Master of Falcon's Head

by Anne Mather

  ‘No, I’m afraid not. However, I wish you luck. I just wonder what caused her to choose you.’

  ‘I - I suppose because I’m a fresh face,’ said Tamar awkwardly.

  ‘A face Ross would willingly forget,’ muttered Father Donahue harshly.

  Tamar was aghast, ‘Why? Why?’

  ‘Don’t you know?’

  ‘If I did I wouldn’t be asking.’ Tamar rose abruptly from the table. ‘Why does everybody treat me like a mind-reader? How should I know why I’m the last person Bridget Falcon should ask? Ross hates me, I can see that, but I don’t know why he should. I should hate him!’

  Father Donahue frowned. ‘Now why should you do that? Sure, and haven’t you got everything you ever wished for? Success, a career, a man of gentleness and consideration to be your husband? Oh, yes, he told me you were going to marry him.’

  Tamar swung round. ‘Is that why you think I left Falcon’s Wherry? To further my career?’

  Father Donahue shrugged. ‘It’s common knowledge that your father was a bit of an artist himself. When he came back for you, you didn’t have to go unless you wanted to.’

  Tamar gasped. ‘Sure and what would I have done?’ she asked, adopting a deliberate brogue in her annoyance.

  Father Donahue shrugged. ‘People thought that you - and Ross—’

  Tamar felt the blood draining out of her cheeks. ‘Oh, yes, me and Ross!’ she muttered.’ Or rather Ross and - Virginia!’

  ‘Ross never loved Virginia!’ said Father Donahue heavily.

  Tamar glared at him angrily, forgetting for a

  moment who he was. ‘Then he shouldn’t have married her, Father. Or rather — put himself into the position where he could hardly refuse!’

  Father Donahue twisted his hands restlessly, and Tamar felt an awful sense of shame. This was not the priest’s problem, and she was venting her own sickness on him.

  ‘I’m sorry, Father,’ she said tautly, as there was a knock at the door.

  Immediately she stiffened. But it was only Patrick O’Hara, come to see about the cutting of the grass in the graveyard adjoining the church.

  Tamar collected her anorak and went out through the door, into the warm air of a spring day.. It was the warmest day there had been, and unwillingly a sense of well-being overtook her disturbed emotions.

  She left the grounds of the presbytery, taking the road to the harbour, smiling and speaking to passers-by that she met. The sea was a clear translucent blue, and the sky had only wisps of clouds to mar its beauty.

  She took the winding track that led to the old cottage, and paused before it, wondering whether things would have been much different had her grandfather lived, and the solicitors never having to contact her father. Would he have come back? She doubted it. In the few months she had known Trevor Sheridan she had realized he had little thought for anyone but himself, and only her talent had given her any appeal for him. Once, when she had been feeling particularly miserable, she had thought that perhaps his reasons for bringing her to England at all, had not been fatherly ones, but rather an attempt to cash in on the merit he had recognized, something he had always striven for but never possessed. She had cast such thoughts aside as being ungrateful, but he had given her no love or affection, and their relationship had ever been a hollow one. Only Emma had ever seemed to care for her, and at the thought of Emma, she felt a sense of homesickness, for her apartment, and London, and the things she had grown used to.

  Maybe she was on the mend, she thought hopefully. Maybe the spell that Falcon’s Wherry had been casting upon her was breaking a little.

  Then she saw Lucy, and knew she was merely fooling herself.

  The child was sitting on the wall to one side of the cottage, chewing a straw, and gazing silently out to sea, where a small dinghy floated on the tide. Tamar stared at the dinghy, too. It was Ross’s boat.

  Then she walked towards Lucy, slowly, so as not to startle her.

  As though aware of her presence, the child glanced round, and a smile gave added charm to her features.

  ‘Hello,’ said Tamar, seating herself beside her. They were dressed alike, both in pants and anoraks, and the child noticed this, and gesticulated the fact. Tamar nodded, and Lucy gave another grin and jumped off the wall..

  Tamar rose, and Lucy took her hand, drawing her after, her, pointing ahead towards the steep climb to Falcon’s Head. Tamar hesitated. She had told Father Donahue she intended going to the big house, but somehow she was afraid of the emotions visits here aroused in her, disturbing the almost placid tenor of her life.

