Филиппа Карр: The Black Swan

I heard Phillida’s voice, “What is it, Lucie?”

She rose and came to stand beside me. I turned to her almost triumphantly because he was still there. Phillida was staring blankly out of the window. “What is it?” she said. “What are you looking at?”

“Look-look! He’s there.”

“What? Where””

“Down there.” I turned to her. “Surely you can see ...”

She was looking at me incredulously. I saw fear in her face. “Oh ... my God!” I heard her murmur. She sat down on the bed.

I went to her. “You saw, Phillida. No one can say I imagined it now.”

She looked at me pityingly. “Oh, Lucie... Lucie ... I don’t know what to say.”

I dragged her back to the window.

He was gone.

“You saw him... you can confirm ...”

She shook her head and avoided looking at me.

“Lucie... I’m sorry ... I saw nothing. There was nothing there.”

“You can’t mean that. You’re lying ...”

“Oh, Lucie, I wish I were.”

I was astounded and angry.

I cried, “You did see him. You must have. He was standing there. He took off his hat and bowed. You must have seen his hair.”

“Lucie, my dear, dear Lucie, there was no one there.”

“I saw him, I tell you, I saw him.”

“Lucie dear, you have had a terrible shock... sometimes it takes a long time to get over these things.”

“You are not telling the truth. Why do you lie?”

“How I wish I were! How I wish I could say I saw him. I’d give anything to say I did. But I didn’t. I just didn’t. Truly... there was no one there.” I covered my face with my hands. She was lying, I was telling myself. She must be.

But why?

Roland had come into the room. “What on earth is the matter?” he asked.

“Oh, Roland ...” said Phillida. “It was terrible ...”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Lucie saw ... or thought she saw ...”

“I saw! I saw!” I shouted.

“It was the ghost again.”

“Where?”

“Down there. Outside, the one Lucie thought she saw before.”

“Oh, Lucie,” said Roland. “My dear Lucie.”

“I was there with her, Roland. There wasn’t anybody there.”

“She saw him,” I said. “She must have seen him. She’s not telling the truth. Why?

Why?”

“I think you should get to bed, Lucie. Phillida...” He looked toward the door. He was telling her to go. She disturbed me. “Come, Lucie,” he went on. “Tell me about it. Was it ... the same?”

Phillida was at the door. “I’ll get something to drink,” she said. “It will do her a lot of good.”

Roland sat beside me.

“Tell me all about it,” he said soothingly.

“I went to the window and I saw him there. I called to Phillida. She came. She was right beside me. She said she couldn’t see anything. She must have seen him. He was there... right there.”

He stroked my hair. “Lucie,” he said. “Why don’t you get to bed. You’re tired out.”

“Please don’t treat me like an imbecile, Roland,” I said sharply.

“It’s the last thing I want to do. But you are tired out.”

“I don’t like this place.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not for long, you’re going to say. I don’t like it for one night, let alone a month.”

“Look, Lucie. You’re here with us ... with me. I’ll make everything all right. We’ll find something soon. There’ll be all the fun of getting it how we want it.” I wanted to shout at him, I don’t want a new house. I want to go to Joel. “Look. Why don’t you get undressed and slip into bed? You’ll find everything different in the morning.”

“Why did Phillida say she saw nothing when she so obviously did?”

“It could have been a trick of the light.”

“That’s nonsense. He was down there. I saw the opera hat and his awful unmistakable hair.”

“Perhaps Phillida couldn’t see as well. The light ...”

It was no use. Mechanically, I undressed and lay down. I wanted to shut out everything ... I longed to be back before that tragic day when my father was killed. I felt an overwhelming need to leave this house which I had begun to dread. I wanted to go back to Celeste tomorrow. I wanted to meet Joel at the Round Pond and talk and talk until we found some solution. I wanted to say: I am coming to you. I cannot live any other life.

There was a knock on the door. It was Phillida. She was carrying a tray on which were two mugs filled with a steaming beverage.

“One for each of you,” she said. “It has been a tiring day.” She set the tray down.

“Sleep well,” she went on; and left us.

I did sleep well. I awoke to find myself alone. I saw that it was nine o’clock and I was amazed, for I usually awoke at seven.

I got out of bed and went to the leaded window. I looked down. I saw nothing but the moor stretching out before me. It undulated slightly. I saw the boulders and the sun glinted on little rivulets, making them shine like silver. It was beautiful in a wild way.

Kitty looked in. She asked if I wanted hot water now and I told her I did. She brought it and I washed. I had slept so well that I felt a little better. I could not stop thinking of last night’s apparition, but it was strange how different everything seemed by daylight.

I was sure I had seen him there, but Phillida had not. Could it really be that it was my imagination? He had seemed so clear. How could Phillida not have seen him, unless it was a ghost who appeared to me and not to others? Why should she lie? There didn’t seem to be any point in her doing so. On that other occasion when I had seen him, he had gone before I could get Roland to see him. I wondered if he would have been invisible to Roland as well as Phillida. It did seem as though I might be suffering from hallucinations.

I was trying to look at this clearly. It had been a terrible strain. It was mainly my evidence which had sent that man to the gallows. Had that preyed on my mind? I had hated Phillida last night. But that was not fair, for somehow I had felt that she had desperately wanted to say she had seen the man. But of course she had to tell the truth.

I must not blame her because I was becoming a little... what was it? ... mentally disturbed through all that had happened.

I was mentally disturbed. Terrible things had happened to me. It is mentally disturbing to see someone whom you love dearly shot dead at your feet and then to be called on to identify his murderer. This man had died violently. It was said that people who died in such circumstances did sometimes return to this world. Rebecca had thought so. She firmly believed that our mother had come back to beg her to take care of me. She referred to it now and then and always with conviction. If my mother returned, why not a man who had been hanged? And to whom should he return but to the one who had helped to bring about his end? He was a murderer, I kept telling myself. He deserved to die. He had killed my father and, if he had lived, others might have died in the same way; no doubt others had. My father would not have been the first. He was a terrorist and anarchist. He was no less a murderer because he had killed for a cause.

I must be reasonable. If I had seen him and Phillida had not, he must be a ghost. If that were so, there was a modicum of comfort for me, for I had had the fear that I had helped to convict the wrong man, and it was the murderer himself who visited me in the flesh to mock me and disturb my conscience.

This was how I had felt in the days following my father’s death. In the last year or so I had grown a little away from the nightmare and for long periods had ceased to think about it.

Now I wondered if I ever should.

Temporarily last night’s events had taken my mind from the great problem of how I was going to continue my life with Roland when I wanted to be only with Joel. I went downstairs. Phillida was in the dining room.