Portrait of a Girl (11 page)

I
removed my boots, crept up the stairs and into my room, not waiting to listen for any slight sound from the old lady’s bedroom. It must have been one o’clock by then. For some time excitement and a sense of wild fulfilment kept me awake. But at last I slept, and when morning came it was fine, and a blackbird was trilling from somewhere near my window.

I
wanted to sing too. For the first time since the Exeter disaster I thought it possible I would.

And
all because Rupert had kissed me and in a careless moment called me his love.

Chapter Seven

A week following my moorland adventure I went down to the kitchen one morning and found Dame Jenny lying on the floor. She was a pathetic sight, with her old face twisted to one side, and a broken cup shattered by one jewelled hand. An earring had been knocked off, and her mob cap fallen, taking her hair with it. I hadn’t known she wore a wig, and the sight of her so defenceless and very ancient, moved me to pity.

I
managed to lift her up somehow and ease her into her favourite chair. She made an effort to say something, but what I couldn’t tell, the words were illegible. Luckily it was a day when Jan called with wood, and as soon as he arrived I sent him to Kerrysmoor with a message of what had happened.

Then
I made her a hot drink and waited, holding her hand. I wasn’t terribly surprised at her collapse; for some time I’d noticed that she was gradually failing. Her hands had shaken more under the slightest stress, and she’d been inclined to ‘get in a tizzy’ over nothing. Her walk had lost its lightness, and she’d been mislaying things in the house more and more frequently. It was clear to me she’d suffered a stroke, and I hoped her high-and-mighty ladyship wouldn’t want the poor old thing to be carted away to an institution.

I
needn’t have worried.

When
the doctor had been, and delivered his verdict, which was the same as mine, Rupert told me to pack Dame Jenny’s valise with all that was necessary, while he carried the old lady outside.

‘
And you’d better include her reticule and jewel box,’ he said. ‘Her stay at Kerrysmoor may be a prolonged one, but obviously it’s the best place for her.’

I
did what he said and in a matter of less than half an hour the frail old lady was being carefully deposited in the waiting chaise with the help of the doctor. Rupert came back for a moment before leaving.

‘
You’re not afraid to remain here alone, I hope? At least for a day or two. After that possibly it can be arranged for a servant from the house to be installed here as company. Here’s a pistol—’ he handed me one carefully, ‘— in case any unwelcome visitors should appear. It’s loaded, but the safety catch is on. You know how to use it, I presume?’ His voice had a questioning note, the narrowed eyes were anxious.

I
lifted my head boldly. ‘I’m afraid of no intruder, sir, and yes, I
do
know how to handle it, if necessary. There’s no need to worry about me at all, or to send a servant down. I shall be quite all right.’

His
lips closed in a tight line. ‘That’s for me to say.’

I
flushed. The look he gave me was dark, a little forbidding and commanding. ‘You may be very courageous,’ he continued after a brief pause, ‘but you are somewhat — unpredictable — and a great deal of wealth is stored here. For some time I thought added protection was advisable, so in the meantime, until we make more permanent arrangements, I shall insist on you having a dog — Brutus — who is a trained guard, but a faithful affectionate hound and friend to those in his charge. He’s well-known to Jan who’ll be given instructions to bring food over once every day, and to give the animal regular exercise. Tomorrow Jan will collect him from Kerrysmoor and bring him along. In a very short time, I can assure you, you’ll be firm friends.’

‘
I hope so,’ I said rather primly.

His
mood changed in the unexpected way I was becoming accustomed to.

‘
Josephine—’ the tentative flicker of a smile touched his lips, ‘don’t entirely neglect your singing. I have faith in your voice, and still believe that one day, perhaps, its quality will be recognised.’

‘
Oh!’ I laughed artificially. ‘What does my
voice
matter?’

‘
To me it does. And when I look in one day to see how things are with you and Brutus, I hope I shall have the privilege of hearing it.’

So
polite and formal; yet my heart leaped through hearing that he would be visiting Tregonnis.

‘
Well—’ he stood uncertainly for a moment, while I wondered wildly if he’d kiss me. But he didn’t. He merely touched my hand, gave a slight bow, and was gone.

