The Landower Legacy (12 page)

I was deeply moved by this encounter. I was excited, of course, to be in this ancient house, and at the same time I was sad because of the agony the family was suffering at the prospect of losing it. I felt uplifted in the company of Paul Landower and so pleased that he had come across Jago and me in the house and that he was treating me like a guest.

He was so different from Jago. Jago I looked upon as a mere boy. Paul was a man and a man whose very presence excited me. I liked his virile masculine looks, but perhaps it was that touch of melancholy which stirred me so deeply. I longed to help him. I wanted to earn his gratitude.

I had the impression that he was thinking of me as a rather amusing little girl, and he was interested in me merely because I was a Tressidor, from the rival house. I longed to impress him, to make him remember me after I had gone—as I should remember him.

He talked about the feud between our families in the same way as Cousin Mary had.

“It does not seem much of a feud,” I said. “Here am I a member of one side chatting amicably with members of the other.”

“We could not possibly be an enemy of yours, could we, Jago?” said Paul.

Jago said it was all a lot of nonsense. Nobody thought anything about that sort of thing nowadays. People had too much sense.

“I don’t think it’s a matter of sense,” said Paul. “These things just peter out. It must have been rather fierce in the old days though. Tressidor and Landower fighting for supremacy. We said the Tressidors were upstarts. They said we did not do our duty in the neighbourhood. Probably both of us were right. But now we have the redoubtable Lady Mary who is far too sensible for feuding with enthusiasm. And here are we in a sorry state.”

“I feel you will find a way out of your difficulties,” I said.

“Do you really think so, Miss Tressidor?”

“I’m sure of it.”

He lifted his cup. “I’ll drink to that.”

“I have a feeling,” said Jago, “that no one will buy.”

“Oh … but it’s so wonderful,” I cried.

“It needs a fortune spent on it,” replied Jago. “That’s how I console myself. It has to be someone fabulously rich so that life can be breathed into the tottering old ruin.”

“I still feel that it will come out all right,” I insisted.

When I rose to go I was reluctant to leave them. It had been such an exciting afternoon.

“You must come again,” Paul told me.

“I should love to,” I said eagerly.

Paul took my hand and held it for a long time. Then he looked into my face. “I’m afraid,” he said, “that we have rather overburdened you with our gloomy problems.”

“No, no … Indeed not. I was flattered … to be taken into your confidence.”

“It was really unforgivable. We’re very poor hosts. Next time, we’ll be different.”

“No, no,” I said fervently. “I understand, I do.”

He pressed my hand warmly and I experienced a thrill of pleasure.

He was unlike any person I had ever known and it was his presence, as well as the splendours of the house, which had made this one of the most exciting afternoons I had ever spent.

His looks were outstanding; that strength, tempered with melancholy, appealed to my deep sense of all that was romantic. I wished that
I had a great deal of money so that I could buy Landower and hand it back to him.

I was young; I was impressionable; Paul Landower was the most interesting person I had ever met and I was tremendously excited at the prospect of seeing more of him.

Jago said as we rode home: “Paul was unlike himself. He’s usually so restrained. I was surprised he talked so much … in front of you … about the house and all that. Very odd. You must have made some sort of impression, said the right things or something.”

“I only said what I thought.”

“He’s not usually so friendly.”

“Well, I seem to have made a
good
impression.”

“I believe you and the whole of Cornwall have made a good impression on each other.”

When I reached home I wanted to tell Cousin Mary where I had been. I found her in the sitting room. She looked rather subdued, I thought.

I burst out: “You’ll never guess where I’ve been. Jago took me to Landower to see the house and I met Paul again. He was very friendly and gave me tea.”

I had expected her to be astonished. Instead she just sat staring at me.

Then she said: “I’m afraid I’ve had news from London, Caroline. It’s a letter from your father. You are to go back. Miss Bell is coming next week to take you.”

I was distressed. It was over. I had had such freedom. I had grown to appreciate Cousin Mary. I wanted to go on calling on Jamie McGill, learning more and more about him and his bees and his wicked brother, Donald. Most of all I wanted to become friends with the Landowers.

I was fond of Jago but something had happened since that afternoon with Paul. I had thought about him after the meeting on the train but that encounter in that most fascinating of houses had been a landmark in some way. How could a person one hardly knew loom so important in one’s life?

I wasn’t sure. There was a certain magnetism about him which I had never discovered in any other person. He was not handsome by conventional standards; he looked as though he might be prone to dark moods—but perhaps that was because of the desperate position in which he found himself now. I felt his tragedy deeply; I understood
what he must be suffering at the prospect of losing his heritage; and I longed to help. He felt it more than Jago ever could. Jago was by nature lighthearted, perhaps more resilient. I wondered about their father and what he must be suffering at this moment.

Why should I allow their misfortunes to colour my life? I hardly knew them, and yet … I felt so strongly that it must not happen, that some solution must be found.

I had felt great sympathy for Jago, but how much more strongly did I feel for Paul. I was growing up fast. I had begun to do so since that day when I had watched the Jubilee procession from Captain Carmichael’s windows.

I knew now that my mother and he were lovers, that my father had discovered this and that I had, in a sense, betrayed them. He must have suspected them; I had just added the final proof. It was all becoming more clear. That was why he could not bear to see me. I had been the harbinger of disaster. I had forced him to see the truth, and for that reason he had wanted me out of his sight until he could bear to look at me again.

Yes, I was growing up and that made me more susceptible to emotions—certain rather special emotions which might be roused by a member of the opposite sex.

