“All you have to do is be yourself … and you will.”
In the dining room the whole family were assembled. I was seated beside Sir Horace. Lady Mandeville was at the other end of the table with my father next to her. Conversation was mostly about the house, and when we described Cador to them, they were very interested.
They had arranged one or two dinner parties so that we could meet the family’s friends who lived in the neighborhood; and they were pleased to hear that I enjoyed riding.
Once or twice I caught Marian’s eye across the table. I could almost imagine that she winked at me. My father talked about some of the old customs of Cornwall and they were very interested in these.
“We are not so imaginative here in Derbyshire,” said Sir Horace. “I do not think we would accept the story of those little people finding gold in a tin mine.”
“I would say we were more realistic,” put in Lady Mandeville.
My mother told them the story of the Bells of St Branok to which they listened with the utmost skepticism, but which sent shivers through me; and I wished that subject had not been brought up.
“Cornwall must be quite different from the rest of England,” said Lady Mandeville.
“Oh, it is,” declared my mother. “I am only half Cornish … through my father, and Rolf … well, he is what is called a foreigner there. You are right when you say it is different. I hope you will visit it and see for yourselves.”
They all declared they would be delighted to do so.
“Tomorrow,” said Lady Mandeville, “I shall show you the house … if you wish to see it; and I will tell you some of the tales which have been handed down to us. We have had our adventures. The Wars of the Roses … the Great Rebellion … but all perfectly natural. As I say, we are a down-to-earth people here.”
“It will be most fascinating,” said my mother.
Then we chatted about the past and the eldest son, William, talked of the estate, and the young one in an aside to my father about the changes in law over the last few years; and the evening passed pleasantly.
I felt the worst of the ordeal was over.
I was right. After the first two days when I thought I was on trial, I began to enjoy the visit. I was falling more and more in love with Gervaise every day. I began to form a friendship with Marian; the fact that she was about a year younger than I was made me feel like an elder sister. And as I had always wanted to be a sister—preferably an elder one—I felt very contented.
I found the house very attractive but was secretly glad that Gervaise and I would not be living in it. Gervaise said he would like to live in London. He had never been exactly a country boy—unlike his brothers.
Henry would have a practice in law and might well go to London, possibly Derby or some big city; William would run the estate with his father; and Marian would have a season next year and then presumably marry.
We rode together; we attended the dinner parties which had been arranged, and the neighbors came and inspected me as Gervaise’s future wife. It was all according to convention. I had done just what was expected of a young girl, and had done it rather successfully. I had had my season and before it was over I was engaged to be married to the approval of both our families. All that had to follow now was the wedding.
My father and Sir Horace talked of settlements of which I did not want to hear for they seemed mercenary to me. Lady Mandeville and my mother talked about the wedding, which would, of course, take place at Cador.
The Mandevilles would travel to Cornwall then; they would not come before as it was such a long journey; but the two families had this excellent opportunity of exchanging views on the subject now.
Both sides agreed that there should be no undue delay. This meant that the Mandevilles had put their seal upon the matter.
Marian and I were a good deal together. We had quite a lot in common besides our age. I had just been presented; she soon would be; she wanted to hear all about it.
I told her of the dancing classes, the curtsies which had to be practiced endlessly, the brief moment with the Queen … and then the season.
“And the whole thing is arranged to get us married,” she said. “Well, it worked with you.”
“I had a good start. I knew Gervaise before, when he came down to Cornwall to dig. He was a friend of my cousin who was killed in the Crimea.”
“Yes, I know. I heard. The family thought Gervaise might take up archaeology then. He seemed really keen … but he dropped it, of course.”
“Why do you say ‘of course’ like that?”
“Well, he never wants to do anything for long … except racing. I reckon he’ll get his own stables, one day. It’s the thing he’s really keen on.”
“Yes,” I said. “I know.”
“The family don’t like it … not after what happened to great-great and probably a lot more greats grandfather Sir Elmore. He gambled the family estate away. You’ll see him in the gallery. I’ll show him to you. Ever since that happened the family have been terrified of the horses.”
“Ah,” I said, “skeletons in the cupboard?”
“We have a few. I expect most people have. You too …?”
“I’m sure of it.”
“It’s rather fun getting them out and having a look at them. We ought to do that more often. It can be a lesson to us all.”
“You must show me the reckless Sir Elmore, one day.”
“I will. I expect you like the horses too.”
“I like riding them.”
“I didn’t mean horses. I meant the horses … which means gambling on them.”
“I’ve never gambled. I don’t have the urge to.”
“Then you will keep Gervaise on an even keel, as they say. Don’t give him any rein … that’s apt … or he’ll be galloping off which he can do rather recklessly. Papa has had to bail him out once or twice. Oh, I am sorry. I’m upsetting your rose-colored picture of him. Don’t take any notice. My brother Gervaise is the nicest person in the whole world. I love him dearly. If I wasn’t his sister and he weren’t engaged to you I’d want to marry him. He has the sweetest nature. I’m sure I shall never find anyone half as nice.”
