Darkwood

by Rosemary Smith

  Maybe she’d written to some relative in Ireland whom she perhaps never saw again, or had she written invitations for people to dine at Darkwood? Whatever she had done, I wished so much that she were here with me now. I laid the pen back in its rightful place, not wishing to change a thing. Other small cubicles just held paper and envelopes.

  On the left at the back was a small drawer with a tiny wooden handle. I gently pulled it open. Inside lay a neatly folded sheet of the cream coloured paper. As I slowly unfolded it, the creases had left their mark across the words written on it, but I could make out that it was a poem. Taking it to the light, I read,

  I see the bluebells softly lie,

  A carpet of blue to walk upon and feel,

  The beauty of this wood is real.

  In April only do they flower,

  But through the year, my mind’s picture could,

  Capture the tranquil peace of the bluebell wood.

  I looked at it for some moments, tears pricking at my eyes, for the words revealed Lizzie’s love of the wood at bluebell time. I had to see it now for myself, but must first take this poem to show Aunt Rachel.

  Swiftly I took my cream shawl out of the wardrobe drawer and hastily laid it around my shoulders, my feet spurred on by Lizzie’s poignant words. As I hurried down the hallway in search of Aunt Rachel, I could see some activity in the opposite corridor which distracted me, causing me to walk into Pru who dropped the linen she carried.

  ‘Oh, Miss Silvia, now look what you’ve made me do,’ Pru complained. ‘Wherever are you off to in such a hurry?’ As she spoke, she bent down and gathered up the articles she’d been carrying.

  ‘Pru, I am so sorry,’ I said with true contrition. ‘I’m in search of my aunt.’

  ‘She can be found with your mother in the drawing-room, taking tea,’ said Pru breathlessly as she stood up, the said articles over one arm, albeit not so neatly.

  ‘Thank you, Pru,’ I called as I made my way down the stairs. Crossing the hall, I thought briefly of the unpleasant incident with Estelle. Could it really have been only a couple of hours since? As I entered the drawing-room, I could see Mother and my aunt sipping tea and partaking of tasty looking splits with jam and clotted cream which made me realise how hungry I was, not having eaten since breakfast.

  ‘Why, Silvia!’ Aunt Rachel exclaimed, ‘I had not expected to see you so soon. Sit and join us.’ I did as she bid, not needing much coaxing, and immediately started to spoon jam and cream on to the split in my hand while Aunt Rachel rang the bell for another cup and saucer which Dotty brought within minutes.

  ‘It’s good to see you back downstairs, Mother,’ I remarked as this morning I’d not had much time to speak to her. Was it really only this morning that we’d visited the dressmaker’s and I’d tried on my wedding gown?

  ‘So what has brought you so quickly to find us? For I can see you are flushed with excitement from some discovery,’

  Mother asked in a booming voice. I reached into the side pocket of my dress, retrieving the piece of paper I’d found with their mother’s verse on it.

  ‘I found this,’ I said triumphantly. ‘It is beautiful.’

  Mother took it from me and read it, then silently handed it to Aunt Rachel. Watching them both intently, I could see that Lizzie’s words had more effect on my aunt. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she looked at it and I felt a greater affinity to her than I ever had with my mother who had always been a selfish person, whereas Aunt Rachel was kind and gentle and always thinking of others.

  ‘It is quite lovely, Silvia. I must confess I had not known that my mother had written it,’ said my aunt. ‘But I knew your grandmother loved the time of year when the bluebells flowered. She would walk to the wood after luncheon every day when they were out. Here, Silvia, keep it.’ As she spoke, Aunt Rachel pressed the piece of paper back into my hand and I placed it back into my pocket.

  ‘Are the bluebells out now?’ I asked for I had a great desire to see this bluebell wood.

  ‘Yes, they should be, dear, although I have to admit I have not been in the wood recently,’ answered my aunt, picking up her cup and saucer once more. She was obviously trying to take her mind off her recent emotion.

  ‘Then is it all right for me to walk down there alone?’ I ventured, getting to my feet.

