by Sara Seale
"My dear soul! You'm as mazed as the rest of 'un!" Mrs. Biddle exclaimed, looking slightly embarrassed as the result of her explanation. " 'Tes nothing but play-acting now, Miss Alice, and an excuse for a booze-up all through the day; still, if you've never seen the mummers and the Hobby Horse and the teazer, 'tes a sight to remember."
"Can I come out and watch this year?" Doone asked Pendragon belligerently, and looked slightly surprised when he answered obligingly:
"I don't see why not, if you wrap up well. Remember it's very early in the morning, and no joining in, please. Your legs aren't strong enough for dancing, yet."
"They are, so there!" Doone shouted inevitably, but she seemed content to leave matters at that and Keir, glancing at Alice's face, no less excited than the little girl's, laughed indulgently.
"Be sure to watch the wall, Alice, while the gentlemen go by. You might get carried off by one of them," he said.
The household was astir before five on that first morning of may, for the procession was due at the gates of Polrame by six o'clock. Doone was hopping up and down beside Alice on the terrace long before that hour, and Emma even had the baby in her arms to welcome the mummers. The daily women and the couple of men who worked in the garden helped themselves to mugs of scalding tea set out on a trestle table; Keverne and his brother would come with the men in the fancy dress they had worn for years, and Pendragon himself would only appear from the house at the last moment, as custom demanded.
" Unite and unite and let us all unite . . ." Doone was already singing the first line of the Morning Song and Emma smiled at Alice over the baby's head.
"I was right, wasn't I, when I told Pendragon you were what she needed?" she said softly. "There have never been any other children to play with."
"But I," said Alice doubtfully, "am not a child."
"Perhaps not — no, perhaps not — more's the pity," Emma replied and gave an inexplicable sigh, but it was too late to enquire what she meant, for the parade had arrived at the gates, and Alice was wholly diverted by the teazer and the Hobby Horse dancing up the drive through the early morning mist.
The procession wound over the lawns and back again and presently Alice could pick out Keverne in a flamboyant costume, dancing with a beribboned gipsy who could only be Trelawny. They danced with gay abandon, their intricate steps perfectly timed in contrast to the clumsy capers of the men from the mine. The Hobby Horse, with its wide-hooped skirt and grotesque mask, made a snap at Alice in passing, and Keverne, dancing close behind, snatched her into the line of gyrating mummers.
She heard Doone shout: "Wait for me! Wait for me!" and, remembering Keir's injunction, tried to escape as the child flung herself into the dance, but Keverne's grip on her wrist was too strong and he only laughed and said: "Don't spoil her fun. Pendragon will put a stop to it soon enough, and yours, too."
Trelawny had already found another partner, and he flung an arm round Doone's waist and another round Alice's, and Pendragon came out of the house at that moment to receive the customary homage from the mummers. As they passed him, Keverne deliberately bent over Alice and kissed her full on the lips.
"Get away from that rabble and bring Doone with you," Pendragon ordered in a voice like a whip. He had spoken without raising his voice, but for a moment the procession wavered and the singing faltered.
"Do you want a rough house?" Keir said quite quietly as his half-brother did not immediately slacken his grip, then Keverne gave both girls a little push, sending them sprawling at Pendragon's feet, and the procession formed a straggling half-circle for the final ceremony.
Keir took no notice of either Alice or the little girl, and Alice scrambled to her feet, pulling the child after her.
She was more concerned for Doone than for Keverne's insolence, for the child looked frightened. Mrs. Biddle hurried forward with a mug of tea, bidding Doone drink it, and whispered to Alice, shrugging her plump shoulders:
"You mark my words! There'll be the devil to pay with Pendragon in a brave little while. Still and all, 'e shouldn't have called 'em habble for all to hear."
It seemed that her views were shared, for the spirit had gone out of the party. The men ate the customary fare provided for them, but they seemed sullen and unresponsive to Pendragon's efforts to ignore the incident, and went off grumbling down the drive as the first rays of sunlight filtered through the mist. Merryn went with them, and only Keverne and Trelawny were left behind. Keverne promptly sank his strong teeth into another pasty, ignoring, as was his wont, the displeasure he might have incurred.
