The Cottage on the Cliffs

BEFORE THAT WEEK WAS out we were on our way to Cornwall.

Dermot and Dorabella met us at the station. Dorabella looked radiant and beautiful; the prospect of motherhood had changed her in a subtle way: There was a softness about her which made her seem more vulnerable than ever.

She flung herself at us. My mother hugged her and then it was my turn.

“It is wonderful that you have come,” she cried.

“With news like this, what did you expect?” asked my mother.

“Everybody’s thrilled, aren’t they, Dermot?”

Dermot confirmed this and tenderly told her not to get too excited.

My mother smiled fondly at this display of husbandly concern, and we got into the car and drove to the house.

Matilda was waiting to greet us.

“How nice to see you,” she said. “Dorabella has been hoping you’d come for ages. Of course, the weather has not been good.”

“It’s lovely now,” said my mother.

“Spring is here.”

We went to the rooms which we had had for our last visit.

The old man came down to dinner and Gordon Lewyth was there, too. They both said how pleased they were to see us.

The old man was smiling that strange smile of secret amusement which I had noticed before.

“What do you think of the news?” he asked.

“We are delighted,” said my mother.

He nodded, smiling. “We are looking forward to the new arrival, aren’t we, Matty…Gordon? All of us…we can’t wait to see the little fellow.”

“You seem to be sure it will be a boy,” said my mother.

“Of course it will be a boy. Tregarlands always have boys.”

He was laughing to himself, as though it were some big joke.

Gordon asked about my father. I think he was disappointed because he had not come with us.

The old man was saying: “Gordon is especially delighted. He is looking forward already to the little one’s growing up and helping him with the estate. That is so, is it not, Gordon?”

Gordon’s face twisted into a smile.

“You’re looking very far ahead, Mr. Tregarland,” he said.

“It’s always a good idea to look ahead. Well, there is one thing we can be sure of. My grandson will have a good welcome when he arrives.”

Again I had that feeling that there was some sort of innuendo intended, and the uneasiness I had felt during my previous visit came back to me.

We had little time to talk to Dorabella alone, but my mother did corner her and asked the question, “When?”

“November,” said Dorabella.

I was hoping she would join me for a chat, which she would in due course, but I must be patient, it seemed.

My mother said to me, “November. That’s seven months’ time. We shall have to be with her then.”

“We will. They all seem so delighted about it.”

“Families love babies, and this will be the first to be born for years. They won’t have had any babies around for a long time. I am going to ask to see the nurseries here. I’ll get Matilda to show me. I am sure she will be very helpful. Dorabella is not the most practical person. She’ll need looking after.”

“It is wonderful that she is so happy.”

“I hope she will be all right. Pregnancies can be trying times. What about Nanny Crabtree?”

“What about her?”

“For Dorabella, of course. I could see if she were free.”

Nanny Crabtree had played a big part in my youth—and that meant Dorabella’s. Plump, with a double chin, what had fascinated us about her from our earliest days had been a large wart on that second chin from which a solitary hair protruded. We had often speculated about it and wondered why she did not pull it out.

“If she did,” I prophesied, “two more would grow in its place.”

Nanny Crabtree could be stern in the extreme and tell dire stories of what happened to little girls who did not eat up their rice pudding. They never grew up and remained little all their lives; if they made a face over it, God would be so angry with them and He would make them go through life with their tongues stuck out in a hideous scowl. But when we fell over we would fly to her ample lap to be comforted and have plaster or whatever was necessary from her spacious medicine cupboard; and if we were in some trouble which had been brought on through something not our fault, we were told that we were our Nanny Crabtree’s Pet and that was enough for anyone. The mention of her name brought her back clearly to my mind.

“Nanny Crabtree sounds a wonderful idea,” I said.

“And,” said my mother, “we must make arrangements to be here at the time. And in between now and November it would be nice if one of us was here…often. I know that is what she would like.”

I could not sleep that night. It would be all right, I assured myself. November would soon be here. My mother would make sure everything was all right.

Yet I could not rid myself of that uneasiness which settled on me as soon as I was alone.

I lay listening to the sea breaking on the rocks below. It was like whispering voices.

The three of us spent a lot of time together. After all, it was the reason for our coming.

My mother discussed the practical details and we went into Plymouth and bought clothes for the baby and some for Dorabella when she would become advanced in pregnancy. We lunched at a restaurant near the main shops and talked animatedly as we ate as to what would be needed.

“November may seem a long way off now,” said my mother, “but time flies. We must be prepared.”

She had already told Dorabella that she was thinking of asking Nanny Crabtree to come.

Dorabella was amused and she and I went into a long “Do you remember?” conversation which resulted in much laughter as we recalled our childhood adventures with that redoubtable Nanny Crabtree.

Our mother listened with amused tolerance and then she said: “Well, you can trust Nanny Crabtree. She was heartbroken when you girls went away to school. I knew she would come back if she were free. Matilda is quite amenable. I discussed the matter with her, so there won’t be any difficulty there. I shall write to Nanny Crabtree as soon as we get home.”

While we were going round the shops I had an opportunity to ask Dorabella if she had told my mother yet about Dermot’s first marriage.

“Yes,” she said. “I told her this morning while we were waiting for you to come down.”

“What did she say?”

“She was surprised. Not shocked really. She just said, ‘Why didn’t he tell you?’ I said he didn’t really want to talk about it, and that we never mention it now. Dermot said he had been afraid to tell me in case it made some difference. He thought it might change my feelings for him, and I might not want to marry him. That’s what I told her.”

