Time for Silence (51 page)

My parents and I with Grandmother Belinda traveled back to Caddington; I saw immediately how fatigued my mother was and that her cold had worsened, so I said she must go to bed and I would have supper with her there.

She declared she was much better and over our food we talked of Edward.

She said: “It was so moving to see him there, a grown man, actually getting married. When first I saw him he was a baby in a perambulator in the Plantains’ cottage garden.”

“Who were the Plantains?”

“They were his foster parents,” she told me. “He was to be brought up by them because Madame Plantain had just lost her own baby. It had been stillborn. She had been heartbroken…until Edward was brought to her.”

“What happened to Edward’s parents?”

She said: “I suppose you will have to know one day. I remember his great-grandfather’s saying, ‘There is a time for silence,’ and it was then. But now…it is a long time ago.”

“Do you mean Jean Pascal Bourdon, Grandmother Belinda’s father? The one who left Edward that house in France?”

She was silent for a moment. Then she said: “This is for you only. Don’t tell anyone, not Dorabella particularly. She could never keep a secret. Jean Pascal Bourdon was Edward’s great-grandfather. He arranged it all. He was a very sophisticated aristocrat. He knew how to manage things. You see, it all came about when Annabelinda, Grandmother Belinda’s daughter, your father’s sister…”

“Aunt Annabelinda …the one who died in that old house?”

“It’s a complicated story. But Annabelinda, when she was at school with me, fell in love with a young man. He was German. Edward was the result. Annabelinda was only a schoolgirl. We were in Belgium. Jean Pascal arranged it all and for Madame Plantain to take the child in place of her own. She lived near the school. I met her and saw the baby, though I did not know at first that he was Annabelinda’s. I found out by chance and they had to let me into the secret. Then the war came; the cottage was bombed, the Plantains were killed, and I came along and found the baby in his perambulator in the garden. I brought him home. But the fact of his birth was hushed up.”

“Does Edward know?”

“Yes, he does. I told him only recently. I talked it over with your father and Grandmother Belinda. For some time I could not decide what to do for the best. Jean Pascal had been so certain that he should not be told. Edward does not know everything, not exactly who his father was. But he knows he was German and that his mother was Annabelinda. So he knows that he is one of us, and I think that pleases him very much. He belongs to the family, and we thought he should not be kept in the dark any longer. People have a right to know who their parents are.”

“I expect he will tell Gretchen.”

“I daresay. I am glad that he married her.”

“But you thought it might have been out of pity.”

“I believe it will be all right, though. It is like a pattern, you see. He is half German and he is attracted by a German girl. Don’t you think it is significant that they should be attracted by each other?”

“It seems so. And by Kurt, too, when they met at college. They were drawn together, I suppose, and they became great friends. It could well be something to do with their being of the same nationality, even though they did not know it. And then, of course…Gretchen.”

“I am sure they will be very happy. I am glad that he has married her and taken her away from that…unpleasantness.”

Dorabella married. Edward married. There is change all about us. For so long everything went on as it always had…and now…change.

I had heard from Dorabella now and then. She had a rather unexpected trait; she liked writing letters, and, of course, most of what she wrote would come my way. So far they had been short—an indication that everything was going well. I believed she was not missing me as much as I was her. I had replied and told her about our mother’s health and what was happening at Caddington. I explained that the reason I had not been to see her was because of our mother’s persistent cold and, as she would want to accompany me to Cornwall, I did not feel it would be wise to come.

They were ordinary letters. Then one came which was different. Because it was a long letter, I took it to my bedroom so that I might enjoy it without interruptions.

“Dear Vee,” she had written.

“How are you? I wish you were here. It would be lovely to talk, and there is no one to whom I can talk as I can to you.”

I felt a quiver of alarm at that. It must mean that all was not going well. Why could she not talk to her husband?

This is a strange place. It is not like home. It makes you feel there is something in the air. The sea makes strange noises at night. I don’t think I shall ever get used to it. Matilda is very good. She manages everything. I never interfere with that. I am not interested and I would not want to face that old dragon of a cook every morning to discuss the meals. These servants are not
cosy
like ours. I suppose that’s because ours have known us for years.

Vee, I don’t know how to describe this to you. But…this house …I can’t get used to it. It was all right when you were all here. It felt different then, like home, with you and the parents…and all that. You made it feel…normal. It’s different now. I feel people are watching me. They aren’t really. It’s just a feeling I have. The eyes in the people in the portrait gallery…they follow me, stare at me, and it seems as if they change when I’m looking at them. They are laughing at me, sneering…some of them look as if they are warning me.

This is silly, of course. I think it is because I don’t fit.

Dermot is wonderful. He is very kind and gentle, all that I thought he was in the beginning. It’s the others I don’t understand…I mean the old man and Gordon. The old man seems amused by something…by me, I think. Gordon, well, he’s alert in a way. The old man is always telling me how pretty I am and how he likes to see me there. He likes me to sit close to him and keeps patting my hand. It’s welcoming in a way and yet somehow it seems as though he is laughing at me. But not only me, at the others as well. As for Gordon, he’s working most of the time. He doesn’t say very much, but I get the impression that he would rather I wasn’t here.

Matilda is kind. I believe she knows how I am feeling. She said to me the other day: “You are finding it hard to fit in, aren’t you, Dorabella?” I hesitated. It seemed rather rude to agree, but it’s the truth.

She said: “It’s strange no doubt. It must be so different from your home.”

I told her the house was not so different. We lived in an old house and there is a similarity about old houses. No, it wasn’t the house.

“It must be the people,” she said.

I assured her it was not. Everyone

had been kind to me.

