“So my father said.”
“Did he? Well, for once he was speakin’ wisdom.”
“It was not what Thomas said of my birth, but when he said of my mother … Do you know my grandmother?”
“Lady Killigrew? Not but by reports. By reports, well.”
“I think it was through her I was sent here. She does not like me.”
The woman picked up a piece of the turf with the fire tongs and turned it over. “ If there be a witch in Kerrier …”
“You’ll not get your fire to draw that way,” I said. “Turning turf over only encourages the smoke.”
She put the tongs down and straightened her back. “I don’t know where the bad comes from in the Killigrews. They have wit and charm, most of ’em, and courage and a forthcomin’ manner, and sometimes great looks. But there’s a wild and wasteful streak, like a crack in a good wall— and there’s a hint of slipperiness and of the weathercock about them too. D’you know what some folk say about the Killigrew coat of arms?”
“No.”
“That it’s a two-headed eagle so that they can always look which way suits them best …”
All through the wet summer and autumn I visited her when I could. She was the person I could talk to. The other apprentices of the town had fought shy of me as soon as they knew my name, and one or two attempts at a sort of persecution had not prospered for them, so they had learned to leave me alone. It was a bad year for everyone; the hay was ruined by storms and the harvest late and blackened by rain. Prices mounted, and midsummer wheat was 8s. a bushel. By the autumn it was unsafe to venture far out of the town because of the bands of desperate men who roamed the moors terrorising travellers and stealing sheep. The constables were afraid to proceed against for they were so greatly outnumbered.
Confirmation came to the town that Henry IV, of Navarre and now France, had changed his religion and turned Catholic, as they had talked of the Arwenack. It meant, said my father when at last he came to see me, a new weighing of the struggle in Europe. Henry swore he would be true to his treaties, and the first effects of his apostasy had been to unite his people rather than divide them further but he was not yet master of Paris; when he felt himself secure who knew which way he would jump?
Mr Killigrew said I was growing into a great beanstalk and I looked too sapless and scrawny; it was high time I came to Arwenck for a week or so; I had another half-sister. Elizabeth, born last week and no fuss at all, not like last year when they called in that woman from the mill.
There was to be nothing special about Christmas this year. My father said it was time some of our guests invited us back. I asked him if he had seen or heard of the Arundells of Tolverne. He said he had seen some of them at Antony, the Carews’ place, in May, where he and Mrs Killigrew had gone for the wedding of Jonathan Arundell to Gertrude Carew, but the old man—by which my father meant Sir Anthony—was as queer as a jay-pie. He had refused to leave his home even to be present at the marriage ceremony, it was said that Lady Arundell had difficulty in getting him out of the house at all. “ It’s the trees,” my father said. “ They’ve been there too long, before ever the country was Christian. If I had that house I’d cut ’em all down.”
When he left he slipped me two shillings and kissed me on the forehead. We were not a demonstrative family, and I did not remember when last he had done such a thing.
A week or so after his visit I went as far as Powder Street with a message for Mr John Michell and saw a crowd come up the narrow way going towards High Cross. In the middle of it was a stout man shackled and walking between two guards. There were three others with him, the rest were all sightseers following behind or others who pressed in to watch the procession pass.
“Who is it?” I asked of a notary’s apprentice.
“Don’t really know. They d’say he be a Romanish priest caught red-’ anded down to St Ives. He be going to be examined afore the Bishop of Exeter who’s up to parsonage house. I ’ear tell he was caught wi’ a mass book an’ a cross ’pon him. Tha’s all I d’ know.”
The stout man was Humphry Petersen whom I had seen rowing across the river with Sir Anthony Arundell.
I was to travel home by wagon to Penryn and from there walk. Mr Michell personally saw me aboard with my pack, and said I must be back not later than 1st January. As the two-wheeled wagon began to move, he stood with his cap over one ear, picking at a spot on his chin, his narrow eyes following me suspiciously as if he thought I might jump off as soon as we rounded the first corner.
Indeed I got off, but not for three miles more until we had taken the long slow pull up from St Kea. Then when we stopped to give the five horses a breather I told the wagoner I was going no farther with him.
The track through the woods was miry with all the recent rains; crows and jackdaws were zigzagging over the bare tree-tops; in my path were trees bright with holly berries and young oaks with brown withered leaves and rusty fronds of bracken and here and there Aaron’s Beard powdering the branches. There was much rustling and stirring in the undergrowth, but I saw no man all the way to the ferry, and when I got there, glad to break at last from the overhanging wood, I had to knock four times at the cottage door to rouse the ill-favoured ferryman.
There was welcome at Tolverne. Even Thomas’s smile, though grudging, parted his lips sufficient to show the stumps of the broken teeth. Sue Farnaby went scarlet and then white. The now Gertrude Arundell had not changed at all with marriage and was the same laughing bouncing girl.
I must of course stay the night. To put me on until supper they brought cold game pie and some powdered beef spread with Dijon mustard, and this was so appetising after the food in Truro that I ate it wolfishly. By the time it was finished, the rest of the family had drifted out of the dining-hall—all except Sue Farnaby and young Elizabeth; and Elizabeth, in spite of hints from Sue, stayed on and on chattering.
