“That’s right,” went on Phillida. “You hear the moaning in the night of those who died violent deaths.”
How we laughed that weekend! We explored the house. There were lengthy discussions during meals. There was always something to talk about. We rode through the countryside visiting those little villages where Celeste and I used to go canvassing during election time. We found an inn which appealed to Phillida, but the landlord was very prosaic and not given to conversation-which disappointed her. It was a wonderful weekend and I was very sad when it came to an end.
“Couldn’t you stay another day?” I asked when Monday came.
“Oh yes, please. Do let us, Roland,” cried Phillida.
He looked rather sad. “I shall have to be going up to Yorkshire very soon,” he said. My look must have betrayed my disappointment for Phillida came to me and put an arm round my shoulders. “It has been so wonderful knowing you,” she said rather huskily. “I marvel at my luck that day on the boat when I spoke to you. Roland says I shouldn’t do that sort of thing, but I always have and you see how well it has worked out this time. I was right, Roland. You have to admit it ... because if I hadn’t been like that ... we should never have met Lucie.”
“Let us say that you were very right on this occasion,” admitted Roland.
“Please show you mean that by staying another day,” said Phillida.
He hesitated. “Well ...”
I cut in, “Oh, please do. It would give me so much pleasure.”
“Perhaps then ...”
So they did.
Phillida had become a favorite with Mrs. Grant, the cook. From the first she had complimented her on her various dishes and admitted that she herself-as she put it-liked to try her hand at special dishes... something unusual.
On Sunday for lunch Mrs. Grant had served a soufflé. Phillida had praised it and wanted to know exactly how it was done.
Mrs. Grant was enchanted. She was a garrulous woman who came of a family of cooks; her mother had actually cooked in this house and so had her grandmother before that. She it was who had first told Rebecca the story of the haunted seat. The outcome of this was that Mrs. Grant said that she would make a soufflé” for lunch on the Monday and if Phillida would come to the kitchen she would show her exactly how it was done.
Phillida delightedly accepted the invitation.
“So you are going to desert us,” said Roland. “I had thought we would go for a long ride on Monday morning. I’d like to see that village again... the one with the Norman church.”
“Well, there is no reason why you and Lucie should not go,” said Phillida.
Roland looked at me.
“No reason at all,” I said.
“If Phillida prefers the kitchen to the open countryside, so be it,” added Roland.
That was how it was that Roland and I were alone that morning. We visited the Norman church and came out to the ancient graveyard. The yew trees had been there for many years and so had some of the gravestones. Many of the inscriptions were almost entirely obliterated; some of the dates were just visible and it was sobering to realize that many of them had been put up two hundred years before. “How peaceful it is here,” said Roland.
“You really feel you are here with the dead,” I said.
“Does that sadden you?”
“No. I just feel the peace of it.”
We made our way along the path, past the well where visitors to the graves found the water for the flowers they wished to put there.
There was a wooden seat close to it.
“Could we sit here for a while?” suggested Roland. “There is something I want to say to you.”
“Yes, let’s do that,” I replied.
So we sat there.
“How quiet it is,” I said.
“People are all working. Remember it’s Monday. I expect on a Sunday there are many people here. Lucie ... I want to talk to you.”
“Yes?”
“It’s difficult,” he began. “I know what you have gone through....”
“You and Phillida have helped me a lot.”
“Phillida is very bright. It is difficult to feel unhappy in her company. That does not mean she does not feel....”
“Oh, I know. It has been wonderful for me to have been with you both.”
“We feel the same. And it is because of this that I want to talk to you. You have made a lot of difference to us. I know Phillida loves you. And, Lucie... so do I.”
I was silent for I was not sure to what he was leading.
The fact that he mentioned Phillida’s love for me with his own suggested that they shared an affection for me like that of brothers and sisters. I was already aware of that. On the other hand... could he mean that he was in love with me? He went on, “We have come to know each other very well over the last months. I know you have suffered a terrible tragedy, and you feel that your old way of life has been completely shattered. But you cannot go on living in the past, Lucie. You’ve got to break away. I know you are feeling a little uncertain. I understand you well. But I’m in love with you, Lucie. I have been thinking of you almost from the first day we met....”
“You are asking me to marry you?”
“Yes. It is what I want more than anything on earth. And I think it would be a way for you to start a new life ... to put the past behind you.”
I was silent thinking about it. I could not say I was in love with him. I liked him very much and I had been melancholy at the thought of his and Phillida’s going back to Yorkshire.
He was of course aware of my hesitation. “Lucie,” he said anxiously, “what are you thinking?”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“You do like us ... Phillida and me ...”
“Of course. It has been wonderful knowing you.”
“I promise to make it more wonderful yet.”
He took my hand and held it firmly while he leaned toward me and kissed my cheek gently.
“Have you told Phillida you were going to ask me?” I said. He nodded. “Phillida is very perceptive. She said to me, ‘I know you are in love with Lucie. Ask her to marry you. It is only right that you should.’ Phillida is hoping you will say yes. You know what she is. She said she would go away and leave us together. Married people should be alone together, she says. She is a wonderful person, Lucie. We’ve always been together ... as I told you... and since our parents’ death... well, you know how that is. I don’t know what she would do but...”
“I would not dream of separating you.”
“Then we should all be together... the three of us. Oh, Lucie, it would be a good life.”
“You two,” I said, “you are so happy together ... as for myself ...”
“I should have waited,” he said. “But as I shall have to go to Yorkshire I felt I could not go without asking you.”
“How long will you be in Yorkshire?”
He lifted his shoulders. “I can never be sure. I am in London nowadays most of the time, but I do have to pay these occasional visits to the North and then I am not sure how long I shall be away. That’s why I felt I had to speak to you this morning.” I thought of what it would be like when they had gone. Celeste was in London. I could go there but there were so many memories. Every morning I would have to pass the spot where my father had fallen. I would look out of my window and wonder if the man in the cape and the opera hat were there.
Or I could stay at Manorleigh. But that was different now. If Belinda had been here... but she had now become Lady Denver. And I was alone. But I need not be. And yet ... I was not in love with Roland. I liked him. In fact I was very fond of him. I enjoyed his company so much and that of his sister. When I looked back over the last months I realized that they had been the ones who had made life tolerable for me. I did not forget how they had cut short their stay in France so that I need not travel back alone.