Perhaps I was not in love; perhaps pity was at the very root of my feelings for Gabriel; but by the morning I had made up my mind.
The banns were read in the village church and Gabriel went back to Kirkland Revels, I presumed to inform his family, while I began preparing for my wedding.
Before leaving, Gabriel had formally asked my father for- my hand, and Father had been rather bewildered by the proceedings. He had hesitated, reminding Gabriel of my youth and the short time we had known each other; but I, who had been expecting he might do this, burst in on them and assured my father that I had quite made up my mind to marry.
Father looked worried and I knew that he was wishing that Uncle Dick were at home so that he could consult him ; however, I had no real fear of opposition, and after a while Father said that as I seemed determined, he supposed I must have my way. Then he asked the conventional questions about Gabriel's standing which Gabriel was able to answer to his satisfaction; and it occurred to me for the first time that I must be marrying into a wealthy family.
I longed for the presence of Uncle Dick, because it seemed unthinkable that he should not be at my wedding. I believed that I could have talked to him of my feelings and that he would have helped me to come to a better understanding of them.
I told Gabriel how much I wanted Uncle Dick to come to the wedding, but he was so full of despair the thought of postponement that I gave way.
That desire in Gabriel to make the most of every hour touched me so deeply that I would let nothing stand in the way of the comfort he was sure I could bring him. Besides, although it was possible to write to Uncle Dick, one could never be sure when letters would reach him; and when I heard from him--he was not a good letter-writer and this was rarely--his letters never seemed to answer mine and I always wondered whether he had received them.
I could not resist writing to Dilys.
"The most extraordinary thing has happened. I am going to be married!
How strange that this should happen to me before you. It is the man I wrote to you about--the man who helped with the 35 dog. He lives in Yorkshire in a wonderful old house near an abbey, and it has all happened so quickly that I don't quite understand how it has come about. I don't know whether I'm in love with him. I only know that I couldn't bear it if he went away and I never saw him again. Oh, Dilys, it's so exciting, because before it happened I was so wretched here.
You've no idea what my home is like. I myself had forgotten during all those years I was away. It's a dark house ... and I don't mean that there's just an absence of sunshine.... I mean the people in it live dark lives...." I tore that up. Was I crazy, trying to make Dilys under stand what I did not myself? How could I explain to Dilys that I was going to marry Gabriel because, for some reason which I could not fully understand, I was sorry for him and I knew he needed my help; because I wanted desperately to love someone who belonged to me; because my father had repulsed me when I had tried to show affection and had mutely asked for a little in return; because I wanted to escape from the house which was now my home.
Instead of that letter I sent a conventional little note inviting Dilys to my wedding.
Fanny was still sceptical. She thought it was a queer way to go about getting married. There were references to proverbs such as " Marry in haste, repent at leisure " ; and she talked about " supping sorrow with a long spoon." Still, the thought of future disaster seemed to cheer her considerably and she was determined that my grand in-laws, if they came to the wedding, should have no complaints about the wedding feast.
Gabriel wrote regularly and his letters were ardent, but they spoke only of his devotion to me and his desire for our union; he did not let me know anything about his family's reactions.
I heard from Dilys that I had not given her enough notice of my wedding. She was so full of engagements that she could not possibly leave London. I realised then that our lives had taken such entirely different turnings that the intimacy which had once been ours was over.
Three days before our marriage was to take place, Gabriel came back and put up at the King's Head less than half a mile from Glen House.
When Mary came to my room to tell me that he was in the first-floor sitting-room waiting to see me, eagerly I went 36 down. He was standing with his back to the fireplace watching the door, and as soon as I opened it he strode towards me and we embraced.
He looked excited, younger than he had when tie had left, because some of the strain had gone from him.
I took his face in my hands and kissed it.
" Like a mother with a precious child," he murmured.
He had summed up my feelings. I wanted to look after him; I wanted to make what life was left to him completely happy ; I was not passionately in love with him, but I did not attach great importance to this because passion was something I knew nothing about at that time.
Yet I loved him nonetheless ; and when he held me tightly against him, I knew that the kind of love I had for him was what he wanted.
I withdrew myself from his arms and made him sit down on the horsehair couch. I wanted to hear what his family's reactions were to the news of our engagement and how many were coming to the wedding.
" Well, you see," he said slowly, " my father is too infirm to make the journey. As for the others ..." He shrugged his shoulders.
"Gabriel!" I cried aghast.
"Do you mean that none of them is coming?"
