It was here, of course, that Dermot made his mistake.
If he had appealed to Celia, if he had thrown himself on her mercy, if he had told her that he loved Marjorie and wanted her and couldn’t live without her, Celia would have melted and agreed to anything he wanted – no matter how repugnant to her own feelings. Dermot unhappy she could not have resisted. She had always given him anything he wanted, and she would not have been able to keep from doing so again.
She was on the side of Judy against Dermot, but if he had taken her the right way, she would have sacrificed Judy to him, although she would have hated herself for doing so.
But Dermot took an entirely different line. He claimed what he wanted as a right and tried to bully her into consenting.
She had always been so soft, so malleable, that he was astonished at her resistance. She ate practically nothing, she did not sleep, her legs felt so weak she would hardly walk, she suffered tortures from neuralgia and earache, but she stood firm. And Dermot tried to bully her into giving her consent.
He told her that she was behaving disgracefully, that she was a vulgar, clutching woman, that she ought to be ashamed of herself, that he was ashamed of her. It had no effect.
Outwardly, that is. Inwardly his words cut her like wounds. That Dermot – Dermot – could think she was like that.
She grew worried about her physical condition. Sometimes she lost the thread of what she was saying – her thoughts, even became confused …
She would wake up in the night in a condition of utter terror. She would feel sure that Dermot was poisoning her – to get her out of the way. In the daytime she knew these for the wildest night fancies, but, all the same, she locked up the packet of weed killer that stood in the potting shed. As she did so, she thought: ‘That isn’t quite sane – I mustn’t go mad – I simply mustn’t go mad …’
She would wake up in the night and wander about the house looking for something. One night she knew what it was. She was looking for her mother …
She must find her mother. She dressed and put on a coat and hat. She took her mother’s photograph. She would go to the police station and ask them to trace her mother. Her mother had disappeared, but the police would find her … And once she had found her mother everything would be all right …
She walked for a long time – it was raining and wet … She couldn’t remember what she was walking for. Oh, yes, the police station – where was the police station? Surely in a town, not out in the open country.
She turned and walked in the other direction …
The police would be kind and helpful. She would give them her mother’s name – what was her mother’s name? … Odd, she couldn’t remember … What was her own name?
How frightening – she couldn’t remember …
Sybil, wasn’t it? Or Yvonne – how awful not to be able to remember …
She must remember her own name …
She stumbled over a ditch …
The ditch was full of water …
You could drown yourself in water …
It would be better to drown yourself than to hang yourself. If you lay down in the water …
Oh, how cold it was! – she couldn’t – no, she couldn’t …
She would find her mother … Her mother would put everything right.
She would say, ‘I nearly drowned myself in a ditch,’ and her mother would say, ‘That would have been very silly, darling.’
Silly – yes, silly. Dermot had thought her silly – long ago. He had said so and his face had reminded her of something.
Of course! Of the Gun Man!
That was the horror of the Gun Man. All the time Dermot had really been the Gun Man …
She felt sick with fear …
She must get home … she must hide … The Gun Man was looking for her … Dermot was stalking her down …
She got home at last. It was two o’clock. The house was asleep …
She crept up the stairs …
Horror, the Gun Man was there – behind that door – she could hear him breathing … Dermot, the Gun Man …
She daren’t go back to her room. Dermot wanted to be rid of her. He might come creeping in …
She ran wildly up one flight of stairs. Miss Hood, Judy’s governess, was there. She burst in.
‘Don’t let him find me – don’t let him …’
Miss Hood was wonderfully kind and reassuring.
She took her down to her room and stayed with her.
Just as Celia was falling asleep she said suddenly:
‘How stupid, I couldn’t have found my mother. I remember – she’s dead …’
Miss Hood got the doctor in. He was kind and emphatic. Celia was to put herself in Miss Hood’s charge.
He himself had an interview with Dermot. He told him plainly that Celia was in a very grave condition. He warned him of what might happen unless she was to be left entirely free from worry.
Miss Hood played her part very efficiently. As far as possible, she never left Celia and Dermot alone. Celia clung to her. With Miss Hood she felt safe … She was kind …
One day Dermot came in and stood by the bed.
He said: ‘I’m sorry you’re ill …’
It was Dermot who spoke to her – not the stranger.
A lump came in her throat …
The next day Miss Hood came in with rather a worried face.
Celia said quietly: ‘He’s gone, hasn’t he?’
Miss Hood nodded. She was relieved that Celia took it so quietly.
Celia lay there motionless. She felt no grief – no pang … She was just numb and peaceful …
He had gone …
Some day she must get up and start life again – with Judy …
It was all over …
Poor Dermot …
She slept – she slept almost continuously for two days.
And then he came back.
It was Dermot who came back – not the stranger.
He said he was sorry – that as soon as he had gone he had been miserable. He said he thought that Celia was right – that he ought to stick to her and Judy. At any rate, he would try … He said: ‘But you must get well. I can’t bear illness … or unhappiness. It was partly because you were unhappy this spring that I got to be friends with Marjorie. I wanted someone to play with …’
‘I know. I ought to have “stayed beautiful”, as you always told me.’
Celia hesitated, than she said: ‘You – you do really mean to give it a chance? I mean, I can’t stand any more … If you’ll honestly try – for three months. At the end of it, if you can’t, then that’s that. But – but – I’m afraid to go queer again …’
He said that he’d try for three months. He wouldn’t even see Marjorie. He said he was sorry.
But it didn’t stay like that.
Miss Hood, Celia knew, was sorry that Dermot had come back.
Later, Celia admitted that Miss Hood had been right.
It began gradually.
Dermot became moody.
