Sleeping as he was, she lifted him up.
“Here, sit down,” she said. I did so and she put him on my lap.
A great tenderness swept over me. He looked so vulnerable. I felt a momentary easing of my desperate unhappiness. Here was something left to me of Dorabella.
When I left the nursery I went straight to my mother’s room. She was sitting at the window, staring blankly out. She turned to me and smiled wanly. I said: “I’ve been to the nursery.”
“Poor Nanny,” she said. “She’s heartbroken.”
“She thinks that we should take Tristan back to Caddington with us.”
“That is our intention…your father’s and mine. We’ve already talked about it. It’s the natural thing.”
“Nanny Crabtree doesn’t like this place.”
“I don’t think any of us will want to come here again.”
“What about Dermot? Tristan is his son, remember.”
“Dermot seems not to know what he wants.” Her voice was faintly critical. Like me, she wanted to blame someone. No doubt she was thinking that if he had not been away at the time it would not have happened. Why wasn’t he looking after his wife? Why didn’t he forbid her to go bathing on the very beach where his first wife had died? Forbid Dorabella? That would be like urging her on. Poor Dermot! He was as desolate as we were and could not bear to do anything but shut himself away with his misery.
My mother was now thinking, If only Dorabella had never met Dermot. If only we had never seen this place! If only she were safe at home with her children around her.
I understood. She wanted to get away from this house…as Nanny Crabtree did. We had to blame something, if it was only the place.
“I’d like to get away as soon as possible,” she was saying. “You don’t think that there has been some mistake? I can’t get out of my mind that she is not dead. I know it’s fanciful, but she and I…well, there were times when we were like one person. Often I knew what she was thinking…and I can’t get over this…well, almost certainty…that she is…somewhere…that she will come back.”
“I know, I know…” said my mother soothingly. “I can’t believe it, either. But we have to face it…and we shall do that better when we get away from this place.”
I could not explain to her that, although everything pointed to the fact that Dorabella was dead, I had a feeling that she was somewhere, and I would one day find her. I could not and would not accept the fact that she was dead.
My mother said she would speak to Matilda. She would tell her that we would go away and take Tristan with us.
I was amazed, later, when she told me that Matilda was shocked by the suggestion.
“She looked at me with real dismay,” my mother told me. “She said, ‘I don’t know whether Mr. Tregarland would agree to that. The child is his grandson. This is a big estate and when Dermot inherits, Tristan will be his heir. It’s a tradition in the family that the heir is brought up here.’ I replied that we were not proposing to cut him off from his family. It just seemed more convenient for us to take him to Caddington. After all, we are his grandparents and it would be easier at our place. I could see she was shaken by the idea. She said she would put it to Mr. Tregarland. I said, ‘You mean Dermot?’ ‘Dermot and his father, of course,’ she answered. I then remarked that I thought Dermot would know very little about bringing up a baby and that his father would not be very interested. I was sure, also, that she herself had too much to do with running the household to want to take on the care of a young child. ‘There is Nanny Crabtree,’ she said. ‘She would stay, of course.’ I was astounded. I thought they would have been only too glad for us to take him.”
“Well, what is going to happen?”
“I don’t know. She talked as though it were the old man who would make the objections. I can’t quite see that somehow. I expect it will be all right.”
But it was not. Mr. Tregarland was adamant.
He said: “I appreciate your feelings, and I am sure the boy would be very well looked after with you, but he is a Tregarland. He is my grandson. He will own this place one day. No, no, I thank you for your kindness, but I could not allow the boy to leave his home.”
Both my mother and I were dumbfounded.
My father said: “We shall have to accept. His father will insist that he stay.”
“I don’t think Dermot would insist.”
“He will stand with his father, poor chap. He is stunned by this. He has lost his wife. It is natural, I suppose, that he does not want to lose his son as well.”
There was a great deal of discussion and at last my mother had to accept the fact that she was not going to be allowed to take Tristan back with her.
As for myself, I was in a quandary.
There had been a time when I had felt I wanted to get away from this place, and now I was realizing that I did not want to go.
I could not rid myself of the notion that Dorabella was alive. I felt certain that one day I should see her again. There was a mistake. I thought of the most wildly impossible solutions. She had drifted out to sea; she had lost her memory; she had been picked up by a ship. She was alive somewhere. Her body had never been found, and I knew that until it was I should believe she was alive. It was ridiculous, of course, but I had to cling to something. She and I had been so close; we were, as she said, like one person; there was that bond between us…that gossamer cord to which she had once referred. I felt it there now.
I dreamed of her and in that dream she came to my room as she had in reality. She said: “Remember your promise. If I am not there, you will look after my baby. Swear…”
And I had given my promise. It had been a sacred one. I had to keep it.
I said to my mother: “Dorabella once said a strange thing. She made me swear that I would look after her child if she were not here.”
“What?” cried my mother.
“She came to my room one night. She said we had always been like one person and if anything happened to her I was to look after her child. I swore I would. When you go…I shall stay here.”
“Violetta, listen to me. That sounds noble, but you can’t shut yourself away down here. It is not fair to you. Oh, if only they’d be sensible and let me take Tristan!”
But I had decided that, whatever the opposition, I must keep my word to Dorabella.
I had a chance to speak to Dermot. He looked strained and all the gaiety was gone from him. His eyes were bloodshot, and I noticed how his hands trembled. I hardly recognized him as the merry, insouciant young man whom we had met in the Böhmerwald.
He kept saying: “I can’t believe it, Violetta. I can’t believe it.”
“Nor I,” I told him.
A wild look came into his eyes. “And, to go that way…” he murmured. “What does it mean?”
I shook my head.
“It’s the same…it’s so strange…How could they both…in the same way?”
“She shouldn’t have gone to bathe.”
“I knew. I didn’t think that could happen. People do bathe in the early morning.” He put his hands over his eyes. “She took to it suddenly. For a week or so before. She used to go down to the beach in the early morning. I was surprised, but she was always surprising me. It was what made her so attractive.”
“Yes, I know. Some idea would come to her and she would be all enthusiasm and then she’d forget all about it.”
He nodded miserably. Poor Dermot. He had really cared deeply for her. I had come to realize that he was rather weak, leaving everything in the hands of Gordon Lewyth, wanting a life devoid of responsibility.
“Dermot,” I said. “There is one thing I want to ask you. It is about Tristan.”
He gazed at me questioningly, with tears in his eyes, and I went on: “Dorabella once spoke to me very seriously. I think she must have had some premonition that she was not going to live. It was just before his birth and I imagined she thought she was not going to survive. She and I were exceptionally close…as twins are sometimes. She asked me if I would look after Tristan if she were not here. We would have taken him back to Caddington with us, but your father does not wish it. But I have given my word to Dorabella and I want to keep it. I must keep it. I want to stay here for a while…to look after Tristan.”