Виктория Холт - The Landower Legacy

We stood there for a few seconds staring at her. There was a shout. Mr. Arkwright ran to her. I saw him bending over her. Paul was running towards them.

Jago had turned pale. He drew me back hastily behind the curtain. I could hear Paul shouting orders.

“Come … quickly,” said Jago; and grasping my hand he pulled me out of the gallery.

We stood in the attic, the open trunk before us.

“Do you think she was badly hurt?” I whispered.

Jago shook his head. “No … no … Just a fall … nothing more.”

“It was a long way to fall,” I said.

“They were all there to look after her.”

“Oh, Jago … what if she dies?”

“Of course she won’t die.”

“If she dies … we’ve killed her.”

“No … no. She killed herself. She shouldn’t have been so scared … just at two people dressed up.”

“But she didn’t know we were dressed up. She thought we were ghosts. That’s what we intended.”

“She’ll be all right,” he said. But I was not sure that I thought so.

“We ought to go and see what’s happened.”

“What good would that do? They’re doing all that can be done.”

“But it was our fault.”

He took me by the arm and shook me. “Look! What good can it do? Let’s get out of these clothes. No one will ever know that we wore them. What we’ve got to do now is slip out. We’ll go the way we came. Get that dress off quickly.” He had already stripped off his doublet and was getting into his riding coat.

With trembling fingers I took off the gown. In a few moments we were completely dressed and the trunk was shut. He took my hand and pulled me out of the attic.

We went out the way we had come in and reached the stables without being seen.

We mounted our horses and rode away.

I had said not a word. I was deeply shocked and filled with a terrible remorse.

He said goodbye to me and I rode home to Tressidor. I stayed in my room until dinner time.

I wanted to be alone to think.

The next day I heard the news. Cousin Mary told me.

She said: “There was an accident at Landower. Some people came to see the place and a young woman fell from the gallery into the hall. I told you the place was falling apart. The balustrade in the minstrels’ gallery gave way. Apparently they had been warned about it, but the young woman fell all the same.”

“Is she badly hurt?”

“I don’t know. She’s staying there apparently. The father is there, too. I think they couldn’t move her.”

“She must be badly hurt then.”

“I should think that would put them off buying the place.”

“Did they say why she fell?”

“I didn’t hear. I take it she leaned against the woodwork and it gave way.”

I went about in a dream that day. I had forgotten even that my departure was imminent. I did not see Jago. I wondered whether he avoided me as I did him.

Once more I had the news from Cousin Mary.

“I don’t think she’s all that badly hurt but they’re not sure yet. Poor girl. She says she saw ghosts in the gallery. The father pooh-poohs the idea. They’re very practical, these Yorkshire types. The Landowers are making a great fuss of them … looking after them, showing them a bit of that gracious hospitality which they’ve come to find. At least that’s what I’ve heard.”

“I don’t suppose they’ll want the place now.”

“I’ve heard to the contrary. They’re growing more and more fond of it … so one of the servants told our Mabel. I gather that the man has convinced his daughter that it was the shadows which made her fancy she saw the ghost.”

The time was passing. One more day and Miss Bell was due.

I went round to say goodbye to the people I had known. I lingered at the lodge and had tea with Jamie McGill. He shook his head very sadly and said the bees had told him that I would be back one day.

I did see Jago before I left. He looked sad and was a different person to me now. We were not young and carefree any more.

Neither of us could forget what we had done.

I said: “We ought not to have run away afterwards. We ought to have gone down to see what we could do.”

“There wasn’t anything we could have done. We would have only made it worse.”

“At least she would have known that she had not seen any ghosts.”

“She’s half convinced that she imagined she did. Her father keeps telling her so.”

“But she saw us.”

“He says it was a trick of the light.”

“And she believes him?”

“She half does. She seems to have a high opinion of Pa. He’s always been right. You want to confess, don’t you, Caroline? I believe you’ve got a very active conscience. That’s a terrible thing to go through life with. Get rid of it, Caroline.”

“Is she very bad?”

“She can’t walk yet, but she’s by no means dying.”

“Oh, I wish we hadn’t done it.”

“So do I. Moreover, it’s had the opposite effect from what I planned. They’re staying in the house. Paul’s treating them like honoured guests … and so is my father. They’re liking the place more. They’ve decided to buy it, Caroline.”

“It’s a judgement,” I said.

He nodded mournfully.

“Oh, I do hope she is not going to be an invalid for life.”

“Not Gwennie. Pa wouldn’t allow it. They’re tough, these Arkwrights, I can tell you. They didn’t get all that brass by being soft.”

“And I shall be leaving tomorrow.”

He looked at me mournfully.

So all our schemes had come to nothing. Landower was to be sold to the Arkwrights and I was going home.

The next day Miss Bell arrived, and the day after that we left for London.

Three years had passed since my return from Cornwall and my seventeenth birthday was approaching.

