony. The next act was to blow a long blast upon the supersonic whistle. This was the summons to the Spirit. The whistle was disconcertingly sonic at first, but as Felicity blew harder the note arose high and higher and disappeared. She looked round to see if she had frightened the cormorant. He was still there. She then very carefully took the matchbox which contained the beetle. He was a shiny black beetle, vigorous and healthy. She moved to the end of the triangle where the lamp lay, its light seeming brighter now that the sun had disappeared behind the headland, and she upended the box upon the rock. She then turned the beetle so that his head was towards the centre of the triangle and let him go. He started to walk. He was to determine the exact place where the rite was to reach its consummation. As if he knew what was required of him the beetle ambled along the rock and then stopped in a small depression not far from the image. Immediately Felicity began to squeeze her arm. A little blood emerged from the cut which she had made with the penknife. She mingled this upon her finger tip with a little of the milky brew and put a drop of it on the rock in front of the beetle. As he showed no interest in the offering Felicity very gently pushed his nose into it and put him carefully back into the matchbox. Then upon the place where the blood and milk were smeared she placed the warm saucepan of milk and oil.
Seizing the bottle of lighter-fuel, she poured a good quantity of it into the saucepan and then tried to set light to the contents. It refused to light. The match just went down sizzling into the greyish mixture. Felicity was frantic. The whole thing was going to go wrong at the last moment. She tried match after match. She was nearly in tears. Whatever happened, she must not ignite the image directly. A
t last she picked up one of the blackened laurel leaves and floated it in the saucepan. At the same time she picked up the image with the hazelrod fork. She applied a final match to the laurel. There was a quick flare, during which Felicity brought the image forward and held it full in the leaping flame. The flame died down at once; but the image had caught. Felicity had taken the precaution beforehand of soaking it thoroughly in lighter-fuel.
The image was burning fast. Felicity stepped quickly round the circle, keeping her feet inside the triangle, picking up the poppies and the wild roses which she then threw into the sea. The tide was coming in. Already the water was gurgling to and fro on three sides of the rock. The sun was almost hidden now and the outline of the land was purple and heavy. The moon was beginning to shine. It had become very small, a button of bright silver in a patch of greenish sky. It shone balefully down on Felicity. She stood, her eyes starting from her head, watching the image burn. A chill breeze blew from the sea, fanning the flames.
Nan was standing with her feet in the water. At low tide a layer of small pebbles was uncovered which lay beyond the sand. When they were wet they were multi-coloured and beautiful, but when they dried they all became grey. They hurt her feet a little, but she walked along, the very still water caressing her ankles. It came to the shore with scarcely a ripple. The tide must be on the turn. She looked out to sea. The sun was going down and covering its expanse with a spacious and tender light. The moon had just risen, with a big pale melancholy pock-marked face. There were not many people left on the beach now. She had hoped to find Felicity there, but there was no sign of the child. She seemed to be avoiding her.
Since her return to Dorset Nan had passed in her thoughts through a number of different phases. She had never reflected so much in her life. Her normal existence had not demanded, had even excluded, reflection. It had contained her firmly like a shell with every cranny filled. There had been problems, of course, and moments of decision, but Nan did not remember having felt any doubt ever upon an issue of importance. She had always understood, she had always known what to do — and when it came to persuading her husband to share her opinion,, the pattern of argument had been reassuringly familiar, as if it were continually the same discussion.
Now the pressure of reality upon her had been withdrawn, and she was left alone in the centre of a void where she had suddenly to determine afresh the form and direction of her being. It was only within the last two days, however, that Nan had really become aware of this aloofness of the world. She had come back from Surrey in a state of mind far from cheerful, but at least energetic and confident. She had occupied herself upon the journey with intermittent thoughts of Tim Burke. She had been deeply hurt to learn from Bill that Tim had known all about it - was perhaps even an accomplice as well as a confidant. Reflecting on this, Nan had a feeling in which she rarely indulged. She felt sorry for herself. Only once in all these years, years which had often been discouraging and dreary enough, had she stretched out her hand a little way towards another person - and she had been betrayed. She was sad, too, because she knew that with this a sort of fragrance, a streak of colour, was gone from her life. The thought that, although nothing passed between them, Tim Burke still cherished her in his heart had been, but now would be no longer, a refreshment to her. Later, however, Nan began to feel less extreme, more ready to forgive Tim for his knowledge, and less anxious to interpret it as a betrayal. It was then that she allowed the memory of how they had lain together in the armchair to come back fully to her consciousness. She remembered the scene in detail, and everything that Tim had said. She dwelt upon it. Already it was like remembering the remote past, something tender and sad and utterly cut off. Perhaps after all it was best for Tim to play his old part and for everything to be as before. Everything must be as before. The thought that it must and would be so was reassuring. She realized soberly how much she would have missed him.