“I know.”
“He’s much nicer than my other brothers. They are steady as rocks. … But Gervaise is the one for me.”
“I feel that too,” I told her.
“I’m glad you are going to marry him. We all think it is most suitable.”
“Oh, thank you.”
“And what is nice is your people like Gervaise, too.”
“They think he is charming.”
“So it is the ideal match. … I wonder what will happen to me when I come out.”
“For that,” I said, “we must wait and see.”
Marian showed me the picture of the reckless Sir Elmore.
“He gambled and gambled and in the end he wagered the house in the hope of recuperating all his losses.”
“And he won?”
“No, he did not. He lost.”
“But the house remained in the family’s possession?”
“Only because the eldest son married a rich woman … just in the nick of time. It was a great self-sacrifice. He did it for Mandeville Court. But then later he weakened and went back to his first love and he set her up in part of the house. He refused to give her up. One day she disappeared. They say the wife murdered her … pushed her out of a window and buried her late at night. She is supposed to haunt the place.”
“And that’s one of the skeletons. And a ghost! I thought your mother said that only natural things happened here.”
“Oh, she refuses to accept the story of the ghost. I do though. I think all old houses ought to have a ghost. Don’t you think Sir Elmore is handsome?”
“Yes, he is.”
“I always think he has a twinkle in his eyes … just like Gervaise has. You can imagine how, ever since, there has been a horror of anyone in the family ever falling into the clutches of �
��the horses.’ ”
“And Gervaise has?”
“I don’t know that it is necessarily horses, though I suppose they come into it. He just likes doing unusual things. My father wishes that he had taken up something like the law … something which would have a steadying influence. They weren’t very keen on archaeology, but it was better than nothing.”
“I thought he was very keen on that when he came to Cador.”
“He is keen … while it lasts. Someday he will find something he really wants to do and then he will do it better than anyone else ever has before.”
And after that I often went to the gallery to look at Sir Elmore.
One day Lady Mandeville came upon me there. I did not hear her arrive. I was standing before the portrait of the man who interested me so much and she was beside me before I realized it.
“A good portrait, is it not?” she said. “There is something quite lifelike about it.”
“Yes, one could imagine he is laughing at us.”
She nodded. “Do you know the story of him?”
“Marian told me.”
She was silent for a moment. Then she turned to me and said: “It’s a weakness in the family. They have no respect for money. I think you have been very sensibly brought up. That is why I feel I can talk to you.”
I felt flattered. I knew that she had accepted me, but I did not know she had any great opinion of my wisdom.
She looked over her shoulder and lowered her voice. “You will have to look after Gervaise,” she said. “I believe you can. That is why I am delighted by this marriage. William and Henry take after me. I have no qualms about them. Gervaise is a Mandeville through and through.”
“Oh yes …”
“Indeed yes. They are very charming. His father is just the same … but they have no respect for money. One has to keep a watch on them. I have with Sir Horace. I am telling you this, and then we will say no more about it. When I married into the family Sir Horace’s finances were in disorder. I brought a large fortune with me and ever since then I have managed the affairs of this household. That is the way I have brought the family back to prosperity. You may think I should not be talking thus, but I am doing it because you are a sensible girl. I am pleased that you are to marry Gervaise. He is a delightful young man in almost every way, but he is reckless where money is concerned. He is a member of a family which simply does not understand how to handle it. When he has it, it slips through his fingers. You must keep him away from the gaming tables. You’ll manage it, my dear, as I have with his father. There! I have said my say. And I think it is right that you should know this. You will be very happy with my son. He is a very good and kindly young man. He would be perfect but for this one weakness, and I think it is only right that you should be aware of it.”
She patted my cheek lightly and went on: “You are amazed that your future mother-in-law should talk to you thus. But I do so because I like you. I like your family; I trust you; and I know you are going to be to Gervaise what I have been to his father.”
After that encounter with Lady Mandeville there seemed to be a special friendship between us. She talked to me about the house and I understood that it meant a great deal to her. I realized that she loved it with a deeper passion than the rest of the family did, although she had only come to it through marriage. She was like a convert to a new faith who seems more deeply devoted than those who had been born to it.
Somehow the knowledge that Gervaise had some weaknesses only endeared him to me. After all, paragons of virtue are often rather dull and difficult to live up to.
No one saw any reason why the marriage should be delayed.
Two months would give us ample time, said my mother. As soon as we returned to London we would begin our preparations. The Mandevilles would come to Cornwall for the wedding.
My parents came to my room and I could see from their expressions that there was going to be a serious discussion.
“It’s the settlement,” said my father.
“Oh, I don’t want to hear about that.”
