Portrait of a Girl (12 page)

I
screwed my eyes up trying to get a more accurate view, but it was impossible. So presently I straightened up, dusted small twigs and leaves from my hair, shook my skirt and damaged apron, and after lightly replacing some of the weedy tendrils and branches, turned to go back into the cottage. Why I’d bothered to cover the hole again I didn’t know; it had probably been as it was for years, and was of no real significance any more. I suppose I was simply trying to divert my mind from poor Dame Jenny’s plight, by filling my imagination with other problems — making a mystery of something that in reality was no mystery at all.

The
cottage seemed a solitary place when I went in.

I
found myself eagerly looking forward to the next day, when Jan was to bring the dog to Tregonnis, accompanied — hopefully — by Rupert.

But
when morning came only Jan and Brutus arrived. The master, the youth told me had sent a message saying he’d probably call at the end of the week.

My
heart sank.

Probably
. Sterile comfort indeed considering how passionately I longed to see him. Under a veneer of brightness, however, I covered my disappointment, and enquired about Dame Jenny.

‘
She’m a bit better, Miss, so I’ve heard tell,’ Jan replied. ‘In bed o’ course. Well, she would be wouldn’ she, an old wumman like her, after such a turn — you’d’ve thought she’d’ve managed to avoid such things — her with all that grand knowledge she do have—’

I
supposed he was referring to her reputed mystic powers, and was about to make some trite reply when the dog, a golden labrador, prevented me by getting up on his hind legs and giving an affectionate lick on my chin.

‘
He likes you a’ready. That he do,’ Jan remarked. ‘You’ve got a friend, that’s for sure.’

And
I had.

Quite
soon he’d fitted into his new routine and seemed to know from the start he was there for my protection. His bark was fearsome to strangers, but few visited Tregonnis, unless it was a pedlar or someone from the farm, and on such occasions a word from me would silence him and bring him to heel. Occasionally, if I went for a stroll, I’d allow him to accompany me, but only for a short time. He was, after all, sole guardian of the cottage and its treasures during my absence, and Rupert would have been annoyed if he’d called and found neither of us there.

But
he didn’t call, and I became restless and resentful — tired of being bound to the country through duties I hadn’t willingly undertaken. Mysteries of smuggling, secret rooms, legends, and having long hours alone to ponder and brood on the past and the uncertain future, frequently irritated me to a point almost beyond endurance. I would long then for the colourful steamy excitement of the Golden Bird — to be whirling round in my coloured skirts and shawls, dancing and singing — always singing — with faces transfixed before me, blurred discs of watchfulness through the smoky musty air.

More
than once I impetuously packed my valise, ready to disappear leaving a note for Rupert Verne, saying:

I
’m sorry, being caretaker doesn’t suit me. Thank you for all you’ve done for me, but as I’ve failed in becoming a great singer like you wanted, I’m going somewhere where I can be myself and let my voice do just what it feels like. I did love you, Mr Verne, but my sort of love isn’t what you need.

Yours
respectfully,

Josephine
Lebrun.

Once
I even went so far as to put on my bonnet and cape, and leave the note on the small table in the hall. Then Brutus’s bark from the scullery where he slept, made me change my mind, and I went inside again. It wasn’t fair to leave the dog alone. Supposing Jan for some reason didn’t call in the morning? The poor thing would be left without food or company for goodness knows how long.

The
thought of Rupert himself, too, from a niggle at the back of my mind, came to life again. He must
one
day call at Tregonnis, and I needed to be there when it happened — to make him realise how his neglect — and surely it was neglect, considering the passion of his kisses and meaningful glances of his eyes, the many many avowals of unspoken love — had hurt me! and angered, too. Oh yes, I was angry. Before perhaps I’d had no rightful cause to show it. But now I had. I would
not
be treated like any rich man’s cheap little plaything to be flattered one moment, bullied the next, then pushed into oblivion just when he felt like it.

During
my period of waiting for Rupert’s possible visit, I rehearsed the scene several times — how I would greet him in a dignified fashion telling him of my decision to leave Tregonnis, of my intention to make my own career — even inventing another vague sponsor anxious to promote my voice. The latter would be a lie, of which Pierre no doubt would have disapproved. But for once I didn’t care. I would be
me
! my words would be haughty, my gaze cold and remote. I even practised the lift of head and manner of addressing him before my looking glass. And I was careful these days always to appear my best in my most attractive clothes, and do my housework mostly at nights when I would not be caught on my knees in my working calico dress under a long apron.

Oh
yes! I made what I imagined were all necessary preparations for the longed-for event. But, of course, when it happened, as is so often the case — everything was completely unexpected.

The
morning had been windless but damp, with fine rain turning to fitful mist by afternoon. Twilight, later, hung a grey shroud over the horizon of moors and sky. Steamy rivulets of moisture hugged the windows of Tregonnis; every slight sound there was from outside seemed intensified — the drip, drip of wet leaves from bushes, crying of a gull and flap of wings as it rose into the air, the scuttering rustle of some wild creatures through the undergrowth — and something else — something sensed rather than heard, an uneasiness that seemed itself an entity, chilling my blood. A more practical person would have called it imagination, but Brutus was aware of it, and several times lifted his head as though alerted to danger. Twice a low growl came from his throat. He left the rug by the hearth and went to the door, then returned and lay down again, stretched out, head on paws, but with eyes watchful, tense.

