But later he wrote: “Mrs. C’s causing trouble again. On Nick’s behalf Mariana asked me to be an usher at the Great Wedding, which I must say I found very flattering, and everyone thought this was a fine idea—except Philip and Mrs. C. Philip wrote to Papa and said they wouldn’t be at the wedding if I was to be an usher, and furthermore that if we were to be staying at the townhouse he’d take his mother to stay at a hotel. So I expect I shall have to step down. Rather a shame, isn’t it? When you think how Mama provided a home for the Castallacks for seven years you’d think Mrs. C. could put up with us for a day or two, but evidently she doesn’t see the situation in that light.”
I was incensed by this news and wrote back demanding to know what Papa had said in reply to Philip’s letter, but William was vague. Papa had postponed making a decision on the subject and was at present involved in quarreling with Marcus.
“Marcus went broke in Monte Carlo,” William wrote shortly after his twenty-first birthday in May, (God knows what he was doing there out of season! He was supposed to be somewhere else) and wired Papa for money. Papa was furious, since this was the third time Marcus has got into this sort of scrape, and wired him to come home. Marcus wired back to say he’d borrowed the money, and had no intention of coming home early as he was having such a marvelous time. Papa was livid. I’ve seldom seen him so angry. He immediately sent another wire saying Marcus was to come home pretty damned quickly if he still wanted to go up to Oxford in the autumn and Marcus sent a wire saying he couldn’t see why Papa was making so much fuss. Papa then wired: ‘Kindly cease wasting borrowed money on expensive telegrams stop Your behavior is insolent, impertinent and totally irresponsible stop Be at Penmarric by Friday or else I shall be in Monte Carlo promptly to bring your Grand Tour to a conclusion decidedly lacking in grandeur stop MSC.’ I know the telegram word for word because I had to go to Penzance to send it! Poor old Marcus. Anyway, he came home fuming on Friday and he and Papa had the most almighty row. Marcus actually vomited afterward.
Poor chap, he does so hate scenes and unpleasantness. It turned out he’d fallen violently in love with a French cabaret dancer in Monte Carlo and had been sending her two dozen red roses every day, wining and dining her in the most expensive restaurants and assuming optimistically that his money would last forever …”
When I returned to Penmarric for the summer holidays I fully expected to find a strained atmosphere existing in the house, but Marcus had evidently made his peace with Papa and Papa himself seemed to have forgotten the quarrel. However, I noticed that Marcus spent more time visiting his mother. He went over there with the girls for Saturday lunch as usual, but he had fallen into the habit of dining at the farm during the middle of the week and calling whenever he happened to be in the neighborhood.
I saw Mrs. Castallack at matins on the first Sunday after my return. I did not see her enter the church since William and Alice had formed the habit of arriving early and taking a front pew, but I turned around during the first hymn and glimpsed Philip’s golden head at the back of the building. When I glanced around again I saw his mother beside him. She wore black and looked almost young from a distance. I did not dare stare at her too long for fear our glances would meet, so I spent the rest of the service looking steadfastly ahead of me toward the altar.
But throughout the service I remained uncomfortably aware of her presence.
“Do you like your mother any better yet?” I asked Jan- Yves after he had said his weekly “Good morning” to Mrs. Castallack and had rejoined us as we all wandered over to the rectory for lunch.
“No,” said Jan-Yves. He scowled. “Why does she bother with me? She never did until Papa started to. I wish they’d both go away and leave me alone. I wish my old nanny would come back instead of them. She really did like me and it wasn’t just a pretend-like either because if it was just a pretend-like she wouldn’t have saved me from the wastepaper basket when I was a baby.”
“You and your wastepaper basket!” I said, laughing at him, and he stuck out his tongue at me as he skipped ahead to join William.
After lunch the rector and I played chess outside in the garden, Alice wandered down to the far border to cut some flowers for the drawing room, and William took Jan-Yves for an afternoon walk on the moors. Some time passed. I was just wondering if Alice would finish arranging the flowers soon and come to join us when there was an interruption. The side gate opened by the back door, light footsteps crossed the yard outside the scullery, and the next moment I looked up and saw a girl moving over the lawn toward us, an empty basket swinging from her hand.
