Witching Hour (8 page)

Second-best in Mrs Donleven's eyes while Polzion House was only

a mile away. She sees herself as the lady of the manor, she

thought, and what a fool I was not to see it coming.

'Well, what do you think?' Rob asked her eagerly, and she turned a

rather blank look at him.

'About what?'

'About the possibility of our buying the house.'

She gave a defensive shrug. 'It isn't really any of my business,' she

parried. 'Any discussions would have to be with the new owner

and his solicitors.'

'Well, I know that, of course.' There was a dawning puzzlement in

Rob's eyes as he studied her. 'But how would you feel about it,

Morgana? That's important too. And it would be a solution,

wouldn't it?'

A solution to what? she asked herself stupidly. All she could see

were more problems, proliferating like weeds, and judging by the

fleeting expressions of alarm she had noticed on the faces of both

Mrs Donleven and Elaine, she guessed that although they might

covet Polzion House, the prospect of her permanent company

there, presumably as Rob's wife, had as little appeal for them as for

her.

She sought to temporise. 'I don't really know what to say. It's all

been rather a shock.'

'Of course it has,' Mr Donleven interrupted soothingly. 'We

shouldn't have mentioned it. This is neither the time nor the place.'

He gave his wife a warning glance, then determinedly changed the

subject, leaving Morgana to pursue her reeling thoughts.

Polzion House was like a carcase with the vultures clustering

round it, she told herself almost hysterically. Suddenly she couldn't

wait to get away. Mr Donleven, .she knew, was a wealthy man,

and could undoubtedly afford to pay any inflated price that Lyall

Pentreath might place on the property. But the idea of Mrs

Donleven and Elaine in particular queening it there was oddly

abhorrent. And Rob must be mad to think she would ever seriously

contemplate sharing her old home with his mother and his sister,

she thought confusedly.

Even if they all thought the world of each other, it would be a

difficult situation. As it was, it would be impossible.

At that moment, the waitress came to tell them their table was

prepared. Morgana could not say that she particularly enjoyed the

meal that followed, but Mr Donleven did his best to lighten the

atmosphere with some amusing anecdotes of personalities in the

City with whom he' was in almost daily contact, and which to

Morgana were merely names in the newspaper, or faces on

television. She found his accounts of board-room coups and

averted take-overs less than fascinating, but she appreciated his

attempts to keep the conversation away from more personal issues.

She was quiet as they drove back to the house later, and she

deliberately evaded all Rob's hints that she should invite him in for

coffee or a nightcap. As she passed through the hall, she noticed

that the lights were still on in the drawing room and could hear the

murmur of voices beyond the closed door. She sighed noiselessly.

She had hoped her mother would be alone, so she could tell her

about this new and unexpected development. As it was, she felt

she would rather go up to her room without a word to anyone. She

certainly couldn't face a room full of guests, or cope with the sort

of speculation that Lyall Pentreath's visit would have aroused.

She went up the stairs as silently as a ghost, her feet floating over

the familiar treads. The gallery was full of shadows, but they had

never troubled her enough to prompt her to switch on the light, and

they did not do so now. From the shadows, the eyes of the dead

Pentreaths watched her.

And what will happen to you when the Donlevens take over? she

thought. They were only family portraits, after all, and she doubted

whether they had any real value. There were certainly no

Gainsboroughs or Reynolds concealed among them to arouse the

interest of their new owner, so eventually they would find

themselves dismissed to a saleroom or an attic, she decided

despondently. It was too much to hope for that she could find a

home for them, as well as for herself and her mother.

Tomorrow, she supposed, it would have to begin—the hunt for a

job. There was residential work, she knew. She'd seen the

advertisements many times in a national magazine. If her mother

could obtain a post as a housekeeper, she herself would be more

than willing to work as a maid, if it meant they could stay together.

Housework, after all, was something she was well used to, and she

had never found it a great hardship.

She went slowly into her bedroom and stood looking round her, at

the familiar shape of the walls and window, the outlines of the

furniture, breathing the hint of her own scent in the air. Her own—

and something else as well. The dark, bitter smell of stale tobacco

smoke.

Her mouth tightened in fury. She might have known that the room

would still harbour the essence of him. He'd left his mark on it, in

the same way as he had on her.

She marched over to the window and yanked it open, allowing the

night wind to billow in. The cold stream of air made her shiver,

and long after, hours later as she lay in the darkness, the window

safely closed again, the coldness was still there deep inside her.

Morgana was sitting at the bureau in the drawing room, trying to

put the papers there in some kind of order, when she heard the

sound of the car the following morning. Momentarily she

stiffened, knowing who it must be, but she made herself go on

with her task. There had been a letter from Mr Trevick that

morning, asking her to supply him with all the unpaid bills to date,

and it was something she was anxious to get out of the way as

soon as possible. The next unpleasant job, she thought, grimacing,

would be to go through the rest of the things in the bureau with her

mother and decide what should be kept and what should be thrown

away. As it was, there were letters, receipts, old address books,

diaries and even ancient Christmas and birthday cards all jumbled

together in glorious confusion.

The small room off the hall which they had used as an office was

rather more presentable, but then she and her mother had kept the

accounts between them, and Martin Pentreath had rarely been in

there, except when he couldn't find something, so there had been

little opportunity for him to spread his own particular brand of

chaos there.