“She doesn’t think very much of it then?”

“Not all that much. She understands why he didn’t want to tell.”

“That’s all right, then.”

“I don’t think about it now. When I wrote to you it was fresh in my mind and then it seemed…important. Matilda has referred to it once or twice and she said she’s glad to see Dermot’s happy now.”

Later that day my mother came to my room, and I knew at once that she wanted to talk about Dermot’s first marriage.

“I was astounded when she told me,” she said. “You knew, of course. She said she had told you and bound you to secrecy. Well, it’s over, isn’t it…odd, he didn’t say he was a widower.”

“Perhaps he thought that sounded too mature. I think when they met in Germany he was very attracted to her and he wanted to be young and carefree, as she was, certainly not like a man who had been married.”

“People get these notions. He’s absolutely devoted to her. I was a little anxious because it was so rushed, but being here and seeing them together makes me feel better about it. I wish they weren’t so far away. Matilda is very efficient, and I think she is quite fond of Dorabella. She’s relieved that there is no interference with the running of the house which she might have got from some. So that side of it is all very amicable. I am not worried, really. We’ll keep an eye on Dorabella and, if I can get Nanny Crabtree in residence, that will be fine. Thank goodness we have a little time to get all this worked out.”

I was naturally hoping to see Jowan Jermyn again. I could remember every detail of that meeting with him from the time I was cautiously getting up from my fall to the moment we parted at the boundary of the two estates.

Starlight was still available and I had ridden her once or twice. I usually rode alone. It was early days yet, but Dermot was anxious that Dorabella should not ride. My mother was often in Matilda’s company, discussing nursery preparations; Dorabella would now and then feel tired and want to rest. So I found that it was not difficult for me to slip away on my own.

I went to the stables. The groom, whose name I had discovered was Tom Smart, said: “Good morning, Miss. I reckon you be looking for Starlight.”

He remembered that I had ridden the mare when she cast a shoe and I had had to take her to the blacksmith.

“She be in right good order this day, Miss,” he told me. “None of they there shoes coming off this time.”

“I hope not.”

“She remembers you well. That’s for certain sure. Her be pricking up her ears. Let her have a bit of a nuzzle and you’ll see.”

I followed his advice and it was clear that Starlight did remember me.

“I’ll have her saddled in a tick,” said Tom.

“Thank you.”

“ ’Tis a nice day for a ride,” he said as he waved me off.

It was a nice day for a ride. April, I had discovered, was a beautiful month in Cornwall. Spring comes a little earlier there than to the rest of the country; there were wild flowers in the hedgerows; the trees did not thrive near the coast but inland they were magnificent; the heavy rainfall made for luscious growth. Some trees, however, were battered by the force of gales which had twisted them into odd shapes, which a few quirks of the imagination could transform into something from Dante’s Inferno. A strange country, I thought. Sometimes it was warm and cosy, at others forbidding.

The screeching of the ever-present gulls sounded almost malignant, a warning mingling with the murmur of the sea.

I suppose I was being fanciful again. It was because I could not feel perfectly at ease at Tregarland’s.

I turned toward the Jermyn land. I would have no excuse for trespassing this time, yet I had an urge to retrace my footsteps and recall that incident in every detail.

It was foolish of me, but there was no one around so I took the turning which I had taken before and found my way to the field.

There was the spot where the tree had fallen. I rode up to it and inspected the gap where it had been. I looked at it for some moments, thinking of that fall and how I had extricated my foot from the stirrup as Jowan Jermyn had arrived.

I rode across the field, trying to remember which way we had walked to the blacksmith’s place. Once there, my trespassing would be at an end, because that would not be Jermyn land.

I was on a path which I had seen before. I came to a clearing and pulled up sharply. A group of men were standing together. There was a cottage close to a hedge and they were looking at something there. I would have turned and gone back, but one of the men had started to come toward me. I saw at once that it was Jowan Jermyn.

I felt overcome with embarrassment. I was caught trespassing again.

He called: “Hello there.”

He came toward me.

“Why!” he said. “It’s Miss…er…Denver.”

I was surprised and rather pleased that he had remembered my name.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m trespassing again.”

“No, no. Friends are always welcome.”

“Thank you. I was trying to find that Smithy Inn. Am I near it?”

“Very close. Give me a moment and I’ll join you.”

He went over to the men while I waited. He very soon returned.

“We’re doing some repairs to that cottage,” he said. “It’s becoming derelict. It hasn’t been occupied for some time. Now, you are looking for Smithy’s…not the blacksmith’s but the inn. No more lost shoes, I hope?”

“Oh, no. I thought I should find it more easily. I am very sorry to have trespassed again.”

“I’m glad you did. I was getting a little bored with that cottage. They can manage very well without me. What have you been doing since I last saw you?”

“We had a wedding, you know.”

“Of course. We all knew about that. And Dermot Tregarland returned with his fair bride. We are kept well informed, you know.”

“Well, apart from the wedding, I have done very little. My mother has not been very well this winter and I have been helping to look after her.”

“I hope she has now recovered?”

“She wasn’t really ill. And thanks, she is quite well now. As a matter of fact, she is here in Cornwall with me.”

“Good. Look. Here we are. Now you are here, you must try a glass of their very special cider.”

“That sounds rather a good idea.”

“I assure you it is. Let’s take the mare to the stables. She’ll be all right there.”

