The love child

Intrigue in Venice

MY MOTHER NOTICED THE difference in me on my return and I think she was a little hurt that Harriet could comfort me in a way which was beyond her powers. She was glad, though, to find me roused a little from my wretchedness. She did not understand as Harriet did. She could only see me as a child.

It was only a few days later when she came to my room with a letter she had received from Harriet.

“Harriet is going away,” she said. “Some friend of hers has offered her a palazzo in Venice. She may be away several months.”

I lowered my eyes. I knew what was coming.

“She is very fond of you, Priscilla. She always was. She is suggesting that she take you with her.”

“Take me with her!” My voice sounded flat. It was difficult to play my part before my mother. “Listen to what she says:

I must have mentioned the Carpori family to you. I met them years ago during my stage career. The Contessa was always a friend of mine. Now she has offered me their palazzo in Venice. I did visit it once and it is quite a pleasant spot. The fact is I think they would like me to inhabit the place while they are away.

Gregory thinks it would be a good idea. He will spend part of the time with me. It will be rather a quiet life, I fancy. Now I am going to ask a great favour of you. Could you spare me our dear Priscilla? Perhaps it is selfish of me to ask but I really do think a change is what she needs just now. She has suffered a great shock so recently and I myself was quite worried about her when she was here a short while ago. This unfortunate matter has hit her hard, I fear. I believe this jaunt might be exactly what she needs. Could you put it to her? Ask her what she feels about it. Of course, she may hate the idea—in which case, please don’t press it. I should like the choice to be entirely hers …

She stopped reading and looked at me. I stammered: “Venice! A palazzo!”

My mother was wrinkling her brows. I knew that she wanted the best for me and would be wondering whether Harriet was right and this trip would help me to recover from the blow which she realized had shaken me severely.

“For … how long?” I asked.

My mother looked back at the letter. “She doesn’t say, but I daresay it would be for several months. I doubt she would plan to go so far for a short stay. And she says Gregory will be coming back to England and she will be alone for a while. What do you think about it, Priscilla?”

I was silent for a while. I must not seem too eager.

I said slowly: “I … don’t know. It’s so…”

“Unexpected,” finished my mother. “But one can always rely on Harriet to do the unexpected.”

After a brief silence I said: “I think I should like to get away.”

She nodded. “And you are very fond of Harriet and she of you … as fond as she is able to be of anyone apart from herself.”

I had to defend her. “She has always been good to me. Gregory and Benjie adore her.”

“She has special gifts. So you really feel you would like to go?”

“Yes, I would. I should love to see Venice. I believe it’s very beautiful.”

“It is said to be.”

“Mother … what about Christabel?”

She frowned slightly. “If you were going to be away you would still have to continue with your lessons.”

“I should like to go alone,” I said.

“I will see what your father says,” she answered.

I felt my lips curl bitterly. “Oh, he will not care what I do. I dare swear he’ll be glad to be rid of me.”

“You don’t understand him, Priscilla.”

“I do. I understand perfectly.”

She could see I was becoming emotional so she just shook her head, kissed me and left me.

My father agreed that I should go to Venice with Harriet. There was one stipulation. Christabel should come with me. I remarked bitterly that he seemed more concerned for Christabel’s welfare than he was for mine.

“Nonsense,” retorted my mother. “He wants her to go for your benefit.”

I did not argue the matter. I thought how fortunate I was to have Harriet, and sometimes I would break into a cold sweat wondering what I should have done if she had not been at hand to suggest her preposterous plan. But because she was Harriet it did not seem impossible to carry it out, as it would have done if anyone else had thought of it.

It was now the end of February and Harriet wrote constantly of what she called “plans.” I was sure she enjoyed writing these letters which she couched in innuendo—references which I could understand and no one else could. Intrigue was the breath of life to her.

We were going to leave at the end of March.

“A very appropriate time,” she wrote, meaning that the existence of my baby, conceived in mid-January, could without a great deal of subterfuge be kept secret until that time. “It will be springtime, the time of growth when the flowers and the trees begin to blossom. We shall be there through the summer, which I believe is delightful, and the sunshine more reliable than it is here.”

