“She stayed away!”
We were back at that point where we started. I did not believe I could discover anything more from her at this stage.
She lifted her little face to mine and all the blankness had gone from the eyes; they were tragic.
I saw in that moment how much my care of her had meant to her, and that it was impossible to make her understand that if I went away it was not forever. Alice had been kind to her and Alice had gone. Her experiences had taught her that that was the way of life.
A few days … a week in the life of Gilly … would be like a year to most of us. I knew then that I could not leave Gilly behind.
Then I asked myself what Connan would say if I arrived with both children.
I believed that I could adequately explain my reasons. However, I was not going to leave Gilly behind. I could let Mrs. Polgrey know that the master expected the two children; she would be pleased; she trusted Gilly with me, and she had been the first to admit that the child had improved since I had tried to help her.
“Gilly,” I said. “I’m going away for a few days. Alvean and you are coming with me.” I kissed her upturned face. And I repeated because she looked so bewildered: “You are coming with me. You’ll like that, won’t you.”
It was still some seconds before she understood, and then she shut her eyes tightly and lowered her head; I saw she smiled. That moved me more than any words could have done.
I felt I was ready to brave Connan’s displeasure to bring such happiness to this poor child.
The next morning we set out early, and the whole household turned out to see us go. I sat in the carriage with a child on either side of me, and Billy Trehay in TreMellyn livery sat jauntily in the driver’s seat talking to the horses.
Mrs. Polgrey stood, her arms folded across her bosom, and her eyes were on Gilly. It was clear that she was delighted to see her little granddaughter riding with Alvean and me.
Tapperty stood with his daughters on either side of him; and their twinkling eyes, all so much alike, were full of speculation.
I did not care. I felt so lightheaded as we drove off that it was all I could do to prevent myself breaking into song.
It was a bright sunny morning with a slight frost in the air which sparkled on the grass, and there was a thin layer of ice on the ponds and streams.
We rattled along at a good speed over the rough roads. The children were in high spirits; Alvean chattered a good deal, and Gilly sat contentedly beside me. I noticed that she clutched my skirt with one hand, and the gesture filled me with tenderness for her. I was deeply aware of my responsibility toward this child.
Billy was talkative, and when we passed a grave at a crossroads, he uttered a prayer for the poor lost soul who was buried there.
“Not that the soul will rest, me dears. A person who meets death that way never rests. ‘Tis the same if they meet death anyway violent like. They can’t stay buried underground. They walks.”
“What nonsense!” I said sharply.
“Them that knows no better call wisdom nonsense,” retorted Billy, piqued.
“It seems to me that many people have too lively imaginations.”
The children’s eyes I noticed were fixed on my face.
“Why,” I said quickly as we passed a cob cottage with beehives in the garden, “look at those hives! What’s that over them?”
“’Tis black crepe,” said Billy. “It means death in the family. Bees would take it terrible hard if they weren’t told of the death and helped to share in the mourning.”
I was glad when we arrived at the station.
We were met at Penzance by a carriage and then began the journey to Penlandstow. It was growing dark when we turned into a drive and I saw a house loom up before us. There was a man on the porch with a lantern who called out: “They be here. Run and tell master. He did say to let him know the minute they did come.”
We were a little stiff and both children were half-asleep. I helped them down and as I turned, I saw Connan standing beside me. I could not see him very clearly in the dim light but I did know that he was very pleased to see me. He took my hand and pressed it warmly.
Then he said an astonishing thing. “I’ve been anxious. I visualized all sorts of mishaps. I wished I’d come and brought you here myself.”
I thought: He means Alvean, of course. He is not really talking to me.
But he was facing me, and smiling; and I felt I had never been quite so happy in the whole of my life.
I began: “The children …”
He smiled down at Alvean.
“Hello, Papa,” she said. “It’s lovely to be here with you.”
He laid a hand on her shoulder, and she looked up at him almost pleadingly, as though she were asking him to kiss her. That, it seemed, was asking too much.
He merely said: “I’m glad you’ve come, Alvean. You’ll have some fun here.”
Then I brought Gilly forward.
“What …” he began.
“We couldn’t leave Gilly behind,” I said. “You know you gave me your permission to teach her.”
He hesitated for a moment. Then he looked at me and laughed. I knew in that moment that he was so pleased to see me—me, not the others—that he would not have cared whom I brought with me as long as I came myself.
It was no wonder that as I walked into Alice’s old home I felt as though I were entering an enchanted place.
During the next two weeks I seemed to have left behind me the cold hard world of reality and stepped into one of my own making, and that everything I desired was to be mine.
From the moment I arrived at Penlandstow Manor I was treated, not as a governess, but as a guest. In a few days I had lost my sensitivity on this point and, when I had cast that off, I was like the high-spirited girl who had enjoyed life in the country vicarage with her father and Phillida.
I was given a pleasant room next to Alvean’s and when I asked that Gilly should be put near me this was done.
Penlandstow was a house of great charm which had been built in the Elizabethan era. It was almost as large as Mount Mellyn and as easy to lose oneself in.