We did so. I thought she must have been there before because the man in charge seemed to know her. Everyone here seemed to know everyone else.

The inn looked just as it had last time I had seen it—the fireplace with the glistening brasses, the cosy atmosphere. Mrs. Brodie came out to serve us. She recognized me immediately.

“Well, Miss, so you be back with us then? That be nice. Come back to see your sister, ’ave ’ee?”

I was amazed at her memory and told her so.

“That be part of the business, Miss. We do remember our customers.”

“I told her she must try some of your excellent cider,” said Jowan Jermyn.

“That be nice of ’ee, sir.”

“The best in Cornwall,” he added.

“And who am I to say nay to that? I’ll get two tankards right away. That right?”

“Absolutely.”

He smiled at me when she had gone. “She’s a dear old soul,” he said. “She has a mind like the Records Office. She knows what happens to every one of us from the time we were born.”

“Isn’t that rather uncomfortable?”

“It has its drawbacks, naturally, unless, of course, you are living a blameless life. That isn’t much use to Mrs. Brodie. She likes a bit of excitement. But there are advantages. A visit to the inn and you can come out knowing more about your neighbors than you did when you went in.”

“I think I would prefer anonymity.”

“Does that mean…?” He raised his eyebrows. “But, no, I am impertinent.”

“Not in the least,” I retorted. “I merely mean that I should not like to have my actions put on record. I suppose she will tell people that I, coming from Tregarland’s, took a tankard of cider with the enemy across the boundary.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Which cannot be of great interest to anyone.”

“I disagree. But it does depend on what news is going around at the time. The system has to be kept going and any scrap of news is better than no news at all. Besides, you have forgotten the feud.”

“But I am not really involved. I am not one of the enemy.”

“That,” he said, “is a nice thought.”

Mrs. Brodie appeared with the tankards.

When she had gone, he said: “How long shall you be here?”

“It isn’t decided yet, but it won’t be a long visit. Though my mother and I will be here for the birth…and before that, I daresay.”

“Oh, the baby.”

“My sister is going to have one. But I expect your excellent news service has told you that already?”

“It has indeed. I am very interested and delighted that you will be a frequent visitor.”

“My sister likes to have her family around.”

“Naturally.”

“And as she and I are twins…”

“Of course. Well, let us hope it all goes well.”

“But of course it will,” I replied with conviction.

“Of course. The cider is good, isn’t it?”

“Very.”

“The West Country is famous for it, you know—Devon and Cornwall.”

“So I have heard.”

“You did tell me last time we met that you had left school last summer. Shall you stay at home or take up some career?”

“Because of my sister’s sudden marriage, I have not thought of anything but that. Until the baby is born I think we shall be quite preoccupied with that.”

“And you will be here often, so that we shall be neighbors. I am sure they are very happy at Tregarland’s about the child.”

“Oh, yes, they are.”

“It will be a comfort…after what happened.”

“You must be referring to Dermot’s first wife. I think he is very happy now. That other is all in the past.”

“Oh, yes.”

“I suppose people round here know all about his first marriage.”

He lifted his shoulders as though to imply what did I expect.

“Did you know her?”

“Not personally. I had seen her around. She lived with her mother in one of the cottages right on the cliff looking down on West Poldown. One saw her around quite a bit. She worked at the Sailor’s Rest.”

“The Sailor’s Rest? Isn’t that the inn on the west side overlooking the river mouth?”

“That’s it.” He grinned at me. “Something of a mésalliance, I fear.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Shock waves ran round the place when they married. I can’t imagine old Mr. Tregarland was very pleased with the choice of his son and heir. People liked her. Annette, she was…Annette Pardell. Mrs. Pardell still lives in…er…Cliff Cottage, I think it is called. She never got over it. She’s a widow and Annette was her only child. You didn’t know this?”

“No, not the details. Dorabella told me that Dermot had been married before and that his first wife had died. She had drowned when bathing.”

“Annette was a great one for the sea. They say she was in it every day during the summer. A big, strong girl, the last you’d think to go that way. She’d been swimming since she was a child. They came down here from the North of England—Yorkshire, I think. I gathered Mrs. Pardell had some sort of pension, enough to get by. She rented Cliff Cottage and has been there ever since she came to Cornwall. Annette was a fine-looking girl. Mrs. Pardell had plans for her and was not too pleased when she landed up in the bar. She was an excellent barmaid, bright and saucy. You know the sort. She got on well with the men customers, and the women liked her, too. There was talk when she married the son of the big house, as you can imagine—and then she died like that.”

“Was Dermot very upset?”

He was silent for a while.

“I don’t know,” he said at length. “But I don’t think it had been very good at the house. You know how it is. Annette did not really fit in. And there was the baby…”

“What baby?”

“Oh…she was going to have a baby. That was why she shouldn’t have gone swimming. She was not in a fit state to do so. It was foolish of her. There was no one about apparently. It was early morning. She’d always liked a swim first thing in the morning. The temptation must have been too strong for her. Of course, in her condition, she should have known better. She went down to that beach below the Tregarland gardens and went in from there. Her body was washed up a week or so later. There was mystery for a few days, but her bathrobe and slippers were there on the beach to indicate what had happened.”

“What a terrible tragedy! And the baby…”

“I reckon they are overjoyed now that there is another little one on the way.”

“Oh, yes. They are thrilled, of course.”

