Penmarric by Susan Howatch Read Free Book Online Page B

HENRY ROSLYN , in the Year of Our Lord 1890.”
    I was still staring at the inscription and trying to deduce the identity of the woman who had brought the flowers to the grave when a resonant voice remarked behind me, “So Mrs. Roslyn has brought some more beautiful roses! How fortunate she is to have such a plentiful supply at Roslyn Farm.”
    I swung round to find myself face to face with the rector of Zillan. He was a slender man in his middle forties with prematurely white hair and odd dark eyes. I write “odd” because the only time I had seen such eyes before had been during a variety act in London; a man with similarly odd eyes had read people’s thoughts and printed them neatly on a blackboard to the accompaniment of admiring applause from his audience. It occurred to me in alarm that it might be most embarrassing to be ministered to by a person who practiced telepathy. One might make all manner of unwanted admissions.
    “Good afternoon,” he said pleasantly in response to my uneasy greeting. “Welcome to Zillan. We very seldom have visitors from England. Or are you perhaps a Cornishman after all? You have a Cornish look about you… Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Edward Barnwell and I am, as you have no doubt gathered from my clerical appearance, the rector of this parish.”
    When I told him who I was he seemed startled and then explained that he knew my father well; they had been at school together long ago, and my father had been attending church at Zillan since he had taken up residence at Deveral Farm. I learned too that my father lunched regularly at the rectory with Mr. Barnwell and his family after matins every Sunday before returning over the moors in the ponytrap to his solitary existence at Morvah.
    “If you are to be staying with your father for a few days,” said Mr. Barnwell, “I hope you will accompany him when he lunches with us at the rectory next Sunday. My wife will be delighted to see you and my daughter Miriam will be pleased to see a new face for a change. I fear we are very isolated here at Zillan… Miriam is eighteen now and quite accomplished, although naturally I speak as a prejudiced parent. Well, I mustn’t delay you any longer. Pray give my regards to your father and I hope I shall have the chance to see you again soon.”
    “Yes, sir. Thank you,” I said politely, and then before I could stop myself I heard myself add, “Sir, did you say that it was a Mrs. Roslyn who had brought these flowers? Would she be the wife of one of the sons who erected this tombstone?”
    He looked at me, his odd eyes betraying nothing, but just as I was cursing myself for asking such a question he said as casually as if we had been discussing the weather, “No, Mrs. Roslyn was the second wife of Mr. John Henry Roslyn, who died in May, and the stepmother of the sons mentioned in the inscription. She still lives at Roslyn Farm, which is situated across the moors toward Chûn. Have you visited Chûn Castle yet? My wife says it’s merely a heap of old stones and hardly worth a visit, but it would be of interest to you, I think, if you share your father’s dedication to history.”
    “I must look for the castle on my way back to Morvah,” I said hurriedly and escaped at last, but I could feel his dark eyes watching me all the way down the street, just as my eyes had watched Mrs. Roslyn earlier.
    When I arrived once more at Deveral Farm I went immediately to my father’s study and apologized fully for my earlier behavior. “I can only conclude that it was the strain of the interview with Giles Penmar which made me so unlike myself,” I added, and my voice, calm and controlled, betrayed nothing. “I’m afraid I behaved very foolishly.”
    “I understand,” he said at once. “We’ll say no more about it.” But he still looked profoundly uncomfortable.
    “And of course Nigel should have Gweekellis if I’m to have Penmarric,” I said. “That’s only fair. I can see that now.