"You mean the ghosts?"
I nodded. "Sometimes she seems . . ."
"Gwennie is the most inquisitive person I have ever known. She wants to know everything about everyone, and she doesn't rest until she finds out. She doesn't suspect it was a trick. She insists she saw ghosts. They are the only things that can scare Gwennie, and it is comforting to know that such a formidable lady has one weak spot."
"What do you think she would do ... if she were to find out that we were the ghosts?"
"I don't know. It's so long ago, and if she hadn't fallen and we hadn't played the good hosts everything might have been different. There might have been other people at Landower. There might have been no buyer at all, in which case this revered old place would be a crumbled ruin and we would be struggling in penury in our farmhouse. Who can say?"
"It is interesting to see how it brought about the opposite result to what we intended. Remember we played the ghosts to drive the Arkwrights away and we succeeded in bringing them in."
"It was in our stars, as they say."
"Ordained. The saving of Landower and the union of Gwennie with your brother."
"I believe the old house arranged it. Naturally it didn't want to tumble down. You're very beautiful, Caroline."
"Thank you," I said.
"I've never seen such green eyes."
"Which my mother's lady's maid would tell you came from my wearing this brooch."
He bent his head to look at it and his fingers lingered on it; and just at that moment a voice said: "Oh, you're here. I guessed you'd come up by way of the gallery staircase." It was Paul.
"We wanted a little fresh air and I was showing Caroline the view."
"It's very beautiful," I said. "And so is the house. You are very proud of it, I know."
There was a coldness in my voice which he must have been aware of.
"Shall we join the others?" he said.
Jago gave his brother an exasperated look as we followed him down the staircase.
In the drawing room Cousin Mary was saying that it was time we left.
"I was showing Caroline the view from the tower," said Jago.
Gwennie laughed significantly.
Cousin Mary said: "It's been such a pleasant evening and so kind and neighbourly of you to ask us."
Eventually we took our leave and were soon bowling along the short distance to Tressidor.
Cousin Mary came up to my room with me. There she sat down thoughtfully.
"What an atmosphere," she said. "You could cut it with a knife."
"They resent her," I replied, "both of them."
"Jago was interested in you. You'll have to watch him, Caroline. You've already heard something of his reputation."
"Yes, I know. They are not very admirable, are they? One the rake of the countryside and the other blatantly marrying for money."
"Human frailties both, I suppose."
"Perhaps. But having made the bargain it should not be resented."
"Oh, you're talking about the elder one. I know what you mean. Some men are like that . . . proud . . . holding firmly to the position into which they were born. One can understand it. They've been brought up to expectations and they're about to be robbed of them. Opportunity presents itself and they fall into temptation."
"That woman . . ."
"Gwennie. The name doesn't suit her. She's as hard as nails."
"She needs to be with such a husband."
"You despise him, don't you? I had the impression that when you were in France you rather liked him."
"I didn't know then that he had sold himself."
"What a melodramatic way of describing a marriage of convenience . . ."
"Well, that's what it amounts to."
"It's hard for him. They are quite unsuited. I can see that her mannerisms, her blunt way of expressing her thoughts . . . the fact that she doesn't fit in ... irritates him. If she had been a simple little girl ... an heiress with Pa's money to buy her a mansion and a handsome husband it might have worked better. But there he is a proud scion of an old family married to a woman who has been brought up to an entirely different culture, you might say. Good manners, social subterfuge, an elegant and somewhat indolent way of living, against that of a girl brought up by a hard-working, shrewd father of not much education but possessed of great gifts . . . which to some extent she had inherited. It's like trying to mix oil and water. They never do. One won't absorb the other. And there you have it. Discord! I never noticed it so much until tonight."
"Have you seen much of them together?"
"Occasionally. It was different tonight—more or less the family. You and I were the only outsiders. Generally when I have been entertained by them there have been a lot of people."
"It was certainly an experience."
Cousin Mary yawned.
"Well, you're settling in. I liked to hear you talking to Paul Landower about the estate. You're learning already."
"I want to, Cousin Mary."
"I knew it would absorb you, once you started. Goodnight, my dear. You look pensive. Still thinking of those people?" She shook her head. "It wouldn't surprise me," she went on, "if there were trouble there one day. I got the impression of rumbling thunder in the distance. You know what I mean? Of course you do. Two strong natures there. I wish Gwennie had been a dear simple soul. I wish Paul was ready to accept what is. Well, it's their problem. Nothing to do with us, is it? Of course it's not. But a lot of people depend on the prosperity of Landower. All the people on the estate. It's the best way really. Keep the estate going . . . make up for the dissolute ways of those who have gone before and brought about the situation in the first place. I believe Gwennie will do her best. She's got her father's head for business. It's just the domestic side she can't manage. Well, as I said, no concern of ours. Goodnight again."
I kissed her and she went out.
