I could see that I was unlikely to discover anything from Mrs. Gow; and I decided it was worth having a try with Mrs. Terry.
I found her in bed.
"Oh, it's you," she said, her greedy eyes looking into my basket to see what I had brought.
"This heat don't let up, does it?" She shook her head. "Well, they've brought it on themselves. Do you know they was dancing in the barn last Saturday ... and carrying it on over midnight into the Sabbath. What can you expect? Then they ask me, What about the drought, eh? What about the cattle? What about the grass all being dried up?"
"Why should they ask you, Mrs. Terry?"
"Why indeed. They should look into their own souls, that they should. It's a judgement and there'll be worse to come if they don't stop their evil ways. Repent, I tell them, while there's time."
"Did you ever hear anything of an Ann Alice Mallory?"
"Ah? What? That's you, ain't it?"
"No. I'm Annalice. This is Ann Alice ... two separate names."
"I always thought it was outlandish. Why couldn't they call you plain Ann or Alice like the rest. What did they want to muddle them up for and give you two in one. Ann was a name you heard a lot up at the Manor. So was Alice."
"I'm asking about the two together. Ann Alice."
"No, I can't say I ever heard that."
"You're ninety, Mrs. Terry. Isn't that wonderful."
"It's the godly life that does it."
She had the grace to lower her eyes. Her godliness had only been in existence for twenty years and I had heard it said that Mrs. Terry after the death of Jim Terry at sea—and even when he was alive during his absences—had not been averse to what was known in the locality as "A little bit of the best" on a Saturday night behind the bushes or even in her own cottage.
"It must be," I said, looking innocent as though I had never heard of these clandestine activities, for I was anxious to keep in her good graces. "I found a grave in the cemetery. Ann Alice Mallory. It looked like my name and it gave me a shiver to think that when I die my grave will be rather like that."
"Mind you're not took sharp with all your sins upon you."
"I wasn't thinking so much of that."
"That's the trouble nowadays. Young people—they don't think. I've made my Daisy promise that when I go, she'll have the parson there just to help me over ... not that I'll need it."
"Oh no. You'll be certain of your place in heaven; and I bet you they'll send a company of angels to escort you there."
She closed her eyes nodding.
I felt very disappointed. Nobody seemed to know anything about Ann Alice. And yet Mrs. Terry must have been born soon after her death. She was a local girl who had lived in the neighbourhood all her life. Surely the name must have been mentioned. I had never yet known a villager who was not interested in what was going on at the Manor.
"Mrs. Terry," I said, "the lady in the grave must have died just before you were born. Did you never hear any mention of her?"
"No. It was something that wasn't spoken of."
"Wasn't spoken of? Do you mean it was a forbidden subject?"
"Oh. I don't know about that."
"Do you remember anyone talking about anything during your childhood?"
"Well, it was always the Gows. That's who they used to talk about. The Gows being stuck up and all that... and getting on and having their own business... That's what they used to talk about. My mother would say, 'Look at Mrs. Gow. Her and her purple bonnet... walking into church like a lady. Nobody would think that a few years back they was nothing... just like the rest of us.'"
"Oh yes," I said a trifle impatiently, "we know the Gows got on."
"Oh, it wasn't always like that ... so I heard."
"They've been going for a long time. Since 1793 it says over their sheds. Founded 1793. I saw it the other day. That was the year this lady died."
"One goes to glory and one makes all the money and gets ideas about being better than the rest of us folks."
"So you don't remember ..."
Mrs. Terry said: "There was talk ... no, I can't remember. Something about one of the ladies up at the Manor. She died sudden, I think."
"Yes, Mrs. Terry, yes."
Mrs. Terry shrugged her shoulders.
I prompted: "You must have heard something."
"I don't know. People die. It's to be hoped they've had time to repent before they're taken."
She sighed and then was off on the subject of the Gows again.
" Tweren't right. There was a lot of talk about that. Couldn't do nothing wrong, them Gows. I remember way back ... I couldn't have been much more than a nipper. Caught he was. What was his name? Dashed if I can remember. Tom I think. That was it. Tom Gow. Caught redhanded with the pheasant in his jacket... poaching. Brought up before the magistrate he was... and what happens? The Gows go to the master and before anyone can say Jack Robinson, there's Poacher Gow strutting about the place as proud as two peacocks. Got
off scot free. What do you think of that? There's favouritism for you. Wasn't right. People don't like it. It seemed the master would do anything for them Gows."
"That must have been years ago," I said impatiently for I was not interested in the triumph of the Gows.
"Well," she went on, "as I said I wasn't no more than a nipper ... But it was always like that. The Gows has always had the Manor behind them. That's what folks said."
"Well, they have done very well. I suppose they must be admired for that."
"Helped on ... so it was said."
"It is also said that God helps those who help themselves. You should know being on somewhat more intimate terms with the Almighty than the rest of us."
Irony was lost on her. She nodded sagely and said: "That's so."
I took my leave of her then, realizing that I was not going to discover anything about Ann Alice Mallory from her.
I told Philip about it.
"Why the interest?" he asked. "Just because she has a name like yours?"
"It's a feeling I have."
Philip was always sceptical about my feelings. He laughed at me.
"What about going for a ride?" he asked.
I loved riding with him and I accepted the invitation with alacrity; but I could not get Ann Alice out of my mind. I kept thinking of the mysterious young woman in the forgotten grave.
The heat intensified. There was a stillness in the air which seemed ominous.
Everyone said: It's too hot to work, too hot to move, too hot to breathe almost.
It will break soon, they said. My goodness we need the rain.
I felt frustrated out of all reason because my efforts to discover something about the woman who was haunting my dreams were proving to be so disappointing. Mrs. Gow was clearly too young to remember and Mrs. Terry was so obsessed by her envy of the Gows that she could not concentrate on the matter. Where else could I look?
Why did I care? Why should it seem so important just because I had found her grave and she had a name similar to mine and had been more or less the same age as I was when she had died? Why was she perpetually in my thoughts? It was almost as though she were a living presence. It was typical of me to concern myself with such a matter,
Philip said. What could it matter what had happened to the girl now? She was dead, wasn't she?
She was unhappy, I thought. I sense it. It's in the house. It was round her grave.
Why was her grave neglected? The others were not. It was as though someone had buried her and wanted to forget.
That afternoon it was too hot to go out walking or riding. I stretched out on a chair in the garden in the shade, listening to the bees. The lavender was almost depleted now; the blooms had been gathered and made into sachets for drawers and cupboards so the busy little insects were at work on the purple blossoms of the veronica. Idly I watched a dragonfly flit across the pond over which Hermes was poised as though in flight. I caught a flash of gold as the fish swam round in the pond. There was a stillness everywhere as though all nature was tense ... waiting for something to happen.