“I understand that. And I am delighted because it means that you will be down here often, and you and I can have a little rendezvous. You can’t invite me to Tregarland. I am wondering whether I can ask you to my place. This is the first time that stupid feud has been a nuisance.”

“Tell me about yourself,” I said.

He lifted his shoulders. “What do you want to know?”

“You love your estate. I believe Jermyn Priory has been in your family for years.”

“Yes. It was a priory in the fourteenth century. In the sixteenth it was destroyed with countless others and later the house was built using some of the stone from the desecrated priory. My family came here at that time and we have been here ever since. My father was a younger son, and I did not inherit the place until two years ago. I have an excellent manager. We get on well together and he lives in a house close to the Priory. He has an efficient wife who has taken upon herself to see that I lack nothing. I have a good housekeeper and am surrounded by excellent people, so I am well cosseted. There! You couldn’t get better than that from Mrs. Brodie.”

“You seem to be well satisfied with life.”

“Up to a point. I often go to London and now and then travel on the Continent. I should like to see more of my neighbors, but it is surprising how this stupid feud gets in the way. It’s ridiculous after all these years. But there it is.”

“Perhaps if you made a few advances…?”

“I did try once and was refused. The Tregarlands are not very sociable, you know. The old man is a bit of an enigma and he is the head of it. He lives rather like a recluse now, but he had quite a reputation in the past. He was once a very merry gentleman—very fond of the ladies—traveling around, living riotously. Dances, card parties, and then suddenly he became ill. It was the gout, I believe, which incapacitated him somewhat. He married in his forties, but he didn’t really settle down then until the gout grew worse. His wife died a few years after Dermot was born, and then Mrs. Lewyth and her little boy came to live there. She looks after him very well, I believe. There’s a rumour that she is a distant relation—a poor one—but no one seems quite certain of that.”

“I am not sure, either.”

“Well, he has become much more sober since then. Enforced, of course. But all that was years ago.”

He looked at my empty tankard.

“Would you like another?” he asked.

“No, thanks.”

“I see you are a wise young woman. It is rather potent.”

“Yes, it certainly is.”

“You’ll get used to it in time.” He smiled at me. “As we can’t invite each other to our houses, we shall have to have a meeting place. Not too often here.” He raised his eyebrows. “For obvious reasons, we do not want to figure too often in the news bulletins. We will go somewhere else. There are some interesting places around here.”

“I daresay I shall be going home soon.”

“We must meet before you do and make arrangements for your next descent upon us.”

I felt very pleased that he had suggested this, and we arranged to meet two days later in the field where I had fallen and we would go out to the Horned Stag, which was a little way out on the moor.

We parted at the boundary and I rode back to Tregarland’s exhilarated by the encounter, but I could not stop thinking of Annette who was to have had Dermot’s child and had, one morning, foolishly gone swimming in the sea.

Next morning I could not resist going along to have a look at Cliff Cottage, There it was, as Jowan Jermyn had described it, set on the west cliff, looking down on the town. It was very neat, with white net curtains at the windows and a front garden which was clearly very well tended.

I lingered and a woman came out of the cottage. I had a notion that she had seen me through the lace curtains.

She did not speak; she had a somewhat dour expression—one might say bellicose almost, as though she were warning me to keep away.

“Good morning,” I said pleasantly.

She nodded acknowledgment of the greeting and somehow managed to imply that, as far as she was concerned, that was the end of the encounter.

I was disappointed. I had hoped she would be like so many of the people hereabouts, eager for a little chat.

I said: “I was admiring your garden.”

I had hit on the right note, for her expression softened ever so slightly. I had guessed she was devoted to her garden. I pressed home my advantage.

“How do you manage to get these lovely things to grow here? It must be difficult, for you would get the full force of the wind, I imagine.”

“Aye,” she said grudgingly. “The wind’s a problem.”

“It must be hard work, and, of course, you have to choose what will thrive.”

“You a gardener?” she asked. Her voice was quite different from the soft Cornish accent which I had been hearing all around me. I remembered that Jowan Jermyn had said she came from the North.

“Not an expert one,” I said, falsely lying by implication, for I was no gardener at all. “But it is a fascinating hobby.”

“You’re right. Gets a hold of you.”

“Those firs…they are…?”

“Lawson’s cypress. Make a good hedge. The rate they grow, too!” She was definitely relenting. “They came through the post in an envelope…just a little packet, a bunch of sprigs. Now look at them.”

“Miraculous,” I said, gazing rapturously at them.

“They grow stubby…not tall, then they stand up to the wind. That’s something you have to think about in this place.”

I knew that it would be fatal to try to take the subject away from the garden.

She volunteered: “Climate here is soft and damp. Plants here are four weeks in advance of those in the North.”

“Is that so? What healthy-looking plants those are. What are they?”

She looked shocked because I did not know something so commonplace.

“Hydrangeas, of course. Grow like wildfire here because of the damp. This is going to be a good year for the roses.”

“Is it?”

She nodded sagely. “I know the signs.”

“You have some lovely ones.”

“Some varieties, yes. I’d like to get my hands on a good Christmas rose.”

“Can’t you…er …get your hands on one?”

“There’s one variety I want. ’Ee, it’s gradely, that one. I’ve only ever seen one in these parts. In the big house garden.” Her face hardened perceptibly. “Up at Tregarland’s. They’ve got just the one I’d like. They can grow it, and they’re as exposed as I am. Can’t get one anywhere. I’ve tried. I reckon it’s a hybrid. It’s a special sort. Like a Christmas rose yet different…in a way. Not quite, you see. I’ve never seen one just like it.”

