by Sara Seale
But that dream, she reflected later when he did not return, had been premature. She dined alone, waited on by the unsmiling Tibby, and sat alone through the long evening, wondering when the launch would make harbor, listening to the unfamiliar night sounds of the island, the sea and the gulls, the occasional hoot of a ship’s siren, and her isolation seemed very complete.
“Best go to bed, missis,” Tibby’s dry voice said from the doorway. “He’ll not be back tonight.”
Lou started guiltily, aware that she had let the fire go down and the hour was past midnight. “You shouldn’t have waited up, Tibby,” she said, trying to sound friendly. “I can lock up if you tell me where the different doors are.”
The woman laughed with disagreeable scorn. “Lock up on the island! We don’t bother with those town practices here. Who do you think would row out from the mainland to burgle the house?” she replied. “As to waiting up, it was only on account of some jobs I had to finish. I never sit up for Mr. Piers—too unpredictable in his habits. If you come now, I’ll light you up to bed. The lamps have been doused.”
Lou, because she was clearly being a nuisance by lingering, followed the woman and her candle up the stairs, wondering a little at this belated act of courtesy, but when they reached her room and Tibby stood in the doorway watching her, she knew. The bed had not been moved in from the next room.
For a moment Lou shrank from making any comment, but the woman stood there waiting, and there had to be a first time for establishing authority.
“Why haven’t you had the other bed brought in, Tibby?” she asked quietly.
“There’s been no time.”
“There’s been all day.”
“The men were busy,” Tibby said, referring to the two young islanders who helped about the house during the day.
It seemed strange to Lou to find young men doing the daily chores, but Tibby, Piers had said, would not tolerate another woman in the house. “Well, please see that it’s done in the morning,” Lou said, remembering with slight discomfort the curious stare of the .youth who had risen dutifully to his feet when she had entered the kitchen; Sam something or other, possessed, of inordinate good looks and clearly Tibby’s favorite. “Goodnight.”
“Happen Mr. Piers will have changed his mind by morning,” Tibby said slyly. “Don’t seem in a hurry to get on with his honeymooning, do ‘e? Goodnight.”
It was the first time she had spoken with any hint of the Cornish accent she must have picked up since coming to Rune, and as she closed the door, Lou shivered. It had cost her an effort to assert herself, and she had, after all, come out worst. If it was obvious, she thought, that Tibby had deliberately disregarded Piers’ orders, the fact still remained that the bridegroom was in no haste to return to his bed and his newly wedded wife.
She slept restlessly, wondering how best to greet him when he did come back to her, how best to hide her chagrin that she seemed of such little account, but when morning came she found she had almost forgotten, and was only eager to explore the island. She and her dark stranger meant little to each other when all was said and done, and there was time and to spare for disquiet wen the fairy tale ended. Lou was young and healthy, and starved, for the most part, of holiday pleasures. Now, not only had she a delicious vista of idleness stretching ahead, but a kingdom of her own to discover and learn to love. She asked Tibby to pack her a sandwich and went joyfully out into the sunshine.
It did not take long to find her way down to the tiny natural harbor where boats lay bobbing lazily and nets were spread on the rocks to dry. A small shack did duty as a general store, selling mostly paraffin and tobacco and the emergency rations which might be required in times of storm, but the needs of the island must be small, for three cottages and the house appeared to be Rune’s only habitations. A cow or two and some goats provided the necessary milk for the island, she supposed, and hens scratched freely where they chose. Washing hung out in the few back yards and outside the little store a couple of old men sat in silence on a rough bench, smoking shag and staring at the sky in idle contemplation. Gulls wheeled and swooped or mingled amicably with the hens; there was a strong smell of fish and seaweed.
It’s like a toy, thought Lou, wondering how such a small community had come about in the first place, and would have liked to question the child who came out of one of the cottages to watch her. She smiled, but he only gave her a dark, suspicious stare and ran away.
She spent the day clambering over rocks, discovering caves and pools and strange, unfamiliar shells along the shore. The weather had turned unusually mild for November and it was difficult to believe that storms could ever disturb the tranquil blue of the sea. The day was so still and so bright that the mainland looked very close, and cottages and traffic moving on the road above the cliffs could clearly be seen. Rune, Lou thought with surprise, only made a pretence of being isolated; a second motor launch had been moored in the harbor, and a couple of speedboats. How strange that the sophisticated and much publicized Piers Merrick should still be playing king-of-the-castle games, paying, it was said, a fantastic price for an unproductive little piece of land which he could claim as his realm; or was it, perhaps, his own private venture into make-believe?
Diverted by a wider fissure in the rock face which looked like a passage, she saw out of the m of her eye a launch approaching the island. It could be Piers returning, she supposed, and if she was quick she could meet him at the jetty. The passage, as it proved to be, however, was inviting and her curiosity aroused. Piers had left her without explanation her very first day on the island, so why should she hurry to welcome him back?