“I believe,” said my mother, “that you really are getting excited about this trip.”

“Venice is said to be so beautiful and I long to see it.”

She was pleased. I knew she was thinking that I was getting over what she thought of as “that unfortunate episode.” Christabel, too, was excited. They seemed to have forgotten—though I did not—that she had an unfortunate episode of her own to get over.

I was concerned about her, though. Sooner or later she would have to be in on the secret. I had told her nothing yet. I wanted to wait until I had consulted Harriet.

There was news from Court. Titus Oates was losing his importance. People were growing less afraid of criticizing him. He had made a big mistake in talking so disparagingly about the Duke of York and in such a way that it appeared he was preparing to make him his next victim.

“He is a fool,” said my father, “if he thinks the King would see the end of his own brother. Oates should have realized what dangerous grounds he was on when he tried to attack the Queen. The King showed it clearly. It seems to me the man is riding for a fall.”

I hoped so with all my heart, and then I felt bitterly angry because it was too late to save Jocelyn and my happiness.

There was comfort, though, in thinking that this wicked man who had caused such misery might now be seeing the end of that power which had been bestowed on him in such a ridiculous manner. It seemed incredible that Parliament could have made the Duke of Monmouth responsible for his safety, the Lord Chamberlain for his lodging and the Lord Treasurer for his food and such necessities. I had heard that he had three servants in constant attendance and two or three gentlemen—after the manner of royalty—to wait on him and wrangle over the honour of holding the basin for him to wash.

But as such men will do, he had gone a little too far. Voices were being raised against him. My father brought home a pamphlet which had been written by Sir Robert L’Estrange that demanded to know how much longer the country was going to allow Titus Oates to drink the tears of widows and orphans.

“He has made many enemies, that man,” said my father. “They are waiting to rise against him.”

I fervently hoped they would rise, and this man who had brought misery to so many would be called upon to answer for his sins.

But that would not bring Jocelyn back.

At the middle of March we were ready to leave for Harriet’s. It had been decided that I should stay with her for two weeks before leaving for Italy.

I said good-bye to my mother who was very sad at my leaving. I think she realized how eager I was to be gone and she construed that as meaning that I was happier with Harriet than with her. I almost felt like telling her the real reason why I had to go away but stopped myself in time.

The countryside was beautiful on the day we set out. It was a sparkling morning, though still cold. Spring was in the air and a certain exultation in my heart. I was very much aware of the growing life within me, and although the way ahead was fraught with difficulties, I could not regret what had happened.

Only my child could compensate me for what I had lost, and I longed for its birth.

I looked at Christabel beside me. She was happier than she had been since she had realized that Edwin was not going to defy his parents and offer her marriage. She, too, was getting over her sorrow.

Harriet received us with that exuberant welcome she bestowed on all her guests, but which was heartening all the same. She took my hands and pressed them with special significance. We were conspirators.

Soon we were in our rooms—the same as we had occupied on the previous visit—and Harriet was with me within five minutes.

She put her hands on her hips, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Let me look at you. No sign. No sign at all.” She put her head on one side. “Except, perhaps, a serenity of countenance which comes, so they tell me, to all expectant mothers. My dear child. I have such plans. All is prepared. Gregory will play his part as well as he can. He is not the world’s greatest actor … but never mind I shall be there if he fluffs his lines. Your part will be the most difficult … with the exception of mine … but of course I have played different parts before. I shall sustain the role with never a false step, you will see.”

“But it will only be necessary until we get to Venice.”

“I don’t plan it that way. This has to be the complete deception. A good name for a play, don’t you think? But this is a play … a masquerade. We can never be sure what might happen if things were known to be as they are. Life is full of coincidences. You cross the Grand Canal on the Rialto Bridge and you run straight into someone you knew at home. ‘My dear Priscilla, how are you? How well you look. I do declare you have put on considerable weight!’”

I couldn’t help laughing. She had assumed the part of an inquisitive and malicious gossip.

“People at home will be so interested to hear that we have met and how you are looking!’” she went on. “You see what I mean? No. We are going to play this as it should be played, and that means playing it safely.”

