The Gossamer Cord (15 page)

Gordon asked about my father. I think he was disappointed because he had not come with us.

The old man was saying: “Gordon is especially delighted. He is looking forward already to the little one’s growing up and helping him with the estate. That is so, is it not, Gordon?”

Gordon’s face twisted into a smile.

“You’re looking very far ahead, Mr. Tregarland,” he said.

“It’s always a good idea to look ahead. Well, there is one thing we can be sure of. My grandson will have a good welcome when he arrives.”

Again I had that feeling that there was some sort of innuendo intended, and the uneasiness I had felt during my previous visit came back to me.

We had little time to talk to Dorabella alone, but my mother did corner her and asked the question, “When?”

“November,” said Dorabella.

I was hoping she would join me for a chat, which she would in due course, but I must be patient, it seemed.

My mother said to me, “November. That’s seven months’ time. We shall have to be with her then.”

“We will. They all seem so delighted about it.”

“Families love babies, and this will be the first to be born for years. They won’t have had any babies around for a long time. I am going to ask to see the nurseries here. I’ll get Matilda to show me. I am sure she will be very helpful. Dorabella is not the most practical person. She’ll need looking after.”

“It is wonderful that she is so happy.”

“I hope she will be all right. Pregnancies can be trying times. What about Nanny Crabtree?”

“What about her?”

“For Dorabella, of course. I could see if she were free.”

Nanny Crabtree had played a big part in my youth—and that meant Dorabella’s. Plump, with a double chin, what had fascinated us about her from our earliest days had been a large wart on that second chin from which a solitary hair protruded. We had often speculated about it and wondered why she did not pull it out.

“If she did,” I prophesied, “two more would grow in its place.”

Nanny Crabtree could be stern in the extreme and tell dire stories of what happened to little girls who did not eat up their rice pudding. They never grew up and remained little all their lives; if they made a face over it, God would be so angry with them and He would make them go through life with their tongues stuck out in a hideous scowl. But when we fell over we would fly to her ample lap to be comforted and have plaster or whatever was necessary from her spacious medicine cupboard; and if we were in some trouble which had been brought on through something not our fault, we were told that we were our Nanny Crabtree’s Pet and that was enough for anyone. The mention of her name brought her back clearly to my mind.

“Nanny Crabtree sounds a wonderful idea,” I said.

“And,” said my mother, “we must make arrangements to be here at the time. And in between now and November it would be nice if one of us was here…often. I know that is what she would like.”

I could not sleep that night. It would be all right, I assured myself. November would soon be here. My mother would make sure everything was all right.

Yet I could not rid myself of that uneasiness which settled on me as soon as I was alone.

I lay listening to the sea breaking on the rocks below. It was like whispering voices.

The three of us spent a lot of time together. After all, it was the reason for our coming.

My mother discussed the practical details and we went into Plymouth and bought clothes for the baby and some for Dorabella when she would become advanced in pregnancy. We lunched at a restaurant near the main shops and talked animatedly as we ate as to what would be needed.

“November may seem a long way off now,” said my mother, “but time flies. We must be prepared.”

She had already told Dorabella that she was thinking of asking Nanny Crabtree to come.

Dorabella was amused and she and I went into a long “Do you remember?” conversation which resulted in much laughter as we recalled our childhood adventures with that redoubtable Nanny Crabtree.

Our mother listened with amused tolerance and then she said: “Well, you can trust Nanny Crabtree. She was heartbroken when you girls went away to school. I knew she would come back if she were free. Matilda is quite amenable. I discussed the matter with her, so there won’t be any difficulty there. I shall write to Nanny Crabtree as soon as we get home.”

While we were going round the shops I had an opportunity to ask Dorabella if she had told my mother yet about Dermot’s first marriage.

“Yes,” she said. “I told her this morning while we were waiting for you to come down.”

“What did she say?”

