The Black Swan

Bunches of herbs were hanging from a hook on the wall. She was dedicated to the study of them. I suppose it was an interesting subject. There was a desk with a blotter on it and lying close to the blotter was a bunch of what looked like dried sunflowers. My attention was immediately caught by the markings on the blotter because they reminded me of my own name... but looking rather odd because it was backwards. I looked closer. Of course that was how it would come out if blotted. It was as though someone had written my name and blotted it while it was very wet.

Could Phillida have been writing something about me?

My curiosity was aroused. I examined the blotter more closely. There was other writing which I could not decipher, and my own name was below this as it would be had I signed a letter. I was amazed really because what I was looking at was remarkably like my own handwriting.

I felt an urgency to discover what this meant. My senses were suddenly alert. Was it due to the fact that I had heard this afternoon that Fergus O’Neill had a brother and there was a possibility that he might look rather like him and it was he who was playing tricks on me? I had had to abandon that theory because neither Roland nor Phillida had seen him when I had thought he stood below. But what was Phillida writing about me? I had felt afraid since I had heard her speaking to Mrs. Hellman about me. It had shocked me deeply. I knew that she and Roland thought I was hysterical and I understood why, but I had been disagreeably surprised that she should betray this to Mrs. Hellman who was a stranger. I had an irresistible curiosity to discover more, and that forced me to act in a way which I should previously have hesitated to do.

I opened a drawer and looked in it. There were some papers, a pen and a bottle of ink. I looked at the papers on top. They were all blank, I opened another drawer and saw a book about good health and the cultivation of herbs.

Underneath the book were other papers with some wording on them. They were written in that handwriting rather similar to my own. The dreadful thought occurred to me that Phillida had copied my handwriting. There it was... the manner in which I made a sort of curly start to a capital letter and left the tail of my g’s unfinished. I seized on one piece of paper. Horrified I read:

Dear Roland,

Forgive me. I know I am going mad. I have tried to fight against it, but it is no use. Thank you for everything. You have been a good husband to me and Phillida a good friend. But I cannot bear it anymore. You know, as I do, that it is getting worse. I am sure this is the best way out for us all.

Lucie

It was the note of someone contemplating suicide. It was growing alarmingly clear what was happening. Phillida was planning to kill me and make it appear that I had taken my own life.

Terrible suspicions were crowding into my mind. I looked about me. What other secrets were in this room?

I went to the door and locked it from the inside. I was going to find out. It was imperative that I did.

Feverishly I opened all the drawers. There was nothing. There was a chest in one corner of the room. It was locked. I hunted for a key and found one in a drawer of the desk. I had noticed it when I was searching for the papers. It fitted. I opened the chest and looked inside. There were clothes in there ... Phillida’s clothes. I turned them over and then I saw what I had been subconsciously looking for: it was an opera hat and a cloak and with it a dark wig, the hair of which came to a widow’s peak.

Phillida! I thought. Phillida!

And Roland? What did he know of this? It was mysterious and very frightening. There had been times when Phillida had been with me when I saw the vision. Could Roland have done this? There had been another time when they were both with me ... together... who then?

I could not believe this of Roland, who had always been so loving and tender.

While I stood there I heard someone arriving at the house. Phillida was coming back. She must not find me in this room. I took the garments, the wig and the suicide note, unlocked the door and ran up the stairs. I reached the top just as Phillida, with Roland, was coming into the house.

I had to get away ... at once. I would take the horse and ride into Bradford and get the next train to London.

I must tell neither of them. It was imperative that I get out of this house immediately. I hid the incriminating garments with the wig in the walk-in cupboard. The suicide note I put into my pocket.

I listened for sounds from below, but I could only hear the beating of my heart.