The Landower Legacy (11 page)

“Do you ever think of going back?”

He looked at me with horror. “Oh no … no. I could never do that. You see … there’s Donald. It’s because of Donald … and what he is … well, that’s why I had to leave … get away … as far as I could. I was always afraid of Donald. We grew up side by side.”

“Your brother?”

“We were so alike. People didn’t know us apart. Which was Donald … which was Jamie? No one knew … not even our mother.”

“You were identical twins.”

“Donald’s not a good man, Miss Caroline. He’s really bad. I had to get away from Donald. There. I’m boring you with things you don’t want to know about.”

“I’m always interested in people. I like to hear their stories. I find them most interesting.”

“I can’t talk of Donald … not what he did. I have to shut it right out of my mind.”

“Was he very bad?”

He nodded. “There now, Miss Caroline, you’ve got to know my bees this afternoon.”

“I’m glad they accepted me as a friend. I hope you do, too.”

“I knew you were a friend right from the first. He leaned towards me and said: “Forget what I told you about Donald. I spoke out of turn.”

“I think it helps to talk, you know.”

He shook his head. “No, I have to forget Donald. It has to be as though he never was.”

And I had to resist the urge to ask questions about Donald but I could see that speaking of him had already shaken Jamie McGill and that he was beginning to reproach himself for having talked of his brother.

After that one occasion he never mentioned him, although I did make several attempts to steer the conversation in that direction, but each time I was skilfully diverted, and I came to the conclusion that if I tried to get him to talk of his brother, I should no longer be welcome in the lodge.

I was writing quite frequently to Olivia. Writing to her was like talking to her and I greatly looked forward to receiving her letters.

I gathered that life went on much as usual. She was mostly in the country. After the Jubilee celebrations there would be nothing for her to come to London for.

Miss Bell wrote once. Her letter was full of information which told me nothing. She had had a safe journey home; Olivia and she had started on Gibbon’s
Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.
The weather had been exceptionally warm. Such matters did not interest me.

There was one letter from Olivia which was different from the others.

“Dear Caroline,” she wrote,

“I do miss you so much. They are talking now about my coming out. I shall soon be seventeen and Papa has told Miss Bell that he thinks I should be making my debut into society. I dread it. I hate the thought of those parties and meeting people. I’m no good at it. You would do very well. There’s nobody here to talk to really … Miss Bell says it is to be expected and she is sure that if only I will make up my mind all will be well, it will.

“Mama has never come back. She never will. I thought she had just gone away for a little while, but nobody speaks of her and when I
mention her to Miss Bell she changes the subject as though it is something shameful.

“I wish Mama would come back. Papa is more stern than ever. He is mostly in London and I am in the country, but if I ‘come out’ I shall have to be there, shan’t I? Oh, I do wish you would come home.

“When
are
you coming back? I asked Miss Bell. She said it would depend on Papa. I said, ‘But surely Papa wants to see his own daughter.’ And she turned away and said, ‘Caroline will come back when it is right and proper in your father’s eyes for her to do so.’

“I thought that so odd. It is all so mysterious, Caroline, and I’m scared of going into society.

“Do write often. I love hearing about the bees and that quaint man at the lodge, and about the Landowers and Cousin Mary. I think you are liking them all rather a lot. Don’t like them more than you like me, will you? Don’t like Cornwall more than you like home.

“See if you can get Cousin Mary to send you home. Perhaps she could write to Aunt Imogen or something.

“Remember I do miss you. It wouldn’t be half as bad if you were home.

“Your affectionate sister, Olivia Tressidor.”

I thought a great deal about Olivia and wished that she could join me in Cornwall and share in this carefree absorbing life into which I had stepped.

Sometimes I used to feel that it was going on forever. I should have known better than that.

There were times when Jago Landower would lapse into a melancholy mood. I guessed he was really troubled, as this was quite alien to his nature.

He admitted to me that there seemed to be no solution for his family but to sell the house.

I tried to comfort him: “You’ll have that lovely old farmhouse and you won’t be far away.”

“Don’t you see that makes it worse? Imagine being close to Landower and knowing that it belonged to someone else.”

“It’s only a house.”

“Only a house! It’s Landower! It’s been our home for centuries … and we are the ones to lose it. You can speak lightly of it, Caroline, because you don’t understand ” He paused. Then he went on: “You’ve
never seen it. Only from the outside. I’m going to show you Landower. Then perhaps you will understand.”

That was how I came to enter Landower and from then on I fell under its spell and I fully understood the anguish which the family was suffering.

I had grown to love Tressidor Manor. In spite of its antiquity it was cosy. Landower was scarcely that. It was magnificent, splendid, crumbling perhaps, but as soon as I stepped inside, I felt that it was important that this house should not be allowed to fall into decay. As I approached I felt the full impact of the embattled walls and a shiver of delight went through me as I passed under the gateway and into the courtyard. I felt as though the centuries had been captured and were held fast within those walls. I was stepping right back into the fourteenth century when the place had been built.

There was a heavy nail-studded door through which we passed and we were in the banqueting hall. I was aware of Jago’s immense pride and I now fully understood.

He said: “Although Landower was built in the fourteenth century, it has been restored and built on since. Landower has grown with the centuries, but the banqueting hall is one of the oldest parts of the house. One thing they have changed. Originally the fire was in the centre of the room. I’ll show you just where. The great fireplace was put in during Tudor times. That’s the minstrels’ gallery up there. Look at the panelling. That tells the age.”

