Matters of the Heart
Rosemary Smith
© Rosemary Smith 2004
Rosemary Smith has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
First published in 2004 by Linford Romance as THE AMETHYST BROOCH
This edition published by Endeavour Press Ltd 2014
Dedicated to my dear Dad, George Broadest, sadly departed.
Thank you for believing in me.
Table of Contents
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Extract from Where Love Takes You, by Rosemary Smith
1
I arrived at my mother’s childhood home, Pendenna Reach, one afternoon in late September, 1873. I’d come with some trepidation, and as I sat in the carriage waiting for the tall, black, wrought-iron gates to be opened, I thought of the circumstances which had brought me from London to Cornwall in such a short space of time.
I thought back to the day, only three weeks ago, when I sat in the apartments of my godmother, Amy Godbeares, in fashionable Grosvenor Square. The letter from my maternal grandmother lay before me on the table. I’d read it through several times, noting the neat, sloping handwriting, and the slight shake of hand with which it had been written. It had come to me from Pendenna Reach, at the beginning of September.
Dear Jane
You will be somewhat surprised to hear from me, but I have followed your progress through life with love and great interest. I am getting older and have a great sadness in my heart. It would please me so much if you would come to stay at Pendenna for a while, to allow us to get to know one another. Your grandfather passed from the world a year ago and since then I have thought a lot of the past, and wish to redeem in some small way the wrong accorded to your mother, my daughter, Felicity.
Think on this request, my child, and I look forward with anticipation to your reply.
Your loving Grandmother,
Harriet Pendenna.
I rose from my seat and walked to the window looking out over the square. Since my father and mother died of influenza three years ago, Amy had taken me under her wing. I was very happy here, but knew that at the age of twenty I should be looking to my future. Was this a chance to explore new horizons? My mother had often talked of Pendenna Reach, of the rambling corridors and the sea beyond the house.
She’d also told me how, at the age of eighteen, she’d eloped with my father, an artist, to Paris and married him. It all sounded very romantic to me as a girl, but as I grew I sensed sadness in my mother and knew she yearned to see her old home.
My grandfather had disowned her for thwarting him, and had never forgiven her for marrying beneath her. As it turned out, my father became a very successful artist, and the name of John Merriock became famous for his landscape paintings, even more so after his untimely death. I had the consolation of knowing Mama and Papa were always happy together. I had wanted for nothing and after their death had gone to a finishing school for young ladies in Paris.
Amy had been my rock since returning to London a year ago. She’d launched me into Society where I’d met countless young men but none appealed to me. They were all far too shallow and one very much like another. I had definite views on the husband I envisaged, a man strong of character and one who would stand out in a crowd. So, much to Amy’s chagrin, I did not succumb to the elegant men I met.
My parents’ house near the Thames Embankment, where Papa loved to paint, was sold. I had no desire to keep it on, apart from the fact I could not have afforded its upkeep. So I was left with a useful inheritance to be gained at the age of twenty-one, Mama’s personal possessions still under lock and key in a mahogany chest, Molly our housemaid who had learned many new skills under Amy’s roof, and my memories.
I picked up Grandmother’s letter and made my way to my room. Looking at my reflection in the mirror I thought how much like Mama I looked. My dark brown hair was drawn back in a chignon, one or two tendrils escaping each side of my oval face. I was slim and tall with blue eyes. The pink striped, high-neck blouse I wore, and grey skirt with a small train, made me look even taller. I’d made up my mind, a quick, positive decision, so like me.
I’d go to Pendenna, partly because I felt I owed it to my mother. Also, to know my family would be a new experience. It had always been just the three of us, as Papa’s family had sailed to America and settled there, so I never knew them either. But to have a family at this time in my life could only be a good thing, and hopefully give me some direction. Little did I know then what direction my life would take in such a short time.
When Molly came to dress my hair for dinner that evening, a skill she’d acquired from Amy’s personal maid, I broached the subject of going to Cornwall.
‘Will you come with me, Molly?’
‘I’d go to the ends of the earth with you,’ she replied immediately.
I was delighted she felt this way, for Molly had been part of my life since I was ten years of age. She was five years my senior and I knew she would be a good companion, but also I knew we both had a lot to learn, as we were both so used to City life.
After two weeks of packing, various farewells to friends and acquaintances, and a tearful goodbye from Amy with a promise to write, Molly and I arrived at Paddington Station for the ten-hour journey to Penzance, where, my grandmother assured me, someone would meet us.
We were amazed at the size of the black locomotive which was to pull our train to Cornwall. A kindly porter assisted us into the first-class carriage and walked with us along the narrow corridor to help us find our seats. I thanked him as he placed our luggage on the rack. The compartment was small but adequate, with red seats, numbered above.
I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror which was located under the luggage rack. I was aghast to see specks of black soot dotted on my face and when I looked at Molly could see she was speckled the same. I dabbed both our faces with my lace handkerchief.
‘Oh, miss,’ Molly squealed with obvious delight, ‘this is the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me. I can’t wait to get going.’
