Falconridge Read online

  “One does not evaluate one’s employees according to their disposition.”

  “No,” she said, an icy edge to her voice, “I suppose not. If that were the case, Martha would have been sent packing years ago.”

  “Poor Helena,” he said, “after all these years you’re still not at ease with the servants. I’m afraid you’re hopelessly middle class at heart.”

  My aunt did not reply. We all ate silently. I could not help but be aware of the tension between the two of them. Charles Lloyd was condescending in his attitude towards his wife, and she was too intelligent not to see it. I wondered if it had always been this way between them. Helena was older than her husband, yet he treated her like a child, a not too bright child at that. Could they have ever been in love, I wondered.

  I watched my aunt as she ate. Her lids were heavy with shadow and she looked tired, worn out by all the energy and emotion she had used so extravagantly during the day. She wore a lovely black dress, simple in cut, and a magnificent diamond necklace rested on the hollow of her throat. It was old-fashioned, matching the ring I had noticed earlier, but the diamonds were real, and sparkled radiantly in the candlelight. A perky red velvet bow was fastened among her silver curls.

  She noticed me watching her and smiled.

  “You look lovely tonight,” she said.

  “Thank you, Helena.”

  “I wish Norman were here. Then we would all be together. You’ll meet him when he gets back. He’s quite charming, in his way.”

  “Exactly where did he go?” Charles Lloyd asked.

  “Oh, just to visit a friend.”

  My uncle frowned. “A woman, more than likely. He’d better watch himself, or he’ll get into serious trouble.”

  “Norman is just a healthy boy,” Helena replied.

  “Norman is thirty years old, and he’s an incurable woman chaser as you very well know. Remember the maid we had to discharge, and the girl in the village? I had to give her father fifty pounds. It is always maids, always peasants. I don’t know why he doesn’t pick out a suitable young woman from among the local gentry and settle down. He could certainly have his choice. Their mothers parade them before him as though they were prize heifers, up for the highest bidder.”

  “Perhaps that’s exactly why he doesn’t want any of them.”

  “I thought you wanted Norman to marry?”

  “Someday. Only if he is happy about it.”

  “He’s too wild,” my uncle said.

  “He merely finds certain women irresistible.”

  “Well, at any rate he’d better be careful. Sowing a few wild oats is all well and good, but my nephew goes to excess.”

  “I’m sure he comes by it naturally, Charles,” Helena said.

  There was a barb to the remark, and it hit its target. My uncle fell silent, frowning. I wondered what my aunt’s implication had been. Perhaps Norman Wade took after his uncle in his younger days. I could easily imagine Charles Lloyd chasing after women at thirty. He must have been even more magnetic at that age.

  Aunt Helena made a few feeble efforts at small talk during the rest of the meal, but mostly we were silent. My uncle sat with his chin propped on his fist, staring sullenly at his plate, and Helena minced at her food, pushing it around with her fork. I was relieved when we rose from the table.

  “Did you get the laudanum in London, Charles?” Helena asked.

  “Yes, a good supply. It’ll do you for quite some time.”

  “Laudanum?” I said. I knew it was a potion with an opium base. My mother had used it during her last days.

  “Yes, dear,” Helena said. “I’m an incurable insomniac. I can’t sleep at all without a sedative. A few drops of laudanum in a glass of warm milk puts me right to sleep, and I sleep soundly the whole night through.”

  “Isn’t it dangerous?” I asked.

  She laughed lightly. “Not at all if it is taken in the proper dosage. The doctor prescribed it for me years ago, dear. I know how to use it safely.” She touched my arm. “You are young and healthy. You will sleep beautifully and wake up feeling fit as can be. I used to be able to, but, sad to say, those days are gone for me.”

  We left the dining room and stepped into the main hallway. It was very late now, but Charles said he was going to read for a while in the library. Helena turned to me, taking both my hands in hers.

  “I am going to putter about for a while,” she said. “I want to check on the dogs, then I’ll probably play solitaire if I can find my cards. Would you like to stay with me?”

  “I’m very tired,” I said.

