Midsummer's Eve Page 28

  “Yes,” I said. “And you wore it …”

  “At that ceremony. I thought it was going a bit far to dress up like that. I never went again.”

  He rolled up the habit and put it into a drawer.

  “Why,” he said, “I believe I frightened you. You look quite shaken.”

  He came to me and put his arms round me. “The time seems to drag,” he went on. “It seems as though our wedding day will never come.”

  With his arm about me I felt better. It was true I had been shaken to see him in that robe. It had taken me right back to that fateful Midsummer’s Eve.

  After that it kept intruding into my thoughts.

  The day before the wedding, I rode alone in the woods. On impulse I went to the clearing by the river. The remains of the burned-out house were still there. Nothing had ever been done about it.

  It was on our land and I remembered my father had gone to look at it one day and he had come back and said that another cottage should be built there. He had set one of the builders to investigate.

  But no one was anxious to work there. A rumour went round that to do so would bring bad luck to anyone who had anything to do with it. The place was bewitched.

  I remembered my father’s saying: “Better leave it till they’ve forgotten. They’ll be working up all sorts of superstitions about the place. God knows who would want to live there. These things magnify and they thrive on them. No. No one would want the cottage. We’d better leave it alone.”

  A few years later he had made another attempt but he had met with all kinds of excuses.

  After that nothing had happened.

  I paused there, remembering. It all came back to me so clearly. The lighted thatch … the figure in the robe. Had he been the first one to throw the torch? I believed so. I remembered the cottage as it had been. Digory standing at the door with the cat; I could hear the final scream as the poor animal was consumed by the flames. I felt sick, physically and mentally. That people could do such things! They were savage, and yet by the next morning they had returned to their normal guises. One could never know the hidden depth of people’s characters nor how they would act when confronted with certain situations.

  I wanted so much to forget that night, but I could not. It had stamped itself indelibly on my mind.

  The wind sighed mournfully through the trees; I felt cold though the sun was hot. Memories of those faces in the light of the torches kept coming back to me. The hooded figure which I had believed concealed someone I knew.

  I rode home thoughtfully. I felt melancholy. Was it because I was going to be married in the morning? Surely a matter for rejoicing. It was a solemn occasion. Perhaps many girls felt as I did the day before they were taking the great step.

  I thought: Maybe it is too soon. I should have waited. But on the moonlit night on the ship when Rolf had told me that he had not been in the woods on that Midsummer’s Eve, it had seemed so right.

  He had been to Bodmin. Of course he had. Why had he not said he was going? Why had he not mentioned it until now? How strange that we could go on under a misapprehension for so many years!

  I wished I could disperse the memories of that night, but they kept coming back to me: the shouts of the people, Mother Ginny with her grey hair straggling about her ashen face. I could not forget it. Digory cowering in the grass, robbed of his bravado … just a terrified child.

  Then I was thinking of Jacco, all the fun we had together, and how that night we had saved Digory. And my misery was back as heartrending as it had ever been.

  I wished I could have found Digory. Would that have helped? Digory would be all right, my father had said. He would land on his feet. Heaven knew he had had enough experience of fending for himself.

  Why had I gone to the woods on the eve of my wedding? It was a foolish thing to have done.

  I must forget that night. I must forget my doubts. They were natural enough. They came to all girls who were on the point of taking such a momentous step.

  It was afternoon. I was in my room getting together a few things which I should take on my honeymoon. The house was quiet and I suspected Isaacs was taking a nap, which I believed he did at that hour. Mrs. Penlock too, I supposed.

  Suddenly I heard her voice. She was talking to one of the maids. They must be coming in from the kitchen garden for I heard Mrs. Penlock say: “I think that will be enough. Miss Helena pecks like a bird. I don’t think she wants to leave us.”

  One of the maids—I think her name was Fanny—said: “You’d have thought she’d have wanted to, wouldn’t ’ee, Mrs. Penlock? It must be wonderful to go up to London.”

