Bride of Pendorric

by Victoria Holt

  My grandfather wanted the whole neighborhood to know how delighted he was to welcome his granddaughter home.

  He told me that it was years since there had been any entertaining at Polhorgan and he proposed to give a ball to which he would invite all the local gentry.

  “You are not nearly well enough,” I told him; but he assured me that he would come to no harm. He put his hand over mine. “Don’t try to dissuade me. It’ll give me the greatest pleasure. The ball will be for you and your husband. I want you to arrange it all; I want it to be a setting for you, my dear. Please say you will.”

  He looked so pleased at the prospect that I could only agree, and when I told Roc and Morwenna about it they were amused and, I could see, delighted. I had ceased to be angry with Morwenna and Charles, telling myself that loving this old house as they obviously did, it was only natural that they should be pleased because a member of the family might very possibly come into a great deal of money.

  “Just fancy,” said Morwenna, “Polhorgan is going to throw off its dust sheets.”

  The twins were delighted. When she was told that balls were not for twelve-year-olds, Lowella boldly called on my grandfather and asked for an invitation for herself and her sister. Such conduct, which he called initiative, delighted him and he immediately wrote to Morwenna asking her to allow the twins to attend.

  Lowella was wild with excitement when she heard this; Hyson’s eyes gleamed with secret pleasure. Lowella went about the house quoting in an ominous voice:

  “There was a sound of revelry by night …”

  Morwenna helped arrange the list of invitations for, as a Pendorric, she knew everyone in the neighborhood.

  They will all want to come and see Lord Polhorgan’s granddaughter, she told me. Roc, who was present, put in: “Nonsense. It’s Mrs. Pendorric they want to see, for she’s a far more important person than his lordship’s granddaughter.”

  “They must think it all very extraordinary,” I suggested.

  “Nine days’ wonder, darling,” Roc assured me. “You know there are a lot of skeletons locked away in cupboards in these parts.”

  “It’s true enough,” Morwenna assured me.

  Deborah was as excited as the twins at the prospect of the ball and invited me to her room to see some material which Carrie was going to make up for her. There was a choice of two colors and she wanted me to help her decide.

  Laid out on a table were two rolls of crepe de chine—one delicate mauve, the other pale pink.

  I was fingering the stuff. “One hardly ever sees it now,” I commented.

  “We’ve had it a few years, haven’t we, Carrie,” said Deborah.

  I had not noticed Carrie come silently into the room; she carried a tape measure about her neck, and a pair of scissors and a pin cushion were attached to her belt.

  “I found it in Plymouth,” she said. “I was afraid there wouldn’t be enough for the two of you.”

  Deborah looked at me, smiling gently; then she laid her hand on Carrie’s shoulder. “Carrie’s a wonder with her needle. I’m sure she’ll make me something worthy of the ball.”

  “You remember the dresses I made for the engagement party?” whispered Carrie, her eyes ecstatic. “Empire style. You had the pink then; she had the mauve.”

  “Yes, we decided we had to be different then.”

  “Before that it was always the same. What one had the other had.”

  “I’ve brought Mrs. Pendorric up to help me decide which color,” said Deborah.

  “Mauve was her color. She wore it a lot … after …”

  “Perhaps I’d better decide on the pink,” murmured Deborah.

  She took me into her sitting room and as we sat together looking over the sea she said: “I rather dread Carrie’s making new things for me. It always brings it home to her. You see, in Devon she used to make everything in twos. She can’t forget.”

  When I left Deborah I ran into Rachel Bective. She gave me a grudging smile and looked almost wistful.

  “Everyone’s talking about the ball your grandfather’s giving,” she said. “I feel like Cinderella. Still, I suppose the governess can’t expect to be invited.”

  “What nonsense,” I retorted. “Of course you’re invited.”

  The smile which lighted her face made her almost pretty.

  “Oh,” she muttered in an embarrassed way, “thank you. I … I’m honored.”

