Gossamer Cord

by Philippa Carr

  Dermot had come to stand between us. He put an arm through mine as he did with Dorabella.

  “Father,” he said. “This is Violetta and this is Dorabella.”

  The old man’s eyes were on Dorabella…assessing her…rather boldly, I thought…appreciatively?

  “My dears,” he said in a very musical voice, “you must forgive my not rising. This accursed gout. It is devilishly incapacitating at times.”

  “It is so kind of you to invite us here,” said Dorabella. “We are really very excited to be here.”

  His eyes were turned on me.

  “Twin sisters,” he said. “That is interesting. You must tell me about yourselves…sometime…”

  Matilda Lewyth came forward.

  “Please sit down and tell me what you would like to drink. Dorabella, you sit there near Mr. Tregarland. Violetta…you here.”

  My parents arrived then.

  “I am glad you sent that nice maid to bring us down,” said my mother. “We should have been lost otherwise.”

  I watched the introductions and Mr. Tregarland’s interest in my parents.

  When we were all seated we were given our drinks, and the conversation was of that conventional nature which is often employed when people meet for the first time. The differences between Hampshire and Cornwall were discussed, the journey, the state of the government, and all the time I was wondering what old Mr. Tregarland and Mrs. Lewyth were really thinking about us; and whether they were as eager to welcome Dorabella into the family as they seemed to imply.

  Then Gordon Lewyth arrived.

  I knew who he was, of course, because Dermot had explained the family to us and had referred more than once to Gordon Lewyth; but I was unprepared for such a man.

  He was dark-haired and tall—being well over six feet—which gave him a commanding appearance. He was also broad-shouldered, which accentuated that certain effect of power.

  Matilda Lewyth rose and cried: “Gordon…my dear.” She went to him and he kissed her lightly on the cheek. “Our visitors,” she added.

  He shook hands with my father and then my mother.

  “These are the twins—Violetta and Dorabella,” said Matilda Lewyth.

  His handshake was firm and strong.

  “We are pleased to see you,” he said. I wondered if it was a little like the royal “we.” Was he a little arrogant? I wondered. I thought he might be. There was a nonchalance about him, which might have been deliberate, as though he were telling us that although he said he was pleased, that was merely for the sake of convention and he was quite indifferent to our presence.

  “Dinner is about to be served,” said Matilda, and I had an idea that we had been waiting for his arrival.

  “Then let us go straight in,” he said.

  I noticed that his attention was on Dorabella. She seemed a little flustered, but pleased, and aware of his attention. I imagined he was not assessing her charms so much as wondering what such an acquisition to the family would mean.

  We went into the dining room. Dorabella was seated between Dermot and his father. Next to me was Gordon Lewyth and on the other side of him my mother.

  I noticed his strong hands. He emanated strength, and I wondered what his position was here. It was true that Matilda Lewyth was treated like a member of the family, but I guessed they might be poor relations. Perhaps a deep consciousness of this fact might account for his determination to assert his importance. It was almost imperceptible, it was true, but it was there.

  And what was his real position in the household? The son of the housekeeper! Yet he seemed to be managing the estate…with Dermot. If one had not known that, one would think that he was the master of the house.

  He talked to my mother and then, dutifully, turned to me. He asked about Caddington and the estate there.

  I said: “I suppose there is a similarity about all estates.”

  He replied that this was possibly so. But in different parts of the country there must be different ways of going about things. There were hazards…and blessings…of certain climates, for instance, and it was amazing how they could vary throughout the country.

  “We have a rainfall which in some ways can be very provoking and in others a blessing. Then there are the strong winds at times along the coast.”

  “The estate is very large, I suppose.”

  “Not compared with some. Perhaps in this part of the world it would be called large. It extends inland. Being near the sea has its handicaps.”

  “Are you very isolated?”

  “Not really. Poldown, the little fishing village—a town in miniature—is not very far away.”

  “You can see it from the windows, I believe.”

  “That’s true.”

  “I’m looking forward to visiting it.”

  “I doubt you will find much of interest there. I suppose you visit London frequently?”

  “Well…occasionally. My uncle has a house in Westminster. When we go to Town we stay there usually. But we are in the country, mainly. My sister and I have only recently left school, so we have been away from home for a lot of the last few years.”

  “I see. Well, you asked if we are isolated and the answer is no. The estate fans out, you understand. Perhaps when it gets inland it might be a little isolated. You could ride some way without meeting anyone. There is an estate which adjoins ours, Jermyn’s.”

  “I see.”

  “We’re not good friends with them. The families never liked each other. It’s some quarrel which goes back for generations. I am not quite sure what it was all about. It was long before my time. However, the Tregarlands and the Jermyns don’t mix.”

  “A sort of Capulet and Montague affair?”

  “It might be that.”

  “That sort of thing is usually the result of something which doesn’t really matter at all. Then the daughter of one house marries the son of the other and all is happy ever after.”

