Victoria Holt (8 page)

There was packing to do and the new house to visit. It was pleasant—quite charming in fact, but of course rather insignificant compared with the Manor.

I had heard nothing from Edward Compton. I was surprised and hurt for I had expected some explanation. It seemed so extraordinary. Sometimes I began to think I had imagined the whole thing. When I looked back I realized that apart from the encounter with the other three girls, I had been alone when I saw him—on the train, on the boat, and in the woods. I could in some moments convince myself that I had imagined those meetings. After all there was something about him which was different from other people.

I realized then that I knew little of men. A lot of girls would have been far more experienced long ago. I suppose it was due to being at school so long. Young men had just not come into my life. Monique had met her Henri whom she knew she was going to marry. Frieda might not have met any more men than I had. Lydia had brothers and they had friends whom they sometimes brought home. She talked of them when she came back after holidays at home. But I had lived in a society dominated by women. There was, of course, the vicar’s new curate. He was in his twenties and shy; there was the doctor’s son who was at Cambridge. Neither was very romantic. That was it. Edward Compton was definitely romantic. He had stirred new interests in me. Perhaps because he had showed rather clearly that he liked me…preferred me. One must be gratified to be so preferred among three far from unattractive girls.

Yes, I was bitterly disappointed. It had begun so romantically…and then to peter out!

Perhaps that was one of the reasons why I was reaching out for adventure. I wanted to take a challenge, to start in new territory.

I certainly should when I went to the Colby Abbey Academy.

When Aunt Patty had shown me the new house at Moldenbury I had expressed a greater enthusiasm than I had really felt just to please her. We had explored the rather large garden and decided where Aunt Patty should have her summerhouse and Violet her bees, which should be my room and how it should be furnished.

On the way home we had to wait at the London terminal for catching the train to Canterton and while I was there I saw a notice which mentioned trains to Bury St. Edmunds.

I think the idea started to grow in my mind then.

***

I knew I was going to do it, although I was not quite sure how I should act when I got there.

Perhaps I shouldn’t seek him out. Perhaps I just wanted to assure myself that he had really existed and that I had not been dreaming and imagined the whole adventure.

The farther I grew from the affair the more mystic it seemed. He was unlike anyone I had ever known before. He was very good-looking, with those sculptured features—rather like Daisy Hetherington’s, but there was no doubt in my mind that she was a real person! Seeing him in the forest with my three friends had been real enough, but had I begun to imagine certain things about him? It was probably due to Elsa’s talk about the mysticism of the forest legends that sometimes in my thoughts made him seem part of them. Could I have imagined that I saw him in the train, on the boat and here in Canterton? Had I imagined the whole thing? No. It was ridiculous. I was no dreamer. I was a very practical young woman. It was a little alarming to think that one could imagine certain happenings so that one was not completely convinced that they had actually happened.

I wanted to shake myself. That was why when I saw that notice about Bury St. Edmunds I had the idea of going on a voyage of discovery. I had mentioned Bury St. Edmunds—as the only town I knew in Suffolk—and he had said yes…his home was near there.

Croston. That was the name he had mentioned. The little town near Bury St. Edmunds. Suppose I went there and found Compton Manor. I should not call of course. I could hardly do that. But I should convince myself that he was a rather ill-mannered young man and I was a sensible young woman who did not go off into flights of fancy and then wonder whether they were real or not.

Then the opportunity presented itself.

It was mid-term. The negotiations for the house were completed. Aunt Patty would leave Grantley at the beginning of April. I should then be on my way to Colby Abbey school.

A great deal of activity was in progress. Aunt Patty enjoyed this. There was so much furniture and effects to be disposed of and she was having certain alterations made to the new house so that there was continual coming and going. Violet was harassed and said she didn’t know whether she was on her head or her heels, but Aunt Patty flourished.

She had to go to Moldenbury to see the architect and decided that while she was in London, where it was necessary to change trains, she would stay a few days and make some purchases and see about the sale of the school equipment which remained at Grantley; then she would go on to Moldenbury. It was decided that I should accompany her.

