“I thought he was worried about something … just before he died. I thought he was uneasy … about us. What really happened on the day when you went down to bathe?”
“Favel, I think I know why your father died.”
“Why … he died?
“He died because he no longer wished to live.”
“You mean … ?”
“I believe he wanted a quick way out, and found it. We went down to the beach together. It was getting late, you remember. There were few people about; they were all having lunch behind the sun blinds; soon they would be deep in the siesta. When we reached the beach he said to me: ‘You know you’d rather be with Favel.’ I couldn’t deny it. ‘Go back,’ he said, ‘leave me. I would rather go in alone.’ Then he looked at me very solemnly and said: ‘I’m glad you married her. Take care of her.’”
“You’re suggesting that he deliberately swam out to sea and had no intention of coming back?”
Roc nodded. “Looking back, I can see now that he had the look of a man who has written ‘The End’ to his life. Everything was in order.”
I was too filled with emotion to trust myself to speak. I could see it all so clearly; that day when Roc had come back to the kitchen and sat on the table watching me, his legs swinging, the light making the tips of his ears pink. He didn’t know then what had happened, because it was only afterwards that one realized the significance of certain words … certain actions.
“Favel,” said Roc, “let’s get out of here. We’ll drive out to the moor and we’ll stop then and talk and talk. He trusted me to care for you, to comfort you. You must trust me too, Favel.”
When I was with Roc I believed everything he said; it was only when I was alone that the doubts set in.
If only my father had confided in me. I would have cared for him, brought him to England; he could have had the best possible attention. There was no need for him to die so soon.
But had it been like that?
When I was alone I faced the fact that the talk with Roc had not really eased my fears; it had only added to them.
I couldn’t help feeling that some clue to the solution of my problem might lie in that house near Dozmary Pool, and I found myself thinking of it continually—and the boy and the woman who lived there. Suppose I called on Louisa Sellick. Why shouldn’t I? I could tell her who I was; and that I had heard of her connection with Pendorric. Or could I, considering the nature of that connection?
I had caught a glimpse of her and she had appeared to be a kindly and tolerant woman. Could I go to her and say that I was constantly being compared with Barbarina Pendorric and that I was interested in everyone who had known her?
Scarcely.
And yet the idea that I should go kept worrying me.
Suppose I pretended I had lost my way. No, I didn’t want to pretend.
I would go and find a reason when I got there.
I took out the little blue Morris, which I had made a habit of driving and which was now looked upon as mine, and went out to the moor. I knew the way now and was soon passing the pool and taking the second-class road which led to the house.
When I pulled up I was still undecided as to what I should say. What I really wanted to ask was: “Who is the boy who is so like the Pendorrics?” And how could I do that?
While I was looking at the house the door of the glass-roofed porch opened and a woman came out. She was elderly and very plump; she had evidently seen me from a window and had come out to inquire what I wanted.
I got out of the car and said “Good morning” as she approached.
I began: “My name is Pendorric. Mrs. Pendorric.”
She caught her breath and her rosy face was immediately a deeper shade of red.
“Oh.” she said. “Mrs. Sellick bain’t here today.”
“I see. You’re …”
“I’m Polly that does for her.”
“You’ve got a wonderful view here,” I said conversationally.
“Us don’t notice it much. Been here too long, I reckon.”
“So … Mrs. Sellick is not at home today.”
“She’s taking the boy back to school. She’ll be away tonight, back tomorrow.”
I noticed that the woman was trembling slightly.
“Is anything wrong?” I asked.
She came closer to me and whispered: “You ain’t come for to take the boy away, have ’ee?”
I stared at her in astonishment.
“You’d better come in,” she said. “We can’t talk here.”
I followed her over the lawn to the porch, and into a hall; she threw open the door of a cozy sitting room.
“Sit down, Mrs. Pendorric. Mrs. Sellick would want me to give you something, like. Would you have coffee or some of my elderberry wine?”
“Mrs. Sellick didn’t know I was coming. Perhaps I shouldn’t stay.”
“I’d like to be the one to talk to you, Mrs. Pendorric. Mrs. Sellick, she’d be too proud like. She’d say, ‘Yes … you must do what you wish …’ and then when you’d gone she’d break her heart. No, I’ve often thought I’d like the chance to do the talking if this day ever come, and it seems like providence that it has come when her’s off with the boy.”
“I think there’s some misunderstanding …”
“There’s no misunderstandings, Mrs. Pendorric. You’re from Pendorric and ‘tis what she’s always feared. She’s often said: ‘I made no conditions then, Polly, and I’ll make none now.’ She talks to me about everything. I knew her from the first … you see. I came with her when she first come to Bedivere. That was when he married. So we’ve been through a lot together.”
“Yes, I see.”
“Well, let me get you some coffee.”
“I’d rather not. Mrs. Sellick might not be very pleased if she knew I’d come in like this.”
“Her’s the sweetest, mildest creature I ever saw, and I don’t mind telling you I’ve often thought her too mild. The likes of her gets put upon. But I couldn’t bear it to happen, see. Not twice in one lifetime … first losing him and then the boy. It ’ud be too much. Well, she’s had him since he were three weeks old. She were a changed woman when Mr. Roc brought him here.”
