Gossamer Cord

There were two young women taken by the sea—though the first was before the meddlesome creature arrived and was just a warning that the quarrel was as fierce as it always had been. Then the master fell off his horse and it was reckoned that it would be a long time before he would be in the saddle again. It was a warning. It was saying clear as the nose on your face: Don’t meddle with what you don’t know.

I felt a great desire to get away from the place. I could, of course, pack and go home tomorrow, but what of Tristan? As Richard would have said, the nanny was quite capable of looking after the child. If only I could take him with me.

There was something else. I should not see Jowan Jermyn, and I should not want that. During this time, my encounters with him had seemed to bring a sort of sanity into my life. He gave the impression that he was concerned for me. He helped me to laugh at the whispering voices; he understood my need to look after Tristan. He took my fears and frustrations and my indecision seriously. He seemed to understand as no one else did.

Dermot came home from the hospital. It was clear that he was badly injured. He walked with great difficulty and he went straight to his bed, for the journey from the hospital had exhausted him.

There was gloom throughout the house. It was the first time old Mr. Tregarland lacked that air of suppressed amusement. He looked really shaken. This was, after all, his only son.

During the days that followed it was brought home to us how incapacitated Dermot was. We had been told that there was little hope that he would regain his full vigor, although the doctors hoped for some improvement. We were warned that it would take a long time.

James Tregarland entered into the discussion as to what was to be done. A wheelchair must be acquired for Dermot and a room on the ground floor prepared. That was easy enough to arrange. Jack, from the stables, was a man to be trusted. He was strong, and if need be they could call in Seth, whose physical strength made up for what he lacked mentally.

The great task would be to keep Dermot cheerful. This following on the death of Dorabella had been too much for him. In fact, the fall was attributed to his grief.

Everyone was eager to do what they could for him. A beautiful ground floor room, its mullioned windows overlooking the sea, was made ready. He had his chair in which he could wheel himself about. He was often in pain and had strong pills to alleviate it. The doctor would come once a week unless called in between times; and everything that could be done would be.

No one could have had more care. There was a constant stream of visitors; we made sure that he was hardly ever alone. Jack was his devoted slave. He liked me to go to see him, and invariably he would talk of Dorabella—how wonderful she had been, how he had loved her from the moment he saw her. And then…he had lost her.

I had to keep him from talking too much about her.

He would sit in his chair, freshly shaved and washed, wearing a Paisley dressing gown, and I thought how changed he was from the young man who had sat outside the café with us—so bright, so merry, a young man in love with life and Dorabella. How sad it had turned out to be!

I used to talk to him about Tristan, telling him how he was growing, how bright he was, how he smiled at Nanny Crabtree and me…what a blessing he was.

He would nod and smile, but I knew his thoughts were with Dorabella.

The weeks began to pass. There was tension in the air. The great topic of conversation was again what was happening in Europe. There was a sense of uneasiness. People talked of the possibility of war.

Hitler was causing trouble again. Everywhere one went the subject was that of the Sudetenland areas and Czechoslovakia. Would Hitler invade? And if he did, what would England and France do? Would they stand aside again? Would they passively allow him to go in and get on with his demands for Lebensraum for the German nation?

His people were fanatically behind him.

So that uneasy summer began to pass.

I heard from Richard.

He wrote: “I cannot understand why you stay there. Are you never coming home? You seem to have this really rather mad obsession. The child has a perfectly good nurse. Your mother says she is utterly trustworthy. Why do you have to stay there?”

I could sense his impatience and veiled criticism. He thought I was foolish—or perhaps had some other reason for wishing to stay.

It was clear that we were breaking away from each other. I was sorry to have hurt him, but I knew now that I had been only momentarily attracted by him and my feelings were not really deep enough for a stronger relationship. Nor, I believed, were his.

I did go to see Mrs. Pardell again. She was quite welcoming in her rather grim way. She took me to her sitting room where I sat looking at the silver-framed picture of Annette.

“And how are things up there?” she asked.

“Sad,” I said.