When we were in London I said I should like to stay a little longer as I had some shopping to do for myself and it was arranged that I should stay at Smith’s, the small and comfortable family hotel which Aunt Patty always used when she came to London and where they knew her well, while she went on to Moldenbury. When she came back to London we could return to Grantley together.

Thus I found myself alone and I knew that if ever I was going to make that tour of investigation I must do so now.

I left early in the morning and as the train carried me to Bury St. Edmunds I asked myself whether I was being impulsive in what I was doing. What if I came face to face with him? What would be my excuse for seeking him out? He had come to Canterton, hadn’t he? Yes, but this was different. He had shown quite clearly that he did not want to continue the acquaintance…friendship…or whatever it was. It was not very good manners to seek him out therefore.

No. But I had no intention of calling at Compton Manor if I found it. I would go into a nearby inn and ask discreet questions. If the people of Suffolk were as fond of a gossip as those of Sussex, I might find out what I wanted to know, which was, I assured myself, merely to find out whether there had ever been a man called Edward Compton, so that I could rid myself of this absurd notion that I had been suffering from some sort of hallucination.

It was a bright cold morning—rather bracing—and as the train carried me along I grew more and more excited. We were in on good time and I was elated when, asking how I could find my way to Croston, I was told there was a branch line with a service every three hours, and if I hurried I could just catch the next train.

I did so and congratulated myself as we puffed along through the pleasant but flat countryside.

Croston was nothing more than a halt. I saw a man who might have been a railway official and I approached him. He was oldish with a gray beard and rheumy eyes. He looked at me with curiosity, and it struck me that he did not see many strangers.

“Is Compton Manor near here?” I asked.

He looked at me oddly and then nodded. Again my spirits rose.

“What do you want with the Manor?” he asked me.

“I…er…wanted to go that way.”

“Oh, I see.” He scratched his head. “Take the footpath. It’ll take you into Croston. Then through the street and bear to the right.”

It was working out very easily.

Croston was one short street of a few thatched cottages, a village shop, a church and an inn. I bore to the right and walked on.

I had not gone very far when I saw an old signpost. Half of it was broken away. I looked at it closely. “Compton Manor,” I read.

But which way? It must be up the lane for the only other way was where I had come from. I started up the lane and turning a bend I saw a mansion.

Then I gasped in horror. This could not be the place. And yet there was the signpost…

I approached. It was nothing more than a shell. The stone walls were blackened. I went through an opening in those scorched walls and noticed that there were weeds growing among the grass where once there had been rooms. Then the fire was not recent.

This could not be Compton Manor. It must be farther on.

I left the blackened ruin behind me and found the road. There was nothing before me but open fields, and because of the flatness of the land, I could see for miles ahead and there was certainly no house there.

I sat down on the grass verge. I was baffled. Seeking to solve the mystery, I had plunged farther into it.

There was nothing to do but retrace my steps to the station. There would be about two hours to wait for the next train to Bury St. Edmunds.

Slowly I walked into the town. My journey had been fruitless. I came to the church. It was very ancient—Norman I guessed. There were very few people about. I had been rather silly to come.

I went into the church. It had a beautiful stained-glass window—rather impressive for such a small church. I approached the altar. Than I was looking at the brass plaque engraved on which were the words “In memory of Sir Gervaise Compton, Baronet of Compton Manor.” I looked about me and saw that there were other memorials to the Compton family.

While I stood there I heard a step behind me. A man was coming into the church carrying a pile of hassocks.

“Good morning,” he said, “or rather afternoon.”

“Good afternoon,” I replied.

“Taking a look at our church?”

“Yes. It’s very interesting.”

“Not many visitors come. Though it is one of the oldest in the country.”

“I thought it must be.”

“Are you interested in architecture, Madam?”

“I know very little about it.”

He looked disappointed and I guessed he had wanted to give me a lecture on Norman versus Gothic. He must be a church warden or verger or something connected with the church.

