Portrait of a Girl (7 page)

During
the first few days following my jaunt to Kerrysmoor I hoped desperately for a sight of Rupert, wondering if he would make a call at the cottage. But he did not. I made excuses to myself for his absence. He had matters on the estate to attend to — duty calls to make on families working at the Verne coppermine still active, Wheal Glory, or perhaps his wife was making extra demands on his attention.

Somehow,
though, no contrived explanations rang true. If he’d really wanted to see me surely he could have found a means to do so. There were several horses in the stables, and her ladyship could not have kept watch on him all the time. In any case he wasn’t a weakling to be ordered about by any woman. No. Search as I would I could find no plausible reason for his apparent neglect unless it was that on thinking things over he’d decided any relationship or commitment to me would be completely impracticable and therefore to be avoided at any cost.

As
usual, whenever I became too elated or distressed over any situation, my capacity to keep imagination under controlled suffered. I was so frustrated and tormented by longing, I took every opportunity during that short period, of slipping out of the house and taking short wanders in my thickest cloak, about the countryside, and it was in such a mood that I made my way one evening round the forbidden track curving to the left and upwards towards the wild slope of Rosecarrion, leaving Dame Jenny sleeping in her rocking chair over her needlework.

Twilight
would soon fall, but when I set off, except for a thin veil of rising mist hugging the high ridge, everything was comparatively clear. The area held a brooding atmosphere of primeval menace, as though something of ancient history still lingered as guardian of the past. A narrow path wound intricately between furze and great boulders entangled by bramble and spiky gorse. In spite of my boots I kept my eyes alert for any snake-like shape slithering from a stone or root of stunted tree. Although the air was so still, hidden life seemed everywhere. I was fascinated — a little keyed-up and on edge, but through curiousity impelled to go on.

Not
realising I had climbed quite so far, I paused a quarter of the way up the hill, and searched the land in every direction. Daylight had almost faded leaving a queer greenish glow behind the misted summit. It was when I turned to the west that I saw with surprise the ribbon of lane below cutting abruptly inwards above and around a gully filled by a gently lapping tide. I hadn’t known how near the coast the path had led me. At times in rough weather the locality would be dangerous — a fall over the high cliffs only too easy for the unwary. Was that why Rupert had forbidden me to go that way?

For
some moments I stood motionless watching, and as a frail belt of cloud lifted there was movement where the slope of land met sky; a man’s shape emerged from the tumbled ruins of what could once have been the relics of a cottage or old mine workings, and made his way round a further bend away from me, until he was lost to sight. His figure had been humped at a curious angle, and I wondered if he’d been carrying something; a poacher perhaps?

If
I’d not been away from Tregonnis for so long or afraid that Dame Jenny might already be angrily waiting for me I’d have cut round to the right to find out where the path led. There were so many bewildering tracks winding from the point where I was standing. One leading directly down towards the creek was wider and appeared to have been well-trodden recently. It was all very bewildering; a torn piece of material — probably from a neckscarf or kerchief hung on a jagged briar nearby. So
someone
had walked or ridden that area not long ago. Tinkers, or gypsies?

I
was still ruminating when a bird rose screeching from behind a boulder on my left. I turned my head, then glanced upwards at the dark winged shape soaring to the sky. At that very moment a shaft of light zig-zagged down the hill, through the quickly fading half light, wavered, and circled round the moor, missing my form by only a few feet.

Just
as suddenly as it had appeared, the light swung upwards and disappeared, but not before my startled eyes had recognised in a brief lifting of cloud, the stark shapes of the Three Maidens outlined for an instance on the horizon. Even seen at a different angle from my first glimpse of them, the gaunt stones held the same quality of menace and impending doom. Drawing my cloak close I turned quickly and made my way towards the valley. Unfortunately I chose the wrong path and had to make a detour guided only by the distant outline of the mine, Wheal Glory, against the moor.

By
the time I reached the cottage it was quite dark. The old lady was standing at the gate huddled into her shawl with a lantern in one hand.

‘
You’ve had me frightened,’ she exclaimed, almost in a high-pitched scream. ‘Where’ve ’ee been? The Master called earlier, soon after thee’d gone out. There came a rap on th’ door. I was dozin’ and it set my heart all of a flutter. But that wasn’t the point. The point was you should say when you’re taking off for a stroll, and tell me where. He didn’t like it when I couldn’t say, and rode off very put out—’ She broke off breathlessly.

