“My mother hides her grief but it is there. I never found that miniature I gave her.”
“She thought a great deal of it. She often told me how she felt about you. She used to laugh about the way in which you helped her out of trouble. She said she was a monster who thought up the wildest adventures and always at the back of her mind was the thought, Violetta will have to get me out of this.”
“Yes, it was like that with us.”
“She said you were her other self. She called it a cord between you. She said you were the better half.”
“Oh, Dermot, I can’t bear to think of her.”
“Nor I.”
After that we were silent. It was no use trying to talk of other things. She was uppermost in our minds and she would keep intruding. She had once said, “Don’t ever think you’ll be rid of me. I shall always be there.”
It was true, of course.
I sat with him until Jack came to take him in.
I watched them. Jack was strong and gentle and helped Dermot into his chair. He lifted his hand to me as Jack wheeled him into the house.
I went down the slope to the beach and stood there watching the waves.
“Dorabella,” I said. “Where are you?”
Next morning, when Jack went into Dermot’s room, he found that he was dead.
The Ghost on the Cliff
THE HOUSEHOLD WAS IN turmoil. The first I knew of it was when Matilda came to my room while I was preparing to go down to breakfast. She was very pale and obviously trembling.
“Something terrible has happened,” she said; and she told me how Jack had gone into Dermot’s room to wake him with his early morning cup of tea.
“He said he knocked on the door and when there was no answer he went in. He said good morning and, as there was no response, he went to the bed and saw at once what had happened. The bottle of pills was near the bed and it was empty. Jack knew at once what he had done. There was a glass which had contained whisky. Poor Jack, he is in a terrible state. We all are.”
“Oh, poor Dermot,” I said. “He was so unhappy.”
“He never got over Dorabella’s death. I can’t believe this has happened. Gordon is taking charge of everything. He has sent for the doctor. Oh, Violetta, this is terrible. What else is going to happen in this house?”
That was a bewildering day: the comings and goings, the whispered conversations, the terrible knowledge that another tragedy had struck us and that there was death in the house.
I kept thinking of our conversation in the garden. I was not surprised in a way. I should have seen it coming. He was in despair. That had been clear. I could understand this. His marriage had been brief and fruitful…and then she had gone, stupidly, foolishly, because of an impetuous whim she had been taken away.
The entire house was in a state of shock. Matilda’s usual calm had deserted her. She was so shaken that the doctor gave her a sedative and advised her to take a rest.
Gordon was calm and essentially practical. The doctor talked to him—obviously relieved to be able to discuss what must be done with someone who was capable of doing it.
It was a nightmare day.
I had a talk with Gordon in the evening.
“There will be an inquest, of course,” he said. “The doctor obviously knows what happened. He is not altogether surprised. He said Dermot was very depressed. Before all this started, he could be high spirited at times and right down at others. He was not the sort who could cope with tragedy. When he heard that it was unlikely that he would walk again, the doctor was afraid he might attempt to take his life. He had been about to suggest that the pain-killing pills should only be administered by Jack or someone near at the time he needed them, but that would have had its difficulties. He might have wanted to take them in the night. It was a very sad case but, as the doctor said, not altogether unexpected in the circumstances.”
It was a household in mourning.
Matilda was too shaken to leave her bed that day and it was Gordon who had had to break the news to old Mr. Tregarland.
When he came out of the old man’s bedroom he was clearly disturbed. I was waiting to hear how the father had received the news of his son’s death. He was stricken with grief and horror.
“I thought,” said Gordon, “that we were going to have another death in the house. His face turned purple and he opened his mouth to speak but there was no sound. He just stared at me and he was shaking in every limb. I thought he was going to have a stroke. This has been a terrible blow, coming after everything else. He has taken it very badly. We shall have to be very careful with him. The shock has been too much.”
Mr. Tregarland stayed in his room for several days. Matilda went about as though in a bad dream. I did not go into the town. I could imagine what people were saying. There was a curse on Tregarland’s. It went back a hundred years to when the Tregarlands and the Jermyns were such enemies.
There was no question of the verdict that Dermot had committed suicide while the balance of his mind had been disturbed.