HOW I LEFT BEDRUTHEN STEPS AND, AFTER MEETING TAMSIN TRUSCOTT, SOUGHT
FOR NAOMI
I know not why, but when the stranger acted in this way he seemed to put
a bridle on my tongue. The name of my love was on my lips, but I could
not utter it.
"Are you afraid to tell, Jasper Pennington?" he asked, eagerly.
"It is not for you to know," I replied; "besides, she may be dead. I
have been told that she--" Then I stopped, for my heart seemed to grow
too big for my bosom.
"Died of a broken 'art," mumbled Eli. "The Trezidders killed 'er."
"Tell me more!" cried the stranger, excitedly. Then he added, in calmer
tones, "I may be able to help you."
But I did not speak, whereupon he walked to and fro the cave, making all
sorts of ejaculations, and at times looking savagely at me, as though I
were his enemy.
Presently, however, he grew calm and thoughtful; he seemed to be musing
over what I had told him, as though he had an interest in it. This
surprised me greatly, and set me thinking who he could be, until plans
of action for myself began to form themselves in my brain.
After I had thought awhile I went out of the cave and stood in the bay
called Bedruthen Steps. Accustomed as I had been all my life to the
sight of a fine rock-bound coast, I could not help being awed at the
scene. The great rocks which lift their mighty heads in Kynance Cove
were not equal to these. Often while living at Cap'n Jack's house I had
wandered along the many-coloured cliffs which stretch from Kynance to
the Lizard, and had seen the waves leap on them, sometimes playfully,
sometimes in mad anger, while thousands of streamlets ran down their
rugged sides afterward, as if to laugh at the anger of the sea; but
never had I seen anything so fine, so awe-inspiring as this. For a
moment it made me forget the objects dearest to my heart. The tide was
not high enough to reach the mouth of the cave at which I stood; at the
same time the angry seas rolled madly along the sand, and were churned
into foam by the great rocks along the beach. I had heard about rocks
standing as sentinels, but never until then did I realise the meaning of
the words. That day, however, the meaning of such language was quite
plain. The cliffs stood from three to four hundred feet high, almost
perpendicular, save here and there where some narrow gully sloped
somewhat. These cliffs were dark gray, rough, jagged and forbidding, and
seemed to quietly mock the roving, rushing sea which beat upon them.
Along the beach, perhaps a hundred yards or more from the cliffs, a
number of huge rocks stood alone. I suppose at some time they must have
slipped from the mainland, but that was undoubtedly in the far-back
past. One of them, I remember, was shaped like a spire, and seemed to
look with derision on the foaming waters that sometimes nearly covered
it, and at others left it standing ill all its majesty on the white,
hard sand.
"Surely," I thought, "God has been lavish of His grandeur here," and
even as this came into my mind the relentlessness and the cruelty of the
sea impressed me. Everything made me feel my littleness, my impotence. A
strong man would be but as a bit of rotten wood if he were thrown into
it; those cliffs would beat the life out of him, while the white foam,
which looked so soft and inviting, covered that which would smash the
sides of a boat as easily as a man snaps a piece of wood across his
knee.
A feeling of despair possessed me again, for I was utterly lonely. It is
true Eli stood by my side saying loving words and fondling me, while the
stranger walked to and fro the cave; but no one felt my grief or
understood it. By-and-by, however, my mood began to change; the roaring
sea, the gray, leaden sky, the mighty cliffs inspired me, they urged me
to action. I must find out the truth about Naomi; ay, I must find her,
for, standing there that morning, I could not believe that she was dead.
A few minutes later I had made preparations to leave the cave and go
away from the neighbourhood of Bedruthen Steps.
"Where do you go, Jasper Pennington, and what are your plans?" asked the
stranger.
"That is a matter which concerns myself," I replied, not very
graciously. A moment later, however, I felt I had acted like a cur, for
this man had endangered his life to save mine, and but for him I might
not have been alive. "Forgive me," I continued; "my mind is much
distracted, and I scarcely know what I say."
"Perchance I could help you, if you would trust me," he said.
"I can scarcely trust myself," I replied, "much less a stranger."
"Am I stranger?" he cried, with an hysterical laugh, just as though he
were a madman.
"If you are not, who and what are you?" I asked. "What is your name?"
"Name!" he said, wildly. "Esau is my name, my true name."
"Why your true name?"
