Dear Doctor Birch,
I am sending this letter to request that you call upon us as soon as you are able.
My wife, Lady Pendragon, has lately suffered greatly from a poor appetite and bouts of sickness, which has a tendency to improve as the day progresses.
In all other ways she maintains she is well, leading us to come to the conclusion that she may be with child.
We would be grateful if you could visit us and put our minds at rest.
Yours sincerely,
Sir Robert Pendragon, Bt
Doctor Birch folded the letter thoughtfully. Despite all he had achieved today, it now appeared that Howard’s older brother might succeed in producing an heir after all. The importance the doctor had placed on achieving the younger brother’s patronage was now somewhat diminished. Being ableto boast his older brother, a baronet, as a patient held significant more value. He banged the roof of the carriage, startling the harnessed horse who lifted its wide-eyed head high in readiness to flee. The driver above him fought to steady it.
‘Take me to Carrack House,’ the doctor shouted up to him, ‘and be quick about it.’
The doctor pulled the door shut with a bang, frightening the already unsettled horse. The carriage lurched forward, but, thankfully, the experienced driver regained control almost immediately and began to turn the carriage in a semicircle within the courtyard of Cedar Lodge. The servant and stable boy retreated some distance, out of harm’s way, to watch the hasty departure. Finally, amidst a flurry of stamping hooves and jingling harness, Doctor Birch was on his way to Carrack House and leaving Cedar Lodge behind him.
Chapter One
1886, Cornwall, England
Evelyn paused in the doorway and looked down the empty corridor. She tilted her head to listen. The house was unusually quiet, but for the tick-tock of the nursery clock and the rhythmical sighs and snorts of the woman sat by the fire. Evelyn’s eyes brightened. It was the perfect time to escape. No one would notice she was gone — no one ever did. She silently closed the door behind her, ran along the empty corridor and down the back stairs, her feet tripping expertly over each step, rug and knotted floorboard. The warm summer breeze welcomed her outside. She slid the ribbons from her hair, shook her curls loose and began to run. She was free at last.
Evelyn followed the fragrance of her father’s rose garden, gently trailing her scarlet ribbons from her fingertips as if they were her wings. Inspired by a statue of a unicorn she had seen in a book, she began to gallop. The illustration of the statue had awakened her vivid imagination, an imagination her parents had always discouraged. The statue’s very existence, with its magical horn, hinted to Evelyn that the rest of the world was not like the world she knew. Someone, somewhere, had been commissioned to showcase their creative skills and in doing so expressed themselves, even though what they created was pure fantasy. It was a freedom Evelyn did not know existed, and yet subconsciously yearned for.
When Evelyn discovered that her newly appointed governess, Miss Brown, was afflicted with insomnia, she saw an opportunity to ease the restlessness she felt deep inside herself. Her devious behaviour, Evelyn reconciled to herself, would also help dear Miss Brown, who was often tired and pale through lack of sleep. Evelyn had discovered that during her reading lesson,if she read in a monotonous tone, she could sometimes induce Miss Brown to fall asleep. By the end of the second page, if she was lucky, her governess’s lids would start to droop and by the end of the third page, a soft, vibrating snore would escape her lips. Evelyn could not predict when she would be successful, but the randomness of her successes made them all the sweeter. The governess’s snoring signalled the start of forty-five minutes of precious freedom for Evelyn before she would begin to stir. When she did eventually open her eyes, Evelyn would be sitting opposite her, neat and tidy, reading studiously the last sentence of the chapter. It was not until Evelyn became an adult, did she begin to wonder who was fooling whom, and if the governess asked her to read in a desperate attempt to recoup lost sleep.
Evelyn headed towards the eighteenth century orangery, a tall, elegant, white building, one hundred feet by thirty feet, designed to appear like an elegant manor house rather than a glasshouse whose sole purpose was to ripen citrus fruit. Evelyn galloped through one door and down its centre path. The heat, intensified by the large windows, was stifling, but had no purpose as the orange trees had already been removed for the summer to line the gravelled paths leading to the Italian garden. Her footsteps echoed around her as she headed towards the door at the far end. Outside the warm breeze felt cooler compared to the orangery’s tropical atmosphere and with renewed energy, she left it behind.
Evelyn’s three beat gait skipped along the citrus scented gravel path and entered the next garden, one of many specifically designed by a long line of ancestors who wished to make their mark upon the land. Each area was different, brought to life as a reminder of humble beginnings, extraordinary travels, or lost loves. Evelyn knew all about how the Pendragons made their fortune, it was drummed into her brother Nicholas from an early age, and, by default, into her.
