Road to Paradise Island

by Victoria Holt

  February 1st 1792 Another long lapse. I am clearly not meant to be a diarist. I suppose my life is really so uneventful and it is only when something unusual happens that I remember my journal.

  Something has happened. Today my stepmother told us about Freddy.

  I have noticed that she has been preoccupied for some little time. My father noticed too because he said to me: "Do you think your stepmother is well?"

  He was quite anxious.

  "Why do you ask?" I said.

  "She seems... a little worried."

  I admitted I had noticed it.

  "I have asked her and she says all is well."

  "Perhaps we have imagined it."

  Apparently we hadn't because today it came out.

  I was having tea with them which my father liked me to do. He wanted continual confirmation that I was fond of my stepmother. I have heard him tell people that we get along splendidly. "It was the best thing for Ann Alice as well as for me," he says.

  He deludes himself and as I don't want to disillusion him when he mentions this in my presence I just smile and say nothing.

  I wonder why she decided to speak of it in front of me. After all this time I am still suspicious of her and at times I think I look for motives which don't exist.

  Then suddenly when she had poured out the tea and I had taken my father's to him and accepted my own, she burst out: "There is something I want to tell you."

  "Ah," said my father, "so there is something."

  "It has been on my mind ... for some time."

  "My dear, you should have told me."

  "I didn't want to worry you with my personal troubles."

  "Lois! How can you say such a thing! You should know that I am here to share your troubles. When I think of how you have looked after me."

  "Oh that," she said. "That was different. That was my duty and what I wanted to do more than anything."

  We waited. She bit her lip and then she rushed on: "It's my sister-in-law ... she died... a month ago."

  "Your sister-in-law! You didn't say ... I didn't know you had a family."

  "Her death was rather sudden. I didn't hear until after the funeral."

  "My dear, I am so sorry."

  She was silent for a little while frowning slightly. My father looked at her tenderly, eager to give her time to explain as she wanted to.

  "My brother quarrelled with my father and went off. He never came back and it was only when he died that we knew he had a wife. Now she is dead and she has left ... a child."

  "That's sad," said my father.

  "You see this little boy is an orphan and... well, he is my nephew."

  "You are going to see the child?"

  "That is what I wanted to talk to you about. I'll have to go up there, you see. I'll have to do something about my nephew. I can't just leave him. Heavens knows what will happen."

  My father was looking relieved. I don't know what he had been imagining was wrong.

  "Why don't we both go. Where is it?"

  "It's in Scotland. I think I should go alone."

  "Very well, my dear. As you wish."

  "I've got to find some solution for the boy." She lowered her head and crumbled the cake on her plate. "I have wanted to talk to you for some time ... and I haven't really been able to bring myself to do it. It's worried me a great deal."

  "I knew there was something," said my father triumphantly. "Well, what is it, Lois? You know I'll do everything possible to help."

  "I—er—want to bring the boy here. You see, there is nowhere else. It might mean an orphanage ... and I just can't bear the thought of that. He is, after all, my nephew."

  "My dear Lois, is that all! You should have told me before. This is your home. Of course your nephew will be very welcome here."

  She went over to my father and knelt at his side; then she took his hands and kissed them.

  He was very moved. I saw the tears in his eyes.

  I suppose I should have been moved too. It was a very touching scene. But all I could think of was: How theatrical!

  I had the notion that I was watching a play.

  March 1st Little Freddy Gilmour arrived a week ago. He is a small pale boy, rather nervous and very much in awe of my stepmother. He looks at her with a kind of wonderment as though she is some sort of goddess. She has two worshippers in the household now.

  I liked Freddy from the moment I saw him. He is eight years old but looks younger. I said I would teach him and my stepmother is very pleased. She has grown quite warm towards me and it is due, of course, to Freddy.

  I feel I have another brother—although he is so much younger than I. Charles was never a real brother to me. He always looked down on me because I was so much younger. I don't feel in the least like that towards Freddy. I am beginning to love him even though he has been here such a short time.

  He seems to be very grateful to be in our house, so I imagine life was not very pleasant where he was before. When I speak to him about his mother he is noncommittal and clearly does not want to talk of the past. Perhaps it is because she is so recently dead. But when he mentions Aunt Lois he is really reverent.

  Even morning when I awake I think of what I am going to teach him and it gives a zest to the day. He is very bright but I can see that few attempts have been made to educate him. He wants to learn and is always asking questions.

  My father is absolutely delighted—with me, with Freddy, and of course, he is besotted about my stepmother.

  He is glad Freddy has come because it has pleased Lois so much.

  It seems we are a very happy family.

  April 3rd I have been too busy to think about my journal and it is only now that something really important has happened that I remember it.

  This is the most exciting thing that has ever happened to me.

  I have met Magnus Perrensen.

  It all came about in a most casual way. Papa announced at dinner a little while ago that a fellow cartographer of Scandinavia had written to him about his son.

  "A very enthusiastic young man according to his father. He has just returned from an expedition in the Pacific. It seems he is interested in the practical side of map making."

