The Landower Legacy

THE GHOSTS IN THE GALLERY

Sitting in the first-class carriage opposite Miss Bell I felt that what was happening to me was quite unreal and that I should soon wake up and find I had been dreaming.

Everything had come about so quickly. It had been on a Monday when Miss Bell had told me that I was going away, and this was only Friday and here I was on my journey.

I was excited naturally. My temperament made it impossible for me not to be. I was a little scared. All I knew was that I was going to stay with Cousin Mary, who was kindly allowing me to visit her. The duration of the visit had not been mentioned and I felt that was ominous. In spite of my craving to experience new ways of life I felt a sudden longing for the old familiar things. I was surprised to discover that I did not want to leave Olivia, and that had she been coming with me my spirits would have been considerably lightened.

She was going to miss me even as I missed her. She had looked quite desolate when I had said goodbye.

She could not understand why I should be going—and to Cousin Mary of all people. Cousin Mary was an ogre, a wicked woman who had done something dreadful to Papa. Why should I be going to her?

Pervading all my emotions was a terrible sense of guilt. I knew in my heart that I had brought about this terrible calamity. I had betrayed my mother; I had told that which should have been kept secret. Papa should never have known that we had been to Waterloo Place on Jubilee Day; and in addition to telling him that, I had carelessly allowed him to see the locket.

He was annoyed about my mother’s friendship with Captain Carmichael and I had betrayed it; and it seemed that, as a punishment, I was being sent to Cousin Mary.

I wanted so much to talk of it, but Miss Bell was uncommunicative. She sat opposite me, her hands folded in her lap. She had seen the luggage deposited in the guard’s van. One of the menservants had come with us to the station and looked after it, under the supervision of Miss Bell, of course, and all we had with us in the carriage was our hand luggage safely deposited in the rack above. I felt a rush of affection for Miss Bell, for I should be losing her soon. Her duty was merely to take me to Cousin Mary and then return. I should miss her well-meaning, authoritative manner at which I had often laughed with Olivia and which I knew, because of an absence from any other quarter, had brought serenity and security into my life.

Occasionally I caught a glimpse of compassion in her eyes when they rested on me. She was sorry for me and that made me sorry for myself. I was angry. I knew that married ladies should not have romantic friendships with dashing cavalry officers; they should not meet them secretly. Yet knowing this, I had betrayed my mother. If only I had not talked to my father! But what else could I have done? Could I have lied? Surely that would not have been right. And he had come upon me so suddenly when I was in my dressing gown and had not had the time to hide my locket.

It was no use going over it. It had happened and because of it my life had been disrupted. Now I was snatched from my home, from my sister, from my parents … well, perhaps that did not matter so much as I saw so little of Mama and far too much—for my comfort—of Papa. But everything was going to be new now, and there is always something alarming about the unknown.

If only I knew everything. I was too old to be kept in the dark; at the same time they considered me not old enough to know the whole truth.

Miss Bell was talking brightly about the countryside through which we were passing.

“This,” I said with a touch of irony, “will be a geography lesson with a touch of botany thrown in.”

“It is all very interesting,” said Miss Bell severely.

We had pulled up at a station and two women came into the compartment—a mother and a daughter, I guessed. They were pleasant travelling companions and when we lapsed into easy conversation they told us that they were going as far as Plymouth and that they made the journey once a year when they visited relatives.

We chatted comfortably and Miss Bell brought out the luncheon basket which Mrs. Terras, the cook, had packed for us.

“You will excuse us,” she said to the ladies. “We left early and we have a long journey ahead.”

The elder of the ladies said how wise it was to come so prepared. She and her daughter had eaten before they left and there would be a good meal awaiting them on their arrival.

There were two legs of cold chicken and some crusty bread. I remembered Waterloo Place with a sudden pang of misery. It seemed far away—in another life.

“It looks delicious,” said Miss Bell. “I’m afraid we shall have to use our fingers though. Dear me!” She smiled at our companions. “You will have to forgive us.”

“It is difficult travelling,” said the elder woman.

“I have a damp flannel which I brought with me, suspecting something like this,” went on Miss Bell.

We ate the chicken and the little cakes which had been provided by a thoughtful Mrs. Terras for our dessert. Miss Bell produced a bottle of lemonade and two small cups. Yet another reminder of Waterloo Place.

I felt rather drowsy and, rocked by the rhythm of the train, dozed. When I awoke I was startled, for a moment wondering where I was.

Miss Bell said: “You’ve had a long sleep. I must have nodded off myself.”

“We’ve come into Devonshire now,” said the younger of the two ladies. “Not much farther for us to go.”

I looked out of the window at the woodlands, lush meadows and the rich red soil. We went through a tunnel and when we emerged, there was the sea. I was enchanted by the sight of the white frilled waves breaking about black rocks. I saw a ship on the horizon and thought of my mother going abroad. Where? When would she come back? When should I see her again? When I did I would ask her why I had been sent away. I know I told my father that we had been to Captain Carmichael’s but it was only the truth, and I know that he saw my locket. But why send me away because of that?

Melancholy descended on me as I wondered what Olivia was doing at that moment.

Our travelling companions were collecting their things together. “We shall soon be in Plymouth,” they said.

“Then,” added Miss Bell, “we shall cross the Tamar and be in Cornwall.”

She was trying to inspire me with enthusiasm. I was interested but I could not stop thinking of Cousin Mary—the harpy—who had to be faced at the end of the journey, and the dreadful knowledge that Miss Bell would go away and leave me there. She had suddenly become very dear to me.

We were coming into the station.

The ladies shook hands and said it had been pleasant travelling with us. We waved goodbye and they went hurrying away to meet someone who was waiting for them.

People were scurrying along the platform. Many were getting off the train and some were getting on. Two men passed and looked in at the window.

Miss Bell sat back in her seat, relieved when they passed on.

“For a moment I thought they were coming in,” she said.

“They scrutinized us and decided against us,” I said with a laugh.

“They probably thought we would prefer to travel with ladies.”

“Very considerate of them,” I commented.

But apparently I was wrong, for just as the guard was blowing the whistle, the door was thrust open and the two very same men came into the compartment.

Miss Bell drew herself back in her seat not at all pleased by the intrusion.

The two men settled themselves in the vacant corner seats, and as the train puffed out of the station I took covert looks at them. One was little more than a boy—I imagined he was two or three years older than I. The other I imagined to be in his early twenties. They were elegantly dressed in frock coats and bowler hats, and these last they took off and laid on the empty seats beside them.

There was something about them which claimed my attention.

They both had thick dark hair and dark heavy-lidded eyes—very bright, as though they missed little. I knew what it was that attracted me. It was a certain vitality; they both seemed as though it were something of an ordeal for them to sit still. I guessed they were related. Not father and son—the difference in age was not great enough. Cousins? Brothers? They had similar strong features—somewhat prominent noses which gave them an arrogant look.

I must have been studying them very intently, for I caught the elder one’s eyes on me and there was a certain glint in them which I did not understand. He might have been laughing at my curiosity—or annoyed by it, I was not sure. In any case I was ashamed of my bad manners, and I flushed slightly.

Miss Bell was gazing out of the window rather studiedly, I thought, as though to indicate that she was unaware of the men. I was sure she believed it rather inconsiderate of them to have come into a compartment where two females were alone.

It was only when we were crossing the Tamar that her instinct for instruction prevailed over her displeasure.

“Just look, Caroline. How small those ships look down there! Now this is the famous bridge built by Mr. Brunei. It was opened in er …”

“Eighteen fifty-nine,” said the elder of the men, “and if you would like the gentleman’s name in full, it was Isambard Kingdom Brunei.”

Miss Bell looked aggrieved and said: “Thank you.”

The man’s lips lifted at the corners. “It has a central pier in the rock eighty feet below high-water mark … if you are thirsting for more knowledge,” he went on.

“You are very kind,” said Miss Bell coolly.

“Proud rather,” said the man. “It is an extraordinary engineering feat, and the climax of that amazing gentleman’s work.”

“Indeed, yes,” remarked Miss Bell.

“An impressive approach to Cornwall,” he went on.

“I am sure you are right.”

“Well, Madam, that you can witness for yourself.”

Miss Bell bowed her head. “We are coming into Saltash,” she said to me. “Now … we are in Cornwall.”

“I say Welcome to the Duchy,” said the man.

“Thank you.”

Miss Bell closed her eyes to indicate that the conversation was at an end and I turned my attention to the window.

We travelled in silence for some time while I was very much aware of the man—particularly the elder one—and I knew Miss Bell was too. I felt faintly annoyed with her. Why did she suspect them of indecorous behaviour towards two unprotected females? The thought made me want to laugh.

He had noticed my lips twitch and he smiled at me. Then his eyes went to my travelling bag on the rack.

“I believe,” he said to his companion, “that this is rather a pleasant coincidence.”

Miss Bell continued to look out of the window, implying that their conversation was of no interest to her and indeed that she could not hear it. I could not attain the same nonchalance—nor could I see why I should pretend to.

“Coincidence?” said the other. “What do you mean?”

The elder one caught my eye and smiled. “Am I right in assuming that you are Miss Tressidor?”

“Why yes,” I replied in some amazement; then I realized that he must have seen my name on the label attached to my travelling bag.

“And you are on your way to Miss Mary Tressidor of Tressidor Manor in Lancarron?”

“But yes.”

Miss Bell was all attention now.

“Then I must introduce myself. My name is Paul Landower. I am one of Miss Tressidor’s close neighbours. This is my brother, Jago.”

“How did you know my charge is Miss Tressidor?” demanded Miss Bell.

“The label on her luggage is clearly visible. I trust you have no objection to my making myself known?”

“But of course not,” I said.

The younger one—Jago—spoke then: “We did hear you were coming to the Manor,” he said.

“How did you know that?” I demanded.

“Servants … ours and Miss Tressidor’s. They always know everything. I hope we shall be seeing you during your stay.”

“Yes, perhaps so.”

“You gentleman … er … you have been visiting Plymouth?” asked Miss Bell, stating the obvious; but I guessed she wanted to take charge of the conversation.

“On business,” said the younger.

“You must allow us to help you with your luggage when we reach Liskeard,” the elder one said.

“It’s kind of you,” Miss Bell told him, “but everything has been arranged.”

“Well, if you need us … I suppose Miss Tressidor will send her trap to meet you.”

“I understand we are being met.”

Miss Bell’s manner was really icy. She had a notion that perfect gentlemen did not speak to ladies without an introduction. I think the elder one—Paul—was aware of this and amused by it.

Silence prevailed until we came into Liskeard. Paul Landower took my travelling bag and signed to Jago to take Miss Bell’s, and in spite of her protests they came with us to make sure that our luggage was put off the train. The porter touched his cap with the utmost respect and I could see that the Landowers were very important people in the neighbourhood.

My trunk was carried out to the waiting trap.

“Here are your ladies, Joe,” said Paul Landower to the driver.

“Thank ‘ee, sir,” said Joe.

We were helped into the conveyance and we started off. I looked back and saw the Landower brothers standing there looking after us, their hats in their hands, bowing—somewhat ironically, I thought. But I was laughing inwardly and my spirits were considerably lifted by the encounter.

Miss Bell and I sat face to face in the trap, my trunk on the floor between us and as we left the town behind and came into the country lanes, Miss Bell seemed very relieved. I guessed she had regarded the task of conveying me to Cornwall as a great responsibility.

” ‘Tis a tidy way,” our driver Joe told us, “and it be a bony road. So you ladies ‘ud better hold tight.”

He was right. Miss Bell clutched her hat as we went along through lanes where overhanging branches threatened to whisk it off her head.

“Miss Tressidor be expecting you,” said Joe conversationally.

“I hope she is,” I could not help replying.

“Oh yes, ‘er be proper tickled like.” He laughed to himself. “And you be going back again, soon as you’m come, Missus.”

Miss Bell did not relish being called Missus, but her aloof manner had no effect on Joe.

He started humming to himself as he went on through the lanes.

