Morwennan House Read online

  ‘Charity!’ As if from a long way off I heard Joshua’s voice. He was beside me, looking down at me, his blue eyes wide with horror. ‘What is it? What’s the matter?’

  ‘He locked me in!’ I sobbed. ‘Jem locked me in the hut!’

  Jem was hanging back, a little shamefaced now.

  ‘I didn’t hurt you,’ he said defensively. ‘It was just a bit of fun.’

  ‘It wasn’t fun! It was not! It was horrible. Horrible!’ I could not stop crying.

  Joshua turned on his brother in a fury.

  ‘You shouldn’t have done that, you idiot! You know she’s scared of the dark.’

  ‘Not the dark – the locked door!’ I started to say, but I never finished. Joshua, angelic- looking Joshua, had grabbed his older brother by the neck and they were scrapping, rolling over and over on the cliff path like a couple of street urchins, perilously close to the sheer drop to the beach below.

  I gazed in horror, my bleeding hands pressed to my dirty, tear-stained face, and the other boys joined in to separate them. How they all avoided going over the edge I shall never know. But somehow, in a few moments, it was all over. The boys, still arguing, dusted themselves down, and Bartholomew gave me his kerchief to wipe my face.

  ‘Come on, it’s time we were going home,’ he said, starting out, and the rest of us followed him. This time when they noticed me getting left behind they stopped and waited for me, even Jem, who had realised, I think, that this time he had gone too far in his tormenting of me and no doubt thought he would be sent to bed without his supper if I told his father what he had done. I would not tell. I had too much loyalty and pride for that. But the brightness had gone out of the day and the terrible feeling of being incarcerated stayed with me, just like the lingering aura of my recurrent dream, a nameless fear that lurked in the shadows of my mind.

  It was not only on their forays into the country or down to the coast that I shadowed the boys. I liked to sit in on their lessons, too. Their father was their tutor, setting them mathematical problems, teaching them English and Latin and a little classical Greek. At first he had smiled thinly when I expressed a desire to be present at the lessons, saying it would be better for me to practise needlework and flower arranging with the girls, or even to learn to play the piano. But when he saw how determined I was and how quick to learn, he allowed me to go with him and the boys into the study. There I would stand behind Joshua’s chair following every word he wrote with avid eyes, and even sometimes whispering to him the way to solve some mathematical problem or parse some sentence. Joshua would feign impatience but I knew he was grateful to me for saving him hours of frustration for I was quicker than he to grasp the principles of the lessons and after a while Dr John allowed me to join in in my own right.

  ‘You have a nimble brain, Charity,’ he told me once and I flushed with pleasure. Whatever heritage I lacked, my parents had at least endowed me with the ability to learn.

  As I grew from girl to young womanhood I began to understand why Dr John had allowed me to share the lessons with his sons.

  ‘I believe we may make a governess of you, Charity,’ he said, his pale eyes resting on me thoughtfully, and I realised that for some while he had been wondering what would become of me when I was grown.

  A governess! The idea did not appeal to me in the slightest. Much as I loved learning myself, the thought of spending day after day struggling to pass on what I knew to a bunch of resentful children was almost in itself a form of being trapped. To see the sky through a casement window and not be able to run free seemed like a prison to me and I did not think I would have the patience to explain over and over again facts which I had absorbed with no effort at all. It was one thing to help Joshua, whom I adored; quite another to correct unformed writing and repeat rotes until I was heartily sick of them. But I could see that my opportunities were limited. And I could not remain at the rectory for ever, the foundling with no past and no future.

  In any case I was enjoying myself less and less as the boys grew up and began to leave home, first to school, to complete the education Dr John had begun, then to make their way in the world. Jem left first, for Falmouth, where he had found clerical work, Bartholomew went far away to Bristol to become a shipping clerk, Thomas was apprenticed to an apothecary in Truro, and my beloved Joshua was set to enter holy orders like his father before him. Patience was courted by a widower from a nearby village and I knew it would not be long before both she and Hope were married women with homes of their own. And still I was left at Penwyn with no prospects, kicking my heels fretfully and living on the parish.