It was the girl Hugh and I had seen riding on the moors in the spring, the girl we had assumed to be Alice’s cousin, Rebecca Roslyn.
She looked different, younger. Her hair was tightly plaited instead of being allowed to trail wild and free down her back, and her gingham dress was severely cut to give her a childish look. It was also too small for her. I noticed uncomfortably that she was beginning to look like a woman, and to my furious embarrassment I remembered Hugh’s postcards and felt my cheeks begin to burn with a long slow blush.
“Ah, good afternoon, Rebecca!” called the rector. “More cheese from Deveral Farm? How kind of your mother to remember us!”
“There was a chicken too,” said the girl, “and some bantams’ eggs. I’ve just given them all to Cook.” She spoke carefully, as if she were for some reason listening to herself, and as she spoke she glanced fleetingly in my direction. When the rector introduced us I could see at once that she remembered me.
“How do you do, Miss Roslyn,” I said, stammering a little.
“How do you do, Mr. Parrish.” She looked around as if she did not expect me to have come to the rectory alone, and presently she asked, “Where’s your friend?”
“You mean the boy I was with when we saw each other by Carn Kenidjack last Easter? That’s my cousin Hugh Castallack. He’s not with me today.”
“I see,” she said and seemed to lose interest. I was just feeling inexplicably disappointed when Jan-Yves and William reappeared after their walk, Alice brought out some lemonade and we all sat down on the lawn to enjoy the sunshine and the languid summer air.
William, I noted enviously, began a conversation with Rebecca without any difficulty at all. They talked of Morvah, where she lived, and then of Penzance.
“I’m at a small boarding school there,” said the girl, and I noticed again her trick of speaking too precisely as if she were in elocution class. “It’s horrid. Dad didn’t want me to go but Mama thought I should learn how to embroider tablecloths and say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ in French.”
The word “Dad” struck a jarring note in her carefully phrased speech and made me remember that her father was a farmer.
“Don’t you enjoy being with other girls of your own age?” said the rector kindly.
“Not particularly. Most of them are snobs and I don’t like them.”
“I don’t like girls either,” said Jan-Yves at once. “Whenever we go to the beach I kick down all the sand castles that belong to girls.”
“I must commission Elizabeth to knock down a few of yours one day,” said William and glanced at his watch. “Well, sir, I think we’d best be returning to Penmarric—”
“Oh, William, we must stay to tea!” exclaimed Alice. “Cookie’s made a special cake! Do let’s stay.”
In the end we all stayed and had a pleasant tea party on the lawn. It was the girl who moved first. She picked up her basket and scrambled to her feet.
“I must go,” she said. “Dad’ll be furious if I’m late for tea.”
“But you’ve just had tea!” protested Jan-Yves, and then added enviously, “But he doesn’t know that. I see. You’re going to get two teas instead of one just by keeping quiet.”
She laughed. “I meant high tea! Supper! Dinner—whatever you want to call it.” She turned to the rector. “Thanks very much for the tea, Mr. Barnwell. Thanks for the lemonade, Alice.”
&n
bsp; “Look, I’ll tell you what, Miss Roslyn,” said William. “We’ll give you a lift home. There’s plenty of room in the car and we’ll be driving home via Morvah anyway.”
“No, please, don’t bother—”
“Good gracious, it’s no trouble at all. It’ll save you a long walk and make sure you’re not late for your evening meal.”
“It’s all right, Rebecca,” said Alice. “We can drop you at the end of the lane.”
“Could you? I wouldn’t want Dad to think—”
“I know,” said Alice and turned to say goodbye to her grandfather.
