Chapter 41 Relatively Speaking
Relatively Speaking
‘So, as you see, Ginny, the Caradoc family is also tainted with murder and attempted murder,’ Nerys said bitterly, ‘if Hugh’s suspicions about Bea were right. It’s not exactly one you’d feel proud to be related to – or marry into.’
‘That’s the understatement of the year!’ said Rhys.
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Evie crisply. ‘Apart from the fact that Rhys is only related to the Caradocs through his uncle’s marriage to you, Nerys, as I said before, if you delve into almost any family’s history, you’ll find unsavoury things.
As to Bea, Caradoc brought what happened on his own head.
He was cruel to her and it’s no wonder she flew into a rage and gave him a shove. ’
‘Maybe, but then she seems to have tried to finish Hugh off in a very cold-blooded manner,’ Nerys pointed out.
‘But he admits he brought that on himself by coercing Bea into marrying him,’ Timon said. ‘And he deeply regretted it.’
‘True. Hugh seems to have been a decent man, apart from giving into temptation and making Bea marry him,’ said Evie.
‘And he did say he would have given her her freedom, had she asked for it. So that just makes Cosmo Caradoc the one really bad apple, and in my opinion, one bad apple doesn’t make the whole barrel rotten. ’
‘I think you’re right, Ma,’ I told her. ‘I feel sorry for Bea. I think her father’s treatment of her made her what she was. He didn’t love her, and nor, really, did Hugh. It was just an infatuation.’
‘Rose always said Hugh deeply regretted coercing Bea, but his true nature was a good one,’ said Nerys. ‘He had been under the sway of Caradoc, much the stronger character, since they were at school.’
Everything I now knew had been slowly sinking in and, turning to Rhys, I said, ‘I think the question is, now that you know my heritage, do you still want to marry me?’
‘Of course I do!’ he exclaimed, looking dumbfounded. ‘Your mother and Rose were both right: one bad apple needn’t spoil the whole barrel, and I don’t believe that the sins of the fathers – or even great-grandfathers – are visited on the children.’
‘Certainly not,’ said Noel, emphatically.
‘And I don’t believe there’s such a thing as bad blood either,’ agreed Timon. He smiled at his wife. ‘Nerys is evidence of that!’
‘Right, then,’ said Rhys. ‘Now all the dirty laundry has been aired, all we need to do is to discuss how much of all this Evie needs to disclose – if any.’
‘Only what’s really necessary to Arwen’s biography,’ Evie said, ‘in order to do full justice to her life and work. Of course, Caradoc’s appropriation of her paintings is the primary issue.’
Nerys looked anxious.
‘As I said, I’ll track down those paintings and reassign them to their rightful creator, but I’ll suggest in the book that it was a mistake on the gallery’s part and imply that they collected them with Cosmo’s paintings for the exhibition by accident and added his monogram signature later.’
‘That would work,’ said Nerys, looking relieved. ‘But it’s more than I expected.’
‘Well, normally I’d happily expose the purloining male artist,’ agree Evie. ‘I’m prepared to fudge the truth a little this time for Ginny’s sake.’
‘Thank you anyway,’ said Nerys.
‘I’m hoping in time to track down enough of Arwen’s paintings to have an exhibition of them,’ said Evie.
‘That would be lovely,’ I said. ‘Maybe even a joint one with Milly Vane’s work?’
‘Good idea, Ginny. That would also help promote the joint biography, if the timing was right!’
‘That’s all well and good, but are you going to mention Cosmo’s behaviour towards Arwen and the final assault in the biography?’ asked Timon.
‘I’ll reveal that she was determined to get away from Triskelion in order to live with her friends in Cornwall, and that his controlling behaviour contributed to her running away,’ Evie said.
‘But I won’t mention his unwelcome advances and assault.
Not for the family’s sake, but because I’m certain Arwen wouldn’t have wanted it, since she was so determined not to let what had happened define the rest of her life. ’
‘I think you’re right, Evie,’ said Noel.
‘I have some very good material in Milly’s journal about their life together in Lamorna that I’ll write about at length,’ said Evie.
‘Including their friendship with the painter Laura Knight and that Arwen modelled for her. I hope to be able to include some examples of those works in the biography, as well as many of Arwen’s. ’
‘And Hugh’s revelations?’ asked Rhys. ‘What about those?’
‘They don’t add much to Arwen’s story that I didn’t already know, and much of it is irrelevant for my purposes,’ she said dismissively.
Nerys sat back, looking much more her usual tranquil self than she had all day. ‘I think you’re being very generous, Evie!’
‘As I told you, I’m just fudging things a little for Ginny’s sake – and for Arwen’s …
and perhaps because I’ve grown fond of you all while I’ve been here.
But I certainly think all the material – Hugh’s letter and deposition, copies of Arwen’s letters and, eventually, Milly’s journal – should form a family archive.
Charlotte Vane has kindly given me the contents of the Memory Box – she isn’t one to hoard memorabilia – and eventually it will come to Ginny.
But at some point, I might write a secret family memoir including all of it! ’
The others smiled at this, but I was pretty sure she wasn’t joking!
She rose to her feet with an air of finality. ‘Come on, then, Ginny – I’m sure the family need some time together. They’ve had a lot to take in.’
So too had I, I thought, following her from the room, and now I craved a bit of time alone.
As we went upstairs, Evie seemed to divine this, for at her door she turned to me and said, severely, ‘There’s no point in dwelling on the past, Ginny. Don’t let one man’s actions taint this place and your future. Arwen and Milly didn’t, and they were very happy together.’