  “I have a vague idea that in this case it may have started something like that. So there would have to be a different sequel.”

  I laughed.

  “So we shall not meet the Jermyns,” I said.

  “I can assure you that they will not be invited here.” He looked at me intently. “So you and your sister are twins,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “There is a slight resemblance.”

  “I think it is quite a strong one, and you say slight.”

  He said: “Yes, I repeat, slight.”

  I immediately thought: He means I am not as attractive as Dorabella and that he probably finds me rather dull.

  I became intent on my food and he turned to my mother.

  There was little conversation which I recalled after that, and when the meal was over we went back to the punch room where coffee was served; and after an hour or so Matilda Lewyth whispered to my mother that we must be tired after our journey and she was sure we should like to retire early.

  My mother said that was a good idea, so the party broke up and we went to our rooms.

  There was a fire in mine, yet the eeriness I had sensed on my arrival had increased. I went to the curtains and drew them back. There was enough moon to show a path of light across the water. I could hear the faint murmuring of the sea as it broke against the rocks below.

  I turned back to the room. I would leave the curtains open. If I did not, I should feel shut in.

  I waited for the door to open, for I guessed Dorabella would come in. I was right.

  She looked beautiful in her blue silk nightdress and negligee, with her hair hanging about her shoulders.

  She stood leaning against the door, smiling.

  “You don’t have to look surprised,” she said. “You knew I’d come. What do you think of all this?”

  “Interesting.”

  “It’s more than that. It’s fascinating…meeting them all.”

  “It must be for you, if you are going to be part of it…mistress of this place. Just think of
it.”

  “It’s a bit like Caddington, isn’t it? Except for the sea…we don’t have that.”

  “Nor the people. What of them?”

  “I say…what do you think of him?”

  “As there were several members of the male sex, which one do you mean?”

  “Gordon Lewyth, of course.”

  “I don’t know him well enough to say.”

  “You are maddening. You are so precise about everything. I mean what was your impression?”

  “I think he wants everyone to know he is not merely the son of the housekeeper.”

  “Well, Matilda Lewyth could hardly be called a housekeeper.”

  “I don’t know enough about them yet. It’s all rather unusual.”

  “Oh, it’s perfectly clear. She came here when Dermot’s mother died. It was a sort of favor. They were members of the family…poor relations, I imagine. I think she is very nice, don’t you? As for him…Gordon, I mean…well, I think he’s interesting. And…” She giggled. “I think he’s rather pleased…about me.”

  “You’re not thinking of transferring your favors, are you?”

  “Don’t be an idiot!”

  “When you are married you will have to settle down, you know.”

  “What’s all this about? I merely said I thought he was rather pleased…and interested.”

  “I suppose anyone would be interested in someone who was going to join their family.”

  She looked at me in exasperation, and I felt vaguely perturbed. She had fallen in love with Dermot at great speed. I wondered whether she could fall out of love as quickly. This was absurd. She had always been susceptible to admiration—and she would naturally assume that Gordon Lewyth’s interest was admiration.

  She said: “I think the father liked me, too. He told me it would be a pleasure to have a pretty young girl about the place.”

  “So you have made a good impression on your future in-laws.”

  “I think so. Dermot wants to get married in the spring. Do you think that would be a good idea?”

  “It seems rather soon. Has it occurred to you that this time last year you did not know him?”

  “What’s that got to do with it?”

  “Something, I should imagine. After all, you want to know quite a lot about people with whom you propose to spend the rest of your life.”

  “Dermot and I know a good deal about each other.”

  “And he still wants to marry you?” I retorted in mock surprise.

  “Don’t tease! I think we are going to have an exciting time here. I was dreading it in a way. I did not think it would be like this. They have welcomed me so wonderfully…Matilda…and…Dermot’s father.”

  “And Gordon Lewyth,” I said.

  She frowned slightly. “I’m not altogether sure about him. He is not easy to know. I think he is very interested, but…”

  I laughed at her. I said: “If Dermot’s father approves, that’s all that matters really. And as for Matilda…she likes you. I suppose she will continue to run the house and frankly, I can’t see you wanting to do that. I’m sure she can’t, either, and that will surely please her.”

  She laughed.

  “It is wonderful. I am sure about this, Vee…I really am. Particularly now I’ve seen it all.”

  “Well, then, everything should be all right. So…should we say goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, Twinnie.”

  I smiled. It was the name she used for me when she was in some quandary from which she wanted me to extricate her. Now it was meant to be a reminder of the closeness between us, but I did wonder if she was quite as contented—and as certain—as she wanted me to believe.

  When she had gone I undressed and got into bed.

  I lay for a long time listening to the gentle swishing of the waves below and wondering what the future would be. She would marry and come here and we should be apart for the first time in our lives.