" Well, you see, there's my Aunt Sarah. Like my father, she's too old to travel. And ..."
" But there's your sister and her son."
He looked uneasy and I saw the frown between his eyes. " Oh, darling," he said, " what does it matter? It's not their wedding is it?"
" But not to come! Does that mean they don't approve of our marriage?"
" Of course they'll approve. But the ceremony itself is not all that important, is it? Look, Catherine, I'm back with you. I want to be happy."
I could not bear to see the moody expression returning to his face, so I tried to hide my uneasiness. It was very strange. No members of his family at the wedding! This was most unusual; but when I looked back, everything that had led up to this wedding of ours was somewhat unusual.
I heard a scratching at the door. Friday knew that Gabriel had come, and was impatient to see him. I opened the door and he bounded straight into Gabriel's arms. I watched them together; Gabriel was laughing as Friday tried to lick his face.
I told myself that I must not expect Gabriel's family to 37 behave conventionally, any more than Gabriel himself did; and I was relieved that Dilys had declined my invitation.
"Happen they think you're not good enough for 'em." That was Fanny's verdict.
I was not going to let Fanny see how the behaviour of Gabriel's family disturbed me, so I merely shrugged my shoulders.
After the wedding Gabriel and I were going to have a week's holiday at Scarborough, and then we were going to Kirkland Revels. All in good time I should discover for myself what his family thought of the marriage; I must be patient until then.
My father gave me away, and I was married to Gabriel in our village church on a day in June about two months after we first met. I wore a white dress which had been made rather hurriedly by our village seamstress, and I had a white veil and a wreath of orange blossom.
There were very few guests at the reception, which was held in the drawing-room at Glen House: the Vicar and his wife, the doctor and his, and that was all.
Gabriel and I left immediately after our health had been drunk. It was a quiet wedding; and we were both glad to leave our few guests and be driven to the station, where we took the train for the coast.
I felt that when we were alone together in that first-class compartment that we were like any bride and groom. Previously the unconventional manner of our marrying--at such short notice, so few guests and none of the bridegroom's family being present--had given the entire proceedings an unreality for me; but now that we were alone together I felt relaxed.
And so we reached our hotel. 38 During those first days of our honeymoon, I felt my love for Gabriel growing because he needed me so desperately to lift him out of those dark moods of melancholy which could quickly descend upon him; there was a wonderful gratification in being so important to another human being, which I think at that time I mistook for being in love.
The weather was glorious, the days full of sunshine. We walked a good deal; the three of us for Friday was always with us. We explored the glorious coast from Robin Hood's Bay to Flamborough Head; we marvelled at those delightful little bays, the grandeur of the cliffs, the coves and glimpses of moorland beyond; we both enjoyed walking and did so frequently, and we hired horses and rode inland to explore the moors and compare them with our own of the West Riding. On that coastline there are occasionally to be found the crumbling walls of an ancient castle, and one day we found the remains of an old abbey.
Gabriel was attracted by the ruins; indeed I soon discovered that the fascination they had for him was morbid, and for the first time since our marriage I saw a return to that moodiness which I had determined to abolish. Friday was quick to notice that Gabriel was losing some of his honeymoon happiness. I saw him, on one occasion when we were exploring the abbey ruins, rub his head against Gabriel's leg, while he looked up appealingly, as though to implore him to remember that the three of us were together and therefore should be happy.
It was then that I felt little pin-pricks of alarm stabbing my pleasure. I said to him: " Gabriel, does this abbey remind you of Kirkland Abbey?"
" There's always a similarity in old ruins," was the non committal reply.
I wanted to ask more questions. I was certain that there was something which disturbed him, and it was in Kirkland Abbey and the Revels.
I blundered on: " But, Gabriel, you would rather not have been reminded."
He put his arm about me and I could see that he was desperately trying to break out of the mood which had fallen on him.
Rapidly I changed the subject.
"It looks as though it might rain," I said. " Do you think we should be getting back to the hotel?"
He was relieved that I was not going to ask questions to 19 which he would want to give evasive replies. Soon, I told myself, I should be in my new home. There I might discover the reason for this strangeness in my husband. I would wait until then; and when I had made my discovery I would eliminate whatever it was that troubled him;
I would let nothing stand in the way of his happiness for all the years that were left to us.
The honeymoon was over. During the last day we had both been a little on edge. Gabriel had been silent and I had been a little exasperated with him. I could not understand why he could be gay one day and moody the next. Perhaps I was-although I would not admit this--a little nervous of facing the Rockwell family. Friday sensed our mood and lost some of his exuberance.
