Bride of Pendorric Page 4

  “I hope,” I said seriously, “that we shan’t change, that we shall always be as happy as we have been up till now.”

  For a moment there was the utmost tenderness in his expression, then he was laughing again.

  “I told you,” he said, “I’ve made a very good match.”

  I was suddenly struck by the thought that perhaps his family, who I imagined loved Pendorric as much as he did, would be disappointed that he had married a girl with no money, but I was touched and very happy because he had married me, who could bring him nothing. I felt my nightmare evaporating and I wondered on what it could possibly have been founded.

  “Are you friendly with this Lord Polhorgan?” I asked quickly to hide my emotion.

  “Nobody could be friendly with him. We’re polite to each other. We don’t see much of him. He’s a sick man well guarded by a nurse and a staff of servants.”

  “And his family?”

  “He quarreled with them all. And now he lives alone in his glory. There are a hundred rooms at Polhorgan … all furnished in the most flamboyant manner. I believe though that dust sheets perpetually cover the flamboyance. You see why we call it the Folly.”

  “Poor old man!”

  “I knew your soft heart would be touched. You may meet him. He’ll probably consider that he should receive the new Bride of Pendorric.”

  “Why do you always refer to me as the Bride of Pendorric … as though in capital letters?”

  “Oh, it’s a saying at Pendorric. There are lots of crazy things like that.”

  “And your family?”

  “Now things are very different at Pendorric. Some of our furniture has been standing where it does at this moment for four hundred years. We’ve got old Mrs. Penhalligan, who is a daughter of Jesse and Lizzie Pleydell, and the Pleydells have looked after the Pendorrics for generations. There’s always a faithful member of that family to see that we’re cared for. Old Mrs. Penhalligan is a fine housekeeper, and she mends the counterpanes and curtains which are constantly falling apart. She keeps the servants in order at the same time—as well as ourselves. She’s sixty-five but her daughter Maria, who never married, will follow in her footsteps.”

  “And your sister?”

  “My sister’s married to Charles Chaston, who worked as an agent when my father traveled a good deal. He manages the home farm with me now. They live in the northern section of the house. We shall have the south. Don’t be afraid that you’re going to be hemmed in by relations. It isn’t a bit like that at Pendorric. You need never see the rest of the family if you don’t want to, except at meals. We all eat together—it’s an old family custom—and anyway the servant problem makes it a necessity now. You’ll be surprised at the family customs we preserve. Really, you’ll think you’ve stepped back a hundred years. I do myself after I’ve been away for a while.”

  “And your sister, what is her name?”

  “Morwenna. Our parents believed in following the family traditions and giving us Cornish names wherever possible. Hence the Petrocs and Morwennas. The twins are Lowella and Hyson … Hyson was my mother’s maiden name. Lowella refers to herself as Lo and her sister as Hy. I suspect she has a nickname for all of us. She’s an incorrigible creature.”

  “How old are the twins?”

  “Twelve.”

  “Are they at school?”

  “No. They do go from time to time but Lowella has an unfortunate habit of running away and dragging Hyson with her. She always says that they can’t be happy anywhere but at Pendorric. We’ve compromised at the moment by having a governess—a a trained schoolmistress. It was difficult getting the permission of the educational authorities … but Charles and Morwenna want to keep them at home for a year or so until the child becomes more stable. You’ll have to beware of Lowella.”

  “How?”

  “It’ll be all right if she likes you. But she gets up to tricks. Hyson is different. She’s the quiet one. They look exactly alike but their temperaments are completely different. Thank heaven for that. No household could tolerate two Lowellas.”

  “What about your parents?”

  “They’re dead and I remember very little about them. My mother died when we were five and an aunt looked after us. She still comes to stay quite often and keeps a suite of rooms at Pendorric. Our father lived abroad a great deal when Charles came in. Charles is fifteen years older than Morwenna.”

  “You said your mother died when we were five. Who else besides you?”

