Garth of Tregillis (14 page)

‘You know, of course, that Armanell is coming to stay? The whole house is ringing with it.’

I nodded and glanced at her curiously. Her mood was very different from what it had been on the night of Garth’s return when she had been confident that he didn’t intend to marry Armanell.

As if in answer to my unspoken query she went on, ‘I’ve been thinking about it and I’ve come to the conclusion that it doesn’t really matter how things are between Garth and Armanell as far as I’m concerned. Not even for Armanell would Garth dare to put me out—I know too much.’

I must have looked the question I felt, and she got to her feet and beckoned me over to one of the small dormer windows. On the window-ledge lay a pair of binoculars. She handed them to me. ‘Look through the window.’

Obediently I put the glasses to my eyes, adjusted the focus and immediately the whole cove came before me in amazingly clear detail. ‘Well, what do you see?’ she asked impatiently.

‘The cove, of course.’

She nodded secretively. ‘And I was looking through those the day Giles was drowned,’ she said significantly.

‘But what did you see?’ I burst out eagerly.

Immediately I knew I had made a mistake. Her expression became closed and suspicious. ‘What is it to you?’ she said rudely.

‘All this has nothing to do with you, anyway. Why are you so interested?’

‘I—I—I’m afraid I was just curious,’ I faltered. This was no time to tell her of my friendship with Diana and of the errand I had come upon when I had come to Tregillis.

‘Whatever I saw I’ve written down,’ Eunice went on with an air of fierce satisfaction, ‘and if anything happens to me the evidence will all be there after my death. No, I don’t think Garth will dare to get rid of me when I tell him what I’ve done, no matter what Armanell wants, so I’m not really worrying about the future. Let them get married if they like, it’s nothing to me. It won’t make a jot of difference to my life. And I wish them well of each other, I’m sure, because they’re birds of a feather, I can tell you.’

‘You haven’t heard whether they’re engaged?’ I ventured.

‘No, and it’s none of our business, neither yours nor mine,’ she returned. ‘And now you were saying that you wanted to look in the attics.’

It was clear that my hasty question had dried up her confidences. We made our way up to the attics and began looking through old boxes and trunks. We found old ball-dresses and a trunk full of Victorian clothes; discarded furniture, and all the odds and ends gathered by a large and prosperous household during generations.

Eunice opened a square iron-bound case and found it full of yellowed papers. While I prowled around she scanned them, and grew quite excited as she exclaimed that they were deeds and various legal papers belonging to the family and dated from the middle of the nineteenth century. She turned to me gratefully.

‘But for you, Judith, I shouldn’t have come upon this. These papers will be of immense help in my history of the family—a positive mine of information.’

From that moment I lost Eunice’s help in my quest. She pulled forward an antique four-legged stool, seated herself upon it and was soon immersed.

I wandered off and was soon as busy myself in what was to me a treasure-trove. I came upon an eighteenth- century patch box, an ebony and mother-o’-pearl snuffbox and an old wooden wig-stand, used by the ladies of the reign of George the Third for their curled and bejewelled wigs. There were many relics of Victorian times: great crinoline dresses of muslin with skirts garlanded with roses. Bolts of cloth and many pieces of different fabrics, some of them obviously had been used in the making of ball-dresses. I picked out a piece several yards long of muslin, embroidered with tiny pink and yellow flowers in silk, and from the many carpets and rugs lying heaped in a corner I selected a carpet in pale pinks and creams and blues. Pretty as it was, it was sturdy enough to withstand the rough treatment it would receive in the schoolroom.

Eunice, seeing me struggling with it, good-naturedly interrupted her studies to help me carry it down the steep steps from the attic.

When we had spread it on the schoolroom floor we returned to the attic and while I moved around, assembling my loot, as I thought of it, Eunice returned to her treasure-trove of papers, picked out those she was most interested in and placed them in a pile on the floor beside her.

She came forward to help me carry down my next load, but as I saw the glance she cast at her find I said, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be able to manage this little lot myself. I know you’re just dying to carry off those papers to your room and settle down to work on them.’

‘Well, actually I am,’ Eunice admitted frankly. ‘They’re going to be of absolutely inestimable value in my work on the Seaton family. I can see they’re going to fill in all sorts of gaps in my knowledge and in fact, when I’ve extracted the meat out of them, they’re going to give a very exact picture of how a house like this was run in Victorian days.’

As she bustled off bearing her precious hoard, I followed more leisurely with my roll of muslin. I was just about to leave the attic when I saw, stacked against one of the walls, a pile of framed and glazed Victorian samplers. Curiously I turned them towards me and examined them, marvelling at the work that had gone into the making of each embroidery. ‘Too many cooks spoil the broth,’

was embroidered in gothic lettering, and beside it an intricately worked figure of a cook in a chef’s hat. ‘Home Sweet Home’ was another effort, in this case illustrated by a cottage with blue smoke zigzagging from its chimneys and a profusion of forget-me-nots and daisies bespattering a tiny garden. What child had laboured over these efforts, I wondered, and what had become of her? Had she dreamed as she worked her embroidery silks of the man whom she might one day marry? And had she in days later on fallen in love and left Tregillis—or had her prince not come riding by and had she too, like Eunice, been left old and alone haunting the upper rooms of this great old house?

But I was too pleased with the results of my forays to allow myself any further melancholy speculations and I set off in good spirits with my arms filled.

It was as I was approaching the schoolroom that Garth turned into the corridor. For a moment he stared at me blankly and I wondered a little acidly if he had difficulty in remembering who I was. I saw his eyes go to my laden arms and his growing look of surprise made me realize rather uncomfortably that this must be the first time he had ever come upon a governess whose arms were filled with his household possessions.

He raised his brows sardonically. ‘Can I help you, Miss Westall? You seem to be a bit over-burdened.’

