Death on the Lizard (6 page)

And don't forget the pixies and little people,
Beryl whispered in Kate's ear,
the gnomes and trolls and fairies who live in the trees and rocks and rivers and dance all night along the seacliffs. Oh, Kate,
she sighed ecstatically,
I'm so glad we've come!

As they reached the eastern edge of the moor, along the Helford River, the fields became greener and there were more woodlands. And then, following Patsy's directions, they drove up the long lane through the thousand-acre estate which had belonged to the Tyrrills, Jenna's father's family, since the time of King Henry VIII. The manor house stood at the end of the lane. It was built of the local gray granite and roofed with gray slate. It had a rectangular Georgian facade, regularly interrupted by tall leaded-glass windows which gave it a cloisterlike look.

Kate was somewhat surprised, for both she and Beryl had imagined Penhallow as a grand and imposing manor house, in the tradition of large British estates. Instead, this Cornwall farmhouse put Kate in mind of a comfortably dowdy lady, a bit down-at-the-heel but not in the least concerned about it, as though she had seen better days and didn't mind that her time was past. Or—since the house was clearly designed as the hub of a large working farm—perhaps its owners and occupants had always been too busy tending the land, or too heedless of the neighbors' opinions, to bother with grandness.

As the Panhard pulled up in front and Kate and the others got out, an elderly manservant came down the broad stone steps. He introduced himself as Wilson and explained, apologetically, that Lady Loveday had gone for a walk. She was expected momentarily, however. He would be glad to show them to the drawing room, where tea would be served and—

But at that moment, Jenna Loveday appeared around the corner of the house, flushed and breathless, her hair loose around her shoulders. “Oh, dear,” she said distractedly, tidying the collar of her blouse, “you've arrived already and I wasn't here to greet you! I'm so sorry, Patsy. Lady Sheridan, do forgive me.” She spoke in a light, lilting Cornish accent.

“Kate, please,” Kate said with a smile, extending her hand. “And we'd only just got here, really.”

There were some who claimed that the people of Cornwall had inherited a special kind of magic from their Celtic ancestors, an ability to see further and deeper and feel more keenly than other people, a reputation no doubt connected with the old Cornish tales of pixies and fairy-folk. Seeing Jenna Loveday, Kate thought of this, and found the idea utterly convincing, for there was something in Jenna's delicate features and wide-spaced gray-blue eyes—quite remarkable eyes, large and luminous and almost silvery—which made Kate think of charms and enchantments.

Patsy stepped forward and kissed Jenna on both cheeks, then turned, with a gesture, to introduce the men. “This is Charles, Lord Sheridan, and Bradford Marsden, my brother.”

“Gentlemen,” Jenna Loveday said. “So very glad you're here.” Then she put up a hand, realizing that her long, fair mane of hair was rippling down her back. She pulled out a pin, twisted it quickly, and repinned it into a knot at the back of her neck. “I was walking in the woods and I completely lost track of the time. Wilson, please see to the ladies' luggage.” To Patsy and Kate, she added, “We'll all go in and have some tea.”

Charles and Bradford opened the Panhard's boot and the luggage was taken out. As Wilson went inside with the bags, Charles announced that he and Bradford had to be on their way to the Poldhu Hotel, and wouldn't be able to stay to tea.

“Just a cup?” Jenna Loveday asked, looking from Charles to Bradford. “It may be only a few miles to the coast, but at this time of year, they're dusty miles.”

“No, thank you,” Bradford said, with an air of regret. “We have business in the Mullion area, and we must be on our way.”

“Mullion?” Jenna asked. “You're going to the wireless station, then?”

Charles closed the boot. “That's right,” he replied. “I'm to help with a telegraphy experiment, and Bradford—”

“I'm to play golf,” Bradford said with a grin, slouching against the car. “It's something I do very well.” He glanced at Jenna. “Are you acquainted with the station?”

She lifted her chin, her eyes flashing. “Everyone on the Lizard is acquainted with the station in one way or another. It has brought quite a lot of attention to the Lizard—most of it unwelcome, I'm afraid.”

