The Adulteress

Mistress of Eversleigh

IT WAS EARLY IN the New Year when we went to Eversleigh. I knew that Jean-Louis did not really want to go. He had been brought up at Clavering and it was home to him; he loved every acre of the place, but he realized that we must go and that Eversleigh, the home of my ancestors, was a property of far greater value. Moreover, he knew that my mother and Sabrina were delighted because Clavering could now reasonably go to Dickon.

“It’s the sensible thing to do,” said my mother, “and I am sure that Zipporah agrees with us.”

I did. One of the reasons why I was pleased to leave Clavering was because I should not have to see Dickon.

I was a considerable heiress for Eversleigh was a wealthy estate, and although Amos Carew and Jessie had stolen a few valuables there was so much left that their loss was scarcely missed. Then a great many articles were brought back from Amos Carew’s house. They had been stored in his attic as he had had to go very carefully in the task of disposing of them. The prime villain in the scheme was dead; his accomplices had disappeared and eventually efforts to trace them were dropped.

Lottie was excited by the move. She was now eight years old—a lovely creature, impulsive, affectionate, volatile, in the highest spirits one moment and the depth of depression the next. She had violet-colored eyes with thick dark lashes and abundant hair—almost black, a rare combination and invariably beautiful.

My mother said of her: “I think she must be the image of her great-grandmother. She’s not like you or Jean-Louis. You were always such calm, sensible little things even when you were babies. It’s like Carlotta born again. Strange that she should have been called Charlotte. You’ll have to keep a watch on her, Zipporah.”

I said I intended to.

“I often wonder how you feel about going to Eversleigh … after all that happened there,” she said.

“Well,” I replied, “it seems that everyone thinks we should go.”

I looked at her a little wistfully. She was ashamed that her love for Dickon was greater than that which she bore me. She had been obsessed by that adventure of her youth when she had loved Dickon’s father and the fact that his child was Sabrina’s made no difference to her love for the boy.

Sometimes I wondered whether people who were predictable like myself—apart from that one lapse—did not inspire the same affection as the wayward ones. Carlotta had evidently made a great impression on everyone and yet her life had been far from orthodox. Dickon inspired love such as I never could, although he acted in a manner which even those who loved him must admit was by no means admirable.

“What Lottie wants is a brother or sister,” said my mother. “It’s a pity …”

“At least,” I said, “we have a child.”

That was a phrase I often used to myself. Whatever wrong I had done, it had given us Lottie.

So we prepared to leave. Dickon was to live in the house which we had occupied. There had been protests about that from my mother and Sabrina. Why did he want his own house? Why couldn’t he go on living at the hall?

“It’s the manager’s house,” said Dickon. “I am the manager now.”

“My dear boy,” said Sabrina, “how can we be sure that you will be properly looked after?”

I remember the way Dickon grinned at me. “I think I’ve proved that I can look after myself,” he said.

Of course they couldn’t go against him. He wanted to live in the house so he did.

I tried not to mind that he would be in that house where I had been happy with Jean-Louis. Jean-Louis understood. He said: “It will no longer be ours. We’ll forget it.”

As we journeyed to Eversleigh—Lottie seated between us in the carriage—I thought how tired Jean-Louis looked, and a little sad; and I was filled with tenderness toward him. I had wronged him in the most cruel way a woman could deceive a man in making him believe he was the father of a child who was not his. I must make up for what I had done. I think I had in a way. Looking back, my affection had been at least more demonstrative since Lottie had been born.

She was calling out excitedly and jumping up and down to call our attention to landmarks. Jean-Louis smiled at her. Poor Jean-Louis, he looked rather exhausted. It was a good thing that we had made the journey by carriage. He would never have been able to do it on horseback.

The house looked different. I suppose that was because it was mine and I couldn’t help feeling a glow of pride to think of all my ancestors who had lived here before me, and now here I was taking possession.

We alighted from the carriage and I stood for a moment looking up. It was some two hundred years old, having been built in the days of Elizabeth, so it was in the familiar E style with the main hall and the wings on either side.

It was comforting to see old Jethro come hurrying out from the stables.

“I heard the wheels of the carriage,” he said. “So I knew you was here.”

“This is Jethro.” I said to Jean-Louis. “The old faithful retainer.”

Jethro touched his forelock to Jean-Louis and Lottie regarded him curiously.

“You’ll find everything in order inside, Mistress Zipporah,” said Jethro. “The servants has done well.”

“The same ones?” I asked.

“Most on ’em scuttled off. That must have been friends of Jessie Stirling. I took the liberty of sending Mrs. Jethro over to take a hand and she got some girls from the village to come until you see what you want.”

“Thank you. Jethro.”

We went into the house. I stood in the hall with its rough stone walls on which hung the armory of past Eversleighs. Most of it would have seen action, for we had been a military family in the past.

“What’s that?” cried Lottie and she ran to the fireplace.

I joined her. “It’s the family tree. It was painted over the fireplace more than a hundred years ago … and it is constantly added to.”

“I shall be on it,” cried Lottie ecstatically. “Shan’t I?” she added anxiously.

“Of course.”

“And,” said Lottie, “my husband. I wonder who he’ll be? There’s something you put on your pillow, or under it … on Christmas Eve … or is it Hallowe’en? And when you wake up the first thing you see is your future husband’s face. Oh, dear mama, dear papa, we must find out what it is and when. I can’t wait to see my husband.”

