The Landower Legacy

by Victoria Holt

  Comforting words!

  "Goodnight, my child."

  Then she was gone.

  I lay in bed. Sleep eluded me at first. Pictures crowded into my mind, shutting out my tiredness. The men on the train, the great fortress which was their home, Joe driving the trap, the man with the bees . . . and finally Cousin Mary who was like my father and yet ... quite different.

  In time I should know more of them. But now ... I was very tired and even my apprehension could not keep sleep at bay.

  I was awakened by Miss Bell sitting on my bed, ready for her journey.

  "Are you going . . . already?"

  "It's time," she said. "You were in a deep sleep. I wondered whether to wake you, but I thought you would not want me to go without saying goodbye."

  "Oh, Miss Bell, you're going. When shall I see you again?"

  "Very soon. It's just a holiday, you know. I shall be there when you come back."

  "I don't think it is going to be quite like that."

  "You'll see. I'll have to go. The trap is down there. I must not miss that train. Good luck, Caroline. You're going to have an interesting time here and you won't want to come back to us."

  "Oh, I shall. I shall."

  "Goodbye, my dear."

  For the second time she kissed me, and then she hurried from the room.

  I lay wondering, as I had so many times before, what life was going to be like.

  There was a knock on my door and Betty, the maid I had seen on the previous evening, came in with hot water.

  "Miss Tressidor said not to disturb you if you be sleeping, but the lady what brought you be gone and I reckoned her'd come and say goodbye, wouldn't her?"

  "She did, and I am awake and glad to have the hot water."

  "I'll take away last night's," she said. "And Miss Tressidor says that if you're up you can have breakfast with her at half-past eight."

  "What's the time now?"

  "Eight o'clock, Miss."

  "I'll be ready then. Where will she be?"

  "I'm to be here to take you down to her. You can get lost in this house till you know it."

  "I'm sure you can."

  "Anything you want, Miss. Just ring the bell."

  "Thank you."

  She went on. My homesickness was being replaced by a desire for discovery.

  Precisely at eight-thirty Betty appeared.

  "This be the bedrooms up here, Miss," she told me, "and there's another floor above, too. We've got plenty of bedrooms. Then above them is the attics . . . servants' quarters as they say. Then there's the long gallery and the solarium . . . then there's the rooms on the ground floor."

  "I can see I have a lot to learn if I am to find my way about."

  We came down the staircase.

  "This be the dining room." She paused, then she knocked.

  "Miss Caroline, Miss Tressidor."

  Cousin Mary was seated at the table. Before her was a plate of bacon, eggs and devilled kidneys. "Oh, there you are," she said. "The governess left half an hour or more ago. Did you have a good night? Yes, I see you did, and now you're ready to take stock of your surroundings, eh? Of course you are. You'll want to eat a good breakfast. Best meal of the day, I always say. Stock yourself up. Help yourself."

  She showed a certain amount of concern for my well-being, which was comforting, but her habit of asking a question and answering it herself made for a certain one-sided conversation.

  I went to the sideboard and helped myself from the chafing dishes.

  Cousin Mary took her eyes from the plate and I felt them on me.

  "Feel a bit strange at first," she said. "Bound to. You should have come before. I should have liked to have visits from you and your sister . . . and your father and mother ... if he'd been different. Families ought to keep together, but sometimes they're better apart. It was my inheriting this place they didn't like. There was no doubt about that. I was the rightful heir, but a woman, they said. There's a prejudice against our sex, Caroline. I don't suppose you've noticed it much yet."

  "Oh yes, I have."

  "Your father thought he should step over me and take this place because I was a woman. Only over my dead body, I said; and that's what it amounts to. If I died, I suppose he'd be the next. That's a consummation devoutly to be wished—for him, I don't doubt. But I feel very differently about the matter, as you can imagine." She gave a little laugh which was rather like a dog's bark.

  I laughed with her and she looked at me with some approval.

