Penelope Brandling: A Tale of the Welsh coast in the Eighteenth Century

10,

ourable to the smuggling operations, as it leaves this terrible coast in the hands of those who know every inch of its reefs an

it of his master passion, has not appeared for days. The sluttish maids and the old rheumatic gardener are lodged in the outhouses, or are taking a holiday in the neighbouring villages; and the house has been, methinks, given over to ourselves and Mrs. Davies, who waits assiduously in her silent manner, and no

20,

ld no longer hear, or at least no longer listen to, my own voice. I shut the instrument and sat idle by the fire, while every beam and rafter strained and groaned like the timbers of a ship in

he uncles are not ou

ing, straight before the fi

," and with the excuse of some notes to put in order in his s

able to sleep o

il

od God, what new and frig

rm rushed up and met me. Beyond the trees the moonlight was striking upon the white of the breakers, for though the gale was over the sea was still pounding furiously upon the reefs. My eyes had sought at first the moon, the moonlit offing; to my amazement, they fell the next instant on a great ship quite close to shore. She seemed in rapid movement, pitching and rolling with all her might; but after a moment I noticed that she did not move forward, but remained stationary above the same tree tops. She seemed enchanted, or rather she looked like some captive creature struggling desperately to get free. I was too much taken up by the strangeness of the sight to reflect that no sane crew would have anchored in such a spot, and no anchorage have held in the turmoil of such a sea. Moreover, I knew too little of such matters to guess that the ship must have run upon one

d with shame at

the bearing of my words, "the ship! I only wanted to call y

e cries-"is she gone?"

projected from the water. Slowly they disappeared, and another sharp black point

tace and I, silently w

es' boats must have been there. There has been time t

. You will catch your death of cold and endanger the child.

12,

en more justified than I dreamed of at the time: the slavery and dishonour surpassing my most evil apprehensions. Indeed, may it not be that in taking away our child while yet unborn He did so in His mercy to it and to its wretched parents? Surely. And if my husband surprised me, some months back, by his indifference in the face of what we were ab

it endured, would have been called death. But little by little shreds of recollection are coming back to me, and I will write them down. Some strangely sweet ones. The sense, even as life was slipping away, th

ild; seeing his eyes, which seemed to hold and surround me like his arms; and hearing his words as when he thanked God, over and over again, and

use there is, I know not why, something oddly pathetic in her sudden devotion to me. When I met her wild eyes grown quite tender and heard her crooning exclamations in her unintelligible language

5,

rning ever and again out of the black depths of my sickness? It comes and goes, an

l this I know, I am certain of, as the scratching of my pen; in fact, those moments on the sea-wall are, in a manner, the latest thing of which I have vivid certainty; all that came later-my illness, the news of my miscarriage, my recovery, and even this present moment, seeming comparatively unreal. I do not know how long I may have sat there. I was listening to the sea, to the wind in my hair, and watching the foam running in little feathery balls along the sand, when I heard voices, and saw three men wading among the rocks a little way off, as if in search of something. My eyes followed them lazily, and then I saw close under me, what I had taken at first for a heap of seaweed and sea refuse cast upon the sand, but which, as my eyes fixed it, became-or methought it became-something hideous and terrible; so that for

d, and I jumped down from the sea-wall, and flew across the meadow and tore up the glen, till I fell full length by the neglected pond with the broken leaden nymph. For as they took it up, the thing had divided in two, and somehow I

am-or did you find me lying by the fountain on t

n his eyes. "You must have over-walked that hot morning and got a sunstroke or fainted with fatigue.

15,

that had I certainty I could face, stand up to, it. B

t 1,

want it, though I told myself I did. For I felt that Mrs. Davies knew, that she was watching her

ing my hair, one of the many services required by my weakness, and which she performs with wonderful tenderne

lsh way-"Lady Brandling fell ill because

have taught me caution and even cunning. Davies has been as a mother to me in my illness; but I remembered my first impression of her unfriendliness towards Eustace and me, and of her

ar of meeting her eyes there. "What has the sea-wall to do with my illness? It

able in front of me. It was a handkerchief of mine; and I understood that she had found it, treasured it as a sign of

ainted in the shrubbery," she answered. And I felt that h

igious effort

d of washing it? Did you-was it picked up then

beat itself out in my heart and throat!-and yet I

o bed. I thought she might have left something there. I thought I should like to go there before the others came. I t

