I rode almost automatically in the direction of the mine. It fascinated me. It looked so desolate and grim. How different it must have been when the men were working there!
I dismounted and patting my horse asked him to wait awhile; but on second thought, fearing he might not be able to resist the wild call of the moor, I tethered him to a bush and I went close to the mine and looked down.
It was eerie—due to the loneliness of the moor, I told myself. I took a stone and threw it down into the shaft. I listened to hear it hit bottom, but I heard nothing.
Paul was almost upon me before I heard the sound of his horse's hoofs. He galloped up, dismounted and tied his horse to the same bush as mine.
"Hello," I said, "I didn't hear you approach until you were almost upon me."
"I thought I told you not to go near the mine."
"I believe you did. But I don't have to do as I'm told."
"It is as well to take advice from people who know the country better than you do."
"I can see no danger in standing here."
"The earth is soft and soggy. It could crumble under your feet. You could slide down there and call till you'd no voice to call with, and no one would hear you. Don't do it again." He had come close and he caught and held my arm. "Please," he added.
I stepped backwards so that I was nearer to the edge of the mine. He caught me in his arms and held me.
"You see ... how easy it is."
"I'm perfectly all right."
His face was close to mine. I felt weak, forgetting that he had married a woman for what she could bring him and that he was as mercenary in his way as Jeremy was in his.
He said: "I have wanted to talk to you for so long."
I tried to release myself but he would not let me go.
"Come away from the mine," he said. "I feel alarmed to see you so reckless."
"I'm not in the least reckless, you know."
"You were dangerously close. You don't understand these moors. You should come here with people who know the country."
"I've been here quite a while now. I am becoming as sure-footed as a native."
He was still holding me, looking at me appealingly. Then suddenly he held me tightly against him and kissed me.
For a moment I did not struggle. In spite of everything I wanted this ... for so long I had wanted it ... ever since the days at school when I had dreamed about him.
Then all my anger came sweeping back. It was anger against him . . . against Jeremy . . . and all arrogant men who thought they could use women as it suited them . . . becoming engaged when they thought there was a fortune, casually saying goodbye when there was not, marrying to retrieve their fortunes and then afterwards attempting to make love to someone they preferred to the one who went with the bargain.
Yes, I was angry, bitterly angry because there was nothing I wanted more than to be with Paul, to love him, to spend my life with him.
"How dare you behave in this way!" I cried.
He looked at me sadly and said simply: "Because I love you."
"What nonsense!"
"You know it's not nonsense. You know I loved you when we were in France and I felt you were not indifferent to me then. That's true, isn't it?"
I flushed. I said: "I did not know you then, did I?"
"You knew how you felt about me."
"But it was not you. It was someone I mistook for you. Then I discovered my mistake. You've forgotten I've already learned something about men and their motives."
"You saw that man when you were in London?"
"Yes, I saw him."
"Something happened . . ."
"What do you think happened? He is married to my sister. I was godmother to their child."
"But you and he ... How were you?"
"He behaved like the exemplary husband. Why should he not? He achieved his ends. An impecunious young gentleman, he now lives the life of a very wealthy one. You will understand that. As for myself I was aloof, cool, dignified . . . indifferent. How did you expect me to be?"
"Caroline, listen. I want you to understand. Please ... let us move away from this mine." He put his arm round me and held me tightly against him. I made a pretence of trying to escape but he held on firmly and I allowed him to lead me over the grass.
He indicated one of the boulders. "Sit down," he said. "They make good back rests."
"I really don't want to sit."
"I think you are afraid of me."
"Afraid of you! Why should I be? Are you a monster then as well as . . ."
He drew me down beside him. "Go on," he said, "as well as what?"
"A fortune hunter," I said.
"You are talking about my marriage. I want to talk to you about that. I want to explain."
"There isn't really anything to explain. It is all very clear."
"I don't think it is."
"It is not really so profound, surely. You saved the house for the family. It was a noble act. Landower was passing into alien hands and for the honour of tradition, the family, the ancient ancestry in general, you sacrificed your own in particular."
"You are so bitter. It tells me a good deal."
He turned my head to look at me; then he took my face in his hands and kissed me, angrily, wildly, over and over again.
I tried to escape but it was impossible. In any case I did not really want to. I wanted to stay here, leaning against him. It was a kind of balm to my wretchedness, because I knew now more certainly than I had ever done that I wanted to be with him always and forever . . . and that I could never be.
"If I could go back," he said, "I would not do it. I would face anything . . . rather."
"It is easy to say that . . . when it is too late."
"If I could be here with you and all that had not happened ... I could be happy ... so happy . . . happier than I have ever thought possible . . . because of you, Caroline. When I am with you everything seems different. I'm alive as I never have been before. I just don't care about anything. I just want to be with you."
I wanted to believe him. I wanted to lie against him and say: Let's forget it happened. Let's pretend.