‘
I’m sorry,’ I said lamely, and I was. Not only on account of Dame Jenny’s distress, but because I’d missed Rupert.

I
wondered what he wanted me for.

The
next day I knew.

He
’d heard from Signor Luigi that he was returning earlier than expected from Italy, having learned of an opportunity to launch me as Lucy Lockett in John Gay’s
Beggars’
Opera
scheduled to open at an Exeter theatre in three weeks’ time. The actress Linda Dewhurst who had rehearsed for the role had been suddenly taken ill which had left the part open for anyone with the looks, and capacity to learn quickly, who also possessed the necessary vocal qualities and acting ability. There was no understudy, owing to the young lady having been dismissed two days previously through a serious quarrel with the manager.

Hence
my chance.

All
this was explained to me the next morning by Rupert seated opposite to me in the front parlour of Tregonnis. ‘You’re very lucky,’ he said. ‘If Signor Luigi had not been an intimate friend of Frederick Allen and able to contact him so quickly some other actress might have been found. As it is—’ He smiled and for a few seconds the years fell away. His whole face changed, became younger, warm with pride, affection, and ambition for me. Then he continued more seriously, ‘Aren’t you pleased? Surely it’s what you wanted — to appear on a real stage before an audience fully qualified to appreciate your voice and — you?’

In
a whirl of conflicting emotions — delight, excitement, mingled with doubt, apprehension and awe, I answered, ‘Oh, yes. Of course. But—’ I swallowed painfully ‘— my voice isn’t properly trained yet. After my last lesson Signor Luigi told me I bellowed like a barmaid, and moved like a — like a horse or something.’ I shook my head ‘I don’t think I’d be right for this — this Lucy person
really
.’

‘
You
may not think so,’ I heard Rupert remarking, quite unperturbed, ‘but I’ve complete faith in my friend’s judgement. If he’s willing to back you I’m sure I am. As for his criticism—’ he shrugged, displaying the palms of both hands in a dismissive gesture ‘— Luigi wouldn’t waste one breath on you if he didn’t recognise your talent. He can be more than forthright — even offensive to some when he feels like it — but only when he considered the material is worthwhile. It’s his way of getting the best out of a pupil.’

‘
A rather odd way,’ I remarked pertly. ‘Not usual, surely?’

‘
But then neither are you.’

He
got up, came towards me, and drew me to my feet. I was wearing a violet-coloured daydress I remember, made by my own hand with the help of the old lady, from a piece of material Pierre had brought me on his last visit to Falmouth, and which I’d kept hoarded away in my small chest with a few other treasures. It had a white lace collar and cuffs, and fell in soft folds, drawn gently to the back from a nipped-in waist. Dame Jenny had told me when I came downstairs that day that it was too elegant for normal use. I had agreed with her and promised to change as soon as possible into something more suitable.

I
was pleased now that I hadn’t. Those passionate enigmatic eyes of the man who so desperately fascinated me, were for once alight in obvious fiery admiration. His hands released mine suddenly, and were on my shoulders.

Automatically
I raised my head. A few curls fell from their combs and brushed my neck softly.

‘
You’re very — beautiful, Josephine,’ he said in low, slightly husky tones. ‘And your eyes — you’re a subtle creature to wear blue—’

‘
Violet,’ I corrected him.

‘
Violet, then. Dammit what does it matter? You know well enough how lovely you are—’

Through
my wild excitement a thought struck me. On impulse I spoke. ‘Am I? Am I
really
? As lovely as — as that girl in the painting? The one hanging in the treasure room?’

I
shouldn’t have said it. It was a grave mistake, and in a moment I knew. He drew away from me abruptly. His gaze was hard when he faced me again. Dull with disappointment, because I’d known he’d been about to kiss me, furious with myself for the stupid blunder, I heard him remark in remote tones, ‘Comparisons are odious. If I pay a compliment it should be taken for that and no more. I’m afraid you have still a few things to learn about tact and etiquette.’

‘
Of course I have,’ I said hotly. ‘I’m not gently bred like your lady wife, and—’

‘
Leave my wife out of it, if you please,’ he said curtly, ‘and curb that wild temper of yours. Do you understand?’

