"A little rabbit at the moment. I found him on the road ... a broken leg. Something on wheels must have run over him."
"Jamie," I said, "it's so peaceful here . . . particularly now. It's a pleasure to be able to call in."
"Call in whenever you have a fancy to, Miss Tressidor."
It was true. I felt a little comforted, but when I reached Tressidor the servants were all whispering together about the new turn of events.
In view of all the rumours about the mine, the local police had reported to headquarters in Plymouth, and it had been decided that there should be an investigation of the mine.
I shall never forget that hot sultry day.
In the morning the operation started. I heard it whispered that ropes and ladders had been taken onto the moor and that numerous men were there to arrange a descent down the mine shaft.
No one said openly that they were expecting to discover Gwennie's body, but that was what everyone thought. They had made up their minds that her husband had murdered her, and had given out the story of her having gone to Yorkshire, and then disposed of her; and it was all because he was tired of her, had never wanted her, had married her for the money which was to save Landower for the Landowers, and was now sweet on Miss Tressidor.
It was a dramatic story and one which appealed to their love of intrigue and showed that those who set themselves above ordinary folk because of birth and affluence were as full of human faults as anyone else.
I could not stay in. I could not talk to anyone. I wanted to be out and alone.
Yet I had to know immediately if anything had been discovered. I wanted to be with Paul. And I wanted to tell him that whatever he had done I understood.
I rode out and found him waiting in the lane for me.
He said: "I had to be with you."
"Yes," I answered. "I'm glad. I wanted to be with you."
"Let's go away . . . somewhere where we can talk. Let's be quiet . . . away from everyone."
"Almost everyone will be on the moors today."
We came to the woods and there we tethered our horses. We walked through the trees. He put his arm round me and held me close.
I said: "Paul, no matter what . . ."
"What I've done," he finished.
"You have told me you have not harmed her and I believe you. But what if . . ."
"If they found her in the mine . . ."
"How could she be there?"
"Who knows . . . some quirk of fate. What if she were set upon and robbed? You know how she decked herself out in jewellery. What if someone murdered her and threw her body down the mine?"
"But she was in the train."
"I don't know. Strange things happen. They would accuse me, Caroline."
"Yes," I said.
"And you?"
"I would believe in you. I would help you prove your innocence."
"Oh, Caroline ..."
"It can't be long now. How long will they take?"
"Not long, I should imagine. We shall soon know." "But whatever happens, I love you. I have been so critical of people. Life teaches one so much and when things like this happen one sees so much more clearly. I know how you have been provoked and even if
"But it is not so, Caroline. I put her on the train. Whatever has happened to her is none of my doing."
We walked through the woods; the sunlight was dappled on the leaves and the smell of damp earth was in the air; now and then a startled animal moved among the undergrowth and I thought: I want to go on like this. I want to stay here forever.
It was strange that in that time of fear and apprehension which was almost too great to be borne, I should know how deeply I loved him and that nothing he had done or ever would do, could alter that.
I was not sure how long we were in the wood, but we knew we must part.
I said: "I am going to ride to the moor."
"You shouldn't," he said.
"I must."
"I shall go back to Landower," he said.
"Never forget," I told him. "Whatever happens, I love you. I will be with you . . . against all the world if need be."
"If it took this to make you say that I can't regret it," he said.
He held me in his arms for a long time and then we mounted. He went back to Landower and I rode on to the moor.
There were crowds of people there. I saw the men near the mine. They appeared to have finished their task. I looked about me. One of the grooms was standing nearby.
"Is it over, Jim?" I asked.
"Yes, Miss Tressidor. They found nothing . . . nothing but a few animals . . . bones and such like."
Great waves of relief swept over me.
"Looks like a waste of time," said Jim.
Still people stood about. I wanted to ride back to Landower. I had to see Paul.
I turned my horse and went back as fast as I could.
I did not care what the servants thought. Let them do their worst. Gwennie's body was not in the mine. They would have to believe that she had got on that train to London.
I knocked at the door. One of the servants opened it. I stared. Someone was coming down the stairs. It was Gwennie.
"Hello, Caroline. This is a joke. Here I am. I gathered you have been wondering what had become of me?"
"Gwennie!" I cried.
"None other," she said.
"But ..."
"I know. I've been hearing all about it from Jenny. They've been searching the mine, looking for my corpse. What fun!"
"It wasn't much fun."
"No. I gathered they suspected my dearly beloved husband. Well, that'll teach him a lesson. Perhaps he'll treat me better now."
Paul had come into the hall.
"She's come back," he said.
"Perhaps we ought to go and tell them at the mine," said Gwennie.
"They had already finished their work," I said.
"Oh, were you there? Had you gone to see my grisly remains?"
"Certainly not," said Paul. "She knew you were not there. I had already explained that you had gone off on the train."
"Poor Paul. It must have been awful for you . . . that suspicion. I can't wait to show myself. I'd have loved to arrive at the mine. They might have thought I was the ghost of myself."
