Bride of Pendorric

by Victoria Holt

  “And after that she married him and she was happy.”

  “What do you expect? Petroc couldn’t be faithful. It wasn’t in his nature to be, any more than it had been in his father’s. He took up with the farmer’s daughter again. It was a notorious scandal. But she wasn’t the only one. Like his father he couldn’t resist a woman nor a chance to gamble. Women couldn’t resist them either. I thought that, when Roc and Morwenna were born, she would cease to fret for him, and for a while she did. I hoped that she would have more children and make them her life.”

  “And you were disappointed?”

  “Barbarina was a good mother, don’t mistake me; but she wasn’t one of those women who can ignore her husband’s infidelities and become completely absorbed in her children. Petroc meant too much to her for that.”

  “So she was very unhappy?”

  “You can imagine it, can’t you. A sensitive woman … in a place like this … and an unfaithful husband who didn’t make a secret of his infidelities; there was nothing secret about Petroc. He never tried to pretend he was other than he was—a reckless gambler and a philanderer. He seemed to take up the attitude: it’s a family characteristic, so there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  “Poor Barbarina,” I murmured.

  “I used to come down as often as I could, and then when my father died I almost lived here. It was through me that she became interested in her music again. I believe that in other circumstances she might have been a concert violinist. She was really very good. But she had never practiced enough. However, she found great pleasure in it, particularly towards the end. In fact she was very gifted. I remember when we were at school … we must have been about fourteen then … she was in the school play. It was Hamlet and she was Ophelia, a part which suited her absolutely. I was the ghost. That was about the limit of my capabilities. I believe I was a very poor one. But Barbarina was the hit of the show.”

  “I can imagine that … from her picture, I mean. Particularly the one in the gallery.”

  “Oh, that’s Barbarina as she really was. Sometimes when I look at it I almost imagine she will step out of the frame and speak to me.”

  “Yes, there’s a touch of reality about it. The artist must have been a very good one.”

  “It was painted about a year before her death. She took great pleasure in riding. In fact I sometimes felt it was a feverish sort of pleasure she was taking in things … her music … riding, and so on. She was lovely in that particular ensemble, and that was why she was painted in it. It was sad that she—like Ophelia—should have died before her time. I wish you could have heard her sing that song from the play. She had a strange voice … a little off key, which suited the song and Ophelia. I remember at the school show how silent the audience was when she came on the stage in a flowing gown of white and flowers in her hair and in her hands. I can’t sing; but it’s that one that goes something like this:

  “How should I your true love know

  From another one?

  By his cockle hat and staff

  And his sandal shoon.

  “He is dead and gone, lady,

  He is dead and gone;

  At his head a grass-green turf,

  At his heels a stone.”

  She quoted the words in a low monotone; then she flashed her smile at me. “I wish I could make you hear it as she sang it. There was something about it that made one shiver. Afterwards it became one of her favorite songs and there was a verse which she didn’t sing at the school play but she used to sing that later.

  “Then up he rose, and donn’d his clothes

  And dupp’d the chamber-door;

  Let in the maid, that out a maid

  Never departed more.”

  “There would be an odd little smile about her lips as she sang that, and I always felt it had something to do with that night on the moor.”

  “Poor woman! I’m afraid she wasn’t very happy.”

  Deborah clenched her fists as though in sudden anger. “And she was meant to be happy. I never knew anyone so capable of being happy. If Petroc had been all that she hoped he would be … if … but what is the good? When is life ever what you hope it will be; and in any case it is all so long ago.”

  “I heard about it; the balustrade was faulty and she fell to the hall.”

  “It was unfortunate that it happened in the gallery where Lowella Pendorric hung. That really gave rise to all the talk.”

  “It must have revived the legend.”

  “Oh, it didn’t take all that reviving. The people round about had always said that Pendorric was haunted by Lowella Pendorric, the bride of long ago.”

  “And now they say that Barbarina has taken her place.”

