Peril at Somner House (17 page)

He affected a false tear.

“The hero pledged his
undying
love for the lady, then accused her in the same breath of betraying him.”

“With Mr. Davis?” I interposed.

“The same,” Sir Marcus nodded, “and I wondered if he, too, might be lurking around the place. Snag the premonition! I had to tear my eyes away from this tragic beautiful sight to do a reconnaissance around the garden. I returned to find the two lovers embracing. Oh!” He raised his eyes, a hand over his heart. “And then I made my speedy escape, leaving the two to er,
commence
whatever it is they were going to commence. If you ask me, Lissot's gone against all reason to pursue her while still a subject—”

“Because he loves her.”

I scarcely heard my own voice. It echoed like a drifting whisper carried away by a summer's breeze.

Because he loves her
echoed back at me.

Dinner promised to be very awkward that eve.

Having no wish to partake of it, or listen to Angela's outraged protests regarding Josh Lissot and his inability to care for Kate, I planned to do the only sensible thing: stay in bed and read a book.

“You should come down.” Lingering by the door, Angela's lips curled. “I suppose there's no attraction now the Major's not here? What of Lord Rod? If you want my advice, Daphne, there's more than a fair prospect for you. I've a mind to telephone Papa about it, for I can see the two of you living in that dreary old tower, leading dull and uneventful lives surrounded by books.”

I lowered my book a fraction.

“See!” She smirked. “You're reading a history book!”

“It's a history of the island,” I said, and shaking her head, she left me in peace, returning an hour or so later.

“You're
still
there. You should come down. Roderick asked after you.”

My face turned red. I could feel it.

“You really ought to save him from Bella,” Angela prompted. “That girl won't take
no
for an answer.”

Trying to ignore her chatter, I continued flicking the pages until a face caught my attention.

Sitting up, I fanned the pages backward.

“What the devil are you doing?”

“I saw something.” And there it was, a photograph of Max Trevalyan and Mr. Davis, brothers in arms, standing before their warplane. Stunned at the inclusion of this all-too-recent image, I checked the printing date inside the front cover. It had been published three years after the Great War.

There was a brief commemorative inscription below the photograph, too. “‘Local landowner Lord Max Trevalyan and friend Mr. Peter Davis…'”

The photograph must have been taken before one of their missions. Perhaps it had been the one where the Germans had shot down their plane, leaving them stranded in the forest, alone, unprotected, and wounded. I had to find out. Roused to action, I located my robe and hastened down the hallway, book perched under arm.

“You can't go down looking like that!” Angela protested, hurrying behind. “What did you find in that book anyway?”

“Oh, nothing of any great importance. Just a photograph.”

 

Approaching the drawing room, I suddenly reconsidered my state of dress. My mother would be horrified by such a spectacle, and as my mother was not at Somner, Angela played the role.

“Think of Roderick,” she hissed. “He will disapprove.”

“If he does,” I retorted, “then he is not worth winning. I won't allow convention to rule me.”

Angela lifted her eyebrows in warning. She did not want Roderick to think any less of me. Just as I was poised to heed her warning, Sir Marcus hooted, “Aha! The deserter deigns to join us!”

I quickly scanned the room, relieved to find Roderick and Josh Lissot absent. Kate looked particularly flushed, entertaining the company with some kind of scandalous reading, judging by their faces.

“Continue reading, Katie girl.” Lazily perched upon one of the divans, Sir Marcus battled with a score of disobedient cushions. “I am curious as to Daphne's opinion.”

To humor the party, I listened, my ears growing redder by the minute.

“The Marquis de Sade is too obscene for my little sister,” Angela smirked. “She prefers the old romantics…and fairy tales.”

“So do I,” Mr. Davis defended, and I thanked him with a smile.

He offered to take me into dinner.

“I'm not really dressed for dinner.” I laughed by way of apology.

“It doesn't matter…in these circumstances.” Mr. Davis waved away my protests and escorted me into the dining room, seeing me comfortably seated. It was a gentlemanly consideration, I thought, often lacking in most young men of my acquaintance.

Roderick and Josh Lissot were already there, heavily engaged in a private discussion. No one seemed to take offense
to my robe, and I suppose if I had thought to put a feather in my hair, nobody would have looked twice.

As the others entered the room, Josh looked tense, managing a warm smile when Kate trailed her hand across his shoulder.

I felt my companion's keen gaze upon her. Poor Mr. Davis. After loving Kate for years, he languished in the wake of his dramatic confession. Certain he regretted the public avowal to some extent, I strove to make light conversation and brought up the photograph in the book. “This is why I came down, really. Did you know they used the photograph?”

He took the book from me, surprised to see himself there. “Max must have done it. He liked fame, in any form. Those were wild days, but we survived. We were the lucky ones.”

