Then I was alert. It was the sound of a step on the stone stairs. I was mistaken. Naturally one became a little fanciful in a place which had such a legend. No. There it was again. Is it true then, I asked myself, that the governess who died here could not rest and returned to the scene of her last days on earth?
I tried to laugh at myself, but I felt trapped—shut in by the stone staircase leading to the haunted chamber on one side, and on the other by the sheer drop to the sea.
Seconds seemed like minutes; I had turned and, gripping the parapet, kept my eyes on the narrow opening. I heard the sound of deep breathing and there was a shadow hi the opening … and the governess was looking at me. For a moment I believed I was seeing a ghost, and then I caught my breath, for it was not the governess of long ago who had come to haunt me, but the governess of today who had followed me here.
“Jessica!” I cried.
She laughed. “I believe I startled you. I’m so sorry. “
I saw the door to the wing open and I couldn’t resist exploring. I’ve never been to this part of the house before.”
Had I left the door open? I didn’t believe I had.
“It needs repairs and a lot of attention,” I said, trying to make my voice sound matter-of-fact.
She came and stood beside me on the parapet, her eyes level with mine.
“Is it true,” she said, “that this part of the house is haunted?”
“You wouldn’t believe that sort of nonsense, I’m sure.”
"I'm Cornish, and you know what we Cornish are. It’s all very well for you prosaic English …”
“Yes,” I said coolly, “I know that you’re a superstitious race, but I should have thought you had too much common sense to believe these stories.”
“During the daylight I’m skeptical, but not always when darkness comes … or when I’m hi a place like this. This story was about a governess, wasn’t it?”
“So the tale goes.”
She laughed. “I’m naturally interested in a Menfreya governess. Do tell me the rest”
“She became pregnant, hid herself up here, gave birth to a child and died. No one knew she was here except her lover, and he was away. When he came back he found her and the child dead.”
“Quite a feat, keeping someone hidden away in the house where his family were living.”
The room was supposed to be sealed off then.”
“It almost is … now.”
We were silent; I was aware of our isolation. I could well imagine the long-ago governess' loneliness and terror when she knew her child was about to be born. I shivered.
“I wonder what really happened,” said Jessica quietly. “Do you think the wife murdered her?”
“Murdered her! That’s not the story.”
“It wouldn’t be. But do you think she didn’t know. She must have seen how things were between her husband and the governess. I mean … wouldn’t a wife know?”
I repeated blankly: ‘That’s not in the story.”
She gave a little laugh. A gull suddenly swooped to the sea, and his melancholy cry was like jeering laughter.
Jessica laid her hand on my arm. “I think the wife knew. I think she came up here and murdered her after the child was born. Murdered them both. It couldn’t have been difficult in those days to make it seem as though she died in childbirth. Imagine the wife’s feelings! Her husband is in love with another woman! She’d feel murderous, wouldn’t she?”
Was it my imagination, or was she closer to me than was necessary? Was that a grim purpose I saw in those beautiful, unfathomable eyes?
As she gripped me more firmly and swayed towards me, a frantic fear possessed me, and I wrenched myself free so violently that she fell against the wall of the tower. I saw her trying to steady herself, her face drained of all its color. I caught her as she slid to the floor, breaking her fall.
“Jessica!” I said. “What’s wrong?”
Her eyes were closed, her dark lashes long and black against her pale skin. ‘She had fainted.
I propped her against the wall and forced her head down. I was wondering whether to leave her and run for help, when she opened her eyes.
She looked bewildered.
“You fainted,” I said.
“Faulted?” she repeated. “Oh … I… I’m all right now. It’s passing.”
I knelt beside her. “What happened?” I asked.
“It was nothing … just a faint. It’s the height… I could never endure heights. It upset me suddenly.”
“Shall I call someone?”
“Oh, please, no. I’m all right Getting better every minute. It was nothing. Just a momentary thing. Really, I’ve almost recovered.”
“Do you often faint?”
“Oh … people do now and then. I’m sorry it happened.”
“Let me take you back to your room.”
Thank you.”
She stood a little unsteadily, but she looked more like herself now. She turned to smile at me. “Please don’t make a fuss. It was nothing. Just a little dizziness. Will you forget it happened and not mention it?”
“If you wish.”
“Thank you.”
We returned to the circular room and, as we left it, she said: “I’d like to see the portrait of that Lady Menfrey you mentioned.”
“Now? Wouldn’t you rather go to your room and rest?”
“The dizziness has passed. It was really the picture I wanted to see.”
“It’s along here.”
I took her to the room where the portrait hung. She looked at it and then at me. “The features are not really like yours,” she said, “but I can imagine in a dress like that you could belong to her period.”
“Wouldn’t we all in the clothes of the period?”
“That’s what we’ll no doubt find out at the ball when we see the guests in their costumes. So she was Lady Menfrey at the time the governess died. I still suggest she murdered her.”
“You think she looks like a murderess?”
“Do murderesses look the part? I don’t think so. The most unexpected people commit murder. That’s why murders are committed. If people looked the part, the victims would be on their guard and the murder would be prevented. No. She knew that the governess was going to have her husband’s child. Imagine her feelings. How would you feel? They must have hated each other—that wife and governess. It’s reasonable to suppose that one might attempt to murder the other.”
“I don’t believe it,” I said.
She smiled—completely serene once more, as though that incident on the tower had never taken place.
“It makes a better story,” she murmured.
The hall at Menfrey is the most magnificent part of the house. The vaulted ceiling with the carved wooden beams; the fine old staircase with the armor said to have been worn by a Menfrey who crossed to France with Henry VIII; the gallery with the pictures; the arms on the wall; the dais on which the musicians now sat. It was a beautiful sight, particularly as the greenhouses had been denuded to provide pots of the most exotic blooms, while our native hydrangeas —pink, blue, mauve, white, multicolored—in enormous tubs draped in purple velvet had been placed at intervals about the room. Leaves decorated the staircases, and I was reminded of the entertainments my father used to give.
Fanny helped me to dress. She was silent, and I wondered whether she knew something which she was withholding from me for fear of hurting me.
Yet as I looked at my reflection in the mirror, the topaz color of the dress bringing out something in my eyes, the jeweled snood doing the same for my hair, I felt invulnerable.
“I'll brush your hair to make it shine,” said Fanny. “We’ve plenty of time.” So she took off the snood, laid it on the dressing table and, putting a white cloth about my shoulders, brushed my hair.
“You’re happy tonight,” she said. Her eyes met mine in the mirror. She looked like a prophet standing there, the brush raised in her hand, her eyes intense. “I pray you stay that way,” she added.