by Sara Seale
"Unhappy rather than strange. None of them have got what they wanted," she said and, her thoughts plainly in the nursery with her child, she went quietly from the kitchen leaving Alice standing there, already forgotten.
III
A storm got up in the early hours of the morning and Alice woke and lay in the darkness listening to her first experience of the fierce gales which blew in from the Atlantic. The dull boom of the waves beating on the cliffs below had a menacing sound and the wind shrieking round the house whistled through the open slit of her window, lifting the heavy tapestry from the walls so that it seemed to be moving. She lighted her candle, but the writhing dragons, or whatever they were, which seemed to have come alive, were more frightening than the darkness, and she blew the candle out again and pulled the bedclothes over her head to shut out the storm. This, she thought, drifting into sleep again despite her fears, was the dragons' fortress, and the elements that lashed against it were the tinners, the buccaneers, the dead and gone Pendragons who had fought and plundered . . . Captum Teneo ... I take, I hold . . .
She awoke, as she had done the first day, to the sound of Emma drawing back the curtains. The storm still raged and Emma banged the windows shut, battling against the force of the wind.
"Did it keep you awake?" she asked, glancing curiously at Alice huddled against the pillows.
"It was rather frightening," Alice replied, her eyes enormous and very green. "The tapestry came alive."
Emma looked blank. She was, evidently, not given to flights of imagination.
"Oh, you mean the pattern," she said. "Don't you like the dragon motif? It's a very old design." "They are dragons, then?"
"Of course — probably loot from the Welsh lot. The family motto is woven in Welsh — A Gymrnf A Ddaliaf."
"It seems to be everywhere, even the inn at St. Mewan," Alice said, admiring Emma's fluency with the Welsh tongue.
"At one time the village was owned by the Pendragons, but that was in the productive days of the mine. You'll find the coat-of-arms in the church as well as the inn. St. Mewan is still proud of its connection with our family." For a moment Emma's voice held an echo of Keir's and his half-brother's and Alice looked at her curiously. No, she thought, it would not be possible to marry into that family and have no share in their pride of heritage.
"Yes, I see," she said. "Do I go to the day-room for breakfast?"
"Yes. Pendragon's still there. He's later this morning as he sat up part of the night with the baby so that I could get some sleep." She must have seen the surprise in Alice's face for she smiled and added, a little ironically: "Oh, yes, Pendragon can be considerate and even kind. It's not a trait the others always share. Get up now, Miss Brown. He wants a word with you before he goes to the mine."
Alice dressed hurriedly. With the storm raging and Pendragon waiting to speak to her, it no linger seemed important that her plans for departure were being ignored. You could not, she thought, fight for very long against the edicts of the Pendragons. But when she saw him, finishing his final cup of coffee alone in the day-room, she lost, for a moment, her hostility to him. He looked drawn and tired as though he had not slept very much, and the lines from nostril to mouth were deeply engraved.
"Good morning," she said. "It seems quite a storm, doesn't it?"
He looked up from his paper and his eyes travelled over her speculatively.
"We're used to it here," he said absently. "Did it keep you awake?"
"The tapestry came alive," she said, as she had to Emma, and saw his eyebrows lift in a quizzical quirk.
"And the dragons came to eat you up," he said and she laughed, warming to his understanding.
"It was only the wind blowing the tapestry, of course," she said.
"Of course," he echoed with gentle mockery. "You don't like our storms?"
"I've never been used to them," she said, and he countered with swift irony:
"Nor to a house like Polrame. Well, Miss Alice Brown, do you think you could give us a trial?"
She had sat down at the table without helping herself to the dishes on the sideboard, because it seemed that she was here for an interview. It was the first time she had ben in the day-room and she looked about her curiously, hardly taking in his question. The room was long and high and seemed to be a mixture of dining-room and living-room. The centre table was solid and oval with stiff-backed chairs set around it and a sideboard was piled with what she supposed must be the surplus collection of silver from the big dining-room, but books lined one wall, and cabinets filled with strange objects which looked like fossils and pieces of quartz, and over the fireplace, a great glass case held the biggest fish she had ever seen.
She sat there, straight and wondering, gazing at the evil-looking fish, and felt foolish when he remarked gently that she had nothing to eat.
"You haven't answered my question," he said as she got up again and helped herself from the chafing-dishes.
"I understood that you thought I was unsuitable," she said, bringing her plate to the table.
"And I understood that on no account would you work for the Pendragons," he countered.
She ate her breakfast, deliberating over each mouthful, unsure what to reply. He poured coffee for her and placed the cup beside her plate.
"Do you find us so unacceptable?" he asked and she looked up at him quickly. He seemed different this morning, more mellow, less dogmatic than she had thought him.
"No," she said. "No — I'm scarcely in a position to offer an opinion, am I?"
His mouth twitched at the corners.
"You have offered several, in the short time I've known you," he retorted. "There's more to you than a first sight of you would warrant, I think."
"Drowned and scared, with eyes like saucers — like a Zombie," she said, and his brows met in a black, uncompromising line.