“Why, Lottie,” I said reproachfully, “here you are in your new home and all you can think of is husbands.”

“It was the family tree that put me in mind of it,” said Lottie. “What’s down those steps?”

“I tell you what,” I said. “We’ll let Mrs. Jethro take us to our rooms … and then later on you can explore the house.”

“I want to explore now!”

“We’ll explore together,” I said, “and your father is a little tired.”

She was all contrition. “Dear papa, is it your old leg again? I’m sorry. You ought to have had another cushion in the carriage.”

“I’m all right, my dear,” he said, “but as your mama says, let us go to our rooms first and then we’ll explore the house together later.”

“It is exciting,” said Lottie. “And mama, it is all yours.” She spread out her arms as though to embrace the house. “It must be wonderful to have a house like this … all to yourself.”

“It’s ours,” I said firmly. “Come on. Here’s Mrs. Jethro.”

The largest bedroom in the house had been prepared for us. Here Eversleigh wives and husbands had slept through the ages. It was the room in which the actor calling himself Lord Eversleigh had lived.

Jean-Louis sat down on the brocade-covered bed. I went to him and put my arm about him. I was wondering afresh whether we should have come back to the scene of my infidelity. It was into a room in this house that Gerard had climbed to be with me. The memories which I had sought to suppress for so many years had come flooding back more vividly.

I put my arm tighter round Jean-Louis and held him close to me.

“I do love you so much, Jean-Louis,” I said. “I am going to take such care of you.”

He turned to look at me. I could have believed in that moment that he understood exactly why I felt this emotion.

It was pleasant to renew my acquaintance with the Forsters. Isabel came over the day we arrived at Eversleigh. She was delighted that we were going to be neighbors and she wanted to know if there was anything she could do.

I told her that we were all rather bewildered at the moment. It had been such an upheaval. She must meet Jean-Louis and my daughter.

This she was delighted to do. Jean-Louis had already seen a little of the estate and he was of the opinion that we should need a manager. Derek said he would do all he could to help. The few farms in his possession were easily manageable and until we had settled in he might be of use to us.

The visit of the Forsters seemed to cheer Jean-Louis. I think before they came he was seeing the management of Eversleigh as a task too formidable for his strength. The journey had, of course, exhausted him. I knew it; but I never liked to refer to his weakness, which usually depressed him a little.

Lottie could not be found. She was in the paddock, they thought, exercising her pony—a favorite pastime of hers. She loved horses and in particular her own pony, which would soon have to be replaced by a small horse, I supposed.

Naturally the Forsters talked of the activities which had been going on at Eversleigh and which had shocked the neighborhood. It would, I knew, be talked of for years to come.

“We always guessed that something extraordinary was going on,” said Isabel. “That housekeeper …”

“Well.” I said, “that was not such an extraordinary situation. She was my uncle’s mistress in the first place and that was how her ambitions started.”

“Yes, but it was that manager,” said Derek. “He was the real organizer of the plot. He was a good manager, too. I’ve often said how lucky Lord Eversleigh was to have got hold of such a man.”

“Well, I suppose it began in a simple way. Jessie was to get what she could … and then she had hopes of the house. … That must have been Amos Carew’s idea. It was too ambitious and it was really what made Uncle Carl decide he must make his will … and then after the will was signed they decided to get what they could. Unfortunately for them my uncle died too soon for their schemes to be as rewarding as they had hoped.”

“If it wasn’t for the fact that his living was so advantageous to them they might be suspected of murder.”

“I’m glad it wasn’t that.” I said. “Although it might have been. It was what was intended for me.”

“That young relation of yours—he’s a bright young man.”

“Yes … yes …”

“I wish we’d met him. He sounds so interesting.”

“You probably will one day,” said Jean-Louis.

“Oh …” I began almost protestingly.

“You can’t believe Dickon won’t be paying us a visit, can you?” said Jean-Louis. “He talked of nothing but Eversleigh for weeks after he came home from here.”

“He has Clavering now to claim his attention.”

“Ah yes.” Jean-Louis agreed wistfully. I said to Isabel and Derek: “We’re boring you with our family affairs.”

“Not at all. It’s all so interesting and it is so wonderful that you have come back.”

“You still enjoy living at Enderby?”

“Oh, I think we’ve routed the ghosts.”

“It must be pleasant not to have them around.”

“I think I miss them a little,” said Derek. “We’ve cut down so much of the foliage which darkened the place. My brother said it was positively unhealthy to have so many things growing close to the house and shutting out the sun.”

“Your brother?” I said. “Is that … the doctor?”

“Yes, Charles. He’s settling in very well now. He’s happy, I think, living here. It’s very convenient for his hospital.”

“Where is that, then?”

“It’s near the coast, about a mile or so from here. He’s able to get to it every other day. His practice doesn’t occupy him all that much. The hospital is his great delight.”

“It must mean a lot of hard work for him.”

“He thrives on it.”

“What is it … for the elderly?” asked Jean-Louis.

“Quite the contrary … for the very young. Mothers … and babies. It’s really a maternity hospital.”

“Such matters are his speciality,” said Isabel. “He’s a very good man.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that, Isabel,” said Derek.

“Well, I say it when he can’t hear it,” she said. She turned to us. “He has done a great deal of good work. He has saved many a life … mothers and children.”

“It seems very noble,” I said.

“He says it is his work. He could of course live quite comfortably … without working.”

