Elaine
They moved along the ruins, Uncle Charles pushing Aunt Rose in her chair, keeping mostly to the packed pathways and areas of low grass.
Piles of crumbling stones in hues of slate and gray crisscrossed the site. A wall here. A forgotten archway there. Most of it unidentifiable mounds of rock. In Elaine’s youth, Gareth had held her hand, steadying her as she walked along the tops of the walls. She would tiptoe along the stones, clutching him for balance. His hands were always large and rough from work.
It hadn’t taken long for the ruins to lure Lord Chiverton away from her side. He now stood in the open space between two partial walls, speculating to Gareth what he thought the room was used for.
“This must be where the king slept. Or perhaps this is the very room where Arthur was born.”
Miss Tippet nodded, agreeing with every speculation, no matter who said it or how much it contradicted the previous supposition.
“Possibly,” Gareth said. “Though I believe most scholars consider this the upper courtyard and guard rooms.” He pointed across the narrow rocky path that connected the mainland to the small headland. “Across there is the heart of the castle.”
Miss Tippet nodded again. “Makes sense, doesn’t it? To have the king’s quarters within the safety of the island fortress.” That was quite sound reasoning coming from Miss Tippet.
Lord Chiverton followed Gareth’s pointing finger. “I see.” He loped off, picking his footing far too quickly for any semblance of safety.
“Careful!” Elaine called out.
Lord Chiverton’s head turned back, glancing over his shoulder with a wide grin. He looked just like John used to before setting off on an adventure.
She’d come to take for granted the allure of Tintagel. The rocky point of land it was built upon and the uniqueness of the castle’s situation—all of it was quite extraordinary.
Uncle Charles came up beside her. “He seems eager.”
Elaine nodded. “Very eager.” She directed his gaze toward Miss Tippet, who stood at the cliff edge with her hand clasped over her heart, gazing with trepidation at the path that dropped steeply away. “And some are not so eager.”
“Goodness sakes.” Miss Tippet cast a nervous glance at Gareth. “Is it safe?”
Gareth offered her his arm. “Only one way to find out.”
A few drops of color drained from her face, but she rallied herself and gave him a determined nod. Gareth and Miss Tippet set off arm in arm.
Aunt Rose leaned forward in her chair, taking in the view. “I haven’t been here in ages. I’d forgotten how beautiful it is.”
“Indeed,” Uncle Charles agreed.
“I’ll stay here with my aunt,” Elaine said to Uncle Charles, “if you want to cross over and walk around with the others.” A break from all of them would suit her well. Save Uncle Charles and Aunt Rose, of course. She never tired of them.
Uncle Charles looked down at his wife tucked safely into the wheeled chair. He wagged his eyebrows at her, and Aunt Rose’s face lit up. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “I never go anywhere without my wife.”
He took his place behind her chair and leaned into it, pushing the wobbly wheels across the rough track. Elaine moved along beside him, doing what she could to help the chair over the clumps of tussock grass and rocks.
Uncle Charles tipped the bath chair forward and started down the path. More than once, she and Uncle Charles had to dig their feet in to keep Aunt Rose’s chair from rolling out of control. Her aunt spent the whole time laughing, like it was nothing more than a carriage ride through the park.
Getting her back up on the other side proved even more difficult.
Gareth noticed their efforts, and once Miss Tippet was safe and sound on the headland, he skidded his way back down to help. In the end, the terrain proved too steep and the chair refused to cooperate. Uncle Charles lifted Aunt Rose into his arms, and Gareth took up the bath chair, hauling it up the cliffside path.
Elaine followed behind him, useless in this grand endeavor. The whole excursion was Lord Chiverton’s idea. He should be the one maneuvering that chair up the hill.
“Careful, Mr. Kemp,” she called when the track narrowed.
He turned back with his lips in a pinched line. “Thank you, Miss Cardinham, for your helpful warning. I’ve never climbed this path before.”
He was too brassy by half. She’d only meant to help. He may have climbed this route a hundred times, but she’d bet her best boots he’d never done it carrying a bath chair. She should keep her mouth shut next time and let him trip. Just a small stumble, of course. She didn’t want him dead.
They soon had Aunt Rose up on the headland and settled back into her chair. Both men had a sheen of sweat across their brows. Had there not been ladies present, she imagined Gareth might have stripped off his coat completely. But that would never do—not in front of Miss Tippet.
Lord Chiverton was nowhere to be seen. His explorations must have taken him too far down the sloping headland or off to the side where the oldest ruins were.
“Where has Lord Chiverton gone off to?” Miss Tippet asked as Uncle Charles settled the small knit blanket around his wife’s legs. One of the many creations of Elaine’s mother.
“Who knows,” Gareth answered. “Could be anywhere. Down the other side to the iron gate, the well, the old ruins.” He pointed to the rubble farther up the hill. “You see, Miss Tippet, where we are standing now was built by Richard, Earl of Cornwall, in the fourteenth century. Up beyond is the structure that would have been standing during Arthur’s time. That is where he was born.”
“Oh,” breathed Miss Tippet, looking eagerly at Gareth. “I’d love to see it.”
“And so you shall,” Gareth said. He did not offer her his arm as he’d done crossing to the headland. He simply motioned for her to walk with him in the direction of the ancient ruins. Miss Tippet followed with one hand on her bonnet to keep it on in the growing wind. Already she’d had to close her parasol because of it.
