Menfreya in the Morning (3 page)

The only people with whom I felt I could be humble and perhaps learn to be good were the Menfreys; it was not that they took much notice of me, but to me they were the Magic Menfreys, living in the most exciting house I had ever seen, perched on the cliffs opposite No Man’s Island, which belonged to them and about which there was a story I had yet to discover. Our house was the nearest to theirs—much more modern—a mansion in which my father could entertain and look after the constituency. The Menfreys were his great friends. “They must be cultivated,” I had heard him say to his secretary William Lister. “They carry great influence in the constituency.” So the Menfreys were to be tended like, flowers in the greenhouse.

And it was only necessary to look at them—all of them— to believe in their influence. William Lister had said that they were larger than life. It was the first time I had heard the phrase, and it fitted well.

The family were very ready to be friendly with us; they worked for father during the elections; they entertained him, and he entertained them. They were the lords of the district, and when Sir Endelion told his tenants to vote, they voted and for the candidate he favored; if not, they need not expect to remain his tenants.

When we went to Cornwall some of the servants accompanied us, while Mrs. Trant and Polden stayed in London with a skeleton staff; Miss James, Nanny and Fanny, among others, came with us; and in Cornwall we had a resident butler and housekeeper—husband and wife, the A’Lees— who went with the furnished house we rented, which was very convenient

I was allowed to go to tea at Menfreya, and Gwennan

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came to have tea with me at Chough Towers. She would ride over with one of the grooms from Menfreya, and it was during one of these visits that I learned to ride and discovered that I was happier in the saddle than anywhere else because then my defect was unimportant; I felt normal on horseback. The nearest I had ever been to complete pleasure was riding along those Cornish lanes, uphill, downhill, and I never grew in the least blase” in my appreciation of the scenery. I always caught my breath in wonder when, reaching the top of a steep hill, I had a sudden glimpse of the sea.

I envied Gwennan for living permanently in such a place. She liked to hear about London, and I enjoyed telling her. In return I made her talk about Menfreya and the Menfreys, but most of all about Bevil.

As I stood in front of my mirror after the encounter with Aunt Clarissa on the stairs, I started to think of Menfreya with a longing which went so deep that it was like a pain.

I was leaning over the banisters. There was music in the front drawing room, but it was almost drowned by the hum of voices and the sudden bursts of laughter. It was as though the house had come to life; it was no longer cold; all these voices, all this laughter changed it.

I was in my flannelette nightgown with a red twill dressing gown over it; my feet were bare, for slippers could betray with the padding sound they made. It was not that any of the servants would have scolded me for peeping over the banisters, but that I liked to pretend I was not the least bit interested in my father’s entertainments.

Sometimes I dreamed that he sent for me and that I went limping into the room. The Prime Minister was there and he talked to me; he and everyone was astonished by my wit and understanding. My father’s eyes were warm and sparkling because he was so proud of me.

What a foolish dream!

That night, as I leaned against the banisters sniffing the beeswax and turpentine with which they were polished, I overheard the conversation between Aunt Clarissa and a man who was a stranger to me. They were talking about my father.

“Quite brilliant…”

“The P.M. seemed to think so.”

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“Oh, yes. Sir Edward’s heading for the Cabinet. Mark my words.”

“Dear Edward.” That was Aunt Clarissa, “He deserves a little luck.”

“Luck! I should have thought he had had his share. He must be an extremely wealthy man.”

“He has never been happy since his wife died.”

“He has been a widower now for many years, has he not? A wife would have been useful to him. I wonder … he didn’t marry again.”

“Marriage was such a tragic experience, and in a way, Edward’s a born bachelor.”

“I hear there’s a child.”

I felt my face grow hot with fury at the note hi Aunt Clarissa’s voice as she said: “Oh yes, there’s a child. Henrietta. We call her Harriet.”

“There is some misfortune?”

