Menfreya in the Morning (5 page)

“People never treat me seriously. I’m too often flippant” He shipped the oars and, leaning towards me, kissed me on the forehead. I was fully aware then of the charm of the Men treys.

When he helped me out of the boat he held me for a moment, his face close to mine.

“Don’t forget,” he said, “there’ll be a row. But it’ll pass. Come on. Now we’ll go and face the music.”

The dogs started to bark as we crossed the courtyard.

The hall was dimly lighted by two gas jets in what looked like lanterns, and there was just enough light to show the vaulted ceiling and the armored figures at the foot of the staircase.

Bevil shouted so that his voice echoed up to the rafters. “Come and see what I have found. Harriet Delvaneyl I’ve got her here.”

Then the household was alive. The sounds of voices started up everywhere.

Sir Endelion and Lady Menfrey came first; then some of the servants, and I saw Gwennan at the top of the staircase looking at me with wide, accusing eyes.

I felt relieved because the time had not yet come when I said to myself: What next? I felt excited because this night’s adventure had brought me closer to Bevil.

I sat in the library drinking hot milk.

Lady Menfrey kept murmuring: “Harriet, but how could you? Your poor father … frantic … quite frantic.” “We’ve had to telegraph him,” Sir Endelion told me

Victoria Holt

33

apologetically, pulling at his mustache. I thought then how much nicer sinners were. Sir Bndelion wasn’t half as shocked as Lady Menfrey; nor had Bevil been.

Bevil sat on die table, smiling at me, as though he wanted to keep my spirits up. I couldn’t feel unhappy or frightened while he was there.

Gwennan had come in quitely so that she wouldn’t be seen and sent back to bed; she was watching me intently.

“What he will say I can’t imagine,” sighed Lady Menfrey. “At least we’ve done our best.. .**

“You’ll have to face the music, my dear.” That was Six Endelion, and he sounded just like Bevil.

“Exactly my words,” said Bevil. “Don’t let us repeat ourselves. I think that Harriet should go to bed and sleep; then she will be in better form for the musical interlude.”

“I’ve told Pengelly to have a bed prepared,” Lady Menfrey said.

“The room next to mine,” added Gwennan.

“Gwennan, my dear, what are you doing here? You should be in bed and asleep.” Lady Menfrey looked worried. Her family, I guessed, was a source of continual anxiety to her.

“Awakened by the arrival of Harriet,” said Bevil. “It must have been a great shock to her.”

“It was,” retorted Gwennan defiantly.

“Such a surprise?” asked Bevil.

Gwennan scowled at her brother.

“The last place you would have expected to find her.”

“You too?” suggested Gwennan. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have decided to go there tonight’*

Sir Endelion burst into loud laughter; Lady Menfrey looked bewildered. I thought what an exciting household this was, and fervently wished that I belonged to it I could see that all except Lady Menfrey were taking a very lenient view of what I had done, and Lady Menfrey’s opinion did not count for much.

“Had I known Harriet was there, I should have gone there last night, I do assure you,” retorted Bevil.

I put my glass on the table.

“Gwennan,” said Lady Menfrey, “since you are here, perhaps you will take our guest to her room.”

I said good-night to Bevil, Sir Endelion and Lady Menfrey, and Gwennan and I mounted the staircase together; and even

34

Menfreya in the Morning

at such a time I could not help feeling thrilled to be in Menfreya.

“Your room’s next to mine,” she said. “I told Pengelly I wanted you to be there. So you didn’t tell .. .”

“They know. There was nothing to tell.”

“About me, I mean.”

I shook my head.

The room they had given me was large—all the rooms were at Menfreya—with a window seat around a bay window which looked out to the island. On the double bed was a pink-flannel nightdress.

“One of mine,” pointed out Gwennan. “You’re to get undressed right away.”

I hesitated. “Go on,” she said. “Don’t be so prudish.”

I wriggled out of my clothes while she watched me, and when I was in bed she sat at the end bugging her knees, her eyes still on me.

