Gossamer Cord

by Philippa Carr

  I unwrapped it and held it out to my mother.

  She took it and stared at it.

  “Why!” she cried. “It’s lovely.”

  I said: “Mary Grace came with me to get the frame.”

  “But …it is you,” went on my mother.

  “Come on, Mary Grace,” I said. “Confess. I have scolded her already for hiding her light under a bushel.” I turned to Richard, who was staring at the picture in amazement. “Didn’t you realize you had an artist in the family?”

  “Mary Grace…” began Richard.

  “I knew she dabbled about with paints,” said Mrs. Dorrington.

  “You call that dabbling about with paints?” I cried indignantly. “I discovered what she was doing and she did this of me. It is wonderful and Dorabella is going to be so thrilled. I shall take Mary Grace to Tregarland’s with me and she will do one of Dorabella. There is the frame for it in the jeweler’s shop. She is going to have this for her birthday, and perhaps I shall have one of her for Christmas.”

  Everyone was talking at once and attention was focused on Mary Grace. She was embarrassed but, I believed, gratified; and I was very happy for her.

  Over dinner they went on talking about Mary Grace’s work and the wonderful way in which she had caught my likeness.

  My mother was particularly pleased. She thought the miniature was the most delightful present. She was envious, she said, for whatever she found would have to take second place to my gift.

  Mary Grace herself was talking with some animation and I believed she was enjoying the company as she never had before.

  My mother was saying: “We shall have to go to Cornwall soon. The girls have always celebrated their birthdays together. It was a double celebration, of course. I don’t know what Dorabella would say if we were not together on that day. In a few weeks we shall have to be going. Your father will have to make it for this occasion, Violetta, whatever happens. It’s a pity you can’t come, Edward. It won’t be the same without you.”

  Edward said: “I wish Dorabella had not gone so far away. It would have been nice if Gretchen and I could have looked in on the party.”

  “I certainly wish she were nearer,” agreed my mother.

  We left the men over their port and when they finally joined us I found myself sitting with Richard.

  He said: “I want to thank you for what you have done for Mary Grace. She is like a different person.”

  “I didn’t give her her talent. It was there all the time.”

  “Yes, hidden away. You brought it into the light.”

  “She is really very talented, I believe. I am going to ask her to paint my sister, and I shall show her portrait of me to my friends. I am sure there will be commissions.”

  “She will be wanting a studio in Chelsea soon.”

  “Why shouldn’t she?”

  “Well, it has certainly changed her. Look at her talking over there to Edward. You are a marvel, Violetta.”

  “Thank you, but I did not paint the miniature. All I did was recognize the talent.”

  “This has been a wonderful visit for us all.” He looked at me earnestly. “You have enjoyed it, I hope.”

  “Immensely. I was wondering if Mary Grace would come to Cornwall and stay at Tregarland’s. I am sure when my sister sees my picture she will want Mary Grace to do one of her. We shall be going down for our birthday—mine and Dorabella’s—and I shall suggest to my sister that she invites Mary Grace. Do you think she would come?”

  “I feel sure you could persuade any member of the Dorrington family to do what you want them to do.”

  “Do you really? I was not aware that I had such persuasive powers.”

  I glanced across the room and saw that my mother, who was talking to Mrs. Dorrington, was watching me. There was a smile of deep satisfaction on her face and I felt a twinge of uneasiness.

  When we left the Dorringtons we went to stay for a few more days in Edward’s house. My mother was often out with Mrs. Dorrington. I did not accompany them and she did not suggest it. I knew she wanted to get my birthday present and it would be a secret.

  I spent a good deal of time with Gretchen and we had some talks together.

  It was no use pretending that her anxieties did not exist, and I raised the subject of her family.

  She said life did not improve. In fact it grew worse. She heard from them now and then and, though they always said that everything was all right, she knew differently. They lived in perpetual fear.

  “All the young men are joining the Nazi Party. They march through the town. They are everywhere. It is fortunate that my family are in a rather remote spot, and any day they cannot be sure what will happen.”

  “Gretchen, do you think they should try to get out?”

  “They are not in a position to do that. They would lose everything. Can you tear up your roots? Not when they have been there so long. Edward says we shall go over next summer. But I do not know. There is change everywhere. They do not tell me all, but I know they are afraid. They do not want me to worry. They say all is well. I am so fearful for them.”

  I was trying to think of that horrifying experience which I knew I should never forget. The terrible blustering indifference to human suffering…the sheer terror and hopelessness I had seen in faces that night. It made me despair that human beings could show such careless delight in the sufferings of others. And for what reason? I could have understood anger at some outrageous act, but this senseless persecution because of the hatred of one race for another was beyond my comprehension. What sort of people were they who could behave like this?

  I felt sickened with anger and despair every time I thought of what I had seen that night.

  “There is something I have to tell you, Violetta,” said Gretchen.

  “Yes?”

  “I am going to have a baby.”

  I hugged her. I was so happy for her. This, with her love for Edward, could compensate her in some degree for the anxiety she suffered through her family.