I said: “I have been looking at that burned-out house along the road. Could that be Compton Manor?”

“Oh yes, Madam. That was Compton.”

“When was the fire?”

“Oh, it must have been nigh on twenty years ago.”

“Twenty years ago!”

“Terrible tragedy. It started in the kitchens. The shell of the place is left. I wonder they don’t rebuild or something. The walls are still sturdy. They were built to last a thousand years. There’s been talk about it but nobody ever does anything.”

“And the Compton family?”

“It was the end of them…they died in the fire. A boy and a girl. Tragic it was. People still talk of it. Then there was Sir Edward and Lady Compton. They died too. In fact the whole family was wiped out. It was a big tragedy for this place for the Comptons were Croston at that time. It’s never been the same since. No big family to take the girls into service and take care of the interests of the village…”

I was scarcely listening. I was saying to myself: How could he have been Edward Compton of Compton Manor? They are all dead.

“They recovered most of the bodies. They’re all buried in the churchyard here…in the special Compton grounds. My father remembers the funeral. He often talked of it. ‘Croston’s day of mourning’ he called it. Are you interested in the family, Madam?”

“Well, I saw the house…and it is a terribly sad story.”

“Yes. They were Croston all right. Look round this church. You see they’ve left signs everywhere. That’s their pew in the front there. No one’s used it since. I’ll show you the graves if you’d like to step out.”

I followed him to the graves. I was shivering slightly.

He said: “Chill wind springing up. We get some rough winds here. It can be pretty biting when they blow from the east.”

He wended his way through the tombstones and we came to a secluded corner. We were in a well-tended patch where several rose trees and laurels had been planted. It must look very pretty in summer.

Then he said: “That’s Sir Edward. You can see the date. Yes, it was just over twenty years. All these graves…victims of the fire. That’s Lady Compton and that’s little Edward and Edwina his sister. Poor little mites. They never had a life. It makes you wonder, doesn’t it. He was two years old and Edwina was five. They come into the world and then are taken away. It makes you wonder…If they could look down and see what might have been…”

“It’s very kind of you to show me,” I said.

“A pleasure. We don’t get many interested. But I could see you were.”

“Yes,” I said, “and thank you very much.”

I wanted to be alone. I wanted to think. This was the last thing I had expected to find.

I was glad of the long journey back during which I could ponder on what I had seen and try to grasp what it could possibly mean; but when I reached London I was no nearer solving the mystery.

Could it really be that the man I had seen was a specter…a ghost from the past?

That theory would explain many things. Yet I could not accept it. One thing was certain—there was no Edward Compton of Compton Manor. There had not been for more than twenty years!

Then who was the strange man who had made such an impression on me, who had looked at me—yes, I would confess it now—with admiration, and with something which indicated to me that we could have a closer relationship and that was what he was hoping for.

How could I have imagined the whole conception? He had been in the forest. Was it possible that in that forest which Lydia always said was a little spooky—the same word which Aunt Patty had used about the Abbey school—strange things could happen?

I must forget the incident. I could not allow it to go on occupying my thoughts. It was one of life’s strange experiences. They did happen from time to time. I had read of them and there was no explanation.

I was sure I should be wise to try to put the entire matter out of my mind.

That was impossible. When I shut my eyes I could see that tombstone. Sir Edward Compton…and that of the little boy, another Edward.

It was mysterious…rather frightening.

Oh yes. I must certainly try to put it out of my mind.

It was a lovely spring day when I arrived at Colby Abbey station. I had been enchanted by the countryside which I had glimpsed through the windows of the train—lush green meadows and wooded hills and the rich red soil of Devonshire with the occasional glimpse of the sea.

The sun was warm although there was a slight nip in the air as though to remind me that summer had not yet come. I had said goodbye to Aunt Patty and Violet with much laughter, a few tears and constant reminders that we should all be together in the summer vacation. It was exhilarating as starting a new life must always be, and I was extremely fortunate in having Aunt Patty. Her last injunction had been: “If Madam Hetherington doesn’t treat you with the right respect, you know what to do. But I think she’ll behave herself. She knows that you are not exactly hers to command like some of those poor girls who have to toe the line or wonder where their next meal’s coming from.”