“I’m not sure that you won’t go to prison,” she said. “After all, the police were brought in, and when that happens you never know.” I could see that while she taunted me her mind was busy with plans for my rescue. “But I don’t suppose that would happen. Your father would bribe them not to. I’m in for it, too. You see, they’ll want to know who took you over there and who robbed the pantry. Mrs. Pengelly missed that leg of chicken I brought you yesterday. And other things. Suspicion points to me … and I shall be in the dock with you. That should be a comfort Mamma and Papa will go into deep conferences, and a decision is about to be made. And, by the way, Bev will be furious with you.”

“Furious with me, why?”

“Because you spoilt his little adventure. Since Papa furnished the house, he uses it for his seductions. It’s romantic, and the ladies’ fear of ghosts adds a piquancy to the occasion. He can be bold and protective, and the purpose is achieved in half the time.”

“You’re making it up. How could you know?”

“My dear Harriet, all the Menfreys know about each other. It’s a gift we have. AH the men are devastating^ attractive to women, and all the women to men. We can’t help it We have to go along with it.”

I looked at her and believed it was so; the thought saddened me.

“I’m tired,” I said. I wanted to be alone, to go over those

Victoria Holt

35

moments when Bevil and I were in the boat together, to remember every word he bad said.

Tired!” cried Gwennan. “How can you be tired when you think of tomorrow. What a good thing I didn’t send that ransom letter.”

“There was no question of a ransom letter.** **Wasn’t there? I’ve been drafting it You don’t think I’d let an opportunity like that pass. The Menfreys never miss their opportunities.”

“I don’t believe it.” I closed my eyes. “All right,” she said huffily and leaped off the bed. “Go to sleep and dream about tomorrow. I shouldn’t like to be hi your place, Harriet Delvaney. You wait till your father comes.”

. Gwennan and I were watching for his carriage, so we saw it arrive. Very shortly afterwards I was summoned to the library.

Never had I seen his eyes so cold; never had he looked at me with such dislike; and never had I felt so ugly as I did when I limped into that room. Strangely enough, when I was aware of my deformity I fancied it became more obvious; and hi his presence I was always conscious of it.

“Come here,” he said, and as usual the tone in his voice when he addressed me made me feel as though cold water was being poured down my back.

“I am shocked beyond belief. I could never contemplate such ingratitude, such selfishness, such wickedness. How could you … even you—and I have learned that you are capable of many undutiful acts—but how could you be capable of such conductl”

I did not answer. The last thing I could do was try to explain my reasons to him. I wasn’t entirely sure of them myself. Their roots were too deeply embedded; and I knew even at this time that those few ill-chosen words of Aunt Clarissa’s were not the entire reason why I had left home.

“Speak when I ask a question. Do not give me insolence as well as ingratitude.”

He took a step towards me and I thought he was going to strike me. I almost wished he would. I believed I could have endured a hot hatred rather than a cold dislike. “Papa, I … wanted to get away. I …” “You wanted to run away? You wanted to cause trouble. Why did you come here?”

36

Menfreya in the Morning

“I… I wanted to come to Menfreya.”

“The whim of a moment. You should be whipped … insensible.” His mouth twisted into an expression of distaste. Phys-ical violence was repulsive to him, I knew. Any dog which disobeyed him was not corrected; it was destroyed. I thought then: He would like to destroy me. But he would never whip me.

He turned away from me as though he could not bear to look at me. “Everything you want is yours. You have every comfort. Yet you have no gratitude. You delight in giving us acute anxiety and causing trouble. When I think that it was to give you birth that your mother died …”

I wanted to scream at him to stop. I could not bear to bear him say this. I knew that he had thought it often, but to hear the words gave the horror deeper meaning. I could not bear it. I wanted to creep into a comer and cry.

Yet instead of the pain I felt, my face was forming itself into those ugly, obstinate tines, and I could not prevent it He saw this, and the loathing which was deep in him for this monster who had robbed him of a loved one that it might have life was temporarily unleashed. He took brief comfort in giving freedom to the bitter resentment which had been smolderiag for years.

“When I saw you . .. when they told me your mother was dead, I wanted to throw you out of the house.”