  As she turned and left me I thought: Her trouble is this complex about being employed here. If only she could forget that, she’d be so much happier and I should like her so much better.

  During the next few days I spent a great deal of time at Polhorgan. My grandfather was anxious that I should make a thorough tour of the house, and this I did in the company of Dawson and his wife, who were very respectful to me now that they knew I was their master’s granddaughter.

  Polhorgan was not built in the same mould as Pendorric. This was one large house whereas ours at Pendorric was like four smaller ones. At Polhorgan there was an immense hall which was to serve as the ballroom, and Dawson and his wife had uncovered the furniture so that I could see it in all its glory.

  It was a magnificently proportioned room with its high vaulted ceiling and paneled walls; and there was a dais at one end which would be ideal for our orchestra. Dawson suggested that some of the exotic plants should be brought in from the greenhouses and that I might like to talk to Trehay, the head gardener, about what I should like.

  Leading from this hall were several rooms which would serve as supper rooms. I could see that Mrs. Dawson was a most efficient woman and delighted at the prospect of being able to show what a skillful housekeeper she was.

  She showed me the kitchens which were models of modernity.

  “All this, madam,” sighed Mrs. Dawson, “and no one to use it for! I could have cooked for his lordship with one little stove, for all he eats. Although the nurse wants a bit of waiting on, I do assure you!”

  Mrs. Dawson’s lips tightened at the mention of Nurse Grey, and I began to wonder whether the nurse was generally unpopular in the household.

  It was while she was showing me round that Althea Grey herself appeared. She was looking as attractive as ever in her uniform, and she gave me a pleasant smile. I was struck afresh by the perfection of her features and I remembered uneasily the occasion when I had found her on the beach with Roc.

  “So you’re showing Mrs. Pendorric the house,” she said.

  “Well, it looks like it, Nurse.” Mrs. Dawson’s voice was tart.

  “If you like I’ll take over. I expect you have work to do.”

  “As housekeeper I reckon it to be my duty to show Mrs. Pendorric the house, Nurse.”

  Nurse Grey smiled at me and shrugged her shoulders; but as though defying Mrs. Dawson to challenge her right to be there, she remained with us.

  Mrs. Dawson was put out and behaved as though she were unaware of the nurse’s presence. I wondered what Althea Grey had done to make herself so disliked.

  We walked up a beautiful staircase and inspected the rooms on the first floor of the mansion with their enormous windows and those superb views to which I had become accustomed at Pendorric.

  Mrs. Dawson uncovered some of the furniture and showed me beautiful pieces, mostly antique, which I guessed must be worth a great deal.

  “Jeweled in every hole,” murmured Althea Grey, her lovely blue eyes laughing.

  The obvious hostility between them made me a little uncomfortable.

  “I hear we’re to have about sixty guests, Mrs. Pendorric,” said Althea Grey. “It’s a good thing we have a sizable ballroom, otherwise we should be treading on each other’s toes.”

  “Well, Nurse,” put in Mrs. Dawson with a twitch of her nose, “that shouldn’t worry you, should it?”

  “Oh, but it will. I hate having my toes trodden on.” She laughed. “Oh, you’re thinking that as I’m merely Lord Polhorgan’s nurse, I shan’t be there. But you’re wrong, Mrs. Dawso
n. Of course I shall be there. I couldn’t let him go without me in attendance, could I?”

  She was smiling at me as though inviting me to join in her victory over Mrs. Dawson, who looked extremely put out; and I supposed this was the usual tug of war between one servant who thought herself in a higher position than another. That must be the reason for the animosity.

  “Of course not,” I said hastily; and Mrs. Dawson’s face was grim.

  “I reckon, madam,” she said, “that Nurse Grey could show you the upper rooms.”

  I thanked her and assured her that I should be pleased if she stayed with us, but she muttered something about having things to see to, and left us.

  Althea Grey grinned when we were alone. “She’d make life a trial if I’d let her. Jealous old witch.”

