Arwen
My dearest Milly,
When your letter arrived on Tuesday, Maudie commented on how much post I got, because there were letters from Celia and Sally too. Of course, I pounced on yours first.
I’m so glad all is settled about Smuggler’s Cottage and that you and Edwin will shortly be moving there – and yes, do take the trunk I left with you, if it won’t be too much in the way, for knowing my most treasured possessions are there waiting for me will increase my determination to join you as soon as I can, one way or another!
My first weeks here have been happier than I expected, for Cosmo, despite being so thrillingly handsome, not to mention strangely compelling in that Mr Rochester way of his!
– can be surprisingly companionable when we are in the studio or out on a painting expedition, so what with the continuing good weather, it at first seemed something of a summer idyll.
But lately I find myself increasingly jarred by reminders that I am confined to this small island of land and subject to the authority of a guardian.
Also increasingly irksome is Cosmo’s insistence that I should not mix with the local artists, but instead devote myself to my work. While I am pleased he takes my work seriously, I also think the company of other artists is vital, too.
I was pleased with my portrait of Effie, which both Cosmo and Mr Jones praised, but I had thought Cosmo less than serious when he said he would let me complete the background to his work.
However, he was not and I actually did so!
I know great artists of the past frequently had their assistants do this kind of thing, and I did it cheerfully for Papa, except that was just adding the finer detail the trembling of his hands precluded, but I should not feel a painting was my own if I had not completed the whole work.
However, Mr Jones did not seem to think it odd. And, by the bye, his clay model of Morgana is excellent.
Since the portrait was finished I have spent much of my time in Cosmo’s company, in the studio or painting and sketching outdoors, and quite often he requests that I do so in his manner – very irksome and restricting! I have told him I don’t think I will learn anything further by doing so.
He is a very different person when we are alone together or with Mr Jones.
I’m often disconcerted by looking up and finding his deep-set dark blue eyes fixed on me, but I think this is because of my likeness to Mama, on which he has several times commented.
Mr Jones confided to me that he had never seen his old friend so talkative and cheerful since their schooldays and it was very good for him to be taken out of himself.
However, Cosmo is very different in company, even that of Maudie and his own daughter, and reverts to his usual sardonic and reserved manner.
When I learned that a London art dealer – the one in whose gallery we saw so many of Cosmo’s paintings – was touring the area and would call in after lunch one day to see Cosmo’s current work for his exhibition in the gallery at the end of July, I made myself scarce then.
I decided to walk into St Melangell for the first time, taking the cliff path.
Once I had rounded the headland, I could see the large village laid out below me with a half-moon of a beach and fishing boats drawn up to a quay – totally different from the rocky cliffs and the one tiny shingle beach of Seren Bach.
I passed the rear gates of Castle Newydd, for the cliff path finishes where it meets the end of the road that leads there, but could only see the roof and some chimneys over the trees.
I went on down into the village and explored.
It is a bustling and lively place, with several interesting shops, and after a while I found the one Cosmo had mentioned, which was well stocked with artist’s materials.
There were a few small paintings hung up for sale too.
Gwendoline Sutler happened to come in just then with Effie.
She pointed out to me her own, which were bright still lives of flowers and fruit, often with her large tabby cat.
She invited me to go to the teashop with them.
The Blue Parrot has basket chairs and tropical décor with several large and leafy plants, so it was like being in a dark little jungle.
It was all very jolly, because it seems to be a favourite haunt of the local artists, both resident and visiting, and I was introduced to them all!
With the lively conversation I almost felt as if I was back at the Slade with my classmates.
One of them took a snap of me with several of the other artists on the steps as we left.
Cosmo had gone with the gallery owner to have dinner at a hotel in Harlech.
Maudie and Bea, as usual, evinced no interest in what I had been doing that day.
But such is the efficiency of the local grapevine that, by next morning, Cosmo had discovered every detail of my innocent excursion to St Melangell and was extremely disapproving.