Presently we all climbed into the car. The hood was down; I sat on the back seat with Jan-Yves on my right and Rebecca on my left while Alice sat in the front with William. After Jan-Yves had elbowed himself enough room in which to bounce up and down behind William’s shoulders and yell encouragement into his ear I found myself sitting rather too close to Rebecca. She did not seem to mind. I was uneasily aware of her thigh, warm and firm, being pressed against my leg, and when I stole a glance at the rest of her body I could not help noticing certain aspects of her figure beneath the childish gingham dress. I began to feel too hot. In an effort to turn my thoughts elsewhere I tried to concentrate on the scenery and take an intelligent interest in the conversation.
“How are your Roslyn cousins, Rebecca?” Alice was inquiring. “How are all the girls?”
”They’re well, thank you. Patience is still walking out with Will Pryde. They’ve been walking out over two years now.”
“Walking out where?” said Jan-Yves.
“It’s a phrase meaning ‘partaking of each other’s company with a possible view to getting married,” said William. “Don’t interrupt.”
“Charity wants to go into service at Gurnards Grange but Uncle Jared won’t let her because young Mr. Peter Waymark’s reputation is supposed to be …” She stopped and I saw she and William were looking at each other in the driving mirror.
“Go on!” William laughed. “I won’t tell Peter!”
“Well …”Rebecca was confused. “Since Charity is a little flighty … Do you know my cousin Charity Roslyn, Mr. Parrish?”
“No, but she sounds most interesting. Is she as pretty as you are?”
They looked at each other in the mirror again and the girl gave an exquisite blush.
“Do keep your eyes on the road William,” said Alice irritably. “I don’t want to end up in a field.”
“Simon Peter still suffers from asthma,” said Rebecca in a rush as if to draw a veil over William’s compliment, and I heard the Cornish lilt creep into her voice as she forgot her elocution lessons. She added, more to Jan-Yves than to me: “That’s my youngest Roslyn cousin. He’s nine, but you wouldn’t think it because he’s so small and sickly.”
“I shall be seven next month,” said Jan-Yves. “And I’m never ill.”
“Poor little Simon Peter,” said Alice, absently. “Such a shame. All those eight sisters of his are such healthy strapping girls too. Perhaps he’ll be stronger when he grows up.”
The car surmounted the ridge and ran slowly downhill into the parish of Morvah. The village lay half a mile below us, its tiny church basking in the late afternoon light, and beyond the village the fields stretched to the cliffs and the sea. It was a perfect summer day.
“This is fun!” said Rebecca suddenly. “I’ve never been in a motorcar before. It’s much more exciting than a pony-trap. I wish …” She stopped.
I looked at her. She was staring at the road ahead and her face was white.
Alice said abruptly, “Pull up here, William, and let Rebecca out.”
“No!” cried Rebecca and ducked down behind the seat so that the soft curving front of her body was pressed against my thighs. “Drive on to the village! Don’t stop! If he sees me get out of a motorcar—”
“He’s seen you,” said Alice. “You were too late. He’s waving his stick.”
I was so absorbed in the embarrassing physical sensations which Rebecca’s posture aroused in me that for a moment I was too dazed to realize what was happening. In confusion I glanced around to discover the cause of all the fuss. William had halted the car by this time, and I now saw that he had had no choice in the matter; ahead of us, parked firmly in the middle of the road, was a thin, wiry farmer in his forties with scanty graying hair and bright angry blue eyes. As the car engine idled uneasily he moved, striding toward us and waving his big stick.
“Who is it?” Jan-Yves was hissing. “What does he want? Who is he?”
“My uncle Joss,” said Alice grimly. “What bad luck, Rebecca! Is there anything we can say to explain—”
“No,” Rebecca was fumbling with the door handle, but William had already sprung out and was moving swiftly around the bonnet to open the door for her.
Alice leaned forward. “Good afternoon, Uncle Joss! We were just giving Rebecca a lift back from the rectory. Do you know Mr. William Parrish, the bailiff at Penmarric?”
The man turned on Rebecca. “What did I tell you?” he shouted at her. “Didn’t I tell you that if you ever so much as looked at any of them bloody Castallacks, I’d—”
“Please, Uncle Joss,” said Alice. “Let me take the blame. It was I who encouraged Rebecca to accept the lift. I—”
“You be quiet!” He swung around again on his daughter. “Didn’t I tell you? Didn’t I?”