  Mrs. Penlock gave her familiar snort. “Full of thieves and vagabonds up there, if you was to ask me.”

  “’ee don’t say, Mrs. Penlock!”

  “I could tell ’ee a few things. Never mind now. We’ve got a wedding on our hands.”

  “Miss Annora don’t look like a bride somehow.”

  “Be careful of that basket. She’s all right. Best thing that could have happened. She needs someone to look after her. ’Tain’t natural women being left with places like this. It needs a man.”

  “He’s lovely, don’t ’ee think so, Mrs. Penlock?”

  “He’s all right. Better than one of them smart lahdidahs from London what she might have got hold of.”

  I had to listen. I found their views amusing. I guessed they would soon pass out of earshot, but the basket must have been heavy and they were walking slowly: every now and then they paused.

  “Soon be part of the Manor,” said Fanny.

  “Don’t ’ee say such a thing. Manor’ll be part of us, I reckon. Well, ’tas always been a dream of Mr. Hanson to get his hands on this place.”

  “But it’ll be Cador still. ’Twon’t be Hansons.”

  “’Course it’ll be Cador, but she’ll be his wife, won’t she? And what’s hers’ is his and I’m not so sure that what’s his is hers. That’s the way of the world. I reckon he be pleased with himself. I remember him coming here years ago … Heard him say to his father, ‘I’d like to have this place.’ I reckon he always meant to own it somehow.”

  “But he be sweet on Miss Annora.”

  “He is and all. Sweet on her and sweet on Cador, I reckon,” affirmed Mrs. Penlock. “So it’s sweet all round. Come on, Fan. Get a move on. We’ll never get these done in time if you don’t.”

  “Don’t ’ee think this wedding’s a good thing then, Mrs. Penlock?”

  “I reckon it’s about the best thing that could have happened to him. He’ll have Cador, won’t he, which is what he’s always wanted.”

  Their voices were lost to me.

  I sat very still. They were right. He had always cared deeply about Cador. He had been fascinated by it. It was the reason why he had restored the decrepit old Manor House. It was the reason why he had acquired land.

  And in marrying me he would share it … perhaps own it.

  I wished that I had not listened to that conversation.

  Helena and I dined quietly that evening. I said I should like to retire early as there was so much to do tomorrow. So we said good night and went to our respective rooms.

  My uneasiness was deepening, and try as I might I could not dispel it.

  It was a long time before I slept; then I was haunted by dreams from which I kept waking, startled and alarmed. They were jumbled and seemed meaningless when I tried to recall them. My parents were in them with Jacco, Digory and Gregory Donnelly. It seemed to me that they were all warning me, that some great danger was threatening me.

  Then I dreamed the most frightening dream of all.

  I was in the woods and I saw torches through the trees. I went forward and there was the cottage with the roof aflame and holding the torch which had lighted it was a tall figure in a grey robe. The hood covered his face. I crept up to it. I could feel the heat from the torch and I put out my hand and touched the rough serge of the robe. The figure turned towards me and the hood fell ba
ck. Rolf was looking at me. He seized me. “Too late,” he whispered. “Too late. I was there … I am here … now.” He held the torch above my head and I screamed: “Let me go.”

  He answered: “No. It is too late.”

  “What do you want with me?” I cried.

  “Cador,” he said. “I want Cador.”

  I awoke. I think I must have cried out. I sat up in bed. I heard the creaking sound of a door opening. It was my cupboard. I caught my breath. It was Rolf, I thought, in the grey robe. He was there, menacing me, ready to step out and seize me as he had in the dream.

  But I was not dreaming now.

  I sat there, cowering back, my heart feeling as though it would burst out of my body.

  “No,” I whispered. “No, no. Go away.”

  Nothing happened. But it was there. The robe.

