and attitude was hinting broadly that she had outstayed her
welcome, and that they were waiting to hear what plans she had made to
shift herself.
The humiliation of having to admit that she had no plans, and that even her
embryo career as an artist had died an undistinguished death, was suddenly
too much to bear. A germ of inspiration lodged in her brain, and before she
could reason with herself or question the wisdom of what she was about to
do, she spoke.
'You really don't have to bother about me any more, Cousin Patricia. I'd
intended to tell you over lunch that I'm going away. I—I've been invited to
stay at Trevennon— with my mother's people—until I go to Carcassonne in
the spring. The letter came this morning. It's a wonderful opportunity for me.
Cornwall's a marvellous place for painters. My mother used to say that she
got all the inspiration for her best work from her time at Trevennon,' she
ended, rushing her words nervously, as the thought occurred to her that
Cousin Patricia might demand to see this mysterious invitation.
Lady Kerslake's eyes rested wonderingly on the group of paintings over
Morwenna's shoulder, then came back to search her face rather frowningly.
'Your mother had relatives in Cornwall? I wasn't aware--'
'Very distant relatives,' Morwenna broke in. 'Cousins heaven only knows
how many times removed.' Wildly she searched her memory for names that
would add weight to her story. 'It—it was Uncle Dominic who wrote to me.'
That was the name her mother had mentioned most of all. Dominic
Trevennon who had taught the city-born girl to climb barefoot over the
rocks, to row a boat, to fish, to lift the lobster pots and relieve them of their
snapping contents. It had been Dominic too who had told her the legends
that Morwenna remembered as bedtime stories. Tales of the 'knackers', the
small malevolent spirits who inhabited the tin mines, whose tapping
hammers presaged disasters, such as flooding or earthfalls. Tales of the
galleon which had foundered off Spanish Cove during the storms that
pursued the ill-fated Armada, and the gold it had carried, still to be found,
Laura had said, among the sand of the cove by anyone reckless enough to
climb down the cliff to search there and risk being cut off by the racing tide.
And Morwenna had lain there round-eyed among the comfort of the
blankets, hearing the screech of gulls and feeling the sand gritty under her
bare toes as she delved among the shifting grains for the doubloons.
'It all seems very sudden,' Lady Kerslake was saying, her lips drawn into a
thin line. 'But I suppose you know what you're doing. Have you met any of
these—er—cousins before?'
'No, but I feel I know them. My mother told me so much about them.'
Morwenna, guiltily conscious just how far this was from the truth,
surreptitiously crossed her fingers in her jacket pockets.
'Well, it's very kind of them to offer you a home, under the circumstances,'
Lady Kerslake said sourly. 'I do hope you won't take advantage of their
generosity, Morwenna. You can't expect to be a burden on other people all
your life, you know. But if it's only until the spring, I don't suppose it will
matter too much.' She gave a brisk nod. 'Now, what about lunch?'
'Oh, don't bother about me.' Morwenna's nails dug deep into the palms of her
hands. 'I think I'll go and see about my packing.' Another meal in this house,
she thought, would choke me.
'As you wish,' Lady Kerslake concurred, not troubling to hide her relief at
the way the situation seemed to be resolving itself. She turned towards the
door, then hesitated as if a thought had occurred to her. 'If there are any of
four mother's paintings, Morwenna, that you would care to take with you, I
hope you won't hesitate to do so. Geoffrey and I were talking last night, and
we agreed it would only be fair that you should have some keepsake of her,
although there is no actual legal entitlement. I'm not suggesting, of
welcome, and that they were waiting to hear what plans she had made to
shift herself.
The humiliation of having to admit that she had no plans, and that even her
embryo career as an artist had died an undistinguished death, was suddenly
too much to bear. A germ of inspiration lodged in her brain, and before she
could reason with herself or question the wisdom of what she was about to
do, she spoke.
'You really don't have to bother about me any more, Cousin Patricia. I'd
intended to tell you over lunch that I'm going away. I—I've been invited to
stay at Trevennon— with my mother's people—until I go to Carcassonne in
the spring. The letter came this morning. It's a wonderful opportunity for me.
Cornwall's a marvellous place for painters. My mother used to say that she
got all the inspiration for her best work from her time at Trevennon,' she
ended, rushing her words nervously, as the thought occurred to her that
Cousin Patricia might demand to see this mysterious invitation.
Lady Kerslake's eyes rested wonderingly on the group of paintings over
Morwenna's shoulder, then came back to search her face rather frowningly.
'Your mother had relatives in Cornwall? I wasn't aware--'
'Very distant relatives,' Morwenna broke in. 'Cousins heaven only knows
how many times removed.' Wildly she searched her memory for names that
would add weight to her story. 'It—it was Uncle Dominic who wrote to me.'
That was the name her mother had mentioned most of all. Dominic
Trevennon who had taught the city-born girl to climb barefoot over the
rocks, to row a boat, to fish, to lift the lobster pots and relieve them of their
snapping contents. It had been Dominic too who had told her the legends
that Morwenna remembered as bedtime stories. Tales of the 'knackers', the
small malevolent spirits who inhabited the tin mines, whose tapping
hammers presaged disasters, such as flooding or earthfalls. Tales of the
galleon which had foundered off Spanish Cove during the storms that
pursued the ill-fated Armada, and the gold it had carried, still to be found,
Laura had said, among the sand of the cove by anyone reckless enough to
climb down the cliff to search there and risk being cut off by the racing tide.
And Morwenna had lain there round-eyed among the comfort of the
blankets, hearing the screech of gulls and feeling the sand gritty under her
bare toes as she delved among the shifting grains for the doubloons.
'It all seems very sudden,' Lady Kerslake was saying, her lips drawn into a
thin line. 'But I suppose you know what you're doing. Have you met any of
these—er—cousins before?'
'No, but I feel I know them. My mother told me so much about them.'
Morwenna, guiltily conscious just how far this was from the truth,
surreptitiously crossed her fingers in her jacket pockets.
'Well, it's very kind of them to offer you a home, under the circumstances,'
Lady Kerslake said sourly. 'I do hope you won't take advantage of their
generosity, Morwenna. You can't expect to be a burden on other people all
your life, you know. But if it's only until the spring, I don't suppose it will
matter too much.' She gave a brisk nod. 'Now, what about lunch?'
'Oh, don't bother about me.' Morwenna's nails dug deep into the palms of her
hands. 'I think I'll go and see about my packing.' Another meal in this house,
she thought, would choke me.
'As you wish,' Lady Kerslake concurred, not troubling to hide her relief at
the way the situation seemed to be resolving itself. She turned towards the
door, then hesitated as if a thought had occurred to her. 'If there are any of
four mother's paintings, Morwenna, that you would care to take with you, I
hope you won't hesitate to do so. Geoffrey and I were talking last night, and
we agreed it would only be fair that you should have some keepsake of her,
although there is no actual legal entitlement. I'm not suggesting, of
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