‘Perhaps you did not love her after all.’
Mawgan considered his friend’s words. ‘I have known her all my life. Perhaps I am in shock. I think I feel . . . sad for her. Are you surprised?’
David’s eyes softened. ‘Not at all. You would, wouldn’t you?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘I mean—’
Mawgan lifted a hand to parry his words. ‘I have never disgraced myself and I plan never to do so.’
‘Not even on your travels?’ Mawgan did not honour his teasing with an answer. ‘Your father did his job well. The Pendragon sense of duty is so overpowering I can actually smell it. I have never met Angel, but at least she attempted to fight against her duty in search for love. I admire her spirit. I am right, am I not? You were going to marry her because of duty, not because you loved her.’
Mawgan gazed out of the window. ‘We got on well together.’
‘But you did not love her or ever will. You don’t have that in you.’
‘Do people marry for love these days? Did they ever?’
‘They should.’ David smacked his friend’s thigh. ‘At least you are now free of this obligation.’
Mawgan scowled at his friend and moved his leg away. He suddenly felt lost. What would the future hold for him now?
‘Let us not talk any more about her,’ said Mawgan. He felt David studying him. ‘I mean it, David. Let us talk of other matters.’
David conceded with a shrug of his shoulders and leant forward to look out at the passing countryside. ‘Where are we going?’ he asked as scattered country hovels entered and left his view.
‘I have had word that my mother’s old maid is dying.’
‘How does this concern you? Do you plan to pay her a deathbed visit?’
‘I feel I have no choice. She may be dying, but she is not going quietly and is using the time she has left to unburden herself. She has asked to see me.’
‘You could have refused.’
‘I was about to, but her family was insistent and I felt I had no choice but to hear it for myself.’
‘What is she saying?’
Mawgan banged on the roof for the carriage to slow down. ‘I will tell you more after my visit.’ He softened his reply with a smile. ‘I promise.’
* * *
David waited in the coach as Mawgan knocked on the door of the small, granite house where his late mother’s maid now lived. The door was immediately opened by a woman he presumed to be Mellin’s daughter. She had been expecting him and subserviently stepped aside. On entering, he paused for his eyes to grow accustomed to the dimly lit room. A deeply recessed, north-facing window brought little light into the room, whilst a lingering damp smell continued to claw at the air despite evidence of a small fire in the grate. The fire, he suspected, had been built for his benefit alone.
A makeshift bed had been set up near to it and Mawgan could just make out the shape of an old woman beneath its blankets. He heard the death rattle in her chest as a frail arm, sleeved in sagging, fragile flesh, lifted and waved for him to come nearer. He approached and recognised Mellin instantly. Her face may have aged, her body may have shrivelled, but he could never forget her watchful eyes. His childhood and youth had been plagued by them. It was as if she knew something about him andwas constantly waiting. Perhaps now he would finally learn what it was.
‘Hello, Mellin. I have had word you wished to see me.’
She squinted in the dark. ‘Master Mawgan . . . is that you?’
He nodded and accepted the wooden chair brought to him by the scruffy, flustered woman who had shown him in.
‘I do apologise, Master Mawgan,’ said Mellin’s daughter, positioning the chair behind him. ‘It is dreadful what Mam has been saying. I’ve told her to stop, but she won’t.’ A sense of unease grew in Mawgan’s stomach as he looked at her crimson face and realised she was unable to meet his gaze. ‘Pay no heed to her. I don’t.’
‘Pay no heed to what?’ asked Mawgan, but it was too late, Mellin’s daughter was already leaving and showed no willingness to remain. He carefully sat down and looked at the old woman. Her watery green eyes stared up at him. He recognised her watchful gaze and felt like a child again. Damn those eyes!
‘I remember the night you were born,’ said Mellin. Her voice was barely a whisper, but the words were clear. ‘It was the month of June but it was blowing a gale. The wind so strong it uprooted the old cedar on the road from Cardin.’ Her gaze left his face and she stared into space. ‘We were all worried that Doctor Birch would not arrive in time,’ she finished lamely.
