Bride of Pendorric Page 8

  “Well, remember I do happen to be your husband.”

  I turned to him then and said almost fiercely, “It’s something I couldn’t possibly forget for a minute … even if I wanted to.”

  He turned my face up to his and his kiss was tender.

  “And you don’t want to?”

  I threw myself against him, and as I clung to him, his grip on me tightened. It was as though we were both trying to make each other understand the immense depth of the love between us.

  It was the comfort I needed.

  Roc could always emerge from an emotional scene with more ease than I could, and in a short time he was his old teasing self. He began to tell me stories of Cornish legends, some so fantastic that I accused him of inventing them.

  Then we both started inventing stories about the places we passed, trying to cap each other’s absurdities. It all seemed tremendous fun; although anyone listening to us would have thought we were crazy

  As we drove back in these high spirits I marveled at the way in which Roc could always comfort and delight me.

  During the next few days I spent a great deal of time in Roc’s company. He would take me with him when he went on his rounds of the farms and I was welcomed everywhere, usually with a glass of some homemade wine or cider; I was even expected to eat a Cornish pasty as they came hot from the oven.

  The people were warm and friendly once I had overcome a certain initial suspicion which they felt towards “foreigners” from the other side of the Tamar. I was English; they were Cornish; therefore to them I was a foreigner.

  “Once a foreigner, always a foreigner,” Roc told me. “But of course marriage makes a difference. When you’ve produced a little Cornish man or woman you’ll be accepted. Otherwise it would take all of fifty years.”

  Morwenna and I drove into Plymouth one afternoon and stopped and had tea near the Hoe.

  “Charles and I are very pleased Roc’s married,” she told me. “We wanted to see him happily settled.”

  “You’re very fond of him, aren’t you?”

  “Well, he is my brother, and my twin at that. And Roc’s a rather special person. I expect you’ll agree with that.”

  As I agreed so wholeheartedly I felt my affection for Morwenna increasing.

  “You can always rely on Roc,” went on Morwenna, and as she stirred her tea thoughtfully, her eyes were vague as though she were looking back over the past.

  “Were you very surprised when he wrote and said he was married?”

  “Just at first, perhaps. But he’s always done the unexpected. Charles and I were beginning to be afraid he’d never settle down, so when we heard, we were really delighted.”

  “Even though he’d married someone who was a stranger to you.”

  Morwenna laughed. “That state of affairs didn’t last long, did it? You’re one of us now.”

  That was a very pleasant jaunt because I was always so happy to talk about Roc and to see how much he was loved by those people who had known him all his life.

  Morwenna and I called on the Darks at the vicarage and I had an interesting afternoon listening to the stories the vicar had to tell of Cornish superstitions.

  “I think they’re so sure that certain things are going to happen that they make them happen,” he told me.

  We also talked of the people who lived on the Pendorric estate and I learned of some of the benefits which had come to them since Roc had been in control. I glowed with pride as I listened.

  It was at the vicarage that I met Dr. Andrew Clement, a man in his late twenties or early thirties. He was tall, fair, and friendly and we liked each other from the start.

  He told me that he, too, was what was known as a foreigner, having come from Kent and been in Cornwall some eighteen months.

  “I come past Pendorric several times a week,” he told me, “when I visit your neighbor, Lord Polhorgan.”

  “He’s seriously ill, isn’t he?”

  “Not so much seriously ill as in danger of becoming so. He has angina and threatening coronary thrombosis. We have to watch him very carefully. He has a nurse living there all the time. Have you met her yet?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “She does occasionally come to Pendorric,” said Morwenna. “You’ll meet her sooner or later.”

  That was a very pleasant afternoon and as Morwenna and I drove back the conversation turned to the twins.

  “Rachel seems to be very efficient,” I said.

  “Very.”

  “I suppose you’re lucky to get her. A person with her qualifications must be rather difficult to come by nowadays.”

  “She’s here … temporarily. The twins will have to go to school in a year or so. They can’t be at home like this forever.”

