The Girl From Over the Sea

by Valerie K. Nelson

  ‘Then we’ll take him back to Australia,’ put in Rita, shivering, ‘and I vote we start right now. As far as I’m concerned, I can’t get back fast enough.’

  Lesley bit her lip, sorry she had precipitated this outburst. The twins hadn’t wanted to leave Australia and so far nothing in England had appealed to them sufficiently to make them want to stay.

  ‘What about tea?’ she asked brightly, deciding to change the subject. ‘Shall we go out to a cafe or ask Mrs. Cleaver for some?’

  ‘Let’s have it here,’ said Rita, ‘I can’t bear the thought of going out in the cold air.’ And Ricky echoed her remark. It was left to Lesley to take Dingo out again after dinner. The tide had rolled in since this morning and the sands where ‘the Enemy’ had talked soothingly to his runaway mare were covered now with long lines of curdled surf. There was a last hint of sun behind a big cloud raying out over the sky and down to the horizon. And where the sea, back now to its lovely green blue colour, met the sky there was a band of silver, gleaming like a shining pathway. It was a wild scene, with the waves curling white as far as Lesley could see across the turquoise waters, here and there the jagged teeth of the rocks appearing and then disappearing as the curdled waves lashed against them.

  Something wild and elemental in Lesley leapt to meet this scene. She had even in this one short day become entranced, bewitched perhaps with the brutality, the wild loveliness that lay before her. She loved it, she told herself and then came the reminder. She wasn’t going to make her home here. She was going back to Melbourne to Steve ... if he still wanted her. It was the twins whom she must involve in the mystery and romance of the land of Lyonesse.

  The wild call of the gulls echoed and re-echoed over her head and she knew she would never forget this passionate lovely coast as long as she lived. But it wasn’t for her. It was for Rita and Ricky who had not wanted to come and who up to now were uninterested, even hostile to the idea of staying here. Perhaps tomorrow they might feel different.

  Tomorrow at least brought better weather. The sunshine was only hazy, it was true, a pitiful travesty of that they had known at home, but the wind had dropped and the air was milder.

  ‘I’m not sure about lunch, Mrs. Cleaver,’ Lesley told their hostess. ‘We may not be back, or we may. It all depends,’ Mrs. Cleaver nodded comfortably. ‘Not to worry,’ she advised Lesley, who worried too much about those twins, in her opinion. ‘If the steak and kidney is off, there’s always plenty of cold roast beef.’

  Lesley now took a critical look at Rita who was still complaining about the temperature. She was wearing high boots and her suede sheepskin jacket and a college-type scarf draped round her neck. She hadn’t slept well and Lesley, wondering whether she had a temperature, had tried to persuade her to stay in bed. They could put off their visit to Trevendone Manor for another day. But Rita would have none of it. ‘If I don’t go today, I may never go at all,’ she said defiantly.

  ‘And I’m not letting you two go without me. After all, it’s Rick and me who...’

  ‘Careful,’ Ricky warned. ‘Remember our pact. The .three of us are in this together. Everything is off if any of us breaks the pact. As to putting it off, let’s go and-get it over. If they throw us out on our ears we can begin making tracks back to London. And the sooner the better so far as I’m concerned.’

  Lesley said soothingly, ‘You don’t really mean that, Rick. You’re coming, Rita?’

  ‘Of course,’ the girl sniffed. ‘Catch me missing the excitement!’

  Lesley hoped there would be no excitement. She said,

  ‘Let’s go.’ She led the way out to the Mini. ‘Did you ever think of trying for a modelling job, Les?’ Rita queried as, edged by Ricky who was holding the front seat, she folded herself into the back of the car.

  Lesley’s eyebrows were raised. ‘When I was a teenager, but I’ve had other things to worry about since then.’

  ‘Particularly us,’ grunted Rick. ‘Anyway, how long is it since you left off being a teenager, Les? Not even a year.’

  Lesley shrugged. ‘It’s not so much a matter of time as experience,’ she said dryly. ‘Remember, you’re to leave all the talking to me. And don’t either of you dare to say you aren’t interested. After all, it’s your heritage.’