“We’m coming close now,” he said, after we had been going for some time. He pointed with his whip. “Yon’s Landower Hall. That be the biggest place hereabouts. There’s been Landowers here since the beginning of time, my missus always says. But you’m already met Mr. Paul and Mr. Jago. On the train, no less. My dear life, there be coming and going at Landower these last months. It means something. Depend on it. And there’s been Landowers here since …”

“Since the beginning of time,” I put in.

“Well, that’s what my missus always says. Now, there you can see it. Landower Hall … squire’s place.”

I gasped in admiration. It was a magnificent sight with its gatehouse and machicolated towers. It was like a fortress standing there on a slight incline.

Miss Bell assessed it in her usual manner. “Fourteenth century, I should guess,” she said. “Built at the time when people were growing away from the need to build for fortification, and concentrated more on homes.”

“Biggest house hereabouts … and that’s counting the Manor too … though it runs it pretty close.”

“Living in such a house could be quite an experience,” said Miss Bell.

“Rather like the Tower of London,” I said.

“Oh, there’s been Landowers living there for …” Joe paused and I said: “We know. You told us. Since the beginning of time. The first man to emerge from primeval slime must have been a Landower. Or do you think one of them was the original Adam?”

Miss Bell looked at me reprovingly, but I think she understood that I was a little overwrought and more than ever indulging in my habit of speaking without wondering what effect my words might have. During the journey I had still been part of the old life; now the time was coming for a change—a complete change. It is only a visit, I kept telling myself. But the sight of that impressive dwelling and the memory of the two men on the train whose home it was, made me feel that I had moved away from all that was familiar into a new world—and I was not sure what I was going to find in it.

I was overcome by a longing for the familiar schoolroom and Olivia there looking at me with her short-sighted eyes, reproving me for some outspokenness, or with that faintly puzzled look which she wore when she was trying to follow the devious wanderings of my comments.

“Not far now,” Joe was saying. “Landowers be our nearest neighbours. Odd they always says to have the two big houses so close. But ‘tas always been so and I reckon always will.”

We had come to wrought-iron gates and a man came out from a lodge house to open them. I judged him to be middle-aged, very tall and lean with longish untidy sandy hair. He wore a plaid cap and plaid breeches. He opened the gate and took off his cap.

“Thank ‘ee, Jamie,” said Joe.

Jamie bowed in a rather formal manner and said in an accent which was not of the neighbourhood: “Welcome to you, Miss Tressidor … and Madam …”

“Thank you,” we said.

I smiled at him. He had an unlined face and I wondered fleetingly if he were younger than I had at first thought. There was an almost childishness about him; his opaque eyes looked so innocent. I took a liking to him on the spot. As we passed through the gates I had a good look at the gatehouse with its picturesque thatched roof; and then I saw the garden. Two things struck me; the number of beehives and the colourful array of flowers. It was breathtaking. I wanted to pause and look but we were past in a few minutes.

“What a lovely garden!” I said. “And the beehives, too.”

“Oh, Jamie be the beekeeper hereabouts. His honey … ‘tis said to be second to none. He be proud of it and that fond of the bees. I do declare he knows ‘em all. They be like little children to him. I’ve seen the tears in his eyes when any one of ‘em comes to grief. He be the beekeeper all right.”

The drive was about half a mile long and as we rounded the bend we came face to face with Tressidor Manor—that beautiful Elizabethan house which had caused such bitterness in the family.

It was grand—but less so than the one we had just passed. It was red brick and immediately recognizable as Tudor—and Elizabethan at that, because from where we were it was possible to define the E shape. There was a gatehouse, but it looked more ornamental than that of Landower, and it formed the middle strut of the E; two wings protruded at either side. The chimneys were in pairs and resembled classic columns, and the mullioned windows were topped with ornamental mouldings.

We went through the gatehouse into a courtyard.

“Here we be,” said Joe leaping down. “Oh, here be Betty Bolsover. Reckon she have heard us drive in.”

A rosy-cheeked maid appeared and bobbed a curtsey.

“You be Miss Tressidor and Miss Bell. Miss Tressidor ‘er be waiting for ‘ee. Please to follow me.”

“I’ll see to the baggage, ladies,” said Joe. “Here, Betty, go and get one of ‘em from the stables to come and give me a hand.”

“When I’ve took the ladies in, Joe,” said Betty; and we followed her.

We passed through the door and were in a panelled hall. Pictures hung on the walls. Ancestors? I wondered. Betty was leading us towards a staircase, and there standing at the top of it was Cousin Mary.

I knew who she was at once. She was such an authoritative figure; moreover there was a certain resemblance to my father. She was tall and angular, very plainly dressed in black with a white cap on her pepper-and-salt hair, which was dragged right back from a face which was considerably weatherbeaten.

“Ah,” she said. She had a deep voice, almost masculine, and it seemed to boom through the hall. “Come along, Caroline. And Miss Bell. You must be very hungry. Are you not? But of course you are. And you have had an exhausting journey. You can go now, Betty. Come along up. They’ll see to the baggage. There’ll be food right away. Something hot. In my sitting room. I thought that best.”

She stood there while we mounted the stairs.

As we came close she took me by the shoulders and looked at me and although I thought she was going to embrace me, she did not. I soon learned that Cousin Mary was not prone to demonstrations of affection. She just peered into my face and laughed.

“You’re not much like your father,” she said. “More like your mother perhaps. All to the good. We can’t be called a good-looking lot.” She chuckled and released me, and as I had been about to respond to her embrace I felt a little deflated. She turned to Miss Bell and shook her by the hand. “Glad to meet you, Miss Bell. You have delivered her safely into my hands, eh? Come along. Come along. Hot soup, I thought. Food … and then I thought bed. You have to be off again in the morning. You should have had a few days’ rest here.”

“Thank you so much, Miss Tressidor,” said Miss Bell, “but I am expected back.”

“Robert Tressidor’s arrangements, I understand. Just like him. Drop the child and turn at once. He should know you need a little rest after that journey.”

Miss Bell looked uncomfortable. Her code would never allow her to listen to criticism of her employers. I did not feel the same compunction to hear my father spoken of in this way, and I was rather intrigued by Cousin Mary, who was quite different from what I had been imagining.

We were taken into a sitting room and almost immediately hot soup was brought in.

I think Miss Bell would have preferred to wash first, but she knew that one in her position did not go against the wishes of people in authority and there was no doubt that Cousin Mary was accustomed to command.

The room was cosy and panelled, but I was too uncertain and tired to notice very much and in any case I should have plenty of time to discover my surroundings. The soup was served immediately and we did need it. There was cold ham to follow and apple pie with clotted cream—and cider to drink.

Cousin Mary had left us while we were eating.

I whispered to Miss Bell: “I do wish you could have stayed for a day or so.”

“Never mind. Perhaps it is better thus.”

“Just think. You’ll have that long journey again tomorrow.”

“Well, I shall have the satisfaction of knowing that you are here.”

“I am not sure that I am going to like it. Cousin Mary is rather … rather …”

“Hush. You don’t know what she is like yet. She seems to me very … worthy. I am sure she is a lady of great integrity.”

“She is like my father.”

“Well, they are first cousins. There is often a family resemblance. It is better than being among complete strangers.”

“I wonder what Olivia is doing.”

“Wondering what you are doing, I imagine.”

“I wish she were here.”

“I daresay she wishes she were.”

“Oh, Miss Bell, why did I have to go away so suddenly?”

“Family decisions, my dear.”

Her lips were clamped together. She knew something which she was not going to tell me.

I was surprised that I could eat so heartily, and as we were finishing the meal Cousin Mary came back.

“Ah,” she said. “That’s better, eh? Now, if you’re ready I’ll take you to your rooms. You’ll have to be up early in the morning, Miss Bell. Joe will take you to the station. You should get a good night’s sleep. We’ll give you a packed lunch and return you to my cousin in the good order you left. Come with me now.”

We mounted the staircase. The long gallery was on the first floor. As we passed through it, long dead and gone Tressidors looked down on me. The fast fading light gave it an eerie look.

There was a staircase at the end of the gallery and this we mounted. We were in a corridor in which there were many doors. Cousin Mary opened one of them.

“This is yours, Caroline, and Miss Bell’s is next to it.” She patted the bed. “Yes, they’ve aired it. Oh, there’s your trunk. I shouldn’t unpack it until tomorrow. One of the maids can help you then. There’s hot water. You can wash off the train smell. Always think you carry that with you for a while. And then I should think a good night’s sleep—and in the morning you can start to explore … get to know the house and our ways. Miss Bell, if you’d step along with me...

At last I was alone. My bedroom was high-ceilinged, the walls panelled; a little light filtered through the thick glass of the windows. I noticed the candles in their carved wooden sticks over the fireplace. My trunk had been placed in one corner; my hand-case was on a chair. I had a nightgown and slippers in it so I could well leave unpacking until the morning. The floor sloped a little and mats covered the boards; the curtains were heavy grey velvet; and there was a court cupboard which looked solid and ancient, and an oak chest on which stood a Chinese bowl. On a dressing table with numerous drawers was a sling-back mirror. I took a look at myself. I was paler than usual and my eyes looked enormous. There was no mistaking the apprehension in them. Who would not be apprehensive in such circumstances?

The door opened and Cousin Mary came in.

“Goodnight,” she said brusquely. “Go to bed. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Cousin Mary.”

She gave just a nod of the head. She was not unwelcoming, but she was not warm either. I was not sure yet of Cousin Mary. I sat down on the bed and resisted the impulse to cry weakly. I was longing for my familiar room, with Olivia seated at the dressing table plaiting her hair.

There was a knock on the door and Miss Bell came in.

“Well,” she said. “Here we are.”

“Is it how you thought it would be, Miss Bell?”

“Life is rarely what one thinks it will be—so therefore I make no pre-judgments.”

I felt myself smiling in spite of everything.

Oh, how I was going to miss my precise Miss Bell!

She sensed my emotion and went on: “We are both exhausted, you know. Much more tired than we realize. What we need to do is rest. Goodnight, my dear.” She came to me and kissed me. She had never done that before and it aroused a sudden emotion in me. I put my arms round her and hugged her.

“You’ll be all right,” she said, patting me brusquely, ashamed now of her own emotion. “You’ll always be all right, Caroline!”

Comforting words!

“Goodnight, my child.”

Then she was gone.

I lay in bed. Sleep eluded me at first. Pictures crowded into my mind, shutting out my tiredness. The men on the train, the great fortress which was their home, Joe driving the trap, the man with the bees … and finally Cousin Mary who was like my father and yet … quite different.

In time I should know more of them. But now … I was very tired and even my apprehension could not keep sleep at bay.

I was awakened by Miss Bell sitting on my bed, ready for her journey.

“Are you going … already?”

“It’s time,” she said. “You were in a deep sleep. I wondered whether to wake you, but I thought you would not want me to go without saying goodbye.”

“Oh, Miss Bell, you’re going. When shall I see you again?”

“Very soon. It’s just a holiday, you know. I shall be there when you come back.”

“I don’t think it is going to be quite like that.”

“You’ll see. I’ll have to go. The trap is down there. I must not miss that train. Good luck, Caroline. You’re going to have an interesting time here and you won’t want to come back to us.”

“Oh, I shall. I shall.”

“Goodbye, my dear.”

For the second time she kissed me, and then she hurried from the room.

I lay wondering, as I had so many times before, what life was going to be like.

There was a knock on my door and Betty, the maid I had seen on the previous evening, came in with hot water.

“Miss Tressidor said not to disturb you if you be sleeping, but the lady what brought you be gone and I reckoned her’d come and say goodbye, wouldn’t her?”

“She did, and I am awake and glad to have the hot water.”

“I’ll take away last night’s,” she said. “And Miss Tressidor says that if you’re up you can have breakfast with her at half-past eight.”

“What’s the time now?”

“Eight o’clock, Miss.”

“I’ll be ready then. Where will she be?”

“I’m to be here to take you down to her. You can get lost in this house till you know it.”

“I’m sure you can.”

“Anything you want, Miss. Just ring the bell.”

“Thank you.”

She went on. My homesickness was being replaced by a desire for discovery.

Precisely at eight-thirty Betty appeared.