  “Didn’t I mention that Morwenna and I were twins?”

  “No. You said that Lowella and Hyson were.”

  “Well, twins run in families, you know. Quite obviously they’ve started to run in ours.”

  “Is Morwenna like you?”

  “We’re not identical like Lowella and Hyson. But people say they can see a resemblance.”

  “Roc,” I said leaning forward, “you know, I’m beginning to feel I can’t wait to meet this family of yours.”

  “That’s settled it,” he replied. “It’s time we went home.”

  So I was, in a measure, prepared for Pendorric.

  We had left London after lunch and it was eight o’clock before we got off the train.

  Roc had said that he wished we could have motored down because he wanted to make my crossing of the Tamar something of a ceremony.

  However, he had arranged that his car should be waiting at the station so that he could drive me home. Old Toms, the chauffeur-gardener and man-of-all-work at Pendorric, had driven it in that morning.

  So I found myself sitting beside Roc in his rather shabby Daimler and feeling a mingling of longing and apprehension, which seemed natural enough in the circumstances.

  I was very anxious to make a good impression. I had suddenly realized what an odd position I was in, for in this new life to which I was going I knew no one except my husband.

  I was in a strange country—for the island had been my home—and without friends. If Esther McBane had been in England I should not have felt quite so lonely. But Esther was far away in Rhodesia now, as deeply absorbed in her new life as I was becoming in mine. There had been other school friends, but none as close as Esther, and as we had never exchanged letters after we left school those friendships had lapsed.

  But what foolish thoughts these were! I might not have old friends, but I had a husband.

  Roc swung the car out of the station yard and, as we left the town, the quiet of the summer evening closed in about us. We were in a narrow winding lane with banks on either side, which were dotted with wild roses, and there was the sweet smell of honeysuckle in the air.

  “Is it far to Pendorric?” I asked.

  “Eight miles or so. The sea is ahead of us, the moor’s behind us. We’ll do some walking on the moors … or riding. Can you ride?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “I’ll teach you. You’re going to make this place home, Favel. Some people never can, but I think you will.”

  “I believe I shall.”

  We were silent and I studied the landscape avidly. The houses which we passed were little more than cottages, not by any means beautiful—indeed they struck me as rather grim—all made of that gray Cornish stone. I fancied I caught a whiff of the sea as we slowly climbed a steep hill and went forward into wooded country. We were soon descending again on the other side of the hill. “When you see the sea you’ll know we’re not far from home,” Roc told me, and almost immediately we began to climb again.

  At the top of the hill he stopped the car and, putting his arm along the back of the seat, pointed towards the sea.

  “Can you see the house there, right on the edge of the cliff? That’s the Folly. You can’t see Pendorric from here because there’s a hill in the way; but it’s a little to the right.”

  The Folly looked almost like a medieval castle.

  “I wonder he didn’t supply a drawbridge and a moat,” murmured Roc. “Though heaven knows it would have been difficult to ha
ve had a moat up there. Still all the more laudable that he should achieve it.”

  He started up the car and when he had gone half a mile I caught my first glimpse of Pendorric.

  It was so like the other house that I was astonished.

  “They look close together from here,” said Roc, “but there’s a good mile between them on the coast road—of course as the crow flies they’re a little nearer—but you can understand the wrath of the Pendorrics, can’t you, to find that set up where they just can’t get it out of their sight.”

  We had now reached a major road and we sped along this until we came to a turning and began to plunge down one of the steepest hills we had come upon as yet. The banks were covered with the wild flowers which I had noticed before, and stubby fir trees with their resinous scent.

  At the bottom of the hill we struck the cliff road, and then I saw the coast in all its glory. The water was quiet on that night and I could hear the gentle swish as it washed against the rocks. The cliffs were covered in grass and bracken and dotted here and there with clumps of pink, red, and white valerian; the sweep of the bay was magnificent. The tide was out and in the evening light I saw those malignant rocks jutting cruelly out of the shallow water.

