The Black Swan (41 page)

“Rash?” I repeated.

“Wait awhile. Think about this. Promise me you won’t do anything without telling me first. I do deserve that, don’t I?”

“Oh, Roland, you deserve the best … the best of everything. I wish …”

“You wish things were different. Oh, so do I, Lucie. So do I. I think you could be happy here … with me. You couldn’t just walk out and leave me.”

“Not like that, Roland,” I said. “And I should always remember you … whatever happened.”

“It may not be the right thing for you, Lucie. I want you to be happy. That’s what I want most of all. But you must be sure that it is right for you.”

“Do you mean that if you thought it was right for me … you would agree …?”

“I don’t know. I can’t think clearly. It has been too much of a shock. It’s not your fault, of course. It’s circumstances. I want time … time to think. That’s it, Lucie. Give ourselves time. Let’s think about it … talk about it. I don’t know whether I could give you up. I know that it would be the good and noble thing to do and that I should … because it is what you want. I don’t know whether I am strong enough. I like to think that if I were sure it was the right thing for you, I would do it. But I am not sure, Lucie. I’m terribly unsure.”

“I know … I know.”

“And, Lucie. I believe you are unsure, too.”

He took my face in his hands and kissed my forehead gently.

“Let’s think about it,” he said. “Let’s not make hasty decisions.”

I nodded. “Oh, Roland,” I cried. “I’m so glad I told you.”

“Yes,” he said. “So am I. Even in something like this it is better to know the truth.”

Roland went off next morning before I was up. I felt a certain relief because I had spoken to him. He, himself, had said it was better to know, and he was right. I wondered what he would do. He was a very unselfish man and I was sure that he meant it when he said that if he could convince himself that it was best for me, he would let me go. He would release me; he would give me the sort of divorce which Henry Farrell was giving Belinda—and that would leave me free to marry Joel.

The thought did not fill me with the joy it might have done, since going to Joel would mean hurting Roland. I had grown to care for him and he dearly loved me. But perhaps he would find someone in due course, marry and have children. Phillida would make an excellent aunt. Perhaps she herself would marry. I wondered why she had not. She was attractive with her vivacity and her moderately good looks; she was always graceful and elegant. I had never seen her otherwise.

She was a year or so younger than Roland and that was not very old.

I went down to breakfast. Phillida looked at me with some anxiety. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m all right, thanks. And you?”

“Very well,” she replied. “Roland didn’t look so good this morning. I made a special porridge for him. It’s full of goodness. Poor lamb, he didn’t want to eat it, but I made him. If I didn’t know he was as strong as a horse, I’d be worried and think he was sickening for something. He said he didn’t sleep so well. That was all.”

“Did he say when he would be back?”

“No. He wasn’t sure. It’s going to be a busy day. He’s neglected business up here so much in the past months.”

After lunch, I rode into the village of Bracken. I saw the post office-cum-store again and reminded myself that I must write to Rebecca. There was so much that I could have said to her if I had been with her. It would not be so easy to write it. I wished she were at hand to advise me.

I arrived back in the late afternoon. Phillida was in the drawing room, reading. She asked if I had had a good ride.

“Yes,” I said. “I went as far as Bracken. I saw that post office Mrs. Hellman told me about. You have to collect your letters there, you know.”

“Well, nobody knows our address, do they?”

“No. They should though. I’ve been meaning to write to Celeste and to my sister. But I’ve put it off so far.”

“Plenty of time. Have you thought any more about the house?”

I had completely forgotten the house. How could I be interested in the purchase while such a decision hung over me? And that would apply to Roland, too.

“We ought to decide soon,” Phillida was saying. “There seemed to be others going to look at it.”

“They might have said that to urge us on,” I pointed out.

“Possibly. But it is a beautiful house. I loved it.”

I said I was going up to change.

I did so and sat down to write a letter to Rebecca.