  "I have always thought that must be the most interesting part," I said. "To discover new places and actually work out the distances between this and that point."

  "You take the romantic view, my dear," said my father indulgently. He turned to my stepmother. "We shall have to entertain him. I

  daresay he will be a little lonely. Masters can find him a decent lodging in Great Stanton for his father would like him to stay for a while to study our methods. I have already spoken to Masters and he said that he has an extra room in his house and he thought Mrs. Masters might be glad of the extra money, in which case he could stay at their house. He may be with us for some little time."

  Masters was the manager of the Shop—a very efficient person who always seemed to think there was nothing in the world to compare with the importance of making maps.

  "Masters is quite excited at the prospect," went on my father. "Perrensens have quite a reputation. They are specialists in sea charts. He is very eager to meet the young man—particularly as he has just returned from this journey. We want to make sure that we give him every opportunity to study what we are doing here—and no doubt he will put us wise to the progress which is being made in his country."

  "That is what is so pleasant about map makers," I said. "They all help each other. There does not seem to be the same rivalry that there is in other professions."

  My father laughed at me.

  "I wish your brother were here," he said.

  I nodded. It was a long time since Charles had gone away. We knew, of course, that on voyages of discovery such as he was undertaking men could be away for years. But it did seem a very long time since he had gone.

  "I daresay he will come home unexpectedly," said my stepmother. "I wonder what he will say to find me installed here." />
  "He'll be delighted I'm sure," my father assured her. "He has plenty of good sense."

  "I hope he makes lots of new discoveries," I put in. "Places hitherto unknown ... great tracts of land on which no human foot has ever trod before."

  "Ann Alice is very romantic," said my father smiling from me to my stepmother. "Let us hope that Charles will soon be with us."

  "I hope so," I said. "Freddy is enormously interested in the maps. I took him into the Shop when we were in Great Stanton yesterday. Masters was quite impressed with him. He kept saying, 'Good lad. Good lad.' I have never seen Freddy so excited."

  My father looked blissful.

  "He is rather bright," murmured my stepmother with pride.

  "He is indeed," I added.

  "Ann Alice is very happy because she has a little brother," said my father.

  I looked up. My stepmother's eyes were on me. They were very

  bright. There might have been tears there. And on the other hand one could not be sure.

  I felt a little embarrassed and I said quickly: "Well, now we have to concern ourselves with ... what is his name? This er—Magnus."

  "Magnus Perrensen. Yes, we must give him a good welcome."

  It is because I have seen him that I have to write in my journal. I want to recapture that moment when he bowed formally over my hand and his brilliantly blue eyes met mine and held them. I was immediately aware of a tremendous excitement and it has not left me since.

  I cannot believe that I met him for the first time this night. I feel I have known him for a long time. I wish I had learned more about maps so that I could have taken a greater part in the conversation. No matter. I have decided to learn while he is here, for it is clear that he has a great interest in them. He glows when he speaks of them; and he has just returned from this map-making expedition to the Pacific Ocean. He talks knowledgeably about charts and islands and he makes me feel a great desire to see those places.

  There is an intensity about him, a vitality; and I am sure that whatever he undertakes he will succeed in accomplishing.

  He is very tall—very plainly dressed according to our standards, but then we have become a little dandified under the influence of the Prince of Wales and his cronies who I believe debate for hours on the cut of their coats and the manner in which a cravat should be worn.

  Magnus Perrensen was in sober grey, his coat a slightly lighter shade than his knee breeches; his stockings were of the same grey as his coat, and his black shoes were buckled but the buckles were by no means elaborate. He was bewigged as all men are, but his wig was plain and tied at the back with a narrow black ribbon.

  But it would not have mattered how he was dressed; it was his vibrant personality which one noticed.

  He spoke English fluently but with the faintest of accents which I found most attractive.

  My father asked him many questions about the expedition, and Magnus told us that he had been shipwrecked and thought he would never see his homeland again.

  "How exciting!" I said. "You might have been drowned."

  "I floated for a long time on a raft," he told me, "looking out for sharks and wondering how long I was going to last."

  "And what happened?"

  "I sighted land and came to an island." I don't know whether it was my imagination but I fancied there was something thrilling in his voice when he said that. As though the island meant something to him.

  I said: "An island? What island was that? I'll look for it on the map."

  "Sometime I'll tell you about it," he said. I was very happy because he was implying that we were going to spend time together.

  "And eventually you were picked up and found your way home?"

  "Yes."

  "You must have lost your charts when you were shipwrecked," said my father. "What a terrible blow."

  "Yes. But I shall go again."

  "There are so many hazards," commented my father sadly and I guessed he was thinking of Charles. He went on: "I trust you will be comfortable with the Masters."

  "I am sure I shall. Mr. Masters has so much knowledge. It is a pleasure and an honour to talk with him."

  "I am sure you and he will have a great deal in common."

  "And Mrs. Masters... she is so good. She tells me I am thin and she threatens to 'feed me up.'"

