The Shadow of the Lynx (44 page)

“Mamma,” said Druscilla sleepily and a little crossly.

And Lucie stood there tragically straining the child to her till I took Druscilla away and put her back in her bed. It was perhaps a rather sentimental and dramatic gesture but it did some good. Lucie braced herself and I knew she was realizing that she had Druscilla to live for.

Christmas came. Last year we had gone to Wakefield Park;

this year the festivities should be held at Whiteladies. They could not be as lavish as they would be next year, said Stirling, because of my father’s death, but they should be worthy of the house. It must be understood that Whiteladies,

not Wakefield Park, was the tocal point of the neighbourhood.

Lucie had gone about like a ghost in her widow’s weeds. In fact they rather became her. Druscilla was nearly two; she had become imperious and demanding, the pet of the household. Lucie loved her passionately but refused to spoil her as I fear the rest of us did. I adored her and constantly longed to have a child of my own. Stirling wanted it too. He was always talking about our children’s playing on the lawns of Whiteladies.

Once I had thought I was pregnant and it had turned out not to be so.

I was very upset about that and determined that I wouldn’t say anything to anyone next time until I was sure. Lucie was always asking pointed questions.

“When you have a child of your own …” she would say. Once she said:

“Perhaps you want a child too passionately. I’ve heard it said that sometimes when people do they can’t conceive. It’s a sort of perversity of nature.”

When I told her about Stirling’s ideas for taking up the old Christmas ceremonies as we used to in the past she thought it a good idea.

“Whiteladies is the great house,” she said.

“Wakefield Park is an upstart. I think your husband has the right idea.”

I was glad that she was beginning to like Stirling and change her suspicions about the reason why he had married me.

“When you have your family you will probably want me to leave,” she said one day.

“What nonsense!” I cried.

“This is your home. Besides, what should we do without you?”

“It won’t always be like that. I am just the stepmother-not really needed.”

“When have I ever not needed you?” I demanded.

“I shall know when the time comes for me to go,” she said.

“I wish you wouldn’t say such a thing.”

All right. We’ll forget. But I’d never stay if I weren’t wanted. “

That was good enough, I told her. She always would be.

How Stirling enjoyed planning for Christmas! A great deal of the essential work had been done on the house and he took a personal pride in it; but there was much still to be done. He had already increased the staff. Now we had six gardeners and the grounds were beginning to look beautiful. There were always workmen in the house and some rooms were out of

bounds because the ttoor was up or the panelling being repaired.

Two weeks before Christmas I was almost sure that I was pregnant. I longed to tell someone but decided not to. I didn’t want to raise Stirling’s hopes. Oddly enough. Lizzie guessed. She was dusting Druscilla’s room, which was one of her duties, and I had gone in to see the child, who was sitting on the floor playing with her bricks, so I knelt down and we built a house together. I couldn’t take my eyes from that small face with the delicate baby nose and the tiny tendrils of hair at the brow. I was thinking of my own baby when Lizzie said in that forthright way of hers: “So it’s like that, is it?”

“Like what?” I demanded.

Lizzie cradled an imaginary baby in her arms. I flushed and Druscilla cried: “What have you got there. Lizzie?”

Lizzie said: “You’d be surprised, miss, wouldn’t you, if I told you another baby. That would put Miss Cilia’s little nose out of joint, wouldn’t it?”

Druscilla touched her little nose and said: “What’s that?”

I kissed her and said: “Lizzie’s playing.”

“You couldn’t fool me,” said Lizzie. There’s always a way of telling.

”

Druscilla impatiently called my attention to the bricks and I thought:

Is it true? Is there a way of telling?

Christmas had come and gone. The Christmas bazaar had been held in the newly restored hall of Whiteladies; Stirling had provided lavish entertainment free of charge, something which had never been done before. It was a great success and everyone enjoyed our new affluence.

We entertained the carol singers at Whiteladies and soup and wine and rich plum cake were served to them. I heard one of the elder members say that it was like old times and even then they hadn’t been treated to such good wine.