Derek smiled apologetically to us. “Isabel is a firm supporter of my brother,” he said. “He … Charles … inherited a great deal of money. It gave him an opportunity to set up his hospital.”

Just at that moment Lottie came running in. She was flushed and excited and stopped short when she saw that we had visitors.

“This is our daughter,” I said. “Lottie, come and meet our guests.”

I was proud of her for I could see they were deeply impressed by her beauty. She smiled, and when Lottie smiled she was completely enchanting. I thought I could see Gerard in that smile. It could not fail to charm everyone as he had charmed me.

She was bubbling over with excitement and when she had curtsied and the introduction was over she could not wait to burst out: “I’ve been exploring.”

“And what did you find?” asked Jean-Louis.

“There are two houses … not very far away … close to each other … or fairly close.”

“I’ll warrant one of those was Enderby,” said Derek, and he described it.

Lottie nodded. “But it was in the other one that I found the baby. Oh, mama, it was the dearest little baby. It was lying in a sort of cradle in the garden … and I couldn’t help going through the gate to look at it!”

“Oh, Lottie, have you been trespassing?”

“Yes, but it didn’t matter. There was a nurse and a lady.”

“It must have been Grasslands,” said Isabel.

“There were two big lawns in front of the house.”

“Grasslands, certainly.”

“Well, I played with the baby. It liked me. It’s a little boy … named Richard.”

“That is the Mather’s baby,” said Isabel. “It must be about six months old … perhaps not so much.”

I couldn’t stop myself saying: “Evalina … !”

“Yes.” said Isabel. “Evalina Stirling. She married Andrew Mather, you know. They say the new baby is the apple of his eye.”

“She was a very kind lady,” said Lottie. “She says that I’m to call whenever I want to. She said she was ever so pleased that we’d come to Eversleigh. She said she knew you. mama.”

“Yes,” I said slowly. “I did meet her.”

I felt rather uneasy. I kept remembering that occasion when I had seen her with Dickon in the barn; and I could recall exactly the steely look in her eyes and the words which had implied that she knew what had happened between myself and Gerard.

I was very occupied during the next few days and was glad of the help I received from Mrs. Jethro and Isabel. I was relieved that Jethro had dismissed those servants who had been brought in by Jessie Stirling, for he said, you never knew how mixed up in it all they were. He thought that some of them were not sorry to go after what had happened. He knew one or two girls in the village who would be suitable and if I approved they could have a trial. Isabel’s servants were helpful. They had friends whom they could recommend and in a very short time we had the place staffed and I was able to feel that it was becoming my own.

There were problems, of course. Lottie would have to have a governess. At Clavering she had taken lessons at the vicarage, but both Jean-Louis and I agreed that she should have her own governess now that she was growing up. Getting the house in order was a trifling matter compared with running the estate. Criminal though he was, Amos Carew had been an excellent manager and although he was dishonest, he had got the best out of the estate.

“What we need,” I said to Jean-Louis, “is a first-class manager. Someone like James Fenton.”

“We shall be extremely lucky if we get anyone as good as James,” said Jean-Louis.

“I wonder how he likes farming with his cousin?” I mused.

“Well, he was the sort of man who would strike out on his own one day, I daresay,” said Jean-Louis.

“We must look round for someone to manage the estate,” I insisted.

“I’ll be all right for a while,” Jean-Louis replied.

It was sad. Before his accident he would have been equal to the task of looking after an estate the size of Eversleigh. I knew now though that we could not wait too long before finding the right man. After the experience of Amos Carew we should have to be careful. I think I should always be suspicious of everyone after having known him. Sometimes I woke up out of a nightmare when I was looking into a masked face which I believed to be Dickon’s. I would always awake with a terrible start and have to convince myself that it was all a dream; and in any case my would-be murderer had not been Dickon. He had been my savior.

I was in discussion with Mrs. Jethro one afternoon when one of the servants came to tell me that I had a visitor.

I was so certain that it was Isabel that I did not ask who it was.

“She’s in the winter parlor, madam,” said the servant.

I hurried down and opened the door, smiling. I stood absolutely still. The woman who rose from the chair was not Isabel. I felt a tingle of fear run through me. It was Evalina.

She came forward smiling.

“I thought I’d better be neighborly,” she said.

I stammered: “It was good of you to call.”

“Well, we live close now, don’t we? You mistress of Eversleigh Court and me of Grasslands.”

I nodded. “Would you care for some refreshment?”

“Oh no. I’m getting so fat. I’m a little too fond of the good things of life. Aren’t we all?”

“I suppose so. Do sit down.”

She did so. I sat too. I felt my heart beating uncomfortably.

“It seems a long time,” she said. “But it’s not all that time, is it?”

“I hear you have a little boy.”

“My Richard.” She looked straight at me smiling. “What a blessing! Nothing like little ones, is there? My poor Andrew … he’s overcome with joy. You can imagine. He never thought for a moment there’d be a child. Well, life’s full of surprises, isn’t it?”

“I am sure he is delighted.”

“Just as your dear husband was when you told him you were expecting, I daresay. These men … they do like little ones, don’t they? … particularly when they’ve given up all hope.”

“I am sure the little boy has brought great happiness to you both.”

“Yes … just like your little girl. I say, what a little beauty, eh? Wait till she’s a bit older! She’ll have them all buzzing round her, won’t she? Little bit of honey, that’s what she is … and you can’t keep bees off honey. I told Andrew what a little pet she was. Nice laughing ways … Frenchified, I said to Andrew.”