I was speechless with wonder.

“Here is the family crest and look at the family tree; and entwined in the decorations over the fireplace, the initials of the Landowers who were living here at the time it was put in. Can you see anyone else living here … with everything that belongs to
us?”

“Oh, Jago, it mustn’t be. I hope it never happens.”

“That is the screens passage over there and the way to the kitchens. I won’t take you there. I daresay the kitchen servants are nodding away, having an afternoon nap. They wouldn’t be very pleased to see us. Come on.” He led me up a flight of stairs to the dining room. Through the windows I could see the lawns and the gardens. Tapestry hung on the walls depicting scenes from the Bible; at either end of the table stood candelabra, and the table was set as though the family were about to sit down for a meal. On the great sideboard were chafing dishes in gleaming silver. This did not seem like a doomed house.

There was a hushed atmosphere in the chapel into which he next
led me. It was larger than ours at Tressidor and I felt overawed as our footsteps rang out on the stone flags. Scenes from the Crucifixion were etched on the stone walls; and the stained-glass windows were beautiful, the carvings on the altar so intricate that I felt I should have to spend hours examining them to discover what they implied.

After that he took me to the solarium—a happy room with many windows, and as bright and sunny as its name implied. Between the windows and walls were portraits—Landowers through the ages and some notable people as well.

All about me was antiquity, the evidence of a family who had built a house and had made it a home.

Having seen something of my father’s bitterness over the loss of Tressidor Manor, and Cousin Mary’s pride in it, and determination to keep her hold on it, I understood the tragedy the Landowers were facing.

As I examined the tapestry I was aware that someone had come into the gallery. I turned sharply and saw that it was Paul Landower. I had not seen him since my arrival but I recognized him at once.

“Miss Tressidor,” he said with a bow.

“Oh, good afternoon, Mr. Landower. Your brother is showing me the house.”

“So I perceive.”

“It’s wonderful.” My lips trembled with emotion. “I understand … I couldn’t bear it …”

He said rather coldly I thought: “My brother has been talking of our troubles.”

“Well, why keep it a secret,” said Jago. “You can bet your life everyone knows.”

Paul Landower nodded. “As you say, no point in keeping dark what will be common knowledge soon … very soon.”

“Is there no hope then?” asked Jago.

Paul shook his head. “Not so far. Perhaps we can find a way.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said.

Paul Landower looked at me for a few seconds, then he laughed. “What a way to treat our guest! I’m ashamed of you, Jago. Have you offered her refreshment?”

“I just came in to see the house,” I said.

“Well, I’m sure you would like … tea. Is that so?”

“I’m quite happy just looking at the house.”

“We’re honoured. We don’t often have Tressidors calling.”

“It’s a pity. I am sure anyone would consider it an honour to be invited here.”

“We don’t do a great deal of entertaining now, do we, Jago? It is all we can do to keep the roof over our head and that, my dear Miss Tressidor, let me tell you, is in danger of falling in.”

I looked up in alarm.

“Oh, not immediately. We shall probably get a further warning. We have had little warnings already. What have you shown Miss Tressidor so far?”

Jago explained.

“There’s more to see yet. I’ll tell you what. Bring Miss Tressidor to my ante-room in half an hour. We’ll give her some tea to mark the occasion when a Tressidor comes to Landower.”

Jago said he would do that and Paul left us.

“Things must have gone very badly for him to talk like that,” said Jago. “He’s usually so restrained about our troubles.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Well, no use going over and over something that can’t be helped. Come on.”

There was so much to see. The long gallery with more portraits, the state bedroom which had been occupied by royalty from time to time; the maze of bedrooms, ante-rooms and passages. I looked through the windows across the beautiful park and often into courtyards where I could see the carvings on the opposite walls—often grotesque, gargoyles, threatening intruders, I fancied.

In due course we arrived at the ante-room which I believed led to Paul’s bedroom. It was a small room with a window into a courtyard. There was a small table on which stood a tray containing everything that was necessary for tea.

Paul rose as I entered. “Oh here you are, Miss Tressidor. Have you still a high opinion of Landower?”

I said fervently: “I have never before had the privilege of being in such a wonderful place.”

“You win our approval, Miss Tressidor. Especially as you come from the Manor.”

“The Manor is delightful, but it lacks this splendour … this grandeur.”

“How good you are! How gracious! I wonder if Miss Mary Tressidor would agree with you.”

“I am sure she would. She always says what she means and no one could fail to recognize the … the …”

“Superiority?”

I hesitated. “They are so different.”

“Ah, loyal to Cousin Mary. Well, comparisons are odious, we are told. Suffice it that you admire our house. What a mercy it is you came … just in time.”

I thought: He is obsessed by this tragedy, and I felt very sorry for him, far more than I ever had done for Jago.

He smiled at me and his expression, which before I had thought a little hard, softened. “Now tea will be served. Miss Tressidor, will you do us the honour. It is supposed to be a lady’s task.”

“I’d like to,” I said, and I seated myself at the tea table. I lifted the heavy silver teapot and poured the tea into the very beautiful Sevres cups. “Milk? Sugar?” I asked, feeling very much at ease and grown-up.

Paul did most of the talking. I noticed that Jago was quieter in his brother’s company. Paul asked me about my impressions of Cornwall, about my home in London and the country. I talked vivaciously as I invariably did; but it was different when I spoke of my father. He had always seemed a stranger to me and never more than now. I was surprised how quickly Paul Landower sensed this. He quickly changed the subject.