‘I cannot,’ I said. And I felt as if my heart were breaking. ‘I cannot.’
He frowned at me. ‘You still have some feeling for him?’
‘No!’ I exclaimed. ‘Never. But I can’t build my own happiness on the betrayal of another.’
‘Another?’ He clearly saw some strapping youth, complete with a posy of violets, waiting at my door.
‘How do you think I escaped from Ketterford?’ I demanded. ‘Not without help. My aunt and uncle would have returned me there in a moment,’ I added, hearing the bitterness in my voice.
‘Of course,’ he said, slowly. ‘Miss Treverick. I should have known from her letter of recommendation for you.’
I nodded. ‘Judith saved my life. In more ways than one. I can’t betray that.’ I gazed at him earnestly, willing him to understand. ‘She writes to me, sometimes, when she can. She has reassured me that William believes I am still in Ketterford. If he ever finds out I have gone he’ll know well enough who helped me. William is Judith’s legal guardian, as well as her brother.’ I shuddered. ‘I know he will punish her. And, knowing his punishments, I could never live with myself if I left Judith open to that.’
He was frowning. ‘We could expose his treatment of you. Prove that he is not fit to be a guardian, any more than a husband.’
I shook my head. ‘Any legal case would be a costly one. William is too fond of his reputation to give in without a fight, and he has powerful – and wealthy – friends. I can’t let you risk this hospital. Or Plas Eden. And besides,’ I added, as he began to protest, ‘the scandal would taint Judith for the rest of her life. No respectable family would permit their son to marry her. I won’t risk her only chance to escape Treverick Hall, and find happiness.’ I met his eyes. ‘I let my son die through my own selfishness when I did not even try to prevent my husband from taking him out in the boat, even though I knew Charlie was far too young. Since then Judith has become like a daughter to me. I won’t ever, ever allow her to come to any harm.’
‘I understand,’ he said gently.
Had I been a true heroine, I would have turned and left him there. Left him free to find happiness elsewhere, while I nursed my broken heart to the end of my days.
I was not born a heroine.
‘But there maybe another way,’ I said, my arms tightening around him once more.
Of course he had thought of it. I saw his eyes gleam. ‘If you are certain,’ he said.
There was, of course, no other way for it to be done: I returned an answer with my kiss.
He found me waiting for him at the hospital the next morning. I saw the joy fade from his eyes as they met mine.
He closed the door to the office behind him. ‘What has happened?’
‘I have to go back.’
‘Back.’
‘To Treverick.’
He frowned. ‘To him?’
I shook my head. ‘No. Never. I would die first.’ I held the crushed paper in my hand out towards him. ‘Another letter came for me this morning. From Judith. I can’t leave her. Whatever happens, I can’t leave her now. I have to go back.’
‘This is so beautiful,’ sighed Karenza, looking around at the restored waterfall of Treverick Gardens. ‘I had no idea. It was just a wilderness when I used to play here. It was spooky. Like Beauty and the Beast. This must be how it would have looked then.’
‘Then?’ asked Carys. ‘Oh, you mean in Victorian times. When Ann Treverick was alive.’
‘We’re not looking for anything, um, buried, are we?’ asked David.
Mary, who had been a few steps behind, dead-heading a group of overblown roses, joined them hastily. ‘I hope not,’ she said. ‘We’ve a lot more digging to do here this coming autumn.’
‘Oh, I don’t think there’s anything hidden here. Mind you, they never did find her engagement ring. At least that’s what my grandmother told me. But it might just have made a better story. Along with the curse.’
David and Carys glanced at each other. This was getting more like the brothers Grimm by the minute. Was there a gingerbread house they had missed, or Sleeping Beauty dreaming of her prince?
Mary appeared equally puzzled. ‘Engagement ring?’
‘Yes,’ replied Karenza. ‘Judith Treverick. Who made these gardens. She was engaged to some massively rich guy. Of course, I should have known when I found the photograph.’ She fished an envelope out of her pocket, extracting a faded sepia print which she held out towards them.
