The House On The Strand Part 10

"It's not settled," I replied. "There's a lot still to be discussed."

"Oh, naturally," he said. "You can't just decide on a flick of a coin, but what an opportunity! His firm is on the crest of the wave right now, and you'd never regret it. Especially as I gather you've nothing really to lose this side. No special ties." I did not answer. I was determined not to be led into a lengthy discussion. "Of course, Vita would make a home anywhere," he went on. "She has the knack. And with an apartment in New York and a weekend place in the country, you'd lead a very full life together, with plenty of opportunities for travel thrown in."

I grunted, and tilted an old panama hat of Commander Lane's over my right eye, which was still bloodshot. Unremarked, so far, by Vita.

"Don't think I'm b.u.t.ting in," he said, lowering his voice, "but you know how the girls talk. You've got Vita worried. She told Diana you've blown cool over the idea of coming to the States, and she can't figure out why. Women always think the worst." He then launched into a long, and to my mind loaded, story about a girl he had met in Madrid when Diana was in the Bahamas with her parents. She was only nineteen, he said. "I was crazy about her. But of course we both knew it couldn't last. She had ajob in the Emba.s.sy there, and Diana was due back in London when her vacation was over. I was so wild about that kid I felt like cutting my throat when we said good-bye. However, I survived and so did she, and I haven't seen her since." I lit a cigarette to counteract the clouds of smoke from his blasted cigar. "If you think", I said, "that I've got a girl round the corner you couldn't be more wrong."

"Well, that's fine," he said, "just fine. I wouldn't blame you if you had, as long as you kept it quiet from Vita."

There was a long pause while he tried, I suppose, to think of another tactic, but he must have decided that discretion was the better part of valour, for he went on abruptly, "Didn't those boys say something about wanting to swim?"

We wandered off to find our wives. Their session was apparently still in full swing. Diana was one of those overripe blondes who are said to be grand fun at a party and a tigress in the home. I had no desire to try her out in either capacity. Vita told me she was the loyalest of friends, and I believed her. The session ceased immediately we appeared, and Diana changed down into second gear, her invariable custom at the approach of masculine company.

"You've got a tan, d.i.c.k," she said. "It suits you. Bill turns lobster red at the first touch of the sun."

"Sea air," I told her. Not synthetic like your own. She had a bottle of sun oil beside her with which she had been lubricating her lily-white legs.

"We're going down to the beach to swim," said Bill. "Rouse yourself pug-face, it will take off some of that surplus fat." The usual badinage ensued, the interplay of married couples before their kind. Lovers never did this, I thought; the game was played in silence, and was in consequence the more delightful.

Carrying towels and snorkels, we made the long trek to the beach. The tide was low, and to enter the water the intending swimmer had to pick his way over seaweed and uneven slabs of rock. It was an experience new to our guests, but they took it in good part, splashing about like dolphins in the shallows, proving my favourite maxim that it is always easier to entertain, albeit unwillingly, out-of-doors. The evening to come would be the real test of hospitality, and so it proved.

Bill had brought his own bottle of bourbon (a gift to the house), and I cleared the fridge of ice so that he could consume it on the rocks. The muscadet which we drank with supper, on top of the bourbon, made too rich a mixture, and with the dish-washer throbbing away in the kitchen we staggered into the music-room after dinner considerably the worse for wear. I did not have to worry about my bloodshot eye. Both Bill's looked as if he had been stung by bees, while our wives had the high flush of barmaids lounging in some disreputable sailors joint.

I went over to the gramophone and put on a stack of records-the choice did not matter, so long as the sound served the purpose of keeping the party quiet. Vita was a moderate drinker as a general rule, but when she had had one too many I found her embarra.s.sing. Her voice took on a strident tone, or alternatively turned silky sweet. Tonight the sweetness was for Bill, who, nothing loath, lolled beside her on one sofa, while Diana, patting the empty place next to her on the second, pulled me to it with a meaning smile.

I realised, with distaste, that these manoeuvres had been worked out by the two women earlier on, and we were set for one of those frightful evenings of swapping partners, not for the ultimate act itself but as a preliminary try-out, like a curtain-raiser before a two-act play. I could not have been more bored. The only thing I wanted to do was to go to bed, and, by G.o.d, to go alone.

