Gossamer Cord

by Philippa Carr

  “And what about Matilda?”

  “Well, I suppose, now I am the mistress of the house. Matilda, after all, is only a glorified housekeeper.”

  “Don’t let her hear you say that.”

  “It is for your ears alone.”

  The result of this was that Jowan and his grandmother were invited to lunch.

  As we had guessed, old Mr. Tregarland had no objection and enjoyed the meeting tremendously, as I am sure Jowan’s grandmother did. I think they relished the behavior of the servants and I imagined the news would travel fast. The Jermyns were making friends with the Tregarlands, and it was all due to the second Mrs. Tregarland and her sister!

  It was a very pleasant lunch.

  The days were passing quickly. Mary Grace had returned to London, taking with her the finished picture of Dorabella which was to be fitted into the frame. My mother would bring it with her when she came for Christmas.

  Then Christmas came. My parents joined us and we were all very merry.

  There was the ceremony of bringing in the log and what they called the “wassailing,” when the head of the family stood by a bowl of spiced wine from which he drank before passing it round so that everyone might have a sip. It seemed a rather unhealthy procedure, but we were told that it had been done since Saxon days and it was considered unlucky not to cling to the old ways.

  Carol singers came; they were invited into the hall to partake of wine and cakes. Then there were the guise dances, when the young dressed up in any costumes they could find—the girls mostly as boys and the boys as girls; those who had no costumes just blacked their faces and danced through the lanes and into the courtyard.

  Jowan knew a great many more old customs and said some of them went back to pre-Christian days and most people nowadays had forgotten them.

  It always meant that when the dancers and the carol singers arrived at the big houses they must be invited in and given food and drink. It was all part of the Christmas spirit.

  On Boxing Day we were invited to the Jermyns. It was a buffet supper and there would be dancing. Dermot, Dorabella, and I went. It was amusing and there were people there whom we had never seen before.

  There were two whom Jowan had met when he was traveling on the Continent: Hans Fleisch, a young German, and a Frenchman, Jacques Dubois. They were painters who had found inspiration in the wild Cornish coast and were staying at an inn nearby.

  They were lively and amusing, and they clearly thought Dorabella charming and paid considerable attention to her, which delighted her.

  It was a pleasant evening and confirmed once again that all the nonsense about feuds was at an end.

  I was sorry that I should be going home soon, but I had been away for a long time.

  My mother said I really must come home. Dorabella was her old self now. She was contented, and she had her own life to lead.

  I felt uncertain. I had become more friendly with Jowan Jermyn and was seeing him in a new light; but I could not escape from the feelings of uneasiness which overcame me at Tregarland’s.

  I remembered our trip to London; the fun we had had and how gratified I had been to discover Mary Grace’s talent. It seemed like a different world; and if I enjoyed being with Jowan, I had had a very good time with the Dorringtons.

  Perhaps it would be pleasant to return to Caddington for a while. I would leave with my parents.

  In the town people seemed to take a special interest in me. They would know, of course, about the changed relationship between the Jermyns and the Tregarlands. I wanted to escape from the gossip. It would be pleasant to go to London where one was a private person and no one had the faintest idea what was happening in one’s life.

  Seth was very broody at this time. He seemed to be more concerned about the friendship between Jermyns and Tregarlands than anyone—but perhaps he showed it more.

  One day I spoke to him about it. When I had gone to the stables he regarded me with melancholy eyes.

  “Seth,” I said. “Why do you look like that?”

  “It won’t do no good, Miss. It won’t…”

  “What, Seth?” I asked.

  “Meeting with ’em.”

  “Meeting with whom?”

  He waved his hand upwards. “They’m angry. That’s what they be. They won’t let ’ee forget. ’Twas you, Miss, after all, as started it.”

  I laughed. “Don’t worry about it, Seth. It’s of no account.”

  “It’ll be of account to ’ee, that it will. You mark my words.”

  “Never mind, Seth,” I said. “Now…I want to take Starlight for a farewell ride.”

  As the time for our departure grew near, Dorabella became really sad.

  She said: “You’ve been here so long now, it seems as though you are part of the place. It’s going to be very lonely when you have gone.”

  “But you have Dermot and Tristan.”

  “I’ll miss you. It is different with us. We are like one person. We’ve always been together until now. Why can’t you stay?”

  “When Dermot married you, he didn’t want your family around all the time.”

  “But I want you.” Her face was petulantly puckered and I was touched because she looked as she had so many times during our childhood.

  She went on: “Isn’t it exciting enough here? You want to go to London, don’t you? It’s more interesting there.”

  “We have promised to go and stay with Edward and Gretchen. There’ll be the baby that is coming and the new house. You know how Mummy feels about that. Edward is like a son to her.”

  “I don’t want you to go.”

  My mother came in at that moment.

  “Have you packed yet?” she asked me. “Why, Dorabella, what’s the matter?”

  “I don’t want you to go.”

  “Why! We’ll be back in the spring. Perhaps you can come to us. I am sure Nanny Crabtree will allow Tristan to travel soon.”

  Dorabella said nothing more about our traveling, but when we left she clung to me rather desperately.

