Gossamer Cord

by Philippa Carr

  “Kurt’s sister,” he said. “Where’s Kurt? Why didn’t you bring him back?”

  “How was Devon?” I asked.

  “Brilliant,” he said. “But I’d rather have been in Germany. It must have been fun.”

  And so we had arrived home.

  No sooner was I in my room than my parents came to see me. I had expected them. They would want to know more about this young man whom Dorabella seemed to be so involved with.

  I gave them a brief account of what had happened, how we had met Dermot, how he had rescued us when we might have been lost in the forest, and I went on to the attack on the schloss and the reason why we had brought Gretchen with us.

  They were astounded and deeply shocked.

  “Poor Edward,” said my mother. “He seems to be fond of the girl.”

  “It is all rather sudden,” said my father.

  “Well, these things happen,” put in my mother. “Of course, Edward has visited them before and she is Kurt’s sister. Sooner or later he would be thinking of marriage. But what of Dorabella’s affair? She is very young.”

  “We are the same age,” I reminded her.

  “Yes…but she always seems younger. And…she is very impressionable.”

  “It may probably blow over,” suggested my father.

  “Violetta, how does it seem to you?” asked my mother. “You’ve seen her go through these stages before.”

  “I think this is rather more than usual.”

  “Really! And what do you think of the young man?”

  “He’s very pleasant…very charming. He was extremely good at getting us out of the forest.”

  They wanted a more detailed account of that adventure.

  “It seems a very dangerous place,” said my mother, frowning.

  “It seemed idyllic until all that happened. Then it became horrible. But it is what is happening all over Germany.”

  I could see their minds were on Dorabella.

  “We’ll ask the young man here as soon as possible,” said my mother. “Then we’ll see what we think of him.”

  “Perhaps Dorabella has already made up her mind that she is going to marry him,” suggested my father.

  “She has been known to change her mind…”

  At that moment Dorabella herself came bursting in.

  “I knew I’d find you here. Learning all about it, of course, from sensible Violetta. Well, what has she been telling you?”

  “About the adventurous time you had in Germany,” said my father.

  “Oh, it was wonderful…until all that put an end to it. Dermot was marvelous, wasn’t he, Violetta? The way he got us out of that place…and then he rescued us in the forest, you know.”

  “He was the perfect knight,” I said.

  “Actually, he is really rather marvelous. Wait until you two see him.”

  “I suggest we do not wait too long before we do,” said my mother. “We’ll invite him very soon.”

  Dorabella hugged her.

  “You will love him. You really will. I have never met anyone quite like him. He’s the nearest thing to Daddy you can have.”

  My father was greatly touched, but I could see my mother was wondering whether this was just another of Dorabella’s transient enthusiasms.

  Edward took Gretchen to see my grandparents. Their house was as much home to him as ours was, for my mother had only been about sixteen when she took him home and her mother had really brought him up.

  A few weeks after our return Dermot Tregarland visited us. People sometimes seem different against another background and I wondered whether Dermot would. But no, he was the same exuberant, charming person at Caddington as he had been in the Böhmerwald.

  He was interested in the house, which he naturally compared with his own home. There were many similarities, he told us. He wanted us all to pay a visit to Cornwall soon.

  By this time it was mid-September and Dermot stayed with us for two weeks and, I think, during that time my parents decided that he would be a suitable match for their daughter.

  He met people in the neighborhood—the doctor and his family, the rector and his—and although there was as yet no announcement of an engagement, it was taken for granted that he was Dorabella’s fiancé.

  Dorabella was at the height of excitement. She was radiant and her happiness enhanced her beauty.

  In contrast to her exuberance, I felt faintly depressed. I was lusterless beside her. I came to the conclusion that I did not want change. I wanted us to be schoolgirls again. Perhaps I was a little resentful that she needed me less. Someone else had moved closer to her. Dorabella was in love. I was dearly loved by my family, but it was not the same.

  Perhaps I felt envious. Always before, when people noticed her and made much of her, I accepted the fact that I lacked her charm, and I had been pleased that she was so popular. I might be becoming a little tired of being the sensible one…the one who was expected to take responsibility…the one who must be there when needed to help Dorabella.

  It had been my role to look after her, and although sometimes I may have complained, I did not want that changed.

  I often thought back to that moment when Else’s young man had suddenly stood up and begun the riot. I thought that after that nothing would ever be the same again.

  That was nonsense. This would have come in any case. It had had nothing to do with the riot. Dorabella would have met Dermot—and even if she had not met him, it would have been someone else one day.

  But now, because of what had happened, I was aware of evil as I had never been previously. I could not accept life as I had done previously.

  It was arranged that we should pay a visit to Dermot’s house. My mother decided that we would not wait until Christmas, much to my brother’s disgust. He declared that beastly school was going to spoil things for him yet again.

  It was October when we left for Cornwall—my parents, Dorabella, and I. We spent a night in London in what had been my grandparents’ home in Westminster and which was now the home of my uncle Charles. My grandparents were at Marchlands most of the time but came up to London on this occasion to see us. Edward and Gretchen were staying at Marchlands. I wondered whether Gretchen compared Epping Forest with the Böhmerwald.