She was bailing me. Why had she come here like this? I was beginning to wish I was back at Clavering.

But I was not going lo let her intimidate me with her innuendos.

I said: “How is your mother?”

“Oh … I never hear a word from her now. … She’ll be off somewhere. Shouldn’t be surprised if she’s gone abroad. It wasn’t her fault, you know. It was Amos. He always made her do what he wanted. There’s some men like that. You and me … we’re lucky. We’ve got our two dear little children. It was funny the way they took to each other. My little Richard just laughed up at her and wouldn’t stop looking. He don’t do that to everyone, I can tell you. It was as though they knew they were two of a kind.”

“Two of a kind?”

“Yes, my little Richard and your little Lottie. A sort of fellow feeling. Funny how these children are.”

She was looking at me insolently. I was thinking: Dickon was here. They were together. … Was she telling me something? Did she mean that she and I were of a kind?

Her eyes were sparkling.

She said slowly: “I shall never forget the first time we met. You came to Eversleigh … and there was that man over at Enderby, that French gentleman. He was a charmer, wasn’t he?” She laughed. “Well, he went off, didn’t he? Very different they are at Enderby now. The Forsters … not the sort you’d expect to find in a house like that. The doctor’s a fine gentleman. Have you met him? You’d like him.” She laughed. “Different from the French gentleman. … A bit on the gloomy side … but a change is nice, isn’t it?”

“What are you talking about?” I asked suddenly.

“Oh, nothing. Just rambling on. I do, Andrew tells me. He likes it … he laughs at me. He’s a very grateful man. Well, who wouldn’t be, presented with a son at his time of life? Just what he’d always wanted and never thought he could get.”

She started to laugh.

I stood up. I said: “I know you’ll forgive me. As we have only just come there is so much to do.”

She rose drawing on her gloves. She was very properly dressed for the call.

“Well, we’re neighbors now,” she said. “There’ll be plenty of opportunities for little chats.”

She took my hand and smiled into my face.

I thought she looked sly, menacing.

I conducted her to the door and watched her walk away.

I felt more than a twinge of alarm.

The idea of giving a housewarming party came to me when I was with Isabel one morning. We were becoming good friends and I found her presence very comforting. She knew so much about the customs of the neighborhood and was on good terms with most of the people.

She was saying that I should meet some of the families round about; there might only be three big houses but the farms were occupied by some very pleasant people and although there were a few of these on the Grasslands and Enderby estates most of them belonged to Eversleigh.

Then I said: “There must be a gathering … a party.”

Isabel was delighted with the idea. “I believe in the old days,” she said, “there was one given every year at the big house.”

“That would be in Carleton’s day, I should imagine. Perhaps my great-uncle General Eversleigh continued the tradition.”

“Well, it lapsed when the last Lord Eversleigh was there.”

“He was too ill, and I daresay Jessie didn’t relish having half the neighborhood there.”

“I wonder she didn’t invite them in her role of mistress of the house.”

“There must have been some lengths to which even Jessie wouldn’t go. But now I think, it’s a good idea to get back to the old ways.”

“I am sure everyone will be delighted.”

“You must help me draw up a list of the guests.”

We spent a pleasant hour doing this.

“I hope you won’t forget my brother-in-law.”

“The doctor. No, of course not. If he wishes to come. Perhaps he will be too involved with his work. Will you ask him?”

“I will indeed. And what about some of the people in the town? The solicitors, for one thing?”

“Oh yes. Mr. Rosen … both senior and junior.”

“There, you see. It is quite a formidable list. Oh … I don’t think it will be necessary for me to ask my brother-in-law. I can hear voices. Yes, it is he. You can ask him yourself.”

So that was how I met Charles Forster again.

I had forgotten how tall he was. Also that air of melancholy. It was not my custom to find unhappy people interesting. I was attracted by lively characters—people like Gerard and my dear Lottie. But Charles Forster fascinated me from the first. I wanted to know more about him; why he wore that air of almost desperation. His face was thin with high cheekbones and very deepset gray eyes; the gray wig drawn from his face and tied at the back with a black ribbon was perhaps a little out of date but he was the sort of man who would make no concessions to fashion—in fact I believed he would be entirely unaware of it. His dark blue coat was full and came to the knees, hiding his plain cloth breeches; his long muscular legs were encased in light brown stockings and as he came in he carried a three-cornered hat unadorned by feathers.

“Charles!” cried Isabel, her face lighting up with pleasure. “How nice to see you. Here is Mistress Zipporah Ransome. You have already met … some time ago.”

He took my hand and we looked steadily at each other.

“You’ve forgotten me,” I said.

“Indeed I have not. You were staying at Eversleigh.”

“Yes … and now I live there.”

“That unfortunate business is settled, I hope.”

“Oh yes … as near as it can be.”

Isabel was already pouring out a glass of wine.

“Now, Charles,” she said, “you must take refreshment. He doesn’t look after himself, you know.”

“Isabel clucks over me as though she’s a mother hen and I’m one of her wayward chicks,” he said.

“I should never have thought of calling you a chick,” said Isabel. “What news is there?”

He gave me his melancholy smile. “My news is always the same and therefore it doesn’t deserve the name news. Several fresh cases at the hospital, and I expect the population will be increased by five before the end of the day.”

“I have heard about your hospital,” I said. “It must be rewarding work.”