Emma took the baby into the house, and Alice waited miserably to apologize to Keir for having allowed Doone to become part of the procession against his orders.
"I'm sorry, Pendragon," she said at last. "I — we didn't mean to get involved. It was only for a few minutes."
"When I give an order I expect it to be carried out. You should have learnt that by now," he replied coldly, and Keverne took another bite from his pasty and spoke with his mouth full.
"Oh, come off it, Pendragon!" he exclaimed. "It can't possibly have hurt the brat."
"Very likely not," Keir retorted. "But was it necessary to make an exhibition of yourself and Alice in front of the men?"
Keverne's black eyes grew bright with sudden devilment.
"So that's what really riled you, is it?" he said softly. "Well, well, well!"
"Why shouldn't he kiss Alice? You've always had what Keverne wanted," shouted Doone with a defiance that was belied by the betraying whiteness of her face, and Alice was relieved when Keir ordered her into the house. Alice would have followed, but he stopped her.
"Well, Alice, do you want Keverne to apologize, or
don't you mind such public demonstrations?" he demanded and, for the first time, she saw the cold fury in his eyes.
"I mind very much," she retorted with spirit. "But I think you're making a great fuss about nothing, all the same."
"Is that sort of kissing nothing to you, then?" he said, and Trelawny, perched on the trestle table, vivid in her gipsy costume, spoke for the first time.
"Can it be that you're jealous, Pendragon?" she said with mocking provocation.
He glanced at her briefly and the faint color that stained his dark face might have sprung from fresh anger.
"That's hardly worth answering," he replied, and she smiled, enjoying, as always, crossing swords with him.
"Perhaps not," she observed with an indifferent glance at Alice's embarrassed face. "Little Miss Alice Brown is scarcely worthy of your attentions, is she, darling? Kev-arne, of course, can't afford to be so particular."
"By God, you can excel yourself in vulgarity whon you choose, Trelawny!" Pendragon exclaimed, biting out the words so that even she had the grace to look ashamed. But the next minute she was observing him with narrowed eyes and an angry flush crept under her skin.
"So I wasn't so wrong, after all," she said, and sounded really surprised. "Perhaps it is I who should be jealous, Keir, only I confess I'd never reckoned on serious competition from one of Doone's Zombies."
"Oh, shut up!" snapped Keverne disgustedly. "You're making as much fuss as Pendragon and, if possible, less politely. You might at least control your wranglings till the wretched girl is out of earshot."
"For once you're talking common sense. I apologize on all our behalfs for this scene, Alice," Pendragon said, but his eyes dwelt on her for a moment with the same cold distaste and Alice suddenly stamped at foot at him.
"You're one as bad as the other!" she cried, hating them all with equal measure. "Pick on each other if you must but don't pick on me — I'm just employed here. And I'll tell you this! The name of Pendragon may cause flutters in these parts, but I wouldn't welcome the attentions of any of you!"
"Good for you, Alice-Blue-Gown!" laughed Keverne appreciatively. Trelawny observed sweetly that in that case Alice would doubtless be handing in her notice and Pendragon said nothing at all. Alice, before she could burst into tears ignom
inously before them all, turned and fled into the house.
She ran straight to her room and flung herself sobbing on to the bed where Emma found her late, her eyes swollen with crying, and her shoes kicked half across the room.
"Can't you come to terms with Pendragon?" she asked strangely.
"I come to terms!" Alice exclaimed. "He started the whole thing!"
"I know, Keverne told me. It was Keverne's fault in the first place, I suppose, but he wanted to annoy Pendragon."
"And succeeded very well! Why should I be the scapegoat in their silly quarrels?"
"Pendragon was jealous."
"Oh, Emma, how absurd! With Trelawny sitting there?"
Emma sighed and automatically picked up Alice's shoes to put them tidily away.
