The House of Lanyon

by Valerie Anand

  “He didn’t!” Nicky, in the act of lifting his tankard, thumped it back onto the table. “Oh, no! He couldn’t! That’s outrageous!”

  Herbert Dyer looked at him. Good God. I shoot a longshaft into the air and phutt! It hits the target dead centre. I’ve had the weapon I need in my hand all these years and never knew it.

  “Well, he did. I don’t suppose Peter Lanyon knows, to this day, though. I’d love to see his face if anyone ever told him. I don’t somehow feel it’s something he’d forgive, even after so long and even if the girl did run off. In his place, I wouldn’t forgive it.”

  “My grandfather…” Nicky began.

  “Will get his deserts one day, I’ve no doubt of it.” There, that’ll do. The seed is planted. Best not overdo it.

  “He always wants to look bigger, more important than he is,” Nicky said, ruminating. “That’s why he built that great big house that I won’t now inherit. And he does domineer over people, yes. I wonder if that’s why the girl ran away! Perhaps she couldn’t bear the thought of being married to him. Maybe her family thought it would be a good idea and were urging her to it. I wonder if she ever came back to them?”

  “I don’t think he ever approached them,” said Herbert. “From what he told me, she ran off too soon.”

  “He shows off,” Nicky grumbled. “He never used to ride moor ponies, you know. He liked horses that stuck in people’s minds. When I left, he had a showy piebald….”

  “Patches. And before that, another piebald called Magpie.”

  “When I was very small, I saw the horse he had before Magpie—Splash it was called. It was old by then, out at grass,” Nicky said. “It was the weirdest-looking animal I ever saw—a sort of dapple grey, but the dapples were a very dark grey and there were some very big ones, and they ran into each other and overlapped as though the horse had had ink splashed on its hide. I’ve never seen another horse like it.”

  Unexpectedly, the goat-scented man with the tufts over his ears suddenly turned toward them. “Here! Do you mind me speakin’ to ’ee? I couldn’t help hearin’ ’ee and I thought to myself, I did, that’s a funny thing. That’s a very funny thing, that is.”

  “What is?” asked Herbert, slightly annoyed by the interruption and making an effort not to hold his nose as the rank odour on the other man’s clothes wafted toward him.

  “Talkin’ about a ’orse that looked like it had dark grey splashes all over it. I saw one like that once, but only the once, and I’m thinking, would it be the same ’orse? It were hereabouts, years back. Well, I say hereabouts. It were in that there Valley of the Rocks, up atop there, nigh to Lynton.”

  “When would that have been?” Nicky asked, not very interested but polite to an older man out of habit.

  “Ah. Long time back. I were only a lad of fifteen, herding my goats in the valley, I was. I’m well on the wrong side of forty now. Don’t know what, exactly. Never keep count of time, I don’t.”

  “I suppose Master Lanyon could have been there for some reason or other,” said Herbert. “Why shouldn’t he be?”

  “Ah, but he were with a wench! Pretty thing, too. I had good long-sight in them days.” The goat-scented one sighed. “Didn’t I hear you say summat just now about a girl with hair like a pale gold mist and him thinkin’ of weddin’ her? Could have been the same wench. Like a cloud round her head it were, catching the sun in glints. Sort of thing a lad like me would look at, and none of it kept decent under a coif. And the way of walking she had…aaarh!”

  His audience regarded him with dislike but also with increasing interest. “And they were in the Valley of Rocks together?” Nicky said.

  “Yes. Came in on the horse, with the girl behind him. There were a dog, too, black-and-white. Never seen any of ’em afore, I hadn’t. They got down and left horse and dog nigh the valley entrance and walked on. Argifyin’, by the look of it. She jerked away from ’un at one point and she were shakin’ her head, but he yanked her back and started walkin’ her up that path round Castle Rock. You know it?”

  “No,” said Herbert Dyer, but Nicky said, “I know it. We go up there sometimes, me and the other apprentices, on sunny days when we’ve got some time off. It’s fun to climb about up there.”

  “Well, she didn’t think it fun, by the look of it,” their informant said. “They’d started up the path when all of a sudden he swings round and gets hold of her arms. Looked like a proper disagreement, it did.”