  ‘Well, don’t stress too much the your, darling. Remember you’re in it too. After all, you’re supposed to be the eldest.’

  Lesley nodded. ‘Thanks for reminding me.’

  She drove out of the hotel yard down the high street and then turned off on to a high-banked lane which according to her map ran parallel to the coast. Every now and then a gateway or a lowering of the banks revealed the downs and glimpses of the sea.

  Lesley had memorised the route, so she drove steadily though remembering the near-catastrophe of two nights ago, she was careful to slow down at each crossroads. Ricky must have been remembering that incident too, for he said suddenly, ‘Do you think that fellow took our car number?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so,’ Lesley said more positively than she really felt. ‘To change the subject. We’re not taking that dog into the Manor with us.’

  ‘If we ever as much as get in,’ Ricky finished cynically.

  ‘Dingo will howl the place down if we leave him in the car,’ put in Rita, hugging the puppy, who was on the back .seat with her. Dingo responded enthusiastically by licking her face and then leaping out of her arms to put his paws on Ricky’s, shoulders.

  ‘Then he must howl,’ Lesley replied firmly, ‘for we’re not taking him in. Rita, pull him back and hold him on the seat. I can’t drive properly with him leaping about behind me.’

  Rita pulled him again into her arms, murmuring commiserations. But there were no protests and Lesley guessed that the twins were no less anxious than she was for the forthcoming meeting at Trevendone Manor to be as amicable as possible. Her thoughts ran ahead. Would it have been better to have written announcing their arrival? Thank goodness these high-banked lanes weren’t snow-covered this morning. Perhaps inevitably her mind wandered to that encounter of the night before last. How angry that man had been, and what bad luck to meet him again, and be in the wrong once more. It hadn’t been any use explaining that they had owned Dingo only for two days and were really quite unacquainted with his foibles.

  But she had the feeling that even if she had been able to explain he wouldn’t have had much sympathy. He’d called her ‘a menace’ and in turn for the twins and herself he would always be ‘the Enemy’.

  She concentrated again on the road. There must be a turning soon. ‘Here it is, I think,’ Lesley said, her voice suddenly tense. ‘This place at the entrance must be the Lodge.’

  ‘Do you think we ought to ask here?’ Ricky sounded uneasy as he stared at the scrolled iron gates which were set wide open. Lesley shook her head and clenched her teeth.

  ‘We don’t want anybody telephoning that we’re coming,’ she said grimly. ‘We might just as well have written.’

  ‘As you say, ma’am,’ Ricky made a little bow and grinned. ‘It’s up to you.’

  Lesley turned the wheel and shot up the drive past the Lodge before anyone could get to the door to ask their business. At first there were trees, beeches with the brown leaves of last year still rustling in their branches, then the drive opened out to a wide courtyard broken by symmetrical patterns of flower beds full of crocuses and snowdrops and spears of daffodils. They would be ready here in time to’ take the winds of March with beauty’, thought Lesley, and something twisted in her heart as it had done when she had stood on the cliffs and reminded herself that the magic land of Avilion was not for her. For her was the long journey back to Melbourne’ where Steve might still be waiting for her.

  The house was very large, a black and white structure with three wings giving it the traditional E shape of an Elizabethan mansion. Lesley stopped the car right in front of the great oak door, and none of them spoke as they got out and for the moment even Dingo sat quiet with his tongue lol
ling out. Still without speaking they walked up the three steps and Lesley pulled the bell rope.

  A middle-aged woman with a neat hair style, a neat woollen dress and neat shoes opened the door almost immediately. She must have been very near it when Lesley rang the bell.

  She said ‘Good morning’ and looked at Lesley enquiringly.

  Lesley returned the greeting with more composure than she felt and said, ‘Could I see Mr. Trevendone, please?’

  ‘Mr. Dominic?’ the woman queried. ‘I’m afraid he’s out somewhere on the estate.’

  ‘Then Mrs. Trevendone,’ Lesley said now.

  The other shook her head. ‘I’m afraid not. Mrs. Trevendone doesn’t see people these days except the family. I can’t take the responsibility of letting her be worried by strangers. I’m her companion, so if you care to tell me what your business is...’