He frowned a little and said: “Not always. There are times when it is. … But then that’s life, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so. It can’t be good all the time. We can only rejoice when it is and hope it will get better when it isn’t.”

“I can see you have the right idea.”

“Are you busy with the patients?” asked Isabel. “I hear there is a lot of sickness about.”

“No more than usual. I’ve just come from Grasslands. And as I was close I thought I’d look in.”

“I should have been most put out if you hadn’t. Is it Andrew Mather?”

“Yes. He’s not strong, you know. It’s his heart. It will give out one day. He’s got a great will to live, though. I think that’s due to his young wife and the baby. He’s a very happy man. Not the sort that will give up. He’ll cling to life as long as he can.”

“And that will help?” I asked.

“Indeed yes. Many people die because they lack the will to live. Andrew Mather will never lack that.”

“It’s strange,” said Isabel, “that a girl like that could bring so much to a man like Andrew Mather.”

“Yes,” mused the doctor. “I remember him before his marriage. He was ready to give up then … and slip gracefully into the role of invalid and then that girl comes along … fascinates him … and although her motives might not have been entirely altruistic she has given him a new lease of life.”

“It reminds me of the old saying which goes something like this: ‘There is a little good in the worst of us and a little bad in the best of us and it ill behoves any of us to criticize the rest of us.’”

“Neat,” said the doctor, “and true. In any case I’m delighted with Andrew since his marriage, and now that he has a son … why, he could live to be a hundred.”

“By the way.” I said, “we are going to have a housewarming. I do hope you will come.”

“I will with pleasure,” he said.

“I am delighted.”

“You’d better put him on the list,” said Isabel.

“I shall remember,” I said. I rose. I had a great deal to do back at the house, I explained, and I should be seeing Isabel again soon.

“Did you come on horseback?” asked the doctor.

I said I had.

“Then let us ride back together. I pass Eversleigh on my way to the town.”

So we rode out together. We talked of many things on the way back, of the countryside, the hospital and his practice, of our return to Eversleigh.

As we walked our horses along the winding path that led to the house a rider came toward us. To my dismay I saw that it was Evalina.

She halted as she came up to us.

“Good day to you both,” she said. Her eyes were sly as they ranged over us. “A lovely day to take a ride.”

“Good day,” I said and urged my horse on.

Dr. Forster bowed to Evalina and walked his horse behind mine. I felt the color rising in my neck. That look in Evalina’s eyes disturbed me. What was she suggesting? That I was another such as I was sure she was? That I could pass from one man to another with the ease of a harlot?

There was so much in that look. Every time it said: We are two of a kind.

Of one thing I was certain: I would not put her on my list of guests. I could not have her at Eversleigh. I should be reminded of her mother … and perhaps at the back of my mind was the fear of the hints she might drop … perhaps to Jean-Louis.

The doctor had brought his horse to walk beside mine.

“You look annoyed,” he said.

“It must be that woman. She reminds me …”

“I suppose she is not to blame for her mother’s misdeeds. But I know how you feel.”

“I shall not ask her to Eversleigh.”

“Oh … the housewarming, you mean. I don’t think for a moment that her husband would be able to come. I was saying how much better he was but he is still an old man. Such festivities are not for him and he would be the first to admit it.”

“Then he wouldn’t expect an invitation.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t.”

“That makes it easier.”

We had stopped. He was giving me another of those steady glances.

“I hope,” he said, “that someday you will come and see my hospital.”

“I should like that.”

He bowed his head and turned away.

I rode into the stables. It had been a most enjoyable morning apart from the meeting with Evalina in the lane.

Preparations were going ahead. Jean-Louis thought it was an excellent way of bringing everyone together and showing them that life at Eversleigh was going to be as it had been in the days of Carleton, Leigh and General Carl. The manor house should be the center of the community. The farmers were pleased. It was different taking one’s grievances to a landowner rather than merely to his manager. They had all been shocked to learn that they had a criminal in their midst; and although the affair had provided a great flutter of excitement while it had lasted, there was nothing like normality to bring prosperity to an estate—and when that was present everyone could benefit from it.

I heard through Charles that Andrew Mather was confined to his bed with rheumatism, so I felt that I was justified in not sending an invitation to Grasslands.

The new cook, Mrs. Baines, was in her element: the servants were in a state of perpetual excitement decorating the place with the help of the gardeners; the house was filled with the smells of cooking, and the main topic of conversation was the party.

Lottie seemed to be everywhere; she tried on her dress ten times a day, danced round the ball room with imaginary partners, was in the kitchen tasting the various cakes and sweetmeats; prevailing on Mrs. Baines to cook her what she called little tasters.

“I wish,” said Lottie, “that we had a party every day.”

“That would be far too much,” I assured her.

“Well, one a week,” she temporized.

Lessons, which she had taken with me since we came to Eversleigh, we passed over for a few days. I had warned her that as soon as we were settled we must look for a governess. Lottie grimaced but she could not think beyond the party.

It was about three days before the party when having walked over to Enderby for a chat with Isabel to tell her of the final plans for the great day, I encountered Evalina.

I believed that she had lain in wait for me.

“Oh … good day to you,” she cried. “You must be very busy getting ready for your party.”

“Good day,” I replied. “Yes, I am.” I prepared to pass on. But she was barring my way with that sly look in her eyes.

“All the neighborhood will be there,” she said. “So I hear …but there are exceptions.”

