Penmarric (83 page)

“Really?” I said. I wasn’t interested in the commendable attempts of a farmer’s son to make a success of a middle-class profession. “I’m surprised Michael took him into the firm since Michael’s one of the biggest snobs left over from the nineteenth century. But perhaps he thought he was keeping abreast of the times and being democratic.”

“I like Simon Peter,” said Philip, pouring himself some more orange juice, “He’s clever and agreeable and always has something to say for himself. I think he’ll do a good job here.”

“I see,” I said, finishing my own drink and setting down my glass. I looked around the room at the elegant furniture, the oil paintings on the walls, and suddenly I thought of Simon Peter Roslyn lunching at Penmarric once a month when he came to inspect the accounts, Simon Peter Roslyn with his phony BBC accent, his china-blue eyes humorless behind his rimless spectacles, his soft white hands flicking the legal strings which would manipulate his entry into my house, my grounds, my home …

“I must say,” I heard my voice observing in a studiously casual tone of voice, “I do find it rather unfair that Simon Peter Roslyn is to be allowed to come here whenever he pleases while I’m not even allowed to set foot in the place for three years.”

“Unfair?” said Philip, giving me one of his hard, cool stares. “I see nothing unfair about it; It’s merely a practical solution to a tricky problem—how to avoid family squabbles when I’m seven thousand miles away on the other side of the world. Frankly, I’m surprised you should be so upset about it. What’s Penmarric to you anyway? I know you’ll be looking for work now that Sennen Garth’s closed, but I’m sure William would always welcome a hand with the Carnforth Hall estate—assuming your father-in-law gives him the job. In fact there’s no need for you to work at all now that you’re so well provided for financially. Your wife’s an heiress and when old Carnforth dies you’ll be master of Carnforth Hall. You’ve got all the money and property you need, and to be honest, I think the Hall is a damned sight pleasanter place to live than this rambling old tomb of a mansion. You’re well off! While I’ve been arranging my legal affairs with Michael and Simon Peter recently, I’ve been guided throughout by the knowledge that you’re well provided for and that you don’t need either Penmarric or my money should I happen to die before you do.”

My heart gave A great thud. When it began to beat again a moment later I felt as if all the breath had been knocked out of my body by a violent blow below the belt. “I don’t quite understand,” said my voice precisely from somewhere a long way away. “Are you trying to tell me—”

“I’ve just signed my will,” he said. ”I’ve left everything to Jonas.”

I stared at him. At first I found it hard to grasp what he had said. The silence seemed to last an immense time but was probably no longer than five seconds, and then at last I managed to say politely, “I see. Rebecca will be very pleased.”

“I thought it was the just thing to do,” he said. “After all, as I’ve said, you’ll get Carnforth Hall and all the Carnforth money, and the boy has nothing except the name Castallack. I intend to make him my heir, pay for his education, see he knows all about the estate and so on. When I come back from Canada he’ll be seven years old and I’ll be able to get to know him better. He can come and spend weekends at Penmarric.”

I said nothing. Speech was beyond me.

“I thought I’d tell you before I told anyone else,” he said, “since after Jonas you’re the person most concerned.”

“Thank you so much.”

“I intend to see Rebecca tomorrow and tell her my decision. I also want to have a look at the boy—I’ve hardly seen him. To be honest I’d prefer to name Esmond as my heir, but of course Esmond is excluded from the inheritance under the terms of Father’s will.”

I was seized by an ungovernable urge to hurt him and have some sort of revenge however futile for the injury I had suffered at his hands. “So you’ve given up hope of a son of your own?” I inquired pleasantly. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

He didn’t flinch. He held up his head and looked me straight in the eyes and said without hesitation, “I’ve already admitted my marriage is a failure, and since my wife and I don’t live together it’s hardly likely I’ll have a son.”

“Couldn’t you get a divorce and try again?”

“I have absolutely no grounds for divorce and neither has Helena. Even if we were divorced the very last thing I’d do would be to remarry solely to get a son.” He moved restlessly over to the sideboard and toyed with the whisky decanter. “Do you want another drink?”

“No thanks. I’d better be going.”

