Morwennan House

by Morwennan House (retail) (epub)

  Already, though, Charlotte had become so good at my game that I had decided the rules would have to be changed.

  ‘You’re too clever, Charlotte,’ I told her. ‘If we go on at this rate you will be getting fat and I shall have to take the blame.’

  ‘Oh!’ she groaned. ‘You can’t change the rules!’

  ‘Indeed I can!’ I assured her. ‘I’m the tutor, remember. From now on it’s twenty points, not ten, and the reward is an excursion down to the beach.’

  ‘With Tom?’ she came back, quick as a flash.

  ‘No, with me. But you like the beach, don’t you?’

  Indeed she did. Until I had arrived she had spent remarkably little time there, it seemed, for although it was within easy walking distance she had not been allowed to go alone and neither Selena nor Francis were ones for scrambling up and down the cliff path.

  They left us mostly to our own devices and I was glad of that, for I was not comfortable with either of them.

  What a strange pair they were, so cold and distant! I thought it a miracle that Charlotte had turned out so well when she had been raised exclusively by them. But Francis at least seemed genuinely fond of her, as did Mrs Durbin, who, I presume, had acted as her nurse when she was younger. But Selena… Selena never unbent by so much as a fraction. To my mind she always gave the impression that Charlotte was more of an inconvenience than anything else.

  As for the relationship between Selena and Francis, I couldn’t make head nor tail of it. On the one hand the animosity between them was almost tangible, on the other there was clearly some kind of unspoken bond between them. It came from shared secrets, no doubt, for I felt sure there were plenty of those in this dark house.

  High though my curiosity ran I shrank from raising the subject of Julia with any of them. I was afraid of arousing Francis and Selena’s suspicions if I began asking questions, since almost anything I could say would demonstrate that I had some knowledge of the situation, and it seemed unfair to question Charlotte about her mother. It could very well upset her, and besides, I did not imagine she knew very much, since Julia had died when Charlotte was born.

  One day, however, when Charlotte and I were in the garden, she mentioned her mother of her own accord.

  We were sitting in the arbour on the seat of camomile and around us the roses were blooming in their full glory, their heavy heads open to the warm summer sun.

  ‘Do you think we might cut some roses, Charity?’ Charlotte asked suddenly.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I replied. ‘Why do you want to? Would you like some in your room?’

  She shook her head. Her small face was serious.

  ‘No, I want to take them to Mama’s grave.’

  I was startled, I admit it. My heart began to beat very fast and for a moment I did not know what to say.

  ‘Where is she buried then?’ I asked at last.

  ‘Why, in the family tomb in the churchyard, of course,’ Charlotte replied as if it were a stupid question, which, I suppose, it was. ‘Papa used to take me there sometimes but I haven’t been now for ages and ages. And I’m afraid Mama will think I’ve forgotten her.’

  ‘She wouldn’t think that I’m sure,’ I said. ‘But we could go if you’d like to, Charlotte. Is it very far?’

  ‘It’s in the village.’

  I did not remember passing through a village when the carriage had brought me here.

  ‘Do we have to go back up the gully road?’ I asked.

  ‘No. That’s one way. But we can walk along the cliff the way we went with Tom the other day,’ she told me. ‘That’s far nicer.’

  ‘Ah.’ So it was the village Tom came from when he came to Morwennan by way of the cliff path. ‘Very well, Charlotte, we’ll cut some roses and you can show me the way. Which ones would you like to take?’

  ‘Pink.’ Charlotte said at once. ‘Pink was Mama’s favourite colour.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ I asked.

  ‘I just know,’ she replied confidently.

  We cut the roses and set out through the gate. As we picked our way along the cliff path with the sun warm on our faces Charlotte was very quiet, very solemn, and I guessed she was thinking about the mother she had never known. I was glad of the silence, for I was thinking of her too.

  Just before we reached Dead Man’s Cove Charlotte pointed out a track that forked inland from the cliff path.

  ‘This way.’

