Mistress of Mellyn

  I said that I was going alone, but I could see that he did not believe me.

  I felt rather angry with him because I guessed that his thoughts were on Peter Nansellock. I believed that my name had been coupled with his since he had been so foolish as to send Jacinth over for me.

  I wondered too if my growing friendship with Connan had been noted. I was horrified at the possibility. Oddly enough I could bear to contemplate their sly remarks, which I was sure were exchanged out of my hearing, about Peter and me; it would be a different matter if they talked in that way of me and Connan.

  How ridiculous! I told myself as I walked May Morning out of the stables and down to the village.

  There is nothing to talk about between you and Connan. But there is, I answered myself; and I fell to thinking of those two occasions when he had kissed me.

  I looked across the cove at Mount Widden. Wistfully I hoped that I should meet Connan coming back. But I didn’t, of course; he would stay there with Alvean and his friends. Why should I imagine that he would want to come back to be with me? I was letting this foolish habit of daydreaming get the better of my common sense.

  But I continued to hope until I had left the village well behind me and I came to the first gray wall and boulders of the moor.

  It was a sparkling December morning and there were great golden patches of gorse dotted over the moor.

  I could smell the peaty soil, and the wind which had veered a little to the north was fresh and exhilarating.

  I wanted to gallop across the moor with that wind in my face. I gave way to my desire and while I did so I imagined that Connan was riding beside me and that he called to me to stop that he might tell me what a difference I had made to his life as well as Alvean’s, and that, incongruous as it seemed, he was in love with me.

  In this moorland country it was possible to believe in fantastic dreams; as some told themselves that these tracts of land were inhabited by the Little People, so I told myself that it was not impossible that Connan TreMellyn would fall in love with me.

  At midday I arrived at the House on the Moor. It was very like that other occasion; the elderly housekeeper came out to welcome me and I was taken into Great-aunt Clara’s sitting room.

  “Good day to you, Miss Leigh! And all alone today?”

  So no one had told her of Alvean’s accident. I was astonished. I should have thought Connan would have sent someone over to explain, since the old lady was obviously interested in her great-niece.

  I told her about the accident and she looked very concerned. I hastily added that Alvean was getting on well and would soon be about again.

  “But you must be in need of some refreshment, Miss Leigh,” she said. “Let us have a glass of my elderberry wine; and will you stay to luncheon?”

  I said it was most kind of her to invite me and if it were not causing too much inconvenience, I should be delighted to do so.

  We sipped our elderberry wine, and once more I was conscious of that heady feeling which I had experienced after her dandelion wine on the previous occasion. Luncheon consisted of mutton with caper sauce exceedingly well cooked and served; and afterward we retired to the drawing room for what she called a little chat.

  This was what I had been hoping for, and I was not to be disappointed.

  “Tell me,” she said, “how is dear little Alvean? Is she happier now?”

  “Why … yes, I think she is very much happier. In fact I think she has been more so since her accident. Her father has been attentive, and she is very fond of him.”

  “Ah,” said Great-aunt Clara, “her father.” She looked at me, and her bright blue eyes showed her excitement. I knew she was one of those women who cannot resist talking; and since she spent so much of her time with only her own household, the coming of a visitor was an irresistible temptation.

  I was determined to make the temptation even more irresistible. I said tentatively: “There is not the usual relationship between them, I fancy.”

  There was a slight pause, and then she said quickly: “No. I suppose it is inevitable.”

  I did not speak. I waited breathlessly, afraid that she might change her mind. She was hovering on the edge of confidences and I felt that she could give me some vital clue to the situation at Mount Mellyn, to the story of the TreMellyns which I was beginning reluctantly to admit might very well become my story.

  “I sometimes blame myself,” she said, as though she were talking to herself; and indeed her blue eyes looked beyond me as though she were looking back over the years and was quite unconscious of my presence.

  “The question is,” she went on, “how much should one interfere in the lives of others?”

