Chapter Seven
D iana slid a key into the iron lock and pulled the door open. Within, a circular, stone staircase led upwards. She mounted the stairs to what felt like a cloud height, finally reaching the upper landing, where she froze in wonder.
The ghostly form of a mermaid hovered before her, beckoning with an alluring smile and a graceful wave. Mesmerized, Diana stepped forward. But she stepped into thin air. With a cry of terror, Diana plummeted down, down towards the black rocks below. Just before impact, she awoke with a gasp.
What a horrible dream.
As she lay in the darkness, the events of the previous evening raced through Diana’s mind. She understood now why Sir Thomas had stopped using the north wing and had locked up the north tower. The legend of the mermaid who haunted it must have haunted him after his wife’s and son’s deaths at sea. When that light had started appearing, recalling the legend of the Mermaid of Pendowar, it was no wonder if it had driven him to madness.
Why the captain continued to keep the area off-limits, however, was another matter. He had claimed it to be in disrepair, but Diana had seen no evidence of that. It just needed a good cleaning. Captain Fallbrook didn’t appear to be the superstitious sort any more than she was. There were no such things as ghosts or mermaids. A human being had been up in the north tower last night. Diana would stake her life on it. Whoever it had been, they had flashed a light in the window.
Who’d been flashing the light? And why? How could they enter a tower that had been locked? It could not have been Mrs. Gwynn, for she had appeared after Diana, from the opposite direction.
Who else, Diana wondered, had a key?
*
Miss Fallbrook did not show up in the schoolroom the next morning. Diana discovered the girl in her bedroom, sitting in her window seat with a sketchbook, drawing the scene outside. She was so engrossed in her work that she didn’t hear Diana enter.
“Miss Fallbrook. It’s time for your lessons.”
The girl jerked in surprise and turned. “Sorry.” She did not sound sorry in the least. “I forgot the time.”
They spent the morning working on three more letters of the alphabet. Although Miss Fallbrook tried, the new material did not seem to be sinking in, any more than it had the day before.
“Can we draw now?” Miss Fallbrook pleaded.
“No.”
“May we sculpt, then? I have some clay in my room.”
“I saw your clay sculptures. They’re charming. The other day when I returned your seashells, I looked at one of your sketchbooks as well—I hope you don’t mind.”
“What did you think?”
“I think art is a fine accomplishment and you have quite an aptitude for it.”
Miss Fallbrook’s face flushed with modest delight. “Thank you.”
“But art will not be part of our curriculum.”
“Why not?” Miss Fallbrook gestured wildly with both hands. “Every governess has taught me art! It’s my favorite subject!”
“I understand. But you so outshine my own abilities in that subject, I doubt there is anything I could teach you. You may pursue art in your free time. But when we work together, we must concentrate on a more important course of study. You must learn to read and write.”
Miss Fallbrook let out a discontented breath. “It is hopeless. The letters look different every time I see them. I can’t remember the sounds they make.”
“For some reason, this skill is more difficult for you to master than for others, but we shall find a way.”
“All my governesses either quit, or Papa fired them. ‘You don’t try hard enough,’ he kept saying. It’s why he never loved me.”
“I am sure he loved you very much.”
“Did you know my father killed himself?”
The question caught Diana by surprise. She didn’t know what to say.
“I warned him not to marry Miss Corbett. She was my governess!” Miss Fallbrook went on passionately. “I reminded him of the Mermaid’s Curse. He wouldn’t listen. Morwenna took her revenge. My stepmother and my brother, Robert, drowned. Then Morwenna drove Papa mad until he threw himself off the cliff.”
Diana’s throat ached with sympathy. She reached across the table and covered her pupil’s hand with her own. “I know it broke your heart to lose your father, and your stepmother and brother as well. These are heavy losses for anyone to bear, and especially hard for someone as young as you. But mermaids don’t exist. Curses are not real.”
Miss Fallbrook wrenched her hand away. “If that is true… it just makes everything worse.”
“Why?”
“Because if the Mermaid’s Curse isn’t real, it means Papa knew what he was doing when he killed himself. It means he loved his wife and Robert more than his own life. It means he thought so little of me, his only daughter, that he left me alone forever with no one to care for me but a cousin who spends his life at sea.” The young woman burst into tears.
