Bride of Pendorric

  I thought Hyson rather grudgingly agreed, but I accepted quickly because I was anxious to know more of this new member of the household.

  The three of us went off together and soon were in the west corridor passing that very window at which Deborah had appeared and so startled me.

  She opened the door of a room which had windows very like those in Roc’s and my bedroom and which gave a superb view of the coastline stretching but towards the west and Land’s End. My eyes went immediately to the bed—a four-poster like ours—because on the rose-colored counterpane lay the black hat with the blue band. It was not really like the one in the picture but the coloring was similar. I felt rather foolish as well as relieved, because it was comforting to solve the mystery of the apparition so quickly, but at the same time it was disconcerting to remember how shaken I had been at the sight of it.

  I saw then that a part of one of the walls was covered with photographs of all sizes and types, some being studio portraits, others snapshots.

  Deborah laughed and followed my gaze. “I have always hoarded pictures of the family. It’s the same in Devonshire, isn’t it, Hyson?”

  “Yes, but they’re all pictures of you before … these are after.”

  “Yes, of course. Time seems rather divided like that … before Barby’s marriage … and after.”

  “Barbarina,” I murmured involuntarily.

  “Yes, Barbarina. She was Barby to me, and I was Deb. No one else ever called us by those versions of our names. Barbarina was the name of an ancestress of ours. It’s unusual, isn’t it. Until Barbarina’s marriage she and I were always together.” The blue eyes clouded momentarily and I guessed that there had been great devotion between the sisters. “Oh well,” she went on, “it’s all so long ago. Sometimes I find it hard to believe that she is dead … and in her grave …”

  “But …” began Hyson.

  Deborah laid her hand on the child’s head and went on: “When she … died, I came to live here and I brought up Petroc and Morwenna. I tried to take her place, but can anyone take the place of a mother?”

  “They’re very fond of you, I’m sure.”

  “I think they are. Do let me show you the photographs. I think some of them are very charming. You’ll want to see your husband in the various stages of his development, I expect. It’s always rather fun, don’t you think, to see people as they were years and years ago.”

  I smiled at the mischievous-eyed boy in the open shirt and cricket flannels; and the picture of him standing side by side with Morwenna—Morwenna smiling coyly at the camera, Roc scowling at it. There was a picture of them as babies; they lay side by side and a beautiful woman was bending over them.

  “Barbarina and her twins,” murmured Deborah.

  “How beautiful she is!”

  “Yes.” There was a note of infinite sadness in her voice. So she still mourns her sister, I thought; and there came into my mind the memory of the family vault with the laurel hanging on the spike. I guessed who had put that there.

  I turned my attention to a picture of a man and a woman; I had no difficulty in recognizing Barbarina, and the man who was with her was so like Roc that I guessed he was Barbarina’s husband.

  There it was, the almost challenging smile, the face of a man who knew how to get the best out of life, the reckless gambler, the indefinable charm. I noticed that the ears were slightly tilted at the corners. It was a handsome face, made even more attractive by that streak of mischief … wickedness … or whatever it was that I had sensed in Roc.

  “Roc’s parents,” I said.

  “Taken a year before the tragedy,” Deborah told me.

  “It is very sad. He looks so fond of her. He must have been heartbroken.”

  Deborah smiled grimly, but she did not speak.

  “Aren’t you going to show Favel the albums?” Hyson asked.

  “Not now, dear. I’ve my settling in to do, and stories of the past can be a little boring, I’m afraid, to those who haven’t lived them.”

  “I’m certainly not bored. I’m very eager to learn all I can about the family.”

  “Of course … now that you are one of us. And I shall enjoy showing you the albums at another time.”

  It was a kind of dismissal and I said that I too had things to do and would see her later. She came towards me and, taking my hands, smiled at me affectionately.

  “I can’t tell you how pleased I am that you are here,” she told me earnestly; and there could be no doubting her sincerity.

