Darkwood (2 page)

I looked around at the armchair and wished so much Grandmother was sat there, the longing was almost painful. Opening the wardrobe doors I almost expected to see her clothes still hanging there, clothes of gay colours, but the inside was dark and empty and smelled of mothballs. I ran my hand along the bottom and touched on something which had long been forgotten.

On bringing it out into the light of the oil lamp I could see it was a small lace bag decorated with pink and yellow roses. I pressed it to me and quickly placed it in the dressing table drawer lest someone take it from me, the drawer too was empty, but one thing which remained on top was a small pink perfume bottle. I eagerly picked it up and smelt the rose scent which still lingered.

A slight tap at the door startled me somewhat and almost guiltily I placed the scent bottle back on the dressing table and the door burst open to reveal Gareth. To say I was surprised would have been an understatement and I just stood there looking at him as he stood on the threshold of my room.

Was he taking in my dishevelled appearance? For my long black hair tidy this morning had successfully escaped the pins, my pale blue travelling cloak was grubby from its trailing around the graveyard. To Gareth my violet eyes must have shown their surprise for he smiled, after all I had said earlier he actually smiled.

‘It’s good to see you cousin Silvia, albeit that it’s not just for a family visit.’ His voice was deep and precise. I could see he was doing his utmost to be polite. Unlike Jared, my betrothed was handsome, he had the coal black hair of the Hunter family and the good looks to match it. His eyes working over me were almost as black too and he was tall. Whereas Jared was meticulous in dress, Gareth was clothed in a casual air which suited him. He must have come straight to my room as he still wore his black riding cape and boots and while he stood there he tapped his riding crop gently on the palm of his left hand.

I gathered myself together and stood straight and tall quite incensed with him for bursting into my bedroom unannounced. ‘I’ll thank you not to come to my room again, it’s most ungentlemanly and bad mannered on your part,’ maddeningly my voice was quavering and my cheeks flushed.

‘But we are to be married, Cousin, does this mean you will bar me from your bedroom indefinitely?’ It was a challenge and I had no ready answer. I watched him leave and heard the door close quietly behind him and for no apparent reason I burst into tears.

2

My tears subsided, I knew not why they had fallen at all, maybe being back in Lizzie’s room again had brought to the fore my emotions at losing her and had brought back sweet memories that I yearned for after all these years. Or could it be that coming face to face with Gareth my betrothed had made me realise to the full what a position I was in.

An arranged marriage by a grandfather whose very presence in a room had filled me with fear and awe. Could I really marry this cousin of mine who was almost a stranger? Or was I missing my friend, Grace Caswell, whose friendship I valued more than anything? I longed for a week to pass so she would join us to be my bridesmaid.

A tap on the door interrupted my thoughts and the door opened to reveal a pretty young maid with blonde curls escaping her mop cap. She gave a small curtsey as she placed a tray laden with thinly-sliced bread and butter, a piece of sponge cake accompanied by a pot of tea with a bone china cup and saucer, on the small table next to the armchair.

‘Thank you.’ I said, sitting up straighter in the armchair, running my hands gently over the fading pink arms as my grandmother had done. ‘What is your name?’

‘Dotty, Miss, I’m not to linger, Miss, as I’m needed in the kitchen to help with dinner.’ She dropped another curtsey, which I found quite endearing as she headed for the door.

‘Oh Miss, almost forgot to say, Douglas is bringing your trunks up.’ No sooner had she spoken, there was a tap on the door. Dotty opened it and Douglas, with a young man, carried in one of my trunks and set it behind the door.

‘Is it all right there?’ he asked in a gruff voice. I nodded in agreement.

‘Then me and young Alfred here will go and fetch the other one, Miss, which I’m bound to say is a good deal lighter than the one we’ve just brought up.’

Dotty was still holding the door open and the three of them went out with Dotty dropping another curtsey before scuttling out and closing the door behind her.

I knew why the trunk Douglas had set to one side of the bed was heavier. It contained my trousseau, which Mother and I had spent all year stitching. How I hated sewing! Books appealed far more to me and I picked up the latest English Woman’s Domestic magazine my mother had purchased for me on one of her rare shopping trips. I flicked through the pages with little interest, Dickens and Lord Tennyson being far more to my liking.