I heard my voice, hard and brittle, because of my wretchedness and my need to disguise my true feelings: "It's an old complaint. When things haven't turned out as we expected ... we want to go back and live our lives over again. We can't go back . . . ever. We ought to remember that when we take these actions. No, Paul. You'd do the same thing over again. That house . . . it's important to you . . . more important than anything. Just consider. You'd be living in the farmhouse. You'd see Landower stretched out before you ... all that land which used to be yours for all those generations . . . now belonging to someone else. That would have been hard to bear."
"I could have borne it," he said, "if you had been there. And I would have got it back . . . decently . . . honourably ... in time."
"How is a farmer going to find the money to buy a big estate?"
He was silent.
"You can't go back, Paul," I said.
"No. That's the pity of it. It's a mistake, I know now, to live for bricks and stones. If you had been there it wouldn't have happened. I should have known."
"I was there."
"A child. But there was something special about you even then. I saw you in the train. Often . . . during those magic days in France ... it seemed as though you and I were meant for each other. You must have felt that."
"I was pleased to see you. Life was rather dull there."
"You mean I relieved the tedium."
"You did, of course."
"But you seemed . . ."
I turned to him and said coolly: "I did not then know about your bargain."
"Don't call it that."
"Your transaction then."
"That sounds worse."
"It is what it is. It was a sordid bargain and there is no disguising that. You should have told me then that you had saved the house . . . by marrying."
"
I wanted to get away from it all. I was trying to behave as though it had never happened. When Miss Tressidor asked me to look for you I was excited . . . and then I found you ... the same girl and yet . . . different. I just snatched at those few days and tried to forget."
"It was foolish of you."
"When you fell from your horse and I thought for a moment that you might have been badly hurt . . . killed even ... I knew then that if anything happened to take you from me I should never be happy again. I should be living my life in a sort of twilight . . . which is what I have been doing until you came. It's different now you're here, Caroline; and somehow that gives me hope."
"I cannot think what you hope for," I said gravely.
"When I kissed you just now for a moment . . . just for a moment ... I knew that you could love me."
I was silent. I wanted to deny it, but I could not. My voice would shake and betray me. This was different from anything I had known before, but I must be strong. I would not be hurt again.
I said: "I don't think you should talk in this way."
"I want you to know my feelings."
"You have explained them. Whether I believe you or not is another matter."
"You believe me, Caroline."
"I do not see what purpose these revelations serve."
"If I thought that you cared for me ... just a little ... I should hope."
"Hope for what?" I asked sharply.
"I should hope that I might see you sometimes . . . alone. That we could meet ... be together . . ."
"It would be unwise for a husband to make assignations with a woman not his wife. They would have to be secret. If we met in public places the Lancarron gossips would make a good deal of it."
He moved nearer to me and put his arms about me. "Let me hold you for a moment, Caroline my darling."
We were silent for a few moments. I tried to draw myself away. I tried to deny the truth, but it was too strong for me. Whatever he had done I loved him.
He kissed me. He threw off my riding hat and ran his hands through my hair.
"Caroline," he said. "I love you."
This is madness, I thought. It can only lead to one thing. I had been humiliated once. Was I going to let it happen again? I knew what he was implying. I should be his mistress. Secret, clandestine, sordid . . . and in time he would grow tired. Goodbye. It was nice while it lasted. I had been wooed once for the fortune I was thought to have; and then discarded. Was I going to give way to my emotions? Was I going to allow myself to be used again?
I withdrew myself and said: "There must be no more meetings."
"I must see you," he said.
I shook my head.
"Let us take what happiness we can."
"What of Gwennie?"
"She cares for the position. She is in love with the house and all it entails."
"And not with you?"
"Certainly not with me."
"I think she is in a way."
"You don't mean that."
"I do. I have seen her look at you. She loves the house, true. Why should she not? She bought it ... but she bought you with it."
"Please don't talk of it in that way," he begged. "Shall I tell you how it came about?"
"I know how it came about. It is a simple story. The house was falling about your heads. It needed a fortune spending on it. The family couldn't save it. Moreover there were enormous debts. Mr. Arkwright came along and bought the house and then thought it was a good idea to buy the squire as well. It's not a particularly original story."
"That's the bald outline. Shall I tell it my way? What you said is right about the house needing repair and the debts. Up to the time the Arkwrights came. But for one incident they would have gone away and it might have been that we should never have sold the place. Then I suppose we should have patched it up in some way. I would have set about improving my fortunes. I might have succeeded, who knows?"
"But it didn't work out like that."
"No, because of a certain incident. Gwennie said, 'I must see that wonderful old minstrels' gallery.' She went up there on her own. I was in the hall with her father . . ."
"Yes," I said faintly.
"Something happened in the gallery. Two people played a trick."
"Oh?"