  “You think she’s jealous of you?”

  “They always are, you know. I’ve come up against this sort of thing before … nursing in private houses. They don’t like it because they have to wait on us. They’re anxious all the time to tell us that they’re as good as we are.”

  “It must be awkward for you.”

  “I don’t let it bother me. I can manage the Mrs. Dawson characters, I can tell you.”

  In spite of her delicate beauty I was sure she could.

  We had come to my grandfather’s room and when I went in with her, he gave me his warm and welcoming smile and I felt my spirits rising when I realized what a difference my coming had made to him.

  Nurse Grey ordered tea and the three of us had it together. Conversation was all about the ball, and before she left us Nurse Grey warned my grandfather that he was becoming far too excited.

  “You have your pills handy?” she said.

  For answer he took the little silver box from his pocket and showed her.

  “That’s good.”

  She smiled at me and left us together.

  I had had a busy morning and after lunch, because the sun was shining and it was a long time since I had been in the quadrangle, I went there and sat in my favorite spot under the palm tree.

  I had not been there more than five minutes when the north door opened and a twin came out.

  I was always a little ashamed of my inability to distinguish which was which when they were not together, and tried to discover without exposing my ignorance.

  She came and stood before me. “Hello. How you like this place! But you haven’t been here lately, have you?”

  “I’ve been too busy.”

  She regarded me solemnly. “I know. It is a busy business … suddenly finding you’re Lord Polhorgan’s granddaughter.” She stood on one foot and hopped a few paces nearer. “Just fancy! You might have been here always … if your mother and father hadn’t gone away. Then we should always have known you.”

  “That could easily have happened,” I admitted.

  “But it was more exciting the other way. There wouldn’t have been this ball perhaps … if you’d always been here. There wouldn’t be any sense in giving a fatted calf sort of ball if you’d never been away, would there?”

  “Would you say this was like the prodigal’s return?”

  She nodded vigorously. “You’re rich now, aren’t you; and you must have been poor, though perhaps you didn’t eat the husks that the swine did eat.”

  I was sure it was Lowella now. She had started to hop all round my seat, and when she was immediately behind me she stood close, breathing down my neck. “Everybody wasn’t pleased when he came home, were they? There was the brother who’d stayed at home. He didn’t see why the fatted calf should be killed for the brother who’d run away when he wanted to.”

  “Don’t worry. I haven’t got a brother who’ll be jealous of my having a welcome.”

  “There doesn’t have to be a brother. A parable’s different, isn’t it. It doesn’t always mean exactly what it says. You have to work it out … Becky says so. Carrie’s waiting for me to try on my dress for the ball.”

  “She’s making it for you, is she?”

  “Yes, it’s gold color. She’s making two … exactly alike. It’ll be fun. They won’t know which is Hy and which is Lo.”

  “You’d better go if Carrie wants to fit your dress, hadn’t you?”

  “You come with me and see it. It’s very pretty.”

  She started to hop towards the west door and I rose and followed her into the house, unsure again whether I had been speaking to Hyson or Lowella.

  She started to hum as we went up the stairs, and the song she hummed was the tune that I had heard in that strange, off-key voice which had startled me so. This humming was quite different though, rather monotonous and tuneless.

  “What’s that you’re singing?” I asked.

  She stopped, turned slowly, and looked down on me, for she was standing several stairs above me. I knew then that she was Hyson.

  “It’s Ophelia’s song in Hamlet.”

  “Did you learn it at school?”

  She shook her head.

  “Did Miss Bective teach it to you?” I was becoming too anxious, I realized; and she guessed it and found it amusing.

  Again she shook her head. She was waiting mischievously for the next question.

  I merely continued: “It’s a haunting tune,” and started up the stairs.

  She ran on ahead of me until she came to the door of Carrie’s sewing room.

  Carrie was seated at an old-fashioned sewing machine and I saw that she was working on a gold-colored dress.