Elaine stayed with Uncle Charles and Aunt Rose, helping to guide her aunt’s chair in the opposite direction toward the more level ground. The wind blew in off the water, crashing onto the cliffs and rolling up and across the island top. There would be rain before the day was out.
These old stones and half-buried foundations revealed little of what life had been like here on this barren crop of land all those centuries ago. What stories they could tell. What secrets they could reveal. She let her fingers graze the lichen walls and skim atop the grass sprouting between the cracks, as if she could draw their secrets out of them.
Was King Arthur the chivalrous knight he was made out to be in Malory and Monmouth? As a child, she’d clung to the legends, sure that somewhere a place like Camelot still existed. Life had shown her differently.
It would be lovely, though, if it were true. A place of courtly valor and gallantry, where integrity and courage were prized above all. A shame no such place endured in today’s world. Such fanciful ideals were merely the stuff of myths and legends. She was no longer a child.
“My dear,” Aunt Rose said to her husband, pulling Elaine out of her reverie. “Perhaps you’d better find Lord Chiverton to be sure he hasn’t gotten himself into any trouble. We haven’t seen him for some time.”
He situated the bath chair securely and stepped aside. “Will you be comfortable here with Elaine while I’m gone?”
“Yes, yes. I’m sure I’ll be fine.” Rose smiled up at him.
Uncle Charles bowed to his wife and then set off at a quick pace across the rocky terrain. Aunt Rose lifted her face to Elaine, and her smile faded to something she’d seen mothers give other mothers when their children are being silly. “I love that man more than words can say,” her aunt whispered, “but sometimes a woman needs the company of another woman.”
Elaine laughed. “Come. We don’t need a man to enjoy these crumbling dwellings.” Elaine leaned into the bath chair and pushed Aunt Rose up along the worn paths and onto a level piece of ground where the remaining walls formed a cross. The old chapel. Even though Arthur was a king among kings, he wasn’t too proud to worship the Almighty. Another trait to admire in him.
“What do you think about the Arthurian legend?” Elaine asked her aunt.
Aunt Rose turned in her chair, looking back at Elaine. “What do you mean?”
Elaine shrugged. “Do you believe in King Arthur and his Camelot?”
Aunt Rose smiled. She gazed out across the lines of stones crisscrossing each other as they laid out the foundation of something that could have been wonderful or could have been nothing. Just another ruined castle in this country pock-marked with them.
“I do believe,” her aunt finally answered. “But not in the way you’re asking, I think.”
“How so?”
“Was there an exact place on some map labeled Camelot? I do not know. Nor do I know if King Arthur united all the Britons and helped to find the Holy Grail. It all sounds a bit much.”
“But?”
Aunt Rose laughed. “Yes. There is a but. I do believe in the idea of Camelot. I believe that we each must find our own Camelot. Somewhere in this world, there exists a place where we might find the idyllic life we seek. A place of joy and peace, love and respect, where we are whole.”
Elaine paused in her pushing. An idyllic life where we are whole. Interesting words coming from her aunt, considering her life was anything but idyllic and whole. She would never walk again. Never bear children.
Elaine released the chair and walked around the front so she could see her aunt’s face. The woman’s soft smile convinced her that perhaps for some, such a place was not so far off. “And where is your Camelot, Aunt?”
“At the moment, I believe it is wandering the cliffs of this tiny peninsula looking for Lord Chiverton.”
“Do you mean Uncle Charles?”
“Of course. Look at me.” She motioned to her legs, useless and limp. To the chair she was dependent upon to go anywhere. To her frail frame, pale from whatever else the accident had done to her body. “Most men would have given up on me. Abandoned me. Left me home in my sickbed while they occupied themselves with loose flirtations or the races or the thrill of the foxhunt. I am loved far more than I deserve. With Charles, I have found my Camelot.”
The bond she’d witnessed between Aunt Rose and Uncle Charles truly was something special. Nothing like her own parents’ relationship. Nor any other she’d ever seen.
The great homes in London, with their balls and concerts and feasts, were grand places, but she’d rarely glimpsed any sort of ardent affection between husband and wife. Not that she thought them all unhappy. Indeed, many seemed pleased with the lives they’d created. But it had never been the union Aunt Rose had just described.
It seemed impossible to know if one had found their Camelot or not until it was too late. Would her mother have married her father knowing then what she knew now? Perhaps her mother had not had a choice.
More often than not, marriage was predicated on reasons other than love. Money. Alliance. Scheming parents. Havencross had been on the verge of becoming another set of ruins in this harsh country until her father had married her mother and her ten thousand pounds. She’d never asked why her mother had consented to the match—or if it had been thrust upon her.
But Lord Chiverton had not asked for money nor an alliance. His parents were already dead and beyond the ability to scheme. This proved the depth of his affection for her. He must be her Camelot.
Aunt Rose reached out and took her hand. “Remember, even the mighty King Arthur did not build his kingdom in a day. It takes time and work to create such a life.”
Time. Of course. Once she was married to Lord Chiverton, they could begin building their own Camelot together. Marriage was the starting point, not the ending. The door she must enter first before finding her idyllic life beyond.
Lord Chiverton would take her away from Havencross. She could put Gareth and John and her father behind her and turn her attentions to her new husband and a new life beyond Cornwall. That would be her best chance at finding the life she wanted. The life Aunt Rose described.
Her aunt reached up and took Elaine’s hand. “The one thing I have learned, dear niece, is that it is usually much closer than we think.”