Voices in a Haunted Room

My mother looked at me and said: “We must be back in time for Claudine’s birthday.”Dickon smiled benignly at me. “Nothing-wars, rumours of wars, revolutions proved and planned-nothing must stand in the way of Claudine’s coming to maturity.”

My parents, with Jonathan, were away for the greater part of a week. Chariot went about in a mood of bleak depression; he and Louis Charles were often deep in earnest conversation. The entire atmosphere had changed; the death of the French King seemed to have opened up fresh wounds which brought us nearer to that state of unease which existed beyond the Channel.

David and I visited the Roman remains and I caught his enthusiasm for them. He told me about Herculaneum, which had been discovered early this century, followed by the discovery of Pompeii-both of which ancient towns had been destroyed by a volcanic eruption from Vesuvius.

“I should very much like to see those places,” he said. “I believe they are most revealing of how life was lived all those hundreds of years ago. Perhaps we could go there together one day.”

I knew what he meant. When we were married. A honeymoon perhaps. It sounded most exciting. Then I thought of Venice and a gondolier with a tenor voice singing love songs in the darkness.

We talked a great deal, naturally, about the revolution in France. It was never far from our minds. David was quite knowledgeable-far more so than he appeared to be during the mealtime conversations which Dickon naturally dominated and where Jonathan also gave a good account of himself.

I went round the estate with David. That was another side to him. He was a businessman, and eager to do everything he could to improve the lot of the tenant farmers and others who lived on the estate. He was very efficient in a quiet way and I saw again how greatly he was respected, which made me feel gratified.

I was beginning to think that I could have a very happy life with him -but that was because Jonathan was absent.

They came back two days before my birthday. I knew that my mother would not allow anything to interfere with that.

So the great day arrived. Molly Blackett wanted to be present when I put on my dress.

“Just in case I’m not satisfied, Miss Claudine. Perhaps a little stitch here, a touch there. You never know.”

I said: “You’re an artist, Molly.” And she was pink with pleasure.

Guests began to arrive in the late afternoon, for a few had to come from a long distance.

The Pettigrews, whose country estate was some thirty miles from Eversleigh, were staying the night. They visited us now and then, as Lord Pettigrew was a banking associate of Dickon’s. Lady Pettigrew was one of those domineering women who keep a very sharp eye on what is going on; and I believed she was looking for the best possible match for her daughter Millicent.

Millicent was a considerable heiress, and like most parents of such well-endowed offspring, Lady Pettigrew was eager that she should be matched by a partner of equal financial worth. I visualized the rather plump Millicent seated in a balance with a possible husband on the other side to be weighed with her while an eagle-eyed Lady Pettigrew made sure that the scales tipped in Millicent’s favour.

Our neighbours from Grasslands-one of the two big houses in the vicinity-had had to be invited; we were not very friendly with them in spite of their being our nearest neighbours.

They were Mrs. Trent and her two grand-daughters Evalina and Dorothy Mather. Mrs. Trent had married twice and both husbands had died. The first had been Andrew Mather, from whom she had inherited Grasslands; and on his death she had married the estate manager, Jack Trent. She had been unfortunate for, besides losing both husbands, she had also suffered the death of her son Richard Mather and his wife. Her consolation was her grand-daughters-Evie and Dolly, as she called them. Evie was about seventeen years of age, I supposed; Dolly was a year or so younger. Evie was quite a beauty but Dolly was a sad little thing. She had sustained some injury when she was born and her left eyelid was drawn down somewhat so that she had some difficulty in opening that eye. It was only a slight malformation but it gave a certain grotesque look to her face and I had the impression that she was very much aware of this.

The other nearby house, Enderby, was vacant. It seemed to be unoccupied most of the time, for it was one of those houses which over the years had collected an unsavoury reputation. Certain unpleasant events had taken place there. Sabrina had lived there for a tune-in fact, I think she had been born there-but her mother had been that Damaris whose virtuous looks I had noticed in the picture gallery and her influence somehow suppressed the evil which returned after she had died. However, Enderby was vacant, so no one came from there.