Read Online The Gossamer Cord by Philippa Carr - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Philippa Carr
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things for him yet again.
It was October when we left for Cornwall—my parents, Dorabella, and I. We spent a night in London in what had been my grandparents’ home in Westminster and which was now the home of my uncle Charles. My grandparents were at Marchlands most of the time but came up to London on this occasion to see us. Edward and Gretchen were staying at Marchlands. I wondered whether Gretchen compared Epping Forest with the Böhmerwald.
“What a nice girl Gretchen is,” said my grandmother. “Don’t you think so, Lucinda?”
My mother said she did. My uncle Charles and his wife, Sylvia, were very interested in the political situation and as a Member of Parliament, my uncle knew a great deal more about world affairs than we did. He muttered something about not liking the noises that fellow Hitler was making.
We were all too excited at the prospect of the Cornish visit to pay much attention to that, and the next day we left for Paddington and the West Country.
It was a long journey across the country through Wiltshire, with its prehistoric sites, to red-soiled Devon where the train ran along the coast; and then across the Tamar and we were in Cornwall. Very soon after that we arrived at our destination.
Dermot was waiting for us on the platform.
He and Dorabella greeted each other with rapture; then he welcomed the rest of us. His car was in the station yard.
He summoned a porter who touched his cap, and he was told to bring the luggage to the car.
“Yes, Mr. Tregarland, sir,” he said in a Cornish accent. “You be leaving that to me, sir.”
The luggage was put into the boot of the car and we drove away.
“It is so good to have you here,” said Dermot.
My father was seated beside him in the front, my mother with Dorabella and me at the back.
“It’s good to be here,” said my father. He sniffed appreciatively. “Wonderful air,” he said.
“Best in the world, we do say, sir,” said Dermot in a fair imitation of the porter’s accent. “You know how people are. Theirs is always best. They delude themselves into believing it.”
“It is not a bad idea,” said my mother. “It makes for contentment.”
“I can’t wait to see the house,” said Dorabella.
“That is something you will have to do, my dear,” said my mother. “But not for long. How long, Dermot?”
“It will be for some twenty minutes,” he told her.
“Everything seems to grow so well here,” said my father.
“We get lots of rain and very little frost to kill things off. We’re a cosy little corner of the island, in fact. Though our gales can be terrific…very wild. There is something about the place which reminds me of the Böhmerwald, though it is very different. They have their trolls…and Thor, Odin, and the rest, but I can tell you we have our little gang of supernatural beings who have to be placated at times. Piskies…knackers…and specially those who have ‘the powers,’ as we call them. They can do the most frightful things to you merely by looking at you.”
“You are making us tremble,” said my mother lightly.
“Don’t worry. Ignore them and they will do the same to you. It is only those who go looking for them who get the unpleasant surprises.”
“It sounds fascinating,” said Dorabella.
Dermot took his eyes from the road to smile at her.
We went through a village with stark gray stone cottages and a plain rather dour-looking building which I took to be a church.
The trees almost met across the road, making a roof for us to pass under; there was lush foliage growing everywhere; and the luxuriant beauty of the country made up for a lack of architectural elegance.
Then I saw the sea and black rocks about which the waves broke rhythmically, sending up white spray into the air.
“Not far now,” said Dermot. “Down there…” He indicated with his head “…is the little town. A fishing village, really—not much more; the river divides it into two, West and East Poldown,
It was October when we left for Cornwall—my parents, Dorabella, and I. We spent a night in London in what had been my grandparents’ home in Westminster and which was now the home of my uncle Charles. My grandparents were at Marchlands most of the time but came up to London on this occasion to see us. Edward and Gretchen were staying at Marchlands. I wondered whether Gretchen compared Epping Forest with the Böhmerwald.
“What a nice girl Gretchen is,” said my grandmother. “Don’t you think so, Lucinda?”
My mother said she did. My uncle Charles and his wife, Sylvia, were very interested in the political situation and as a Member of Parliament, my uncle knew a great deal more about world affairs than we did. He muttered something about not liking the noises that fellow Hitler was making.
We were all too excited at the prospect of the Cornish visit to pay much attention to that, and the next day we left for Paddington and the West Country.
It was a long journey across the country through Wiltshire, with its prehistoric sites, to red-soiled Devon where the train ran along the coast; and then across the Tamar and we were in Cornwall. Very soon after that we arrived at our destination.
Dermot was waiting for us on the platform.
He and Dorabella greeted each other with rapture; then he welcomed the rest of us. His car was in the station yard.
He summoned a porter who touched his cap, and he was told to bring the luggage to the car.
“Yes, Mr. Tregarland, sir,” he said in a Cornish accent. “You be leaving that to me, sir.”
The luggage was put into the boot of the car and we drove away.
“It is so good to have you here,” said Dermot.
My father was seated beside him in the front, my mother with Dorabella and me at the back.
“It’s good to be here,” said my father. He sniffed appreciatively. “Wonderful air,” he said.
“Best in the world, we do say, sir,” said Dermot in a fair imitation of the porter’s accent. “You know how people are. Theirs is always best. They delude themselves into believing it.”
“It is not a bad idea,” said my mother. “It makes for contentment.”
“I can’t wait to see the house,” said Dorabella.
“That is something you will have to do, my dear,” said my mother. “But not for long. How long, Dermot?”
“It will be for some twenty minutes,” he told her.
“Everything seems to grow so well here,” said my father.
“We get lots of rain and very little frost to kill things off. We’re a cosy little corner of the island, in fact. Though our gales can be terrific…very wild. There is something about the place which reminds me of the Böhmerwald, though it is very different. They have their trolls…and Thor, Odin, and the rest, but I can tell you we have our little gang of supernatural beings who have to be placated at times. Piskies…knackers…and specially those who have ‘the powers,’ as we call them. They can do the most frightful things to you merely by looking at you.”
“You are making us tremble,” said my mother lightly.
“Don’t worry. Ignore them and they will do the same to you. It is only those who go looking for them who get the unpleasant surprises.”
“It sounds fascinating,” said Dorabella.
Dermot took his eyes from the road to smile at her.
We went through a village with stark gray stone cottages and a plain rather dour-looking building which I took to be a church.
The trees almost met across the road, making a roof for us to pass under; there was lush foliage growing everywhere; and the luxuriant beauty of the country made up for a lack of architectural elegance.
Then I saw the sea and black rocks about which the waves broke rhythmically, sending up white spray into the air.
“Not far now,” said Dermot. “Down there…” He indicated with his head “…is the little town. A fishing village, really—not much more; the river divides it into two, West and East Poldown,
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