Morwennan House Read online

  For a moment I stood motionless, staring after her bent, retreating figure, watching stupidly as she resumed her search of the rock pools. My feet seemed to have anchored themselves in the soft sand. Then, with an effort of will, I began to walk back up the beach, stumbling over the rough pebbles and not even feeling them. My mind was whirling now as the half-formed thoughts began to take shape.

  I was the living image of Francis Trevelyan’s dead wife – Julia, the old woman had called her. I was so like her the old crone had thought for a moment I was her. No wonder Francis had been so shocked when we first met! No wonder Selena had stared at me so when she had seen me in Penwyn church. But why, then, had she appointed me Charlotte’s governess without telling me of the likeness? More importantly, why had she not warned Francis? She must have known it would be a terrible shock for him, coming face to face with me in his own home. Yes, undoubtedly she had known – it accounted for the strange suppressed excitement I had noticed in her as we waited for him to emerge from his study and greet me. For some reason of her own, Selena had wanted to shock him.

  I felt a flash of anger that she should use me so, like a pawn in some game, but it was a fleeting anger only, for more importantly the implications of my likeness to Julia were flooding my mind now and I felt strangely elated.

  All my life I had been the cuckoo in the nest. Never had I been able to look at my family and see little likenesses. Now it seemed I had come to a place where there was recognition in people’s eyes. I was the living image of Julia Trevelyan, sufficiently like her to shock Francis and to convince an old woman that she had come back from the dead.

  Everyone has a double, they say. But was it just coincidence, or was there another reason for the likeness? Was I related to Julia? Could it possibly be that fate – and Selena Trevelyan – had brought me home?

  I reached the path and glanced up. Above me Morwennan House clung to the cliff like a giant eagle’s eyrie, square and somehow menacing. Behind me the beach was still bathed in soft dying light but a dark cloud seemed to have settled over Morwennan House. There it was already night.

  Taking a deep breath I hitched up my skirts for the climb and started up the cliff path.

  * * *

  The lamps had been lit in the house. As I drew closer I could see the glow at the windows but there was nothing welcoming about it. The windows were like hooded eyes concealing… what?

  I made my way round the side of the house and let myself in at the great front door. At once the gloom surrounded me.

  The parlour door was ajar and I could hear the sound of voices coming from beyond it. Francis and Selena’s voices, sounding angry.

  On my way back to the house I had been preparing myself to confront them with what I had learned, demand some answers to the questions that were seething around inside my head. Now I hesitated, unwilling to interrupt what was clearly a family quarrel, yet equally unwilling to creep away again. They owed me some sort of explanation tonight, before I spent a single night under their roof, and I was determined to have it. At this moment my resolve was high; tomorrow, maybe, my courage would desert me.

  I started towards the parlour, my slippered feet making no sound on the bare floor, and the voices from within the parlour carried out clearly to me.

  ‘You have always been a scheming, jealous, vindictive woman, Selena. But this time you have surpassed yourself.’ Francis, clearly beside himself with rage. ‘I don’t know what you hoped to gain by bringing her here, but…’

  ‘What would I gain, Francis?’ Selena, her voice raised, yet clearly still in command of herself. ‘I would have thought the gain would be all yours. You’ve been obsessed with that woman all your life. Her looks drove you to madness. Well – now you can begin all over again!’

  Francis swore. ‘You are beyond belief, Selena! It excites you, does it, to torture me so? But have you thought of the consequences? She can’t stay. I won’t have it. The whole thing is quite insupportable.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Francis, you are behaving like a hysterical girl. But then, you never were able to control your emotions where Julia was concerned. No, the decision is made now and you will just have to put up with it. Charlotte needs a governess, I need help in dealing with her, and I have appointed Charity, so there’s an end of it.’

  ‘But suppose she should learn the truth – have you thought of that?’

  ‘Why should she? But now I come to think of it, it would be rather… interesting.’

  ‘You think so!’ Francis was beside himself.

