Midsummer's Eve

I felt sick, physically and mentally. That people could do such things! They were savage, and yet by the next morning they had returned to their normal guises. One could never know the hidden depth of people's characters nor how they would act when confronted with certain situations.

I wanted so much to forget that night, but I could not. It had stamped itself indelibly on my mind.

The wind sighed mournfully through the trees; I felt cold though the sun was hot.

Memories of those faces in the light of the torches kept coming back to me. The hooded figure which I had believed concealed someone I knew.

I rode home thoughtfully. I felt melancholy. Was it because I was going to be married in the morning? Surely a matter for rejoicing. It was a solemn occasion. Perhaps many girls felt as I did the day before they were taking the great step.

I thought: Maybe it is too soon. I should have waited. But on the moonlit night on the ship when Rolf had told me that he had not been in the woods on that Midsummer's Eve, it had seemed so right.

He had been to Bodmin. Of course he had. Why had he not said he was going? Why had he not mentioned it until now? How strange that we could go on under a misapprehension for so many years!

I wished I could disperse the memories of that night, but they kept coming back to me: the shouts of the people, Mother Ginny with her rev hair straggling about her ashen face. I could not forget it. Discovering in the grass, robbed of his bravado ... just a terrified child. Then I was thinking of Jacco, all the fun we had together, and how that night we had saved Digory. And my misery was back as heartrending as it had ever been.

I wished I could have found Digory. Would that have helped? Digory would be all right, my father had said. He would land on his feet. Heaven knew he had had enough experience of fending for himself.

Why had I gone to the woods on the eve of my wedding? It was a foolish thing to have done.

I must forget that night. I must forget my doubts. They were natural enough. They came to all girls who were on the point of taking such a momentous step.

It was afternoon. I was in my room getting together a few things which I should take on my honeymoon. The house was quiet and I suspected Isaacs was taking a nap, which I believed he did at that hour. Mrs. Penlock too, I supposed.

Suddenly I heard her voice. She was talking to one of the maids. They must be coming in from the kitchen garden for I heard Mrs. Penlock say: "I think that will be enough.

Miss Helena pecks like a bird. I don't think she wants to leave us.”

One of the maids-I think her name was Fanny-said: "You'd have thought she'd have wanted to, wouldn't 'ee, Mrs. Penlock? It must be wonderful to go up to London.”

Mrs. Penlock gave her familiar snort. "Full of thieves and vagabonds up there, if you was to ask me.”

"'ee don't say, Mrs. Penlock!”

"I could tell 'ee a few things. Never mind now. We've got a wedding on our hands.”

"Miss Annora don't look like a bride somehow.”

"Be careful of that basket. She's all right. Best thing that could have happened.

She needs someone to look after her. Tain't natural women being left with places like this. It needs a man.”

"He's lovely, don't 'ee think so, Mrs. Penlock?”

"He's all right. Better than one of them smart lahdidahs from London what she might have got hold of.”

I had to listen. I found their views amusing. I guessed they would soon pass out of earshot, but the basket must have been heavy and they were walking slowly: every now and then they paused.

"Soon be part of the Manor," said Fanny.

"Don't 'ee say such a thing. Manor'll be part of us, I reckon. Well, 'tas always been a dream of Mr. Hanson to get his hands on this place.”

"But it'll be Cador still. Twon't be Hansons.”

"'Course it'll be Cador, but she'll be his wife, won't she? And what's hers is his and I'm not so sure that what's his is hers. That's the way of the world. I reckon he be pleased with himself. I remember him coming here years ago ... Heard him say to his father, 'I'd like to have this place.' I reckon he always meant to own it somehow.”

"But he be sweet on Miss Annora.”

"He is and all. Sweet on her and sweet on Cador, I reckon," affirmed Mrs. Penlock.

"So it's sweet all round. Come on, Fan. Get a move on. We'll never get these done in time if you don't.”

"Don't 'ee think this wedding's a good thing then, Mrs. Penlock?”

"I reckon it's about the best thing that could have happened to him. He'll have Cador, won't he, which is what he's always wanted.”

Their voices were lost to me.

I sat very still. They were right. He had always cared deeply about Cador. He had been fascinated by it. It was the reason why he had restored the decrepit old Manor House. It was the reason why he had acquired land.

And in marrying me he would share it ... perhaps own it.

I wished that I had not listened to that conversation.