“Mr. Roc … !”
She nodded. “I remember the day well. It was getting dusk. I reckon they’d waited till then. They’d come straight from abroad … Mr. Roc was driving the car and the young woman was with him … nothing more than a girl, though I didn’t see much of her. Wore a hat pulled down over her face … didn’t want to be seen. She carried the baby in and put him straight into Mrs. Sellick’s arms; then she went back to the car and left Mr. Roc to do the talking.”
Rachel! I thought.
“You see, she felt guilty like. She’d loved Mr. Roc’s father and had thought he was going to marry her. So he would have done, it was said, but the Pendorrics wanted money in the family so he married that Miss Hyson instead. He never gave up Louisa, although there were others too, but she were the one he really cared for, and when his wife died he begged her to marry him. But she wouldn’t—for some reason. She used to think that because his wife had died as she did it wouldn’t be right. Then he was away a lot but he came back to see Louisa. No one could be to him what she were. You’re a Pendorric yourself now and you’ve heard tell of all this, so there’s no need for me to repeat it. When he died she were heartbroken, and she always longed for a child of his … even though ‘twould have been born out of wedlock. She took an interest in those twins of his and they were a mischievous pair. They’d heard about their father and this house and they came out once to have a look at Louisa. That was after he was dead; and she brought them in and gave them cakes and tea. And after that they came now and then. She told them that if they were ever in trouble—and they were the kind who might well be … of course they’ve sobered down now, but ’twas different when they were young—she’d help them if it were in her power. Well then she got this letter from Mr. Roc. Here was trouble all
right. A baby on the way and would she help?”
“I see.”
“Of course she could help. She wanted to help. So she took little Ennis and she’s been as a mother to him ever since. It were a turning point like. She began to be happy again when that little boy came into this house. But she never stopped being afeared. You see, he grew up such a beautiful child and he weren’t hers. She’d take no money for what she did; she’d make no conditions. So you see, she was always afraid that one day Mr. Roc would come and claim that boy. When she heard he was married she was certain he’d want the boy … She was terrible frit, I can tell ’ee. And I’m telling ’ee all this because I’ve got to make ’ee see.”
“Did he come to see the boy?”
“Yes. He comes every now and then. Terrible fond of him he be, and the boy of him.”
“I’m glad that he didn’t desert him entirely.”
“No question of that. But it’s puzzling. The Pendorrics were never ones to care much about scandal. There was his father coming to see Louisa. Didn’t keep it as dark as some thought he should. But I reckon it was because Mr. Roc was so young. Not much more than eighteen and Louisa advised him not to let it be known … for the boy’s sake. He’s known as Ennis Sellick and thinks Louisa’s his aunt.” She stopped and looked at me beseechingly. “Please, Mrs. Pendorric, you look kind … please understand that he have been here nigh on fourteen years. You can’t take him now.”
“You mustn’t worry about that,” I told her. “We have no intention of taking him.”
She relaxed and smiled happily. “Why, when you said as who you were …”
“I’m sorry I frightened you. As a matter of fact it was very wrong of me to call. My visit was one of curiosity. I’d heard of Mrs. Sellick and wanted to meet her. That was all.”
“And you won’t take the boy?”
“No, certainly not. It would be too cruel.”
“Too cruel,” she repeated. “Oh thank ’ee, Mrs. Pendorric. It’ll be a weight off our minds. Now won’t you let me give you a cup of coffee? Mrs. Sellick wouldn’t like you to leave without.”
I accepted the invitation. I felt I needed it. While Polly was in the kitchen I was thinking: How can I trust him again? If he could deceive me about the boy, he could about other things. Why hadn’t he told me? It would have been so much easier.
Polly returned with the coffee; she was quite happy now; at least my visit had done much to restore her contentment. She told me how she and Louisa had grown to love the moor, and how difficult it was to cultivate the garden, which was so stony.
“Moorland country bain’t the most fertile ground, Mrs. Pendorric, I do assure you,” she was saying when we heard the sound of a car drawing up outside the house.
“Why, it can’t be Mrs. Sellick back already,” said Polly, rising and going to the window.
Her next words sent the blood drumming in my ears. “Why ’tis Mr. Pendorric,” she said. “Oh dear, I reckon he thought they wasn’t going till tomorrow.”
I stood up, and my knees were trembling so much that I thought they would give way as I heard Roc’s voice. “Polly, I saw the car outside. Who’s here?”
“Oh, you’ve come today, Mr. Pendorric,” answered Polly blithely. “Well, Mrs. Sellick thought it ’ud be better to take two days over the driving, seeing it’s so far. They’m staying in London and then they’ll go on to the school tomorrow. Reckon you thought they wouldn’t be leaving till tomorrow.”
He was coming through the glass-roofed porch; striding into the sitting room in the manner of someone who well knows the way.
He threw open the door and stared at me. “You!” he said; then his expression darkened. I had never seen him so angry.
We stood staring at each other and I think he felt the same about me as I did about him; that we were both looking at a stranger.
