Darkwood

by Rosemary Smith

A tap on the door interrupted my thoughts and the door opened to reveal a pretty young maid with blonde curls escaping her mop cap. She gave a small curtsey as she placed a tray laden with thinly-sliced bread and butter, a piece of sponge cake accompanied by a pot of tea with a bone china cup and saucer, on the small table next to the armchair.

  ‘Thank you.’ I said, sitting up straighter in the armchair, running my hands gently over the fading pink arms as my grandmother had done. ‘What is your name?’

  ‘Dotty, Miss, I’m not to linger, Miss, as I’m needed in the kitchen to help with dinner.’ She dropped another curtsey, which I found quite endearing as she headed for the door.

  ‘Oh Miss, almost forgot to say, Douglas is bringing your trunks up.’ No sooner had she spoken, there was a tap on the door. Dotty opened it and Douglas, with a young man, carried in one of my trunks and set it behind the door.

  ‘Is it all right there?’ he asked in a gruff voice. I nodded in agreement.

  ‘Then me and young Alfred here will go and fetch the other one, Miss, which I’m bound to say is a good deal lighter than the one we’ve just brought up.’

  Dotty was still holding the door open and the three of them went out with Dotty dropping another curtsey before scuttling out and closing the door behind her.

  I knew why the trunk Douglas had set to one side of the bed was heavier. It contained my trousseau, which Mother and I had spent all year stitching. How I hated sewing! Books appealed far more to me and I picked up the latest English Woman’s Domestic magazine my mother had purchased for me on one of her rare shopping trips. I flicked through the pages with little interest, Dickens and Lord Tennyson being far more to my liking.

  On opening the lid of the trunk, I looked at the contents folded in painstakingly neat piles. Nightdresses, petticoats, silk drawers, chemises, corsets, reception dresses, walking dresses, day dresses, shawls, teacloths, towels and tablecloths, everything a new bride would need for the start of married life. When I thought of all the stitches, embroidery and hours of work which had gone into it all, I felt quite tired and slammed the lid shut on it all abruptly, just as Douglas appeared with the second trunk.

  Pru arrived, dear Pru she always managed to lighten my mood, in no time she’d arranged all my clothes in the wardrobe and drawers.

  ‘Now what are you thinking of wearing this evening, Miss? I think you should look your best.’ As she spoke, her expert hands searched through my many coloured dresses. Almost in triumph she lifted out my favourite violet coloured silk dress, smoothing the skirt and flattening the cream lace collar. ‘Well, Miss Silvia?’ she asked, as she shook the creation causing the silk to shimmer in the light of the oil lamps.

  My lack of interest must have shown. ‘Come now Miss, this matches your eyes perfectly and you know it, you will look a picture.’ For her sake I smiled.

  ‘All right Pru, you’ve convinced me, now I must set to getting ready.’ I conceded.

  ‘Your future husband will not be able to resist you, Miss, and that’s a fact.’ As Pru spoke she smiled broadly at me, but this thought dampened my spirits.

  ‘I don’t wish to think of him,’ I said, far more sharply than I intended, and I laid a hand gently on Pru’s arm.

  ‘You may quite like him when you see him, Silvia,’ Mother’s voice interrupted.

  I looked around to see her standing in the doorway, she’d entered so quietly neither Pru nor I had heard her. ‘Mother I’ve seen him, he came to my room not an hour since.’ My voice was full of indifference.

  ‘Did he indeed, obviously a man full of spirit and strong intention.’ As she spoke, my mother sat herself in Lizzie’s chair. ‘So child, what do you think of Gareth Hunter?’ The was silence for a few seconds. ‘Well answer me, child!’

  My silence obviously irritated her, but I knew not what to answer. What did I really think of this man who was to be my husband after so brief an encounter? As she sat looking at me her face full of expectancy her mouth slightly open, I knew Mother needed an answer.

  ‘Gareth is a handsome man, this I cannot deny.’ The words came out of my mouth slowly and quietly as I continued. ‘He is bold and...’ I searched for the word, ‘and arrogant! There, now you have my answer, please allow me to dress for dinner.’ Mother shuffled back in the chair obviously aware that was all I would say.

