I was glad Mrs. Penhalligan was the loquacious type because I had been wondering what I should say to her.
“I’ve been hearing about how your family have been at Pendorric for generations.”
“Oh yes … always Pleydells at Pendorric. But then father and mother didn’t have no son. I was their only daughter. Then I married Penhalligan, who was gardener here till he died. And we only had one too … my Maria. She’ll be working here till the end … and then that’ll be the end of the Pleydells at Pendorric.”
“What a pity!”
“All things has to come to an end, m’am. And did you want to give me some orders or something?”
“Not really. I thought I’d like to see how things were worked down here.”
“Right and proper that you should, m’am. You be the mistress. Miss Morwenna, she was never one to take much interest. Now Miss Bective …” Mrs. Penhalligan’s face hardened, “she was up another street! When she first come here, it was, ‘Mrs. Penhalligan, we’ll have this and we’ll have that.’ But I know my place if some don’t, and I take orders from the mistress of the house and none other.”
“I expect she was trying to be helpful.”
“Helpful! I don’t need help in my kitchen, m’am … no more than I’ve got. My Maria’s been well trained and I’m not doing too bad with Hetty Toms.”
“Everything is very well organized, I’m sure.”
“And so should be … the years I’ve been at it. I was in the kitchen when the other Mrs. Pendorric first come here.”
I felt excited as I always did at the mention of Barbarina. “Was she interested in the kitchen?”
“She were like yourself, m’am. Interested, I’d say, but not one to want to change things. I remember the day she came into my kitchen, her lovely face all glowing with health; she’d come in from a ride and she was in her riding clothes … breeches and coat like a man’s. But there was nothing of the man about her. There was a little blue flower in her buttonhole and she had one of them riding hats on with a band of yellow round it. She always wore them … like in the picture in the south hall, only she’s in blue there.”
“Yes, I know the picture well.”
“A lovely lady, and it was a pleasure to serve her. It was terrible when—But my tongue runs away with me. Maria always says so and she’s right.”
“It’s pleasant to have a chat though. That’s really what I came down for.”
Mrs. Penhalligan’s face shone with pleasure as her nimble fingers went on kneading the bread.
“She was like that too … always ready for a chat, particularly in the beginning. Afterwards she was …”
I waited and Mrs. Penhalligan frowned down at her dough.
“She was less friendly later?” I prompted.
“Oh, not less friendly. Just sad, I think; and sometimes she wouldn’t seem to see you. Reckon she was thinking of other things, poor lady.”
“Of her troubles?”
“She had those. She was very fond of him, you see …” She seemed to recall to whom she was talking and stopped. “I suppose, m’am, you have a preference for the wholemeal bread. I bake some white … but more wholemeal. Father, he likes white … done in the old-fashioned coberg style. Father’s one to have what he wants. Though I must say now though that his mind wanders a bit. It’s not being able to see, I think. That must make a difference.”
I said I personally preferred wholemeal, and that I thought the bread she made was the best I had ever tasted.
Nothing could have delighted her more; she was my ally from that moment. She relaxed too; she had concluded that, although I was the mistress of the house, I was fond of gossip.
“I’ll certainly look out for your father when I next pass the cottages,” I told her.
“I’ll tell him. He’ll be that pleased. You must be prepared though for him to wander a bit. He’s close to ninety and he gets a bit muddled. He’s had it on his mind a bit lately. I reckon it’s because there’s a new bride here at Pendorric.”
“Had what on his mind?” I asked.
“Well, m’am, you’ll have heard of course how Mr. Roc’s and Miss Morwenna’s mother died.”
“Yes, I have heard.”
“Well, Father was there when it happened. It preyed on his mind a bit for a time. Then he seemed to forget like … but things are likely to bring it back, which is all natural. And when he heard there was a new bride at Pendorric, you see …”
“Yes, I see. He was there, you say.”
“He were there. In the hall when she, poor soul, did crash from the gallery. He weren’t completely blind then neither … but almost he were. He couldn’t see clear enough, but he knew her were up there and it was him that gave the alarm. That’s why it preyed on his mind like. That’s why he remembers now and then, though it be twenty-five years since it happened.”
“Does he believe … the story about the ghost?”
Mrs. Penhalligan looked surprised. “Father knows there be such things. I don’t rightly know what he thinks about Mrs. Pendorric’s fall. He don’t talk much. He just sits brooding. Can’t get him to talk much about it. Might be better if we could.”
“I shall certainly look out for him when I pass the cottage, Mrs. Penhalligan.”
“You’ll see him … puffing away at his old pipe. He’ll be that pleased. Maria’ll just be taking the first batch out of the oven. I still use the old cloam oven for bread. Can’t be beat. Would you like to come and see it, m’am?”
I said I would; and as I went through the kitchens to the bakehouse and returned the greeting of Maria and Hetty Toms, I was not thinking of them or the golden brown loaves fresh from the oven; I kept seeing that beautiful young woman crashing from the gallery, the smiling painted face of Lowella Pendorric behind her; and in the hall, an almost sightless man, peering towards the falling figure, trying so hard to see what was happening.