“It is impossible to ask everyone, I suppose,” I said.

“Impossible? Oh, no, not that. Unneighborly, I’d say.”

I replied: “I didn’t send you an invitation. I know that your husband is not fit to come.”

“But I am,” she said.

“I had not thought you would wish to … without him.”

“Andrew is a kind husband. He wouldn’t want to spoil my fun.”

She was leering at me in a way I found most unpleasant. I thought, somewhat irrelevantly, that I preferred Jessie to her daughter.

“Well,” I said lamely, “the invitations have all gone out now. I naturally thought …”

“There’s time to send out one more.”

This was blatant. She was asking for an invitation. Asking? She was demanding it.

“I reckon,” she said, “it would look funny if I wasn’t there. People would say: ‘Why weren’t you there?’ I’d have to think up something to tell them, wouldn’t I? I wouldn’t want to but I couldn’t let that pass … somehow … could I?”

This is blackmail, I thought.

She was smiling at me sweetly, helplessly, as though I were forcing her into a situation which had no charm for her.

Standing there in that lane I was suddenly afraid. I wished I was back at Clavering. I thought of her whispering something into Jean-Louis’s ear and a vision of his kind, patient face rose before me.

I loved him; I would do anything rather than hurt him. I know I had forgotten him when I had been caught in the fascination of passionate love with another man. If I could go back I would be different. I would never let it happen. But that was not true. It would be exactly the same, I knew it. I yearned for Gerard. I longed for Gerard. I loved Jean-Louis, yes … but what I had felt for Gerard was something different … beyond love, perhaps.

There was one thought hammering in my brain. Jean-Louis must never know.

I looked at this girl with her hateful sly face, with her veiled threats, and I loathed myself as I said: “Well, it is not too late, as you say. If you really want to come.”

She smiled at me, looking young and innocent.

“Oh, thank you. So I shall get my invitation? I don’t suppose Andrew will be able to come but he wouldn’t want to stop me enjoying myself.”

I couldn’t look at her. I turned away hating her, hating myself.

The party was in full swing. It had been a glorious spring day—as hot as summer—and everyone was saying that it was like old times. Eversleigh was coming into its own again. The farmers with their wives and families were delighted to have what they called the “Family” in command. I suppose poor Uncle Carl had been an invalid almost from the moment he had arrived and he had taken little interest in the estate. It was different with Jean-Louis: he had managed an estate before he came and all those who had talked with him recognized a man who knew his job.

Many of them remembered my mother and one or two of the really aged remembered the great Carleton Eversleigh, who, a hundred years before, when he had been a young man, had saved the mansion and estate from Cromwell’s rule.

They liked to feel that the family was in command again and things were not being left to the rogue Amos Carew had turned out to be. And as for that Jessie … they had all deplored her presence.

So it was a happy occasion until Evalina came.

It was asking too much to expect these people to forget who she was. She was the daughter of the infamous Jessie, who had been the mistress of the old lord at the same time as she was carrying on (as they said) with Amos Carew.

Some of the older people were aloof with Evalina but the younger men found her irresistible. I couldn’t help watching her. I was afraid that she might talk to Jean-Louis. But he was busy with the farmers, who seemed as if they were not going to let him escape. He wouldn’t want to join the dancers on the grass outside. So I felt comparatively safe.

In the great hall on the dais was one of the new pianos and there were violinists, too, to provide the music. The tables were laden with food of all descriptions and people were invited to help themselves whenever they felt the inclination to do so. Needless to say, many constantly felt the inclination and Mrs. Baines and her kitchen staff were in a twitter of excitement and gratification at the fast disappearances from dishes, which needed constant replenishing.

The music floated out to the grounds and in the light of the torches flaring on the walls people wandered through the grounds while others sat and talked and some of the younger ones danced.

I found Charles Forster at my elbow.

I said: “Are you enjoying this? No. It’s an unfair question. It isn’t much to your taste, is it?”

“I’m a bit of a sobersides, I’m afraid.”

“Well, you are occupied with more serious matters. Though this is a serious matter. I think all the tenants are rather pleased that we are here and this is a way of telling them that we are not making great changes but are going on in the way the family have run things for years and years.”

“That’s true,” he said. “It’s a worthy occasion. I’m just not a good socializer. Let’s walk a little, shall we? The night air is refreshing after the heat of the day.”

“It’s certainly wonderful weather. I was terrified that it would rain, which would have meant having it in the hall. I suppose we could have managed but not quite so pleasant. I think.”

“This is ideal. I am pleased you have come here.”

I felt absurdly delighted by that remark.

But he went on: “You are good company for Isabel. She needs a friend.”

“Isabel is the sort who makes friends easily, I am sure. It is I who am grateful for her friendship.”

“Isabel is a fine woman. I often tell Derek how lucky he is. She is calm, good-natured and sound in judgment.”

“I see you are as fond of her as she is of you.”

“They are my family … my brother and his wife. They came here, you know, to be near me.”

“Well, that seems a reasonable thing to do. Families should be together when they can.”

“The hospital was here. … It’s an ideal place for it. It’s facing the sea … an old house which was more or less derelict when I took it. But it had everything I needed. The isolation was important.”

“Why did you have to be so isolated?”

“It was comforting for my patients.”

“They are young mothers, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” he said, “unfortunate young mothers.”

“Unfortunate?”

“Yes, that is the reason why they are there. It is for people whose circumstances are rather distressing. That is why they want to get right away from people. It’s a helpful start.”