"He may not have realized it himself," she said. "He has little cause to be jealous on Trelawny's account, you see. He must know she's only waiting to accept him when he chooses to propose."
"Then why does he keep her dangling?"
"I know. Perhaps, after all, it's she who is holding off."
"Do you know what she said?" demanded Alice, supporting herself on one elbow on the bed and glaring at Emma. "She said I was scarcely worthy of Pendragon's attention, and she said, too, that she'd never reckoned on serious competition from one of Doone's Zombies."
"I know, Keverne told me. But she got a tongue-lashing for her pains, I understand."
"That! The Pendragons spend their time snarling at one another — it can't mean a thing to them! Besides, when two people are violently in love they can't help hurting each other, so one's told."
"Does Pendragon strike you as being violently in love?"
"I wouldn't know! I wouldn't know anything about him except that — except that —" "Except what, Alice?"
"That tongue-lashings, as you call them, make me want to curl up and die."
"Poor Alice! But I'm told you give a very good account of yourself on such occasions. Even Keverne is impressed."
Alice gazed at her through the tears that were not yet quite spent.
"Is that the way to their hearts, then — if they have any hearts?" she said. "Do they admire you only when you answer back?"
"I don't know," Emma replied, sounding suddenly tired. "I've never really understood any of them. You'd better not go down to Doone till your face looks a bit better. She'll start one of her tantrums if she thinks you've been upset."
Alice slid off the bed and began sponging her face vigorously.
"Doone — how is she?" she enquired anxiously, guiltily aware that she had forgotten her charge in her own distress.
"None the worse for the excitement, and she's made her peace with Pendragon, or he with her — I'm never very sure which way round it is," smiled Emma.
"Is he still here, then — Pendragon, I mean?"
"They're all here. May Day's always a holiday at the mine."
"Oh!"
Emma walked to the door.
"You can have your lunch with Doone, if you'd rather. I'll make some excuse for Pendragon," she said, and Alice sent her a grateful smile.
But lunch with Doone was not a great success, either. The child was suspicious of an arrangement that was out of her ordinary routine and her eyes were too sharp to miss the traces of tears on Alice's face. She asked endless questions, pushed away her food when Alice
refused to satisfy her curiosity, and was altogether her most tiresome self.
"Such a silly fuss because Keverne kissed you!" she grumbled crossly. "Hasn't anyone ever done it before?"
"That's my business," Alice replied, and Doone's eyes grew round.
"Has Pendragon kissed you?"
"Certainly not!"
"I believe he has — I believe you like him better than Keverne. I can't imagine Pendragon kissing anyone — except me, of course. What was it like?"
Alice began to feel she wanted to scream. It would have been better, she thought, to have faced Pendragon's displeasure than endure this ridiculous catechism.
"You are a very silly little girl," she exclaimed in exasperation. "And if you go adding that invention to some of your others when you want to annoy your family, I shall leave, do you hear?"
"No, you won't," Doone replied, unbashed.
"I certainly will. You're not so important to keep me here against my will."
"But the Dragon is."
"What do you mean?"
"I think you're falling in love with him, like some of the other Zombies did, so you'll stay unless he throws you out. But you won't get him while Trelawny's around."
Alice jumped up from the table, her own food almost as untouched as the child's. For a moment she was tempted to shake her, then her quenched sense of humor began to struggle to the surface.
"You talk a kind of nonsense that can be extremely boring," she said, managing to laugh. "When you're older, Doone, you'll understand it's neither funny nor polite to make such statements. In the meantime, my poppet, please keep such notions for your own amusement. They won't entertain Pendragon, I assure you."
Doone looked at her uncertainly. Quarrels and jibes she understood, but when Alice spoke like this to her, she became unsure of herself.
"Oh, well," she said, trying to retract without losing face. "It was only an idea. I can't imagine anyone really falling in love with the Dragon, can you?"
"It's not my place to imagine such things," retorted Alice primly. "Now, eat up your food, and then I'm going out."
