A woman was coming down the staircase at the end of the hall. She was dressed in a pale blue cotton gown with white collar and cuffs. I knew who this was before Dermot introduced us, because he had already described the household to us.
She would be Matilda Lewyth, who had looked after the house since Dermot’s mother had died and he was about five years old. She was, in fact, the housekeeper, but not known as such because she was a distant connection of the family. I gathered that she had fallen on hard times when, as a widow, she had come here with her son, Gordon, to manage the household for Dermot’s father. She had stayed and looked after it to everyone’s satisfaction and had been doing so over the last twenty years. We all knew who Matilda Lewyth was.
She welcomed us now as our hostess.
“We are so pleased that you have come,” she said. “Dermot has told us all about you. And this is Miss Denver…”
“Dorabella,” said Dorabella. “And I know you are Mrs. Lewyth.”
“And Sir Robert and Lady Denver,” she said, turning to my parents. “And…”
“Violetta,” I introduced myself.
“Violetta…Dorabella…what pretty names!”
We explained about the operas and there was gentle laughter.
“What a romantic idea! We are so glad you came all this way to see us,” said Mrs. Lewyth. “You will meet Dermot’s father at dinner. He suffers…from gout…and is very often confined to his room. But he is very eager to meet you. We have to be careful with him. He is more than a little infirm. Then there is my son, Gordon. He has grown up here and is deeply concerned in estate business. He runs the place…practically.” She sent a deprecating smile in Dermot’s direction. “He and Dermot between them,” she added quickly.
She turned to Dorabella. “But I suppose Dermot has told you a great deal about the family.”
“Oh, yes,” said Dorabella. “He has talked about you all.”
“And now, you must be tired. It’s a long journey. Would you like to rest before dinner?”
“Oh, no,” cried Dorabella. “I’m far too excited for that.”
Mrs. Lewyth smiled indulgently and looked at my parents.
“We are not really tired,” said my mother. “We’re just longing to meet everybody.”
“Well then, I’ll have you shown to your rooms and then you can wash…unpack, perhaps, and then come down and have a chat and a drink before dinner.” She looked at her watch. “I’ll have dinner put forward a little, but I’ll make sure there’s time for a chat beforehand.”
We were taken to our rooms. The house was so large that there was plenty of accommodation and Dorabella and I had a room side by side.
I stood in the center of mine and surveyed it. My suitcase was already there. It was a large room with a high ceiling; the windows were leaded and the curtains of heavy dark blue velvet. It was not overfurnished; there was a four-poster bed, a heavy ornate wardrobe, a chest on which stood two highly polished candlesticks, a dressing table with a swing-back mirror, two easy chairs and two smaller ones, and a table with a wash-hand basin and ewer. There was not a great deal of light from the leaded windows and it seemed full of shadows; and because one could not but be aware of its antiquity, one could not help wondering how many people had slept here…and what tragedies…and perhaps comedies…had occurred within the seclusion of these walls. I was in a foolish and fanciful mood, and I could trace it all back to that horrific experience in the schloss. I told myself I must get that out of my mind.
I unpacked my case, washed, put on a dark red dress, and sat before the swing-back mirror to comb my hair. The mirror was about two hundred years old, I guessed, and the glass was slightly mottled. It seemed to distort my face so that the features which looked back at me did not appear entirely to be my own.
What was the matter with me? I was looking for evil everywhere, I admonished myself. I must forget that scene. But I could not get out of my mind the memory of Else’s lover in that moment when he had risen from his seat and set the riot in motion. There had been what I could only call the look of a predatory animal on his face…mindlessness, unreasoning hatred…in love with cruelty…cold and pitiless.
Matilda Lewyth seemed to be a kindly woman; the house was wonderful…ancient, yes, but so was Caddington, my own home. I did not feel that overpowering aura of the past there; yet it had its histories, its legendary specters as such houses will have, but it was dominated by my loving parents who had completely suppressed such echoes from the past.
I could not shake off this ridiculous feeling even though I reminded myself continually that it was all due to that unfortunate incident at the schloss.
There was a tap on my door and, without waiting for me to answer, Dorabella came in.
She had put on a blue dress and looked very beautiful.
“Oh, Vee,” she cried, using the shortened version of my name. “Isn’t it exciting!”
I could only agree that it was.
A maid came to take us down. She was Myrtle, she told us. She was black-eyed, black-haired with a rather Spanish look. She told us her sister, Tess, worked at the house, too. She spoke with a pronounced Cornish accent, which had a certain melody to it, but was not always easy to understand.
If we wanted anything, either she or Tess would bring it.
“All you do have to do is say, Miss,” we were told.
We thanked her. I noticed her lively eyes examining Dorabella intently while I received only a cursory glance.
We were taken down some stairs along a corridor and down another set of stairs.
“This be the punch room,” said Myrtle. “This be where Mrs. Lewyth ’ull be waiting for ’ee.”
She opened a door and we went in.
Matilda Lewyth rose and came toward us. I noticed a man sitting in an armchair and guessed him to be Dermot’s father. He seemed rather old. Dermot must have been born late in his life as was sometimes the case. One of his legs was bandaged.
Dermot came forward smiling.
“Do come in,” said Mrs. Lewyth. “James…” She turned to the man in the chair. “These are the young ladies.”
We approached the chair. I thought he must be in his sixties. He had rather penetrating eyes, very lively, very shrewd, and I had a feeling that he was regarding us somewhat mischievously, for his chin moved a little, as though he were finding it difficult to suppress secret laughter.
Dermot had come to stand between us. He put an arm through mine as he did with Dorabella.
“Father,” he said. “This is Violetta and this is Dorabella.”
The old man’s eyes were on Dorabella…assessing her…rather boldly, I thought…appreciatively?
“My dears,” he said in a very musical voice, “you must forgive my not rising. This accursed gout. It is devilishly incapacitating at times.”
“It is so kind of you to invite us here,” said Dorabella. “We are really very excited to be here.”
His eyes were turned on me.
“Twin sisters,” he said. “That is interesting. You must tell me about yourselves…sometime…”
Matilda Lewyth came forward.
“Please sit down and tell me what you would like to drink. Dorabella, you sit there near Mr. Tregarland. Violetta…you here.”
My parents arrived then.
“I am glad you sent that nice maid to bring us down,” said my mother. “We should have been lost otherwise.”
I watched the introductions and Mr. Tregarland’s interest in my parents.
When we were all seated we were given our drinks, and the conversation was of that conventional nature which is often employed when people meet for the first time. The differences between Hampshire and Cornwall were discussed, the journey, the state of the government, and all the time I was wondering what old Mr. Tregarland and Mrs. Lewyth were really thinking about us; and whether they were as eager to welcome Dorabella into the family as they seemed to imply.