Voices in a Haunted Room

She was so much better-and then this has to happen with Alberic. She works herself into it. I don’t like it. It’s going right back and I thought she was much better when we came to Enderby.”

“We are so thankful that you are here to look after her.”

“I always shall be until God takes one of us away to another world. I wish they could solve that mystery. I think that would help a lot. If they could find the man who shot him ... and if he were brought to justice, I really feel she would begin to grow away from it. I rode sadly back to Eversleigh.

July had come in rather sultry. I had not seen Jonathan since his wedding. He had remained in London and he and Millicent might have spent a week or so at the Grenfells’ house in Maidenhead.

One morning I decided to go with David, who was proposing to look at some cottages which were in need of repair.

It was a dull morning-a trifle misty but it would be hot when the mist cleared. The woods were looking beautiful now. I glimpsed foxgloves in the glades between the trees and the poppies made a dash of scarlet against the gold of the corn.

When Jonathan was away I could forget the past for hours at a time -and then I think I was really happy.

David was talking now about the possibility of several of the cottages needing repairs to the roofs.

“It was the same at Clavering,” he was saying. “I set all that in motion there. It looks as though there’ll be a similar problem at Eversleigh. You ought to have come to Clavering with me. When Amaryllis gets a little older we’ll all go. Gerrand’s an excellent manager, but I do think we should put in an appearance more often.”

“Dickon never goes now,” I said.

“Well, no, but he keeps an eye on things though. He always goes through accounts and that sort of thing himself ... as he does here. But I have always felt his main interest was in London.”

“Secret matters?”

“I’m glad not to be involved in that.”

“I am glad too. It is better so ...”

“Much more suited to Jonathan. In fact we both fitted into our different niches very satisfactorily ... don’t you think?”

“Yes, I do, and I’m glad you got this particular niche.”

“The best thing I ever got was you, Claudine.”

Was it? I wondered. If you knew everything, would you really think I that? And the weight of my sin enveloped me and spoilt the beauty of the morning.“I want to go and have a look at Lammings Bridge,” said David. “I thought it was a little shaky yesterday. It may need propping up a little.”

“It would be disastrous if it collapsed while someone was riding over it.”

“Yes, the river is fairly deep at that point. It could be dangerous. We’ll just call at the cottage first and tell them I’m sending a thatcher along to look at the roofs.

There might be other things that need attention.”

I knew it was David’s policy to talk to tenants and explain what was going on, and that made it easy for them to bring their troubles to him. I realized afresh that morning what an ideal relationship he had established with the tenants. It could never have been the same when Eversleigh was Dickon’s main concern. I think they must all have been afraid of him.

I was proud of David and my spirits rose again.

Yes, I was happy. I thought, as I had a thousand times before: I must never make him unhappy. I owe that to him, and the only way I can make sure of that is by keeping my secret.

“We mustn’t forget the bridge,” said David.

“Come on then.”

There it was-Lammings Bridge, named, so I believed, after the man who had built it more than a hundred years ago. It was small wonder that it was in need of repair since it had stood the stress of weather and traffic all that time.

We dismounted and tethered our horses to some bushes on the bank. David prodded the wood.

“Yes,” he said, “it’s a little broken here. Can easily be patched up though, I think.

Oh, not a great deal to be done ... if taken in hand quickly.”

I leaned on the parapet and surveyed the scene. It was very peaceful with weeping willows trailing into the water and loosestrife giving a touch of purple to the banks.

Then I saw something in the water. I stared. It looked like a woman.

“David,” I called shrilly.

He was at my side immediately.

“Look!” I cried. “What’s that? Over there?”

”Oh God ...”he murmured under his breath. Then we ran across the bridge and down to the riverbank.

I shall never forget that moment. She lay there, white and still; she appeared to be smiling ... peacefully. She was beautiful. Oh poor, unhappy Evie!

David brought her out of the water and laid her on the bank. He said: “She’s been dead for hours. Poor ... poor child. What could have made her?”

We looked at each other in horror, and though we did not speak, we were thinking of Harry Farringdon.

“There’s nothing we can do for her,” said David. “We’ll have to get the doctor and some conveyance.”

“Oh what a terrible tragedy,” I said. “Poor Evie ... and poor Mrs. Trent ... and Dolly.”

Soberly we rode back.