“This be the bedrooms up here, Miss,” she told me, “and there’s another floor above, too. We’ve got plenty of bedrooms. Then above them is the attics … servants’ quarters as they say. Then there’s the long gallery and the solarium … then there’s the rooms on the ground floor.”

“I can see I have a lot to learn if I am to find my way about.”

We came down the staircase.

“This be the dining room.” She paused, then she knocked.

“Miss Caroline, Miss Tressidor.”

Cousin Mary was seated at the table. Before her was a plate of bacon, eggs and devilled kidneys. “Oh, there you are,” she said. “The governess left half an hour or more ago. Did you have a good night? Yes, I see you did, and now you’re ready to take stock of your surroundings, eh? Of course you are. You’ll want to eat a good breakfast. Best meal of the day, I always say. Stock yourself up. Help yourself.”

She showed a certain amount of concern for my well-being, which was comforting, but her habit of asking a question and answering it herself made for a certain one-sided conversation.

I went to the sideboard and helped myself from the chafing dishes.

Cousin Mary took her eyes from the plate and I felt them on me.

“Feel a bit strange at first,” she said. “Bound to. You should have come before. I should have liked to have visits from you and your sister … and your father and mother … if he’d been different. Families ought to keep together, but sometimes they’re better apart. It was my inheriting this place they didn’t like. There was no doubt about that. I was the rightful heir, but a woman, they said. There’s a prejudice against our sex, Caroline. I don’t suppose you’ve noticed it much yet.”

“Oh yes, I have.”

“Your father thought he should step over me and take this place because I was a woman. Only over my dead body, I said; and that’s what it amounts to. If I died, I suppose he’d be the next. That’s a consummation devoutly to be wished—for him, I don’t doubt. But I feel very differently about the matter, as you can imagine.” She gave a little laugh which was rather like a dog’s bark.

I laughed with her and she looked at me with some approval.

“Cousin Robert is a very able man but he still lacks the power to get rid of his Cousin Mary.” Again that bark. “Well, we’ve done without each other all these years. You can imagine how taken aback I was when I got the letter from Cousin Imogen telling me that they’d be glad if I invited you for a month or so.”

“They clearly wanted to be rid of me. I wonder why.”

She looked at me with her head on one side and, as I already realized was unusual with her, hesitated. “Let’s not bother about the whys and wherefores. You’re here. You’re going to be the means of healing the rift in the family … perhaps. I’m pleased you came. I’ve a notion that you and I are going to get on.”

“Oh, have you? I’m so glad.”

She nodded. “Well, you’ll settle in. You’ll be left to yourself quite a bit. It’s a big estate and I keep myself rather busy on it. I’ve managers but I hold the reins. Always have done. Even when my father was alive and I was younger than you … or as young … I’d work with my father. He used to say, ‘You’ll make a good squire, Mary, my girl.’ And when there was all that raising of eyebrows and tittering about my being a woman, I was determined to show them I could do as well—and better—than any man.”

“I am sure you did show them, Cousin Mary.”

“Yes, I did, but even now, if anything goes wrong they’re ready to say ‘Oh well, she’s a woman.’ I won’t have it, Caroline. That’s why I’m determined to make Tressidors the most prosperous estate hereabouts.” She looked at me almost slyly and went on: “You must have come past Landower Hall.”

I told her we had done so.

“What did you think of it?”

“I thought it was magnificent.”

She snorted. “Outside, yes. Bit of a ruin inside … so we hear.”

When I told her we had met Mr. Paul and Mr. Jago Landower, she was very interested.

“They made themselves known,” I said, “when they noticed the name on my luggage. They seemed to know I was coming here.”

“Servants,” she said.

“Yes, that’s what the younger one said. Their servants . . your servants …”

“It’s like having detectives in the house. Well, it’s natural, and as long as there are some things we can keep back we have to put up with it. The Landowers keep a sharp look-out on what’s going on here … just as we do on them.” She laughed again. “There’s rivalry. We’re both squires, as it were. What possessed our ancestors to build so close, I can’t imagine. And the Tressidors are the culprits. Landowers were here first. They’re proud of that. Look on us as upstarts. We’ve only been here three hundred years. Newcomers, you see! We’re on speaking terms, but only just. We’re the rival houses—Montague and Capulet. We don’t go about biting our thumbs or thrusting rapiers into each other’s gullets in the streets of the town, but we’re rivals all the same. Friendly enemies, perhaps you could call us. We haven’t had our Romeo and Juliet … not yet. I’m hardly made for Juliet and Jonas Landower is no Romeo. Certainly not now. Couldn’t really have fitted the part in his young days any more than I could. However, that’s how it is with us and the Landowers. You say you met them on the train. Coming from Plymouth, I don’t doubt. Been to see the lawyers … or the bank more likely. Things are not going well at Landower, that much I know. Cost of keeping up the place is astronomical. It’s creaking. It’s about two hundred years older than Tressidor … and one thing I’ve always made sure of is to keep the place in order. The first little sign of decay … and it’s dealt with. Costs less that way. You understand? Of course you do. Over the years the Landowers have thrown up some feckless characters like old Jonas. Drink, women, gambling … The Landower pattern. Tressidors have had their old reprobates, but on the whole we’re a sober lot … compared with the Landowers, that is.”

“They helped us with our luggage,” I told her. “Miss Bell was grateful.”

“Oh yes, very mannerly. Interested, too, in what goes on here. Opportunists, that’s what they are. Always have been. Old Jonas thought he could retrieve the family fortunes at the gaming tables. Fools’ game that. Did you know anyone who was ever successful that way? Of course not. Always ready to take the main chance. Turncoats. Even in the Civil War they were for the King in the beginning as most of us were in these parts, and when the King lost, the Landowers were for the Parliament. We suffered a bit at Tressidor then and they prospered.” She gave the bark which punctuated her speech and which I was beginning to wait for. “Then the new King came back and they discovered that they were royalist after all. But that put us forward. However, they secured their pardon and managed to hang on to their estates. Opportunists. Now, of course, there are rumours. Well, we shall see.”

“It all sounds most exciting, Cousin Mary.”

“Life usually is when you take an interest in it. You’ve discovered that, haven’t you? Of course you have. Well, my dear, you’re going to have a little holiday here. You’re going to learn something of what it is like to live in the heart of the country … that is right away from the capital. This is Cornwall.”

“The countryside seemed very beautiful. I’m longing to explore.”

“I always think this is the most beautiful part of the Duchy. We’ve got a touch of lush Devonshire and the beginnings of the rugged coast of Cornwall. When you get farther west it gets wilder, more stark, less cosy. You ride, don’t you? Of course you do. There are horses in the stables.”

I said: “We rode a good deal in the country and even in London.”

“Well, that’s the best way of getting around. You’ll amuse yourself all right. Don’t stray too far at first and take a note of your bearings. I’ll go round with you until you get to know your way a little. You have to be careful of the mists. They spring up suddenly and you can easily get lost and go round in circles. The moors are not far off. I should stay away from them at first. Keep to the roads. But, as I say, someone will always go with you.”

“I thought the lodge cottage was very attractive.”

“Oh, the garden, you mean. Jamie McGill is a good fellow. Very quiet, very withdrawn. I think there’s some tragedy there. He’s a good lodgekeeper. I’m lucky to have found him.”

“I hear he’s the neighbourhood’s beekeeper.”

“Our honey comes from him. He does supply the neighbourhood, and very good it is. Pure Cornish honey. Here … try some. You can taste the flowers in it. Doesn’t it smell fragrant?”

“Oh yes. And it’s delicious.”

“Well, that’s Jamie’s honey. He came to me … it must be six years ago … no, more than that, seven or eight. I was wanting an extra gardener. I gave him the chance and it wasn’t long before we discovered he had a special way with plants. Then the old lodgekeeper died and I thought it was just the place for Jamie. So he went there and in a short time the garden was a picture—and he got his hives. He seems to be very happy there. He’s doing what he likes best. People are very lucky when they have work they enjoy. Are you ready? I’ll show you the house first, shall I? Yes, that’s best. Then you can wander round the grounds for a bit and explore. This afternoon I’ll take you for a ride. How’s that?”

“I like the idea very much.”

“All right. We’ll get along.”

It was an interesting morning. She showed me the attics where many of the servants had their quarters, though some lived in several of the cottages on the edge of the estate, and the grooms and stablemen lived over the stables. Then there were the bedrooms, many of them exact replicas of my own, and the long gallery with pictures of the family. She took me round explaining who they were. There were portraits of my father and Aunt Imogen when they were young, of my grandfather and his elder brother, Cousin Mary’s father. Tressidors in ruffs, in wigs, in elegant eighteenth-century costumes. “Here they are,” said Cousin Mary, “the entire rogues gallery.”

I laughed protestingly, and she said: “Well, not all rogues. We had some good men among us and all of them were determined to keep Tressidor Manor as the family home.”

“That’s understandable,” I said. “You must be proud of it.”

“I confess to a fondness for the old place,” she admitted. “It’s been my life’s work. My father used to say to me, ‘It’ll be yours one day, Mary. You’ve got to love it and treasure it and show that the Tressidor women are as good as the men.’ And that’s what I’ve been doing.”

There was the bedroom where the King had slept when he was on the run from the Roundheads. The fourposter bed was still there though the coverlet was threadbare.

“We kept that intact,” explained Cousin Mary. “No one sleeps in this room. Imagine that poor man … with his own subjects against him. How must he have felt when he slept in that bed!”

“I doubt he had much sleep,” I said.

She took me to the window and I looked out over the rich green of the lawns, beyond to the woods in the distance. It was a beautiful view.

She pointed out the tapestry on the walls which depicted the triumphant return of the fugitive’s son to London.

“That was put up in this room some fifty years after the King slept here. If I were fanciful, which I’m not, I would say that what part of him is left in this room would take some satisfaction from that.”

“You must be a little fanciful, Cousin Mary, to have such a thought,” I pointed out.

She burst out laughing and gave me a little push. She was not displeased.

She took me downstairs and showed me the small chapel, and the drawing room and kitchens. We passed several servants during our perambulations and these she introduced to me. They bobbed respectful curtsies.

“Our hall is quite small,” she said. “The Landowers have a magnificent hall. This house was built when halls were no longer the centre of the house, and more attention was given to the rooms. Much more civilized, don’t you think? But of course you do. Building naturally should improve with the generations. I daresay at first it will be a little difficult to find your way around. Naturally. But in a day or so it will all become familiar. I hope you are going to like the house.”

“I am sure I shall. I do already.”

She laid a hand on my arm. “After luncheon we’ll go for that ride.”

I had had such a full morning that I had ceased to wonder what Olivia was doing and how Miss Bell was faring on her homeward journey.

When I went to my room Betty came in and said that Miss Tressidor had suggested she help me unpack. This we did together and Betty hung up my clothes in the cupboard. She said that Joe would take my trunk and put it into one of the storage attics where it could remain until it was needed again.

After luncheon I changed into my riding habit and went down to the hall where Cousin Mary was waiting for me.

She looked very neat in her well-cut riding clothes, black riding hat and highly polished boots. She studied me with approval and we went to the stables where a horse was chosen for me.

We went down the drive, to the lodge. Jamie came out to open the gates for us.

“Good afternoon, Jamie,” said Cousin Mary. “This is my second cousin, Miss Caroline Tressidor. She is staying with us for a while.”

“Yes, Miss Tressidor,” said Jamie.

I said: “Good afternoon, Jamie.”

“Good afternoon, Miss Caroline.”

“I noticed the bees when I came through last night,” I told him.

He looked very pleased. “They knew you were coming,” he said. “I told them.”

“Jamie always tells the bees,” said Cousin Mary. “It’s a custom. You must have heard of that. But of course you have.”

We rode on.

“He has an unusual accent,” I said. “It’s rather pleasant.”

“Scottish,” she said. “Jamie’s a Scotsman. He came to England … after some trouble up there. I don’t know what. I’ve never asked. People’s privacy should be respected. I suspect he came down here to make a new life. He’s doing that very successfully. He’s happy with his bees, and he does provide us with the finest honey.”