  Still, Lucy was not to be argued with, and Tamar was loath to destroy the tenuous thread of friendship which had sprung up between them. However, Lucy, after following the path for some way, turned aside from the track and led the way round the cliff, over rocky promontories, to where the stone steps led down to the beach. Tamar glanced out to sea. The dinghy seemed unmanned, but she couldn’t be sure, and obviously that was where Lucy was talking her.

  She wanted to draw back, she wanted to return to the presbytery, but these were only transitory feelings, brought about as much by a sense of guilt towards Ben as anything, for her whole being longed to follow the instincts of her heart and enjoy the well-being of a day in the sunshine.

  So she allowed Lucy to lead her down the steps and on to the firm sand of the beach. She was only wearing sandals, so she took them off, allowing the damp sand to cover her toes. Lucy followed her example, grinning constantly. Tamar could quite see that despite her handicap she could be a charming companion.

  They walked across the narrow patch of sand, sheltered by the overhanging cliffs, and the rocks that curved into a natural basin. Tamar half wished she had brought a bathing suit with her. Certainly it was warm enough to bathe today.

  Lucy shed her anorak, pointing out to sea at the dinghy. Tamar mouthed: ‘Your father?’ but Lucy didn’t seem to understand that. Instead, she said: ‘Da!’ in a guttural attempt at speech.

  Tamar was impressed. That Lucy should attempt to say anything when no real attempt to educate her had been made was an indication of how she would react to real treatment.

  Now Tamar could see the dinghy was hauled on to the beach, and Ross was bending over it, adjusting the sail. Until then, rocks had hidden him from view, but now he looked up and saw them.

  ‘I told you to stay on the cliff,’ he said, looking at Lucy, and giving Tamar merely a cursory glance.

  Lucy seemed to react to his expression, for she looked a little pleadingly at him, appealing to his good nature. Tamar removed her own anorak, and said, as casually as possible:

  ‘Lucy brought me down here. I didn’t realize you were here.’

  Ross straightened. ‘Surely it’s me you need to see, isn’t it?’

  Tamar sighed. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, hasn’t my dear mother asked you to persuade me to send Lucy to school?’

  Tamar flushed. ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Isn’t it the truth?’ He gave an impatient exclamation. ‘Oh, go away, Tamar. You bore me!’

  Tamar compressed her lips; then without another word she turned and walked hurriedly back to the steps. She was unaware that Lucy had run after her, until the child caught her anorak, tugging it urgently.

  ‘No, Lucy,’ said Tamar, looking round. Then she shook her head to illustrate her words. ‘No.’

  Lucy seemed to understand, and stood staring at her unhappily, almost on the verge of tears.

  Tamar couldn’t look at her without feeling the pull of her heartstrings, and she turned abruptly and ran up the steps until she was breathless, and had to stop to regain her composure. She looked back as she panted half-way up the staircase, and from this height she could see the dinghy, and Ross, and Lucy. Lucy seemed to be crying, and Ross was down on his haunches, comforting her.

  Tamar couldn’t continue looking at them, and mounted the rest of the flight more slowly. At the top, she walked across the lawns to the house.
At least she could see Mrs. Falcon and tell her any more attempts would be equally futile. Ross wanted nothing from her but revenge.

  But when she was admitted to the house the first person she saw was Steven, and with him was a very attractive girl, who she realized must be his wife, Shelagh.

  ‘Why, Tamar,’ he exclaimed, ‘this is a surprise! Have you come to see Mother?’

  Tamar nodded, still not quite in control of herself,

  and as though becoming aware of Shelagh, Steven introduced them. Tamar liked the look of Steven’s wife, and Shelagh seemed to like her from the friendly way she welcomed her. Maybe she is lonely, thought Tamar. Without children and work, what else was there? The love of a husband, said a small voice inside her, but somehow she couldn’t ever see herself being content with only Ben’s company.

  Shelagh invited her to take coffee in the lounge, while Steven went to tell his mother that Tamar had arrived, and in the wide comfortable room overlooking the bay, the two girls got to know one another.

