Bride of Pendorric

  There was no one in the room and I felt the stillness of the house close about me.

  Then suddenly I heard the shriek of a gull outside the window.

  It seemed to be laughing at me.

  Because I was not anxious to stay in the house I decided to go for a walk in the direction of the home farm, hoping to meet Roc.

  As I walked I reasoned with myself: Someone in the house plays the violin, and you presumed it came from the east wing because you had seen the violin there. If you really are disturbed about it, the simplest thing is to find out who in the house plays the violin and casually mention that you heard it being played.

  Out of doors everything seemed so much more rational than it did in the house. As I climbed onto the road and walked across the fields in a northerly direction I was quickly recovering my good spirits. I had not walked this way before and I was delighted to explore fresh ground. The countryside seemed restful after the rugged coast views and I was charmed by the greenish gold of the freshly mown fields and the scarlet of the poppies growing here and there. I particularly noticed the occasional tree, slightly bent by the southwest gales, but taller than those stunted and distorted ones which survived along the coast. I could smell the fragrance of meadow-sweet growing on the banks, mingling with the harebells and scabious.

  And while I was contemplating all this I heard the sound of a car and to my delight saw it was Roc’s.

  He pulled up and put his head out of the window.

  “This is a pleasant surprise.”

  “I’ve never walked this way. I thought I’d come and meet you.”

  “Get in,” he commanded.

  When he hugged me I felt secure again and very glad I had come.

  “I got back from Polhorgan to find no one around, so I decided I wouldn’t stay in.”

  Roc started the car. “And how was the old man today?”

  “He seemed to have quite recovered.”

  “I believe that’s how it is with his complaint. Poor old fellow, it must be a trial for him, yet he’s cheerful enough … about his health.”

  “I think he’s very brave.”

  Roc gave me a quick look. “Relations still remain friendly?”

  “Of course.”

  “Not everyone gets along with him so well. I’m glad you do.”

  “I’m still surprised that you should be when you so obviously don’t like him.”

  “The lady of the manor has always gone round visiting the sick. It’s an old custom. You’ve started well.”

  “Surely the custom was to visit the sickly poor and take them soup and blankets.”

  Roc burst out laughing. “Imagine your arriving at Polhorgan with a bowl of soup and a red flannel blanket, and handing them to Dawson for the deserving millionaire!”

  “This is quite a different sort of visiting anyway.”

  “Is it? He wants company; they wanted comforts. Same thing, but in a different form. No, really, darling, I’m delighted that you’re able to bring sunshine into the old man’s life. You’ve brought such lots into mine, I can spare him a little. What do you talk about all the time? Does he tell you about his wicked family who deserted him?”

  “He hasn’t mentioned his family.”

  “He will. He’s waiting for the opportunity.”

  “By the way,” I said, “I heard someone playing the violin this afternoon. Who would it have been?”

  “The violin?” Roc screwed up his eyes as though puzzled. “Where?”

  “I wasn’t sure where. I thought it was in the east wing.”

  “Hardly anyone goes there except old Carrie. Can’t believe she’s turned virtuoso. In our youth, Morwenna and I had a few lessons. They soon discovered, in my case at least, that it was no use trying to cultivate stony ground. Morwenna wasn’t bad. But she dropped all that when she married Charles. Charles is tone deaf—wouldn’t know a Beethoven concerto from ‘God Save the Queen’; and Morwenna is the devoted wife. Everything that Charles thinks, she thinks; you could take her as a model, darling.”

  “So you’re the only two who could play the violin?”

  “Wait a minute. Rachel gave the twins lessons at one time, I believe. Lowella takes after me and is about as talented in that direction as a bull calf. Hyson now … she’s different. I think Hyson was quite good at it.”

  “It could have been Hyson or Rachel I heard playing.”

  “You seem very interested. Not thinking of taking it up yourself? Or are you a secret genius? There’s a lot I don’t know about you, Favel, even though you are my wife.”

