Филиппа Карр: The Black Swan

The nurse had come in. She took one look at Roland and I understood that she was aware at once that talking to me had been too much for him. I was hurriedly wheeled away and the doctors were coming in.

Roland died that night.

I spent only a week in the hospital in Bradford and a great deal happened during that time.

My whole life had changed.

It is a sobering experience to come close to death and to know that you owe your life to another person who had lost his own in saving yours. For some time that thought was uppermost in my mind and I knew that there would be incidents in my life with Roland which I should never forget. I had been fond of him; I had been fond of Phillida. She was a magnificent actress.

I was thinking of her now as .

And Roland? It was hard to believe that in those early days he had been in the plot to murder me. How easily deceived I had been!

I lay in my hospital bed and conjured up images of what must have happened that night.

Later I was able to verify that much of what I thought had taken place actually had.

Perhaps it was logical that, being so close to it, I could see clearly what was inevitable.

When Phillida had seen Roland and me lying on the floor of the stable, covered in blood, her story must be that I, verging on insanity, had shot my husband and then myself. She must have been very shaken because she had killed her brother. I do not know if she ever really cared for any person. People who serve causes with such dedication rarely bestow great affection on individuals. This was, however, her brother. They had worked closely together. Perhaps she had some regard for him. But in her eyes he would have seemed a traitor. He had brought their scheme to an ignoble end. He had failed the cause-and all because he had fallen in love with me. I understood how a person such as she was would feel. Roland had failed her, himself and the cause. He had allowed his personal feelings to get the better of his duty.

But to see him lying there dead ... or on the point of death... must have shocked her considerably. Otherwise she would not have been so careless. She put the gun in my hand but did not make sure that I was dead. I must have looked as though I were, with the blood all over me. It would have been unnerving because events had gone so differently from what had been planned.

A new suicide note was needed and that would have been her first concern-for how was she to know that it was in my pocket? It was not easy for her to produce the writing exactly like mine and she would obviously have to make several attempts. It must have been while she was doing this that Mr. Hellman and his cowman arrived. The cowman was immediately sent to get help. Thus a policeman and a doctor arrived from Bracken before Phillida had a chance to set the stage. They discovered Phillida’s notes... several of them... because she had not found it easy to imitate my handwriting. They also found the opera cloak and hat with the wig in my bedroom. Then she learned that I was not dead as she had carelessly thought. In a short time I should be able to give my version; and it would not take long for it to be discovered that Phillida Fitzgerald was in fact Deirdre O’Neill, who in her own name was not unknown to the authorities; and there was the damning link with Fergus, the murderer of my father.

She had failed-after all the elaborate planning of months. She had killed her brother instead of me; and it could only be a matter of hours before she was arrested. Her next action was typical of her. It may well have been that she had always known, in the kind of life she led, it might have been necessary at some time to take such an action.

She did the only thing that would have seemed possible to her. She took the gun and shot herself.

There followed the headlines. Everything was revived and we had to live through it all again. But it was a small price to pay for release. I was not seeing visions. I was not going mad. I was safe and this was the end of the nightmare which had begun when I had sat waiting for my father, and had looked out of the window and seen Fergus O’Neill waiting for the opportunity to kill him.

A week after Roland’s death, I came out of the Bradford hospital and was taken to London with Joel, Rebecca and Celeste.

Rebecca said, “As soon as you are well enough, I am going to take you to Cornwall.

The quiet and peace of High Tor is what you need.”

I wanted to be with her. I wanted to tell her about Roland who had started by planning to murder me and had ended by saving my life.

I thought of him often... of the many kindnesses, the loving care he had given me. I believe he had truly loved me. Poor Roland, he had not been a strong man. He had been born into a family which lived by the gun. He had been brought up to hate; and such a man had made the supreme sacrifice for love. It was wonderful to be in Cornwall. Rebecca took me back with her, and there was a very warm welcome for me from Pedrek and the children. I loved the peace of the place which struck me afresh every morning when I awakened. There were, of course, times when I took a fearful look out of the window; then I would remind myself of the hat, the cloak and the wig as I had seen them lying on the bed in that room at Gray Stone House. The dreams came too... now and then; although even in those dreams the knowledge that that phase of my life was over was becoming more frequent.

Joel came down to Cornwall. We rode together. We went to Branok Pool and there I would think of Jenny Stubbs who-as Roland had-gave her life for mine. How strange that there should have been two people in my life who cared for me enough to do that. Joel knew this spot and of its special significance for me. He said to me as we stood there, looking over that eerie pool, “When I came back from Buganda we were to announce our engagement. Do you remember?” Of course I remembered.

“Hasn’t there been too much delay?”

And I agreed that there had been.

A year after that terrible experience in the stables, Joel and I were married. It was a quiet wedding which was what we both wanted.

Belinda was present-safely married to Bobby now-and both immensely proud of their son and heir, young Robert.

I am deeply happy. I am putting the past right behind me, though there are still times when I dream of gliding so gracefully across the lake. Then he comes toward me and steps ashore-changed into a figure in an opera cloak and hat ... and he takes off the hat and bows.

I awake in fear. But Joel is beside me. He takes me into his arms and says, “It’s all right, my love. I’m here, Lucie. There is nothing to fear anymore.” And I can laugh at my folly, for I know, as time passes, the reality of the present will overcome the nightmare of the past and I shall cease to dream of.