Kate could hear the barely suppressed interest in Charles's “Oh?”

“The inn-keepers and publicans in Mullion and Lizard Village may be pleased,” Jenna replied. “The station at Poldhu attracts quite a few curiosity-seekers, and they have to find somewhere to eat and sleep. But the local people would be very glad to be rid of it—the poor farmers, especially, for the noise frightens their cows and keeps them from giving milk, and one of the laborers was injured recently when a horse bolted. The villagers dislike it, too. They complain that it's shattered the peace of the moor. We rather value that, you know,” she added with a wry firmness. “We don't think kindly of those who destroy it.”

Kate was struck by Jenna's tone. It implied an inner stamina which seemed rather out of character with her delicate features, with the large, luminous eyes which made her seem more than a little fey.

“Noise?” Patsy asked curiously. “I shouldn't think a telegraph station would make a great deal of noise.”

“Oh, but it
does,
” Jenna replied. “It's the transmitting equipment, you see. The signals are quite loud. It's said that they can be heard as far away as Lizard Village.”

“As far away as America,” Bradford remarked with a patronizing smile. “That's the point, of course, Lady Loveday. Getting the signal across the Atlantic requires quite a lot of electricity. The noise you hear is the sound of progress.”

Patsy spoke with some asperity. “You may not be surprised to learn, Jenna, that my brother occupies a seat on Marconi Wireless's board of directors. He is responsible for promoting the company, a task he takes to heart.”

“Progress,” Bradford repeated emphatically, ignoring his sister. “Someday, when the Marconi system is perfected, the people of the Lizard will be very proud to say that these first steps, however awkward and faltering, took place here.”

“Progress, indeed,” Jenna said, and seemed to dismiss the subject. She crossed her arms and tilted her head. “We are having another guest on Friday—Sir Oliver Lodge. I should be delighted if you and Lord Charles would join us for dinner.” She paused. “I believe that Sir Oliver has also done some experiments in wireless. If Mr. Marconi would like to come, he is certainly welcome.”

Another guest? Kate glanced at Patsy, who looked surprised and a little crestfallen, as if she had expected Jenna Loveday to be entirely alone, friendless, and uncomforted. Perhaps, Kate thought, their “mission of mercy,” as Patsy had called it, was unnecessary. Perhaps their hostess had put the death of her daughter behind her and was already in the process of getting on with things.

Bradford's eyes had narrowed. “I regret that I must decline on Signor Marconi's behalf, and my own, as well,” he said with a stiff formality. “Professor Lodge is a competitor, and a small unpleasantness has arisen between him and the Marconi Company in recent months. I don't think we three should be entirely comfortable together.”

Jenna seemed unconcerned. “If you should change your mind, you're more than welcome.” To Patsy, she added, “Sir Oliver and my father were life-long friends. When I asked him for the weekend, I did not know you were coming. It has been lonely here since Harriet . . .” Her eyes darkened and her mouth tightened. “Since my daughter died.”

Ah, Kate thought compassionately, watching her expression and hearing the bleakness in her tone. Jenna Loveday is not comforted, after all.

“I am a great admirer of Professor Lodge's studies in electrolysis and X-rays—and wireless, too, of course,” Charles said, turning to Kate with a quick smile. “You remember Sir Oliver, Kate. We met at a reception last year.”

“Oh, yes,” Kate said. Now that Charles mentioned it, she recalled the tall, stooped, courtly gentleman. “I shall be glad to see him again.”

Charles smiled at Jenna. “Thank you for the invitation, Lady Loveday. I shall be delighted to join the party.” He reached into the motor car for his cap and goggles. “And now, I'm afraid, we really must be on our way.”

“Yes,” Bradford said. He glanced at his sister. “If you should need anything while you are here, Patsy . . .”

“If I should need anything, I will borrow a bicycle and ride over the moor to get it for myself,” Patsy said, raising her chin. Bradford reddened angrily.

Kate sighed, wishing that Patsy and Bradford could mend their frayed relationship, which had been strained since Bradford had married Edith. Patsy's sister-in-law, once a free, frank young woman, had inherited a sum of money and was rapidly turning into a frowning matron.

