Portrait of a Girl

by Mary Williams

  Nearer the summit of the slope the land was more barren and free of tortuous obstructions. At a point above the ruin that I’d observed previously, I paused to look down on the gaunt cut in the rock face where the boat had been anchored. The mist and fine rain had thinned a little, leaving a grey desolate vista of land and sea. The creek was merely a gash of darkness. No ship was discernible, no sign of human life — the atmosphere was one of elemental desolation, and suddenly I felt chilled. I had been wrong then to sense adventure in which Rupert Verne might have been concerned.

  Then, quite unexpectedly the moon’s pale glare broke completely free of cloud and drizzle spreading luminous clarity over the landscape.

  I was astonished. The boat was there, hunched close above the tide against the glassy black brilliance of the rock face. But it was obviously a wreck, and in the past sometime had floundered and been forsaken, which seemed odd, as vessels of that type were usually salvaged by owners or the authorities. There could be no other answer; but the question still remained concerning the male figures I’d seen on deck before, taking one to be Rupert. I had probably been mistaken, concocting an image of who I wished it to be, from an overwrought imagination.

  Reluctantly, I turned and made my way back to Tregonnis, but on impulse took a route passing close to the ruin. The rain had ceased now, and the mist and cloud had lifted considerably. When I neared the tumbled granite relic I guessed that generations ago it had probably been a moorland chapel, built to serve worshippers of outlying mining hamlets and farms. Methodism, still a force in Cornwall, had flourished with wild fervour then. Even John Wesley himself could have preached there. Later as certain copper mines in the district failed and families took off to the Americas or left for the North Country and employment in the cotton industry, many such buildings would have lost their use except as shelter for cattle, tramping vagabonds, or occasional dumping for smuggled goods. Yes, the latter was possible, though hardly likely to be suspect by the military, being on Verne land. And there were so many such ruins dotted about the Cornish coast. The Preventative generally had far more important business on their hands than to go searching and keeping an eye on every forsaken relic left to decay.

  All the same — due to my heightened imagination, the eerie night and my concern over Rupert — stimulated by impulse and my own wild thoughts, I pushed my way through brambles, over stones and rough patches of inky damp earth, until I reached the entrance half obscured by rocks and fallen stones.

  I went in.

  The roof was almost completely gone. Only three walls were left standing, and the far side facing the coast was a mere wreck of fallen granite allowing the weak moonlight to streak across the rough floor. Queer shadows lurked from corners filling the interior with creeping uneasy menace. The air had a fetid, musty smell, mingled with something else — something reminiscent of certain ancient kiddleywinks I’d once known in childhood. Whisky. Was it whisky I could smell? Had some drunken vagabond been spending an hour or two there with his bottle? I felt the skin tighten about the back of my neck and skull. Was that dark lump in the far corner that of a human being — dead perhaps? I wanted to turn and leave the sinister place, but curiosity forbade me.

  I went forward cautiously, keeping my eyes on the ground, half feeling my way, and in a wanton beam of moonlight I discovered that the floor was flagged. Well, of course, it would be if the place had ever been a chapel or part of a mine house.

  Then I had a surprise. My heart and pulses jerked. Near the open wall facing the coast, slabs had been moved, and it appeared to me, fairly recently. There was a gap of darkness — empty darkness — between two, that suggested an underground tunnel of some constructed foundation below. Earth had been dislodged and had not yet settled. Someone had been there.

  I stood, puzzled, forgetful of how chilled I was becoming, of the passing of time, or that Dame Jenny might soon be stirring. It was very rarely in the night she did so, but there was always a slight chance; nothing registered in my thoughts though save the mounting excitement I’d discovered something.

  I bent down to examine the dislodged flagstone, and then I heard it — the thud, thud of horses’ hooves coming nearer — nearer — just as though the wild black horseman of the Cornish moors — of the legendary Devil’s Cam — was riding to seize me. I’d read stories about him in my youth, most Cornish folk had; but until that moment I’d had no fear, had felt only a pleasurable stirring excitement.