  “And then?” asked Nicky.

  The goatherd shrugged. “I didn’t see no more. I thought it were all a bit funny, but I had me goats to see to. There was one limpin’ like and I wanted to catch ’un and see what was wrong and anyhow, just about then a girt mist started rollin’ in from the sea. Cleared a bit later, it did, just as I finished seein’ to the goat. I went down to my old hut to eat a bite out of the cold and I see the ’orse and dog was gone. They’d come down and taken ’em, I s’pose. I remembered, after, ’cos the ’orse was that queer-coloured and I’d have liked to know what the man and the girl were quarrelling over, but I were only a lad myself. I never told no one, not until now.”

  “What are you drinking?” asked Nicky, leaning across Herbert for the purpose. “Can we get you another?”

  “Cider, it be. Don’t mind if I do. Like I said,” said the goatherd, clearly taking pleasure in his audience, “I never told no one. But I thought about it, many a time. Leaves pictures in the mind, that sort of thing does. Queer-lookin’ ’orse, and that girl with all that there pale hair and the way she moved…that were come-hither if ever I saw it. Aarh!”

  The last syllable was positively lascivious. Nicky caught Herbert’s eye and they exchanged speaking looks, but nevertheless, Herbert signalled to the serving girl and requested a pint of cider. The goatherd raised his existing tankard and drained it in an appreciative toast to them, and then startled them by changing his tone of voice completely.

  “It was queer, that’s what it was. That’s why I never spoke of it. It were like a sort of dream, not real somehow and…well, it gave me a sort of funny feeling. Like it wouldn’t be lucky to talk about it. I were only a lad and there were something about that day, an’ those two quarrelling and that there mist drifting round—it must of caught them up there. Felt weird. That mist even scared me a bit, swirling round so as I could hardly see my feet. It were a queer sort of day altogether, see?”

  “Yes,” said Nicky as the cider arrived and Nicky, this time, succeeded in paying for it. “Yes, I do.”

  Later, as they emerged into the sunlit afternoon, Herbert remarked, “What an odd story that was. I wonder if he really did see your father’s sweetheart quarrelling with your grandfather?”

  “Not improbable, if he meant to separate her from my father. He went to see her, maybe.”

  “In the Valley of the Rocks instead of in Lynmouth?” Thoughtfully Herbert stroked his beard. It was unlikely that there was anything more in this than a chance meeting and a fleeting argument, long ago. Maybe Richard actually had proposed to the girl, been turned down and preferred not to say so, to pretend instead that he’d never had a chance to ask her. That fitted the Richard that Herbert Dyer knew.

  “Have you ever seen your Allerbrook family since you left?” he asked.

  “No. I don’t think they’d want to see me, either.”

  “It’s time you tried to make it up,” Dyer said. “You’re a young man now with a future and a trade. You won’t be going there to beg. You’ve proved you can make your way in the world without them. It’s time you went home and showed them! Your mother would like to see you, of that I’m sure—so well-grown as you are. Why don’t you go?”

  Nicky paused uncertainly, looking toward the quay and the Fulmar. “I suppose I want to, in a way, but…”

  “You should. Well, think about it. We’d better part company here. I’ve a long ride home and I don’t go fast, not at my age. I’ve left my horse at a stables.” He clasped Nicky’s hand in farewell. “If you do go,
and happen to mention this odd tale we’ve heard, best not mention my name, if you can help it. But in your place, I must say I’d be curious. I’d want to see Richard Lanyon’s face if I asked him about it.”

  He nodded and walked away, well pleased with himself. The seed might well have fallen on stony ground but on the other hand, Nicky was young, which usually meant indiscreet, and he was still angry. The thought of asking his grandfather upsetting questions and giving his father upsetting information might well appeal to him as much as it appealed to Herbert Dyer.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  KICKING A PEBBLE

  The day that was to end in chaos began gently, with a grey cloud spilling soft drizzle over the moors and hiding Dunkery from view, until the gathering power of the August sun lifted the vapours away, and the sunlight sparkled on a well-washed landscape.