  "Cousin Robert is a very able man but he still lacks the power to get rid of his Cousin Mary." Again that bark. "Well, we've done without each other all these years. You can imagine how taken aback I was when I got the letter from Cousin Imogen telling me that they'd be glad if I invited you for a month or so."

  "They clearly wanted to be rid of me. I wonder why."

  She looked at me with her head on one side and, as I already realized was unusual with her, hesitated. "Let's not bother about the whys and wherefores. You're here. You're going to be the means of healing the rift in the family . . . perhaps. I'm pleased you came. I've a notion that you and I are going to get on."

  "Oh, have you? I'm so glad."

  She nodded. "Well, you'll settle in. You'll be left to yourself quite a bit. It's a big estate and I keep myself rather busy on it. I've managers but I hold the reins. Always have done. Even when my father was alive and I was younger than you ... or as young ... I'd work with my father. He used to say, 'You'll make a good squire, Mary, my girl.' And when there was all that raising of eyebrows and tittering about my being a woman, I was determined to show them I could do as well—and better—than any man."

  "I am sure you did show them, Cousin Mary."

  "Yes, I did, but even now, if anything goes wrong they're ready to say 'Oh well, she's a woman.' I won't have it, Caroline. That's why I'm determined to make Tressidors the most prosperous estate hereabouts." She looked at me almost slyly and went on: "You must have come past Landower Hall."

  I told her we had done so.

  "What did you think of it?"

  "I thought it was magnificent."

  She snorted. "Outside, yes. Bit of a ruin inside ... so we hear."

  When I told her we had met Mr. Paul and Mr. Jago Landower, she was very interested.

  "They made themselves known," I said, "when they noticed the name on my luggage. They seemed to know I was coming here."

  "Servants," she said.

  "Yes, that's what the younger one said. Their servants . . your servants ..."

  "It's like having detectives in the house. Well, it's natural, and as long as there are some things we can keep back we have to put up with it. The Landowers keep a sharp look-out on what's going on here . . . just as we do on them." She laughed again. "There's rivalry. We're both squires, as it were. What possessed our ancestors to build so close, I can't imagine. And the Tressidors are the culprits. Landowers were here first. They're proud of that. Look on us as upstarts. We've only been here three hundred years. Newcomers, you see! We're on speaking terms, but only just. We're the rival houses—Montague and Capulet. We don't go about biting our thumbs or thrusting rapiers into each other's gullets in the streets of the town, but we're rivals all the same. Friendly enemies, perhaps you could call us. We haven't had our Romeo and Juliet . . . not yet. I'm hardly made for Juliet and Jonas Landower is no Romeo. Certainly not now. Couldn't really have fitted the part in his young days any more than I could. However, that's how it is with us and the Landowers. You say you met them on the train. Coming from Plymouth, I don't doubt. Been to see the lawyers ... or the bank more likely. Things are not going well at Landower, that much I know. Cost of keeping up the place is astronomical. It's creaking. It's about two hundred years older than Tressidor . . . and one thing I've always made sure of is to keep the place in order. The first little sign of decay . . . and it's dealt with. Costs less that way. You understand? Of course you do. Over the years the Landowers have thrown up som
e feckless characters like old Jonas. Drink, women, gambling . . . The Landower pattern. Tressidors have had their old reprobates, but on the whole we're a sober lot ... compared with the Landowers, that is."

  "They helped us with our luggage," I told her. "Miss Bell was grateful."

  "Oh yes, very mannerly. Interested, too, in what goes on here. Opportunists, that's what they are. Always have been. Old Jonas thought he could retrieve the family fortunes at the gaming tables. Fools' game that. Did you know anyone who was ever successful that way? Of course not. Always ready to take the main chance. Turncoats. Even in the Civil War they were for the King in the beginning as most of us were in these parts, and when the King lost, the Landowers were for the Parliament. We suffered a bit at Tressidor then and they prospered." She gave the bark which punctuated her speech and which I was beginning to wait for. "Then the new King came back and they discovered that they were royalist after all. But that put us forward. However, they secured their pardon and managed to hang on to their estates. Opportunists. Now, of course, there are rumours. Well, we shall see."