I
laid my needlwork aside, lit the oil lamp and went to the window to draw the sittingroom curtains. Intuitively I glanced out towards the west. It was almost dark, but as I paused there briefly a dot of light flashed for a second, then was gone. It could have been a shepherd’s lantern perhaps, I told myself reasoningly, although it had appeared over-brilliant for that, and would not so quickly have been snuffed out. It was about to move when I saw it again, only a pinpoint on the moor, somewhere to my far right in the direction of my walks around Rosecarrion. The second flash was quickly followed by a sharp crack of sound like that of a shot being fired. Brutus sprang to his feet and came towards me.

‘
It’s all right, down boy! down!’ I said, and pulled the blinds together with a rattle. Then I returned to my chair. For a time the dog was restless, but when no further noise followed, he eventually settled. I crossed once or twice to the window again; everything was dark, muted grey, showing no sign of life or movement. Yet in my bones still I felt something was astir; and when I went to bed made sure that the pistol was beside me on the small table by my side.

I
closed my eyes, hoping to get to sleep early and that no troubled dreams would disturb my rest. It was no use. Brutus, who slept in the hall, was uneasy, and at one point gave a mournful howl followed by a low growl and bark. I went to the top of the stairs and gave the command used by Jan to quieten him. For a time it seemed to work. All was silent except for the thickening steady drip of rain that had intensified during the past hour.

Then,
suddenly, there was a wild yelling and barking from the animal, together with a frantic pounding of paws against the wooden door.

I
jumped out of bed, flung a wrap round my shoulders, and ran downstairs.

‘
Quiet!’ I called to the dog, ‘What’s the matter? Whatever’s got into you—?’

He
was standing on his hind legs, paws against the wooden surface, and didn’t obey me when I told him to, ‘Come back and be a good boy’. He gave a further yelp, turned his head towards me, and I saw then his excitement was partly pleasure. The limpid eyes were alight, his tail was wagging wildly; his whole attitude was of supplication.

No
animal could have begged more obviously, ‘Open it, open the door’.

I
paused for a moment, uncertain, apprehensive.

And
then I heard it — a man’s voice and a hammering against the wood — ‘For God’s sake let me in — it’s me — Rupert.’

With
my heart quickening and thumping painfully, I rushed to both bolts, drew them, and turned the key in the lock, and pulled the door wide.

Half
staggering and breathing heavily, Rupert Verne plunged into the hall. He was wet and hatless. Rain from his dark hair ran down his face, mingling with the trickle of blood from one temple. I tried to steady him, but he waved me aside, and with the dog nosing about his legs and feet, blundered into the parlour. In the glow of the lamp his face appeared drawn and haggard, and I saw also that one arm had been wounded near the shoulder. When he tried to lift it, he winced in pain.

‘
Sit down,’ I said, although I didn’t need to; before the words were out he’d slumped on to the sofa. ‘I’ll get you a drink.’

Knowing
where the old lady kept her special toddy, I went to her secret cupboard in the kitchen, filled a wine glass full of the liquid and took it through to him. His breathing had eased; he gulped it down eagerly, sat for a moment without speaking, then laughed ruefully, and said, ‘I must look a sorry sight.’

‘
Yes, you do,’ I affirmed.

And
it was true. It was not only the damp clothes and blood-stained neckscarf; mud and twigs clung to his black coat and breeches, lumps of soil tangled his hair; it was as though he’d been in an earthquake.

‘
What happened?’ I asked. ‘— No, wait. You must have a wash first. Those cuts are more than scratches. Can you get your coat off?’

‘
If not, you’ll have to saw it away, won’t you?’ He was trying to make light of the business, but I knew he was in pain.

I
didn’t wait to give reply to such a stupid remark, but went through to the kitchen, where the range was still warm from baking, and had a kettle of water on it. I poured some into a bowl, and with a clean cloth hurried back to the parlour. In my absence Rupert had managed to remove his coat. The blood was already clotting near the shoulder, and when I’d wiped it clean I saw that the wound, though nasty, was probably from where a bullet had grazed it. Superficial, thank God, like the graze near one temple; but neglected either could have given serious trouble.

How
long it took for him to appear clean and in respectable shape, I don’t recall. I was surprised at his submissiveness to my help. It was not until the dabbing and washing and bandaging were over that I could relax and notice his expression.

There
was a little smile about his stern mouth, his long eyes were slightly crinkled at the corners. It was as though he was mildly amused.
Amused
— when I’d been so frantic with anxiety, so wrought-up and tense on his behalf.

‘
Thank you,’ he said. ‘You missed your true vocation, Miss Lebrun. You would make an excellent nurse — or should I say, you already
are
one.’

‘
There’s no need to pay me compliments,’ I said abruptly. ‘I’d just like to know—’

‘
What I’ve been up to? How and why I’ve arrived here in such a dastardly uncivilized manner? And what the devil I’m thinking about, placing a young woman in such a compromising situation?’ he interrupted. ‘Of course, naturally.’ He regarded me reflectively then continued after a short pause, ‘There was trouble tonight near the creek—’

‘
Smuggling, you mean!’

‘
Don’t hurry me. Yes, smuggling. Brandy and lace. Unfortunately a certain excise officer who in the past had been — fairly co-operative shall we say — in turning a blind eye — had been replaced for some unknown reason by a particularly odious character who’d been on bad terms with me for quite a time. When the force arrived on the scene the small boats — French — were luckily away. But the cargo hadn’t yet been completely cleared. My men were spotted after removing the last kegs from that old wreck you saw, to the mouth of a cave that’s generally blocked by a slab. There’s a tunnel there leading to the old chapel—’

‘
I
thought
something like that.’

Ignoring
my statement he continued, ‘Rosecarrion is a hive of tunnels. Very useful routes to dumping depots. You found one, when you located the old chapel so cunningly.’

‘
Why are you telling me all this?’ I asked. ‘And why — how did you arrive at the kitchen door of this cottage? I don’t understand.’