The Land of Summer (34 page)

She brushed her hair one last time, and then, mindful of nothing but the peace of the house she now found herself in, the sound of the sea almost inaudible in the distance of the night now the tide was running out, and the gentle zephyr that carried on its breath the salty tang of the ocean, she slid down beneath the warm, fresh linen sheets, even as Agnes blew out the candle beside her sweetly smelling bed.

For a minute or two, as Emmaline lay in the darkness, she thought she had left behind all the anxieties of Park House, the concerns of the town, the disquiet of her mind. Then she suddenly sat up, remembering.

She had left her precious notebook behind. She leaned forward to light the candle beside her bed, and watched the dancing lights from the small bedroom fire making patterns on the ceiling. Why did it matter that she had left the notebook
behind
? The poems were copied. It mattered not a whit. Julius would be going away soon, he would not bother to look about the bedroom. Besides, Mrs Graham would have tidied the room, and she knew that it belonged in Emmaline’s desk. She would lock it in there, as always, and place the key in the spills vase by the chimneypiece. Emmaline blew out the candle once more, and settled herself to sleep, comforted by the memory of Mrs Graham’s meticulous habits, convinced that that was what she would do.

But Mrs Graham had done no such thing. Indeed, since it was the end of the year, Emmaline was hardly gone before the housekeeper began to help Cook to prepare for the many complications that Christmas always brought, not to mention finishing all her own small hand-made gifts in time to post them off to all her nephews and nieces.

In fact, as always with the departure of the mistress of the house, Emmaline’s absence gave the servants time to catch up on all those other tasks which they had not been able to accomplish in the aftermath of her illness, when their time had been taken up with the comings and goings of bringing and fetching trays, answering doctor’s calls, and other small duties that nevertheless accumulated in such a way as to leave other matters outstanding.

As for Emmaline, it was understandable that in all the confusions and tribulations, and the turmoil and disorder of the days preceding her
departure
, she had not noticed that she had dropped the notebook, that no one had picked it up. It was all very understandable, just as it was understandable that in the chaos of packing, of things put in and things put out, of suitcases opened and suitcases shut, no cleaning or dusting had taken place. Mrs Graham judged that the dust and the dirt coming from suitcases stored in attics should be given time to settle, just as the servants needed time to settle once the carriage had finally driven off with the invalid and her maid.

Besides, in her mind’s eye Emmaline had put away her notebook for the moment, as a pupil once term is over will put away her school books. Writing the poems had been a way of getting her through what had seemed to be the endless maze of her misery. Now that she seemed to have found her way out of that maze to a new country, in a new house, away from Julius and all the torment that lay between them, she never gave it another thought.

Emmaline’s departure from Park House brought a feeling of relief not just to her, but also to Julius, for it seemed to him that her illness had changed her character. It made him feel guilty to see her so pale and listless, to see how the servants looked at him with accusing eyes as if they blamed him for everything that had happened to her, for her unhappiness, as if they knew that the only happiness that had come into her married life had been
brought
by them. So with Emmaline no longer present, he fully expected a lifting of his spirits, a diminution of the guilt that washed over him in the presence of the object of his dishonourable behaviour.

After a solitary dinner that night he retired to his study, where Wilkinson, unprompted, brought him a large brandy and a cigar.

‘Ah, thank you, Wilkinson. Put them down there, would you?’

Wilkinson did as indicated, placing the glass and the ashtray at Julius’s elbow, and cutting the end of the cigar before holding a match for his master.

‘Is there anything more, sir?’

Julius looked up at him briefly. ‘I don’t think so, Wilkinson.’ He stared into the fire, sipping his brandy, and wondering that he could see nothing of interest in the shapes and sparks of the fire. When he was a little boy he had been able to see the universe.

There was a small silence.

‘So I take it that will be all, sir.’

‘Yes, yes, of course, Wilkinson, unless you can think of something?’

‘No, sir.’

Wilkinson made a small bow, and went to the door. As he reached it, Julius turned.

‘I don’t suppose they have the telephone in Cornwall yet, do they, Wilkinson?’