"Because I have sold my birthright."
"Your birthright! To whom did you sell it?"
"To the devil!" he cried, his eyes glittering. "My birthright was my
manhood; it was a clear conscience, it was the power to fearlessly think
of the past, and to--" He stopped suddenly, then he went on again:
"Perhaps Cain is the truer name, but I know not; call me Esau."
"Yes, he's mad," I said to myself. "I can trust him with
nothing--nothing." Still, I humoured him. "You have been very good to
me," I said. "Some time, if I live and gain my own, I will repay you."
He came to me again, his eyes still shining brightly, and he looked
eagerly into mine, as though, too, he had decided to impart something to
me; but a second later an expression of doubt rested on his face. "No,"
I heard him say; "I must do it myself, and alone, if I can--if I can."
We parted then. I made my way up the side of a sloping place along the
cliff, while Eli followed close at my heels. When we reached the grassy
headland I looked back, and saw the stranger still standing at the
mouth of the cave. I looked around me. Not a house of any sort was to be
seen; only a rugged, bleak coastline was visible. I saw, however, that
some of the land was cultivated, and so I knew that there must be some
farmhouses in the near distance.
After walking for about a quarter of an hour we came to a lane, but it
was grass-grown, and was evidently but seldom used. I looked around me
and espied a gray church tower. This gladdened my heart, for it was
pleasant to think of the House of God situated in a bleak, barren
countryside. I was about to make my way toward it when I heard the click
of a labourer's pick. I jumped on a fence and saw a man hedging.
"What is the name of that church?" I asked.
"St. Eval, sur."
I looked at the man more closely. He looked far more intelligent than
the ordinary labourer. "Do you know much about this neighbourhood?" I
asked.
"I've lived 'ere oal my life, sur."
"Do you know of any convent in this neighbourhood?"
"Convent, convent?" he repeated, questioningly.
"Yes," I replied; "a place that belongs to the Catholics--a place where
priests and nuns live."
He looked at me suspiciously, as though he suspected that I had evil
motives in asking such a question. "No, sur," he said presently. Then he
gave a start, and I turned and saw that Eli had come to my side. "Is
he--is he the devil?" he gasped.
"No; only a dwarf."
"You'm sa big and 'ee sa small, it do seem funny," he laughed,
nervously.
"What is the nearest town?" I asked.
"St. Columb, sur."
I made up my mind to go to St. Columb, and was asking the man how far it
was, when another thought struck me. "There's a parson at St. Eval, I
suppose?"
"Aw, iss, sur; hes 'ouse ed'n fur from the church."
"Is he a man that you like?"
"Aw, iss, sur; everybody do like the passon."
I made my way toward St. Eval, and after half an hour's walking found a
church and perhaps a dozen houses. I was not long in finding the
vicarage, for it was the only house of importance in the neighbourhood.
Parson Thomas received me very kindly. He was a little man, well fed,
and apparently on good terms with every one. I don't think he knew much
about religion as Mr. John Wesley taught it, but he was kind-hearted and
full of merriment. Moreover, if he neglected people's souls, he did not
neglect their bodies. He insisted on giving me refreshments, and
although he looked very curiously at Eli, he sent him into the kitchen
and gave instructions that he must be looked after.
"I am a bachelor," laughed the jolly vicar. "So much the better all
around. I've no one to bother me. I've got my dogs and my horses. At St.
Ervan there is a pack of hounds, and I've the best hunter within six
parishes. I have a service every Sunday afternoon in the church, and so
far we have no Methodists. I've some good wine, good home-brewed ale,
and plenty of cider. I rear most of the flesh eaten in the house, and am
happy--ha, ha! Now, what can I do for you?"
I asked if he knew of any religious house belonging to the Catholics in
the neighbourhood.
"There are a few Catholic families," he said.
"Who are they?"
"Well, there was a Catholic family at Trevose House--an old house built
on the cliff not far from Trevose Head. At least, Mrs. Penryn was a
Catholic, and the girl was brought up a Catholic. A priest from Padstow
used to visit the house."
"Do you know anything about them?" I asked.
"Mrs. Penryn is dead; her husband--well, it's a sad story. Poor fellow,
he committed suicide well upon twenty years ago. Everything was left to
the daughter. She has gone to the West to stay till she's of age, or
married, under the guardianship of a Richard Tresidder. I think I heard
something about Tresidder's son marrying Naomi, but I'm not sure."
