Voices in a Haunted Room

They were watchful; our whole country seemed to be, and that there were fears in certain quarters was certain. A great many people were being sent out to Australia for what was known as sedition.

However, I had my own problems, and on this February afternoon I decided to ride through the lanes and look for the signs of approaching spring. I had an idea that time would help me to come to terms with my problems. My baby was due in September, my mother’s in August; and I looked forward to that date with an intense yearning. I had some notion that once I had my baby he-or she-would bring me such joy that it would overwhelm my melancholy.

I rode on, walking my horse. I would not gallop for fear of harming the baby-although, of course, it was too early a stage to be disturbed. However, I was cautious.

I found a certain pleasure in the sight of a few celandines peeping up among the grass. They were early-the first sign of spring; and there were crimson-tipped daisies making a brave show among the green. In the distance the river wound its way down to the sea. I rode towards it and passed over the wooden bridge which spanned it. I was startled by the sudden cry of a lapwing. They were mating down there; their cries sounded more melancholy than usual.

Soon the birds would be in full song. I used to love to listen to them. They were so joyous; they hadn’t a care in the world.

I had a sudden desire to see the sea.

I remembered how Chariot used to look across to France with wistful longing eyes.

Where was Chariot now? Chariot and Louis Charlesthey were fighting with the French against the English. How would Chariot feel about that? What a complication we had made of our lives!

I could smell the sea now; the gulls were whirling round and round uttering their mournful cries, searching for food, I supposed. As I looked up and watched them I heard someone calling my name.

“Mrs. Frenshaw, Mrs. Frenshaw ... can you come here?”

I turned my horse in the direction of the voice.

“Where are you?” I called.

“Down here.” A figure emerged on the shaw and I recognized Evie Mather.

“I’m coming,” I called, and rode towards her.

In a little cove, sheltered by protruded boulders, a man was lying stretched out.

His face was pale, his eyes shut and his damp dark curling hair fell over his brow.

He looked as though he had been washed up by the tide.

Dolly stood beside Evie, and their horses waited quietly.

“Who is he?”

Evie lifted her shoulders. “I’ve no idea. We’ve just found him. We heard someone and we came along to look. Then we saw him lying there.”

I dismounted and knelt by the young man. I saw that he was young under twenty, I should think.

I said: “He is breathing.”

“He seemed to faint when we came along.”

“We have to get him away from here,” I said.

“That’s what we thought, and we were trying to figure out how when we saw you.”

“One of us could go back and send for help. Unless we can take him back with us. Do you think we could lift him and put him on my horse?”

“We could try,” said Evie.

“The three of us might manage it,” I replied. “It would be quicker. Could you take his feet and I’ll have the other end. Dolly, hold my horse while we try.” It was not easy but we managed to get him up. He lay limply across my horse, his dangling hands almost touching the ground.

“It will be slow progress,” I said.

“But quicker,” repeated Evie, “than going all the way back and getting help.”

“Let’s go then.”

I mounted my horse and we made our slow return to Eversleigh.

That was how we found Alberic Claremont.

As soon as we arrived at Eversleigh we got him to bed. He opened his eyes and looked at us vaguely.

“He’s probably starving,” said my mother. “We’ll try him with a little soup. But first we’ll send for the doctor.”

When the doctor arrived he said the young man would soon recover. There was nothing wrong with him except that he was suffering from exposure and as we had thought, exhaustion. A few days’ rest and some nourishing food, served in small quantities at first but frequently, and he should soon be quite fit.

The diagnosis proved to be correct. At the end of the first day the young man was able to open his eyes and speak to us.

He spoke in French so we guessed his story even before he told it to us. He had escaped from the Terror and was seeking refuge in England as so many of his fellow countrymen were doing at this time.

They had taken his father to the guillotine. He had done no wrong, but he had been a bailiff to one of the big estates in the south of France. His brother was in the army serving his country. He had been warned that he had been marked as an enemy of the revolution, so he had known there was only one thing for him to do-get away.

He had left his home and travelled through France disguised as a peasant. He had reached the coast. There were ways of getting across, provided money could change hands, and he embarked in a remote bay in France and landed at an equally isolated one in England.

“Were you alone?” asked my mother.