'Do you know everything that goes on here?' I asked.
'Enough to know you shouldn't be standing out here in the open like this.'
'Why the hell don't you leave Cripples' Ease?' I said. 'It's no place for a girl like you. Have you always been here?'
She nodded. 'Yes, always,' she said.
'Didn't you go to school?'
'No.'
'Then how did you learn to read?'
She laughed at that. And then suddenly her laughter died. 'Your mother taught me,' she answered.
'My mother?'
She nodded. 'She was almost my governess. You see, Mummy was a rather gay person. She hadn't much time for me, poor dear. I was a little girl in pigtails then.' She gave a quick laugh and turned. 'I must go now,' she said.
'No,' I said. 'Not yet. It's about my mother I want to talk to you.'
'I know. But I'd rather not.'
I caught her hand and pulled her round. 'Can't you understand?' I said. 'I never knew my mother. And now suddenly I'm in the place where she lived. You knew her. She loved you. Isn't it natural for me to want to hear about her? And I want to know why she was shut in that room.'
'I don't want to talk about it.' Her voice was angry and she wrenched at her hand. 'Let me go. I tell you I won't talk about it.'
'And I want to know why she committed suicide,' I added, holding her by the hand. 'I can guess. But I want to know.'
Her eyes widened. 'You can guess?' she repeated.
'Of course,' I said. 'My mother ran away with Manack in 1920. And Manack was still living with his first wife then. Even when she died he didn't marry her. He married your mother. And my mother went on living here, acting as housekeeper and as your governess. My God! That's enough to break any woman.'
'It wasn't that,' she said slowly. Then suddenly she pulled her hand free. 'I'm going back now.'
I caught up with her. She turned on me then, her eyes blazing. 'Will you let me be,' she cried. Her voice was shrill, frightened.
'Not until you've told all there is to tell about my mother,' I cried.
'Never,' she answered.
Then I'll stay with you until you do,' I told her angrily. 'She loved you. She gave you that brooch. It was the only thing of my father's she had left. I have nothing of hers — nothing at all. And you, who have everything of hers that I as her child ought to have had — you haven't the decency to talk to me about her for a few minutes.'
'It isn't that,' she said, and her voice was sad.
'What is it then?' I asked.
'Can't you realise that I'd rather not talk about her? Can't you just leave it at that?'
'No, I can't,' I said angrily.
'Please,' she pleaded.
'For God's sake,' I said, catching her by the shoulders. 'Now come on.' I shook her. 'Why was my mother shut in that room?'
Her grey eyes were full of tears. 'No,' she sobbed. 'I can't. I mustn't.' I shook her violently. Then she looked up at me. The tears were trickling out of her wide eyes. For a moment she seemed unable to find her voice. Then she said in a whisper that I could scarcely hear: 'Don't you see — she killed my mother.'
'I don't believe it,' I said.
'Please let me go now.' She was sobbing quietly.
'No,' I said. 'I don't believe it. You're not telling me the truth.
Why should she do a thing like that? She loved you. She said so in that letter.'
'Perhaps,' she said. Her voice was suddenly sad. 'She was very sweet. She used to bring me out here on the hills and tell me fairy stories and teach me the names of the flowers and birds. I loved her very much. And then — " Her voice trembled and broke. 'Oh God! It was horrible,' she sobbed.
I sat her gently on the heather. 'What was horrible?' I said.
'You may as well know now,' she said quietly. 'She wasn't responsible for what she did. I'm sure of that. But afterwards — I was always frightened of her afterwards.'
'You mean she was mad?' I asked.
She nodded. 'I didn't want you to know. But I had to give you that letter. I'd promised to do that if ever I got the chance. I had to give it to you, didn't I?'
'Of course,' I said. 'Please tell me all that happened. I'd rather know everything. I know it's painful to you, but please — you do understand?'
She nodded slowly. But she didn't speak for a moment. She sat looking out across the sea. I sat on the heather beside her, trying to see in the profile of her face the little girl in pigtails who had wandered hand-in-hand with my mother across these cliff tops. She must have been a pretty child. She was pretty now. She had a broad, open face with high cheek bones and a short, stubby nose. It was the sort of face that made me think of a Chekov play. Perhaps she also had her dreams of a Moscow she was always just arranging to visit but never did.
'I was four years old when Mummy and I came to live at Cripples' Ease,' she said. 'I remember your mother — Miss Nearne she called herself — didn't like me at first. And I didn't like her. Probably she resented us and though I didn't know why then, I must have sensed that resentment. And then one day I fell inside one of those old engine houses. It was that one out there by Kenidjack Castle. I'd been chasing a lizard. I cut my knee and couldn't get out. There's a sort of well where the boiler used to be. It was quite deep with sheer stone sides. I cried and cried, but nobody came. I thought nobody ever would. Mummy was always out somewhere and there was only Miss Nearne. It was dark when she found me. She took me back and bandaged my knee and then she told me a fairy story to stop me from being frightened any more. But long before she'd finished I'd fallen asleep. So, of course, the next night I wanted to hear the rest of the story. And after that she always told me a fairy story at bedtime. And she started taking me for walks and telling me little stories about the animals and birds we saw. She told me about the piskies and the miners who'd worked these cliffs.' She looked at me and her eyes were sad. 'You see, we were both lonely. And she knew such a lot of things.'
'Yes,' I said. 'She was a school teacher before she married my father.'
She nodded and looked out towards the sea again. 'I know And she used to tell me about her little boy who was a few years older than me. She talked a lot about you. She made up stories about you. She lived in a dream-world of her own, and she let me share it. And I loved it. Soon she began teaching me properly I went everywhere with her. I helped her with the milking and with that little garden she made. I tried to keep it tidy after her death — as a sort of memory for the kindness she had shown me. But there was the war and I had so little time. Now, I'm afraid, it'll never be a garden again. I wish it had never happened,' she added, with sudden passion.
'Why did she stay on here?' I asked. 'I mean after the old man married your mother.'
'I don't know.'
'Was it because of you — because she was lonely and all the love that she had lost was concentrated on you?'
'Perhaps,' she said slowly. 'She treated me as though I were her own child. At first it was all right, whilst Mummy had her own car and was having a gay time. But then during the depression, I think she must have lost a lot of money. She sold the car and began to be at home much more. That's when the rows started. Mummy had to occupy her mind with something and she suddenly remembered she had a child. But I was always with Miss Nearne. I think she became jealous. Anyway, when they started to have rows, — I'm afraid I took Mummy's side. You see, I was growing up then. I was less dependent on Miss Nearne and just beginning to be interested in the outer world. Mummy was always nicely dressed and her conversation was of people, real people — mostly men, I'm afraid. I saw less of Miss Nearne then and more of Mummy. And Miss Nearne gradually drew into herself.' She turned to me again. 'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I suppose, in a way, it was my fault. But I was only a kid. I didn't understand how people feel.'
She seemed to hesitate so I said, 'How long did this go on before your mother died?'