The Black Opal (23 page)

Aunt Beatrice said to me one day when Gertie was out:

“What do you think, Carmel? Gertie seems to be getting very friendly indeed with that nice Bernard.”

I agreed.

“Well?” said Aunt Beatrice.

“She hasn’t known him very long.”

“Ships are different from ordinary life,” said Aunt Beatrice sagely, although I believed she had never sailed on one.

She paused.

“Romantic, somehow. I wonder…” She lifted her shoulders.

I guessed she was seeing a wedding, organized by herself . the young couple settling into a nice little house not far off. And then the nursery . Aunt Beatrice being at hand to help . taking over the duties of a mother.

It startled me a little, but it did seem to me that Gertie was in love. I could imagine the scorn she would once have poured on a conversation about linenfold and the advantages of stone over brick which she now seemed to find entrancing.

Lawrence had become a frequent visitor, too, and I wondered whether Aunt Beatrice speculated on our relationship as she did on that of Gertie and Bernard. Surely not. Lawrence was a good deal older than I. He must be over thirty, whereas Bernard would be in his mid-twenties, perhaps a little more but not much.

Sometimes I took Lawrence over to the gardens and we would sit there and talk. On one occasion he mentioned the shipwreck.

“I often think about it, Carmel,” he said.

“It stunned you, didn’t it?

You were so devoted to him. “

I agreed.

“You’d rather not talk about it perhaps,” he said.

“No … no, I don’t mind with you.”

“You’ve got to start living, Carmel.”

“That’s what Gertie tells me. She has been so good for me.

“You are just preserving your grief. He wouldn’t have wanted you to do that. He was so lighthearted by nature. He would have wanted you to be the same.”

“When you go on grieving, you spoil things not only for yourself … but also for others, as Gertie tells me. What I have to do is learn how to stop.”

“You’ve been better since you’ve been here.”

“Yes, I know.”

“It’s over, Carmel. In no way can you change it. You’ve got to forget.”

“I know. But how?”

“By making a new life for yourself.”

“I’m trying.”

“If I can help …”

I smiled.

“I know you are a wonderful helper. There was that other occasion.”

“Never to be forgotten,” he said with a little grimace.

“You were the gallant rescuer. Poor James, he never forgets the part he played.”

“Oh, poor casual James who deserted you!”

“I told you about his dreams of making a fortune in the opal fields.”

So we talked of Australia and the life there; and again I was surprised that I forgot my unhappiness for a while.

Gertie had become engaged to Bernard Ragland. It was a month since we had arrived in London.

“It’s quick,” I said.

“Quick! What do you mean? There was all that time on the ship and now we’ve been home all these weeks. To you it may seem quick. To me it is just romantic.”

“Are you happy?”

“Blissfully.”

“Oh Gertie, how wonderful!”

“It is, isn’t it? There must be something about Suez. Fateful for us.”

“For you, you mean.”

“What a good thing that we were on that ship. Just imagine, if we had not been, I should not have met Bernard.”

“Wonderful. Think what a lot you are going to learn about architecture, ancient and modern.”

We laughed and she said: “You shall be my bridesmaid. But perhaps you’re a bit old for that. I think they call them Matrons of Honour.

Matron sounds a bit solemn. Perhaps it’s Maid of Honour. I like that it sounds royal “Oh, Gertie, I can’t wait.”

“Oddly enough, nor can I.”

She came into my room that night to talk. She told me about the splendid qualities of Bernard, how he was respected throughout the country for his work, and what a wonderful future lay before her.

“I’m so proud of him, Carmel.”

“You’re going to be absolutely unbearable, I can see,” I told her. And we giggled together as we had all those years ago on the Lady of the Seas.

Aunt Beatrice and Uncle Harold were wildly excited and talked continuously of the engagement. Where would the young couple live?

Kensington was a desirable area. There were some lovely little houses in Marbrock Square just round the corner. I could see that Aunt Beatrice was already planning that house-the nurseries in particular. Her lost dream was hovering close, in another form perhaps, but near enough. There would be a little garden-a garden was really necessary with children.

