“Poor Jamie,” said Cousin Mary as we rode on. “Though perhaps I should say, Lucky Jamie. I’ve never known anyone who has that complete contentment. It’s due to coming to terms with life. I suppose. Jamie has what he wants. He doesn’t look beyond that. A roof over his head, enough to eat, and his friends about him … chief of which are the bees.”
“Perhaps the simple life is the best.”
“There’s a lot to be said for simplicity. Well, here we are. These woods along here are the dividing line between Tressidor and Landower. There used to be conflict in the old days. Whose woods were they? Now they’re a sort of no-man’s land. I would first like to call on the Jeffs. Their cottage is decidedly damp and Jim Burrows thinks something ought to be done about it … I shall introduce you as my cousin’s daughter,” she went on. “That’s what we thought you were. No point in going into complicated relationships.”
I said: “It’s odd to think that we are not related. I continued to think of you as Cousin Mary even after …”
“I never did believe in all that nonsense about blood’s being thicker than water. Who was it said we choose our friends but our relations are thrust upon us? How true! I never thought much of my cousin Robert nor his sister Imogen for that matter. However, my cousin’s daughter you stay. How’s that? All right, eh?”
“If it makes it easier.”
“Just at first anyway.”
We were received with pleasure by the Jeffs.
“I remember Miss Caroline,” said Mrs. Jeffs. “It must be well nigh … well, bless me if I can remember how many years since she were here.”
“It’s five,” I told her.
“My word, you’ve shot up since then. I remember how you used to ride round with Mr. Jago.”
“Fancy your remembering.”
“Oh yes. That were the time when there was trouble up at Landower. I do recall how Jane Bowers and her husband Jim were that worried as to what was going to happen to the estate. My patience me, there was rumours going round. There’s been Landowers up at the house as far back as anyone could remember. Jim Bowers’s grandfather and great-grandfather … they’d all been on Landower property. Praise God, ‘tis all well now and Landowers be where they belong to be and Landower tenants be safe in their homes.”
Cousin Mary discussed the damp at some length with Mr. and Mrs. Jeffs and when we left them and were riding along in silence I thought of Mrs. Jeffs’ words about people being safe in their homes. So the marriage had brought some good to others as well as to the Landowers. He wouldn’t have been thinking of that though. He would merely have been considering what he would gain.
I felt the bitterness rising and I did my best to suppress it. I did not want Cousin Mary to know that I had been so foolish as to look on Paul Landower as someone very important to me.
We were soon calling at one of the other cottages to talk of further matters, and from there we set out for the farms.
As we were riding home Cousin Mary said: “That’s one of the most important parts of the job—to get to know the tenants. They’re hard-working people for the most part and many of them work on the farms. I like to feel that they are comfortable and happy. That is how to make a contented estate and you can’t have a prosperous one without that contentment.”
As we were riding through the gateway we met a woman coming out.
She seemed vaguely familiar.
“Oh, Miss Tressidor,” she cried, “I was just calling on you. I see that your visitor has arrived.”
“You must come back to the house,” said Cousin Mary. “This is Caroline Tressidor, my cousin’s daughter. This is Mrs. Landower, Caroline.”
I felt my heart begin to beat very fast. I could not stop myself studying her intently. She sat her horse well and her riding habit was immaculate. Her light sandy hair was visible under her riding hat; her eyes were light blue and very piercing. They were what I noticed first, for they were very lively and seemed to dart everywhere—almost avidly, as though their owner was intent in taking in every detail.
“Well, just for a moment,” she said. “I just wanted to say welcome to Miss Caroline. As a matter of fact I was calling to ask you if you would dine with us tomorrow evening.”
“That’s good of you,” said Cousin Mary. “We’d love to come, wouldn’t we, Caroline? Of course we should. Ho, James,” she called to one of the grooms who was crossing the courtyard. “Take our horses. Mrs. Landower is coming in for a while.”
We dismounted and I saw that she was considerably shorter than I and I noticed—a little maliciously I admit—that she had rather a plump figure, which made her look dumpy.
“I’ve been showing Caroline something of the estate,” said Cousin Mary.
“Do you like the country, Miss Caroline?” she asked. I could detect the faint touch of the north in her speech and it brought back to me vividly that meeting at the inn with Jago when we had been waiting for my horse to be shod.
“Oh yes, yes indeed I do,” I replied.
“You’ll have something to drink,” put in Cousin Mary, making it a statement rather than a question.
“Thank you,” she replied.
“In the winter parlour, I think,” went on Cousin Mary. “More cosy.”
One of the maids had heard us come in and was beginning to say, “Mrs. Landower called …”
“It’s all right, Betsy. We were in time to catch her. Bring some wine will you, to the winter parlour … and some of cook’s wine biscuits.”
In the winter parlour we awaited the arrival of the wine.
“Your face seems familiar to me,” said Mrs. Landower.
“Well, we did meet before. Do you remember the inn … before you saw the house.”
“Oh, of course. You were there with Jago. I do remember that. But you’ve changed so. You were only a child then.”
“I was fourteen.”
“But you’ve grown up a lot since.”
“Everyone here keeps telling me that.”
“It’s something that happens to us all,” said Cousin Mary. The wine was brought and she poured it into glasses and I passed round the biscuits.
“Dinner, you say,” said Cousin Mary. “That sounds delightful. I want Caroline to get to know everything that goes on here … quickly.”
“I was most anxious to meet her. After all, we are neighbours, aren’t we? Did I see you only once? I can’t believe it. You are so familiar to me … although you’ve grown so much. You’ll have to meet my little boy.”
“Oh yes. Cousin Mary was telling me about him.”
“He’s beautiful. They say he takes after the Landowers.” She grimaced.
“Oh,” said Cousin Mary, “I expect he’s got a bit of you in him. Perhaps he’ll be like your father. Now, there’s a man I respected deeply.”
“Dear old Pa,” said Gwennie Landower. “A pity he had to go and die just when he’d got what he wanted.”
“At least he got it in time,” said Cousin Mary philosophically. “Is your husband well?”
“Quite well, thank you.”
“And Jago?”
“Jago is always well. He’s back from Plymouth. He’s very anxious to see you, Miss Caroline. He was telling us how well you two got on together all those years ago. He said he wondered if you’d changed and hoped you hadn’t … too much.”
“I shall look forward to renewing our acquaintance.”
She drained her glass.
“I should go. I only looked in to invite you. So it’s all right then? Can you come over about seven-thirty? Not a big dinner party … just the family. Getting neighbourly, you know. Jago said we must be the first to ask you.”
“That’s appreciated, tell Jago,” said Cousin Mary.
We went out with Gwennie Landower to the courtyard and watched the groom help her into the saddle.
She lifted a gloved hand and waved as she went under the gatehouse.