  “Everyone has been so charming to me at Pendorric,” I told her. “No bride could have been more enthusiastically welcomed, and considering how sudden our marriage had been and that my coming must have been rather a shock to the family, I’m very grateful to everybody.”

  “Of course we welcome you, my dear.”

  Hyson said earnestly: “We’ve been waiting for her for years … haven’t we, Granny?”

  Deborah laughed, and gently pulled Hyson’s ear. “You take in everything, child,” she said. And to me: “We’re delighted that Roc’s married. The Pendorrics usually marry young.”

  The door opened and a little woman came into the room. She was dressed in black, which was not becoming to her sallow skin; her hair was what is known as iron gray and must have been almost black once; her dark bushy brows met over small, worried eyes; she had a long thin nose and thin lips.

  She was about to speak, but seeing me hesitated. Deborah said: “This is my dear Carrie who was our nurse and has never left me. Now she looks after me … completely, and I just don’t know what I should do without her. Carrie, this is the new Mrs. Pendorric.”

  The worried-looking eyes were fixed on me. “Oh,” she murmured, “the new Mrs. Pendorric, eh.”

  Deborah smiled at me. “You’ll get to know Carrie very quickly. She’ll do anything for you, I’m sure. She’s a wonder with her needle. She makes most of my things as she always did.”

  “I made for the two of them,” said Carrie with pride. “And I used to say there was no one better dressed in the whole of Devonshire than Miss Barbarina and Miss Deborah.”

  I noticed then the slight burr in her speech and the tenderness in her voice when she spoke of those two.

  “Carrie, there’s some unpacking to do.”

  Carrie’s expression changed and she looked almost disgruntled.

  “Carrie hates leaving her beloved moor!” said Deborah with a laugh. “It takes her quite a time to settle down on this side of the Tamar.”

  “I wish we’d never crossed the Tamar,” Carrie muttered.

  Deborah smiled at me and, putting her arm through mine, walked into the corridor with me.

  “We have to humor Carrie,” she whispered. “She’s a privileged servant. She’s getting on now and her mind wanders a little.” She withdrew her arm. “It’ll be fun showing you the pictures some time, Favel,” she went on. “I can’t tell you how pleased I am that you’re here.”

  I left her, feeling grateful for several reasons; not only was she affectionate and eager to be friends, but she had made me feel myself again now that I was sure it was a person of living flesh and blood who had looked down on me from the window.

  The mail at Pendorric was brought up to our bedrooms with early morning tea; and it was a few days later when Roc, looking through his, came to a letter which made him laugh aloud.

  “It’s come,” he called to me in the bathroom. “I knew it would.”

  “What?” I asked, coming out wrapped in a bath towel.

  “Lord Polhorgan requests the pleasure of Mr. and Mrs. Pendorric’s company on Wednesday at three-thirty.”

  “Wednesday. That’s tomorrow. Are we going?”

  “Of course. I’m so eager for you to see the Folly.”

  I thought very little more about Lord Polhorgan’s invitation because I was far more interested in Pendorric; and I could not feel the almost malicious delight the family seemed to take in deriding the Folly and its master. As I said to Ro
c, if the man from Manchester, Leeds, or Birmingham wanted to build a house on the cliffs, why shouldn’t he? And if he wanted it to look like a medieval castle, again why shouldn’t he? The Pendorrics had apparently been glad to sell him the land. It was not for them to tell him how he must use it.

  As Roc and I set out that Wednesday afternoon he seemed to be enjoying some secret joke.

  “I can’t wait to see what you think of the setup,” he told me.

  To my unpracticed eye the house looked as old as Pendorric. “Do you know,” I said to Roc, as we approached the stone unicorns which did the same service as our battered lions, “I shouldn’t know that this wasn’t a genuine antique if you hadn’t told me.”

  “Ah, you wait till you’ve had a chance to examine it.”

  We pulled the bell in the great portico and heard it clanging through the hall.

  A dignified manservant opened the door and, bowing his head, said solemnly: “Good afternoon, sir. Good afternoon, madam. His lordship is waiting for you, so I’ll take you up immediately.”