“Of course they have,” she said. “It is your family now, your home. I think you miss your sister. You were always together, I suppose.”

I told her yes, we had been, and she said she understood absolutely and it would all come right. I try to keep feeling that it will, but it isn’t the same, Vee.

I think I have been trying to work up to this. It shocked me very much when I heard. Don’t tell the parents yet, not until I say you may. I don’t know what they’ll think. I know it will be that we ought to have heard of it before. I don’t know whether it would have made any difference. I don’t think it would. I should still have wanted to marry Dermot.

The fact is, Vee, Dermot was married before!

I paused. Married before! That was what was upsetting her. Why hadn’t he said so? Now I understood all this about the portraits watching her. I guessed she was very shaken.

Yes, he was married before. She died. It was two years before we met. He confessed it to me one night. I can tell you it was a shock. He said, why should it be? It didn’t make any difference to
us
. He was young and impetuous and had rushed into it. It was different from what had happened to us. There had never been anyone like me, he said. It was rather strange, really. There was that story about the feud…do you remember? That man Jermyn told you. I haven’t seen anything of him, by the way. I heard someone say in one of the shops that he was abroad somewhere. Well, Dermot’s wife was drowned. She went out to swim and there were crosscurrents or something…and she ought not to have gone. Her body was washed up some days later, on the beach right in front of the house. It was odd, after what happened to that girl in the feud. She drowned herself of her own accord. It revived it all. Dermot said it was all very distressing. He didn’t want to think about it. He just wanted to forget, which was why he couldn’t bear to bring it up. I suppose the sea being so near made it easy for the Jermyn girl. And then, of course, Dermot’s wife…her name was Annette. It’s rather pretty and feminine.

I was ever so shocked when I heard. “Why didn’t you tell me before?” I kept asking Dermot. He said he thought it might have made a difference. Well, it would have in a way. He always seemed so young and carefree. He didn’t seem like a man who had had a wife who had died like that.

He said it was a bad time. There was an inquest. The verdict was, of course, death by drowning. He said the sea was safe enough most of the time, but you have to watch for winds and cross-currents.

That really is what I wanted to tell you. It has made a difference. I wanted you to know first, but somehow I really didn’t want to think about it…so I kept putting off writing.

If you were here, I could talk to you. That would be easier. When one is writing it seems more serious, more important. If I could only
talk
to you, it would be so different.

So, don’t tell the parents…yet. I wonder what they’ll say? I’m just telling you at the moment. Everyone here knows about it, of course. There’s always gossip. The servants are watching all the time. As I said, they are suspicious of me. I am not one of them. I heard one of them refer to me as “Mr. Dermot’s foreign lady.” I did mention this to Matilda and she laughed and said, “Everyone’s a foreigner from the other side of the Tamar.” So you see how it is.

I had to let you know this. Oh, how I wish you were here!

Your twin sister,

Dorabella

The letter disturbed me. Had she been in a certain mood when she wrote it? How much did it portray her real feelings? I knew her well. She could change her mind from one moment to another.

But whatever her mood, the fact remained that Dermot had been married before—and it was certainly strange that he had not mentioned it.

I think we should have seen him rather differently if we had known. He had seemed so light-hearted, so young. Had he been afraid of losing Dorabella? Why otherwise should he want to keep his first marriage a secret?

I should have liked to talk it over with my mother, but Dorabella had expressly said: “Don’t tell the parents yet.” And I must respect this confidence.

So I did not tell her that I had received the letter; she would have expected to read it if I had, for we shared Dorabella’s letters.

I hated the subterfuge, but I decided that I must wait for Dorabella’s permission before I divulged this secret.

I thought a great deal about Dorabella after that time and wondered whether I ought to go down to see her. I was still anxious about my mother. She was not really ill, but I liked to make sure that she did not go out in cold winds or rain which she might do without me to restrain her. Her cold still hung on and I felt torn between them.

And then came the next letter.

This was change indeed. This was Dorabella exultant…and yet a little fearful.

My dear Vee,

What do you think? I am going to have a baby. I am so excited. Can you believe it?
Me
…a mother!

I have been to the doctor and it is confirmed. I would not have told you until it was. Dermot is thrilled. So is Matilda…and the old man, too. And as for Gordon, even he seems quite interested.

I’m a bit scared, just a little, of course. It is rather an ordeal, you know. It has happened rather soon, but there’s a long time to go yet.

Just fancy! You’ll be Auntie Vee. It sounds a bit fierce to me. I think Auntie Violetta sounds much softer. Names are important. I’ll have to get the right one for him/her.

Isn’t it marvelous? I’m writing to the parents. I wonder who’ll get their letter first, you or them. If you get yours first, tell them right away. Mummy will be Grandmamma and Daddy Grandpa. What nice ones they’ll make!

Lots of love from,

Dorabella,

“Mother-to-be”

I had taken the letter to my room to read, wondering whether there would be more revelations about Dermot’s first marriage. Revelations there had certainly been, but on a different subject.

Almost before I had had time to read the letter my mother came into my room. She had obviously received hers by the same post.

She was flushed and excited.

“You have heard, too,” she cried.

I nodded. She was smiling.

“Dorabella a mother! I can’t believe it. I thought it might be some time, of course…but not quite yet. How will she manage a baby?”

“People you least expect do turn out to be good mothers. She’ll have a nanny, I suppose.”

“We’ll both go,” said my mother. “And now we must tell your father. He will be so thrilled!”

COPYRIGHT

Copyright © 1991 by Philippa Carr

All rights reserved.

Cover Design by Jason Gabbert

ISBN: 978-1480403833

This edition published in 2013 by Open Road Integrated Media

180 Varick Street

New York, NY 10014

www.openroadmedia.com