“Do you really think we can disguise my condition from everyone right to the end?”

She nodded. “I have designed some delightful gowns. They are going to be the latest fashion in Venice … because I shall wear them and that will be enough. It will be believed that they are designed to hide my pregnancy, which I shall discuss endlessly. Do you get the idea?”

“Harriet, you are wonderful.”

“My dear child, you have seen nothing yet. This is going to be one of my most successful roles. The only sad thing is that no one will realize how successfully I am playing it. One of the ironies of life, my dear child.”

“I don’t know what I should do without you. I was thinking that as we came along. What should I have done, Harriet?”

“There is always something. But I am glad I am here to help you.”

“You are so good.”

“Let us keep our eyes on the facts. There is little good in me. I am fond of you. I always have been. I owe your mother something for looking after Leigh. I owe your father something for his contemptuous attitude towards me and his refusal to be friends. So it gives me great pleasure to be closer to his daughter than he can ever be. My motives are mixed—some unworthy, as most motives are, but I think the chief is my love for you. I never had a daughter. I should have had a daughter. A daughter would have been to me what a son is to a man, what Carl is to your father. You see, I should have wanted her to be like me … made in my own image as they say. It’s the vanity of women … which almost rivals that of men. But what a lot of nonsense we are talking! We must get down to practicalities. Now, there is Christabel.”

“My father insisted that she come with me. I have to go on with lessons.”

She nodded. “He has a special interest in Christabel.” She smiled wryly. “Well, we have her here. Either she goes or she is told. Has she guessed anything?”

“She has given no indication that she has.”

Harriet was silent for a moment. Then she said: “That’s a deep one. I am unsure of her.”

“I think I understand. She had a miserable childhood. Then she hoped Edwin would marry her. It has made her a little bitter.”

“I get impatient with people who are bitter about life. If they don’t like the position they are in they should get out of it.”

“All have not your ingenuity, Harriet, to say nothing of your beauty and charm.”

“You know how to please. You are right, of course, and we should not be too hard on Christabel who lacks my ingenuity, beauty and charm.”

“It means she has to know.”

She shrugged her shoulders. Then she added: “We will wait, though, until we are in Venice and delay the telling until the last moment.”

It was a long journey but we were too excited at the prospect of seeing new countries to think very much about the exhaustion. We had crossed the Channel and made our way across France to Basle. Harriet had many friends in France, for she had lived in that country before she joined my mother at the Chateau Congreve before the Restoration. It was true that most of her friends had been players. Some had married into rich families and we often stayed at chateaux. Sometimes we sojourned as long as two days. Gregory accompanied us and was very kind and considerate, which was pleasant, as naturally sometimes the journey could be irksome. We had two menservants with us, too, so we had good protection should we need it.

Harriet had written to my mother after we had left England, telling her that she believed she was going to have a child. She had shown me the letter.

As you can imagine, my dear Arabella, I am uncertain about this. The mother in me rejoices. The worldly woman I am is not exactly singing the Magnificat. Gregory, dear, foolish man, is beside himself with joy. Had I been wise I should probably have cancelled my trip, but as you know full well, my dear, I am not always wise.

“There,” she said, sealing the letter. “The first step in our campaign.”

It was at a chateau close to Basle that I took Christabel into my confidence. The decision was forced on me, for I had delayed it as long as I could. I was standing by my dressing table when suddenly I fainted.

It was all over in a few minutes. She helped me to my bed and watched me anxiously, and when I opened my eyes I saw that she guessed.

“You know then?” I said.

“I have wondered for the last week or so.”

“You wondered!”

“Well, there was that night you stayed on the island.” She lifted her shoulders. “These things happen. There were one or two signs … But, Priscilla, you should never have come here.”

“It is precisely because I am in this condition that I am here.”

“You mean Harriet …”

“Harriet planned it.”

“So she knows!”

“She was the first to know. I went to her because I did not know what else to do.”

“I would have helped.”

“How?”

“I would have thought of something.”

“Harriet made these plans and she has the money to carry them out. She has told my mother that she is pregnant. When the child is born she will take it and care for it, and I shall be with her often. It is a wonderful plan.”

