“This will be a visit we shall always remember,” I said, thinking of sitting in Smithy’s, drinking brandy.

“For ever,” echoed Dorabella, gazing rapturously at her diamond ring.

A few days later we left Cornwall.

It had been decided, after a good deal of discussion, that the marriage should take place at Christmas.

The First Wife

WE RETURNED TO WEEKS of feverish preparations. My mother had a few qualms of uneasiness. She thought it was too soon and they should have waited a little longer.

“Why?” demanded Dorabella. “Why should we wait? What’s the point? And being so far apart it isn’t easy to see each other.”

My mother said: “The spring would have been a good time. Or, say, May…or June…”

“Why? Why?” demanded Dorabella.

My mother looked at her and smiled. “Well, as you both seem so sure…”

“Of course we are sure.”

My mother left it at that, but when we were alone she talked to me, as she often did. She had always discussed a problem with me rather than with Dorabella.

She began: “I wish they had agreed to wait awhile.”

“Dorabella never wants to wait for anything.”

“I know. She is so impulsive. She doesn’t always see things clearly, she doesn’t look at all the possibilities.”

“But you liked the family in Cornwall. You got on very well with Matilda Lewyth.”

“Yes. And, of course, she is in charge. I can’t see any conflict between her and Dorabella over that.”

“Dorabella certainly wouldn’t want to take on the management of the household.”

“No, indeed not. But…”

“They were charming to us,” I went on. “And they seemed to like Dorabella. There was no objection, as there sometimes is in such cases.”

“I don’t know. It is just that it all seems too quick. I should have liked a little time to get…to get to know more…”

“Well, we were there for a week. It wasn’t exactly a conventional household. But perhaps most households are not.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, on the surface they seem conventional sometimes and then you discover all sorts of things are going on under the veneer, if you know what I mean. There is the housekeeper who isn’t really a housekeeper; there’s her son who runs the place; and there is Dermot who doesn’t seem to take much interest in it. And the father just sits there. He reminds me of a puppet master holding the strings.”

“Did he really seem like that to you?”

“It was just a thought that occurred to me. And then there was the feud.”

My mother laughed. “It was amusing that you met one of the enemy. I wonder what they thought of that? They didn’t give much sign…”

“No. That’s what I mean. I had a feeling that something was going on underneath.”

“That’s your imagination.”

“Well, there is something about that part of the world. Superstitions and such like. All those things you mustn’t do, like meeting parsons on the way to the boats, and dropping gloves which have to be picked up by someone else.”

“Your stranger turned out to be a blessing. If you ask me, it’s time they dropped their silly old quarrels about something which happened a hundred years ago. And Dorabella is going into all that. I wonder how she will fit in?”

“Well, she is in love with Dermot.”

My mother nodded, but she was frowning.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “She always falls on her feet.”

“She’s going to miss you.”

“And I her.”

“That’s the disadvantage of being twins. That closeness is wonderful at times, and then comes the inevitable separation.”

“But she is not going to the other end of the world,” I cried. “And I shall go and stay there and she will come here often, I am sure.”

“I suppose Dermot will be able to.”

“Of course. He’s got Gordon Lewyth to look after the estate.”

She frowned again. I was surprised, for I had thought she had been pleased by what she found in Cornwall; but, like myself, she had a faint stirring of disquiet that all might not be as it seemed.

Christmas was close—a very special Christmas, dominated by the wedding which was to take place. The church had been beautifully decorated; Dermot was to arrive a few days before, and there would be rehearsals in the church. I was to be the Maid of Honor, and Uncle Charles’s small daughter was a bridesmaid, his little boy a page—our brother being too old for the role and overcome with horror at the thought of it.

Dorabella’s dress was hanging up in the wardrobe; she looked at it a hundred times a day and wondered whether it was too long, too short, and whether the skirt needed an extra flounce of lace. There was another question: Should she wear the wreath of orange blossom round her head? My mother was anxious that she should because she had worn it at her wedding.

“Is it a little old-fashioned?” Dorabella asked again and again.

“What if it is?” I asked. “What does it matter?”

“What does it matter! This is my wedding!”

“It looks beautiful and Mummy wants you to. It will bring back memories of her wedding.”

“But this is my wedding.”

“Nobody is going to forget that. You wouldn’t let them.”

“You’ll have to wear that orange blossom at your wedding.”

“Mine? If there ever is one.”

“Of course there’ll be one. Once I’m out of the way, you’ll have a chance.”

We laughed together and I was reminded of how lonely I was going to be without her.

Dermot arrived at the beginning of the week. He was exuberant and Dorabella was wildly happy at the sight of him.

My mother and I watched his arrival from one of the windows. We looked down on him and Dorabella clinging together.

We smiled at each other.

“It will be all right,” said my mother. “He’s a good boy.”

Then we went down to greet him.

There was much laughter at dinner that night. Dermot was clearly very happy—and so was Dorabella.

All would be well.

The next days sped by. Guests arrived. The house was full and the bustle of preparation at its height. The day after Boxing Day the bridal pair would leave for their honeymoon. Dorabella could talk of little else. They were together most of the time. I went riding with them once or twice, but I felt a little redundant and when I declined to accompany them they made no protest, but if they were relieved they hid the fact carefully.

On Christmas Eve I happened to go into the kitchen. Mrs. Mills, the cook, was at the table stirring something. She was talking to one of the maids when I came in and I heard her remark:

“Well, say what you will, I don’t reckon it’s right. They should have made some other arrangement. It never was right and never will be. I mean to say…”

“What isn’t right, Mrs. Mills?” I asked.

She looked embarrassed and shrugged her shoulders.

“Oh, nothing really, Miss Violetta. I’ve had so much work to do these last days that I don’t know whether I’m standing on my head or my heels.”

“Perhaps we could get Amy Terrett in from the village to give you a hand.”

“Amy Terrett! No thank you. I’d be telling her what to do half the time instead of getting on with it. Quicker to do it myself.”

“Well, I am sure my mother would be happy to get her if it would help.”

“Don’t you say nothing of this to her ladyship. I’m not complaining about the work. This is a wedding, and weddings only come now and then, and if I’m not capable of handling them I don’t know who is.”

“But there is something. You said it wasn’t right.”

“You was always like that, Miss Violetta, wasn’t you? Right from a baby. Wouldn’t let nothing go. Why this, why that, and on and on till you got an answer. Now, Miss Dorabella, she’s different. Unless it was something about her, of course.”

“Is this something about Dorabella?” I asked.

“It’s all one of them mountains out of molehills, you might say.” She looked at the kitchen maid and lifted her shoulders.