  Was it my imagination or had Morwenna’s manner changed when I mentioned Rachel?

  There was a short silence between us and I reproved myself because I suspected I was becoming oversensitive. I was beginning to look for things which didn’t exist, and I wondered whether I had changed since coming to Cornwall.

  I wanted to go on talking about Rachel because I was eager to know more about her. I wanted to find out what the relationship between her and Roc had been—if in fact there had been anything unusual in their relationship.

  But Morwenna had dismissed the subject. She began to talk animatedly about the Darks and the changes they had made at the vicarage.

  That afternoon I went to the quadrangle. I was drawn there somewhat unwillingly, for I would rather have taken a book into the garden that was on the south side and that led down to the beach.

  There I could have sat in one of the sheltered arbors among the hydrangeas, the buddleias, and the sweet-smelling lavender, the house behind me, the sea before me. It would have been very pleasant.

  Yet because of that faint revulsion I had experienced in the quadrangle—mainly on account of the windows which looked down on it—I was aware of a compulsion to go there. I was not the sort of person who enjoyed feeling even vaguely afraid, and I was sure that by facing whatever disconcerted me, I should more quickly overcome it.

  I sat under the palm tree with my book and tried to concentrate, but once more I found myself continually glancing up at the windows.

  I had not been there very long when the twins came out of the north door.

  When I saw them together I had no difficulty in distinguishing them. Lowella was so vital; Hyson so subdued. I began to wonder then whether it really had been Hyson who had warned me to beware of Barbarina, or whether it had been a mischievous trick of Lowella’s to try to frighten me and then pretend that it was Hyson who had done it.

  “Hello,” called Lowella.

  They came and sat on the grass and gazed at me.

  “Are we disturbing you?” asked Lowella politely.

  “I wasn’t very deep in my book.”

  “You like it here?” went on Lowella.

  “It’s very peaceful.”

  “You’re shut right in. You’ve got Pendorric all around you. Hy likes it here too. Don’t you, Hy?”

  Hyson nodded.

  “Well,” went on Lowella, “what do you think of us?”

  “I hadn’t given the matter a great deal of thought.”

  “I didn’t mean the two of us. I mean all of us. What do you think of Pendorric and Uncle Roc, Mummy, Daddy, and Becky Sharp?”

  “Becky Sharp?”

  “Old Bective, of course.”

  “Why do you call her that?”

  “Hy said she was like a Becky Sharp she read about in a book. Hy’s always reading.”

  I looked at Hyson, who nodded gravely.

  “She told me about Becky Sharp and I said, ‘That’s Rachel.’ So I called her Becky Sharp. I give people names. I’m Lo. She’s Hy. Wasn’t it clever of Mummy and Daddy to give us names like that. Though I’m not sure that I like being Lo. I’d rather be Hy … only in my name I mean. I’d rather be myself than old Hy She’s always sitting about and thin
king.”

  “Not a bad occupation.” I smiled at Hyson, who continued to regard me gravely.

  “I’ve got names for everybody … my own secret names … and Becky Sharp is one of them.”

  “Have you got one for me?”

  “You! Well, you’re the Bride, aren’t you? You couldn’t be anything else.”

  “Does Miss Bective like the name you’ve given her?” I asked.

  “She doesn’t know. It’s a secret. But you see, she was at school with Mummy and she was always coming here and Hy said, ‘One day she’ll come to stay because she never wants to go away.”’

  “Has she said so?”

  “Of course not. As if she would. It’s all secret. Other people never know what Becky Sharp is up to. But she wants to stay. We thought she was going to marry Uncle Roc.”

  Hyson came and put her hands on my knees; she looked into my face and said: “It was what she wanted. I don’t suppose she likes it much because you did.”

  “You’re not supposed to say that, Hy,” Lowella warned.

  “I’ll say it if I want to.”

  “You can’t. You mustn’t.”

  Hyson was suddenly fierce. “I can and I will.”