“Wouldn’t they give you a cutting or something?”

I was afraid I was betraying my ignorance of horticulture and that she would sense there was some ulterior motive behind all this.

“I wouldn’t ask them. I wouldn’t have aught to do with them.”

“Oh, that’s a pity.”

I had blundered.

She said: “Well, I’ve got work to do.”

She nodded curtly. It was dismissal.

I had imagined a cosy chat, being invited into the house, perhaps a glass of homemade cider or elderberry wine. Far from it! I should find it very difficult to get any information out of her.

I wanted so much to talk to her, to hear about the daughter who had worked as a barmaid at the Sailor’s Rest, who had married the heir of Tregarland’s, who had met an untimely death. But there would be nothing of that from Mrs. Pardell.

Disappointed, I retraced my steps.

I wished I could talk to her. She would be down to earth; there would be no flights of fancy, only solid facts. I believed I could have had a clear picture from her.

But why did I want it? It was all in the past. Yet what I had learned had made me think differently. People were not always what they seemed. Dermot himself…the charming, rather debonair young man on a walking tour in the German forest had given no hint of the tragedy in his life which could not have left him unscathed. How different he would have seemed—to me at any rate—if I had known that he had had a wife who had been drowned not long before her baby had been born. Then there was the old man who had led a riotous life and nowadays was more or less a recluse with a keen and, I was sure, mischievous delight in what was going on around him. Matilda, of course, was easy to know. Her son Gordon puzzled me a little. He was so aloof, so wrapped up in the estate toward which Dermot seemed almost indifferent.

On the way back to Tregarland’s an idea came to me.

I really did want to see more of Mrs. Pardell, and I should have no excuse for calling again. I could not just hang over the fence and gaze at the garden. And if I did, it would not be long before she would discover my ignorance. And then I imagined that shrewd Northern lady would soon suspect other motives—particularly when she discovered I was a guest at Tregarland’s and the sister of Dermot’s second wife. How much did she know? The Cornish were suspicious of foreigners and she would undoubtedly be dubbed one.

I decided to act on the idea which had come to me. It might misfire, but there was no reason why I should not give it a trial.

When I returned to the house, I went to the garden which sloped down to the sea and the private beach—that beach where Dermot’s first wife had gone to bathe on that fateful morning. I stood for a moment, letting the faintly scented air gently caress me. It was beautiful here, but I kept thinking of Annette’s coming down the slope. She would walk slowly, being heavily pregnant. How could she have done that? She must have known what a risk she was taking. I was lost in thought until I reminded myself why I was here.

I saw one of the gardeners at work some little way off, and I went to him.

I knew his name was Jack, so I said: “Hello, Jack.”

He touched his cap and leaned on his spade.

“Nice day, Miss,” he said.

“The gardens are looking beautiful.”

He looked pleased.

“They’ll be a real treat in a week or so. Let’s hope us don’t get no more of them there winds.”

“They are the garden’s biggest enemy, I suppose.”

He scratched his head. “There be others, but you can’t get away from them there winds. And here…well!” He lifted his shoulders in a helpless gesture.

“You’ve got that plant,” I began. “Is it some sort of Christmas rose?”

“Oh…I do know what you mean. It be a Christmas rose…with a difference like. It’s not one that you come across every day of your life.”

“Could you show it to me? I’d like to see it.”

I followed him up the slope a little way.

“It be over ’ere, Miss. There. Beauty, ain’t she?”

“Jack, can you take cuttings of these things?”

“Well, Miss, course you can. Trouble is they don’t always take root. This ’un…well…’er likes it here. Perhaps her fancies a bit of breeze now and then, and there’s the salt in the air. You’ll get some as flourishes by the sea and there’s others can’t abide it.”

“I met someone who was asking about that rose. Is it possible to take a cutting that I could give her?”

“Well, Miss, I don’t see why not.”

“Would you do that for me?”

“Course I would, Miss. Don’t guarantee it’ll take.”

“She’s a good gardener and would try very hard.”

“Someone round here then?”

“Someone I got into conversation with. She mentioned the rose, you see…”

“Oh, aye. Right you are, Miss. When would you want it?”

“Tomorrow?”

“You come to me, Miss, and I’ll do it then.”

“Oh, thank you, Jack. She’ll be delighted.”

“I just hope it takes, that’s all.”

I smiled. I did not care greatly whether it “took” or not. I was obsessed at the moment about having a talk with the mother of Dermot’s first wife.

The following morning I took the cutting to Cliff Cottage. The transformation was amazing. She stared at it and a smile of pleasure crossed her face. I could not believe that she often looked like that. It changed her completely.

“You got it then?” she said.

“It was no problem. I just asked the gardener. I think he was pleased that someone had admired it.”

“I can’t tell you…” She took it from me almost reverently, and started to walk into the house. I followed her.

“He said it might not take.”

“I know that. It happens now and then.”

“If it doesn’t, you must let me know and I will get you another.”

We were in a hall, shining with polish, and then went into an equally immaculate kitchen. I knew I was being bold and perhaps brazen, but I had not made this effort for nothing, and she would have to be polite to me since I had brought her such a prize.

I do believe she was truly grateful.

She said: “It was good of you.”

She was doing something to the cutting. She stood it in a glass of water and turned to me.