  While we were traveling home in the carriage my mother, who was staring thoughtfully out of the window, said suddenly: “I hope Dorabella hasn’t made a mistake.”

  “What?” said my father, coming sharply out of a half doze.

  “She seemed so upset about our going, particularly at losing Violetta.”

  “Well,” said my father, “they have always been together so much. She’s all right.”

  “I wouldn’t like to think…” mused my mother.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Oh, nothing. She’s all right. She wants Dermot, the baby, and you as well. That’s just like Dorabella.”

  I felt a certain relief to be home. Everything seemed normal.

  There was quite a different atmosphere from that of Cornwall.

  Memories of Mrs. Pardell came back to me—her resentments, her suspicions; then old Mr. Tregarland, whom I could not understand; Gordon Lewyth, who had seemed like a different person when we were on the cliffs together, though he had gradually reverted to the aloof man I had first known; then there was Seth with his vague and inarticulate warnings. He was half crazy, I told myself, but I was vaguely disturbed by him.

  One night I dreamed I had been walking along the beach when a figure had risen from the waves and beckoned. I awoke in a fright and was relieved to find that I was in my bedroom in dear, normal, old Caddington, the home of my childhood, where everything was prosaically reasonable.

  In February my mother and I went to stay with Edward and Gretchen. The house was looking more lived in now. The new baby was expected in April and my mother said we should be there for the great event. Gretchen could become quite excited discussing the baby, but I knew she was still very anxious about her family.

  Of course, we were invited to the Dorringtons. Mary Grace and Mrs. Dorrington were delighted to see us. It was afternoon when we called and Richard was not at home.

  “He will be so pleased to hear you have arri
ved,” we were told. “Edward did tell him you were coming. You must come and dine. What about tomorrow night?”

  My mother promptly accepted the invitation.

  In my room I took out the miniature of Dorabella which I had brought with me. I set it on the table by my bed and remembered my mother’s words when she had spoken of her misgivings. I had begun to wonder, too. We must remember that Dorabella often acted and spoke on impulse. She often gave more stress to her utterances than they deserved. She was lonely, she had said. That was because she liked to have us all around; my adventures with Jowan Jermyn provided a certain interest and amusement.

  I studied the miniature. Mary Grace had caught Dorabella’s personality quite uncannily. Dear Dorabella. I hoped she was going to be happy. I remembered the joy in her face when she had seen my picture. She kept it in her bedroom, she said, but when I was not there she put it away because she did not want to look at it and miss me more. Though, she said, she did take it out at times to talk to it. I would understand her feelings because we always had understood each other.

  I wondered whether I should have insisted on staying. But my mother was right, of course. She was sure it would be better for Dorabella to stand on her own feet now that she was married. As for myself, I should be seeing friends and enjoying visits to London. I must not be shut away in a remote part of the country.

  “There in Cornwall,” she said, “you are not aware of what is happening in the world. They seem so shut away. They are more concerned with ghosts and shadows, superstitions and such things…remote from what is really going on in the world.”

  “You mean the speculation about what is going on in Germany?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “I think Gretchen and Edward think about that a great deal.”

  “Well, they would. Poor girl. She must suffer great anxiety about her parents. It’s not good for the baby. Thank God Edward was able to bring her out, at least.”

  “She is safe now.”

  “She has a husband to protect her, but that won’t stop her worrying about her family. Kurt is such a nice young man. I think he came over to see them just before Christmas.”

  “It was a pity they could not go there.”

  “I don’t think Edward would want Gretchen to go to Germany just yet.”

  “Perhaps it will all blow over.”

  “These things often do.”

  There was no mistaking Richard Dorrington’s pleasure in seeing us. He took my hands and held them firmly.

  “I’ve been wondering when you would come,” he said.

  “We have been away, of course.”

  “Yes, in Cornwall. I hope your sister is well. Mary Grace told us a good deal about the place when she came home after that lovely holiday you gave her.”

  “It was lovely to have her, and Dorabella was very pleased with her picture.”

  “Dear Mary Grace! You have brought her out, I can tell you. We are all so grateful to you, my mother and I as much as Mary Grace.”

  “She could really be a great artist.”

  “She is very diffident. She says miniatures are not much in fashion now.”

  “She must make them a fashion. She can, with a talent like hers, I am sure.”

  “You see how good it is for us all to have you back.”

  Over the dinner table at the Dorringtons it was impossible to keep the subject of Germany out of the conversation.

  There were four other guests—a lawyer and his wife and a doctor and his.

  As we had come through the streets to the house, we could not help but see the placards, and the newsboys were shouting: “Standard, News…Read all about it.” “Hitler meets Austrian Chancellor.” “Schuschnigg at Berchtesgaden.”

  “What does it mean?” asked my mother as our taxi took us to the Dorringtons.

  Edward said: “I don’t know. But I don’t like the sound of it.”

  He took Gretchen’s hand and held it for a moment. I wished we had not seen those placards.

  As we sat at dinner the doctor said: “It looks as though Hitler is planning to take over Austria.”

  “He couldn’t do that,” said Edward.