“It seems rather wild.”

“Because of Harriet it will succeed.”

“Oh, my poor Priscilla!”

“Don’t pity me. I loved Jocelyn. I had that. We should have married and then it would have been wonderful. But this happened …”

“I wept for you, Priscilla. I knew how you felt. You see…”

“Yes, I know. You and Edwin.”

“At least,” she reminded me, with a quirk of her lips, “Jocelyn did not desert you. I had the idea that you did not want me to come with you.”

“If I gave that impression it was only because of the difficulties. I did not want more people involved than was necessary.”

“You might have known I should want to be with you.”

“Thank you, Christabel.”

She looked almost happy. It was as though she was pleased by what had happened. Perhaps she, too, felt the need to get away from Eversleigh.

It was well into April when we arrived at the Palazzo Carpori. I had heard Venice called the Pearl and the Queen of the Adriatic, but I was unprepared for its unique charm and beauty. We had stayed at Padua and arrived in the afternoon; and there it lay before us … those islands of the lagoons connected by their stone bridges while countless brightly coloured boats, each with its gondolier, plied through the canals or waited hopefully for those who might need them. It was like a fairy city; the light was golden; the sun seemed to have scattered diamonds on the waters and the houses and palaces were like enchanted castles.

Harriet accepted our wonderment with a kind of smug contentment. She was in excellent spirits and this was partly due to what she called “the plan,” which was so wild that she was sure no one but herself would have attempted to carry it out. But she was going to make it succeed.

Gregory, Harriet, Christabel and I were taken in a gondola to the palazzo; the rest of our group followed with our baggage.

Our gondolier had a smattering of English, which was quaint and musical to listen to, and he obviously wanted to use it on us. I noticed that his eyes were on Harriet with undisguised admiration, which did not displease her, though, heaven knew, she must have had a surfeit of it. He kept addressing himself to the bella signora, and as we shot under the bridges he declared himself very happy that we had come.

Venice was the most beautiful city in the world. “Look, bella signora … bella signorina … here the Rialto. Carpori soon. Very nice palazzo; La Contessa very nice lady. She use my gondola … sometime. Very kind.”

He was implying of course that he expected similar kindness from us and I was sure he would get it. Harriet always believed in being generous to those who served her.

“Carpori close to St. Mark’s. Leave to me. I show.”

The gondola came to rest and we alighted before the palazzo. In the sunlight it looked like a piece of confectionery. Everything seemed touched by that golden light and I felt as though I were stepping out of reality into an enchanted world.

The Conte, who with his wife, the Contessa, owned this beautiful palace must, I suspected, be a man of some wealth. At each end was tower with a row of arches in the centre opening onto a long veranda. The walls were covered in marble of delicate shades of pink. Behind the veranda was a large hall with exquisite murals and paintings on the ceilings. The floors were paved with marble in beautiful colours of blue and gold.

Christabel caught her breath in wonder and I understood her feelings. I had never imagined anything so lovely.

A beautiful staircase led to the next floor. Here window arches, extending from end to end, formed a continuous arcade.

As soon as we entered, the house servants came to greet us, headed by one whom I guessed to be the majordomo, a garrulous, important-looking man with black sparkling eyes and an ingratiating manner, who was Giuseppe. He clapped his hands and others ran to do his bidding while he fussed around us.

Rooms had been made ready for us. Mine contained a bed with silk hangings, which was very charming, and I was delighted to be able to step out onto the veranda and look out over the canal.

Harriet was soon with me, her eyes dancing with excitement. She had come to see how impressed I was with her cleverness in arranging such lodgings for us.

“But it is so luxurious!” I cried.

“What did you expect? Did you think I would bring you to a hovel?”

“You have some very good friends.”