  Dr John found me some small scraps of jobs, instructing the younger brothers and sisters of the children to whom he gave more formal lessons, but the arrangement was far from satisfactory. And then, when I was just turned twenty, Selena Trevelyan came into my life and everything changed.

  Selena was visiting her old friends the Merlyns at Penwyn Hall and I first set eyes on her when she joined them in their family pew for Sunday services.

  She was a striking woman with dark, grey-flecked hair pulled severely away from a strong-featured face. It was impossible to ignore that face, and her eyes, deep-set and dark, seemed to look right inside one, yet revealed nothing. Lines were etched deeply between her nose and chin and yet in spite of that, and the grey in her hair, I thought she could not be much beyond forty. She wore a gown and cape of a deep purple, so dark that in the candlelit church it looked almost black, and jewels at her throat and in her ears. She was tall for a woman, as tall as any of the Merlyn men, and throughout the service I had the strangest feeling that she was watching me. Each time I turned my head in her direction her eyes were indeed on me, and she held my gaze for disconcertingly long moments before lowering them to her prayer book with a deliberation that was almost dismissive.

  When Matins was over and I filed out of the church with Patience, Hope and Mama Mary, she was already in the porch, talking to Dr John.

  Mama Mary nodded and went to pass by. She was always, I think, a little in awe of the Merlyns, who were ‘quality folk’ or ‘gentry’, and very aware that it was their money which had paid for many of the fine artefacts in the church – the magnificent brass lectern in the shape of an eagle with outstretched wings, the candlesticks on the altar, the Stations of the Cross fashioned in brass, not carved from wood. But Selena Trevelyan stretched out a beringed hand and touched Mama Mary’s sleeve, and those magnetic dark eyes commanded her to stop.

  ‘You must be the rector’s wife,’ she said. Her voice was strong and low with only the merest hint of a Cornish burr.

  Mama Mary nodded, looking a little flustered, as well she might, for though Selena was speaking to her, her eyes were once again on me.

  ‘And these are your daughters?’ she said to Dr John.

  He smiled, something close to pride curving his thin lips. It was not something I had often seen in him, but I saw it now.

  ‘Indeed. My daughters Patience and Hope.’

  The dark eyes swept over me again, narrowing slightly.

  ‘And this one is not your daughter?’

  ‘This is Charity,’ Dr John said shortly. ‘We gave her a home and raised her.’

  ‘What beautiful hair you have, my dear!’ Selena said unexpectedly.

  I felt a flush rising in my cheeks and unconsciously my hand went to my thick copper curls. They marked me out, I knew, as the cuckoo in the nest, even if Dr John had not pointedly left me out of the introduction. I was proud of my hair – it was, I thought, the best thing about me. But I was embarrassed all the same that this stranger should remark on it and at the same time effectively slight Patience and Hope, with their mousy locks.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said.

  ‘It looks so well, too, with those green eyes.’

  Now I really was blushing furiously, as only those with my colouring can. One thing to remark on my hair, which was obvious for all to see – but to mention the colour of my eyes too…

 
; I could sense Mama Mary and the girls bristling, though Mama Mary managed to keep the annoyance out of her voice as she said: ‘Charity is blessed with beauty, yes. Perhaps it is the Lord’s way of compensating her for having no family of her own.’

  Then, with a sweep of her head, she gathered us together like a mother hen gathering her brood of chicks.

  ‘You must excuse us,’ she said coolly. ‘I have a roast at home which needs my attention. Preaching always makes my husband as hungry as if he had spent his morning in the fields or the tin mines.’

  I had never heard her speak in such a way before, so I knew she must be considerably put out by this lady’s attention to me. Lips tight, chin quivering, she led us up the lane to the rectory.

  When Dr John came home half an hour later he was in a state of great excitement.