I seated myself by the window as she spoke, wondering if it would be proper to remove my bonnet. Deciding to do so, I laid it on the seat beside me, with my reticule, and looked out of the window at the goings on.
Without any warning, the carriage jolted and we could hear the hissing of the mighty engine. At the same moment, a piercing whistle was blown and the train moved forward slowly with a chugging sound, gathering speed as we left the station.
‘I feel quite elated,’ I said to Molly. ‘This is quite an adventure and I must confess I feel quite hungry.’
We both laughed as we partook of cook’s luncheon which she had so kindly put together for us. As we ate, we looked out of the window and marvelled at the changing scenery. After the blacks and greys of the city, the countryside unfolded like a colourful ribbon speeding by.
We arrived at Penzance at four o’clock in the afternoon. Molly and I stood outside the station, our light luggage around our feet, scrutinising each carriage which arrived. Half an hour passed and I was feeling restless. Surely my grandmother hadn’t forgotten our arrival time. I was just about to go and ask the stationmaster if there were any messages for Miss Merriock when a voice startled me.
‘Jane Merriock?’
The voice was deep and questioning, and as I turned to face its owner, I was pleasantly surprised. The gentleman was tall and well-built with fair hair and deep brown eyes set in a handsome face. He was sma
rt but his clothes rested on him casually, in fact his whole manner was of a casual nature. His eyes smiled into mine.
‘Why, yes,’ I stammered and felt foolish as I said it.
No-one had caused this effect on me before. He bowed almost mockingly before me.
‘Robert Thornton at your service, Miss Merriock. Your carriage awaits.’
I followed him without question, Molly at my heels. The carriage was an open one and, Robert Thornton handed me a grey woven rug to cover my legs as the late September afternoon was chilly. Molly sat up front next to the driver, so I was left with this stranger for a companion, and an interesting companion as it turned out.
Robert Thornton sat opposite me on the plush seat, his eyes surveying me and, I thought, waiting for me to speak. I did, for the question had been hovering on my lips.
‘And what role do you play at Pendenna Reach, Mr Thornton?’ I asked him sweetly.
He looked at me a few seconds before replying.
‘I’m your grandmother’s estate manager, your grandfather’s when he was alive, and have been for ten years. I trust that we will become good friends, Miss Merriock.’
It was a statement rather than a question. He leaned towards me and smiled, and I thought his hands were going to reach out for mine, but they relaxed in his lap. He looked at me seriously.
‘You must feel strange coming to see a Grandmother you’ve never met.’
‘You are right, Mr Thornton, it is a very strange feeling, but I know from my grandmother’s letters she is as eager to see me as I am to see my late mother’s home.’
There was something else I had to know.
‘Can you tell me, Mr Thornton, who else lives at Pendenna Reach?’
‘Your Aunt Laura.’
He leaned back. Did I sense contempt in his voice? My mother had spoken of her sister, Laura, who had been engaged to be married, but her betrothed, Andrew Trehaine, had disappeared mysteriously the same time as my mother left Pendenna.
‘Is she married now?’ I asked tentatively, wondering if had any cousins.
‘No,’ was all Robert Thornton replied and I sensed by his manner that was all he would say about Aunt Laura, for now at least.
I looked around at the countryside, thinking how different this land was to the hustle and bustle of London. Small, whitewashed cottages were dotted here and there amongst the fields and hedgerows. My companion pointed out various landmarks.
We neared the top of a hill and I could see the sea shimmering in the late afternoon sun, and on the cliff I caught my first glimpse of the house. Robert Thornton must have heard my sharp intake of breath, for the house was far larger than I’d imagined. It stood stark and grey against the backdrop of the blue sky. Then we dipped down over the hill and it vanished from view.
‘You are impressed?’ my companion queried with a smile.
‘Why, yes,’ I stammered. ‘I had not imagined it to be so immense.’
As I spoke, we pulled up at the tall black wrought iron gates where we stopped momentarily for the lodge-keeper to open them. I felt the butterflies in my stomach and had not imagined that I would be so nervous. Robert Thornton then threw propriety to the wind and laid a hand over mine.
‘Do not worry, Miss Merriock, you will be made welcome and will always be safe while I am here.’
Although taken aback by the touch of his strong hand, the unexpected encounter gave me courage and I felt quite bereft when he drew away.
As we rounded a bend I caught my first close look at the house. Sea mist had started to curl around the chimneys, but many of the mullioned windows still glinted in the late sun. Mr Thornton helped me alight. I felt weary and apprehensive as the great oak door swung open as if in greeting.
Molly disappeared with the carriage and I forced my aching limbs to move forward to the door. Then something suddenly troubled me.
Had I imagined Mr Thornton uttering the word safe?
2
The housekeeper, Mrs Dobbs, greeted us as we stepped into the vast hall. She was a small, plump woman, her grey curly hair escaping from a bun drawn back carelessly from her kindly face. She was dressed in black from head to foot, a large bunch of keys jangling at her waist. I quickly took in my surroundings, noticing a fire burning cheerily in the large, stone hearth. Mrs Dobbs saw me glance toward it.