  I had not noticed the other path on our excursion – perhaps I had had eyes only for Tom! – but now I saw that, though narrow, it was well worn, snaking through the knee-high thrift and gorse. Perhaps the men who had carried the contraband up to Morwennan House had come this way, I thought. Certainly the old woman I had met on the beach on my first evening would use it to get to the beach with her creel for collecting shellfish. And Tom…

  My heart skipped a beat. Oh, Tom, how you have me in your thrall!

  We walked for perhaps a mile with the breeze from the sea at our backs before I saw the village ahead of us, a cluster of low stone cottages and daub-and-wattle shacks in a shallow basin that would afford some protection from the gales of winter. The church was on the seaward side, its tower rising square against the periwinkle-blue of the sky.

  The churchyard was reached by way of a lychgate. I unfastened it and we went through. At once I felt the sense of peace that always comes to me in a graveyard. Even the little tic of nerves that had begun to throb in my throat as we neared Julia’s resting place was stilled. I had been brought up by a minister, remember, and the churchyard had been as familiar to me as our own garden.

  The churchyard here at Morwennan was not as well kept as the one at Penwyn had been; the grass grew up tall and waving around the old tombstones, some of which had crumbled and toppled over, and a tree which had grown up leaning from the wind had heavy boughs drooping so far they almost touched the ground. But none of that seemed to matter. Bumblebees droned lazily in the patches of nettles and a bird carolled from the branches of the stunted tree. All was peace and tranquillity and oneness with nature for the souls who slept here.

  Charlotte led the way along the path towards the church door, then stopped beside a box-like structure of granite, a little larger than grave size and perhaps three feet high.

  ‘This is it,’ she said in a hushed voice. ‘This is where our family lie.’

  I nodded. The proximity to the church door was evidence of the importance of the Trevelyan family in the parish. I would have expected nothing less, but it still gave me a slight shock to see their name engraved in the granite, generations of Trevelyans. The tic throbbed in my throat again.

  Charlotte stepped on to the grass and went to the foot of the tomb. Then she stood quite still, the bunch of pink roses still clutched between her small hands, staring intently at the stone.

  I followed her gaze and saw the inscription.

  JULIA

  Beloved wife of Francis Trevelyan

  1747-1782

  Resting with the Lord

  In that moment time stood still and I stood still with it. My heart seemed not to beat, nor my pulses; I was not even aware of breathing. I had become, it seemed, as inanimate as the grey granite, as lifeless as those who lay in the soft earth beneath it. My eyes were fixed on the name of the woman I felt sure was my mother and it was the first contact I had ever had with her within my living memory.

  Then my skin began to prickle and my heart to flutter and the breath I drew was long and shaky. Yet still I stared at the stone and the letters cut into it and I felt I would never be able to tear my eyes away.

  After a little while Charlotte laid the roses in the grass immediately below her mother’s name then turned to me quite matter-of-factly.

  ‘We can go home now, Charity.’

  I did not answer, and I heard her tone become puzzled.

  ‘Charity? What’s wrong?’

  With an enormous effort I recovered myself.

  ‘Nothing, of course. Very well,
Charlotte, if you are ready we will go back.’

  Charlotte chattered now as we picked our way back along the cliff path. She had visited her mother’s grave, laid her flowers, and now, satisfied, her mood had returned to normal. But my replies to her seemed to me to come from someone else. My mind and my heart were still back in the peaceful churchyard with the birdsong and the hum of the bees and the waving grass.

  And my mother.

  * * *

  ‘Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you everywhere!’

  Selena was at the cliff gate waiting for us; her tone was sharp.

  Charlotte replied for me. ‘We’ve been to Mama’s grave. I wanted to take her some roses.’

  ‘I’m sorry if you were anxious…’ I began, but Selena ignored me.

  ‘What nonsense!’ she said sharply to Charlotte. ‘I don’t know why you find it so difficult to put your mother out of your head. It’s not as if you ever knew her. And going to the graveyard is a complete waste of time. I’ve told you before. She’s not there.’