“You mustn’t think that way, dear,” Diana said soothingly. “If indeed your father took his own life, he may have felt terrible for leaving you but was so sad that he could not help himself.”
“There’s no ‘if.’ He shouldn’t have done it! He ruined everything! Do you know what the worst part is? Because Papa killed himself, his soul is tainted forever. We couldn’t even bury him in the churchyard!”
Diana hadn’t thought of that. “Miss Fallbrook,” she began.
“Please, miss,” Miss Fallbrook interjected with a sob. “Please! May I go?”
Diana did not have the heart to say no .
*
Diana paced the schoolroom floor, eaten up with worry.
There was something different about Miss Fallbrook, something that, despite her obvious intelligence, prevented her from making progress with the alphabet. What was Diana missing?
Some years ago, Diana had served as governess to the family of a highly regarded man at Oxford, a Professor Vaughan, who specialized in English language and literature. Maybe he would be familiar with the aspects of Miss Fallbrook’s case.
Diana decided to write to him. Grabbing pen and paper, she composed a missive explaining her charge’s difficulties and asking for advice.
As she sealed the letter, Diana sat back with a sigh.
Miss Fallbrook’s reading and writing problems were not the only things weighing on Diana’s mind. She was equally worried about her pupil’s sense of abandonment. The sad fact was, Sir Thomas’s death had left his only daughter in the lurch, under the guardianship of a man who seemed to be married to the Royal Navy and believed he had discharged his duty to his ward by hiring Diana to look after her.
Was Miss Fallbrook’s assertion true—that her father had never loved her? Or had the young woman perhaps misinterpreted his frustration with her inability to read as a lack of love? Had Sir Thomas truly left a suicide note? If so, had he killed himself out of grief, as Miss Fallbrook and Ivy supposed? Or could there have been another reason behind that last, desperate act?
If Diana were to have any hope of helping her pupil—and, of solving the conundrum of Sir Thomas’s death—she needed more information.
She went downstairs. The dinner hour had ended, and the servants’ hall was nearly deserted. She found Mrs. Gwynn in her sitting room just off the kitchen, doing some paperwork.
“Mrs. Gwynn, may I have a word?”
The housekeeper replaced her pen in the inkwell and gestured silently to the vacant chair beside her. Diana took a seat.
“I wish to speak to you about Miss Fallbrook, if I may.”
“What’s she done now?”
“Nothing. She worked hard today.” Diana gave a brief overview of the girl’s achievements and the issues at hand. “Did you know, Mrs. Gwynn, that Miss Fallbrook cannot read?”
Mrs. Gwynn shrugged. “I suspected it.”
“I believe she suffers from a debilitating lack of self-esteem. Not only over her reading difficulties, but from her belief that she is… how shall I put it… unworthy of affection.”
Mrs. Gwynn discharged a contemptuous breath. “Why should she think that? She was the master’s daughter, wasn’t she? Had all the best that money could buy. She lives in a fine house, has beautiful clothes, and had a father who loved her.”
“Did he?”
“Did he what?”
“Did Sir Thomas love his daughter? ”
“Of course he did. What father wouldn’t love his own child?” Mrs. Gwynn paused, and a faraway look came into her eyes. Whatever it was, she dismissed it with a blink, and pursing her lips, insisted, “He did his best by that girl. She ought to count her lucky stars instead of feeling sorry for herself.”
“What was Miss Fallbrook’s relationship with her father?”
“She were the apple of his eye. Since the day she were born, he couldn’t do enough for her.”
This report differed from Miss Fallbrook’s, and from what Captain Fallbrook had implied. “As I understand it, he was fond of her as a little girl but became increasingly frustrated by her inability to read.”
“Maybe so, but he loved her just the same. Hired one governess after another, didn’t he? Always hoping for a miracle.”
Diana pondered a delicate way to phrase her next question. “When the second Lady Fallbrook and their five-year-old son passed away, it must have been a great shock to Sir Thomas.”
“It were.”
“Such a shock and a tragedy that—apparently—he never recovered? And in time, he could not go on living without them?”
The housekeeper’s features tightened with visible pain. “So they say.”