"Out? Where?" Doone began to finish her lunch from sheer surprise. She had never known Alice to go out without her before.
"Oh, just around — anywhere."
"Can I come with you?"
"No, you cannot. You can amuse yourself quite well for one afternoon. I'm sick of this house and everyone in it."
Even as the idea was born, Alice knew a lifting of the spirit. She had been shut up too long with them all, and it had never before occurred to her to ask for even a half-day off. She would not ask now, she decided, ringing the bell for Mrs. Biddle to come and clear; May Day was a holiday, Emma has said, and she would take hers now and get away from them all and perhaps never come back.
III
She slipped out of the house without meeting anyone. The sunshine spilled over the lawns and paths with the first warm promise of summer, and the giant rhododendrons were in bloom, lending a riot of color to the grounds which had been so bleakly grey. She looked back at the house, once, and saw the tall Ionic pillars which guarded its facade, mellow in the sunlight, but the place was a prison, she thought, a fortress presenting blind eyes to the world, a mute testimony to the strength of the Pendragons.
She wandered along the headland, letting the wind blow in her face, rejoicing in her freedom, but she could not, altogether, shake off what she had left behind. Here was the place where Pendragon had buried the hare, there was the spot where he had once met them on their homeward journey and told her, again, the legend of the unicorn. She began to run, trying to shed her memories; it was unfair that Pendragon should loom so large, unfair
that, despite his bitter tongue, he should have come to mean so much ...
She paused to seek shelter from the wind in a tufty hollow sheltered by gorse, trying to remember the puzzling facets of Keir's conversations with her. There had been times when he almost seemed to need her, times when he suddenly became Pendragon of Polrame again, all of them confusing. She could not think that the episode of the morning, should mean anything more than his natural annoyance at his half-brother's effort at defiance, but she remembered Trelawny's expression as she sat on the trestle table, swinging her long legs, and, for all the girl's insolent contempt, Alice knew that something had been touched off there which would make her an active enemy. On this thought she fell asleep, the scent of the flowering gorse warm and heavy about her.
The evening chill and the sound of a voice calling her name woke her and she sat up in the bracken, rubbing her eyes, and wondering whether she had really run away,
after all. The voice, it had seemed at first, was only part of a dream she could not remember, but now it came again, clearly and urgently, and she knew it was Pendragon's.
"I'm here," she said meekly, rubbing her knee which had become stiff with the long hours of inertia.
He appeared almost at once and stood over her, his face dark against the sky, the familiar kerchief fluttering at his neck in the breeze.
"Well!" he said. "A nice dance you've led me! I was beginning to wonder if you'd fallen over the cliffs."
"Is it late?" she asked, wondering why he had troubled to come and look for her.
"Nearly seven o'clock. Had you forgotten the party?"
"Yes, I suppose I had," she answered, remembering the day ended in the traditional meeting of families round their own boards to partake of old-fashioned Cornish fare and drink the health of approaching summer.
He knelt suddenly beside her in the bracken and began to massage her knees with firm, warm fingers.
"You're stiff, aren't you?" he said. "How long have you been lying here?"
"I don't know — most of the afternoon."
"Why couldn't you rest on your bed, which at least wouldn't be damp?" he said impatiently, and she answered a little forlornly:
"It was different out here. I — I had to get away."
"Were you running away?" he asked, his heavy eyebrows meeting in a frown.
"I don't know," she answered, still confused from her long sleep. "No — no, of course not. I didn't take my luggage, did I?"
She thought he smiled briefly as he bent over her knee, but when he next spoke his voice still held impatience.
"I'm beginning to think you wouldn't have bothered about such things as luggage, if you'd meant to leave us," he said. "Really, Alice, you're not much more sensible than Doone."
She looked down on his bent head, seeing the minute threads of grey as the wind parted his hair, and she knew that she had been running away from herself, not from him.
"Pendragon . . ." she began diffidently. "You were very angry this morning. Did you really think I didn't mind being kissed by Keverne?"