  ‘Good Lord, child, of course it is. You are old enough to know now that there are no goblins to frighten you,’ Mother answered quite harshly I thought, as Aunt Rachel smiled at me. I needed no further encouragement.

  As I stepped outside the front door, I stood for some moments savouring the warmth of the sun on my face. It was truly a glorious day with not a cloud in the sky. I tried to imagine which way my grandmother would have walked to the wood. Some instinct told me to stick to the path close to the house, so this is the route I took.

  The path was in shade, and out of the sun it felt quite cool. As I reached the end of the house, the sun’s rays warmed me once more as I continued walking towards the small bridge. There was a lightness in my step as I reached the curve of the bridge and I stopped for some minutes to look down at the River Dart gurgling merrily over large stones and small pebbles.

  The sun felt hot on my back, so I moved on and after a few paces stepped off the bridge on to the grass which felt pleasantly springy under my feet. I turned to look back at Darkwood.

  The upper windows sparkled in the afternoon sun and my thought was how different it looked from the March day we arrived here just two-and-a-half weeks ago.

  I felt quite drawn to the house now I was older, probably because my grand-father, Samuel no longer ruled it. I shuddered at the thought of him and walked quickly on towards the wood. As I reached the edge of it, my breath was quite taken away and I stopped in my tracks at the beautiful sight which lay before me.

  Bluebells grew in abundance, covering the ground with a breathtaking blue carpet for as far as the eye could see, and I understood completely Lizzie’s love for this glorious sight. A narrow path formed itself between the flowers and I started to follow it, looking around me. It was cold as the sun didn’t quite penetrate through the stunted grey oak trees. They looked almost dead, with long, thick grey branches extending like huge creepers, some tangling together and I suddenly felt afraid.

  Feeling sure I was being followed for I heard a twig snap behind me on the path, I turned around to see Jared walking towards me. At the sight of him my heart sank. Looking around I could see no way of escape but to trample over the bluebells.

  ‘Jared,’ I exclaimed sweetly, ‘Is this coincidence or are you following me?’

  ‘The latter would be more correct,’ he said in a quiet, controlled voice. ‘I observed you from a window and thought to see what you were about.’

  ‘I just wish to see the wood, and especially the carpet of bluebells,’ I replied meekly, looking at his immaculate dark blue jacket and matching waistcoat and a crisp white shirt. His hair was tousled by the slight, cool breeze and his pale blue eyes were cold and calculating as he weighed up the situation which was, I realised with some dismay, that we were alone, some way from the house. I didn’t trust this cousin, recalling the day when he had almost dragged me to the master bedroom against my will. I found myself in an unenviable position.

  ‘As a child you refused to come here.’ As he spoke, Jared moved towards me and I took a step back, not wishing to be any closer to him. ‘You are surely not afraid of me, cousin?’ He laughed and moved swiftly nearer to me, catching my wrist in his cold grasp.

  As I tried to free myself, the shawl I wore fell to the ground and I realised I was treading on the bluebells. I could hear them squelch under my feet. Jared was backing me against a snarled grey tree trunk. I felt the bark almost pierce into my back as he pushed his body up against me.

  I screamed, knowing it was to no avail as he clamped his free hand across my mouth. My heart was pounding and although cold, I could feel the sweat on my brow.

  ‘Just one kiss, cousin,
and you will be mine.’ His voice was quietly menacing as he spoke and his eyes looked directly into mine, so I closed them tightly as I did not wish to look at his leering face.

  ‘What are you doing, brother?’ Gareth’s angry voice was music to my ears. A relieved sob escaped my lips as I opened my eyes in time to see Gareth bring his hand up sharply across Jared’s face. Now go home!’ my gallant knight said between clenched teeth. ‘And never again touch or go near my betrothed or I will not be responsible for my actions. Believe me, brother, you have escaped lightly.’ Jared looked at us both then retreated back towards Darkwood.

  Gareth turned to me and with one strong arm pulled me towards him. My head on his shoulder, small sobs escaped me, more with relief than anything as Gareth’s hand smoothed my hair gently. Calming down, I lifted my head and looked at him.

  ‘I can’t thank you enough,’ I said quietly, lifting my hand to touch his cheek. ‘I dread to think of my fate had you not chanced to walk this way.’

