Chapter Thirty
I fully expected the doors to be locked, so I was very surprised when they opened.
I closed them carefully behind me, intending only to look down the corridor just to see how many rooms there were and where they were placed.
Curiosity got the better of me when I saw there were at least four rooms along the passageway.
The door of the first one was ajar, and when I peeped my head round the door I could see it belonged to a young man, even though the curtains were drawn and the light was dim.
Everything was in its place; it was eerily tidy with hardly any personal possessions on show except for a guitar, a cricket bat, and an old record player.
The chest of drawers had some photos arranged along the top.
There was one of Elsa and Harry looking very young at about twelve years of age, one of a group of young cricketers posing with a cup, and another of a young woman, dressed like a hippy with a large hat and a guitar slung over her back.
I couldn’t help thinking she might have been someone special, a girlfriend perhaps.
There were bottles of aftershave and a bulging toiletries bag, zipped up, as if about to be taken on an adventure.
The overwhelming feeling was sadness as I looked round the room, and when I picked up the book at the side of the bed and noted Hugh Tate’s name on the flyleaf, I wished I’d never looked in.
I felt a little guilty, but I was glad I’d been to see it, though I still couldn’t help wondering about the circumstances of her death or why her portrait had been banished up there.
It just seemed so convenient that she’d fallen off the cliff like that when everything pointed to the fact that Geraint Tate was a man with a quick temper, and had quarrelled with his wife that day.
I shuddered when I thought about them setting off together, she not knowing that her life was soon to be over.
I remembered to pull the door to when I left, and hurried along the corridor being careful to open the French doors very quietly, closing them without clicking the locks.
I knew it probably wasn’t likely that anyone would be up in that part of the castle, which seemed to have been cut off on purpose, but I didn’t want to risk drawing attention to myself.
I immediately noticed that one of the long windows in the corridor was open; the curtain was billowing out into the hall, snapping back and forth in the wind like a demented ghost, and the driving rain was coming in making a pool of water on the oak boards, and soaking the edges of the Turkey carpet.
I was sure it wasn’t open before, and when I went to stand before it I was shocked to see how low the window frame was pitched.
The scene through the leaded glass was stunning, but when viewed open to the elements it was breathtaking.
I was drawn to the view, looking out over the steel grey sea where seagulls wheeled in the sky above my head, and I felt that strange sensation I always experience of wanting to be able to fly out like a bird, and soar into the heavens or plunge into the depths below.
The rocks beneath me rose through the mist in jagged splinters, the sea dashing their sides with a spray of white spume, as the waves crashed relentlessly.
It would be so easy to fall out, I thought.
I couldn’t think why the housekeeper would leave the window open like that, unsecured on the latch, and holding onto the side I stretched as far as I could in an attempt to grab the handle and close it.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?
’ said a voice behind me, and I jumped out of my skin, wheeling round to come face to face with Harry’s uncle.
He was standing right in front of me, and I had no notion of how he’d got there, though the roar of the sea was so loud that it would have been impossible to hear him coming up the stairs.
Even so, I felt he must have crept up them on purpose to scare me.
My heart was racing so fast I thought it would stop.
‘I saw the window was open … I tried to shut it,’ I said looking back at his face, his eyes small and angry, his forehead bulging with blue veins.
‘And, just why were you up here in the first place … where have you been?’
I looked down at the floor desperately trying to think how I could answer.
‘No need to tell me … I know!’ he shouted into my face, a foam of spittle riming his lips. ‘You’ve been poking about where you were told not to go. I saw you. What gives you the right, do you think?’
I bit my lip. There wasn’t a thing I could say or do in my defence. How I wished I hadn’t let curiosity get the better of me. I knew very well I shouldn’t have trespassed into such a private space. All I could do was apologise profusely.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Tate, I know I shouldn’t have gone through the doors, I truly am … I hope you’ll forgive me.’
‘I suppose you thought to have a look where you might sleep when I’m dead and gone, is that it?
Hoping to get your hands on my castle, as well as those filthy bailiffs?
If Harry has any sense he’ll recognise a gold-digger when he sees one before it’s too late.
Elsa told me your Ellen Appleby isn’t quite what I’d been led to believe. ’
As he moved towards me, I stepped back and felt the window ledge dig into my calf. An icy blast of freezing air on my back made me shiver.
‘I didn’t mean to give anyone the wrong idea. Ellen isn’t my godmother, and though she is very well off, she isn’t the vastly wealthy person you believe her to be.’
‘Well, I’m sure you’ve given my nephew the wrong impression, but I shall make certain you won’t get a penny of what’s coming to him.’
I felt cold fear, and clung to the frame with trembling fingers. I was so frightened that he was going to lunge at me, sending me hurtling through the mist to the sea and the rocks below.
‘It wouldn’t be a good idea to stand too close to the edge,’ he said in a quieter voice that chilled me to the bone. ‘You might fall out.’
I gripped the frame tighter and closed my eyes in terror.
I was paralysed, so full of dread that I just wished it would be over.
In those few seconds my brain was racing as I tried to work out what to do for the best. I knew my fate was in the hands of someone, who if not quite mad, was certainly unbalanced, and I prayed for Harry to come and rescue me.
Beyond a doubt, I was completely convinced that Sylvia Tate had been pushed, and I was even beginning to think her son had suffered the same fate.
I smelled Geraint’s sour breath on my face, and I screwed up my eyes tighter than ever.
I don’t know how long I stood there quaking in my thin dress, but when I eventually opened my eyes he had gone. I listened and waited another five minutes before running down the corridor, finding the quickest way downstairs.
***
There was nobody in the breakfast room - I didn’t feel hungry, and the smell of bacon and eggs was making me feel nauseous.