  Lowella chanted: “You can’t. You can’t.” And began to run round the pond. Hyson went in pursuit of her. I watched them running about the quadrangle until Lowella disappeared through the north door. Hyson made as though to follow her, hesitated, and, turning, stood looking at me for a few moments. Then she came back.

  “Lowella’s really very childish,” she told me. She knelt at my feet and looked at me, and feeling a little embarrassed by her scrutiny I said: “You never talk very much when she’s there. Why not?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “I never talk unless I have something to say,” she murmured primly.

  Now it seemed she had nothing to say for she continued to kneel at my feet in a silence which went on for several minutes, then she rose suddenly and stood looking up at the windows.

  She lifted her hand and waved, and following her gaze, I saw that the curtain at one of the windows was slightly pulled back and someone was standing about a foot from the window looking down. I could just make out a vague figure in a black hat with a band of blue about it.

  “Who’s that?” I asked sharply.

  She rose to her feet and said slowly: “That was Granny.”

  Then she smiled at me and walked sedately to the north door and I was alone in the quadrangle. I looked up at the window. There was no one there and the curtain had fallen into place.

  “Barbarina,” I murmured, and I felt as though eyes were watching me, and I did not want to stay in the courtyard any longer.

  This was ridiculous, I told myself. It was a trick. Of course, Lowella had gone in and they had decided to amuse themselves at my expense.

  But it had not been a child I had seen at the window. It had been a tall woman.

  I hurried into the house through the south door and I paused before the picture of Barbarina. I fancied that the eyes were mocking me.

  This is absurd, I said as I mounted the staircase. I was a normal, uncomplicated person who did not believe in ghosts.

  Or had I changed? Was I still so self-sufficient since I had experienced emotions which had only been names to me before I met Roc Pendorric? Love, jealousy—and now fear?

  THREE

  I went straight up to my room, and as I opened the door I gasped, for a woman was sitting in an armchair with her back to the light. After my experience in the courtyard I must really have been unnerved, because it seemed several seconds before I recognized Morwenna.

  “I’m afraid I startled you,” she said. “I’m so sorry. I came up to look for you … and sat down for a moment.”

  “It was silly of me, but I didn’t expect to see anyone here.”

  “I came up because Deborah has arrived. I want you to meet her.”

  “Who, did you say?”

  “Deborah Hyson. She’s my mother’s sister. She spends a lot of time here. She has been away and only got back this afternoon. I think she’s come back on your account. She can’t bear things to be happening in the family and not take part in them.”

  “Could I have seen her at one of the windows not long ago?”

  “Very likely. Was it the west side?”

  “Yes, I think it was.”

  “Then I expect it was. Deborah has her rooms there.”

  “She was looking down on the quadrangle and Hyson waved to her, then ran off without explaining.”

  “Hyson’s very fond of her, and she of Hyson. I’m glad, because Lowella is usually so much more popular. Are you coming down now? We’re having tea in the winter parlor, and Deborah’s very anxious to meet you.”

  “Let’s go then.”

  We went down to the little room on the first floor of the north wing, where a tall woman rose to greet me; I was almost certain that she was the one I had seen at the window.

  She was not wearing the hat now, but her abundant white hair was in a style which might have been fashionable thirty years or so ago; and I noticed too that there was an old-fashioned look about her clothes. Her eyes were very blue and her frilly crepe de chine blouse matched them perfectly. She was very tall and slender in her black tailored suit.

  She took both my hands and looked earnestly into my face.

  “My dear,” she said, “how glad I am that you have come!” I was astonished by the fervor of her greeting; and I could only conjecture that, like most of the family, she was delighted to see Roc married, and therefore was prepared to accept me as a blessing. “As soon as I heard the news I came.”

  “That’s very kind of you.”

  She smiled almost wistfully while her eyes remained on me.

  “Come and sit beside me,” she said. “We’ll have lots to talk about. Morwenna dear, is that tea coming soon?”

  “Almost at once,” Morwenna replied.

