“Please … please, tell me now. It is very important that we should share everything.”
He did not speak and again I entreated him.
“I must know, Crispin. It is very important that I should.”
He said slowly: “So much hangs on it. I cannot think what would happen.”
“I shall not have a moment’s peace until I know.”
“I see it has gone too far. I have been debating with myself. I knew I should have to tell you some day. It goes back years … to the beginning of my life.” Again he paused. His face was creased in anxiety. I wanted to comfort him, but I could not until I knew the cause of his trouble.
He went on: “The Lanes lived on the estate. The father, Jack, was one of the gardeners; he had two daughters, Lucy and Flora. Lucy went to London to work as a nursemaid; Flora was the younger. Jack Lane died and his wife stayed on at the cottage and Flora was employed in the house here. She wanted to be a nursemaid like her sister, and when a child was about to be born it was decided that she should become his nurse. In due course a son was born at St. Aubyn’s.”
“You,” I said.
“Crispin was born,” he said.
“You must hear from the beginning. The parents, as you know, were not very interested in the child. They were glad to have a son as most people are, particularly in their position, to carry on the name and inherit and all that. But they were more interested in the social life they led. They were rarely in the country. Had they been devoted parents, this might have been discovered in the beginning.
“One day, Lucy came home. She was in deep trouble. She had left her post in London some weeks before and had been living on the little money she had saved, and now that was gone. She was going to have a child. You can imagine the consternation in that cottage. The father was dead; there was the mother and Flora who was in service in St. Aubyn’s, preparing to take care of the child which was about to be born.”
He stopped and I knew that he was reluctant to go on. He seemed to steel himself.
“Lucy,” he said, ‘was a strong woman. A good but trusting young woman.
She was like many before her. She had listened to promises, been seduced and deserted. A not unusual predicament for a girl to find herself in, but no less terrifying for that. Such girls were ostracized and when they were without means their position was desperate. Can you imagine the mother’s anguish?
They had been living in that little cottage among a small community for years, proud of their independence and their respectability, and now here was the daughter, of whom they had been so proud because she had had a fine post in a grand London house, come home bringing disgrace with her in which they would all share. “
“She had the child, then?”
“Yes. But they could not keep it a secret for ever. They thought they would do so until they made some plan for the future, Mrs. Lane had practised midwifery at one time and it was easy to manage the birth.
The big problem lay before them. They could not keep a child hidden for ever. They thought of leaving the place and going to London, where Flora and Lucy would find work while their mother looked after the child. That was what they decided. One thing was certain. They could not remain in Harper’s Green to face the scandal. “
“What a terrible position for them!”
“They hesitated. There were times when Mrs. Lane thought of going to Mrs. St. Aubyn and asking for help. She fancied that she and her husband might be slightly less shocked than some of the inhabitants of Harper’s Green. And then this extraordinary thing happened.”
He paused, as though he found it difficult to go on.
“Crispin was now a few weeks old. Flora was his nurse. And then, suddenly, there came this way out of their troubles. It was macabre in the extreme … but it offered a solution. And, remember, they were desperate people.
“You have seen Flora and you know the distressing state of her mind. I think she must always have been a little simple. Perhaps she should never have been given the charge of a child. But she had always been devoted to children and many a mother in the village had allowed her to look after her children because she loved them so much. They said she was a born nurse and mother. Of course, we haven’t seen her as she was then. We only know the poor deranged creature she has become. Gerry Westlake, son of one of the local farmers, began to take notice of her.”
“I remember him. He came here, some little time ago. He went out to New Zealand, I believe.”
“Yes, that was soon after it happened. Gerry was an energetic young man-little more than a boy. He was very interested in football and was practising throwing and kicking a ball about wherever he went.
That is the story I heard. He used to do odd jobs at St. Aubyn’s and he saw Flora there. He used to whistle to her and she would come to the window to look out. He would throw the ball at her and she would throw it back to him. She would go down and stand by watching him kicking his ball. He would explain to her the importance of the manner in which he kicked it.
“It is extraordinary what happened. Remember, they were very young, both of them. Flora was flattered by Gerry’s attention and was or pretended to be thrilled to share in the ball games with him. She would throw as he told her and catch and hope for his applause. If you think of those two-children, really-you can see how it happened.
“Then came the fateful day. He whistled to her. You can picture him -standing there looking up at the window. It was open and she looked out. She had the baby in her arms. She said: ” I’m coming down. ” And she called to him, as he had so often called to her, ” Catch! ” It must have seemed like a great joke to her then. Gerry must have looked up startled. She threw the child down to him.”
I caught my breath in horror.
“Oh no, no!” I cried.
He nodded.
“Gerry realized too late what she was doing. He made an effort to catch the child. But he was too late. The child fell on to the stones of the terrace.”
“Oh … how could she have done such a thing!”
“It’s hard to imagine. She wanted to amuse Gerry. She thought he would easily catch the child and that would make it seem like a bit of fun between them. It did not occur to her that he could fail to do so.
“Flora dashed out to the terrace and picked up the child. He was wrapped in a thick shawl and appeared to be unharmed. Flora must have been overwhelmed by relief. Poor Flora! That relief was short-lived.
Gerry ran home. He would have shared Flora’s relief and I have no doubt he wanted to put himself as far away as possible from the scene.
Flora took the baby up to the nursery and told no one. Imagine her shock when she realized that the child’s ribs were broken. He died that night.
“Flora was dazed. She did not know what to do, so, as she did in all moments of stress, she went to her own home. Her mother and Lucy were in a state of terror. Flora had killed her charge; her sister had an illegitimate child. They could never have visualized such disasters overtaking them. This was something from which they could see no means of escape.
“Desperately they looked for a way out and then it presented itself to them. Most young babies look alike. Crispin’s parents had shown very little interest in him. You can see what they were thinking. They buried Crispin.”
“Under the mulberry bush?” I said.
“And Lucy’s baby went to St. Aubyn’s in his place.”
“You mean … you are that baby?”
He nodded.
“When did you know?”
“On my eighteenth birthday. Lucy my mother told me. She thought it only right that I should know. Before that it had never occurred to me that I was anyone but Crispin St. Aubyn and that the estate would be mine. I loved the place.”