“Who told you that? The bees?”
“There’s nothing they don’t know about weather.”
“Of course. What’s the matter with Lionheart?”
The dog was standing on the very edge of the mine, barking.
“Come away,” called Jamie. His voice was sharp. “Lion, this instant. Come.”
Lionheart came slowly with his tail between his legs. Jamie stooped and patted him.
“Don’t you go near the mine, there’s a good dog.”
Lionheart looked regretfully back to the mine and for a moment I thought he was going to disobey orders.
“Well,” said Jamie, “I reckon I’d better be getting back. Up you go, Lion. And Miss Tressidor. I wouldn’t linger about on the moors if I were you.”
“Why, Jamie?”
“You were too close to the mine. It seems to have a sort of fascination for you.”
“I suppose it does. It’s all the talk about it. Goodbye, Jamie.”
I watched the horse trot away and I walked slowly back to where my horse was tethered thinking that there was something different about Jamie. He was not quite himself.
I decided that I would call on him. I wondered if something was worrying him. Was something wrong with the bees or perhaps some of the animals?
He was as delighted to see me as ever and set about making tea.
“Jamie,” I said, when he sat down beside me and poured out from the brown earthenware pot, “is anything wrong?”
“Why do you ask, Miss Tressidor?”
“I just felt there might be something.”
He looked at me steadily for a few moments and then he said: “Donald has been back.”
“Donald! Your brother. The one who …”
He nodded. “Yes, Miss Tressidor. Donald has been back … been here.”
“Oh, Jamie, and you hoped he would never find you.”
“He’s been here,” he repeated.
“Has he caused trouble?”
“I’m afraid he will.”
“What does he want?”
“He’s just found me out.”
“Where is he now?”
“He’s gone.”
“He can’t do you any harm.”
“He can, Miss Tressidor. He can finish everything.”
“No, Jamie. We won’t let him do that.”
“You don’t know Donald.”
“Only what you’ve told me about him.”
“Donald’s wicked. I don’t want him here, Miss Tressidor. He’ll spoil everything … everything I’ve built up since I’ve been here.”
“He can’t … if we won’t let him.”
He was silent for a while.
“Donald’s a murderer,” he said. “I always knew he had it in him. When he was a boy … I’ve seen him hurt things. Kill things … little animals. It used to come over him. He couldn’t help it, I think. He just wanted to kill. Little furry things … white mice, rabbits … things like that. Pets we had. He’d love them for a bit and then you’d find one of them dead. It was this urge to kill.”
“We won’t allow him to upset you, Jamie. You’re settled here now. You’ve got your home in the lodge and everything is satisfactory.”
“I’ve never told you about it, Miss Tressidor, but if I had told anyone it would have been you … or Miss Mary. She was good to me and so have you been.”
“Would you like to tell me about it? Tell me why you are so afraid of him. I promise you he can’t harm you.”
“Well, you see, he was married. He married Effie. I loved Effie.”
“You mean you both loved the same girl?”
He was silent. “Poor Jamie,” I went on, “and she married Donald.”
He nodded. “People change. Effie was a bright girl … full of fun. She liked going out and about … dancing and things like that and when they were married they couldn’t do it. Money … things like that … you understand?”
“Yes,” I said, “I understand.”
“She went on and on … years of it. She was never satisfied … she was wishing they never married. Nag … nag … and one night Donald picked up a poker and hit her on the head and pushed her downstairs. It was murder and Donald did it. But they couldn’t prove it. Not proven. That was what they said and Donald went free.”
“How long ago was that, Jamie?”
“Ten years.”
“And all that time Donald hasn’t been near you.”
“I got away. I couldn’t stand it. I was afraid of Donald. I knew, you see. I remembered that little white mouse we had. I remembered how he couldn’t help himself when the mood was on him. And I didn’t want to see Donald … ever again. I knew there could only be peace for me if Donald were not around.”
“And now he’s come here?”
“Yes, he came.”
“When was this?”
“Some days ago.”
“And did he go away again?”
“Yes, I told him to go. I said, ‘Don’t come here any more.’ I said, ‘You’re dead to me. I can’t do with you here, Donald, you’ll spoil my life.” “
“Is it as bad as that? He is your brother.”
“You don’t know Donald. He’s quiet for a time and you think it’s all right and then … the wickedness comes out. Donald must never come here … not in my home … no, no.”
“I understand. But where has he gone now?”
Jamie shook his head.
“And he’s discovered where you are. That’s what’s worrying you.”
Jamie nodded. “You see, he came back.”
I said: “You’re overwrought, Jamie. You’re making too much of this. You’re afraid he’s going to harm your animals … Lionheart, Tiger and your waifs and strays. Look here, if he comes again, send for me. I’ll come and see what we can do.”
“You’re so good to me,” he said.
I left him then. Poor Jamie, he felt so strongly about his brother. I supposed one would about someone who had committed a murder.
There was still no news of Gwennie. I tried not to think of her but I could not get her out of my mind. That she was mischievous I knew. She had been very intrigued by all the drama her absence had aroused. But would she go away again? She would know that she could not provoke that sort of speculation again and so soon.
I wanted to go into the town to do some shopping and on these occasions I took the trap. It was early afternoon and I went to the stables to tell them to get it ready for me.
This they did and in a short time I was driving along the country lanes, my thoughts still busy as they had been for some time with the future. I could not make up my mind what it held for me. I would wake in the morning saying I must do one thing and by midday I had decided against it.
I must leave Cornwall, I would say. And then, No, no. I could never leave.
And so it went on.
I chatted awhile in the shops. Everyone knew about the return of Gwennie and the fact that the mine had been explored. They still talked of it.
“A storm in a teacup, that were, Miss Tressidor.”
I agreed it was.
“She’s not like the likes of we,” said the postmistress. “She’m a foreigner, right from up north. They has some funny ways up there.”
I supposed I was also a foreigner; but at least I had the name of Tressidor.
I went back to the stables and as I was about to get out something caught my eye. It glittered and was protruding from under the seat. I stooped and picked it up. It was a comb—a comb I had seen before—a small Spanish type with a row of brilliants decorating the top.
Gwennie’s comb!
In the Tressidor trap! How had it got there?
There was one thought which persisted in my mind. If Gwennie’s comb was in the trap, Gwennie must have been there, too.
I was bewildered. I could not think how it came to be there. I put it in my pocket and went to find the head groom.
I said: “Who used the trap last?”
He scratched his head. “Afore you, Miss Tressidor?” he asked.