Midsummer's Eve (34 page)

“People just love something sensational,” went on Aunt Amaryllis. “Even the Queen is not immune. There is all this terrible scandal about Lady Flora Hastings.”

I said that being away we had heard nothing of this.

“Oh well, there is a feud going on between the Queen and her mother. They say the Duchess interferes too much and the Queen and she are not on the best of terms. Lady Flora is one of the Duchess’s household and when her body became swollen the Queen’s women put a rumour about that she was pregnant and it turned out that she wasn’t. There was a great outcry about it. People are saying the Queen is responsible. Lady Flora’s family are making a great fuss. I can tell you the story is all over London. So you see, even the Queen is not immune from what Peter calls the gutter press. She is not as popular as she was, but Peter says it will come back. It is just a temporary set-back … and that is how it usually is.”

“We haven’t had much chance to see the papers yet.”

“Oh, they are full of these little scandals. Headline news today and forgotten tomorrow.”

“And all that was said about Joseph Cresswell and Uncle Peter …”

“A nine days’ wonder. Your Uncle Peter is doing so much good. He always did, but more so lately. And you haven’t heard about Peterkin. He’s engaged to Frances Cresswell. She is a little older than he is, but your uncle is pleased. He said it’s a good thing. Peterkin is completely devoted to Frances and what a lot of good she is doing! Your father, Helena, has given them a great deal of money. It has been in the papers. They call him the Philanthropist of the Underworld. I would prefer just the Philanthropist, but he says it creates more interest to mention the Underworld. People notice and rather like it. Someone wrote an article saying that although he had made his fortune through the clubs of the Underworld he gave so much back to charity that he has to be admired. The clubs were for the amusement of people who were not of the highest moral standard, but if so much was done for a worthy cause, credit must be given where it was due.”

So that was what Uncle Peter was doing now. He had been exposed so he turned about and became a philanthropist. He had given his wholehearted support to Peterkin. Frances must be very pleased. She would not care how the money had been come by, as long as it was there.

Should she have done? I was not sure. Immorality and morality had become oddly mixed.

Aunt Amaryllis was very pleased to have—as she thought—made us understand about Uncle Peter’s business and to make us realize that, in spite of all the harsh things which had been written about him in the newspapers, he was really very noble.

She was very affectionate towards Rolf and delighted that I was engaged to marry him.

“Mama,” said Helena, “I want to stay for a while. At least for Annora’s wedding.”

“Of course,” she replied. “And you must come, Annora, with your husband to stay with us. Your Uncle Peter will be so pleased to see you.”

Dear Aunt Amaryllis, she wanted the best for everyone and what was so comforting about her was that she believed so earnestly that it would come about that one began to share that belief.

Aunt Amaryllis returned to London having extracted a promise from Helena that she would go home after the wedding and that Rolf and I would visit them on the way to our honeymoon.

Rolf was making arrangements.

“We’ll go abroad,” he said. “I was impressed by Italy when I did the Grand Tour of Europe in my student days. I shall show you Florence. You will love it. And all the antiquities of Rome … and then Venice. What a country! Surely one of the most beautiful in the world.”

I began to feel a little enthusiasm.

“You’ll feel better when we are right away,” he assured me, for he had always understood my moods. “Then we’ll come back to our new life. We will be so busy there will be no time for brooding. We can go away when we feel like it. Between them Bob Carter and Luke Tregern can take care of things.”

I was to be married in the chapel at Cador and it would be a white wedding as it was to take place in June.

Jennie Tregore, wife of one of the farmers, had been a dressmaker by profession before her marriage and she carried on with it when anyone wanted anything made. I decided I wanted something simple and that she should make it.

I often thought when Jennie was busy with the fittings, what an occasion my mother would have made of this. She would have wanted to go to London for my wedding dress. What excitement there would have been! How she would have loved it!

I must stop thinking along those lines. I told myself so a hundred times a day, but I still went on doing it.