Sue was not so pretty as I remembered her; she had dressed her hair in some different new way, and she had gone even thinner. But it didn’t matter, that was the strange thing, it didn’t matter at all.
Suddenly, forgetting Elizabeth, I said: “Sue, you are happy here?”
“Oh, yes, of course.” I knew then that she was not.
“I went to the farm behind Malpas where your aunt lives. She told me you were at Tolverne.”
“I came when my father died.”
“She told me. That was in May. But I haven’t been able to visit you before. I have so little time free that it has not been possible.”
Elizabeth had stopped prattling and was listening, looking from one to the other. She said: “ Sue is very happy here, except that Thomas is tiresome from time to time. I tell her to take no heed of him.”
There was an awkward pause.
“I take no heed,” Sue said lightly. “And I have you, my sweet, to guard over me.”
“He has been better since I told Jonathan. But Jonathan should put his foot down firm. After all he is—well, he is almost master of Tolverne.”
We sat down twelve to supper that night at the main table: there were several relatives I did not remember having met before and as soon forgot. Sir Anthony did not come in until the meal was half finished, and then he appeared at the door in his dressing-gown, with a servant at his back carrying a candelabrum. I did not think he had changed much in looks, but his presence cast long shadows of silence over the table, which had not been lively by Arwenack standards when he came in.
When the meal broke up, Thomas was with me; I wanted to shake him off and seek out Sue, but he said: “ Come in here a minute,” and led me into another chamber where there was a spinning wheel and other evidence of women’s occupation.
“My dear cousin Jack has sent you?”
“Jack?”
“Jack Arundell of Trerice. I imagine he is employing you to spy on us.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
He stared at me with his angry little eyes, which gleamed red in the light of
the single candle. Slowly his expression calmed. “Oh, no matter then.”
“But it does matter. What are you talking of?”
“Nothing. Forget I spoke.”
“I can’t do that.”
He stared out of the window a moment and then flicked the curtain across. “ My father, as you will have seen, is becoming of unstable mind.”
“Oh, no. Eccentric maybe …”
“If he is not incapable of looking after his affairs this year he will be so next. It is a rotting of the vital matter which is going on all the time. It is not to be wondered at.”
“What makes you say that?”
“We are a doomed family. Some of us at least. It is an evil seed in our inheritance. My grandfather’s two eldest brothers, Alexander and Richard, both became idiots and incapable of managing their affairs while still in their twenties. That was how my grandfather inherited. My father has been lucky: he is near fifty. So it will go on, I fancy.”
“Perhaps you take too gloomy a view.”
“Perhaps. But the disease has taken a religious turn in my father as it did in my uncle Thomas who went on a pilgrimage to Rome thirteen years ago and has never returned. That’s all. That’s why it’s more important.”
“Your father is deeply troubled over religion; many are, and it doesn’t mean they’re insane because of it. I think your father is swaying towards the old religion again.”
“Swaying! He would have us all swaying on the gibbet in Launceston gaol if he were not restrained … That’s why I thought you were a party to Jack of Trerice’s scheme to spy on him and have him attainted. You seem a likely type for Jack to employ.”
Thomas stood with his hands on his hips ready to fight, fair hair curling about his face. Already he was running to fat, and his chin was so smooth he could hardly have begun to shave. But he was no weakling.
I said: “ I cannot for the second time abuse your hospitality”
“What? Oh, I see; that way. You rushed at me unawares that time. Well, why did you come, then? To see Sue?”
“Why do you suppose Jack has any scheme to spy on you?”
Outside an owl was screeching. There was no moon tonight and I knew it would be very black among the trees.
“And if anything happens to my father,” he said, “look at Jonathan. Another such. Weakly and insecure; he’ll as like as not run on the rocks himself in one way or another … And then there’s me. Well, I tell you, I hate this house, for it’s dank and lush and ungodly. If it comes to me, I shall drop it through my fingers and move away. I’m not like th’ others, thank God. I take after my mother who’s solid Godolphin stock. If I have my way we’ll make an end of the Arundells here!”
“You’re not likely to have your way,” I said.
“All right, bastard, tell me why.”
But this time I would not be provoked. “ Your brother is well enough and young. He’s just married and will have a family. They’ll inherit here, not you.”
The boy laughed harshly. “ Jonathan … I wonder … That’s another unhealthful symptom of our family. My grandfather had three brothers and a sister: none of ’ em married. My father has two brothers and a sister: none of ’em married. Well, you can work that out as you fancy. But I can tell you, whatever was wrong with them, it’s skipped me!”
As he finished speaking his mother came in, and with her were Gertrude and Sue. Talk was general until just as she was leaving Sue was able to get a word alone with me. She whispered: “ Meet me in the herb shed at eleven. Move quiet, for Elizabeth sleeps light.”
It was dark but not cold in the herb shed, and aromatic of thyme and rosemary and marjoram. I lost count of time waiting. There was one faint light I could see through the door and it helped to break the blackness. At last I heard her light footstep. I hissed faintly to show her I was there and she crept over to me. I made room for her beside me on a low bench and for a moment or two she was quite silent. There was a sweet sick delight in the moment for me: all the thrill of meeting shadowed by the realisation that it might be the last meeting for months and that we were, by our lack of age and position and money, as far apart as ever.