My room was large and there were padded window seats upholstered in red velvet, and dark red curtains. My bed was a four-poster hung with silk embroidered curtains. The carpet was of the same deep red, and this would have given warmth to the room even if there had not been a log fire burning in the open grate.
My bag was brought up to this room and one of the maids proceeded to unpack while I stood by the fire watching the blue flames dart among the logs.
The maid curtsied when she had laid my things on the bed, and asked if she might put them away. This was not the manner in which to treat a governess, I thought. Kind and friendly as Daisy and Kitty had been, they had not been ready to wait on me like this.
I said I would put my things away myself but would like hot water to wash.
“There be a little bathroom at the end of the landing, miss,” I was told. “Shall I show it to ‘ee and bring ’ee hot water up there?”
I was taken along to the room in which there was a big bath; there was also a hip bath.
“Miss Alice had the room done afore her married and went away,” I was told; and with a little shock I remembered that I was in Alice’s old home.
When I had washed and changed my dress—I put on the lavender cotton—I went along to see Alvean. She had fallen asleep on her bed, so I left her. Gilly was also asleep in her room. And when I returned to my own the maid who had shown me the bathroom came in and said that Mr. TreMellyn had asked that, when I was ready, I would join him in the library.
I said I was ready then and she took me to him.
“It is indeed pleasant to see you here, Miss Leigh,” he said.
“It will be very agreeable for you to have your daughter here—” I began.
And he interrupted me with a smile. “I said it was pleasant to see you here, Miss Leigh. I meant exactly that.”
“Let us give them a little holiday, shall we? Lessons I suppose there must be, if you say so, but need they sit at their desks all the time?”
“I think their lessons might be curtailed on an occasion like this.”
He came and stood close to me. “Miss Leigh,” he said, “you are delightful.”
I drew back startled, and he went on: “I’m glad you came so promptly.”
“Those were your orders.”
“I did not mean to order, Miss Leigh. Merely to request.”
“But …” I began; and I was apprehensive because he seemed different from the man I had known. He was almost like a stranger—a stranger who fascinated me no less than that other Connan TreMellyn, a stranger who frightened me a little, for I was unsure of myself, unsure of my own emotions.
“I was so glad to escape,” he said. “I thought you would be too.”
“Escape … from what?”
“From the gloom of death. I hate death. It depresses me.”
“You mean Sir Thomas. But—”
“Oh, I know. A neighbor merely. But still it did depress me. I wanted to get right away. I am so glad you have joined me … with Alvean and the other child.”
I said on impulse: “I hope you did not think it was presumptuous of me to bring Gillyflower. She would have been heartbroken if I had not brought her.”
Then he said a thing which set my senses swimming: “I can understand her being heartbroken if she had to part from you.”
I said quickly: “I suppose the children should have a meal of some sort. They are exhausted and sleeping now. But I do feel they need some refreshment before they go to bed. It has been a tiring day for them.”
He waved a hand. “Order what you wish for them, Miss Leigh. And when you have seen to them, you and I will dine together.”
I said: “Alvean dines with you … does she not?”
“She will be too tired tonight. We will have it alone.”
So I ordered what I wanted for the children, and I dined with Connan in the winter parlor. It was a strange and exhilarating experience to dine with that man in candlelight. I kept telling myself that it could not be real. If ever anything was the stuff that dreams were made of, this was.
He talked a great deal; there was no sign of the taciturn Connan that evening.
He told me about the house, that it had been built in the shape of an E as a compliment to the Queen who had been reigning when it was built. He drew the shape to show me. “Two three-sided courtyards,” he said, “and a projecting center block, if you see what I mean. We are in the central block now. The main feature of it is the hall, the staircase and the gallery, and these smaller rooms such as the winter parlor which, I think you will agree, is ideally suited for a small company.”
I said I thought it was a delightful house, and how fortunate he was to possess two such magnificent places.
“Stone walls do not bring satisfaction, Miss Leigh. It is the life one lives within those walls which is of the greatest importance.”
“Yet,” I retaliated, “it is some comfort to have charming surroundings in which to live one’s life.”
“I agree. And I cannot tell you how glad I am that you find my homes so charming.”
When we had eaten he took me to the library and asked me if I would play a game of chess with him. I said I would be delighted.
And we sat there in that beautiful room with its carved ceiling and thick piled carpet, lighted by lamps the bowls of which were made of artistically painted china of oriental origin. I was happier than I had ever dreamed I could be.
He had set out the ivory pieces on the board, and we played in silence.
It was a deep, contented silence, or so it seemed to me. I knew I should never forget the flickering firelight, the ticking of the gilded clock which looked as though it might have belonged to Louis XIV, as I watched Connan’s strong lean fingers on the ivory pieces.
Once, as I frowned in concentration, I was conscious of his eyes fixed on me and, lifting them suddenly, I met his gaze. It was of amusement and yet of speculation. In that moment I thought: He has asked me here for a purpose. What is it?
