|
|
8 The
Arrival of the Family
The coach from Penzance was on its way carrying Bessie, Mattie, Louisa, the Count and their new arrivals. Uncle Thomas, Hortensia and the dowager would follow behind in a few weeks. Bess leaned back and, despite the jolting of the carriage, managed to think a little. The count was snoozing against her but his gaze never left his three darlings arranged with the greatest comfort by Mattie, who was sleeping the sleep of those who care for pugs and know when enough is enough. Looking at them all, Bess smiled slightly and reviewed her last puzzling interview with Uncle Tom. He had sent for her the night before and sat her down by the fire.
‘You have looked over the letters, my dear?’ was all he asked, but she knew he wanted something more.
‘Uncle, is there anything else that could have been overlooked?’
‘Very possibly,’ uncle said slowly and taking out a small book gave it to her. ‘This is a little book the girl kept. Drawings, recipes, thoughts on many things. You may be able to decipher it–as a young lady. The family never took much notice of it, but there may be something a young, sympathetic woman can find.’ Then he said, almost offhandedly, ‘Of course, the little prophecy is in there too. She must have copied it out from the family archives.’
‘What do you hope for, Uncle?’ Bessie asked directly. She knew she had the right. The whole family was moving from Penzance to the old house in icy weather with very young puppies because Uncle had a whim. He was not a capricious man, but all she had from him was a collection of tearstained letters and a brooding look whenever he mentioned the house. She sat very still and looked at him with a slight frown, which made her look a little like her father. Uncle Tom sighed and tried to avoid her gaze, but, as she remained silent and staring, he could hardly escape.
‘Bess,’ he said, ‘there is a young woman buried somewhere out in the old garden because she brought our family into disrepute, yet no one proved her guilty of any great crime–nor even of a little one. I believe that she has come back to the house to lead us to the secret, to show us what happened and allow us to learn that she was indeed an innocent.’ He paused and looked at the girl, hoping that her frown had disappeared. She sat calmly enough but he knew she was not satisfied. So he went on, ‘I sent the gentlemen and the pugs first. I’m sure Ignatius Oliver is a spiritual pug and, sometimes Mac is a kind of catalyst.’ When Bess opened her mouth to ask the obvious question he hurried on, ‘I don’t know why I sent little Walter. The girl had a little dog. I suspect he was young and I hoped little Walter would suffice to bring her out. Besides,’ he added as an afterthought, ‘the puppy had already met old Uncle Toby and guided him back to bed. I didn’t dare look for Toby until I was at least ten.’
Bessie shifted on her chair with some astonishment. Uncle Toby was a gentleman and never appeared to ladies in his sorry state, ‘I don’t think you were wrong to ask them to go.’
‘And as they have sent for you and the others . . . .’
She nodded without really knowing what she was agreeing to, ‘Perhaps we can bring peace to the house by Christmas.’
‘Peace,’ said Uncle Tom eagerly, ‘it needs to recover its serenity, its harmony, its contentment.’
‘I see,’ Bessie
had said, rising and kissing him farewell, but, in the carriage, with one hand
on the little book and the other on the count’s head she wasn’t certain at all.
She had looked through the little book briefly and the only thing that
attracted her attention was a line drawing of the profile of a woman. Looked at
closely, the features were regular and attractive but the artist had managed to
convey something in the expression that branded the sitter less than lovable.
Underneath was the 
simple legend: ‘A
cousin.’ In a way, that simple drawing, and the prophecy, were Bessie’s only
clues.
When the carriage rolled into the gates, Michael, who was a tad taller, saw it first and nudged his brother, ‘Let us hope, Andrew, that some solution is rolling down the drive.’
‘If one’s loved ones are coming, it is always a solution,’ said Andrew, surprising himself with his profundity and smiling as he heard the pugs at their feet give the cry of the Proud Pugs, welcoming their family to the sad house they were trying to make joyous.
As the carriage came into view, Iggy sensed something above him and looking at the windows of the old wing saw the red hair catch the sun. ‘The queen is looking down on our family,’ he whispered to Mac.
‘Then we shall do them proud,’ Mac answered gesturing to little Walter to follow as the pugs walked down the steps and, despite the dust, stood at attention as the carriage rolled in.
The groom hadn’t had time to leap from the box before the door opened and Bessie jumped out and, heedless of her new traveling cloak, gathered the three pugs to her. ‘Drat,’ said Mac between kisses, ‘you’re supposed to be a lady.’ But Bess was too busy laughing with delight at his annoyance to see–if she could have seen–a face lean farther out of the window and the keen eyes survey the loving family who filled their little space on earth and their little time on it with such delight.
Mattie told the groom not to worry but to put the steps down and the boy handed her out with a grateful look. Then the count descended and Michael picked him up to tickle him with congratulations while Andrew leaned in and brought out a glowing Louisa.
‘Bow to Auntie Louisa,’ whispered Ignatius to little Walter, ‘she is a new mother and we salute her.’ And as Louisa looked on benignly, the three gents bowed. Then Mattie brought out a covered basket, whisked off the cover for all to get a glimpse of the sleeping puppies and gave it to the groom with instructions about setting it down carefully and fires and such. The shrewd eyes looked down on Mattie and saw a woman of courage and at the lovely Bessie and noted, besides the resemblance to her deceived cousin, her strength of character and wondered if Bess brought hope for the girl.
CHAPTER 9 MICHAEL FINDS THE PICTURE
 |