  “We shall see,” replied the doctor.

  I wished they would stop talking of the situation, but naturally it was a subject which was uppermost in people’s minds at this time. The papers were full of it, and many were waiting with great interest to hear the result of the meeting between Hitler and Kurt von Schuschnigg.

  The lawyer said: “We should have been firm long ago. Hitler and Mussolini are hand in glove. Dictators, both of them. No one can stop them, not among their own people anyway. It’s impossible to curb dictators except by deposing them, and it would be a brave man who tried to shake those two. In my opinion, Hitler is bent on conquest. He wants an empire and he is going to do everything he can to get it. He has got rid of Schacht who has tried to call a halt to the excessive storing up of armaments because it is crippling the economy. Blomberg and Fritsch and others have gone because they were professional soldiers who advised caution.”

  “And where is it all leading?” asked Richard.

  “I think a great deal depends on the outcome of this meeting. Schuschnigg is no weakling. He won’t allow Hitler to walk over him.”

  “We shall know in due course,” said Richard.

  I managed to catch his eyes and looked toward Gretchen. He understood. As for her, she had turned rather pale and was staring down at her plate.

  “Now tell me,” went on Richard immediately, “what are you planning to do while you are in London?”

  “So much,” I replied, “that I am sure we shall not succeed in doing it all.”

  “There is a remedy,” he said. “Stay longer.”

  While the men lingered over the port, I had a chance to talk to Gretchen in the drawing room.

  “You must be very excited about the baby,” I said.

  “Oh, yes.”

  I laid my hand on her arm and said gently: “Don’t worry, Gretchen.”

  “I think of them,” she said quietly. “Hitler is getting more powerful every day. I don’t know what he will do next to our people.”

  “Have your family been…?”

  She shook her head. “Not yet…but they must expect…”

  “They should get out, Gretchen.”

  “They won’t leave. I have written to them. So has Edward. Edward says, ‘Come over here. We’ll manage somehow.’ But they won’t. They are so stubborn…so proud. It is their home, they say, and they are not going to be driven out of it.”

  “What are they going to do?”

  “They will stay as long as they can.”

  “How glad I am that you are here!”

  “Edward did that. It is wonderful for me, but I think much of my home and family.”

  “Dear Gretchen, let us hope that some day it will be different. I am so pleased that Edward brought you out, and now there is the baby. My mother is delighted. She wants to be here for the birth. Did you know that?”

  She nodded and I was glad to see her smile.

  “When the baby comes…you will feel better.”

  She looked at me and smiled rather sadly and I wished there was something I could do to comfort her.

  My mother and I spoke of the evening over breakfast next morning.

  “I wish that people would not talk all the time about what is happening in Germany,” I said.

  “It is certainly the topic of the moment and it is, of course, very important.”

  “I know, but the papers are full of it and it does so much upset Gretchen.”

  “She can’t help wondering what is happening in her old home. I do hope everything is going to be all right.”

  “She’ll be better, perhaps, when she gets the baby. She won’t have much time then to think of much else.”

  She was certainly cheered when we went shopping together. There was a great deal of discussion about prams and cradles.

 
Edward was delighted that we were there, and when I saw him with Gretchen it occurred to me that there did not appear to be the same unwavering devotion between Dermot and Dorabella. But then Edward and Gretchen were earnest people. Both Dorabella and Dermot were light-hearted and perhaps did not betray the depth of their emotions as Edward and Gretchen did.

  Mary Grace and I went to see an exhibition of paintings which was interesting. The lawyer and his wife came and had a drink with us and I showed them Mary Grace’s portrait of Dorabella, which I had brought with me. When the lawyer’s wife admired it enthusiastically, I suggested she herself would make a good subject.

  I was delighted to have secured a commission for Mary Grace.

  I had an idea that the lawyer’s wife lived a fairly busy social life and I was sure that when the miniature was completed, if she were satisfied with it, she would show it to her friends. I should be surprised if at least one other commission did not come out of it.

  Knowing my mother’s fondness for the opera, Richard took us all to see Rigoletto, which was an evening of sheer enchantment. We had supper afterwards and talked animatedly about the setting and costumes as well as the wonderful music. I laughingly said I might have been Gilda instead of Violetta.

  “Violetta is much more charming,” said Richard, “and it is better to have a namesake dying gracefully in her bed taking her top notes with ease rather than lying in a sack.”

  There was a great deal of laughter, but the evening was marred slightly by the news which greeted us when we were on the way back to the house.

  Hitler had forced Schuschnigg to sign an agreement before he left Berchtesgaden giving the Austrian Nazis a free hand.

  A few days later Richard invited me to dinner. There were to be just the two of us.

  It was strange because usually we went in a party. There was a reason, of course, and my mother knew what it meant.

  Richard took me to a quiet little restaurant near Leicester Square. We had a table which was fairly secluded and after we had ordered and the food had arrived he said: “It has been wonderful to have you here.”

  “We have thoroughly enjoyed it.”

  “My mother was saying that Mary Grace has changed a good deal and it is all due to you.”

  “Someone would have discovered her talent sooner or later.”