"Talk to me, d.i.c.k," said Diana, so close that I had to turn my head sideways like a ventriloquist's doll. "I want to know all about your brilliant friend Professor Lane."

"A detailed account of his work?" I asked. "There was a very informative article about certain aspects of it in the Biochemical Journal a few years ago. I've probably got a copy in the flat in London. You must read it some time."

"Don't be idiotic. You know perfectly well I wouldn't understand a word. I want to know what he's like as a man. What are his hobbies, who are his friends?"

Hobbies... I considered the word. It conjured a vision of an absent-minded buffer chasing b.u.t.terflies.

"I don't think he has any hobbies", I told her, "beyond his work. He's fond of music, particularly church music, Gregorian chants and plainsong."

"Is that what you have in common, a liking for music?"

"It started that way. We happened to meet in the same pew one evening at King's College when a carol service was in progress. In point of fact we had not gone for the carols but to stare at one particular choir-boy with a golden aureole of hair like the infant Samuel. But though the meeting was accidental it was the first of many. Not that my tastes inclined to choir-boys, but the combination of holy innocence with adeste fideles and a halo of curls was so aesthetically pleasing to our twenty years that we were subsequently enraptured for several days."

"Teddy told me there was a room locked up in the bas.e.m.e.nt here full of monkeys heads," she said. "How deliciously creepy."

"One monkey's head, to be exact," I replied, "and a number of other specimens in jars. Highly toxic, and not to be disturbed."

"You hear that, Bill?" said Vita from the opposite sofa. I noticed, with aversion, that he had his arm round her and her head was on his shoulder. "This house is built on dynamite. One false movement, and we'd be blown sky high."

"Any movement?" queried Bill, with an offensive wink at me. "What happens if we get a little closer? If dynamite sends us both up to the floor above it's O.K. by me, but I'd best ask d.i.c.k's permission first."

"d.i.c.k's staying right here," said Diana, "and should the monkey's head explode you two can rise, and d.i.c.k and I'll descend. That way we'll all be happy, but in different worlds. Isn't that so, d.i.c.k?"

"Oh, absolutely," I agreed. "And in any event I've had enough of this particular world. So if you three like to triple-up on one piece of furniture, go ahead and enjoy yourselves. There's a quarter of bourbon left in the bottle, and it's all yours. I'm for bed." I got up and left the room. Now that I had broken up the foursome the petting party would automatically stop, and they would all three sit for another hour or more solemnly discussing the various facets of my character, how I had or had not changed, what could be done about me, what the future held.

I undressed, plunged my head into cold water, flung the curtains wide, climbed into bed and fell instantly asleep.

The moon awakened me. It came through a c.h.i.n.k of the curtains, which Vita had drawn, and sent a shaft of light on to my pillow. She lay on her own side of the bed and was snoring, a thing she rarely did, and with her mouth wide open. It must have been that last quarter of bourbon. I glanced at my watch: it was half-past three. I got out of bed, went through to the dressing-room, and pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater. I stood at the head of the stairs and listened at the guest-room door. Not a sound. Silence, too, along the pa.s.sage where the boys slept. I went downstairs, down the back way to the bas.e.m.e.nt, and so to the lab. I was peffectly sober, cool and collected, neither elated nor depressed; I have never felt more normal in my life. I was determined to take a trip, and that was that. Pour four measures in the flask, get the car out of the garage, coast downhill to Treesmill valley, park the car, and walk to the Gratten. The moon was bright, and when it paled in the western sky the dawn would come. If time played tricks with me and the trip lasted until breakfast, what did it matter? I would return when I was ready to return. And Vita and her friends could lump it. On such a night... a rendezvous with whom? The world of today asleep, and my world not awakened, or not as yet, until the drug possessed me.

Tywardreath was a ghost village as I skirted it, but in my secret time I knew I traversed the green, and the Priory stood conspicuous though aloof behind stone walls. I crept down the Treesmill road and the moonlight flooded the valley, shining on the grey-lidded hutches of the mink-farm on the further side. I parked the car close to the ditch, and climbed the gate across the field. Then I made my way to the pit near the quarry which I knew formed the site of part of the original hall, and in the darkness there, close to a tree-stump, in a square patch of moonlight, swallowed the contents of the flask.

