another part of the county immediately after birth, and was thought either to be there still or to have been adopted. As is not uncommon in such cases, the mother was told that her child had died soon after its delivery. It would appear that the father of the dead woman, Mr. Jeremiah Trevorrow, a gentleman farmer, had died on the fifth of February of this year, and that Miss Trevorrow, already in a depressed state of mind following the supposed death of her child, went rapidly into a further decline.
It was the opinion of Agnes Trevorrow that her sister, weighed down by this double grief and no longer able to contain her feelings, took steps to end her own life by casting herself from the high cliff that lies only yards from Petherick House.
In view of the circumstances, the coroner, Mr. Worthy, directed that no further questions be directed to Miss Trevorrow, and that the matter of the child not be reported in the public press. Nor was it considered necessary to conduct further inquiries concerning the fate of the child of the deceased woman, this being held not material to the case.
A verdict of death by suicide was recorded, and permission was given for the burial of the remains in the public ground at St. Ives. In the course of the inquest, the following witnesses were brought to give testimony. . . .
The rest of the document provided a more detailed account of the proceedings, with transcriptions of various depositions given by the police, the fisherman who had found Susannah Trevorrow's body, the physician who had carried out the autopsy, and Agnes Trevorrow herself.
I read it all, not once, but several times, as though in search of something. What had I been thinking of when I wrote it? I still had my list of ideas, the ones I had set out to work on while in Cornwall. None bore the slightest resemblance to this. But I did not have to look far for my inspiration: Petherick House, the cliff, a missing woman, Agnes Trevorrow. Together, they had bewitched me.
That night Rachel woke screaming from a nightmare. I heard her cry out, then the sound of her sobbing, and moments later Susan's footsteps on the way to her room. She was soon quieted. I lay awake long afterward, fearing my own dreams.
In the morning, I asked Susan what had happened.
"She had a bad dream, that's all."
"Did she say what it was about?'
Susan shook her head.
"No, she wouldn't say. She seemed badly frightened, though."
She paused to sip her coffee. I thought she looked tired. There were rings below her eyes.
"There was one thing, though." She looked at me thoughtfully. "She kept telling me she didn't want to go back. I asked her 'back where?' but she wouldn't or couldn't say. I can't think where she means. You don't have any idea, do you, Peter?"
I said no and left the table. In the garden, Rachel was playing with her dolls. Early sunlight lay on her. She looked up at me and smiled. I smiled back, but as I did so the sunlight faded and a shadow fell across the garden.
Chapter 13
It was not until the evening that I remembered that the sixteenth of July—the day on which Susannah Trevorrow had disappeared in 1887—had also been the date of Sarah's disappearance. And according to the gravestone I had seen in Tredannack, the very day on which Agnes Trevorrow had died in 1953. I could no longer doubt that something in the past, something that had happened in Petherick House all those years ago, had drawn Sarah back to itself. Or reached out for her in the present.
I wrote to Raleigh, telling him of my little discovery and enclosing a copy of the inquest report. Would he, I asked, check the police files for that year to see if there was anything further on the death of Susannah Trevorrow? I was not convinced that the evidence given by Agnes had been true or complete, though I could not say in what particulars I doubted her. It was just that whatever had happened in that house had left a legacy of deep disturbance, and I did not think a simple
It was the opinion of Agnes Trevorrow that her sister, weighed down by this double grief and no longer able to contain her feelings, took steps to end her own life by casting herself from the high cliff that lies only yards from Petherick House.
In view of the circumstances, the coroner, Mr. Worthy, directed that no further questions be directed to Miss Trevorrow, and that the matter of the child not be reported in the public press. Nor was it considered necessary to conduct further inquiries concerning the fate of the child of the deceased woman, this being held not material to the case.
A verdict of death by suicide was recorded, and permission was given for the burial of the remains in the public ground at St. Ives. In the course of the inquest, the following witnesses were brought to give testimony. . . .
The rest of the document provided a more detailed account of the proceedings, with transcriptions of various depositions given by the police, the fisherman who had found Susannah Trevorrow's body, the physician who had carried out the autopsy, and Agnes Trevorrow herself.
I read it all, not once, but several times, as though in search of something. What had I been thinking of when I wrote it? I still had my list of ideas, the ones I had set out to work on while in Cornwall. None bore the slightest resemblance to this. But I did not have to look far for my inspiration: Petherick House, the cliff, a missing woman, Agnes Trevorrow. Together, they had bewitched me.
That night Rachel woke screaming from a nightmare. I heard her cry out, then the sound of her sobbing, and moments later Susan's footsteps on the way to her room. She was soon quieted. I lay awake long afterward, fearing my own dreams.
In the morning, I asked Susan what had happened.
"She had a bad dream, that's all."
"Did she say what it was about?'
Susan shook her head.
"No, she wouldn't say. She seemed badly frightened, though."
She paused to sip her coffee. I thought she looked tired. There were rings below her eyes.
"There was one thing, though." She looked at me thoughtfully. "She kept telling me she didn't want to go back. I asked her 'back where?' but she wouldn't or couldn't say. I can't think where she means. You don't have any idea, do you, Peter?"
I said no and left the table. In the garden, Rachel was playing with her dolls. Early sunlight lay on her. She looked up at me and smiled. I smiled back, but as I did so the sunlight faded and a shadow fell across the garden.
Chapter 13
It was not until the evening that I remembered that the sixteenth of July—the day on which Susannah Trevorrow had disappeared in 1887—had also been the date of Sarah's disappearance. And according to the gravestone I had seen in Tredannack, the very day on which Agnes Trevorrow had died in 1953. I could no longer doubt that something in the past, something that had happened in Petherick House all those years ago, had drawn Sarah back to itself. Or reached out for her in the present.
I wrote to Raleigh, telling him of my little discovery and enclosing a copy of the inquest report. Would he, I asked, check the police files for that year to see if there was anything further on the death of Susannah Trevorrow? I was not convinced that the evidence given by Agnes had been true or complete, though I could not say in what particulars I doubted her. It was just that whatever had happened in that house had left a legacy of deep disturbance, and I did not think a simple
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