  My crinoline hoop was in place as Pru helped me on with my gown. As I looked in the mirror I acknowledge Pru was right. The violet colour of the gown matched my eyes perfectly. Delicate cream lace adorned the high neckline and the elbow-length puffed sleeves. As I sat at the dressing table Pru deftly fashioned my jet black hair. I was ready to face the Hunters.

  Mother had been dozing in the chair, the black skirt of her dress rising and falling with each breath, she suddenly came to and sat up straight.

  ‘Of course, the Reverend George Poulter will be here this evening so Rachel tells me.’ She spoke half stifling a yawn, then stood up on her feet, quite precariously as Pru steadied her with a gentle hand.

  ‘Whatever for?’ Was my sharp-tongued reply.

  ‘Because dear girl, you and Gareth need to set a date for your wedding.’ Mother’s tone matched mine.

  ‘We are surely not going to set the date at the dinner table!’ I was aghast at the very thought of it and looked at Mother with some anxiety.

  ‘It would appear so, Silvia. Now just you remember your manners especially in front of any strangers we may encounter this evening. I want to feel proud of you, for you look quite lovely this evening.’ This was indeed a compliment from Mother and the reply hovering on my lips died as I thanked her if somewhat begrudgingly.

  Walking along the corridor our skirts swishing on the carpets beneath our feet, a sudden thought came to mind. My grandmother’s portrait had at one time hung at the top of the stairs, I’d not noticed it on our arrival earlier, my steps quickened eager to see the face I so loved.

  To my utter disappointment the portrait I longed to see was gone. In its place hung a picture of my grandfather, Samuel. His likeness had been painted standing by a gnarled grey oak, bluebells surrounding his feet and flanked on either side by large spaniel-type brown and white dogs. The portrait had obviously been painted in the latter part of his life for his sparse hair was a steel grey and, as I looked at his face I noted the cruel mouth, half of which curled in a sardonic smile.

  ‘What are you looking so intently at my father’s portrait for?’ Mother’s breathless voice interrupted my train of thought.

  ‘Because I had hoped to see the picture of your mother and was surprised to see my grandfather instead.’ My reply to Mother’s questioning was half-hearted, because looking more intently at the wall I could see the faded wallpaper where Lizzie’s picture had once hung, obviously being far larger than the one of her husband. I turned to my mother, ‘So where has Lizzie’s portrait gone?’ It was a simple question for me to ask, but I was not to gain a simple answer.

  ‘Goodness child, how would I know. Now let us get down to dinner for we are already late.’

  I resolved to locate the missing portrait of my beloved grandmother.

  As we entered the drawing-room which was situated at the front of the house, my first thought was that gone were the mellow warm pink colours that Lizzie loved. In their place were bright blues, the curtains and furniture shrieked with the colour and I suddenly felt cold, even though a fire already burned brightly in the old stone hearth.

  My second thought was that there appeared to be several people in the room all seemingly unfamiliar except for Aunt Rachel, who amidst hushed silence when we entered steered my mother to a settle by the fire. Before I had chance to look around me a hearty, booming voice uttered my name. ‘Silvia!’ And I was drawn by two strong arms into a swift embrace. The gentleman put me at arms length and I could see it was Aunt Rachel’s husband, my Uncle William, age had not altered him a good deal, he was greyer with bright rosy cheeks, which years on Dartmoor had accorded him. I realised now I was older and
how short of stature he was being no taller than myself.

  ‘Why, Uncle William!’ I beamed with some pleasure, recalling all the happy times I’d spent with him as a child, playing hide and seek amongst all the nooks and crannies at Darkwood, rolling brightly coloured marbles along the path at the front of the house, me always winning and doing jigsaw puzzles together in the evenings under the dim light of oil lamps.

  ‘You no longer look the tomboy I remember,’ he observed. His eyes twinkling. ‘What a beautiful young woman you’ve become. A bright light for eyes as old as mine.’

  ‘Oh come, Uncle,’ I bantered, ‘You aren’t that old, just older.’ And we laughed.

  ‘I hear I’m not to give you away at your marriage to my son, Gareth.’ At his words my smile vanished. ‘You are displeased with this forthcoming union?’ my dear uncle queried, his face full of concern.