  ‘Indeed. As this whole episode is interesting. I thought I knew you, Francis. I did not imagine you could keep secrets from me. I was wrong. But I am not wrong about who this girl is, am I? Oh no, I am not wrong. The moment I saw her, I knew.’

  There was a silence, a momentary pregnant silence, which seemed to me to go on for ever. Then Selena laughed softly.

  ‘She is Julia’s daughter, brother dear. Julia’s daughter, come home to us after all these years!’

  I felt my knees turn weak beneath me. I grabbed at the hall table to steady myself and the pewter jug that stood on it rocked in its bowl. I thought they would hear and come to see who it was in the hall, listening to them. But they were too engrossed in their quarrel.

  ‘You will rot in hell, Selena,’ Francis said, and Selena laughed again, as if she were very pleased with herself indeed.

  ‘Then I will surely have your company, Francis.’

  I did not wait to hear more. I was too afraid they would come out and find me there. I backed away, then turned and ran to the door. I stumbled outside and closed it after me. Then I leaned against the rough stone wall, drawing the fresh night air into my lungs, feeling it cool my burning cheeks.

  I could scarcely believe what I had heard, let alone comprehend it. But without intending to, Francis and Selena had given me the answer to some of the questions I had intended to ask them. They had given me the answer to the most important question of all.

  If Selena had been right in her assumption about me, and this whole bizarre situation was not some terrible coincidence, I had at last discovered who I was.

  I was the daughter of Francis Trevelyan’s dead wife, Julia.

  * * *

  How long I remained outside in the pitch dark beneath the trees I do not know. I scarcely remember what I thought even. It was as if I was caught in a whirlpool of emotion, being spun around and around, sucked in and down. But I could not remain there for ever. At last I steeled myself to open the door again and step inside. All was quiet. I let the door close with a bang to warn of my return.

  Francis appeared in the doorway of the parlour. His colour was higher than ever, his cravat a little askew. I tried to speak, but could find no words. What could I say to him?

  ‘Charity,’ he said. His voice was a little slurred; I could smell the brandy on his breath.

  I found my voice. ‘Mr Trevelyan.’

  ‘Charity…’

  I waited, wondering what he was about to say to me. Would he acknowledge me, tell me at least something of why I was here? Or would he tell me to pack my bags and go?

  In the event he did neither.

  ‘Did you have a good walk?’ he asked, as if nothing had occurred at all.

  ‘Yes… Yes, thank you…’

  ‘You look tired, Charity.’

  ‘I am,’ I said faintly. ‘It’s been a long day.’

  ‘And a longer one tomorrow. Charlotte will be coming home in the morning. Would you care for a nightcap?’

  ‘No… No, thank you.’ All I wanted was to be alone, to think over what had happened and try to make sense of it. ‘As I said, I am very tired. If you don’t mind, I think I would like to go to bed.’

  He looked, I thought, relieved.

  ‘As you wish, of course. Selena showed you your room?’

  I nodded. Selena was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps she had already retired.

  ‘Good night then.’

  ‘Good night.�
��

  As I left him I saw him reaching for the brandy decanter once more.

  * * *

  There was no hope I would sleep that night. No hope at all. I undressed in a daze, my hands performing the familiar actions automatically, and climbed into the narrow bed. Then I tossed and turned as restlessly as if it were a bed of nails, my skin crawling, my thoughts churning.

  Could it be true that I really was Julia Trevelyan’s daughter? But if I was, why had I been abandoned so far from Morwennan? And for what reason? I had always supposed my mother to be some poor unmarried girl who had been pushed from parish to parish when her condition became apparent. That often happened, right up to the moment of giving birth, for no parish wanted the burden of another mouth to feed, and the place of birth of an illegitimate child determined who would have the onus of responsibility for seeing it did not starve. I had assumed my mother, driven thus around the countryside, had borne me in Penwyn, perhaps in secret, left me in a box on the doorstep of the rectory and gone back to wherever it was she had come from, praying that I would be found and taken care of. I had supposed she had nothing whatever to offer me.

