Midsummer's Eve Page 31

  One morning, a few days after my luncheon with Uncle Peter I went downstairs and found two letters waiting for me. Both came from Cornwall. One was from Rolf; the other from Yorke, Tamblin and Company, the lawyers who had taken over the practice when Rolf’s father had given up.

  I hesitated over them and deliberately picked up the lawyers’ letter first.

  Dear Miss Cadorson,

  A most extraordinary and alarming matter has arisen. It is difficult to explain by letter, but I think you should return to Cador immediately.

  I assure you that it is of the utmost importance that you come without delay.

  Your obedient servant,

  James Tamblin

  I was puzzled. To what could he be referring and why so mysterious.

  I took up Rolf’s letter.

  “My dear Annora.” I felt floods of relief sweep over me. At least he called me his dear Annora, so he could not hate and despise me as much as I had feared.

  This is a most extraordinary matter. I really cannot believe it is true. James Tamblin, I know, is writing to you. I do think it is imperative that you should be here. It is a matter which will have to have thorough investigation, as you will agree …

  How can I, I thought, when I don’t know what it is?

  I am afraid I was a little bewildered at our last meeting and you did not find me very sympathetic. Annora, we have to forget that. It’s over. I still don’t understand it, but I am trying to put it behind me.

  I want you to know that if you need my help over this I am here to be of assistance. Remember, I did study law to a certain extent. So you must call on me at any time you think I might be of use.

  Don’t worry. We will go on as though nothing has happened. I am sure this ridiculous claim will be proved to be false.

  I hope we can be, as we always were, good friends.

  Yours,

  Rolf

  I read both letters again. They were maddeningly obscure. What could have happened? I must know. I would return to Cornwall without delay.

  There was consternation throughout the household when I produced the solicitors’ letter. Everyone was mystified.

  “You see,” I said, “that I must leave immediately.”

  They all realized that. Uncle Peter said I should not travel alone. He would have come with me but for important business which he could not possibly fail to attend to. He was going to send Mrs. Eggham to travel with Eggham and me. Eggham was one of the grooms.

  “It’s a pity they haven’t done better with the railways,” he said. “It’s about fifteen years since there was all that fuss about a train that went from Stockton to Darlington. Of course we were all sceptical then, and after that we began to expect wonders. And now if you go from London to Birmingham you have to break your journey and take the coach. The carriage will be comfortable and Mrs. Eggham is a pleasant woman. When do you propose to leave?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  So I said goodbye to them and this time, although Helena expressed her sorrow at my departure she did not beg to come with me.

  I set out with the Egghams who were to stay a night or two at Cador and then return to London.

  The journey was uneventful and in due course I arrived at Cador. It was always an emotional moment to catch sight of those towers—and perhaps particularly so now that they belonged to me.

  It was early evening when we arrived. They had all been expecting me. Isaacs was in the hall with Mrs. Penlock and a number of the servants. Bob Carter was there also.

  I was conscious of the suppressed excitement and I knew the cause. They were all aware that something momentous was happening.

  “Mr. Tamblin told us you’d be coming,” said Mrs. Penlock. “We wasn’t quite sure which day but your bed is aired and everything’s ready.”

  “I had a rather disturbing letter from Mr. Tamblin,” I said, looking from Isaacs to Mrs. Penlock. “Have you any idea what is wrong?”

  They shook their heads. “We just know the lawyer wanted to see you, Miss Cadorson,” said Isaacs.

  “I thought something was wrong with the house. The roof … or something like that.”

  “The roof is in good order,” said Bob Carter. “I’d have seen to that.”

  “So’s everything else as far as we do know,” added Mrs. Penlock.

  “By the way, Mr. and Mrs. Eggham will want a room. They’ll want to eat, too.”

  “We reckoned as you’d have someone with you, Miss Cadorson,” said Isaacs.

  “And we’m prepared,” added Mrs. Penlock.

  “They will probably stay for two nights.”

  “I’ll have something on the table within the hour,” said Mrs. Penlock.

  I retired early. Travelling was so exhausting. I decided to go along to the lawyer first thing in the morning.

  I rose early, breakfasted and prepared to leave the house. I rode down to the town. I knew the Yorke, Tamblin offices well for they had once been Rolf’s father’s.

  Mr. Tamblin was obviously relieved to see me.

  “Come into the office, Miss Cadorson,” he said. “How glad I am that you are here. This is a most disturbing matter. Would you care for a glass of Madeira wine … or sherry?”

  “No, thank you. I’d rather hear what is wrong.”

  “Mind you, nothing is certain, but this woman could prove that she is right and that could mean you would be dispossessed of everything … or almost everything.”

  “Please tell me the worst.”

  “A woman has arrived here. She is now staying at the Anglers’ Inn. She is laying claim to Cador.”

  “Laying claim? What do you mean? How can she do that?”

  “Her story is that your father married her mother in Australia in 1814, and that she is his legitimate daughter and therefore heiress to his estates.”

  “But that is ridiculous.”

