The Landower Legacy (34 page)

“At least he got it in time,” said Cousin Mary philosophically. “Is your husband well?”

“Quite well, thank you.”

“And Jago?”

“Jago is always well. He’s back from Plymouth. He’s very anxious to see you, Miss Caroline. He was telling us how well you two got on together all those years ago. He said he wondered if you’d changed and hoped you hadn’t … too much.”

“I shall look forward to renewing our acquaintance.”

She drained her glass.

“I should go. I only looked in to invite you. So it’s all right then? Can you come over about seven-thirty? Not a big dinner party … just the family. Getting neighbourly, you know. Jago said we must be the first to ask you.”

“That’s appreciated, tell Jago,” said Cousin Mary.

We went out with Gwennie Landower to the courtyard and watched the groom help her into the saddle.

She lifted a gloved hand and waved as she went under the gatehouse.

As we returned to the house Cousin Mary said: “Well, she is determined to be friendly.”

“She certainly seemed so.”

“She would want to see how you looked.”

“Why should she be so eager?”

“She likes to know everything that goes on. She’s so inquisitive. It’s been said that she can’t keep her nose out of anything that’s going on. They say that she knows which servant is courting and she can spot a baby on the way before its mother knows it’s there. Our servants say she gossips with her servants. They don’t like that. They expect a strict code of behaviour from employers, I can tell you. Gwennie—we always call her Gwennie—doesn’t quite come up to what they think the squire’s lady ought to be—any more than her father did as squire.”

“So you think she just wants to have a good look at me?”

“Oh, she likes to have people around, but I noticed she was giving special attention to you–and I think you were quite interested in her.”

“I wanted to see what Landower’s benefactress was like, naturally.”

“Well, now you have. She’s very pleased with herself. She got what she wanted.”

“So she is satisfied with her part of the bargain.”

“Doesn’t seem any doubt of it.”

“I wonder whether he is.”

“Ah! I wonder. Well, do you want to change? You’d better have a rest after luncheon. I can see you are still rather tired. We’ll talk some more tonight. You’ll be completely restored tomorrow.”

“Yes,” I said. “I must be fresh for the Landowers in the evening.”

“It will be interesting. You didn’t go there before, did you?”

“Not as a guest. Jago gave me a sneak view of the place.”

“Well, now you’ll go in style. You’ll enjoy that, I promise you.” As I went to my room I wondered whether I should.

I was dressing for the Landower dinner party. I had slept soundly during the previous night. I must have been tired out. The day had passed quickly. I had ridden with Cousin Mary in the morning and seen a little more of the estate, and as Cousin Mary rested in the afternoon, I had sat in the garden reading a little but mostly brooding on how I should feel that evening.

I dressed with great care. I wished that Everton had been there to do my hair. I could never quite achieve the results that she had; she had said I should dress it high because of my high forehead, and it gave me added height, which I liked. I wore a cream dress with a tight bodice and very flounced skirt which had been bought in Paris for my mother’s wedding. I had never before had such a dress and as it had had Everton’s approval before the purchase, I felt it was the pinnacle of elegance. Moreover, I had the emerald brooch which my mother had given me as a parting gift. “It does something for Miss Caroline” had been the comment—Everton’s, of course. “And really, Madam, it is not so much for you. The aquamarine is your stone … as we always said.”

And as my mother was going to be showered with jewels she could part with the brooch without missing it, so it came to me; and Everton was right; it certainly brought out the green in my eyes.

When I looked at myself ready for departure I was struck by the brilliance of my eyes; they positively glittered. But I did look rather like a general going into battle. I intended to show Paul Landower that although I was not in the least interested in him, I despised his mercenary behaviour.

Cousin Mary had not taken the same care with her appearance. I doubted she ever had.

“Goodness me,” she said when she saw me, “you do look splendid.”

“It is a simple dinner dress really. My mother bought it for me … or I suppose Alphonse did … when we were in Paris. I had to be presentable for the wedding celebrations.”

“It’s very
haute couture.
Is that what they call it? Very French too. But I doubt they’ll know that in Cornwall. They’ll just think you’re a very elegant lady. What a lovely brooch! Our old trap seems hardly good enough.”

“It will suit me.”

“Let’s get going then. It was nice of her to ask us like this.
En famille,
as they say in France.”

I could not help being overawed as we approached the house. It looked magnificent and I remembered the first time I had seen it. The great stone walls, the battlemented tower, that fortress-like appearance —they were impressive. I could understand why a family who had owned it for generations, whose ancestors had built it, would be prepared to make great sacrifices for such a place. Perhaps it was natural that Paul had acted as he did.

We passed under an archway into the courtyard where a groom hurried forward to help us alight. A nail-studded door opened and a maid appeared.

“Will you please to come in, Miss Tressidor,” she said. “Mrs. Landower be waiting for you.”

“Thank you,” said Cousin Mary.

“I’ll take the trap into the stables,” said the groom.

“Thank you, Jim.”

We went into the hall. Memories came back. I couldn’t help looking up at the minstrels’ gallery as our footsteps rang out on the stone-flagged floor. The rail must have been replaced. I glanced at the fireplace and the family tree which spread out over it and beyond. In the house it was even easier to understand how such a place made demands, how it would entwine itself about one’s life, how it could well become of major importance.

I was making excuses for him.

The maid led us up the staircase.

“Mrs. Landower is in the drawing room,” she said.

She knocked and without waiting for a reply opened the door. I had not been in this room before. It was large and lofty; the windows were latticed and did not let in a great deal of light. I had time to notice the tapestry on the walls and the painting of some long-dead Landower over the fireplace.

