We'll Meet Again (21 page)

“It might have been different, yes,” I said. “But that is the way life works out. It is the same with all of us. Dorabella and I might never have gone to Germany, never have met Dermot. Life hangs on chance. We might never have known Tregarland’s existed.”

“There is one good thing at least which came out of it all,” said Gordon. “You came to Tregarland’s.”

He took my hand in his and held it. I let it rest there because he was so distraught and seemed to draw comfort from the gesture.

Gordon went to Bodmin the next day. I impatiently waited for his return. I could not help hoping that Matilda had lapsed into her previous state.

The news was surprising. She had been out in the grounds of the Bodmin establishment; she had left her coat indoors and the wind was cold. A little later, she had become feverish, and the doctor had diagnosed pleurisy. She was now quite ill.

“She said little,” Gordon told me. “She just smiled at me. She was quiet and the wild look had gone from her eyes. She looked sad. I shall go again tomorrow.”

It was two days later when we heard that Matilda was dead. She had developed pneumonia and there had been little hope after that.

Gordon went to Bodmin and remained there all day. When he came home, he looked more tired and strained than I had ever seen him before.

He said: “She looked peaceful in death … more so than I remembered seeing her. It is over, Violetta. I think I should not mourn too much for her. It is happier so.”

I sat very still, my mind going back once more to that time when she had meant to kill Tristan. And I saw that this was the best thing that could happen to her, for if she had realized what she had done, she could never have been happy. She would have had to live out her life tormented by remorse.

We had to realize that this was a release, not only for Matilda, but for all of us.

Old Mr. Tregarland was very upset when he heard of Matilda’s death. I think he had loved her in his way. He had treated her badly and he knew it. He had to blame himself for his part in the tragedy which grew out of that.

Since Matilda had been taken away, he had changed; he had softened; life was no longer a game to him in which he played with other people’s lives for his amusement.

He ordered that Matilda’s body should be brought to Tregarland’s and buried at West Poldown in the family vault. She would have been pleased by that—acknowledged in death as she had not been in life. He insisted on going to the funeral, although he was hardly in a fit state to do so and the doctor had advised against it. I was deeply aware of his melancholy as he stood among the mourners.

Since then he had not left his bed for several days and Gordon called the doctor, for he was sure that the old man was more ill than he would admit.

The doctor came and said Mr. Tregarland was tired. He should not have attended the funeral and stood in the cold wind.

One afternoon, Jane, one of the maids, came to me with a message from Mr. Tregarland. He would like to see me.

When I went to his room, he was lying propped up on his pillows; he looked small and very frail, but I caught the old look of mischief in his eyes.

“Ah,” he said, “the good Violetta—the sensible one. I noticed that from the start. It is kind of you to come to see me.”

“But of course I came.”

He nodded. “Things have been happening here, haven’t they? Odd, isn’t it, how we go on for years in the same old rut and then suddenly everything erupts into drama. Well, that’s happening all over the world now, and events in Tregarland’s are mild enough when compared with most of today’s tragedies. ‘Every prospect pleases, and only man is vile.’ Not true. There is much good in man. Don’t you agree, wise Violetta?”

“I don’t know why you call me wise. I am as foolish as most people, I suppose.”

“Not you. That is why I want to talk to you before I shuffle off this mortal coil singing ‘Nunc Dimittis.’ How I indulge in quotations this morning! That’s a sign of something. When one looks back and considers one’s past, one remembers those lines which suddenly assume a significance. Is that so, do you think?”

“I imagine it could be so.”

“When a man is drowning, they say his past life flashes before his eyes. Well, so it is with a man who has come to his end in any other way. There is the past mocking him, saying: ‘You should have done this.’ But mostly: ‘You should not have done that.’ Ah, there’s the rub. I’m back again, Violetta. The time has come for repentance. I look back on my life and I say, ‘What good have you done, James Tregarland?’ A little, perhaps, but the balance weighs more heavily on the other side. And now I am a sick man preparing for the last journey. I am bowed down by my sins and the havoc I have created … mostly for others. Not a pleasant conclusion, Violetta.”