Then I sat down at my mirror and took off my emerald brooch. I studied my reflection. My eyes did look brilliant even without the brooch to call attention to them. Whatever I said, whatever I tried to think, I could not banish the memory of Paul from my mind. I could not stop myself being sorry for him.
"It's his own fault," I said aloud. "He made his bed. He must lie on it."
How apt! I could sense his dislike of Gwennie. There were moments when he could not hide it. I now knew the reason for the melancholy, for those secrets in his eyes.
I wanted to hate him. I wanted to despise him. But I could not. I could only feel sorry for him and I had an overwhelming desire to comfort him.
"It's no concern of ours." Cousin Mary's words were in my ears. Of course it is no concern of ours, I said to my reflection.
But I still went on thinking of him sadly, yet with a vague hope ... I could not say of what.
The next morning Cousin Mary stayed late in bed. I went to see her in some alarm.
"Oh, I'm feeling my age," she said. "I always lie in after a night out. I shall be up shortly."
"Are you sure that's all?"
"Completely sure. I don't believe in driving myself. Particularly now that I have an assistant."
"Not much use so far, I'm afraid."
"I'll tell you what you can do this morning. Ride over to Brackett's farm and tell them Jim Burrows is looking into the matter of three-acre-meadow, will you? There's some question about the soil there. Jim won't have time to go because he's got to go into Plymouth today. I said I'd see to it."
I was pleased to be able to do something useful and practical and after breakfast I set out.
I sat in the Bracketts' kitchen and had a cup of tea and a hot scone which Mrs. Brackett had just brought out of the oven. I passed on the message and Mrs. Brackett said how pleased she was I had come to the Manor.
"I often thought it was lonely up there for Miss Tressidor, so it is nice for her to have you along with her like. And she thinks the world of you. I said to my Tom, 'It's nice for Miss Tressidor to have Miss Caroline with her.' "
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"Yes," I said, "and nice for me."
"We're lucky to be on the Tressidor estate, I always say to Tom. Landowers now . . . well, there was a time not so long ago. I said to Tom, 'It's not the same . . . Landower's changing hands ... It makes you think.' "
"But it is back to normal now."
"Yes, but they say she keeps her hands on the purse strings . . .
Of course she's not quite what you'd expect. There! I'm talking out of turn."
I wanted her to go on. I was eager to learn all I could about what was happening at Landower. But naturally I must not gossip.
I came out of the farmhouse and turned my horse towards the moor. I wanted to gallop over the fresh turf. I wanted to feel the wind in my face. I wanted to think clearly about last night and what the future was going to be like. Cousin Mary was expecting me to stay and I wanted to, but having seen Paul last night and being aware of the strained relationship between him and his wife made me feel very uneasy.
It was no use saying it was no concern of mine. I was well aware of the feelings he aroused in me and I was not sure whether I was right in thinking I had a certain effect on him. If this was so, then it could easily become a concern of mine. Unless, of course, I went away.
I believed I had to think very seriously about my future.
It was a warm day with a fairly brisk breeze which came from the southwest—the prevailing wind in these parts, and which I always felt carried with it a breath of the spices of Morocco. I inhaled with pleasure as I galloped along. In the distance I could see the old scat ball which Jago had once pointed out to me.
I went towards it.
It certainly looked eerie. I remembered the stories Jago had told me about the departed spirits who were said to inhabit old mines. Here, alone on the moors with the wind whistling through the grass, I could understand the reason why people were affected by old superstitions.
I approached near to the edge of the shaft. The wind sounded like hollow laughter. I drew back and looked about me. I could see right to the horizon on one side; on the other the view was blocked by several tall boulders.
I turned my horse away and as I did so I heard the sound of horse's hoofs and then someone was calling my name.
At first I thought I had imagined it or that it was one of those departed spirits Jago had said were called knackers. But the voice was familiar and among the boulders I saw the rider picking his way through the stones.
It was Paul.
"Good morning, Caroline," he said.
"Good morning. I thought I was quite alone."
"I was going to call on you and I saw you taking the path to the moor. You shouldn't go too near the old mine shaft."
"It seems safe enough."
"You can never be sure. It's supposed to be haunted."
"That makes me all the more eager to have a look at it."
"There's nothing much to see. About fifty years ago someone fell down the shaft and was killed. It was on a misty night. People said he had fallen out with a witch."
"I know no witches and it is clear sunshine today, so I was perfectly safe."
He had come up to me and was carrying his hat in his hand. The wind caught at his dark hair and his heavy-lidded eyes regarded me solemnly.
"It's a great pleasure to see you," he said and his voice vibrated with feeling.
It moved me, piercing my indifference. It made me more and more certain of my feelings for him and I was angry with myself for allowing my emotions to take control over my common sense; and I turned my anger on him.
"Congratulations," I said.
He raised his strongly marked brows questioningly.
"For acquiring Landower," I said. "You must be proud of all the restoration."
He looked at me reproachfully and said: "The house will now stand safely for another two hundred years and be kept in the family."
"A great achievement. Surely worthy of congratulation."
