“I expect there’s always been a great deal of gossip about the family.”
“There was at the time and though I was yet to be born, they were still talking of it when I were a little ’un. My mother was a sharp one. Nothing much she missed. I remember hearing her talk of Louisa Sellick, the one he were sweet on before he married Mrs. Barbarina.”
“Louisa Sellick?” I repeated, for I had never heard that name mentioned before.
“Oh, ’tis an old story and all happened long ago. Ain’t no sense in reviving it like …’cept of course, you be the next Bride.”
I went over to Dinah and, looking down at her, said earnestly: “I sometimes get the impression that you’re trying to warn me about something.”
She threw back her hair and laughed up at me. “That’s because I want to tell your fortune. They say ‘The gypsy warned me,’ don’t ’em. ’Tis a kind of joke.”
“What do you know of Louisa Sellick?”
“Only what my mother told me. Sometimes I’ve been out that way … where she do live now, and I’ve seen her. But that was after he were dead like … so it weren’t the same. They say he used to go out to visit her and that Barbarina Pendorric killed herself because she couldn’t endure it no more … him liking Louisa better than her. She’d thought when she first married that it was all over; that were when Louisa went out to live on the moor.”
“And is Louisa still living there?”
Dinah nodded. “Well, least she were when I were last that way. ‘Tis Bedivere House—a sizable place. He bought it for her. ’Twas their love nest, you might say. And when he rode out on his business he’d land up at Bedivere. Perhaps there’d be mist on the moors or he was too busy to get back to Pendorric … see what I mean? But it was found out that she were there … and then things happened.”
“Do you often go out that way?”
“Not now. I got a home of me own now, remember. I married Jim Bond, didn’t I? I sleep on a goose feather bed and there’s four walls all around me. But when I go out that way … Dozmary Pool and Jamaica Inn way … I see the house and I look for Louisa. She ain’t so young and pretty now … but we none of us stay that way forever, do us?”
I remembered suddenly that, listening to Dinah’s conversation, I had stayed out longer than I had intended to. I looked at my watch.
“I’d no idea it was so late,” I said.
She smiled lazily. “You’d better get back, Mrs. Pendorric. Time don’t matter to me, but I know it does to the likes of you. Some folks rush about like they thought they hadn’t got much time left. Perhaps they’re right. Who’s to say?”
She was smiling her mocking, enigmatic smile.
“Good-by,” I said, and started to pick my way through the gravestones to the lych gate.
My interest in Barbarina grew as each day passed. I went often to that room of hers and thought about her. I wondered if she had been of a passionate and jealous nature. She must have been terribly unhappy if, as Dinah had suggested, her husband had paid periodic visits to that woman on the moor.
I had heard no more violin playing, or singing in that strange, off-key voice. Whoever had been responsible for that had evidently decided to give it a rest, and I was only faintly disconcerted because I had failed to discover who was playing the part of the ghostly musician. But I did want to know more of Barbarina.
Deborah was always willing to talk about her, and in fact obviously delighted in doing so. She was gradually building up the picture of her sister in my mind; sometimes she would even describe the dresses they had worn for certain parties, and so vividly did she talk that it was as though Barbarina materialized before my eyes.
Since my talk with Dinah the picture had become even clearer and I knew that one day my curiosity would be too much for me and I should have to go out on the moor to see if I could catch a glimpse of Louisa Sellick for myself.
I had not made any excursions alone by car so far, and I couldn’t very well ask Roc to take me there, or Morwenna. I had an uneasy feeling that I’d do better to leave the past alone and yet, because I could not suppress a feeling that I ought to know, I seemed unable to stop. Dinah’s veiled warnings didn’t help me to leave the subject alone, either.
There were three small cars in the garage besides Roc’s Daimler and Charles’s Land Rover; Morwenna used one of them and I had been told that the others were for general use.
I had often said that I wanted to go into Plymouth to do some shopping and, although I didn’t exactly say I was going there on this occasion, I let Morwenna think so.
Roc had gone off on estate business that morning and I hadn’t even told him I was going out, which, after all, did occur to me on the spur of the moment.
I had paused by the picture of Barbarina in the gallery and looked up into those sadly brooding eyes, wondering, when she had discovered that her husband was visiting that house on the moor, whether she had confronted him with her discovery. “I should if I ever found that Roc was involved in such an affair,” I said to myself; and I remembered the sly looks of Rachel, the bold ones of Dinah Bond, and the beauty of Nurse Grey.
I was not the sort to suffer in silence. If I had a shred of evidence that Roc was being unfaithful to me, I should confront him with it and insist on the truth.
What had Barbarina done?
Was I identifying myself with Barbarina and reading things from her life into mine so that our stories were beginning to seem similar?
In any case my interest in her was becoming a little morbid.
Although this thought occurred to me it did not prevent my wanting to see the house where my father-in-law had installed her rival, but I did try to tell myself that it was really the moor that fascinated me, and it was the ideal morning for a drive.
I set out about half past ten and, branching off the road to Plymouth, I was on the moor in a very short time.