We had only a small dinner-party on Christmas Day because of our recent bereavement—just the family, with Nora and Franklyn; and on Boxing Day we all went to Wakefield Park.

The new year came and then I experienced the first of those alarming incidents.

That morning at breakfast Stirling was talking—as was often the case—about the work which was being done in the house.

They’ve started on the t>anizan, ne said.

“There’s more to be done up there than we thought at first.”

“Won’t it be wonderful when it’s all finished,” I cried.

“Then we can enjoy living in a house that is not constantly overrun by workmen.”

“Everything that has been done has been very necessary,” Stirling reminded me.

“If my ancestors can look down on what’s happening at Whiteladies, they’ll call you blessed.”

He was silent for a while and then he said: “A big house should be the home of a lot of people.” He turned to Lucie and said: “Don’t you agree?”

“I do,” she answered.

“And you were talking of leaving us,” I accused.

“We shan’t allow it.

Shall we, Stirling? “

“Minta could never manage without you,” said Stirling, and Lucie looked pleased, which made me happy.

“Then there’s Nora,” I went on.

“How I wish she would come here. It’s absurd … one person in the big Mercer’s House.”

“She’s considering leaving us,” said Stirling.

“We must certainly not allow that to happen.”

“How can we prevent it if she wants to go?” he asked quite coldly.

“She’s been saying she’s going for a long time, but still she stays. I think she has a reason for staying.”

“What reason?” He looked at me as though he disliked me, but I believed it was the thought of Nora’s going that he disliked. I shrugged my shoulders and he went on: “Go and have a look at what they’ve done to the bartizan some time. We mustn’t let the antiquity be destroyed. They’ll have to go very carefully with the restoration.”

He liked me to take an interest in the work that was being done so I said I would go that afternoon before dark (it was dark just after four at this time of the year). I shouldn’t have a chance in the morning as I’d promised to go and have morning coffee with Maud who was having a twelfth-night bazaar and was worried about refreshments.

That would take the whole of the morning, and Maud had asked me to stay for luncheon. Stirling didn’t seem to be listening. I looked at him wistfully; he was by no means a demonstrative husband. Sometimes I thought he made love in a perfunctory manner-as though it were a duty which had to be performed.

Of course I had always known that he was unusual. He had

always stressed the tact ttiai ne nad no fancy manners, for be had not been brought up in an English mansion like some people. He was referring to Franklyn. Sometimes I think: he positively disliked Franklyn and I wondered whether it was because he knew that Franklyn admired Nora and he didn’t think any man could replace his father.

He needn’t have worried, I was sure. If Franklyn was in love with Nora, Nora was as coldly aloof from him as I sometimes thought Stirling was from me. But I loved Stirling deeply and no matter how he felt about me I should go on loving him. There were occasions in the night when I would wake up depressed and say to myself: He married you for Whiteladies. And indeed his obsession with the house could have meant that that was true. But I didn’t believe it in my heart. It was just that he was not a man to show his feelings.

I came back from the vicarage at half past three. It was a cloudy day so that dusk seemed to be almost upon us. I remembered the bartizan, and as Stirling would very likely ask me that evening if I had been up to look at it, I decided I had better do so right away, for any lack of interest in the repairs on my part seemed to exasperate him.

The tower from which the bartizan projected was in the oldest part of the house. This was the original convent. It wasn’t used as living quarters but Stirling had all sorts of ideas for it. There was a spiral staircase which led up to the tower and a rope banister. In the old days we had rarely come here and when I had made my tour of inspection with Stirling it had been almost as unfamiliar to me as to him. Now there were splashes of whitewash on the stairs and signs that workmen had been there.

It was a long climb and half-way up I paused for breath. There was silence about me. What a gloomy part of the house this was! The staircase was broken by a landing and this led to a wide passage on either side of which were cells like alcoves.

As I stood on this landing I remembered an old legend I had heard as a child. A nun had thrown herself from the bartizan, so the story went.