  As we came onto the coast road we met Rachel, and Roc slowed down the car for her to get in.

  “I’ve been looking for the twins,” she told us. “They went shrimping this afternoon, down at Tregallic Cove.”

  “I hope you took advantage of your respite,” Roc said.

  “I did. I went for a long walk as far as Gorman’s Bay. I had tea there and planned to pick them up on the way back. I expect they’ve already gone home.”

  “Favel thought she heard you playing the violin this afternoon.”

  I turned and looked at Rachel. Her expression seemed faintly scornful, her sandy eyes more sly than usual.

  “You’d hardly have heard me on the road from Gorman’s Bay.”

  “It must have been Hyson then.”

  Rachel shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t think Hyson will qualify for the concert platform, and I’d be surprised if she deserted shrimps for music.”

  As we were going to the house the twins arrived, with their shrimping nets and a pail in which Lowella carried their catch.

  Rachel said: “By the way, Hyson, you didn’t come back and play your violin this afternoon?”

  Hyson looked bewildered. “Whatever for?” she said.

  “Your Aunt Favel thought she heard you.”

  “Oh,” said Hyson thoughtfully. “She didn’t hear me playing it.”

  She turned away abruptly, and I was sure it was because she didn’t want me to see that Rachel’s remark had excited her.

  The next day it rained without stopping and continued through the night.

  “There’s nothing unusual about that,” Roc told me. “It’s another old Cornish custom. You’ll begin to understand why ours is the greenest grass in this green and pleasant land.”

  The soft southwest wind was blowing and everything one touched seemed damp.

  The following day the rain was less constant, though the lowering sky promised more to come. The sea was muddy brown about the shore and farther out it was a dull grayish green.

  Roc was going off to the farm and as I had decided that I would go along to Polhorgan to complete that unfinished game of chess, he drove me there on his way.

  Lord Polhorgan was delighted to see me; we had tea as usual and played our game of chess, which he won.

  He liked to have an inquest after it was over, and point out where I had given him the game. It put him in a good humor and I enjoyed it because after all the purpose of my visits was to give him pleasure.

  As I was leaving Dr. Clement called. He was getting out of his car, as I came out by the unicorns, and looked disappointed.

  “Just leaving?” he said.

  “Yes, I’ve stayed rather longer than I meant to.”

  “Mabell is very much looking forward to meeting you.”

  “Tell her I’m also looking forward to it.”

  “I’ll get her to telephone you.”

  “Please do. How ill is Lord Polhorgan?”

  Dr. Clement looked serious. “One can never be sure with a patient in his condition. He can become seriously ill very quickly.”

  “I’m glad Nurse Grey is always at hand.”

  “It’s rather essential that he should have someone in attendance. Mind you …”

  He did not continue and I guessed he was about to offer a criticism of Althea Grey and changed his mind.

  I smiled. “Well, I’ll have to hurry. Good-by.”
r />   “Good-by.”

  He went into the house and I made my way towards the coast road. Then I changed my mind and decided to use the short cut.

  I had not gone far when I realized I’d been rather foolish to come, for the path was a mass of reddish brown mud and I guessed Smugglers’ Lane would be even worse. I stood still wondering whether to turn back, but as I should have to plow through mud to do so, I decided it couldn’t be much worse if I went on. My shoes were filthy by now in any case.

  I had not quite reached the narrow ledge when I heard Roc’s voice.

  “Favel! Stop where you are. Don’t move till I get to you.”

  I turned sharply and saw him coming towards me.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He didn’t answer but coming close he put out an arm and held me tightly against him for some seconds. Then he said: “This path is dangerous after a heavy rain. Look! Can you see the cracks in the ground? Part of the cliff has collapsed. It’s unsafe even here.”

  He took my arm and drew me back the way I had come, carefully picking his steps.