  “What a nice girl Gretchen is,” said my grandmother. “Don’t you think so, Lucinda?”

  My mother said she did. My uncle Charles and his wife, Sylvia, were very interested in the political situation and as a Member of Parliament, my uncle knew a great deal more about world affairs than we did. He muttered something about not liking the noises that fellow Hitler was making.

  We were all too excited at the prospect of the Cornish visit to pay much attention to that, and the next day we left for Paddington and the West Country.

  It was a long journey across the country through Wiltshire, with its prehistoric sites, to red-soiled Devon where the train ran along the coast; and then across the Tamar and we were in Cornwall. Very soon after that we arrived at our destination.

  Dermot was waiting for us on the platform.

  He and Dorabella greeted each other with rapture; then he welcomed the rest of us. His car was in the station yard.

  He summoned a porter who touched his cap, and he was told to bring the luggage to the car.

  “Yes, Mr. Tregarland, sir,” he said in a Cornish accent. “You be leaving that to me, sir.”

  The luggage was put into the boot of the car and we drove away.

  “It is so good to have you here,” said Dermot.

  My father was seated beside him in the front, my mother with Dorabella and me at the back.

  “It’s good to be here,” said my father. He sniffed appreciatively. “Wonderful air,” he said.

  “Best in the world, we do say, sir,” said Dermot in a fair imitation of the porter’s accent. “You know how people are. Theirs is always best. They delude themselves into believing it.”

  “It is not a bad idea,” said my mother. “It make
s for contentment.”

  “I can’t wait to see the house,” said Dorabella.

  “That is something you will have to do, my dear,” said my mother. “But not for long. How long, Dermot?”

  “It will be for some twenty minutes,” he told her.

  “Everything seems to grow so well here,” said my father.

  “We get lots of rain and very little frost to kill things off. We’re a cosy little corner of the island, in fact. Though our gales can be terrific…very wild. There is something about the place which reminds me of the Böhmerwald, though it is very different. They have their trolls…and Thor, Odin, and the rest, but I can tell you we have our little gang of supernatural beings who have to be placated at times. Piskies…knackers…and specially those who have ‘the powers,’ as we call them. They can do the most frightful things to you merely by looking at you.”

  “You are making us tremble,” said my mother lightly.

  “Don’t worry. Ignore them and they will do the same to you. It is only those who go looking for them who get the unpleasant surprises.”

  “It sounds fascinating,” said Dorabella.

  Dermot took his eyes from the road to smile at her.

  We went through a village with stark gray stone cottages and a plain rather dour-looking building which I took to be a church.

  The trees almost met across the road, making a roof for us to pass under; there was lush foliage growing everywhere; and the luxuriant beauty of the country made up for a lack of architectural elegance.

  Then I saw the sea and black rocks about which the waves broke rhythmically, sending up white spray into the air.

  “Not far now,” said Dermot. “Down there…” He indicated with his head “…is the little town. A fishing village, really—not much more; the river divides it into two, West and East Poldown, joined by an ancient bridge which was built five centuries ago. There are a church and a square…and the quay, of course, and there you’ll see the fishermen mending their nets or bringing in the catch while their boats are bobbing up and down in the water. We don’t have to go down into the town now. Actually, it’s only about half a mile from the house. We can see it from the windows.”

  We were going uphill and came to a high road. And there, ahead of us, was the house itself.

  It looked impressive, perched as it was on the edge of the cliff. It was not unlike Caddington and must have been built around the same time. I thought, Dorabella will be going from one ancient house to another.

  “It’s wonderful,” said Dorabella. “Dermot, you didn’t tell me how beautiful it was.”

  “I’m glad you like it,” he replied. “When I saw your home I thought it was very fine indeed, and I wondered what you would think of this.”

  We were all murmuring our appreciation. I did not say that I thought it had about it an air of menace. I dismissed the thought. It was due to that jaundiced view I was beginning to take of everything since what I had seen at the schloss. Also, it was taking me yet another step away from Dorabella.

  There was a drive up to the gate house; we passed under this and were in a courtyard.

  “Here we are,” said Dermot. “Come along in. Someone will take care of the bags. Oh, there you are, Jack.”

  A man came forward. He touched his cap to us.

  “Take the luggage, Jack. Tess will show you where it goes.”

  “Aye, sir,” said the man.

  We went into a stone-floored hall with a high-vaulted ceiling. As we did so, our footsteps rang out on the floor and I noticed the customary array of weapons on the walls very similar to ours at Caddington, to signify that the family had done its duty to the defense of its country, I had always supposed. There was a similarity about hundreds of such houses all over England.

  A woman was coming down the staircase at the end of the hall. She was dressed in a pale blue cotton gown with white collar and cuffs. I knew who this was before Dermot introduced us, because he had already described the household to us.

  She would be Matilda Lewyth, who had looked after the house since Dermot’s mother had died and he was about five years old. She was, in fact, the housekeeper, but not known as such because she was a distant connection of the family. I gathered that she had fallen on hard times when, as a widow, she had come here with her son, Gordon, to manage the household for Dermot’s father. She had stayed and looked after it to everyone’s satisfaction and had been doing so over the last twenty years. We all knew who Matilda Lewyth was.