Once powerful merchants, the Pendragon family had accumulated much of their wealth during the reign of Henry VIII. Pendragon history and lineage was unquestioned and entrenched in Cornish society. It was a lineage to be proud of and an inheritance to be protected.
Carrack House, named after the distinct broad merchant ship with its tell-tale high sterncastle and even higher forecastle, was built in Georgian times on the same site as an earlier Elizabethan house. It was situated in the centre of the gardens, like a jewel sewn into sensuous, colourful embroidery of different fauna and flora.
It came as no surprise that Carrack House and Estate was passed down through the pedigree like a precious gift. It was a responsibility and a heavy burden that was both desired and feared, but had been successfully carried by a long line of male heirs. The house and gardens were envied by all who came to visit, but although beautiful, Evelyn knew from an early age, that every flower, every statue, every blade of grass had its place, specifically designed, commission, cultivated — and controlled. Her father, its current owner and guardian, was made for the task.
Statues of Apollo, Bacchus and Venus silently watched her pass by, inwardly frowning, no doubt, at the disturbance to their spiritually uplifting peace.
The French Garden welcomed her with vibrant colour of geometrically shaped flowerbeds trimmed with miniature hedges. At its centre stood a stone carved ornamental fountain of three cherubs pouring water. Evelyn let her fingers dip into its cool pool as she galloped by.
Evelyn passed the maze by. She had once gotten lost within its evergreen walls and had to be rescued by the head gardener, Timmins. The claustrophobic experience gave her nightmaresfor weeks and, in times of stress, she still dreamt of tall, laughing hedges closing in on her and draining her lungs of air.
The sombre Fern Garden was next and was nothing to fear, despite its shaded darkness, grotesque gargoyles and dark green ferns that rustled in the wind. Small gravestones marked the passing of beloved pets. They were no more than a melancholy curiosity to Evelyn, all of them dead long before Evelyn and her brother were born. She would have loved to have a pet of her own, but her mother would not allow it. ‘Disease-ridden animals’, her mother called them and ‘a risk to one’s health’. Mother must know, thought Evelyn, she was an expert in illness.
However, her mother’s dire warnings did not stop Evelyn making friends with Duchess, the stray cat who had made her home in the outbuildings. Duchess was the closest she would get to having a pet, but when she was married, if her husband allowed it, she would have many.
Evelyn began to tire and headed towards Lady May’s Garden. Named after the 4th baronet’s wife, it could only be approached by way of a lengthy pagoda adorned with climbing ivy. Evelyn entered its leafy shadows and ran along its length. At the end she came out into the bright sunshine of Lady May’s favourite place. She ignored the Japanese cedar, palms and magnolias and headed for the statue in the centre. Dropping her ribbons, she lifted her skirts and began to climb.
Evelyn straddled the lioness and lovingly stroked its noble head. It was her favourite statue to climb, partly because it gave her an unhindered view of the grounds and a better view of the sleeping cub between the lioness’s front paws. The cub, lovingly protected by its devoted mother, appeared to have a smile on its face that never failed to bring a sigh of peace within Evelyn. Today, the sigh reached her lips.
Evelyn dragged her eyes away and looked about her. From her vantage point, she could see the house, many of the gardensand even The White Tower, an isolated folly, in the far distance. Built on the whim of some ancestor, it had no real purpose and stood at odds with the setting it found itself in, where everything had a reason, be it for colour, fragrance or design.
Evelyn had always felt an affiliation with the tower, although she could not explain why. Usually, it was rather plain to look at, but today its white stone walls shone brightly in the sunlight, emitting a quiet ambiance of strength, a stark contrast to the dark green trees around it, which waved their leaves in the breeze like swooning ladies. Beyond lay the expansive green lawns, dotted with grand oaks, wistful willows and towering ash and through it all cut a wide sweeping drive of gravel.
Something moved nearby. For the first time, Evelyn noticed she was not alone. Two gardeners, their backs bent, were quietly working in one of the gardens, pulling up weeds and throwing them into a wheelbarrow positioned between them. Evelyn watched and listened, fascinated, for normally gardeners would stop their work, remove their caps and drop their eyes in her presence — or simply disappear. Not today. From her vantage point, she watched them unobserved, as if they were wild animals in their natural habitat. They were talking and although it was only idle chatter to help pass the time, their banter humanised them in a way that their doffing of caps and averting of eyes had failed to do in the past.
