Goldcrest

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Tessa set out that day alone. Sybilla would join them later; her daily lessons with Jane Glover were becoming important, for though Godfrey could not bear the thought of parting with the little girl it was time, at any rate, to think about sending Sybilla in due course to school. Tessa remembered her own lonely childhood, and was resolved that such should not be her daughter's fate, lacking brothers and sisters.

 Sybilla should make the right friends-Tessa was never free of mild ambition-and the best way to achieve this was by putting her name down for the right establishment for young ladies, already suggested by Jane Glover. It was pro bable, though nothing definite had been said in this way, that when Tessa no longer required her at Malvie, Jane would be offered a place on the school's staff.

 This would be of great benefit to Sybilla, who would feel less strange, in her first long absence from her home and parents, if her former governess were with her. "And so, my love, you must work hard each day till then, for there is" Tessa smiled at the innovation "an entrance examination, and those who are stupid, or lazy, will not be admitted. Think of the shame of that!"

But Sybilla would not be too stupid, she was convinced; Godfrey had taught her from an early age to use her mind, to look about her and to cultivate memory. Tessa walked her pony, surveying the new forest and thinking how tall the trees had grown in under six years.

 The light filtered between the delicately traced branches was the colour of dry sherry-wine; something of the tonic quality of wine, too, was in the air from the sea, and she herself felt better than she had of late, even glad Godfrey had persuaded her to come out for the ride and alfresco today. She stayed indoors too much, he told her; and now that he was about again, she must make, she told herself, more effort to accompany him.

He had not appeared yet, and Sybilla also would ride down later, when the lessons were done, like a grown-up young lady in her habit. Tessa meantime cantered her mount along the coast-road, seeing again the well-known vistas of sea and rocks, caves and the distant bulk of Man she had known from a child. 

The remains of invalid weariness, of doubt, fell away from her with the speed of the ride; with their health, now that she and Godfrey had begun to regain it, could they not be content with their lot? A good horse, a daily ride before break fast; a beloved child, enough money to satisfy every whim, and Godfrey himself a saint and scholar; what did she lack?

docilely back the way they had come. As the underwater She turned the pony's head at last, and the beast trotted shadows of the forest closed again about her, Tessa drew a sharp breath. 

Standing on the bridle-path, straight in her way, on Godfrey's land, was Si Kasparian Doon, a long staff in his hand his stance as he heard her come; there was no escape between on which he was meantime leaning. He did not move or alter the interlacing tree-branches, and she reined in her pony.

He smiled, and she knew well that he was aware of her as the rider. She said severely, "Si Kasparian, you should not be here," and waited for him to bow, apologise, and allow her to pass before removing himself. He must use, she realised, the long staff to tap his way among the trees; they would be new since his earlier sojourn here. 

Pity for his blindness claimed her, and she slid from the saddle. He had not moved and she saw, too late, that he had in fact been waiting for her to dismount; taking charge of the reins, he tied them to a branch with strangely expert fingers.

"Si Kasparian." She smiled, and decided to try to charm him into going; it would be unpleasant, she thought, if Godfrey came upon them here; it would spoil Godfrey's day. 

"Si Kasparian, why do you act always as if we were enemies, and try to embarrass us? Can the past not be forgotten, so that we can both of us wish you well? I am happy, you know, with my husband and child; I-I would wish to see you happy also. Godfrey, I am sure, would feel as I do, were you to act in a friendly way to him, and show a little gratitude for all he has permitted you. It is at least ungrateful," she finished gently, "to trespass in his forest." She did not mention, indeed hardly thought of, Miriam: that matter was done with.

"There were silver birches here once, among the thorns," said Si Kasparian inconsequentially. "I remember them from a boy. I carved my name on one."

He took his staff and viciously, as if he wanted to wound it, slashed this against the trunk of one of the evenly planted young larches, then laid the staff down. A weal showed on the assaulted bark: Tessa drew a breath of anger. How mean, how needlessly destructive Si Kasparian could be, like a small boy whose will has been crossed and who pulls the wings off flies! As though to prove that he was by now more of a child, or savage, than he had ever been, Si Kasparian himself broke into sudden laughter.

"Happy, eh? With your husband and your child?"

He mimicked her tones cruelly, stressing each syllable to convey a hidden meaning in the outwardly harmless words, stripping her of pretence. "Was he ever in truth your husband, my dear? And the child is mine."

"Be quiet, you will be heard-"

"And that would be a pity," he mocked. "That'd prick your genteel soap-bubble, would it not? Are you happy in it, Anna bel? Poor Tessa; your tail's ill served nowadays!"