I wanted to be alone to think.

Cousin Mary had been upset too. She had been pleased to have me with her. I had an idea that she would have liked me to make Tressidor Manor my home. I could have done that quite easily, for I was beginning to realize that what I had thought of as “home” for so long was no real home at all if home meant love and security, as it should to a child. I had never had that. But I had found something like it with Cousin Mary.

She said: “Well, you must come and stay again, Caroline.”

She was not demonstrative but I could see that she was deeply moved.

I did not want to talk to anybody. I saddled my mare and rode out. I wanted to be alone. I went onto the moors. I rode over the grass, past huge boulders and trickling streams. Then I tethered my horse and stretched out on the grass and thought: This time next week I shall not be here.

Jago found me there. He had heard that I had ridden off in that direction from a woman in one of the cottages on the edge of the moor
who had been pegging out her clothes and seen me ride by. He had been riding round for the last half hour looking for me.

He sat down beside me.

I said: “I’m leaving. I have to go back to London next week. My governess is coming to take me. My father says I must go.”

He picked up a blade of grass and started to chew it.

“I wish you’d stay,” he said.

“How do you think I feel?”

“You like it here.”

“I want to stay. There’s so much …”

“I thought nothing much happened in the country and all the excitement was in London.”

“Not for me.”

“I ought to take you to the house,” said Jago. “Paul took quite a fancy to you. He said you couldn’t take it all in in one visit.”

“I should love to come. I should love to see more of the house but

“Well, it won’t be ours much longer. That seems to be the general opinion.”

“I am sure your brother will think of a way of keeping it.”

“That’s what I used to say, but I can’t think how. Paul’s used to getting his own way, but this is different. They’re determined on a sale. The trouble is to find someone who can afford to buy it.”

“If you sold it you’d be rich.”

“Rich … without Landower.”

“But your family’s debts will be settled and you can start again.”

“With a farm … on the estate which was once ours!”

“It’s tragic and I’m sorry.”

“And now you’re talking of going. You’re not going to let them send for you … just like that, are you?”

“What can I do?”

“Run away. Hide … until the old governess returns to London in despair without you.”

“How?”

“I’ll hide you.”

“Where? In one of the dungeons at Landower perhaps?”

“It sounds inviting. I’d bring you food every day, twice a day, three times a day. There aren’t many rats there.”

“Only a few?”

“I’d see that you were all right. You might go to the farmhouse, the
one that is going to be our home. No one would think of looking there for you. You could disguise yourself as a boy.”

“And go away to sea?” I said ironically.

“No. What would be the good of that? You might as well go to London. The plan is to keep you here.”

Jago went on making wild and absurd plans for my escape. I was comforted listening to him, even though I could not take anything he said seriously.

At last, reluctantly, I rose to go. I had wanted to be alone to think but I was glad he had found me, for he had made me laugh with his ridiculous schemes, and in planning to escape from my unhappiness I had temporarily forgotten it. The fact that there were people who wanted me to stay did a little to alleviate my grief at the prospect of my departure. I was pleased to have so many friends. There was Jago, Cousin Mary and even Jamie McGill. He had hastened to tell me that the bees had buzzed mournfully and were sad that I should not be visiting the lodge much longer. Jago was really sorry and I wondered whether Paul would be.

It was fortunate that Jago had found me for on the way home I realized that something was wrong. Jago looked down at my horse and said: “She’s cast a shoe. That must be put right immediately. Come on. We’re not far from Avonleigh and there’s a smithy there.”

I dismounted and together we led our horses the quarter of a mile to the village of Avonleigh. We went at once to the blacksmith, who was at work. He looked up with interest when he saw us.

The not unpleasant smell of burning hoof was in the air.

“Good day, Jem,” said Jago.

“Why, if it b’aint Mr. Jago. What can I do for ‘ee then?” He caught sight of me. “Good day to ‘ee, Miss.”

“The lady’s horse has lost a shoe,” said Jago.

“Oh, be that so? Where’s ‘er to?”

“Here,” said Jago. “How soon can you do it, Jem?”

“Well, soon as I’ve done with this ‘un. Why don’t you and the lady go along and take a glass of cider at the Trelawny Arms. ‘Tis particular good … their own brew. I can tell ‘ee so from experience. Go and do that and then come back. Like as not I’ll have the little lady all ready for ‘ee then.”

“It’s the best thing to do,” said Jago. “We’ll leave both horses, Jem.”

“Just so, Mr. Jago.”

“Come along,” said Jago to me. “It’s the Trelawny Arms for us. Jem’s right. The cider is good there.”

It was a small inn, a hundred yards or so along the road from the blacksmith’s. The signboard creaked in the faint breeze. It depicted that Bishop Trelawny of “And Shall Trelawny Die” fame.

A woman who, I presumed, was the landlord’s wife, came to talk to us. She knew Jago and called him by his name.

He explained that I was Miss Caroline Tressidor.

She opened her eyes wide and said: “Oh, this be the young lady from the Manor then. Come to stay with us for a little while. And what do ‘ee think of Cornwall, Miss Tressidor?”

“I like it very well,” I assured her.

“Her horse cast a shoe,” Jago explained, “and we’ve a little while to wait while Jem gets to work on it. So we thought we’d come along and try your cider. It was Jem who recommended it.”

“Best in the Duchy, he always says. And although it be my own, I’m ready to agree with him.”

“I know. But Miss Tressidor will put it to the test, Maisie.”

“She shall do that, Mr. Jago.”