We rode on. She showed me the estate, and beyond it.

“This is Landower country,” she explained. “They’d like to extend it. They’d like to take us in. We’d like to take them in, too.”

“Surely there’s room enough for the two of you.”

“Of course there is. It’s just that feeling there’s been through the centuries. Some people thrive on rivalry, don’t they? Of course they do. It’s something of a joke really. I’ve no time for active feuding in my life and I doubt the Landowers have either. They’ve got other things to think about just now, I imagine.”

By the time we had returned to the house I felt I knew a great deal about Cousin Mary, the Tressidors, the Landowers, and the countryside. I was very interested and felt a great deal better than I had for some time.

The more I saw of Cousin Mary, the more I liked her. She was a great talker and I was playing a little game with myself to try to curb her flow and get a word or two in myself. I imagined I should be more successful at it later; but just now I wanted to learn all I could.

When I went to bed that night a great deal of my melancholy had lifted. I had been thrust into a new world which I was already finding absorbing.

I slept soundly and when I awoke and realized where I was my first feeling was one of expectancy.

A week had passed. I was settling into the household. I was left a great deal to myself now, Cousin Mary having introduced me to the countryside, as it were. This pleased me. It was a freedom I had not enjoyed before. To be allowed to ride out alone was in itself an adventure. Cousin Mary believed in freedom. I was of a responsible age, no longer a child, and by the time a week was up I was revelling in the new life.

I was given the run of the library. No books were forbidden, unlike at home where Miss Bell supervised all our books. I read a great deal— much of Dickens, all Jane Austen and the Brontes, which particularly intrigued me. I rode every day and I was beginning to know the countryside well. I had put on a little weight. Cousin Mary kept a good table, and I liked to do justice to what was served. I felt myself changing, growing up, developing a certain self-reliance. I realized that I had been somewhat restricted under Miss Bell’s watchful eye.

Freedom from lessons was a relief. Cousin Mary said that as I found such pleasure in the library, the perusal of great writers was the best education I could get and would be more important for me in the future than the multiplication table.

It was certainly a pleasurable way of educating oneself.

Whenever I went out walking or riding I liked to go past the lodge gates where I often saw Jamie—almost always in his garden. He would call a respectful Good morning. I wanted to stop and talk to him and ask about the bees, but there was something in his attitude which deterred me from doing this. But I promised myself that one day I would.

One day I came face to face with a rider in one of the narrow lanes.

“Why,” he cried, “if it isn’t Miss Tressidor!”

I recognized him as the younger of the travellers in the train.

He saw that and grinned. “That’s right. Jago Landower. That’s a frisky little mare you’re riding.”

“A little frisky perhaps. That doesn’t bother me. I’ve ridden a great deal.”

“In spite of coming from London.”

“We ride there, you know. And we have a place in the country. When I’m there I’m always in the saddle.”

“I can see that. Are you going back to the Manor?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll show you a new way.”

“Perhaps I already know it.”

“Well, you’re not going the right way if you do. Come on.”

I turned the mare and walked her beside him.

“I’ve looked for you,” he said. “I wonder I haven’t seen you before.”

“I haven’t been here very long, you know.”

“What do you think of Cornwall?”

“Very … fascinating.”

“And how long will you stay?”

“I don’t know.”

“I hope you won’t go away too soon … not until you have got to know us really well.”

“That’s very welcoming, I must say.”

“What about the dragon?”

“The dragon?”

“The lady jailer.”

“Do you mean my governess, Miss Bell? She went back to London the next day.”

“So you are free.”

“She was not really a lady jailer.”

“Wrong words. A watch-dog. How’s that?”

“She was sent to look after me and she did that.”

“I see you are a very precious young lady. I’m surprised that they let you out on your own. Oh, but that is My Lady Mary, teaching you self-reliance.”

“Miss Mary Tressidor has shown me the countryside, and I am quite capable of looking after myself.”

“I can see that. And how do you like the ancestral home? And how do you like Lady Mary? We always call her Lady Mary at Landower. She really is a very important lady.”

“I’m glad you appreciate that. This seems a long way round.”

“It is what is called a long cut as opposed to a short one.”

“So you are taking me out of my way?”

“Only a little. If we had gone the way you were going, our encounter would have been too brief.”

I was flattered and rather pleased, and I liked him.

I said: “Your brother was very quick to notice the name on my luggage and realize who I was.”

“He’s very bright, but on that occasion it did not require a great deal of perception. We had been informed that there was to be a visitor at Tressidor and we were well aware who. Your father was well known here. My father knew him and his sister Imogen. Some people thought he would inherit. But it went of course to Lady Mary.”

“Who was the rightful heiress.”

“But a woman!”

“Do you share the general prejudice?”

“Not at all. I adore your sex. And Lady Mary has shown she is as capable—far more, some say—as any man. I am just telling you why it was we knew you were coming and were to arrive on that particular day. Very few people travel down from London. We saw you when we passed the carriage and my brother said, ‘Did you see the girl with the lady who is obviously her governess? I wonder if that could be the much heralded Miss Caroline Tressidor. Let’s go back and find out.’ So we did.”

“I’m surprised that you went to so much trouble.”

“We go to a great deal of trouble to find out what’s going on at Tressidor. Look! There’s Landower. Don’t you think it’s splendid?”

“I do. You must be very proud of such a home.”

He was momentarily downcast. “Yes, we are. But … for how long … ?”

I remembered what Cousin Mary had said about there being trouble at Landower and I said: “What do you mean?”

“Oh, nothing. Yes, it is magnificent, isn’t it? The family has been there since …”

“Since the beginning of time, according to Joe, the coachman.”

“Well, perhaps that rather overstates the case. Since the fifteenth century actually.”

“Yes. I heard you stole a march on the Tressidors.”

“How well versed you are in local history!”

“Not as well as I should like to be.”

“Well, there’s time.”

I knew where I was now and I broke into a canter. He was beside me. Very soon I saw the lodge gates.

“Not such a long cut, was it?” he said. “It’s been delightful talking to you. I hope I’ll see you again soon. Do you ride every day?”

“Almost every.”

“I’ll look out for you.”

I rode into the stables, well pleased with the encounter.

After that I saw him frequently. Whenever I rode out he seemed to be there. He became my guide and showed me the countryside and he talked a great deal about the old legends and the customs and superstitions which abounded in this part of the world. He took me onto the moors and pointed out the weird formation of some of the stones, which had been put there, some believed, by prehistoric man. There was an air of mystery about the moors. I could really believe some of the fanciful stories he told me of piskies and witches.

“What a pity you didn’t come earlier,” he said. “You could have taken part in the ceremony of Midsummer Eve when we gather here at midnight and light our bonfires to welcome the summer. We dance round them; we become merry and a little wild and perhaps like our prehistoric forefathers. To dance round the bonfire is a precaution against witchcraft, and if you scorch your clothes that means you will be well protected. Ah, you should have been here for Midsummer’s Eve. I can see you dancing, with your hair wild—a real Tressidor.”

He showed me a disused tin mine and told me of the days when tin mining had made the Duchy prosperous.

“That’s what we call an old scat ball,” he said, “a disused mine. It’s said to be unlucky. The miners of Cornwall were the most superstitious people in the world—apart perhaps from the Cornish fishermen. Their lives were full of hazards, so they looked for signs of good and evil. I suppose we should all be the same. Do you know, they used to leave food at the mine head for the knackers who could wreak evil on those who offended them. The knackers were supposed to be the spirits of Jews who had crucified Christ and could not rest. Why they should have travelled to Cornwall was never explained—nor how there could be so many of them. But do you know, there were miners who swore they’d seen a knacker—a little wizened thing, the size of a sixpenny doll, but dressed like one of the old tinners—that means an old miner. What do the knackers do now that so many mines are closed, I wonder. Perhaps they go back to where they belong. Now this particular shaft is said to be specially unlucky. You must not go near the edge. Who knows, some knacker might take a fancy to you and decide to take you with him wherever he belongs.”

I loved to listen to him and urged him to tell me more, so I heard of the wassailing at Christmas when the great families provided spiced ale from which everyone drank. “Waes Hael,” said Jago. “That’s Saxon and means ‘to your health.’ Lots of our customs go back before Christianity came here, which explains why we are such a pagan lot.”

He told me how they danced up at the big houses at Christmas, how the carol singers—called Curl Singers by the local people—came and joined in the merriment; how the guise dancers appeared on twelfth night, masked and disguised, dressed as historical characters and frolicked out of doors and in and out of houses. Then there was Shrove Tuesday when it was permissible to rob the gardens of the rich, and how May Day was as important as Christmas and Midsummer’s Eve, when all ages assembled in the streets of the towns with fiddles and drums.

They danced and feasted and set out to gather in the May, cutting branches of the sycamore trees and making them into whistles which sent out shrill sounds as they danced into the country and brought home the May. There was the Furry Dance, which was performed ceremoniously in Helston every year, and as fervently, if less orderly, all over Cornwall.

I had a notion that he was trying to show me how exciting life was here, and that he was pleased that I had come, and this made him very happy.

He loved to talk and I was a willing listener. He succeeded in making me feel that I wanted to witness for myself some of the customs about which he talked so enthusiastically.

But it began to dawn on me that often his gaiety was forced and I guessed that something was worrying him. When I asked him he shrugged it aside; but there came a time when he told me what was on his mind.

We had ridden past an empty farmhouse on the edge of the Landower estate. He said: “The Malloy family lived here for generations. There was only one son and daughter left and they had no feeling for farming. The man went to Plymouth and became some sort of builder. He took his sister with him. So the farmhouse is vacant.”

“It’s a very pleasant house,” I said.

“H’m.”

“I’d like to look at it. Could we go in?”

“Not now,” he said firmly, and turned his horse away as though he could not bear to look at the place.

Later I discovered why. We had taken our horses onto the moor. It was invigorating there. I sat stretched out on the grass propped up by a boulder. Jago sat beside me.

I said: “What’s wrong? Why don’t you tell me?”

He was silent for a few moments. Then he said: “You know that farmhouse I showed you?”

“Yes.”

“That may be our home soon.”

“What do you mean?”

“We may have to sell Landower.”

“Sell Landower! What do you mean? Your family has been there since the beginning of time.”

“I’m serious, Caroline. We can’t afford to live there. The place is almost falling about our heads and a fortune needs to be spent on it and soon … if it is going to survive.”

“Oh, I am sorry, Jago. I know how you feel.”

“Paul is frantic, but he can’t get any help. He’s staying in Plymouth now … seeing lawyers and bankers … trying to raise money. He won’t give up, though they say it is hopeless and nothing can be done but let the house go. Paul thinks he’ll do something … somehow. He’s like that. If he makes up his mind he won’t let go. He keeps saying he’ll find a way. But you see we need a fortune to spend on the structure and to save the roof. Everything has been neglected too long, they say. You think that because a house has stood for four hundred years it is going to stand forever. It would … if we could save it. But we can’t, Caroline, and that’s all there is to it.”

“What will you do?”

“They’ve come to the conclusion that we shall have to sell.”

“Oh no!”

“Yes. The lawyers say it’s the only thing. My father is deeply in debt. Creditors are pressing. He has to find money somehow. We’re lucky, the lawyers say, to have the farmhouse to go to.”

“How awful for you. And all those ancestors …”

“There’s only one hope.”

“What’s that?”

He burst out laughing. “That nobody will buy it.”

I laughed with him. I was sure he was joking. He liked to tease me. Which was why I was never sure how much he was making up when he told me of the customs of the people.

Now I felt sure that he did not mean what he said. There was no danger of Landower’s passing into other hands. How could it?

I raced him home. He waved a merry goodbye, saying: “Same time tomorrow.”

I was sure all was well at Landower, or at least it wasn’t half as bad as he had said it was.

A few days later I was going for a walk and as I came to the lodge Jamie McGill appeared.

“Good afternoon, Miss Caroline,” he said.

“Good afternoon. It’s rather sultry today. Do the bees know that?”

His expression changed. “They do indeed, Miss Caroline. They know about the weather all right. They know fast enough when a storm’s coming.”