“You’ve always been a bulwark in my life,” I told her.

“I hope that’s not meant to be taken too literally, dear. I know I’m overfond of good food, but bulwark…no, I don’t like the sound of that.”

That was how we parted. The last I saw of her from the train window, for she and Violet had come to London to see me off, was a smile though I knew the tears were not far off.

So here I was arrived at last, and as I stepped out of the train a man in smart livery came toward me and asked if my name was Miss Grant, for if so, he had come to drive me to Colby Abbey Academy where I was expected.

“The trap’s in the yard, Miss. Be this your bag? ’Tis just a step or two…nothing more.”

I went through the barrier with him and there was what he called the trap—a rather smart two-wheeled vehicle drawn by a gray horse.

He took my bags and stowed them away.

“Reckon, Miss,” he said, “you’d be more comfortable up with me.”

“Thank you,” I said when he helped me up.

“It be a nice day for coming, Miss,” he said. He had a black beard and dark curly hair—a stocky, middle-aged man, who spoke with that burr with which in time I should become familiar.

He was inclined to be talkative. As he whipped up the horse he said: “The young ladies ’ull be coming next Tuesday. It’ll give you time to settle in, Miss. Bit different when they’m all here, eh? Some of ’em stays at school this time of year though. It’s only at Christmas and summer we have a full turnout. Too far for some to go home, you do see?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Do ’ee know Devon at all, Miss?”

“No, I’m afraid I don’t.”

“You’ve got a real treat in store. God’s own country. A little bit of heaven itself.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“It be true, Miss. There’s songs about it. Have ’ee ever heard of Sir Francis Drake?”

I told him I had.

“He were a Devon man. Saved England from them Spaniards, they do say. It were a long time ago though. Glorious Devon they call it. Devonshire cream and cider…They do make songs about it.”

“Yes, I have heard some of them.”

“You’ll see the big house in a minute. The Abbey’s a good three miles on.”

“Is that the home of the Verringers?”

“Yes, that be the Hall. Look, there’s the graveyard by the church.”

Just at that moment a bell began to toll.

“There be the funeral today. Funny time to arrive, Miss, if ’ee don’t mind me saying so. Her ladyship going out like and you coming in.”

His beard shook. He seemed to find that rather amusing.

“Whose funeral did you say it was?”

“Lady Verringer’s.”

“Oh…was she an elderly lady?”

“No. She’m Sir Jason’s wife. Poor lady. Not much of a life. Been invalid for ten years or more. Fell from her horse. They don’t have much luck…them Verringers. They do be cursed, I reckon, like folks say.”

“Oh?”

“Well, it goes back…right a long way. And the Abbey and all that. There’s stories about them. There’m folks as think it was either Abbey or Verringers and it ought to have been the Abbey.”

“It sounds mysterious.”

“Oh, it goes back a long way.”

We had turned into a lane so narrow that the bushes from the hedges brushed the sides of the trap. Suddenly my driver pulled up. A carriage was coming toward us.

The driver of the carriage had pulled up too. He had no alternative and the two men were glaring at each other.

“You’ll have to back, Emmet,” and the driver of the carriage.

My driver—Emmet apparently—remained stubbornly stationary. “You’ve less far to go back, Tom Craddock,” he said.

“I b’ain’t going back,” said Tom Craddock. “Look out, Nat Emmet. I’ve got Squire here.”

I heard a voice shout: “What in God’s name is going on here?” A face looked out of a window and I caught a glimpse of dark hair and angry dark eyes.

“’Tis Nat Emmet, Sir Jason. He be bringing the new young lady to the school and he’s blocking the road.”

“Get back at once, Emmet,” cried the imperious voice and the face disappeared.

“Yes, sir. Yes, Sir Jason. That’s just what I be doing…”

“Be sharp about it.”

