“It will solve nothing. I think he just revelled in looking at the place for the purpose of showing us how unsalable it was.”
“Well, it looks as though he succeeded.”
“I think we should get rid of the furniture, clear it out … repair the place from top to bottom and then see what happens. In any case we need give no more thought to Jeremy Granthorn. We shall not be hearing from him again.”
But there she was wrong.
The new owner of Enderby Hall was Jeremy Granthorn.
He did nothing to improve the reputation of Enderby Hall.
Abby, one of the maids whose duty it was to attend to my special needs and who had been given the task of doing this by my mother because not only was she a good worker but, as I had heard my mother say, a cheerful one, which I think meant that she was rather garrulous.
I did not talk much. I was always shut in with my own thoughts but Abby was one of those people who did not need a very attentive audience.
As she dusted and polished my room, and I lay idly watching or reading or sewing, she would give out a stream of conversation about what was going on. I would nod and murmur occasionally because I did not like to spoil the pleasure she took, although I was rarely very interested.
That was my trouble. Nothing nowadays was of any interest to me.
She chattered about the affairs of the neighbourhood and gradually I found that the name of Jeremy Gran thorn was creeping more and more into her conversation.
“He’s got a man there, mistress, his only servant. They say he don’t like women.” She giggled. “Funny sort of man I’d say, mistress. And this man … Smith ’is name is … is just like him. Emmy Camp was walking by one day and she thought she’d look round a bit. This Smith was in the garden … and Emmy asks him the way to Eversleigh village. As if she don’t know. Born and bred there. Emmy says: ‘Which path do I take?’ And he points it out to her without a word, and she says, ‘Are you dumb, sir?’ And then he tells her to mind her tongue and not be insolent. Emmy says all she was doing was asking the way. Emmy says he didn’t believe her. ‘You’ve come prying,’ he said. ‘We don’t like pryers here. Be careful. There’s a big dog here and he don’t like pryers either.’ Emmy was all taken aback. She’s got an eye for the men and they for her in the general way. Not this Smith, though. She reckons he’s just like his master.”
I said: “Emmy should not have pried. It’s none of her business.”
“Oh, no, mistress, but you know how it is. We all likes to know what’s going on …”
Another day she told me: “Nobody’s ever been there. Biddy Lang says she reckons they’re only ghosts themselves. Two men … in that big house … it don’t seem natural, that’s what Biddy says.”
It was no concern of mine what happened to the house. I had promised myself that I would never go in it again.
Since Clarissa’s visit I had walked a little. My mother was delighted. She said it was a sign I was getting better and in time I would be quite well.
I did not tell her that the only thing that had changed was that I could use my legs … but only a little. I was soon tired. And it was not so much the physical nature of my illness but the terrible lassitude, the listlessness, the not caring about anything which was the hardest to bear.
When my mother read to me I had little interest in what she was reading. I pretended to but it was a poor pretence. When my father played chess with me I played the game joylessly without excitement. Perhaps that was why I won more then he did; I was calm, dispassionate, unmoved by victory or defeat.
That was what was so hard to bear, this lack of interest in life.
But I did find that I was listening more to Abby. I rarely commented and never asked questions but when she mentioned the strange pair at Enderby I did feel a slight quickening of interest.
I had taken to riding a little. I never went far because I became so tired. But when I went to the stables and Tomtit nuzzled against me and whinnied and showed so clearly how happy he was to see me I felt I would like to ride again. And how he tossed back his head and expressed delight in every quiver of his body when I mounted, so I thought I must ride now and then … because of Tomtit.
I had behaved so badly to him on that night. I had left him shivering in the outhouse while I had gone into the forbidden wood. I had forgotten him. That was the worst way to treat an animal.
He bore me no malice. When I first approached him, full of remorse wondering what reception I should get from him, he had shown me so clearly that he had forgotten my carelessness towards him. Malice? There was nothing of that. There was only that fond devotion and the bond between us was as strong as ever.
So I rode out now and then and I used to let Tomtit take me where he would. He never galloped; he rarely cantered; he would walk with me gently and when I was tired I’d bend forward and say to him: “Take me home, Tomtit.” And he would turn from where we were going and we’d take the shortest cut home.
I think my parents would have been anxious if I had gone out with any other horse. They used to say: “She’s safe with Tomtit. He’ll look after her.”
He was a wonderful horse, my dear friend Tomtit.
On that morning as usual I gave him his head and he led me to Enderby Hall, and when we reached there a desire came to me to visit Belle’s grave.
I dismounted, which was an unusual procedure because I did not usually do that until I was back in the stables.
I tethered Tomtit to a stake and I whispered to him: “I won’t forget you this time. I’ll soon be back.”
So I went into what I used to think of as the forbidden wood. How different it was now. The gloom had vanished. Over what must have been Belle’s grave the roses bloomed in the summer.
It was my mother’s private garden now.