‘The house gets chilly this time of year in the evening, Miss Merriock, and we wished to give you a warm welcome. If you follow me, miss, I’ll show you to your room.’
As I followed Mrs Dobbs, I glanced back at Robert who gave me an encouraging smile. I noted the huge portraits covering the stone walls and guessed them to be my ancestors. The red carpet beneath my feet had at one time been thick, but sadly was now almost threadbare in places. As we reached the top of the wide staircase, corridors stretched to the right and left, and were rambling, as my mother had said. Even now, oil lamps were lit to dispel the impending gloom of evening. I followed Mrs Dobbs. It seemed we passed a hundred doors before she opened an oak door on our right.
‘This is the yellow room, Miss Merriock, your mother’s until she left this house over twenty years ago. We hope you’ll be very comfortable in here.’
I stepped into a room which gave the appearance of continual sunlight. The heavy curtains and bed hangings were of a yellow damask material. The heavy rug on the polished floor was interspersed with large yellow roses. Even the pictures were of all things yellow. I looked around me with delight.
‘It is a beautiful room, Mrs Dobbs, and even more so as it was my mother’s.’
Mrs Dobbs stood in the doorway, a gentle smile on her face. I longed to ask her if she’d known my mother, but thought it best to wait.
‘Your grandmother will be delighted you are so pleased. She is anxious to meet you.’
I was as anxious to meet her, and was a little disappointed that she had not greeted my arrival. At that moment a man appeared behind Mrs Dobbs.
‘Miss Merriock’s bags,’ he said in a thick accent quite unfamiliar to me.
The housekeeper thanked Thomas, as he was called, and he carried my bags into the room.
‘I will send your maid to you shortly. You are no doubt tired after your long journey and such a lot to take in.’
As she spoke she moved toward the door.
‘I will tell the mistress you have arrived,’ she added, and closed the door. Like a child, I twirled around and almost ran to the full-length window, eager to see the view. There was a balcony, I noticed, and excitedly I undid the window catch and stepped out on to it, leaning over the stone balustrade. I was at the front of the house, but I could see nothing, the mist was now so dense. I guessed the sea to be on my left as I could hear the muffled sound of the waves crashing on the rocks. I was disappointed but prayed for a clear day tomorrow.
I had the rest of the day to deal with first, and the thought of the meeting with my grandmother brought the butterflies back to my stomach. I had a fleeting thought of Robert Thornton, wishing he were near. As I fastened the catch on the window, there was a light knock at my door and Molly appeared. I could sense she was as excited as I was.
‘Oh, miss, what a lovely room,’ she enthused. ‘I’m to share a room with Lizzie, as some rooms are being done up.’
‘And is she nice, this Lizzie?’ I asked, anxious to ascertain that Molly was content.
‘Why, yes, miss, except she talks sort of foreign.’
At this I smiled, thinking of Tom.
‘Miss, we must get you ready for dinner. We are to meet Mrs Dobbs at the head of the staircase at seven-thirty so you can meet your grandma.’
I quickly undid the ribbons and removed my bonnet while Molly lit the lamps. A maid brought water and filled the hipbath. She never spoke a word and just bobbed a curtsey as she left. I sank gratefully into the scented water and washed the grime of the day’s journey away while Molly unpacked what little clothes I had with me. I would be glad when our possessions arrived by coach at Penzance the following d
ay.
Molly helped me into my pale blue silk evening dress and redid my hair in the chignon I so loved. The finishing touch was the pearls my papa had given me on my sixteenth birthday. I looked at the finished result in the full-length mirror on the wardrobe door. My reflection pleased me.
All too soon it was nearing seven-thirty and we made our way to the staircase where the housekeeper was waiting. Molly left us and I descended the stairs with Mrs Dobbs, feeling quite confident, until I caught sight of Robert Thornton in the hall below. He was dressed for dinner in a black jacket and white shirt. My legs suddenly turned to jelly and I caught hold of the banister as he looked up at me, following my progress.
‘Miss Merriock,’ he murmured meeting me at the bottom of the staircase, ‘I’ve come to wish you luck.’
He smiled and I suddenly felt confident again. As Mrs Dobbs led me to the door of the drawing-room, I took a deep breath before entering. I stepped into the huge drawing-room and quickly took in the tall french windows opposite with heavy blue velvet drapes.
Out of the corner of my eye I could see a fire burning merrily in the large stone fireplace.
‘Thank you for coming, my child.’
I heard the voice before I saw my grandmother. There was a rustle of stiff taffeta and as the shadow moved towards me I could see she was dressed entirely in black with a lace mantilla over her greying hair. The only hint of colour came from a large emerald ring she wore on her left hand. Although Grandmother was in sombre dress, her person was anything but. I had imagined her to be tall and austere but the plump and pretty face looking at me was suffused with joy. Suddenly the cloud which hung over me disappeared for I knew that she was sincerely pleased to see me. She held out her hands to me.
‘Jane, my dearest child.’
I almost ran to her, placing my hands in hers. Then she clasped me to her and I was engulfed in a soft, fragrant embrace. She held me at arm’s length.
Matters of the Heart Page 1