  Deborah laughed; then she looked over her shoulder. “Although I’ve always laughed at such talk, sometimes when I’m in this house I feel a little more inclined to accept it.”

  “It’s the atmosphere of old houses. The furniture is often standing in exactly the same place it was in hundreds of years ago. You can’t help thinking that this house looked almost exactly the same to that Lowella whom they call the First Bride.”

  “I only wish that Barbarina would come back!” said Deborah vehemently. “I can’t tell you what I’d give to see her again.” She stood up. “Let’s go for a walk. We’re getting morbid sitting here in Barbarina’s room. We’ll have to get mackintoshes. Look at those clouds. The wind’s in the southwest and that means rain’s not far off.”

  I said I should enjoy that, and we left the east wing together. She came with me to my room while I put on my outdoor things; then I went with her to hers; and when we were ready she led me around to the north wing and we paused on the gallery before the picture of Lowella Pendorric.

  “This is where she fell,” explained Deborah. “Look, you can see where the balustrade has been mended. It should have been noticed long before the accident. Actually the place is riddled with worm. It’s inevitable and it’ll cost a fortune to put it right.”

  I looked up into Lowella Pendorric’s painted face and I thought exultantly: But Roc is not really like his father and his grandfather, and the gambling, philandering Pendorrics. If he had been in his father’s place he would have married the farmer’s daughter, as he married me, for what had I to bring him? In ten minutes we were strolling along the cliff path, the warm sea-scented wind caressing our faces.

  I had no wish to lead an idle life. On the island there had always been so much to do. I had been my father’s housekeeper as well as his saleswoman. I pointed out to Roc that I wanted to do something.

  “You might go down to the kitchens and have a little chat with Mrs. Penhalligan. She’d appreciate it. After all, you’re the mistress of the house.”

  “I will,” I agreed, “because Morwenna won’t mind in the least if I did make suggestions.”

  He put his arm around me and hugged me. “Aren’t you the mistress of the house, anyway?”

  “Roc,” I told him, “I’m so happy. I wouldn’t have thought it possible so soon after …”

  Roc’s kiss prevented me from going on with that.

  “Didn’t I tell you? And talking of having something to do … as Mrs. Pendorric you should take an interest in village activities, you know. It’s expected, as I guess you’ve gathered from the Darks. I tell you, Favel, in a few weeks’ time you’ll not be complaining of having too little to do, but too much.”

  “I think I’ll call on the Darks. This afternoon, by the way, I’ve promised to have tea with Lord Polhorgan.”

  “What, again? You really do like that old man.”

  “Yes,” I said almost defiantly, “I do.”

  “Then enjoy yourself.”

  “I believe I shall.”

  Roc studied me, smiling as he did so. “You certainly seem to hit it off.”

  “I feel that he’s really rather a lonely old man and he seems sort of paternal.”

  Roc’s smile faded and he nodded slowly. “You’re still g
rieving,” he said.

  “It’s so hard to forget, Roc. Oh, I’m so happy here. I love it all; the family are so kind to me and you …”

  He was laughing. “And I’m kind to you too? What did you expect? A wife-beater?”

  Then he put his arms about me and held me close to him. “Listen, Favel,” he said, “I want you to be happy. It’s what I want more than anything. I understand what you feel about the old man. He’s paternal. That’s what you said; and in a way he makes up for something you miss. He’s lonely. You can bet your life he’s missed a lot. So you like each other. It’s understandable.”

  “I wish you liked him more, Roc.”

  “Don’t take any notice of what I’ve said. It was mostly said jokingly. When you get to know me better you’ll understand what a joker I am.”

  “Don’t you think I know you well then?”

  “Not as well as you will twenty years hence, darling. We’ll go on learning about each other; that’s what makes it all so exciting. It’s like a voyage of discovery.”

  He spoke lightly, but I went on thinking of what he said; and I was still remembering those words when I passed under the great archway on my way out that afternoon, until I heard footsteps behind me and, turning saw Rachel Bective, a twin walking sedately on either side of her.