Much of the undergrowth had been cut away. It was beautiful—an oasis in the heart of the country. A garden of roses where once there had been gloom.
I stood for a moment thinking of Belle, whose curiosity had brought about her death; dear Belle, she had been beautiful and friendly and good. Her death would have been quick, though, and now I knew why it had happened I could not blame my father.
I turned away and started back to Tomtit, but the temptation to take one look at the house was too much for me. The wind had risen and was taking the last of the leaves off the trees. I liked the wind. It blew away the mists which were so prevalent at this time of the year.
There was the house—gloomier than ever. I thought of the misanthrope who lived in it now. It must be a house which suited his mood.
Then suddenly I was seeing it all again so vividly—Matt there with Carlotta. I felt a wave of pity for myself and I realised my eyes were wet. I took out a handkerchief to wipe my eyes. The wind caught it and carried it along the drive to the house. I ran to retrieve it, and, like a mischievous child playing tricks, just as I was about to pick it up the wind lifted it and carried it along the drive.
Thus I penetrated farther than I should and as at last I picked it up, I heard a growl and a dog came bounding toward me.
He was a large black Newfoundland and he was coming straight for me.
I was trespassing. I remembered, as one does on such occasions, that Abby had said something about a dog who did not like people who pried … and I might be suspected of that. But I knew dogs … all animals in fact. There was a special camaraderie between us which was recognised on both sides.
I murmured: “Good dog … good dog … I’m your friend …”
He hesitated. He looked very fierce. Then he saw the handkerchief in my hand and it seemed as though he thought I might have stolen it for he caught and held it; and as he did so he nipped my hand.
There was blood on the handkerchief.
I did not let go of it. I stood there holding it while he held the other end in his teeth.
“We should be good friends,” I murmured. “You’re a good dog to protect your master’s house.”
I
put out a hand to pat him.
A voice close by cried: “Don’t touch him.” Then: “Here, Daemon. Come here.”
The dog dropped the handkerchief and immediately walked towards the man who appeared.
Smith? I thought. Then I saw that he walked with a limp and I realised that I was in the presence of Jeremy Granthorn himself.
He looked at me with distaste.
“He would have bitten you … severely,” he said. “What are you doing here?”
“I was passing only and my handkerchief fluttered away in the wind. I was trying to get it.”
“Well, you have it now.”
“Yes, thank you.”
I thought: What a disagreeable man. This was not how we behaved in the country. My mother would have called on him; he would have been invited to Eversleigh Court; but it was clear that he wished to be a hermit.
I said: “I am sorry to have intruded. But, you see, it was the wind. Good day.”
He said: “The dog nipped your hand.”
“It is nothing. My own fault, you will say, for coming where I shouldn’t.”
“It should be attended to at once.”
“I have a horse here. I live a very short distance away. At the Dower House. I shall be home very soon.”
“Nevertheless it should be attended to now.”
“Where?”
He waved his hand towards the house.
This was too much to miss. I was being given the opportunity of entering the house, to which, according to Abby and my parents, no one had yet been invited.
“Thank you,” I said.
It was a strange feeling to go into that Hall again.
I said: “You haven’t changed it at all.”
“Why should I?” he said.
“Most people like to imprint their own personalities on their houses.”
“This is just a place where I can live in peace and quiet,” he said.
“You certainly make sure of that. I feel I should not intrude.”
He did not say that I was not intruding as I expected him to. He just said: “Come. Sit down.”
So there I sat in that hall and I looked up to the haunted minstrels’ gallery and I thought it more dreary than it had ever been.
I heard a noise above. “Smith,” called Jeremy Granthorn. “Come here, Smith.”
Smith came and stared at me incredulously. He was as grim as his master and a few years older.
“The young lady has been bitten.”
“Trespassing,” said Smith.
My less than gracious host said, “Get some hot water … and a bandage or something.”
“Bandage?” said Smith.
“Find something.”
I rose. I said with hauteur: “I can see I am giving a great deal of trouble. It was only a nip. It was entirely my own fault, as you imply. I will go home. I shall then do what is necessary.”
“Sit down please,” said Jeremy Granthorn.
I obeyed.
I looked round the Hall and tried to make conversation. “My sister was the owner of this place. It was from her you bought it.”
He did not answer.
“And are you liking the house the neighbourhood?”
“It’s quiet … peaceful… almost always,” he said.
A reproach for my inquisitiveness? Heaven knew I was only asking polite questions.
Smith returned with a bowl of hot water, a cloth and some sort of liniment. There was also a strip of linen which looked as though it had been torn from something.
I put my finger in the bowl. I washed it and he dabbed some of the lotion on the wound.
“This has been tested,” he said. “It’s good for sprains and light cuts.”
He himself bandaged the wound and while he was doing so the dog came up and sniffed at my skirts.
“You haven’t done much harm,” I said to the dog. He put his head on one side and wagged his tail.
I could see that for the first time I had aroused the interest of my host.
“That’s odd,” he said. “He’s quite friendly.”