On opening the lid of the trunk, I looked at the contents folded in painstakingly neat piles. Nightdresses, petticoats, silk drawers, chemises, corsets, reception dresses, walking dresses, day dresses, shawls, teacloths, towels and tablecloths, everything a new bride would need for the start of married life. When I thought of all the stitches, embroidery and hours of work which had gone into it all, I felt quite tired and slammed the lid shut on it all abruptly, just as Douglas appeared with the second trunk.

Pru arrived, dear Pru she always managed to lighten my mood, in no time she’d arranged all my clothes in the wardrobe and drawers.

‘Now what are you thinking of wearing this evening, Miss? I think you should look your best.’ As she spoke, her expert hands searched through my many coloured dresses. Almost in triumph she lifted out my favourite violet coloured silk dress, smoothing the skirt and flattening the cream lace collar. ‘Well, Miss Silvia?’ she asked, as she shook the creation causing the silk to shimmer in the light of the oil lamps.

My lack of interest must have shown. ‘Come now Miss, this matches your eyes perfectly and you know it, you will look a picture.’ For her sake I smiled.

‘All right Pru, you’ve convinced me, now I must set to getting ready.’ I conceded.

‘Your future husband will not be able to resist you, Miss, and that’s a fact.’ As Pru spoke she smiled broadly at me, but this thought dampened my spirits.

‘I don’t wish to think of him,’ I said, far more sharply than I intended, and I laid a hand gently on Pru’s arm.

‘You may quite like him when you see him, Silvia,’ Mother’s voice interrupted.

I looked around to see her standing in the doorway, she’d entered so quietly neither Pru nor I had heard her. ‘Mother I’ve seen him, he came to my room not an hour since.’ My voice was full of indifference.

‘Did he indeed, obviously a man full of spirit and strong intention.’ As she spoke, my mother sat herself in Lizzie’s chair. ‘So child, what do you think of Gareth Hunter?’ The was silence for a few seconds. ‘Well answer me, child!’

My silence obviously irritated her, but I knew not what to answer. What did I really think of this man who was to be my husband after so brief an encounter? As she sat looking at me her face full of expectancy her mouth slightly open, I knew Mother needed an answer.

‘Gareth is a handsome man, this I cannot deny.’ The words came out of my mouth slowly and quietly as I continued. ‘He is bold and...’ I searched for the word, ‘and arrogant! There, now you have my answer, please allow me to dress for dinner.’ Mother shuffled back in the chair obviously aware that was all I would say.

My crinoline hoop was in place as Pru helped me on with my gown. As I looked in the mirror I acknowledge Pru was right. The violet colour of the gown matched my eyes perfectly. Delicate cream lace adorned the high neckline and the elbow-length puffed sleeves. As I sat at the dressing table Pru deftly fashioned my jet black hair. I was ready to face the Hunters.

Mother had been dozing in the chair, the black skirt of her dress rising and falling with each breath, she suddenly came to and sat up straight.

‘Of course, the Reverend George Poulter will be here this evening so Rachel tells me.’ She spoke half stifling a yawn, then stood up on her feet, quite precariously as Pru steadied her with a gentle hand.

‘Whatever for?’ Was my sharp-tongued reply.

‘Because dear girl, you and Gareth need to set a date for your wedding.’ Mother’s tone matched mine.

‘We are surely not going to set the date at the dinner table!’ I was aghast at the very thought of it and looked at Mother with some anxiety.

‘It would appear so, Silvia. Now just you remember your manners especially in front of any strangers we may encounter this evening. I want to feel proud of you, for you look quite lovely this evening.’ This was indeed a compliment from Mother and the reply hovering on my lips died as I thanked her if somewhat begrudgingly.

Walking along the corridor our skirts swishing on the carpets beneath our feet, a sudden thought came to mind. My grandmother’s portrait had at one time hung at the top of the stairs, I’d not noticed it on our arrival earlier, my steps quickened eager to see the face I so loved.

To my utter disappointment the portrait I longed to see was gone. In its place hung a picture of my grandfather, Samuel. His likeness had been painted standing by a gnarled grey oak, bluebells surrounding his feet and flanked on either side by large spaniel-type brown and white dogs. The portrait had obviously been painted in the latter part of his life for his sparse hair was a steel grey and, as I looked at his face I noted the cruel mouth, half of which curled in a sardonic smile.