  “Of course you are. You’ve had an exhausting day. I’ll get you a candle so that you can find your way back up to your room without any more mishaps.”

  I smiled, trying to stifle a yawn.

  The bed was turned back when I reached my room, the yellow spread folded back neatly. My nightgown was at the foot of the bed, and Lucy was waiting, ready to help me undress. Her eyes drooped sleepily, and her head nodded, so I sent her away and made my own preparations for bed. The sheets were cool and crisp as I crawled between them. I blew out the lamp, lay there for a long time, watching the shadows and listening to the noises of the old house. After a while the wind died down and the house seemed to settle with a groan. I could hear the sea washing over the rocks below. It was a long, long time before sleep finally came.

  VI

  THE NEXT DAY WAS bleak and gray, with black clouds hovering low in the sky and thunder rumbling in the distance. Rain began to fall in heavy sheets, and the wind lashed at the trees outside and whistled through the cracks of the house. I could not help but be gloomy and depressed, but Aunt Helena was not content to let me mope about. She took me on a tour of the house. We went up and down, in and around, my mind soon losing track of the number of rooms we saw. Wearing a vivid red dress and smoking innumerable cigarettes, Helena kept up a bright line of chatter, pointing out treasured antiques, giving me a brief history of various pieces of furniture, and telling wickedly witty stories about people who had once lived at Falconridge. All the while the rain raged outside. Even Helena’s vivacious personality could not ease the depression I felt, and I went to bed that night feeling tired, my head throbbing.

  My second day at Falconridge, however, was a dazzling one. The sky was a luminous blue-gray, with strong white sunlight splashing over everything. The air, filled with the salty tang of the sea, was invigorating. Waking up very early, I flung open my bedroom window. I stood there feeling the touch of the delicious breeze on my cheeks. Full of energy and high spirits, the headache of the night before completely gone, I knew I could not stand to stay cooped up in the house. I wanted to explore the countryside; I wanted to go down to the seashore and watch the waves and collect shells.

  I ate breakfast alone in the little room next to the kitchen, listening to the servants making noisy preparations for the day’s meals. My aunt slept very late, I knew, and then had a tray brought up to her room. After finishing my ham and eggs, I nibbled on a biscuit spread with orange marmalade, waiting until it was time to send the tray up to my aunt. I heard a little bell jangle in the next room, and soon a servant came out carrying the tray. Taking it from her, I carried it up to my aunt’s room myself. I knocked on the door and smiled to myself as I waited for her to admit me.

  “Heavens, child!” she exclaimed. “Do you realize what time it is? It’s positively immoral for you to look so bright and rosy-cheeked at this hour!”

  “It’s after ten,” I said. “I’ve been waiting for you to wake up.”

  Helena groaned, sitting up in bed. She wore a white lace bed jacket trimmed with pink and blue rosebuds, and a frilly lace nightcap perched on her tousled curls. Simon, the brown and white spaniel, was curled up at the foot of the bed, nestled among the blue satin covers, his nose moist and twitching. It was hard to find room for the tray on the night table which was cluttered with all the things Helena liked to have on hand when she retired: a pot of rouge, a sleeping mask, the
bottle of laudanum, a deck of cards, a horoscope chart, a box of chocolates wrapped in gold foil, a piece of rose quartz, several tattered French novels with the familiar yellow backs, a hammer, a glass and pitcher, a small blue vase holding half a dozen withered pink roses. I smiled at the profusion. If my aunt found it difficult to sleep, she was certainly prepared to get through the night in style.

  “Just put it down anywhere,” she said, somewhat irritably. “It’s a beastly habit—food at this time of day. Do I look a fright? Hand me the rouge, will you? You’ll find a brush and mirror and box of powder under the edge of the bed. No, no—don’t open the drapes! Do you want to blind me!”

  “It’s a glorious day,” I informed her.

  “Bless you for your enthusiasm, dear.”

  “Didn’t you sleep well?” I inquired.

  “Tolerably. Just tolerably. I think I took a drop too much laudanum. I had dreams all night long. I adore them, of course, but they are so tiring.”

  “Well, eat your breakfast. Then you’ll feel better.”