  There were two dressmaker’s dummies in the room; one a child’s and the other an adult’s. On the smaller one was another gold-colored dress; on the larger a mauve evening dress.

  “Ah, there you are, Miss Hyson,” said Carrie. “I’ve been waiting for you. Come here, do. That neck don’t please me.”

  “Here’s Mrs. Pendorric too,” said Hyson. “She wanted to see the dresses so I brought her up.”

  I went over to the dummy on which the other gold-colored dress had been arranged.

  “It’s lovely,” I said. “This is Lowella’s of course.”

  “I fitted it on Miss Hyson,” mumbled Carrie. “Miss Lowella can’t stand still for more than a second or two.”

  “It’s true,” said Hyson primly. “Her mind flitters and flutters like a butterfly. She can’t concentrate on anything for any length of time. Becky says it’s deplorable.”

  “Come here then,” said Carrie, snipping a cotton and withdrawing the dress from the machine.

  Hyson stood meekly while Carrie slipped off her dress and put on the gold-colored silk.

  “It’s delightful,” I said.

  “The neck’s wrong.” Carrie was breathing heavily as she purred and clicked over the neck of the dress. I went over to the mauve dress and examined it. It was beautifully made, but like all Deborah’s clothes it had that slightly old-world look. The rows of flounces in the long skirt would have been fashionable many years ago, so would the lace fichu at the neck. It was like a charming period piece.

  “I thought you were going to make up the pink,” I said.

  “Ur,” grunted Carrie, her mouth full of pins.

  “I suppose Deborah changed her mind, but when I was here, I thought she said she would have the pink.”

  Hyson nodded at me vigorously and inclined her head towards a dress hanging behind the door. I looked and saw an exact replica of the dress, this time in pink.

  I stared in astonishment.

  “Carrie made two, didn’t you, Carrie?” said Hyson. “She made two gold dresses … one for me, one for Lowella, and she made two like that—one pink and one mauve—because ever since they left Devon they never had the same color. It was different after they left Devon, wasn’t it, Carrie?”

  Hyson was regarding me almost triumphantly and I felt impatient with her.

  “What on earth are you talking about?” I demanded.

  Hyson became engrossed in the tips of her shoes and would not answer me.

  “Carrie,” I insisted, “I s
uppose Miss Deborah has had the two dresses made up. Perhaps it’s as well if you’ve had the material for a long time … which I believe you said you had.”

  “The pink’s for Miss Deborah,” said Carrie. “I like her in pink.”

  “And the mauve … ?”

  Hyson darted away from Carrie and ran to me; she laid a hand on my arm and smiled up at me.

  “The pink was made for Granny Deborah,” she whispered, “and the mauve for Granny Barbarina.”

  Carrie was smiling at the mauve dress as though she saw more than a dress; she said quietly: “Mauve were your color, my dear; and I always say there weren’t two prettier maidens in Devonshire than my Miss Deborah and Miss Barbarina.”

  I was suddenly impatient with the stuffy sewing room. I said: “I’ve things to do,” and went out.

  But when I had shut the door I asked myself what motive lay behind Hyson’s strange behavior. I could understand that Carrie’s mind wandered a little; she was old; and she had clearly been devoted to Barbarina. Deborah had said that she had never recovered from the shock of her death. But where did Hyson come into this? Could it be that for some reason she resented my coming to Pendorric? That talk about the fatted calf—what had been the meaning behind that?

  I looked over my shoulder and restrained the impulse to go back into the room. Instead I went along the corridor until I came to the door of Deborah’s sitting room.

  I hesitated for a moment, then I knocked.

  “Come in,” said Deborah.

  She was seated at a table reading.

  “My dear, what a pleasant surprise. Why, is anything wrong?”

  “Oh no … nothing. I’m just a little puzzled, that’s all.”

  “Come and sit down and tell me what’s puzzling you.”

  “Hyson’s a queer child, isn’t she? I’m afraid I don’t understand her.”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “It’s not always easy to understand what goes on in the mind of a child.”