Penmarric (29 page)

“I do want you.” My voice was unsteadier than ever. My heart felt as if it were bursting. “I do, I do, I do …” And as the room blurred and I closed my eyes with the pain, he took me in his arms and kissed me on the mouth.

We were reconciled. The incident was closed. I had postponed my Tomorrow, but from that day onward I always felt that I was living on borrowed time and I never fully trusted him again.

… he had already married Eleanor. However, he and Rosamonde resumed their relationship and another son was born, who was named Geoffrey …

—The Conquering Family,

THOMAS COSTAIN

The King’s eldest son was now at a suitable age to begin his formal education.

—Henry II,

JOHN T. APPLEBY

There may have been disagreement over the education of the children …

—The Devil’s Brood,

ALFRED DUGGAN

W
E DID NOT SPEAK
again of Mrs. Parrish for some months. Mark had decided that she should move to Truro many miles away, and although he visited the town in order to find a house for her there he did not refer to his visit when he returned. In the new year I managed to say off-handedly one evening, “I suppose Mrs. Parrish has had the baby by now,” but all he said was “Yes, another boy, unfortunately,” and his manner was so abrupt that I did not dare to ask any more questions on the subject.

We spent a busy Christmas. All Mark’s contemporaries seemed to be either marrying or proposing to marry, and there was a stream of parties and balls. Roger Waymark was married now, Russell St. Enedoc engaged, and Justin Carnforth had fallen in love with a pretty empty-headed little debutante and was talking of a wedding in the spring. Judith Carnforth had made herself unpopular by marrying a banker, but, poor girl, she hardly had the looks to secure a more suitable match, and since she was now well into her twenties I suppose she thought that any marriage was better than being left on the shelf. Another young spinster well into her twenties was Clarissa Penmar, although Clarissa was so attractive she hardly merited the classification “on the shelf” since she could surely have married any time she chose to do so. She had not lived much at our old home Deveral Farm after she had purchased the property but had instead divided her time between London and the Continent with a freedom unprecedented for an unmarried female. But she was of age, she had no guardians, and she had the means to do exactly as she pleased. Her fortune, inherited from her adopted father Giles Penmar, no doubt encouraged her to maintain her independence; it might have been Giles’s intention to persuade suitors to overlook her uncertain reputation by giving her an enticing dowry, but Clarissa had ignored the purpose of his generosity by dallying with her suitors at a safe distance from the altar. Sir James and Lady Carnforth, always very strait-laced, would no longer receive her at Carnforth Hall, but Clarissa was hardly the person to worry about the hostile attitudes of the local aristocracy.

In the autumn of 1895, shortly after my discovery of Mark’s infidelity, she returned to Morvah and settled there, much as a brilliant butterfly would rest for a while in the shade before returning to flutter among the exotic blooms in the sun. The Barnwells invited her to Zillan rectory to see her niece, her brother Harry’s daughter Alice, and she in turn invited them to lunch at Deveral Farm, but apart from the Barnwells she saw no one and it was hard to understand what she could be doing to occupy her time.

“Having a love affair, I should think,” commented Mark with a flash of his characteristic coarseness, but although I had my doubts about this theory I soon discovered that it was absolutely true.

I made the discovery at—of all places!—my own beloved Roslyn Farm. The lease I had granted Jared five years before had expired, and, seizing the opportunity to revisit the house I had loved so much, I managed to persuade Mark to allow me to return there for a visit on the pretext of inspecting the property before granting a new lease. Naturally I was not allowed to go alone; Mark said flatly that he had no intention of returning to the place, but he asked Michael in his position as family lawyer to accompany me and arrange the details of the new lease with Jared, and so early in the new year Michael and I traveled together in the Penmarric carriage to Roslyn Farm. Since I had assumed complete responsibility for prising Mrs. Parrish’s name and address from him that day in Penzance there was no ill-feeling between us, but whenever we met there was an awkwardness in the atmosphere that was well-nigh impossible to ignore. However, we spent the journey to Roslyn Farm uttering empty little politenesses to each other to pretend we had forgotten the disastrous scene at his house, until at last to our joint relief we reached our destination, left the carriage and walked up the path to the front door.