  And there half a mile ahead of us was Pendorric itself, and I caught my breath, for it was awe-inspiring. It towered above the sea a massive rectangle of gray stone, with crenelated towers and an air of impregnability, noble and arrogant as though defying the sea and the weather and any who came against it.

  “This is your home, my dear,” said Roc, and I could hear the pride in his voice.

  “It’s … superb.”

  “So you’re not unhappy? I’m glad you’re seeing it for the first time. Otherwise I might have thought you married it rather than me.”

  “I would never marry a house!”

  “No, you’re too honest … too full of common sense … in fact too wonderful. That’s why I fell in love with you and determined to marry you.”

  We were roaring uphill again, and now that we were closer the house certainly dominated the landscape. There were lights in some of the windows and I saw the arch leading to the north portico.

  “The grounds,” Roc explained, “are on the south side. We can approach the house from the south; there are four porticos—north, south, east, and west. But we’ll go into the north tonight because Morwenna and Charlie will be waiting for us there. Why, look,” he went on, and following his gaze I saw a slight figure in riding breeches and scarlet blouse, black hair flying, running toward us. Roc slowed down the car and she leaped onto the running board. Her face was brown with sun and weather, her eyes were long and black and very like Roc’s.

  “I wanted to be the first to see the bride!” she shouted.

  “And you always get your way,” answered Roc. “Favel, this is Lowella, of whom beware.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” said the girl. “I expect I’ll be your friend.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “I hope you will.”

  The black eyes studied me curiously. “I said she’d be fair,” she went on. “I was certain.”

  “Well, you’re impeding our progress,” Roc told her. “Either hop in or get off.”

  “I’ll stay here,” she announced. “Drive in.”

  Roc obeyed and we went slowly towards the house.

  “They’re all waiting to meet you,” Lowella told me. “We’re very excited. We’ve all been trying to guess what you’ll be like. In the village they’re all waiting to see you too. Every time one of us goes down they say, ‘And when will the bride be coming to Pendorric?’”

  “I hope they’ll be pleased with me.”

  Lowella looked at her uncle mischievously and I thought again how remarkably like him she was. “Oh, it was time he married,” she said. “We were getting worried.”

  “You see I was right to warn you,” put in Roc. “She’s the enfant terrible.”

  “And not such an infant,” insisted Lowella. “I’m twelve now, you know.”

  “You grow more terrible with the years. I tremble to think what you’ll be like at twenty.”

  We had now passed through the gates and I saw the great stone arch looming ahead. Beyond it was a portico guarded on either side by two huge, carved lions, battered by the years but still looking fierce as though warning any to be wary of entering.

  And there was a woman—so like Roc that I knew she was his twin sister—and behind her a man, whom I guessed to be her husband and father of the twins.

  Morwenna came towards the car. “Roc! So you’re here at last. And this is Favel. Welcome to Pendorric, Favel.”

  I smiled up at her and for those first moments I was glad that she looked so like Roc, because it made me feel that she was not quite a stranger. Her dark hair was thick with a slight natural wave and it grew to a widow’s peak which in the half light gave the impression that she was wearing a sixteenth-century cap. She wore a dress of emerald green linen which became her dark hair and eyes and there were gold rings in her ears.

  “I’m so glad to meet you at last,” I said. “I do hope this isn’t a shock to you.”

  “Nothing my brother does ever shocks us, really, because we’re expecting surprises.”

  “You see I’ve brought them up in the right way,” said Roc lightly. “Oh, and here’s Charlie.”

  My hand was gripped so firmly that I winced. I was hoping Charles Chaston didn’t notice it as I looked up into his plump, bronzed face.

  “We’ve all been eagerly waiting to see you, ever since we heard you were coming,” he told me.

  I saw that Lowella was dancing round us in a circle; with her flying hair, and as she was chanting something to herself which might have been an incantation, she reminded me of a witch.