  "It all sounds most exciting, Cousin Mary."

  "Life usually is when you take an interest in it. You've discovered that, haven't you? Of course you have. Well, my dear, you're going to have a little holiday here. You're going to learn something of what it is like to live in the heart of the country . . . that is right away from the capital. This is Cornwall."

  "The countryside seemed very beautiful. I'm longing to explore."

  "I always think this is the most beautiful part of the Duchy. We've got a touch of lush Devonshire and the beginnings of the rugged coast of Cornwall. When you get farther west it gets wilder, more stark, less cosy. You ride, don't you? Of course you do. There are horses in the stables."

  I said: "We rode a good deal in the country and even in London."

  "Well, that's the best way of getting around. You'll amuse yourself all right. Don't stray too far at first and take a note of your bearings. I'll go round with you until you get to know your way a little. You have to be careful of the mists. They spring up suddenly and you can easily get lost and go round in circles. The moors are not far off. I should stay away from them at first. Keep to the roads. But, as I say, someone will always go with you."

  "I thought the lodge cottage was very attractive."

  "Oh, the garden, you mean. Jamie McGill is a good fellow. Very quiet, very withdrawn. I think there's some tragedy there. He's a good lodgekeeper. I'm lucky to have found him."

  "I hear he's the neighbourhood's beekeeper."

  "Our honey comes from him. He does supply the neighbourhood, and very good it is. Pure Cornish honey. Here ... try some. You can taste the flowers in it. Doesn't it smell fragrant?"

  "Oh yes. And it's delicious."

  "Well, that's Jamie's honey. He came to me ... it must be six years ago ... no, more than that, seven or eight. I was wanting an extra gardener. I gave him the chance and it wasn't long before we discovered he had a special way with plants. Then the old lodgekeeper died and I thought it was just the place for Jamie. So he went there and in a short time the garden was a picture—and he got his hives. He seems to be very happy there. He's doing what he likes best. People are very lucky when they have work they enjoy. Are you ready? I'll show you the house first, shall I? Yes, that's best. Then you can wander round the grounds for a bit and explore. This afternoon I'll take you for a ride. How's that?"

  "I like the idea very much."

  "All right. We'll get along."

  It was an interesting morning. She showed me the attics where many of the servants had their quarters, though some lived in several of the cottages on the edge of the estate, and the grooms and stablemen lived over the stables. Then there were the bedrooms, many of them exact replicas of my own, and the long gallery with pictures of the family. She took me round explaining who they were. There were portraits of my father and Aunt Imogen when they were young, of my grandfather and his elder brother, Cousin Mary's father. Tressidors in ruffs, in wigs, in elegant eighteenth-century costumes. "Here they are," said Cousin Mary, "the entire rogues gallery."

  I laughed protestingly, and she said: "Well, not all rogues. We had some good men among us and all of them were determined to keep Tressidor Manor as the family home."

  "That's understandable," I said. "You must be proud of it."

  "I confess to a fondness for the old place," she admitted. "It's been my life's work. My father used to say to me, 'It'll be yours one day, Mary. You've got to love it and treasure it and show that the Tressidor women are as good as the men.' And that's what I've been doing."

  There was the bedroom where the King had slept when he was on the run from the Roundheads. The fourposter bed was still there though the coverlet was threadbare.

  "We kept that intact," explained Cousin Mary. "No one sleeps in this room. Imagine that poor man . . . with his own subjects against him. How must he have felt when he slept in that bed!"

  "I doubt he had much sleep," I said.

  She took me to the window and I looked out over the rich green of the lawns, beyond to the woods in the distance. It was a beautiful view.

  She pointed out the tapestry on the walls which depicted the triumphant return of the fugitive's son to London.

  "That was put up in this room some fifty years after the King slept here. If I were fanciful, which I'm not, I would say that what part of him is left in this room would take some satisfaction from that."

  "You must be a little fanciful, Cousin Mary, to have such a thought," I pointed out.

  She burst out laughing and gave me a little push. She was not displeased.