Nothing happened at first, except a humming in my ears which I had not experienced before. I leant against the bank and waited. Something stirred, a rabbit, perhaps, in the hedge, and the humming in my ears increased. A piece of corrugated iron behind me in the quarry rattled and fell. The humming became universal, part of the world around me, changing from the sound in my own ears to the rattle of the cas.e.m.e.nt in the great hail, and the roaring of the wind without. The rain was teeming down from a grey sky, failing slantwise across the parchment panes, and moving forward I looked out and saw that the water in the estuary below was turbulent and high, short-crested seas racing with the tide. What trees there were on the opposite slopes bent in unison, the autumn leaves scattering with the force of the wind, and a flock of starlings flying north formed into a clamouring ma.s.s and disappeared. I was not alone. Roger was by my side, peering down into the creek also, his face concerned, and when a greater draught of wind rattled the cas.e.m.e.nt he fastened it tight, shaking his head and murmuring, "Pray G.o.d he does not venture here in this."

I glanced round, and saw that a curtain had been drawn across the hall, dividing it in two, and voices came from behind it. I followed Roger as he crossed the hall and drew the curtain aside. I thought for a moment that time had played another trick, taking me into a past I had witnessed already, for there was a pallet bed against one wail, with someone lying on it, while Joanna Champernoune was seated at the foot, and the monk Jean close to the pillow. But drawing closer I saw that the sick man was not her husband but his namesake, Henry Bodrugan, Otto's eldest son and her own nephew, and standing well withdrawn, with his handkerchief covering his mouth, was Sir John Carminowe. The young man, evidently in a high fever, kept trying to raise himself, calling for his father, as the monk wiped the sweat from his forehead and tried to ease him back on to his pillow.

"Impossible to leave him here, with the servants at Trelawn and no one to care for him," said Joanna. "And even if we tried to move him there we could not do so before nightfall, in such a gale. Whereas we could have him beneath your own roof, at Bockenod, within an hour."

"I dare not risk it," said Sir John. "If it should prove to be smallpox, as the monk fears, none of my family have had it."

"There is no other course but to leave him here in Roger's care." He looked at the steward, his eyes apprehensive above the handkerchief, and I thought what a poor figure he must cut before Joanna, showing such fear that he might catch the disease himself. Gone was the c.o.c.ksure bearing I had seen at the Bishop's reception. He had increased in weight, and his hair was turning grey. Roger, respectful as ever before his masters, inclined his head, but I noticed a look of scorn in his lowered eyes.

"I am willing to do whatever my lady commands me," he said. "I had smallpox as a child, my father died of it. My lady's nephew is young and strong, he should recover. Nor can we be certain yet of the disease. Many a fever starts in the same fashion. In twenty-four hours he could be himself once more."

Joanna rose from her chair and approached the bed. She still wore her widow's headdress, and I remembered the note scribbled by the student at the Public Record Office from the Patent Rolls dated October, 1331: Licence for Joan late the wife of Henry de Champernoune to marry whomsoever she will of the King's allegiance. If Sir John was still her choice of suitor, then the marriage had not yet taken place.

"We can only hope so," she said slowly, "but I am of the monk's opinion. I have seen smallpox before. I too had the disease as a child, and Otto with me. If it were possible to send word to Bodrugan, Otto himself would come and fetch him home." She turned to Roger. "How is the tide?" she asked. "Is the ford covered?"

"It has been covered for an hour or more, my lady," he replied, "and the tide is still flooding. There is no possibility of traversing the ford before the water ebbs, or I would ride to Bodrugan myself and tell Sir Otto."

"Then there is nothing for it but to leave Henry in your care," said Joanna, "despite the lack of servants in the house." She turned to Sir John. "I will come with you to Bockenod, and proceed to Trelawn at daybreak and warn Margaret. She is the one who should be at her son's bedside."

The monk, despite his preoccupation with young Henry, had been listening to every word. "There is another course open to us, my lady," he said. "The guest chamber at the Priory is vacant, and neither I nor my fellow brethren fear smallpox. Henry Bodrugan would fare better under our roof than here, and I would make it my business to watch him night and day." I saw the expression of relief on Sir John's face, and on Joanna's too. Whatever happened they would be quit of responsibility.

