Echoes on a Cornish River, page 16
‘Madness!’ Ellinor mutters, shaking her head.
Simon stirs. ‘Hmm … What time is it?’ he asks sleepily.
‘Early,’ she says, closing the curtain and slipping back beneath the duvet.
His hand reaches for her. ‘You’re cold. Let me warm you.’
As Simon pulls Ellinor towards him and wraps her in his arms, she attempts not to resist, and for a moment she relaxes. But as soon as her husband’s breathing grows deeper and he falls into undisturbed sleep, she moves carefully away from him.
Ellinor lies awake, mulling over all that has happened to her. Why has her imagination conjured up her husband in that alternative world? Is it because she’s having difficulty adapting to the sudden change of area, and a familiar face is the way her subconscious can cope with it? No, that’s not it! She feels at home here, and when she’d first considered coming to Cornwall not once did she doubt the idea. In fact, she couldn’t wait to arrive. It’s as if she were drawn here …
Ellinor considers this last observation. If something has drawn her here, then what is it?
You know what it is!
The words are loud and clear, and Ellinor gazes around the darkened room, even though she knows the disembodied voice is not from some other being, but from her very soul.
Your destiny awaits you at the edge of the woods.
As the early dawn light sneaks its way through a gap in the curtains, Ellinor turns and gazes at her sleeping husband again. He looks so peaceful lying there. She knows she’s lucky to have his patient, unfaltering support since the incident. After all, it can’t be easy living with her as she works through the trauma left in the wake of that horrific flight.
But what of that other Simon? William …
Ellinor frowns. It’s all too much to consider, especially at this early hour. Turning over, she closes her eyes and as she drifts towards sleep, she hears the voice again.
Everything is connected. All will be well.
Pippa closes the van door on the last crate of apple juice and turns. Anxiously, she searches Ellinor’s face. ‘Are you sure you’ll be OK here on your own?’
‘Of course,’ Ellinor assures her.
‘If I’d known you wouldn’t be going with Ian and Simon on their fact-finding mission, I would have cancelled the market.’
‘Don’t be silly, Pippa. I wouldn’t want you to do that. I’m perfectly fine here. Anyway, I thought I might visit Cotehele again.’
‘Well, if you’re certain,’ Pippa says, with a frown of consternation.
‘I’m sure!’ Ellinor pulls a face at her cousin’s wife. ‘Now get on, otherwise you’ll be late setting up.’
Pippa gives her a hug and climbs into the driver’s seat. ‘You can leave the dogs in the house. They’ll be perfectly fine until I get back.’
‘OK. Hope you sell out.’
‘So do I!’ Pippa puts the van into gear and lowers the window. ‘Help yourself to whatever you want for lunch. There’s plenty in the fridge.’
Ellinor waves as Pippa drives out of the courtyard. Glancing up at the sky, she decides that rain could be on the agenda. Quickly making her way to her bedroom, she extracts a lightweight waterproof jacket from the wardrobe and stuffs her purse and mobile into its pockets. As she descends the stairs, she stands in the dining room doorway and glances through to the kitchen where the dogs are happily mooching.
‘Be good boys,’ she says.
Rusty looks up from his bed, but Rufus continues investigating his bowl without a glance in her direction.
Ellinor exits the house and closes the front door behind her. There’s definitely rain in the air, and she slips on her jacket before setting off down the drive.
Taking the footpath that cuts across the fields, she enters the woods on the far edge of the National Trust Estate and hesitates. She turns in the direction of the ruined cottage lying hidden in the forest and considers whether to make a detour to it now, but decides not to. Simon has suggested they visit it together tomorrow. Ellinor sets off along the narrow path that wends its way downhill through the trees, plunging deeper into the woodland, and presently she arrives at the track leading up through the gardens to Cotehele House, having not come across another soul.