‘
Certainly,’ I retorted, feeling the warm blood rush to my cheeks. ‘In future I’ll curtsey to you when you address me, if you choose, and remember to say “sir” on every occasion we speak.’

His
mood suddenly changed. He laughed. ‘You’ll make an admirable Lucy Lockett, I’m sure. So enough of your moods, Miss Lebrun. On Thursday you’ll be driven to Truro. I shall accompany you, and we’ll see what arrangement Signor Luigi intends to make regarding the performance.’

‘
He may not think I’m good enough when he hears me singing again,’ I pointed out, ‘and if I move like a horse—’

‘
You won’t,’ he stated firmly. ‘You’ll be your natural graceful self with your voice and fiery tongue under equal control.’

‘
And if I don’t wish to appear at Exeter?’ I persisted stubbornly.

He
paused before saying significantly, ‘I think you will, because
I
wish it.’

And
in that he was right.

The
interview ended shortly after arrangements for the following Thursday had been concluded. At the door Rupert took my hand briefly and raised it to his lips — a polite gentlemanly gesture of farewell, no more. It was as though he was determined to erase any former show of sentiment, subduing passion under a mask of wellbred formality. I waited hopefully for his eyes once more to rest on mine, but they did not.

Dame
Jenny appeared in the hall, holding out his stove hat and cane. He took them murmuring a quiet thank you. The last I saw of him that day was his taped figure walking smartly down the path to the lane where the chaise waited.

Seconds
later he had gone.

Chapter Four

On the evening before my visit to Signor Luigi, I received a note from Rupert delivered by a Kerrysmoor servant, saying that he would not after all be able to accompany me to Truro owing to an unexpected matter of business arising. He apologised, but sent his best wishes, adding that he was sure everything would go well, that ‘the maestro’ would confirm my suitability to play the role of Lucy, and that when next we met I should have good news for him. The brief epistle ended on a formal note — ‘Yours with every encouragement, Rupert Verne.’

I
stared blankly at the sheet for some moments, heavy with disappointment. What possible business could he have, I thought unreasonably, that should have to be dealt with just at the time I was depending on him for support? And why couldn’t he have fixed whatever it was at another hour or day? I’d looked forward so much to sitting beside him in the chaise with no one to disturb our proximity, imagined the touch of his hand on mine, savoured in advance the exciting closeness of his body, the pressure of an arm as the coach jolted or lurched over a rough piece of roadway.

The
warmth of his breath would mingle with mine — his lips brush my cheek; and when in delight and confusion I looked up into those strange golden eyes they would be hot with desire, and I would be close against him, my whole body alight with flowering love. However short the contact, he’d recognise the futility of denial. What happened in the future would be of his choice, which I would abide by, because he was the man, and considerably older than I. I was in no position to make plans. All I could do was to submit, given the chance.

The
chance?

But
apparently either other things came first, or he was not prepared to endanger one iota of his status and good name in society.

Utterly
depressed I tore the piece of paper into shreds and threw them into the parlour fire, watching them gradually curl, blaze, then disintegrate into smoke.

After
a time I forced myself to a more philosophical mood. Whether I was successful or not in persuading Signor Luigi that I was sufficiently competent for the role in
The
Beggar’s
Opera
I was bound to come face to face with Rupert on some future occasion. So the important thing was to be a success, and make him proud of me.

Before
retiring that evening I tried out my voice in my bedroom, choosing a song that had been one of my mother’s favourites. There was no hoarseness or flaw in my vocal chords, no quiver of hesitancy or lack of control. I stood at the window giving full range to any talent I possessed, singing — singing — and realising at the same time how much I had learned under the strict tuition of the fierce little Italian.

When
it was over I waited motionless for a short time, with my eyes fixed on the moonlit landscape. The window faced from the side of Tregonnis, overlooking Rosecarrion and part of the area where I’d wandered before Christmas. There was a wind, and the scene was one of purple and blue shadows lit by fleeting splashes of gold. The Three Maidens were nowhere in view, being cut off to the left, but if I strained my head and gazed to the other side a glimmer of sea could be glimpsed in the far distance.