  Charlotte stared at her aunt for a moment, still as a statue. Then her face crumpled, she burst into tears and ran as fast as her legs would carry her up the path towards the house.

  I stared at Selena too, shocked by her callousness.

  ‘That is the cruellest tirade I ever heard in my life!’ I said angrily before I could stop myself. ‘How could you say such a terrible thing to a child?’

  Without bothering to wait for her reply, I hurried off up the path after Charlotte.

  * * *

  I found her in her room, sobbing bitterly.

  ‘Oh, Charlotte, you mustn’t take notice of what your Aunt Selena said,’ I told her, putting my arms round her shaking shoulders. ‘She was worried because she didn’t know where we had gone. She didn’t mean it.’

  ‘She did so,’ Charlotte managed between sobs.

  ‘No, she did not. People sometimes say things they shouldn’t because they are upset.’

  ‘But she’s said it before.’ Charlotte looked up at me with tear-filled eyes. ‘I don’t understand, Charity. If Mama isn’t there, where is she? She has to be somewhere! If she’s not, I just can’t bear it!’

  My heart bled for her.

  ‘Your mama is everywhere, Charlotte,’ I said gently. ‘When someone dies their spirit is not confined to a body any more. She is in the sea breeze, in the sunshine, in the roses. She is with you always. Why, even now I expect she is looking down, watching you. And she will be sad if you cry. Please, sweeting, don’t cry! For, truly, there is nothing to cry about.’

  I held her, feeling her hair soft against my cheek and her small body firm and warm in my arms. At last her sobs subsided a little and she looked up at me.

  ‘You really think she’s with me, Charity?’

  ‘I’m sure of it,’ I said softly but earnestly. ‘Though you never knew her, your mama loved you very much. Love like that can never die.’

  She nodded slowly and I only wished that I could believe the same was true of me, and Julia had loved me too. But if she had loved me, why had she abandoned me? My throat closed. I felt very alone suddenly, the deserted child with nothing to cling to.

  I tried to push the mood aside. I was a grown woman who had survived twenty years of aching loss. Charlotte was just a little girl who needed love and understanding, not the cold cruel words of a woman with a heart like stone. Why, there was more giving in the granite of Julia’s tomb than there was in that one!

  I smoothed Charlotte’s hair away from her tear-wet face and smiled at her gently.

  ‘You have so much to be glad of, Charlotte,’ I said gently. ‘You have a nice home, a father who loves you… why, you even have your own pony to ride when you go to your grandfather’s house, don’t you? What was his name?’

  ‘Moonlight,’ she said, rubbing her little snub nose with the back of her hand.

  ‘Moonlight. That’s such a lovely name. Is he a lovely pony?’

  ‘Yes… yes, he is. Do you think I’ll be able to go and see him again soon?’

  ‘I’m sure you will,’ I said, relieved to see she was brightening. ‘We’ll ask your papa the moment he comes home, shall we?’

  ‘Yes – oh yes!’ She looked up at me and the look in her eyes made my heart turn over. ‘I’m really glad you came to live with us, Charity,’ she said.

  Nine

  I was still furiously angry with Selena when I went back downstairs, leaving Charlotte playing with her dolls. I simply could not understand how Selena could have spoken so and I was determined to confront her over her disgraceful outburst. But I think Selena realised what my feelings were and before I could say anything she pre-empted me.

  ‘I gather you think I was too harsh with Charlotte,’ she said bluntly.

  ‘Yes,’ I replied, echoing her bluntness. ‘What you said upset her dreadfully.’

  ‘There are worse things than being upset,’ Selena said, her voice hard. ‘It’s better that she should forget all about Julia.’

  ‘I can’t agree,’ I argued, angry enough to throw caution to the winds for the first time since I had come to Morwennan. ‘She’s just a child and she needs her mother even if she has never known her. I never knew my mother at all but I thought about her constantly and still do. It’s a bond that nothing can break – not desertion and not death.’ Selena speared me coldly with those sharp grey eyes.