  My eyes were growing accustomed to the darkness of the room. Now I could see clearly. I got out of bed. I was almost sobbing in terror. It was not the robe that I saw. The cupboard door had swung open and it was the dress which Jennie had made for me which was hanging there.

  It was part of my nightmare but it seemed to have a frightening significance.

  I shut the cupboard door firmly and set a chair against it. The catch was weak and a gust of wind would now and then blow it open, which was what had happened now.

  That was all. It was just that coming after my dream it was like a symbol; and I thought suddenly: I cannot marry Rolf.

  In my heart I did not believe him. He had been there that night. He was not the man I believed him to be. People are not always what one thinks them. I had thought Joe Cresswell was an honourable man and he had made me an accomplice in stealing documents to incriminate Uncle Peter. Uncle Peter had deceived people for years. I felt lost and alone. I had no experience of men. Gregory Donnelly had frightened me with his crude and meaningful glances, but at least I knew him for what he was.

  And Rolf? He would not have lied. Or would he? He knew that I had changed after that Midsummer’s Eve. He knew now why. He wanted Cador. He would have lied … for Cador.

  And if he were indeed there that night, if it was he who had led on the mob to do that cruel thing, he was not the man I had loved so slavishly in my childhood. But he was kind and gentle, I knew. Part of him was; but people were made up of many parts.

  He was obsessed by Cador. He loved the place. I saw the excitement in his eyes when he talked of it. Of course he wanted to marry me. I represented Cador in his eyes.

  If I spoke to him, if I tried to explain, he would soothe me. I would believe him for a while … and then the doubts would come.

  I could not marry him while I doubted him.

  I had promised to marry him when I was not in a fit state to think clearly. I was stunned by the loss of the three people I loved unquestioningly. I had needed loving care and he had been there to offer it. He had given it ardently, it seemed; but was it for Cador?

  The servants thought so. He had always wanted it. I remembered those eager conversations when my father was alive and Rolf and his father came to dine with us. He had wanted an estate of his own—and he had acquired one. But it was Cador that he really wanted.

  I realized I had acted rashly. I needed time to think.

  It was already morning and I could not marry Rolf this day.

  It was no use trying to sleep. I got up and lighting four candles I sat down and wrote. I had torn up several sheets before I had completed the letter.

  Dear Rolf,

  This is a terrible thing I have to do, but I know now that I must. I cannot marry you yet. I hope you will not be too hurt. I think you will come to see that it is perhaps for the best. I have been foolish and rash, and the last thing I want to do is to hurt you, but marriage is such a big step and once the words have been said people are united forever.

  I am behaving badly and you will despise me for this. I am trying to find excuses for myself and I can only say that what happened so shattered me that I have felt lost and bewildered ever since. On the ship when we were together it seemed the right thing to do, a kind of way out for me. But marriage is more important than just that. Now that I am home, I am trying to think clearly, to be practical; and I am filled with misgiving.

  I have been wondering for some weeks whether I have been rash. To me it seems such a short time since the tragedy.

  Rolf, do please try to understand.

  As you know I have always been very fond of you, but marriage is so binding, and I do not feel ready to take the step yet.

  Forgive me, Rolf.

  Annora

  I sealed the letter. I must be sure that he received it at once. I did not want him to come to the chapel expecting the ceremony to go ahead.

  As soon as it was light I dressed and went downstairs. I saddled my horse and rode over to the Manor.

  As I arrived at the Manor stables I saw Luke Tregern on the point of going in. He looked amazed to see me, as well he might.

  “Good morning, Miss Cadorson,” he said, his eyebrows slightly raised, his teeth gleaming and his shrewd eyes alight with curiosity.

  “Good morning, Luke. I have a letter here. Would you see that it gets to Mr. Hanson immediately?”

  “I will indeed, Miss Cadorson. Are you well? Would you care to come into the house? I am sure Mr. Hanson will be up.”

  “No thanks. I just want him to get this note … as soon as possible.”

  “I will see to it.”

  I watched him as he hurried into the house; then I rode away.