  “Hello,” called Rachel, “going for a walk?”

  “I’m going to tea at Polhorgan.”

  They caught up with me and we walked along together.

  “Hope you’re prepared,” warned Rachel. “It’s going to rain.”

  “I’ve brought my mack.”

  “The wind’s blowing in from the southwest, and once it starts to rain here you begin to wonder whether it’s ever going to stop.”

  Hyson came to the other side of me so that I was in between her and Rachel; Lowella skipped on ahead.

  “Do you go round by the cliff path to Polhorgan?” asked Rachel. “It’s at least five minutes shorter.”

  “I’ve always kept to this road.”

  “We’ll show you the short cut if you like.”

  “Don’t let me take you out of your way.”

  “But we’re only going for a walk.”

  “Well, thanks—if it really won’t.”

  “Lowella,” Rachel called. “We’re going down Smugglers’ Lane to show your Aunt Favel the short cut to Polhorgan.”

  Lowella wheeled sharply around. “Good. It’ll be lovely and squelchy down Smugglers’ Lane.”

  “It won’t. There hasn’t been that much rain.”

  We turned aside from the road and took a steep narrow path on either side of which the hedges had run so wild that sometimes we had to go in single file.

  Lowella found a broken-off branch and went ahead of us, beating the overgrown hedges and shouting: “Beware the awful avalanche. Beware the pine tree’s withered branch. Excelsior!”

  “Oh Lowella, do be quiet,” begged Rachel.

  “Of course if you don’t want me to lead you to safety, say so.”

  “Hyson reads to her when they’re in bed at night,” Rachel told me, “and she goes on repeating what appeals to her.”

  “You like reading, don’t you?” I said to Hyson.

  She merely nodded. Then she said: “Lowella’s such a child. As if this is anything like the awful avalanche!”

  The path ended abruptly and we stepped onto what looked like a ledge. Beneath us—a long way beneath us—was the sea, and beside us, towering above, rose the shaley face of the cliff, with here and there a bush of gorse or bracken clinging to the brown earth.

  “It’s perfectly safe,” said Rachel Bective. “Unless of course you have a phobia about heights.”

  I told her I hadn’t and added that we were several feet lower than we had been on the coast road.

  “Yes, but that’s a proper road. This is just a path, and a little farther on it gets even narrower. There’s a notice saying use it at your own risk, but that’s for visitors. Local people all use it.”

  Lowella went on ahead, pretending to pick her way. “Wouldn’t it be super if we had a rope attaching us all,” she cried. “Then if the Bride fell over the cliff, we’d haul her up.”

  “That’s kind of you, but I don’t intend to fall.”

  “She’s still the youth who bore mid snow and ice the banner with the strange device,” murmured Hyson.

  “Excelsior!” cried Lowella. “Isn’t it a smashing word!” She ran on, shouting it.

  Rachel looked at me and shrugged her shoulders.

  In a few seconds I saw what they meant about the path’s narrowing; for some two yards it was little more than a shelf; we walked rather gingerly in single file, then we rounded a part of the cliff which projected over the water, and as we did so I saw that we were almost at Polhorgan.

  “It’s certainly a short cut,” I said. “Thanks for showing me.”

  “Shall we go back the same way?” Rachel asked the twins.

  Lowella turned and was already on her way back. I heard her shouting “Excelsior” as I went on to Polhorgan.

  Lord Polhorgan was delighted to see me. I fancied the manservant treated me with rather special deference, and it occurred to me that it must be rare for his master to become so friendly in such a short space of time.

  When I went into his room, Nurse Grey was with him, reading to him from the Financial Times.

  “Please don’t let me interrupt,” I said. “I must be early. I’ll go and have a walk in the garden. I’ve always wanted to explore it.”