“He realises that you accept me and that makes me acceptable to him.”
“Good Daemon,” he said in a voice very different from that with which he addressed me.
He patted the dog, who moved nearer.
I reached out a hand and patted it too.
I had clearly impressed Jeremy Granthorn.
“You like dogs …”
“Dogs, all animals … and birds too. I am especially fond of birds.”
“I have never known Daemon to make friends so quickly.”
“I knew that we would be friends. After all it was only a token nip. Very slight … more like a caress.”
He looked at me incredulously.
“He had to do it, didn’t he?” I went on. “He had to show me that it was his duty to protect the place. I was trespassing. I couldn’t explain that I had no wish whatever to call. I was only retrieving my property. But he knew that I meant no harm.”
He was silent for a while.
“There,” he said at length, “I think that will be all right. You’ll have no trouble with it.”
“Thank you.” I rose.
He looked dubious. I think he was wondering whether he should offer me some refreshment. But I was going to let him see that I had no intention of intruding further on such an ungracious host.
“Good-bye.” I extended my hand. He took it and bowed. Then I walked towards the door. He followed, the dog at his heels.
He stood at the door watching me.
I walked slowly and rather painfully to where Tomtit was tethered.
Strangely enough I felt different from the way I had since I had entered that house in the storm.
I felt a wild resentment against this hermit of a man whose manner bordered on rudeness. Certainly he had no social graces.
And yet I felt I had regained something which I had lost when I had come across Carlotta and Matt Pilkington in the red room.
I was very tired when I reached home. My mother was anxious. She was glad to see me ride out and take an interest in Tomtit but I know she fidgeted until I returned. She was afraid I would do too much and have a relapse. The next day I was too tired to go out; but the different feeling persisted. I was interested in the man and his manservant and the dog at Enderby Hall.
It was a week later when I saw him again.
I was riding past the house on my way home when I came upon him walking, the dog at his heels.
I was feeling very tired and I had just whispered “Take me home” to Tomtit and he had set his resolute steps in that direction.
I was about to ride past Jeremy Granthorn when he called, “Good day.”
I pulled up.
I was so tired, I felt near fainting. Tomtit pawed the ground impatiently. I had said “Take me home” and he always knew by a certain note in my voice when I wanted to get there urgently.
“Are you feeling ill?” he asked.
I was about to speak but he had taken the reins from my hands.
“I think you should rest awhile,” he said.
He led the horse towards the house. Tomtit seemed to sense that he was a friend, for gruff as Granthorn was towards his own kind I had recognised in him that great bond between himself and the animals because I had it myself.
He tethered Tomtit to the post by the mounting block at the side of the house and lifted me down. I was surprised at his gentleness.
“I do not want to intrude,” I said. “You hate intruders.”
He did not answer but led me into the hall.
“Smith,” he shouted. “Smith.”
Smith came running.
“The lady is ill,” he said. “I’m taking her into the parlour. Help me.”
They were one on either side of me.
“Thanks,” I said, “but I feel better now … I could go home.”
“Not yet,” said Jeremy Granthorn. “You must take something whic
h will revive you. I have a special wine.” He turned to Smith and whispered something. Smith nodded and disappeared.
I was seated in a chair in the small winter parlour, which I knew from the past. It was one of the pleasantest rooms at Enderby and seemed to have escaped some of the general gloom.
I said: “I should have been all right, you know. My horse would have taken me home. He does it when I’m tired.”
“You are often … like that?” he asked.
“Now and then. But it’s all right. If I’m with Tomtit. He knows. He takes me home.”
“You should not be riding alone.”
“I prefer it,” I said.
Smith had come in with a tray and glasses. He poured out something from a bottle. It was a rich ruby colour.
“A very special wine,” said Jeremy Granthorn. “I think you will like it. And I promise you it will revive you. It is noted for its beneficial qualities.”
Smith went out and left us together.
I sipped the wine. He was right. It was reviving.
“I have been very ill,” I told him. I explained the nature of my illness. “The doctors think I shall always be an invalid. It is only recently that I have taken to going out.”
He listened intently.
“It is depressing to be incapacitated. I am myself to a certain extent. I was wounded at Venloo. I shall never be able to walk properly again.”
I told him that I had been taken ill during a storm and had spent the night out of doors in a state of unconsciousness and that this had brought about a fever which had affected my limbs.
He listened attentively and suddenly I laughed, for it had occurred to me that this morbid subject had given us a certain interest in each other which nothing else could have done.
He asked why I laughed. And I replied that I was suddenly struck with the thought that it was rather funny that illness could be such an absorbing subject.
“Of course it is, to those who suffer it. It is their life.”
“There are other things in the lives of us all, surely?” I said.
I found that I could talk easily. Daemon came in and I was certain that he was pleased that I had become friendly with his master.
I asked how he managed here in this big house with one servant.
He replied that he did not use the whole house. Part of it was shut up.
Song of the Siren Page 32