  It took quite a long time to reach the room where our host was waiting for us; and I noticed that although the furniture was antique the carpets and curtains were expensively modern.

  We were finally led to a large room with windows overlooking the beautifully laid-out cliff garden which ran down to the sea; and resting on a chaise longue was the old man.

  “My lord,” the manservant announced, “Mr. and Mrs. Pendorric.”

  “Ah! Bring them in, Dawson. Bring them in.”

  He turned his head, and the intentness of those gray eyes was rather disturbing, particularly as they were directed towards me.

  “Good of you to come,” he said rather brusquely, as though he didn’t mean this. “You’ll have to forgive my not rising.”

  “Please don’t,” I said quickly; and I went to his chaise longue and took his hand.

  He had a high color with a faint purplish tinge, and I noticed how the veins stood out on his long thin hands.

  “Sit down, Mrs. Pendorric,” he said, still in the same brusque manner. “Give your wife a chair, Pendorric. And put it near me … that’s right, facing the light.”

  I had to suppress a slight resentment that I was being put under a shrewd scrutiny, and I experienced a certain nervousness which I hadn’t expected I should.

  “Tell me, how do you like Cornwall, Mrs. Pendorric?”

  He spoke sharply, jerkily, as though he were barking orders on a barrack square.

  “I’m enchanted,” I said.

  “And it compares favorably with that island place of yours?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “All I see of it now is this view.” He nodded towards the window.

  “I can’t imagine you’d find a more beautiful one anywhere.”

  He looked from me to Roc; and I was aware that my husband’s expression had become rather sardonic. He didn’t like the old man, that much was clear; and I felt annoyed with him because I was afraid he made it obvious.

  Our host was frowning towards the door. “Late with tea,” he said. He must give his servants a difficult time, I thought, for even if he had asked for tea to be served immediately we arrived it was not very late; we had not been in the room more than three or four minutes.

  Then the door opened and a tea wagon was wheeled in. It was overladen with cakes of all descriptions besides bread and butter and splits, with bowls of clotted cream and jam.

  “Ah,” Lord Polhorgan grunted, “at last! Where’s Nurse Grey?”

  “Here I am.” A woman came into the room. She was so beautiful that for a moment I was startled. The blue in her striped dress matched her eyes, her starched apron was snowy white, and her cap, set almost jauntily on her masses of golden hair, called attention to its beauty. I had never seen a nurse’s uniform worn so becomingly; then I realized that this woman would look dazzling whatever she wore, simply because she was so very beautiful.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Pendorric,” she said.

  Roc had risen to his feet as she entered and I could not see his face as he looked at her. He said: “Good afternoon, Nurse.” Then he turned. “Favel, this is Nurse Grey, who looks after Lord Polhorgan.”

  “I’m so glad to meet you.” She had a wide mouth and perfectly shaped teeth.

  “What about giving Mrs. Pendorric some tea?” growled Lord Polhorgan.

  “Of course,” said Nurse Grey. “It’s all here, I see. Now Mrs. Pendorric, you’d like to sit near Lord Polhorgan. I’ll put this little table here for you.”

  I thanked her and she went to the tea wagon and began to pour out while Roc brought over a plate of splits and cream and jam, which he set on the table.

  “I don’t need a nurse all the time,” Lord Polhorgan told me. “But I may need one at any moment. That’s why she’s here. Quite an efficient woman.”

  “I am sure she is.”

  “Easy job. Gets a lot of free time. Beautiful surroundings.”

  “Ideal,” I murmured, wondering how Nurse Grey liked being referred to in the third person. I glanced at her. She was smiling at Roc.

  I handed Lord Polhorgan the splits, and I noticed that he moved slowly and was rather breathless as he took one.

  “Shall I spread the jam and cream for you?” I asked.

  “H’m!” he barked, which meant assent. “Thanks!” he added when I had done it. “Good of you. Now help yourself.”