  She welcomed us now as our hostess.

  “We are so pleased that you have come,” she said. “Dermot has told us all about you. And this is Miss Denver…”

  “Dorabella,” said Dorabella. “And I know you are Mrs. Lewyth.”

  “And Sir Robert and Lady Denver,” she said, turning to my parents. “And…”

  “Violetta,” I introduced myself.

  “Violetta…Dorabella…what pretty names!”

  We explained about the operas and there was gentle laughter.

  “What a romantic idea! We are so glad you came all this way to see us,” said Mrs. Lewyth. “You will meet Dermot’s father at dinner. He suffers…from gout…and is very often confined to his room. But he is very eager to meet you. We have to be careful with him. He is more than a little infirm. Then there is my son, Gordon. He has grown up here and is deeply concerned in estate business. He runs the place…practically.” She sent a deprecating smile in Dermot’s direction. “He and Dermot between them,” she added quickly.

  She turned to Dorabella. “But I suppose Dermot has told you a great deal about the family.”

  “Oh, yes,” said Dorabella. “He has talked about you all.”

  “And now, you must be tired. It’s a long journey. Would you like to rest before dinner?”

  “Oh, no,” cried Dorabella. “I’m far too excited for that.”

  Mrs. Lewyth smiled indulgently and looked at my parents.

  “We are not really tired,” said my mother. “We’re just longing to meet everybody.”

  “Well then, I’ll have you shown to your rooms and then you can wash…unpack, perhaps, and then come down and have a chat and a drink before dinner.” She looked at her watch. “I’ll have dinner put forward a little, but I’ll make sure there’s time for a chat beforehand.”

  We were taken to our rooms. The house was so large that there was plenty of accommodation and Dorabella and I had a room side by side.

  I stood in the center of mine and surveyed it. My suitcase was already there. It was a large room with a high ceiling; the windows were leaded and the curtains of heavy dark blue velvet. It was not overfurnished; there was a four-poster bed, a heavy ornate wardrobe, a chest on which stood two highly polished candlesticks, a dressing table with a swing-back mirror, two easy chairs and two smaller ones, and a table with a wash-hand basin and ewer. There was not a great deal of light from the leaded windows and it seemed full of shadows; and because one could not but be aware of its antiquity, one could not help wondering how many people had slept here…and what tragedies…and perhaps comedies…had occurred within the seclusion of these walls. I was in a foolish and fanciful mood, and I could trace it all back to that horrific experience in the schloss. I told myself I must get that out of my mind.

  I unpacked my case, washed, put on a dark red dress, and sat before the swing-back mirror to comb my hair. The mirror was about two hundred years old, I guessed, and the glass was slightly mottled. It seemed to distort my face so that the features which looked back at me did not appear entirely to be my own.

  What was the matter with me? I was looking for evil everywhere, I admonished myself. I must forget that scene. But I could not get out of my mind the memory of Else’s lover in that moment when he had risen from his seat and set the riot in motion. There had been what I could only call the look of a predatory animal on his face…mindlessness, unreasoning hatred…in love with cruelty…cold and pitiless.

  Matilda Lewyth seemed to be a kindl
y woman; the house was wonderful…ancient, yes, but so was Caddington, my own home. I did not feel that overpowering aura of the past there; yet it had its histories, its legendary specters as such houses will have, but it was dominated by my loving parents who had completely suppressed such echoes from the past.

  I could not shake off this ridiculous feeling even though I reminded myself continually that it was all due to that unfortunate incident at the schloss.

  There was a tap on my door and, without waiting for me to answer, Dorabella came in.

  She had put on a blue dress and looked very beautiful.

  “Oh, Vee,” she cried, using the shortened version of my name. “Isn’t it exciting!”

  I could only agree that it was.

  A maid came to take us down. She was Myrtle, she told us. She was black-eyed, black-haired with a rather Spanish look. She told us her sister, Tess, worked at the house, too. She spoke with a pronounced Cornish accent, which had a certain melody to it, but was not always easy to understand.

  If we wanted anything, either she or Tess would bring it.

  “All you do have to do is say, Miss,” we were told.

  We thanked her. I noticed her lively eyes examining Dorabella intently while I received only a cursory glance.

  We were taken down some stairs along a corridor and down another set of stairs.

  “This be the punch room,” said Myrtle. “This be where Mrs. Lewyth ’ull be waiting for ’ee.”

  She opened a door and we went in.

  Matilda Lewyth rose and came toward us. I noticed a man sitting in an armchair and guessed him to be Dermot’s father. He seemed rather old. Dermot must have been born late in his life as was sometimes the case. One of his legs was bandaged.

  Dermot came forward smiling.

  “Do come in,” said Mrs. Lewyth. “James…” She turned to the man in the chair. “These are the young ladies.”

  We approached the chair. I thought he must be in his sixties. He had rather penetrating eyes, very lively, very shrewd, and I had a feeling that he was regarding us somewhat mischievously, for his chin moved a little, as though he were finding it difficult to suppress secret laughter.