The Landower Legacy (23 page)

“You’re here and I’m here,” I said. “I like the difference.”

“It is so wonderful that you are here.”

Everton went quietly to the door. She looked at me for a moment and said: “You must not tire her.” Then she went out.

“Mama,” I said, “are you ill?”

“My dear, let us not talk of unpleasant things. Here you are and you are going to stay with me for a while. You can’t imagine how I have longed to see you.”

I thought: Then why didn’t you make an effort to do so? But I said nothing.

“I used to say to Everton, if only I could see my girls … Caroline particularly. Of course, you see how I live now … in penury.”

“I thought it seems a very pleasant house. The flowers are lovely.”

“I’m so poor, Caroline. I could never really adjust myself to poverty. Did you know we have only one
domestique
and one gardener … and not full time at that.”

“I know, Everton told me. But you have her.”

“How could I do without her?”

“Apparently you don’t have to. She seems as devoted as ever.”

“She’s a bit of a tyrant. Good servants often are. She treats me as though I’m a baby. Of course, I suffer quite a lot. There is so much I miss. This is not London, Caroline.”

“That is obvious.”

“When you think of what life was before …”

“Mama,” I said, “what of Captain Carmichael?”

“Oh Jock … poor Jock. He couldn’t stand it, you know. It was idyllic in the beginning. We didn’t seem to mind the poverty at first. We neither of us had been used to it, you know.”

“But you were in love. You had each other.”

“Oh yes. We were in love. But there was nothing to do here. For me … nothing. For him, too. No racing. He loved the races. And then, of course, there was his career … the Army.”

“He gave all that up … for you.”

“Yes. It was sweet of him. And for a while it was wonderful … even here. Your father … I mean my husband … so vindictive. You know all about that now, I gather, from Mr. Cheviot. He’s been a good friend. He looked after everything, you know. He sends the money regularly. I don’t know what I should do without that. My income from my father is infinitesimal. Jock had very little apart from his soldier’s pay, and you know, that’s not much. He was always in debt. No one should attempt to hold a commission in the Queen’s regiments unless he has a good income.”

“But what happened? Where is he now?”

She took a lace handkerchief from under her pillow and held it to her eyes. “He’s gone. He died. It was in India. It was some awful disease he caught there. He had to resign his commission, you see. Poor darling, it was all because of the scandal, you know. He went out there. He was going into some sort of business with people he knew. He was going to make a lot of money and come back to me. But the Army was the only thing he really wanted to do. The Carmichaels were all soldiers. He’d been brought up to it. But he used to say it was all worth while … in the beginning.”

“And he died!” I couldn’t believe that laughing charming man, whose company had been so delightful, was dead. “It is such a short while ago really. Only four years … the Jubilee, you remember. But so much has happened that it seems like an age.”

“Four years … is that all? Four years ago and I was in London. There was so much to do there. Do you know, I have had hardly any new clothes since I have been here. One would have to go to Paris. Such a journey. Of course, Everton is good … but what do we know of the fashions down here?”

“I suppose that is the last thing you have to worry about.”

“We came here. We had to get out of England. That was one of Robert’s conditions. He wouldn’t have us there. He made me a small allowance on condition that I did not see you girls. That broke my heart. Particularly because of you, Caroline. Olivia was
his
daughter. I hated him, Caroline. I didn’t want to marry him. He was the catch of the season … or one of them. So rich, you see, already making a name for himself. Well, he decided he would marry me as soon as he
saw me, and although I would have preferred someone else, I had to take him. It was expected of me and everyone said how lucky I was. Oh Caroline, I can’t tell you how I hated him. I could not bear all that goodness. Do you know, he used to kneel by the bed before getting into it, praying for God’s blessing on our union, and then … and then … but you wouldn’t understand, Caroline.”

I thought of the man visiting Mrs. Crawley’s lying naked in the bed, waiting for Rosie and I said: “Yes, Mama, I think I do.”

“Bless you, my darling. Well, now you are here. I don’t know how I go on living here. It’s been so dull … ever since Jock went … and even before. There is nothing to
do.
If only I could go back to London. If only I had the money. When I think of all Robert had, I realize what a fool I’ve been. I had endured it for years … and only another four to go. Then I should be there … where I long to be.”

I said: “It is very beautiful here. The scenery, coming down in the train, was quite dramatic.”

“I’m bored with scenery, dear. What can you do with mountains and trees and flowers, except look at them?”

“What of your health, Mama?”

“Oh my dear, a dismal subject! I have to rest every day. I don’t get up until ten. Then I will sit in the garden until luncheon and after that I rest.”

“And in the evening?”

“Dull! Dull!”

“Are there no people around? Are you quite isolated?”

“There are people. They are very dull, though. I can’t grasp their tiresome language very well. Did you see the
chateau
as you came in from the station?”

“No. So there is a
chateau,
is there?”

“Yes. The Dubusson family. At first I thought that might be interesting. The Dubussons are very old. Madame looks about ninety; there is a son and his wife—rather dismal. It’s very run-down. They seem quite poor. Like fanning people. Quite hospitable, though. I sometimes visit and they have come here. There are one or two families in other houses scattered about. Then there are people who grow flowers and make perfume. And the town is a mile and a half away. So you see how we are situated.”

“Olivia wanted to come and see you.”

“Poor Olivia! How is she?”

“Very much the same as ever.”

“She was never attractive, poor child. I used to wonder how I had given birth to her. Of course she takes after her father.”

“Oh no! Olivia is a wonderful person.”

