As we trudged back to Eversleigh, Claudine said: “What a strange thing … That old woman. She had difficulty in walking up and down the stairs. I can’t think what this means. Oh dear, I do hope she is all right. I can’t think what will become of Dolly if anything happened to Mrs. Trent.”
“It’s Dolly who really cared for Mrs. Trent.”
“But Dolly … all alone in the world.”
“She can’t be far away,” I said.
“No. They’ll soon find her. But if she has been out all night … in this weather …”
“She must have sheltered somewhere.”
As soon as we returned to Eversleigh and told them what had happened search parties were organized. As predicted it started to snow and the strong winds were making almost a blizzard. The search went on all through the morning, and it was not until late afternoon when Mrs. Trent was found, not by one of the searchers, but by Polly Crypton. Polly had been out—bad as the weather was—to take a potion to old Mrs. Grimes, in one of the cottages, who suffered terribly from rheumatism and had run out of her medicine. Coming back Polly had stumbled over something close to her garden gate. To her horror she had discovered that it was a woman, and looking closer had recognized Mrs. Trent.
It was clear to Polly that she had been dead some time. She hurried to give the alarm, and at last Mrs. Trent was brought back to Grasslands.
Several of us were there—my mother, Claudine, David, Amaryllis and myself. The doctor had come. He said that the effort of walking so far would have put a great strain on her impaired health; it was his opinion that exhaustion had been the main cause of her death; and even if that had not been the case she would have frozen to death.
“Whatever possessed her to go out in such weather?” cried Claudine.
“She must have been temporarily out of her mind,” said my mother.
“It is Dolly who worries me,” went on Claudine. “We shall have to take special care of her.”
Poor Dolly! She was like one in a dream. She spent a great deal of time at Enderby where she was warmly welcomed by Aunt Sophie—herself the victim of misfortune, she was always ready to show sympathy to those whom life had treated ill.
The day of the funeral came. Claudine arranged it all. Dolly had listlessly stood aside and accepted help. We all attended the church and followed the coffin to the grave. Poor Dolly, chief mourner, she looked so frail and white; and at times of emotion that deformity in her face seemed more prominent. Even Aunt Sophie attended in deep black with a black chiffon hood hiding half of her face; she looked very strange standing there at the grave like some big black bird, a prophet of doom. But Dolly kept close to her and clearly drew more comfort from her than from Claudine who was doing so much to help.
Claudine had insisted that the funeral party come back to Eversleigh, so there they all were, talking about Mrs. Trent and how well she had cared for her grand-daughter, and how well she had managed Grasslands, not an easy job for a woman even though she had a good manager. We remembered all the pleasant things about Mrs. Trent as people always do at funerals. I had heard people say—when she was living—that she was an old witch and that if she had been different, her grand-daughter Evie would never have committed suicide when she found herself pregnant, and that poor Dolly had a “life of it” looking after her. But she was dead and death wipes away a person’s faults and gives virtue in their place.
But Mrs. Trent’s virtues were discussed with not so much fervour as was the reason for her sudden departure from the comforts of Grasslands to go out into the bitterly cold winter’s night.
Claudine said that Dolly must stay at Eversleigh for a few days, but Aunt Sophie insisted that she go to Enderby; and it was clear that this was Dolly’s preference. So Dolly stayed with Aunt Sophie for a week after the funeral and then she returned to Grasslands. Claudine said that we must all keep an eye on her and do what we could to help her over this terrible tragedy.
One day when Claudine returned home from visiting Aunt Sophie, she looked very grave and I saw from her expression that something had happened. She went straight to my mother and they were closeted together for a long time.
“Something is going on,” I said to Amaryllis and she agreed with me.
“I’m going to find out,” I added. “It’s something about Aunt Sophie because it is since your mother came back from there that it started.”
I made a few tentative enquiries in the kitchens but I could glean nothing there so I decided to ask my mother.
I had always been treated in a rather special way by my mother. It may have been that she was older than most mothers are when their children are born, and she did tend to treat me more as an adult than Claudine and David did Amaryllis. It may have been that I was more anxious to be regarded so than Amaryllis. “Pushing,” as some of the servants called it.
So when I found my mother in one of what I called her dreamy moods, I asked her outright if there was something going on, some secret adult matter which was considered to be not for the ears of the young.
She looked at me and smiled. “So you have noticed,” she said. “My goodness, Jessica, you are like a detective. You notice everything.”
“This is rather obvious. Claudine went to Aunt Sophie and came back, well… secretive … anxious and strange.”
“Yes, there is something, but it is not Aunt Sophie. You will have to know in due course, so why not now?”
“Yes, you might as well tell me,” I agreed eagerly.
“It’s Dolly. She is going to have a baby.”
“But she is not married!”
“People occasionally have babies when they are not married.”
“You mean …”
“That is what is troubling us. Dolly herself is happy enough, almost ecstatic. That’s a help in a way but it is more unfortunate. Your Aunt Sophie will help all she can. We shall all have to be gentle with Dolly. She has had a very hard life. She adored her sister who drowned herself because of her own pregnancy. So now you see why we are worried about Dolly.”
“You don’t think Dolly will kill herself?”
“On the contrary. She seems delighted at the prospect.”
“ ‘My soul doth magnify the Lord’… and all that,” I quoted irreverently.
My mother looked at me intently. “Perhaps I shouldn’t be telling you all this. Sometimes, Jessica, I forget how young you are.”
“I’m quite knowledgeable. One learns about these things. I knew about Jane Abbey’s baby before she had it.”
“Your father thinks you are wise beyond your years.”
“Does he?”
“But most parents think there is something special about their offspring.”
“But my father is not like most parents. He would only think it if it were so.”
She laughed and ruffled my hair. “Don’t say too much about Dolly, will you? Not just yet. Of course it will come out and there’ll be a lot of gossip. But don’t set it going.”
“Of course not. I’ll only tell Amaryllis; and she never talks about anything if you tell her not to.”
I went away and thought a good deal about Dolly. Oddly enough I was to talk to her soon after my conversation with my mother.
I went over one day to see Aunt Sophie. Jeanne told me she was sleeping so I went into the garden to wait for a while and whom should I see there but Dolly.
She looked different. There was no thickening of her figure yet but there was a certain transformation in her face. The drawn-down eye was less noticeable. There was a little colour in her cheeks and the visible eye shone with a certain delight and, yes … defiance.
She was more talkative than I had ever known her.
I did not, of course, refer to the subject. It was she who brought it up.