  ‘That is your opinion, Charity. But then you know nothing, do you? Nothing of Julia and nothing of my reasons for considering it best that Charlotte should not be encouraged in this foolish sentimentality. Charlotte’s mother was not a woman to be admired. I would not wish Charlotte to grow up to be like her.’

  I frowned. She was, after all, talking about the woman I believed to be my mother too.

  ‘Julia was flighty and faithless,’ Selena went on. ‘She caused my brother a great deal of heartache over the years, almost from the day he met her. I advised him against marrying her but he would not listen. And he paid the price over and over again.’

  ‘Are you saying their marriage was not a happy one?’ I asked. I was trembling deep inside. This had gone much further now than an argument about Selena’s treatment of Charlotte. For the first time I was on the brink of discovering something about Julia.

  Selena laughed shortly. ‘They shared little happiness, certainly, though through no fault of Francis’s. He was besotted with her. She had everything she could possibly wish for. But she could never be satisfied. Finally she left him and ran away with a sea captain.’

  My chest felt tight; I could scarcely breathe.

  ‘She ran away?’ I repeated faintly. ‘When?’

  ‘Long before Charlotte was born. She was gone for two or three years. The shame of it almost killed Francis – that and the pain of losing her, though I tried my best to make him see he was better off without her. And then, when she finally came running home with her tail between her legs, he was fool enough to take her back and it all started again.’

  ‘What started again?’ I asked.

  ‘Her attitude towards Francis – she would not have him near her. Her moods – heavy and black with sulks that lasted for days on end. And then she began drinking. Francis had to lock away every bottle of spirits in the house. He even stopped serving wine with meals in an effort to wean her from the habit but she still managed to get liquor from somewhere. Bribed the servants, no doubt. She became a wreck and a liability as I had always known she would. Francis did his best – everything a man could do – but it was never going to be enough. She came close to destroying my brother with her wild and wilful ways and she would have destroyed Charlotte too. That is the reason I don’t want the child worshipping her like some plaster saint.’

  She paused. Her eyes, dark with hatred, never left mine.

  ‘When I told Charlotte her mother was not in the churchyard I was speaking the truth. Wherever she is, be assured Julia is in a hell of her own making.’

  * * *

/>   I scarcely remember leaving Selena and going back upstairs. My mind was awhirl, my senses reeling. I know I looked in on Charlotte to make certain she was still happily occupied with her dolls and then I went to my own room.

  At first I paced, then I sat down on the bed, my head in my hands. About me in the silence the house settled as it did at night, this house that seemed to have absorbed into its walls and floors something of Julia’s torment so that the boards creaked as if her ghost still walked them and the plaster gave back her misery as an atmosphere of oppression.

  How unhappy she must have been when she had lived here! Though Selena’s version of events had been coloured with her own brand of venom, I did not doubt that it had contained elements of the truth. Julia had not loved Francis and theirs had been a marriage of convenience, on her part at least. She had tried in every way she knew to escape from him – first by running away with another man and later by trying to lose herself in the oblivion that comes from a bottle. Perhaps she had been flighty and fickle as Selena would have me believe, but I could not help but feel that any indiscretions had come about because she was desperately lonely.

  And at last – at last! – I had uncovered a window in her life when she might have given birth to me. She had been gone for two or three years, Selena had said – plenty of time for her to have become pregnant and bear a child. Was that what had happened? Was my father the man Selena had described as a ‘sea captain’? Or some other man she had fallen in with in the missing years?

  But why had she abandoned me? Had she really been shallow and selfish, a baby an unwanted burden that would hinder her pursuance of her search for pleasures? Or had she been alone and desperate, unable to raise a child by herself? Had she cared that she had lost me? Was that the reason for her black moods and depressions and the fact that she had turned to the bottle – that she was pining, longing for the baby she would never again hold in her arms?

  So many questions, so few answers.