"You shouldn't pay any attention to Keverne, he has a misplaced sense of humor," he said, and she gave him a quick look under her lashes and replied, equably:
"But I can see how I must have looked to you all. As you said, yourself, my introduction was somewhat unorthodox."
He sat, surveying her with thoughtful intesnsity.
"I like you, Alice Brown," he said unexpectedly. "For all your milk-and-water appearance, you have character."
"Milk-and-water!" she exclaimed and he smiled, his face altering suddenly to that brief expression of tenderness which had so surprised her before.
"I hadn't meant to insult you," he said. "Perhaps I should have said that to me you seemed inexperienced, and very young — both matters that are easily remedied, unfortunately. Well, will you give us a trial?"
She sat there silently, her eyes on her plate, and when she did not reply he said, a shade impatiently: "What have you got to lose? You came to St. Mewan expecting to care for a child. Where's the difference if you remain here instead?"
She got up from the table, not knowing how to answer him, or indeed, what she wished to answer. Her eyes went to the great fish over the fireplace and, even though it slightly repelled her, she could see the beauty of its perfect streamlining, the long, slender body, the tail forming the symmetrical shape of a new moon.
"What is it?" she asked.
"A shark," he replied shortly, and her eyes grew wide. "A shark! But where was it caught?" "Off this coast. Did you think they were peculiar to foreign waters?"
"Yes, I did. Did you catch it?"
"Yes. You get blue shark in plenty around here, but this is a mako and a great fighter. This fellow's a nine footer and weighed between seven and eight hundred pounds. We keep him displayed as an object lesson."
It was not pride but some other quality in his voice that made her glance at him with a puzzled frown.
"An object lesson?" she repeated, and his smile was a little bitter.
"Well, perhaps that's putting it rather strongly," he said. "Might we get back to our original discussion? You seem adept at heading off the conversation, Miss Brown."
> She was saved an immediate reply by the slow opening of the door. Keir turned his head, then sprang to his feet, exclaiming: "Doone!"
The child stood there, leaning against the door, her feet, supported by her thin, weak legs, planted firmly together. Her black eyes seemed abnormally bright and went instantly to Alice's face.
"You see!" she said triumphantly, "I can get about quite well by myself if I want. If you don't stay, Alice Brown, I'll never walk again."
Startled though she was, Alice produced the right reaction.
"Nonsense!" she exclaimed. "You can manage perfectly well if you try, as I told you yesterday. Your legs only need practice."
Keir had already moved towards the child as if he would help her, but she pushed him away.
"Leave me alone, Pendragon," she said with scant courtesy. "Have you persuaded Alice Brown, or are you still determined to make your own choice, as befits the head of the house?"
Alice saw the same look of pain in his face and averted her eyes. If Pendragon seemed immune to the everyday barbs of life, at least this child could hurt him.
"Your half-brother has every right to make his own choice," she said severely. "And I don't know that I care to stay and look after you anyway."
To her surprise, tears filled the child's eyes.
"Please .| . ." she said with sudden humility.
"Well, I don't know. If you go throwing pour puzzles and things about in tantrums, I shant like you very much, and if you're rude to people I shan't like you at all."
"Rude?"
"Yes, you're very rude to Mr. Pendragon."
"But I love Keverne."
"You know quite well who I meant."
"Oh, him," said Doone, and gave Keir a swift look out of the corners of her eyes. She was wary of her half-brother, despite her rudness, Alice thought, but she traded on his indulgence where none of the rest of the household would have dared.
"I think you had better leave us, Doone," Keir said and sounded suddenly tired. "I still have one or two things to say to Miss Brown before I go to the mine, and I'm late as it is. Shall I carry you back?"
"Of course not!" Doone replied scornfully, but she did not, as Alice half expected, insist on remaining, but began to walk carefully back towards the door.
"You were looking at Horace when I came in, weren't you?" she said.
"Horace?"
"The mako up there in the case. Keverne christened him Horace. He's a very fine specimen. Did Pendragon tell you how he caught it?"
"Miss Brown isn't interested in big-game angling," Keir said sharply. "Will you leave us now, please, Doone?"
"All right, but I can tell her the story of the mako," the child said, her eyes sliding away from his. "Will you come and play with me when Pendragon's said his piece, Alice Brown?"
"Perhaps," said Alice non-committally.
When the door had closed behind her, Keir remained standing, looking down at Alice from his great height. He seemed, finally, to be sizing her up.
"You already seem to have achieved something," he observed with a hint of surprise. "Doone never tires to do things for herself if she can help it."
"But she can."
"Oh, yes, she can, and the doctors say she should, but I suppose we've all pandered to her."
"How did she get like this?" Alice asked, without thinking, and sensed the same withdrawal that she had got from Emma.
"It was the result of an accident," he replied just as she had. "Donne doesn't remember much and we don't talk about it. She'll grow out of it in time. Well, are you going to stay?"
Alice twisted her hands in her lap without replying immediately. She still did not know why she hesitated. Doone, despite her ill-humors, had touched her and flattered her own desire to be wanted. The others, surely, did not matter.
"Perhaps she needs me," she said tentatively, and his face softened to the unfamiliar expression of tenderness.