After my talk with Mrs. Penhalligan I felt that I was truly mistress of the house. The faithful housekeeper, daughter of the Pleydells, who had served the family for generations, had accepted me. My sister-in-law had no great desire to manage the house, and I felt delighted to have something to do.
I wanted to know every inch and corner of Pendorric. I was beginning to love it, and to understand that a house which had stood for hundreds of years must necessarily have a stronger appeal than one which had stood only a few years.
I told Roc how I felt and he was delighted.
“What did I tell you?” he cried. “The brides of Pendorric fall fiercely in love with the place.”
“It must be because they’re so happy to have become Pendorrics.”
The remark delighted him. He put his arm about me and I felt suddenly secure … safe.
“There are lots of things I want to ask you about the place.” I told him. “Is it true that wood worm is slowly destroying parts of it?”
“The little beasts are the enemies of the stately homes of England, darling. They’re almost as destructive as the Inland Revenue.”
“That’s another thing: You did seem rather sorry because you weren’t so rich as Lord Polhorgan. Do you really think it’ll be necessary to hand over Pendorric to the National Trust?”
Roc took my face in his hands and kissed me lightly.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll manage to keep the wolf from the ancestral home.”
“So we aren’t living beyond our means?”
He laughed lightheartedly. “I always knew I’d married a businesswoman. Listen, darling; when I’ve talked over this with Charles I’m going to show you how things work here. I’m going to make use of you, you see. I’m going to show you all the inner workings of an estate like ours. Then you’ll see what it’s all about.”
“Oh Roc dear, I’ll love that.”
“I thought you would. But first I’ve got to make up for my long absence from home. Then I’ve got to prepare old Charlie. He’s a bit old-fashioned. Keep the women out of business and a
ll that. He doesn’t realize the sort of woman I’ve found for myself. You see, Morwenna’s never been the least bit interested in anything except the gardens.”
“Do persuade him soon.”
“Trust me.” He was serious suddenly. “I want us to be … together in everything. Understand?”
I nodded. “No secrets,” I added.
He held me tightly for a moment. “Quite close … forever and ever until death do us part.”
“Oh, Roc, don’t talk of death.”
“Only as something in the dim and distant future, my love. But you’re happy now.”
“Wonderfully happy.”
“That’s how I want you to stay. So no worries about the house. Don’t I have you to help me? Then there’s Charles. He’d die rather than see the old place go. Not that it goes completely if you hand over to the National Trust. But you can’t tell me your home’s the same if you’re going to have people wandering round from two till six-thirty every afternoon except Wednesdays.”
I felt completely happy after that talk; never had the tragedy of my father’s death seemed so far behind me. My life was here at Pendorric; it was true I was a newcomer, but everyone accepted me as a member of the family and Roc had given me the comfort that only he could give.
Soon afterwards I decided I would make a tour of all the rooms and see if I could detect anything that was in need of urgent repair. I was sure it was something that should be done, for Charles was interested in the farm, Morwenna in the garden, and Roc had the entire estate to manage.
I would begin with the east wing because that was the one which was unoccupied; and after luncheon one day I went down to the quadrangle, sat by the pond for a few minutes, and then entered the house by way of the east door.
As soon as that door closed behind me I began to think of Barbarina, who had loved this part of the house, and I longed to see her music room again.
I went straight to that floor, and as I mounted the stairs a sudden impulse came to me to turn back, but I quickly thrust this aside for I was not going to feel afraid every time I came to this part of the house simply because of an old legend.
When I reached the door of the music room, I quickly turned the handle and went in.
Everything was as it had been when I had last seen it: the violin lying across the chair, the music on the stand.
I shut the door behind me, reminding myself that I had come here for a practical purpose. Where, I wondered, would wood worm most likely be found? In the woodwork about the windows? In the oak beams across the ceiling? In the floor perhaps, or the doors? If it did exist the sooner it was dealt with the better.
My eyes kept straying to the music stand, and I was picturing her there, her eyes bright with inspiration, faint color in her cheeks. I knew exactly what she looked like, and I wondered what her thoughts had been the last time she had stood there, her violin in her slim hands with their tapering fingers.
“Barbarina!” The name was spoken in a whisper.
I felt a prickly sensation in my spine. I was not alone in this room.
“Barbarina! Are you there, Barbarina?”
A movement behind me made me spin around hastily. My eyes went to the door and I saw that the handle was slowly being turned.
My hands had involuntarily placed themselves across my heart which was beating painfully as the door was slowly opened.
“Carrie!” I cried reproachfully. “You startled me.”
The little eyes beneath those heavy brows glinted as she looked at me.
“So it’s Mr. Roc’s bride,” she said. “I thought for the moment …”
“You thought I was somebody else?”
She nodded slowly and looked about the room as though she were seeking something.
I went on because I wanted to know what was in her mind: “You said: ‘Barbarina.’”
Again she nodded without speaking.
“She’s dead, Carrie.”
“She don’t rest,” was the low reply.