  “So I thought. But your father was in Australia at that time and she says she has proof.”

  “Proof? What proof?”

  “A certificate of marriage.”

  “It’s nonsense. My father married my mother …”

  “Her story is that he went through a form of marriage with your mother when he came back to England, but of course if as she says, he was already married to her mother, the ceremony he went through with your mother was no true marriage.”

  “That is quite impossible. All those years ago! Where has she been until now? Why didn’t she come forward? Why does she wait until he is dead before she does so? What has she been doing all these years?”

  “She said she did not know where he was. It was only when she read of him in the papers at the time of his death by drowning in Australia that she understood who he was. She knew nothing of his wealth and title. She says that when he was drowned with the woman who thought she was his wife and his illegitimate son, and she read about it in the Sydney Gazette, there was no doubt in her mind. She knew she was reading about her father because it gave his history, how he went out there for seven years because he had killed a man for attempting to rape a gypsy girl, how when his term was served he had heard of vast estates and a title awaiting him in England. How he had left Australia and returned to England. She was only a child when he went away and never knew him very well, but her deserted mother used to tell her about him. She says that when he came into his fortune he wanted to forget his life in Australia, so he just walked out and went to England … and there he married. But she insists that marriage was no true one.”

  “She read of it in the papers. Do you think …?”

  “I understand what you mean, Miss Cadorson. She read of what had happened and thought she would perpetrate this fraud. Your father had been in Australia; he had returned to England. She knew that. She had the facts. That’s what you mean. But her story is just possible.”

  “I don’t believe a word of it.”

  “I do not want to. But she says there is a certificate of marriage, which states clearly that there was
a marriage with Jake Cadorson. It is an unusual name and this allegedly took place while your father was there.”

  “Is this a real marriage certificate?”

  “We shall have it examined of course. But I find this very disturbing.”

  “What sort of woman is she?”

  “Young. A little older than yourself. That fits of course. Her story undoubtedly has a certain plausibility.”

  “And just suppose it is decided that she is telling the truth?”

  “I am afraid she could claim the estate.”

  “You mean … Cador would be hers.”

  He looked grim. “There might be some arrangement.”

  “What sort of arrangement?”

  “As you have lived at Cador as your father’s legitimate daughter for the whole of your life to date, we might be able to preserve something. I cannot say. It will be a matter for the judiciary. I thought of calling in advice. You might decide to contest the case.”

  “I cannot believe that my father would marry a woman and then desert her just because he had inherited his family home.”

  “It is hard to believe. But people do the strangest things. He was out there. He had been a prisoner. He had lived a hard life. He may have, at some time, thought he would continue to live out there. He did acquire land and was working on it when the news came to him. It might have been that he did not think his wife—if that was what she was—would fit into the ancestral home or to life in England. It may be that he wanted to cut off all ties with the country of his captivity.”

  “He would not have left her. He would not have come back and married my mother.”

  Mr. Tamblin sighed. “What we shall have to consider is whether this certificate is true or false. I am of the opinion that a great deal will hang on that.”

  “Where is it?”

  “She guards it carefully. She knows that her case rests on it. When the time comes she will let it go but not, I fear, to me, for she knows I act for you.”

  “What sort of woman is she?”

  Mr. Tamblin paused. “She … er … is not the sort of person I should expect to be your father’s daughter.”

  “What must we do?”

  “I want to get a verdict on the marriage certificate.”

  “Does anyone know about this?”

  “I confess to telling Mr. Hanson. He has some knowledge of the law. Occasionally we exchange views and have done ever since I took over the practice. Very often business concerns the people here, and he knows them quite well. It helps when dealing with people to know something about them personally.”

  “He did write to me.”

  “Yes, he said he would.”

  “But he did not give me any idea of the nature of the trouble.”

  “No. He would be discreet.”

  “So we must wait now for a verdict on the certificate?”

  He nodded. “She is bringing it tomorrow. Her lawyer will be with her. Perhaps you would care to be here then. And would you object if I invited Mr. Hanson to come along, too?”

  I said weakly: “No. I should not object.”

  “This has been a great shock to you, Miss Cadorson, and coming so soon after the tragedy … but what happened would never have arisen but for that. Oh dear, this is most distressing.”

  I said: “I will go now, Mr. Tamblin. I will see you in the morning.”

  I came out of the office and mounted my horse. I rode out of the town and up the hill to Cador.

  Then I turned away. I could not bear to look at it just now. I had been so proud of it always. My home … and now my very own. But for how long?

  Could the story possibly be true? No. My father would never have deserted that woman. He would never have married my mother under false pretences. It was not his way. She was lying. It was clear to me what had happened. There had been full coverage of the story in the Sydney Gazette. She would have read about his coming to Australia to serve his prison term, his acquiring a little land which he was working when news of his inheritance came to him. She would have read all that. It was a romantic story of the kind beloved by newsmen. And how simple for her to fabricate the story. The marriage, the flight of the man who vanished from Australia for years during which he lived his grand life in England where he had married, settled down and had a family. I could see how the idea would come to an unscrupulous schemer, and because of the great distance between Australia and England, it might be possible to make it work.