A cool wind teases the leaves on the branches as she climbs the steep path, but the rain stays away. Ten minutes later, she stops on a terrace to catch her breath. Drawing air deeply into her lungs, she gazes across a woodland scene filled with a mix of natural and exotic planting. Amongst the rich landscape are not only bamboo and palm trees, but also an explosion of nature’s colours. The spring green of unfurling immature ferns; vibrant Flame Azaleas, displaying their large, showy, funnel-shaped flowers; a mix of pale pink Rhododendron flowers, reminding her of the tutus of ballet dancers, through to vibrant red and the more extravagant mauves. Somewhere close by is the sound of trickling water, and on further investigation she discovers a meandering brook tumbling down the hillside, hiding beneath swathes of wild garlic and carpets of the large, heart-shaped leaves of the Butterbur. Taking a step towards the granite stones edging the track, she peers over, and her eyes follow the stream as it drops over a small waterfall and journeys on into the valley below.
After a short while she continues, and walking beneath a heavily flowered Rhododendron arcing over the path, she turns a corner and spies a short flight of granite steps next to an intriguing circular building covered in ivy, its slate roof carpeted in moss. Ellinor climbs the steps and emerges into a secluded garden with a tranquil, clear pond, where five moorhens dabble around a coverlet of white waterlilies.
A gravelled path leads to a stone bench, strategically placed for visitors to enjoy the best view of the hidden garden, and she wanders over to it and sits down, and gazes around at the delightful scene before her. The sumptuous, billowing shrubs and trees cast their colourful reflections in the water and everything appears enhanced – as if she’s stepped straight into an oil painting. All at once, two young children dressed in brightly coloured trousers and jackets appear on the far side of the pond. Excitedly, they rush to the water and peer into its mirror-like surface.
‘Careful now, Jemima, Tamsin,’ says a young woman, following not far behind them. ‘I don’t want you falling in.’
Ellinor sits for several minutes, absorbing the peace and quiet of the setting, recalling that Pippa said the Valley Garden had a medieval stew pond and dovecote, and these must be them. What different days have they witnessed during their long existence? She’s read that throughout history many abbeys had stew ponds, where fish bred, lived and grew, and that with the dissolution of monasteries in the 1500s many were reclaimed by nature. But not this one – the National Trust has carefully maintained it.
What type of fish would have been kept in it? Carp?
Gazing at the pool now, she searches for ripples and any telltale signs of lazily meandering carp below the surface that might have descended from those medieval farmed fish. But the water is still, apart from where the moorhens busily forage amongst the waterlilies and reeds.
Suddenly, from out of the corner of her eye, she’s aware of a sudden fluttering of white and her gaze lifts to the circular stone building with its domed slatestone roof, onto which half a dozen doves now descend. She watches in fascination as a couple of the birds enter the building through an open lantern on top of the dome. She’s learned that pigeons and doves were an important food source historically, and that the birds were also kept for their eggs and dung, which was used as fertiliser and to tan leather. Hadn’t she also read that it was used to make gunpowder?
Was the dovecote here before the stew pond, or were they created at the same time?
‘Tamsin, Jemima, come with Mummy.’ The young woman holds out her hands to her daughters. ‘Daddy’s waiting for us in the restaurant.’
Ellinor glances over at the two young girls who are now poking sticks in the water. They can’t be much older than five and seven. Their mother calls to them again, and she watches as the children reluctantly abandon their exploration of the pond, the older girl throwing her stick in the water before skipping off up the path. The younger one takes hold of her mother’s hand. It’s such a small, innocent act, but Ellinor feels as if she’s been punched in the stomach and acute sadness engulfs her. She and Simon don’t have a little one to take hold of their hands, however many times they’ve tried for that longed-for child. And now, with her resistance of close contact with him, the likelihood of that happening is further away than ever.
As the little family wander back up the path, she gives a deep sigh.
‘Come on, Ellinor Forrester. You didn’t come here to be depressed,’ she reprimands.