“So they say.” Once again, wording that implied doubt. “Did you have any inkling that Sir Thomas might be about to take his own life?”
“No! None whatsoever!” Mrs. Gwynn’s brow furrowed. “He had so much to live for. A grand estate, plenty of money, and… and…” She seemed to change her mind about what she was going to say, adding, “He had plans.”
“What plans?”
“He spoke about erecting a play area for children in the churchyard as a memorial to his wife and son. Just two days before he died, Sir Thomas showed me a design he’d sketched.” From her desk drawer, the housekeeper pulled out a drawing and showed it to Diana. “I’ve held on to it. I don’t know why.”
Diana examined the penciled sketch. It was the work of an amateur artist with scribbled notes, but she could discern Sir Thomas’s intentions for the play area, which included picnic tables, a rope swing, a rocking horse, and space for croquet, hoops and sticks, and other games. “You say Sir Thomas drew this?”
“Yes. He was excited about it. But he never got a chance to talk to the vicar or curate or a builder about it because…” Mrs. Gwynn’s voice trailed off.
“Because he died,” Diana finished for her.
Mrs. Gwynn returned the drawing to her drawer with a sniff and a nod. “I were shocked when I heard what happened. But then,” she went on emphatically, an undercurrent of grief and resentment in her tone, “you never can tell what another person will do, can you?”
“No, you cannot.” Diana paused. The baronet’s enthusiastic plans for his wife and son’s memorial seemed to indicate a positive state of mind, rather than a depressive one, but did not negate the possibility of suicide. “Ivy said that he left a note?”
“He did, although I never saw it.”
Diana was beginning to wonder if the suicide note was real or a piece of fiction or gossip.
“Mrs. Gwynn, I know that you admired your master,” Diana said softly. “And again, I am so very sorry for your loss. I feel bad for Miss Fallbrook, as well. I would like to help her, and I would be grateful for your advice on the matter.”
“My advice?” She frowned and looked away, rubbing the back of her neck. “I don’t know what I can tell you.”
“It is hard enough to lose one’s father. But to lose him in such a manner, and for such a reason! Miss Fallbrook believes her father did not love her enough to stay the course and take care of her. I fear it is a wound that may take a lifetime to heal.”
“Well! She’ll just have to get over it, won’t she?” Mrs. Gwynn’s voice rang with bitterness as she turned back to face Diana. “My master weren’t responsible for his actions that day.”
“Wasn’t he? What do you mean?”
“It were the Mermaid’s Curse! It’s hung over this house for more than a century. It’s too powerful a force to reckon with, even for a man as strong as Thomas Fallbrook.” Mrs. Gwynn rose from her chair. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Miss Taylor, it’s been a long day.”
Diana left the room, deep in thought. She may not have agreed with the housekeeper’s assessment, but she had gained two interesting pieces of information: Sir Thomas had had plans afoot at the time of his death, and his suicide had taken Mrs. Gwynn by surprise.
Diana found Mr. Emity in a room down the hall, polishing a pair of shoes, which she presumed to be the captain’s. She poked her head in. “Mr. Emity. Do you have a moment?”
“Yes, miss. If you don’t mind the smell of shoe polish.”
“I don’t mind at all.” Diana joined him inside the chamber. “I like the smell, in fact. I sometimes helped our housekeeper, Martha, to make shoe polish and I shine my own shoes.”
Mr. Emity smiled as he scooped up a dab of the waxy substance with his cloth and rubbed it into the toe box of a shoe. “It can be a restful occupation, miss. Gives one time to think. And at the end of it, you have a pair of shoes that look almost as good as new.”
Diana grinned in return, delighted by this uplifting description of a task that some people might deem tedious. “I quite agree, Mr. Emity.”
“So, what can I do for you, miss?”
“It is a rather sensitive subject.” Diana reiterated the concerns she had for her pupil, which she had just shared with Mrs. Gwynn. “Miss Fallbrook is deeply hurt to think that her father committed suicide over the loss of his second wife and son.”
“I know, miss. I am sorry for it.”
“The other day when we spoke in the great hall, I sensed that you are not fully convinced about the… circumstances surrounding Sir Thomas’s demise?”