‘What are you looking so intently at my father’s portrait for?’ Mother’s breathless voice interrupted my train of thought.

‘Because I had hoped to see the picture of your mother and was surprised to see my grandfather instead.’ My reply to Mother’s questioning was half-hearted, because looking more intently at the wall I could see the faded wallpaper where Lizzie’s picture had once hung, obviously being far larger than the one of her husband. I turned to my mother, ‘So where has Lizzie’s portrait gone?’ It was a simple question for me to ask, but I was not to gain a simple answer.

‘Goodness child, how would I know. Now let us get down to dinner for we are already late.’

I resolved to locate the missing portrait of my beloved grandmother.

As we entered the drawing-room which was situated at the front of the house, my first thought was that gone were the mellow warm pink colours that Lizzie loved. In their place were bright blues, the curtains and furniture shrieked with the colour and I suddenly felt cold, even though a fire already burned brightly in the old stone hearth.

My second thought was that there appeared to be several people in the room all seemingly unfamiliar except for Aunt Rachel, who amidst hushed silence when we entered steered my mother to a settle by the fire. Before I had chance to look around me a hearty, booming voice uttered my name. ‘Silvia!’ And I was drawn by two strong arms into a swift embrace. The gentleman put me at arms length and I could see it was Aunt Rachel’s husband, my Uncle William, age had not altered him a good deal, he was greyer with bright rosy cheeks, which years on Dartmoor had accorded him. I realised now I was older and how short of stature he was being no taller than myself.

‘Why, Uncle William!’ I beamed with some pleasure, recalling all the happy times I’d spent with him as a child, playing hide and seek amongst all the nooks and crannies at Darkwood, rolling brightly coloured marbles along the path at the front of the house, me always winning and doing jigsaw puzzles together in the evenings under the dim light of oil lamps.

‘You no longer look the tomboy I remember,’ he observed. His eyes twinkling. ‘What a beautiful young woman you’ve become. A bright light for eyes as old as mine.’

‘Oh come, Uncle,’ I bantered, ‘You aren’t that old, just older.’ And we laughed.

‘I hear I’m not to give you away at your marriage to my son, Gareth.’ At his words my smile vanished. ‘You are displeased with this forthcoming union?’ my dear uncle queried, his face full of concern.

‘Not displeased as such Uncle, more apprehensive.’ I replied in a quiet voice, drawing my hands away from his.

‘Let it suffice to say for this evening at least, that I could wish for no more suitable a bride than you for my son.’ Uncle William spoke the words quietly also just as we were interrupted by Jared.

‘Come now Father, you’ve spent enough time with our lovely cousin, time for someone else to enjoy the pleasure of her company.’ As Jared spoke he steered me to the window opposite the fireplace where a young man and woman were in quiet conversation.

As we approached, the young man looked up, his eyes meeting mine, he was tall with short dark hair the front of which fell appealingly across his forehead.

‘Silvia, let me introduce you to the Reverend George Poulter, who will be officiating at your marriage to my brother, Gareth.’ As Jared spoke the words I noticed the clerical dress this prepossessing gentleman wore. He offered his hand, ‘It is my pleasure to at last meet you, Miss Harvey, and on such a joyous occasion,’ Mr Poulter enthused.

The young woman at his side looked on in silence as introductions were made, I fleetingly thought that she looked too young to be his wife for she looked eighteen, and the vicar in his thirties. But I was proved right by his next words.

‘Please allow me to introduce my sister, Isabel.’ As he spoke he drew the young woman forward. At this point I caught sight of Gareth out of the corner of my eye. I turned to observe him better, he was in earnest conversation with the most beautiful creature I had ever set eyes upon. She was slim and fair, her skin like polished ivory without a blemish, the pale green of her expensive gown matching perfectly with the green of her sparkling eyes.

As I started at the two of them, she suddenly threw back her lovely head and laughed. It was the loveliest laugh I had ever heard, like wind chimes tinkling in a summer breeze, but for some strange reason the sound of it stabbed at my heart like a piece of shattered glass.