“I don’t suppose you have been much worse than most people,” I said.

He looked solemn for a moment.

“‘The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars but in ourselves that we are underlings.’ That man Shakespeare had a tab to stick on everything, didn’t he? This is a sort of confessional.”

“To be made to me?”

“Why not? You are the most suitable person in this house. You will be here after I am gone. You know a little about me. I have noticed you observing me in the past. You know my wickedness, how, when I was infirm, my life changed so that I was confined to this place for my last years. I liked to watch others—particularly Matilda. She was a source of interest to me because I was never sure how she would act. You see, she was brought up in a puritanical home, but there was nothing puritanical about Matilda underneath that veneer. Her parents had fitted her into a mold. She was bound to break out sooner or later. When we met there was a spark which ignited the future.”

“She willingly did what she did, I suppose.”

“It was not as simple in that age. Matilda had been brought up in fear of offending against the laws of the Church, which meant the laws laid down by Père and Mère Lewyth. When she was about to produce an illegitimate child, they turned their daughter out. Imagine that! I set her up in a place and when my wife died I brought her here as housekeeper. That’s an old story which you have heard already. There was Dermot and there was Gordon; how much more fitted Gordon was to be the heir of Tregarland’s. I watched her. I teased her. I might make her son my heir … and I might not. It was like that all the way through. My poor Matty, she was in despair and she set about making possible what she believed would never be if she did nothing about it.”

“Why did you not tell her your intentions right away?”

“I wanted to watch what she would do. To have told her would have spoiled the fun.”

“The fun of tormenting her?”

“You could say that—and yet I was fond of her. And now that I have come to the end, like many before me I wish I had acted differently. The awful thing is that if I had, Matty would have ended differently. I wanted to see what she would do. And I did. I drove her mad and made a murderess of her. Do you think I am responsible for what she did?”

“You have been wrong. You have been heartless, but I am sure you never thought for one moment that there would be murder.”

“I can say with honesty that I did not. But it was only when I understood what she was ready to do to the child that I understood what I had done.”

“It is over now,” I said, “and there is nothing you can do about it.”

“Only regret. I have made reparations as far as I can. The estate will go to the boy. It must. It is his by right. As for Gordon, he should have been the one. It is sad that he was born on the wrong side of the blanket. Dermot was no good. He was weak and pleasure-seeking … oh, a charming young man. Rather like his father and grandfather. But Tregarland’s needed a strong steady hand to keep it on course. Gordon had that. It was one of those tricks of fate. The bastard is the one the place needed and the rightful heir is useless. Why couldn’t it have been the other way round? Perversity of life, I suppose. Poor Gordon has suffered; but I will tell you this, wise Violetta. I have made what reparations I can. I have acknowledged Gordon as my son in this will of mine, and I am leaving him capital so that he can start up his own place, but I shall express the hope that Gordon will stay until Tristan is of an age to manage.”

“Then it will be too late for him to start on his own.”

“When Tristan is twenty, he will be close to fifty. Not too old for a man of his energies … if he keeps his health. However, it is what I shall do.”

“Do others know of this? Does Gordon?”

“He will know when the will is read.”

“Why do you tell me?”

He was thoughtful for a moment, then he said: “I think you have an interest in people … very like my own, but yours is benign where mine was mischievous. You would never have done what I did. You are too good-hearted—and, shall I say, too wise to meddle? You see, I am now brought to this stage of repentance because of what I did, and that was foolish of me, for I am now mourning as I approach death and asking the Almighty not to punish me as I deserve. How much cleverer I should have been if, at this stage to which we all must come, I could have had a balance sheet with the good deeds outweighing the evil? And you are here—part of the scene. Perhaps you will continue with the saga after I have gone.”

“How?”

“You have become part of Tregarland’s. Your sister is the mother of the heir. Violetta, that young man of yours … you are still waiting?”

“I am still waiting.”