  “Nice drop of rain,” Richard said with satisfaction, encountering Liza in the farmyard as they both returned from tasks outside. “Now, if only God sends us dry weather when it comes to the harvest, we’ll do well. How’s Primrose doing, Liza? You’ve been working hard on her.”

  “I’ve taken her to the pasture now,” Liza said. “That teat is working now. I kept at it and kept at it and I think she’s going to be quite all right. I must go and see to the bread.”

  She went indoors to help Ellen. Richard watched her go, thinking that most households would have packed her off to a nunnery but that it was just as well that he and Peter hadn’t. When it came to things like difficult lambings and cows with mastitis, and making bread, she was incomparable.

  And all the more these days, for Betsy was gone, carried off the previous winter by a sudden chill and lung congestion, and neither Ellen nor the two other maids who now helped her could match Liza’s skills. Oh well, time brought changes of all kinds. Word had come from Dunster the year before that Laurence and Aunt Cecy, too, had passed away, Aunt Cecy very quietly in her bed one night, Laurence with mysterious pains and bowel bleeding, and then a sudden collapse. Nothing stayed the same forever. Not people and not even righteous indignation.

  Liza, if asked, would have agreed that the unhappy relationship between herself and the Lanyon menfolk had changed, though it had been slow, and didn’t even now go very deep.

  Quentin’s outburst had begun the process of reconciliation and Liza, thereafter, had fairly toiled at it. It was not a matter of forgiving or forgetting; only of raising a new edifice on the ruins of the old one. She knew she must never transgress again, by even the faintest degree, by as much as a single wistful reference to Nicky or by ever mentioning Christopher’s name or by any unexplained absence for as much as half an hour. Buildings raised on top of rubble were never quite solid.

  Throughout the past four years, though she and Peter had at length begun once more to share a bed, they had never coupled, but a new partnership had gradually been forged as they talked to each other of everyday, necessary matters to do with the work of Allerbrook. They had not stood side by side as parents at Quentin’s marriage because Peter refused to attend it, but they had been there as grandparents at the christening of her son.

  Betsy had never quite thawed, but Betsy was gone and Ellen, more impressionable and more concerned, in any case, with her forthcoming marriage to the cowman from Rixons, had been willing to make friends again. In fact, Liza sometimes suspected that Ellen was secretly rather excited by the wild romance in Liza’s past.

  If only, Liza sometimes thought, she could sometimes hear news of Nicky. No messages ever came to her from the Weavers, though they had let Peter know that he had indeed gone to them and later, that he had been apprenticed to a Lynmouth merchant. Peter had told her that much. But that was all. They had not mentioned Nicky again even to Peter and certainly not to her. Her family had cut her off. Unless Nicky himself one day contacted her, he was lost. She prayed that he was happy, but was afraid to speak his name and could not, therefore, ask Peter to find out for her.

  Meanwhile, the morning had turned bright, and there were loaves to shape and put in the bread oven, and a capon to put on the spit for dinner. Phoebe and Hodge’s small son would come to the farmhouse soon to turn it. Phoebe and Hodge believed in training their children to be useful early in life and they had already begun showing their four-year-old daughter how a spinning wheel worked.

  She was in the kitchen, sorting eggs into dozens and putting them into small baskets, ready for Clicket market, when she heard Pewter, the young dog they had recently acquired, barking loudly and then Ellen, who had been out in the yard fetching water, came to say that Master Nicky had ridden in.

  “Nicky!”

  “Yes, ma’m. All the way from Lynmouth. Oh—here he is!”

  And there indeed he was, her Nicky, a young man now, hair as red as fire, chestnut eyes glowing, coming toward her to greet her with a hug.

  “I’ve got permission from my master. I said it was time I visited you. I hired a nag in Lynton and started out early. The nag,” said Nicky, “is lazy and slow but it’s got me here. It didn’t even shy when that lurcher you’ve got in the yard started baying.”

  “Pewter’s new. He doesn’t know you. We’ve got two new sheepdogs, too, Hunter and Trim. They’re out with Peter and his father now—they’re moving some sheep. Alfred’s about somewhere.”

  “He’s seeing to the horse. I passed Sweetwater House on the way here. Odd to think of Quentin living there. The Weavers let me know about her marriage. Is all well with her?”