"We should have decided upon this sooner," said Joanna, "then we could all have been on our way hours since, before this gale. What do you say, John? Is not this the only remedy?"

"It would seem so," he said hasily, "that is, if the steward can arrange for his removal to the Priory. We dare not take him in your chariot for fear of infection."

"Infection for whom?" laughed Joanna. "You mean for yourself? You can ride as escort, surely, with your handkerchief over your face as you have it now? Come, we have delayed long enough."

The decision taken, she had no further thought for her nephew but went to the door of the great hall, escorted by Sir John, who flung it open, only to stagger back with the force of the wind.

"You'd be well advised", she said with irony, "to travel in comfort at my side, despite that sick boy, rather than feel the wind on your back when we reach high ground."

"I have no fear for myself" he began, and then, seeing the steward close behind him, added, "You understand, my wife is delicate, and my sons also. The risk would be too great."

"Too great indeed, Sir John. You show prudence."

Prudence my a.r.s.e, I thought, and so did Roger, judging from his expression, and Joanna's too.

The lumbering chariot was drawn up outside the further gate, and crossing the court in the bl.u.s.tering wind we escorted the widow to it, whilst Sir John mounted his horse. Then we returned once more to the hall. The monk was piling covers about the half-conscious Henry.

"They are ready and waiting," said Roger. "We can bear the mattress between us. Now we are alone, what hope have you of his recovery?" The monk shrugged. "As you said yourself, he is young and strong, but I have seen weaklings live and stalwarts die. Let him remain at the Priory under my care, and I will try certain remedies."

"Watch your skill on this occasion," said Roger. "If you should fail you would have to answer for it to his father, and in that event the Prior himself could not protect you."

The monk smiled. "From what I understand, Sir Otto Bodrugan will have trouble enough protecting himself," he answered. "You know Sir Oliver Carminowe lay at Bockenod last night and left at dawn, telling none of the servants of his destination? If he has ridden in secret along the coast it would be for one thing only, to seek out his lady's lover and destroy him."

"Let him try," scoffed Roger. "Bodrugan is the better swordsman."

Once again the monk shrugged. "Possibly," he said, "but Oliver Carminowe used other methods when he fought his enemies in Scotland. I would not give much for Bodrugan's chances should he be caught in ambush."

The steward signalled him to silence as young Henry opened his eyes. "Where is my father?" he asked. "Where are you taking me?"

"Your father is home," sir, said Roger. "We are sending for him, he will come to you in the morning. This night you are to rest at the Priory in the care of brother Jean. Then, if you feel stronger and as your father so decides, you can be moved either to Bodrugan or to Trelawn." The young man looked from one to the other in bewilderment. "I have no wish to stay at the Priory," he said. "I would rather go home tonight."

"It is not possible, sir," replied Roger gently. "It is blowing a full gale and the horses cannot travel far. My lady is waiting for you in the chariot, and will take you to the Priory. You will be safely in bed in the guest-chamber there within half an hour."

They bore him on the mattress, still protesting weakly, through the hall and across the court to the waiting vehicle, stretching him full-length at his aunt's feet. Then the monk climbed in beside him. Joanna looked at her steward through the open window. The veil had blown back from her face, and I noticed how her features had coa.r.s.ened since I saw her last. Her mouth was slacker, and there were pouches under her full eyes.

She leant close to the window, so that her nephew could not hear. "There have been rumours", she said softly, "of possible trouble between Sir Oliver and my brother. Whether Sir Oliver is in the neighbourhood or not I cannot say. But it is one of the reasons I want to be away, and quickly."

"As you will, my lady," answered the steward.

"Neither Sir John nor I wish to take part in the dispute," she said. "It is not our quarrel. If they come to blows my brother can take care of himself. My strict charge upon you is that you side with neither, but concern yourself solely with my affairs. Is that understood?"

"Perfectly, my lady."

She nodded briefly, then turned her attention to young Henry at her feet. Roger signalled to the driver, and the heavy vehicle pursued its course up the muddied road towards the Priory, followed by Sir John on horseback and an attendant servant, both riders bent low on their saddles, lashed by the wind and rain. As soon as they had topped the brow and disappeared, Roger walked swiftly through the archway into the stableyard and called for Robbie. His brother came at once, leading a pony, his mat of unruly hair falling over his face.

