Page 2 of The Christmas Retreat
‘It isn’t a close connection. Papa used to spend the school holidays at the family home in North Wales and told me stories about it. Mama and Papa used to dine with Mr Caradoc on the rare occasions when he was in town, but I have never met him.’
‘They say he has become quite a recluse now,’ said Milly. ‘I did once see him at a Royal Academy exhibition – very tall andhandsome, with curling black hair and deep-set dark eyes. Of course, he must be quite old now.’
‘I believe Mr Caradoc to be little more than forty, at most,’ put in Mr Browne quellingly. That did seem quite a great age to me.
‘Your father wrote to Mr Caradoc at the time he made this will, and he agreed to be named as your guardian in the event of your father’s demise before you reached your majority. I immediately wrote to him when this sad event happened and he was most prompt in his reply, also enclosing a letter for you.’
He took out a heavy cream envelope, the flap sealed with red wax imprinted with a strange symbol – three rabbits or hares, seemingly connected together by their ears, inside a circle.
‘As your guardian, he wishes you to reside with him at his family home, Triskelion, in Wales. He is a widower with one daughter of around your own age. An elderly female relation lives there also.’
I stared at him, my letter unopened.
‘Go to live in Wales?’ I echoed.
I knew of my Welsh heritage, but it was a foreign country to me, who had ventured no further from London than could reasonably be reached for a day’s sketching with a party of friends.
Recovering from my surprise I said firmly, ‘But that is quite impossible – and in any case, I have already made my own plans.’
‘My dear Miss Madoc, you are only eighteen and have no income, or nearer relatives, so you should be grateful that your guardian offers you a home.’
‘I expect it’s very kind of him, even though unnecessary.’
‘I have finished my own studies at the Slade,’ put in Milly, who was two years older than I. ‘My brother, who is also an artist, and I intend moving to Cornwall, where we find the scenery very inspiring and where we know of several artists settled near St Ives. Arwen will make her home with us there. We are looking for asuitable property and, until then, the aunt with whom we live in London is happy for Arwen to stay at her flat, too.’
‘And will this aunt also move to the country with you?’
‘Oh, no,’ said Milly. ‘She never stirs out of town.’
Mr Browne looked quite taken aback. ‘I am afraid that sounds perfectly unsuitable, Miss Madoc, and I am very sure your guardian would not agree to it! I think,’ he added, ‘you had better read his letter.’
I broke the strange seal and read the letter, finding that although the tone was somewhat autocratic, my new guardian did seem to know about my desire to become an artist and was in sympathy with it.
He began by expressing his condolences, but also his willingness to offer me a home at Triskelion.
‘I know from your father’s letters that you are a talented artist and I think you will find the scenery of North Wales quite inspiring. The nearby fishing village of St Melangell and our own small hamlet of Seren Bach seem to be becoming quite a little artists’ colony.
My daughter, Beatrice, looks forward to welcoming a companion of her own age.
Arrangements for your transport here have fallen out fortunately, for the relative who resides with us, Mrs Maude Fry, happens to be passing back through London on Friday the 30th, after paying a visit to a connection in Sussex, and I will make arrangements for you to travel here with her.’
I looked up from this, feeling like a mere parcel whose delivery must be arranged as conveniently as possible and said, firmly, ‘I’m afraid Mr Caradoc’s plans are quite impossible, even though I amsure kindly meant. I’ll reply, informing him that I have made other arrangements.’
‘My dear child, I don’t think you have entirely grasped the situation,’ Mr Browne said. ‘Cosmo Caradoc is now your legal guardian and you must fall in with his wishes. Indeed, I think you should be grateful that he offers to take you into his home.’
‘Well, I’m not, because I have no need of his generous offer,’ I said stubbornly. I was finding being addressed like a half-witted child very wearing to the temper. ‘I will write and tell him so, and I expect he will be quite happy to be relieved of the responsibility.’
Of course, Mr Browne had a lot more to say, but once he had finally taken himself off, I settled down to write to my new, and unwanted, guardian, stating my own plans, although thanking him for his offer.
Milly, once she had read Mr Caradoc’s letter too, was just as indignant as I was, but much less sanguine about the outcome.
‘Here we are in the twentieth century, with the fight for female emancipation by brave women like my aunt and your mama well advanced, yet Mr Browne made it quite clear that you could still be legally handed over to a guardian like a parcel, until you are of age!’
‘We will see what Mr Caradoc says in reply to my letter. Perhaps he has as little desire to have me foisted upon him as I have to go there and will be glad to hear that I have already plans in place of my own.’
*
Unfortunately, Milly’s doubts proved correct, as Cosmo Caradoc’s reply to my letter made very clear.
