Then I saw what had happened. By incredible good luck I had only fallen, a few feet before my skirts had been caught in one of the thick clumps of bushes which grew on the steep hillside.
For some minutes I was unable to do anything but hang on with all my might. Then my heartbeats began to slow down and I was able to take stock of the situation. I looked up and saw that the rail on which I had been leaning had come away on one side and that I had had a miraculous escape from certain death.
And now what must I do? One false move and I could go hurtling down. I must remain where I was and hope to attract someone's attention. Few people came to Dead Man's Leap and even if they did they would not know I was here clinging to the hillside bush.
I shouted but my voice echoed back to me. I could feel pains in my legs and arms. My hands were badly grazed and I knew I should certainly be bruised all over. I felt faint but that was the last thing I must do. I must concentrate on clinging to the bush.
I shall never forget that terrible ordeal and how Esmeralda was my savior. But it was several hours before she missed me and then she immediately thought of Dead Man's Leap. What else she thought I was aware of, although she didn't mention it. She sent two of the grooms to look for me there and when they could not find me and noticed the broken rail they approached the place from below and that was how I was discovered clinging to the bush.
To bring me down was not an easy matter. Two expert climbers from the nearby town came with special equipment; there were quite a lot of spectators and my rescue was reported in the press. There was a piece about the danger of Dead Man's Leap and how the rail had apparently been faulty although it had been put up not very long before. Greater protection was needed and something would have to be done about it.
Esmeralda nursed me for three days. That was all I needed to get over the shock and my bruises and abrasions.
The fact that Philip was reputed to have killed himself raised certain speculation as to what had happened to me. No one stressed this, but it was there.
We could not stay in the country forever and Cousin Agatha recalled us.
I felt a quiver of alarm when I entered the house and was confronted by her. Her expression was one of mingled exasperation and veiled triumph: exasperation because I had managed to get myself "talked about," as she put it, through this unfortunate affair on the hill, veiled triumph because although she did deplore the fact that a member of her family had failed to climb into the Carrington oligarchy, yet at the same time she was gratified because after all the "tumult and the shouting" I had failed and had had to come back to the old familiar position of Poor Relation to be victimized at her will.
I went to Finlay Square and looked at the house. It was up for sale again but nothing would have induced me to go in. I wondered whether what had happened would affect its sale, because it had been mentioned as the future home of Philip and me. People might think it unlucky. That was, after all, how legends became attached to places.
As I stood in the square looking at it, it seemed as though the house mocked me. I had had the fanciful notion that it had never wanted me and had warned me to keep away; and I had failed to heed that warning while, without doubt, being aware of it.
I did not go out very much. The Carringtons avoided me. I supposed the very sight of me would be painful to them, and moreover, they were in mourning and did not entertain. When people came to the house Cousin Agatha, who was as completely indifferent to my feelings as she had ever been, suggested I keep out of the way. "We don't want all that gossip starting up again," she said with an unpleasant laugh. "It's most embarrassing."
Frustrated and unhappy, I lived from day to day, but I knew that the state of affairs would not go on.
I was right. Cousin Agatha summoned me to her sitting room.
As I stood before her she looked at me with distaste. My brief glory was over and I had sunk back into the role of Poor Relation.
"I suppose," she said, "it will take us a long time to live down this very unfortunate affair. Of course I never really believed that marriage would take place. I always thought something would happen to prevent it. If I had had my way ..." She shook her head, implying that she would never have given her consent to the marriage; perhaps she would have forced Philip to take Esmeralda.
She sighed. I had lost my spirit and made no comment. I no longer felt the irresistible desire to defy her.
"However, every cloud has a silver lining, they say, and it seems that in your case this may be so." I looked at her in astonishment and she gave me a wintry smile. I might have known her pleasure would be my pain.
"Mrs. Oman Lemming had decided to employ someone else but had not completed her search for the right person. Now that you are in need of a post she has decided in her kindness that she will ignore convention and give you a chance."
"Oh no," I protested.
"Yes. I know it is generous of her. All that fuss in the papers. Why, one might say you are a marked woman. However, she is of the opinion that in due course this will be forgotten and that it may have had a salutory effect upon you. I had to be honest with her and therefore considered it my duty to inform her that you could at times be pert and that your position in this family—and your connection with us—had given you certain ideas. Mr. Loring being absurdly tolerant—in fact, I have so often to restrain him—did not wish you to be made aware of your position... ."
"So you disobeyed him," I could not resist saying.
"I do not understand. I trust you are not being pert again, Ellen. One in your position should be especially contrite."
"Why? What have I done?"
"My dear Ellen," she said in a voice that showed I was far from dear to her, "when a man commits suicide rather than marry, people will always look askance at the woman who was to have been his wife."
"It had nothing to do with our marriage. Philip was in love with me. He wanted our marriage more than anything. And he did not kill himself. I am sure of it. Only the day before he died..."
"No hysterics, please. You must remember your place."
"Are hysterics reserved then for rich relations only?"
"I don't know what you are talking about. You are distraught and the best thing for you is to go to your new life as quickly as possible. There is nothing like work to help you over an unfortunate spell. Work, work, and then more work. So, as Mrs. Oman Lemming is prepared to take you, I have said that you will go to her at the end of the month."
I felt as though I were drowning in my misery. Philip was gone and there was no one to help me now.
I must prepare my trunk. I needed good serviceable clothes, said Cousin Agatha. I looked at my dateless black evening gown. There was a slight stain on it where the orchid had rested. I wished I had kept that orchid. It would always have reminded me of Philip on that night when he had astounded me and Cousin Agatha by asking me to marry him.
What I did have was a wardrobe of beautiful garments which were to have been my trousseau. I was sure Cousin Agatha would have liked to confiscate them but she could scarcely do that. They wouldn't fit Esmeralda, as I was much taller and thinner than she was. But what comfort were clothes when one was lost in a cruel world! My little craft—once so jaunty, once sailing with full honors beside the Carrington galleon of plenty—was now soon to be wrecked on the rocks of misery presided over by the Honorable Mrs. Oman Lemming, compared with whom Cousin Agatha might be considered quite charming.
There were times when I felt indifferent to my future. What was my misery compared with Philip's death? I had lost my champion and I felt even more sad because I had not appreciated him when he lived. It sometimes seemed of small moment that I was drifting towards the colorless existence of a governess in a household of which the servants spoke in distaste.