  It was a question which had often interested me. I had certainly tried to interfere in the lives of the people I had met since I entered Mount Mellyn.

  “Alice was with me after the engagement,” she went on. “Everything could have changed then. But I persuaded her. You see, I thought he was the better man.”

  She was being a little incoherent, and I was afraid to ask her to elucidate lest I break the spell. She might remember that she was betraying confidences to a young woman who was more curious than she should be.

  “I wonder what would have happened if she had acted differently then. Do you ever play that game with yourself, Miss Leigh? Do you ever say: Now if at a certain point I—or someone else—had done such and such … the whole tenor of life for that person would have changed?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Everybody does. You think that things would have been different for your niece and for Alvean?”

  “Oh yes … for her—Alice—more than most. She had come to a real turning point. A crossroads, one might say. Go this way and you have such and such a life. Go that way and everything will be quite different. It frightens me sometimes because if she had turned to the right instead of the left … as it were … she might be here today. After all, if she had married Geoffry there would not have been any need to run away with him, would there?”

  “I see you were in her confidence.”

  “Indeed yes. I’m afraid I had quite a big part in shaping what happened. That’s what alarmed me. Did I do right?”

  “I am sure you did what you thought was right, and that is all any of us can do. You loved your niece very much, did you not?”

  “Very much. My children were boys, you see, and I’d always wanted a girl. Alice used to come and play with my family … three boys and no girl. I used to hope that she might marry one of them. Cousins though. Perhaps that would not have been good. I didn’t live in this house then. We were in Penzance. Alice’s parents had a big estate some few miles inland. That’s her husband’s now of course. She had a good fortune to bring to a husband. All the same, perhaps it would not have been good for cousins to marry. In any case they were set on the marriage with the TreMellyns.”

  “So that was arranged.”

  “Yes. Alice’s father was dead, and her mother—she was my sister—had always been very fond of Connan TreMellyn—the elder I mean. There have been Connans in that family for centuries. The eldest son was always given the name. I think my sister would have liked to marry the present Connan’s father, but other marriages were arranged for them, and so they wanted their children to marry. They were betrothed when Connan was twenty and Alice, eighteen. The marriage was to take place a year later.”

  “So it was indeed a marriage of convenience.”

  “How odd it is! Marriages of convenience often turn out to be marriages of inconvenience, do they not? They thought it would be a good idea if she came to stay with me. You see, I was within a few hours’ riding distance from Mount Mellyn, and the young people could meet often like that … without her staying at the house. Of course you might say: Why did not her mother take her to stay at Mount Mellyn? My sister was very ill at that time and not able to travel. In any case it was arranged that she should stay with me.”

  “And I suppose Mr. TreMellyn rode over to see her often
.”

  “Yes. But not as often as I should have expected. I began to suspect that they were not as well matched as their fortunes were.”

  “Tell me about Alice,” I said earnestly. “What sort of girl was she?”

  “How can I explain her to you? The word ‘light’ comes to my mind. She was lighthearted, light-minded. I do not mean she was light in her morals—which is a sense in which some people use the word. Although of course, after what happened … But who shall judge? You see, he came over here to paint. He did some beautiful pictures of the moors.”

  “Who? Connan TreMellyn?”

  “Oh, dear me no! Geoffry. Geoffry Nansellock. He was an artist of some reputation. Did you not know that?”

  “No,” I said. “I know nothing of him except that he was killed with Alice last July twelvemonth.”

  “He came over here often while she was with me. In fact he came more often than Connan did. I began to understand how matters stood. There was something between them. They would go off together and he’d have his painting things with him. She used to say she was going to watch him at work. She would be a painter herself perhaps one day. But of course it was not painting they did together.”

  “They were … in love?” I asked.

  “I was rather frightened when she told me. You see, there was going to be a child.”

  I caught my breath in surprise. Alvean, I thought. No wonder he could not bring himself to love her. No wonder my statement that she possessed artistic talent upset him and Celestine.