I was thinking now about my honeymoon. I had always wanted to see Italy. My father had often talked about our going. Once more I was back in the past. I could see them all so clearly, sitting at the dinner table, Jacco arguing fiercely that it would be more fun to go to the mountains of Switzerland than the art galleries of Florence.

I must stop.

Yes, I thought. In London I will buy some clothes for my honeymoon. There! I was growing away from it if I could think about clothes.

I noticed that Helena was becoming more and more uneasy about returning to London. She was afraid she would have to face a barrage of questions.

“But your mother knows,” I told her, “and she will explain everything to your father. As for him, he has a way of making things right even if they aren’t. Peterkin and Frances will love to see you. They’ll understand.”

“I wasn’t thinking so much about the family as people I shall have to meet—all those mothers who used to pity me because no one wanted to marry me, and when John did, looked on me with a sort of envy. They’ll crow now. Besides, what are people really thinking about my father and his business?”

“They are thinking what he intends they should. He is a man of the world and now he is contributing in a very public way to charity. Your father is the sort of man who will be unperturbed by anything that happens to him. You must try to be like him, Helena.”

“As if I ever could be! I’m not looking forward to it and you’ll miss Jonnie.”

“Very much … and you, too. But we have to go on, Helena. We can’t just stand still. We have been through a lot and we have learned to grow away from it.”

“You have that chance now … with Rolf.”

“And so have you a chance … with Jonnie. Your mother will help. I think she is one of the kindest people I ever knew. You’re lucky to have her.”

“She’s an angel but not a very practical one.”

“You’ll be all right. Helena, suppose Matthew comes back.”

“I suppose he will in time.”

“How do you feel abut him?”

“Very grateful. He’s a good man, isn’t he?”

“He is dedicated to his purpose.”

“Yes. He’s like Frances Cresswell in a way. Those sort of people want to do good. They are wonderful people … but they don’t always care so much for just one person.”

“Do you think … if he came back, you would be together … that you could love him?”

“I don’t think I shall ever love anyone like that but John.”

“He should have gone on with the marriage, defied his family.”

“He just couldn’t. He had to do what seemed right to him.”

“If he had known about Jonnie …”

“I didn’t want marriage on those terms … because he had to. I wanted him to marry me because he wanted to.”

“He did want to …”

“But not enough. You’re lucky, Annora. Rolf loves you … completely. There was a time when I thought you might marry Gregory Donnelly.”

“Surely not. I loathed the man.”

“He was so sure of himself. I thought he might find some way of forcing you to marry him.”

“I can’t see how he could have done that in any circumstances.”

“Well, you’re lucky. Rolf is our sort. You’ll be very good together. You’ve got all this. Just fancy. It’s yours. Oh, Annora, I hope you are going to be very happy.”

“I’ll try to be,” I said. “And, Helena, you must, too. Don’t forget. You have Jonnie.”

“The dearest treasure in the world.”

We laughed; and then she wanted to see how my wedding dress was progressing, so I took her to the room where Jennie was working and we had a discussion about pleats and tucks and Honiton lace versus that of Brussels.

Helena was getting ready to leave. The day after the wedding we should set out, Rolf and I, for our honeymoon, Helena and Jonnie for her father’s London home. Rolf and I were to spend a few nights there before going to the coast.

Jonnie was almost walking now. He was just over a year old. He crawled along at great speed, then he would stand and after a few tottering steps sit down on the floor. There was no nanny. Helena had not wanted that. Most of the women in the house were only too glad to lend a hand looking after him if for any reason his mother or I could not.

I was going to miss Jonnie very much.

As my wedding day approached I began to grow apprehensive. It had seemed such a heaven-sent solution at first, for I knew that it would take me a long time to learn all that would be expected of the owner of Cador. Rolf was to teach me. He loved the place; he always had; and I needed someone to love me deeply. I wanted to be cherished. I had lost so much love. It was natural that I should turn to Rolf, the idol of my childhood who, knowing me so well, could understand the enormity of my loss. I often thought that if it had not been for that Midsummer’s Eve Rolf and I might well have been married long ago. Perhaps before I had gone to Australia. But that night could not be forgotten; and it was brought back more vividly one day about a week before the day fixed for the wedding.