For the first six months I thought often of Cousin Mary at Tressidor Manor, James McGill at the Lodge and Paul and Jago at Landower Hall. I particularly thought of Paul. I experienced a feeling of nostalgic longing every morning when I awoke. I told and retold my adventures to Olivia, who was avid to hear of them and listened entranced. Maybe I embellished them a little. Perhaps Landower Hall sounded like the tower of London and Tressidor Manor a little like Hampton Court. I talked of Paul Landower more than anyone else. He had become a handsome hero endowed with every noble quality. He was something between Alexander the Great and Lancelot; he was Hercules and Apollo; he was noble and invincible. Olivia’s lovely shortsighted eyes glowed with sentiment when I talked of him. I invented conversations with him. Olivia envied me my adventures; she was horrified at the outcome of the ghostly episode, and it never occurred to her to wonder why the omnipotent Paul had failed to save his own home. Cousin Mary had written only once. She was not a letter writer, I soon discovered, though I was sure that if I went back to the Manor we should take up our relationship where it had left off. In that one letter she did tell me that Landower Hall had been sold to the Arkwrights and that Miss Arkwright could not have been really badly hurt because she was now walking about. The Arkwrights were established in the Hall and the Landowers had moved to a farm on the edge of their estate. Apart from that everything was much the same as usual.

I wrote back and that letter remained unanswered. I did not write to Jago but I was sure that the old farmhouse, which was now the home of the Landowers, would be a very melancholy household indeed.

My father expressed no pleasure at my return. In fact I did not see him until I had been back three days; and then he scarcely looked at me.

Resentment flamed into my heart and I felt wretchedly hurt and longed for the casual affection of Cousin Mary.

Miss Bell was her old self. She behaved as though I had never been away; but my great consolation was Olivia, who implied a hundred times a day how pleased she was to have me back.

She had her own problems and the greatest of these was her “coming out.” She was extremely nervous and was being groomed by Aunt Imogen—an ordeal if ever there was one—and there were so many do’s and don’ts that she was becoming quite bewildered.

I had not been home more than three weeks when I heard I was to go away to school at the beginning of the September term. This was a blow no less to Olivia and Miss Bell than it was to me.

Olivia had not gone away to school. I could only believe that my father still remembered that if it had not been for me he might have gone on in blissful ignorance of my mother’s love affair with Captain Carmichael, and for this reason could not bear the sight of me.

Olivia was going to miss me. Miss Bell was anxious about the post of governess; but she was reassured almost immediately. She was to stay on and look after Olivia and presumably me during holidays from school when—I imagined most reluctantly—my father would have to allow me to return to the family home.

We discussed school and coming out—both with their hazards— and our mother.

Olivia had heard that she was abroad with Captain Carmichael and that he had had to resign his commission in the Army because of the scandal. It seemed strange to me that our mother could leave without wanting to see us—or at least to hear from us. And our father certainly did not want to see me. How different it had been with Cousin Mary!

There was an ache in my heart every time I thought of her.

Then life began to change—not suddenly, but gradually. I went away to school and after the first few weeks enjoyed it. I was extremely good at English literature and had a flair for languages. Miss Bell had taught us a little French and German and I rapidly progressed in those tongues. I played lacrosse with some success; I learned ballroom dancing and to play the piano, and in none of these activities was I a dunce, though I did not exactly excel in any of them.

I began to like school, my new friends, rivalries and all the drama and comedy which seemed to arise out of trivialities. I was not too different from the normal to arouse enmity, yet I had something which was unusual. I think it was a vitality, a tremendous interest in everything that was going on, and a willingness to try everything once. It brought me friends and it made my school life very acceptable.

But I always enjoyed coming home for holidays and in the beginning deluded myself into believing that it would all be changed. My mother would return; my father would be pleased to see me and everything would be happy. Why I should have thought this I could not imagine. It had never been so before.

Olivia was in the throes of “coming out” and after the first few months finding it not so bad as she had thought it might be. She was not an outstanding success in society but she had never expected to be; all she hoped for was to get by, which was just what she was doing. She went to balls and even on occasions to Court—the Court of the Prince and Princess of Wales, that was. The Queen was not given to frivolity and was at Windsor most of the time or hiding herself away in the Isle of Wight. The Prince and Princess of Wales were those who held court and were courted.

But those occasions were rare. The Prince of Wales was what was called a little “fast” and so the society which surrounded him was considered not ideal for young girls on the threshold of their entrance into society.

Between Miss Bell and Aunt Imogen, Olivia was very closely guarded; and she had overcome the dread she had felt at first and was beginning to find life not unpleasant. She still suffered from shyness; and wished that I could accompany her on her engagements. So did I. When there was a ball at the house I was not allowed to go and was resigned to my usual post at the top of the staircase—rather undignified for a girl who was fast becoming an adult.

My father then decided that I should go to a finishing school in France. Once again I was appalled and once again I was soon enjoying it. We lived in a chateau in the mountains, and parties of us would walk into the town once a week and have a cup of coffee and the most delicious pastries, sitting outside a cafe under a brightly coloured sunshade while we talked of what would happen to us when it was our turn to “come out.”

Time was passing. I had forgotten what Captain Carmichael looked like, though when we drank lemonade I remembered vividly sitting at the window on the day of the Jubilee, and how happy we had been then. But I never forgot Paul Landower. I used to sketch his face in one of the sketch-books which we took with us on rambles in the mountains. He grew more and more handsome, more and more noble with the passing of time. Girls would peer over my shoulder and say: “There he is again. I do believe, Caroline Tressidor, that he is your lover.”