  “Not for hours yet,” she said. “Let me do my face first. I must look abominable.…”

  Aunt Helena made up her face, spilling powder on the bed, and merely picked at her breakfast, preferring to smoke a cigarette. There was a package of them in the pocket of her bed jacket, along with some matches. There was scratching at the door and I opened it to admit Adele and Philip who came bounding into the room and leaped on the bed. Simon growled, jealous of this invasion. Helena scolded all three of them and took great puffs of her cigarette.

  “We must really see Lavinia about making you some new clothes,” she said, narrowing her eyes to keep the smoke out. “That dress is wretched, to say the least.”

  The dress was my oldest. It had once been jade green, but now almost, all the color had faded. It was frayed at the sleeves, and there was a poorly repaired tear in the skirt. I was carrying an old wide brimmed hat of yellow straw, with a green ribbon around the rim. I explained to my aunt that I had put on these clothes because I wanted to go exploring.

  “That’s why I came to see you, actually,” I said. “I wanted to know if you had anything planned for us for today.”

  “Nothing at all, dear. You’re on your own at Falconridge. You may do anything you like, as long as it’s within the law. I want you to feel free here.”

  “What are you going to do?” I asked.

  “Fool around, putter. I’m going to have a look at Norman’s rooms over the carriage house and see if they’ve been properly aired. He is supposed to come back today.”

  “Oh?” I said, trying not to show too much interest.

  “Yes, the scoundrel. I’m eager for you two to meet. I’m sure you will like him.”

  “What kind of person is he? My uncle seems to think.…”

  “Fiddlesticks! Charles and Norman have never gotten along. They’re always at odds. Too much Lloyd in both of them. They don’t see eye to eye about Falconridge, for one thing. Norman loves it. It is dear to him, in his blood. He’s always wanting to make improvements on the place—open the closed wing and restore it to its former glory. Charles has let the place run down. Lack of interest, lack of money–Norman resents that.”

  “I see.”

  “Norman is perfectly charming. He may be a little hot tempered at times, at times a little too spirited, but he’s a fine lad at heart.”

  “What time will he be back?”

  “This afternoon—probably late. You run on and tromp about outside, dear. It will do you good. I’ll see you later.”

  “You’re sure you don’t mind me going?”

  “Oh, out with you,” she cried, throwing up her hands in mock despair. “Run along, run along—you’ll worry me to death.”

  I left my aunt’s room, smiling, and went to get my sketch book. The long dark halls did not seem so grim now that I was familiar with them, and I could find my way about nicely in the parts of the house that were open. We hadn’t gone into the closed wing yesterday, nor upstairs to the huge attic rooms, all locked and filled with discarded junk and trunks. I got my sketch book and crayons and hurried downstairs, going out the back way, onto the courtyard.

  The sun glittered brightly on the flagstones. The sky shimmered overhead. The courtyard was neatly enclosed by a clipped box hedge, with the carriage house forming one side. It was a large building with a stone staircase leading to the rooms overhead. Strands of dusty green ivy clung to the gray stone. At the opening in the hedge three stone steps led down to the terraces and formal gardens. Some of the flowers were already in bloom, and I could smell the pungent odor of newly turned soil and manure and dead leaves mixed with the more pleasant aroma of blossoms.

  I walked through the gardens, which were still lovely, though badly in need of work. Tall fruit trees spread shadows over the stone paths. Low stone fences separated the terraces, the sun bathing them. Roses were blooming, yellow and salmon and pink, and a swarm of tiny white butterflies fluttered over them. There was a large white stone pond, with leaves floating on the water and a cracked fountain in the center. Graceful willow trees, their yellow green branches dipping down, surrounded it. A narrow artificial stream wound throughout the gardens, bubbling over a bed of smooth round pebbles.

  I passed through a grove of massive oak tress and walked down to the edge of the lawns. The grass was sparse here, the ground rocky. I looked down at the sea, at the huge waves washing over a narrow stretch of shore, churning over large gray stones, sending up flumes of foam. The water was green, turning bluer farther out, merging into a misty line of purple on the horizon. I could feel the power and magnitude of the sea, and it made me slightly dizzy. It dwarfed everything else, even the huge old house that stood far behind me now.