“Max was injured more than you were, was he not?”

Mr. Davis nodded. “Thankfully, for we'd both not be here today if I had. One of us had to drag the other out of the plane and across the field…away from the Germans.”

I tried to imagine the scene. Blasts hurtling through the sky, the eerie sound of the German bombers approaching before the earth-rattling tanks made their invasion into the village. It was just as Kate had captured so vividly in her paintings.

“Max won the medal of bravery,” I said, scanning Mr. Davis's quiet concentration on his dinner. “How did that happen when
you
saved him?”

“I offered it. Max needed it more than me. His wounds plagued him terribly and it was quite some time before he recovered.”

I thought of the drugs, which evidently turned to severe dependency as Max attempted to lessen the pain. Or maybe they were not to blame for his many vices.

“Not many would give up their reward like you did,” I murmured. “I trust the gesture was appreciated.”

“It was,” Mr. Davis insisted, declining a glass refill from Sir Marcus. “As I watched him hobble to the award ceremony, I knew I'd done the right thing. Like they say, there's more pleasure in giving than receiving.”

I wondered why he continued supporting a libertine like Max Trevalyan. As I'd learned, he had a very active social life in London, many friends and connections, so why bother with Max?

“I can see you're confused. Sometimes I'm confused, too, why I kept trying with Max all those years. I suppose, like Kate, we worked on ‘reforming the rake.'” A chuckle escaped his lips. “You'd understand that, being a devotee of romantic fiction and a novelist.”

“Oh, I'm not a novelist, Mr. Davis. At least, not yet.”

“Call me Peter,” he smiled. “And I trust you will be one day.”

So did I, most passionately. Publication of a novel was something every writer dreamed of and yet few achieved.

Which reminded me of the short story I'd sent off in the post. I told myself firmly I'd not give into depression if I heard nothing, for news came very slowly to the island.

“I'm afraid I have to leave tomorrow,” Mr. Davis said. “I have to see my uncle. He lives on one of the islands.”

“Oh? Shall you return?”

“Absolutely,” he returned with a smile. “It's just an island hop for two days. You must understand, Miss du Maurier, I cannot leave Somner until this business is settled. Someone murdered my best friend, and I won't rest until the murderer”—he glanced caustically at Josh Lissot—“is punished.”

“Did someone say ‘island hop'?”

Inspired by Mr. Davis's excursion, Sir Marcus seized on an idea. “I daresay that's a splendid idea. I shall make all the arrangements. I'm very good at outings, you know. What do say you, Lord Rod? We could all do with some cheering up.”

Everyone focused on the man who had recently lost his brother. “I suppose it would be something to do.”

“Exactly so. Tomorrow too soon? How does the weather fare?”

And so a day trip and picnic dawned and I, for one, could not contain my excitement. I longed to explore all of the islands and was delighted to hear the party had settled on Tresco.

Transported in a convoy of motor cars to the ferry, we parted with Mr. Davis, who caught a different boat to see his uncle on St. Mawes.

“I do hope you'll be able to join us later,” I overheard Kate say to Mr. Davis as we parted ways.

“I don't think so. Uncle William has a penchant for keeping me once I arrive. Another time, perhaps.”

He left and I caught a fleeting glance of sadness drift over Kate's fine features. Was she thinking she should desert the penniless Mr. Lissot to marry the man who'd loved her so devotedly all these years?

I asked Sir Marcus.

“It's devilish odd: this Katie/Josh business. Are they together or are they not?”

As we were about to board the small schooner ferry, Sir Marcus and I lingered back from the others. “I don't think she's made a decision yet. She may feel guilty for deserting Josh.”

“Guilt is no reason to stay.” Sir Marcus's logical utterance accompanied us down the sunny ramp.

The day promised fine weather blessedly free of wind and rain. Such days were rare during winter and the sunshine inevitably brightened everyone's mood.

I sat next to Arabella on the boat. She looked quite attractive, abandoning her spectacles and donning a plain white summer's dress, her lank brown hair tied back with a red ribbon. Kate and Angela dressed similarly whereas I had opted for a skirt and blouse as was my custom, and we all took the precaution of bringing coats and umbrellas.

The men carried baskets from the kitchen and Roderick stood with the captain up in front. They chatted the entire time and I realized he felt more at ease with the working class than with people of his own. I began to understand the spartan tower, the overalls, and the boatbuilding business. Yes, it all suited the quiet, unobtrusive man. He'd make somebody a very good husband one day.

“Are you,” Bella dared to ask me during the voyage, “and my cousin…?”

Words failed her. Her desperation drew a profound sense of pity from me.
Unrequited love
. It mustn't be kind.

“You were very close to both your cousins, weren't you?” I replied, keeping my voice low and sympathetic. “I daresay within the family they hoped you'd marry one? I felt a similar attachment to my cousin at one time.”

