Through the porch under the dock tower, with the ancient clock which was never allowed to stop, into the courtyard, where we alighted. Sir Endelion was standing on the great porch waiting to receive us.
“Welcome, welcome, my dearest child.”
I was taken into his embrace; I was kissed.
Never had a bride been more warmly welcomed by her new family.
Those days at Menfreya stand out in my memory. I wanted, I told them, to explore the house—every room and passage, every alcove, every nook.
“I think it’s the most wonderful house in the world,” I told Sir Endelion and Lady Menfrey on that first day.
“That’s fortunate since ifs to be your home, my dear,” replied Sir Endelion.
“I want to see everything...”
“You’ll find that the east wing is in need of repair.”
I smiled, remembering the table with the rubies which were no longer there. Menfreya needed money to be lavished on it by those who were fortunate enough to be taken under its roof. But I should never grudge spending my money on the preservation of the house.
The day after my arrival Sir Endelion himself took me on a tour of inspection. He was delighted to show me everything, and told me as we studied the shield over the fireplace in the great hall that nothing in the world could have made him happier than this engagement.
“It was what your father wished, and it is what I have always wanted. The union of our two families. Your name, my dear, will be inscribed on the shield, for there are the names of all the families into which the Menfreys have married.”
I studied those names, and I wondered what the owners of them had felt when they had come to this great house as brides. Very soon Delvaney would be added to them, and I thought of the names going on when my sons brought home their wives.
It was a happy sense of belonging, and that was what I had always wanted.
There was so much to see and admire, so much which I had seen before and which now bad a special interest because it was to be my home. There was the wonderful mosaic floor in the great hall, the staircase and the suits of armor, the inevitable portraits in the gallery. There were so many in whom I discovered the Menfrey look. They could have been Bevil or Sir Endelion dressed in the costume of another period.
I went into the chapel, which was never used but on whose attar fresh candles were kept; I was shown the secret room in the buttress, and Sir Endelion told me the story of me Menfrey who had kept the woman he loved there, unknown to his family.
The story is that the clock hi the tower stopped and no one could make it go. Then the master of the house came home and went to the secret room and found his mistress. And her child dead. But don’t you believe all you hear about the Menfreys, my dear. There are enough stories about our awful doings to make a One Thousand and One Nights’ Entertainment I don’t think you’ll find us as black as we’re painted. Tell me, Harriet, you don’t think we’re half bad, do you?”
“I have known you too long to be afraid of what I may discover.”
“And soon you’ll be one of us. Bevil’s a lucky fellow. I’ve told him so, and I don’t think you’re going to be so hard done by either.”
I loved seeing the place and hearing the stories.
But Lady Menfrey was eager that preparations for the wedding should be put in hand without delay, so we went to Plymouth and chose the material for my wedding gown, and there we passed the theater in which Gwennan had met Benedict Bellairs, and I was sad thinking of Gwennan and wondering why she had never written to let us know what was happening to her. What fun it would have been if she had been with me now! Sisters, in truth! If only she had married Harry Leveret and were now settled happily at Chough Towers with him, how pleasant it would have been!
We chose the white satin for my wedding gown, and I was to wear the veil which Lady Menfrey herself had worn and which had been worn by her predecessor.
She did not mention Gwennan and I was surprised, for I had thought that coming into Plymouth must remind her.
Bevil came down to Cornwall and the banns were put up. When I went driving with him through the countryside, we called on several of the neighboring squires and were greeted with a great show of friendliness.
“I knew your father. Such a charming man. How happy he would be if he could see this day.”
“So appropriate, I am sure you will be a great help hi the constituency.”
“Such a suitable match. We are all quite delighted.”
Bevil would give imitations of our hosts as we drove along. It was a little malicious but very funny, and I found that I was constantly laughing in his company. It was the laughter of happiness, but then that is the best laughter of all.
I was learning about Bevil. He had a quick wit; he was hot-tempered; he was kind but, when he was in a rage, he seemed capable of injustice; repentance quickly followed, and although inherent pride made it difficult for him to admit he was wrong, his sense of justice was even greater than his pride. I was never quite sure whether he was as much in love with me as he implied. He was fond of me— he always had been—but was he more in love with the suitability of the match than with my person? I felt fearful and wondered whether he could have been equally fond of any girl who obviously cared for him and had enough money to make her good for Menfreya. Sometimes in my room I looked at myself critically. My appearance had improved since my engagement, for happiness can give some beauty to any face, but I could not help being conscious of the manner in which his eyes would light up at the sight of a pretty girl; he had a special smile for them all, even a milkmaid whom we passed in the lanes.
When we called on Dr. Syms I wondered what Bevil was thinking. Here it was that Gwennan had been brought when she had had her accident and he had first seen Jessica, but if he was remembering those days he gave no sign.
“Dr. Syms,” he said jovially, “you’ll come to the wedding?”
“Ill be there, duty permitting.” Dr. Syms, chubby-faced, middle-aged and energetic, was beaming his congratulations. “But if somebody’s baby chooses to make an appearance at that time … well, I shall hear all about it, for there seems to be nothing else people can talk of but the Menfreya wedding.”
Mrs. Syms took us into her drawing room, and we drank wine while we talked of the wedding and the constituency and what was likely to happen at the next election. She was, I discovered, an ardent worker for the party.
“I’m sure you’ll be such an asset,” she told me. “An M.P. needs a wife; and your being the daughter of the previous Member is going to appeal. I hear your father was such a fine Member; and now that he is gone and we’re back in the old tradition of a Menfrey for Lansella, it’s so charming that our present Member should be the husband of the daughter of the old one. It'll be as though the seat never really went out of the family. That will mean a great deal here.”
I began to get a glimpse of what my future life would be. I should work for the party; I should have to open bazaars and perhaps speak from platforms. It was exciting though a little alarming, but Bevil would be there. I pictured myself flaking witty speeches—Mrs. Menfrey, the wife of the M.P. a pleasant picture of the future began to grow.
“I’m so glad we came here,” Mrs. Syms told me. “It’s more interesting than being in the town. Yea, we were in Plymouth, but there seems to be so much more social life in a place like this. Mind you, it’s strenuous. Poor Dr. Trelarken killed himself with the work. Such a charming man … his daughter too. You knew her, of course.”
“Very slightly.”
“Rather sad. The poor girl was left almost penniless. I hear she went to London or somewhere to be a governess. It’s no life for a girl—and one so beautiful. She was a real beauty. She might marry—but it’s difficult for a girl hi her position. Life can be very difficult in those circumstances … very difficult indeed.”