She poured out the tea.
I said: “This is very pleasant.”
She did not comment, but she did not look displeased.
“What an interesting teacosy,” I went on.
That was the right approach.
“You have to make these things yourself if you’re going to get what you want.”
“So you knitted that?”
“It’s not knitted. It’s crocheted. I do knit a bit, though.”
“Are you knitting at the moment?”
“A jersey,” she said tersely.
“That sounds interesting.”
“Had trouble getting the wool. This place…”
“You’d probably get what you want in Plymouth.”
“It’s a long way to go for a bit of wool.”
“You are really very talented,” I said rather obsequiously. “Making these things…and the garden as well. That’s really a show place.”
I was going too far. My desire to get onto the subject of her daughter was getting the better of my common sense.
She said: “How is your sister?”
“She is quite well. She gets tired easily.”
“Reckon you’ll want to be with her when her time comes.”
“I shall probably go home before that. It is not until November. But, yes, I shall want to be here then.”
She twisted her lips in a slightly mocking way, and, to my surprise, she said: “My girl…she was going to have a baby.”
Here was triumph indeed. I could scarcely believe I was hearing correctly.
“Yes,” I said. “That was a great tragedy.”
“Brings it back,” she said. “This new wife…”
“It would, of course,” I said encouragingly.
She looked at me intently. “You want to be careful of her…that sister of yours. There was something fishy…”
“Oh?” I said, daring to say no more for fear of stopping this much-desired and unexpected turn of the conversation.
“Well,” she went on, “after that other one…”
“Which other one?”
“People here are full of fancies. It was a long time ago. It was the same time of year. That old story. Have you heard the talk about those two families quarreling, and the girl going into the sea and not coming back?”
“Yes, I have heard of it. And you mean your daughter…?”
“She went swimming. People said there was something that made her go then. They found her body. She wouldn’t have gone swimming. Hadn’t she been told not to?”
I was a little lost but afraid to stop the flow. I said tentatively: “Do you feel there was some connection between your daughter’s death and that girl long ago?”
“It was drowning for both of them. Happen that’s what got people talking. Two drowned, you see.”
“It may be that several people have been drowned off this coast.”
“Happen. But then these two were connected with the house. You know what these people here are like? They say some spirit beckoned her into the sea. It’s a lot of rot. But that’s what they say…and there were the two of them.”
“The girl in the legend killed herself because she was not allowed to marry the man she loved.”
“That’s the tale. My Annette would never have killed herself. She wanted that baby, she did. How could she have gone swimming of her own accord when she knew it was dangerous for the child? That’s what I’d like to know.”
“Then how…?”
“Who can say? All I know is that I don’t believe she would have risked that baby’s life. I wasn’t pleased about what happened. I never wanted her to do that sort of work. She liked it, though. She’d never been what you’d call a quiet, good girl. There was always men about her. She liked that. She was one to go her own way. Wouldn’t listen to advice.”
“She was very pretty,” I said.
“That’s what they all said. Turned her head a bit. I never thought a daughter of mine…”
She stopped and stared ahead of her. I could imagine the upbringing. There would have been few demonstrations of affection from her mother. I wondered what her father was like. I could imagine him—grim, dour as his wife, working hard, getting his compensation when he was unable to work any more, coming to the Cornish coast which the doctor had said would be better for his health than the harsher climate of the North.
Annette may have looked elsewhere for expressions of affection, for laughter and gaiety. I wondered if she had found what she sought with Dermot.
I could scarcely believe that Mrs. Pardell, who had been so reticent, should now be talking to me thus. I imagined it was because I was the sister of Dermot’s second wife, who had replaced her daughter. Perhaps it was something to do with the fact that she was going to have a child. The position was similar. Annette had been going to have a child, too.
It suddenly occurred to me that she might feel it was her duty to warn me in some way. Mrs. Pardell was a woman who would do her duty, however she might wish not to.
She leaned toward me suddenly and said: “I don’t believe she went swimming of her own accord that day.”
“What?” I said, taken aback.
“She wouldn’t have done. I can’t tell you how much she wanted that child. It changed her. Mind you, we hadn’t been on the best of terms because of what she’d been up to. But she wouldn’t have gone. She knew it was putting the child in danger. I don’t because she would never have done that…and nobody could make me believe it.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“I expect you know something about it. It gets round. It’s the sort of thing people talk about. You know she was working there at the Sailor’s Rest. There she was, every night, laughing and joking. They were pleased to have her. She brought the customers in. I used to lie in bed waiting for her to come home every night. I said, ‘I’d rather see you cleaning someone’s house than doing that sort of job.’ It wasn’t a lady’s job and we’d tried to bring her up right.”
“I understand,” I said soothingly.
“There’s no need for me to tell you. I expect you know already how these people talk. That young man and his new wife has brought it all up again. When he married for the second time everyone was talking about Annette. With her, it was a case of having to get married. I don’t think he would have asked her otherwise and she’d still be there at the Sailor’s Rest. She might have married that young farmer at Perringarth on the moor. He was mad about her. But there it was. That Dermot Tregarland had to do the right thing by her. He seemed a decent young fellow then, but you can imagine what it was like up at Tregarland’s.”
She paused for a while before she went on slowly: “You might wonder why I’m telling you all this. It’s not like me to talk of it, but I’m thinking of your sister. I think you ought to look out for her.”
“Look out for her? In what way?”
“I don’t rightly know. It happened to my girl. It was about this time of the year…”
“I don’t see the connection.”
“Well, I just thought…you see…Annette and me…we wasn’t on speaking terms for a long time. When I heard she was going to have a baby and no wedding ring, I was flabbergasted. I told her her father would have turned her out. She laughed at that. Annette laughed at everything. She was never a good girl, always wayward, but…”
“I think she sounds rather lovable.”
Mrs. Pardell nodded her head without speaking. Then she went on: “When she got married and went to the big house, there was a lot of talk. I was in a way proud of her. He must have thought a lot of her, because there was his father up there, and I know he wouldn’t have liked it…her being a barmaid. She came to see me once or twice. There was one time…I knew it would be the last for some time because she wouldn’t be able to do that walk till after the baby was born. She had her car and she drove into Poldown, but she’d have to do the climb up the west cliff on foot. I am glad I saw her three days before she died. After all, she wasn’t the first one by a long chalk who had had to get wed in a bit of a hurry. She was happy enough. Dermot was a good husband and she could make him go her way. She said to me: ‘I can’t wait for this baby to come.’ She’d talk frankly about it, which I can’t say I liked very much. Sort of immodest, but Annette was like that. She said: ‘I can’t do anything now, Mam. It’s no good fretting about that. I can’t go swimming.’ I said: ‘Of course you can’t, you silly girl, in your state.’ ”