Rising to her feet, she takes a different path leading up the hillside and away from the garden. Within seconds, a charming, thatched Victorian summerhouse comes into view but she continues and soon reaches the entrance to a stone tunnel. Lichen creeps across the ceiling and walls, and the air is cool and damp and, as she enters, it tickles the back of her throat. She increases her pace and soon emerges out on the other side, where a steep flight of steps leads up to higher ground. On reaching the top, she looks up towards the house, stops dead in her tracks and does a double take.
Twenty-Nine
The property is situated on an elevated plateau, enjoying stunning views down the valley to the imposing viaduct at Calstock, but it’s not as Ellinor remembers it from her previous visit. Puzzled, she wonders if she’s approached the house from a different angle, but however she views this side, it doesn’t make sense. It’s way too small! A large portion of the building is missing, as are the elegant windows, gable ends and chimney stacks that graced the house on her visit only three weeks before. Ellinor’s small frown intensifies as her gaze moves to the gardens. These, too, are altered. Where are the beautifully maintained formal terraces, the neat, gravelled paths and the elegant granite steps? Sweat pricks her forehead as she takes in the wilderness of tangled plants covering the sloping land leading up to the house, and her heart starts to pound. Anxiously, she glances back at the steps leading down to the tunnel. A milky, swirling mist now shrouds the entrance and the air ripples, distorting the passageway into a watery realm. Blinking rapidly, she attempts to stabilise the scene, but a sudden shout and a burst of laughter make her turn towards the house again, and what she sees makes the breath catch in her throat.
Emerging from around one corner of the house are three young girls in colourful, long dresses, and not far behind them is a boy, no more than fourteen, wearing hose and doublet. The lad chases the girls, veering from side to side as he lunges to catch them, and excited squeals and shrieks fill the air. What madness has overtaken her now? Ellinor’s eyes widen as William suddenly appears with Richard Edgcumbe, following in the children’s wake. Walking at a sedate pace, the two men seem preoccupied and are obviously discussing something of great importance.
Ellinor squeezes her eyes shut.
This isn’t real. I must be having a relapse. Perhaps I should see a doctor. Just breathe deeply.
She wills herself to believe that once she opens her eyes, Cotehele in all its splendour will be on the rise of the hill once again, but when she does, the building is still the diminished version of the house. Anxiety takes hold. As the children race down the slope towards her, panic makes her chest tighten and her heart begins to pound. Ellinor glances down at her modern clothes. She must not be seen. Turning back to the tunnel, ignoring her fear, she walks down the steps towards the rippling air. Her legs feel heavy and her footsteps are leaden, as if some great force holds her back and prevents her from escaping. As the sound of pounding feet draw nearer, she slips into the mist at the tunnel entrance just as the children thunder by. Placing a hand over her racing heart, Ellinor attempts to still its manic beating, but the next minute she hears the deep timbre of William’s voice and it trips in her chest.
‘Carter is with us, my lord.’ His words float secretively on the breeze. ‘I spoke with him this past week. He and a further dozen men from the village support the Lancastrian bid.’
‘Good news indeed,’ Richard replies. ‘It won’t be long before we see action.’
Ellinor peers anxiously towards the entrance. If they enter the tunnel, she will be discovered. And then how will she explain her presence? Horrified, she watches as the mist suddenly disperses and sweeps up the stone steps, continuing its journey over the wild slopes towards the house. As shadows fall across the entrance of the sunken passageway, Ellinor shrinks back, pressing her spine into the damp, cold wall. All at once, the men appear in the opening and she’s certain William’s gaze is upon her. Surely she can be seen!
‘What is it?’ Richard asks.
William shakes his head. ‘I thought I saw something, but it’s nothing.’
‘Likely a wild animal. The deer park is untamed.’ Richard peers into the gloom. ‘But no man need have an ill-provisioned house if there be but attached to it a dovecote and a stew pond, and I have instructed my men to lay a path directly from this passageway.’
‘A sound idea,’ William responds.
‘A fresh supply of fish and meat for the table is important,’ Richard continues.