Of
course, I told myself, as the chaise started off down the road, he’d been afraid lest the doctor’s shrewd eyes should notice any slight intimacy between us.

Etiquette
!

How
stupid that feelings had to be disguised under a mask of manners. But
were
his rare passionate lapses deep and true as mine were? — or was he playing a little side-game with me? Keeping me on a string for his own ends? How did I
know
? Men, my stepmother used to tell me, were false feckless creatures, and the more highly born, the more deviously cunning their motives could be. But then she’d had no standing and put no value on herself or her body; perhaps if Pierre had lived — the question didn’t arise though. I knew deep down she would have eventually betrayed him. And I was sad remembering how my father had trusted her.

Looking
back too intensely can bring its worries, and at that moment, as I recalled Pierre, I wondered what his advice would have been at this exact point in my life — to follow love where I knew it lay, and grasp it with both hands and all the will and strength I had? — Or to cut adrift and seek fulfilment somewhere else in some other fashion? I still had my voice. There was nothing in the world now to stop me walking out, and wandering the wild sweet lanes of summer where blossom foamed about the hedges and lush bluebells grew.

Rupert,
after all, was a married man with a stately home and a noble wife. He was bound by ties which would not easily be broken. I was an intruder into his heart — as he was in mine. But I was mistress of my own destiny, whereas he was not of his, and unless his love was as strong and all-consuming as mine, any future between us would be ignoble and wrong. Yes, I knew I was right in my judgement there, and that Pierre would have said the same. Of this I was certain, and with the certainty something in me that had been reckless and immature grew up and brought me to a calmer mood.

I
would stay at Tregonnis for the time being, I decided; this was only fair considering the arrangements that were being made concerning the dog, and there being no one else to guard Rupert’s treasure room. But later — I sighed. How futile it was to make plans when I’d no idea
exactly
of what others were being made for me. Already my thoughts were becoming too involved to view rationally. So I cleared my mind of all problems, and decided to have a breath of air in the garden. As I passed down the short hall I noticed that the door of the treasure room was slightly ajar; Dame Jenny must have been looking round before she collapsed.

I
fetched the key and was about to close and lock it, when I thought I heard a sound. I stepped inside and had a glance round. No one was there; the faint creaking could have been of old wood, a floor board, or draught of air playing about the figurines. A slanting beam of sunlight quivered over glass, giving life to the delicate miniatures in their black velvet mounts and gold frames. Shadows made a fine tracery over rugs and up walls; the slightest movement of cloud or drifting light from outside lit the crystal and glass to momentary shivering brilliance. It was as though for a few brief moments the interior came alive and I stood in a world of fantasy and bygone luxury.

I
glanced towards the fireplace. The girl in the portrait stared down at me with a serene sweet-sad half-smile on her lips.

‘
I wish I knew all about you,’ I thought, ‘I wish I knew who you were, and what part you played in Rupert’s life.’

It
did not occur to me as strange just then, that I should think of her in the past tense, or connect her so personally with Rupert. Was I jealous? Perhaps. Jealous because her place there was obviously of great importance, and cherished above all the other contents of that secret domain. I had sensed it from my first day at Tregonnis, a feeling that had been endorsed by Rupert’s refusal to talk of her, and Dame Jenny’s irate snub when I’d asked for information.

As
I turned and went out, locking the door behind me, I realised fully, for the first time, what a world of mystery and adventure, I’d become involved in since leaving Falmouth. Rupert! — the smuggling — Signor Luigi — the terrible theatrical experience — even Lady Verne’s peculiar animosity towards me, and the secret room dominated by the picture of the beautiful unknown girl.

The
pistol also. I hadn’t been quite honest with Rupert when I’d told him I knew how to use it. It was just that during my life at the inn I’d seen firearms threateningly wielded and had once even witnessed a duel, unknown to my stepmother. I was a little surprised that Mr Verne should have trusted me with such a weapon — I’d no idea that the dangerous looking object was loaded with blank bullets only and was merely for a means of frightening off any offender, and ensuring my own self-confidence.