When the imperative sound of the front door bell shrilled through

the house, she made no attempt to go and answer it, and presently

she heard Elsa go grumbling past.

I wonder he didn't just open the door and walk in, she thought. Her

mother, she knew, was in the office at this moment, rather

nervously assembling all the keys she could find. Morgana had no

idea what she intended to do with them—arrange a little handing-

over ceremony, presumably.

She was frankly amazed when Elaine's voice said from the

doorway, 'Working hard as always, sweetie?'

Morgana swung round on her chair, her expression mirroring her

utter bewilderment, as Elaine advanced into the room, smiling. She

looked amazingly chic in a moss green velvet suit, with dark green

suede boots, and she was carrying a large bunch of roses.

'Is someone ill?' Morgana asked drily, and a tinge of colour came

into Elaine's cheeks.

'Mummy thought your mother might like to have them,' she said

hurriedly. 'They're about the last we shall have this season. I loathe

the winter, don't you?'

'Not particularly.' Morgana rose from her chair. 'Thank you,

Elaine. It was a kind thought on your mother's part,' she added

with a trace of irony, knowing perfectly well the real motive for

Elaine's unexpected visit. 'Would you like some coffee?'

'I'd adore some.' Elaine sank down on the sofa. 'That is if you're

not too busy.'

'Not at all,' Morgana returned. 'It's almost time to make some for

the guests, anyway,' she added over her shoulder as she went to the

door.

In the kitchen, Elsa was already setting the tray with a face like

thunder.

'What's Lady Fan Tod come visiting for, I'd like to know?' she

demanded truculently.

'To bring Mummy some flowers.' Morgana laid the roses down on

the kitchen table. 'Can you put them in water, Elsa, until I've got

time to deal with them properly. They're very lovely—far better

than anything our garden's managed to produce this year.'

Elsa snorted. 'Her and her blamed roses! She thinks she's the

Queen of Hearts, that one, but there's darkness underneath, maid,

you mark my words'.

When Morgana returned to the drawing room with the coffee,

Elaine was on her feet, examining one of the china ornaments on

the mantelpiece.

'Doing an inventory?' Morgana wanted to ask, but out of

consideration for Robert she remained silent.

'Well, this is very nice,' said Elaine with patent insincerity, re-

seating herself on the sofa, and smoothing a non-existent wrinkle

out of her velvet skirt. 'I do hope I haven't called at a bad time. I

know how—awkward things must be, just now.'

'It's very kind of you to spare us the time.' Morgana decided to

outdo the other girl in insincerity. 'You're always so busy at the

riding school.'

'Usually, yes,' Elaine allowed. 'But things are a little quiet just at

the moment, and there's certainly nothing that Rob can't handle on

his own,' she added with a touch of complacence.

'Yes, he's extremely capable,' Morgana agreed, pouring a cup of

coffee and offering it to Elaine.

There was silence for a moment, then Elaine said, 'And what's

going to happen to the incredible Elsa when you leave here? She's

always been so devoted to your family, hasn't she?'

'A cook as good as Elsa won't have the slightest difficulty in

getting another job,' Morgana returned steadily.

'You think she couldn't be persuaded to stay under a new regime?'

Elaine sipped her coffee with evident appreciation.

Morgana lifted a shoulder. 'I haven't the slightest idea,' she said

shortly. 'She's very much her own woman. You'd better ask her.'

'My dear, I wouldn't presume to do anything of the sort! She

absolutely terrifies me,' Elaine laughed. 'Besides, it's early days yet

for that sort of consideration. Particularly when none of us have

any idea what plans your cousin may have. Has he tasted Elsa's

cooking yet, by the way?'

'No, but we expect him here for lunch,' said Morgana with faint

amusement, recognising how she had been manoeuvred into giving

Elaine the information she wanted, and wondering at the same

time what excuse the other girl would have, for hanging about for

another hour or more at Polzion House.

'Then he has a treat in store.' Elaine gave a brilliant smile.

Looking back, Morgana could only recall one occasion when

Elaine had a meal at Polzion House. It was when she had first

started going out with Rob, and he'd had some idealistic hope

about the two girls becoming friends—a hope that had been

doomed from the outset, Morgana thought, remembering Elaine's

patronising air as she had studied both her surroundings and her

companions.

The door opened and Elizabeth Pentreath came in. 'Why, Miss

Donleven!'

She sounded so taken aback that Morgana had to stifle a grin. Out

of consideration for her mother, who she felt had quite enough to

worry her at the moment, she hadn't mentioned the conversation

over dinner of the previous evening. Now she surreptitiously

crossed her fingers that Elaine wouldn't refer to it either.

'Elaine has brought us the last of the roses from the Home Farm,'

she announced, 'They're really beautiful.'

'What a kind thought,' her mother said politely. 'I always did envy

the Home Farm its little rose garden—so sheltered in that hollow.

Oh, is that coffee? How very nice.'

Morgana poured another cup and handed it to her mother, who had

seated herself on the sofa. Elizabeth Pentreath gave her a frankly

hunted look, 'Have—have there been any messages, dear?'

'Not so far.' Morgana tried to give her a reassuring smile.