The Black Opal (8 page)

It was rather strange, because they both seemed like two different people.

I congratulated myself on hearing them before they could have seen me.

I should have had to explain that I had been visiting the gipsies and I did not want to do that, even to Miss Carson.

1 turned away and silently made my way back to the house through the trees.

1 did go again to the gipsies after that. Rosie Perrin was sitting on the steps of her caravan weaving a basket as she had been when I had first seen her.

She told me Zingara had gone away. She had to fulfill a contract.

People thought highly of her in the theatres, she said, and she danced and sang a lot in the big towns, even London.

We talked a while. She asked me how I had liked Zingara.

I told her, “Very much,” and she pressed my hand and said: “She liked you, too.”

There was a subtle change in Commonwood House. Not in Mrs. Marline so much. She was just as demanding as ever, though Mrs. Barton said she grew worse every day. She never bothered to wait until the door was closed before she started criticizing Dr. Marline again and again, and we heard her reminding him that it was her money which had bought the house, and how he owed everything to her. She seemed to want to hurt everybody, and, perhaps because Adeline was most easily hurt, she seemed to single her out for especially harsh treatment.

She would send for her and ply her with questions to test her progress with the new governess and, as Adeline was reduced to a state of terror, she seemed to lose what wits she had. Mrs. Marline would bewail the fact that she had given birth to such a poor creature, and implied it was all due to some inadequacy in the doctor, and the blame could not be laid at her door.

Miss Carson would be waiting for Adeline to emerge, shaking and demoralized. She would take her upstairs to the schoolroom where she would put her arms around her, hold her tightly, wipe away her tears and murmur words of comfort. She would assure Adeline that she was not a poor creature by any means, she was doing very well with her lessons, and she must take no notice of anything anyone said to the contrary. Nobody was going to hurt her while Miss Carson was there.

They would have to face Miss Carson first.

I would follow them up and join in the comforting. Adeline would smile and listen. She would put her arms round Miss Carson’s neck and cling to her.

Fortunately, Adeline’s moods were transient and Miss Carson could soon convince her that all was well until the next dreaded summons came.

When it did, instead of Adeline, it was Miss Carson who faced Mrs. Marline. Estella, Adeline and I knew that she had gone to Mrs. Marline, and we were all hanging about round the door to discover what would happen.

We heard Mrs. Marline’s raised voice and the low murmur which was Miss Carson’s: and after a while Miss Carson came out, her face red, her eyes blazing. She looked frustrated and angry. I was afraid then that she had been given notice to leave, and the thought of her going filled me with dismay. Adeline and I loved her, and even Estella admitted that she was ‘not bad’.

Miss Carson went to her room and shut herself in. Over come with fearful suspense, I could not stop myself going to her.

She was sitting on her bed, staring ahead of her. I threw myself into her arms and she held me tightly.

“You are not going to leave us?” I cried fearfully.

She did not answer. She just looked miserable, and 1 feared that she had been ordered to leave.

Then she said sadly: “I could be happy here … so happy,” as though she were speaking to herself.

“Don’t go,” I said.

“Don’t leave us. Adeline couldn’t bear it … nor could I. We love you.”

“You dear child,” she said.

“I love you, too. I love this house. I love …”

Her lips were trembling, and she went on: “She said I am to go away.

She is wicked. She cares for no one but herself. The poor doctor .

what, what am I saying? There is nothing . nothing to be done, but accept what is . “

I thought: If Mrs. Marline has given her notice to leave, there is nothing to be done. Mrs. Marline always gets what she wants.

I thought of how dreary it would be here without Miss Carson. There would be nothing to look forward to except Uncle Toby’s visits, and they were so infrequent. There would perhaps be Zingara the gipsy, but she had contracts. She would come very rarely.

When the doctor came home, we were all waiting for what would happen when he went to his wife’s room, as he did every day on his return.

There was a great deal of shouting on Mrs. Marline’s part. There was no doubt that she was very angry. The doctor came out of the room. His face was white. He went straight to Miss Carson’s room and was there a long time.

I never learned exactly what happened, but Miss Carson did not go. The doctor had his way, by some means, as he had had before when Mrs. Marline would have sent me to an orphanage and he had wanted me to stay.

There was a mood of uncertainty in the house. No one was sure what would happen next, and there was a lot of talk behind closed doors. It seemed that Miss Carson had a reprieve. In any event, she stayed.

She did not go to Mrs. Marline’s room after that. Nor did Adeline. The poor girl was spared those terrifying interludes and she knew that Miss Carson had saved her from them.

Adeline was of a loving nature, and, more than anyone she had ever known, she adored Miss Carson. Her face would light up with joy when she set eyes on her; and she would watch her all the time, smiling to herself. I had the notion that Adeline only felt safe and happy when Miss Carson was there.

The doctor was intruding more on my notice. I saw him more frequently.

He had changed so much. He had become more and more interested in our work, which had never seemed to interest him until Miss Carson came.

He used to come to the schoolroom often and ask how we were getting on.

His visits were not in the least alarming. He was always smiling. Miss Carson was proud of Adeline’s progress, for she could read a little now, which she had not been able to do before Miss Carson came.

Adeline would flush with pleasure when Miss Carson said she must read to her papa to show him how clever she had become. And Adeline, a frown of concentration on her face, would open the book and run her finger along the line as she read:

“Three idle ducklings They played beside the pool. The naughty little idle things They ought to have been at school.”

Miss Carson clapped her hands when Adeline lifted her eyes, full of pride in her achievement, and waited to see the wonder on the faces of the onlookers. The doctor joined in the applause; and Adeline was very pleased with herself, and so happy.

I wondered whether the doctor was thinking what I was, which was how different Miss Carson was from Mrs. Marline.