"Ride like the devil to Tregest", Roger said, "and warn Lady Isolda to stay within doors. Bodrugan was to have sailed here to the creek tonight, but he will never venture in this gale. Whether Sir Oliver is with her or not-and I doubt it-she must get my message without fail."

The boy leapt on to the pony's back and was away, streaking across the field, but in an easterly direction, our side of the valley, and I remembered that Roger had said the ford was impa.s.sable because of the tide. He would have to cross the stream higher up the valley, if the place called Tregest lay the other side. The name conveyed nothing. I knew there was no Tregest on the ordnance map today. Roger made his way across the court and through the gate in the wall to the sloping hill above the creek. Here the strength of the wind nearly blew him off his feet, but he continued downhill towards the river, into the driving rain, taking the rough track that led to the quayside at the bottom. His expression was anxious, even haggard, quite different from his usual air of self-possession, and as he walked, or rather ran, he kept looking towards the river mouth where it entered the wide Par estuary. The sense of foreboding that had been mine when I returned from the expedition across the bay was with me once again, and I felt that it was with him too, that somehow we shared a common bond of anxiety and fear. There was some shelter when we came to the quay because of the hill behind us, but the river itself was in turmoil, the wavelets short and steep, bearing upon their crests every sort of autumn debris, floating branches, logs and seaweed, which, as they were driven towards the quay or pa.s.sed it in mid-channel, were skimmed by a flock of screaming gulls endeavouring with outstretched wings to stem the wind. We must have seen the ship simultaneously, our eyes turned seaward, but not the brave craft I had admired at anchor on a summer's afternoon. She staggered like a drunken thing, her mast broken, the yards upon it hanging half-way to the deck, and the sails dropping around the yards like shrouds. The rudder must have gone too, for she was out of control, at the mercy of both wind and tide that bore her forward but broadside on, her bows turned towards the shallower sands where the seas broke shortest. I could not see how many were on board, but there were three at least, and they were endeavouring to launch from the deck a little boat that was caught up in the tangle of sail and fallen yards. Roger cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, but they could not hear him, because of the wind. He sprang on to the quay wall and waved his arms, and one of those aboard-it must have been Otto Bodrugan-saw him and waved in answer, pointing to the opposite sh.o.r.e. "This side the channel," shouted Roger, "this side the channel," but his voice was lost in the wind. They did not hear him, for they were still working hard to launch the boat from the ship's side.

Doubtless Bodrugan knew the channel well, and if they launched the smaller boat they would have little difficulty in getting ash.o.r.e, despite the short seas breaking above the sand-flats on either side. It was not like open sea, rock-bound and dangerous, and, although the river was broadest where the craft drifted, she could at worst only run aground and wait for the falling tide.

Then I saw the reason for Roger's fear, and why he strove to attract Bodrugan and his sailors to the quay. A line of hors.e.m.e.n was riding on the opposite hill, some dozen of them, in single file. Because of the contours of the land the men aboard were not aware of their presence, the clump of trees masking them from the vessel. Roger continued to shout and wave, but those on board took it as encouragement for the successful launching of the small boat, and replied in like fashion. Then, as the vessel drifted on up-channel, they managed to lower the boat over the side, all three men dropping into it a moment afterwards. They had a hawser fastened from the ship's bows to the stern of the small boat, and while two of the men bent to the oars and pulled towards the opposite sh.o.r.e the third, Bodrugan, crouched in the stern, holding fast to the hawser in an attempt to turn the vessel in the same direction as themselves.

They were too intent upon their task to pay further attention to Roger, and as they drew slowly nearer to the opposite sh.o.r.e I saw the hors.e.m.e.n on the hill dismount by the belt of trees. Taking advantage of the cover they crept down towards the creek, where the land dipped suddenly to the water's edge, forming a spit of sand. Roger shouted for the last time, waving his arms in desperation, and forgetting my phantom status I did the same, without sound, more powerless as an ally than any spectator at a football game cheering a losing side, and as the small boat drew nearer to the sh.o.r.e so their enemies, screened by the belt of trees, came closer to the spit of sand.