  Lesley stood silently for a moment. Then she said deliberately, ‘I think Mrs. Trevendone would wish to see us. As a matter of fact we are family ... from Australia.’

  The other looked shaken. ‘Family?’ she repeated faintly. ‘From Australia. You’d better come in. It’s too cold to have this door open for long.’

  It was an ungracious welcome, but perhaps no more than they could have expected. They went through the doorway into a big hall, oak-beamed with two staircases leading from either side up a gallery where Lesley caught a glimpse of pictures. Then her eyes were drawn back to the place where they were standing. The walls were oak-panelled with open shelves at intervals on which stood articles of glass, pottery and china.

  The floor was of oak too, dark and shining and covered here and there with rugs that glowed in jewel colours. There were large settees and armchairs with some elegant upright chairs near the walls a few small gate-legged tables and at the far end a big oak desk behind which was a glass door leading into what looked like an office.

  ‘Wait here,’ the companion ordered. ‘I really don’t...’ Her voice died away querulously as she rushed to the far end of the hall and disappeared.

  ‘Dominic—he must be the fellow who owns the place,’ Rick whispered. ‘It’s much bigger and more magnificent than I bargained for. Let’s cut and run, Les.’

  She shook her head. ‘No, we’ll see it through now.’

  In a minute or two the woman returned looking smug.

  ‘Now, madam, I suggest you tell me your business, or if you prefer you could write either to Mr. Dominic or to Mrs. Trevendone.’

  Her tone seemed to imply that she was quite indifferent to what they did, and Lesley hesitated. But they weren’t going to be chased out just like that, and by a hired hand.

  She drew herself up. ‘Our business is with the Trevendones here and now,’ she said grandly. ‘Actually, our name is Trevendone and we have just arrived from Australia to take up our residence here.’

  She paused, highly satisfied with the effect her statement had had on the other, for it was obvious that she had been rendered speechless.

  And then one of the doors leading from the hall opened and a small frail figure came out. ‘Miss Yelland, I gather we have visitors. Please don’t leave them on the mat.’

  Miss Yelland rushed over to her. ‘Mrs. Trevendone, you shouldn’t be out here. I think these young people are students up to their tricks. They’ve come with some ridiculous story. I don’t know...’

  ‘Students!’ muttered Rita. ‘Sauce!’

  The three Australians stared interestedly at the small frail figure. She must be the grandmother, Lesley thought rapidly. But she looked incredibly old and ill with her dark glasses and her white hair. Lesley thought in alarm, ‘We can’t stay upsetting her. I suppose we ought to go.’

  But though she might look old and frail, her voice was high and autocratic as she called out, ‘Come over here and tell me who you are and what you want.’

  Lesley thought: in for a penny, in for a pound, walked across to where Mrs. Trevendone was standing and said, ‘Our name is Trevendone. We ... we’re the children of Ralph Trevendone for whose whereabouts there were advertisements in Australian papers many years ago.’

  The old woman thumped the floor with her stick. ‘Those advertisements were sent in against my wishes. My view was that Ralph had taken himself off to Australia when he was nineteen and as he stayed there he must have preferred it to Cornwall. So let him stay...’

  Behind her, Lesley heard Rita mutter, ‘Of course he preferred Australia to this cold benighted spot. Who wouldn’t?’ Lesley hoped this rather formidable old person hadn’t heard.

  She said placatingly, looking anxiously at the tottery old figure around which Miss Yelland was hovering and clucking ineffectually, ‘Would it be better for all of us to sit down, Mrs. Trevendone? Then I could explain.’

  ‘Come in, then,’ the other said ungraciously. ‘Yelland, stop fussing and order some coffee. How many are there of you? Another girl and what’s this ... a boy?’

  ‘This is Rita, and here is Richard. I’m told he looks very much like his ... like Father. Rick.’ She turned to the boy and not without a certain grace, Richard sauntered forward. Till now he had remained very much in the background. Lesley, watching, saw Mrs. Trevendone’s face change, grow rigid as if with shock and then soften into delighted surprise. Obviously she could see through those dark glasses, perhaps more with her mind’s eye than with actual vision.

  ‘It isn’t Ralph he’s like,’ she said in tones of scorn. ‘It’s Jason, my husband. Jason just as he was when we first met and I was attending my first grown-up party.’