She squeezed gingerly through the aperture, feeling at once the chill and damp of subterraneous places, splashing through pools, stumbling over hidden rocks, experiencing a small tremor of fear at the darkness and the unknown hazards which might lie ahead. Suddenly the passage widened, a spear of light split the darkness and, standing in a pool of salt water, she blinked at the extraordinary cave which, like the transformation scene in a pantomime, had suddenly opened out before her. It was a cave which even her ignorance of such things could tell had been fashioned by man as well as by nature. A great slab of stone directly under the shaft of light gave the appearance of an altar, rough carvings had been hewn in the rock walls, and the roof towered in a natural sweep to the far distant opening to the sky from where the light was coming. Stalactites hung from the rock, catching the light with incredible beauty, so many of them that the place seemed alive with winking, rejected light, but the water below the altar, if altar it was, looked black and fathomless and the edges of the crater in which it lay seemed to have been crudely fashioned into some sort’ of semblance of a vast basin.
Lou felt an atavistic shiver pass through her as she stared down into the dark pool, and her wedding ring, so loose that it was always slipping oil, slid over her cold finger and sank, with a tiny splash, beneath the evil-looking water.
For a moment she knew dismay, and a foreboding of ill fortune, then she remembered that the ring had been meant for Melissa and that ill fortune, if it came, should pass her by.
But the small mishap troubled her. The place seemed suddenly evil and the longing for sunlight and the familiar freshness of the open air drove her back down the passage. The cave was so beautiful, with its myriad facets of light, but she wanted to get away; she wanted the warmth of Piers’ hearth, though empty of is presence, even of Tibby, who, insolent and resentful though she might be, was still flesh and blood and a formidable antidote to fanciful imaginings. But the passage seemed different. Coming, she had splashed through pools in the darkness, but now the water was continuous and noticeably higher. She had not reckoned, she realized in her city-bred ignorance, with tides and the menace of the sea; she had forgotten the stories she had heard of the disregarded dangers of the Cornish coast. The water seemed to be rising with alarming speed, rushing in through the passage with a spate of spume and spray, echoing from the rocks with an ominous boom.
Lou retreated, afraid that the rush of water would knock her down and drown her, but presently she started fighting her way back again; better to drown here quickly than in that sacrificial cave, climbing on to the altar stone for safety, but only prolonging the end while she watched the water rise.
She thought, in her ignorance, that one of the storms of which Piers had warned her must have suddenly arisen while she explored the cave, and she emerged at last into the sunlight with a sense of shock. The sky was as blue, the sea as calm as before; only the diminishing stretch of sand had changed. The tide was coming in; in a very little while the water would have reached the mouth of the passage, blocking escape.
Lou turned to run with all speed back to the safety of the harbor and the cottages and found herself caught in a rough, ungentle grasp.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, spying and prying round my domain?” Piers’ furious voice demanded, and for a moment she scarcely gathered the sense of his words, so relieved was she to find contact with human hands.
“I might have been drowned,” she said in protest. “I found a passage in the rock and a wonderful cave—-only I think it was evil. I—I don’t know about tides, Piers. I suppose I should have asked.”
“So you found the Druid’s Cave, did you?” he said. “That was my own discovery when I first bought the island. How dare you go snooping without my sanction?”
“I might have been drowned,” she said again, aware that he was extremely angry, but not, as she had first supposed, on account of anxiety for her.
“You were perfectly safe,” he replied chillingly. “The cave never fills to danger point except in the storms.”
“Oh!” She felt defeated and at the same time indignant at his unconcern.
“Have you no common sense?” he said, marching her resolutely along the shore. “Tides and currents can be dangerous in this part of the world, even though the cave is safe enough this weather. You should have told Tibby where you were going.”
“How did I know where I was going?” she retorted reasonably. “I was simply exploring—not snooping or prying, as you seem to think. Why shouldn’t I, anyway?”
“Because,” he said, “the island is mine, and I show it to whom I please. If you’d waited—”
She was about to counter” that, having been deserted so early on their honeymoon, it hadn’t seemed to her that he would care how she spent her time, but feeling his ungentle grip on her arm, and glancing at his hard, implacable profile; she refrained, realizing that she had hurt him in some inexplicable fashion; that, like a small boy, he had planned to show her his treasures, and she had taken that pleasure from him and, more unforgivable still had stumbled upon his own special discovery.
“I’m sorry,” she said dejectedly as they reached the harbor. “I—I love your island, Piers. Who lives in those cottages?”
But he was not, she realized, to be diverted or placated. Although he saw no reason to explain his own absence, he had clearly expected her to be awaiting his return before making free of his domain. They walked to the house in silence, and Tibby, who must have been watching for them, observed with caustic pleasantry:
“Town clothes aren’t fit for Rune. Made a pretty mess of your trousseau already, haven’t you, missis?”
Lou glanced ruefully at the ruin of what had once been an elegant and costly creation. Melissa’s smart wardrobe, she thought, had hardly been designed for a honeymoon such as this.
“I haven’t anything else,” she said, wondering if Tibby knew that all those unsuitable garments had not been intended for her.
“We’d better get you some slacks and jerseys, or something,” Piers said absently, observing Lou’s dishevelment without much interest. “Town-bred women seldom have anything suitable for roughing it, Tibby.”