“That was what was said of her father.”

I found it hard to remain silent. I was beginning to sum up the situation. I was seeing my mother as I had never seen her before. In my childhood she had been one of the goddesses who populated my world. Now I had cast aside my illusions. I looked life straight in the face and I was feeling more and more depressed every moment.

Everton came up after a while because she thought my mother would be tired. She showed me to my room. It was rather lofty and the walls were white: windows opened onto a wrought-iron balcony. I went to this and gasped at the beauty of the scenery. In the early evening light the distant mountains looked as though they had been tinted blue. Flowers grew in abundance—rich purple, red and blue. Their scent filled the air.

I thought it was beautiful and I imagined my mother and Captain Carmichael coming here to live out an idyllic dream—and finding the reality not quite what they had hoped for.

Their love had not lasted. It was an old story. But at least, he had given up all for her, even though he did regret it afterwards and went away.

As for her, there was no doubt of her regrets.

I unpacked my bags and hung up my clothes. I changed and went down to dinner.

My mother had risen for this and she wore a pink silk dressing-gown over her night attire. She looked very romantic with her chestnut hair loose. It hadn’t quite the same highlights as it had had once and I wondered practically whether Everton had difficulty in obtaining the necessary lotions here.

There was a courtyard attached to the house. It was beautiful, with clumps of bougainvillea growing from the walls. There was a table here and I saw that generally meals were eaten out of doors.

It could have been enchanting, but my mother did not see it so. All she saw was the social gaiety of a life she had lost and to which she longed to return.

When I went to bed that night I felt lost and depressed.

I thought longingly of Tressidor Manor and how different it would have been if I had accepted Cousin Mary’s invitation.

It is amazing how quickly one can settle into a new way of life. I found my surroundings so beautiful, so peaceful that they gave a certain balm to my wounded spirit. I could sit in the garden and read; I could sew a little, for Everton was continually at work on my mother’s clothes and glad of a helping hand. I could meditate on life and think at least nature was beautiful. I wished that Olivia had come with me. It would have been pleasant to talk to her. But I could not imagine myself telling her what Rosie had told me. After all, he had been her father. Nor could I talk to her of Jeremy Brandon. I never wanted to think of him again. All the same we could have been together, and Olivia was one of the few people for whom I had much regard these days. I had become cynical.

My mother noticed it. “You’ve grown up a lot, Caroline,” she said to me one evening as we dined in the courtyard. “You’re attractive in an unusual way. It’s those green eyes. They never used to be so green. They look as if they see into the dark.”

“They see into people’s dark secrets perhaps.”

She shrugged her shoulders.
She
never wanted to probe into people’s thoughts; she was completely absorbed in her own.

“Well,” she said, “you should have emeralds … earrings, pendants … They would bring out the green. And you should wear a lot of green. Everton was saying that she would like to dress you. You do well to dress your hair high on your head like that. It’s right for your high forehead. Everton said she wouldn’t have guessed high foreheads could be so attractive. It makes you look older, but it gives you something. You’re not pretty but you look … interesting.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I’m glad I’m not quite insignificant.”

“You never were that. Unlike poor Olivia. So the child has not yet had a proposal. I wonder if she ever will. And you … you were spoken for without coming out!”

“My expected inheritance was spoken for, Mama, not me.”

She nodded. “Well, you can’t blame these impecunious young men. We all have to live.”

“I would rather live on my own efforts if I were a young man,” I said.

“But you are not, and in some ways you are very unworldly. It is a mercy you have that small income, but it is a pittance really. Robert Tressidor was a very mean man.”

Oddly enough I went in to defend him. “He has made
you
an allowance.”

“Another pittance! It could have been so much more and would have made no difference to him whatsoever. He was so afraid that Jock would benefit from his money so he gave me just enough to keep me on survival level … and he only did that because he wanted to keep up his image as a good man.”

“It’s all long ago. It’s lovely here. Let’s forget about it.”

“It’s so dull,” she moaned and lapsed into melancholy, contemplating the lost social whirl.

Sometimes Jacques the gardener would take his trap into the little town and I would go with him. I would wander round while he did what business he had to, and I would meet him at a specified time where he had left the trap. I enjoyed going into the little shops and chatting with the people; there was the inevitable cafe with the tables outside and I could sit there among the pots of flowering shrubs and drink a cup of coffee or an aperitif.

I often thought how much I could have enjoyed this in the days before what I called my awakening.

I had become clear-sighted. I saw my mother as she really was—a selfish woman who took refuge in imaginary illness to relieve the boredom which came from a shallow mind.

I wondered how much she had cared for Jock Carmichael. I wished I could have known him better, for I felt we might have meant something to each other. I could well understand his regrets, his need to get away. He had at least given up his career for the sake of love—the reverse really of Jeremy Brandon.

I would take strolls through the beautiful countryside. Often I walked the one and a half miles into the town. The shopkeepers began to know me and I found the recognition pleasant. They would call to me; they found it interesting to chat to me. My knowledge of French being fairly good, I could still amuse them with my occasional misuse of their language. I grew to know many of them. There was the woman who sold her vegetables on a stall every Wednesday when she came in from a village four miles away; girls at the cafe; the
boulanger
who raked the long crusty loaves out of the oven in his shop and served them hot to his waiting customers; the
modiste
who aped her Paris counterpart by showing only one hat in her window; the
couturiere
who crammed hers full of her creations; and even the man in the
quincaillerie
where I once went with the
domestique
to buy a saucepan.