Gwennie Landower came towards us.

“It’s good to see you,” she said as though she meant it.

She took my hand and gazed at me. “You look grand,” she said.

I felt embarrassed. Cousin Mary explained afterwards that in Gwennie’s vocabulary “grand” did not necessarily imply grandeur. It merely meant, “You look very nice.”

“And you know my husband.”

He had come forward; he took my hand and held it firmly.

“How nice to see you,” he said. “I hope you have recovered from your fall in the mountains.”

“Paul told us all about it,” said Gwennie. “I scolded him. He was supposed to be looking after you, wasn’t he? Miss Tressidor had asked him to go and see you because she was worried about you.”

“It was entirely my own fault,” I explained. “Your husband was well ahead and we were going at a snail’s pace. I was just not attending. You can’t afford to do that on horseback.”

“Don’t I know it! I had to learn to ride, didn’t I, Paul?”

He nodded.

“I managed it though, didn’t I? Took me some time. But I thought, well, if I’m going to be in the country I’ve got to be able to get about without fuss. But I was ill for a while … that was before I was married. I had a bad fall.”

“Oh yes,” I said quietly. “I heard.”

“Ugh!” she shivered. “Do you know I can’t go into that hall without looking up and wondering …”

“It must have been a shock.”

“Oh, here’s someone you know.”

He was coming towards me. He had grown a great deal since we had last met. He was the handsomest man I had ever seen. Tall, rather lean, with a somewhat swaggering walk. It was not that his features were perfect. His mouth was full and rather sensual; it looked as though it only knew how to smile; his heavy dark-lidded eyes, so like his brother’s in shape and colour, shone with amusement as they surveyed the world; his thick dark hair grew in much the same way as Paul’s; in fact they were very much alike but they seemed so different because of expression. Paul appeared to be over-serious, whereas his brother looked as though he hadn’t a care in the world, or if he had, refused to recognize it. He gave an impression of complete
joie de vivre.

“It’s Jago,” I said.

“It’s Caroline,” he answered.

Throwing aside decorum he put his arms round me and hugged me.

“What a delightful … I was going to say surprise … but the news of your impending arrival had already reached us … so I’ll say occasion. You can imagine how thrilled I’ve been awaiting the reunion. Welcome back to Cornwall. You’ve grown up.” He looked at my hair
and raised his eyebrows. “Still the same green-eyed siren, though. I couldn’t have borne it if you had changed.”

Gwennie said: “Well, everybody’s met each other before, haven’t they? Even I met Miss Caroline once. Do you remember? It was at the inn where Pa and I stayed. You two came in and tried to put us off. You told us what a terrible place this was … on the point of collapse.”

“We didn’t want to hide the truth from you, dear Gwennie,” said Jago.

“You were up to something … as usual.”

“What a day that was,” said Jago. “The moors … Caroline’s horse was in trouble and we had to go to the blacksmith: I can see that ‘do you remember’ is going to be the theme of our conversation for some time to come.”

“And I can see that you are obviously well pleased with life, Jago,” I said.

“It’s a mistake to be otherwise than pleased with life.”

“It is not always easy to be pleased with something which is not pleasing,” said Paul.

“It’s what is called an approach to living,” explained Jago.

“Very glib,” commented Paul; and Gwennie said, “Shall we go in to dinner?”

She came to me and slipped her arm through mine. “I did explain,” she said in a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s quite informal tonight. Just the family. Mind you, we do entertain in style now and then. I like to get back to the old days of Landower glory … so does Paul … so does Jago.”

“I’m all for the glory,” said Jago, “as you say, dear sister-in-law of mine.”

“We’re not eating in the dining room this evening,” went on Gwennie. “We should all be at great distances from each other. We use it when we have guests but when we’re just family we eat in the little anteroom next to the dining room.”

“Tonight we have our most important guests,” protested Jago.

“They’re neighbours, that’s what I mean,” said Gwennie.

“Which is very pleasant,” put in Cousin Mary.

“Of course we do have big dinner parties now and then,” explained Gwennie. “Sometimes so big that we use the old hall. Well, we have a position to keep up, don’t we? It wouldn’t do for us to forget our position in the Duchy … if you see what I mean.”

I glanced at Paul. He was biting his lips in annoyance. Jago was looking amused.

She led us through the dining room to the smaller room. I could see what she meant. We should have been lost at that vast table and conversation would have been difficult. The dining room was quite splendid with its lofty ceiling and tapestried walls; the other room was delightful, cosy, intimate, with a small window looking out on a courtyard. The table was laid for five and there was a candelabrum in the centre, though the candles had not yet been lighted. The ceiling was painted in delicate pastel shades, representing Neptune holding court.

“What a delightful room!” I said.

“You’ve restored it beautifully,” added Cousin Mary.

“It cost me something to have that ceiling done,” said Gwennie. “You couldn’t even see what it was meant to be. Like everything else it had been neglected. I got an artist down here. He had to clean it and then restore it. I can tell you a pretty penny had to be spent on this place.”

“Dear Gwennie!” murmured Jago. “She has been so generous with her pretty pennies. Personally I have never cared whether they were pretty or plain. Any penny is good enough for me.”

“He likes to take a rise out of me,” Gwennie explained confidentially to me.

“Dear Gwennie,” went on Jago. “No one could be more proud of this old house than she is. She’s more of a Landower than any of us, are you not, dear sister-in-law!”

“A woman’s family is the one she marries into,” said Gwennie sententiously.

“Which sounds as if it came out of the prayer book,” said Jago, “but knowing our wise little Gwennie, I’ll swear she made it up herself.”