‘I know, but there’s so much to think about and I haven’t even had time to take in Milly’s journal since I read it first thing,’ I explained, before escaping to the sanctuary of my room.
*
I sat down and, opening my laptop, began to read through Milly’s journal again, odd paragraphs jumping out at me, a voice from the past – Milly’s, strong and clear.
11 August 1919
Today I drove over alone to see Arwen, for rumours had reached us that Cosmo Caradoc had died in an accident on the very evening she had run away, which explained the lack of hue and cry.
There was also a letter forwarded by my aunt in London, which proved to be from Hugh Jones, informing Arwen of the tragedy and wishing her well in her new life.
When she had read this she turned very pale, but turned to me and said, with an expression of great resolution, that she had something she wished to confide in me.
I had a sudden premonition of what this might be, and I was right.
To my horror, she told me that Cosmo, after witnessing her last passionate embrace at parting with Edwin on the cliff top that Friday morning, had been so consumed by a white-hot, jealous rage that he had dragged her from the path and forced himself on her.
It was just as well that the man was now dead, or I think I would have headed straight back there to kill him!
I hugged her and called Caradoc all the vile names I could think of, besides saying I hoped he would spit-roast in hell, along with all other vile, predatory and manipulative men, and pretended to be turning the handle of the spit, which shocked her into a near-laugh.
‘Oh, Milly, I feel so much better for telling you! It is as if I have lanced something festering and let the poison out.’
I would have taken her back with me to Lamorna then, but she begged for a little more time, for she was painting the local scenery.
It was hard reading that again, but I thought I’d really have liked Milly!
As I read on, more paragraphs seemed to leap out at me, signposts to their last months of life together.
14 August 1919
Today I brought Arwen home to Lamorna. Edwin was not here, having gone to London with a friend, for the opening of an exhibition.
He does not know the truth, of course, and so still seems very sanguine that Arwen will soon change her mind about marrying him.
Arwen was enchanted by Smuggler’s Cottage …
We are to share the studio I have created in an old outbuilding in our small garden.
I raised a toast in damson wine to our happy future, living and working together in Lamorna.
‘Yes, here’s to us – we will be happy,’ she said fiercely, ‘for I will not let what has happened in the past define my future!’
2 September 1919
Life here has settled down into a pleasant rhythm and although the atmosphere was a little awkward at first when Edwin returned, we all soon fell into our old habits of friendly discussion and a shared passion and respect for each other’s work.
Indeed, as we’d already seen in Arwen’s seascapes in Caradoc’s exhibition, her way of capturing the elements and diffused light had developed into a distinct style all of her own.
Edwin jokingly calls her the Infant Prodigy, which makes her indignant, since she is now not far off her nineteenth birthday.
Arwen paints as if driven, but I expect her complete absorption in her work is the best medicine for her.
Edwin is off to London again, where he has retained his old studio space with a friend, and I predict he will spend less and less time here, especially since Arwen shows no sign of relenting about marrying him and, of course, he does not know why …
I have introduced Arwen to our circle of friends, old and new, including Laura Knight and her husband. We very much admire her work and she asked Arwen if she would serve as model for some paintings she planned to do of the Lamorna beach and cliffs …
29 October 1919
Our lives together over the last few weeks have been so very happy and fulfilling apart from a fear that Arwen might be pregnant. Our fears seemed at first allayed – but now, the worst has been confirmed.
Edwin hasn’t been here much, and it seems that although I am happy to accept loving friendship, he is not. But now Arwen will have to tell him soon – and why she is not sure if he or Caradoc is the baby’s father.
Meanwhile, it seems to have made us both work with even greater compulsion …
26 November 1919
I took Arwen to see a doctor, for we were worried that intermittent bleeding might mean that all was not well with the pregnancy, but he rather dismissed this as not unusual.
We sat up very late, talking it all over. The doctor, clearly shocked by Arwen’s unwed state, had brought home to us the likely reaction of those around us when the pregnancy became obvious. Even now, although Arwen was still slender, her shape is changing.
Since I thought the idea of bearing a child conceived in such a way would be abhorrent to her, I suggested we could go away somewhere where we were not known for a few months, then return once the baby had been adopted by some suitable family.
But Arwen surprised me by insisting that she wanted to keep her baby. However it had been conceived, it was now part of her and she wouldn’t give it up. I said in that case we would simply brazen it out: our good friends wouldn’t shun us and those who did could go hang!
I’ve already shocked most of the local inhabitants by wearing sailor trousers, so this will be just one more thing for them to talk about!
Arwen has written the difficult letter to Edwin, telling him the whole truth, which we knew would come as a great shock to him, and of our plans.
He didn’t reply, but instead came straight down and, again, asked Arwen to marry him. She told me that he had proposed in order, he said, to give the child a name, and while this was very chivalric of him, she was sure he wasn’t any longer in love with her.
Edwin has sent a stiff note, saying he won’t come to the cottage again, but offering to continue paying his share of the expenses, which I suppose is kind but unnecessary, since our parents left us both well enough provided for so that I can manage to keep us both in comfort, if not luxury.
He has also offered to help with any expenses involved with the child, whether his or not, although I don’t suppose that that is something we will ever know. I do think the better of him for this.
The weather has turned colder but still Arwen goes out to paint. She says she must while she still can.
Her appetite is capricious and I think she has lost weight, rather than gained it, despite the change in her shape.
I worry about her, but except for urging her to eat – and since she took over the cooking the moment she arrived, it is all delicious – and making sure she is warmly wrapped up when she goes out, there is nothing much I can do …
What a strange Christmas this will be!