She had sinned by breaking her vows and had taken her life as a way out of the world. Like all old houses, Whiteladies must have its ghost and what more apt than one of the white ladies? Now and then a white figure was supposed to be seen on the tower or in the bartizan.

After dark none of the servants would go to the tower or even pass it on their way to the road. We had never thought much about the story, but being alone in the tower brought it back to my mind. It was the sort of afternoon to inspire such thoughts—sombre, cloudy, with a hint of mist in the air. Perhaps I heard the light sound of a step on the stairs below me. Perhaps I sensed as one does a presence nearby. I wasn’t sure, but as I stood there, I felt suddenly cold as though some unknown terror was creeping up on me.

I turned away from the landing and started up the stairs. I would have a quick look and come down again. I must not let Stirling think I was not interested. I was breathless, for the stairs were very steep and I had started to hurry. Why hurry? There was ho need to . except that I wanted to be on my way down; I wanted to get away from this haunted tower.

I paused. Then I heard it. A footstep—slow and stealthy on the stair.

I listened. Silence. Imagination, I told myself. Or perhaps it was a workman. Or Stirling come to show me how they were getting on.

“Is anyone there?” I called.

Silence. A frightening silence. I thought to myself: I’m not atone in this tower. I am sure of it. Someone is dose . not far behind me.

Someone who doesn’t answer when I call.

Sometimes I think there is a. guardian angel who dogs our footsteps and warns us of danger. I felt then that I was being urged to watch, that danger was not far behind me.

I ran to the top of the tower. I stood there, leaning over the parapet, gripping the stone with my hands. I looked down below, far below and I thought: Someone is coming up the stairs. I shall be alone here with that person . alone on this tower.

Yes. It was coming. Stealthy footsteps. The creak of the door which led to the last steps. Three more of those steps and then . I stood there clinging to me stones, my heart thundering while I prayed for a miracle.

Then the miracle was there below me. Maud Mathers came into sight with her quick, rather ungainly stride.

I called: “Maud! Maudi’ She stopped and looked about her.

Oh God help me, I prayed. It’s coming dose. Maud was looking up.

“Minta! What are you doing up there?” Hers was the sort of voice which could be heard at the back of the hall

when the village put on its miracle play.

“Just looking at the work that’s being done.”

“I’ve brought your gloves. You left them at the vicarage. I thought you might want them.”

I was laughing with relief. I turned and looked over my shoulder.

Nothing. Just nothing! I had experienced a moment of panic and Maud with her common sense had dispelled it.

“I’ll come right down,” I said.

“Wait for me, Maud. I’m coming now.”

I ran down those stairs and there was no sign of anyone. It was fancy, I told myself. The sort of thing that happens to women when they’re pregnant.

I didn’t think of that incident again until some time afterwards.

By the end of January I was certain that I was going to have a child.

Stirling was delighted—perhaps triumphant was the word—and that made me very happy. I realized then that he had become more withdrawn than ever. I began to see less of him. He was constantly with the workmen;

he was also buying up land in the neighbourhood. I had the feeling that he wanted to outdo Franklyn in some way, which was ridiculous really because the Wakefields had been at the Park for about a hundred years and however much land Stirling acquired there couldn’t be a question of rivalry.

Lucie cosseted me and was excited about the baby. She wanted to talk about it all the time.

“It will be Druscilla’s niece or nephew. What a complicated household we are!”

I was very amused when I discovered that Bella, the little cat which Nora had given me, was going to have kittens. I had grown very fond of Bella. She was a most unusual cat and Nora assured me that Donna was the same. They followed us as dogs do; they were affectionate and liked nothing so much as to sit in our laps and be stroked. They would purr away and I always smiled when I was at Mercer’s to see Donna behave in exactly the same way as Bella did. And when I knew Bella was going to have kittens I couldn’t resist going over to tell Nora.

I was a little uneasy with Nora nowadays. I hadn’t felt like that before my marriage, but now there seemed a certain barrier between us which might have been of her erecting because it certainly wasn’t of mine.