"There are three of us now, that's what he's telling us." I said to Gabriel; and that did seem to cheer him.
The journey across the North Riding was long because we had to change; and the afternoon was over by the time we reached Keighley.
A carriage was waiting for us--rather a grand one; and when the coachman saw me I fancied he was startled. I thought it rather strange that he should not have heard of Gabriel's wedding and surely he had not, for if he had why should he be surprised when a bridegroom arrived with his bride?
Gabriel helped me into the carriage while the coachman dealt with our luggage, taking covert looks at me as he did so.
I shall never forget that drive from the station. It took about an hour and before we reached our destination dusk had fallen.
So it was in the half light that I first saw my new home.
We had passed over the moors which were wild and eerie in this light; but these moors were very like those which had been close to Glen House, and I felt at home on any moor We had climbed high and, although it was June, there was a sharpness in the air. The peaty smell was in my nostrils and I felt my spirits rise in spite of my growing apprehension I pictured myself riding on these moors--Gabriel and myself 40 together. Now we were descending and the country was less wild although there was still the moorland touch about it. We were coming near to the hamlet of Kirkland Moorside, close by which was my new home, Kirkland Revels.
The grass was more lush; we passed an occasional house; there were fields which were cultivated.
Gabriel leaned towards me. " If the light were better you might be able to see Kelly Grange from here my cousin's place. Did I mention him Simon Redvers?"
" Yes," I said, " you did." And I strained my eyes and thought I saw the faint outlines of a house away to the right.
On we went over the bridge; and it was then that I caught. my first glimpse of the Abbey.
I saw the Norman tower, the outer shell of which was pre served ; the walls clustered about it, so that it was impossible to see at this distance that it was a mere shell. It looked grand yet forbidding although I wondered in that moment whether it was really so or whether the moods of my husband had made me imagine there was something to be feared.
We were driving along a road which was bordered on either side by massive oaks, and suddenly we were in the clear and there before me was the house.
I caught my breath, for it was beautiful. The first thing that struck me was its size. It looked like a massive oblong of stone. I discovered later that it was built round a courtyard, and that although it was of Tudor origin it had been restored through the later centuries. The windows were mullioned and about them were fantastic carvings of devils and angels pitchforks and harps, scrolls and Tudor roses. This was indeed a historic baronial hall. I thought then how small Glen House must have seemed to Gabriel when he had visited us About a dozen stone steps, worn away in the centre, led to a great portico of massive stone carved in a way similar to the space round the windows. There was a heavy oak door decorated with finely-wrought iron; and even as I began to mount the steps the door opened and I met the first member of my new family.
She was a woman in her late thirties or early forties and her resemblance to Gabriel told me at once that she was his widowed sister, Ruth Grantly.
She looked at me for a few seconds without speaking, and her glance was cool and appraising before she forced some warmth into it.
" How do you do? You must forgive us if we're surprised 41 We only heard this morning. Gabriel, it was perverse of you to be so secretive."
She took my hands and smiled; although it was a baring of the teeth rather than a smile. I noticed that her eyelashes were so fair that they were almost invisible. She was just that little bit fairer than Gabriel; and what struck me at once was her coldness.
" Come along in," she. said. " I'm afraid you'll find us unprepared.
It was such a surprise. "
I said: " It must have been."
I looked at Gabriel questioningly. What could have been the point in not telling?
We stepped into the hall in which a log fire was blazing, and I was immediately struck by the air of antiquity about the place. I could see that this had been preserved and was cherished. The walls were hung with tapestry which doubtless had been worked by members of this family centuries ago. In the centre of the hall was a refectory table and on it were laid utensils of brass and pewter.
I looked round me.
" Well?" said Ruth.
" It's so ... exciting to be here," I said.
She seemed a little gratified. She turned first to Gabriel " Gabriel, why all this secrecy?" Then to me as she spread her hands deprecatingly: " He seems to have no reason for keeping us in the dark until this morning."
" I wanted to surprise you all," said Gabriel. " Catherine, you'll be tired. You'd like to go to your room."
"Of course you would," put in Ruth.
"And meet the family later. I can tell you we're all very eager to make your acquaintance."
Her eyes glittered as her somewhat prominent teeth were bared once more. Friday barked suddenly.
" A dog too?" she said. " So you are fond of animals ...
Catherine?"
Victoria Holt - Kirkland Revels Page 5