Carys looked down at the portrait. Unlike the others she had seen of the Treverick family, it had not been taken in the studio, but on a steep bank, with the severe outline of Treverick Hall visible in the background. It was of a young girl, probably no more than ten, in ringlets and a frilly dress. She was sitting next to the merest trickle of a stream, her hands tucked under her chin and smiling into the camera as if about to begin a conversation with the viewer, whoever they might be.
Carys smiled. She couldn’t help it. The girl had a round, mischievous little face that looked as if it might break into laughter at any moment. Something stirred in the back of her mind.
‘There was a pond here, when they made the waterfall,’ said Karenza, tracing her footsteps back along the central flowerbed, filled with yellow tea roses. ‘It was a family story my grandma used to tell. One of those real ghostly stories that come out at Christmas and Halloween. She always said that her cousin Judith vanished into thin air, just hours before her wedding.’
I found her in the depths of the gardens, gazing into the white rush of the waterfall.
‘You came!’ she said, turning at the sound of my step.
‘Of course,’ I replied. ‘Do you think I could abandon you?’
Judith smiled though tears and hugged me tight. ‘I’ve missed you so much,’ she said. ‘The house has seemed so empty since I returned from Italy.’
She had grown. She was almost as tall as I was. No longer a child but a young woman.
‘Mr Pawley made the statues, I see,’ I said.
‘Yes. My brother had them finished for me. They were placed here last night.’ I saw her swallow hard. ‘That’s how I got them to let me come out here alone for a while. I told them I wanted to see them in the morning light. Now that I will most likely never see them again.’ Her chin lifted in that old defiant gesture that had once driven me to distraction, but which now seemed more than a little forlorn. ‘William has already ridden into the village to supervise the preparations at the church. He is leaving nothing to chance. Not even for a manufacturer’s son from Manchester, who only a few months ago he would not even have acknowledged to exist. These last days, I’ve allowed him to think I’m resigned to bringing a vast fortune within reach of the family.’
‘And are you?’
‘No,’ she said, vehemently. ‘I’d have done anything, if they’d let me. William stopped my allowance the moment I protested. He even took care to remove my jewels for “safekeeping”. He knows I have nowhere to go. That there is nothing I can do. And besides…’ She stopped.
‘He can always remind you that there are places such as Ketterford. And worse.’
She nodded, silently. ‘I would not have asked you to risk your own freedom by coming here. I’ll do anything. Be anything. But I can’t marry that man. And all William will say is that I am too young and foolish to know my own mind, and it’s only natural to be nervous, and all will be well and I’ll be grateful to him once I have an establishment of my own.’ She looked back towards the house. ‘They mustn’t find you here. They’ll be coming to take me back to the house soon.’
And, as if in answer to her fears, there came a crackling of sticks, and footsteps making their way towards us.
‘Vanished?’ David was looked uneasily at the roses. Carys took a step away from them.
‘Yes. Grandma said she went out in her wedding gown. Although sometimes it was just a cotton dress, but I expect that doesn’t make such a good story. Anyhow, just a dress. And shoes, of course. No
thing else. No jewellery, apart from her engagement ring, and no purse. Not even a wrap. They drained the pond. After everywhere else had been searched, that is. But there was no sign of her. They kept on searching, but no one ever saw her again.’
‘But I don’t see …’ began Carys. She came to a halt.
‘Don’t you?’ said Karenza, eagerly. ‘Don’t you see? Can’t you guess?’
‘I’m not sure,’ replied Carys. Her head was beginning to buzz.
‘Of course!’ exclaimed Mary. ‘I should have realised, the moment you both arrived. I knew there was something.’
Carys stepped back, leaning instinctively on David’s reassuring warmth. She felt his arms go around her. ‘Well?’ he prompted.
Karenza was reaching back into her envelope. ‘It was obvious, the moment I found this,’ she said. She brought out a second photograph, almost as faded as the first. ‘I don’t know how she did it. Or why. But she did. I know she did. Take a look.’
Carys hesitated. There were prickles travelling up and down her spine, despite the tightening of David’s arms. ‘What is it?’ she demanded.