  She took me downstairs and showed me the small chapel, and the drawing room and kitchens. We passed several servants during our perambulations and these she introduced to me. They bobbed respectful curtsies.

  "Our hall is quite small," she said. "The Landowers have a magnificent hall. This house was built when halls were no longer the centre of the house, and more attention was given to the rooms. Much more civilized, don't you think? But of course you do. Building naturally should improve with the generations. I daresay at first it will be a little difficult to find your way around. Naturally. But in a day or so it will all become familiar. I hope you are going to like the house."

  "I am sure I shall. I do already."

  She laid a hand on my arm. "After luncheon we'll go for that ride."

  I had had such a full morning that I had ceased to wonder what Olivia was doing and how Miss Bell was faring on her homeward journey.

  When I went to my room Betty came in and said that Miss Tressidor had suggested she help me unpack. This we did together and Betty hung up my clothes in the cupboard. She said that Joe would take my trunk and put it into one of the storage attics where it could remain until it was needed again.

  After luncheon I changed into my riding habit and went down to the hall where Cousin Mary was waiting for me.

  She looked very neat in her well-cut riding clothes, black riding hat and highly polished boots. She studied me with approval and we went to the stables where a horse was chosen for me.

  We went down the drive, to the lodge. Jamie came out to open the gates for us.

  "Good afternoon, Jamie," said Cousin Mary. "This is my second cousin, Miss Caroline Tressidor. She is staying with us for a while."

  "Yes, Miss Tressidor," said Jamie.

  I said: "Good afternoon, Jamie."

  "Good afternoon, Miss Caroline."

  "I noticed the bees when I came through last night," I told him.

  He looked very pleased. "They knew you were coming," he said. "I told them."

  "Jamie always tells the bees," said Cousin Mary. "It's a custom. You must have heard of that. But of course you have."

  We rode on.

  "He has an unusual accent," I said. "It's rather pleasant."

  "Scottish," she said. "Jamie's a Scotsman. He came to England . . . after some trouble up there. I don't know what. I've
never asked. People's privacy should be respected. I suspect he came down here to make a new life. He's doing that very successfully. He's happy with his bees, and he does provide us with the finest honey."

  We rode on. She showed me the estate, and beyond it.

  "This is Landower country," she explained. "They'd like to extend it. They'd like to take us in. We'd like to take them in, too."

  "Surely there's room enough for the two of you."

  "Of course there is. It's just that feeling there's been through the centuries. Some people thrive on rivalry, don't they? Of course they do. It's something of a joke really. I've no time for active feuding in my life and I doubt the Landowers have either. They've got other things to think about just now, I imagine."

  By the time we had returned to the house I felt I knew a great deal about Cousin Mary, the Tressidors, the Landowers, and the countryside. I was very interested and felt a great deal better than I had for some time.

  The more I saw of Cousin Mary, the more I liked her. She was a great talker and I was playing a little game with myself to try to curb her flow and get a word or two in myself. I imagined I should be more successful at it later; but just now I wanted to learn all I could.

  When I went to bed that night a great deal of my melancholy had lifted. I had been thrust into a new world which I was already finding absorbing.

  I slept soundly and when I awoke and realized where I was my first feeling was one of expectancy.

  A week had passed. I was settling into the household. I was left a great deal to myself now, Cousin Mary having introduced me to the countryside, as it were. This pleased me. It was a freedom I had not enjoyed before. To be allowed to ride out alone was in itself an adventure. Cousin Mary believed in freedom. I was of a responsible age, no longer a child, and by the time a week was up I was revelling in the new life.

  I was given the run of the library. No books were forbidden, unlike at home where Miss Bell supervised all our books. I read a great deal— much of Dickens, all Jane Austen and the Brontes, which particularly intrigued me. I rode every day and I was beginning to know the countryside well. I had put on a little weight. Cousin Mary kept a good table, and I liked to do justice to what was served. I felt myself changing, growing up, developing a certain self-reliance. I realized that I had been somewhat restricted under Miss Bell's watchful eye.