“Do they really? They are fascinating, I know. I’ve always been interested in bees.”

“Have ye now?”

“Oh yes. I’d love to know more about them.”

“They’re worth knowing.” A bee flew over his head and he laughed. “He knows I’m talking about him.”

“Does he really?”

“Lazy old thing.”

“Oh, is he a drone?”

“Yes, he is. He does nothing but enjoy himself while the workers go about collecting the nectar and the queen’s in the hive laying the eggs. His day will come though. When the queen’s off on her hymeneal flight.”

“Have you always been interested in bees?”

“Interested in creatures, Miss Caroline. I’ve had hives before I came here. Never so many though. They’re miraculous little creatures. Clever, hard-working. You know what to expect from them.”

“That’s a great asset … to know what to expect. Your flowers are lovely too. You have a way with those, I gather, as well as with the bees.”

“Yes, I love the flowers … all growing things. I’ve got a little bird in here.” He jerked his head towards the lodge. “Broken wing. Don’t think it will ever be quite right, but maybe it will mend a bit.”

A cat came out and mewing rubbed itself against his legs.

“Have you any other animals?” I asked.

“There’s old Lionheart. He’s the Jack Russell. He can give a good account of himself. He and Tiger the cat are permanent residents, so to speak.”

“And the bees, of course.”

“Oh yes, and the bees. The others come and go. This bird … he’ll be here for a little while yet, but living in a cottage is no natural life for a bird.”

“How sad for it to be crippled. Particularly if it remembers the days when it was free. Do you think birds do remember?”

“I think God has given all creatures powers, Miss Caroline, just as He has given us.” He hesitated for a while then he went on: “Would you like to step inside for a while? You could see the little bird.”

I said I should indeed like to.

The dog came out rather fiercely to inspect me.

“All right, Lion. It’s a friend.”

The dog paused, eyeing me suspiciously. Jamie stooped to pat him and the dog’s slavish devotion was apparent.

It struck me then that this was a happy man.

He showed me the bird with the broken wing. He handled it lovingly and I saw that the bird, in his gentle hands, ceased to be afraid.

He had a pleasant little parlour, scrupulously clean, and in this we sat and talked about the bees. He said that if I cared to, one day, when it was a good time, he would take me out and introduce me to them.

“I’ll have to protect you first. They don’t always understand. They might think you had come to attack the hive.”

His conversation interested me in rather the same way that Jago Landower’s did. I asked questions and he answered, obviously delighted by my interest. He told me how he had started with one swarm and now he had ten good stocks of bees in his garden.

“You see, Miss Caroline, you must understand them. Respect their feelings. They’ve got to know you for a friend. They know I’ll shelter them against extremes of heat and cold. It’s practical really to give them the best conditions for constructing the combs and rearing the young. Oh, I’ve learned a lot. Trial and error, you might say. I reckon now I must have the most contented apiary in Cornwall.”

“I’m sure you’re right.”

“My bees have nothing to fear. They rely on me and I rely on them. They know they’ll be looked after when the weather’s too bad for them to forage for themselves. One day I’ll show you how I feed them through wide-mouthed bottles full of syrup. That’s when it gets cold though. They mustn’t have too much moisture. When I boil the sugar I put a little vinegar in it. That prevents it crystallizing. Oh, I’m being tiresome, Miss Caroline. Once get me on to the subject of bees and I don’t know when to stop.”

“I find it very interesting. When can I actually look at the hives?”

“I’ll speak to them tonight. I’ll tell them all about you. I’ll say there’s a sympathetic soul … They’ll understand. Mind you, they’d soon find out for themselves.”

I thought he was a little too fanciful, but he interested me and I took to calling on him when I passed. Sometimes I went into the lodge, at others I had a little chat at the door.

Cousin Mary was rather pleased. “It isn’t everybody who’ll take the trouble to show interest in him. He’s a good man. I call him our Scottish Saint Francis. He was the one who was always looking after the animals, wasn’t he? You know that. Of course you do.”

I felt now that I had three good friends—Cousin Mary, Jago Landower and Jamie McGill, and I was beginning to enjoy life in Cornwall. I could scarcely believe that it was such a short time ago when I had been dreading coming here.

Cousin Mary talked to me about the past when my father and Aunt Imogen used to stay at Tressidor for their summer holidays.

“The two brothers didn’t get on very well, my father and your grandfather, that is. My father used to laugh and say, ‘He thinks he’s going to get Tressidor Manor for his son. He’s going to have a bit of a surprise.’ “

“I know how my father felt about that,” I said.

“Yes. I’d never give up Tressidor. It’s mine … till the day I die.”

I asked her what she thought about the Landowers. Could it really be true that they might have to sell?

“There are rumours,” she replied. “Have been for a long time. It will break the old man, because it’s his fault, you see. They’ve had gamblers in the family before but he’s the one who’s brought it all to a head. If Paul had been born a little earlier it might have stopped the rot. I’ve heard he really cares for the place and has a flair for management and might have had a chance of pulling the place round. The trouble is not only the old man’s debts but the fact that the house needs instant repairs. Oh, it’s folly not to take these things in time.”

“I believe Jago is very upset.”

“I daresay. But that’s nothing to what his elder brother will be. Jago is young enough to recover.”

“Is Paul so much older?”

“Paul is a man.”

“Jago is nearly seventeen.”

“A boy really. They’ve brought it on themselves though. If it had been an act of God, as they call it, one could have felt more sorry for them.”

“But I think people suffer more through misfortunes which have come about through their own fault, Cousin Mary.”

She looked at me rather approvingly, I thought, and patted my hand.

Later she said: “Glad you came. Enjoyed having you.”

“That sounds like a goodbye speech to me.”

“I hope I shan’t have to make one of those to you for a long time to come.”

Cousin Mary and I were certainly getting fond of each other.

In due course Jamie McGill took me out to introduce me to the bees. He covered my head with an extraordinary bonnet which tucked into my bodice and had a veil over my face for me to see through. I wore thick gloves. Then he took me out. I must say it was rather terrifying to have the bees buzzing round me. They buzzed round him too and some of them alighted on him. They did not sting though.

He said: “This is Miss Caroline Tressidor. I told you about her. She wants to learn about you. She’s staying with her cousin for a while and she’s a friend.”

I watched him take the combs out of the hive and I was amazed that they allowed him to do this. He was talking to them all the time.

Afterwards we went into the house and I was divested of the strange garments.

“They’ve accepted you,” he said. “I know by their buzzing. / told them, you see, and they trust me.”

The bees’ acceptance of me made a change in our relationship. Perhaps because the bees trusted me, he did. He became more open about himself. He told me that he was sometimes homesick for his native Scotland. He longed to see the lochs and the Scottish mists. “Different from these down here, Miss Caroline, just as the hills are. Ours are grand and craggy—awesome at times. I long for them, aye, that I do.”

“Do you ever think of going back?”

He looked at me with horror. “Oh no … no. I could never do that. You see … there’s Donald. It’s because of Donald … and what he is … well, that’s why I had to leave … get away … as far as I could. I was always afraid of Donald. We grew up side by side.”

“Your brother?”

“We were so alike. People didn’t know us apart. Which was Donald … which was Jamie? No one knew … not even our mother.”

“You were identical twins.”

“Donald’s not a good man, Miss Caroline. He’s really bad. I had to get away from Donald. There. I’m boring you with things you don’t want to know about.”

“I’m always interested in people. I like to hear their stories. I find them most interesting.”

“I can’t talk of Donald … not what he did. I have to shut it right out of my mind.”

“Was he very bad?”

He nodded. “There now, Miss Caroline, you’ve got to know my bees this afternoon.”

“I’m glad they accepted me as a friend. I hope you do, too.”

“I knew you were a friend right from the first. He leaned towards me and said: “Forget what I told you about Donald. I spoke out of turn.”

“I think it helps to talk, you know.”

He shook his head. “No, I have to forget Donald. It has to be as though he never was.”

And I had to resist the urge to ask questions about Donald but I could see that speaking of him had already shaken Jamie McGill and that he was beginning to reproach himself for having talked of his brother.

After that one occasion he never mentioned him, although I did make several attempts to steer the conversation in that direction, but each time I was skilfully diverted, and I came to the conclusion that if I tried to get him to talk of his brother, I should no longer be welcome in the lodge.

I was writing quite frequently to Olivia. Writing to her was like talking to her and I greatly looked forward to receiving her letters.

I gathered that life went on much as usual. She was mostly in the country. After the Jubilee celebrations there would be nothing for her to come to London for.

Miss Bell wrote once. Her letter was full of information which told me nothing. She had had a safe journey home; Olivia and she had started on Gibbon’s Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. The weather had been exceptionally warm. Such matters did not interest me.

There was one letter from Olivia which was different from the others.

“Dear Caroline,” she wrote,

“I do miss you so much. They are talking now about my coming out. I shall soon be seventeen and Papa has told Miss Bell that he thinks I should be making my debut into society. I dread it. I hate the thought of those parties and meeting people. I’m no good at it. You would do very well. There’s nobody here to talk to really … Miss Bell says it is to be expected and she is sure that if only I will make up my mind all will be well, it will.

“Mama has never come back. She never will. I thought she had just gone away for a little while, but nobody speaks of her and when I mention her to Miss Bell she changes the subject as though it is something shameful.

“I wish Mama would come back. Papa is more stern than ever. He is mostly in London and I am in the country, but if I ‘come out’ I shall have to be there, shan’t I? Oh, I do wish you would come home.

“When are you coming back? I asked Miss Bell. She said it would depend on Papa. I said, ‘But surely Papa wants to see his own daughter.’ And she turned away and said, ‘Caroline will come back when it is right and proper in your father’s eyes for her to do so.’

“I thought that so odd. It is all so mysterious, Caroline, and I’m scared of going into society.

“Do write often. I love hearing about the bees and that quaint man at the lodge, and about the Landowers and Cousin Mary. I think you are liking them all rather a lot. Don’t like them more than you like me, will you? Don’t like Cornwall more than you like home.

“See if you can get Cousin Mary to send you home. Perhaps she could write to Aunt Imogen or something.

“Remember I do miss you. It wouldn’t be half as bad if you were home.

“Your affectionate sister, Olivia Tressidor.”

I thought a great deal about Olivia and wished that she could join me in Cornwall and share in this carefree absorbing life into which I had stepped.

Sometimes I used to feel that it was going on forever. I should have known better than that.

There were times when Jago Landower would lapse into a melancholy mood. I guessed he was really troubled, as this was quite alien to his nature.

He admitted to me that there seemed to be no solution for his family but to sell the house.

I tried to comfort him: “You’ll have that lovely old farmhouse and you won’t be far away.”

“Don’t you see that makes it worse? Imagine being close to Landower and knowing that it belonged to someone else.”

“It’s only a house.”

“Only a house! It’s Landower! It’s been our home for centuries … and we are the ones to lose it. You can speak lightly of it, Caroline, because you don’t understand ” He paused. Then he went on: “You’ve never seen it. Only from the outside. I’m going to show you Landower. Then perhaps you will understand.”

That was how I came to enter Landower and from then on I fell under its spell and I fully understood the anguish which the family was suffering.

I had grown to love Tressidor Manor. In spite of its antiquity it was cosy. Landower was scarcely that. It was magnificent, splendid, crumbling perhaps, but as soon as I stepped inside, I felt that it was important that this house should not be allowed to fall into decay. As I approached I felt the full impact of the embattled walls and a shiver of delight went through me as I passed under the gateway and into the courtyard. I felt as though the centuries had been captured and were held fast within those walls. I was stepping right back into the fourteenth century when the place had been built.

There was a heavy nail-studded door through which we passed and we were in the banqueting hall. I was aware of Jago’s immense pride and I now fully understood.

He said: “Although Landower was built in the fourteenth century, it has been restored and built on since. Landower has grown with the centuries, but the banqueting hall is one of the oldest parts of the house. One thing they have changed. Originally the fire was in the centre of the room. I’ll show you just where. The great fireplace was put in during Tudor times. That’s the minstrels’ gallery up there. Look at the panelling. That tells the age.”

I was speechless with wonder.