‘It’s the only known photograph of Judith Treverick as a young woman, taken just weeks before she disappeared.’
She knew what it was. Even as she reached out and took the photograph, Carys knew what she would find.
But she still gasped as she turned the sepia portrait towards her, and looked down into her own face.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Two people, a smartly dressed man, and a woman in an old-fashioned cloak, walked slowly through Treverick village towards the Hall that morning. A little later they walked back, arm-in-arm as before.
I watched Judith and Mr Meredith make their way towards the harbour through the crowds gathering for the spectacle of a Treverick wedding. I was certain they would pass unnoticed, just as he and I had passed unnoticed earlier that morning.
I took one last look at the place I had once called mine. I could still feel Judith’s grief. For all her desire to escape, it was the only home she had ever known, and we both knew there would be no going back. And for me? I had no regrets at all. I had no wish to lay eyes on Treverick Hall, or its village, ever again.
In the distance, up towards the house, I could hear voices calling. Quickly I pulled the coat I had worn beneath the cloak I had given Judith close about me, and tied the strings of my hat tightly. Then, head down to hide my face, I made my way towards the village. Just another stranger among the wedding crowds. Or so I hoped.
They had both been uneasy at the plan, but I had insisted it was the best way. I was older. Careworn. My hair carefully arranged in the severest, most unflattering manner I knew how. I was the kind of woman who passes unnoticed. Unlike Judith, I was no longer a woman the people of Treverick would immediately recognise. Besides, I knew the back roads and the alleyways so I could take a route that was not direct, so that no one would suspect in which direction I was going.
I paused a few minutes in the square, a little distance from the church. There were flowers everywhere. The heavy scent of roses filled the air. I had lingered too long. I ducked my head down quickly as I heard my husband’s voice echoing in the stone porch of the church. I did not dare to take a single step until he had moved away, fussing about the seating arrangements for someone or other. Of the titled variety, naturally.
As William’s voice faded into the echoes inside the church, I turned to go on my way. As I did so, my eye was caught by the display set out in front of the village shop, ready for this influx of visitors. It was not for myself, I could have cheerfully lived without any reminder that I had ever heard of a place called Treverick. But Judith, I sensed, would grieve a little for her childhood home all her life.
Hastily, I took the nearest postcard, placing a coin – far more than the thing was worth – on the wooden stand.
I should have known I would not escape unseen.
‘Oi!’ came the outraged tones of the shopkeeper. ‘Oi! Miss!’ I tried to gesture towards the coin, to show I was no thief, but it was too late. He had reached me before I could take another step. Heads were turning towards us in the entertainment of the moment. Already he had grasped my arm, preventing my escape.
‘My grandmother’s first name was Judith,’ said Carys, returning her mobile to her pocket. ‘Gwenan wasn’t sure, but Mam remembered all right.’
‘There, you see,’ said Karenza, beaming. ‘That means we’re family.’
‘I suppose it does,’ said Carys, smiling at her. She looked around at the garden. ‘This is such a weird feeling. I think I do remember her, you know. There’s a photograph of her, you see, when she was very old, with me and my sisters. I thought it was that. But I do remember. There were yellow roses in the vase, and I remember she smelt of lily of the valley. It’s still my favourite scent.’ She gave a slight shiver. ‘Now that is seriously weird.’ She turned to David, who was still looking slightly bemused. ‘We were supposed to be tracking down something to do with your family, and we found mine, instead.’
‘Hey, do you think I mind?’ he returned. ‘I think it’s great.’ A slow grin overtook his face. ‘I suppose, theoretically, you could have a claim on this place. That would make you a lot posher than us at poor old Eden.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ she replied. ‘As if I’d even want to try.’ She smiled. ‘And, anyhow, my real inheritance is there already. Dad always said that growing things was in the blood. On both sides, so it seems.’
There was a short silence. ‘I’m afraid I’ll have to get back soon,’ said Mary, regretfully, glancing at her watch.
