What a difference Uncle Peter’s death had made to us all. Aunt Amaryllis no longer provided that rest house in London; no longer did we have the benefit of his advice; and his death had caused a rift between my mother and her new husband.
She went on: “I am not much use … politically … now and I shall not be for some time. I had to cancel an engagement the other day because I suddenly felt quite unable to carry it out. I think it would be better for everyone if I retired from the scene for a while … and if I went to Cornwall I should be less of a burden than if I were here.”
“And my grandparents would be delighted.”
“Yes, bless them. I shan’t mind being a bother to them.”
“A bother! You would be the reason for rejoicing.”
I skipped round the room and she laughed at me.
“When do we leave?” I asked.
Even then I was scared that he might raise some objection. It was clear that he did not like the idea. He was very tender and loving towards her and I thought I saw her wavering again.
My grandparents had a long talk with him. My grandmother was a most forceful lady. She was the one to look after her daughter in such circumstances, she said, and she knew exactly what was best for her. It would be simple. We should travel to Cornwall with her; the nursery there would be made ready. Dr. Wilmingham was a friend of the family. He had brought Angelet herself into the world. The very best of midwives lived nearby. She should be engaged at once. He must realize that Aunt Amaryllis was no longer able to help and Uncle Peter was not there in case of emergency. He, Benedict, could come down whenever he had the time. There would be no need to make arrangements. All he had to do was arrive. It was true that Cornwall was not exactly close to London but the train was convenient. At weekends he would be more free than during the week … and he could come at any time.
At length he saw the wisdom of this and I and my mother made preparations to leave for Cornwall.
I was happier than I had been for a long time. It was as it had been before the marriage. I think I must have showed it.
He stood on the platform, waving us farewell. He looked so desolate that not until we began to glide out of the station was I able to cast off my fears that she might change her mind.
She was sad at the parting and I was aware once more of the great attraction between them.
I took her hand and clung to it. She kissed mine and said: “The time will soon pass.”
“I daresay that Benedict will be down before long,” comforted my grandmother.
I grew happier as we sped along and crossed the Tamar. One of the grooms was waiting for us and soon we were rattling along through those winding lanes and there was Cador—a sight which always filled me with emotion but never more than at this time when a kindly fate had given me back my mother … if only temporarily.
I vowed that I would make the most of the weeks during which I should have her to myself. I thought of the baby as Our Baby. We should look after it together.
One has to have been unhappy to appreciate real happiness; and on that journey I believed I had never in the whole of my life been happier than I was then.
What a joy it was to settle. It was like coming home. My mother’s spirits revived. Naturally she loved Cador, for it had been her home when she was a child and she and my grandparents were devoted to each other. If anything could make her stop grieving for the loss of Benedict’s company it was this.
It was the beginning of April when we arrived and the countryside was especially beautiful. Spring came a little earlier in Cornwall than it did in London. One could feel it in the air. I could smell the sea and listened contentedly to the gentle rising and falling of the waves. How pleasant it was! My grandparents shared my contentment. They had their beloved daughter back home with them.
The first thing my grandmother did was summon Mrs. Polhenny. She came at once. I thought she looked a little older than when I had last seen her, but if anything even more self-righteous.
She was delighted at the prospect of a new baby.
“ ’Twill be a marvelous thing to have a little one up at Cador, Mrs. Hanson,” she said. “Why, it seems only yesterday that Miss Angelet arrived.”
“Yes, my daughter’s child will have her old nursery. It is wonderful for us to have her here. I told them in London, Mrs. Polhenny, that they couldn’t find a better midwife than you.”
“ ’Twas kind of ’ee, Mrs. Hanson. It’s doing God’s work … bringing little children into the world. That’s how I see it.”
My grandmother and I exchanged amused glances.
“Well, I’d like to have a look at Miss Angelet … when it’s convenient like.”
“Certainly,” said my grandmother. “I’ll take you up to her room.”
My grandmother disappeared with her and shortly after joined me.
“Still singing the Lord’s song in a strange land,” commented my grandmother.
“It must be gratifying to be so sure you are so good,” I said. “I wonder how many share her opinion?”
“Oh, Mrs. Polhenny doesn’t care about the opinions of others. I don’t think I ever knew a more self-satisfied person.”
“I wonder what her name is … her Christian name?”
“I have heard it. Something quite unsuitable. Violet, I think. Anything less like a violet, I cannot imagine.”
“There hasn’t been a Saint Violet, has there?”
“I don’t think so, but there will be now … at least in Mrs. Polhenny’s reckoning. Still, she is a very good midwife and we’ll have to put up with her little foibles on that account.”
Mrs. Polhenny was a little serious when she joined us.
My grandmother said sharply: “All is well, isn’t it?”
“Oh yes.” She looked at me. My grandmother nodded. I knew what that meant. Mrs. Polhenny had something to say which was not for my ears.
I left the room but I did not go away. This was my mother and I intended to know what was happening for Mrs. Polhenny’s look had alarmed me.
So, though I went outside, I left the door a little ajar and stood there listening.
“She seems exhausted, Mrs. Hanson.”
“She’s just had a long train journey from London.”
“H’m,” said Mrs. Polhenny. “Ought to have come earlier. I’d like her to take a good rest.”
“She’ll have that here. There’s nothing wrong, is there, Mrs. Polhenny?”
“No … no …” She spoke rather hesitantly. Then she went on: “I think we are a week or more farther on than we thought.”
“Oh, do you?”
“I think so. Anyway, she’s here now. I’m glad she didn’t leave it any longer to travel. We’ll take good care of her, never fear. She’s in the right hands now. With the good Lord’s help we’ll see she’s all right.”
“Oh yes, Mrs. Polhenny, of course.”
As soon as Mrs. Polhenny had gone I sought out my grandmother.
“She’s all right, isn’t she?” I asked.
“Oh yes. Mrs. Polhenny wants her to rest more. Naturally she’s rather tired after the journey. She’s going to be all right now she’s here.”
“I thought Mrs. Polhenny sounded rather worried.”
“No … not really. She wants to think we can’t do without her. That’s just her way.”
We laughed together; then we went up to my mother.
“The holy Mrs. Polhenny thinks you should rest more,” said my grandmother.
My mother lay back on the pillows and laughed. “I’m willing,” she said. “I feel so tired.”
My grandmother went over and kissed her.
“I’m so happy you came home,” she said.
We were all seated at the dining table. My mother, considerably refreshed in a long rose-colored teagown, looked beautiful. Miss Brown was having something in her room. Meals were always a little difficult. My grandparents did not like her to eat alone and she certainly could not join the servants in the kitchen. It was different at Manorleigh or in the house in London. There Miss Brown and I often ate together, but here there was a more intimate family life. Miss Brown would often plead work to prepare and would eat in her room. I think she preferred it sometimes. In any case she did on that night.