Her thoughts reverted to Bill. The sense of relief which Nan had felt during her interview with Bill, when she found herself once more in control of the situation, did not leave her for several days. During that time, when she thought of the interview, she filled in the details of her own powerful and vigorous attack. What Bill’s replies had been she could scarcely remember. She felt complete confidence that her instructions would be carried out. How exactly they would be carried out she did not care to know. But she would come back to Bill to find that it had been done - and then she would endeavour to carry out her promise of not referring to the matter again. She was pleased that she had maintained throughout a civilized and rational demeanour. Fundamentally, Nan grasped the situation at this time as a drama, and one which she was able to fashion to her own pattern. She felt the satisfaction of one who is in the right, able to impose his will, and doing so mercifully.
Almost at once, however, certain other and quite irrational feelings came to plague her. She was not able to forget what she had seen when she came in through the drawing-room door. Gradually the notion that Bill had actually embraced and kissed this girl, certainly more than once, became a reality to Nan. From there it was only a little way to the notion that possibly Bill was still embracing and kissing her. Nan did not make the transition immediately. She had never experienced jealous feelings before - she knew that they were the sort of feelings which it is neurotic and irrational to indulge. So she put them away. But they would not be put away.
Nan began to have bad dreams. This was new to her as well. Usually she was not aware of having dreamed at all. Now the figure of her husband haunted her continually throughout the night. She did not dream of the girl. Nan began to think about her husband. In those few days she thought about him more intensely than she had ever done since she had first been in love with him. His face haunted her. One vision of it especially she had, seeing it as she had so often seen it in the early mornings beside her, in the days when they had shared a bed, when she had woken first, the tired unshaven sleeping face of a man. She began to miss him. She began, though she did not let this become clear to herself, almost to desire him.
It was a day later that she began to be afraid. She started to wonder what, at that very moment, was going on. She began to doubt whether after all her instructions would be carried out. A letter came from Bill in answer to hers. It was very vague. It was not at all reassuring. It was the more alarming because Bill was usually so direct and not fond of ambiguities. Then she began to wake in the night and speculate about what Bill was doing. She began to rehearse detailed and catastrophic fantasies. She wished then very much that she had not come back to Dorset - but she could not yet make up her mind to return to Surrey. She began to remember what Bill had said during their interview. Now it was her own words which appeared in memory hazy and unimportant, while Bill’s words were filled in sharply. It came to her as a real possibility that she might lose her husband.
During these days Nan spoke to no one except Felicity, and she spoke to Felicity only of ordinary things. Felicity avoided her in any case, leaving the house immediately after every meal and disappearing along the coast or into the country. Nan had no wish to speak frankly with her daughter. But she wanted more and more to have the girl’s company, as it became less and less agreeable to be alone. She had come to look for her now along the beach, but without success. The sandy bay was almost deserted. The setting sun and the cool wind had sent hurrying home the few families that still lingered there. Nan’s feet were chilled. She dried them on her handkerchief and put her shoes on.
Her wandering had brought her close to the headland beyond which the coast became jagged and rocky. In that desolate bay of rocks she knew that Felicity liked often to sit alone. She thought that she would look round the headland before she went back to the villa. She did not want to go back just yet to the empty villa. She started to walk along the shingle. Already the rocks were beginning. It was hard to climb upon them with high-heeled shoes. These loose rocks appalled Nan. Round, random, detachable, they were strewn at the foot of the
cliff and the sea moved them a little every time it came in to cover them. They were terrible and without sense. As Nan stood balanced, about to step from one boulder to the next, she heard a thin piercing wail, which grew higher and higher and then died away. It was not like the cry of a bird. She stood still a moment, shivered, and then went on, awkwardly stepping from one smooth tilting surface on to the next one. It was a little while before she had got sufficiently round the headland to be able to see into the next bay. Near to her a great black thing suddenly rose and went slowly away, out towards the horizon, black in the final brilliance of the sun. It frightened Nan for a moment. But it was only a cormorant.
The sky was a rich darkening blue at the zenith, but the golden light, still lying in sheets upon the water, dazzled Nan for a moment. As she paused it was already fading. Then as her eyes became more accustomed to the scene she saw a strange flame leaping upon a rock not far away. A figure was standing upright upon the rock, which was now surrounded by the incoming tide. It was Felicity. Nan called out, and began to hurry across the rocks, stepping as quickly as she could towards her daughter. As soon as Felicity saw her mother coming she began in desperate haste to pick up a lot of things which were lying about on top of the rock. Then she began to sweep the rock with her hand, sweeping everything that remained upon it off into the sea. The little fire which had been burning on the rock was swept off too, and lay upon the surface of the water, where amid a wide scattering of leaves and flowers which were already floating there it continued to burn.