She seemed to hesitate so I said, 'How long did this go on before your mother died?'
'Several years. It was on a Tuesday. I can't remember the exact date, but it was on a Tuesday in October the year before the war. Mummy was going to send me away to school. Miss Nearne objected. There was a terrible scene. Mummy called her frightful names. And then my stepfather came in and stopped them. That was after lunch. Miss Nearne went up to her room and stayed there. My stepfather took her tea up to her himself. That evening Mummy went out for a long walk with her dog, Peter. He was an old Labrador. She was very fond of him. Shortly afterwards Miss Nearne went out, too. I remember her going out. I was in the kitchen and she went past me without a word, her face very white and strained. I watched her going down towards the cliffs. I watched her because I was trying to make up my mind whether to run after her and talk to her. You see, I was to go away to school — it had all been decided that afternoon. And I felt sorry at leaving her.' Her voice dropped. 'Oh, how I wish I had gone after her!' She paused and then went on. 'An old shepherd we had then found her about an hour later out on the cliffs. He brought her back in a state of collapse. They took her up to her room. She was very ill and could remember nothing.
Mummy never came back. They were out searching for her all night. They found her next morning. She was at the bottom of an old shaft that was half-hidden in brambles. That one down there.' She pointed to a circular stone wall beyond the main shaft of Wheal Garth. 'The wall wasn't there then. Nobody knew about the shaft. I don't believe my stepfather knew about it — and he knew every gallery of the mine even in those days.'
'Who found your mother?' I asked.
'A miner. She'd never have been found if it hadn't been for the dog howling. Peter died when they tried to bring him up. His back was broken. The man who found her said the dog must have fallen down the shaft and she'd tried to get to him. The coroner took the same view at the inquest.'
'Then it was an accident?' I said.
She shook her head slowly. 'No. It wasn't an accident. That morning, after they found Mummy's body, Miss Nearne was sitting with me in the kitchen. She was terribly upset. She always felt everything very deeply, if it was only a sheep falling over the cliff. Mr Manack came into the kitchen. He didn't seem to notice me. He looked straight at Miss Nearne and said, "Does this belong to you?" It was a handkerchief. She took it, saw her initials and said, "Yes, where did you find it?" He said, "Just by the shaft where Harriet was killed." Then he ordered her to her room. Shortly afterwards I heard him going up. I was terribly puzzled — morbidly curious, if you like. I followed him. The door was ajar. I could hear what he said from the bottom of the stairs.'
'And what did he say?' I asked as she hesitated.
'He said, "I knew you'd done it, even before I found the handkerchief. There was no other explanation. The dog would never have fallen down that shaft. He knew them all. And Harriet always kept to the paths. She'd never have pushed her way through that gorse, unless someone had called her down that rabbit track." He told her then that she was not responsible for her actions.'
'But what about the dog?' I asked.