“Then it will be too late for him to start on his own.”
“When Tristan is twenty, he will be close to fifty. Not too old for a man of his energies … if he keeps his health. However, it is what I shall do.”
“Do others know of this? Does Gordon?”
“He will know when the will is read.”
“Why do you tell me?”
He was thoughtful for a moment, then he said: “I think you have an interest in people … very like my own, but yours is benign where mine was mischievous. You would never have done what I did. You are too good-hearted—and, shall I say, too wise to meddle? You see, I am now brought to this stage of repentance because of what I did, and that was foolish of me, for I am now mourning as I approach death and asking the Almighty not to punish me as I deserve. How much cleverer I should have been if, at this stage to which we all must come, I could have had a balance sheet with the good deeds outweighing the evil? And you are here—part of the scene. Perhaps you will continue with the saga after I have gone.”
“How?”
“You have become part of Tregarland’s. Your sister is the mother of the heir. Violetta, that young man of yours … you are still waiting?”
“I am still waiting.”
“And hoping? It is a long time.”
“It is nearly two years since Dunkirk.”
“This war will be over one day, and when it is and he has not come back you will spend your life in mourning for someone who is lost to you forever.”
“I cannot see so far ahead.”
“Forgive me. I am making you sad. It is the last thing I want to do. You are a serious young lady. I knew that from the first. It would have been different if Dermot had married you.”
“It would have been different whomever he had married.”
“The wayward delectable Dorabella was not the one for him, but she is the mother of my grandson. I should like to say a word for Gordon. He is a good man; he would make a faithful husband. If the Jermyn boy does not come back … and in time you must cease to hope … Gordon will be waiting, I am sure.”
I could find no words. I could only think of a bleak future without Jowan.
“I should like to think of you here at Tregarland’s,” went on the old man. “Gordon is calm … level-headed … a little like you, my dear. It would be pleasant for me, looking down from heaven, or more likely from the fires of hell, to see you at Tregarland’s with Gordon, and my grandson growing up under Gordon’s guidance to love the place. Here I am again, arranging people’s lives for them. But, of course, they must arrange them themselves.”
We were silent for a while before he continued: “I often think of how your mother wanted to take Tristan back with her and how she procured the good Nanny Crabtree to look after him. And thank God she did. There is another sensible woman. Do you remember how I refused to let the boy go?”
“Yes, I remember.”
“If I had not done that, he would have escaped danger. It is yet another sin to be laid at my door. When I am gone, you must take him to your mother. My dear girl, you will be happier away from this place. Memories of Jowan come back all the time. You will never escape from your grief here. You need to get away … you, your sister, and the child. I should have let you go before.”
He was tired, I could see, and I told him he must rest a while and I would come and see him again. Our talk had been very interesting, I added.
“Not very productive,” he said. “But what is there to produce? Confession is a sort of self-indulgence. It is good for the soul, they say. One talks and the listener, because he or she has been specially selected by the confessor, makes the necessary comforting excuses, which you have done admirably, my dear. Thank you. Do you believe in premonitions?”
This abrupt change of subject disconcerted me a little.
“I am not sure,” I said.
“Nor am I, but I have just had one. The end is nigh, it says. I have unburdened my soul—and now, my dear, it is farewell. I hope your future will be a happy one. I fancy it will be. This evil war must end, and when you have made your decision, I am sure it will be the right one.”
I stooped over him and kissed his forehead.
“Thank you, my dear,” he said, and closed his eyes.
Three days later he had a massive stroke from which he did not recover. The premonition of which he had spoken had proved to be a warning of what was to come.
So there was another journey to the cemetery.
When we were back in Tregarland’s the lawyer from Plymouth read the will. Tristan had become the owner of the estate; Gordon was acknowledged as James’s natural son; he was to remain administrator of the estate and was to inherit forty thousand pounds. Glasses of sherry were served and there was a hushed atmosphere throughout the house.
It was amazing how we missed the old man. We had not seen a great deal of him, but we had always been aware of his presence. What changes there had been since I had first seen Tregarland’s, although it was not so very long ago. For so many years it had gone on in the same way and then, suddenly, the changes had come … drastic changes, death, and disaster. And what now, I wondered?
The days were passing. Summer … autumn. My mother wrote often. She thought I should get away … come back home for a while. I knew she was thinking I would be better somewhere else that I might escape from memories of Jowan.
They had all made up their minds that he was lost forever. I guessed what my mother was saying to my father:
“The sooner she gets away from that place the better. She ought to be meeting people … young people. Dorabella is very interested in that nice Captain Brent, and it seems he is in her. Perhaps she will marry again. But Violetta, she is different. She doesn’t shrug off these things like her sister does. She should get away.”
I had my work which I took very seriously. We had made over rooms at Tregarland’s to the convalescing soldiers and were kept busy. I was glad of that. I tried to stop brooding, and the long talks with Gordon helped. He told me he had shelved the idea of getting a place of his own and would not leave Tregarland’s until he could pass it over to Tristan.
I wondered what he would have said if he knew his father had talked of our getting together. I believed that he did have tender feelings towards me, and sometimes I let myself imagine that Jowan did not come back and that I married Gordon. No, I thought. That could not be. And Jowan would come back. There were two of us—his grandmother and myself—who believed he would, though perhaps we forced ourselves to do so because we could not bear it to be otherwise.
In September Dorabella had one of her frequent visits to the Poldowns during which she was away for a longish time. I knew that she was with Captain Brent. She came back in a state of depression.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“James says he is leaving the area in a few weeks’ time.”
“Where is he going?”
“He’s not sure.”