Suddenly the hawser parted as the larger vessel ran aground, and Bodrugan, flung off his feet, tumbled amongst his men and the small boat upset, throwing all three of them into the water. They were already so close to the opposite sh.o.r.e that the river had no great depth where they received their ducking, and Bodrugan was the first to stand, the water up to his chest, while the others floundered beside him, and Bodrugan answered Roger's final warning yell with a triumphant cry. It was his last. The band of men were upon him and his companions before they had time to turn their heads or defend themselves, a dozen against three, and before the driving rain that burst upon us, heavier than ever, blotted them from view I saw, with sick revulsion, that instead of dragging their victims up the spit of sand to finish them there, by sword or dagger, they were thrusting them face-downwards in the water. One was already still, the other struggling, but it took eight men to hold Bodrugan down. Roger started to run along the river's edge towards the mill, cursing, gasping, and I knew it was useless, that we ran in vain, for long before he could summon help it would be over. We came to the ford below the mill, and, just as he had told Joanna earlier, the water ran swiftly here, and deep, almost to the door of the forge itself. Once again Roger put his hands to his mouth. "Rob Rosgof" he yelled, "Rob Rosgof" and the frightened figure of the blacksmith appeared at the door, with his wife beside him. Roger pointed downstream, but the man gestured with both his hands in denial, shaking his head, then jerked his thumb up the hill behind him, this play without words suggesting he had known of the ambush and could do nothing, and he dragged his wife with him inside the forge and barred the door. Roger turned in despair to the mill, and the three monks I had seen there on the Sunday morning, when Isolda's children crossed the ford, came through the yard to meet him.

"Bodrugan and his men have been driven ash.o.r.e," cried Roger. "His vessel's aground, and an ambush lay in wait to destroy them. They are dead men, all three, against a dozen fully armed." I hardly know which showed the more strongly upon his face, his anger, or his grief; or his powerlessness to help.

"Where is Lady Champernoune?" asked one of the monks. "And Sir John Carminowe? We saw the carriage at the house all afternoon."

"Her nephew, Bodrugan's son, is sick," answered Roger. "They have taken him to the Priory, and they themselves are now on the road to Bockenod. I have sent Robbie to Tregest to warn the household there, and I pray G.o.d none of them ventures forth, or their lives could be in danger too."

We stood there, below the millyard, uncertain whether to go or stay, and all the time straining our eyes towards the river, where the curving banks above the creek hid the stranded vessel and the murderous scene on the spit of sand.

"Who led the ambush?" asked the monk. "Bodrugan had enemies once, but that is long past, with the King firmly established on the throne."

"Sir Oliver Carminowe, who else?" answered Roger. "They fought on opposing sides in the rebellion of 22, and today he does murder in another cause."

No sound but the wind, and the turmoil of the river as it coursed between the narrowing banks, with the gulls skimming the surface, screaming. Then one of the monks pointed to the bend in the creek and cried, "They've launched the boat, they're coming up with the tide! " It was not a boat, at least not the whole of it, but what seemed in the distance to be part of the planking stripped from its side, and set afloat upstream as jetsam, circling slowly as it drifted with the current. Something was lashed to it that now and again bobbed to the surface, then disappeared, only to reappear again. Roger looked at the monks and I at him, and with one accord we ran down to the edge of the creek where the eddy carried the driftwood and the sc.u.m, and all the while, as we waited, the planking rose and fell with the force of the tide, and the thing that was lashed upon it rose as well. Then there was shouting from the opposite bank, and through the belt of trees rode the hors.e.m.e.n, their leader ahead. They cantered down to the road by the forge, and the shouting ceased, and they stood there watching in silence.

We plunged into the river to drag the plank ash.o.r.e, the monks with us, and as we did so the leading horseman shouted, "A birthday package for my wife, Roger Kylmerth. See that she receives it with my compliments, and when she has done with it tell her that I await her at Carminowe." He burst out laughing, and his men with him, and then they turned their horses up the hill and rode away.

Roger and the first monk drew the plank ash.o.r.e. The others crossed themselves and began to pray, and one of them went down upon his knees at the water's edge. There was no knife wound upon Bodrugan, no sign of violence. The water streamed from his mouth and his eyes were open. They had drowned him before they lashed him to the plank. Roger untied the hawser strands and bore him in his arms, with the water dripping from his hair, towards the mill. "Merciful G.o.d, he said, how am I to tell her?"