  Now I knew why the myth had arisen. Were the sounds really those of a rider of the night? Or due to some strange elemental manifestation that could be explained by a naturalist or geological expert? I waited with my ears strained, listening. Louder and louder. Thud, thud, thud. The hollow sound seemed to reverberate underfoot and through the air. There could be no mistake about it — whether demon or man, the rider — or could it be some wild stallion rampaging on its own? — was making for the ruin.

  Tensely I pushed my spine rigidly against the damp granite wall. Seconds passed, and then suddenly the thudding ceased; there was a snorting and neighing, a murmuring of a male voice, and rattle of metal or reins; a moment later a dark form pushed through the ruined doorway, kicking and striking stones with his boots as he approached.

  Then he paused.

  Except for the drip of water trickling from between granite bricks, no sound penetrated the short silence that followed. The weird lemon light struck sideways on his face, accentuating the deep carved lines of it, dominant nose, thrusting jaw, and the glint of yellow eyes under heavy brows.

  Rupert.

  I waited for him to speak first; the seconds seemed interminable.

  Then, as though from a dream, I heard him say in deadly calm tones, ‘What are you doing here?’

  Unable to concoct a satisfactory answer — well, what could be satisfactory under such conditions? I blurted out, ‘I was just poking round. I was curious.’

  He still didn’t attempt to touch me.

  ‘Obviously. And what right do you think you have? On my land, on such a night, at such a time, and when you’ve expressly been forbidden to come this way at all?’

  My nerve began to return, and with it a welling-up of my quick temper.

  ‘None, of course. Since coming to Tregonnis, I seem to have given up all the rights I ever had. But for once I wanted to feel free and take a bit of a wander without being watched or told where to go. Oh I know you’ve been very kind to me — in a way — paying for my lessons with that fiery little Italian — forcing me into a — a — debut I wasn’t ready for on that beastly Exeter stage — letting me make a fool of myself, and then turning me into some sort of servant to that funny old lady. Your wife, too! — she hates me — you can see it in her eyes, her manner, and the way she lifts her long nose every time we meet! — and why — why?’ I broke off, breathless, but somehow relieved to get it all out.

  ‘You know why,’ he said, and his voice was meaningful, a little unsteady and harsh.

  The moon had slipped behind cloud again. Everything was damp darkness, filled with lurking shadows, strange and exciting, pulsing with all the hidden secret forces of that Cornish night. The ground squelched underfoot as he took one stride towards me. A bramble caught his sleeve.

  He tore his arm free, and suddenly it was round me, taking my body close to his; his lips were warm against my neck, mouth and damp shoulder and breast where the cloak had fallen away. I struggled a little, then let my head fall and lie against him. How heavily his heart beat, and how wonderful it was to hear its steady thumping — strong with the urge and longing of life.

  ‘You know very well why,’ he murmured again.

  I could feel the hardening of him, and felt response rise in me. I wanted to cry, ‘Love me. Rupert, oh, love me—’ but he forced me from him gently, firmly.

  ‘Hardly an ideal place for such — indiscretions,’ he said, with an attempt of lighthearted mockery. He sighed, folded his arms, and continued in more level tones, ‘Now what the devil am
I going to do with you? For you’re a witch if ever there was one.’

  ‘Not all witches are bad,’ I answered, trying to match my mood to his. At that moment the moon must have slipped out from behind the clouds again. The dark walls lightened to eerie bluish green, giving a radiance and brief clarity to the scene which before had been a mere background of shadow, and in those first few seconds I happened to glance down and noticed once more the line between slab and dislodged earth. Quick as lightning his gaze followed mine.

  ‘Your bright eyes are observant, I note.’ The dry tone was back in his voice. ‘I might have known you’d miss nothing.’

  ‘Was it important I should?’

  ‘Yes,’ he answered. ‘Knowing my business is hardly your affair — living as you are. And I have never made a habit of sharing any of my male interests with women—’

  ‘I’m not just women I’m—’

  ‘I know, I know. You’re a deuced aggravating, inquisitive little baggage who’s managed to steal a march on me in every way — first as a singer, then as an intriguing young woman, and now as a would-be pirate.’