  ‘It was no chance, I assure you,’ he explained. ‘I watched you walk and linger on the bridge. As you stepped into the wood, I spied Jared following you and knew from past experience his intentions would not be honourable.’

  ‘You are right in that assumption.’ As I spoke I noticed I had at last stopped trembling. Gareth went across to the path and picked up my shawl. Bringing it back, he placed it gently around my shoulders.

  ‘Do you feel better?’ he enquired, cupping my chin in his hand.

  ‘I do, except I am concerned about all the bluebells we have trampled on,’ I said as I looked around our feet.

  ‘Do not worry, Silvia, there are plenty more.’ As he spoke he turned around, one arm conveying the carpet of blue. I smiled as I tried desperately to secure the pins back in my hair which was already falling in disarray around my shoulders. ‘Leave it,’ Gareth said. ‘You have such beautiful hair, it is a sin to hide it.’ At his words, my cheeks flushed and I hope he hadn’t noticed my confusion.

  ‘Tell me, Silvia, what caused you to walk in the wood alone? I recall as a child, tales of ghosts prevented you from doing so.’ As he spoke Gareth looked down at me, a gentle look on his face.

  ‘It is true. When we were children I was afraid to come here, not only because of yours and Jared’s tales of ghosts and goblins, but also our grandfather forbade it.’ I stopped, thinking back to Samuel’s hold over me and I realised even more how much Jared was like him.

  ‘Have no fear, my love, cousin Jared will not approach you again, you have my word as a gentleman,’ he assured me.

  ‘I do trust this is true, and in answer to your question, I found this poem today, written by our grandmother. On reading it, I had a sudden, urgent desire to see her bluebell wood.’ As I spoke I pulled the piece of paper from my pocket, thankful that after the recent encounter with Jared it was still intact.

  I handed it to Gareth who read it. After some time he spoke, ‘Poignant words from a grandmother who loved poetry as much as we do.’ He handed Lizzie’s poem back to me. ‘Let us walk.’

  As we walked in a companionable silence, I realised what was missing. No birds sang here and none sat on the grey branches of the trees. I could see it was getting lighter and that we were nearly at the other side of the wood.

  I stopped and looked up at his handsome face.

  ‘Gareth, do you know where our grandmother, Lizzie is buried? I scoured the churchyard on the day of our arrival, but could find no trace of a headstone with her name upon it.’

  ‘I have no idea,’ he replied softly. ‘It is as if she vanished off the face of the earth. It is as much a mystery to me as yourself. Mother will not talk of it and I have pressed her many times on the subject, for I loved my gentle grandmother.’

  ‘Likewise,’ I replied with some emotion at Gareth’s words. This was another thing we had in common.

  ‘One day soon we will walk through the graveyard together, for two pairs of eyes may be better than one.’ His words pleased me. To know he wished to spend time in my company made me realise that he was now in some way closer to me.

  Suddenly I became aware of my surroundings, the moor stretched away in the distance, the scenery reminded me of the view seen from Culmoor Church. It was hard to imagine how a wood had appeared in the middle of the moor.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ Gareth’s words drifted across to me.

  ‘I am unable to understand how a wood like this came to be in the middle of Dartmoor?’

  Not wishing to alarm you further, Silvia, legend has it that the devil planted the trees and gallops through here each night on the stroke of midnight. But have no fear, it is but folklore.’ As he spoke I looked back at the wood and was startled to find I recognised this end of it and I searched my mind as to why I should.

  The answer came to me suddenly. It was where Samuel Hunter, our grand-father, had had his portrait painted which now hung at the top of the staircase at Darkwood.

  ‘Your thoughts, Silvia?’ Gareth asked.

  ‘This is where our grandfather had his portrait painted,’ I replied, and Gareth nodded in agreement.

  ‘Let us return to the house, Silvia, for the sun is falling and I don’t wish you to catch a chill.’ At Gareth’s words I pulled my shawl tighter around my shoulders and taking the arm he offered, we retraced our steps back to Darkwood.