  I stood there a long time, watching the water. A rough path, steep and rocky and dangerous, led down to the shore. I went down it carefully, holding on to the rocks and roots on either side. I scratched my knee on a rock, and once I almost fell. When I reached bottom, my head was swimming and when I looked back up and saw just how steep the path was I realized how foolhardy I had been. Yet it was wonderful to be so near the water. The wind whipped at my skirts and hair, and I could feel the misty spray stinging my cheeks. I took off my shoes and walked in the damp sand.

  Sitting on a flat gray rock in the edge of the water, and letting the waves wash over my bare feet, I felt at one with the elements. All the conflicting emotions of the past few weeks seemed to be driven away by the churning water and the brisk salty air. For the first time in months, I was almost happy, my mind completely free of worry. Here, with the elements raging, everything else seemed small and insignificant: my uncle and his belligerence, Martha Victor and her strange conduct, Falconridge itself with its shadowy halls and aura of mystery. I felt young and carefree, untouched by any of the solemn business of life.

  I walked along the shore, the damp sand oozing between my toes. After a while I came up into the woods that bordered Falconridge. I sat on a stump and put my shoes on, deep in the brown and green interior of the woods. Tall trees spread their limbs in a tangle overhead, with only a few rays of sunlight stealing through to make pools of yellow on the ground. The trunks of the trees were covered with lichen and moss, and pinkish white mushrooms grew in little clusters at their base. The sound of the sea was distant now, hardly penetrating into this solitude. I wandered through the woods, pausing to listen to a bird, stopping to pluck the blossom of a wildflower. Thorns tore at my skirt, but I didn’t care. I loved this sense of wildness and freedom.

  Eventually I came to the road that led back to Falconridge. On the other side was a little clearing, overgrown with poppies. It was a lovely spot—the flowers violently red and golden orange, the grass long and yellow. I crossed the road and sat down in the clearing. Taking out my sketch book and crayons I began to draw a poppy. A bird perched on the branch of a tree, scolding me, and then soared away into the depths of the sky. It was all vivid blue now, with every trace of gray, burned
away by the sun. The heady odor of the poppies made me dizzy, and my eyelids began to feel heavy. I stretched languorously, yawning. I had exhausted myself with all the walking and climbing, and now I wanted to sleep.

  The sound of horse’s hoofs woke me out of my lethargy. I got up very quickly, fastening on my yellow straw hat and grabbing up my sketch book. Whoever it was was riding very fast. Standing at the edge of the clearing, I saw the magnificent black horse and the man who was riding him. The man saw me, too, and jerked the reins and pulled the horse to a stop, causing a cloud of dust. The horse was in a lather, stamping impatiently. The man sat casually in the saddle, one hand holding the reins, the other resting on his knee. He stared down at me, his eyes taking in every detail. Then he began to grin, his lips curling up slowly at one corner. I could feel a blush coloring my cheeks.

  “It looks like I’ve been slipping,” he said.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I thought I knew every pretty face in this county, but I’ve never seen yours before.”

  “I’ve just arrived in Cornwall,” I said.

  “That explains it then. Tell me, lass, what are you doing? Have you run away from your duties? Have you given the housekeeper the slip and taken an extra holiday?”

  He had mistaken me for a housemaid. That wasn’t surprising, as I must have looked like one in the old dress, thoroughly soiled with dirt now.

  “Oh, no, Sir,” I said. “It isn’t that way at all.”

  “Don’t try to alibi out of it, lass. I know the ways of you girls, always trying to get out of a little work, always getting into trouble. You’d much rather think about hair ribbons and country bucks than do a little work.”

  “Is that what you think?” I asked, my voice very cool.

  “That’s what I know, lass.”

  “You’re pretty sure of yourself,” I said.

  “Do you know who I am?”

  “No, and I’m sure I wouldn’t care to.”

  “Ah, a saucy one. If there’s anything I like, it’s a lass with a little spirit. You and I are going to get along just fine, fine indeed.”