  ‘It’s a beautiful view,’ said Tamar, sitting on the window seat, and noticing bleakly that although the dinghy had been moored to the rocks, Ross and Lucy were nowhere to be seen.

  Shelagh sighed. ‘Yes, it is beautiful. But - well, I could wish we had a home of our own. This place will never be that.’

  Tamar frowned. ‘Doesn’t Steven want to leave, is that it?’

  ‘He seems quite content to live here. If we’d had children, it would have been different. Then we would have to have a place of our own.’

  Tamar nodded. ‘Have you thought of adopting a child?’

  ‘I have, but Steven won’t consider it. I think he can’t see himself bringing up someone else’s child. It seems so unfair. Virginia never wanted a child, and yet she got one. While I ...’

  Tamar felt a sense of compassion. Shelagh would have made a wonderful mother. She had that warmth, that gentleness, necessary to put a child at its ease.

  ‘Do you spend much time with Lucy?’ she asked.

  Shelagh shrugged. ‘Sometimes. Steven has no time for Lucy, and - well, he doesn’t encourage me to take her out with us.’

  Tamar thought Steven sounded a thoroughly selfish young man, particularly after his remarks to her that day she arrived. It was as though he was blaming Shelagh for their not having children, when it could as easily be his fault.

  Then Mrs. Falcon arrived, and conversation became general, until Steven left to go out on the estate, and Shelagh excused herself with the mention of having some sewing to do.

  After they had gone, Mrs. Falcon said: ‘You’ve seen Ross again?’

  ‘Yes. Look, it’s no good. He just won’t listen to me - to anyone, from what Father Donahue says.’

  Mrs. Falcon frowned broodingly. Then she looked up, her grey eyes piercing. ‘They tell me your young man has arrived - from England.’

  Tamar nodded. ‘Yes. Ben Hastings. He’s brought his sister with him.’

  ‘Why has he come?’

  ‘To take me back.’

  ‘But you’ll not go?’

  ‘Why? There’s no point in my staying in these circumstances.’ ‘Nonsense. Since you’ve been here, whether it’s for the better or otherwise, Ross has changed.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean that whether you like it or not, Ross is conscious of you—of your presence in the village. And that, after the years of indifference, is enough to assure me that given time, you would break him down.’

  Tamar almost laughed. She couldn’t imagine anyone breaking Ross Falcon down.

  Just then the door opened, and Ross himself stood there.

  ‘Well, well,’ he said sardonically. ‘You’re at it again!’

  ‘Ross, for God’s sake!’ exclaimed his mother. ‘What’s the matter with you? Can’t you at least be civil in your own home?’

  Ross’s lean mouth curved into a mocking smile. ‘Forgive me, Mother, I was forgetting. However, I shall endeavour to be civil - in future.’

  Mrs. Falcon twisted her hands restlessly. ‘Well, you’ll have to be civil tomorrow evening. I’ve decided to give a dinner party.’

  Tamar stared at the old lady, and Ross looked as though he thought she had lost her reason.

  ‘A dinner party?’ he snapped. ‘And who do you imagine will attend this dinner party?’

  ‘There’ll be - let me see—’ she counted on her fingers, ‘—yes, eight of us. Steven and Shelagh, Tamar’s two friends from England, Father Donahue, Tamar, yourself and I.’

  ‘You’re joking!’ Ross’s expression was thunderous. ‘If you imagine I’m going to sit at a dinner table making polite conversation with people I don’t even like, you’re mistaken!’

  ‘Ross!’ Mrs. Falcon’s expression was equally forbidding. ‘You may be the master here, but until you take another wife, I am the mistress, and you will not make a fool out of your own mother by refusing!’

  Ross moved impatiently. ‘There are no dinner parties at Falcon’s Head these days,’ he muttered.

  ‘No, but I mean to change all that. You’re becoming a recluse, Ross, introspective, it’s not good for a man to be so. You’re young yet, and physically fit. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t live a full and active life, socially as well as physically.’

  ‘I’m not a social animal!’ he said grimly. ‘Miss Sheridan’s fiancé is much more your métier!’

