changed.”
“You must have known them all … the one who was killed and the one who went away.”
“I knew them … in a way. They were all in love with my mother. Gramps used to laugh about it. He was ever so pleased, because when she married Stepper we moved out of the cottage. But first there was all that fuss. And then Cosmo was killed and Simon ran away because he didn’t want to be hanged. “
I was silent and she went on: “They do hang them, you know. They put a rope round their necks and they … swing. It hurts a lot … but then they’re dead. That was what he was afraid of. Well, who wouldn’t be?”
I could not speak. I kept seeing Simon stealthily leaving the house . making his way to Tilbury . meeting the sailor, John Player.
She was watching me closely.
“Ghosts come back when people are murdered. They haunt people.
Sometimes they want to know what really happened. “
“Do you think something happened … which people don’t know about?”
She looked at me slyly. I was unsure of her. She could be teasing me.
I had betrayed my interest and she had noticed. She would already have guessed that I was extraordinarily interested in the murder.
“I was there, wasn’t I?” she said.
“I remember. I was with Gramps .. my mother was upstairs. Someone one of the grooms from Perrivale came to the door and said:
“Mr. Cosmo’s been found shot. He’s dead.” Gramps said:
“Oh my God.” You’re not supposed to say Oh my God. It’s taking the Lord’s name in vain. It says something in the Bible about it. And Gramps went upstairs to my mother and he wouldn’t let me go up with him. “
I tried to think of something appropriate to say but nothing came.
“Do you ride. Cranny?” she asked, seemingly irrelevantly.
I nodded.
“I tell you what. I’ll take you to Bindon Boys … the scene of the crime. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
I said: “You’re obsessed by the crime. It’s all over now. Perhaps one day we’ll ride out to that place.”
“All right,” she said.
“It’s a pact.”
“And now,” I said, ‘good night. “
She gave me a grin and, picking up the sheet, left me.
I lay for a long time, wide awake. I had come to teach Kate, but there might be a good deal she could teach me.
Kate had long decided that the lives of governesses should be made so uncomfortable that they found it impossible to stay, so they left, which gave her a period of freedom before the next one came, and she had to start her eliminating tactics once more.
I was different from the others, mainly because she sensed that it was not imperative for me to keep the job as a means of livelihood. That took a little of the spice out of the baiting and gave me the advantage. I tried to tell myself that all children had a streak of cruelty in them because they lack experience of life and therefore an ability to imagine the extent of the suffering they cause.
Apart from the fact that I was becoming sure that she could be of use to me in my quest, I wanted to take up the case of other governesses who had suffered before me and in particular those who would suffer after me. I wanted to teach Kate a little humanity. Oddly enough, I did not despair of her. I believed something must have happened to make her the callous little creature she had become; and I had a feeling that it must be possible to change her.
The next morning, rather to my surprise, she was in the schoolroom at the appointed time.
I told her I had worked out a timetable. We would start with English, perhaps for an hour or so; we would see how that worked. I should want to test her reading ability, her spelling, her grammar. We should read books together.
I had found a collection in the cupboard. I picked up The
Count of Monte Cristo and when I opened it I saw “Simon Perrivale’ written on the flyleaf in a childish hand. I felt my own hands tremble a little.
I managed to hide my emotion from her alert eyes. I said:
“Have you ever read this book?”
She shook her head.
“We’ll read it one day and, oh, here’s another. Treasure Island.
That’s about pirates. “
Her interest was aroused. There was a picture on the frontispiece of Long John Silver with his parrot on his shoulder.
She said: “In that other book … that was his name … you know, the murderer.”
“We don’t know that he was,” I said, and stopped myself abruptly, for she was looking at me in surprise. I should have to go carefully.
“We shall then do history, geography and arithmetic.”
She was scowling.
“We’ll see how they fit in,” I said firmly.
The morning passed tolerably well. I discovered that she could read fairly fluently and I was pleased to discover that she had a definite taste for literature. The personalities of history interested her but she shut her mind to dates. There was a revolving globe in the cupboard and we had an interesting time discovering places on it. I showed her where I had been shipwrecked. The story intrigued her, and we finished off the morning by reading a chapter of Treasure Island; she was absorbed by the book from the first page.
I was amazed at my success.
I had decided that we should work until midday. Then she could follow her own pursuits if she wished until three o’clock when we might walk in the gardens or in the surrounding country and learn something about plant life, or take a walk. We could resume lessons at four and work until five. That was our scholastic day.
In the afternoon she showed no wish to be on her own and offered to show me the surrounding country. I was rather pleased that she sought my company and seemed to retain her interest in me.
She talked about Treasure Island and told me what she thought would happen. She wanted to hear about my shipwreck. I began to think that it was this which had made her ready to accept me . perhaps briefly as had not been the case with the other governesses.
She took me to the top of the cliffs and we sat there for a while, watching the sea.
“We have rough seas here,” she said.
“There used to be wreckers along these coasts. They had lights and they lured the ships on to the rocks, pretending that it was the harbour. Then they stole the cargo.
I’d like to have been a wrecker. “
“Why do you want to be evil?”
“Being good is dull.”
“It’s better in the long run.”
“I like short runs.”
I laughed at her and she laughed with me.
She said suddenly: “Look at those rocks down there. A man was drowned down there not very long ago.”
“Did you know him?”
She was silent for a moment. Then she said: “He was a stranger here.
He came from London. He’s buried in St. Morwenna’s churchyard. I’ll show you his grave. Would you like to see it? “
“Well, I suppose it is hardly one of the local beauty spots.”
She laughed again.
“He was drunk,” she said.
“He fell over the cliffs and right down on to the rocks.”