Polly came into the room. “Mrs. Pendorric’s been telling me as you won’t want to take the boy away …”
“Has she?” he said; and his eyes took in the used coffee cups.
“I was that relieved. Not that I thought you’d do it, Mr. Roc. It was that pleasant meeting your bride.”
“I’m sure it was,” Roc answered. “You should have waited, darling, until I drove you over.”
His voice sounded quite cold as it had never been before when he spoke to me.
“And you came today unbeknownst to each other, and there’s two cars outside. Well, it is a day!”
“Yes,” echoed Roc almost viciously, “it is a day.”
“I’ll heat up this coffee, Mr. Roc.”
“Oh no, thanks, Polly. I came to see the boy before he went to school, but I’m too late. Never mind. I’ve met my wife instead.”
Polly laughed. “I’m sorry Mrs. Sellick didn’t warn you, but she doesn’t care about telephoning the house, as you know.”
“I know,” said Roc. He turned to me. “Are we ready to go?”
“Yes,” I said. “Good-by, Polly, and thank you for the coffee.”
“It’s been a pleasure,” said Polly.
She stood at the door smiling as we went out to the cars. Roc got into his, I into mine. I drove off and he followed me.
Near that bridge where, it was said, Arthur fought his last fight against Sir Mordred, Roc drove ahead of me and pulled up. I heard the door of his car slam and he came to stand by mine.
“So you lied to me,” I said.
“And you saw fit to pry into matters which are no concern of yours.”
“Perhaps they are some concern of mine.”
“You are quite wrong if you think so.”
“Shouldn’t I be interested in my husband’s son?”
“I would never have believed you’d do anything so petty. I had no idea I’d married a … spy.”
“And I can’t understand why you should have lied; I should have understood.”
“How good of you! You are of course extremely tolerant and forgiving, I’m sure.”
“Roc!”
He looked at me so coldly that I shrank from him. “There’s really nothing more to be said, is there?”
“I think there is. There are things I want to know.”
“You’ll find out. Your spy system seems excellent.”
He went to his car, and drove on towards Pendorric; and I followed him home.
Back at Pendorric, Roc only spoke to me when necessary. I knew that he was planning his trip to the north coast, but there was now no question of my going with him.
It was impossible to hide from the household that we had quarreled, because neither of us was good enough at hiding our feelings; and I was sure they were all rather curious.
The next few days seemed unbearably long and I had not felt so wretched since the death of my father. Two days after that disastrous visit to Bedivere I went into the quadrangle and sat under the palm tree thinking ruefully that the summer was nearly over, and with it the happiness I had believed was mine.
The sun was shining but I could see the spiders’ webs on the bushes, and beautiful as the Michaelmas daisies and chrysanthemums were, they did underline the fact that winter was on the way. But because this was Cornwall, the roses were still blooming; and although the hydrangeas did not flower in such profusion, there were still some to brighten the quadrangle.
One of the twins must have seen me for she came out and began to walk unconcernedly towards the pond, humming as she came.
“Hello,” she said. “Mummy says we’re not to sit on the seats because they’re damp. We’ll catch our deaths if we do. So what about you?”
“I don’t think it’s really damp.”
“Everything’s damp. You might get pneumonia and die.”
I knew this was Hyson, and it occurred to me that since our adventure in the vault her attitude towards me had changed; and perhaps not towards me only; it seemed that she herself had changed.
“It would be one way …” she said thoughtfully.
“One way of dying, you
mean?”
Her face puckered suddenly. “Don’t talk of dying,” she said. “I don’t like it … much.”
“You’re becoming awfully sensitive, Hyson,” I commented.
She looked thoughtfully up at the east windows as though watching for something.
“Are you expecting someone?” I asked.
She did not answer.
After a while she said: “You must have been very glad that I was in the vault with you, Favel.”
“It was rather selfish of me, but I was.”
She came nearer to me and, putting her hands on my knees, looked into my face. “I was glad I was there too,” she said.
“Why? It wasn’t very pleasant and you were horribly scared.”
She smiled her odd smile. “Yes, but there were two of us. That made a difference.”
She stepped back and put her lips in the position to suggest whistling.
“Can you whistle, Favel?”
“Not very well.”
“Nor can I. Lowella can.”
She stopped, looking up at the east windows.
“There it is,” she said.
It was the sound of the violin.
I stood up and caught Hyson’s wrist. “Who is it?” I asked.
“You know, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t. But I’m going to find out.”
“It’s Barbarina.”
“You know Barbarina’s dead.”
“Oh Favel, don’t go in there. You know what it means …”
“Hyson! What do you know? Who is playing the violin? Who locked us in the vault? Do you know that?”
For the moment I thought I saw a madness in the child’s eyes, and it was not a pleasant sight. “It’s Barbarina,” she whispered. “Listen to her playing. She’s telling us she’s getting tired. She means she won’t wait much longer.”
I shook her a little because I could see that she was near hysteria. “I’m going to find out who’s playing that violin. You come with me. We’ll find this person together.”
Bride of Pendorric Page 27