Somehow I got out of the house without losing my self-control, but by the time I slid into the driving seat of my car I was conscious of nothing save my rage; I was so angry that I hardly trusted myself to drive. I managed to take the car to the gates of the grounds and then I stopped, got out and began to pace about in an attempt to calm myself, but calmness eluded me. All I was aware of was that I had been banished from Penmarric for three years and deprived of my just inheritance in favor of a four-year-old child who didn’t even know Penmarric from Buckingham Palace.

My rage was painful; I felt as if my heart were bursting. I found it hard to believe my fortunes could be so persistently dogged by injustice. As if I could ever have been content with Carnforth Hall! As if the Hall would ever mean as much to me as Penmarric! I was beside myself with resentment, consumed with an impotent longing for revenge.

“He’ll regret this,” I said aloud to the gray walls which bounded the grounds. “I’ll make him sorry. I’ll make him pay.” An owl hooted, a tree sighed in the darkness, the sea breeze blew cool against my cheek, “I’ll not give up,” I said to them all. “I’ll get what I want in the end no matter how many people try to stand in my way.”

I went on pacing up and down, planning a way of obtaining justice for myself and reversing the wrongs which had been inflicted on me. I lit a cigarette, smoked it, ground the butt to dust beneath my heel. Finally I got into the car and began the drive to Morvah, but I had barely reached Pendeen before I realized I had no desire to see Rebecca. As soon as she realized I was upset she would want to know why, and as soon as she knew why she would be in the seventh heaven of delight on account of her darling little boy’s good fortune.

“To hell with Rebecca,” I said to the steering wheel as I swung the car up into the hills toward Penzance. “To hell with Jonas. To hell with everyone.”

I had one of my bleakest moods of loneliness then, a desolation of the spirit so vast that it was as if I stood alone in a barren landscape which stretched as far as the eye could see. When I arrived at Carnforth Hall it took me a long time to recover my equilibrium, but eventually I pulled myself together and began to think more coherently about the situation into which Philip had so casually jettisoned me.

The first thing I realized was that I was determined to live at Penmarric. I had been content to live at Carnforth Hall while I had been secure in the knowledge that I was Philip’s heir and that the Hall was a mere temporary residence, but now I rebelled against living there for the rest of my days; having been formally deprived of Penmarric, I found I wanted it more than I had ever wanted it in my life. I was resolved to show Philip he had misunderstood the situation and reached the wrong decision in regard to his inheritance, and since action spoke louder than words I felt the best way of showing him his error was to maneuver myself into a position where I was living at Penmarric and running the estate. In that way I would prove to him that Penmarric, not Carnforth Hall, was my primary concern, and at the same time prove to him how capable I was in the administration of his affairs. Once I had convinced Philip that I thoroughly deserved to be his heir I felt sure he wouldn’t bother himself with Jonas. Esmond was his favorite nephew, not Jonas, and anyway Jonas was growing up in a working-class atmosphere surrounded by his Roslyn relatives and would no doubt turn out to be unsuitable for such an inheritance as Philip proposed to hand him.

Philip had forbidden me to visit Penmarric on any occasion, but Philip had to be persuaded to change his mind before he left the country.

The next morning I rose early, cut a large bunch of exotic flowers from the greenhouses of Carnforth Hall and drove over to Zillan to see my mother.

My mother greeted me with great enthusiasm, exclaimed in delight at the flowers and invited me to have a cup of tea with her in the farm kitchen. She looked well; her movements were far from being those of an old woman, and as we sat down together at the table there seemed something uncanny about her gracefulness and poise. Certainly I found it easy to compliment her about how young she looked. Soon the conversation was flowing easily enough and presently—inevitably—we spoke of Philip and his plans.

“You’ll miss him very much,” I said sympathetically. “It’s hard for you.”

“I’d rather he were happy in Canada than miserable in Cornwall,” she said staunchly, “and that’s the truth. I can’t bear to see him so unhappy. Of course it was a great shock when he first told me, but as soon as I saw it was what he wanted I made every effort to adjust to the idea. I’ve never tried to stand in Philip’s way. I’ve always wanted the best for him, and if it’s best he should go abroad for three years, then it would be very wrong of me to beg him to stay here. Besides, I shan’t be completely alone. I have Annie and the Turner girls for everyday company, and then I have you and Jeanne only a few miles away. I really can’t complain.”