  ‘Pirate?’ I gasped.

  He laughed.

  ‘What you suspect me of being — smuggler.’

  ‘I—’

  ‘Which I am,’ he interrupted. ‘Oh, I’m not going to deny it. What would be the use? You’ve already somehow got your pretty little nose on the scent. How? Why? — God knows. Maybe your training in bars and kiddleywinks. Or maybe just an uncanny sixth sense — something peculiarly special between the two of us.’ His manner changed, softened. ‘Is that it, Josephine?’ Through the fitful light his eyes searched mine — narrow golden eyes warm with desire and tenderness.

  ‘I think it must be,’ I admitted, ‘but I didn’t know. You needn’t have told me. You see—’ Words quickened from my lips ‘— I’d seen things from my window at Tregonnis. Not as far as this, of course — but a man, walking — half crawling at times along the hill as though — as though—’ I broke off, continuing quickly, ‘Well, I thought the first time it was a miner going home, but there isn’t a mine just there, is there? And then once or twice I went for a walk—’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘— Where you’d told me not to, and I found the creek where the boat was, the old wreck. I didn’t connect you exactly, not then. But the next time I went further, and saw figures on the deck. They weren’t very clear, it was some distance away; all the same — I was certain you were one of them. And it seemed funny; I wondered what you were doing—’

  ‘As I thought. And tonight you decided to investigate.’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Why? — Why tonight?’

  ‘I’ve told you, I was bored by being kept on a string, and wanted to be free.’

  He threw out his arms and let them fall to his sides in exasperation. ‘Freedom. That’s all you think of — freedom. And now look what you’ve got into—’

  ‘I’d like to look,’ I said impudently.

  ‘Then you’ll have to be disappointed,’ he replied promptly. ‘And I mean it. You’ll do what you’re told, and believe me when I inform you that even if I made the effort to remove that slab you’d find nothing in the dank dungeon below, but a load of rubbish and mud and snails — don’t you realise, my love, that a clever villain like myself always has an alibi? For instance it’s my right to hunt prowling poachers on a dark night? So don’t go airing stupid ideas. No one would believe your word against Master Verne’s.’

  ‘The smell of spirits is very strong,’ I pointed out, impertinently.

  He shook his head, and grasped my arm. ‘Come along, Miss Lebrun. Time for quizzing and play-acting is done. I’m taking you back to Tregonnis as quickly as Flash can make it, and I repeat, not a word of this, you understand? Then in the morning what’s left of it — you’ll tell yourself all your strange imaginings were just a dream.’

  ‘You’re saying — you didn’t really mean it?’

  ‘Mean what?’

  ‘When you kissed me,’ I said bluntly.

  For answer he slipped his arm round me and said gently, ‘Yes, I meant it. And one day—’

  ‘One day?’ I prompted.

  ‘We’ll have to see, won’t we, how things work out?’

  It wasn’t the answer I’d wanted, but it sufficed.

  The next moment, still with his hand on my arm he was leading me from the ruin to the stump of a tree where his stallion, Flash, was tethered.

  So it was that we rode together that night under a belt of thin cloud — lovers not yet free to love openly, but with the rich secret of passion between us that I knew must one day be revealed.

  Dame Jenny was still safely in her bedroom when I pushed the kitchen window open and climbed over the sill.

  I removed my boots, crept up the stairs and into my room, not waiting to listen for any slight sound from the old lady’s bedroom. It must have been one o’clock by then. For some time excitement and a sense of wild fulfilment kept me awake. But at last I slept, and when morning came it was fine, and a blackbird was trilling from somewhere near my window.

  I wanted to sing too. For the first time since the Exeter disaster I thought it possible I would.

  And all because Rupert had kissed me and in a careless moment called me his love.

  Chapter Seven

  A week following my moorland adventure I went down to the kitchen one morning and found Dame Jenny lying on the floor. She was a pathetic sight, with her old face twisted to one side, and a broken cup shattered by one jewelled hand. An earring had been knocked off, and her mob cap fallen, taking her hair with it. I hadn’t known she wore a wig, and the sight of her so defenceless and very ancient, moved me to pity.