Emmet got down and we started to move back, and finally reached the wide road.

The carriage came out at a sharp pace and the driver gave Nat Emmet a victorious grin as it went past. I tried to catch a glimpse of the man inside the carriage but he was out of sight.

The funeral bell started to toll once more.

“He’s just come from burying his wife,” said Emmet.

“So that’s Sir Jason himself. He seemed a bit choleric.”

“What’s that, Miss?”

“He seems a bit quick-tempered.”

“Oh, Squire don’t like anything to get in his way…like his poor lady. There’s some as say she was in his way. But I’m talking out of turn. But there’s things folks don’t keep quiet. And why should they?”

We went quickly through the lane.

“Don’t want to meet no others,” said Emmet. “Not that I’d go back a second time…except for Squire and we’re not likely to meet him again, are we?”

We trotted along while he made observations which did not interest me greatly because my thoughts were with Squire and the lady who had been in his way and for whom the dismal bell was tolling.

“If you look when we turn this bend, Miss, you’ll be getting your first view of the Abbey,” Emmet told me.

Then I was alert…waiting.

It lay ahead of me, grand, imposing, tragic, a shell encasing past glory. I could see the sun glinting through the great arches which were open to the sky.

“That be it,” said Emmet, pointing with his whip. “It be quite a sight, b’ain’t it? In spite of being nothing but an old ruin… ’cept the part that ain’t. Well, folks seem to think a lot of our Abbey. Wouldn’t let it be touched. It was a good thing they did their bit of building in days gone by.”

I was speechless with a kind of wonder. It was indeed a magnificent sight. Away to the hills the trees were in bud; the sun glinted on a brook which was wending its way across a meadow.

“Look over to the right of the tower, Miss, and you’ll see the fish ponds. That’s where the monks used to catch their supper.”

“It’s wonderful. I had not imagined anything quite so…impressive.”

“There’s folks as won’t go near the place after dark. Miss Hetherington her don’t like us to say it, but it be true. She thinks it will frighten the young ladies so they’ll ask to be took away. But I tell you there’s some as say they can hear bells at certain times of night…and monks chanting.”

“One could quite believe that.”

“You’re seeing it in sunlight, Miss. You want to see it by the light of the moon…or better still when there’s just a few stars to light the way.”

“I daresay I shall,” I said.

We were getting nearer.

“It be comfortable enough in the school, Miss. You’d hardly know where you was to. Miss Hetherington, her’s done wonders. Just like a school it is inside…and when you hear all them young ladies laughing together, well, you forget all about them long dead monks.”

The trap had drawn up in a courtyard. Emmet jumped down and helped me down.

“I’ll see to your bags, Miss,” he said.

I was facing a door in a gray stone wall. Emmet pulled the bell and the door was immediately opened to a girl in uniform.

“Come in, Miss Grant. It be Miss Grant, b’ain’t it? Miss Hetherington said as you was to be took right up to her the moment you arrive. She’s just having tea.”

I was in a large hall with a vaulted ceiling. It looked like a monastery; there was a coldness in the air which I noticed after the warmth of the sun outside.

“Did you have a good journey, Miss?” asked the girl. “It seems the train was on time.”

“Very good, thank you.”

“The other mistresses haven’t come yet. They’ll be here tomorrow, but it’s when all the young ladies are here…that’s when we know it.” She turned to me and raising her eyes to the ceiling jerked her chin upwards.

“This way, Miss. Look out. These staircases can be dangerous. If you step on the narrow bit…particularly coming down, you can come a cropper. Hang on to this rope. Supposed to be a banister. This is how the monks had it so we have to have it that way too.”

“It’s an ancient building.”

“Built up from part of the ruins, Miss. We’re always hearing about it…how we ought to appreciate it and all that ’cause the monks had it that way. Myself, I’d rather a nice wood banister.”

We had come to a long corridor. It had a vaulted ceiling like that in the hall, and there were rooms leading from it.

