Painting The Darkness (6 page)

‘The maze has been abandoned,’ said Lady Davenall flatly, ‘I found it impossible to justify the labour which its upkeep entailed. The hedges have been allowed to grow back for some years now, and the gates are kept locked.’

Constance seemed taken aback. ‘Abandoned? I can hardly believe it. What of Sir Harley’s bust in the centre? Why, there was a bench to rest on and—’

‘Left to nature,’ Lady Davenall replied. ‘Bust and all. Quite overgrown. Impenetrable in fact.’ She smiled. ‘I suggest we go in now.’

She moved ahead, walking calmly and steadily towards the house. Constance lingered for a moment, her brow furrowed in bemusement, then slowly shook her head.

‘What’s wrong?’ said Trenchard.

‘The maze was clipped and swept and marvelled at for more than a hundred years,’ she replied in an undertone. ‘Sir Gervase loved to sit in the centre by his great-grandfather’s bust; he knew nobody could find him there except … I’m astonished that Lady Davenall should not have maintained it.’

‘Nor Sir Hugo?’

‘He never was one for conundrums. No, he’d not care about it. But come, we’d better go in.’

They went on their way. They did not refer to the maze again, then or over luncheon. To Trenchard it was unimportant – and wholly irrelevant to the purpose of their visit. To Constance it was, however, merely another strand in her growing mystification. James had been fond of the maze, as had his father. Its abandonment seemed a curious way for Lady Davenall to remember them, positively disrespectful in fact. But the true significance of this did not come to her until near the end of the meal, when Baverstock, notwithstanding a mouthful of Stilton, attempted to reassure Lady Davenall that Norton posed no real threat to her family.

‘His claim is wholly untenable,’ the lawyer said, nodding sagely. ‘You have absolutely nothing to fear from him.’

‘Fear?’ said Lady Davenall. ‘You should know, Mr
Baverstock
, that I have never feared anything in my life.’

It was the use of the word ‘fear’ that made the connection. It was then that Constance remembered.

September 1870. She had visited Cleave Court before, but never as a weekend guest. Now its lavish society came as something of a shock after the sober comforts of Cathedral Close, Salisbury. Yet the shock was a splendid, head-turning, gorgeously intoxicating one for the twenty-year-old Constance. Her impulsive nature had long chafed at the disciplined piety of the Sumner household. Now she began to understand why her brother had befriended James Davenall. And now she also began to understand that the courtesy and consideration James showed her was not merely what he felt was due to the sister of a friend. The weekend, in fact, was to end in his proposal of marriage. And her initial dismayed reluctance was to end in acceptance.

Before that stage was reached, however, James showed himself neglectful of Roland to the extent of insisting that Constance allow him to show her the famous maze of his ancestor, Sir Harley Davenall. She was, in truth, glad to leave the house, where she had found herself increasingly ill at ease in the company of Sir Gervase and another guest, an immense and corpulent French nobleman who was introduced to her as the Count of Moncalieri and with whom, she was given to understand, Sir Gervase had seen service in the Crimea. That his presence in England was in some way connected with the recently concluded Franco-Prussian War was attested by an outburst of profanity when served with hock at luncheon, but his patriotic gloom did not prevent him casting several unpleasantly suggestive glances in Constance’s direction. All in all, she was grateful to be out of his sight.

The maze was a series of concentrically circled yew hedges surrounded by a wooden palisade. Its design was unusually complex and produced, in the minds of those
entering
it, a curious sensation of movement, as if the hedges – and the yew-arched portals by which one passed from one circular path to the next – were always rotating in the opposite direction to the walker. The illusion was enhanced by the fact that each circle of hedges was slightly lower as one passed inwards and the ground seemed also to fall away towards the centre. The whole effect implied a manic obsession with topiary and geometry on the part of Sir Harley, and this James was happy to confirm.

‘The old boy was totally mad, of course,’ he said, as they came at last to the centre and found Sir Harley’s grinning bust awaiting them atop a stone column. ‘But perhaps he had to be mad to plan this. It’s deceived many people who thought they knew its secret.’

Constance turned to him with an alarm that was rather more than mock. ‘We can find our way out again, can’t we?’

James smiled. ‘With me to guide you, yes. But how would you feel if I weren’t here?’

‘A little frightened.’

‘Only a little?’

She looked momentarily stern. ‘I should be confident of finding the route eventually.’

‘Hear that, old chap?’ said James, grinning at Sir Harley. ‘Not all the womenfolk are in fear and trembling of your wretched maze.’