"Did the priest who visited Trevose belong to any religious
community?--I mean, is there a convent or nunnery at Padstow?"
"No. Let me see--oh, yes, I remember now; my friend Page, from Mawgan,
was telling me about it. Close to Mawgan Church is the Manor House of
Lord Arundell. I daresay you will have heard of it--Lanksome. It is a
delightful spot. Well, the Arundell family has always remained Catholic,
and were terribly bitter against the Reformation. The present Arundells
came into possession about thirty-five or forty years ago, and it is
quite a home for priests and Catholics generally. Some of the priests, I
believe, visited Trevose from there."
"But it is not a convent or nunnery?"
"Oh, no; not that I am aware of. It is simply the headquarters of the
Catholics in this district. I have heard it said that some young
Catholic girls, religiously inclined, have been taken there as
novitiates, but I doubt its truth; not that the place is not admirably
suited for such a purpose. It is surrounded by a high wall, over which
no one can see, and in one of the walls is a secret chamber in which it
is said a priest was concealed for eighteen months in the reign of
Elizabeth. At present, however, it is not recognised as a convent."[1]
"But it is a Catholic centre?"
"Oh, bless you, yes; the place is full of Catholic priests, nuns from
France, and what not. I should not like to say what is done within those
walls. That house is full of secrets, and the people who go to Mawgan
Church, which is adjoining it, look upon Lanherne as a home of mystery.
The servants are silent, the priests are silent, the very atmosphere
seems full of secrets."
I did not stay long with Parson Thomas after this, although his
hospitality seemed to know no bounds. I had heard enough to set me
thinking, and I determined to go to Mawgan that very evening. The time
was now three in the afternoon, and soon night would be upon us. Still,
there would be another hour of daylight, and I started to walk in the
direction of Mawgan Forth, while Eli trudged close by my heels.
We had been walking, perhaps, half an hour, when I saw, as I was passing
by a farmhouse close to which the road ran, a woman on horseback. Below
us we saw the sands of Mawgan Forth, but no house was near save the
farmhouse to which I have referred.
"It is some woman riding home from St. Columb Market, I suppose," I
said as her horse climbed the hill.
"No," said Eli; "no, Maaster Jasper. 'Tes Tamsin Triscott, Tamsin
Fraddam; that's who et es."
"Tamsin!" I cried; "surely no!"
A few seconds later, however, I saw that Eli was right.
"Master Jasper Pennington!" she cried, as she saw me, and the blood
mounted violently to her face. "You are free, then?"
This she said in a tone of disappointment almost amounting to anger.
"Yes, Tamsin," I replied. "What do you know about my imprisonment?"
"I suppose you got him away?" she said to Eli, angrily, without noticing
my question.
"Iss," grunted Eli; "I ded, ded'n I, Jasper?" and the dwarf laughed
gleefully.
"And I meant to have done it," she said, as if musing to herself. "I
have travelled a long way."
"What do you mean, Tamsin?" I asked.
She hesitated a minute, then she spoke like one in pain.
"I did my best, Jasper--believe that. But for me you would have been
killed. Israel Barnicoat and others vowed it, but I persuaded father. I
heard about your coming back, and I tried to find out where you had been
taken. As soon as I knew I started to come. I would have set you free; I
would, Jasper, I would."
My slow-thinking mind was trying to find its way to Tamsin's motives for
acting thus, when she went on if possible more earnestly than before.
"She didn't care for you, Jasper; if she did, why were you imprisoned in
her house?"
"Tamsin," I said, for I began to see her meaning, "do you know what is
become of Naomi Penryn?"
"No," she said, sullenly.
"Tamsin," I went on, "I thank you for your goodness to me; I am glad I
had a friend willing to travel so far to help me. But I am in great
sorrow, Tamsin. I may tell you about it, I know; I love Naomi
Penryn--love her like my own life. I have heard strange rumours about
her, and my heart is very sad. I can trust you, Tamsin, I know that.
Have you heard anything about her?"
She became very pale as I spoke, and I thought she would have fallen
from her horse, but she recovered herself presently.
"Israel Barnicoat told me that she would not marry young Tresidder," she
replied, "and that she asked to be taken to a convent until she came of
age."
"Yes," I said, eagerly, "and what then?"