“Perhaps you’d like a cup of coffee…or some tea?”

I said I should like a cup of coffee.

“I’ll put you in the sitting room while I make it.”

“Thank you.”

I was seated there. It was just what I had expected. I could smell the furniture polish. The wooden floor, with its rugs, looked slightly dangerous. I was careful not to slip.

Almost immediately I saw the photograph in a silver frame on a small table. The girl was plump and as unlike Mrs. Pardell as any girl could be. She was smiling and there was a hint of mischief in the smile. She had a retroussé nose and a wide smile. Her blouse was low-cut, revealing the beginnings of an ample bosom.

Annette, I thought. And what had Mrs. Pardell’s reaction been to her daughter’s working as a barmaid at the Sailor’s Rest? It was an incongruous occupation for the daughter of such a woman.

She came in with two cups of coffee on a tray, and the words “That is your daughter, I suppose?” came to my lips, but I restrained myself in time from uttering them. I must act with care, or I should never be invited here again.

“This is kind of you,” I said instead.

“Least I could do.”

She made it sound as though it were a necessary payment for my efforts; and I knew that I must be very cautious.

My eyes kept straying to the picture of the girl, and it occurred to me that, as she must be aware of my interest, it would seem odd if I said nothing.

“What an attractive girl!” I said.

“Think so?” Her lips tightened.

“Is she your daughter?”

She nodded. “Was. She’s gone now…she died.”

“Oh, I am sorry.”

She was cautious. I sensed that, cutting or no cutting, she would have no prying.

I changed the subject.

“You come from the North, I believe?”

“Yes. Came here with my husband. He got a bad chest at his work and, as was right and proper, they gave him a sum of money. Well, we came here. Climate was better for him, they said.”

“And you like it here?”

“Some ways do, some ways don’t.”

“Well,” I said philosophically, “that’s life, isn’t it?”

“It’s good growing grounds.”

So, I thought, we are back to the garden. I must be very careful not to reveal my ignorance and a certain lack of enthusiasm for the subject.

I said: “This coffee is good. It is so kind of you.”

She frowned. I could see she was thinking, Southern claptrap…saying what they don’t mean. The coffee’s all right and after all, as I had procured the cutting, she naturally had to make a show of hospitality. That was all it was…so why pretend?

She said: “In the North you know where you are. Here, well, there’s a lot of soft talk. Blah-blah, I call it. Me dear this and me dear that, and when you turn your back they’re tearing you to pieces.”

“People are more forthright in the North, I am sure. So you live alone?”

“Yes, now.”

I was on dangerous ground again. If I were not careful, I, should not be asked again.

Gratitude for the cutting, however, lingered on, and I did want to hear her account of her daughter’s death.

She said suddenly: “You on holiday here?”

“Yes…at Tregarland’s.”

“Yes. I know. You got the cutting from the gardens there.”

She was holding her head high and nodding a little. Her lips were tightly drawn together.

I said: “You probably know it is my sister who has married into the family.”

She nodded. It was not a good recommendation: the sister of the wife who had taken the place of her daughter.

I said hastily: “I shall not be there long. My mother and I are going home in a few days.”

She nodded again. I think that made her feel a little more kindly toward me.

I realized she was not going to share any confidences with me. I was wasting my time. But I was not going to give up yet.

I said, putting the cup down close to Annette’s picture: “Well, thank you. That was very nice. I do hope the cutting takes.”

“We’ll have to see about that.”

“I wonder…if you’d mind…?”

She looked at me intently and I went on boldly: “I wonder, on my next visit, if I might call so that you could show me how it thrived?”

Her face changed. The gardener was a different woman from the bereaved mother.

“Of course, you must come. I’ll be glad to show you. And I’ll tell you this: It’s going to be happy in my garden. You’ll see. When you next come, it will be settled in a treat.”

I came out of Cliff Cottage smiling.

Not exactly a successful enterprise, but it was not completely closed.

I started on my way down to the little town, thinking of Mrs. Pardell and wondering if I should ever succeed in getting her to talk to me as I wanted her to. It was a challenge, and I could not help feeling proud of myself for thinking of such an astute move in taking the cutting. She was forthright in the extreme. She would pride herself on calling a spade a spade. She would not tolerate deception as she would call the diplomatic but not quite sincere methods of the Southerners in making life comfortable with a few white lies. I knew her type well. For her the bare truth must stand, however disagreeable.

There was a slight breeze bringing with it the smell of seaweed. The path along the cliff was uneven. One went downhill and then up again. Tom Smart, the groom, had said: “ ’Tis a bony road along they cliff paths,” and I knew what he meant. In places the path was narrow—not safe for children—and in parts there was a direct drop to the sea. Farther along, I knew, there was a section where the path was particularly narrow and the drop exceptionally steep. A fence had been erected there since, Matilda had told me, one day an elderly man had slipped on an icy surface and plunged over the cliff to his death.

I stood still for a moment to fill my lungs with the invigorating air.

Few people used this part of the cliff. It was very rugged and particularly beautiful. I supposed I should get to know it very well in time, for Dorabella and I would never tolerate being apart for long, and I supposed I should be here often.

I watched a greedy gull snatch a tidbit from the mouth of another. He swooped triumphantly while the victim screeched in anger.

Then I heard footsteps coming along the path. I started to move and came to the narrow spot with the fence. It certainly did not look very strong. Above the path rose the cliff face and below it the steep drop to the sea.