"I think she does," he said gravely, then added unexpectedly: "Perhaps we all need you."
" You!" she exclaimed, startled, and the old mockery was back in his voice as he answered:
"Even I. You have a way with you, Miss Alice Brown; you might be good for us."
He waited while she thought this over, watching her reflections so plainly mirrored in the clear, green eyes.
"Let me make it easier for you," he said, then. "I will employ you for a month to enable you to get your bearings. At the end of that time you will be quite free to leave, if you wish."
"But you, on the other hand, can throw me out just when you want. It would seem to be a sort of habit," she retorted, and his eyebrows lifted.
"Who told you that?" he asked.
"Your half-brother."
"Oh, I see. Well, shall we make a pact? I won't throw you out, neither will you walk out before the month is up."
He had, she realized now, been very patient with her. It was scarcely in his nature to compromise over a matter which, to him, must appear trivial.
As though he had guessed her thoughts, he said, with the old touch of arrogance:
"It's not my habit to plead with my prospective employees, Miss Brown. Take it or leave it."
Alice got to her feet; from where she sat she felt at a
disadvantage. Even when standing she could not very well meet his gaze levelly, and she found herself instinctively stretching up on her toes to make herself taller.
"Very well, Mr. Pendragon," she said, and the ghost of Aunt Brown seemed to stand at her shoulder as she burnt her boats for the second time. "I'll stay for a month on your own conditions."
CHAPTER THREE I
SHE had been a week at Polrame before she felt familiar with the house. No one had troubled to acquaint her with the uses of the various rooms, for the men were away at the mine all day and Emma busy in the nursery or kitchen. Alice was obliged to explore for herself, which she did timidly at first, afraid that she might be trespassing in places which did not concern her, for, she came to discover, although they all lived under one roof, the Pendragons led their separate lives. Keverne and his wife and child had their own quarters in one wing of the house, Merryn a couple of rooms in another, one of which he kept locked for it housed his aquarium while Keir, apart from his bedroom and a small study where he did his office work, appeared content to use the main rooms which were communal to them all.
They met for meals, but often in the evenings, Alice would find herself alone with Pendragon in the day-room which seemed to be the room that was principally used, and not even Emma ever suggested that any of them sit in the drawing-room, a vast, chilly space filled with innumerable gilt mirrors and faded Empire furniture.
At first these periodical sessions in Pendragon's company filled her with uneasiness, but he took little notice of her and soon seh got accustomed to his preoccupation with his own affairs, and the long silences that fell between them simply meant that he had forgotten her. Sometimes Emma would sit with them while she sewed and darned, but in the men's presence she was' never talkative, and
Alice preferred the evenings when she could curl up by the fire with a book and know that Keir neither expected nor wished for conversation.
She had little to do with the two younger brothers, for retire to his own sitting-room to brood over his aquarium Keverne was often out in the evenings and Merryn would which she had not yet seen, but which appeared to absorb all his interest and spare time.
Sometimes, when Alice could sense the resentment behind the younger Pendragons' spasmodic quarrels with their half-brother, she would remember that one of them had said they should have got out long ago, that Emma had intimated that Pendragon provided their board and lodging as well as their bread and butter, and had said, too, that none of them had got what they wanted. Then she would lie awake in her great four-poster, troubled by the many cross currents which she could not understand until she reminded herself, as Aunt Brown would have done, that he only concern should be for Doone. But even in the child's company she
could not always escape from her natural curiosity, for Doone was adept at dropping hints and embroidering on any subject concerning her family which Alice was rash enough to bring up.
Their routine was simple enough to follow, she found. The child had to be helped to dress and undress, and be saved any unnecessary exertion, but Alice soon came to know that Doone could do more for herself than she pretended. She had clearly become used to the fact that she could get her own way by inducing tantrums which ended in palpitations and a refusal to eat or move, but Alice very quickly found that by realiating, herself, in a mild echo of those same tantrums, she could quickly make the child forget the source of her troubles. She had, thought Alice, with the healthy lack of inhibition of her own nineteen years, learnt only too early how to play upon the conscience of her family, and the plain-spoken little Scots doctor who attended her, was, it seemed, of the same opinion.
"There's nothing wrong with the bairn that time won't put right," he said to Alice. "It's a pity that she's not away to school when she's strong enough, but Pendragon won't
hear of it. Blames himself for the whole business, and that's daft, as I tell him."
"How could he be to blame?" Alice asked, wondering if the doctor could give her a clue as to the nebulous hints that had been dropped, but he only screwed up his freckled, weather-beaten face and said:
"Poppycock! You look like a sensible lass to me — not like those other daft females Pendragon employed. There's no need for that wheel-chair contraption now, you know. Get the child to play — to be normal in this house of wind and blather. You don't look much more than a bairn, yourself. You'll be good for her."
It was, thought Alice, an unexpected opinion to meet in view of Pendragon's careful arrangements; it was also, she found, heartening as well as surprising to hear Pol-rame described as a house of wind and blather.
"Can she lead a reasonably normal life, then?" she asked and Mackinnon grinned, his tufty, sandy eyebrows meeting in a bushy line over his shrewd little eyes.