Oh, how I loved that house! I stepped across the threshold of the front door and its mellow atmosphere enveloped me so that I was immediately at peace. Children were wailing and there was a commotion in the kitchen but I was oblivious to all distraction. I was home. I went into the parlor and there was the same solid furniture, the same table where I had sat facing first Laurence and then Mark so many times, the same sofa and rug where Mark and I had made love after I had agreed to marry him. When I went to the window and stared at the overgrown front garden that I had tended so carefully the years seemed to fall away as if by magic and I felt so pleasantly comfortable, so unutterably secure.

“Roslyn never had another son, did he?” Michael was saying, listening to the sound of childish chatter in the distance. “I remember your first husband leaving money and property to the little boy Abel, and I remember the money and property reverting to Roslyn when the child died. The death must have been a sad blow for him.”

Masterful footsteps in the hall prevented me from replying. The next moment the parlor door was flung open and Jared himself entered the room.

He looked well. He was thirty-six, just as I was, and his face had the glow of good health and prosperity. He was heavier than before, but it suited him; he looked exactly like the successful farmer and pillar of the working community he had become.

“Good morning, Janna,” he said. He did not stand on ceremony. There was no bowing or calling me Mrs. Castallack. “Good morning, Mr. Vincent.”

“Good morning, Mr. Roslyn.”

We settled down to discuss business. Presently when he showed us over the farm I was interested to see that although the house was dirty and untidy the farm itself was in excellent condition. There were new outbuildings, more cattle, more poultry.

“You seem to be prospering,” I said politely to Jared.

His eyes met mine. “I think so,” he said.

We signed a new lease for a further five years, and presently his wife brought in wine although she did not stay to drink with us.

, “You have a fine family, Mr. Roslyn,” said Michael sociably as she closed the parlor door. “How many children are there now?”

“Five girls surviving,” said Jared abruptly, and added, looking me straight in the eyes: “Not all wives are so successful at providing their husbands with sons.”

I was so taken aback that I said nothing at all. I had expected hostility from him in the form of a curt, abrupt manner, but I had not expected hostility in the form of a bitter compliment. And suddenly for one second as our glances met I saw how it was with him and wondered—as indeed I had wondered before—how changed things might have been if he had been as ready as his father to propose to me when we had first met long ago in St. Ives.

I was still trying to think of something to say to break that awkward silence when from the front garden came a girl’s laugh, loud and clear, and the echo of feet on flagstones. All three of us glanced out of the window simultaneously; and all three of us saw Clarissa Penmar.

She wore her hair loose and did not look like a lady at all but more like a gypsy with her dark eyes and olive skin. Her attire was most improper, so improper that I could hardly believe my eyes. It was true that the sport of bicycle riding had been popular for some years now and it was true that females often did ride bicycles for pleasure and needed a certain freedom of movement unhampered by a respectable habit, but I had never in my life seen a girl wear a cyclist suit when she had no intention of riding a bicycle. Clarissa wore trousers. “Knickerbockers” would in fact be a more accurate description, but whatever they were they were outrageous. She also wore a short mannish coat of matching material and beneath the stark lines of this masculine attire the voluptuousness of her figure was most indecently evident. She wasn’t even wearing a hat; a piece of vulgar red ribbon tied her hair back from her face while the wind whipped at her black curls. She looked wild, exotic and utterly unprincipled.

Beside me I heard Michael take a short painful breath but I did not look at him. I was too busy looking out of the window, for beside Clarissa was my younger stepson, Jared’s brother Joss.

I had not thought of Joss and Clarissa together before, but now when I did I saw at once that they were alike. They were much the same age, both at odds with the world, both ready to defy and scorn anyone who crossed them, both fiercely independent. Joss too was dressed carelessly. As if demonstrating his rejection of the conventions he had discarded his farmer’s smock and wore a pair of dirty breeches torn at the thigh, a coarse shirt beneath an unbuttoned sheepskin coat, no neckcloth, no hat and muddy boots. He was smiling at her. I had never seen Joss smile like that before, never seen his sullen face light up and his blue eyes sparkle with good humor. For a moment he looked so uncannily like his father that I could not take my eyes off him, but then as Clarissa laughed a second time I was again aware of the two of them together and noticed with shocked incredulity that they were hand in hand.