‘I should hope not,’ said Constance.

‘You should have asked my mother to bring you,’ James replied. ‘Then you’d have seen what I meant. She never sets foot here.’

‘Never?’

‘Not for as long as I can remember. I often tried to persuade her in when I was a boy, but I never succeeded. I think it truly frightens her.’

‘Surely not. She seems—’

‘To know no fear? I would have thought so. But the maze is an exception. She fears this place, though I can’t imagine why.’

Twelve years later, Constance was in no doubt. Whatever fear the maze held for Lady Davenall, she had conquered it. She had locked the gates and let the paths grow over. With the maze abandoned, she could safely pretend that she knew no fear – nor ever had.

VI

When we left Cleave Court that afternoon, it was, in my case, with an acute sense of failure. The object of the visit – for Constance and Lady Davenall to reassure each other that Norton was a fraud – had been evaded by both of them. Just as Constance no longer seemed to want her suspicions that he might be genuine subjected to any kind of rational analysis, so Lady Davenall resisted all reasoned debate of her rejection of him. The result was an icily reticent duel between two women who harboured more unforgotten differences than merely their opinion of Norton. The past – theirs and others’ – shrieked louder than the peacocks across the unwalked lawns. But of what that past held I still knew next to nothing. And when Lady Davenall bade me a wintry farewell that day I realized that was how she wanted it to remain
.

Baverstock, who was returning to Bath at the same time, offered to convey us to the Spa station in his four-wheeler, and I readily agreed. On the way up the drive, whilst Constance gazed thoughtfully back at the dwindling view of the house, I asked him how long he had acted for the Davenalls
.

‘
Not the Davenalls, Mr Trenchard,’ he replied. ‘Lady Davenall. Sir Gervase used a cousin of his. I was only taken on when Sir Gervase became incapacitated
.’

‘
I see. You don’t have any dealings with Sir Hugo, then?
’

‘
None at all. Sir Hugo seldom comes down here
.’

At this point, Constance showed herself to have been less preoccupied than I had supposed. ‘You would not remember the maze, then, Mr Baverstock?
’

Baverstock smiled back at her over his shoulder. ‘Sir Harley’s
Maze
? You’d not visit Cleave Court often without hearing mention of it, though not from Lady Davenall
.’

‘
Then, from whom?
’

‘
The staff. They all thought it a crying shame when she decided to abandon it straight after Sir Gervase was taken ill. I wouldn’t know myself. Crowcroft, the head gardener, left on account of it, though, which says something. There were a good many changes then. Quinn, the butler, left, too, though not—
’

‘
Did Lady Davenall give a reason for her decision?
’

Baverstock chuckled. ‘I should say not
.’

‘
It seems a pity,’ Constance continued wistfully, ‘that there aren’t more staff left who remember James
.’

‘
There is always,’ I put in sarcastically, ‘Nanny Pursglove
.’

‘
Yes, there is,’ said Constance. ‘Did I gather she still lives on the estate, Mr Baverstock?
’

‘
On the dower portion beyond Limpley Stoke, Mrs Trenchard. A charming little cottage near the canal. I’m confident her tenure won’t be prejudiced by this latest eccentricity
.’

‘
If you wish,’ I said, ‘we could perhaps call on her. You and she do have something in common, after all
.’

Constance looked at me sharply. ‘Would that be possible, Mr Baverstock?
’

‘
Simplicity itself, I should say. The dear old soul adores visitors
.’

So it was agreed and, as Baverstock had implied, easily accomplished. We descended through Limpley Stoke to the flat valley bottom and there, in a sunny hollow overlooked by the railway line, found Miss Pursglove’s grace-and-favour cottage, smoke curling from the chimney, the thatch well kept, hanging baskets still in blossom, the rush of the weir on the river behind us softening the silence. Miss Pursglove saw us coming from the kitchen window and pushed it open to trill a greeting. She recognized Constance at once
.

‘
It’s Miss Sumner, as I live and breathe. It’s been too long, my dear, far too long.’ Her wizened bright-eyed face was transported with delight. A moment later, she was at the door. ‘Welcome one and welcome all. Mr Baverstock and …
’

‘
My husband, Nanny,’ Constance said. ‘I am Mrs Trenchard now
.’

Momentarily, Miss Pursglove looked crestfallen; I found myself guessing what she might have hoped. ‘Do all come in and make yourselves at home. Will you take some tea? Lupin and I have baked some scones
.’