There was no need. As we turned towards the mill we saw the ponies, Robbie upon his own, Isolda mounted on a second, her hair loose upon her shoulders, wet and lank, her cloak billowing out behind her like a cloud. Robbie at a glance saw what had happened, and put out his hand to seize her bridle and turn her pony back, but in a moment she had dismounted and came running down the hill towards us. "Oh, my love," she said, "oh, no... oh, no... oh, no...", her voice, that had started clear and strong, trailing off into a single cry.

Roger laid his burden on the ground and ran towards her, and so did I. As we took hold of her outstretched hands she slipped out of our grasp and fell, and instead of holding on to her cloak I was scrambling amongst bales of straw piled against a corrugated tin shed across the road from Treesmill farm.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

I LAY THERE waiting for the nausea and the vertigo to pa.s.s. I knew it had to be endured, and the quieter I remained the quicker it would go. It was already light, and I had sense enough to glance at my watch. It was twenty-past five. If I gave myself a quarter-of-an-hour, without moving, all should be well. Even if the people at Treesmill farm were already astir no one was likely to cross the road and come to the shed, which was hard against the wall of an old valley orchard, the stream a few yards away from where I lay, all that remained of the tidal creek. My heart was thumping, but it gradually eased, and the dreaded vertigo was not as bad as that previous time when I had come to at the Gratten, and had the encounter with the doctor at the lay-by at the top of the hill.

Five minutes, ten, fifteen... then I struggled to my feet, and slipping from the orchard walked very slowly up the hill. So far so good. I climbed into the car and sat another five minutes, then started the engine and drove equally carefully back to Kilmarth. Plenty of time to put away the car and lock up the flask in the lab, then the wisest thing to do would be to go straight to bed and try to get some rest. There was nothing more I could do, I told myself. Roger would take Isolda back to that Tregest place, wherever it was, and poor Bodrugan's body would be safe in the care of those monks. Someone would have to carry the news to Joanna at Bockenod. Roger would take care of that, I felt sure. I now had a regard, even an affection for him, he was so obviously moved by Bodrugan's appalling death, and we had shared the horror of it together. I was right to have had that sense of foreboding on the beach below Chapel Point before sailing back to Fowey with Vita and the boys. Vita and the boys... I drove into the garage just as I remembered them, and with the memory came full understanding. I had driven home in one world with my brain still in the other. I had driven home, part of my brain completely sensible to the fact that I had the wheel in my hands and belonged to the present, while the rest of me was still in the past, believing Roger on the way to Tregest with Isolda.

I began to sweat all over. I sat quite still in the car, my hands trembling. It must not happen again. I must take a grip on myself. It was just on six o'clock in the morning. Vita and the boys, and those d.a.m.ned guests of ours, were all asleep upstairs, and Roger and Isolda and Bodrugan had been dead for more than six centuries. I was in my own time... I let myself in at the back door and put the flask away. It was fully light by now, but the house was silent still. I crept upstairs and into the kitchen, and put on the electric kettle to make myself a cup of tea. Tea was the answer, a steaming cup. The purr of the kettle was oddly comforting, and I sat down at the table, remembering suddenly how much we had all had to drink the night before. The kitchen still smelt of the lobster we had eaten, and I got up and opened the window.

I was in the middle of my second cup when I heard a creak on the stairs, and I was about to streak down to the bas.e.m.e.nt and remain perdu when the door opened and Bill came into the room. He grinned sheepishly.

"Hub," he said. "Two minds with but a single thought. I woke up, thought I heard a car, and suddenly had the most fearful thirst. Is that tea you're drinking?"

"Yes," I said. "Have a cup. Is Diana awake?"

"No," he replied, "and if I know my wife after a binge, not likely to, either. We were all pretty well stoned, weren't we? I say, no hard feelings?"

"No, none," I told him.

I poured him out a cup of tea, and he sat down at the table. He looked a mess, and his pyjamas, a livid pink, did not tone with his grey complexion.

"You're dressed," he said. "Have you been up long?"

"Yes," I said. "I've been out, as a matter of fact-I couldn't sleep."

"Then it was your car I heard coming down the drive?"

"It must have been," I said.

The tea was doing me good, but it was making me sweat as well. I could feel the sweat pouring down my face.

"You look a bit off," he said critically. "Are you all right?"