  ‘I believe I have secured a position for you, Charity,’ he said, laying his Bible and the sheaf of notes for his sermon down on the table in the hallway. ‘The lady who spoke to you outside the church is, it seems, looking for a governess for her young niece. I seized the opportunity to inform her that you were well qualified for such a post – I sang your praises, and fortunately she was most taken with you. You are to go to Penwyn Hall this very afternoon so that she can discuss the matter with you.’

  ‘Oh!’ I was quite taken aback; I scarcely knew what to say. But perhaps this was the explanation for the way Selena Trevelyan had watched me throughout the service – the Merlyns had already spoken of me to her and she was sizing me up before mentioning her need of a governess to Dr John.

  ‘Well, Charity, it seems that once again the Lord has provided for you,’ Mama Mary said. ‘You had better change into a plain gown before you go for your interview, and at least look the part.’

  There was a coldness in her tone that told me she was still smarting from the remarks Selena Trevelyan had made about my appearance.

  When we had eaten our midday meal Dr John got out the trap to drive me over to Penwyn Hall.

  ‘Try to make a good impression. Charity,’ he said as we turned into the broad gravelled drive.

  I flushed a little. ‘Of course I will.’

  ‘Don’t talk too much. Sometimes you are inclined to garrulousness.’

  I bit my lip. I was already nervous enough about the coming interview without Dr John compounding it.

  ‘There is no need whatever to mention your circumstances. Leave it to me to explain matters.’

  I knew he was referring to the mystery of my background but since I knew nothing of it this seemed an unnecessary warning. Dr John wanted to paint as rosy a picture of me as possible, I assumed.

  In the event, Selena interviewed me alone. She told me she lived with her brother, Francis, and his young daughter, Charlotte, at Morwennan House, on the south Cornish coast.

  ‘Our father is squire at Penallack, an estate a little further inland,’ she explained, ‘but it is Adam, our elder brother, who will inherit. Francis’s wife, Julia, died when Charlotte was born, and therefore I have made my home with him to help with Charlotte’s upbringing.’

  She went on to tell me that so far Charlotte had received no formal education, but she was most anxious that the little girl should be taught grammar and mathematics and perhaps a little Latin.

  ‘I know it is not the done thing to educate girls beyond the accomplishments they will need to make good wives, but as a woman myself I feel very strongly that she should not be deprived of at least the rudiments of learning,’ she said firmly, and I thought that Charlotte was fortunate indeed in having such an aunt with such forward-looking views.

  Then, just as Dr John had predicted, she turned to questioning me about my own education and my background.

  ‘How did you come into the care of the rector and his wife?’ she asked, those dark, searching eyes on my face.

  I held her gaze with what dignity I could muster.

  “I was a foundling.’

  ‘But where did they find you?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I admitted. ‘They would never say.’

  For a long moment her gaze remained on me, penetrating, inscrutable. Then she shrugged her shoulders in a quick, dismissive gesture.

  ‘Oh well, I dare say it scarcely matters. From what I’ve seen of you, you are well suited to the position. I should like you to assume your duties as soon as possible.’

  I was too happy to have found myself a position at last that would earn me a little money to wonder about her authority in the matter. I simply assumed that Charlotte’s father left such things in her hands.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, then added with some of that garrulity that Dr John had warned me about: ‘I shall be glad not to be a burden any more on the Palfreys and the parish. I’ll work hard and I won’t disappoint you, I promise.’

  A look that might almost have been amusement crossed her face.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m sure you will not.’

  * * *

  I left for Morwennan a week later, and as the carriage bowled along the Cornish lanes I sat back against the soft leather seat, my hands knotted in the folds of my best cambric gown, trying desperately to prepare myself for the new life that lay ahead of me.

  I could not understand the nervousness that had begun to knot my stomach. I had been so looking forward to taking up my new position. Yet now, for some reason, I was filled with foreboding. Oh, it was only natural to be a little apprehensive of the unknown, I told myself. And to know I would be responsible for a little girl’s education too, with no Dr John to keep a close eye on the lessons I prepared, was rather daunting. But some deep disturbing instinct told me it was more than that.