“So your hospital is for those who are … friendless.”

“They are often friendless.”

“And unmarried?”

“Some of them.”

“I believe you are doing a wonderful job. Isabel says …”

“Oh, you mustn’t listen too much to Isabel. She will give you an entirely false picture of me.”

“Surely anyone who works as you do for such a cause is worthy of praise?”

“Well, I suppose most of us earn a little praise now and then. It’s a matter of setting the good deeds against the evil … and seeing which weigh more.”

“What do you mean?”

“I see I’m talking in riddles, which is foolish and incredibly boring, I am sure.”

I leaned toward him and touched his hand lightly.

“Not boring in the least.”

At that moment I saw Evalina stroll by. She was arm in arm with one of the young sons of a farmer. She turned her head and smiled at me.

“Having a wonderful time …” she said. “Aren’t we?”

She had spoiled the moment for me. I knew what it was I hated: that inclusive smile … or word. That implication: We are at the same game, you and me.

I said: “I think we should go in.”

Immediately we turned to the house. I felt frustrated. I wanted to go on talking to the doctor.

Jean-Louis was sitting down in deep conversation. I went over to him. He smiled at me and took my hand.

“All going well,” he said. “It’s a very satisfactory evening. An excellent idea to meet our friends thus.”

Yes, a satisfactory evening … an excellent idea … until Evalina had appeared like the serpent in paradise.

One of the maids was making her way towards me.

“Yes, Rose?” I said.

“It’s one of the men from Grasslands, madam,” she said. “They want to know if the doctor is here so he can go over. Mr. Mather is taken worse.”

Andrew Mather died that night of a heart attack. Charles Forster told me about it the following day when he called to thank me for the party and to ask me if I would go back with him to see Isabel.

As we walked over to Enderby he told me what had happened.

“By the time I arrived at Grasslands he was unconscious. I knew there was only an hour or so left to him. His wife was distraught. She seems really heartbroken. She looked scared too, I thought. I suppose she relied on him to take care of her.”

“I think Evalina would be able to take good care of herself.”

“Yes … that woman’s daughter … you would think so. But somehow she seemed pathetic … vulnerable.”

I smiled at him, wondering if he too had fallen under the spell of Evalina’s fascination.

I had to admit that there was something appealing about her; it was a certain helplessness which I supposed could be called femininity; whatever it was it aroused the interest of men of all ages … even Charles Forster, who was the last man I should have thought would be affected, was taken in by it.

“At least,” he went on, “it was expected. I had warned him … and her … of the state of his heart.”

Isabel greeted me warmly and we talked of the success of the party until the doctor had been called away and had left with Evalina.

“Poor Andrew,” said Isabel. “At least he had some happiness at the end. To see him with that child was heartwarming.”

“I wonder what will happen now?” I said. “Of course Grasslands is not a large estate. How many farms are there? … only two, I think.”

“Yes, I think so. Andrew had a good man in Jack Trent. I daresay he will go on … if Evalina stays here.”

“What else would she do?”

“She might sell up and go.”

I thought that was an outcome which would be very desirable as far as I was concerned.

During the next days members of Andrew’s family began to arrive at Grasslands. I saw one of them—a man who looked to be in his forties. I thought he looked rather grim and disagreeable. Isabel, who had called on Evalina to offer her condolences and to ask if there was anything she could do, told me that the man was a nephew of Andrew’s and that she did not seem to be very pleased that he had come.

The funeral took place about a week after Andrew’s death. I attended the service in the church with Jean-Louis, and Evalina spoke to me as we came out of the church, asking me to come back to the house with the mourners. She looked fragile in deep black with a flowing veil hiding her face.

“Please come,” she said. It was almost like a command; but perhaps that was my imagination as I had begun to feel that she thought she had a right to make demands on me.

This seemed a small thing to ask and I went back.

It was very somber in the hall where refreshments were served. The nephew seemed to be taking charge of the proceedings, which I suppose was natural, as he would be the nearest relative apart from Evalina and the baby.

I was glad when we left. I supposed the reading of the will would take place and that was no concern of ours.

Jean-Louis and I walked back to Eversleigh very slowly. I always slackened my pace when walking with my husband because I knew that he found it painful to walk quickly and that he would not admit this, so I pretended that his pace was mine.

“Poor child,” he said. “She seems so young.”

“Everyone is sorry for Evalina,” I said, a little impatiently. “I am sure as her mother’s daughter she will know how to take care of herself.”

“She did no wrong as far as we know,” said Jean-Louis. “Poor child, it was not her fault she had such a mother.”

“She must have known that her mother was stealing things from Eversleigh. She was hiding them for her at Grasslands.”

“That’s understandable. Her mother told her they were gifts.”

I was silent. The men found excuses for her. First Charles Forster and now Jean-Louis.

“Well,” I said, “I don’t think we need worry too much about her for I am sure she will be able to take care of herself.”

She was perhaps not so self-sufficient as I had thought, for the next day she sent one of her servants to Eversleigh with a message for me. She wanted me to meet her … “You know the old haunted patch,” she wrote, “where they buried Lord Eversleigh. It’s quiet there. No one ever goes there. It’s near Enderby but sheltered from it. Meet me there at two o’clock this afternoon.”

It was a little peremptory, I thought, and for a moment felt inclined to ignore it; but on second thought I changed my mind.