Celia was sorry for him, but she didn’t dare to say anything.
Slowly things went worse and worse.
If Celia came into a room, Dermot went out of it.
If she spoke to him, he wouldn’t answer. He talked only to Miss Hood and Judy.
Dermot never spoke to her or looked at her. He took Judy out in the car sometimes.
‘Is Mummy coming?’ Judy would ask.
‘Yes, if she likes.’
When Celia was ready, Dermot would say:
‘Mummy had better drive you. I believe I’m busy.’
Sometimes Celia would say No, she was busy, and then Dermot and Judy would go off.
Incredibly, Judy noticed nothing – or so Celia thought.
But occasionally Judy said things that surprised her.
They had been talking about being kind to Aubrey, who was the adored dog of the house by now, and Judy said suddenly:
‘You’re kind – you’re very kind. Daddy’s not kind, but he’s very, very jolly …’
And once she said reflectively:
‘Daddy doesn’t like you much …’ Adding with great satisfaction, ‘But he likes me.’
One day Celia spoke to her.
‘Judy, your father wants to leave us. He thinks he would be happier living with somebody else. Do you think it would be kinder to let him go?’
‘I don’t want him to go,’ said Judy quickly. ‘Please, please, Mummy, don’t let him go. He’s very happy playing with me – and besides – besides, he’s my father.’
‘He’s my father!’ Such pride, such certainty in those words!
Celia thought: ‘Judy or Dermot? I’ve got to be on one side or the other … And Judy’s only a child, I must be on her side …’
But she thought: ‘I can’t stand Dermot’s unkindness much longer. I’m losing grip again … I’m getting frightened …’
Dermot had disappeared again – the stranger was here in Dermot’s place. He looked at her with hard, hostile eyes …
Horrible when the person you loved most in the world looked at you like that. Celia could have understood infidelity, she couldn’t understand the affection of eleven years turning suddenly – overnight as it were – to dislike …
Passion might fade and die, but had there never been anything else? She had loved him and lived with him and borne his child, and gone through poverty with him – and he was quite calmly prepared never to see her again … Oh, frightening – horribly frightening …
She was the Obstacle … If she were dead …
He wished her dead …
He must wish her dead; otherwise she wouldn’t be so afraid.
Celia looked in at the nursery door. Judy was sleeping soundly. Celia shut the door noiselessly and came down to the hall and went to the front door.
Aubrey hurried out of the drawing-room.
‘Hallo,’ said Aubrey: ‘A walk? At this time of night? Well, I don’t mind if I do …’
But his mistress thought otherwise. She took Aubrey’s face between her hands and kissed him on the nose.
‘Stay at home. Good dog. Can’t come with missus.’
Can’t come with missus – no, indeed! No one must come where missus was going …
She knew now that she couldn’t bear any more … She’d got to escape …
She felt exhausted after that long scene with Dermot … But she also felt desperate … She must escape …
Miss Hood had gone to London to see a sister come home from abroad. Dermot had seized the opportunity to ‘have things out’.
He admitted at once he’d been seeing Marjorie. He’d promised – but he hadn’t been able to keep the promise …
None of that mattered, Celia felt, if only he wouldn’t begin again battering at her … But he had …
She couldn’t remember much now … Cruel, hurting words – those hostile stranger’s eyes … Dermot, whom she loved, hated her …
And she couldn’t bear it …
So this was the easiest way out …
She had said when he had explained that he was going away but would come back two days later: ‘You won’t find me here.’ By the flicker in his eyelids she had felt sure that he knew what she meant …
He had said quickly: ‘Well, of course, if you like to go away.’
She hadn’t answered … Afterwards, when it was all over, he would be able to tell everybody (and convince himself) that he hadn’t understood her meaning … It would be easier for him like that …
He had known … and she had seen just that momentary flicker – of hope. He hadn’t, perhaps, known that himself. He would be shocked to admit such a thing … but it had been there …
He did not, of course, prefer that solution. What he would have liked was for her to say that, like him, she would welcome ‘a change’. He wanted her to want her freedom too. He wanted, that is, to do what he wanted, and at the same time to feel comfortable about it. He would like her to be happy and contented travelling about abroad so that he could feel, ‘Well, it’s really been an excellent solution for both of us.’
He wanted to be happy, and he wanted to feel his conscience quite at ease. He wouldn’t accept facts as they were – he wanted things to be as he would like them to be.
But death was a solution … It wasn’t as though he’d feel himself to blame for it. He would soon persuade himself that Celia had been in a bad way ever since the death of her mother. Dermot was so clever at persuading himself …
She played for a minute with the idea that he would be sorry – that he would feel a terrible remorse … She thought for a moment, like a child: ‘When I’m dead he’ll be sorry …’
But she knew that wasn’t so … Once admit to himself that he was in any way responsible for her death, and he would go to pieces … His very salvation would depend on his deceiving himself … And he would deceive himself …
No, she was going away – out of it all.
She couldn’t bear any more.
It hurt too much …
She no longer thought of Judy – she had got past that … Nothing mattered to her now but her own agony and her longing for escape …
The river …
Long ago there had been a river through a valley – and primroses … long ago before anything happened …
She had walked rapidly. She came now to the point where the road crossed over the bridge.
The river, running swiftly, ran beneath it …
There was no one about …
She wondered where Peter Maitland was. He was married – he’d married after the war. Peter would have been kind. She would have been happy with Peter … happy and safe …
But she would never have loved him as she loved Dermot …
Dermot – Dermot …
So cruel …
The whole world was cruel, really – cruel and treacherous …
The river was better …
She climbed up on the parapet and jumped …