The words were out. They hit me more cruelly than any whip could have done. He had crystallized the scene. I saw the ugly baby in the nurse’s arms; I saw the dead woman on the bed; and his face. I could even hear his voice: “Throw it out of the house.”

It was there forever in my mind. Previously I had guessed at his dislike; I had been able to delude myself that I had imagined it; that he was a man who did not easily express his feelings; that deep down he loved me. But that was over. Perhaps he was ashamed. His voice had softened a little. **I despair of ever imbuing you with a sense of decency,” he said. “Not only do you make trouble for yourself but for others. The entire household has been disrupted. We have been invaded by reporters.”

He was talking to hide his confusion; and I was only half* listening, because I was thinking of his anger when he looked at the baby in the nurse’s arms. “At least,” he said, “you must not abuse* the hospitality

Victoria Holt

37

of Menfreya any longer than necessary. We will leave at once for Chough Towers.”

Chough Towers was an early Victorian mansion about a mile from Menfreya. My father had rented it furnished from a family called Leveret, who had made a fortune from china clay which they quarried near St. Austell. The house was almost as large as Menfreya, but it lacked the character of the latter. It was an ugly house and, as I have said, always seemed cold and impersonal; but perhaps that was because my father had rented it, and it was his personality which had pervaded it; inhabited by a happy family, it might have been a happy house. The rooms were large and paneled, with big windows looking out on well-tended lawns; there was a large ballroom on the ground floor of fine proportions, at one end of which was a wide, oak staircase; everything that could have been done to give an air of antiquity to the place had been done. There was even a minstrels’ gallery, which I always thought looked incongruous in such a house; the conservatory was pleasant because it was full of colorful plants; but everything else was overornate and heavy; the baroque towers and battlements were false, and it was absurd to have called it Chough Towers, for I never saw a chough near the place. It was a showy imitation, pretending to be what it was not

It was surrounded by a park, but the trees in the drive had obviously not been planted more than thirty years before; there were none of those tottery old yews one found at Menfreya. I was hi love with Menfreya, and perhaps I felt the difference more keenly than most Chough Towers was, I suppose, a beautiful house in a beautiful setting, but it had no echoes of the past, no secrets; it was just the outward sign of a self-made man’s desire to build himself a dwelling as grand as those enjoyed by people whom, a generation before, he would have been expected to bow to as the gentry. But a house is more than walls and windows—or even fine ballrooms and conservatories, a park and lawns.

It suited my father because he only spent a certain time of the year in the vicinity; and he was not sure that he wanted to buy a house there. If he lost his seat in the House, he would certainly not wish to retain Chough Towers. As we entered the house I was aware of the hushed atmosphere. I suspected that the servants were talking of me;

38 Menfreya in the Morning perhaps some of them were peeping at me. I had become an object of interest because my name had been in the papers. It would be again—for the discovery of my whereabouts would have to be known, since there had been such concern about my disappearance.

“You will go straight to your room and remain there until you are given permission to leave it,” said my father. And how glad I was to escape.

I was a prisoner. I was to have only bread and milk until further notice. None of the servants was to speak to me. I was in disgrace.

I was defiant and pretended I didn’t care, but my feelings alternated between misery and elation.

I would sometimes be able to shut out all memory of anything but Bevil, sitting there in the boat. I could see his strange eyes alight with tenderness—no, mockery really. “I might marry you myself …” He was joking; and yet perhaps not entirely. In any case in my present state it was pleasant to delude myself into believing that he might have meant it. It was a gay and happy dream.

Then there was the other—dark, gloomy; the death chamber, the shriveled-faced baby; I had seen newborn babies and thought them ugly, and surely I would have been particularly so. I could picture the mad impulse of a normally restrained man. I could feel the revulsion, the longing to be rid of the unwanted creature whose coming had cost so dear.

On the second day of my captivity my father came to my room. My spirits rose because I saw that he was dressed for departure.

“You will remain in your room for a week,” he said, “and I hope that you will be considerably chastened at the end of that time. Has it occurred to you that your life might be cut short at any moment. I should like you to consider during the next days that you are heading for eternal damnation, For your own sake—I know you are too selfish to do it for mine—reform your ways. You will remain here until it is time for you to go away to school.”