‘No, thanks,’ I stammered, mortified. ‘They’re really nothing—

just a few things I found in the attic.’

‘You do get around, Miss Westall, don’t you? If I recollect correctly we first met in the library at midnight where you were perusing one of my letters. Now I discover that you’ve been raiding the attics.’

‘I—I just wanted a few things to brighten up the schoolroom,’ I stammered hurriedly. ‘It seemed so—so—’ I had been about to say ‘dingy’, then changed this to ‘unattractive to a child.’

‘I hardly think that to a child like Melinda her surroundings would mean much, and as for Emile—he has obviously been spoiled: a little roughing it wouldn’t do him any harm.’

‘But Emile’s not really a namby-pamby,’ I began eagerly. ‘It’s simply that he has always been taught by tutors and governesses and had grown up with adults instead of mixing with children of his own age.’

He regarded me in silence for a few moments. ‘Perhaps you’re right there,’ he said. ‘The Chateau de Chalandon is in rather a remote part of the country and there are not many children who, from his mother’s point of view, would be suitable playmates.’

From his mother’s point of view! So Armanell was a snob!

Perhaps Garth shared her convictions about the exclusiveness of the Lelant family, I thought resentfully.

‘As for Melinda,’ I went on eagerly as I saw him regard me with what I took to be a certain dawning respect for my psychological penetration, ‘she’s very fond of you and I’m sure it would mean everything in the world to her if—’ I stopped. It was difficult to put into words exactly what I had in mind. ‘If you’d take just a little interest in her,’ I ended lamely as I saw from the change in his expression that whatever momentary esteem I had gained had now been lost by this impulsive statement.

‘You are not, by any chance, instructing me how I should treat my niece, Miss Westall?’

‘Oh no, of course not,’ I said hurriedly. ‘It’s just that it struck me that a great deal of her naughtiness springs from the feeling that no one really cares a great deal about her activities.’

‘Indeed!’ His tone was quelling. ‘But it so happens that I don’t share your views concerning Melinda. To me she appears to be an undisciplined child, and the sooner someone takes her in hand the better. I certainly have neither the inclination nor the time to devote myself to studying her peculiar behaviour, so I’d be glad, Miss Westall, if you’d keep a firm hand over her, especially now when the Comtesse is coming. I don’t want Melinda to make a nuisance of herself.’

I bit back the angry retort that rose to my lips, but he seemed to be completely indifferent to my reaction.

He reached out his hand and relieved me of one of the samplers that I had tucked under my arm. ‘Hmmm! How very appropriate.’ I glanced at it quickly and saw that the moral he saw said ‘Curiosity killed the cat,’ with a representation of a large grinning Cheshire cat’s face. ‘I hope you’re going to take this warning to yourself and to remember the fate of the over-inquisitive. It may be an excellent quality in a sleuth, but is hardly appropriate for private life.’

I could feel myself grow pale and heard my gasp of dismay and found that he was regarding me steadily. How much had he grasped of my intense interest in all that concerned Tregillis—and particularly in all that had to do with him? Had he realized that there was more to it than mere vulgar curiosity? Was he actually warning me that if I persisted I should myself be in danger? If, in fact, he had been responsible for Giles’s death an inquisitive snooper would be the last person he would be likely to tolerate around the house.

But when I had recovered myself somewhat and looked at him again I saw that he was smiling faintly and realized that he was in fact in excellent humour.

To cover my confusion I reached out my hand and took the sampler from him, and as I did so he startled me by stretching out his hand and touching my hair. ‘Do you realize that you have a cobweb in your hair? See!’ He held up a finger upon which a dark trailing cobweb wound. ‘Also you’re almost as grubby as Melinda at the moment. You have a smut on your nose.’

‘Oh!’ Automatically I raised my free hand to my face and attempted to wipe it.

'Now you’ve added to the damage.’ He was actually grinning, and I wished fervently that I had not had the misfortune to meet him just at this stage in my activities. Another moment or two and I should have been safely inside the schoolroom and would have been able to present myself next time to him well groomed and poised. It seemed to be my fate always to come upon him when I was looking dishevelled and least self-possessed, and I feared that my attempt to present myself as a severe and self-contained sort of person was failing dismally.

His next words bore this out. ‘Do you know, at the moment you look hardly more than about sixteen years of age. If you present yourself before the Comtesse looking as you do now she’ll think I’ve engaged a mere child to tutor her son.’

His manner was almost bantering. He was in high good humour—and I realized the reason why. On the following day Armanell was to arrive. Everything was nearly ready and it was clear that every loose end would be neatly tucked away out of sight before her arrival. Tregillis would present its most orderly and sophisticated face. Everything would be like pins on paper.

And I would fit into the picture, I promised myself. There would be no informality in my appearance when I presented myself before the Comtesse—which, as Emile’s governess, I was almost certain to do at some time or other during her stay.

‘I shall certainly not appear before the Comtesse like this,’ I told him coldly, drawing myself up. ‘I shall be dressed in—’

‘In character,’ he finished as I hesitated for a word.

‘What do you mean?’ I demanded.

‘I mean that that was quite a performance you put on at our last meeting; your betraying red hair all primly scraped back and some sort of greyish dress— or should I say gown—with a demure collar. I can’t remember what colour it was, but I gathered it was a studied effect and I must say you succeeded. You were the epitome of correctness. The prim, efficient governess interviews her employer! Wasn’t that the scene as you envisaged it? I ought to have been deeply impressed! However, I am not easily intimidated, Miss Westall—a fact you would do well to keep in mind.’

To my relief I spied Melinda appear around the bend in the corridor. She had been dawdling, but as she caught sight of him she hastened her steps, her face brightened and began to run towards him.

I saw his expression change and harden as he saw her approach.