  Nurse Grey asked if I preferred China or Indian and I was given delicious Mandarin Pekoe with lemon.

  She then sat down near Roc. I very much wanted to hear what they were saying, but Lord Polhorgan demanded my attention by firing questions at me. He appeared to be very interested in the way we had lived on the island, and I promised to show him some of my father’s work, which had been sent to Pendorric.

  “Good,” he said. He made me talk about my childhood and in a short time I was living it all again.

  “You’re not happy,” said Lord Polhorgan suddenly, and I blurted out the story of my father’s death to which he listened gravely, and then said: “You were very fond of him. Was your mother fond of him too?”

  I told him something of their life together then, how they had lived for each other, how ill she had become, and how they had made me aware that they wanted to live every hour to the full because they knew that the time would come when they could not be together; and as I did so I marveled that I could talk so intimately to such a gruff old man on such short acquaintance.

  He laid his veined hand on my arm. “Is that how it is with you?” he said sharply; and he looked towards Roc, who was laughing with Nurse Grey.

  I hesitated just a second too long.

  “Marry in haste …” he added. “Seem to have heard that said somewhere.”

  I flushed. “I’m very happy at Pendorric,” I retorted.

  “You rush into things,” he said. “Bad habit. I never rushed. Made decisions, yes … and sometimes quick ones, but always gave them adequate thought. You coming to see me again?”

  “If you ask me.”

  “Then you are asked now.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You won’t want to though.”

  “Yes I shall.”

  He shook his head. “You’ll make excuses. Too busy. Another engagement. What would a young woman like you want with visiting a sick old man?”

  “But I’d love to come.”

  “You’ve got a kind heart. But kindness doesn’t always go very deep. Don’t want to hurt the old man … go now and then. But a bore. What a nuisance!”

  “It will be nothing of the sort. You’re so interested in things. And I’m attracted by this house.”

  “Pretty vulgar, eh? The old man of the people who wanted to build up a bit of background. Doesn’t go down well with the aristocrats, I can tell you.”

  “Why shouldn’t people build backgrounds if they want them?”

  “Listen, young woman. There’s no reason why anyone shouldn’t build an
ything. You get your just deserts in this world. I wanted to make money and I made it. I wanted to have a family mansion … well, I’ve got it. In this world you say, I want this and I want that. And if you’ve got any guts you go and get it. You get what you pay for, and if it doesn’t turn out as you planned, well then you have to look for where you went wrong, because, you can depend on it, you’ve gone wrong somewhere.”

  “I expect you’re right.”

  “I’d like you to come again even if you are bored. Perhaps you’d be less bored after a while … when we got to know each other.”

  “I haven’t started to be bored yet.”

  He clenched and unclenched his hand, frowning at it. “I’m an old man … incapacitated by illness … brought on, they tell me, by the life I’ve led.” He patted his chest. “I’ve put a big strain on this, it seems, and now I’ve got to pay for it. All right, I say, life’s a matter of settling bills and drawing dividends. I’m ready.”

  “I can see you have a philosophy.”

  “Play chess?”

  “My mother taught me.”

  “Your mother, eh?”

  “She also taught me reading, writing, and arithmetic, before I came to school in England.”

  “I reckon you were the apple of her eye.”

  “I was her only child.”

  “Yes,” he said soberly. “Well, if you played a game of chess with me now and then, you wouldn’t be so bored with the old man’s efforts at conversation. When will you come?”

  I considered. “The day after tomorrow,” I said.

  “Good. Teatime?”

  “Yes, but I mustn’t eat so many of these splits or I shall put on too much weight.”

  He looked at me and his eyes were suddenly soft. “You’re as slight as a sylph,” he said.

  Nurse Grey came over with plates of cakes, but we did not seem in the mood for eating any more.

  I noticed that Nurse Grey’s eyes had grown more luminous and that there was a faint pink color in her cheeks. I wondered uneasily whether Roc had had anything to do with that, and I was reminded of Rachel Bective and Dinah Bond, the young blacksmith’s wife.