  I wondered what was happening to my life. I had suffered the terrible shock of losing my family and that had been so sudden. They had left me in the best of health that morning and I had never seen them again. I had lost Rolf—due to my own uncertainty; and now, I was in danger of losing my home. It seemed as though fate was preparing to rob me of everything I held dear.

  I could not believe that this was really happening. It could not be possible that my mother had not been married to my father all those years and that I was his illegitimate daughter, Jacco his illegitimate son. It was like a bad dream.

  And yet Mr. Tamblin thought the story was not impossible.

  I had ridden some miles without thinking where I was going. I had come to Croft Cottage, and it was almost as though I had been led there, for it was of sudden interest to me. It was a pleasant little house, just outside the estate, and my mother had bought it ten years ago. One of the maids was going to have a baby, I remembered, and the father was a farm labourer. A quick marriage was necessary and my mother had bought the cottage for them to live in. It was, therefore, my mother’s property, and presumably did not belong to the estate. What a strange thought! If this woman’s story was proved to be true this cottage could be the only home I had in Cornwall.

  I rode round the cottage. It was empty because the family had gone up to the north of England just before we left for Australia. The husband’s cousin had offered him a share in his farm as far as I remembered, and no one else had taken up residence in the cottage.

  This was absurd. Of course the woman would be proved a fraud.

  I slowly made my way back to Cador.

  I summoned Isaacs and Mrs. Penlock to the drawing room. They came, their faces expectant. They knew something momentous had happened.

  I came to the point at once.

  I said: “A woman is now in the neighbourhood who says she is my father’s daughter and that he married her mother before he married mine. She claims that Cador is hers.”

  Even Mrs. Penlock was struck dumb.

  “She will have to prove her story, of course,” I went on, “and if she succeeds there would be great differences here. The place would not belong to me but to her.”

  Isaacs had gone quite white. He looked very shocked.

  Mrs. Penlock stammered: “Oh … the wicked woman to say such things. It be a pack of lies, that’s what it be.”

  “That’s what I think, Mrs. Penlock,” I said. “It is what I hope. But of course such statements have to be examined, and Mr. Tamblin gives some credence to her story. She says she has proof. I think it could be well if you explained it to the servants. They know that something is happening, and I think it would be better for them to hear the truth rather than to listen to rumour. Particularly as this could affect their future very considerably.”

  Isaacs said: “I will make it known to them, Miss Cadorson.”

  Mrs. Penlock nodded. “Don’t ’ee take no notice of this wicked woman, Miss Cadorson,” she said.

  “Unfortunately, Mrs. Penlock, I have to … until she is proved to be a fraud.”

  “She will be. Don’t ’ee make no mistake about that.”

  I prayed fervently that she might be right.

  I could settle to nothing. As I went about the house, I was thinking: It may be that I have no right here. It may be that I shall have to go.

  The next day I went to the lawyers’ office where Mr. Tamblin greeted me solemnly.

  “Come in, Miss Cadorson.” He whispered to me: “She is here … and so is
Mr. Hanson. I will take you to her immediately.”

  Rolf took my hands and holding them firmly looked into my face.

  “Good morning, Annora,” he said; and I could see that he was telling me how disturbed and sorry he was.

  I felt a little rush of relief because he was here. And then I saw her. Oh no, I thought. She is not my father’s daughter.

  She was tall and broad with large features, big china blue eyes and abundant hair with a reddish tinge. There was about her an air of aggression. No, no, no, I thought. He would never have had such a daughter.

  “This is Miss … Maria Cadorson,” said Mr. Tamblin. “And er … Miss Annora Cadorson.”

  She gave a little sharp laugh. “Well, I suppose we’re sisters … or half-sisters, you might say.”

  I did not answer. I could not agree.

  Mr. Tamblin went on: “I have already spoken to Miss Annora Cadorson of your claim. She finds it hard to believe, knowing her father so well.”

  “I never knew him,” she said to me. “He was off when I was too little. He deserted my mother and left her to bring me up on her own.”

  I said: “My father was a man who always shouldered his responsibilities.”

  “Well, this was one he wanted to forget had ever been his.”

  Mr. Tamblin coughed and said: “Miss Maria Cadorson’s lawyer will be here at any moment. He will bring with him the alleged marriage certificate. Until that has been seen, examined and verified as authentic, there is little to be said.”

  The woman looked at me; her expression softened. “Don’t think I don’t know how you’re feeling. This must be terrible news for you. I know about the house and what sort of place it is. My mother used to tell me about it. You see, my father couldn’t stop talking of it, even though he thought it wouldn’t be his then. He had run away from it to be a gypsy. His brother never liked him. They hadn’t got on. Well, it made all the difference when it was his. He’d served his term and he was a free man. He could go back to England and claim his inheritance and he didn’t want to take my mother and me with him … so he just walked out.”