  Lesley relaxed slightly. If this elderly member of the family accepted Richard then the others would probably follow suit.

  ‘Come in and tell me everything,’ Mrs. Trevendone went on now, sweepingly. ‘Yelland ... that coffee, if you please.’

  The three followed her into a small beautifully furnished drawing room with a decor of cream and nile green. From the temperature it was obvious that there was some form of central heating, but a log fire burned in the cream-coloured fireplace. Lesley thought it was much too warm, but Rita, drawing near to the fire, still shivered.

  ‘Sit down,’ Mrs. Trevendone ordered, ‘and I’ll tell you about the Trevendones.’ She began to talk in a rambling fashion while Lesley with knitted brows listened and tried to piece together what she was saying. She seemed to be the twins’ great-grandmother with only one son, their grandfather surviving the First World War. He had had two sons, their father Ralph and his brother David.

  ‘Now they are both dead,’ Mrs. Trevendone said vaguely, ‘and all that are left are you three, Ralph’s children, and Dominic and Jennifer, David’s children ... and me, your great-grandmother, an old, old lady who has outlived all her own friends.’

  Lesley’s hands were clenched as she stared at her. ‘We didn’t know ... didn’t realise he ... our ... Uncle David was dead. It was he whom I ... we ... were hoping to meet.’

  What should be her next move? she was asking herself. The man in possession, that cousin Dominic, might be a different proposition from an uncle who would know he had supplanted his brother.

  ‘Now let me look at my great-grandson Richard. Come and sit here, young man.’

  One of Ricky’s more endearing qualities was that he was good with old people. It seemed to come perfectly naturally to him and now without embarrassment he went over to the old lady’s chair and perched on the arm.

  ‘You’re too high there,’ she said coquettishly. ‘Geta cushion and sit where I can see your face.’

  With the same lazy grace he collected a cushion, placed it near her feet and looked up at her with a smile in his sea blue eyes. ‘No need to ask whether you’re going to be a success with the girls,’ she said. ‘You’re just like my Jason. You even have his smile, for all you were born and bred in that far-away country.”

  With tight lips, Miss Yelland brought in a tray of coffee and proceeded to pour out. Richard and Lesley got up to help her, but Rita, crouching in a chair near the fire, remained wher
e she was. Even when a cup and saucer was placed on a small table beside her she did not stir.

  ‘Rita,’ Lesley said gently, ‘drink your coffee while it’s hot.’

  She wished she had persuaded the girl to stay in bed, she thought in a troubled manner. Then the sound of footsteps in the courtyard caused her to turn to watch a figure passing by the windows of the elegant drawing room.

  For a space of seconds it seemed to Lesley that her heart had stopped beating. Then she pulled herself together. Was she becoming completely obsessed? It was bad enough dreaming for two nights in succession about him. She surely wasn’t going to be so crazy as to start daydreaming as well!

  Now she could hear footsteps crossing the great hall’ and then in the doorway a figure loomed, preternaturally large to Lesley’s horrified eyes. It just wasn’t any good her defiant mind saying ‘Oh no!’ That didn’t make the slightest difference. It was the man to whom the twins now always referred as ‘the Enemy.’ And ‘the Enemy’ was here, right inside the place which they were hoping to claim as their home.

  He was either very good at disguising his expression or he wasn’t as surprised as she was. Then in a swift flash, she recalled her grandiose manner at their first meeting when she had given him their address. Trevendone Manor! No wonder he had stared at her so consideringly.

  He said, ‘So it’s you’—and to Lesley’s prejudiced ears his tones seemed to convey the deepest disgust. ‘You’ve arrived at Trevendone Manor ... at last.’

  CHAPTER III

  Lesley felt beyond speech and she dared not look in the direction of either twin. She sat motionless as he advanced into the room, followed by Miss Yelland looking unbearably smug. ‘I sent for you because I thought you were the person to deal with this ... invasion.’

  He sauntered over to the fireplace with an arrogant composure which revealed that he was very much at home, very much the master of the house, pausing only to lean with a smiling good morning towards old Mrs. Trevendone, who had again closed her eyes.