  “She told me two weeks before the day fixed for her wedding. She was almost certain, she said. She did not think she could be mistaken. She said, ‘What shall I do, Aunt Clara? Shall I marry Geoffry?’

  “I said: ‘Does Geoffry want to marry you, my dear?’ And she answered: ‘He would have to, would he not, if I told him?’

  “I know now that she should have told him. It was only right that she should. But her marriage was already arranged, Alice was an heiress and I wondered whether Geoffry had hoped for this. You see the Nansellocks had very little and Alice’s fortune would have been a blessing to them. I wondered … as one does wonder. He had a certain reputation too. There had been others who had found themselves in Alice’s condition, and it was due to him. I did not think she would be very happy with him for long.”

  There was silence, and I felt as though vital parts of a puzzle were being fitted together to give my picture meaning.

  “I remember her … that day,” the old lady continued. “It was in this very room. I often go over it. She talked to me about it … unburdening herself as I’m unburdening myself to you. It’s been on my conscience for the last year … ever since she died. You see, she said to me: ‘What shall I do, Aunt Clara? Help me … . Tell me what I should do.’

  “And I answered her. I said: ‘There’s only one thing you can do, my dear; and that is go on with your marriage to Connan TreMellyn. You’re betrothed to him. You must forget what happened with Geoffry Nansellock.’ And she said to me: ‘Aunt Clara, how can I forget? There’ll be a living reminder, won’t there?’ Then I did this terrible thing. I said to her: ‘You must marry. Your child will be born prematurely.’ Then she threw back her head and laughed and laughed. It was hysterical laughter. Poor Alice, she was near breaking point.”

  Great-aunt Clara sat back in her chair; she looked as though she had just come out of a trance. I really believe she had been seeing not me sitting opposite her, but Alice.

  She was now a little frightened because she was wondering whether she had told me too much.

  I said nothing. I was picturing it all; the wedding which would have been a ceremonial occasion; the death of Alice’s mother almost immediately afterward; and Connan’s father’s death the following year. The marriage had been arranged to please them and they had not lived long to enjoy it. And Alice was left with Connan—my Connan—and Alvean, the child of another man, whom she had tried to pass off as his. She had not succeeded—that much I knew.

  He had kept up the pretense that Alvean was his daughter, but he had never accepted her as such in his mind. Alvean knew it; she admired him so much; but she suspected something was wrong and she was uncertain; she longed to be accepted as his daughter. Perhaps he had never really discovered whether she was or not.

  The situation was fraught with drama. And yet, I thought, what good can come of brooding on it? Alice is dead; Alvean and Connan are alive. Let them forget what happened in the past. If they were wise they would try to make happiness for each other in the future.

  “Oh my dear,” sighed Great-aunt Clara, “how I talk! It is like living it all again. I have wearied you.” A little fear crept into her voice. “I have talked too much and you, Miss Leigh, have played no part in all this. I trust you will keep what I have said to yourself.”

  “You may trust me to do so,” I assured her.

  “I knew it. I would not have told you otherwise. But in any case, it is all so long ago. It has been a comfort to talk to you. I think about it all sometimes during the night. You see, it might have been right for her to marry Geoffry. Perhaps she thought so, and that was why she tried to run away with him. To think of them on that train! It seems like the judgment of God, doesn’t it?”

  “No,” I said sharply. “There were many other people on that train who were killed. They weren’t all on the point of leaving their husbands for other men.”

  She laughed on a high note. “How right you are! I knew you had lots of common sense. And you don’t think I did wrong? You see, I sometimes tell myself that if I had persuaded her not to marry Connan, she wouldn’t have. That is what frightens me. I pointed the way to her destiny.”

  “You must not blame yourself,” I said. “Whatever you did you did because you thought it was best for her. And we, after all, make our own destinies. I am sure of that.”