"I heard that she died there."
"And do you know where the convent is?"
"No; I know nothing! She is dead, that's all."
"Tamsin," I replied, "something tells me she is not dead. I have heard
this again and again, and I cannot believe it. I am going to search for
her until I find her."
"Why do you not believe she's dead?" she asked, like one in anger.
"I have reasons," I answered. "They are real to me, although they might
not be real to you. Besides, I cannot think of her as dead. Tamsin,
suppose you loved a man, would you rest upon hearsay in such a case?"
"I would search until I died," she cried. "If he were alive I would
find him; if he were dead I would die too."
"Then you can feel for me," I said, "for I love Naomi Penryn. I shall
love her till I die, and if she be dead, I shall want to die, too."
Then the girl gave a heartrending cry. "Don't, Jasper Pennington," she
said, "don't!"
I looked around me and saw that Eli had wandered toward the Porth. I was
glad for this, for I realised what her words meant.
"Tamsin Truscott," I said, "I never had a sister; will you be one to me?
For I love you as truly as ever brother loved sister. Can you care for
me as a sister cares for a brother?"
I said this because I wanted to be true to Naomi, and because I
determined to dispel from Tamsin's mind all thoughts of me as one who
could ever love her. I wanted to appeal to all that was best and truest
in her, too, believing, as I have always believed, that by this means
alone can we get the best that people are capable of giving.
For some minutes she seemed like one fighting a great battle, then she
said quietly, "Yes, Jasper Pennington, I will do for you all that a
sister would do."
"Then, Tamsin," I said, "if it should please God to let me find my love,
would you befriend her?"
"Yes," she gasped.
"It seems as though she hath many enemies," I went on, "and there be
many who plot against her. If I find her among friends all may be well,
but if I were to find her among enemies and rescue her, I know of no
place to take her where she would be safe."
For a little while Tamsin sobbed as though her heart would break; and
at that time I thought it was because she pitied both me and Naomi.
Presently she said, quietly, "If you should ever find the one you mean
alive, and she needs a home, take her to my aunt's at Porth Mullion. She
is a good woman, my mother's sister, and hates my father's ways. She
will do anything I ask her."
"What is her name?" I asked, "and how shall I find her?"
"Her name is Mary Crantock, and there are but three houses at Porth
Mullion. Hers is a white house, with a wooden porch painted green. The
other houses have no porches."
"And how will she know about me?"
"I will ride there to-morrow and tell her."
"And where will you go to-night?"
"I will ride to St. Columb. I have another aunt who lives there."
Then a great fear came into my heart, and, almost without thinking, I
had caught hold of Tamsin's hand.
"Tamsin Truscott," I said, "you once told me you loved me. I may trust
you, may I not? As God is above us, you will be true if ever I need
you?"
"As surely as what I once told you is true, as surely as God is above
us, you may trust me."
Then she turned her horse's head, and rode rapidly toward the St. Columb
road.
Now, in describing my meeting with Tamsin, I have failed to record many
things. I have not told of the many questions she asked regarding my
imprisonment or my escape, nor of the answers I gave, because they do
not bear directly on the history I am writing. Besides, it is difficult
to remember many things after the lapse of long years. So many things
were said, however, that it was nearly dark when she rode away from me.
From Mawgan Porth it is about two miles to Mawgan Church, and I was
anxious to get there before night had quite come upon us. So, calling
Eli to my side, we hurried across the Porth, and then went up a narrow
lane, where we met a man who directed us to Mawgan Church.
A quarter of an hour later we were descending into the vale of Lanherne,
and in the light of the departing day I could see the tower of the
church rising from the trees among which it nestled. The sight seemed to
give wings to my feet, and so fast did I go that Eli had great
difficulty in keeping close to me. Eagerly did I jump across the brook
that ran down the valley, after which I ran along by the churchyard
wall, and a few seconds later I stood before the gray walls of Lanherne
Manor House.
FOOTNOTE:
[1] Lanherne Manor House, in the parish of Mawgan, Cornwall,
while being a centre of Catholic influence for several centuries, did
not become a recognised convent until the beginning of the present
century. At that time a sisterhood of Carmelite nuns was driven from
France to Antwerp. When the French entered Belgium they emigrated to
England, and Lord Arundell of Wardour assigned the house to them. The
inmates are at present an abbess and twenty nuns. J. H.