Rolf was still fascinated by the old customs of Cornwall. In his library at the Manor he had collections of books about them. He liked to take me there and he would get quite carried away talking of them. I was reminded of those times when he had visited us with his father and how he had held us all spellbound.

On this occasion he was talking about old cures which the Cornish had believed in years ago.

“There were white witches who did good with their cures,” he was saying, “and there were the kind who practised the evil eye and put spells on people so that disaster followed. Just listen to some of the things they did.” He opened a book. “Look at this. Whooping cough cured by filling a bag full of spiders and tying it round the neck of the poor child who had to wear it night and day. Here’s another. For asthma. ‘Collect webs, roll them into a ball and swallow.’”

“Spiders seemed to have had a beneficial effect.”

“Styes on eyes treated by touching the eyes with a cat’s tail.”

“I believe they still do that.”

“I’ve no doubt. Some old letters were found in the attics at Bray’s place. Tom Bray showed them to me. They are amazing. I must get him to show them to you.”

We were standing at the bookshelves below which was a row of drawers. He pulled one out. “No,” he said, “not here.” Then he opened the next and I saw it. It was lying there and there was no mistaking it.

I stared at it.

“It’s that old habit,” he said. “I went to a ceremony once …”

“I remember hearing about it.”

“This is what we wore.”

“You showed it to me once before … long ago.”

“Oh yes, I did.” He had taken it out and slipped it on. I felt my heart racing. As he stood before me he slipped the hood over his head. His face was almost hidden.

“It’s horrible,” I cried.

He took it off and laughed at me.

“I must admit it is rather gruesome. I’ll tell you why. It is very like the sort the executioners used to wear in the Inquisition. In this I looked as if I might have stepped out of an
auto-da-fé
.”

“Yes,” I said. “And you wore it …”

“At that ceremony. I thought it was going a bit far to dress up like that. I never went again.”

He rolled up the habit and put it into a drawer.

“Why,” he said, “I believe I frightened you. You look quite shaken.”

He came to me and put his arms round me. “The time seems to drag,” he went on. “It seems as though our wedding day will never come.”

With his arm about me I felt better. It was true I had been shaken to see him in that robe. It had taken me right back to that fateful Midsummer’s Eve.

After that it kept intruding into my thoughts.

The day before the wedding, I rode alone in the woods. On impulse I went to the clearing by the river. The remains of the burned-out house were still there. Nothing had ever been done about it.

It was on our land and I remembered my father had gone to look at it one day and he had come back and said that another cottage should be built there. He had set one of the builders to investigate.

But no one was anxious to work there. A rumour went round that to do so would bring bad luck to anyone who had anything to do with it. The place was bewitched.

I remembered my father’s saying: “Better leave it till they’ve forgotten. They’ll be working up all sorts of superstitions about the place. God knows who would want to live there. These things magnify and they thrive on them. No. No one would want the cottage. We’d better leave it alone.”

A few years later he had made another attempt but he had met with all kinds of excuses.

After that nothing had happened.

I paused there, remembering. It all came back to me so clearly. The lighted thatch … the figure in the robe. Had he been the first one to throw the torch? I believed so. I remembered the cottage as it had been. Digory standing at the door with the cat; I could hear the final scream as the poor animal was consumed by the flames. I felt sick, physically and mentally. That people could do such things! They were savage, and yet by the next morning they had returned to their normal guises. One could never know the hidden depth of people’s characters nor how they would act when confronted with certain situations.

I wanted so much to forget that night, but I could not. It had stamped itself indelibly on my mind.

The wind sighed mournfully through the trees; I felt cold though the sun was hot. Memories of those faces in the light of the torches kept coming back to me. The hooded figure which I had believed concealed someone I knew.