Dear Rebecca,

I am very unhappy. I wish you were here so that I could tell you about it. Joel is back. I should never have married Roland. Joel wants me to leave Roland and go to him. I want it too, Rebecca. I know there can never be anyone else for me but Joel. Yet what can I do? I have married Roland. It seems as though I used him when I needed someone—and that is really the truth. It seemed right at the time. He has been so good to me. I have told him about Joel. He is very sad but he wants to do what is best for me. I don’t know whether it means that he will let me go. He wants time to think. But just suppose he did let me go. Suppose he divorced me. It is the only possible way. I suppose a divorced woman would not be too good for a rising politician. What can I do, Rebecca? It seems that whichever way I turn someone is going to be badly hurt …

I tore up the letter.

I could not possibly write to her in that way. It sounded almost incoherent. If only I could talk to her. Suppose I went down to Cornwall? I could explain to Roland how close we had always been, how she had always helped me over my difficulties.

Ideas whirled round and round in my head.

No, I must write to her.

Dear Rebecca,

I am at the above address. It is a house we have rented while we look round. Roland wants to buy a house in this neighborhood. There is so much I want to tell you. I do wish you were here. Perhaps I could come down and see you. It must be soon.

Belinda is having a little difficulty, too, but her affairs are sorting themselves out. I’ll tell you all about it when we meet. It may be that she will have everything settled by then.

Dear Rebecca, I
must
see you. It is difficult to write and explain. I shall be arriving at High Tor very soon. You said it would be all right for me to come at any time.

So please expect me. I need to talk to you.

Love to Pedrek and the children and to you as ever, dear sister,

Lucie

I read it through. It was a strange letter. It sounded mysterious so she would know something was very wrong.

I would tell Roland that I must go as soon as possible. Rebecca was levelheaded and wise. Moreover she had my interests at heart. I must go to her.

I sealed the letter and put it into a drawer. Tomorrow I would ride into Bracken and post it. I would talk to Roland tonight and tell him I was going to Cornwall.

Roland did not return until it was almost time for dinner, and there was not time for conversation until after we had retired for the night.

He looked pale and very unhappy. He regarded me sadly when I said, “Roland, I want to go and see Rebecca.”

“To Cornwall!” he cried.

“Yes. You know she and I mean a lot to each other … as well as being half sisters. I want to talk to her.”

He nodded.

“You do understand,” I went on. “I feel if I talked to her … someone sympathetic … someone who understands me … it would help a lot.”

“Can’t you talk to me? Can’t we sort out our own affairs?”

“We become … too emotional. I feel so wretched … I hate to hurt you … and I can’t hurt Joel … Rebecca is calm and understanding.”

“If you go away,” he said, “you will never come back. Wait a little, Lucie. Don’t make hasty decisions.”

There was a knock on the door. Phillida stood there with a tray. She stood beaming at us.

“This will give you a good night’s sleep,” she said. “You look as if you need it, Roland.”

She set the tray down on the table, and as she did so I heard a sound below … as though someone was walking under the window.

I went over and looked out. I cried out in horror. He was there. He took off his hat and lifted his face to me, smiling that evil smile.

I cried out and Roland was at my side. Phillida had come to the other side of me. The figure below stood there, hat in hand, revealing his hair. Once again he gave that ironic bow. I watched, the familiar terror gripping me.

Roland had put an arm round me.

I cried out, “There! Down there! You’ve seen it. You’ve both seen it now …”

Roland was shaking his head.

“Dear Lucie,” said Phillida. “There’s no one there.”

“What? “I cried. “Look! Look! How can you say …?”

Roland drew me forcibly from the window. He took my head in his hands and held it against his chest. I wriggled free.

“I am going down there to meet him,” I said.

“Lucie … Lucie …” Roland was talking soothingly. “There is no one there.”

“I’m going down to see. I don’t believe you didn’t see him.
I
saw him. You must have seen him.”

“Oh dear,” said Phillida. She was looking at Roland. “What are we going to do … about her?”

I felt a sudden rush of anger against them. “There is something down there,” I said. “I am going to see.”

“There is no one there.” Roland drew me to the window. The figure had disappeared.

“Who is it?” I cried.

“It’s nothing, Lucie. It’s just something you’ve got on your mind.”

“I wasn’t thinking of it then.”