“She was surprised. Not shocked really. She just said, ‘Why didn’t he tell you?’ I said he didn’t really want to talk about it, and that we never mention it now. Dermot said he had been afraid to tell me in case it made some difference. He thought it might change my feelings for him, and I might not want to marry him. That’s what I told her.”

“She doesn’t think very much of it then?”

“Not all that much. She understands why he didn’t want to tell.”

“That’s all right, then.”

“I don’t think about it now. When I wrote to you it was fresh in my mind and then it seemed…important. Matilda has referred to it once or twice and she said she’s glad to see Dermot’s happy now.”

Later that day my mother came to my room, and I knew at once that she wanted to talk about Dermot’s first marriage.

“I was astounded when she told me,” she said. “You knew, of course. She said she had told you and bound you to secrecy. Well, it’s over, isn’t it…odd, he didn’t say he was a widower.”

“Perhaps he thought that sounded too mature. I think when they met in Germany he was very attracted to her and he wanted to be young and carefree, as she was, certainly not like a man who had been married.”

“People get these notions. He’s absolutely devoted to her. I was a little anxious because it was so rushed, but being here and seeing them together makes me feel better about it. I wish they weren’t so far away. Matilda is very efficient, and I think she is quite fond of Dorabella. She’s relieved that there is no interference with the running of the house which she might have got from some. So that side of it is all very amicable. I am not worried, really. We’ll keep an eye on Dorabella and, if I can get Nanny Crabtree in residence, that will be fine. Thank goodness we have a little time to get all this worked out.”

I was naturally hoping to see Jowan Jermyn again. I could remember every detail of that meeting with him from the time I was cautiously getting up from my fall to the moment we parted at the boundary of the two estates.

Starlight was still available and I had ridden her once or twice. I usually rode alone. It was early days yet, but Dermot was anxious that Dorabella should not ride. My mother was often in Matilda’s company, discussing nursery preparations; Dorabella would now and then feel tired and want to rest. So I found that it was not difficult for me to slip away on my own.

I went to the stables. The groom, whose name I had discovered was Tom Smart, said: “Good morning, Miss. I reckon you be looking for Starlight.”

He remembered that I had ridden the mare when she cast a shoe and I had had to take her to the blacksmith.

“She be in right good order this day, Miss,” he told me. “None of they there shoes coming off this time.”

“I hope not.”

“She remembers you well. That’s for certain sure. Her be pricking up her ears. Let her have a bit of a nuzzle and you’ll see.”

I followed his advice and it was clear that Starlight did remember me.

“I’ll have her saddled in a tick,” said Tom.

“Thank you.”

“ ’Tis a nice day for a ride,” he said as he waved me off.

It
was
a nice day for a ride. April, I had discovered, was a beautiful month in Cornwall. Spring comes a little earlier there than to the rest of the country; there were wild flowers in the hedgerows; the trees did not thrive near the coast but inland they were magnificent; the heavy rainfall made for luscious growth. Some trees, however, were battered by the force of gales which had twisted them into odd shapes, which a few quirks of the imagination could transform into something from Dante’s Inferno. A strange country, I thought. Sometimes it was warm and cosy, at others forbidding.

The screeching of the ever-present gulls sounded almost malignant, a warning mingling with the murmur of the sea.

I suppose I was being fanciful again. It was because I could not feel perfectly at ease at Tregarland’s.

I turned toward the Jermyn land. I would have no excuse for trespassing this time, yet I had an urge to retrace my footsteps and recall that incident in every detail.

It was foolish of me, but there was no one around so I took the turning which I had taken before and found my way to the field.

There was the spot where the tree had fallen. I rode up to it and inspected the gap where it had been. I looked at it for some moments, thinking of that fall and how I had extricated my foot from the stirrup as Jowan Jermyn had arrived.

I rode across the field, trying to remember which way we had walked to the blacksmith’s place. Once there, my trespassing would be at an end, because that would not be Jermyn land.

I was on a path which I had seen before. I came to a clearing and pulled up sharply. A group of men were standing together. There was a cottage close to a hedge and they were looking at something there. I would have turned and gone back, but one of the men had started to come toward me. I saw at once that it was Jowan Jermyn.

