Lucie could not be found anywhere. We thought she had run away. She was in the tower and in the morning they found her body on the flagstones below the bartizan. The wall above, which had been boarded up since that occasion when Minta and I had been up there together, was broken away.
The servants said: “It was a terrible accident. The wall gave way and Lady Cardew was thrown to the ground.”
Two
I was proud of Stirling. He took on the role of country squire as though it had always been his. Lady Cardew was dead—it was an accident, was the verdict. It was explained by all the work that was being done in Whiteladies which had shaken the old house to its foundations. That, said Stirling, was the best explanation.
He asked me to talk to the doctor to make him see reason. Stirling’s idea was that the entire matter should be forgotten. There was no need for anyone—who did not already know. it-to know the truth. The danger was removed. Lucie was dead; she could do no more harm. Dr. Hunter insisted that he had been guilty of grave indiscretion and was a disgrace to his profession. He didn’t think he could allow matters to stand as they were. So the day after little Charles was born Stirling and I talked to him together.
I said: “You have your skill. You have brought this child into the world and you know how difficult that was. If you hadn’t been here Minta would have died and the child with her. Are you going to throw away that skill?”
“There are other doctors,” he said.
“But you belong here.”
“Another doctor would come and there would be no need of me.”
“And what of Maud?” I asked.
“You’re fond of her. She’s fond of you.”
“It’s impossible,” said the doctor.
“It’s not!” I cried indignantly.
“You must stop dramatizing yourself and think of Maud. Are you going to make her unhappy?”
He protested but I saw that I had made my point.
The days passed; the baby was two weeks old, still fragile, still in the care of his nurse, still needing the doctor’s constant attention. They were two strange weeks. I looked after Minta. Motherhood had changed her. She seemed older and more I beautiful—her features finely drawn, but there was a brooding sadness in her eyes.
Franklyn often called at Mercer’s. He would sit and talk to Minta about the estate and the old days and ask questions about the baby. I thought how much more suitable than Stirling he would have been as a husband for Minta. They were of a kind, just as Stirling and I were.
Stirling came too. He would sit in Minta’s room but there was an embarrassment between them. I wondered whether he knew that she had suspected him of attempting to kill her.
Once he and Franklyn came to the house at the same time so I left Stirling with Minta and Franklyn and I went to the drawing-room to play a game of chess.
As I sat there I thought of Lynx’s hand stretched out to move the pieces, the ring on his finger. I treasured that ring. It brought back so many poignant memories.
And then before the game was over Franklyn said suddenly:
“Nora, will you marry me?”
I drew away from the table.
“No, Franklyn,” I said firmly.
“I wish you would,” he said quietly.
I smiled and he asked me why.
“It seems a strange way to offer marriage—almost as though you were inviting me to take a glass of sherry.”
“I’m sorry,” he said .
“I shouldn’t have said that.”
“You should always say what’s in your mind to me. I know I’m rather inadequate at expressing my feelings.”
I like that. “
“I’m glad. I’m very fond of you and I hoped you might like me … a little.”
“Much more than a little but …”
“Not enough to marry me?”
“We are different kinds of people, Franklyn.”
“Does that make marriage impossible?”
“We shouldn’t be compatible. You are good, precise, your life is well ordered …”
“My dear Nora, you overrate me.”
“I believe you would never do anything that wasn’t reasonable and conventional. You are in control of your life.”
“Shouldn’t one be?”
“Oh yes. It’s very admirable. But hard to live up to. I can only say that we are different and I can’t marry you.”
I looked into his face, but I was not really seeing him. I saw another face—a strong face that could be cruel and passionate. the face of a man who could dominate me as Franklyn never could. Even now it was impossible to analyse my feelings for Lynx. To marry him had been a compulsion. Yet I knew that now I yearned for Stirling because I had known ever since we met that we belonged together. Yet how could I reconcile this with my marriage to And Franklyn and myself! Minta and Stirling! We were star-crossed.
Lynx like a mischievous god had made us dance to his tune and we had ended up with the wrong partners.
“No, Franklyn,” I said firmly.
“I can’t marry you.”
The child was flourishing but Minta was not. Each day she seemed more wan, a little more fragile.
“She’s not picking up,” said the doctor.
“She’s listless.”
None of Mrs. Glee’s special dishes could tempt her. Mrs. Glee was almost in tears when they came back untouched to the kitchen. Maud came to visit Minta bringing some of her own honey and black currant jelly. A radiant Maud, this; she told me that the doctor had proposed.
“And been accepted, of course,” I said.
She nodded.
“He has told me everything and we’re going to adopt Druscilla. Isn't that wonderful? And it’s only right. Mr. Herrick agrees.”
I told Minta about it.
“Everything is working out well,” I said.
“Now you must eat what’s brought to you and try to show some interest in life. What about your son, eh?”
“You can take him.”
“I! When you are well I shall be off to Australia."
” Are you still determined to go? “
I assured her I was. She looked very sad and I told her that I should come back in a few years and then there would perhaps be a brother or sister for our little Charles. She shook her head.
I was really worried about her and it dawned on me that there was something on her mind.
My guilty conscience set me brooding. I thought constantly of Minta.
One night I was so disturbed about her that I couldn’t sleep. I rose and went to. her room. The lamp there was kept burning all night and as I went in I was horrified to find how cold it was; then I saw that the window was wide open letting in the chilly night air. Minta had thrown off all the bedclothes and lay there in her nightdress only.
I went quickly to the bedside. I touched the sheets and found they were damp. I noticed the empty water jug on the bedside table.
First I shut the window; then I went back to the bed.
“Who did this?” I demanded. I lifted her from the bed and seizing a blanket wrapped it round her. I made her sit in a chair, while I took off the sheets and put on fresh ones. I boiled water on the spirit lamp and filled the hot-water bottles; when I got her into bed she was still shivering. She seemed dazed and she was certainly delirious; I am sure I should never have discovered what was in her mind if she had not been.
I sat by her bed listening to her rambling. It was about Stirling, herself, myself. So she knew. She talked of the child who would play on the lawns of Whiteladies. That phrase which had haunted me! I would be there for she herself would be dead. It was the only way to make Stirling happy.
“It’s so hard to die,” she said.
“I have to die, though, because that’s the only way.”