“But it was on your
mind,”
cried Phillida. “It’s not uncommon for this sort of thing to happen. People have hallucinations. You have suffered a terrible shock.”

I made an impatient gesture. I had heard all this before.

“You saw it,” I reiterated. “
I
saw it clearly. You must have seen it. You were looking straight at it … both of you.”

“There was nothing there,” repeated Phillida firmly. “If there had been we should have seen it. You must believe us, Lucie.”

I sat on the bed helplessly. Roland sat beside me, and, putting his arms round me, stroked my hair.

“I think the best thing is a good night’s sleep,” he said.

“Just the thing,” said Phillida. “Here, drink your nightcaps before they are cold.”

Obediently we did so.

“You both need a good night’s sleep,” said Phillida. “You’ll feel better when you’ve had that.” She laid a hand on my arm. “Don’t worry, Lucie. These things happen sometimes. The thing is to forget them. We’ll have all the fun and excitement of getting into the new house. That’ll take your mind off it. It’s what you need. You’ve been brooding. It isn’t unusual, you know. It happens to people after terrible shocks. Sometimes it takes quite a long time to recover. I’ll leave you now. Good night. Sleep well.”

She kissed me lightly and then did the same to Roland.

“See you in the morning.”

And then she went out.

When she had gone, Roland said, “We won’t talk anymore tonight. You must get straight to bed and to sleep. Phillida’s right. Sleep is what you need. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

To sleep? To rest? Phillida’s nightcap was not exactly efficacious. I lay still through the night. What did it mean? I asked myself. Why was I haunted by this vision? And both Roland and Phillida had been unable to see it. If it had been a real person they must have seen him. So he must be a ghost … the ghost of Fergus O’Neill, the man I had sent to the gallows.

I saw the dawn come and only then did I sleep.

I was awakened by the sound of wheels. I was startled. It was very late. I saw by the clock that it was ten o’clock.

Roland had gone and I guessed that Phillida had given instructions that I should not be disturbed.

I wondered who was below. I went to the window. I could never approach it without a shudder, wondering what I should see below.

It was a dog cart and Mrs. Hellman was alighting. The little girl Daisy was with her.

I heard Mrs. Hellman’s penetrating voice: “Good morning, Miss Fitzgerald. Your sister-in-law said you would like some eggs.”

Phillida, charming and gracious as ever, was standing there.

“How good of you! The eggs were delicious. We’d love some more.”

“Is young Mrs. Fitzgerald around?” asked Mrs. Hellman.

“She’s sleeping. She’s not very well.”

“Oh dear. I hope it’s nothing serious.”

“Well, we’re worried, my brother and I. Yes … very worried.”

“Oh deary me!”

“Well,” said Phillida. “She’s … er … a little strange.”

“Oh?”

“She sees things … visions. It’s rather frightening, but we’re hoping she’ll get better.”

I felt sick. How dare she tell this … to a woman whom she had never met before!

Mrs. Hellman had come close to Phillida. “Well, I would have said she was just a nice normal young woman … just like everyone else.”

“It’s only at times,” said Phillida.

“A little …” Mrs. Hellman tapped her forehead.

“Would you like to come in?” asked Phillida.

“Well, that’ll be nice. Daisy, come on.”

“I’m just on my way to Bracken,” Mrs. Hellman was saying as they went in. “I just thought I’d drop the eggs in on my way.”

I sat down. So that was what they thought of me! And Phillida had told Mrs. Hellman … almost as though she were warning her. I was horrified.

I must be reasonable, I told myself. I had been hysterical last night. I had seen him so clearly, and they had been standing beside me and had not … both of them.

I stayed in my room all the morning.

At midday Phillida came in. She smiled at me tenderly.

“That’s right,” she said. “Roland and I both agreed that you needed a rest. How are you feeling now?”

“Better, thank you.”

“Good. I’ll send Kitty up with a little light lunch on a tray. How’s that?”

“Thank you. Then I think I’ll get up.”

“Why not? If you feel like it. Kitty can bring up hot water.”

“Yes, I’ll wash and then have the food.”

“That’s a good idea. Have it quietly in your room and then, if you feel like it … perhaps a little walk would do you good.”