Aunt Clarissa was whispering; then her voice was loud again. “I often think it was a pity she wasn’t taken and Sylvia left. Having the child killed her, you know. They had only been married a few years, but she was in her late thirties. They wanted a son, of course. And this girl …”

“Still, she must be a compensation to him.”

A cruel laugh. A whisper. Then: “It’s going to be my task to bring her out when the time comes. My Phyllis and Sylvia—named for her aunt—are about the same age, but the difference … ! How I shall find a husband for Harriet I do not know … in spite of the money.”

“Is she so very unattractive?”

“She has nothing … simply nothing.”

Fanny had told me that listeners never hear good of themselves. How right she was! I had heard that I was wicked, that I suffered from tantrums, that I should go to hell. This from my various nannies. But I had never heard anything that was quite so wounding as that conversation between Aunt Clarissa and the unknown man. For long afterwards I could not bear the smell of beeswax and turpentine because I associated it with abject misery.

I could no longer watch, so I left the banisters and sped to my room.

I had already learned that when one is very unhappy it is advisable to turn from one’s sorrow and plan something … anything that will make one forget. How stupid I was to

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dream as I did, for in those dreams I never saw myself as I actually was. I was always a heroine; even the color of my hair changed. Instead of being dark brown, it was golden; my eyes, instead of being green, were blue; my nose was neat and straight instead of tiptilted in a way which adds piquancy to some faces but merely looked incongruous with my dour expression.

Plan something quickly, I said to myself; and the answer came promptly: They don’t want me here, so I’ll run away.

Where to? There was only one place I wanted to run to. That was Menfreya.

“I’ll go to Menfreya,” I said aloud.

I refused to think of what I should do when I arrived because if I did, the plan would founder right at the start, and I must shut out the sound of cruel voices saying cruel words. I must do something quickly.

I could catch a train from Paddington. I had money in my moneybox which would be enough to buy the ticket, and that was all that mattered. All I had to think of now was getting to Menfreya; when I arrived I would make further plans. I could not stay in this house; every time I walked down the stairs I should hear those voices. Aunt Clarissa was worried about finding a husband for me. Well, I would save her that bother.

When should I go? How could I make sure of not being missed for long enough to be able to get on that train? It needed careful planning.

So while in the drawing rooms below me they listened to the music Papa had provided for the occasion and enjoyed all the delicacies that were served in the supper room, while they talked together of politics and my father’s chances in the Cabinet, I lay in my bed and thought of how I should run away.

My chance came the next day when everyone was weary. There were bad tempers in the kitchen; Miss James was irritable. I always thought that, since reading Jane Eyre, she thought that my father was going to marry her; and after occasions like last night’s party that possibility would seem more remote than usual. She retired to her room at six o’clock complaining of a headache, and this gave me my opportunity, so, calmly putting on my cape with the hood, the money, which I had taken from my moneybox, in my

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pocket, I slipped out of the house. I boarded an omnibus— the first time I had ever done this alone—and one or two people looked at me curiously, but I pretended to take no notice of them. I knew it was the right omnibus, because it said “Paddington” on the side, so I calmly asked for a ticket to the station. It was easier than I had imagined.

I knew the station because I had been there with Papa, although I had never before been there in the evening. I bought my ticket, but when I was told I had an hour and three quarters to wait before the tram came in, I was horri-0ed. That was the longest hour and three quarters I bad ever known. I sat down on one of the seats near the barrier and watched the people, terrified that at any moment someone would come running in, searching for me.

But no one came, and in time the train was there. I boarded it, finding it very different from traveling first class with Papa. The seats were wooden and uncomfortable, but I was on the train, on my way to Menfreya, and that was all that mattered just at that time.

I sat in my corner seat and no one noticed me. I was thankful that it was night; I dozed and woke up to find we had come as far as Exeter; then I began to ask myself what I was going to do when I reached Menfreya. Was I going to walk into the hall to tell the butler that I had arrived for a visit? I imagined being taken to Lady Menfrey, who would immediately inform my father that I had come. I should be taken back, punished, forbidden ever to do such a thing again. And what would have been gained more than the preliminary excitement of the adventure?