“Ah, yes. I once did the Contessa a great service. She was a merry girl, but she has become fat—a fate which sometimes overtakes us and I must watch it does not catch up with me. She loved good food, my dear Contessa. She was Marie Gissard. French. She was in our company … not exactly beautiful … nor even pretty, but she had this … je-ne-sais-quoi about her. Do you know what I mean? Men liked Marie and Marie liked men. She liked them so well that they could not resist her. She had so many lovers, and she was like a butterfly, flitting hither and thither. But she became a wise butterfly when the Conte Carpori came along. Now he was serious. He wanted a wife and Marie was deeply involved with Andre … I forget his other name … and Andre was determined that Marie should be his. You understand? She might have lost her Conte. He was ready to kill anybody, including herself and himself. And Andre was out to make trouble. But I took over Andre at precisely the right moment. It is a simple story. Because of my prompt action Marie was left free to give up her life and settle down with the Conte. It worked well. She became the Contessa. She has two sons and she will never forget the good services of her dear friend, Harriet. So when I tell her that I need to get out of the country for a while, there is the palazzo at my disposal. ‘Stay there as long as you like,’ wrote Marie. They have palazzos all over Italy. The favourite one is in Florence, and there is another somewhere, to say nothing of several country estates. You see the extent of her gratitude to me for making it all possible. Marie was never one to forget her friends.”

“Oh, Harriet, you have had such an exciting life!”

“It may well be, dear child, that you will also have an exciting life. After all, you have not begun so dully, have you?”

I found myself laughing with her, and if it was slightly hysterically, it was better than crying. My emotions were so involved that I was not at all sure what I was feeling.

The first weeks in Venice passed like a dream. I think Christabel felt the same as I did. We had never seen anything like this city where one must travel everywhere by boat. We quickly formed the habit of getting in and out of the gondolas, as there were several of them belonging to the palazzo and two gondoliers to look after them and to be at our disposal to take us wherever we wanted to go.

There were times when I almost forgot the reason I was there, so overcome was I by the unique beauty of the place. What struck me most was the use that had been made of marble and porphyries which had rendered the city one of the most colourful in the world. I learned that these had been brought from various countries to adorn this city-green porphyry from Mount Taygetus, red and grey from Egypt, Oriental alabaster from Arabia, white marble from Greece and red from Verona. There was also blue marble, amber-coloured and a delightful variety with purple mottling.

How I revelled in this city during those few weeks. I would linger on the Rialto Bridge and gaze along the Grand Canal. I spent hours in and around St. Mark’s. I was enchanted by mosaics of colourful glass tesserae. I stood before the Doges’ Palace overawed by its magnificence; I gazed up at the saddest bridge in the world—called by the evocative name, the Bridge of Sighs, and thought of the prisoners who came from the Doges’ Palace and, crossing the bridge on their way to prison, took their last lingering look at the beautiful city.

There were many little shops which were like Aladdin’s cave to me. In them I found the most exquisite pieces of glass and enamel; there were rings and brooches made from precious stones and semiprecious stones and ribbons and silks of enchanting colours. There were beautiful tapestries and slippers intricately worked. I think both Christabel and I forgot our sorrows for short periods of time.

It was one gloriously sunny day when Marco, our gondolier, had taken us to St. Mark’s Square and Christabel and I were revelling in the shops there. I was buying some slippers and there were several of them laid out on the counter. I could not decide between those with lavender-coloured flowers worked on a background of black silk or a dark russet brown with deep blue flowers. I looked up suddenly and I saw a man at the window watching me. I felt an unmistakable apprehension. I was not sure why except that he was watching me so intently.

He was a little over medium height and exceptionally handsome. Elaborately dressed in what were called petticoat breeches adorned with rows of lace and blue ribbons, he was something of a dandy. His coat was so scanty in order, I was sure, to show off the magnificence of his white ruffled shirt and most elaborate cravat. The buttons glistened with jewels and his hat over his dark periwig was set off with a blue feather.

I flushed and looked down at the slippers. Rather hastily I selected the black and lavender. While the transaction was completed I was very much aware of the man watching me.

As we were about to leave the shop he came in. He stood aside for us to pass, bowing deeply.

I had to pass too close to him in the narrow space so I saw his face clearly. His eyes looked straight into mine and there was in them a suggestion of admiration which was too bold to be called complimentary. It even held a trace of insolence.