  When we reached the beginning of the cliff path he stopped and sighed deeply. “I was thoroughly scared,” he said. “It suddenly occurred to me. I came hurrying over to Polhorgan and they told me you’d just left. Look back. Can you see where the cliff side has crumbled? Look at that heap of shale and uprooted bracken halfway down the slope.”

  I saw it and shuddered.

  “The narrow part is absolutely unsafe,” went on Roc. “I’m surprised you didn’t see the notice. Come to think of it I didn’t see it myself.”

  “It always says ‘this path used at own risk.’ But I thought that was for visitors who aren’t used to the cliffs.”

  “After heavy rain they take that away and put up another notice: ‘path unsafe.’ Can’t understand why it wasn’t done.” He was frowning and then he gave a sudden cry. “Good Lord,” he said, “I wonder who did this?” He stooped and picked up a board which was lying face down. There were two muddy prongs attached to it which clearly had recently been embedded in the ground. “I don’t see how it could have fallen. Thank heaven I came.”

  “I was going very carefully.”

  “You might have managed but … oh, my God … the risk.”

  He held me close to him and I was deeply touched because I knew he was anxious that I should not see how frightened he was. He stuck the notice board into the ground and said gruffly: “The car’s not far off. Come on! Let’s get home.”

  When we drove up to the portico Morwenna was busy forking plantains from the stretch of lawn.

  Roc slammed the car door and shouted: “Someone must have uprooted the danger board on the cliff path. I just stopped Favel going along it in time.”

  Morwenna stood up looking startled. “Who on earth … ?” she began.

  “Some kids, I expect. It ought to be reported. It suddenly occurred to me that she might go that way … and she did.”

  “I’ve often been over it when the danger board’s been up.”

  “There was a bad landslide,” Roc said shortly. He turned to me. “The path shouldn’t be used until they’ve done something about it. I’m going to speak to Admiral Weston—the chairman of the local council.”

  Charles had come around by the side of the house; I noticed that his boots were muddy.

  “Anything wrong?”

  Roc repeated the story of what he seemed to regard as my narrow escape.

  “Visitors,” grumbled Charles. “I bet it’s visitors.”

  “All’s well that ends well,” said Morwenna, drawing off her gardening gloves. “I’ve had enough for today. I could do with a drink. What about you, Favel? I expect Roc could do with one, and Charles never says no.”

  We went into the house to a little parlor leading off the hall. Morwenna took drinks from a cabinet and, while she was serving them, Rachel Bective came in with Hyson. They were wearing slippers, and Morwenna’s look of approval called my attention to them. I guessed they had changed at the back door where the gum boots and house shoes were kept ready for occasions like this.

  The subject of the notice board was brought up again and Rachel Bective did not look at me as she said: “That could have been dangerous. It was a good thing you remembered, Roc.” Hyson was staring at her slippers and I fancied I saw a slight smile curve her lips.

  “Where’s Lowella?” asked Morwenna.

  Neither Rachel nor Hyson had any idea.

  It was five or ten minutes later when Lowella joined us and she was immediately followed by Deborah. Lowella told us that she had been swimming; and Deborah had obviously just got up from her usual afternoon nap; she still looked sleepy and no one mentioned the notice-board incident after that, but I could see that several of them hadn’t forgotten it. Roc still looked worried; Rachel Bective almost rueful; and Hyson secretive as though she knew something which she was determined not to tell.

  I half wondered whether Hyson had removed the board. She knew where I had gone and that I’d probably come home by the short cut. She might even have watched me. But what reason could she possibly have for doing it? There might be more than a streak of mischief in her nature. But, I decided, Roc had made a great deal out of something not very important, simply because of his love for me.

  I felt rather cozily content, until the following day, when the doubts began.