  We sat side by side and she went on: “You must call me Deborah, dear. The children do. Oh, by the children I mean Petroc and Morwenna. The twins call me Granny. They always have. I don’t mind in the least.”

  “You don’t look like a Granny!”

  She smiled. “I expect I do to the twins. They think anyone of twenty somewhat aged, and after that of course quite ancient. I’m rather glad they do though. They hadn’t a Granny. I supplied the need.”

  Mrs. Penhalligan brought in the tea and Morwenna poured it.

  “Charles and Roc won’t be in for an hour or so,” she told Deborah.

  “I’ll see them at dinner. Oh, here are the twins.”

  The door had burst open and Lowella rushed in followed sedately by Hyson.

  “‘Lo, Granny,” said Lowella, and walking to Deborah’s chair was embraced and kissed. Hyson followed; and I noticed that the hug she received was even more affectionate. There was no doubt that these two were very fond of each other.

  Lowella went to the tea trolley to see what there was for tea, while Hyson stood leaning against Deborah’s chair.

  “I must say it is pleasant to be back,” said Deborah, “though I miss the moor.” She explained to me: “I have a house on Dartmoor. I was brought up there and now that my parents are dead it belongs to me. You must come out and see it one day.”

  “I’ll come with you,” said Lowella.

  “Dear Lowella!” murmured Deborah. “She never likes to be left out of anything. And you’ll come too Hyson, won’t you?”

  “Yes, Granny”

  “That’s a good girl. I hope you’re looking after your Aunt Favel, and making her feel at home.”

  “We don’t call her Aunt. She’s just Favel and of course we’ve been looking after her,” said Lowella. “Uncle Roc told us we had to.”

  “And Hyson?”

  “Yes, Granny, I’ve been showing her what she ought to see and telling her what she ought to know.”

  Deborah smiled and began gently pulling Hyson’s ponytail in a caressing wa
y

  She smiled at me. “I must show you pictures of the children. I have lots of them in my rooms.”

  “On the walls,” cried Lowella, “and in albums with writing underneath. It says ‘Petroc aged six.’ ‘Morwenna in the Quadrangle aged eight.’ And there are lots of Granny Barbarina and Granny Deborah when they were little girls—only they’re in Devon.”

  Deborah leaned towards me. “There’s usually a person like myself in all families—the one who did not marry but could be called in to look after the children. She keeps all the pictures and knows the dates of birthdays.”

  “Granny Deborah never forgets,” Lowella told me.

  “Did I see you when I was in the quadrangle?” I could not prevent myself asking, for foolish as it was, I had to satisfy myself on this point.

  “Yes. I had only just arrived. I hadn’t told Morwenna or Roc that I was coming today. I peeped out and saw you and Hyson. I didn’t know you’d seen me or I should have opened the window and spoken to you.”

  “Hyson waved and I looked up and saw you. I was astonished when she said you were her Granny.”

  “And didn’t she explain? Oh Hyson, my dear child!” She went on caressing the ponytail.

  “I told her it was my Granny, and it was.” Hyson defended herself.

  “You’re eating very little,” Morwenna scolded Deborah and me. “Do try these splits. Maria will be hurt if we send too many back.”

  “I always say this Cornish cream isn’t as good as ours in Devonshire,” said Deborah.

  Morwenna laughed. “That’s sheer prejudice. It’s exactly the same.

  Deborah asked me about my life in Capri and how Roc and I had met.

  “How delightful!” she cried when I had answered her questions. “A lightning romance! I think it’s charming, don’t you, Morwenna?”

  “We’re all very pleased, of course … particularly now that we know Favel.”

  “And we were longing for the new Bride of Pendorric,” said Hyson quietly.

  Everyone laughed and conversation was general while we finished tea.

  When the meal was over, Hyson asked if she could help her Granny unpack. Deborah was very pleased and said of course she could. She added: “And I don’t suppose Favel has seen my rooms, has she? We’ll invite her to come with us, shall we, Hyson?”