Филиппа Карр: The Black Swan

“Would you like to come in?” asked Phillida.

“Well, that’ll be nice. Daisy, come on.”

“I’m just on my way to Bracken,” Mrs. Hellman was saying as they went in. “I just thought I’d drop the eggs in on my way.”

I sat down. So that was what they thought of me! And Phillida had told Mrs. Hellman... almost as though she were warning her. I was horrified. I must be reasonable, I told myself. I had been hysterical last night. I had seen him so clearly, and they had been standing beside me and had not... both of them. I stayed in my room all the morning.

At midday Phillida came in. She smiled at me tenderly.

“That’s right,” she said. “Roland and I both agreed that you needed a rest. How are you feeling now?”

“Better, thank you.”

“Good. I’ll send Kitty up with a little light lunch on a tray. How’s that?”

“Thank you. Then I think I’ll get up.”

“Why not? If you feel like it. Kitty can bring up hot water.”

“Yes, I’ll wash and then have the food.”

“That’s a good idea. Have it quietly in your room and then, if you feel like it ... perhaps a little walk would do you good.”

“Thank you, Phillida,” I said.

“It’s our pleasure to look after you ... to get you well.”

She stood smiling at me and I thought, how could you have said what you did about me... and to a stranger? But what had she said? Nothing but the truth. It was what she had implied. But then ... I had seen visions.... “How would you fancy an omelette? I have some very fresh eggs. Your Mrs. Hellman called this morning to bring some. A pity you weren’t up. She asked after you. What a talker she is! I suppose she doesn’t get much opportunity to talk in that farmhouse.”

“I heard her,” I said.

“Oh? So you were awake. Well, I’ll see about things. Hot water first. Kitty will bring it up at once.”

She smiled at me benignly and went out.

I was glad to be in my room for a time. I did not want to talk to Phillida. I might mention that I had heard what she said to Mrs. Hellman. I wanted desperately to see Rebecca, and I had an impulse to ride into Bradford and get a train to London. I could go to Celeste for a night and then on to Cornwall. How could I do anything so melodramatic? I must talk to Roland tonight. I could tell him that I had made up my mind that I must go at once to see Rebecca. He would understand. He always did.

I thought then of the letter I had written to Rebecca. I went to the drawer. There it was. I could at least send it off. I would ride into Bracken this afternoon to the little post office.

I felt better now that I had decided to take some action.

The hot water came. I washed and Kitty arrived with the omelette. I was surprised that I felt hungry and was able to eat with relish.

I put on my riding habit and went downstairs.

Phillida was in her herbary. She came out, looking surprised when she saw me dressed for riding.

“Do you feel well enough?” she asked anxiously.

“Yes. I think it will do me good.”

“Not too far then. Just a little amble round.”

I nodded as though in agreement. She came to the door and waved as I rode away. I felt better. Why did I see these visions? It was because others could stand beside me and see nothing that I was alarmed.

I longed to see Joel. Suppose I went to him... ? No, that was not the way. He would persuade me to stay and I could not hurt Roland... that way. It was Rebecca I needed to see first. I needed my half sister’s cool common sense. I touched the letter in my pocket and wondered how long it would take to reach her. But I did not have to wait for a reply. I only had to appear at High Tor. They had always made me feel as though it were my home. If only she were near now. But I was feeling better because I was taking some action. I would speak to Roland tonight and tell him I would leave tomorrow because I must see Rebecca. I arrived in Bracken and went straight to the post office. I tethered my horse outside while I went in.

The shop was a typical village store. It sold most things necessary to ordinary household requirements. It catered for a small community but it had to be able to supply all necessities. There were cakes, biscuits, sugar, tea ... all that a grocer would sell; there were clothes, boots, shoes, fruit, cough mixtures and such remedies... and in a corner of the shop-the post office.

A thin, middle-aged woman was seated behind a kind of wire with a gap at the bottom. I bought a stamp for my letter. The shop was deserted and it was clear to me that she was inquisitive and wondering who I was. I supposed she was fully acquainted with most of the people who came in, and here was someone whom she had never seen before.

She said it was a fine day and asked if I had come far.

“Well, from Gray Stone House,” I said. “Do you know it?”

“Reckon,” she said brightly.

I was not sure what that meant, but it soon became clear that she was not only aware of it, but knew that there were new people there and that they were looking round hoping to buy a house in the neighborhood.

My thoughts immediately went to Mrs. Hellman who, having the news, would have quickly imparted it to anyone she encountered. In a community like this where very little happened, newcomers were of the greatest interest.

“Well,” she said. “It’s a mercy you’ve come this morning. You’re Mrs. Fitzgerald ... or are you Miss?”

“I’m Mrs. Fitzgerald.”

“Well then, I was just on sending a message out to you. We don’t deliver. Letters come here to the post office for people in outlying districts and they call in and collect.”

“I heard that from a neighbor... and you have something for me?”

“That would be Mrs. Hellman from Hellman’s Farm. I was going to give it to her but she hasn’t been in this morning.”

“What is it?” I asked urgently.

“Half a minute.” She opened a drawer. “Here is it. Came yesterday. A letter for you.”

“Oh ... thank you.” I glanced at the envelope. It was Belinda’s handwriting. “I ...

I’m so pleased.”

“Come in once or twice a week. We keep the mail for you. Happen you ought to have a number. Box they call it. Box 22. That could be yours. Tell them to send to Box 22, Post Office, Bracken, near Bradford. Got it? Then you come in as often as you like to collect.”

“I am so pleased I called.”

She smiled. I was longing to read Belinda’s letter, but she went on, “You see that one’s sent to Mrs. Fitzgerald, Gray Stone House, Bracken, Bradford. Well, that’s all right because we know who you are. I knew you had come to Gray Stone... but if you remember Box 22 it’s best... though it wouldn’t matter all that much.”

“You’ve been very helpful.”

“How are you getting on at Gray Stone?”

“Very well.”

“That’s the ticket. It’s a bit lonely up there.”

“Well, we don’t expect to be there long. Thank you so much. I am so glad I called in.”

She was reluctant to let me go and I am sure she would have made a greater attempt to detain me if someone else had not come in at that moment. “Oh, Mrs. Copland,” she cried. “There you are ... and how’s that daughter-in-law of yours getting on?”

I did not stay to hear the condition of Mrs. Copland’s daughter-in-law but came out onto the street clutching Belinda’s letter.

Desperately I wanted to read it, but I could not do so there. I mounted my horse and rode out of Bracken. I found a field bordered by a few trees, so I alighted, tethered my horse to a fence and sat down under one of the trees to read.

Dear Lucie,

I am sending this in the hope that it will reach you. I hope I’ve got the address right. You did mention Gray Stone was the name of the house... remember? And I’m sure it was near a place called Bracken. So here goes.