  The weather had completely changed by next morning. The sky was a guileless blue and the sea sparkled so brilliantly that it was almost too dazzling to contemplate. It was like a sheet of silk, with scarcely a ripple in it. Roc took me with him to the forge, where one of his horses was being shod that morning. I was offered another glass of cider from the barrel in the corner; and while young Jim shod the horse, Dinah came into the forge to give me the benefit of her bold lustrous stare; I guessed that she was wondering about my relationship with Roc and that made me suspect that he and she had been on intimate terms at some time, and that she was trying to convey this to me.

  “Maybe,” she said, “I’ll tell Mrs. Pendorric’s fortune one day.”

  Old Jim murmured that he doubted whether Mrs. Pendorric would be interested in such nonsense.

  She ignored him. “I’m good with the cards but it’s your own hand and the crystal that’s best. I could tell you a fine fortune, Mrs. Pendorric.”

  She smiled, throwing back her dark head so that the gold-colored rings in her ears danced.

  “One day perhaps …” I murmured.

  “Don’t make it too long. Delay’s dangerous.”

  When we left the forge and passed the row of cottages I saw an old man sitting at the door of one of them.

  “Morning, Jesse,” called Roc.

  “Morning, sir.”

  “We must speak to Jesse Pleydell,” Roc whispered.

  The gnarled hands were grasping the bony knees and they were trembling. I wondered why; then I saw how very old he was and thought this was the reason.

  “Be that your lady as is with you, sir?” he asked gently.

  “It is, Jesse; she’s come to make your acquaintance.”

  “How do you do,” I said. “Your daughter was talking to me about you.”

  “She be a good girl, my Bessie … and Maria, she be good too. Don’t know what I’d do without ’em … now I be so old and infirm like. ‘Tis a pleasure to think of her … up at the House.”

  “We wish that you could be there too, Jesse,” said Roc, and the gentleness of his voice delighted me and made me feel as happy as I had before Dinah Bond had put misgivings into my mind.

  “Ay, sir, that’s where my place be. But since my eyes was took from me, it’s little use I be to God or man.”

  “Nonsense, we’re all proud of you, Jesse. You’ve only got to live another twenty years and you’ll make Pendorric famous.”

  “Always one for a joke, Master Roc … like his father. Now he were one for a joke till …” His hands began to pluck at the cloth of his trousers nervously.
br />   “Like father, like son,” said Roc. “Well, we must be moving on.”

  On impulse I stepped closer to the old man and laid a hand on his shoulder. He was very still and a smile touched his lips.

  “I’ll come and see you again,” I said.

  He nodded and his hands began to tremble again as they sought his bony kneecaps and rested there.

  “‘Tis like old times …” he murmured. “Like old times, with a new bride up to Pendorric. I wish you all the best of luck, m’dear.”

  When we were out of earshot I said: “Mrs. Penhalligan told me he was in the hall at the time of your mother’s accident.”

  “She told you that, did she?” He was frowning. “How they do go on about things that are past and over.” He glanced at me and, perhaps because I looked surprised at his mild annoyance, he went on: “I suppose so little happens in their lives that they remember every little thing that’s out of the ordinary routine.”

  “I should certainly hope someone’s untimely death would be very much out of routine.”

  He laughed and put his arm through mine. “Remember that when you feel tempted to go scrambling over dangerous paths,” he said.

  Then we came to the Darks’ house and the Reverend Peter invited us in; he was so eager to show us pictures he had taken of the Helston Furry dancers the preceding May.

  That afternoon I went to the quadrangle, not to sit, for, in spite of the warm sun of the morning, the seats had not yet dried out after the rain. Hyson followed me there and gravely walked round at my side. The hydrangeas looked fresher than ever and their colors more brilliant.

  Hyson said suddenly: “Did you feel frightened when Uncle Roc rescued you on the cliff path?”

  “No. It didn’t occur to me that there was any danger until he pointed it out.”

  “You probably would have got through all right. It was just that there might have been an accident.”

  “It was a good thing I was stopped from going on then, wasn’t it?”

  Hyson nodded. “It was meant,” she said, in a small hollow voice.