Shouts and laughter ring out and as all four children rush up to the two men, Ellinor wills herself to merge with the dank stonework.
‘Father, may we take the dogs into the park?’ the boy asks.
‘I don’t see any reason to not, but leave Rannigan. If he catches sight of a deer he will take chase and set you a merry dance.’
‘Thank you, Father,’ the oldest girl says, bestowing a bright smile.
As the children run back towards the house, Richard turns to William. ‘Come, let us continue our discourse.’
He walks away. William turns and glances into the tunnel again and frowns. Turning back, he hurries to catch up with the older man.
Ellinor tries to calm her nerves and regulate her breathing. She waits for several minutes before cautiously walking towards the entrance and unsteadily climbing the steps. Reaching the top, she gazes across manicured gardens full of well-tended flowering shrubs rising in a series of neat terraces towards the elegant eastern elevation of the house. With considerable relief, she notices a family in modern-day attire wandering along the upper gravelled pathway. Again, dizziness and nausea descend, but she’s getting wise to the after-effects of visiting that other time. In resignation, she waits for inevitable longing to assault her.
‘Good morning.’
Ellinor jumps at the sound of a man’s voice. Approaching her is an elderly couple.
‘Looks like the rain has moved on,’ he comments.
She glances up at a powder-blue sky dotted with puffball clouds. ‘That’s a relief.’
‘This is our first visit to Cotehele,’ his female companion explains. ‘We’re looking for the medieval stew pond and dovecote. Are they through there?’ She points into the tunnel.
‘They are,’ Ellinor replies. ‘There was no one there when I left.’
‘Always a bonus,’ the man says with a grin.
Bidding her farewell, the couple hold firmly on to the wooden handrail and make their way slowly down the flight of steps.
Ellinor glances at her watch in astonishment. It’s only just gone ten thirty, but it seems as if it was hours ago when she first set off across the fields from Comfort Wood Farm. Looking up at the house, she visualises the reduced version she’d witnessed and scans the stonework for any obvious signs of alterations. But the extensions and additional architectural features have been seamlessly added over the years and nothing is visible to her layman’s eyes.
Turning in the direction of the restaurant, Ellinor decides to treat herself to a coffee and a slice of cake before making her way back to the farm. She deserves it after what she’s just experienced.
Thirty
‘There’s garlic bread in the oven,’ Pippa says over her shoulder, as she carries a large bowl of spaghetti bolognaise from the kitchen.
Grabbing a pair of oven gloves, Ellinor opens the door and extracts the golden baguettes.
‘Rusty and Rufus, will you please get out from under my feet!’ she says in an affectionately ruffled voice to the two interested spaniels gazing beseechingly up at her. ‘Sorry, but these are not for you.’
Placing the bread on a wooden platter, she carries it through to the dining room. The dogs follow, venturing as far as the doorway, and then sit and watch.
‘Tuck in, everyone,’ Pippa instructs.
Ellinor puts the platter down on the dining table and pulls out a chair.
‘There’s lager or wine, Elli,’ Ian says. ‘Help yourself.’
‘Thanks.’ Picking up a bottle, she pours a large glass of red.
‘So, you think you can start work on the cottage around mid-week?’ Simon asks Jake.
The big man tears off a chunk of garlic bread and nods. ‘Wednesday, unless there’s a last-minute glitch with the Saltash job.’
Excitement ripples through Ellinor. At last, the cottage’s re-creation is within touching distance.
Re-creation?
She frowns.
‘The tree surgeons are booked to clear a route to the site on Monday,’ Simon continues. ‘They expect to have it done in a couple of days, three at most.’
‘Derek and his crew,’ Ian advises Jake.
‘Good bloke, that Derek,’ comments Jake. ‘He’ll get the job done in no time. We’ll bring the digger and make a start on the footings.’
‘You must be so excited,’ says Jessica, sitting next to Jake on the opposite side of the table.