"There was a great deal of consternation when Jenny heard from your aunt that you had not been to Yorkshire."
"Oh yes ... I decided against it at the last moment," said Gwennie lightly. "I went to see someone I knew in Scotland."
"What a pity you didn't say. It would have saved a great deal of trouble."
"I must say it is rather comforting to know that people round here were so concerned for my welfare. I thought they always looked on me as an outsider."
"They love drama and you gave them the opportunity to create it," I said. "They love you for that."
"I think it's fun. I'm going out now. To ride round and show myself."
I said: "Then I'll leave you to enjoy your fun. Goodbye."
I went home. I was relieved but far from happy.
The neighbourhood was abuzz with the news: Gwennie was back. It had all been a storm in a teacup. I guessed there were some red faces.
Those who had seen the black dogs and the white hares were suitably subdued. Why should these omens of evil appear just to announce the deaths of a stray sheep and a few animals? And even they had been down there for quite a long time.
Gwennie continued to be greatly amused. She talked of little else. Jenny was shamefaced. She admitted to some of her fellow servants, who reported it to ours so that it came to my ears, that Mrs. Landower did not always wear the comb, and she had mentioned it because she had wanted to know if she had really gone to Yorkshire.
Gwennie came to see me. She said she wanted to talk and could we be alone?
I took her into the winter parlour and sent for some tea, as it was afternoon.
She looked different, I thought, sly in a way.
She began talking about all the
fuss of her so-called disappearance.
"Why shouldn't I go where I want to? As a matter of fact I had no intention of going to Yorkshire. I just said so because it was the first thing I thought of ... having my Aunt Grace up there. I didn't think that fool Jenny would raise all that trouble ... on account of a comb."
"I think the comb was just an excuse."
"But why should she suspect that something had happened to me?" She laughed. "All the intrigue that's going on, I suppose. Well, Jenny likes to be in the middle of all that. You can't blame her. So all this about my comb."
She took it out of her hair and looked at it. It was tortoiseshell, Spanish type, not large and with little brilliants set in it.
"It's true I wear it a good deal, but why she should think I would never leave without it, I can't imagine."
She stuck it back in her hair.
"So you had other plans right from the first?" I said.
She nodded. "I can't bear to be in the dark."
"I know that well."
"I like to know. It worries me if I don't. I just have to find out."
"I did realise that."
"Yes, everything that goes on. My Ma used to call me Meddlesome Matty. She used to say: 'Sometimes she'd lift the teapot lid, to see what was within.' I forget how the rhyme goes on but I believe something terrible happened to Matty. 'Curiosity killed the cat.' That was another of my Ma's sayings. Pa used to laugh at me. 'It's no good trying to keep anything from Gwennie,' he used to say. I knew that it was you and Jago who caused my accident."
"Oh?"
"Don't look so startled. I saw you. I remember your green eyes and your hair was all tied up with a ribbon . . . remember? One day you had it done just like that and I said, 'Hello, I've seen that before.' It was one of those things that come to you after . . . you know what I mean. Then I found the door in the gallery and the staircase up to the attics. It didn't take me long to work that out. I went up there and found the clothes you'd worn. You might have killed me. That was the first thing I had against you."
"I realised how foolish we were as soon as we'd done it. It was meant to be a joke."
"Typical of Jago. To frighten us away, of course. Just get rid of us, never mind the consequences."
"We didn't think for a moment that you would fall. We didn't know the rail was rotten."
"Everything in the house was rotten till Pa and I took it over."
I was silent.
"I couldn't walk for a while. I still feel twinges in my back and when I do I say, Thank you, Caroline. Thank you, Jago. It's all due to you."
"I am so sorry."
"All right. You were children. You didn't think and I know you're sorry. Jago was always very nice to me. I think it was because of that."
"Jago was quite fond of you."
"Landowers are fond of Landower ... all the glory of the family. I have to admit I like that, too."
"I think Jago can't be accused of those feelings. He was very willing to abandon it all."
"He'll be well gilded now. Rosie knows what she's about."
"I don't think he was all that concerned with the gildings."
"Everybody likes them. They make the wheels go smoothly round."
"Do they?"
She looked at me sharply. "If you let them," she said. "I know about Paul, of course."
"What do you know?"
"That he is after you . . . and I don't think you feel much like saying No to him either. But let me tell you this: I'll never let him go. He married me. Look what he got out of it. He's got to remember that."
"He doesn't forget that he's married to you."
"He'd better not. I shall never let him go. You'd better understand that."
"I do understand it."
"The best thing you can do is go up to Rosie. She's fond of you. She'll help you find a husband and then you won't have need of someone else's."
"There is no need for you to talk in this strain. I understand the position perfectly. I am not looking for a husband, and if I went to London to stay with Jago and Rosie for a visit it would not be with such a hunt in mind."
"I like your way of talking. Dignity, I suppose you call it. I suppose that is what he likes. Lady of the Manor and so on. Well, it's not to be, because I'll never let him go. He's got the house and he has to take me with it. And that's how it's going to stay."