There were sounds coming from upstairs, and as the shouting grew louder I could hear Geraint’s voice distinctly, even if I couldn’t hear exactly what he was saying.
His voice rose and fell, and I sat there feeling very miserable, sure that he must be relating everything I’d done.
He was probably telling Harry I was not to be trusted, and I shuddered when I thought of what he’d said to me, of what he suspected my motives were for being with Harry.
I was so close to tears, but I longed to tell my side of the story, my fears about what had happened in the past, and the echoes I’d felt in what had almost happened to me.
There was silence for about ten minutes, and then Harry appeared in the doorway. He looked very pale and weary; I knew it had been his turn to stay up all night with his uncle.
‘Caroline, what the hell’s been going on? My uncle says you’ve been snooping about in my aunt’s room, and telling him lies, denying that you did it. Is this true?’
I felt my cheeks burn, and I nodded my head. ‘It is true; I don’t really know why I did it, except that I was curious to know more about her. There aren’t any photographs of her anywhere, and I couldn’t understand why. Elsa told me there was a portrait of your aunt, I was hoping to see it.’
‘I see. Unfortunately, it’s put my uncle in quite a rage. He is very upset … absolutely no one is allowed in those rooms, I thought it was quite clear. You’ve seen how he can be … we are worried he may relapse completely.’
‘But have you never asked yourselves why he’s so ill? Isn’t it obvious? He’s a raving lunatic,’ I shouted, feeling cross that I was being blamed for such irrational behaviour.
‘What are you suggesting, Caroline?’
‘Upstairs, just now, your uncle tried to push me out of one of the long windows, down onto the rocks.’
‘He pushed you?’
‘No, not exactly, though he came very close to it, I’m sure.
I’ve never been so frightened. He was raging on about knowing I’d been down that passageway, and he backed me up against the open window.
I’m sure he was re-enacting what happened with your aunt.
Don’t you see? He pushed her over the side of the cliff …
he must have murdered her. Why else would he be so racked with guilt and half mad? ’
Even as I said the words, I knew I’d worked myself up to fever pitch, and now Harry was looking at me as if he’d never seen me before, almost as if he were observing me for the very first time.
‘And you’ve come to this conclusion based on the hard facts, I suppose,’ he said. ‘You know everything about this murder, as you call it, and all about my uncle’s illness, what you deem to be his insanity. I didn’t realise you were such an expert.’
The room felt suddenly chilled, and all the joy I’d known and felt the day before evaporated as quickly as the rain was drying up outside. I could only feel the sun beating on the back of my head as it shone through the window, but I didn’t feel warm. I felt I’d turned to ice.
‘I just think he must have done it, that’s all. Why are there no photographs or pictures of your aunt or your cousin anywhere?’
‘You had only to ask if you wanted the full facts. The case was a very simple one, and there were witnesses who saw that my aunt simply slipped, and fell to her death. My uncle has had to live with the fact that he could not save her or ultimately save his son, but whether that has promoted his illness to the extent it has, I couldn’t say.
We do not expect him to live much longer …
Elsa and I are here to make sure he lives his last days without too much upset.
I made the decision last night not to go back to Bath just yet, and will stay and do whatever it takes to help him find the peace he craves. ’
I was so mortified by everything I’d said that I couldn’t speak.
I was very close to tears, not only because of what Harry had said, but I was very sorry I’d been so unfeeling, so quick to judge.
I couldn’t think what had come over me. When I said I thought it would be better if I left, that I would leave immediately, Harry didn’t answer.
He stood at the window looking out to sea with a stillness I couldn’t bear to see, so I just got up and left the room.
I knew nothing I could say would make any difference.
I’d said the words, they had rung out loud and clear, but how I wished I could unsay them.
I packed, blinded by my tears that refused to stop, and when I was ready I took my case downstairs to the hall where I found the phone book and rang for a taxi.
I knew it would be twenty minutes or more before it came, but I let myself out, and followed the path down to where the taxi had dropped me on my arrival.
Nobody from the castle came after me, but I knew they wouldn’t, and in my heart, I was sure they were glad to see me go.
I could hardly bear to think of them, and what they must be saying about me as they tried to placate Geraint and calm him down.
I didn’t want to think about the fact that I’d probably set him back and could only pray he wouldn’t suffer a relapse.
***
I don’t remember much about the journey home to Hampshire.
I just managed to scrape the fare together, but I had to change trains three times, catching the slowest ones that seemed to prolong the agony and make everything feel ten times worse.
Not that it could have been any less awful.
I just kept seeing the expression on Harry’s face as I accused his uncle of heinous crimes.
He’d been so hurt, as if I’d accused him of murder by association, and I knew his face and his words would haunt me forever afterwards.
I think my mother guessed something had happened.
She wasn’t expecting me a day early, and I think anyone could see I was upset, but she didn’t say anything, just took me in her arms to hug me tight, which made me really sob.
I knew she wouldn’t press me with questions until I was ready to talk to her, but I felt so ashamed of myself I didn’t know when that would be.
I threw myself back into my work when I got back to London, knowing I was never going to hear from Harry again.
It wasn’t possible to rid myself of the memories, both good and bad that we’d shared at the castle, and time and again, I wished I could turn back the clock and do things differently.
I felt so wretched inside, and couldn’t see any way through it.
To apologise again simply wasn’t going to be enough, and I resigned myself to the fact that I’d never see Harry again.
It was on one particularly bleak evening that I picked up Jane’s journal again, as a way of escape.
I wanted to lose myself in her thoughts, clinging to the hope that I might find some happiness in its pages.
I didn’t want to live in the modern world, and I knew being submerged in the past again might give me some relief, which I craved even if I didn’t deserve it.