“Have you always been interested in bees?”
“Interested in creatures, Miss Caroline. I’ve had hives before I came here. Never so many though. They’re miraculous little creatures. Clever, hard-working. You know what to expect from them.”
“That’s a great asset … to know what to expect. Your flowers are lovely too. You have a way with those, I gather, as well as with the bees.”
“Yes, I love the flowers … all growing things. I’ve got a little bird in here.” He jerked his head towards the lodge. “Broken wing. Don’t think it will ever be quite right, but maybe it will mend a bit.”
A cat came out and mewing rubbed itself against his legs.
“Have you any other animals?” I asked.
“There’s old Lionheart. He’s the Jack Russell. He can give a good account of himself. He and Tiger the cat are permanent residents, so to speak.”
“And the bees, of course.”
“Oh yes, and the bees. The others come and go. This bird … he’ll be here for a little while yet, but living in a cottage is no natural life for a bird.”
“How sad for it to be crippled. Particularly if it remembers the days when it was free. Do you think birds do remember?”
“I think God has given all creatures powers, Miss Caroline, just as He has given us.” He hesitated for a while then he went on: “Would you like to step inside for a while? You could see the little bird.”
I said I should indeed like to.
The dog came out rather fiercely to inspect me.
“All right, Lion. It’s a friend.”
The dog paused, eyeing me suspiciously. Jamie stooped to pat him and the dog’s slavish devotion was apparent.
It struck me then that this was a happy man.
He showed me the bird with the broken wing. He handled it lovingly and I saw that the bird, in his gentle hands, ceased to be afraid.
He had a pleasant little parlour, scrupulously clean, and in this we sat and talked about the bees. He said that if I cared to, one day, when it was a good time, he would take me out and introduce me to them.
“I’ll have to protect you first. They don’t always understand. They might think you had come to attack the hive.”
His conversation interested me in rather the same way that Jago Landower’s did. I asked questions and he answered, obviously delighted by my interest. He told me how he had started with one swarm and now he had ten good stocks of bees in his garden.
“You see, Miss Caroline, you must understand them. Respect their feelings. They’ve got to know you for a friend. They know I’ll shelter them against extremes of heat and cold. It’s practical really to give them the best conditions for constructing the combs and rearing the young. Oh, I’ve learned a lot. Trial and error, you might say. I reckon now I must have the most contented apiary in Cornwall.”
“I’m sure you’re right.”
“My bees have nothing to fear. They rely on me and I rely on them. They know they’ll be looked after when the weather’s too bad for them to forage for themselves. One day I’ll show you how I feed them through wide-mouthed bottles full of syrup. That’s when it gets cold though. They mustn’t have too much moisture. When I boil the sugar I put a little vinegar in it. That prevents it crystallizing. Oh, I’m being tiresome, Miss Caroline. Once get me on to the subject of bees and I don’t know when to stop.”
“I find it very interesting. When can I actually look at the hives?”
“I’ll speak to them tonight. I’ll tell them all about you. I’ll say there’s a sympathetic soul … They’ll understand. Mind you, they’d soon find out for themselves.”
I thought he was a little too fanciful, but he interested me and I took to calling on him when I passed. Sometimes I went into the lodge, at others I had a little chat at the door.
Cousin Mary was rather pleased. “It isn’t everybody who’ll take the trouble to show interest in him. He’s a good man. I call him our Scottish Saint Francis. He was the one who was always looking after the animals, wasn’t he? You know that. Of course you do.”
I felt now that I had three good friends—Cousin Mary, Jago Landower and Jamie McGill, and I was beginning to enjoy life in Cornwall. I could scarcely believe that it was such a short time ago when I had been dreading coming here.
Cousin Mary talked to me about the past when my father and Aunt Imogen used to stay at Tressidor for their summer holidays.
“The two brothers didn’t get on very well, my father and your grandfather, that is. My father used to laugh and say, ‘He thinks he’s going to get Tressidor Manor for his son. He’s going to have a bit of a surprise.’ “
“I know how my father felt about that,” I said.
“Yes. I’d never give up Tressidor. It’s mine … till the day I die.”
I asked her what she thought about the Landowers. Could it really be true that they might have to sell?
“There are rumours,” she replied. “Have been for a long time. It will break the old man, because it’s his fault, you see. They’ve had gamblers in the family before but he’s the one who’s brought it all to a head. If Paul had been born a little earlier it might have stopped the rot. I’ve heard he really cares for the place and has a flair for management and might have had a chance of pulling the place round. The trouble is not only the old man’s debts but the fact that the house needs instant repairs. Oh, it’s folly not to take these things in time.”
“I believe Jago is very upset.”
“I daresay. But that’s nothing to what his elder brother will be. Jago is young enough to recover.”
“Is Paul so much older?”
“Paul is a man.”
“Jago is nearly seventeen.”
“A boy really. They’ve brought it on themselves though. If it had been an act of God, as they call it, one could have felt more sorry for them.”
“But I think people suffer more through misfortunes which have come about through their own fault, Cousin Mary.”
She looked at me rather approvingly, I thought, and patted my hand.
Later she said: “Glad you came. Enjoyed having you.”
“That sounds like a goodbye speech to me.”
“I hope I shan’t have to make one of those to you for a long time to come.”
Cousin Mary and I were certainly getting fond of each other.
In due course Jamie McGill took me out to introduce me to the bees. He covered my head with an extraordinary bonnet which tucked into my bodice and had a veil over my face for me to see through. I wore thick gloves. Then he took me out. I must say it was rather terrifying to have the bees buzzing round me. They buzzed round him too and some of them alighted on him. They did not sting though.
He said: “This is Miss Caroline Tressidor. I told you about her. She wants to learn about you. She’s staying with her cousin for a while and she’s a friend.”
I watched him take the combs out of the hive and I was amazed that they allowed him to do this. He was talking to them all the time.
Afterwards we went into the house and I was divested of the strange garments.
“They’ve accepted you,” he said. “I know by their buzzing. / told them, you see, and they trust me.”
The bees’ acceptance of me made a change in our relationship. Perhaps because the bees trusted me, he did. He became more open about himself. He told me that he was sometimes homesick for his native Scotland. He longed to see the lochs and the Scottish mists. “Different from these down here, Miss Caroline, just as the hills are. Ours are grand and craggy—awesome at times. I long for them, aye, that I do.”
“Do you ever think of going back?”
He looked at me with horror. “Oh no … no. I could never do that. You see … there’s Donald. It’s because of Donald … and what he is … well, that’s why I had to leave … get away … as far as I could. I was always afraid of Donald. We grew up side by side.”