  As I snuggled my face into the pillow that night, I thought what a long eventful day it had been and certainly one of mixed fortunes. I drifted off to sleep with a picture of the bluebell wood in my mind and Gareth’s gallant acts in saving me twice that day. I recalled him calling me ‘my love’, and my last thought was that I could hardly wait to be his wife.

  8

  The Sunday morning following that eventful day, we were all to attend church as it was the third time our banns of marriage would be called. Gareth had attended on his own the two previous Sundays, but today there would be a family gathering including myself and with the exception of my mother, who said that she was saving her strength to walk up to the church on my wedding day.

  The invitations had been sent out to a great aunt and cousin I didn’t know at Lydford and one to Estelle, who to date, had not responded. With only a handful of people it would be a quiet wedding, but none the less important.

  Isabel and I felt some anticipation as our gowns would be delivered on Tuesday. We were a trifle concerned as my veil, headdress and silk boots had not yet arrived, but as Aunt Rachel had so rightly said yesterday, there were still seven days to go.

  Pru helped me choose a dress for the morning’s outing to church while I stood in only a bodice and hooped petticoat. ‘What about this one, Miss Silvia?’ said Pru as she took from the wardrobe a pale mauve walking dress.

  ‘I think, Pru, it is admirable and I shall wear a matching cloak and bonnet.’ As I spoke I realised my arms were cold. The fire had not been lit that morning and looking out of the window I could see only grey skies.

  A fleeting thought crossed my mind, that I hoped the weather would be more favourable on our wedding day. Suitably attired, I stood in the hall waiting for the others.

  Uncle William appeared first looking quite fetching in a loose grey striped jacket and matching trousers. ‘Silvia, my dear, you look charming,’ he said, walking across to me and kissing my cheek. I smiled back at him. ‘You seem far more relaxed than on the day of your arrival,’ he observed.

  ‘You are so right, Uncle. Whereas I dreaded the whole charade, I now look forward so much to my forthcoming marriage to Gareth,’ I replied with honesty.

  ‘That is grand,’ he said, just as Aunt Rachel, accompanied by Gareth, entered the hall to join us. My heart leapt at the sight of my future husband. He was indeed very handsome, dressed today in a dark grey jacket and trousers with a pale mauve shirt. Pru had indeed chosen my outfit well. Aunt Rachel looked lovely in a pale grey silk dress with matching cloak and bonnet.

  ‘We should be gone.’ Uncle William’s voice interrupted my thoughts of Gareth a
nd I realised I was gazing at my betrothed with adoring eyes. Thankfully he seemed not to notice. We all stepped on to the path outside the house and into the carriage. Gareth sat next to me as on the day I had first visited Caroline Peacock’s dressmaking establishment, but today I felt far more relaxed and unconcerned at his nearness.

  Gareth’s hand steadied me as we walked up the path to the church gate, villagers were headed this way, too, all dressed in their Sunday best. Some of the men touched their caps in acknowledgement of us.

  As we stepped into the church porch the men removed their hats. We walked down the aisle to the first pew which was obviously reserved for the Hunter family as it had been left vacant. I could see Isabel sat at the small organ on one side of the altar. Seeing her I smiled and she smiled back, her whole face lighting up as she did so.

  The vicar appeared and we all stood to sing the first hymn, during which there was a commotion at the back of the church. I looked around to see Jared and Estelle walking down the aisle. On reaching the front of the church they settled in the adjacent pew. Jared glanced across at the four of us conveying a look of total defiance.

  Throughout the service, Aunt Rachel who was sitting next to me kept leaning across to observe the two of them. Jared looked back at her with a cruel twist to his mouth. I perceived Aunt Rachel was longing to say something, but in view of our surroundings, was forced to keep silent. Someone else, however, we were all to learn, would not keep so silent.

  The moment had arrived for the publishing of the banns before the sentences for the offertory.

  The vicar stepped forward saying, ‘I publish the banns of marriage between Gareth Samuel Hunter and Silvia Eliza Harvey of Darkwood. If any of you know cause or just impediment why these two persons should not be joined in Holy Matrimony, ye are to declare it. This is the third time of asking.’