The Landower Legacy (61 page)

The sun shone brilliantly—just as it had on that other day. Royal weather, they called it. The little old lady in her carriage did not look much different. There was a feeling of tremendous excitement in the air just as there had been that other time. On the previous day I had driven through the city and seen some of the triumphal arches, the decorations and in the evening the gas jets had been lighted and there were even some of the new electric light bulbs which were coming into use.

“Our Hearts Thy Throne,” said one inscription. “Sixty Glorious Years,” said another; and yet another, “She Wrought Her People Lasting Good.”

And as the procession passed along, it was not so much the magnificent uniforms and all the brilliance of the royal gathering of princes and notables from all over the world that I saw. It was the passing cavalcade of the last ten years during which I had ceased to be an
innocent young girl and had become a mature woman. It was not the bands and the martial music that I heard but voices from the past.

I could cast my mind back to the day when I had sat with my mother, Olivia and Captain Carmichael and watched that other Jubilee. It was then that life had taken its dramatic turn and I had a strange feeling that I had lived through the turbulent years to come not only to happiness but to a greater understanding.

I was no longer hasty in my judgements. I saw what happened through different eyes. I was mellow. I did not judge harshly now. I had learned to accept the frailties of human nature and to understand that people are not divided into the good and the evil.

My mother, pleasure-loving butterfly, yet brought happiness to her Alphonse, for the marriage had been a great success. She was content and she made those around her content. I had despised Robert Tressidor as a hypocrite with his outward show of virtue and his secret prurience. But perhaps I had judged him harshly. I was sure he had wished to be a pillar of virtue. He had had to fight his human sensuality and he could not resist the temptation to indulge it; and when he was discovered, he fought desperately to cover it and doubtless the strain had something to do with his early death. And Jeremy, the fortune hunter? Had he been born rich he might not have been forced into mercenary calculation. He had charm, good looks; if he had not had that urgent need to find a means of living in luxury he might have been quite a worthy young man. And Paul, my Paul, who sat beside me now, what a temptation he had faced when it was incumbent on him to save Landower. I had bitterly criticised him for marrying to save the house for the family, but I now saw how easy it had been for the most honourable of men to succumb to that need.

In my youthful innocence I had endowed those I admired with godlike qualities. But they were not gods. They were men.

I came across some lines of Browning’s the other day and I shall always remember them.

“Men are not angels; neither are they brutes; Something we may see, all we cannot see.”

I wish I had understood that earlier, for to understand the motives of others is surely the greatest gift one can have—and to understand is not to judge and to blame.

I think often of Gwennie … Gwennie who wanted to be happy, and did not know how to. She wanted to bargain all the time; she could
not understand that money could buy her a great mansion but it could not buy love. Poor Gwennie, if only she had known that one must give willingly and without thought of recompense, and only then does one reap the rewards of love.

I am sermonizing to myself, but I know I should be grateful for having lived through such experiences which have taught me so much.

I often think of Gwennie, whose insatiable curiosity brought her to her death. “Curiosity killed the cat.” I remembered her saying that. Curiosity killed Gwennie. They found her body in the mine shaft, just as Jamie had said. The story came out at the inquest. She had discovered the truth which he had been trying to hide. The great task of Jamie’s life was to keep up the myth that Donald and Jamie were not the same person. There were two sides to his nature. He saw himself as two people in one body. There was Jamie, the gentle lover of animals, the man who wanted to live at peace with his neighbours; but there was Donald who could be swayed by uncontrollable urges to destroy; and the two natures had warred together in Jamie’s childhood; and Donald James McGill, unable to live with the murderous instincts which came over him at times, had come to terms with life by dividing himself into two personalities. While he could live as Jamie he was safe. But Donald came back when Gwennie threatened to betray him.

He was judged clearly insane and was “detained during Her Majesty’s pleasure.” I was relieved that he passed into good hands. One of the greatest doctors who specialized in mental disorders was interested in his case which he called one of split personality. He arranged for Jamie to go to a special institution of which he himself was in charge. I went to see Jamie now and then. He worked in the gardens. He had his hives. I think that he often believed they were his bees and he was able to forget what had happened and imagined himself back at the lodge.

Soon after the discovery of the body I came to London to be with Jago and Rosie. I brought Livia and Julian with me—and Nanny Loman, Miss Bell and Julian’s nanny, of course. Julian was so fond of Livia and as he was of an age to take note of what was happening around him, we thought it best for him to be away from home.

Rosie was wonderful to be with—so sane, and so was Jago. I was amazed really at the success of their relationship. They were really devoted to each other and theirs was fast becoming known internationally as one of the great fashion houses of the world.

I brought my attention back to the procession. Julian was pointing something out to Livia. The friendship between those two was a great
delight to me. I thought: Perhaps one day they will marry. Who could say? Tressidor would go to Livia. I had made up my mind on that. Great houses should remain in families. I was not a Tressidor, but Livia was, and Tressidor should go back to Tressidor.

I knew that Paul would make Julian his heir no matter what children we should have. Julian was half Arkwright and it must not be forgotten that it was the Arkwrights who had saved Landower from destruction.

Why was I thinking all this as I sat there looking down on the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee from this elaborate bow window of Rosie’s and Jago’s grand establishment?

Paul was looking at me quizzically. I think he read my thoughts. His hand closed over mine and I knew he shared my view that we should put behind us all the hazards through which we had passed but which had brought us to this happy state—and rejoice and be thankful.