  ‘Miss - Tamar’s fiancé?’ Mrs. Falcon frowned. ‘I didn’t understand that she was engaged to be married. Tamar Sheridan, you didn’t tell me this!’

  ‘Why should she?’ remarked Ross sardonically. ‘Surely you know how independent she is.’

  Bridget Falcon looked grim. ‘Well, anyway, it makes no matter. I still intend to have the dinner party, so you’d better resign yourself to it, Ross!’

  Ross glared at Tamar. ‘Something else I shall have to thank you for!’ he said bleakly.

  Tamar felt angry. ‘Your mother’s decisions are nothing to do with me,’ she retorted.

  ‘Without you and your - friends - there would be no question,’ returned Ross coldly. ‘That Father Donahue should sit at our table is no surprise. But now ...’ He turned as though to leave, but Mrs. Falcon stopped him.

  ‘Ross - wait!’

  ‘Yes?’ His eyes were glaciers and Tamar wondered if she would ever see him smile at her again. It seemed highly improbable.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  He leaned negligently against the doorpost. ‘Do you want a schedule of my movements as well?’ he asked sarcastically.

  Bridget Falcon looked as though she could strike him, and then the veined hands that had gripped her chair’s arms so tightly relaxed, and she said: ‘You’re going to Dunwherry Cove, aren’t you?’

  ‘Lucy and I are picnicking, yes,’ he said coldly. ‘What more invidious plans are you hatching now?’

  His mother sniffed expressively. ‘I want you to take Tamar Sheridan with you,’ she remarked, as casually as though she was discussing the weather.

  Ross looked aghast. ‘You can’t be serious, Mother!’

  ‘Why? The child likes her, you know she does. Don’t you think you might consider Lucy for just once in that selfish life of yours?’

  Ross’s knuckles showed white as his hand gripped the handle of the door. ‘If you were a man you wouldn’t dare to say that to me!’ he muttered.

  ‘But I’m not a man, I’m your mother,’ said Bridget Falcon calmly. ‘Now, will you take her?’

  Tamar felt terrible. ‘You haven’t asked me whether I want to go,’ she said quietly. ‘I have no desire to spend time with your son, Mrs. Falcon.’

  ‘Nevertheless, you will. If only for Lucy’s sake. You wouldn’t refuse the child, would you, Tamar Sheridan?’

  Tamar felt her cheeks burning. ‘You’re impossible!’ she exclaimed in an embarrassed tone.

  ‘Yes, she is, isn’t she?’ remarked Ross, his expression somewhat sardonic now. ‘However, she uses any devious method to get her
own way. You have only to refuse. You know my feelings.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I’m left in no doubt as to your feelings,’ exclaimed Tamar angrily. Ross could still hurt her, badly.

  ‘Well then?’ Ross was waiting for her to refuse. He expected her to refuse, but some devil inside Tamar wanted her to accept.

  ‘I’ll go - for Lucy’s sake,’ she amended quietly, and heard Bridget Falcon chuckle in a satisfied way.

  Ross was obviously infuriated, but he said no more, merely turned and left them.

  ‘You’d better go,’ said Mrs. Falcon, grinning mischievously. ‘I doubt he’ll hang about waiting for you.’

  ‘I doubt it myself,’ exclaimed Tamar uncomfortably.

  The car stood on the forecourt before the house, and Tamar could see Ross stowing a picnic basket in the boot, helped excitedly by his young daughter. If only Lucy were my daughter, too, she thought bleakly.

  But there was no trace of her chaotic feelings in her face as she said: ‘Shall I get in?’ in a cool voice.

  Ross looked up. ‘Don’t ask me; I’m only the chauffeur!’

  ‘Oh, Ross, stop it!’ she exclaimed hotly, unable to stand any more of this verbal fencing.

  Ross shrugged, closed the boot, and put Lucy into the back of the vehicle. Then he glanced across at Tamar indifferently, and opening the door slid into his own place behind the wheel. Tamar clenched her fists, and wrenched open the passenger side door and slid in beside him. She would have liked to have climbed into the back with Lucy, but that would be too childish.