“This way, Miss.” The girl tapped on a door and a voice which I recognized immediately as that of Daisy Hetherington called: “Come in.”

“Ah, there you are.”

She had risen. She was taller than I remembered; and here within these walls she looked more than ever as though she had been carved out of stone.

“It’s so nice to see you. You must be tired from your journey. Grace, bring another cup and some more hot water. First you will have some tea—it is quite freshly made—and then you shall see your quarters. I trust you have had a good journey. You are very much on time.”

“The train was exactly on time.”

“Take off your coat. That’s right. And sit down. I am pleased to see you, Cordelia. I shall, however, call you Miss Grant, except when we are on our own. I don’t want there to be any differences.”

“No, of course not.”

“I daresay you were impressed by the Abbey.”

“Very. Although I have seen little so far, just the first impression. And that is truly staggering.”

“I know the effect it has. We, who live in the midst of these ancient stones, I’m afraid are apt to forget all they stand for.”

“It is certainly a wonderful setting.”

“I think so. It makes us different. I think living in such a place gives the girls an understanding of the past. We have always done very well with history. Ah, here is the hot water. Let me pour out for you. Do you take cream or sugar?”

“Neither, thank you.”

“You are not like your aunt. She always shocks me by the amount of sugar she takes in her tea.”

“She loves all sweet things.”

“To her cost.”

“She is happy as she is and manages to make all those about her the same.”

“Ah, Patience. Well, here you are. I shall myself show you round after tea…before it gets dark. I enjoy showing people round for the first time. I gloat over it. It really is unique, I am sure. It is wonderful what those Elizabethan builders managed to raise up out of the ruins. We should call ourselves the Phoenix, I always say.”

“What part of the monastery is this?”

“It’s the Chapter House and Monks’ Dorter and the Lay Brothers’ Dorter and their library, kitchens and infirmary. This part was left almost untouched when the despoilers came in. It was the towers and the chapels which were so badly desecrated.”

“So this is almost as it was when it was built, I suppose.”

“Yes, in the mid-eleven hundreds. The monks built it with their own hands. Think of the activity which must have gone on. They had to bring the stone here you know…and then build. Of course, it was a labor of love. You can feel that…particularly in the nave and the aisles…even though they are open to the sky.”

“I am so looking forward to seeing it all.”

“I knew you would be. I sensed that you would have a feeling for it. Some people have, some haven’t.”

She passed me a plate of thin bread and butter.

“I am glad you were able to come before the others arrive tomorrow…or most of them. Mademoiselle Dupont and Fräulein Kutcher are here. They stay for the shorter holidays and go to their homes twice a year. It is expensive traveling back and forth to the Continent. They are good, both of them. Jeannette Dupont finds discipline difficult, but the girls are fond of her and if her teaching is not quite orthodox she gets results. Fräulein Kutcher is completely different. An excellent teacher, and she has a certain dignity which is necessary when teaching girls. They have to respect you, you know. I hope you will find you have that quality. You will soon discover. I took a bit of a risk, you know…as you have never taught before.”

“If you are not pleased with me, you must say so immediately. Aunt Patty would be rather pleased, I think. She would like me to be with them.”

“I should hate to see you stultify in a country village after your education. No. I have never failed in my judgment yet, and I don’t expect to now. Do you ride?”

“I did quite a lot at Grantley.”

“Good. We have a riding master who comes in three times a week to teach the girls. They go out in parties, but I like to have a mistress with them. You can use the horses in your spare time, if you like. We are rather isolated and you would have to walk everywhere if you didn’t ride. The town is three miles from here…such as it is. The Hall is just beyond.”

“I passed that on my way here.”

“Oh yes. There’s a funeral today. Poor Lady Verringer passed away. A happy release, some say. Fiona and Eugenie will have been at the funeral. I suppose we shall have to allow them to wear black instead of their school uniforms for some months. It’s so tiresome. I wouldn’t allow it for anyone else. But they being who they are…and so close to the school…I don’t see how I can do anything else.”