Secretly I had to admit that I was both unsure and afraid of her.

She was waiting for me, looking distraught, walking up and down impatiently.

She said: “It’s quiet here. Nobody comes here. They never did, and since Lordy was buried here it’s even more spooky.”

“You had something to say to me?”

She nodded and I saw the look of fear in her face.

She said: “It’s him. It’s John Mather … the nephew. Andrew would never want it. He’d turn in his grave. Andrew was all for me … he was … and the boy.”

“What about the nephew?”

“Andrew’s left everything … just everything to me … in trust for Richard. Richard’s to have all this and I’m to share it with him … Grasslands … and Andrew’s money … everything. But the nephew is going to contest the will.”

“He can’t do that, can he?”

“He says he can. He says Andrew was duped … by me. He says I forced him to marry me. He says Andrew was incapable of having children … and Richard can’t be his.”

“I think he’s just trying to frighten you.”

“He says it would be better for me to give up Grasslands to him … and take a small income which he would be prepared to give me to save a lot of unpleasantness.”

There was a short silence while she looked at me appealingly.

“What … what do you expect me to do?” I asked.

“I want you to tell me what to do … how I can stop him?”

“How should I know? You are Andrew’s widow. You have his child. It seems to me his nephew is talking nonsense.”

She looked at me steadily. “But if he can prove …”

“What do you mean?”

“Suppose Richard …” She looked at me steadily. “You know how these things can happen … even to people who seem to be so respectable. You’ve got to help me. You’ve got to tell me what to do.”

“Are you telling me that Richard is not Andrew’s son?”

She was silent. I had a sudden inspiration and the words came out before I had time to consider them: “Richard is Dickon’s child.”

She covered her face with her hands.

“They’ll take it all away from me … from him. It was the way Andrew wanted it. He loved Richard … it made a new man of him, he used to say … no matter who Richard’s father was, he did that for Andrew.”

“He was certainly very happy,” I said.

“He was. I made him happy. I liked making him happy. He was good to me, he was. He took me in … he made a pet of me … and when it all happened … when they found out what my mother was … and all that … he never threw it up at me. All he said was ‘My poor little girl.’ He understood I never wanted to be like that. I wanted to be good and respectable like you were”—she paused and looked at me with the old sly look in her eyes—“until you came here.”

I felt my hatred of her welling up in me and at the same time I was sorry for her. I knew she was very frightened. I thought: She is another of Dickon’s victims. He is a devil. He creates mischief wherever he goes. But could I blame him? Evalina was the sort of girl who would frolic in barns with whatever lusty young man beckoned her.

She was looking at me almost defiantly. She had some absurd and childish faith in me; she was begging my help; no, demanding it. I had to make her problem mine or she would make it uncomfortable for me.

Oddly enough I wanted to help her … apart from the fact that I was afraid not to.

I said: “Andrew accepted Richard as his, didn’t he?”

“Yes, he did. He thought it was a miracle. He’d been told he could never have children … nor could he. Well, I wanted a little one of my own. You can’t blame me. So it happened and he thought it was his and there was no harm in it. It made a new man of him. He kept saying that. He was almost crazy with joy when Richard was born. ‘A boy,’ he kept saying, ‘my own son.’ I felt pretty good, I did, lying in that bed … giving him a son. He just couldn’t do enough for me. Proved his manhood and all that, he said. What was wrong with it, eh? You tell me that.”

“There was some good in it, obviously,” I said. “But why are you so worried?”

“Because of this nephew. He’s threatening all sorts of things … talking of lawyers. …”

“How can he? The will is there. No one can go against a will.”

“Yes, the will’s there. Andrew was very careful about that. He made it when Richard was born. He said to me: ‘That’s taken care of. Everything is for you and the boy. So if anything should happen to me suddenly I know you’re safe.’”

“I am sure the nephew can do nothing.”

“But you see, if he can prove Andrew couldn’t have children …”

“Surely no one could be absolutely sure of that?”

“Couldn’t he be?”

“No.”

“Then no one must know that Richard’s not …”

“No one must know.”

“You know.”

We looked at each other steadily. It was like that moment in the bedroom when she had bought my silence with the key of my bedroom.

We understood each other. I felt a tremendous relief because I was free of her. She had played into my hands.

But I wanted to help her now. I was beginning to see her as a sad little creature, born into a world where it was necessary to fight for all the comforts her body craved; she had to fight against a sensuous nature which betrayed her at every turn. Who was I to blame her for that?

I said to her: “He cannot do anything. Andrew made the will. He cannot prove that Richard is not Andrew’s. Who should know this? Perhaps it was his.”

She was smiling at me shyly, almost gratefully.

“The nephew is trying to browbeat you. Obviously, he guesses the child is not his uncle’s and by showing your fear of him you are playing into his hands. You must insist that the child is Andrew’s. I don’t see what good can come in denying it. And you should go to a solicitor. Go to Mr. Rosen. I am sure the nephew won’t have a leg to stand on.”

“Would you come with me to Mr. Rosen? You can talk so much better than I can.”

I wanted to laugh out loud. When I thought of how she had disturbed me, the anxious thoughts I had suffered because of her, I felt it had turned out almost comically.

We were blackmailing each other. We had a pact. No word of my misdemeanors and no word of yours.

I said: “We will go to Rosen, Stead and Rosen tomorrow. I will explain the case to Mr. Rosen senior, and I am sure then that you will have nothing to worry about.”