She paused to sip her tea and I was just about to make some comforting promise to call often when she said, “Mr. Barnwell will visit me now and then, I dare say, although he’s so old he can’t get about much now. Mr. Barnwell has always been such a good friend to me ever since I first came to Zillan. I was sad to hear he’s officially stepping down from his duties soon, but I’m glad that he’ll still be living at the rectory.”

“Yes, that’s most fortunate for you,” I murmured neutrally, and thought at once of the new rector, my father’s son by my mother’s rival Rose Parrish. I decided it would be more tactful to steer the conversation away from the subject of the rector of Zillan. “With regard to Philip’s plans—” I began, but was interrupted.

“I hear Adrian Parrish has come to Mr. Barnwell’s rescue,” she said. “Philip told me about it yesterday evening.”

“Yes,” I said uneasily. “He told me too.” I wasn’t sure what to say.

“Philip said I can go to church at St. Just and that Adrian won’t call here at the farm.”

“Of course, Mama,” I said briskly. “I’ll arrange for the Penmarric car to call for you and take you over to St. Just each Sunday morning.”

“Oh,” she said, “but I don’t want to go to St. Just. Zillan is much my favorite church and I don’t want to worship anywhere else.” She sipped her tea. “Don’t tell Philip,” she said. “It upsets him to think of me having to attend a service conducted by Adrian, so I shan’t tell him I’m not leaving Zillan church to go to St. Just. I don’t think I shall mind attending Adrian’s services. After all, a clergyman is a clergyman, is he not, no matter who he is and where he comes from. One mustn’t be unreasonably prejudiced, and besides if Mr. Barnwell is so fond of him he must have something to commend him, mustn’t he?”

“Certainly …” I was so surprised by her decision that I could think of nothing else to say.

But my mother was already changing the subject. “I wish Helena was staying at Penmarric,” she said, a shadow crossing her face. “I’ve promised Philip to keep an eye on household matters in his absence, but it seems sad to think that Helena won’t be there to attend to such matters herself.”

I decided to skirt the delicate subject of Philip’s marriage. “I’m glad you at least will be there from time to time to keep the household in order,” I said quickly. “I wish I felt as confident about Simon Peter Roslyn’s ability to check on the affairs of the estate.”

“Simon Peter Roslyn!” said my mother and her lip curled in scorn. “I must say, I don’t know what Michael Vincent’s doing employing a farmer’s son in his office, but of course the war changed so many things and now nothing is the same as it used to be in the old days. I’m sure it must be very nice for Jared to know that his son’s doing so well in life and working in a gentleman’s profession—”

“—which entitles him to visit Penmarric once a month as a privileged guest,” I added smoothly. “By the way, how often do you yourself intend to visit Penmarric, Mama?”

“About once a fortnight, I dare say.”

“I’d offer to drive you over there of course,” I said regretfully, “but I’m sure Philip wouldn’t permit it. I’m to be in the strictest exile from Penmarric while he’s away.”

“Oh, fiddle-de-dee!” said my mother at once. “Of course it would make things easier for me if you drove me to Penmarric in your car, and I’m sure Philip wouldn’t object to you escorting me there now and then! I’ll explain it to him and I’m sure he’ll understand. … More tea, darling?”

I accepted more tea. I felt better, aglow with the satisfaction which arises after a tricky task has been successfully accomplished.

I had a foot in the door.

A week after that I gritted my teeth, scraped the barrel of my current stock of hypocrisy and called on Rebecca to congratulate her on her son’s good fortune. She was cross with me since I hadn’t been near her after my ill-fated visit to Penmarric, but I was used to her being cross and presently I had ironed away her ill-humor and she was smiling. She even asked me to stay to lunch, but I had arranged to have lunch in St. Just with William and Charity, so I postponed the invitation until another day.

William was thinking of moving from St. Just. He had taken his dismissal from Penmarric surprisingly philosophically, and I realized then that he had disliked working for Philip and was welcoming the opportunity to begin his duties as bailiff at Carnforth Hall. Philip’s policy of single-minded extortion to provide money to keep Sennen Garth alive had hardly coincided with William’s traditional policy of maintaining good relations with the tenants and showing consideration of their financial affairs when they were in trouble. Philip had accused William of inefficiency and I had been too well acquainted with the muddled state of William’s office to deny this charge on William’s behalf, but there are worse sins in the world than inefficiency and I had had no hesitation in recommending William to my father-in law once I knew William was to lose the job at Penmarric.