  But if Julia Trevelyan was my mother none of those conditions would apply. Julia Trevelyan had been a lady of means, who had married into landed gentry. She must have been of good family herself. Had she, as a young girl, become pregnant with me and, mortified by the stigma, had her father forced her to give me up, place me in the care of the Palfreys? Was that the reason they had always been so reticent concerning the circumstances in which they had found me – because, in reality, they knew very well who I was and that I would be an embarrassment and shame to my natural family?

  And what of my father? Who was he? Not Francis, surely! If I had been born of their union, in wedlock, then there could be no possible reason for my having been abandoned… could there? Yet both Francis and Selena seemed to have been aware of the existence of a child.

  ‘Julia’s daughter, come home to us after all these years,’ Selena had said. Oh, they had known all right! But: Julia’s daughter. Not: Your daughter. No, I did not think Francis was my father – and I realised I did not want him to be. I did not care for him at all. In fact there was something about him that repelled me.

  As for Selena – there was, as Francis had said during their quarrel, something evil about her. To think for a moment that the same blood might run in our veins was not a pleasant notion. But why had she brought me here?

  You have always been a scheming, jealous, vindictive woman, Selena, Francis had said, and I had no doubt he spoke the truth. Perhaps it was malicious spite that had motivated her. But scheming? In what way could I possibly figure in her schemes?

  Francis had not been pleased, that much was certain. Another reason to make me think that he was not my father. But he was Charlotte’s father… and Julia was her mother. Which would mean – surely! – that the possibility was that Charlotte was my sister!

  A thrill beyond belief ran through me. All these years without a single relative to call my own, and now perhaps I had a sister! Oh, a child as yet. And a half-sister, not full-blooded. But that scarcely mattered. My skin prickled with excitement. I couldn’t wait to meet her!

  A board creaked above my head, startling me. A timber settling, no doubt. Houses come alive in the quiet of the night and this one was no exception. Another creak… and another… further away towards the door… The house I had so long dreamed of seemed to be shifting in its sleep…

  I shifted myself, puzzled still further as I remembered the dream. Had I lived here before? Was the dream a distant memory? Surely it must be so! Julia’s daughter, come home after all these years… And yet… and yet…

  Unable to lie in my bed a moment longer, I pushed aside the covers and swung my legs to the ground.

  The bare boards felt cold beneath my feet. I reached for a wrap and slipped it on. I wished I dared explore the house, quietly and alone, but I did not dare. I was still a stranger here – a visitor almost. I could not creep about in the dead of night. Not yet. But when I felt more at home… If Francis had not sent me on my way by then…

  I crossed to the window and drew aside the curtains. Moonlight streamed in. Outside, it illuminated what I could see of the gardens so they were bright, almost, as day. I looked down at the pathway beneath my window where I had first seen Francis and Tom walking, picturing them again, the big florid man and the leaner younger one. At the thought of Tom something sharp and sweet twisted inside me and I told myself not to be foolish. There was enough on my mind already without the added complication of a crazy attraction for a man I barely knew.

  I turned my head a little so that I could see the sea beyond the sheltering curve of the cliffs. A ship was there in the cove, riding, I thought, at anchor, for it seemed not to move at all. Like a ship in an oil painting the masts stood tall against the skyline; the empty sails were milky in the moonlight. For a long while I watched it sitting there and wondered idly what it was doing. Fishing, perhaps. But it did not look like a fishing boat. It looked like a cutter.

  Perhaps, then, it was a ship unloading contraband. Smuggling was rife all along the coasts of Cornwall and Devon and even beyond, I knew, and this was a perfect night for such business. Though I could not see them, I could imagine the small boats that would be swarming around the cutter’s elegant hull like insects, loading up with spirits and tea and tobacco and silks to ferry to some hiding place on the coast.