“You must be sensible, darling,” said my mother. “It’s the usual arrangement, that’s all.”
“But why does this have to be done? It’s like paying Gervaise to take me.”
“It’s just a guarantee that you are not going to your husband penniless.”
“I am sure Gervaise never thought of money.”
“I am sure he didn’t. But your mother and I want you to know that you are taking this money with you … and …”
My father bit his lip and my mother went on: “It’s in your name. It is something that’s there, you know … and it can’t be touched without a lot of negotiations with lawyers.”
“I don’t understand what this is all about.”
My father said: “On the advice of Sir Horace and Lady Mandeville I did it this way. They didn’t want you to have money which could be easily accessible …”
“They seem to think that Gervaise can be a little reckless with money and it was wise to … tie it up a bit” put in my mother.
“I wish you hadn’t done it,” I said.
“It’s all right Angelet,” insisted my mother. “It’s always done.”
I did not like this, particularly the suggestion that Gervaise could not be trusted, and the talk of settlements cast a little cloud over my happiness. I had been made to understand that Gervaise was a little extravagant; he was not always thinking about wealth; he was over-generous. I remembered how he had given the flower-woman that money when he had bought me a bunch of violets.
I liked it. He wanted to give pleasure to people and if he were a little extravagant in doing so, I liked him for that too.
I would forget all about this sordid business of settlements and money and think about my wedding day.
All the way up to London we were taking excitedly about the coming wedding.
“Two months,” my mother was saying. “It really doesn’t give us a great deal of time. While we are in London we must do some more shopping. It would be nice to have the dresses made here in London … but I don’t quite see how. Perhaps we could buy the materials here and have them made up in Plymouth. However, we’ll see. I think, Rolf, we should have another week at least. We’ll need that.”
My father thought he ought to return to Cador. “But you and Angelet could stay a little longer,” he added.
“All right,” replied my mother. “You go ahead. Grace will be very helpful. She seems to have a natural flair for clothes. I always think she looks so elegant. I fancy she is a little lonely. What a sad life … to lose one’s husband almost immediately after marriage.”
I was to return to Helena’s and Matthew’s and my parents were staying at the house in the square, so the cab would drop me first; and while my bags were being taken into the house, Helena came out.
I could tell immediately that she was extremely distraught.
I cried: “What has happened?”
She stared at me for a few seconds, then she burst out: “Morwenna has disappeared.”
The cabby was quickly paid off and instead of going straight to the house in the square, my parents stayed.
As soon as we were inside, Helena said: “She has just … disappeared. It was two days ago.”
“Disappeared?” cried my father. “But … how?”
“Grace was coming and they were going out together, and when Grace came the maid went up to Morwenna’s room to call her and the room was empty. The time went on … and Grace was waiting there. She said she would go over to my mother’s house to see if Morwenna was there. It was unlikely, but we did not know. We thought she had to be somewhere. She wasn’t there, of course. And then we began to get worried.
“Grace was a great help. She went back to her own place to see if Morwenna had gone there and they had just missed each other. She wondered whether there had been some misunderstanding about arrangements. Of course, Morwenna rarely went out on her own. We never thought it was
right that she should … but on isolated occasions she might have done so. Well, the plain fact is that she has gone. We can’t find her anywhere.”
“Has she taken anything with her?”
“No … only what she was wearing … everything seems to be here. … It is just as though she has walked out.”
“Surely she would never do that,” said my mother.
“She was always nervous about going to places,” I said. “She always wanted someone with her.”
“It’s been driving us mad.”
“And she has been gone two days?”
“We haven’t known what to do.”
“The police should be told,” said my father.
“We have told them … and we have sent word to her parents. I just can’t think what has happened.”
“If there had been an accident we should have heard.”
My father was thoughtful. “You … don’t think she has been kidnapped?”
“Kidnapped?” cried Helena. “Who would kidnap her?”
“I was thinking of a ransom,” said my father. “There was some mention in the paper a few weeks back about mining in Cornwall and how successful the Pencarron Mine was. I saw something about Josiah Pencarron’s daughter, Morwenna, being in London for the season. I just wondered …”
“Good Heavens,” murmured my mother. “It seems feasible.”
“What would they do to her?” I asked in terror.
My mother turned away. “They would have to treat her well. She would be their bargaining counter.”
“It’s terrible” I cried. “Morwenna … of all people. I wish she had come with us.”
We did not know how to act. The police were making inquiries. No one had any information except the maid who thought she had seen Morwenna leaving the house late on the night before her disappearance.
We could not understand that. Why should Morwenna have left the house late at night? There was no letter or anything in her room to give an indication that she had been called away. But who could have called her at that time of night?
None of us could understand what it could mean.
The maid thought her bed might not have been slept in although it had been turned back and made to seem as though it could have been.
Pool of St. Branok Page 17