“It was my mother's fondest wish,” she confided.

“And you love living here on the island, don't you?”

“Yes, I do.”

“In answer to your question,” I whispered, “I can say there is no attachment at present between your cousin and I—”

“And will you promise there never will be?”

She reminded me of Lady Catherine in
Pride and Prejudice.
I was Elizabeth Bennett being asked to steer clear of the quarry.

“I wondered,” she went on, “if you and the Major—”

“Oh, no. We're just…friends,” I decided at length.

“Sir Marcus mentioned Padthaway. Is that where you met the Major?”

I had no desire to embark upon a dissection of that period of my life. Fortunately, we arrived at our destination and the jolt sent me upright. Steadying myself, I maneuvered away from Bella so she and I could not continue our conversation.

Sir Marcus, of course, had noted the exchange. In fact, he noted a great deal too much.

“I think you're hiding something from everyone,” I teased. “Are you a private investigator or a closet chronicler?”

“‘A closet chronicler.' I rather like the sound of that…. Watch your step, Daphne girl. We trudge a very fine path here.”

Tresco. I especially looked forward to visiting the abbey
and the old shiphead museum, with varying figureheads dating back to the early nineteenth century.

Roderick willingly assumed the role of tour guide, betraying his passion for seafaring. I opted for the seat beside him on the hackney carriage that met us down at the dock.

“It became more than a hobby these last two years,” he uttered with pride. “My little boatbuilding enterprise…the warehouse you visited up at the tower.”

“Oh, yes. The tower,” I echoed.

A tiny smile played at the corners of his lips. “You are an unusual woman, Daphne. Not many women envisage it as you do. They all seem to exclaim ‘how can you live there!'”

I shook my head. “It makes me indignant. A tower is a wonderful place to live, though I suppose it gets very cold in the winter?”

“I've improved the heating capacity to a large extent. Surprisingly, parts of Somner are colder than the tower in winter, if you believe me.”

“Why shouldn't I believe you?” I took a sideways glance at him. “Don't you ever fancy living on the mainland? London?”

“No,” came the firm reply. “These islands are my life. I feel just as Augustus Smith must have felt in 1834 when he came to Tresco and built his house and gardens. He dedicated his future to creating a life on the island.”

“Do you know the family at the abbey?”

“A little,” he admitted. “You, I think, will fall in love with the place once you see it. It is like something out of a dream…”

“But your Somner House is very fine,” I reminded him, “and your cousin is just as dedicated.”

Roderick missed my humor, but understood my meaning. “I have told her again and again—”

“It's all right,” I whispered. “But she does love you and the island.”

“I know she does,” he said, raising his eyes as if the fact were a thorn in his side, “and I've made the offer to her and Aunt Fran to live at Somner, but Aunt Fran despises the sea air. It is the isolation of her gentle country village she prefers where she's lived her entire life, so it's understandable. Bella, on the other hand, cannot leave her entirely and, to some degree, is trapped. I often say she should marry a good man. I tried to introduce her to a few but the society down in Devon spawns a disastrous lack of prospects and Bella refuses to spend time in London ‘hunting a husband,' as she would say. She finds the exercise abhorrent.”

Pride, I thought to myself. For if she really wanted a husband, wouldn't she make the effort? No. For years she'd planned to marry Max or Roderick and live on the island. Perhaps she hoped, in time, Rod would agree to enter into a marriage of convenience for companionship. In a prudential light, it would be a good match, as Roderick would need an heir.

The lack of an heir brought Mrs. Eastley and her son promptly to my mind. “I called upon Mrs. Eastley,” I admitted to Roderick. “It surprises me she has no designs on Somner. Have you had much trouble with her father?”

If he was surprised by my interference, he didn't show it. “I'm afraid Max promised Jackson more than what is reasonable. Of course, my brother wasn't in a proper frame of mind at the time.”

A slight frown passed his face, perhaps recalling how Sir Marcus and I had broken into the drawer and read Max's will.

“It seems he never was, now that I look back upon it. Even from childhood.”

“Mentally ill,” I whispered, “worsened by circumstance?”

“Yes,” Rod confirmed a moment later, lightly touching the outward frame of my hand. “You've summed it up perfectly, Miss du Maurier.”

 

Our first stop, the Abbey Gardens, proved a sweeping terrace of over twenty thousand rare, wonderful, and exotic plants from South America to the Mediterranean to South Africa and even New Zealand. The first walk captivated us from the start. It felt like we had entered another world, like the lost Lyonesse of King Arthur, perhaps. I'd read a little about the Isles of Scilly, but visiting this place sent a shiver of appreciation through my bones.