Beside me I heard Jared check an exclamation and mutter a hasty “excuse me” as he left the room.

“Good gracious me!” I exclaimed to Michael incredulously. “Did you ever see such a sight?”

But Michael was white to the lips, his eyes blind with the pain of memory, and I remembered at last that he had loved Clarissa once years ago and had never looked at another woman after she had lost interest in him.

“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I had quite forgotten. Let’s go at once. We’ve finished our business and there’s no need for us to stay.”

He followed me wordlessly into the hall just as Jared entered it with Joss and Clarissa behind him. There was a silence before I said coldly, “Good morning, Miss Penmar. Good morning, Joss. Jared, you will forgive us if we leave now—I wish you luck and hope your success and prosperity continue. Please thank your wife for the wine.”

Jared took my hand in his. His skin was rough, his fingers thick, his palm unexpectedly wide. I had forgotten what enormous hands he had. “Thank you, Janna. Good day, Mr. Vincent.”

“Good day, Mr. Roslyn.” He was looking at Clarissa.

She stared back at him insolently without a trace of embarrassment. “Hullo, Michael! What a long time it’s been since I last saw you!”

“Yes,” he said. The poor man was blushing painfully. “Yes, indeed.”

I moved past Joss and waited for him to open the front door, but he merely stood regarding me with his usual rudeness.

“Joss!” said Jared harshly. “Remember your manners.”

Joss looked me up and down, opened the door and lounged against the doorpost so that I was obliged to push my way past him. He was quite the most disagreeable young man I have ever encountered.

“What’s troubling you?” he inquired with a sneer. “Did you look so disapprovingly at Mr. Castallack and his father when they showed a taste for a working-class companion? At least Clarissa’s more fortunate than they were! I’m not from the gutters of St. Ives.”

“Really?” I said. “You both look as if you belong there. Good day.” And I swept down the path to the waiting carriage without looking back.

Michael stumbled after me.

“Back to Penmarric, Crowlas,” I said sharply to the coachman and paused for Michael to offer me some assistance as I climbed into the carriage, but I waited in vain for good manners that morning. Poor Michael was too upset to be aware of what was happening, and although later I made an attempt at conversation he was too sunk in depression to respond. Deciding it would be kinder to ignore him, I stared out of the window, my mind still on the extraordinary scene at the farm, and so absorbed was I with my thoughts that I barely noticed the creaks of the carriage as it surmounted the ridge and rolled downhill once more toward the sea.

“I must confess,” I said to Mark later, “I was very shocked. A young lady like Clarissa! You should have seen her! So abandoned, so—so blatantly immoral! Frankly I was horrified.”

“I can see why Joss is interested in her,” said Mark cynically. “She’s well off—very rich by his standards—and she has the farm at Morvah, which is the finest farmhouse in the parish with a considerable amount of land. It’s true the land attached to the house is leased to Farmer Rosemorran and has been since my father lived there, but the lease is an annual one and can be reclaimed without a long wait. He’s after her money and her property. He’s tired of living at that hovel of a tenant farm on his brother’s charity. He’s anxious to come up in the world.”

“Well, she’ll never marry him,” I said distastefully. “She’s not that much of a fool. She’s dallying with him just as she used to dally with the Penmarric stable boys, and soon she’ll tire of him and go back to London again to find someone of her own class.”

But I was wrong. A week later the banns were called for the first time, and within a month, much to the amazement of the county and the delight of the village gossips, Clarissa had changed her name to Roslyn and Joss had at a stroke become one of the wealthiest young men in western Cornwall.

They were not received, of course. Clarissa had cut herself off from her class by her behavior, and Joss was certainly not presentable in any drawing room. They were married by Mr. Barnwell at Zillan church, and no one was at the wedding save Jared and his family together with Mrs. Barnwell and the Barnwells’ granddaughter, little Alice Penmar. After the wedding they lived at Deveral Farm and presently Joss reclaimed the land from Farmer Rosemorran and began to renovate the outbuildings and buy stock. How Clarissa adjusted to her new life as a farmer’s wife after her years of carefree irresponsibility I have no idea, for I seldom saw her. Occasionally I glimpsed her in Penzance, but we did not speak to each other and in any case Joss would not have permitted her to make any sociable overtures either to Mark or to myself.