It was a glorious morning. A fresh breeze ruffled the rough grass and I felt a sense of adventure as I looked ahead at the folds of moor and drove for miles without seeing any person or building.
Eventually I slowed down before a signpost and saw that I was only a few miles from Dozmary Pool.
I drove on. I could see the hills, with Brown Willy towering above them, and Rough Tor in the distance. This was a very lonely spot and, looking about me, I saw several mounds which earlier Roc had pointed out to me as the burial grounds of ancient Britons.
It was here that King Arthur was reputed to have fought his last battle. If it were really so, I thought, it would have looked exactly as it looked today.
And suddenly I saw the Pool; it was not large and I guessed that at its widest part it could not have been more than a quarter of a mile across. I stopped the car and getting out walked to the water’s edge. There was no sound but the murmur of the wind in the rough grass.
I thought of the legend as I remembered it and as I supposed thousands of visitors to this place must have done: of Bedivere standing at the edge of the water with the dying Arthur’s sword in his hand, debating whether or not to throw it, as commanded, into the middle of the mere.
Finally he had done so and an arm had appeared from the center of the Pool and grasped the sword Excalibur.
I smiled and turned away.
Bedivere, I murmured. Bedivere House. It must be fairly near; Dinah had said so.
I got back into the car and drove slowly for half a mile, and then found a narrow road which I decided to explore.
I had not gone very far when a boy came out of a narrow lane and started to walk in the direction I was going. Drawing up beside him I saw that he was about fourteen; he smiled and right from the first moment I knew there was something familiar in that smile.
“Are you lost?” he asked.
“Not exactly. I’m just wandering round. I’ve come from Dozmary Pool.”
He grinned. “Well, this is a second-class road. It doesn’t lead anywhere much except to Bedivere House … and then back onto the main ro
ad. Only it gets a bit rougher. Your best plan, if you want to get onto the main road, is to turn back.”
“Thank you,” I said. “But I’ll go on for a bit and look at Bedivere House. What’s it like?”
“Oh, you can’t miss it. It’s the gray house with the green shutters.”
“Sounds interesting … especially with a name like that.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said with a grin. “I live there, you see.”
He had his back to the light, and then I noticed that the tips of his rather prominent ears were faintly pink and pointed.
He had stepped back. “Good-by,” he said.
“Good-by.”
As I started off a woman came into sight. She was tall and slim and she had a mass of white curly hair.
“Ennis,” she called. “Oh, there you are.”
She glanced at me as I passed and as I rounded the bend I saw the house at once. The boy had been right; there was no mistaking it. There were the green shutters. It was more than a cottage—a house of some seven or eight rooms, I imagined. There was a green gate opening onto a lawn with a flower border; and a glasswalled and -roofed porch before the front door. Inside it were plants, which looked like tomatoes; and both the doors of the glass porch and the house itself were open.
I drove a little way past, then got out of the car and, shading my eyes, looked around me at the view.
I was aware of the woman and the boy coming back; they were arm in arm; and together they went into Bedivere House.
I was certain then that I had seen Louisa Sellick; but I did wonder who the boy could be. Ennis. I believed there was a Cornish saint of that name; there was no doubt of whom he reminded me. Of some of the portraits I had seen at Pendorric—and, of course, of Roc.
I was changing for dinner when I next saw Roc, and still thinking of the boy to whom I had spoken near Dozmary. By now my imagination had made the resemblance between him and Roc more startling.
Roc must have looked exactly like that at thirteen or fourteen, I told myself. I could picture him playing in the graveyard with Rachel and Morwenna; riding his horse out to Jim Bond’s when it cast a shoe; swimming, boating …
I was already dressed, when he came into our room, and was sitting at the window watching the waves below us.
“Hello,” he called. “Had a good day?”
“Yes, Roc. And you?”
I stood up and found myself staring at the tips of his ears. Surely only Pendorrics had such ears.
“Very good.”
“I took the Morris onto the moors,” I told him.
“I wish I’d been with you.”
“So do I.”
He picked me up and swung me off my feet.
“It’s good to have you to come home to,” he said. “I’ve talked to Charlie about your looking into estate affairs with me. We’d be partners then. What do you say?”
“I’m so glad, Roc.”
“You were the brains behind that studio,” he said. “We need brains in Pendorric.”
I had a sudden vision of my father at work in the studio, and, as whenever I thought of him I must think also of his death, I knew that a shadow passed across my face.
Roc went on quickly: “We need brains, now that the days of the grands seigneurs are over. It’s the farm workers who get the best end of the stick these days. They’ve got their unions to look after them. I’ve never heard of a union to protect the interests of the poor landowner. Rents must not be put up; repairs must be done. You see how we could use a businesswoman like you!”
“Oh Roc, I’m going to love it.”
He kissed me. “Good. You’re in business.”
“Roc, you’re not worried, are you?”
“I’m not the worrying type … otherwise …”
“Otherwise you would be?”
“Oh, darling, what’s the good of worrying? If we can’t afford to go on in the old way, we’ve got to adjust ourselves to the new. Temper the wind to the shorn lamb, or is it the other way round? My God, we’re shorn all right … fleeced in fact. Left, right, and center.”