  I managed to lift her up somehow and ease her into her favourite chair. She made an effort to say something, but what I couldn’t tell, the words were illegible. Luckily it was a day when Jan called with wood, and as soon as he arrived I sent him to Kerrysmoor with a message of what had happened.

  Then I made her a hot drink and waited, holding her hand. I wasn’t terribly surprised at her collapse; for some time I’d noticed that she was gradually failing. Her hands had shaken more under the slightest stress, and she’d been inclined to ‘get in a tizzy’ over nothing. Her walk had lost its lightness, and she’d been mislaying things in the house more and more frequently. It was clear to me she’d suffered a stroke, and I hoped her high-and-mighty ladyship wouldn’t want the poor old thing to be carted away to an institution.

  I needn’t have worried.

  When the doctor had been, and delivered his verdict, which was the same as mine, Rupert told me to pack Dame Jenny’s valise with all that was necessary, while he carried the old lady outside.

  ‘And you’d better include her reticule and jewel box,’ he said. ‘Her stay at Kerrysmoor may be a prolonged one, but obviously it’s the best place for her.’

  I did what he said and in a matter of less than half an hour the frail old lady was being carefully deposited in the waiting chaise with the help of the doctor. Rupert came back for a moment before leaving.

  ‘You’re not afraid to remain here alone, I hope? At least for a day or two. After that possibly it can be arranged for a servant from the house to be installed here as company. Here’s a pistol—’ he handed me one carefully, ‘— in case any unwelcome visitors should appear. It’s loaded, but the safety catch is on. You know how to use it, I presume?’ His voice had a questioning note, the narrowed eyes were anxious.

  I lifted my head boldly. ‘I’m afraid of no intruder, sir, and yes, I do know how to handle it, if necessary. There’s no need to worry about me at all, or to send a servant down. I shall be quite all right.’

  His lips closed in a tight line. ‘That’s for me to say.’

  I flushed. The look he gave me was dark, a little forbidding and commanding. ‘You may be very courageous,’ he continued after a brief pause, ‘but you are somewhat — unpredictable — and a great deal
of wealth is stored here. For some time I thought added protection was advisable, so in the meantime, until we make more permanent arrangements, I shall insist on you having a dog — Brutus — who is a trained guard, but a faithful affectionate hound and friend to those in his charge. He’s well-known to Jan who’ll be given instructions to bring food over once every day, and to give the animal regular exercise. Tomorrow Jan will collect him from Kerrysmoor and bring him along. In a very short time, I can assure you, you’ll be firm friends.’

  ‘I hope so,’ I said rather primly.

  His mood changed in the unexpected way I was becoming accustomed to.

  ‘Josephine—’ the tentative flicker of a smile touched his lips, ‘don’t entirely neglect your singing. I have faith in your voice, and still believe that one day, perhaps, its quality will be recognised.’

  ‘Oh!’ I laughed artificially. ‘What does my voice matter?’

  ‘To me it does. And when I look in one day to see how things are with you and Brutus, I hope I shall have the privilege of hearing it.’

  So polite and formal; yet my heart leaped through hearing that he would be visiting Tregonnis.

  ‘Well—’ he stood uncertainly for a moment, while I wondered wildly if he’d kiss me. But he didn’t. He merely touched my hand, gave a slight bow, and was gone.

  Of course, I told myself, as the chaise started off down the road, he’d been afraid lest the doctor’s shrewd eyes should notice any slight intimacy between us.

  Etiquette!

  How stupid that feelings had to be disguised under a mask of manners. But were his rare passionate lapses deep and true as mine were? — or was he playing a little side-game with me? Keeping me on a string for his own ends? How did I know? Men, my stepmother used to tell me, were false feckless creatures, and the more highly born, the more deviously cunning their motives could be. But then she’d had no standing and put no value on herself or her body; perhaps if Pierre had lived — the question didn’t arise though. I knew deep down she would have eventually betrayed him. And I was sad remembering how my father had trusted her.