I was anxious to show off before Connan TreMellyn and I agreed to Tapperty’s suggestion. After all, I was teaching his daughter to ride and that meant that I could, with the approval of his head stable man, make my selection from the stables.
The night before the horse show I presented Alvean with the brooch.
She was extremely delighted.
“It’s a whip!” she cried.
“It will pin your cravat,” I said, “and I hope bring you luck.”
“It will, miss. I know it will.”
“Well, don’t rely on it too much. Remember luck only comes to those who deserve it.” I quoted the beginning of an old rhyme which Father used to say to us.
“Your head and your heart keep boldly up,
Your chin and your heels keep down.”
I went on; “And when you take your jump, remember … go with Prince.”
“I’ll remember.”
“Excited?”
“It seems so long in coming.”
“It’ll come fast enough.”
That night when I went in to say good night to her I sat on her bed and we talked about the horse show.
I was a little anxious about her because she was too excited, and I tried to calm her down. I told her she must go to sleep, for if she did not she would not be fresh for the morning.
“But how does one sleep, miss,” she asked, “when sleep won’t come?”
I realized then the magnitude of what I had done. A few months before, when I had come to this house, this girl had been afraid to mount a horse; now she was looking forward to competing at the horse show.
That was all well and good. I would have preferred her interest not to have been centered so wholeheartedly on her father. It was his approval which meant so much to her.
She was not only eager; she was apprehensive, so desperately did she long for his admiration.
I went to my room and came back with a book of Mr. Longfellow’s poems.
I sat down by her bed and began to read to her, for I knew of nothing so able to turn the mind to peace than his narrative poem, “Hiawatha.”
I often quoted it when I was trying to sleep and then I would feel myself torn from the events of this world in which I lived, and in my imagination I would wander along through the primeval forests with the “rushings of great rivers … and their wild reverberations.”
The words flowed from my lips. I knew I was conjuring up visions for Alvean. She had forgotten the horse show … her fears and her hopes. She was with the little Hiawatha sitting at the feet of the good Nokomis and—she slept.
I woke up on the day of the horse show to find that the mist had penetrated my room. I got out of bed and went to the window. Little wisps of it encircled the palm trees, and the feathery leaves of the evergreen pines were decorated with little drops of moisture.
“I hope the mist lifts before the afternoon,” I said to myself.
But all through the morning it persisted, and there were anxious looks and whispers throughout the house where everyone was thinking of the horse show. Most of the servants were going to the show. They always did, Kitty told me, because the master had special interest in it as one of the judges, and Billy Trehay and some of the stable boys were entrants.
“It do put master in a good mood to see his horses win,” said Kitty; “but they say he’s always harder on his own than on others.”
Immediately after luncheon Alvean and I set out; she was riding Black Prince and I was on Royal Rover. It was exhilarating to be on a good horse, and I felt as excited as Alvean; I fear I was just as eager to shine in the eyes of Connan TreMellyn as she was.
The horse show was being held in a big field close to the village church, and when we arrived the crowds were already gathering.
Alvean and I parted company when we reached the field and I discovered that the event in which I was competing was one of the first.
The show was intended to start at two-fifteen, but there was the usual delay, and at twenty past we were still waiting to begin.
The mist had lifted slightly, but it was a leaden day; the sky was like a gray blanket and everything seemed to have accumulated a layer of moisture. The sea smell was strong but the waves were silent today and the cry of the gulls was more melancholy than ever.
Connan arrived with the other judges; there were three of them, all local worthies. Connan, I saw, had come on May Morning, as I expected, since I had been given Royal Rover.
The village band struck up a traditional air and everyone stood still and sang.
It was very impressive, I thought, to hear those words sung with such fervor in that misty field:
“And shall they scorn Tre Pol and Pen,
And shall Trelawny die?
Then twenty thousand Cornish men
Will know the reason why.”
A proud song, I thought, for an insular people; and they stood at attention as they sang. I noticed little Gillyflower standing there, singing with the rest, and I was surprised to see her; she was with Daisy and I hoped the girl would look after her.
She saw me and I waved to her, but she lowered her eyes at once; yet I could see that she was smiling to herself and I was quite pleased.
A rider came close to me and a voice said: “Well, if it is not Miss Leigh herself!”
I turned and saw Peter Nansellock; he was mounted on Jacinth.
“Good afternoon,” I said, and my eyes lingered on the perfections of Jacinth.
I was wearing a placard with a number on my back which had been put there by one of the organizers.
“Don’t tell me,” said Peter Nansellock, “that you and I are competitors in this first event.”
“Are you in it then?”
He turned, and I saw the placard on his back.
“I haven’t a hope,” I said.
“Against me?”
“Against Jacinth,” I answered.
“Miss Leigh, you could have been riding her.”
“You must have been mad to do what you did. You set the stables talking.”
“Who cares for stable boys?”
“I do.”
“Then you are not being your usual sensible self
“A governess has to care for the opinions of all and sundry.”