"I was going to tell you about my marriage when we were in France."
"Oh? What made you decide not to?"
"I found it very difficult to speak of it."
"Why should you? It was all so natural, wasn't it?"
I turned my horse and started to walk away from the mine shaft. He was beside me. "I wanted to talk to you."
"You are talking to me."
"Seriously."
"Why don't you then?"
"You're not as you were when we were in France. That was a very happy time for me, Caroline."
"Yes," I said. "It was pleasant. Of course there was that unfortunate accident."
"You suffered no ill effects?"
"None."
"It helped us to get to know each other better."
"I don't think it helped me to know you."
"You mean ..."
"Not as well as I do now," I said coolly.
"I think you must know that I have a very special feeling for you, Caroline."
"Is that so?"
"Oh come, let's be honest. Let's be frank. Here we are alone on the moors. There is none to overhear us."
"Only the knackers, the spirits and the ghosts."
"When we were in France, that little time we spent together . . . it's something I shall never forget. I've thought about you ever since. It was after that that everything seemed to become intolerable."
I interrupted: "I don't think you should talk to me like this. You should remember that you are married very satisfactorily . . . very conveniently."
"I should never have done it."
"What! When you saved Landower for the Landowers!"
"I hesitated for a long time. So much depended on it. My father . . . Jago ... the tenants . . ."
"And yourself."
"And myself."
"I understand perfectly. I believe I told you when we were in France that I had been engaged to be married and when my fiance discovered that I had no fortune he decided that he could not marry me. You see, I know the ways of the world."
"You are cynical, Caroline, and somehow it doesn't suit you."
"I am realistic and that is how I want to be."
"I wish it could have been different."
"You mean . . . you wish that you could go back to the days before your marriage. Then you would also go on living in your farmhouse. I'm sure you don't wish that."
"Can I explain to you what Landower means to my family?"
"It's not necessary. I know. I understand."
"I had to do it, Caroline."
"I know. You bought Landower from the Arkwrights just as they bought it from you—only the currency used was different. The transaction was just the same. It is all perfectly clear. No explanations are needed. I could see last night that you were a little dissatisfied. Perhaps I am talking too frankly. It's being here on the moors, I suppose. I feel quite apart from the world of polite society. Do you?"
"Yes," he replied. "That's why I'm talking as I am."
"We have to go back to the real world," I said, "where we study the conventions of polite society. You should not reveal so much and I should be speaking in a guarded fashion. We should be discussing the weather prospects and those of the harvests instead of which ... I must go back."
"Caroline . . ."
I turned to look at him. I said: "You made your bargain. You got what you wanted. You have to go on paying for it. After all it was a very costly purchase."
I felt so bitter and unhappy that I wanted to hurt him. I knew that I could have loved him more deeply than I ever had Jeremy. I was mature now. When Jeremy had jilted me my feelings for him had quickly turned to hatred. Yet here was Paul as mercenary as Jeremy and yet I had to fight my impulses to take his hand, to caress him, to comfort him.
I could see danger ahead and I was filled with apprehension. I must not let him know how deeply he affected me.
I galloped across the moor. I could hear his horse's hoofs thundering along behind me. The wind pulled at my hair and I thought how different
it could have been. And I almost wept with frustration. I could have loved him and I believe he could have cared for me; and between us there was Landower, which had had to be saved, and Gwennie, who had bought him so that he was bound to her for the rest of their lives.
The moorland scenery was changing, growing less wild. Now we were in the country lanes.
He said: "I hope that nothing will interfere with our friendship, Caroline."
I said shortly: "We are neighbours ... as long as I am here."
"You don't mean that you are going away?"
I shrugged my shoulders. "I am not certain."
"But Miss Tressidor spoke as though you were going to make your home with her."
"I really don't know what will happen."
"You must stay," he said.
"It won't make any difference to you whether I go or stay."
"It will make all the difference to me."
I wanted to make some bitter retort but I could not. I wondered if he noticed that my lips trembled. He might have. We were walking our horses side by side.
I did not want him to know how deeply he affected me.
I could see it all so clearly: the passion between us growing, becoming irresistible; secret meetings; secret guilt; Gwennie probing; servants prying. Oh no. I must not allow that to happen.
I rode ahead of him. There must be no more of this conversation.
I said goodbye to him when we came in sight of Tressidor. I went in and straight up to my room. I could not face anyone for a while. I was in too much of an emotional turmoil.
There was a certain joy in my heart because he was not indifferent to me; there was a feeling of deep desperation because he was not free; and any relationship between us other than the most casual friendship was out of the question.
But was it? Why had he spoken to me as he had? Was he in love with me? Was I in love with him? Was he suggesting that something should be done about it?
Perhaps they were questions it was better not to ask.
Perhaps I should go away ... in time.
That afternoon I paid a visit to Jamie McGill.
There was an atmosphere of peace in the lodge house and I felt I wanted to escape into it for a while. He was delighted to see me. He had increased his hives, he told me, since I had last been there.