In fact, we had quite a row, during which I told him his ideas were quite Victorian and Papa would not have objected to my making friends with the local artists.
When I added that I longed for the moment when I could leave his roof for that of my friends, where I should not be bound by his archaic rules, he said he had made it plain this was not to be thought of – which he hadn’t, only suggested I settle in and see how I liked living in Seren Bach – and he wanted to hear no more about it.
I fear he will be disappointed in this, even though he then softened a little and said, with one of his intense looks, that he had thought I found his company congenial and he had grown fond of me. This threw me a little off balance and I stammered something about liking him very well.
After that he gave me one of his rare smiles, almost as unnerving as his intense stares, and said he could see that I was just driven by obstinacy to assert my independence.
Since then, he has become increasingly demanding of my time, and also taken to questioning me closely about where I have been and who I have talked to when not in his company. The only thing that did not irk him was my taking tea with the Misses Trimble at the vicarage last Sunday.
You can imagine how constrained and stifled I am starting to feel, and beginning to long to escape as soon as we can think up a way for me to do so, without bringing the law down on your heads, for I have now fully grasped that, being my legal guardian, he could well drag me back to Triskelion if he wished to do so!
There must be a way. Perhaps we will think of one by the time you visit here at the end of summer.
Cosmo seems to think I will obey his orders, just as Bea does, and has resumed his former friendly manner towards me when we are alone together, but I can sense the iron hand in the velvet glove! He does not know the full extent of my rebellious nature.
Nor, I am sure, does he have any idea that I slip out of the house every morning before breakfast, and I do not mean to tell him if he is trying to curtail my freedom! I am always returned for breakfast by the time Bea and Maudie come down.
However, I expect that with his tall frame and imposing manner, Cosmo will make an impressive Druid in the Summer Solstice ceremony I told you about, which takes place this Sunday evening.
He will lead the torchlit procession up to the top of the hill, but it is a much lesser affair than the Winter Solstice, when many local people take on the guise of various strange characters from history and legend.
Mrs Bradley, who has unbent towards me because of my interest in cookery, has already baked hundreds of delicious spiced biscuits to a very old recipe.
They are called Jumbles and either twisted into ‘S’ shapes or lovers’ knots.
These will be served, together with a kind of spiced punch called wassail, to anyone who wants them after the ceremony is over.
Bea and Maudie have never attended either Solstice ceremony. On Sunday their participation in the event will be confined to handing out the traditional punch and biscuits to the returning revellers, but I will be climbing the hill behind the house with the rest.
I fear Bea’s romance with Mark Prynne is not going well, although she is still quite determined to marry him.
She said that since her papa was too mean to let her go to London to stay with friends, she had no way of ever meeting any more suitable young men.
I did venture to mention Mr Jones, but she said that not only was he as old as her papa, if she married him she would still be stuck in rural isolation for ever!
I learned a little more about Mark Prynne’s new interests from the three Trimble sisters when I had tea with them on Sunday afternoon.
The climate of the village of St Melangell being very mild and sheltered, Mark has the idea of setting up a rare shrub nursery there and even creating a garden in the old quarry on the side of the hill near the estate. Lily told me he heard one described and it has taken his imagination.
You would like Lily, Rose and Daisy Trimble.
Their late mama seems to have been quite well born, but not wealthy.
Lily helps her father a lot in the parish, while Rose embroiders beautiful scenes from the stories of King Arthur and other legends on to linen panels – I think Mr Jones would be interested to see them – and Daisy, the youngest, aspires to be a novelist!
I will tell you all about the Summer Solstice in my next letter and hope in return to hear all is settled about Smuggler’s Cottage.
Your loving friend,
Arwen
P.S. My friend among the servant girls, Efa, says the chauffeur, Wykes, is the carrier of local gossip, for he goes to the bar in the inn at St Melangell most evenings and also has a lady friend there.