Midsummer's Eve

There was no nanny. Helena had not wanted that. Most of the women in the house were only too glad to lend a hand looking after him if for any reason his mother or I could not.

I was going to miss Jonnie very much.

As my wedding day approached I began to grow apprehensive. It had seemed such a heaven-sent solution at first, for I knew that it would take me a long time to learn all that would be expected of the owner of Cador. Rolf was to teach me. He loved the place; he always had; and I needed someone to love me deeply. I wanted to be cherished.

I had lost so much love. It was natural that I should turn to Rolf, the idol of my childhood who, knowing me so well, could understand the enormity of my loss. I often thought that if it had not been for that Midsummer's Eve Rolf and I might well have been married long ago. Perhaps before I had gone to Australia. But that night could not be forgotten; and it was brought back more vividly one day about a week before the day fixed for the wedding.

Rolf was still fascinated by the old customs of Cornwall. In his library at the Manor he had collections of books about them. He liked to take me there and he would get quite carried away talking of them. I was reminded of those times when he had visited us with his father and how he had held us all spellbound.

On this occasion he was talking about old cures which the Cornish had believed in years ago.

"There were white witches who did good with their cures," he was saying, "and there were the kind who practised the evil eye and put spells on people so that disaster followed. Just listen to some of the things they did." He opened a book. "Look at this. Whooping cough cured by filling a bag full of spiders and tying it round the neck of the poor child who had to wear it night and day. Here's another. For asthma.

'Collect webs, roll them into a ball and swallow.'“

"Spiders seemed to have had a beneficial effect.”

"Styes on eyes treated by touching the eyes with a cat's tail.”

"I believe they still do that.”

"I've no doubt. Some old letters were found in the attics at Bray's place. torn Bray showed them to me. They are amazing. I must get him to show them to you.”

We were standing at the bookshelves below which was a row of drawers. He pulled one out. "No," he said, "not here," Then he opened the next and I saw it. It was lying there and there was no mistaking it.

I stared at it.

"It's that old habit," he said. "I went to a ceremony once ...”

"I remember hearing about it.”

"This is what we wore.”

"You showed it to me once before ... long ago.”

"Oh yes, I did." He had taken it out and slipped it on. I felt my heart racing. As he stood before me he slipped the hood over his head. His face was almost hidden.

"It's horrible," I cried.

He took it off and laughed at me.

"I must admit it is rather gruesome. I'll tell you why. It is very like the sort the executioners used to wear in the Inquisition. In this I looked as if I might have stepped out of an auto-da-fe.”

"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.