“So you believe that she haunts the house … haunts these rooms?”
“I know when she’s getting ready to walk. There’s a kind of stirring.” She came close to me and looked into my face. “I can feel it now.”
“Well, I can’t.” Then I was afraid that I had spoken rather sharply and I remembered that she had been nurse to Barbarina and Deborah and had loved them dearly. When loved ones died, often those who had lost them made themselves believe that they could come back. I could see the devotion shining in Carrie’s eyes, and I knew that when she had heard me in the music room she had really hoped it was Barbarina. “You will,” said Carrie.
I smiled disbelievingly. “I must get on,” I said. “I’m rather busy.”
I walked out of the music room, but I didn’t want to stay any longer in the east wing. I went back to the quadrangle and sat there; and every now and then I would find myself looking up involuntarily at those windows.
When I next called on Lord Polhorgan, Dr. Clement was there. He had tea with us and I found his company pleasant, as I was sure our host did.
I was very pleased to see that Lord Polhorgan had recovered from his recent attack and I was surprised that he could appear as well as he did.
We talked about the village and I discovered that Dr. Clement, like the Reverend Peter Dark, was very interested in the customs of the place.
He lived on the outskirts of Pendorric village in a house which he had taken over from the doctor who had retired on his arrival.
“It’s called Tremethick, which is apt, because in Cornish it means the doctor’s house. You must come and meet my sister some time.”
I said I should be delighted to; and he talked of his sister Mabell, who was interested in pottery and made quite a number of the little pots and ash trays which were for sale in some of the shops in the towns along the coast. She was something of an artist too, and not only supplied pottery but her pictures ‘on sale or return’ to the shops.
“It keeps her busy—that and the house.”
She had turned the old stables into a workshop and had her oven there.
“She’ll never make a fortune out of her pottery,” our host commented. “Too much mass production against her.”
“Not a fortune, but a lot of pleasure,” retorted the doctor. “And it pleases her that there’s a small profit in it.”
There was no chess that day and, when I got up to go, the doctor said he had his car outside and would drive me home.
I told him that there was no need, but he insisted that he went past Pendorric, so I accepted.
As we drove along he asked if I always made the journey from Pendorric to Polhorgan by the top road, and I said that there were three ways of getting there: by that road, Smugglers’ Lane and the short cut, and by way of the beach and the gardens.
“If I’m in a hurry,” I told him, “I take the short cut.”
“Oh yes,” he said, “you can save quite five minutes that way. Once there was a road here with houses on either side. I found an old map the other day. It gives you some idea how the sea is gradually encroaching on the land. It couldn’t have been more than a hundred and fifty years old. Why not come along now and meet Mabell? She’d be delighted to see you, and I’d run you back.”
I looked at my watch and, thinking that Roc might already be home, said that I didn’t really think I had time.
He dropped me at Pendorric. I thanked him and he gave me a friendly wave as his car roared away.
I turned to the house. There was no one in sight, and I stood for a while under the arch and looked up at the inscription in Cornish.
It was a gray day; there had been no sun lately; nor would there be, Roc had told me, until the wind changed. It was now blowing straight in from the southwest—soft and balmy, the sort of wind that made one’s skin glow.
The gulls seemed even more mournful than usual today, but that may have been because of the grayness of the sea and the leaden sky.
I
walked around the house to the south side and stood for a moment looking down on the garden, but even the colors of the flowers seemed subdued.
I went into the house and as soon as I entered the hall my eyes fixed themselves on the portrait of Barbarina. I was afraid they were making a habit of doing that. The eyes in the picture followed me as I passed the suits of armor and started to go up the stairs. I went up to the gallery and stood right beneath the portrait looking up at it, and as Barbarina’s eyes looked straight into mine, I could almost imagine the lips curved into a smile—a warm, inviting smile.
I was really being rather silly, I told myself.
The hall was gloomy today because it was so gray outside. If the sun were shining through those big mullioned windows it would seem quite different.
Was Roc home? I wondered. There was a great deal to be done on the farm and about the estate, and that work was still very much in arrears, because he had been abroad so long.
I walked along the gallery to the corridor. Several of the windows were open and I could never seem to resist looking down at the quadrangle. And as I stood there I could distinctly hear the music of a violin.
I threw up the window and leaned out. Yes, there was no doubt about it; and one of the windows on the east side was open. Was the sound coming from the east wing?
It might well be. I was sure it was. My eyes went to the second floor. If someone were playing in the music room could I hear from across the corridor and the quadrangle?
I was ashamed of feeling so frightened. I was not going to be taken in by my foolish imagination. I reminded myself of the day Carrie had come into the music room while I was there, and how scared I had been because she went creeping around calling Barbarina; as soon as I had seen that it was Carrie, I had ceased to be scared; I was not the least bit taken in by her talk of “stirring.”
I began to walk resolutely round the corridor to the east wing. As I went in I heard the violin again. I hurried up the stairs to the music room.
There was no sound of the violin now. I threw open the door. The violin lay on the chair; the music was on the stand.