Bernard wanted to take Gertie to meet his family. They lived in Kent and she was duly asked for the weekend. Aunt Beatrice thought it would be ‘nice’ if I went with them. I think she had an idea that I would act as chaperone. She had some rather old-fashioned notions which came out occasionally. To my surprise, for I had thought Gertie would scorn the idea, she was in favour of it.

“It will be comforting to have you there,” she said.

“I might want your advice.”

I was astounded, but Gertie in love was not quite the self-assured young lady she had been before. She was faintly nervous and very anxious to make a good impression on her family-to-be.

“I suppose you feel they must be paragons to have produced the god-like Bernard,” I said.

“I do want them to like me,” she admitted.

It was gratifying to have our roles reversed. I was now the one who had to advise and look after Gertie.

We were to leave London on the Friday afternoon and take the train from Charing Cross into Kent where the Ragland residence was situated.

Bernard would escort us. There had been a great deal of discussion as to what we should wear. Gertie had packed and unpacked her suitcase three times. I told her not to be so nervous. Of course they would like her and, if they did not, well, what did it matter? Bernard did, or he would not have asked her to marry him.

At length we were in the train which would take us down to Maidstone.

Bernard told us there would be a fly at the station to take us to the house. The parents were very much looking forward to meeting us.

I sat back in my corner seat, watching them and thinking how wonderful it must be to be as happy as they were, and now and then glancing out at the countryside.

Then’suddenly it happened.

The train had run into a small station. I glanced out at the bold letters proclaiming its name and I was immediately jolted back into the past.

Easentree.

It was familiar. I had been here before. I remembered it clearly.

Nanny Gilroy had said: “Now, come on, Estella. Have you got everything? Don’t you dare leave anything behind. I wonder if Tom Yardley will have brought the trap.”

It had been a rare event. It was not often we went on the train. We had gone to London to buy boots which we could not get in the local shoe shop. Easentree was the nearest station to Commonwood House.

As the train pulled out of the station I sat in a daze. I was right back in the past. Commonwood House. Mrs. Marline making everyone unhappy. The doctor’s trying to pretend everything was all right. Miss Carson . what had become of Miss Carson?

“Wake up!” said Gertie.

“You’re half asleep. We’re nearly there.”

Gertie was drawing me out of my dream of the past.

The weekend was a success. The Raglands were by no means formidable, and seemed as ready to like their future daughter-in-law as she was to like them. In such circumstances, they could hardly fail to do so.

Members of the Ragland family were all eager to meet Bernard’s choice, and there were some pleasant family gatherings.

As for myself, my thoughts kept going back to the past and memories of Commonwood House persisted in coming back, and I was filled with a desire to see the house again. I wondered who was living there now.

Suppose I went back?

There would be strangers. The family would have left when Dr. Marline died and, of course, the girls and Henry went to live with their Aunt Florence. She was my aunt too, of course. I wished that Toby had told me more. I realized that he had been very reticent about his family which was, after all, mine.

I saw myself walking along the path approaching the familiar door, reaching up to the knocker. But I should not have to reach now that I was grown up.

1 rehearsed what it would be like.

“I hope you don’t mind. 1 happened to be passing and 1 used to live here once. I wondered …”

Why not? People did such things now and then. It was not so very unusual.

I pondered it over the weekend while Gertie was reveling in the approval of her in-laws-to-be, and before it was over I had decided that I was going down to Easentree. I could take the fly as we did with Nanny Gilroy. I could hardly let it drop me at Commonwood House as though I had come specially. No. I would go into the little town.

There was a hotel. What was it called? The Bald-Faced Stag. Estella and I had jeered at the name. What did they expect? A stag to have a beard? I could hear her voice distinctly.

That was how it was during that weekend. Voices kept coming back to me from the past.

I could take the fly and alight at the inn. Then I could walk down the hill to Commonwood House.

I had made up my mind.