“Here is the family crest and look at the family tree; and entwined in the decorations over the fireplace, the initials of the Landowers who were living here at the time it was put in. Can you see anyone else living here … with everything that belongs to us?”

“Oh, Jago, it mustn’t be. I hope it never happens.”

“That is the screens passage over there and the way to the kitchens. I won’t take you there. I daresay the kitchen servants are nodding away, having an afternoon nap. They wouldn’t be very pleased to see us. Come on.” He led me up a flight of stairs to the dining room. Through the windows I could see the lawns and the gardens. Tapestry hung on the walls depicting scenes from the Bible; at either end of the table stood candelabra, and the table was set as though the family were about to sit down for a meal. On the great sideboard were chafing dishes in gleaming silver. This did not seem like a doomed house.

There was a hushed atmosphere in the chapel into which he next led me. It was larger than ours at Tressidor and I felt overawed as our footsteps rang out on the stone flags. Scenes from the Crucifixion were etched on the stone walls; and the stained-glass windows were beautiful, the carvings on the altar so intricate that I felt I should have to spend hours examining them to discover what they implied.

After that he took me to the solarium—a happy room with many windows, and as bright and sunny as its name implied. Between the windows and walls were portraits—Landowers through the ages and some notable people as well.

All about me was antiquity, the evidence of a family who had built a house and had made it a home.

Having seen something of my father’s bitterness over the loss of Tressidor Manor, and Cousin Mary’s pride in it, and determination to keep her hold on it, I understood the tragedy the Landowers were facing.

As I examined the tapestry I was aware that someone had come into the gallery. I turned sharply and saw that it was Paul Landower. I had not seen him since my arrival but I recognized him at once.

“Miss Tressidor,” he said with a bow.

“Oh, good afternoon, Mr. Landower. Your brother is showing me the house.”

“So I perceive.”

“It’s wonderful.” My lips trembled with emotion. “I understand … I couldn’t bear it …”

He said rather coldly I thought: “My brother has been talking of our troubles.”

“Well, why keep it a secret,” said Jago. “You can bet your life everyone knows.”

Paul Landower nodded. “As you say, no point in keeping dark what will be common knowledge soon … very soon.”

“Is there no hope then?” asked Jago.

Paul shook his head. “Not so far. Perhaps we can find a way.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said.

Paul Landower looked at me for a few seconds, then he laughed. “What a way to treat our guest! I’m ashamed of you, Jago. Have you offered her refreshment?”

“I just came in to see the house,” I said.

“Well, I’m sure you would like … tea. Is that so?”

“I’m quite happy just looking at the house.”

“We’re honoured. We don’t often have Tressidors calling.”

“It’s a pity. I am sure anyone would consider it an honour to be invited here.”

“We don’t do a great deal of entertaining now, do we, Jago? It is all we can do to keep the roof over our head and that, my dear Miss Tressidor, let me tell you, is in danger of falling in.”

I looked up in alarm.

“Oh, not immediately. We shall probably get a further warning. We have had little warnings already. What have you shown Miss Tressidor so far?”

Jago explained.

“There’s more to see yet. I’ll tell you what. Bring Miss Tressidor to my ante-room in half an hour. We’ll give her some tea to mark the occasion when a Tressidor comes to Landower.”

Jago said he would do that and Paul left us.

“Things must have gone very badly for him to talk like that,” said Jago. “He’s usually so restrained about our troubles.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Well, no use going over and over something that can’t be helped. Come on.”

There was so much to see. The long gallery with more portraits, the state bedroom which had been occupied by royalty from time to time; the maze of bedrooms, ante-rooms and passages. I looked through the windows across the beautiful park and often into courtyards where I could see the carvings on the opposite walls—often grotesque, gargoyles, threatening intruders, I fancied.

In due course we arrived at the ante-room which I believed led to Paul’s bedroom. It was a small room with a window into a courtyard. There was a small table on which stood a tray containing everything that was necessary for tea.

Paul rose as I entered. “Oh here you are, Miss Tressidor. Have you still a high opinion of Landower?”

I said fervently: “I have never before had the privilege of being in such a wonderful place.”

“You win our approval, Miss Tressidor. Especially as you come from the Manor.”

“The Manor is delightful, but it lacks this splendour … this grandeur.”

“How good you are! How gracious! I wonder if Miss Mary Tressidor would agree with you.”

“I am sure she would. She always says what she means and no one could fail to recognize the … the …”

“Superiority?”

I hesitated. “They are so different.”

“Ah, loyal to Cousin Mary. Well, comparisons are odious, we are told. Suffice it that you admire our house. What a mercy it is you came … just in time.”

I thought: He is obsessed by this tragedy, and I felt very sorry for him, far more than I ever had done for Jago.

He smiled at me and his expression, which before I had thought a little hard, softened. “Now tea will be served. Miss Tressidor, will you do us the honour. It is supposed to be a lady’s task.”

“I’d like to,” I said, and I seated myself at the tea table. I lifted the heavy silver teapot and poured the tea into the very beautiful Sevres cups. “Milk? Sugar?” I asked, feeling very much at ease and grown-up.

Paul did most of the talking. I noticed that Jago was quieter in his brother’s company. Paul asked me about my impressions of Cornwall, about my home in London and the country. I talked vivaciously as I invariably did; but it was different when I spoke of my father. He had always seemed a stranger to me and never more than now. I was surprised how quickly Paul Landower sensed this. He quickly changed the subject.

I was deeply moved by this encounter. I was excited, of course, to be in this ancient house, and at the same time I was sad because of the agony the family was suffering at the prospect of losing it. I felt uplifted in the company of Paul Landower and so pleased that he had come across Jago and me in the house and that he was treating me like a guest.

He was so different from Jago. Jago I looked upon as a mere boy. Paul was a man and a man whose very presence excited me. I liked his virile masculine looks, but perhaps it was that touch of melancholy which stirred me so deeply. I longed to help him. I wanted to earn his gratitude.

I had the impression that he was thinking of me as a rather amusing little girl, and he was interested in me merely because I was a Tressidor, from the rival house. I longed to impress him, to make him remember me after I had gone—as I should remember him.

He talked about the feud between our families in the same way as Cousin Mary had.

“It does not seem much of a feud,” I said. “Here am I a member of one side chatting amicably with members of the other.”

“We could not possibly be an enemy of yours, could we, Jago?” said Paul.

Jago said it was all a lot of nonsense. Nobody thought anything about that sort of thing nowadays. People had too much sense.

“I don’t think it’s a matter of sense,” said Paul. “These things just peter out. It must have been rather fierce in the old days though. Tressidor and Landower fighting for supremacy. We said the Tressidors were upstarts. They said we did not do our duty in the neighbourhood. Probably both of us were right. But now we have the redoubtable Lady Mary who is far too sensible for feuding with enthusiasm. And here are we in a sorry state.”

“I feel you will find a way out of your difficulties,” I said.

“Do you really think so, Miss Tressidor?”

“I’m sure of it.”

He lifted his cup. “I’ll drink to that.”

“I have a feeling,” said Jago, “that no one will buy.”

“Oh … but it’s so wonderful,” I cried.

“It needs a fortune spent on it,” replied Jago. “That’s how I console myself. It has to be someone fabulously rich so that life can be breathed into the tottering old ruin.”

“I still feel that it will come out all right,” I insisted.

When I rose to go I was reluctant to leave them. It had been such an exciting afternoon.

“You must come again,” Paul told me.

“I should love to,” I said eagerly.

Paul took my hand and held it for a long time. Then he looked into my face. “I’m afraid,” he said, “that we have rather overburdened you with our gloomy problems.”

“No, no … Indeed not. I was flattered … to be taken into your confidence.”

“It was really unforgivable. We’re very poor hosts. Next time, we’ll be different.”

“No, no,” I said fervently. “I understand, I do.”

He pressed my hand warmly and I experienced a thrill of pleasure.

He was unlike any person I had ever known and it was his presence, as well as the splendours of the house, which had made this one of the most exciting afternoons I had ever spent.

His looks were outstanding; that strength, tempered with melancholy, appealed to my deep sense of all that was romantic. I wished that I had a great deal of money so that I could buy Landower and hand it back to him.

I was young; I was impressionable; Paul Landower was the most interesting person I had ever met and I was tremendously excited at the prospect of seeing more of him.

Jago said as we rode home: “Paul was unlike himself. He’s usually so restrained. I was surprised he talked so much … in front of you … about the house and all that. Very odd. You must have made some sort of impression, said the right things or something.”

“I only said what I thought.”

“He’s not usually so friendly.”

“Well, I seem to have made a good impression.”

“I believe you and the whole of Cornwall have made a good impression on each other.”

When I reached home I wanted to tell Cousin Mary where I had been. I found her in the sitting room. She looked rather subdued, I thought.

I burst out: “You’ll never guess where I’ve been. Jago took me to Landower to see the house and I met Paul again. He was very friendly and gave me tea.”

I had expected her to be astonished. Instead she just sat staring at me.

Then she said: “I’m afraid I’ve had news from London, Caroline. It’s a letter from your father. You are to go back. Miss Bell is coming next week to take you.”

I was distressed. It was over. I had had such freedom. I had grown to appreciate Cousin Mary. I wanted to go on calling on Jamie McGill, learning more and more about him and his bees and his wicked brother, Donald. Most of all I wanted to become friends with the Landowers.

I was fond of Jago but something had happened since that afternoon with Paul. I had thought about him after the meeting on the train but that encounter in that most fascinating of houses had been a landmark in some way. How could a person one hardly knew loom so important in one’s life?

I wasn’t sure. There was a certain magnetism about him which I had never discovered in any other person. He was not handsome by conventional standards; he looked as though he might be prone to dark moods—but perhaps that was because of the desperate position in which he found himself now. I felt his tragedy deeply; I understood what he must be suffering at the prospect of losing his heritage; and I longed to help. He felt it more than Jago ever could. Jago was by nature lighthearted, perhaps more resilient. I wondered about their father and what he must be suffering at this moment.

Why should I allow their misfortunes to colour my life? I hardly knew them, and yet … I felt so strongly that it must not happen, that some solution must be found.

I had felt great sympathy for Jago, but how much more strongly did I feel for Paul. I was growing up fast. I had begun to do so since that day when I had watched the Jubilee procession from Captain Carmichael’s windows.

I knew now that my mother and he were lovers, that my father had discovered this and that I had, in a sense, betrayed them. He must have suspected them; I had just added the final proof. It was all becoming more clear. That was why he could not bear to see me. I had been the harbinger of disaster. I had forced him to see the truth, and for that reason he had wanted me out of his sight until he could bear to look at me again.

Yes, I was growing up and that made me more susceptible to emotions—certain rather special emotions which might be roused by a member of the opposite sex.

I wanted to be alone to think.

Cousin Mary had been upset too. She had been pleased to have me with her. I had an idea that she would have liked me to make Tressidor Manor my home. I could have done that quite easily, for I was beginning to realize that what I had thought of as “home” for so long was no real home at all if home meant love and security, as it should to a child. I had never had that. But I had found something like it with Cousin Mary.

She said: “Well, you must come and stay again, Caroline.”

She was not demonstrative but I could see that she was deeply moved.

I did not want to talk to anybody. I saddled my mare and rode out. I wanted to be alone. I went onto the moors. I rode over the grass, past huge boulders and trickling streams. Then I tethered my horse and stretched out on the grass and thought: This time next week I shall not be here.

Jago found me there. He had heard that I had ridden off in that direction from a woman in one of the cottages on the edge of the moor who had been pegging out her clothes and seen me ride by. He had been riding round for the last half hour looking for me.

He sat down beside me.

I said: “I’m leaving. I have to go back to London next week. My governess is coming to take me. My father says I must go.”

He picked up a blade of grass and started to chew it.

“I wish you’d stay,” he said.

“How do you think I feel?”

“You like it here.”

“I want to stay. There’s so much …”

“I thought nothing much happened in the country and all the excitement was in London.”

“Not for me.”

“I ought to take you to the house,” said Jago. “Paul took quite a fancy to you. He said you couldn’t take it all in in one visit.”