  “Yes, it seems that it is. The match is turning out well,” said Liza. “And I’m as thankful as I can be, let me tell you. I say so in my prayers.”

  “I can believe it.” He held her at arm’s length and looked at her, smiling, glad to see her at last. He had felt unaccountably nervous on the ride. After all, he was the victim, who had been thrown out though he was innocent of any wrongdoing. If he met with any rudeness from the men who had disowned him and cast him forth, well, he had something to say that might well cause them to turn on each other. He carried it like a concealed knife. He might use it or he might not, but they had more to fear from him than he from them. He hoped they had been treating Liza well. “Am I welcome?” he asked.

  “Of course you are! Come into the hall,” said Liza, happily abandoning the eggs. “Ellen, bring some cider!”

  She led the way to the hall. Nicky followed, frowning a little. His mother looked older, he thought, and thinner, too. Just what kind of life had she had since he left?

  The question received a reply within the next two minutes, for just as Ellen came in with the cider, Richard and Peter returned for dinner. Nicky, accepting his tankard, raised his head as he heard the voices of the men who had for thirteen years been his father and his grandfather. Ellen had put down her tray and hurried out to tell them of his arrival. He could hear her explaining. Then the two of them came into the hall. Peter looked merely anxious. But Richard’s face was cold and it was he who spoke first.

  “And what are you doing here? We thought we were rid of you for good, you young cuckoo! If you’ve come to ask to be taken back…!”

  “Oh…!” said Liza, shrinking. All trace of nervousness left Nicky at once and anger took over. He stepped in front of Richard and stood facing him.

  “You have no right to speak to me like that. I never did you wrong, and now, let me tell you, I need nothing from you.”

  “Really?” said Richard.

  “Yes, really! I am apprenticed to a merchant seaman in Lynmouth and in time, the Weavers are willing to help me set up for myself. I have a future, and I call myself happy. I’ve been to Venice three times now. I’m here to see my mother, nothing more. A reasonable thing for a son to do, don’t you think?”

  “Your mother doesn’t need to be reminded of you and nor do we!” said Richard. “I thought we were rid of you for good!”

  “Father, please!” said Peter. “Nicky is blameless and I have feeling for him, if you have not. I was glad of you, Nicky, that day on the packhorse
bridge. Father, it’s hardly a sin for him to want to see Liza. Let us be hospitable as we would be to any guest! I would like Nicky to join us for dinner.”

  Liza, evidently taking courage from this, said, “There’s plenty of food. I’d like him to eat with us, too.”

  “Very well,” said Richard. “This once. But let it be understood, young man—you chose to walk out on us and as far as I’m concerned, you’re not welcome to walk back. So it’s only this once.”

  Fury clenched in Nicky’s guts. So that’s how it is! On the way up the combe I thought about the things Dyer and I heard from that goatherd in Lynmouth, but I thought I’d see what kind of welcome you gave me before I decided whether to mention them or not. Well, I’ve made my mind up now!

  Liza smiled at him and without a word fetched out the best pewter dishes and the silver salt which the Crowhams, long ago, had sent in celebration of the newly built hall. Richard scowled but made no comment.

  Nicky, prudently, filled his stomach first, while answering his mother’s questions about life with Owen ap Idwal, and the voyages he had made on the Fulmar. Peter and Richard were silent, neither interrupting nor attempting to join in. Ellen and Alfred and the two young maids, who were all at the table as well, were clearly conscious of family tension, and were also quiet. The gladness with which Liza had greeted him was now dimmed, like sunlight through a grimy window. She was herself aware of it. She could not properly enjoy his company, with Richard’s disapproval filling the air like a disagreeable smell. Nicky sensed it, too, and knew that his mother dreaded Richard’s anger. Oh yes, she had been allowed to stay, but she had not been forgiven. Not by Richard Lanyon, anyway. It hardened his heart still further.

  When his mother ran out of questions and his stomach was safely laden with capon and raisin pudding, he turned to Richard. “I heard the oddest bit of gossip the other day. Did you once think of getting married again, Master Lanyon? To a girl called Marion Locke, only she ran off with someone else instead?”