  "She's a good soul," said my father. "I think her husband exasperates her at times because he is more interested in maps than in her cooking."

  "She is a very good cook."

  "And we hope to see you here ... often."

  He was smiling across the table at me. "That is an invitation which I shall delight in accepting."

  When he took his leave I was so excited. I wanted to go straight to my room and write in my journal. Writing it down is like reliving it all again and I have a feeling that this night is important to me. I shall want to go over and over it again and again.

  May 3rd It has been a wonderful month. During it I have spent a great deal of time in the company of Magnus Perrensen. He is at the Shop all through the day but often I take the gig into Great Stanton— Freddy with me—and we visit the Shop. Sometimes I take a luncheon basket and we all go into the country and picnic. At others I sit with him in the Shop and we eat sandwiches and drink cider while we talk. It is what I call helping Magnus Perrensen to feel at home.

  He is a fascinating talker and Freddy and I listen entranced. He will take one of our maps and point out the exotic places as he talks of them. He will trace a journey over continents; but it is the sea which attracts him most.

  The other day I said to him: "Show us the island on which you were shipwrecked."

  He was silent for a moment and then suddenly he took my hand and pressed it. "One day," he said, "I'll tell you about it."

  I was thrilled as I had been before when he mentioned the island. I knew there was something special about it and that he wanted to tell me... alone.

  Freddy was there at the time. He was in a corner of the room with Masters, who was showing him one of the tools he used.

  I heard Masters say: "This is a burin. Look at that sharp blade. It's made of steel. That's for cutting. Look at the handle. What does it remind you of? A mushroom? That's right. Now you hold this in the palm of your hand with your fingers curled round the mushroom. Now you press the blade into the copper. Like this. You must have even pressure."

  I smiled. "He's initiating Freddy into the mysteries of map making."

  "Freddy is an apt pupil."

  I knew instinctively that it was impossible for him to tell me about his island here. He wanted us to be alone. Oddly enough, although I saw him frequently, we were never really alone. If I saw him at the Shop others were there. There was always Freddy to act as chaperon. And when he visited us at the house there were always several people there.

  But his presence has made a great deal of difference to me. I arise every morning with a feeling of expectation. I think of him a great deal. I love the way his eyebrows turn up at the corners. There is a faint foreignness about him which I find immensely attractive. I like that very slight accent, the arrangement of words that is just a little quaint.

  The fact is I am in love with Magnus Perrensen.

  How does he feel about me?

  He is interested, very interested. I have an idea that he is as exasperated as I am about this inability to be alone. But we shall overcome that one day.

  My stepmother said a few days ago: "We must not forget your birthday. I think we should have a rather special celebration. You will be eighteen years old. I am going to speak to your father."

  "I think he must know I am eighteen."

  "He is a little unworldly about such matters. We should entertain more for you now."

  I shrugged my shoulders. The purpose of entertaining would be to find me a husband. I did not want to search for one. In any case that, to my mind, would have been most undignified. But there is another point now. I have found the only one I could ever love and I have r
eason to believe that he is not indifferent to me.

  However, this is to be a birthday party. My stepmother is getting out a list of guests. She is making arrangements in the kitchen.

  "It is a good thing you have a May birthday," she said. "Such a lovely month! If the weather is good we can be in the garden—a sort of fete champetre."

  "You will enjoy arranging that, my dear," said my father indulgently. "What a good thing you are here to do what is right for Ann Alice."

  I am having a special dress for the party. The village seamstress has been called in and my stepmother has been poring over patterns. We have decided on rose-coloured silk which she says will be most becoming for me. It is off the shoulders with short sleeves which are ruched and edged with lace. There is a wide lace collar; the bodice is tight-fitting, and the skirt very full with flounces, each one edged with lace. It is most elaborate. I am delighted because when I try it on and stand very still while our little seamstress kneels at my feet and gets to work with pins and tacking thread, I am imagining I am standing before Magnus. I believe he will think me beautiful in this dress.

  I am grateful to my stepmother who has done so much to create it. It is almost as though she is grateful for my interest in Freddy.

  Am I growing to like her? I am not sure. When one is in love the whole world looks different, and perhaps one is inclined to like everyone.

  No... not everyone.

  I had a shock today and I suppose that is the reason why I am writing my diary.

  I was in the garden this afternoon. The house was quiet. My father was resting as he does most afternoons since he has had what we have come to call "his turns." I am sure they have weakened him considerably although he tries to pretend they have not.

  My stepmother had taken the gig into Great Stanton to do some shopping she said; and she had taken Freddy with her. She was buying some clothes for him. He had been very short of them when he had come to us.

  I liked to sit in the garden. From the front of the house we look out on the Green. A pleasant view it was true with the grass before us and the old church with its spire reaching to the sky and the row of six ancient cottages. In the centre of the Green was the duck pond with the wooden seat beside it. But I liked better the view from the back. I liked our lawn beyond which was the little copse of fir trees. When I sit in the garden I usually go to the small walled-in rose garden and sit on one of the wicker seats there.