The woman made no comment, but her smile hinted plainly that his choice in brides was no less unsuitable.
“Where were you?” she asked Lou. “Mr. Piers was surprised not to find you here.”
“She found the Druid’s Cave. She seemed to think she might drown,” Piers said, his voice tinged with ridicule.
“Oh,” said Tibby. “Your special treasure—what a shame.” Her sharp eyes went to Lou’s twisting hands. “What’s become of your wedding ring, missis?”
“It fell into the pool. It was too big,” Lou said nervously, and the old woman smiled with a dark, secret knowledge, not only, thought Lou, because she must have known the ring had been made for another bride.
“Maybe you’ve made your peace-offering sacrifice, maybe not,” she said obscurely.
“Sacrifice?”
“The voice demands Sacrifice, didn’t you know? But then you were offering up what wasn’t yours, so maybe it won’t count.”
“Tibby!” snapped Piers, the anger back in his voice. “Stop talking nonsense and take yourself off.”
‘“I meant no harm,” Tibby replied, and went off with a sly, backward smile at Piers.
“What did she mean about sacrifice—and the voice?” Lou asked, considerably shaken by the reception her harmless exploit had received from both of them.
“Superstitious nonsense she’s picked up from the locals, I imagine. She was upset because you’d taken it upon yourself to explore without permission,” he said, and Lou exclaimed with exasperation:
“Anyone would think I’d committed sacrilege the way you two go on about that stupid old cave. I thought it was horrible, anyway.”
Only then did his eyes soften to amusement as if he remembered he must be tolerant of a child’s blunders.
“Then you’re not likely to visit it again, are you?” he said. “Go and get cleaned up, Cinderella. Prince Charming would never look at you in that state.”
She ran upstairs to change into another of Melissa’s frocks, wondering if his remark was purely idle or was intended to convey a hint, but when they met again he appeared to be occupied with facts and figures concerning the business matter which had taken him to the mainland. He had meant nothing that should be taken seriously, evidently, thought Lou, but the Cinderella joke was wearing a bit thin.
She left him at last, still juggling with figures, and began to make ready for bed. The day had, after all, ended badly. She had unwittingly trespassed in his private world, not waiting to be granted the freedom of his kingdom, and Tibby, she was sure, had made more mischief, for despite her remarks last night, nobody had moved the second bed. For a moment she felt anger and a sense of defeat, but she could do nothing now. She remembered the old woman saying: “Happen Mr. Piers will have changed his mind by morning,” and perhaps he had. Perhaps he already had regrets for his hasty marriage, or perhaps the car accident had shaken him up more than he would admit. In either event she could scarcely ask him, so, as a token that she understood, she closed the door firmly between their rooms and went to bed.
CHAPTER FIVE
But the next day, Piers had become a different person. Lou, waking uneasily to the prospect of the long, uncertain hours ahead, found him standing by her bed with a tray of early morning tea and a quite humble request that he might share it with her. Sun poured in at the windows and the sky held the delicate promise of spring rather than of the approaching winter.
“How odd to think it’s November,” she said, remembering the wet greyness of her wedding day and the early twilight which seemed to descend so quickly upon London, “but Cornwall has a different climate, hasn’t it?”
“So they say. This is probably a freak spell of halcyon weather before the storms set in,” he replied. “We must make the most of it.”
She glanced at him shyly, wondering if his remark contained more than an allusion to the weather, and he smiled back at her with reassurance, sitting on the side of the bed drinking his tea, bringing a comfortable warmth to the small shared intimacy.
“I’m sorry about yesterday,” he said. “I didn’t really mind you exploring the island, you know. I—I wanted to show it to you myself.”<
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She released a little sigh of pleasure. It was nice to know that for all his reputed wealth and sophistication, he was still young enough to care about a childish disappointment.
“I should have realized,” she said: “It was just that I wanted something to fill the day. I’m sorry, too.”
“You felt deserted, didn’t you?”
“Not exactly, but—I wanted to get away from Tibby, I suppose. I’m afraid she doesn’t like me.”
“Tibby’s just jealous—not only because she doesn’t want any competition here on Rune, but because she thought that in marrying Melissa I would cancel out a slight.”
“A slight?”
“To my father, and so to her. She was prepared to put up with Blanche’s daughter, you see, for she, too, fell under the old spell. Tibby’s rather feudal in her ideas.”
“You’re a little feudal yourself,” Lou said, wondering at the same time whether she was rash to submit a small challenge, but he only smiled.
“Yes, well ... it’s a habit you’ll doubtless break me of in time, Cinderella,” he replied, and watched with affectionate amusement the flash of surprise and doubt which came into her eyes. She looked so like a rather uncertain little girl sitting propped against her pillows, her face innocent of make-up, her hair soft and uncurled, ruffled from sleep like a child’s, that he was, not for the first time, a little ashamed of the ease with which he had acquired an unwilling bride.
“Were you unwilling?” he asked, adding as he saw her forehead wrinkle in perplexity under the disordered fringe. “I was following my own thoughts. I was referring to unwilling brides.”