  My parents and I traveled down to Cornwall for the birthday celebrations. It would only be a brief visit, for my mother and I would come again in November when we should stay until the baby was born. My mother would want to assure herself that everything was in order before she left; it was possible that I would stay on for a while. We had not yet made plans for Christmas, but it seemed likely that we should spend it in Cornwall as the idea that we should not be with Dorabella was unthinkable, and the baby would be too young to travel at such a time.

  Dorabella showed her delight in seeing us and seemed very well. She hugged me and said: “You’ve no idea how I have missed you. It is just not right…our not being together. How can people cast off a habit of a lifetime?”

  She spoke with a certain earnestness which was unusual with her; and the thought flashed into my mind that she might be, well, not exactly regretting the choice she had made, but perhaps questioning it. Yet Dermot was devoted and they seemed very affectionate toward each other. Perhaps being pregnant had an effect on her.

  She embraced our parents with great fervor and it was really wonderful to be together again.

  “It is only another month to go now,” said my mother. “Then you will find it has all been so worthwhile.”

  “And you are only staying a week!”

  “Well, we shall be down again in less than a month.”

  When she saw the miniature she was overcome with delight.

  “But it is beautiful!” she cried. “And it is mine. I love it. It will be almost like having you with me. I shall never, never part with it.”

  She studied it closely. “It is clever. It’s lovely. Mind you, it flatters you a little.”

  “Thank you for your sisterly candor,” I retorted.

  “Well, it does. It is not exactly a raving beauty, but it is interesting…like the Mona Lisa.”

  “Good Heavens!” I cried. “I never cared for that Gioconda smile.”

  “I don’t mean
you look like her. You look like yourself. But…it’s beautiful.”

  “The compliments grow every minute.”

  She laughed. “It is so good to have you here, Vee,” she said sincerely, and there were tears in her eyes. “I’ve missed you. You can’t know how I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you, too,” I told her.

  “It’s not right that we should be apart. We’ve been together right from the beginning of our existence. We ought never to have been separated. We are really part of each other. You ought to marry some nice Cornishman and live here with me. Nothing else will please me. You have a chance. There is that Jermyn man. That would be fun. And the feud and all that. Perhaps Gordon? But I prefer the Jermyn.”

  “All very funny,” I said.

  “And you have been gadding about in London, I hear. I am told that Edward’s friend Richard is very charming. You went to the opera…”

  “We all went.”

  “Traviata. Our dear Mama looks just a little cosy about Richard’s choice of Traviata.”

  “You would have loved it.”

  “I would rather have had mine. Perhaps if I had been there, he would have chosen the one with Dorabella in it.”

  “I am sure he would.”

  “You don’t mean that at all. But what fun it must have been…and then getting that lovely miniature painted. I should like one of myself.”

  “I knew you would. I was going to suggest you have yours done. It can be your Christmas present to me.”

  I told her about Mary Grace.

  “Richard’s sister, eh? The plot is thickening. You are getting on well with his family.”

  “I found this frame. Don’t you think it is exquisite?”

  “Lovely.”

  “There is another just like it. They are a pair.”

  “Where?”

  “Waiting in the shop. They are holding it until I know whether you’ll agree to have your miniature painted.”

  “But of course I will. She’ll come here, will she, this Mary Grace?”

  “I thought when the baby was born.”

  “Not until then?”

  “You can’t think about that sort of thing while you’re waiting for the baby. Besides, it will be better when you are quite normal again.”

  “I like the idea,” she said.

  “You can write to Mary Grace. I’ll take the letter back with me. You could ask her down for a week or two. She would fit it in. She works very quickly. The whole thing will be completed by Christmas.”

  “How glad I am to have you here! It makes life exciting!”

  “What! You need me when you have an adoring husband and baby whose arrival is imminent? You still need your sister!”

  “Always,” she said earnestly. “You are not just an ordinary sister. You are a part of me.”

  Our stay was a brief one. I saw Jowan Jermyn once. I told him then that I should be down again in November and that this was just a birthday celebration. We drank mulled wine in a hotel two or three miles out of Poldown and he said as we parted: “I shall see more of you in November. You won’t make it such a short visit then, I presume.”

  I said I was unsure. I might even stay until after Christmas.

  “We haven’t decided yet what we shall do,” I explained. “My parents would like Dorabella to come home for Christmas, but it will be too soon for the baby to travel.”

  “You will be here,” he said.

  Gordon was a little more approachable. The memory of our adventure lingered on. He said how pleased he was that we were here and Dorabella seemed to miss me very much.

  “You know what twins can be like,” I said.

  “Yes. The relationship is very close.”

  That was all. And then we left and came home.

  A week or so later there was a letter from Nanny Crabtree and one for me from Dorabella.

  They arrived when we were at breakfast. My mother opened hers immediately. I liked to take Dorabella’s letters to my bedroom that I might be alone when I read them, because she often wrote very frankly, for my eyes only. My mother knew this and would ask later what I had heard from her.

  “Wonderful!” she cried, reading her letter. “Nanny Crabtree is already there. Just the same old Nanny Crabtree. She is going to make some changes in the nursery. She says Dorabella is doing well and everything seems to be in order. She’s quite satisfied with her condition. She’s not sure of the doctor, though. You have to watch these country doctors, she says.”