I
was staring in that direction when I saw something else — something not shadow or stunted tree waving in the wind — a crouched moving shape that I took at first to be that of some large animal on night prowl. Then as the form partly disintegrated, or rather split up, I realised it was a group. Small dots of figures took an upward course towards what I imagined must be the ruined building — cottage or mineworks — that I’d seen on my forbidden exploration weeks before.

In
the constantly changing vista of light and sudden shadow it was difficult to be sure or even guess what they were about. Poachers probably I told myself, as I had before, or could they be fishermen plodding to their homes after a hard day at sea? Perhaps the track provided a short cut to outlying cottages over the ridge of moor.

Whatever
the explanation, I had an uneasy feeling that something strange was going on, and determined to question Dame Jenny about it in the morning.

When
daylight came, however, I was far too busy and excited to bother. I had only a light breakfast, and at eight o’clock as arranged the chaise arrived to take me to Truro. I wore my best attire and most frivolous headgear, and had even applied a touch of rose lipsalve to my mouth, purloined wickedly in a hasty moment from a tiny jar that Dame Jenny had left carelessly on a mantelshelf. My cheeks were already over-bright from excitement and for this I used a film of rice powder. The result gave me confidence and an elated sense of sophistication. There was a hint of suspicion in the old lady’s eyes as she bid me farewell, with affection, yet admonishment as well in her voice.

‘
Good luck, child,’ she said, ‘and remember to be modest and careful how ye do address the great music-man. Talent you must have, or the master wouldn’ be doin’ all this for thee. But good manners count always, remember that.’

I
glanced back, smiling at her over my shoulder. ‘I’ll do my best,’ I said, and meant it.

The
day was fine, and pale winter sunlight spread its gold over the city, and all around giving added enchantment to the occasion which wasn’t however entirely without trepidation on my part. But I needn’t have worried.

Signor
Luigi instead of appearing fierce and over-critical that day as he usually was, acted in an entirely different manner, being quite flattering and warm in encouragement following my tryout of Lucy Lockett’s first ditty in the opera.

‘
That is good,’ he said. ‘There are points here and there needing strict attention, and you still have much to study of stagecraft. We have three weeks of intensive training before us, during which, in your spare time you must learn —
learn
, until words come automatically without thought. I shall scold you maybe sometimes, perhaps very often, and you must expect my friend, the producer, will do more of it during the two days in Exeter before the opening performance. Well?’ He cocked his head sideways like an inquisitive robin, ‘do you wish to become Lucy Lockett for a time, Miss Josephine? And if so — can you promise solemnly to obey instructions without argument or show of your fiery temper? It is a great chance you have before you. Do not forget it.’

I
agreed with alacrity. ‘Oh yes — yes. If you think I’m good enough, of
course
—’ I cried.

‘
I do not think you are yet good,’ he told me with a whimsical smile. ‘But you have grace and talent. See that you apply both to the best of your ability and I’m sure no one will have cause to complain.’

So
it was that I returned to Tregonnis that evening able to tell Dame Jenny of my success, wishing at the same time that Rupert was there to hear the news.

During
the following weeks most of my time was spent in Truro. It was a period of conflicting moods — of expectancy, exhilaration, optimism and disappointments combined with physical exertion that left me too tired at the end of each day to brood on other matters. Luigi, anxious that I should not over-strain my voice, included hours of concentrated dramatic tuition that occasionally so irritated and frustrated me, I could have screamed. However, I miraculously managed to keep any nervous reaction under control — outwardly, though Dame Jenny commented frequently that I was touchy and on edge at Tregonnis.

‘
I must say you do speak over-sharp to me these days,’ she commented once. ‘I hope when the master calls you’ll remember to be more polite.’

‘
I don’t think the master’s much interested in me or what I’m doing,’ I replied shortly, and I had really begun to believe this was true, since he’d looked in at the cottage only once during the first fortnight of rehearsing, and had then appeared remote and withdrawn as though he had other more important affairs on his mind.

‘
That’s a wicked thing to say,’ the old lady retorted irately, ‘’specially when he’s paying a little fortune to get you where you want to be.’

‘
I didn’t expect or ask him to launch me,’ I replied, ‘or for his money either. This
Beggar’s
Opera
business and the lessons with Signor Luigi were forced on me — in a way.’