How characteristic of me to rush into something and then ask myself where I was going. I was impulsive and foolish. No wonder they said I was difficult

I was hungry; I was tired and depressed. I wished that I was in my own room, even though Aunt Clarissa might come in at any moment and look at me in that way which told me she was comparing me with Phyllis or one of the others.

By the time we arrived at Uskeard I realized that I had done a very foolish thing. But I could not turn back now. When I traveled with Papa, A’Lee brought the carriage to the station and we drove the rest of the way. Now there was no carriage so I bought a ticket for the branch line. Ther

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was a train which met the London express. It was waiting so I hurried to it.

We waited in the station for almost half an hour, which gave me time to plan what I would do. While we made the short journey it occurred to me that, as so few people were on the train, I might be recognized and stopped. Although we didn’t travel on this line, Papa was well known in the district, and 1 may have been pointed out as his daughter.

At Menfreystow I left the train. There were not more than a dozen people, and I huddled close to them as we passed the little barriei and lowered my head as I handed in my ticket. I was free. But what now?

I had to make my way to the sea and then walk about a mile along the cliff path. There would be few people out at this hour of the morn’ng.

The little town of Menfreystow was still sleeping. The winding, high street—which was almost all there was of it— was quite deserted; the curtains were drawn in most of the houses, and the few shops were bolted and barred. I smelt the sea and struck out towards the harbor where the fishing boats were anchor* d: and as I passed the fish shed where the catch was sold I saw the nets spread out and the lobster pots, and in spite of my uncertainty I experienced a moment of happiness. I always felt as though I belonged here, although I did not. for my father had not rented the house until he became M.P. for Lansella and its district, and that could only have been some six years before. I stepped carefully over the iron rings to which the thick, salty ropes were attached; I told myself I was foolish to have come to the harbor. The fishermen were often about in the early morning, and if I were seen my presence would be reported at once.

I took one of the side alleys and came back into the high street; this time I darted up one of the steep, cobbled turnings, climbed for five minutes, and then I was up on the cliffs.

The beauty of the scene made me pause for a few seconds to admire it; there was the coast in all its glory and below me the beach with the blue-green water very gently caressing the gray sands; a mile or so along this coast was Menfreya Manor and facing it No Man’s Island, where no one lived.

I started to walk, thinking about Menfreya Manor and

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the Menfreys. Soon I should see the manor. I knew the exact spot in the twists and turns of the cliff path where it would be visible. And there it was, grand, imposing, a kind of Mecca in my pilgrimage; the home of the Menfreys, the family which had owned it through the ages. There had been Menfreys there when Bishop Trelawny had been sent to the Tower; a Menfrey had supported the bishops and had gathered his retainers to join the twenty thousand Cornish-men who were going to know the reason why; I pictured Menfreys in feathered hats and lace-edged sleeves and breeches, with powdered hair and lace cravats; there were pictures of them in the gallery. I could think of nothing more exciting than being a Menfrey—though I knew I should be wiser to turn my thoughts to more practical matters.

I had reached the spot from where I could see the battlements. Gwennan had taken me up to the top of the tower on one of those occasions when Miss James had brought me over to tea. I could feel the thrill of looking down the steep gray wall to the cliff, down, down to the sea, and I could hear Gwennan’s voice: “If you want to die, all you have to do is jump straight down.” I had had a feeling that she might order me to do so hi that imperious Menfrey way and that, as they were so used to being obeyed, she might expect me to do it. They had been giving orders for many generations, whereas the Delvaneys had been doing so for only one. The steel business, which was so profitable, had been built up by my grandfather, who had begun as one of its humblest employees. Now, of course, Sir Edward Delvaney had forgotten all about his beginnings; he was polished, an educated man with a brilliant future; but although he was much cleverer than the Menfreys, I knew the difference.