  “Oh Lowella, do stop,” cried her mother with a little laugh. “Where’s Hyson?”

  Lowella lifted her arms in a gesture which implied she had no idea.

  “Go and find her. She’ll want to say hello to her Aunt Favel.”

  “We’re not calling her aunt,” said Lowella. “She’s too young. She’s just going to be Favel. You’ll like that better, won’t you, Favel?”

  “Yes, it sounds more friendly.”

  “There you see,” said Lowella, and she ran into the house.

  Morwenna slipped her arm through mine and Roc came up and took the other as he called: “Where’s Toms? Toms! Come and bring in our baggage.”

  I heard a voice say: “Aye, sir. I be coming.”

  But before he appeared Morwenna and Roc were leading me through the portico, and with Charles hovering behind we entered the house.

  I was in an enormous hall at either end of which was a beautiful curved staircase leading to a gallery. On the paneled walls were swords and shields and at the foot of each staircase a suit of armor.

  “This is our wing,” Morwenna told me. “It’s a most convenient house, really, being built round a quadrangle. It is almost like four houses in one and it was built with the intention of keeping Pendorrics together in the days of large families. I believe years ago the house was crowded. Only a few servants lived in the attics; the rest of them were in the cottages. There were six of them side by side, most picturesque and unsanitary … until Roc and Charles did something about it. We still draw on them for help; and we only keep Toms and his wife and daughter Hetty, and Mrs. Penhalligan and her daughter Maria living in. A change from the old days. I expect you’re hungry.”

  I told her we had had dinner on the train.

  “Then we’ll have a snack later. You’ll want to see something of the house, but perhaps you’d like to go to your own part first.”

  I said I should, and as I spoke my eye was caught by a portrait which hung on the wall of the gallery. It was a picture of a fairhaired young woman in a clinging blue gown which showed her shapely shoulders; her hair was piled high above her head and one ringlet hung over her shoulder. She clearly belonged to the late eighteenth century, and I thoug
ht that her picture, placed as it was, dominated the gallery and hall.

  “How charming!” I said.

  “Ah yes, one of the Brides of Pendorric,” Morwenna told me.

  There it was again—that phrase which I had heard so often.

  “She looks beautiful … and so happy.”

  “Yes, she’s my great great great … one loses count of the greats … grandmother,” Morwenna said. “She was happy when that was painted, but she died young.”

  I found it difficult to take my eyes from the picture because there was something so appealing about that young face.

  “I thought, Roc,” went on Morwenna, “that now you’re married you’d want the big suite.”

  “Thanks,” Roc replied. “That’s exactly what I did want.”

  Morwenna turned to me. “The wings of the house are all connected. You don’t have to use the separate entrances unless you wish to. So if you come up to the gallery I’ll take you through.”

  “There must be hundreds of rooms.”

  “Eighty. Twenty in each of the four parts. I think it’s much larger than it was in the beginning. A lot of it has been restored but because of that motto over the arch they’ve been very careful to make it seem that what was originally built has lasted.”

  We went past the suit of armor and up the stairs to the gallery.

  “One thing,” said Morwenna, “when you know your own wing you know all the others; you just have to imagine the rooms facing different directions.”

  She led the way and with Roc’s arm still in mine we followed. When we reached the gallery we went through a side door which led to another corridor in which were beautiful marble figures set in alcoves.

  “Not the best time to see the house,” commented Morwenna. “It’s neither light nor dark.”

  “She’ll have to wait till the morning to explore,” added Roc.

  I looked through one of the windows down onto a large quadrangle in which grew some of the most magnificent hydrangeas I had ever seen.

  I remarked on them and we paused to look down.

  “The colors are wonderful in sunlight,” Morwenna told me. “They thrive here. It’s because we’re never short of rain and there’s hardly ever a frost. Besides, they’re well sheltered in the quadrangle.”