I felt a shiver of alarm, but I was too happy to entertain such feelings.
I moved my piece and he said: “Ah!” And then: “Miss Leigh, oh my dear Miss Leigh, you have, I think, walked straight into the trap I have set for you.”
“Oh … no!” I cried.
He had moved a knight which immediately menaced my King. I had forgotten that knight.
“I believe it is …” he said. “Oh no, not entirely. Check, Miss Leigh. But not checkmate.”
I saw that I had allowed my attention to wander from the game. I sought hurriedly to save myself, but I could not. With every move the inevitable end was more obvious.
I heard his voice, gentle, full of laughter. “Checkmate, Miss Leigh.”
I sat for a few seconds staring at the board. He said: “I took an unfair advantage. You were tired after the journey.”
“Oh no,” I said quickly. “I suspect you are a better player than I am.”
“I suspect,” he replied, “that we are very well matched.”
I retired to my room soon after that game.
I went to bed and tried to sleep, but I couldn’t. I was too happy. I kept going over in my mind his reception of me, our meal together, his words: “We are very well matched.”
I even forgot that the house in which I now lay had been Alice’s home—a fact which at one time would have seemed of the utmost interest to me—I forgot everything but that Connan had sent for me and, now that I was here, seemed so delighted to have me.
The next day was as pleasant and unpredictable as the first. I did a few lessons with the children in the morning and in the afternoon Connan took us for a drive. How different it was riding in his carriage from jogging along behind Tapperty or Billy Trehay.
He drove us to the coast and we saw St. Michael’s Mount rising out of the water.
“One day,” he said, “when the spring comes, I’ll take you out there and you can see St. Michael’s chair.”
“Can we sit in it, Papa?” asked Alvean.
“You can if you are prepared to risk a fall. You’ll find your feet dangling over a drop of seventy feet or so. Nevertheless, many of your sex think it worth while.”
“But why, Papa, why?” demanded Alvean, who was always delighted when she had his undivided attention.
“Because,” he went on, “there is an old saying that if a woman can sit in St. Michael’s chair before her husband, she will be the master of the house.”
Alvean laughed with pleasure and Gilly, whom I had insisted on bringing with us, stood there smiling.
Connan looked at me. “And you, Miss Leigh,” he said, “would you think it worth while to try?”
I hesitated for a second, and then met his gaze boldly. “No, Mr. TreMellyn, I don’t think I should.”
“Then you would not desire to be the master in the house?”
“I do not think that either a husband or his wife should be master in that sense. I think they should work together and if one has an opinion which he or she feels to be the only right one, he or she should adhere to it.”
I flushed a little. I imagined how Phillida would smile if she heard that.
“Miss Leigh,” said Connan, “your wisdom puts our foolish folklore to shame.”
We drove back in the winter sunshine and I was happy.
I had been in Penlandstow a week, and I was wondering how much longer this idyllic interlude could last when Connan spoke to me of what was in his mind.
The children were in bed and Connan had asked me if I would join him in a game of chess in the library. There I found him, the pieces set out on the board, sitting looking at them.
The curtains had been drawn and the fire burned cheerfully in the great fir
eplace. He rose as I entered and I quickly slipped into my place opposite him.
He smiled at me and I thought his eyes took in every detail of my appearance in a manner which I might have found offensive in anyone else.
I was about to move King’s pawn when he said: “Miss Leigh, I did not ask you down here to play. There is something I have to say to you.”
“Yes, Mr. TreMellyn?”
“I feel I have known you a very long time. You have made such a difference to us both—Alvean and myself. If you went away, we should miss you very much. I am certain that we should both want to ensure that you do not leave us.”
I tried to look at him and failed because I was afraid he would read the hopes and fears in my eyes.
“Miss Leigh,” he went on, “will you stay with us … always?”
“I … I don’t understand. I … can’t believe …”
“I am asking you to marry me.”
“But … but that is impossible.”
“Why so, Miss Leigh?”
“Because … because it is so incongruous.”
“Do you find me incongruous … repulsive? Do please be frank.”
“I … No indeed not! But I am the governess here.”
“Precisely. That is what alarms me. Governesses sometimes leave their employment. It would be intolerable for me if you went away.”
I felt I was choking with my emotions. I could not believe this was really happening to me. I remained silent. I dared not try to speak.
“I see that you hesitate, Miss Leigh.”
“I am so surprised.”
“Should I have prepared you for the shock?” His lips twitched slightly at the corner. “I am sorry, Miss Leigh. I thought I had managed to convey to you something of my feelings in this matter.”
I tried to picture it all in those few seconds—going back to Mount Mellyn as the wife of the master, slipping from the role of governess to that of mistress of the house. Of course I would do it and in a few months they would forget that I had once been the governess. Whatever else I lacked I had my dignity—perhaps a little too much of it, according to Phillida. But I thought that a proposal would have been made in a different way. He did not take my hand; he did not touch me; he merely sat at the table watching me in an almost cool and calculating manner.