  I went back to my room. I sat there looking out of the window. My heart was still beating wildly and I was saying to myself: “What have you done?”

  I went into Helena’s room. She was surprised to see me.

  “Good morning, Annora. Why, what’s the matter?”

  “There is to be no wedding, Helena.”

  She stared at me. “But …”

  “I can’t explain. I just can’t go through with it.”

  “But … Rolf …”

  “I’ve told him. I wrote a note explaining. I’ve just taken it over myself. Luke Tregern is giving it to him.”

  “Annora!”

  “I know it is a terrible thing I have done. But I had to. I knew I had to. Helena, I want you to explain to them all. Stop all the preparation …”

  “Do you want to talk …?”

  I shook my head.

  “Just do that for me. Will you, Helena?”

  She nodded and went away.

  There was a stunned silence throughout the house. It was like a place of mourning. The servants talked in whispers. I could imagine the conversation in the kitchen.

  Rolf came over. Helena came to tell me that he was there.

  I did not want to see him, but I could not refuse. I had already done him a great injury. I could not add to that.

  He was waiting for me in the small room which led from the hall.

  He just stood there looking at me in silence.

  I began to stammer: “Oh … Rolf … I’m so sorry. I just could not go through with it.”

  “Why, Annora? Why?”

  “It’s difficult to explain. I just know I can’t. Oh, Rolf, what can I say?”

  “To have come so near … !”

  “I know. But I had to stop it … before it was too late. Please try to understand.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t.” His voice sounded cold, remote. I wanted to go to him, to fling my arms round him, to tell him that no matter what the consequences were I would marry him today in the chapel.

  But he was looking at me with cold distrust. He had changed. I had never seen him look like that. He was controlling his emotions. The thought came to me, He is seeing Cador slipping out of his grasp.

  I felt vindicated suddenly.

  I had done the right thing.

  I heard myself say almost coolly: “I’m sorry, Rolf, but I had to do it.”

  I thought he might plead with me and if he had done so, I mi
ght have given way. I loved Rolf. I had always loved him, but between us was that image of the man in the grey robe. I could not rid myself of the fear that he was the one who had worn it on that night; and I imagined that I would always go on believing it. It would be there always, a shadow between us.

  “This is definite then,” he said.

  I did not answer. I wanted to say: “Wait. It might change.” I might come to terms with this. I loved Rolf. I wanted to be with him. If only I could be sure that he had not been there that night. But he had already said that he was not there. The fact was that I did not believe him.

  “There is no need for me to remain,” said Rolf. “You have made it very clear to me. I can do nothing but accept your decision.”

  This cold, precise man was not like the Rolf I knew. He was deeply wounded I knew yet it hurt me that he could seem so aloof, almost indifferent. If he had raged at me I could have answered him, perhaps explained. Perhaps we could have made some plans. Perhaps we could wait awhile. Time … that was what I wanted.

  But he had gone.

  A terrible sense of loneliness swept over me. I knew then that I wanted him back. Even if he had been there on that night, I loved him enough to be able to understand that he was carried away by his desire to watch the behaviour of people and compare it with what had happened long ago.

  But he had gone and I had wounded him so deeply that he would never forgive me for what I had done. It was the cruellest blow one partner of a prospective marriage could deal another. If I had broken it off even a week ago the blow would have been less acute. But to leave it until the very day of the wedding, that seemed heartless. I knew that was what he was thinking. He must despise me.

  No wonder I was unhappy. I felt I was losing everything I cared for.

  That day which was to have been my wedding day seemed as though it would never end. There was no one I could talk to, not even Helena. I could not tell her of my fears, that I did not trust Rolf. Why did I doubt him? He had said he was not there. Until recently I should have believed him—but what had happened in London had made me doubt human nature … and Rolf was human.

  How bitter he must be feeling! I tried to tell myself that he would be in mourning for Cador, not for me, but I could not entirely believe that.