  ‘Not displeased as such Uncle, more apprehensive.’ I replied in a quiet voice, drawing my hands away from his.

  ‘Let it suffice to say for this evening at least, that I could wish for no more suitable a bride than you for my son.’ Uncle William spoke the words quietly also just as we were interrupted by Jared.

  ‘Come now Father, you’ve spent enough time with our lovely cousin, time for someone else to enjoy the pleasure of her company.’ As Jared spoke he steered me to the window opposite the fireplace where a young man and woman were in quiet conversation.

  As we approached, the young man looked up, his eyes meeting mine, he was tall with short dark hair the front of which fell appealingly across his forehead.

  ‘Silvia, let me introduce you to the Reverend George Poulter, who will be officiating at your marriage to my brother, Gareth.’ As Jared spoke the words I noticed the clerical dress this prepossessing gentleman wore. He offered his hand, ‘It is my pleasure to at last meet you, Miss Harvey, and on such a joyous occasion,’ Mr Poulter enthused.

  The young woman at his side looked on in silence as introductions were made, I fleetingly thought that she looked too young to be his wife for she looked eighteen, and the vicar in his thirties. But I was proved right by his next words.

  ‘Please allow me to introduce my sister, Isabel.’ As he spoke he drew the young woman forward. At this point I caught sight of Gareth out of the corner of my eye. I turned to observe him better, he was in earnest conversation with the most beautiful creature I had ever set eyes upon. She was slim and fair, her skin like polished ivory without a blemish, the pale green of her expensive gown matching perfectly with the green of her sparkling eyes.

  As I started at the two of them, she suddenly threw back her lovely head and laughed. It was the loveliest laugh I had ever heard, like wind chimes tinkling in a summer breeze, but for some strange reason the sound of it stabbed at my heart like a piece of shattered glass.

  3

  ‘Miss Harvey,’ the vicar’s questioning voice drifted across to me and I turned back to face him.

  ‘Apologies, Vicar, you must think me most rude.’ As I spoke I noted that Isabel still hadn’t uttered a word. Her pale face showed no expression and she seemed not to notice her surroundings, the yellow dress she wore was garish and did not compliment her pallid colour or her mousy coloured hair.

  ‘On the contrary, Miss Harvey, I can understand you being distracted by your betrothed, especially as he is talking to such a lovely young woman.’ His eyes twinkled as he spoke, and while the vicar found this entertaining, I most certainly did not. At this moment Jared offered me a glass of sherry which I took willingly, I would like to have drunk it in one go, but sipped it as decorously as I could.

  Looking at Jared, the thought crossed my mind that he would be a far more attentive bridegroom, for Gareth had not even noticed my existence in the room, something I intended to rectify this instant. Swiftly I walked across to him and his beautiful companion.

  ‘Are you going to introduce me to this lovely lady, cousin Gareth, or are you too enamoured to tear yourself away?’ My voice trembled as I spoke.

  After speaking the words I wished I could have retracted them and I knew that Mother would be furious at my manner. Gareth turned to look at me, an unfathomable expression on his handsome face. I noticed how his black jacket and waistcoat showed off the snow white of his ruffled shirt.

  ‘Cousin Silvia, please let me introduce you to a family friend, Miss Estelle Benedict.’ So saying, Gareth clicked his heels together and without so much as an, ‘excuse me’, left me with this lovely creature whose name matched her beauty, and for an instant I thought of the novel, Great Expectations, and idly wondered would Miss Benedict break Gareth’s heart or mine.

  ‘Delighted to meet you at last Miss Harvey.’ Estelle’s voice was as melodic as her laugh. As she spoke she offered a hand which was limp in my grasp. The smile on her face didn’t meet her eyes and knew instinctively that she hated me as much as I hated her. Thankfully we were not destined to engage in conversation that evening.

  Mrs Trigg arrested our attention by informing us that dinner was ready. She was still a tall thin woman, her greying hair scraped severely back off her face which served to accentuate her large nose. As children we’d laughed about this and my mind flew back to Gareth.

  As I looked around I caught sight of him with Aunt Rachel heading for the dining-room. Did he really not care about my existence, for surely, as his betrothed he should have escorted me into dinner. I felt a sense of total frustration at his complete indifference.