“You are not an ordinary governess.”
“Do you know, Mr. Nansellock,” I said lightly, “I believe all the governesses in your life were no ordinary governesses. If they had been, perhaps they would have had no place in your life.”
I gave Royal Rover a gentle touch on the flank and he responded immediately.
I did not see Peter again until he was competing. He went before I did. I watched him ride round the field. He and Jacinth seemed like one animal. Like a centaur, I thought. Were they the creatures with the head and shoulders of a man and the body of a horse?
“Oh, perfect,” I exclaimed aloud as I watched him take the jumps and canter gracefully round the field. And who couldn’t, I said to myself maliciously, on a mare like that!
A round of applause followed him as he finished his turn.
Mine did not come until some time later.
I saw Connan TreMellyn in the judges’ stand. And I whispered: “Royal Rover, help me. I want you to beat Jacinth. I want to win this prize. I want to show Connan TreMellyn that there is one thing I can do. Help me, Royal Rover.”
The sensitive ears seemed to prick up as Royal Rover moved daintily forward and I knew that he heard me, and would respond to the appeal in my voice.
“Come on, Rover,” I whispered. “We can do it.”
And we went round as faultlessly, I hoped, as Jacinth had. I heard the applause burst out as I finished, and walked my horse away.
We waited until the rest of the competitors were finished and the results were called. I was glad that they were anounced at the end of each event. People were more interested immediately after they had seen a performance. The practice of announcing all winners at the end of the me
eting I had always thought to be a sort of anticlimax.
“This one is a tie,” Connan was saying. “Two competitors scored full marks in this one. It’s most unusual, but I am happy to say that the winners are a lady and a gentleman: Miss Martha Leigh on Royal Rover, and Mr. Peter Nansellock on Jacinth.”
We trotted up to take our prizes.
Connan said: “The prize is a silver rose bowl. How can we split it? Obviously we cannot do that, so the lady gets the bowl.”
“Of course,” said Peter.
“But you get a silver spoon,” Connan told him. “Consolation for having tied with a lady.”
We accepted our prizes, and as Connan gave me mine he was smiling, very well pleased.
“Good show, Miss Leigh. I did not know anyone could get so much out of Royal Rover.”
I patted Royal Rover and said, more for his hearing than anyone else’s: “I couldn’t have had a better partner.”
Then Peter and I trotted off; I with my rose bowl, he with his spoon.
Peter said: “If you had been on Jacinth you would have been the undisputed winner.”
“I should still have had to compete against you on something else.”
“Jacinth would win any race … just look at her. Isn’t she perfection? Never mind, you got the rose bowl.”
“I shall always feel that it is not entirely mine.”
“When you arrange your roses you will always think: Part of this belonged to that man … what was his name? He was always charming to me, but I was a little acid with him. I’m sorry now.”
“I rarely forget people’s names, and I feel I have nothing to regret in my conduct toward you.”
“There is a way out of this rose bowl situation. Suppose we set up house together. It could have a place of honor there. ‘Ours,’ we could say, and both feel happy about it.”
I was angry at this flippancy, and I said: “We should, I am sure, feel far from happy about everything else.”
And I rode away.
I wanted to be near the judges’ stand when Alvean appeared. I wanted to watch Connan’s face as his daughter performed. I wanted to be close when she took her prize—which I was sure she would, for she was eager to win and she had worked hard. The jumps should offer no difficulty to her.
The elementary jumping contest for eight-year-olds began and I was feverishly impatient, waiting for Alvean’s turn, as I watched those little girls and boys go through their performances. But there was no Alvean. The contest was over and the results announced.
I felt sick with disappointment. So she had panicked at the last moment. My work had been in vain. When the great moment came her fears had returned.
When the prizes were being given I went in search of Alvean, but I could not find her, and as the more advanced jumping contest for the eight-year-old group was about to begin, it occurred to me that she must have gone back to the house. I pictured her abject misery because after all our talk, all our practice, her courage had failed her at the critical moment.
I wanted to get away, for now my own petty triumph meant nothing to me, and I wanted to find Alvean quickly, to comfort her if need be, and I felt sure she would need my comfort.
I rode back to Mount Mellyn, hung up my saddle and bridle, gave Royal Rover a quick rub down and a drink, and left him munching an armful of hay in his stall while I went into the house.
The back door was unlatched and I went in. The house seemed very quiet. I guessed that all but Mrs. Polgrey were at the horse show. Mrs. Polgrey would probably be in her room having her afternoon doze.
I went up to my room and called Alvean as I went.
There was no answer, so I hurried through the schoolroom to her room which was deserted. Perhaps she had not come back to the house. I then remembered that I had not seen Prince in the stables. But then I had forgotten to look in his stall.
I came back to my room and stood uncertainly at the window. I thought: I’ll go back to the horse show. She’s probably still there.
And as I stood at the window I knew that someone was in Alice’s apartments. I was not sure how I knew. It may only have been a shadow across the windowpane. But I was certain that someone was there.