Then she made some slight movement, and I realised she was shivering.
“Are you cold?”
She shook her head. I put my arm round her and felt her quivering against me.
She said: “Hold me, Maugan.”
I held her and felt an exaltation steal over me. It was like being a father and a lover and a prince all in one. I was strengthened and uplifted by her weakness until I could have sung.
“Sweet,” I said. “Sweet Sue. Sweet Sue. Sweet love. Sweet darling. Sue, Sue, Sue.” It was a love song to me as beautiful as the Song of Solomon. I kissed her and found she was crying.
“Oh, my love,” I said. “Don’t cry. Don’t cry.” I half knelt beside her, trying to comfort her.
In a few minutes she said: “Sorry. I’m sorry. But it was seeing you again after so long. I was afraid you would g-go and I should have no word with you.”
“That wouldn’t have happened because I came only to see you.”
“You did? But I wondered, I never heard, I did not even know you had been to Aunt Kate’s, I thought you’d forgotten me. Why didn’t you write, Maugan?”
“Each week I thought I should be able to come, and each week could not. I thought there would be no welcome for me here, and therefore …” I tailed off, too dazed with her to be coherent. “ Why are you so unhappy? There is Elizabeth and Gertrude …”
“Oh, I’m not unhappy. I know I’m lucky to be here; but it is the thought that my own home is broken up and will never return, and being away from my own people altogether, nothing of my own … And then it was seeing you. I’m sorry, Maugan. I’ll not embarrass you again.”
“And Thomas?” I said.
“Well, yes, he can be tiresome. But it’s nothing. Elizabeth should not have mentioned it.”
“Isn’t that really why you are uncomfortable here … Sue, answer me.”
“Oh, what does it matter? I have other things. Let’s not spoil this moment.”
I took her hand and she stood up beside me. Her hand moved up to my shoulder. I drew her to me and kissed her, for the first time not like a boy but a man. She kissed me back, leaning against me. At that moment I could have conquered the world. I kissed her tenderly, fiercely, comfortingly, experimentally. It went to my head like a drug.
She began to speak against my shoulder. “He has been three times to my room. Of course I have only allowed him the barest liberties under threat of screaming for help. But it is so degrading, I never know what to say, what to do …”
“Have you told Lady Arundell?”
“No, I dare not. If she knows he is seriously interested in me she’ll find some excuse to be rid of me. She has different plans for her favourite son.”
“But could you not go elsewhere?”
“My mother says she can earn barely enough to support herself and urges me to stay. The girls are kind; Jonathan is good; it’s something I can put up with.”
“Does he—what does he say to you?” Already I was beginning one of the familiar self-tortures of love.
“Oh, he speaks kind enough, but his eyes give him away. And what is most degrading, I know that his mother need have no fear: Thomas would never marry a girl without money; he only sees me as someone he would like to take his pleasure of.”
“Sue … we’re both—soon we shall be both sixteen. While I am home I’ll talk to my father. I’ll tell him I want to go to London, not to be apprenticed but to find work at once that will enable me to live—somehow. Then when I get to London I have relatives at Court. It must be possible to find some occupation for you too, so that we can be not too far apart. I’ll talk to him. I promise I’ll persuade him to let me try!”
I began to kiss her again. I could not believe that this was not a unique thing happening to me, that it could ever have happened before in just this way since the
world began. I am not a complete fool; but the sweetness of first love is over-toppling to mind and sense. Whatever it was I had gained, it was priceless, beyond earthly valuation, to be cherished, venerated, tasted and drunk of. Above all, it must not be lost. No exertion, no risk, no enterprise was too great.
I said: “Even at sixteen there is nothing to stop our running away together.”
“Except that all the laws of the country are against us. We cannot even be betrothed without the consent of your father and my mother. I think … Maugan, I would want to run away with you but I should be afraid.”
“Sue, Sue we must not be defeated.”
“Your father will surely help us.”
“I think he may help me to go to London. But I think if I mention you he’ll be angry and call it a moon-calf passion.”
The joy was suddenly gone and reality had its cold finger on us.
She said: “ Go first to Arwenack, see what you can persuade your father to do for us. If he will help in some way, go to London and I’ll wait. I can manage here. If it becomes impossible I will leave and go to my mother … But if your father will not help you, if you think it is a time to be desperate, then we will be.”
“You’ll run away with me?”
“… Yes.”
Before we separated I had promised her that if I could extract a promise from my father that I need not go back to Chudleigh Michell I would come up the river and tell her; if he would not help then I would call in on my way back to Truro, since it would be easier to return to Truro and concert our desperate plans from there.
I saw Sir Anthony in the morning. He was still in his dressing-gown and smelt slightly of incense, but he seemed very far from the incapable person his son Thomas adjudged him. “ Give my obliged duty to your father, boy. I have not seen him for twelve months or more. We are neighbours and relatives but I do not stir from here and he does not call, so we might be hemispheres away.”
“Yes, sir.”
The Grove of Eagles Page 14