  “You do comfort me, Miss Leigh. You will stay and have tea with me, won’t you?”

  “It is kind of you, but I think I should be back before dark.”

  “Oh yes, you must be back before dark.”

  “It grows dark so early at this time of year.”

  “Then I must not be selfish and keep you. Miss Leigh, when Alvean is well enough, you will bring her over to see me?”

  “I promise I shall.”

  “And if you yourself feel like coming over before that …”

  “Depend upon it, I shall come. You have given me a very pleasant and interesting time.”

  The fear came back into her eyes. “You will remember it was in confidence?”

  I reassured her. I knew that this charming old lady’s greatest pleasure in life must have been sharing confidences, telling a little more than was discreet. Well, I thought, we all have our little vices.

  She came to the door to wave me on when I left.

  “It’s been so pleasant,” she reiterated. “And don’t forget.” She put her finger to her lips and her eyes sparkled.

  I imitated the gesture and, waving, rode off.

  I was very thoughtful on the way home. This day I had learned so much.

  I was nearly at Mellyn village when the thought struck me that Gilly was Alvean’s half-sister. I remembered then the drawings I had seen of Alvean and Gilly combined.

  So Alvean knew. Or did she merely fear? Was she trying to convince herself that her father was not Geoffry Nansellock— which would make her Gilly’s half-sister? Or did her great desire for Connan’s approval really mean that she was longing for him to accept her as his daughter?

  I felt a great desire to help them all out of this morass of tragedy into which Alice’s indiscretion had plunged them.

  I can do it, I told myself. I will do it.

  Then I thought of Connan with Lady Treslyn, and I was filled with disquiet. What absurd and impossible dreams I was indulging in. What chance had I—the governess—of showing Connan the way to happiness?

  Christmas was rapidly approaching, and it brought with it all that exciteme
nt which I remembered so well from the old days in my father’s vicarage.

  Kitty and Daisy were constantly whispering together; Mrs. Polgrey said they nearly drove her crazy, and that their work was more skimped than usual, though that had to be seen to be believed. She went about the house sighing “Nowadays …” and shaking her head in sorrow. But even she was excited.

  The weather was warm, more like the approach of spring than of winter. On my walks in the woods I noticed that the primroses had begun to bloom.

  “My dear life,” said Tapperty, “primroses in December be nothing new to we. Spring do come early to Cornwall.”

  I began to think about Christmas presents and I made a little list. There must be something for Phillida and her family, and Aunt Adelaide; but I was mainly concerned with the people at Mount Mellyn. I had a little money to spend, since I used very little and had saved most of what I had earned since I had taken my post at Mount Mellyn.

  One day I went into Plymouth and did my Christmas shopping. I went on Royal Rover and left him at a well-known hostelry where he would be looked after until I was ready to return.

  I bought books for Phillida and her family and had them sent direct to her; I bought a scarf for Aunt Adelaide and that was sent direct too. I spent a long time choosing what I would give the Mellyn household. Finally I decided on scarves for Kitty and Daisy, red and green which would suit them, and a blue one for Gilly to match her eyes. For Mrs. Polgrey I bought a bottle of whisky which I was sure would delight her more than anything else, and for Alvean some handkerchiefs in many colors with A embroidered on them.

  I was pleased with my purchases. I was beginning to grow as excited about Christmas as Daisy and Kitty.

  The weather continued very mild, and on Christmas Eve I helped Mrs. Polgrey and the girls to decorate the great hall and some of the other rooms.

  The men had been out the previous day and brought in ivy, holly, box, and bay. I was shown how the pillars in the great hall were entwined with these leaves and Daisy and Kitty taught me how to make Christmas bushes; they were delightedly shocked by an ignorance like mine. I had never before heard of a Christmas bush! We took two wooden hoops—one inserted into the other—and this ball-like framework we decorated with evergreen leaves and furze; then we hung oranges and apples on it; and I must say this made a pretty show. These we hung in some of the windows.