‘
Nonsense.’ The one word came out explosively, like a pistol shot. ‘I do recall very well the day at Christmas when you flaunted yourself before his eyes with your shoulders bare, and that wicked gypsy look in your eyes. Oh you were all out to make an impression, girl, so no trying to pull the wool over my eyes.’

I
flushed, bit my lip, and was silent. It was true, I
had
wished Rupert to notice me, and contrived to make myself as spectacular as possible. And I had not entirely failed; the memory of his warm glances on me and the mutual interest between us — the understanding that had so fiercely flamed for those few revealing moments, returned painfully, stirring me with sudden longing.

When
I didn’t speak, Dame Jenny said in more conciliatory tones, ‘Now, now! There’s no need to be cast down. Just take heed of a bit of advice, that’s all, and remember what the master’ve told you; if what you said was true, get as much fresh air in your spare time to relax thee and keep the breath sweet in your lungs. I won’t be bothering asking so much where you’ve been so long as you’re back to time. “Don’t chain her too hard,” Mr Verne said the other afternoon when he was passing, “she’s a free spirit,” he said, “let her roam a bit, t’will do her no harm.”’

‘
I didn’t know he’d called, you didn’t tell me.’

‘
I don’t report on every small happening of the day, girl. ’Tisn’t my duty to do so. I’m only tellin’ thee now for your own encouragement. You were a bit later back from Truro than usual or you’d have seen him for thyself.’

I
recalled that on one occasion the signor had pressed me into staying at rehearsal for an extra half an hour to get my words better perfected. What a nuisance, I thought, that Rupert had chosen the very time to visit Tregonnis.

Still,
I was slightly uplifted by the knowledge he’d taken the trouble to call at all, and decided his advice to Dame Jenny was right. I needed fresh air and exercise.

It
was a fine afternoon. Clouds of the morning had cleared, leaving the countryside splashed with pale golden sunshine. Quite soon it would start to sink lower in the sky, sending long shadows snaking down the moors, but if I started immediately — it was only four o’clock — I would have almost an hour for an enjoyable stroll.

So
I set off wearing boots and a loose grey cloak to cover my gown, taking the lane round the base of Rosecarrion. I didn’t venture to climb the hill — the air was sweet enough in the valley, heady with the scents of early spring, and I had an urge to follow the roadway in the direction of the sea where the moor cut so sharply and surprisingly inwards to the gully. With my eyes averted from glancing upwards at the Three Maidens sloping slightly sideways at a peculiar angle, their menace for me had abated a little during the hectic period of intense rehearsals, and when a fleeting memory of them
had
occurred I’d told myself reasoningly that their unpleasant impact had only lingered because the rigid starkness of the ancient stones reminded me in a childish way of the rigid coldness of Rupert’s lady wife.

It
was pleasant walking. As I neared the gully — it was really a very narrow creek — the smell of brine mingled with that of heather, damp sweet earth, and all the other odours of thrusting young life and herbage. The narrow river on the opposite side of the lane had curved abruptly in another direction, away from the coast, but the gaunt cliffs loomed precipitously close to the road, and the shadowed cut in the lane appeared as though giants’ teeth had taken a savage bite leaving a cruel void of darkness and death for the unwary.

I
paused, held by the wild fascination of the scene. It was then that I glimpsed movement, and after a moment’s astonishment was able to distinguish close against the far side of the inlet a vessel at anchor. Details or name of the ship were impossible to discern. In the slowly fading light and shadows of overhanging cliffs boat and rocks were almost blended into one.

At
first I’d thought I could be mistaken, but I wasn’t. When I moved forward a human shape appeared on deck, followed by another. Their appearance was only brief. In a few seconds they’d disappeared — moved below. But my heart jerked. In that fleeting space of time something about the first figure had been curiously familiar — the build and way of moving in the taped coat — his bold erect stance and sudden manner of turning and striding away bore an uncanny resemblance to Rupert. I was puzzled; what could Rupert Verne be doing at such at hour aboard a strange vessel in such an unlikely, dangerous, and remote harbour?

I
managed presently to convince myself I’d been wrong, and had concocted unconsciously an image of the man who was always so deep in my mind. Even then doubts lingered. I waited a little longer wondering if the forms would return. But they did not. A single dot of light flickered for a moment then disappeared. All was dark. The sky, too, had quickly faded, merging the horizon of sea and land into one.