Gossamer Cord

Poor Dermot’s condition had not improved and the doctor had hinted that it could be permanent, although naturally Dermot had not been told this. He had changed. The carefree young man had become moody. I could understand that. He was not a man with inner resources. He had enjoyed an active life. He liked to travel, to be with people. I was sorry for him. He was often melancholy during those dark days of winter.

The climate in Cornwall is a little milder than elsewhere in England. Snow was rare but the rainfall was heavy, and sometimes the winds would blow at gale force from the southwest. There were sunny days now and then, and Jack would wheel Dermot out in his chair and take him to the gardens, help him from the chair, and he would sit for a while on one of the seats looking down on the beach. I always thought that was not a good spot to be, where he could see the rocks on which Dorabella’s bathrobe had been found.

His father would sometimes sit with him. That showed a change in the old man. I was glad and liked him better because I realized that he really cared for his son.

March had come and the first signs of spring were in the fields and hedgerows. The news suddenly grew more serious. The respite since those days when Neville Chamberlain had returned from Munich brandishing his little piece of paper and declaring there was to be peace in our time was over.

Hitler disregarded his promise and marched into Czechoslovakia.

This was alarming. It confirmed that which many people had thought possible and what must have been in the mind of the Prime Minister when he had returned from Munich and had immediately set about rearmament.

Now even those who had been opposing preparation for war realized the necessity of doing so.

Where would the German dictator turn next? The policy of appeasement was over. There could be no more standing aside. The Prime Minister had a meeting with the French premier and an agreement between the two countries was announced. They would support Poland, Rumania, and Greece if Hitler should attack them.

No longer could people run away from the truth. The storm clouds were gathering fast over Europe. How long would it be before Hitler decided to move into Poland?

He was already stating his claims to that country.

We waited for the news every day and there was a feeling of intense relief when nothing happened.

I rode often with Jowan. We loved to go onto the moors and, if the weather was warm enough, would tether our horses and sit close to an old disused mine while Jowan told me of some of the old legends of Cornwall. He would point out the prehistoric stones, so many of which had a story attached to them.

I arranged to meet him one day and when I went into the stables Seth was there.

He was always interested in me. I think it was because I was Dorabella’s sister and he believed she was one of the victims of the ghostly lady of the house of Jermyn.

Only the day before, I had walked down to the beach. I found a certain fascination there. I liked to stand close to the sea and watch the waves advance and recede, while I thought of Dorabella.

Seth had seen me there. I had looked up and there he was in the gardens looking down at me. I lifted my hand in greeting. He had returned the gesture, shaking his head at me. I think he must have meant it as a warning, telling me I should not be there.

I realized that afternoon in the stables that he was referring to this incident when he said: “Shouldn’t go down there, Miss. ’Tain’t good.”

“Do you mean the beach?” I asked. “I always make sure that the tide is not coming in and in any case I could get back into the garden. It was quite different on that day I was caught.”

He shook his head. “ ’Tain’t right. One day ’er’ll be after you. You was the one as brought him here.”

Knowing the way his mind worked, I realized that he was talking about Jowan and my breaking the feud between the houses of Tregarland and Jermyn.

“I’m all right, Seth,” I said.

He shook his head and I thought for a moment that he was going to burst into tears.

“ ’Tweren’t I,” he said. “I had naught to do with it. Not really like…”

I had lost the train of his thought, but he looked so worried that I wanted to pursue it.

“Didn’t do what, Seth?” I asked.

“I didn’t ’elp to get ’er in, like. Not really, only…”

Something was worrying him very much. This was a different turn to the conversation.

“Who, Seth?” I asked. “Who was the one you did not help?”

He was silent for a moment. Then he murmured: “Not to say. Not to tell. It’s a secret.”

“Do you mean….my sister…?”

“No. Don’t know naught about her. T’other.”

“The first Mrs. Tregarland?”

He looked at me and half nodded. “Not to say,” he went on. “ ’Er was beckoned, ’er was. ’Er had to go in. It was what ’er wanted.”

“I don’t understand, Seth. Who wanted what?”

“Wasn’t what ’er wanted. ’Er had to, didn’t ’er? But ’tweren’t I, Miss. ’Er ’ad to and ’er went.”

Gordon had come into the stable. I wondered how much of this conversation he had heard.