“Goodbye, Kate,” Charles said, and bent to kiss her. Bradford went to crank the Panhard, and in a few minutes the motorcar was clattering down the lane.

“On the whole,” Jenna Loveday said, regarding the cloud of dust rising in its wake, “I rather prefer horses.” She turned to Kate. “I'm sorry if that sounded offensive. I only meant that—”

“I know,” Kate said, with a rueful smile. “Perhaps progress isn't worth it, after all.” She looked around at the green fields, with the moor behind. “It would be a great pity if progress destroyed any of this beauty.”

Patsy slipped her arm around Jenna's waist. “Thank you so much for inviting us, Jenna. I'm delighted to see you looking well.”

“Appearances are often deceiving,” Jenna said ambiguously. And then, with a smile and a toss of her head, she said, “Come with me, ladies. I will show you to your rooms, and then, since it's so lovely out of doors, we'll have our tea on the terrace.”

She began talking as they walked, in what sounded to Kate like a determinedly cheerful voice. “We're not at all elegant here, I'm afraid. The name “Penhallow Manor” may sound as if it belongs to a grand country house, but we're very old-fashioned, and I fear that you will think us terribly primitive. There's no gas, no telephone, of course, and certainly no electricity. But I think you'll be comfortable, especially since it's July. In the winter—” She laughed gaily. “Well, that's rather a different story. Cold feet and chilblains are the rule.”

“What?” Patsy pretended great shock. “Primitive, with the most advanced wireless station in the world not seven miles away?” She laughed. “Just wait until I've told you, Jenna, what it's like to live in a tent in the Arabian desert. Talk about the primitive life!”

A little later, Kate was alone in the upstairs bedroom to which she had been shown, and had completed her unpacking. The room was small but indeed comfortable, the stone floor brightened with woven rag rugs, the walls covered with cream-painted plaster. The windows, a pair of deep-set casements, opened outward into a profusion of blooming roses which flooded the room with their delicate scent. The manor house was set on a high point of land, with the Helford River to the east and Frenchman's Creek to the south. The landscape was green and lush and mysterious, and the warm light of the afternoon sun brushed the rustling trees with gold. At the foot of the lawn, a donkey was pulling a mowing machine across the lush green grass, while in the herb garden, a woman with a basket over her arm was cutting lavender. On the terrace below, bordered with a profusion of blooming flowers, their hostess was seeing to the arrangements for an outdoor tea. The murmur of voices floated on the somnolent summer air.

Ah,
said Beryl, with a long sigh,
it's very beautiful, isn't it?
And Kate could see why Jenna Loveday resisted the idea of living in London. It had to do with the light falling like a benediction across the green grass and trees, the woodland sloping down to the creek and the river beyond. And the promise of pixies and elves dancing across the open moors in the moonlight.

And then, just as Kate turned away from the window, she caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of her eye, a pale shape flitting, mothlike, through the shadowy woods. Beryl was immediately intrigued.

Oh, look!
she exclaimed.
Is it a fairy? A pixie? Kate, we simply
must
write a fairy tale
—
and Cornwall is the perfect setting for it!

“I should think we had better finish the project we're working on before we start thinking about the next,” Kate muttered testily. But she reached for the binoculars she had just unpacked, brought in the expectation of watching birds on Goonhilly Down. She put the glasses to her eyes and adjusted them.

The pale shape blurred, and then resolved itself into a small, red-haired girl wearing a blue dress and a plain white pinafore, half-hidden behind an oak tree. Kate could not see her expression, but she seemed to be watching Lady Loveday.

A girl?
Beryl asked curiously.
Whatever is she doing behind that tree? Is it some sort of game, do you suppose?

But there was no answer to Beryl's question, and when Kate looked again, the girl had vanished.

Well, if you ask me, that was no girl,
Beryl said firmly.
She was a fairy. They're everywhere here, Kate. On the moors, in the fields, in the woods. Everywhere.

“Oh, don't be silly,” Kate scoffed. But when she put the binoculars down, she was frowning
.

CHAPTER FIVE