Then he would ask how Estella and I were getting on, and Miss Carson would show him our work.

“Good. Good. This is excellent,” he would say, looking at Miss Carson.

“I thought of starting them in French,” she said one day.

“What a capital idea!”

“I could do my best…”

“Which I am sure would be very good indeed,” said the doctor; and he smiled benignly at us all, including Miss Carson.

There was no doubt that he at least approved of her, and I often thought how happy the household would be if it were not for Mrs. Marline.

Henry came home from school. He had become very friendly with Lucian Crompton and often went to the Grange. Camilla was at school, too, and when she came home, we were invited to tea. She told us hair-raising stories of school life which made Estella envious, but I would not have changed Miss Carson for any excitement and reckless adventure.

A new year had come, and the atmosphere at Commonwood House seemed to be changing further. I could not exactly say what it was. The doctor was different. I often heard him laughing. Even when he emerged from Mrs. Marline’s room, and she had been upbraiding him fiercely, he did not have that depressed and frustrated look which I remembered from the past. Often 1 heard him humming a tune from one of the Gilbert and Sullivan operas which lots of people were singing at that time. That was something he would never have done in the past.

Then Mrs. Marline was having more bad days. We could not help welcoming these, because Dr. Everest came and gave her a sedative which made her drowsy and silence reigned on the ground floor and the servants did not have to listen for those perpetually clanging bells.

Miss Carson seemed happy. Her pleasant face was radiant and she looked quite beautiful. Not as Zingara was, but with what I can only say was some inner light.

Adeline was happy. She went round singing to herself:

“Twinkle, twinkle, little star, How I wonder what you are.”

Whenever I hear that, I am transported back to those days, and I realize, of course, that they were the prelude to the storm which was about to break and submerge us all.

But we were all very happy during that time. Even Estella did not sigh for school.

I noticed that the servants were constantly whispering together, and that the whispering stopped abruptly when any of us children appeared.

Something was happening. Vaguely I wondered what.

The top floor of Commonwood House consisted of attics odd-shaped rooms with sloping ceilings. That was where the servants slept. The nursery was just below on the third floor. Here was the schoolroom and our bedrooms mine, Adeline’s, Estella’s, Henry’s, and Nanny’s and Sally’s, of course. Miss Carson’s was on (he second floor, and on the first floor was the master bedroom which had once been occupied by Dr. and Mrs. Marline and which was now the doctor’s alone.

I don’t know why I should have awakened on that night, but I did.

Perhaps it was due to the gibbous moon which was shining right through my window on to my bed. I opened my eyes and looked at it. It seemed very near.

Then suddenly I heard something. It was like a door being shut. I immediately thought of Adeline. Her room was close to mine. Miss Carson had said we must be watchful of Adeline and always make her feel she was just like we were . never imply that she was different in any way.

I got out of bed and quietly opened my door. All was silent, and there was no sign of Adeline. I saw that her door was shut. I told myself I had imagined that I had heard something. Perhaps I had been dreaming.

Then I heard a sound from below. I looked over the banisters and saw Miss Carson. She was walking stealthily along the corridor towards the stairs, as though she were eager to make as little noise as possible.

She descended to the next floor and walked along the corridor until she came to the master bedroom.

Then, quietly, she turned the handle and went in.

I was amazed. Why did she want to see the doctor at such a time? Could there be something wrong with Adeline? But she must have come out of her bedroom and gone straight down to him. I could not think she had been to Adeline’s room.

I waited a while. Nothing happened. Minutes went by and the door of the master bedroom remained shut.

I was very young and I did not fully understand what this must mean.

Of course, later, so much became clear to me.

There was something different about Miss Carson. At times she would sit staring into space as though she could see something which was invisible to the rest of us. Her face would be gentle and beautiful and touched with a kind of wonder. Then one of us would say something which would bring her out of her dream. She was as kind to us as ever.

Moreover, there was something secretive going on in the house. It seemed to please and amuse Nanny Gilroy, although it was something she disapproved of. But then, I had discovered that she was often pleased about certain things, particularly if they were what she called shocking, as when the baker’s wife ran off with a travelling salesman, which she declared was downright wicked as she sat and smirked and said the baker’s wife would come to a bad end, which was no more than she deserved. She seemed highly gratified about that. I had never been the least bit fond of her, but now I disliked her more than ever.

One day Miss Carson told us that she had to go away to see someone and she would be away for a few days. When she left, Adeline was in a panic. She was terribly afraid that her mother would send for her and whenever we were on the ground floor she would keep close to me and hold my hand.

When Miss Carson returned after a week’s absence, Adeline clung to her more than ever.

“Don’t go away,” she kept saying.

Miss Carson looked as though she were going to cry.

She hugged Adeline tightly, and said: “I never want to go away, darling. I want to stay here for ever with you and Carmel, Estella and For ever and ever I want to stay.”

It was September. Lucian and Camilla, who had been home for the holidays, would soon be going back to their schools. Lucian was still kind to me, although he was so much older. He always took notice of me and would chat with me. Estella was not very pleased about that, which made me doubly appreciative of his attention. She was fond of Lucian and always trying to get him to talk to her.

The weather had turned hot and sultry. Tom Yardley said there was thunder in the air. In fact, we heard the occasional rumble of it now and then. Looking back, I think of that as being symbolic of what was about to happen in Commonwood House.

Mrs. Marline had been a little better, and for the last few days Tom Yardley had wheeled her chair out through the trench windows to a shady spot in the garden where she would sit reading or dozing.

On that particular day, Lucian and Camilla came to Commonwood and we all had tea in the drawing-room on the ground floor. As Mrs. Marline was in the garden, we did not have to worry about making too much noise.

Lucian always led the conversation; he was older than Henry, and seemed mature to all of us, so we respected him and when he talked we listened without interrupting.