Midsummer's Eve

"Mind how you go.”

"I shall take the utmost care.”

I went to the cabin. "Helena," I called. "I think the storm is abating. How do you feel?”

There was no answer.

"Helena," I said again.

I looked up. She was not there.

I was amazed. She must have gone up on deck and she had said she felt very unwell that morning and the movement of the ship greatly upset her.

I looked into the cupboard where our clothes hung very closely together as the space was so limited.

Her raincoat and boots were missing.

So she must have gone on deck.

I felt a thrill of fear run through me. She would have to walk so carefully up there. And what was her intention?

I went on deck. There was no sign of her. Jacco was not there either.

"Helena!" I cried. My voice was lost in the howling of the wind. "Helena, where are you?" I clung to the rail and looked down with horror at the swirling waters.

Yesterday when the sea had been rough I had said, "I hope the ship can stand up to the weather. It seems a little frail." And she had replied: "If it didn't that would be an answer to everything for me, wouldn't it?”

P,ven that she could have had such a thought disturbed me.

Now that conversation came back to me and with it a fearful apprehension.

I felt numb suddenly. I remembered the hopeless look in her eyes. True, I had felt she was better since we all knew. She had my support and that of my parents and Jacco.

None of us had allowed a shadow of reproach to come into our attitude; it had been as though we believed there was nothing reprehensible about an unmarried girl's bringing a baby into the world-and that was, without doubt, contrary to general convention.

We had all declared we would be with her. She was not alone.

And yet ... I could not get those words out of my mind.

I hurried along the deck. Perhaps she was still there contemplating this terrible thing. Quite a lot of people thought of it when they were in a situation which seemed too tragic to face, but carrying it out to the conclusion was another matter.

I had to find her.

I went on calling her name. If I had stayed with her instead of going on deck ...

I ought never to have left her. I should have seen the mood she was in, read the despair in her eyes. How many girls over the centuries had found themselves in such a position after recklessly submitting to the demands of a lover? And how many had taken this way out?

I thought of Aunt Amaryllis who loved her daughter so dearly. I thought of Uncle Peter. What would he think when he heard his Daughter had been unable to face the consequences for which he in a way was responsible? John Milward was responsible.

Joe was, too, because he had exposed her father and his action had cost Helena her future happiness. I was responsible for not taking care of her, for not seeing the danger signals. It seemed to me like a chain of guilt and I Was a link in that chain.

"Helena!" I cried desperately. "Where are you?”

No answer ... just the mocking shriek of the wind and the sound of the sea battering the side of the ship.

I staggered along the deck. I must find my father and mother. I must give the alarm.

But what could be done? The ship could not turn round and go back. How would they ever find her in such a sea?

I went along the deck as quickly as I could. The wind tore at my cloak; my hair was streaming about my face. I was wet with the spray for the seawater was spilling over the decks.

I clung to the rail and made my progress as quickly as I could. At the end of the deck was a small alcove overhung by a life boat. It was a little sheltered from the wind.

As I approached I saw someone huddled there.

"Helena!" I cried in joy.

Yes, it was indeed Helena and she was not alone. Matthew Hume was sitting close to her.

I hurried into the comparative shelter of the alcove.

"Helena," I gasped. "I wondered where you were. You gave me a fright.”

She did not speak. She lifted her eyes to my face and they seemed full of tragedy.

Matthew said: "She's all right now. She's going to be all right. You've nothing to worry about now.”

"Annora has been very good to me," said Helena. "She is the best friend I ever had." "I know," he said.

She looked at me. "Annora, I was going to do it. It would have been so easy. I thought that in this weather they could have thought-or pretended to think-I had fallen over.”

"What are you saying, Helena?”

"I came up to do it. I thought it the best way. I was thinking I couldn't go on.

It was best for me and the little baby. You see, my child won't have a name ...”

"It will have a name," I said sternly, "Your name.”

"But that's not good for a baby. It's a stigma. It's not good to come into the world at a disadvantage. It's bad enough without.”

She was talking as though she were in a trance. I had almost forgotten Matthew Hume.

Then he said: "Come and sit with us, Annora. It's a little sheltered I sat down beside Helena.

"I was so worried," I said.

"I'm sorry, Annora.”

"If you had ... do you realize how unhappy we all should have been?”