‘No, I believe they do not, sir. I am sure it will come in time, but Cornwall is rather far away, sir.’

‘Yes, it is indeed, another country,’ Julius agreed, wondering why he did not feel the expected relief that Emmaline and Agnes were there, far away, instead of upstairs doing whatever it was that women did when they were in their bedrooms with their maids all the livelong day. ‘So we should not expect to hear from Mrs Aubrey, except by post.’

‘No, sir.’ Wilkinson cleared his throat. He was only too glad for the poor young woman’s sake that she was away from Park House at last. ‘Will that be all, sir?’

‘Yes, Wilkinson, thank you. Thank you, Wilkinson. Dinner was excellent tonight, please tell Mrs Field.’

‘Thank you, sir. Cook will be gratified.’

Wilkinson closed the door. Cook would not only be gratified, she would be astonished. It was the first time for all too long, she had announced to no one in particular, that all the removes at dinner had not come back down again virtually untouched. Of course it was not true, but it was certainly true that Mrs Aubrey had only a light appetite, and what with Mr Aubrey being away, or in a bad mood, there was no doubt that the food had not been appreciated the way it should.

In his study Julius sighed, finished his drink, and threw his half-smoked cigar into the fire. It did not taste as it usually did, and it was not bringing him any kind of relief or relaxation. He poured himself another brandy, and started to drink it too fast, realising from the way the
windows
were rattling that the weather had turned. He put down his drink and, feeling claustrophobic and in need of fresh air, he went to the front door. Pushing it open, he stepped outside to see for himself how strongly the winter wind was blowing, and how the rain that had begun to fall had now turned to driven sleet, before shutting himself back in the house and wandering upstairs, where he eventually found himself standing outside Emmaline’s bedroom, staring at the door as if he expected her to be on the other side, or that she would suddenly open it to find him there smelling of brandy and cigars, his hair awry from being outside.

Afraid that for some unknown reason there might be a servant inside, he knocked on the door before he opened it. So strong was her presence about this part of the house, about the room where she slept, he half expected her to be sitting up in bed, her lustrous brown hair brushed out, outlining her always pale, sad and beautiful face, her hands folded in front of her on her sheets, her eyes holding his as he stood at the door – but the bed was empty, although untidy from the packing and the chaos of departure, a shawl still hanging casually from the bedpost, a hat box on the floor beside it, obviously abandoned at the last minute.

Candlestick in hand, Julius looked round. It was a gloomy room at the best of times, made gloomier by his father’s refusal to bring either gas or electricity to the upstairs rooms, but somehow
her
character had coloured and inhabited it, her things set about it as if in defiance of the heavy furniture, the dark red curtains, the endless coverings of chimneypieces and tables that his father and his generation so favoured. Julius wanted to rip everything in the room out and start all over again, make it as she would have surely chosen, light and elegant, with delicate feminine touches.

He sat down on the bed and draped the shawl around his hands, staring down at it. It was filled with her scent, one she used sparingly but which he now realised had a hint of sophistication in it, as if in Emmaline’s choice of fragrance there was another hidden part of her character that he had never noted, or wanted to note.

He pulled off his shoes and lay back against the pillows on the bed, closing his eyes, the shawl close to his face, and before long it seemed to him he was drifting on a sensual barge, a place where life in its proper sense could not reach him, where there were no anxieties, only relief.

He must have slept for quite some time, because he awoke with a start, feeling ice-cold. He sat upright, startled. Too much brandy! He swung his feet to the floor and started to scrabble about for his shoes, and as he did so his hand caught at something half hidden under the bed. He stopped, and bent down. It was a notebook. He picked it up from the floor and placed it on the bed, and having slipped his shoes on he stood up
and
prepared to leave the room, notebook, shawl, and hat box left as they were.

But something drew him back to the notebook, as if he knew that, unlike the rest of the contents of the room, the notebook was something that would normally be forbidden to him.

He opened the book and saw Emmaline’s handwriting. He stared at the writing, admiring its generous elegant form, looking only at the words and their formation, so that it was some time before he realised he was reading poetry, but what he read was like a blow to his chest, so full of pain and longing were the verses. He sat down on the bed again, and read on, and when he had finished he closed the book, put it on the bed, and covered his face with his hands.

