He was interested in the house, which he naturally compared with his own home. There were many similarities, he told us. He wanted us all to pay a visit to Cornwall soon.
By this time it was mid-September and Dermot stayed with us for two weeks and, I think, during that time my parents decided that he would be a suitable match for their daughter.
He met people in the neighborhood—the doctor and his family, the rector and his—and although there was as yet no announcement of an engagement, it was taken for granted that he was Dorabella’s fiancé.
Dorabella was at the height of excitement. She was radiant and her happiness enhanced her beauty.
In contrast to her exuberance, I felt faintly depressed. I was lusterless beside her. I came to the conclusion that I did not want change. I wanted us to be schoolgirls again. Perhaps I was a little resentful that she needed me less. Someone else had moved closer to her. Dorabella was in love. I was dearly loved by my family, but it was not the same.
Perhaps I felt envious. Always before, when people noticed her and made much of her, I accepted the fact that I lacked her charm, and I had been pleased that she was so popular. I might be becoming a little tired of being the sensible one…the one who was expected to take responsibility…the one who must be there when needed to help Dorabella.
It had been my role to look after her, and although sometimes I may have complained, I did not want that changed.
I often thought back to that moment when Else’s young man had suddenly stood up and begun the riot. I thought that after that nothing would ever be the same again.
That was nonsense. This would have come in any case. It had had nothing to do with the riot. Dorabella would have met Dermot—and even if she had not met him, it would have been someone else one day.
But now, because of what had happened, I was aware of evil as I had never been previously. I could not accept life as I had done previously.
It was arranged that we should pay a visit to Dermot’s house. My mother decided that we would not wait until Christmas, much to my brother’s disgust. He declared that beastly school was going to spoil things for him yet again.
It was October when we left for Cornwall—my parents, Dorabella, and I. We spent a night in London in what had been my grandparents’ home in Westminster and which was now the home of my uncle Charles. My grandparents were at Marchlands most of the time but came up to London on this occasion to see us. Edward and Gretchen were staying at Marchlands. I wondered whether Gretchen compared Epping Forest with the Böhmerwald.
“What a nice girl Gretchen is,” said my grandmother. “Don’t you think so, Lucinda?”
My mother said she did. My uncle Charles and his wife, Sylvia, were very interested in the political situation and as a Member of Parliament, my uncle knew a great deal more about world affairs than we did. He muttered something about not liking the noises that fellow Hitler was making.
We were all too excited at the prospect of the Cornish visit to pay much attention to that, and the next day we left for Paddington and the West Country.
It was a long journey across the country through Wiltshire, with its prehistoric sites, to red-soiled Devon where the train ran along the coast; and then across the Tamar and we were in Cornwall. Very soon after that we arrived at our destination.
Dermot was waiting for us on the platform.
He and Dorabella greeted each other with rapture; then he welcomed the rest of us. His car was in the station yard.
He summoned a porter who touched his cap, and he was told to bring the luggage to the car.
“Yes, Mr. Tregarland, sir,” he said in a Cornish accent. “You be leaving that to me, sir.”
The luggage was put into the boot of the car and we drove away.
“It is so good to have you here,” said Dermot.
My father was seated beside him in the front, my mother with Dorabella and me at the back.
“It’s good to be here,” said my father. He sniffed appreciatively. “Wonderful air,” he said.
“Best in the world, we do say, sir,” said Dermot in a fair imitation of the porter’s accent. “You know how people are. Theirs is always best. They delude themselves into believing it.”
“It is not a bad idea,” said my mother. “It makes for contentment.”
“I can’t wait to see the house,” said Dorabella.
“That is something you will have to do, my dear,” said my mother. “But not for long. How long, Dermot?”
“It will be for some twenty minutes,” he told her.
“Everything seems to grow so well here,” said my father.
“We get lots of rain and very little frost to kill things off. We’re a cosy little corner of the island, in fact. Though our gales can be terrific…very wild. There is something about the place which reminds me of the Böhmerwald, though it is very different. They have their trolls…and Thor, Odin, and the rest, but I can tell you we have our little gang of supernatural beings who have to be placated at times. Piskies…knackers…and specially those who have ‘the powers,’ as we call them. They can do the most frightful things to you merely by looking at you.”
“You are making us tremble,” said my mother lightly.
“Don’t worry. Ignore them and they will do the same to you. It is only those who go looking for them who get the unpleasant surprises.”
“It sounds fascinating,” said Dorabella.
Dermot took his eyes from the road to smile at her.
We went through a village with stark gray stone cottages and a plain rather dour-looking building which I took to be a church.
The trees almost met across the road, making a roof for us to pass under; there was lush foliage growing everywhere; and the luxuriant beauty of the country made up for a lack of architectural elegance.
Then I saw the sea and black rocks about which the waves broke rhythmically, sending up white spray into the air.
“Not far now,” said Dermot. “Down there…” He indicated with his head “…is the little town. A fishing village, really—not much more; the river divides it into two, West and East Poldown, joined by an ancient bridge which was built five centuries ago. There are a church and a square…and the quay, of course, and there you’ll see the fishermen mending their nets or bringing in the catch while their boats are bobbing up and down in the water. We don’t have to go down into the town now. Actually, it’s only about half a mile from the house. We can see it from the windows.”
We were going uphill and came to a high road. And there, ahead of us, was the house itself.
It looked impressive, perched as it was on the edge of the cliff. It was not unlike Caddington and must have been built around the same time. I thought, Dorabella will be going from one ancient house to another.
“It’s wonderful,” said Dorabella. “Dermot, you didn’t tell me how beautiful it was.”
“I’m glad you like it,” he replied. “When I saw your home I thought it was very fine indeed, and I wondered what you would think of this.”
We were all murmuring our appreciation. I did not say that I thought it had about it an air of menace. I dismissed the thought. It was due to that jaundiced view I was beginning to take of everything since what I had seen at the schloss. Also, it was taking me yet another step away from Dorabella.
There was a drive up to the gate house; we passed under this and were in a courtyard.
“Here we are,” said Dermot. “Come along in. Someone will take care of the bags. Oh, there you are, Jack.”
A man came forward. He touched his cap to us.
“Take the luggage, Jack. Tess will show you where it goes.”
“Aye, sir,” said the man.
We went into a stone-floored hall with a high-vaulted ceiling. As we did so, our footsteps rang out on the floor and I noticed the customary array of weapons on the walls very similar to ours at Caddington, to signify that the family had done its duty to the defense of its country, I had always supposed. There was a similarity about hundreds of such houses all over England.