The butler lowered his gaze and busied himself buffing the shoe in his hands. “I’m sure I didn’t mean to give that impression, miss.”
“You said, ‘That is one interpretation of the event.’”
“Did I?”
“Do you think there might be another explanation for his death?”
Still, Mr. Emity said nothing.
Diana tried again. “Perhaps you will say it is not my business. But if there were another reason behind his actions, it might go a long way to helping Miss Fallbrook deal with her grief. And…” She couldn’t admit that she’d been sent here to investigate, but she could allude to the reason. “My godmother, Mrs. Phillips, is also deeply troubled about what happened to her brother. She is very ill. I’d like to ease her mind by relaying the truth if I could before she dies.”
Mr. Emity turned to her, an earnest look in his brown eyes. “You ought to speak to Mrs. Gwynn about this. She knew Sir Thomas better than anyone, I expect. Even better than I.”
Diana paused. What did he mean by that? Was he simply saying the housekeeper had come to profoundly understand her master as the natural result of her occupation? Or was he implying that Mrs. Gwynn’s relationship with the baronet had gone beyond professional bounds? “I have already spoken to Mrs. Gwynn. She blames the whole thing on the Mermaid’s Curse.”
“Try talking to her again.”
Diana frowned. The housekeeper made her uncomfortable. “I think Mrs. Gwynn has shared all she’s likely to share. Anyway, I don’t think she likes me.” Taking a deep breath, she added, “Mr. Emity. Is it true that Sir Thomas left a suicide note?”
“Such a note was apparently found, yes.”
Apparently. “Found by whom?”
“Captain Fallbrook.”
“What did the note say? ”
“I don’t know. He doesn’t like to speak of it.”
“Is Captain Fallbrook certain that Sir Thomas wrote the note?”
“He believed it was in his uncle’s handwriting.”
He believed . Another implication of doubt. Or was she imagining that? Diana tried another tactic. “How long did you work for Sir Thomas, Mr. Emity?”
“More than thirty years—since before he inherited the title. I started as his valet and for the past twenty years have also served as butler.”
“You knew him well, then. Did Sir Thomas behave differently in any way in the weeks leading up to his death?”
“I will tell you the same as I told the parish constable. Sir Thomas seemed upset that week about several things. It was only a week, mind you, for he had just come back from the Continent.”
That was right—Diana recalled Mrs. Phillips mentioning that Sir Thomas had been traveling just before he’d died. “Where on the Continent?”
“He had business in Germany. I remained here, as always. Sir Thomas preferred to travel without a valet. The same week that he returned, Captain Fallbrook came home on sick leave, in a bad way with that leg of his. The doctor was not sure if he would ever walk properly again. Sir Thomas was troubled about that. And it was the anniversary as well.”
“What anniversary?”
“Of the accident. It had been three years since Lady Fallbrook and young Master Robert drowned at sea.”
“Oh! Sir Thomas had a great deal on his mind at the time.”
“He did, miss.”
“Who is the parish constable?”
“Mr. Beardsley. He owns the grocery and post office in Portwithys.”
Diana stored that information in her mind for later use. “Is there anything else you can tell me?”
Mr. Emity opened his mouth to reply then shut it again. It seemed she would get nothing more from him.
“You have been very helpful, Mr. Emity. I appreciate all you have shared. I will think on it. I bid you good night.”
Diana turned to go when he blurted out abruptly, “I have always thought there was something wrong about that suicide note.”
Diana whirled back to face him. “I beg your pardon?”
Mr. Emity put down his polishing rag. “As I said, miss, I served Sir Thomas for a great many years. He was not the type of man who would leap to his death out of grief—or for any other reason.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He was too fond of life for that. But more importantly, he felt suicide was a sin.”
Diana took that in. “Did you share these thoughts with the authorities?”
“I tried. But our parish constable is a busy man with no patience to investigate such matters—or to listen to a man like me. Whatever that note contained, he felt it was a clear indication of Sir Thomas’s state of mind. He ruled it a suicide and that was that.”
“So, what are you saying, Mr. Emity? If you do not believe that Sir Thomas killed himself…”
The butler’s eyes met hers. “Then perhaps… he was murdered.”