Exotic balmy palms, the essence of spiced plants, the unusually shaped flowers; every square inch had been carefully thought out and planned to achieve the look of a wild, random beauty, all surrounding the magnificent ruins of the twelfth-century church of St. Nicholas Priory.

Unstintingly loyal to any colossal mass flaunting splendid gray walls and ruined arches, I sighed in wonder at the towering proportions standing proud by the river, closing my ears to the running commentary on flora and fauna. The Abbey House and its cascading landscape interested me far more than the tour. I stopped to wonder who had lived here in the past and who enjoyed the house and its surroundings now.

“I will inquire whether the family is at home,” Lord Roderick said to me, strolling off in the direction of the house.

I took another path, a path of scented hedges and fragile stone steps creeping to endless exotic niches. The garden's beauty arrested me, as did the house, and upon locating a
garden bench from which to view the house, I sat down and daydreamed. I daydreamed I was the mistress of the Abbey House, and this was my garden.

“If I were a policeman, I would think you drunk with beauty.”

The voice was teasing and all too familiar.

Keeping my eyes closed, I crossed my arms. “And if I were a police inspector, I would think you illegally on a case not your own. What are you doing here?”

Dressed in casual brown trousers and an olive green sweater, Major Browning strolled into my sunshine. Blinking open my eyes, I enjoyed the way the light danced across the fallen tendrils of his slightly unkempt hair.

Humor danced in his eyes. “I am merely here to enjoy the scenery…as are you.”

“The devil you are. How did you get here? Did you follow us? Did you know we were coming?”

“Nice view, isn't it?” Without invitation, he sat himself beside me, stretching out his legs and resting his arms on the back of the bench. “I do so love to visit Tresco when I have the chance of it…and it so happened an opportunity arose and—”

“Do you know the family?”

“Yes. I am on intimate terms with Major Dorrien-Smith. Perhaps you've heard of him?”

I shook my head.

“He collects plants. You'd like him. Charismatic old fellow who's not, surprisingly, at home.”

“You know that already?”

“Of course I do. I caught an earlier boat than you.”

“Oh.”

“Is there any news, Miss Sleuth?”

“I can't say, but, speaking of sleuths, Major Browning, when is the police chief to arrive? I suspect you are in possession of that information.”

He shrugged. “Next day or so. Business is booming these days, particularly with random acts of violence on the islands. If Max Trevalyan had not been who he was—”

“Then nobody would have bothered to come,” I finished for him.

Sighing, he moved closer to me.

I turned to him. “Do you mean to infer Max Trevalyan's case may now be resigned to the forgotten confines of a file?”

“‘The forgotten confines of a file,'” he repeated. “Lovely, Daphne. Quite lovely.”

I beamed.

“But too wordy. ‘Resigned to a forgotten file' reads much better. It's much more…
succinct
.”

“And what authority do you have on the matter, sir? Are you a publisher, editor, or even a reader?”

“I am a
great
reader,” he avowed.

“Is that so?” I lifted a contemptuous brow. “And what do you read? The latest yachting magazine?
London Life
weekly?”

“You do me severe discredit.” He frowned. “I read upon a variety of subjects. From Shakespeare to Socrates, Dickens to du Maurier.” He paused, an elusive grin twigging at the corners of his mouth. “Oh yes, I read your uncle's book.”

“Did you really?” I was most impressed. “There aren't many copies available.”

“I know,” he groaned, “but having met his niece last summer, I decided to find out how the family wields the pen. How is your penmanship coming along, by the way?”

“Intolerably slow!” I said, but added that I'd managed to finish a short story.

“What kind of story?”

“Fiction. Just a silly little short work of fiction.”

“You could have written a novel about Padthaway.”

“I know…maybe one day I will. I'll have to change the names and the plot, of course.”

“Of course,” he agreed. “And have you sent off your story for publication yet?”

I didn't want to answer. I didn't want my fear of rejection shared among my peers, for I expected the parcel to be returned to me, red marks lining my typewritten pages, topped with a printed rejection letter.
Dear Miss du Maurier, I'm afraid your story does not suit our magazine at this time.
…

“I think it's a remarkable vocation, writing. You have the power to create anything.”

For once, he sounded sincere and full of admiration. “Tell me something. Why did you follow me here?”

“I did not follow. Remember, I have some business with Dorrien-Smith. He asked me to bring him a certain plant.”

“I thought you said the Major was not at home?”

“He isn't. He asked me over a year ago, but I thought it a good time to fulfill his request—since I am in the area and Lord Roderick told me of your plans to visit Tresco. Pure coincidence,” he assured me, stretching out his long legs to further enjoy the sunshine and the view. “Yet can you imagine my delight to find you on the island. Now you tell me how you are enjoying this dubious little house party.”

“Dubious?”

“Well, you can see for yourself how guilty they all appear.”