  For some distance now the lanes had been hedged with meadowsweet and cow parsley, dotted with huge clumps of white arum and vermilion day lilies. The sky was the cornflower blue of a scorching August day, and as we neared the coast I sometimes caught sight of the sea, a rim of darker blue, smooth and inviting beyond the green-topped cliff edges. Then the carriage took a left turn and the sky and the sun disappeared with a suddenness that startled me, hidden from view by a thick tracery of foliage. The trees, lush for summer, were all around, so that it was like going into a dark green tunnel.

  A nerve leaped in my throat and still I did not know the reason. I reached for the bag that lay on the seat beside me – the bag that contained all of my few worldly possessions – and hugged it tight against my side for comfort, the only familiar thing in this unfamiliar world. We couldn’t be far now from Morwennan.

  The lane twisted again, became narrower, and began to descend a steeply sloping gully. The trees that surrounded it were thicker than ever, the overhanging branches slapping and catching at the windows of the carriage, the light reduced to nothing but green twilight. And my nervousness tightened another notch so that it was almost claustrophobia, almost real fear.

  All I wanted then was to tear open the door of the carriage, leap out and run back up the gully, back to the sunshine and the cornflower blue sky, back to the rolling open countryside with its sudden, surprising glimpses of darker blue sea. But of course I did nothing of the sort. For one thing I had nowhere to go. I could hardly return to the rectory at Penwyn and say I wanted their sanctuary once more. Neither circumstances nor my pride would allow it. I was simply being stupid, a silly frightened girl of the type I had never myself had any time for. Penwyn was the past – and not a very happy one at that. Morwennan was the future. But, for all that, there was a tightness in my chest that made it hard for me to breathe.

  The carriage stopped, pulling into a paved area with stables and outbuildings that I imagined sheltered the carriages from the ravages of the wind off the sea, and the coachman climbed down, came round and opened the door.

  ‘This is as far as I can go without a lot of trouble,’ he said shortly. He was a typical Cornishman, soft-spoken, but not one to mince his words. ‘You’ll have to walk from here.’

  He took my bag, giving me another of the narrow looks he had be
en casting in my direction throughout the drive. I climbed down and my legs felt a little shaky – because of the journey, I tried to pretend, and did not for one moment deceive myself.

  And then I saw it below me in the valley – Morwennan House. Half hidden by the trees, deeply shadowed yet unmistakable. My heart came into my mouth with a great leap and all my vague apprehensions took shape, flapping about me like a flock of crows.

  I had never seen the place before – never been so far from Penwyn – but I knew it at once.

  Morwennan House was the house from my dream.

  Two

  I was afraid. In that moment as I stood staring down at the granite-grey house I was more afraid than I had ever been in my life before. More afraid even than when Jem locked me in the fisherman’s hut so many years ago. I had been terrified then, yes, but at least I had understood my terror. This… this was beyond my understanding. I clasped my bag tight with both hands and felt my knees turn to jelly beneath me. My head was spinning; I seemed to have stopped breathing. The whole world had stopped and in it I was whirling, whirling like a particle of sand in the strong wind that blew in from the sea.

  How long I stood there before I began to get a grip on myself I do not know. This was foolishness. I had never seen Morwennan House before. It could not possibly be the house from my dream.

  I drew a long steadying breath and then another and I forced my legs to move, first one, then the other, down the drive. With each step I could feel the sense of oppression closing in on me but also a grim determination growing. I must face this nameless fear that had haunted me all my life. I must lay it to rest once and for all.

  As I approached the great front door opened. Selena herself stood there, wearing a gown of grey velvet, a half smile twisting her thin lips. It was meant to be a smile of welcome, I supposed, but at the same time I realised what it was – besides her eyes – that was so disconcerting about her face. When she smiled her mouth curved, not up, but down.