“There’s a wonderful feeling of antiquity,” I said.
“I don’t think you get that anywhere as much as you do in a church.”
“Perrivale’s very old.”
“Yes, but there are people there. Modernity creeps in.”
“Let’s go into the graveyard.”
We came out and were immediately among the tottering gravestones.
“I’ll show you the Perrivale vault if you like.”
“Yes. I’d like to see it.”
We stood before it. It was ornate and imposing.
“I wonder how many are buried there,” said Kate.
“Quite a number, I suppose.”
“Cosmo will be there. I wonder if he comes out at night. I’ll bet he does.”
“How your mind dwells on the macabre.”
“What’s macabre?”
I explained.
“Well,” she said.
“That’s what makes graveyards interesting. If they weren’t full of dead people it would be just like anywhere else. It’s the dead who are ghosts. You can’t be one until you are dead. Come on.
I want to show you something. “
“Another grave?”
She ran ahead and I followed her. She had come to a standstill before one of the graves. There was nothing ornate about this one-no engraved stone, no ornamental angels or cherubs, no fond message. Just a plain stone with the words “Thomas Parry’ and the date. A rough kerb had been put round it to separate it from the others and on it was a jam-jar containing a few sprigs of meadowsweet which looked as though they had been picked from the hedges.
“Who was he?” I asked.
“And why are you so interested in this grave?”
She said: “He was the one who fell over the cliff and was drowned.”
“Oh … I remember. You did mention him.”
“They said he was drunk.”
“Well, I suppose he was. I wonder who put those flowers there. Someone must have thought of him. Someone must remember him.”
She did not speak.
“Who was he?” I asked.
“Did you ever know?”
“He didn’t live here. He just came here and went over the cliff.”
“How foolish of him to get so drunk that he did such a thing.”
“Perhaps someone pushed him over.”
“But you say he was drunk …”
“Well, someone could. I reckon he walks by night. He gets out of his grave and walks about the graveyard talking about murder.”
I laughed at her. She turned to me and her face was serious.
Then she shrugged her shoulders and started to walk away. I followed her, turning once to look at the pathetic grave, un cared for but for a jam-jar filled with meadowsweet.
Dick Duvane rode over from Trecorn Manor. He had brought letters for me together with a note from Lucas.
He said he would wait for a reply.
The letters were from London-one from my father and the other from Aunt Maud.
I opened Lucas’s note.
Dear Rosetta, How are you getting on in the governess role? Aren’t you tired of it yet? Say so and I will come over and fetch you. In any case, I must see you. Could we meet tomorrow afternoon? We could see each other at The Sailor King. Should we meet there or would it be all right for me to come to the house? I could bring a horse for you. I want to talk.
Always devoted to your interests, Lucas
I remembered my interview with Lady Perrivale who had said I might be free to take time off when I wanted to. So I wrote a hasty note telling Lucas that I would meet him at The Sailor King the following afternoon at half past two.
Then I took the letters to my room to read them. They were both as I expected. My father’s was rather stilted. He could not understand why I had thought it necessary to take a post. If I had wanted some work he could have found something congenial for me, perhaps at the Museum.
He hoped that I would soon be home and we could talk about what I wanted to do.
I could not imagine myself explaining to my father. I was sorry for him. I guessed Aunt Maud had urged him to write in a disapproving manner.
There was no doubt of her feelings.
My dear Rosetta, How could you ? A governess! What are you thinking of? I know some poor females are forced into such a position but such is not the case with you. If you take my advice you will give up this nonsense without more ado. Do so quickly. People need never know . or if it came out it would be called a mad prank. Of course, the ideal thing would be a London season for you, but you know that is out of the question. But you are the daughter of a professor, a highly respected man in academic circles. You would have had your chances . but a governess! It went on in this strain for several pages through which I lightly skimmed. The reaction was so much what I had expected that it left me unmoved.
I was far more interested in my coming meeting with Lucas.
I told Kate the following afternoon that I was meeting a friend.
“Can I come?”
“Oh no.”
Why not? “
“Because you are not invited.”
“What shall I do while you are gone?”
“You’ll amuse yourself.”
“But I want to come.”
“Not this time?”
“Next time?”
“The future’s not ours to see.”
“You are the most maddening governess.”
“Then I match my pupil.”
She laughed. We had indeed come a long way in the short time I had been here. There was a rapport between us which I would not have dreamed was possible.
She was resigned though disgruntled. She referred once to my desertion.
“I’ve shown you things,” she grumbled.
“I showed you Gramps and the grave.”
“Both suggested by you. I did not ask. Besides, people have a private side to their lives.”
“And this one you’re meeting is in your private life?”
“As you have never met him , .. yes.”
“I will,” she said threateningly.
“You may … perhaps ..” one day. “
She would have liked to make a scene but she dared not. I knew that her life had changed since I had come and it was due to me. She looked upon me, in a way, as her protegee. She enjoyed being with me, which was why she was making such a fuss because I was leaving for a few hours; but there was a real fear, which I had managed to inst il in her, that I might leave altogether; and that’re strained her.
In my room that night I looked over the last days and thought how far I had come, though not, alas, in my main project. That had remained more or less static but in my new life as governess to Kate Blanchard I had progressed amazingly. True, I had met people who had been close to the scene of the murder, and that gave me hopes of coming on some discovery. I needed time to talk to them, to get to know them, and I must do this in a natural manner . so that they did not guess my real motive.
I wished I could find out something about Mirabel’s first husband, Mr. Blanchard. What could he have been like? When had he died? How long was it after that when she came down to Cornwall with her father and her daughter? They could not have been very well off, for the cottage was quite a humble dwelling . at least in comparison with Perrivale Court and the Dower House.
Idle curiosity, perhaps. But not entirely. Mirabel was one of the chief actors in the drama, and it would be advantageous to know as much of her as possible.
Then I was thinking of Lucas, remembering with a certain tenderness his proposal. I felt a great longing to tell him why I was at Perrivale and I knew that when I was with him that longing would be intensified.
I sat at my window looking at those across the courtyard. I was trying to persuade myself that Lucas would be a help to me. What a relief it would be to share this with him. He cared for me . next to himself.