Rebecca said stiffly, “Mr. Parrish isn’t one of them, Dad. He’s just the bailiff.”
“Bailiff! You know well enough who he is, my girl, and don’t you go a-standing there and telling me you don’t know it as well as all Morvah, Zillan and St. Just knows it? He’s as much a Castallack as that ugly little brat in the back seat!”
“I don’t know what you mean, Dad.”
“Christ Almighty, girl, you’ve been born and bred on a farm—don’t give yourself such airs and graces! Don’t try and tell me you don’t know what I mean!”
“I’m sorry, Dad. Honest. I didn’t mean no harm.” She was trembling. I was just thinking I would jump out of the car myself to defend her from any more of this monstrous onslaught when William said politely, I’m sorry you should take such exception to your daughter’s conduct, Mr. Roslyn. May I confirm what Alice has said and repeat that the fault is ours and not Miss Roslyn’s? She did in fact decline the lift at first, but we persuaded her to accompany us against her wishes. Miss Roslyn, I apologize for causing you so much distress and embarrassment. Please forgive us. Good day, Mr. Roslyn.” And he turned his back on the man without another word and walked briskly around to the driving seat.
“Don’t you come near my girl again!” yelled the man after us as William released the brake. “You leave her alone!”
We drove on downhill into Morvah.
Jan-Yves kept saying, “Who was he? Why was he so horrible? What did he mean? Why doesn’t he like us?”
”I’m terribly sorry, William,” Alice said as we turned west toward St. Just. “I do apologize.”
“My dear Alice, what on earth for? It wasn’t your fault.”
“But he was so abominably rude—”
“Good gracious me!” said William blandly. “I’m not going to get upset about some nonsense which an ill-tempered Cornish farmer yelled at me on a nice peaceful July afternoon! I couldn’t care less. What does it matter anyway? We all know he’s an unpleasant man with a fanatical grudge against the Castallacks. I’m sorry for Rebecca, that’s all. I’m sure he’ll give the poor girl a terrible time.”
“William,” said Jan-Yves. “William, I don’t understand. What did he mean when he said—”
“He was just being rude, Jan-Yves. He has a grudge against us. The best thing to do is to forget the whole scene ever happened.”
“But what did he mean when he said—William, are you a Castallack? Isn’t your name Parrish after all?”
“For goodness’ sake!” I burst out, maddened by his persistence. “Can’t you stop asking questions?”
“Bu
t he said—”
“Yes, he did,” said William. “No, my name’s not Castallack, Jan-Yves, but since you ask you might as well know the truth. I don’t believe in hiding things from children. I’m not your cousin. I’m your brother, your half-brother. We had the same father but different mothers.”
“William!” I shouted at him. I could not bear Alice to hear. The whole scene was suddenly a nightmare. “Shut up, William, shut up—”
“It’s all right,” said William. “Alice hears gossip just as everyone else does. I’m sure she knows anyway.”
“But …” I could not go on. I sat back in the seat in misery and screwed my eyes tight shut so that I could not see Alice’s face.
But I still heard her voice. She said, “Please, Adrian, don’t be upset. It doesn’t matter to me in the least.”
“Wait a minute,” said Jan-Yves with intelligent precision. “This is very peculiar. Wasn’t Papa married to your mother?”
“No. That’s why our name isn’t Castallack.”
“I see,” said Jan-Yves, satisfied. “Like Bella the kitchen maid and Davey the stable boy. How nice! I am glad! I knew you were too good to be just a cousin.”
And he sat back comfortably in the seat and began to pester William with questions about Joss Roslyn.
As soon as we arrived back at Penmarric I went to my room and locked myself in. I felt exhausted and miserable. First there had been the ordeal of seeing Mrs. Castallack in church, and then, as if that were not enough for one day, I had had to endure that humiliating scene with Joss Roslyn. As I slumped on my bed in weariness my only thought was: How could Papa ever think that illegitimacy isn’t a handicap? And I began to long hopelessly for Allengate and for my mother.
Penmarric Page 38