"Yes. I was in the hall, remember. When she screamed, I looked up. I was just in time to see what Gwennie saw. There was someone there . . . someone whom I recognized."
I felt my heart begin to beat very fast. Paul leaned towards me and put his hand on it.
"It's racing," he said. "I know why. Do you know if that incident hadn't happened the Artwrights would have gone away. They told me this afterwards. They liked the house but were appalled by its condition. He was too shrewd to see it as a good proposition. Yes, they would have gone away and we should never have seen them again . . . but for the ghosts in the gallery. The ghosts are not blameless in this."
"So . . . you knew ..." I said.
"I saw you . . . you particularly. I know now that Jago was with you. I know what your motives were ... his rather, and you were helping him. I have been up to the attics and seen the clothes you wore. You see even then I was very much aware of you . . . dancing in and out of my life, the mischievous little girl indulging in a prank with my young brother. But for you ... it would have been different."
"I didn't force you into marriage."
"But you were in a way responsible for bringing it about."
"Does Jago know . . . you know?"
"No. There's no point in telling him. Moreover at the time we didn't want the Arkwrights suing us—with even more reason than they had already. We looked after Gwennie and she and her father stayed at the house. They became enamoured of it and then they had to buy it and the idea came to them that ..."
"They should buy the squire as well. A bonus with the house."
He put his hand over mine and held it fast. "I'm telling you that you are in part responsible. You are involved in this, Caroline. Doesn't it show how we can all do foolish things and wish we could have another chance. Knowing what you know, would you have gone up to the attics and played ghosts?"
I shook my head.
"Then understand. Caroline, understand me, the position I was in. My home . . . my family . . . everything I have been brought up with ... it all depended on me."
"I have always understood," I said. "I have always known it was the way of the world. But I want to get away from it. I don't want to be involved. I've been hurt and humiliated once and I am determined that it shall not happen again."
"Do you think I would hurt or humiliate you? I love you. I want to care for you, protect you."
"I can protect myself. It is something I am learning fast."
"Caroline, don't shut me out."
"Oh Paul, how can I let you in?"
"We'll find a way."
I thought, What way is there? There is only one, and I must never allow my weakness, my passion for him, my love perhaps, to lead me down that path.
Yet I sat there and he kept my hand in his. I looked to the horizon where the stark moorland met the sky and I thought, Why did it have to be like this?
We were startled by the sound of horse's hoofs in the distance. We scrambled to our feet. A trap drawn by a brown mare was coming across the path not far from us. I recognized the trap and horse and then the driver.
I said: "It's Jamie McGill."
He saw us and brought the horse to a standstill. He descended and the Jack Russell leaped out of the trap and started to scamper across the moor.
Jamie took off his cap and said: "Good-day, Miss Caroline . . . Mr. Landower."
"Good-day," we said.
"I'm just coming from the market gardens," he went on. "I've been buying there for my garden. Miss Tressidor gives me leave to take the trap when I've a load to carry. Lionheart looks forward to a run on the moors when I come this way. He's been asking for it as soon as we touched the edge of the moor."
I said:
"Mr. Landower and I met by chance over there by the mine."
"Oh, the mine." He frowned. "I always say to Lionheart, 'Don't go near the mine.' "
"I hope he's obedient," said Paul.
"He knows."
"Jamie believes that animals and insects understand what's going on, don't you, Jamie?"
He looked at me with his dreamy eyes which always seemed as though they were drained of colour.
"I know they understand, Miss Caroline. At least mine do." He whistled. The dog was dashing along not far from the mine. He stopped in his tracks and came back, jumping up at Jamie and barking furiously.
"He knows, don't you, Lion? Go on ... five minutes more."
Lionheart barked and dashed off.
"I wouldn't go riding too near that mine, Miss Caroline," said Jamie.
"I was giving her the same advice," added Paul.
"There's something about this place. I can feel it in the air. It's not good . . . not good for beast or man."
"I have been warned about the ground close to the mine being unsafe," I told him.
"More than that, more than that," said Jamie. "Things have happened here. It's in the air."
"They were mining tin here until a few years ago, weren't they?" I asked.
"It's more than twenty years since the mine was productive," said Paul. I sensed his impatience. He wanted to get away from Jamie. "I daresay the horses are getting restive," he said. He looked at me. "I think I am going your way. I suppose you are going back to the Manor?"
"Well, yes."
"We might as well go together."
"Goodbye, Jamie," I said.
Jamie stood with his cap off and the wind ruffling his fine sandy hair, as I had seen him so many times before.
As we walked away I heard him whistling to his dog.
Then his voice said: "Time for us to go, Lion. Come on now, boy."
Paul and I rode on in silence.
Then I said: "I don't think Jamie will talk."
"About what?"
"Seeing us together."
"Why should he?"
"Surely you know that people thrive on gossip. They will be inventing scandal about you and me . . . and I should hate that."