Without thinking very much of what I would do when I discovered who was there, I ran from my room through the gallery to Alice’s rooms. My riding boots must have made a clatter along the gallery. I threw open the door of the room and shouted: “Who is here? Who is it?”
No one was in the room, but in that fleeting second I saw the communicating door between the two rooms close.
I had a feeling that it might be Alvean who was there, and I was sure that Alvean needed me at this moment. I had to find her, and any fear I might have had disappeared. I ran across the dressing room and opened the door of the bedroom. I looked round the room. I ran to the curtains and felt them. There was no one there. Then I ran to the other door and opened it. I was in another dressing room and the communicating door—similar to that in Alice’s—was open. I went through and immediately I knew that I was in Connan’s bedroom, for I saw the cravat, which he had been wearing that morning, flung on the dressing table. I saw his dressing gown and slippers.
The sight of these made me blush and realize that I was trespassing in a part of the house where I had no right to be.
But someone other than Connan had been there before me. Who was it?
I went swiftly across the bedroom, opened the door and found myself in the gallery.
There was no sign of anyone there so I went slowly back to my room.
Who had been in Alice’s room? Who was it who haunted the place?
“Alice,” I said aloud. “Is it you, Alice?”
Then I went down to the stables. I wanted to get back to the horse show and find Alvean.
I had saddled Royal Rover and was riding out of the stable yard when I saw Billy Trehay hurrying toward the house.
He said: “Oh, miss, there’s been an accident. A terrible accident.”
“What?” I stammered.
“It’s Miss Alvean. She took a toss in the jumping.”
“But she wasn’t in the jumping!” I cried.
“Yes she were. In the eight-year-olds. Advanced Class. It was the high jump. Prince stumbled and fell. They went rolling over and over …”
For a moment I lost control of myself; I covered my face with my hands and cried out my protest.
“They were looking for you, miss,” he said.
“Where is she then?”
“She were down there in the field. They’m afraid to move her. They wrapped her up and now they’m waiting for Dr. Pengelly to come. They think she may have broken some bones. Her father’s with her. He kept saying, ‘Where’s Miss Leigh?’ And I saw you leave so I came after you. I think perhaps you’d better be getting down there, miss … since he was asking for you like.”
I turned away and rode as fast as I dared down the hill into the village, and as I rode I prayed, and scolded:
“Oh God, let her be all right. Oh Alvean, you little fool! It would have been enough to take the simple jumps. That would have pleased him enough. You could have done the high jumps next year. Alvean, my poor, poor child.” And then: “It’s his fault. It’s all his fault. If he had been a human parent this wouldn’t have happened.”
And so I came to the field. I shall never forget what I saw there: Alvean lying unconscious on the grass, and the group round her and others standing about. There would be no more competitions that day.
For a moment I was terrified that she had been killed.
Connan’s face was stern as he looked at me.
“Miss Leigh,” he said, “I’m glad you’ve come. There’s been an accident. Alvean—”
I ignored him and knelt beside her.
“Alvean … my dear …” I murmured.
She opened her eyes then. She did not look like my arrogant little pupil. She was just a lost and bewildered child.
But she smiled.
�
��Don’t go away …” she said.
“No, I’ll stay here.”
“You did go … before …” she murmured, and I had to bend low to catch her words.
And then I knew. She was not speaking to Martha Leigh, the governess. She was speaking to Alice.
SIX
Dr. Pengelly had arrived on the field and had diagnosed a broken tibia; but he could not say whether any further damage had been done. He set the fractured bone and drove Alvean back to Mount Mellyn in his carriage while Connan and I rode back together in silence.
Alvean was taken to her room and given a sedative by the doctor.
“Now,” he said, “there is nothing we can do but wait. I’ll come back again in a few hours’ time. It may be that the child is suffering acute shock. In the meantime we will keep her warm and let her sleep. She should sleep for several hours, and at the end of that time we shall know how deeply she has suffered from this shock.”
When the doctor had left, Connan said to me: “Miss Leigh, I want to have a talk with you. Come to the punch room … now, will you please?”
I followed him there and he went on:
“There is nothing we can do but wait, Miss Leigh. We must try to be calm.”
I realized that he could never have seen me agitated as I was now, and he had probably considered me incapable of such deep feeling.
Impulsively I said: “I find it hard to be as calm about my charge as you are about your daughter, Mr. TreMellyn.”
I was so frightened and worried that I wanted to blame someone for what had happened, so I blamed him.
“Whatever made the child attempt such a thing?” he demanded.
“You made her,” I retorted. “You!”
“I! But I had no idea that she was so advanced in her riding.”
I realized later that I was on the verge of hysteria. I believed that Alvean might have done herself some terrible injury and I felt almost certain that a child of her temperament would never want to ride again. I believed I had been wrong in my methods. I should not have tried to overcome her fear of horses; I had tried to win my way into her affections by showing her the way to win those of her father.