  The excise officers and preventivemen would do their best to catch those responsible, of course, and confiscate the contraband. But they may as well sit like Canute on the beach and order back the tide for all the long-term good they would do. The smugglers were too many and too clever for them and, on the whole, communities closed in to protect them. For did not the communities benefit too from the cheap luxuries the ‘Gentlemen’ put their way?

  At last with a sigh I turned away from the window. For all that my thoughts were racing, my emotions churning, I really must at least try to get some sleep or I would be good for nothing tomorrow. And tomorrow would be every bit as taxing as today had been. Tomorrow I would have to face Francis and Selena once more. Tomorrow I would meet Charlotte, who might be my half-sister.

  I took off my robe and draped it over a chair. I climbed into bed and pulled the sheet up to my chin. I closed my eyes and tried resolutely to put all the momentous events, all the perplexing questions, out of my mind.

  The house was quiet now as if it was, at last, sleeping. No creaks, no settling timbers. Gradually I became drowsy. At last I too slept.

  Five

  When I woke next morning the first sound I heard was the cawing of the rooks. There was something strange and disturbing about it; so close to the sea it would have been more natural to hear the mew of gulls.

  As I dressed myself I wondered if I should make any mention to Selena or Francis of what I had learned last night, and decided against it. Selena’s threats had clearly persuaded Francis that I should stay for the time being at least; if I began asking questions he might very well change his mind. That was the last thing I wanted. I was closer now than I had ever been to finding out who I was and why I had been abandoned. If he sent me away now I might never learn the truth. I must be patient, pretend I was no wiser than when I had arrived, and keep my ears and eyes open. Then, if my luck held, I might be able to glean the information I craved and fit it together piece by piece.

  Besides, I wanted to meet Charlotte, who might be the sister I had never known I had.

  As I went down the staircase Mrs Durbin emerged from a door on the far side of the hall. She was carrying a tray laden with stacked crockery. She looked up and saw me and a strange furtive expression crossed her face.

  ‘Good morning,’ I said.

  She turned and locked the door behind her before replying, then set the tray down on the spindle-legged side table and came towards me.

  ‘Did you sleep well, Miss Charity?’

  ‘Thank you, yes
,’ I replied.

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. Sometimes it’s not easy to get a good night’s rest in an unfamiliar bed. I know I like my own place.’

  Her hands fluttered to her mob cap, easing it over her temples, and she beamed at me.

  I felt myself warming to her. Her cheeks were like polished apples, her eyes, though faded, had a twinkle in them, and her smile was the first expression of genuine welcome anyone at Morwennan had offered me.

  ‘Yes, Durbin and me have been here with Mr Francis for more than twenty years so you might say it’s home to us,’ she went on. ‘The only home we’ll ever have, I dare say.’

  It occurred to me that if Mrs Durbin had been with the Trevelyans so long she must know as well as anyone all there was to know about Francis – and Julia. But it was much too early to begin asking her questions.

  ‘Well, I’m glad you’re here, Charity,’ she said. ‘More glad than you’ll ever know. And what a difference it will make to Miss Charlotte! She’s on her own too much, that one. A child her age needs younger company than she’s used to. She’s a handful, mind you! A will of her own and no mistake, even at her age. But she knows how to wind her father round her little finger for all that.’ She broke off, shaking her head with another smile, then, quite suddenly her expression changed. The smile disappeared, her lips pursed slightly, her eyes were no longer on me, but looking past me.

  Instinctively I turned in the direction of her gaze and saw Selena sweeping down the staircase.

  ‘Haven’t you anything better to do than chatter, Mrs Durbin?’ Her tone was acerbic.

  A rosy flush coloured Mrs Durbin’s apple cheeks.

  ‘Indeed I have, Miss Selena. There’s always plenty to do round this house. I’ve told you often enough I could do with more help in the kitchen.’

  ‘And you know perfectly well that is not possible. If you’ve work to do I suggest you get on with it.’ Selena turned to me. ‘Shall we go in to breakfast, Charity? It’s all ready I hope, Mrs Durbin.’