I said: "Why don't you try living amicably together?"
"What? With him hating the bargain all the time and trying to wriggle out of it?"
"If you look upon it as a bargain, you'll never live serenely together."
"Life's what it is, Caroline. You take what you want and you pay for it. It's no use niggling about the price when it's all signed and settled."
"I don't think that is quite the way to look on marriage."
"And if you go on like this it seems to me you'll never have an opportunity of looking at it at all."
"That is very probable," I said, "and entirely my own affair."
"Well," she said, good-natured suddenly, "I didn't come here to quarrel with you. I know it's not your fault ... or anybody's fault. It just is. I came to talk to you about something else. As we said, I like to know what's going on around me. Well, I thought I'd do a little tour of investigation. That's what I've been doing."
"Where?"
"In Scotland. I went to Edinburgh. I stayed with someone we used to know before we came south. Her father was a friend of my father's. She married and went to live up in Edinburgh. I thought I'd look her up."
"What made you do that suddenly?"
"It was something Rosie said. Rosie always had her ears open, I imagine. She's like me in a way. That's why we got on. We talked a lot together. I reckon she's had a life of it. She mentioned this after we'd seen him."
"Seen him?"
"Jamie McGill. I wanted to get some honey for her to take back to London with her and I said to her, 'You won't be able to buy anything like you can get from this man. He's a magician with the bees and has conferences with them. He's a little loose in the top storey.' "
"I wish you wouldn't talk about him like that. Sometimes I think he's cleverer than any of us. He's learned how to be contented and that's about the wisest thing anyone can do."
"Well, don't you want to hear?"
"Of course."
"I took her along. She was interested in the bees and in him and we stopped and talked awhile. When he left she asked what his name was, and when I told her she said, 'McGill. I'm sure there was a McGill case.' Well, as you can imagine, I was all ears. I said to her, 'There's always been a bit of a mystery about Jamie McGill. He won't talk and he got a little fussed when I asked him a few simple questions . . . just the ordinary sort of ones you might ask anybody.' Rosie said, 'Well, I can't be sure, but there was a case and I'm certain the name was McGill. There wasn't a lot about it in the London papers because it happened in Scotland.'"
"I think it must have been something to do with his brother," I said. "He did mention a brother to me once."
"Yes . . . that's right. Rosie remembered that this McGill had been involved in a murder case. She wasn't sure what happened, but he got off. Then she remembered that it was because he got off that there was this bit of a stir about it. It was a verdict we don't have here. 'Not proven.' That was why it was written about and Rosie remembered. Well, I felt ever so interested . . . but Rosie didn't remember anything more."
"Do you mean to tell me," I said incredulously, "that you travelled up to Scotland to discover the secrets of Jamie McGill?"
She nodded, her eyes shining with mischief. "Though I'd have gone in any case if I'd known what a lovely little drama I was making here."
"I believe you like stirring up trouble."
She was thoughtful. "I'm not sure. I like to know ... I always did. I like to find out what people are hiding."
"And did you find out about poor Jamie McGill?"
"Yes. I talked to people who remembered, and you're able to g
et some of the papers which came out years back. I stayed with my friend in Edinburgh and she took me about the town . . . showing me the ropes. As I said we found quite a number of people who remembered. It wasn't all that long ago . . . only ten years or so. People remember these things."
"Well, what did you discover?"
"It was Donald McGill. I thought it might be Jamie."
"That," I said coldly, "was what you hoped to discover."
"But it was Donald. His brother didn't come into it at all. There was no mention of him. Donald had murdered his wife."
"I thought you said it was not proven?"
"I mean he was on trial for murder, but they couldn't prove him guilty. She was found at the bottom of a staircase in their home. They had been on bad terms and there she was . . . dead. She had a blow on her head, but they couldn't tell whether she had got it in falling or if it had been delivered before she was pushed down. That was why they had to decide and they couldn't, so there was this verdict, 'Not Proven.' "
"Congratulations on your discovery," I said.
"Well, at least you know about the man you employ."
"But this was his brother."
"It's something he doesn't want to come out."
"I can quite understand why not. If anything like that happens in your family, I daresay you want to get away from it."
"I had to know."
"Well, now you are satisfied."
"Yes, I'm satisfied now."
"I hope you won't go round talking about this. If Jamie wants to keep his secrets he should be allowed to."
"I don't suppose I shall say anything, and in any case it is only his brother. Now if he were the murderer . . ."
"You mean the suspected murderer. It was not proven as I have to keep reminding you."
"If it had been Jamie that would have been different."
"A great disappointment for you!"
"I'm still interested in him. I think there is something very odd about him."
"I should leave him in peace if I were you."
She looked at me, smiling. "You're of much greater interest to me, Caroline. When I think of you . . . coming here, getting the estate and everything . . . and then getting your own back on Jeremy Brandon . . . and then falling in love with my husband ... I must say there is never a dull moment with you, Caroline."