“And hoping? It is a long time.”

“It is nearly two years since Dunkirk.”

“This war will be over one day, and when it is and he has not come back you will spend your life in mourning for someone who is lost to you forever.”

“I cannot see so far ahead.”

“Forgive me. I am making you sad. It is the last thing I want to do. You are a serious young lady. I knew that from the first. It would have been different if Dermot had married you.”

“It would have been different whomever he had married.”

“The wayward delectable Dorabella was not the one for him, but she is the mother of my grandson. I should like to say a word for Gordon. He is a good man; he would make a faithful husband. If the Jermyn boy does not come back … and in time you must cease to hope … Gordon will be waiting, I am sure.”

I could find no words. I could only think of a bleak future without Jowan.

“I should like to think of you here at Tregarland’s,” went on the old man. “Gordon is calm … level-headed … a little like you, my dear. It would be pleasant for me, looking down from heaven, or more likely from the fires of hell, to see you at Tregarland’s with Gordon, and my grandson growing up under Gordon’s guidance to love the place. Here I am again, arranging people’s lives for them. But, of course, they must arrange them themselves.”

We were silent for a while before he continued: “I often think of how your mother wanted to take Tristan back with her and how she procured the good Nanny Crabtree to look after him. And thank God she did. There is another sensible woman. Do you remember how I refused to let the boy go?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“If I had not done that, he would have escaped danger. It is yet another sin to be laid at my door. When I am gone, you must take him to your mother. My dear girl, you will be happier away from this place. Memories of Jowan come back all the time. You will never escape from your grief here. You need to get away … you, your sister, and the child. I should have let you go before.”

He was tired, I could see, and I told him he must rest a while and I would come and see him again. Our talk had been very interesting, I added.

“Not very productive,” he said. “But what is there to produce? Confession is a sort of self-indulgence. It is good for the soul, they say. One talks and the listener, because he or she has been specially selected by the confessor, makes the necessary comforting excuses, which you have done admirably, my dear. Thank you. Do you believe in premonitions?”

This abrupt change of subject disconcerted me a little.

“I am not sure,” I said.

“Nor am I, but I have just had one. The end is nigh, it says. I have unburdened my soul—and now, my dear, it is farewell. I hope your future will be a happy one. I fancy it will be. This evil war must end, and when you have made your decision, I am sure it will be the right one.”

I stooped over him and kissed his forehead.

“Thank you, my dear,” he said, and closed his eyes.

Three days later he had a massive stroke from which he did not recover. The premonition of which he had spoken had proved to be a warning of what was to come.

So there was another journey to the cemetery.

When we were back in Tregarland’s the lawyer from Plymouth read the will. Tristan had become the owner of the estate; Gordon was acknowledged as James’s natural son; he was to remain administrator of the estate and was to inherit forty thousand pounds. Glasses of sherry were served and there was a hushed atmosphere throughout the house.

It was amazing how we missed the old man. We had not seen a great deal of him, but we had always been aware of his presence. What changes there had been since I had first seen Tregarland’s, although it was not so very long ago. For so many years it had gone on in the same way and then, suddenly, the changes had come … drastic changes, death, and disaster. And what now, I wondered?

The days were passing. Summer … autumn. My mother wrote often. She thought I should get away … come back home for a while. I knew she was thinking I would be better somewhere else that I might escape from memories of Jowan.

They had all made up their minds that he was lost forever. I guessed what my mother was saying to my father:

“The sooner she gets away from that place the better. She ought to be meeting people … young people. Dorabella is very interested in that nice Captain Brent, and it seems he is in her. Perhaps she will marry again. But Violetta, she is different. She doesn’t shrug off these things like her sister does. She should get away.”

I had my work which I took very seriously. We had made over rooms at Tregarland’s to the convalescing soldiers and were kept busy. I was glad of that. I tried to stop brooding, and the long talks with Gordon helped. He told me he had shelved the idea of getting a place of his own and would not leave Tregarland’s until he could pass it over to Tristan.