When Emmaline awoke the following morning to nothing but the sound of the sea and the mewling of the gulls she wondered for a moment where she was. Soon she rose from her bed, put on her gown and crossed to the window in her bedroom. Pulling the curtains back she saw a sight that made her catch her breath. It was a perfectly cloudless day with the sun well risen and shining on a flat calm sea, a stretch of water no more than a couple of hundred yards away, down the slope of the fields in front of the house and across a stretch of golden sand. So calm and fine was the day it seemed to Emmaline it could have been spring rather than late December; and although the sun was winter pale it still had
strength
enough to make the water of the Atlantic Ocean glint and shimmer as low-crested waves lapped the beach.

Emmaline stood entranced, imagining she could spend the rest of her days in such a beautiful place, a house set in meadows back from the shore, in a bay of tranquil beauty and form, with high forelands at either end affording protection from the worst the wind could do, enfolding this particular stretch of beach as if to make it a private heaven.

Nor was there a soul in sight, the only sign of life being a fishing boat making its slow progress out to deeper waters as it set off on its day’s work.

Mrs Carew greeted Emmaline at the foot of the stairs as she descended. ‘I done the liberty of setting your breakfast in that room to the side of the main kitchen which has a fine view of the strand, so I’s a thought it fine for you if you took your meal there, madam. Sun shines direct in as well, being a southern aspect, and lord let’s say it, ’tis like a spring day now, is it not?’

The ample Mrs Carew led the way along the polished wood-floored corridor through a large wooden door fitted with shining brass furniture into the kitchen area where off to the right, just as described, was set a breakfast room, with a large oak table big enough to seat eight people placed under a large window with a direct prospect of the sea. The kitchen itself was immaculate, with a polished iron range with gleaming brass
fixtures
, rows of shining copper pans on shelves and lines of plain white china jars with their contents labelled in blue lettering. The floor was flagstones and all the working tops had been made from slate, with two large ceramic sinks set immediately under another large picture window also affording a sea view to whoever was washing up or preparing food at that station. Emmaline was deeply impressed by the beauty and order of the kitchen, something for which she had longed at Park House, but at Park House she was rarely allowed downstairs, that being Mrs Graham and Mrs Field’s preserve.

‘’Twas all the late Mr Aubrey’s doing, madam,’ Mrs Carew said. ‘Afore my time, course, since I only been here the ten years now. Mr Aubrey made the whole place, d’you see – from basement to rooftop. Drew it all out of his head, thought up every fitting and every gadget you see here. He loved coming here, so he did, him and Mrs Watson. She was a lovely soul and beautiful too. Summertime they’d sit out there on the terrace, Mr Aubrey with his paints or his sketching book, and Mrs Watson in some booful gown made of what look like goss’mer – and this big straw hat she’d sometime have to hold one-handed on her head in the wind, see. There’s a big painting of that in the drawing room, madam. You can see it after you’ve had a good breakfast, and a good breakfast is what I’m to make for you, ’cos I unnerstand you need to build up your stren’th.’

‘Where’s Agnes, Mrs Carew?’ Emmaline asked
as
she settled down at the table in the sunshine. ‘Do you know where my maid is?’

‘Your girl’s out a-walkin’, madam,’ Mrs Carew replied, nodding her head seawards. ‘She’s had her breakfast and said she just had to go down and see the sea. There she be now.’

Sure enough, down on the beach Emmaline could see the diminutive figure of Agnes, sauntering along at the very edge of the shore, with the ocean lapping over her feet. She wondered what it was like for Agnes, this first sight of the sea, her first experience of being at the edge of such vastness, of a seeming eternity of water that disappeared over the horizon on its way to cover two-thirds of the earth’s surface. Every time she saw the sea Emmaline felt as if she had never seen it before, unable to understand how such an endless, immeasurable amount of water simply did not rise up out of control, particularly when whipped by fierce gales, and flood the entire world, washing away all populations and burying them in fathomless graves at the bottom of what would then be one enormous, biblical ocean.