Free The Black Swan by Philippa Carr Page B

pebbles at the window?”
    “I think you might have been dreaming. You went to the window and there was a man. He may have seen you … and bowed …”
    “He took off his hat. He was standing under the lamp. I saw his widow’s peak quite clearly. It was what he wanted me to see.”
    “You must have imagined it.”
    “I tell you I saw it clearly. Rebecca, there are only two explanations. One is that what I saw was his ghost and he has come back to haunt me, or they have hanged the wrong man … and I am responsible.”
    “I don’t believe either.”
    “You believe that your mother came back after death and made you look after me.”
    She was silent.
    I went on, “So you do believe that the dead can return … if there is something which is very important to them. Our mother did when I was left with Jenny Stubbs. She wanted me in the house where I belonged and she came to you and put all that into your mind. That’s what you’ve always believed, Rebecca. Well, if she could come back, why shouldn’t he? Our mother came back to do good, but she was a good woman. Fergus O’Neill was a man who killed people because they did not believe what he believed, because they did what he did not want them to. He killed for what he could call a cause. He would come back for revenge.”
    “Lucie, you must put the whole thing out of your head. You’re overwrought. You have been through a greater ordeal than you realize. You’ve got to get back to normality. I’m so glad you’re here. You’ll be better quickly here … I shall look after you.”
    “As you always have, Rebecca. I can’t think what my life would have been like without you.”
    “We’re sisters, aren’t we? I suffered terribly when our mother died. I hated your father for marrying her and taking her away from me. That was bad for me. Then it began to be better between us and that made me a lot happier. Lucie, we have to remember that we go through a great drama when we suffer a terrible loss. We are not quite ourselves. Yes, we can become a little unbalanced. We see things out of proportion. We don’t always see clearly …”
    “You think I saw nothing last night, don’t you?”
    “I don’t know. I think you may have had a nightmare … that you awoke startled and were half-dreaming when you went to the window and you saw the man in the street. He was dressed for the opera. That’s not surprising. He was probably returning from the opera. He looked up at the window. He saw you and took off his hat and bowed. Well, he’d probably had a little too much to drink. He was in a merry mood … he saw a young woman at the window … and, well, he bowed.”
    “But his face …”
    “My dear Lucie, you saw the hat and the cloak. There was just the light from the street lamp. You imagined the rest.”
    “Do you really think that could be so?”
    “I think it is the most likely answer.”
    I closed my eyes. It was what I hoped. Rebecca’s calm common sense was beginning to have its effect.
    Of course she must be right. It had been no ghost I saw. It was not Fergus O’Neill who had been down there. Fergus O’Neill was dead. He had paid the penalty demanded by the law. He was a murderer.
    Rebecca saw that she was convincing me and she was pleased.
    “Now,” she said, “I am going to bring you something to drink.”
    “The inevitable hot milk?” I asked.
    “It’s the best thing. Trust Rebecca.”
    I flung myself into her arms. “Oh, I do,” I assured her. “I always have. You have always been there when I needed you.”
    “And always will be. You know that.”
    I did. I was feeling a great deal better; and when she appeared with the hot milk, I drank it and was soon fast asleep.
    Rebecca had been right. Cornwall had a healing effect. We had crossed the bridge between tragedy and the new life which we had to make for ourselves.
    I was thinking more and more of Joel. Soon he must be home and then our engagement would be announced. We would plan our