I felt overcome with embarrassment. I was caught trespassing again.

He called: “Hello there.”

He came toward me.

“Why!” he said. “It’s Miss…er…Denver.”

I was surprised and rather pleased that he had remembered my name.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m trespassing again.”

“No, no. Friends are always welcome.”

“Thank you. I was trying to find that Smithy Inn. Am I near it?”

“Very close. Give me a moment and I’ll join you.”

He went over to the men while I waited. He very soon returned.

“We’re doing some repairs to that cottage,” he said. “It’s becoming derelict. It hasn’t been occupied for some time. Now, you are looking for Smithy’s…not the blacksmith’s but the inn. No more lost shoes, I hope?”

“Oh, no. I thought I should find it more easily. I am very sorry to have trespassed again.”

“I’m glad you did. I was getting a little bored with that cottage. They can manage very well without me. What have you been doing since I last saw you?”

“We had a wedding, you know.”

“Of course. We all knew about that. And Dermot Tregarland returned with his fair bride. We are kept well informed, you know.”

“Well, apart from the wedding, I have done very little. My mother has not been very well this winter and I have been helping to look after her.”

“I hope she has now recovered?”

“She wasn’t really ill. And thanks, she is quite well now. As a matter of fact, she is here in Cornwall with me.”

“Good. Look. Here we are. Now you are here, you must try a glass of their very special cider.”

“That sounds rather a good idea.”

“I assure you it is. Let’s take the mare to the stables. She’ll be all right there.”

We did so. I thought she must have been there before because the man in charge seemed to know her. Everyone here seemed to know everyone else.

The inn looked just as it had last time I had seen it—the fireplace with the glistening brasses, the cosy atmosphere. Mrs. Brodie came out to serve us. She recognized me immediately.

“Well, Miss, so you be back with us then? That be nice. Come back to see your sister, ’ave ’ee?”

I was amazed at her memory and told her so.

“That be part of the business, Miss. We do remember our customers.”

“I told her she must try some of your excellent cider,” said Jowan Jermyn.

“That be nice of ’ee, sir.”

“The best in Cornwall,” he added.

“And who am I to say nay to that? I’ll get two tankards right away. That right?”

“Absolutely.”

He smiled at me when she had gone. “She’s a dear old soul,” he said. “She has a mind like the Records Office. She knows what happens to every one of us from the time we were born.”

“Isn’t that rather uncomfortable?”

“It has its drawbacks, naturally, unless, of course, you are living a blameless life. That isn’t much use to Mrs. Brodie. She likes a bit of excitement. But there are advantages. A visit to the inn and you can come out knowing more about your neighbors than you did when you went in.”

“I think I would prefer anonymity.”

“Does that mean…?” He raised his eyebrows. “But, no, I am impertinent.”

“Not in the least,” I retorted. “I merely mean that I should not like to have my actions put on record. I suppose she will tell people that I, coming from Tregarland’s, took a tankard of cider with the enemy across the boundary.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Which cannot be of great interest to anyone.”

“I disagree. But it does depend on what news is going around at the time. The system has to be kept going and any scrap of news is better than no news at all. Besides, you have forgotten the feud.”

“But I am not really involved. I am not one of the enemy.”

“That,” he said, “is a nice thought.”

Mrs. Brodie appeared with the tankards.

When she had gone, he said: “How long shall you be here?”

“It isn’t decided yet, but it won’t be a long visit. Though my mother and I will be here for the birth…and before that, I daresay.”

“Oh, the baby.”

“My sister is going to have one. But I expect your excellent news service has told you that already?”

“It has indeed. I am very interested and delighted that you will be a frequent visitor.”

“My sister likes to have her family around.”

“Naturally.”

“And as she and I are twins…”

“Of course. Well, let us hope it all goes well.”

“But of course it will,” I replied with conviction.

“Of course. The cider is good, isn’t it?”