“Violetta,” said a voice. I swung round. Gordon Lewyth was coming toward me.

“Oh,” I said. “It’s you.”

“I saw you coming out of Cliff Cottage.”

“Did you? I didn’t see you.”

“Visiting Mrs. Pardell?”

“Oh, yes.”

“How did you manage that? She is not known for her hospitality.”

“No,” I replied. “But she is a very keen gardener, too.”

“A common interest? So you are a keen gardener, too?”

“Well, not exactly.”

He was standing very near to me. I did not know what to think of him. I never had. He was a very secret person, and I felt it would be very hard to understand what was in his mind. His height, his broadness, seemed to dwarf me so that I felt a certain vulnerability. I had the sudden feeling that he could be very ruthless, and I seemed very much alone and unprotected.

I heard myself explaining: “I looked at her garden when I was passing, and she came out and talked and told me about some plant she had seen in the gardens at Tregarland’s, and I got a cutting for her from Jack. I took it to her and she asked me in for a cup of coffee.”

“That was a great concession. She is not very friendly with us at the house.”

“I have heard of the connection.”

He nodded. “And did you have an interesting chat?”

“Well, no…it was about gardens, of which I know very little.”

“Oh,” he said, and put his hand on the fence. “People don’t use this road very much,” he went on.

“There are lots of ups and downs,” I said.

“There is the higher road above…” He nodded upwards. “But it is a long way round. Wet weather, frost, could be a hazard on this road.”

He seemed to be watching me intently, and again I felt a twinge of uneasiness.

“The fence is not very strong,” he said, gripping it and shaking it a little. “If someone fell against it…Well, it wouldn’t stand up to much, would it? It should be repaired. They don’t move very fast about that sort of thing in these parts.”

I wondered why we were standing here, but he seemed to be barring my way. I felt a sudden relief when I heard a footstep. Someone was coming along the path.

I moved forward and he could only walk beside me. I was glad when we had passed the fence, and it was comforting to hear the voices of people coming along behind us. They were visitors to the place, most likely, as Gordon did not know them.

We walked in single file when the path narrowed and then again we were side by side.

He told me he had business in the town and talked a little about the place.

“The river mouth makes a nice little harbor,” he said. “The town owes its prosperity to that. The fishing is good here. And how is your father?”

I said he was well.

“I hope he will come with you next time.”

“I don’t know. He is always so busy on the estate.”

“I can understand that.”

We were descending rapidly and he held out a hand to steady me when the ground grew rougher. Then he apologized for the gesture.

He was a strange man. I could not help feeling that he was someone quite different from the person he appeared to be. I was not sure whether I was repulsed or drawn to him.

He said suddenly: “Do you propose to call on Mrs. Pardell again?”

“We are not really on visiting terms. In due course I might be allowed to see if the plant is flourishing. That is all.”

A slight smile touched his lips.

“If you go,” he said, “be careful on that path. The way round the top road is much longer and you’d have a steep descent to reach the cottage.”

“Thanks. I think I’ll risk the path. But I shall have to wait until the plant has taken root, or whatever it has to do.”

He smiled. “You certainly don’t sound like the dedicated gardener.”

“No, I am not.”

He was looking at me with a quizzical expression. I knew he was asking himself how I had managed to insinuate myself into Cliff Cottage. It must seem like a very calculated operation to him, and he must be wondering why I should take so much trouble merely to talk to Mrs. Pardell.

He said: “I shall have to leave you here.” He looked at his watch. “I have to meet someone in five minutes.”

“Goodbye,” I said.

As I walked back, I thought it seemed rather a strange encounter, but I had spoken to him more during it than I had all the time I had known him.

That afternoon I met Jowan Jermyn in the field at the spot where the tree had fallen.

It was clear that he was delighted to see me.

Dorabella had been feeling very tired and was resting, otherwise it would not have been easy to get away. I had been out all the morning.

I did not tell her about my adventure with Mrs. Pardell. I was not sure how she felt about that first marriage of Dermot’s, and I did not want to upset her in the slightest way.

She did not protest when I went off. I think she was content because my mother and I were there and if she wanted us, one of us would be at hand.

She would be amused when I told her about my meeting with Jowan Jermyn, for she was already taking an interest in him and was intrigued by the manner in which we had met.

He had been waiting for me.

“Right on time,” he said. “I do like punctual ladies.”

“I am always punctual, unless, of course, something unforeseen happens to prevent it. We were brought up to believe that it was the height of rudeness not to be. My mother used to say that to be late implied that you were not very eager to come.”

“What an excellent doctrine! And your sister…she is the same?”

“Well…”

He laughed. “And how is she?”

“A little tired, I think. My mother will be there if she wants company.”

“That is nice. Now, away to the moors and the Horned Stag.”

“It sounds rather ferocious.”

“Wait till you see the creaking sign over the door—a venomous beast—enough to drive customers away rather than entice them in. But it is a cosy spot and there isn’t another inn for some miles.”

I was fascinated by the moor. There was something rather eerie about it. I could see no sign of human habitation. Here and there great boulders stood out among the grass and away in the distance was a ring of stones which looked like figures.

“The moor!” announced Jowan. “What do you think of it?”

“Strange. Uncanny in a way.”

“You’re not the first to think of that.”

“Those stones…one could think they were people.”

He brought his horse close to mine.

“At certain times of the year,” he said in a tone of mock awe, “they say they come to life, and woe betide anyone who sets eyes on them.”

“What?” I cried.