Aunt Beatrice and Uncle Harold wanted to hear all about the visit.

“We must invite Bernard and his parents here for a weekend,” she said.

“We ought to be looking at houses. These things take longer than one thinks to find. For one thing, we have to get the right place.”

And, as the happy couple planned to have a short engagement, there was no reason why they should not start looking now.

Gertie was too happy to notice that I was somewhat preoccupied with a matter outside her concerns. She talked constantly about herself and she wrote to her parents.

“They won’t like it,” she said, ‘because it means I shall be here and they’ll be there. Bernard says we’ll be able to pay them the occasional visit. He gets long leaves and he can save them up. Mother and Dad might be able to come and see us . if they can get away.

Then it won’t be quite so bad.

“As for you, Carmel, you don’t want to go back yet. You’ll have to stay and see me married.”

“I can’t stay here with your aunt and uncle for ever.”

“They love having you. Besides, what are you worrying about? You could go and stay anywhere you liked. Perhaps you’ll get married.”

“You are like lots of people. Having put your head in the noose, you want to see everyone else doing the same.”

“Don’t be cynical. It does not become you. There is no question of nooses. You don’t know what it means, obviously. It’s the best thing that can happen to you.”

“I hope you continue to believe that.”

“Now let’s talk sense. Aunt Bee is mad about my seeing this house in Brier Road. She’s made an appointment for next Tuesday. Want to come?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, I thought of visiting.”

“You mean, someone you knew in the past?”

“Y … yes.”

“You mean next Tuesday?”

“Yes, I did really.”

“Make it another day and I’ll come with you.”

“I think I ought to go alone. Just at first … you understand?”

“Of course.”

I was glad.

Gertie had never been greatly interested in other people’s affairs and, of course, she was now completely immersed in her own.

So I arranged on the following Tuesday to put my plan into action.

1 arrived at Easentree. I was lucky. The fly was in service and it was not long before I reached the Bald-Faced Stag. 1 began to walk down to the common. I noticed the shops in the street which comprised the town. Miss Patten, who kept the haberdasher’s, was still there, as were the

post office, the butcher’s, and the baker. I went swiftly down the hill and, when I had been walking for about fifteen minutes, I saw the wood and the common.

My heart was beating fast. I was rehearsing what I would say. It sounded false.

“I was just passing and I thought you wouldn’t mind. Natural curiosity. You see, I lived here until I was ten years old. Then I went to Australia. I have only just returned.”

No one was on the common. There was the pond and the seat. And there was the house . hidden by the shrubs that looked overgrown. In my day they had been neater than that.

As I approached, I was amazed that it appeared to be so unkempt.

There was the gate. I opened it and walked towards the house. I stopped and gasped. It was Commonwood, of course, but how different!

Some of the windows were cracked . one or two actually broken. The brickwork was chipped in places. It looked as though part of the roof had fallen in.

Commonwood was a ruin. I stared at it in dismay. It looked grim and forbidding.

My first impulse was to turn and run away. But I could not do so. I had to find out what had happened to it. Why, when the doctor had died, had they not sold the house? Why had practical Aunt Florence and her husband for I imagined she had one allowed a valuable property to become a worthless ruin?

I felt a sudden sense of revulsion. It was so different from what I had expected. But something was urging me on. I stepped forward towards the house.

I was standing now close to the front door. The windows on the ground floor were all cracked. The lock on the door was broken. I pushed it.

It gave a protesting squeak and swung open.

I stepped into the hall with the doors leading from it to Mrs. Marline’s sitting-room and bedroom with the glass doors which opened on to the lawn.

My heart was beating wildly now. I fancied I was being warned not to venture further. There was something eerie about the place. It was not the Commonwood House I had known. Why had it become like this? I must get away. Forget it. It belonged to a past which was best forgotten.

What good could I do by trying to resurrect the past? It was obvious what had happened. The children had gone away; all those who had once been part of this house were dead or dispersed and for some reason the house had been allowed to fall into decay.