  The days were full of interest. Dermot and Dorabella were together a great deal and he liked to take her riding, or they would go off in the car. He seemed very proud of her and he wanted to introduce her to some of the tenants and people in the neighborhood. She was enjoying it all immensely. My mother was very interested in the running of the house and my father in the estate, and consequently he had formed a friendship with Gordon, which was natural as they shared an enthusiasm.

  That left myself who was interested in them all as people but shared no special enthusiasms with any of them.

  My mother, of course, always drew me into whatever she was doing, and when Matilda Lewyth said she was eager to show her the house, she insisted that I would be interested to accompany them on a tour of it.

  My father had gone off with Gordon to see some new contraption which was being put into one of the barns on the home farm, and Dorabella was with Dermot—so there were just the three of us.

  Matilda was very knowledgeable about the house and she showed a great love for it. My mother said afterwards that she seemed to care about it more than James Tregarland did, or Dermot, for that matter, who would one day own it.

  “I find these old places quite fascinating,” said Matilda. “It is amazing how they have stood up to attacks in the wars, and then there are the hazards of the weather. Mind you, they have taken their toll. After the gales there is usually something wrong…roofs of the farm buildings and so on…fences blown down…and all that.”

  “How far off is the home farm?” asked my mother.

  “About half a mile. It’s close to Jermyn Priory…that’s the Jermyns’ place.”

  “The enemy,” I said.

  She laughed. “Oh, you’ve heard then.”

  My mother wanted to know what we were talking about.

  “There’s a feud between the two families,” Matilda explained. “It’s been going on for years. We’re not sure what it’s about. The details are lost in the past, but somehow it remains.”

  “And they live nearby?”

  “The estates border on each other.”

  “That’s very close.”

  “Not really. Jermyns is vast…bigger than this, and we are by no means small. We rarely see them.”

  “And if you do,” I said, “I suppose you behave as though you don’t.”

  “We might give a nod of recognition, but no more. I never heard what it was all about. It goes back far into the past.”

  “You’d think it would be forgotten.”

  “We Cornish keep these things going. We stick to the old ways and traditions. You English are inclined to let such things slide away. We don’t.”

  “You mean you bear grudges?” I asked.

  My mother looked at me sharply. I was noted for speaking my mind.

  “Well,” said Matilda, “I suppose that sort of thing becomes a habit.”

  “I wonder what it was all about,” said my mother.

  Matilda lifted her shoulders and the matter was dropped as we examined the house.

  “The main building is Elizabethan,” said Matilda. “But the west wing was added after the Restoration and the east after that…so it is a bit of a hotchpotch of periods.”

  “Which makes it more interesting,” I said, and my mother agreed.

  We first went to the great hall, which was one of the oldest parts of the house. It must have looked much the same when it was built. On its stone walls hung weapons from the past, perhaps to warn any intruders that this was a warlike family accustomed to defending itself. There was a long table.

  “Cromwellian,” said Matilda, “and the chairs date from the reign of Charles II. The family were fiercely Royalist so that they had a bad time during the Protectorate, but all was well with the return of the King.”

  Leading from the hall was the chapel. It was small with an altar, pulpit, and a row of pews. There was an atmosphere of chill in the place. I looked up at the waggon roof with its stone corbels, and then at the carved angels who appeared to be supporting the pulpit. I could imagine the fam
ily’s gathering here in times of tribulation—and rejoicing, too. A great deal would have happened in this chapel.

  “It is not used a great deal now,” said Matilda. “James—Dermot’s father—says that when he was young there were prayers every morning and all the servants had to attend. He laughs and says he always declared that when he came into possession people should be left to look after their own souls without any help from the Tregarlands. James can be a little irreverent at times.” She was smiling indulgently.

  We mounted the main staircase and were in the long gallery. Here were pictures of Tregarlands, which must have been painted over the last three hundred years. I recognized James Tregarland. I could detect that mischievous look in his eyes which I had noticed at our first meeting.

  Matilda stood looking at him rather sadly.

  “He has always lived very well,” she said. “He was one to enjoy life. He married late in life. She was quite young…his wife, I mean. She was delicate, though. She died when Dermot was very young.”

  “And he didn’t marry again.”

  She gazed at the picture. I could not understand the expression in her eyes.

  She shook her head firmly. “It would have been the best thing,” she said. “The right thing…”

  “Well,” said my mother. “It has all worked out very well. You look after them beautifully.”

  “I do my best. If we take this staircase we come to the upper rooms.”

  There were several bedrooms—one in which Charles I slept during the Civil War.

  It was an interesting morning.

  Our visit, which was to be of a week’s duration, was nearly over. During the day a strong wind blew up and by the evening it had become a gale.

  We had heard them speak of the ferocity of the gales and during the morning my mother and I had gone into Poldown.

  It was a charming place with the small river cutting the little town in half, so there were East and West Poldown.

  In the harbor the fishing boats were tethered; they were bobbing up and down because of the rising wind. The Saucy Jane, The Mary Ann, The Beatrice, and Wonder Girl.

  “Why,” I asked my mother, “are boats feminine?”