“I should love to come. I should love to see more of the house but"

“Well, it won’t be ours much longer. That seems to be the general opinion.”

“I am sure your brother will think of a way of keeping it.”

“That’s what I used to say, but I can’t think how. Paul’s used to getting his own way, but this is different. They’re determined on a sale. The trouble is to find someone who can afford to buy it.”

“If you sold it you’d be rich.”

“Rich … without Landower.”

“But your family’s debts will be settled and you can start again.”

“With a farm … on the estate which was once ours!”

“It’s tragic and I’m sorry.”

“And now you’re talking of going. You’re not going to let them send for you … just like that, are you?”

“What can I do?”

“Run away. Hide … until the old governess returns to London in despair without you.”

“How?”

“I’ll hide you.”

“Where? In one of the dungeons at Landower perhaps?”

“It sounds inviting. I’d bring you food every day, twice a day, three times a day. There aren’t many rats there.”

“Only a few?”

“I’d see that you were all right. You might go to the farmhouse, the one that is going to be our home. No one would think of looking there for you. You could disguise yourself as a boy.”

“And go away to sea?” I said ironically.

“No. What would be the good of that? You might as well go to London. The plan is to keep you here.”

Jago went on making wild and absurd plans for my escape. I was comforted listening to him, even though I could not take anything he said seriously.

At last, reluctantly, I rose to go. I had wanted to be alone to think but I was glad he had found me, for he had made me laugh with his ridiculous schemes, and in planning to escape from my unhappiness I had temporarily forgotten it. The fact that there were people who wanted me to stay did a little to alleviate my grief at the prospect of my departure. I was pleased to have so many friends. There was Jago, Cousin Mary and even Jamie McGill. He had hastened to tell me that the bees had buzzed mournfully and were sad that I should not be visiting the lodge much longer. Jago was really sorry and I wondered whether Paul would be.

It was fortunate that Jago had found me for on the way home I realized that something was wrong. Jago looked down at my horse and said: “She’s cast a shoe. That must be put right immediately. Come on. We’re not far from Avonleigh and there’s a smithy there.”

I dismounted and together we led our horses the quarter of a mile to the village of Avonleigh. We went at once to the blacksmith, who was at work. He looked up with interest when he saw us.

The not unpleasant smell of burning hoof was in the air.

“Good day, Jem,” said Jago.

“Why, if it b’aint Mr. Jago. What can I do for ‘ee then?” He caught sight of me. “Good day to ‘ee, Miss.”

“The lady’s horse has lost a shoe,” said Jago.

“Oh, be that so? Where’s ‘er to?”

“Here,” said Jago. “How soon can you do it, Jem?”

“Well, soon as I’ve done with this ‘un. Why don’t you and the lady go along and take a glass of cider at the Trelawny Arms. ‘Tis particular good … their own brew. I can tell ‘ee so from experience. Go and do that and then come back. Like as not I’ll have the little lady all ready for ‘ee then.”

“It’s the best thing to do,” said Jago. “We’ll leave both horses, Jem.”

“Just so, Mr. Jago.”

“Come along,” said Jago to me. “It’s the Trelawny Arms for us. Jem’s right. The cider is good there.”

It was a small inn, a hundred yards or so along the road from the blacksmith’s. The signboard creaked in the faint breeze. It depicted that Bishop Trelawny of “And Shall Trelawny Die” fame.

A woman who, I presumed, was the landlord’s wife, came to talk to us. She knew Jago and called him by his name.

He explained that I was Miss Caroline Tressidor.

She opened her eyes wide and said: “Oh, this be the young lady from the Manor then. Come to stay with us for a little while. And what do ‘ee think of Cornwall, Miss Tressidor?”

“I like it very well,” I assured her.

“Her horse cast a shoe,” Jago explained, “and we’ve a little while to wait while Jem gets to work on it. So we thought we’d come along and try your cider. It was Jem who recommended it.”

“Best in the Duchy, he always says. And although it be my own, I’m ready to agree with him.”

“I know. But Miss Tressidor will put it to the test, Maisie.”

“She shall do that, Mr. Jago.”

We sat down at one of the tables in a corner. I studied the room with its small leaded windows and heavy oak beams. There was an array of horse brasses round the big open fireplace. It was a typical inn parlour and some two hundred years old, I guessed.

Maisie brought in the cider.

“Are you busy?” asked Jago.

“We’ve two people staying—a father and daughter. They’re here for a day or two. It keeps us busy.” She smiled at me. “We don’t reckon so much on staying-guests. Most people stay in the town and we’m too near Liskeard. ‘Tain’t like the old days! ‘Tis more an in-and-out trade, if you do know what I mean.”

I said I did and she left us to sample the cider.

“No need to hurry,” said Jago. “Old Jem will be a little while yet. Just think … We’ll probably never come here again. Let’s make the most of it.”

“I don’t want to think like that. I was beginning to forget that I had to go home soon.”

“We’ll think of something,” promised Jago.

Just at that moment the guests came into the inn parlour—a man and a young woman who were clearly father and daughter. They both had the same sandy hair, alert light eyes and scanty brows. She might have been a year older than Jago. They gazed round the parlour and as the girl’s eyes immediately fell on us they kindled with interest.

“Good day to you,” said the man. He had an accent which I did not recognize, except that I knew it did not come from near these parts.

We acknowledged his greeting and he went on: “Cider good?”

“Excellent,” replied Jago.

“We’ll have some then. Gwennie, go and order it.”

The girl rose obediently and the man said: “You don’t mind if we join you.”

“Indeed not,” said Jago. “This is a public room.”

“We’re staying here,” said the man.

“For long?” asked Jago.

“Just a matter of days. So much depends on if what we’ve come to see turns out what we want.”

The girl returned and said: “It’s coming, Pa.”

“Ah,” he said. “That’s good. I’m as dry as a bone.”

Maisie brought in the cider.

“Are you all right, sir?” she asked of Jago; and he told her that we both found the cider excellent.

“You just let me know if you want more.”

“We will,” said Jago.

Maisie went out and Jago grinned at the man. “It might be a little potent,” he said.

“That’s so, but it’s good stuff. Do you live round hereabouts?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know a place called Landower Hall?”

I opened my mouth but Jago flashed me a warning look.

“Indeed I do,” he said. “It’s the big house of the neighbourhood.” He threw me a mischievous glance. “Though some might claim that the more important house is Tressidor Manor.”

“Oh, that’s not for sale,” said the girl. “It’s the other one.”

Jago looked stricken for a moment. Then he said brightly: “So you are interested in Landower Hall?”

“Well,” said the man with a laugh, “it happens to be the reason why I’m here.”

“You mean that you are considering buying the place?”

“Well, a good deal will depend … It has to be suitable.”

“I think they’re asking a high price.”

“It’s not so much a matter of the brass. It’s finding something that suits us.”

“You come from the north, don’t you?”

“Aye, and thinking of settling in the south. I’ve still got interests up there, but there are those who can look after them for me. I fancy a different life. I plan to be a squire of some sleepy estate right down in the country … away from everything I’ve ever known.”

“Do you think you would like to be right away from the home you have known?” I asked.

“Can’t wait to get away from it. My lawyer thinks this might be just the thing for us. What I’ve always wanted. Stately old home … somewhere with roots. Gracious, you know. Now that Mrs. Arkwright’s passed away—that’s my wife—we’ve wanted to get away, haven’t we, Gwennie?” The girl nodded. “We’ve talked about it. Gwennie will be the lady of the manor; I’ll be the squire. The climate’s softer down here than where we come from. I’ve got chest trouble. The doctor’s advice you know. This seems just the place.”

“Have you seen this mansion yet?” I asked.

“No, we’re going tomorrow.”

“We’re so excited,” said Gwennie. “I shan’t sleep a wink tonight, thinking of it.”

“You like old houses, do you, Miss—er—Arkwright?” asked Jago.

“Oh, I do that. I think they’re wonderful … standing there all those years … just facing the weather and getting the better of it. Think of all the people who’ve lived there. The things they must have done. I’d like to know about them … I’d like to find out.”

“You’ve always wanted to know what people were up to, Gwennie,” said Mr. Arkwright indulgently. “You remember what Mother used to say. She said you had your nose into everything. ‘Curiosity killed the cat,’ she used to say.”

They both smiled and then were a little sad, no doubt remembering Mother.

“I have heard that that house has not stood up so well to the weather,” said Jago.

I added my comment to his. “/ heard that a great many repairs had to be done … a complete restoration, some say.”

“Oh, I’ve gone into all that,” said Mr. Arkwright. “Nobody’s going to pull the wool over John Arkwright’s eyes. My lawyers are smart. They’ll assess what’s to be done and that will be taken into consideration.”

“So you have already considered that,” said Jago somewhat forlornly.

“I heard the place was falling down,” I said.

“Oh … it’s not as bad as all that,” put in Mr. Arkwright. “It’ll need a bit of brass spent on it … no doubt of that.”

“And you don’t mind that?” asked Jago incredulously.

“Not for a place like this one. Roots in the past. I’ve always wanted to be part of such a place.”

“But it won’t be your roots,” I pointed out.

“Oh well, we’ll have to do a grafting job.” He laughed at his own joke and Gwennie joined in.

“You are a one, Pa,” she said.

“Well, I’m right. I’ll be the squire. That’s what we want. And don’t you like the idea, eh, Gwennie?”

Gwennie said that what she had heard of the place made her feel it was just what they were looking for. “There’s a hall with a minstrels’ gallery,” she added.

“We’ll have dances there, Gwen. That we will.”

“Oh,” she said, raising her eyes ecstatically. “That’ll be …” She sought for a word. “It’ll be famous … really famous.”

“You won’t be afraid of the ghosts, of course,” said Jago.

“Ghosts!” cried Gwennie in a tone which clearly implied that she was.

“Well, there are always ghosts in these old houses,” went on Jago. “And they get very active when new people take over. All the Landower ancestors …”

Mr. Arkwright looked in some concern at Gwennie. “Oh, come on, Gwen. You don’t believe in that nonsense, do you? There’s no such thing, and if there are one or two … well, that’s what we’re paying good money for. They won’t hurt us. They’ll be jolly glad we’ve come to keep their home still standing.”

“Well, that’s one way of looking at it,” said Gwennie, with a faint smile. “Trust you, Pa.”

“Course it’s the sensible way. Besides, ghosts give a bit of tone to an old place.”

Gwennie smiled but she still looked uncertain.

“Happen it is the place for us,” said Mr. Arkwright comfortingly. “Reckon our search is well nigh over.”

Jago rose. “We’ve got to get back to the smithy. One of our horses lost a shoe. We came in to taste the cider while we were waiting.”

“It’s been nice talking to you,” said Mr. Arkwright. “Come from these parts, do you?”

“Not far away.”

“Do you know the place well?”

“I know it.”

“Lot of rot about ghosts and things.”

Jago put his head on one side and shrugged his shoulders. “Best of luck,” he said. “Good day to you.”

We came out into the open and made our way to the smithy.

“Can you imagine them at Landower?” I asked.

“I refuse to think of it.”

“I believe you frightened Miss Gwennie.”

“I hope so.”

“Do you think it will do any good?”

“I don’t know. He’s only got to see the place to want it. He’s got what he calls the ‘brass,’ and he’s got his lawyer and he’ll drive a hard bargain, I don’t doubt.”

“I pin my hopes on Gwennie. You really scared her with the ghosts.”

“I rather thought I did.”

We started to laugh and ran the rest of the way to the smithy.

I had agreed to meet Jago that afternoon. He looked excited and I guessed that he had one of his wild plans in his mind and that he wanted to talk to me about it. I was right.

“Come to the house,” he said. “I’ve got an idea.”

“What?” I asked.

“I’ll explain. First come along.”

We put our horses in the Landower stables and went into the house. He took me in by way of a side door and we were in a labyrinth of corridors. We mounted a stone spiral staircase with a rope banister.

“Where are we?” I asked.

“This part of the house isn’t used much. It leads directly to the attics.”

“You mean the servants’ quarters?”

