That would take the whole of the morning, and Maud had asked me to stay for luncheon. Stirling didn’t seem to be listening. I looked at him wistfully; he was by no means a demonstrative husband. Sometimes I thought he made love in a perfunctory manner-as though it were a duty which had to be performed.
Of course I had always known that he was unusual. He had always stressed the fact that he had no fancy manners, for be had not been brought up in an English mansion like some people. He was referring to Franklyn. Sometimes I think: he positively disliked Franklyn and I wondered whether it was because he knew that Franklyn admired Nora and he didn’t think any man could replace his father.
He needn’t have worried, I was sure. If Franklyn was in love with Nora, Nora was as coldly aloof from him as I sometimes thought Stirling was from me. But I loved Stirling deeply and no matter how he felt about me I should go on loving him. There were occasions in the night when I would wake up depressed and say to myself: He married you for Whiteladies. And indeed his obsession with the house could have meant that that was true. But I didn’t believe it in my heart. It was just that he was not a man to show his feelings.
I came back from the vicarage at half past three. It was a cloudy day so that dusk seemed to be almost upon us. I remembered the bartizan, and as Stirling would very likely ask me that evening if I had been up to look at it, I decided I had better do so right away, for any lack of interest in the repairs on my part seemed to exasperate him.
The tower from which the bartizan projected was in the oldest part of the house. This was the original convent. It wasn’t used as living quarters but Stirling had all sorts of ideas for it. There was a spiral staircase which led up to the tower and a rope banister. In the old days we had rarely come here and when I had made my tour of inspection with Stirling it had been almost as unfamiliar to me as to him. Now there were splashes of whitewash on the stairs and signs that workmen had been there.
It was a long climb and half-way up I paused for breath. There was silence about me. What a gloomy part of the house this was! The staircase was broken by a landing and this led to a wide passage on either side of which were cells like alcoves.
As I stood on this landing I remembered an old legend I had heard as a child. A nun had thrown herself from the bartizan, so the story went.
She had sinned by breaking her vows and had taken her life as a way out of the world. Like all old houses, Whiteladies must have its ghost and what more apt than one of the white ladies? Now and then a white figure was supposed to be seen on the tower or in the bartizan.
After dark none of the servants would go to the tower or even pass it on their way to the road. We had never thought much about the story, but being alone in the tower brought it back to my mind. It was the sort of afternoon to inspire such thoughts—sombre, cloudy, with a hint of mist in the air. Perhaps I heard the light sound of a step on the stairs below me. Perhaps I sensed as one does a presence nearby. I wasn’t sure, but as I stood there, I felt suddenly cold as though some unknown terror was creeping up on me.
I turned away from the landing and started up the stairs. I would have a quick look and come down again. I must not let Stirling think I was not interested. I was breathless, for the stairs were very steep and I had started to hurry. Why hurry? There was ho need to . except that I wanted to be on my way down; I wanted to get away from this haunted tower.
I paused. Then I heard it. A footstep—slow and stealthy on the stair.
I listened. Silence. Imagination, I told myself. Or perhaps it was a workman. Or Stirling come to show me how they were getting on.
“Is anyone there?” I called.
Silence. A frightening silence. I thought to myself: I’m not atone in this tower. I am sure of it. Someone is dose . not far behind me.
Someone who doesn’t answer when I call.
Sometimes I think there is a. guardian angel who dogs our footsteps and warns us of danger. I felt then that I was being urged to watch, that danger was not far behind me.
I ran to the top of the tower. I stood there, leaning over the parapet, gripping the stone with my hands. I looked down below, far below and I thought: Someone is coming up the stairs. I shall be alone here with that person . alone on this tower.
Yes. It was coming. Stealthy footsteps. The creak of the door which led to the last steps. Three more of those steps and then . I stood there clinging to me stones, my heart thundering while I prayed for a miracle.
Then the miracle was there below me. Maud Mathers came into sight with her quick, rather ungainly stride.
I called: “Maud! Maud!’ She stopped and looked about her.
Oh God help me, I prayed. It’s coming dose. Maud was looking up.
“Minta! What are you doing up there?” Hers was the sort of voice which could be heard at the back of the hall when the village put on its miracle play.
“Just looking at the work that’s being done.”
“I’ve brought your gloves. You left them at the vicarage. I thought you might want them.”
I was laughing with relief. I turned and looked over my shoulder.
Nothing. Just nothing! I had experienced a moment of panic and Maud with her common sense had dispelled it.
“I’ll come right down,” I said.
“Wait for me, Maud. I’m coming now.”
I ran down those stairs and there was no sign of anyone. It was fancy, I told myself. The sort of thing that happens to women when they’re pregnant.
I didn’t think of that incident again until some time afterwards.
By the end of January I was certain that I was going to have a child.
Stirling was delighted—perhaps triumphant was the word—and that made me very happy. I realized then that he had become more withdrawn than ever. I began to see less of him. He was constantly with the workmen; he was also buying up land in the neighbourhood. I had the feeling that he wanted to outdo Franklyn in some way, which was ridiculous really because the Wakefields had been at the Park for about a hundred years and however much land Stirling acquired there couldn’t be a question of rivalry.
Lucie cosseted me and was excited about the baby. She wanted to talk about it all the time.
“It will be Druscilla’s niece or nephew. What a complicated household we are!”
I was very amused when I discovered that Bella, the little cat which Nora had given me, was going to have kittens. I had grown very fond of Bella. She was a most unusual cat and Nora assured me that Donna was the same. They followed us as dogs do; they were affectionate and liked nothing so much as to sit in our laps and be stroked. They would purr away and I always smiled when I was at Mercer’s to see Donna behave in exactly the same way as Bella did. And when I knew Bella was going to have kittens I couldn’t resist going over to tell Nora.
I was a little uneasy with Nora nowadays. I hadn’t felt like that before my marriage, but now there seemed a certain barrier between us which might have been of her erecting because it certainly wasn’t of mine.
She was in the greenhouse where she was trying to grow orchids and Donna was sitting on the bench watching her at her work.
“Nora, what do you think?” I cried.
“Bella’s going to have kittens.”
She turned to look at me and laughed and she was how I liked her to be—amused and friendly.
“What a coincidence!” she said.
“You mean … both of us.”
Nora nodded.
“Poor Donna will be piqued when she knows.”
At the mention of her name Donna mewed appreciatively and rubbed herself against Nora’s arm.
“So she’s stolen a march on you, eh?” said Nora to the cat. And to me.
“What will you do with them?”