“You must tell me all about it while we are having lunch. It’s single file here. Just follow me.”

I did until we came to the moor. We galloped then and came to the King’s Head—a pleasant-looking inn. The sign over the door depicted the crowned head of some rather indeterminate monarch who might have been one of the Georges.

Over the table Jowan said, “Tell me about the visitor.”

“He was a friend from London. A lawyer.”

“And he came down to see you?”

“Yes.”

“A great friend?”

“We met in London. He is a friend of Edward’s. You know who Edward is?”

He did not, so I gave him a brief summary of Edward’s place in the family. He was intrigued by the story.

“My mother regards him as her son,” I said.

“You have inherited her talent for looking after motherless infants.”

“You mean Tristan. Well, he is my sister’s son.”

He nodded. “And the lawyer? You were not able to entertain him in the manner which he was expecting.”

I could not help smiling. “Why do you need me to tell you anything? You have such an excellent service of your own.”

“Nevertheless, tell me. I like to hear it from the horse’s mouth.”

“Tristan had a cold, a rather bad one. Nanny Crabtree called the doctor, who said he should stay in bed and be kept warm,” I went on to tell him about the open window and Tristan’s kicking off his bedclothes which had brought him close to pneumonia.

“We sat up with him all night…Nanny Crabtree and I. She didn’t want anyone else. She blames someone for coming in and opening the window.”

“And taking the clothes off the baby’s bed?”

“Oh, no. We thought he threw them off.”

“Was he in the habit of doing that?”

“No. He never has before.”

“So he only does it when he is in a draught.”

I looked at him intently.

“Well,” he said. “It was what he did, wasn’t it?”

“What are you thinking?”

“Why should he do that?”

“We can’t ask Tristan why he kicked off his bedclothes. I suppose he was restless, probably feverish and too hot.”

“I wonder why someone should come into the nursery and open the window.”

“Mrs. Lewyth thinks that Nanny Crabtree opened it and forgot to shut it.”

“I suppose it is a possibility. Is she forgetful?”

“I have never known her be, especially where her charges were concerned.”

“And with a child already sick. Doesn’t it sound strange to you? I wish you weren’t staying there.”

“Where else should I stay?”

“I mean it’s a pity you can’t take the child to your mother. But that is not entirely true, for if you did, what about me?”

“You?”

“Think how desolate I should be if I could not see you.”

“Would you be?”

“It is not like you to ask foolish questions when you know the answer.”

I did not reply, and nothing was said for a few moments.

I ate a little of the salmon which had been placed before me, and I felt happier than I had for some time. Tristan’s quick recovery had lifted my spirits and I always had enjoyed Jowan’s company.

He said at length: “Have you made any plans as to what you are going to do?”

I shook my head. “I am still uncertain about everything.”

“Something might be decided for us before long,” he said.

I looked at him questioningly and he went on: “I mean what is happening abroad.”

“Does that involve us?”

“There is a possibility that it will. The way things are going, perhaps I should say a certainty. Do you like the food here?”

“Very much.”

“We might come again. I often have to come this way.”

He talked to me about the farm at which we should call. There was some question about building another barn.

“It won’t take long. I thought you might like to see something of the estate.”

It was an interesting afternoon. I chatted to the farmer’s wife while Jowan was with her husband, and heard what a good landlord he was to his tenant farmers.

“Couldn’t be better,” she said. “We’re lucky to be on the Jermyn estate. ’Tis not so good over at Tregarland’s. Oh, sorry, Miss, I forgot you came from there. It was terrible about your poor sister, and I heard the little one’s been poorly.”

So it had already spread as far as this.

We rode back the way we had come. I felt better than I had since I lost Dorabella.

When I said goodbye, he took my hand and looked at me intently.

“Take care,” he said. “Especial care.” An almost imperceptible frown crossed his face as he went on: “Remember, I am not far away.”

“Comforting thought,” I replied lightly, but I meant it.

Death in the House

SUMMER WAS ALMOST WITH us. Richard wrote now and then, but he did not suggest paying another visit to Cornwall. My mother also wrote. She wondered whether there was any hope of my coming to Caddington. I could travel with the baby and Nanny Crabtree quite easily now, she was sure. She herself was going to London frequently since the birth of Gretchen’s baby—a little girl whom they had called Hildegarde.

It was June. I had paid another visit to Mrs. Pardell. She seemed quite pleased to see me. She was obsessed by the belief that Dermot had murdered both his wives and nothing would shift her. She thought he had strangled them, carried them out of the house, and thrown them into the sea.

“There was no sign of strangulation on Annette’s body when they found her,” I protested. “If there had been, it would have been quickly noticed.”

“She had been in the sea all those days, hadn’t she?” insisted Mrs. Pardell.

“I think the evidence would still be there.”

Nothing would convince her, but she said it was nice to talk to somebody about it. “And you lost your sister, I lost my daughter. It links us…if you know what I mean.”

I felt faintly depressed after my visit to her.

I was seeing Jowan more frequently. He introduced me to Joe Tregarth who was his manager. He was clearly devoted to Jowan. He told me it was a pity Jowan had not come into the property before and that it was a pleasure to work for someone who knew what he was about.

Whenever I went into the town I was aware of the looks which came my way. True, there was slightly less interest than there had been because the mystery of Dorabella’s disappearance was becoming stale news, yet I was still part of one of those old legends which would be revived every now and then.

I found a morbid fascination in the gardens. I used to sit there in the afternoons and look over the beach thinking of Dorabella. I pictured her again and again, going down there that morning, plunging into the cold water and being lost forever. But I could not believe it happened like that.

It was late afternoon. I had been sitting there for about half an hour when I heard footsteps descending and, to my surprise, I saw Gordon Lewyth coming toward me.

“Good afternoon,” he said. “You come here often, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“May I sit with you?”

The seat was a stone ledge cut out of the rock. There was room for about four people on it.

He sat down. “It doesn’t make you happy, does it, sitting here?” he said. “It brings it all back.”

“Yes. I suppose you are right.”

“And yet…you find it irresistible.”

“I cannot understand it at all,” I told him. “That my sister should suddenly start bathing in the morning. It would be decidedly chilly, and she was never the Spartan type.”

“People have strange fancies.”

“I cannot believe that she is dead.”

“But she has gone, hasn’t she?”

“Her body has never been washed up.”

“That does not mean she is alive. Some are never seen again. She could have been washed out to sea…or lying on the ocean bed.”

I shivered.

He said: “I’m sorry. But I reckon the sooner you face up to the fact that she has gone, the better. You’ll start to get over it then. You’d be better away from here.”