  Lord Polhorgan looked at his watch. “You are punctual,” he said, and waved a hand at Nurse Grey, who promptly folded the paper and rose. “Never could abide people who have no respect for time. Unpunctuality is a vice. Glad to see you, Mrs. Pendorric. And I’d like to show you the garden, but I can’t manage it these days. Too steep for me to walk; too steep for me to be wheeled.”

  “I’ll enjoy it from the window today,” I answered.

  “Nurse Grey must show you one day.”

  “I’d be delighted to,” said Althea Grey.

  “Tell them to bring in the tea. And Nurse, there’s no need for you to stay. Mrs. Pendorric will do the honors, I’m sure.”

  Nurse Grey bowed her head and murmured: “I’ll hurry on the tea then.”

  Lord Polhorgan nodded and the nurse went out, leaving us together.

  “Tea first,” he said, “and we’ll have our chess after. Sit down and talk to me for a while. You’re settling in here now. Liking it?”

  “Very much.”

  “All well at Pendorric?” He shot a quick glance at me from under his shaggy brows.

  “Yes.” I went on impulsively: “Did you expect it to be otherwise?”

  He evaded the question. “It’s never easy settling in to a new life. Must have been very gay—that island of yours. Find it quiet here?”

  “I like this quiet.”

  “Better than the island?”

  “When my mother was alive I was completely happy. I didn’t think there was anything in the world but happiness. I was sad when I went away to school, but after a while I was used to that and being back was more fun than ever.”

  He gave me a look of approval. “You’re a sensible young woman. I’m glad. Can’t stand the other sort.”

  “Nurse Grey seems a sensible young woman.”

  “H’m. Too sensible perhaps.”

  “Can one be too sensible?”

  “Sometimes I wonder why she stays here. I don’t think it’s out of love for her patient. I’m what’s known as an old curmudgeon, Mrs. Pendorric.”

  I laughed. “You can’t be such a bad one, since you admit it.”

  “Can’t I! You forget, when a man’s made money he’s invariably surrounded by people who are anxious to relieve him of it … or some of it.”

  “And you think Nurse Grey …”

  He looked at me shrewdly. “Handsome young woman … fond of gaiety. Not so much to be had here.”

  “But sh
e seems contented.”

  “Ay, she does and all.” He nodded shrewdly. “Often wonder why. Perhaps she thinks she won’t be forgotten … when the great day comes.”

  I must have shown my embarrassment, for he said quickly: “A fine host I am. Why, you’ll be making excuses not to come and see me if I don’t watch out. Shouldn’t like that … shouldn’t like it at all.”

  “I wouldn’t make excuses to you. You’re forthright and say what you mean, so I would try to do the same.”

  “We’re alike in that,” he said and chuckled.

  The tea arrived and I poured. This had become a habit which was a further indication of the rate at which our friendship had developed. He seemed to take pleasure in watching me.

  While I was serving tea I saw Althea Grey walking through the gardens down to the beach. She had changed her uniform for brown jeans and a blouse the color of delphiniums, which was a perfect foil for her fair hair, and I guessed her eyes matched the blouse. She looked back suddenly and, seeing me, waved; I waved back.

  “It’s Nurse Grey,” I explained to my host. “She’s off duty for a few hours I suppose.”

  He nodded. “Was she on her way down to the beach?”

  “Yes.”

  “Polhorgan Cove belongs to me by rights but I was soon led to understand that the natives wouldn’t think very kindly of me if I made it a private beach. There’s a gate and hedges shutting off the garden; but you go through the gate right onto the beach.”

  “It’s rather like Pendorric.”

  “The same arrangement. Pendorrics own their beach and I own mine, but I don’t think half the people who scramble over the rocks at low tide know that.”

  “If the beaches were fenced off it would mean people couldn’t walk along for very far; they’d have to keep coming up and making a detour.”

  “Always believed that what was mine was mine and I had a right to say what was to be done with it. I was very unpopular when I first came, I can tell you. I’ve grown mellow. You learn as you get older. Sometimes if you stand out for your rights you lose what might mean more to you.”