He laughed. “You look scared. Don’t worry. They won’t come alive for you. They did once—so they tell me—for poor old Samuel Starky. That was fifty years ago. Poor Samuel, he came into the Horned Stag crying, ‘They’m all alive. The Stones have come to life! Death and destruction is to come to Bandermoor!’ That’s the name of the little village which I’ll show you later. ’Twill be destroyed this night.’ You see, the grocer’s wife had run off with the postman, and the grocer had taken a woman into his house. Sodom and Gomorrah had come to Bandermoor, and the Stones had come to life to wreak vengeance.”

“And what happened to Bandermoor?”

“Oh, it went on in its peaceful way and the Stones remained. Oddly enough, people still think there is something supernatural about them. Well, this is the Horned Stag. Take note of the animal. Isn’t he fearsome?”

“I think it is because the paint round his eyes has become a little blurred.”

“What a practical young lady you are! Practical and punctual. I like it. Come along.”

We first took our horses to the stables and then went in. The inn parlor was almost a replica of that of the Smithy. Tankards of cider were brought to us.

“I believe you are getting quite a taste for the stuff,” he said.

“It’s certainly very pleasant.”

“Tell me,” he said, “when shall you be leaving us?”

“The day after tomorrow.”

He grimaced. “So soon? But you will be here again?”

“I should think so.”

“Your sister is quite well?”

“I think everything is going according to plan.”

On a sudden impulse I told him I had met Mrs. Pardell.

He was surprised.

“Really? She has not a reputation for making friends easily.”

“I would not aspire to friendship.”

I told him about the cutting.

He was amused. “What a devious plan!” he said. “I can see you are a mistress of diplomacy. Why were you so eager to meet her?”

“I have to admit that I am by nature curious.”

“Curious, practical, and punctual,” he murmured. “The last two are virtues. I am not sure about the first. Why were you so curious to meet the lady from the North?”

“Naturally because of her daughter. I was taken aback when my sister told me there had been a previous marriage, but I did not know who the first wife was until you told me.”

“And then you wanted to know more about her?”

“It was a natural feeling, wasn’t it?”

“Indeed, yes. I daresay your sister would want to know.”

“I don’t think she cares very much. She never liked anything that might be…uncomfortable. She likes everything to go smoothly, and if they don’t, push them out of the way where they can be forgotten.”

“But you are not like that?”

“No. I want to know everything, no matter what it is.”

“I understand perfectly. But what did you think you would get from the lady?”

“I thought I might hear something about the girl…Annette. What she was like, how it all happened.”

“I doubt you got much from Mrs. Pardell.”

“Nothing at all.”

“Too bad after such a clever plot with the plant. But congratulations on a piece of imaginative strategy. Pity it was wasted.”

“Not entirely. I am to go again next visit to see whether the thing has flourished.”

“Clever! I’m overcome with admiration. What profit do you hope to get from all this?”

“The more you know of people, the more you understand them.”

“Are you anxious about your sister?” he asked searchingly.

I hesitated. Was I? I had always been a sort of watchdog for us both. I remembered our first day at school—her hand tightly clasping mine, myself trying not to show her the trepidation I felt; seated together at the little desk. Dorabella close to me, reassured because I was there, the strong one; and she did not know that I was only pretending, as much for her sake as my own.

I was certainly uneasy about her. I could not rid myself of the feeling that there was something not quite right at Tregarland’s. It was a strange notion, but there seemed to be something slightly unreal about the people there.

I could not explain this to Jowan Jermyn. I had been too frank already. What had possessed me to tell him of my little subterfuge in getting a footing into Cliff Cottage by means of the cutting?

The fact was that I felt at ease with him. I laughed at his way of taking everything lightly and finding it amusing. I realized that what I felt about the Tregarland household was all speculation. They had all been kind to us and very welcoming to Dorabella. My mother seemed satisfied. I was inclined to let my imagination run on, to conjure up drama where it did not exist.

He was watching me intently and asked if I were worried about my sister.

“Well,” I said. “It has all happened rather quickly. This time last year we did not know of the Tregarlands’ existence…and then to find one’s sister married and about to have a baby in a place quite a few miles from home.”

“I understand. You feel there is much to know and your sister’s husband’s first wife is part of it.”

“Yes, I suppose that is what I feel.”

“It’s just a straightforward story. The heir of Tregarland married the barmaid; she was about to have a child, and there was a tragedy. That’s all.”

“Do you mean that he married her because she was going to have a child?”

“I believe that was so. It was the verdict of the news agency, at least.”

“I see. As you say, it is not an unusual story.”

“The family wouldn’t have been very pleased, of course.” He shrugged his shoulders. “But these things happen in the best regulated families. It is all in the past. I gather they are delighted with this marriage.”

“Have your sources told you this?”

“Certainly. And they are rarely mistaken.”

He started to tell me of some of the legends of the place; of the celebrations on the moor on Midsummer’s Eve; the bonfires hailing the dawn; Hallow E’en when the witches thrived.

“And Cornish witches into the bargain are far more malevolent than other people’s witches.”

He also told me of the Furry Dance which heralded in the spring, when people danced through the streets of the towns.

I was absorbed and disappointed when it was time to go.

“You’ll be back,” were his parting words, when we said goodbye at the boundary. “I shall hear, of course, when you return, and we shall meet in the field, the scene of our first encounter. Is that a promise?”

“It is,” I said.

And I intended to keep it.

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