Free Penmarric by Susan Howatch

was exhausted; she was reported to be on the verge of marrying either a duke or an earl or a rich American; her own sex, particularly her fellow-debutantes, were reported to be stupefied by such undeserved success—undeserved because Clarissa did not conform to the conventional standards of feminine beauty—and were delighted when for some unaccountable reason she married none of her ardent suitors and merely returned to Cornwall when the Season had reached its end. The scandal began soon afterward. After all, there had to be some reason why her suitors’ ardor had cooled; it was said she returned to Cornwall in disgrace. How true all this gossip was I had no idea, but it was true that Clarissa now had a “reputation” and that this young solicitor Michael Vincent was only one of a long line of men who had found her unconventional looks irresistible.
    In the ponytrap on the way home from Zillan that afternoon I said to my father, “I fancy Miss Barnwell has an unrequited passion for that young man Michael Vincent whom Mr. Barnwell mentioned just before we left.”
    “Really?” said my father, who was exhausted by his weekly concession to social intercourse but not so exhausted that he could not look astonished by my remark. “I think you must be mistaken. I dislike gossip, but I had heard that little Miss Barnwell had set her cap a good deal higher than a mere country solicitor. I had heard that Raymond Penmar was interested in her and that she in fact was the reason he was sent abroad to Rome, Athens and Cairo. Giles Penmar not unnaturally wanted his son to marry well and not to become involved with a clergyman’s daughter.”
    I gaped at him. “Did Mr. Barnwell tell you that?”
    “No, it was Mrs. Barnwell who dropped the hints, but Barnwell was present and did not deny the implications of his wife’s remarks. He later said he deeply regretted allowing his daughter to associate with the Penmars. Young Harry has a bad reputation and as for Clarissa—but that’s gossip I have no intention of repeating. Let it suffice to say that I hope you won’t become acquainted with either Harry or Clarissa while you’re staying with me at Morvah.”
    “There’s little likelihood of that happening,” I said frankly. “If I even tried to bid Harry good day I think he’d try and knock me down.”
    He was silent, evidently satisfied by my assurance. His housekeeper’s husband, Walter Mannack, drove us out of Zillan parish and across the hills to Morvah, and presently I forgot the Penmars and the rector’s daughter and began to think once more of Mrs. Janna Roslyn.
4
    I called at Roslyn Farm on Monday morning, but the old crone Griselda told me Mrs. Roslyn was “tired” and “resting” and could not receive visitors. On Tuesday I was informed she had gone to Penzance to spend an extra day marketing produce; the market was held three times a week in Penzance, and although the largest market was held on Thursdays, I was told that since her husband’s death Mrs. Roslyn had often been obliged to go to market on Tuesdays and Saturdays as well—presumably on account of trying financial circumstances. On Wednesday I again tried to see her, but she was away visiting a neighboring farm, and on Thursday, of course, she went to Penzance again. By Friday I had received the distinct impression that she wanted to administer a rebuff, but so anxious was I to see her that a rebuff was a mere inconvenience which I was prepared to tolerate. What I could not endure was another day without the prospect of exchanging a few words with her, so on Friday morning I saddled my father’s horse again and rode over the hills past Chûn Castle to the farm.
    She was at home. She consented to see me. We drank another glass of wine together in her front parlor and I spoke of London and a dozen other matters, but she said little and I was forced to carry the burden of the conversation. She did not appear to be bored. She did not appear to be