‘And me, too,’ said Karenza. ‘I’ve a wedding appointment this afternoon. It’s already been postponed once, so I can’t miss them this time. But we’ll keep in touch, Carys.’
‘Definitely,’ replied Carys. ‘I want to find out as much as possible from Mam.’
‘And I’ll find out everything I can down here,’ said Karenza.
‘Brilliant,’ said Carys. She glanced towards David. ‘I think maybe we should come back with you into Treverick and have a look at the church. I’d like to see the plaque to Ann Treverick. It would be like seeing the end of the story. And Mrs Boscawen was right: it did lead us to Judith, after all.’
The church was small and dark, with the faint lingering smell of candle wax and incense in the air.
‘It’s over here,’ said Mary, leading them to one side of the church. ‘This wall is where the plaques to the Trevericks were placed. William is over there, nearest the altar. Next to him is Charles William Treverick, the little boy who was drowned in a boating accident. And this one is Ann.’
They paused in front of the figure carved in white marble. It was a plaque on a modestly grand scale in bas relief, with the central figure rising out of the polished stone behind her. A veil covered her features as she leant, head on hand in a gesture of grief. ‘Fear no more the heat of the sun’ was carved in intricate script beneath the usual inscription to beloved wife and mother.
‘1902,’ read Carys, bending to see the inscription closer.
‘Poor woman,’ sighed Karenza. ‘I’d forgotten she was so young. She barely reached thirty. I don’t suppose we’ll ever know how she died.’
‘I’d die if I was shut up for life in a place like Ketterford,’ said Carys shivering.
David didn’t answer. He was staring at the mausoleum, as if he hadn’t heard a word.
‘What is it?’ asked Carys.
‘Look,’ he replied, slowly. ‘Look Cari. Look. Look at her name.’
Ann Hermoine Treverick.
I was too proud to plead. As I met Mr Helyer’s eyes, I gave him stare for stare, daring him to call out that the lunatic had escaped. And was on a mission to murder every Treverick in the place, and a few more, no doubt.
‘Nonsense!’ It was his wife, emerging from the shop door, too deep in gossip with her neighbour to take note of the commotion. ‘She can’t have gone far. She’ll be in the gardens so
mewhere, mark my words. Where else has she to go, poor thing?’
I thought, for a moment, that she was referring to me. But then I saw across the square that several of the servants from the Hall had appeared. Mr Adamson, the butler, who preserved his dignity at all costs, was clearly out of breath and speaking urgently to his master.
Suddenly, I was afraid. I bit my lip. I could feel my eyes plead with my captor. My mind worked through a thousand plans. Most of which ended up with me throwing myself from the harbour wall to at least give them a chance to get free. Not, of course, that either would have left me. Which made me even more desperate.
‘Helyer?’ It was his wife, who had turned and seen our little tableau at last. She picked up the coin I had left, and held it in her hand. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see curiosity in every step as she made her way towards us.
Abruptly, his eyes lost their harshness. ‘Your change, Miss,’ he said, reaching into his pocket. He placed coins into my hand – a random selection including a button carved in bone, as I discovered later – and released his grip.
‘Thank you,’ I whispered. I felt the tears start to my eyes.
The commotion around us was growing louder by the minute, far more interesting than this disappointing end to our little drama.
‘Good luck, Miss,’ he said.
I smiled, and turned before Mrs Helyer – still curious – could reach us. Hastily, and most certainly unseen, I made my way through the back streets of Treverick: to where those I loved were waiting for me.
‘Are you okay?’ said Carys
‘This is what it’s all about, isn’t it,’ said David, gazing around at the yellow roses of Treverick gardens. ‘Inheritance.’
‘I suppose,’ said Carys slowly. She could feel his distress, uncertain of where it had come from.
‘It can’t be a coincidence,’ he continued, as if speaking to himself. ‘Hermione might have been a common name in Victorian times, but it’s still too much of a coincidence that it was Ann Treverick’s middle name. Nainie always said she was called after her mother. Hermione Ann. With all the talk about statues, and those drawings, it can’t be a coincidence.’
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