Lupin, it transpired, was a cat, whom Miss Pursglove fussed over between filling pots and jugs and cups and passing plates and spoons and doilies. Baverstock lent an ineffectual hand in a way that suggested he was no stranger to the ritual. He and I were seldom called upon to speak. When Miss Pursglove was not talking – which was not often – Constance was. Their memories, it seemed, were of brighter, better days than Lady Davenall had ever known. And, borne in with their memories, there stood an invisible guest at our tea-party beside the river: James Davenall, the man both women wanted to believe was still alive
.

‘
How I did cry when I saw my Jamie again,’ Miss Pursglove said at length. ‘How I did chide him for misleading us all
.’

‘
Now, Nanny,’ said Baverstock, ‘you know Lady Davenall doesn’t want this man Norton talked of as if—
’

‘
Stuff and nonsense! If she can’t tell her own son from Adam, let the woman who raised him do it for her. I never believed he was dead anyway. That’s what you lawyers would have had us believe, but I knew better
.’

There was no denying her conviction; Baverstock cast a defeatist glance in my direction. Constance, however, seemed eager that she should continue. ‘How did you know for certain, Nanny?
’

‘
He came in here with that shy-eyed bit of a stoop he used to put on when he’d misbehaved as a boy. I’d have known him anywhere. He’s my Jamie and no mistake. I know Sir Hugo doesn’t think so, but he wouldn’t, would he? Always a difficult boy, that Hugo. Not sweet-tempered like Jamie
.’

‘
Even so—’ I began
.

‘
Begging your pardon, Mr Trenchard, but, even so as even is, Mr James is back among us. Sir James, as I must learn to call him. Back as he promised he would be
.’

‘
Promised?’ said Constance
.

‘
The last time I saw him. Eleven years ago. He came up to see me in my room over the nursery before he went on that trip to London. Said he was going away and might not be back for a long time. I never thought he meant this long. But I did make him promise to come back. And he said he would. “Don’t worry, Nanny,” he said. “You’ll see me again.”
’

‘
Perhaps,’ put in Baverstock, ‘he meant when he returned from London
.’

‘
Fiddlesticks! He meant what he said. And now he’s kept his promise. “Well, Nanny,” he said when he called on me here, “I’m back, just like I said I would be.” Doesn’t that prove he’s the same man who said goodbye to me all those years ago?
’

‘
I hardly—’ Baverstock began. He was cut short by Constance rising from her chair
.

‘
Would you all excuse me for a short while?’ she said. ‘I think I am in need of some air.’ I made to rise, but she gestured me to remain. ‘Do stay and finish your tea, William. I know you will have more questions for Nanny. I will be back long before you have asked them all
.’

I looked at her nonplussed. ‘Well, I—
’

‘
Please,’ she said. Suddenly, in her eyes, she was imploring me to let her go. She craved this time alone as water in a desert and, though I could not imagine why she should, I had not the heart to obstruct her
.

‘
Very well,’ I said. ‘You’ll not stray far?
’

‘
No, William. Not far
.’

‘
Bless me, Constance can’t come to any harm round here,’ said Miss Pursglove. ‘Have another scone, Mr Trenchard, and settle your mind
.’

I subsided into the armchair and consoled myself, as Constance went out, with the thought that she might have tired of Nanny’s confident assertion that James had returned. I had myself, though not because the old lady had shown herself to be as feeble-minded as the Davenalls had portrayed her. Far indeed from that was this gimlet-eyed little figure in her pinafore dress, polishing her memories as bright as the copper kettle that stood on her range, defying us with the confidence her lost charge had given her eleven years before: he would return
.

‘
Sixty-five years I’ve worked for the Davenalls,’ she recalled, nodding proudly. ‘Long enough, I think, to make me sure of some things. The year of grace 1817, it was, when I was just fifteen, the year Sir Gervase was born. Sir Lemuel was my first master, you see, though I was just a nurserymaid then. It wasn’t until the first Lady Davenall took homesick for Ireland and went back there for good that I had to look after the young master single-handed. To think I remember him in his cradle and lived to see him in his grave. Well, well.’ She nodded her head. ‘He was a holy terror, was Sir Gervase, man and boy. Sir Lemuel banished him once to his mother’s in Ireland, but I don’t know as it did much good. He came back just as scapegrace as he went. Now, little Jamie, he was different. You could tell from the moment he came into the world that he would be a proper gentleman …
’