  Nanny Crabtree herself came from London and believed that everyone who did not could not be expected to share that certain shrewdness which belonged to those born in the capital.

  “She was just the same with us at Caddington,” said my mother, with a grimace. “She’ll be even more critical with the Cornish. It’s even farther from London. I’m so glad she is there. She’ll know exactly what’s what, and as long as she doesn’t alienate the doctor, all should be well. I wonder what Matilda thinks of her? The trouble with people like Nanny Crabtree is that they believe they are right and everyone who disagrees with them is wrong. Actually nine times out of ten she is right.”

  “I thought you were absolutely certain no one but Nanny Crabtree would do.”

  “I am, but she can rub people up the wrong way.”

  “Dorabella wants her.”

  “Oh, she’ll be fine with her darling Dorabella, and the baby couldn’t be in better hands, but Nanny Crabtree will have things done her way.”

  “Perhaps that’s no bad thing.”

  “I’m sure it isn’t.”

  I wanted to get away to read Dorabella’s letter, and so I went to my room.

  Dear Vee,

  Well, Nanny Crabtree has arrived in all her glory. Dermot went down to the station to collect her and I have an idea that she doesn’t approve of him. Who could disapprove of Dermot? He was meek with her and answered all her questions as well as could be expected from a mere man. She is a little critical of the house. She thinks it’s draughty. “What can you expect?” she said. “With all that sea outside.” She’s changed the nursery round a bit and she makes me rest more. I was always the self-willed one. “Not like that Miss Violetta.” You have become a paragon of virtue. It was always like that, wasn’t it? The good twin was the absent one.

  She goes off every now and then into something we did when we were three…or four. Well, she has anecdotes for all ages. The baby is her baby. I am allowed a slight proprietorial interest. You wouldn’t think Dermot had anything to do with it. Nanny Crabtree’s babies are all hers. Poor darling, I hope when he/she arrives, he/she does not find her too overpowering.

  Matilda is so patient and goes along with everything she suggests. Dermot quite likes her, although she behaves toward him as though he is one of those half-witted men who wouldn’t know one end of a baby from the other. Gordon, she thinks, is a bit of a misery. She doesn’t know what to make of the old man, though they rarely meet. I am sure she considers him of no importance whatsoever.

  Dear old Nanny Crabtree. I’m glad she is here. She makes me feel…comfortable.

  What I want most is for you to come. It won’t be long now. By the way, tell Mummy I am thinking of names. I have decided to keep up the opera tradition. If it’s a boy, it’s to be Tristan, if a girl Isolde. Ask her if that will suit her. I don’t think she is as fond of Wagner as she is of our two. But it will be particularly appropriate as these are Cornish names…and Nanny Crabtree’s baby will be half that.

  When I told my mother about the suggested names she was amused.

  “I like that,” she said. “They are both lovely names. I wonder what it will be. Your father doesn’t mind much what sex it is as long as they are both all right. Nor do I, for that matter. Perhaps a boy would be nice. They would like that down there, I expect.”

  She was looking at me wistfully, and I felt that faint, embarrassed irritation when I saw matrimonial plans in her eyes. It might be that she believed I must
be very lonely without Dorabella.

  There was little thought now of anything but the baby. We went to London to stay with Edward and, of course, saw the Dorringtons.

  I had a chance of telling Mary Grace about Dorabella’s reception of the miniature and that, just as I had thought, she wanted Mary Grace to do a picture of her.

  “I expect you persuaded her,” said Mary Grace.

  “I can assure you Dorabella makes up her own mind. She thinks you have genius and she can’t wait. That is why I wanted to make sure of that other frame. When the baby is born you must come down. You’ll find Cornwall quite interesting.”

  “Do you really mean that?”

  “Of course.”

  “I can’t believe it.”

  “And you will come to Cornwall and do the miniature?”

  “I want to…more than anything. It has been marvelous.”

  “We’ll get the frame tomorrow and make sure we have the pair.”

  It was a successful visit. There was the usual excitement of shopping and we went to a theater and to supper with the Dorringtons.

  Gretchen seemed a little more serene. She was preoccupied with the coming baby. It was not due until April but already it absorbed her. I was so glad, for it undoubtedly took her thoughts away from the anxieties she felt about her family.

  We could not stay long, for, as my mother had said, we had to prepare for our visit to Cornwall.

  “I want to be there in good time,” she said. “Dorabella will feel happier if we are around. When it is all settled down, I shall have to come back. I can’t leave your father too long. He hates to be alone, though he never complains. You might like to stay on a little, and if Mary Grace is going to be there, you would want to be there, too. We shall have to make plans for Christmas. I suppose we shall have to go there. Nanny Crabtree would never allow such a young baby to travel. We seem to be spending our lives on trains these days. I thought the Dorringtons rather hinted that we might spend Christmas with them.”

  “Oh, we should have to be with Dorabella.”

  “Of course. But I wish she were not so far away.”

  And in due course we were traveling down to Cornwall. It was a dark November day and as the train carried us into the West Country the light was fading. It would be dark by the time we arrived.