d up in the mirror and faced Davies's eyes, ready, I knew, to fix themselves on mine. "Perhaps I may answer your question later, Davies," I said. "B

not expected this, and did not know how to meet it. I felt that, were her

a short silence, she looked into my eyes q

beginning. I did not love Lady Brandling at the beginning; her husba

he has shown it throughout my illness. But

if you were not spying for their benefit, why were you watching me as I came up the glen the day I was taken ill? Why did you go to

believe, because she found it dif

show Lady Brandling that I knew what had made her faint that day. Also to show her that others did not know. Lady Brandling is safe. She must know that they do not y

t I still kept my eyes fixed on hers in the gl

ert, and you tell me that you were not spying for him when you went to see whether I had left anything on the sea-wall. You have been good and kind beyond words during my sickne

almost agonised helplessness. She twisted her fingers and raised her shoulders. She w

hen. Hubert told me lies, but I learned. I am agai

must have passed over

wned, but who has come and told me. But-" and she fixed her eyes on mine, "they did kill my other son; I know that n

ody of the false Sir Thomas was destroyed by the burning of the Chapel during his wake. The suspicions of Mrs. Davies appeared to have been awakened by this fact, and by the additional one that she was not allowed to see the corpse of her beloved foster-son. Her own son Hugh, Sir Thomas's foster brother, disappeared about this time; and Hubert appears to have made the distracted mother believe that her own boy was the murderer of Sir Thomas, and had met with death at his hands; the whole unlikely story being further garnished for the poor credulous woman with a doubt that the murder of her foster-son had been, in some manner, the result of a conspiracy to bring about the succession of my husband. All this she seems to have believed at the time of our coming, and for this reason to have lent herself most willingly to spy upon my husband and me, in hopes of getting the proofs o

arcely know whether her tale seemed to me more inevitably true or more utte

saying, been the accomplice of the most horrid criminals that ever d

ve, let her ask her husband whether I am telling her a lie. Lady Brandling's husband knows, and he is afraid of telling her because he

touched me closer, filled me with a far more r

hair. When it is brushed I can do it up mysel

shing my hair very carefully. Then she handed me the hairpins and

sied and withdrew. When the door was well closed on her I felt I could bear the strain

God!" he said, "what is the matter?" t

Eustace," I answered, "w

aying, God help

er 1,

m during our journey and after our arrival here. I thought then that it was the unexpected return to the scenes of his unhappy childhood; and that his constraint and silence with me were due to his difficulty in dealing with the shocking state of things he found awaiting him. It seemed natural enough that Eustace, a thinker, a dreamer even, should feel harassed at his inability to clean out this den of iniquity. But why have remained here? Good God, is my husband a mere pensioner of all this hideousness, as his wretche

e first families of the country, practised it turn about with smuggling. Davies was ready with a string of names, she expressed no special horror and her conscience perhaps represents that o

hat all the Brandlings were given up to what the villain called pilchard fishing, and none more devotedly than Eustace's own father. I remember and now understand the tone in which he added "all of us Brandlings except this superfine gentleman here." Those words meant that however great his horror of it all, Eustace could not

h very likely has never been committed; and while seemingly condoning, condemning my husband in my mind, without giving him a chance of self-defence! What a conf

ber 2

aradise in my soul. For inconceivable as it seems, this day, on which I learned that we are prisoners, already condemned most like

e such blissful certainty. And even the shameful question, asked with burning cheeks, "Did you know all?" has been redeemed, t

onversation, Love; feel it all ove

, Eustace, you took my hand,

not recognise that your soul was strong enough to bear the truth? You ought to have learned it from me, as soon as I m

n in his gentleness and humility? And then you went on, beloved, and I wr

ess, and seeing you pay it!... But once here, Penelope, and once certain of the worst, it was impossible for me to tell you the truth. Impossible, because I knew that if you knew what I had learned, it would be far more difficult for me to get you away, to get you to leave me behind in this hideous place. Do you remember when I proposed sending you to Bath for our child's birth? It seemed the last chance of savin

know as much as you do, and they will soon know that I do so, even if they do not know yet. I may stay with

and kissed them one by one, and said, "Nay, Eustace, why should you grieve? Do we

t; very sweet and solemn. Our souls, methought, were sailing in its endless peacefulness. For the first time, I was aware of what love is; I seemed to understand what poetry is about and what music