  As it happened I walked into the dining-room with a silent Isabel, for her brother had escorted the lovely Estelle.

  As we entered the dining-room, I noticed straight away the walls were blue as in the drawing-room, although the long dining table was beautifully laid with a white damask tablecloth, silver and crystal goblets, the room felt cold and I shivered involuntarily.

  ‘Silvia, Gareth, please sit at this end of the table.’ Uncle William indicated the two seats by him as he was obviously to sit at the head. Aunt Rachel sat next to Gareth and Jared took his seat by me. I found this difficult looking across at my future husband and feeling Jared’s nearness throughout the meal. Surprisingly it was Gareth who first mentioned our wedding date.

  ‘When would you like us to marry, cousin?’ His words drifted across the table and I realised with some hesitation that Gareth had addressed me.

  ‘I have no thoughts on this.’ I replied quietly. ‘Sometime next year would suit me, and yourself perhaps?’ I asked sweetly.

  His reply was unexpected. ‘Indeed not, cousin, I had thought of Easter this year.’ As he spoke he raised one dark eyebrow.

  ‘But that is only four weeks away!’ The alarm in my voice must have shown.

  ‘The sooner the better, cousin. I shall be more than pleased when the deed is done and we can all get on with our lives. Do you agree, Mother?’ he turned to Aunt Rachel.

  ‘Why yes, an Easter wedding sounds delightful.’ She agreed.

  ‘Indeed it will be.’ My mother, who sat next to her sister, responded, Not much time to prepare I will admit, but a lovely time of year none-the-less, and I can return to Exeter sooner rather than later.’

  I looked at the three of them striving to think of some complication. I then realised that Estelle was in deep conversation, the Reverend Poulter quite oblivious to the discussion at this end of the table. While Isabel sat morosely next to the lovely creature, like a moth next to a colourful butterfly.

  Then the thought came to me in a flash, ‘But I have no wedding gown,’ I said in triumph, looking at them all in eager anticipation. But Mother’s words dampened my spirits further.

  ‘No dear, but I’m sure that will be no problem, you have your veil ordered from Honiton, and your head-dress and shoes being made in France, we will just have to inform them that we require an immediate delivery.’

  Mother sat back in her chair, white napkin tucked in the neck of her dress, she was obviously tired and well fed.

  Aunt Rachel turned her attention to me, ‘We have
a very good dressmaker in Tavistock, Silvia, who we will visit tomorrow after lunch. There, does that make you feel more at ease, child?’

  ‘Enough of bridal dresses and flowers, there will be time enough to watch my wife sewing in the evenings, let alone talk of it before the marriage.’ Gareth spoke firmly and then applied his concentration to the cheese on his plate.

  ‘But Silvia hates sewing or embroidery.’ My mother’s voice boomed out, causing everyone to look, ‘She has more love for her novels and poetry than in normal women’s pastimes.’

  At this Gareth raised his eyes and looked at me, ‘Who is your favourite poet, cousin?’ he asked with obvious interest.

  ‘Our Poet Laureate, Alfred Lord Tennyson, our Queen’s favourite also.’ I replied almost shyly.

  Gareth’s next words stunned me somewhat. ‘The Knights come riding two and two, she hath no loyal Knight and true.’

  As he uttered the words, Gareth’s dark eyes locked with my violet ones, it was for only a matter of seconds, but in that short space of time I both admired the fact that he quoted from Tennyson’s Lady Of Shalott, and realised at the same time he was conveying to me the message, ‘you have no Knight in me.’

  He wiped his beautifully-shaped mouth with his napkin which he then placed on the table. ‘So we are agreed, cousin. Easter Saturday, the fifteenth of April it shall be, if this is suitable for you, Reverend?’

  ‘It is indeed, I will call the banns for the next three Sundays. I would like to think you will both attend church.’ Reverend Poulter looked at us both.

  It was the point that I realised that from now on we would be looked upon as a couple. My heart started racing and I felt my cheeks going hot at the thought, that in four weeks’ time I would be sharing my life with a stranger. The men all stood as we ladies retired to the drawing-room, leaving them to their port and masculine conversation.

  In the hall, Mother excused herself and said that she was weary and needed to get to bed, or she wouldn’t enjoy our outing to Tavistock on the morrow.