Still,
burglaries, shootings, and smuggling, seemed remote and very far away that day, as I wandered round the garden, thinking sadly of Dame Jenny. She would be cared for, yes, at Kerrysmoor, but I doubted that even if she recovered sufficiently to walk about again on her own two feet, she would ever be happy living as a dependent without her own small precious domain to reign over. And why had she been left on her own for so long, considering the responsibilities entailed as ‘keeper of Tregonnis’? — Perhaps because in the eyes of many country folk and natives of Tharne she had the reputation of being some sort of a witch — a
white
witch, it was emphasised, although in the tiny village post office one day I’d heard two local women agreeing in an undertone that there was no such thing as the white kind. ‘
Any
witch is bound to have a bit o’ dark power in her.’

So
her quaint eccentricities — jewels, fineries, diminutive stature and her herbs had probably been her protection. Even her roses might have added to the superstition; they were certainly extremely lush, over-large, and beautiful, and that morning their scent hung sweetly and particularly powerfully in the summer air. Their velvet petalled colour — flame, yellow, and deep dark crimson filled the whole of one wide border at the side of the pool; a few petals drifted on the shining water. It was indeed as though a magical hand had brushed the terrain. Or were such thoughts merely crowding my mind because I was so completely alone, and shocked by the niggling thought that the old lady might never see her beloved blossoms again?

I
was looking forward to meeting Brutus, and hoped very much that the following day when Jan called for him at Kerrysmoor Rupert also might decide to come along. I spent a little time in the garden, reluctant somehow to go immediately back into the cottage which would be an empty place without the old lady. In a strange way I’d grown fond of her — the thought of the quaint interior — silent except for the ticking of the old clock and occasional tinkle from the treasure room when a waft of air drifted against mobile crystal, was melancholy. So I wandered first to the very end of Tregonnis land, which looked over a small buttercup field before rising to the rough patch of moor.

‘
You needn’t bother trying to weed over there,’ Dame Jenny had told me more than once. ‘No proper flowers grow in that thick scrub. All brambles and holes and stones it is. A real rubbish dump of its kind. One day I’ll have Jan clear it and cut some of the thorns down. You could get all kinds of wild animal critters sneakin’ there. Once there was a fox had its hole nearby. Things used to disappear from the pantry — cheese, eggs — anything eatable there was and I just couldn’t understand how — until one mornin’ I saw the fox streakin’ across the field. Then I knew. Must get rid of
that
, I said to myself. And I did. That very evening.’

‘
Do you mean you had it shot or something?’ I’d questioned her.

She
’d looked shocked.

‘
My dear life, I wouldn’t do such a thing to a livin’ critter however wicked it might be. Oh
no
, my dear.’ She’d paused and added, ‘I have other means of getting rid of unwelcome visitors.’

‘
How?’

‘
That’s
my
secret,’ she’d said smugly, with a little nod of the head that had sent the bright earbobs shaking beneath her mob cap. I’d known then why the natives were suspicious of the old lady.

I
was recalling the incident, when I pushed the briars away that morning following her collapse and departure. The smothering undergrowth, indeed, could provide effective coverage for many small wild creatures. I found a sturdy stick — part of a branch torn from a tree — and started beating the thorny barrier down. It wasn’t easy, and perhaps I was stupid to bother; my hand and wrist got badly scratched, and an end of my pinafore was ripped. However, as I neared what remained of a half-tumbled fence, my curiosity was roused by a roundish dark patch covered by trailing weeds and thorn indicating there might be a hole or vacuum below.

I
bent forward for a closer look, and poked the stick through the tangle of smothering intertwined branches. The ground beneath was hollow. It took me sometime to manipulate sufficient space to peer down, and what I saw sent a shiver of excitement through me. At first glimpse I thought it was a shaft of an old mine, then I realised it was not quite wide enough. It could only have been a well then, at some time. But if so — why was there no water in it now? All I could see was blackness vanishing into the dark earth, and obviously it had been originally man-made. On one side near the surface, granite bricks jutted out almost like steps.