Gossamer Cord

Below the sea seemed to have lost a little of that serene murmur; and had taken on a malevolent whisper.

At last I slept.

A few days later Dorabella’s ordeal began.

There was a hushed atmosphere throughout the house. The doctor had come and the midwife was with him. My mother and I sat tense, waiting. Nanny Crabtree was ready to pounce on the baby. The moment she heard the cry of a child, she would be there. But the doctor and the midwife had made it clear that her presence would not be needed until that moment.

I could not stop thinking of Dorabella’s coming to my room, and the dream which she had more than once.

My mother was equally nervous. We sat talking of other things—anything but Dorabella—while we waited for news…and feared it.

At last we heard the footsteps on the stairs. The doctor was beaming at us.

“It’s a boy. You can see her now…just for a few minutes. She’s very tired.”

“She…she’s all right?” I stammered.

“Right as a trivet,” he answered.

We dashed up to her room. There she lay, flushed and triumphant. The midwife was holding the baby—red-faced—a tuft of fair hair on his head, squirming and irritable.

“He’s a beauty,” said the midwife, as the child opened his mouth in a wail of angry protest.

Dorabella held my hand and that of my mother. My mother was almost in tears of relief and happiness.

Dorabella looked at me. “I managed it,” she said.

“I knew you would.”

“What do you think of Tristan?”

“He’s wonderful,” said my mother. “Only a daughter of mine could produce such a child.”

Tragedy on the Beach

WHEN DORABELLA HAD RECOVERED from her ordeal, James Tregarland insisted that the baby’s health be drunk in his vintage champagne. Tristan was by this time looking very different from the little old man of ninety whom he had resembled at birth. His skin was a healthy pink, his hair, though sparse, had a golden tinge, and his eyes, which he occasionally opened, were amazingly blue.

Nanny Crabtree held him and was watchful of any who came too near.

Dorabella sat in her chair, looking completely restored to normal. Dermot stood beside her, the proud father; Matilda, with Gordon, smiled happily on us all; and my mother and I sat close to Dorabella.

The old man lifted his glass.

“Welcome to Tristan,” he said. “Our grateful thanks to his parents for giving us this blessing.”

We all drank to that.

Dermot said how happy he and Dorabella were by this exciting event.

“Well,” said James Tregarland, his eyes glistening with that look which I had seen many times. “This is a great occasion. The succession is secure.” He was smiling at Matilda. “Don’t you agree, Matty?”

Matilda replied with something like faint embarrassment: “Yes, indeed it is.”

The old man’s chin wagged slightly, as I had seen it do before, and I think he implied some secret amusement. What was amusing him now seemed to concern Matilda. Was it some joke they shared?

Matilda, however, was smiling serenely.

“I am so glad,” she said, “that it is all over. It has necessarily been a worrying time.”

“And you and Gordon have been as anxious as the rest of us,” said the old man. “And now all is well. It’s a great weight off our minds. We have our little one.”

He was still smiling at Matilda.

“Yes,” she said. “Dear little Tristan. It will be wonderful to have a child in the house.”

The baby suddenly opened his mouth wide and yawned, which made everyone laugh.

“He seems a little bored with the proceedings,” said the old man with a grin.

“He wants his rest,” put in Nanny Crabtree. “I’ll be getting him down.”

She left us, taking Tristan with her.

When she had gone, the old man said: “She’ll make sure he’s all right, that one.”

“She can be a little officious at times,” said Matilda. “But I am sure she will be a wonderful nurse.”

“She certainly is,” said my mother. “That is why I was determined to get her. She looked after my girls and you couldn’t have a better watchdog.”

“Watchdog,” cried the old man. “You think there is going to be an attack on the youngster, do you?”

“I meant a watchdog against the hazards of childhood,” explained my mother. “She’ll see that he has the best care and is not allowed to take risks. She regards him as hers.”

“That’s what he needs,” said the old man, smiling to himself.

I thought he was very odd, and wondered whether he was slightly deranged. He seemed to be greatly amused by some secret joke.

A few days later my mother said she must go back. She had decided, after consultation with Nanny Crabtree, that the baby would be too young to travel at Christmas so we should spend the festive season at Tregarland’s.

Mary Grace was to visit us here shortly. Dorabella was very eager to sit for her portrait and grew really upset when I talked about returning when Mary Grace did; and finally I agreed that I might as well stay until after Christmas.

My mother left and Mary Grace arrived.

She and Dorabella liked each other immediately and Mary Grace started on the picture.