“No. The attics which are used for storage. I had an idea that there might be something of value tucked away there … something which would save the family fortunes. Some Old Master. Some priceless piece of jewellery … something hidden away at some time, perhaps during the Civil War.”

“You were on the side of the Parliament,” I reminded him, “and saved everything by changing sides.”

“Not till they were victorious.”

“There is no virtue in that, so don’t sound so smug.”

“No virtue … only wisdom.”

“I believe you’re a cynic.”

“One has to be in this hard world. However, we saved Landower, whatever we did. I’d do a lot to save Landower, and that’s been the general feeling in the family throughout the ages. Never mind that now. I’ll show you what I’m driving at.”

“Do you mean you’ve really found something?”

“I haven’t found that masterpiece … that priceless gem or work of art or anything like that. But God works in a mysterious way and I think He has provided the answer to my prayers.”

“How exciting. But you are as mysterious as God. You are the most maddening creature I know.”

“God,” he went on piously, “helps those who help themselves. So come on.”

The attic was long, with a roof almost touching the floor at one end. There was a small window at the other which let in a little light.

“It’s eerie up here,” I said.

“I know. Makes you think of ghosts. Dear ghosts, I think they are coming to our aid. The ancestors of the past are rising up in their wrath at the thought of Landower passing out of the family’s hands.”

“Well, I’m waiting to see this discovery.”

“Come over here.” He opened a trunk. I gasped. It was full of clothes.

“There!” He thrust his hands in and brought out a pelisse of green velvet edged with fur.

I seized it. “It’s lovely,” I said.

“Wait,” he went on. “You’ve seen nothing yet. What about this?” He brought out a dress with large slashed sleeves. It was made of green velvet and very faded in some places, but I was sure the lace on the collar had once been very fine. There was an overskirt which opened in the front to reveal a petticoat-type skirt beneath. This was of brocade with delicately etched embroidery. Some of the stitching had worn away and there was a faintly musty smell about the garment. It was not unlike a dress one of the Tressidor ancestresses was wearing in her portrait in the long gallery at the Manor, so I judged it to be the mid-seventeenth century. It was amazing to contemplate that the dress had been in the trunk all that time.

“Look at this!” cried Jago. He had slipped off his coat and put on a doublet. It was rather tightly fitting, laced and braided, of mulberry velvet, and must have been very splendid in its day. Some of the braid was hanging off and it was badly faded in several places. He took out a cloak which he slung over one shoulder. It was of red plush.

“What do you think?” he asked.

I burst out laughing. “You would never be mistaken for Sir Walter Raleigh, I fear. I do believe that if we were out of doors in the mud you would spread your cloak for me to walk on.”

He took my hand and kissed it. “My cloak would be at your service, dear lady.” I laughed, and he went on: “Look at these hose and shoes to go with it. I should be a real Elizabethan dandy in these. There’s even a little hat with a feather.”

“Magnificent!” I cried.

“Well, you in that dress and me in my doublet and hose … what impression do you think we’d make?”

“They’re different periods for one thing.”

“What does that matter? They’d never know. I thought that in the shadows … in the minstrels’ gallery, we’d make a good pair of ghosts.”

I stared at him, understanding dawning. Of course, the Arkwrights were coming to view the house this afternoon.

“Jago,” I said, “what wild scheme have you in mind just now?”

“I’m going to stop those people buying our house.”

“You mean you’re going to frighten them?”

“The ghosts are,” he said. “You and I will make a jolly good pair of ghosts. I’ve got it all planned. They’re in the hall. You and I stand in the shadows in the minstrels’ gallery. We’ll appear and then … disappear. But not before Gwennie Arkwright has seen us. She’ll be so scared that Mr. A. for all his brass will have to give way to entreaties.”

I laughed. It was typical of him.

“Full marks for imagination,” I said.

“I’ll have them for strategy as well. How could it fail? I want your help.”

“I don’t like it. I think that girl would be really scared.”

“Of course she will be. That’s the object of the exercise. She’ll insist that Pa does not buy the place and they’ll go off somewhere else.”

“It only postpones the evil day. Or do you propose that when the next prospective buyer comes along we perform our little ghostly charade again? You forget. I shan’t be here to help you.”

“By that time I’m going to find something of real value in the attics. All I want is time. I’m also working on some way of keeping you here.”

“I’m afraid you’d never frighten Miss Bell away with ghosts.”

“My dear Caroline, I have so many ideas going round and round in my head. I shall think of something. There is still time. What we have to concentrate on now is the Arkwrights. You are going to help me, aren’t you?”

“Wouldn’t one ghost do?”

“Two’s better. Male and female. Come on. Don’t be a spoil-sport, Caroline. Put on the dress. Just see how you look.”

I couldn’t help falling in with the plan. The dress was too big for me but it did look effective. There was an old mirror in the attic. It was mottled and gave back a shadowy vision. Reflected in it we certainly did look like two ghosts from the past.

We rolled about, laughing at each other. I was sober suddenly, wondering how we could give way to such merriment with disaster hanging over both our heads. He was about to lose his beloved home and I was soon to leave a life which had become interesting and exciting to go back to one of dreary confined routine. Yet there could be these moments of sheer enjoyment. I was grateful to him for making me forget even for such a short while.

I said: “I’ll help.”

“All we have to do is stand there. We want to catch Gwennie on her own if we can. Perhaps while Pa is examining the panelling and calculating how much brass will be required to put it in order. There is a movement from the gallery. Gwennie looks up and sees standing there, glaring down at her, two figures from the past. Perhaps we shake our heads at her dismally … warningly … menacingly … but clearly indicating that she should not bring her father to Landower.”

“You make the wildest schemes.”

“What’s wild about this? It’s sheer logic.”

“Like keeping me in the dungeons with rats for company?”

“That was a figure of speech. I hadn’t worked that out properly. This is all carefully thought out.”

“When do they arrive?”

“Any time now. Paul will show them round … or my father will. We’ll choose our moment. We must be prepared.”

“What about my hair?”

“How did they wear it in those days?”

“Frizzy fringes, as far as I know.”

“Just tie it right back. But perhaps if you have it piled up …”

“I’ve no pins. I wonder if there is anything in the trunk. A comb or something.”

We looked. There were no combs but there were some ribbons. I tied my hair with a bow of ribbon, so that it stuck out like a tail at the top of my head. The ribbon didn’t match the dress but it was quite effective.

“Splendid!” cried Jago. “Now we’ll take up our places in the gallery so that we are all ready for the great moment.”

I giggled at myself wearing the elaborate dress with my riding boots protruding incongruously from the skirt.

“They won’t see your feet,” said Jago consolingly. “Now we reach the gallery by way of a side door. It’s the door through which the musicians enter. It’s concealed by a curtain. When we leave we can cut through a corridor to the stone staircase and up to the attics. Couldn’t be better.”

I knew afterwards that I should never have agreed to this mad adventure. But who cannot be wise after the event?

Trying to suppress our laughter we came down the stone staircase. I had to tread cautiously for such medieval staircases were dangerous at the best of times, but with a long skirt which was far too big for me trailing at my feet, I had to watch every step.

Jago, ahead of me, impatiently urged me on, through the corridor to the side door. He drew aside the curtain and we walked in. For a fraction of a second, which seemed at least like ten, we stood there. Jago had miscalculated. Our intended victim was not in the hall as he had planned; she was actually in the gallery. I saw her face freeze into an expression of absolute fear and horror. She screamed. She stepped backwards and caught the rail of the balustrade. It came away in her hands and she fell forward, and down into the hall below.

We stood there for a few seconds staring at her. There was a shout. Mr. Arkwright ran to her. I saw him bending over her. Paul was running towards them.

Jago had turned pale. He drew me back hastily behind the curtain. I could hear Paul shouting orders.

“Come … quickly,” said Jago; and grasping my hand he pulled me out of the gallery.

We stood in the attic, the open trunk before us.

“Do you think she was badly hurt?” I whispered.

Jago shook his head. “No … no … Just a fall … nothing more.”

“It was a long way to fall,” I said.

“They were all there to look after her.”

“Oh, Jago … what if she dies?”

“Of course she won’t die.”

“If she dies … we’ve killed her.”

“No … no. She killed herself. She shouldn’t have been so scared … just at two people dressed up.”

“But she didn’t know we were dressed up. She thought we were ghosts. That’s what we intended.”

“She’ll be all right,” he said. But I was not sure that I thought so.

“We ought to go and see what’s happened.”

“What good would that do? They’re doing all that can be done.”

“But it was our fault.”

He took me by the arm and shook me. “Look! What good can it do? Let’s get out of these clothes. No one will ever know that we wore them. What we’ve got to do now is slip out. We’ll go the way we came. Get that dress off quickly.” He had already stripped off his doublet and was getting into his riding coat.

With trembling fingers I took off the gown. In a few moments we were completely dressed and the trunk was shut. He took my hand and pulled me out of the attic.

We went out the way we had come in and reached the stables without being seen.

We mounted our horses and rode away.

I had said not a word. I was deeply shocked and filled with a terrible remorse.

He said goodbye to me and I rode home to Tressidor. I stayed in my room until dinner time.

I wanted to be alone to think.

The next day I heard the news. Cousin Mary told me.

She said: “There was an accident at Landower. Some people came to see the place and a young woman fell from the gallery into the hall. I told you the place was falling apart. The balustrade in the minstrels’ gallery gave way. Apparently they had been warned about it, but the young woman fell all the same.”

“Is she badly hurt?”

“I don’t know. She’s staying there apparently. The father is there, too. I think they couldn’t move her.”

“She must be badly hurt then.”

“I should think that would put them off buying the place.”

“Did they say why she fell?”

“I didn’t hear. I take it she leaned against the woodwork and it gave way.”

I went about in a dream that day. I had forgotten even that my departure was imminent. I did not see Jago. I wondered whether he avoided me as I did him.

Once more I had the news from Cousin Mary.

“I don’t think she’s all that badly hurt but they’re not sure yet. Poor girl. She says she saw ghosts in the gallery. The father pooh-poohs the idea. They’re very practical, these Yorkshire types. The Landowers are making a great fuss of them … looking after them, showing them a bit of that gracious hospitality which they’ve come to find. At least that’s what I’ve heard.”

“I don’t suppose they’ll want the place now.”

“I’ve heard to the contrary. They’re growing more and more fond of it … so one of the servants told our Mabel. I gather that the man has convinced his daughter that it was the shadows which made her fancy she saw the ghost.”

The time was passing. One more day and Miss Bell was due.

I went round to say goodbye to the people I had known. I lingered at the lodge and had tea with Jamie McGill. He shook his head very sadly and said the bees had told him that I would be back one day.

I did see Jago before I left. He looked sad and was a different person to me now. We were not young and carefree any more.

Neither of us could forget what we had done.

I said: “We ought not to have run away afterwards. We ought to have gone down to see what we could do.”

“There wasn’t anything we could have done. We would have only made it worse.”

“At least she would have known that she had not seen any ghosts.”

“She’s half convinced that she imagined she did. Her father keeps telling her so.”

“But she saw us.”

“He says it was a trick of the light.”

“And she believes him?”

“She half does. She seems to have a high opinion of Pa. He’s always been right. You want to confess, don’t you, Caroline? I believe you’ve got a very active conscience. That’s a terrible thing to go through life with. Get rid of it, Caroline.”

“Is she very bad?”

“She can’t walk yet, but she’s by no means dying.”

“Oh, I wish we hadn’t done it.”

“So do I. Moreover, it’s had the opposite effect from what I planned. They’re staying in the house. Paul’s treating them like honoured guests … and so is my father. They’re liking the place more. They’ve decided to buy it, Caroline.”

“It’s a judgement,” I said.

He nodded mournfully.

“Oh, I do hope she is not going to be an invalid for life.”

“Not Gwennie. Pa wouldn’t allow it. They’re tough, these Arkwrights, I can tell you. They didn’t get all that brass by being soft.”

“And I shall be leaving tomorrow.”

He looked at me mournfully.

So all our schemes had come to nothing. Landower was to be sold to the Arkwrights and I was going home.

The next day Miss Bell arrived, and the day after that we left for London.