I had put my arms about his neck and my fingers almost involuntarily caught his ears—a habit they had. He was smiling and I was vividly reminded of the boy I had seen that afternoon.
“Roc,” I said, “I saw a pair of ears exactly like yours today.”
He burst out laughing. Then he looked grave. “I thought they were unique. You’ve always told me so.”
“They’re Pendorric ears.” I touched them with my forefinger. “And they match your eyes. They give you that satyr’s look.”
“For which I have to be truly thankful, because it was that which made you fall in love with me.”
“He had the same sort of eyes … now I come to think of it.”
“Tell me where you found this paragon?”
“It was on the moor near Dozmary Pool. I asked him the way and he told me he lived at a place called Bedivere House and his name was Ennis.”
There was just a short pause, but during it I fancied—or did I think this afterward?—that Roc’s expression had become a little guarded.
“What a lot of information he gave! After all you only asked the way, didn’t you?”
“It was all very naturally given. But the likeness was really astonishing. I wonder if he’s related to you.”
“There’s Pendorric blood all over the Duchy,” said Roc. “You see we were a roistering riotous band. Not that we were the only ones. The old days were very different from these. In those days it was ‘God bless the squire and his relations and make us mind our proper stations’; it was touching the forelock and thinking themselves lucky to have a place in the stables, the kitchen, or the gardens. It was the droit de seigneur. Now of course it’s ‘We’re as good as you’ and crippling taxation. Ah, the good old days have gone forever. And talking of the rights of the squire … well, there’s your answer. You walk round this countryside and you’ll discover traces of Pendorric in half of the natives. It was the order of things.”
“You sound regretful. I believe you’re sighing for the old days.”
He put his hand on my shoulder and smiled at me. Did I fancy that there was a hint of relief in his face, as though he had come up to a dangerous corner and had rounded it satisfactorily?
“Since I met and married Favel Farington,” he replied, “I ask nothing more of life.”
And although he was smiling, I couldn’t doubt that he meant what he said; and, as usual, he had the power to disperse all my doubts and fears with a look, a word, and a smile.
Roc kept his promise and the next day took me with him to his study and, as much as he could in a short time, explained certain matters about the estate. It didn’t take me long to grasp the fact that, although we were by no means verging on bankruptcy, we were in a way fighting a losing battle against the times.
Roc smiled at me ruefully. “It’s like the tide slowly but surely creeping in. The end of the old way is not exactly imminent, but it’s creeping towards us. Mind you, we’ve hung on longer than most. I’d be sorry if we fell to the National Trust in my time.”
“You think it’s certain to happen, Roc?”
“Nothing in life is certain, darling. Suppose I were to win a hundred thousand … I reckon that would put us on our feet for a few generations.”
“You’re not thinking of gambling?” I asked in alarm.
He put his arm about me. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I never risk what I can’t afford to lose.”
“You told me that before.”
“It’s only one of the many things I’ve told you before. How much I love you, for one thing.”
“The conversation is wandering from the point,” I said with a laugh.
“That’s right,” he retorted. “I know you’re going to be a good businesswoman. You’ll keep me on the straight path, won’t you? Things have been in a far worse state than they are now, I can assure you; and we’ve pulled through. Why, in my fat
her’s day …”
“What happened then?”
“We were in much greater difficulties. Fortunately my mother brought enough to put us on our feet again.”
I stared at the open book before me and instead of the columns of figures saw that sad sweet face under the blue-banded hat. There seemed no escape from Barbarina.
Roc, who was standing behind my chair, stooped suddenly and kissed the top of my head. “Don’t let it worry you. Something will turn up, you’ll see. It always does for me. Did I ever tell you I was born lucky?”
Strangely enough that was a very happy day for me and the fact that the finances at Pendorric were not as sound as they should have been gave me a feeling of deep comfort.
I had begun to think that Roc was too much like his father and that my story was turning out to be too similar to that of Barbarina.
But this was the difference: Barbarina had been married for her money when Roc’s father was in love with Louisa Sellick. Roc, needing money for Pendorric, as his father had, had met me, a penniless girl, and had married her.
Oh no, my story was very different from that of Barbarina.
Mrs. Penhalligan was making Cornish pasties when I went down to the kitchen.
She looked up, flushed and bright-eyed, when I entered; her pink cotton sleeves were rolled up above the elbow, her short fat fingers busy.
One of the twins was sitting under the table eating a pasty.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Pendorric,” said Mrs. Penhalligan.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Penhalligan.”
Mrs. Penhalligan went on rolling her pastry. “Don’t do to let it hang about too long, m’am,” she murmured apologetically. “The secret be to make it and pop it into the oven as quick as you can. This be for Father. He’s terrible particular about his pasty and he do want one regular each night. So when I bake I do four or five for him. I keep them in a tin … they be all nice and fresh that way, though the best is them as is eaten straight from the oven.”
“I’ve come to ask what tobacco your father smokes. I thought I’d go along to see him when I have the time and take him something to smoke.”
Bride of Pendorric Page 16