I was very glad to get into the street. I said to Christabel: “I should like to go back to the palazzo.”

“So soon?” she replied. “I thought you wanted to do some more shopping?”

“I feel a little tired. I would rather go straight home.”

We went to the gondola.

“Back to the palazzo?” asked our gondolier in surprise.

“Yes, please,” I answered.

As we moved along the canal, I saw the man who had come into the shop. He was standing still, watching us.

Perhaps I should have forgotten him within a few days, for there were a number of bold young men ready to ogle unattended females. My mother, of course, would not have allowed Christabel and me to go out alone, even though we were together. Venice was said to be a city of romance and adventure but I sometimes thought there was a sinister ambience about those little alleys and byways. Life could be violent even in the quiet villages of England. But here I had a feeling that disaster could spring out unexpectedly.

It was early evening just after dusk. I had rested in the afternoon. Harriet had insisted. She said I must remember what lay ahead of me. We did not want complications. It was necessary to the plot that everything run smoothly. I had succumbed to her persuasion, and I would lie in my bed reading or thinking of my child and wondering what the years ahead held in store for me.

I had risen and changed into a long loose gown which I had bought in the square the day before. It was part of Harriet’s scheme to introduce loose-fitting garments into our wardrobes, and to do so before they were necessary, she said.

I was brushing my hair, and with the brush in my hand, I had the impulse to step onto the veranda. Sunset was beautiful over Venice. I never failed to watch and delight in it. And as I stepped out, I saw him … the man who had been outside the shop. He was in a gondola which was not moving along the canal. It was motionless immediately below the palazzo, and he was looking up at the veranda.

I felt a shiver run down my spine. It was almost as though he had willed me to come out and see him.

He made no sign. Indeed I did not wait for him to do so. As soon as I realized who he was, I stepped back into my room.

My heart was beating absurdly fast. He knew where I was staying!

I went on brushing my hair. What was I afraid of? I was not sure.

But I certainly was afraid.

Harriet was excited. We had received an invitation to a masked ball at the Palazzo Faliero. The Duchessa herself had called on Harriet, and like everyone else had been enchanted by her. She and Gregory must attend the ball and bring with her the two girls whom she was chaperoning. Harriet had accepted on our behalf without consulting us.

“I have told the Duchessa of my interesting condition and it amused her very much,” Harriet told us. “She has recommended the best of midwives. One who brought her own offspring into the world. I shall investigate the woman thoroughly, for I have yet to work out the last act of your play, which will of course be the most hazardous. However, later for that.”

“Harriet,” I said, “sometimes I think it would have been better if we had gone to some quieter place. Wouldn’t it have been easier to have done it that way?”

“Nonsense,” she retorted. “The best way to keep a secret is to make no apparent effort to hide it. Had we gone to some remote place, we should have immediately become the focus of attention. And people in little quiet places have nothing or little with which to occupy themselves. Therefore they display a great interest in others around them. The simplest yokel becomes a shrewd detective. Here, my dear, everyone is concerned with his or her own affairs. The Duchessa is mildly amused by my pregnancy today. She will have forgotten it tomorrow because she will be thinking exclusively of her new lover. I have heard that there is a succession of them. You may trust me to do what is best.”

“I do. I should never have questioned it.”

She kissed me. “Now, my darling, what are we going to wear for the ball? I think it would be a good idea to introduce a new fashion. Loose Grecian robes. It may well be that the French are still wearing tight-peaked bodices and tiny waists. But we shall return to the Grecian styles which are so much more becoming and so all concealing. We shall choose our materials with the greatest care because in these styles material will be everything. I shall be in deep blue silk the colour of peacocks’ feathers. My eyes tie me rather to that colour. And you, my dear … for you I have thought of a delicate rose. There is Christabel, too. My dear, she lacks your charm. There is that burden of bitterness which she cannot throw off. It detracts from any attractiveness she might otherwise have. If she would only be less angry because she has missed something in life, she might begin to gain something. Never mind. Perhaps it will come. Green for her, I thought … green for envy.”

There was great excitement selecting our materials, and what exquisite colours we had to choose from. Elaborate black silk masks were made for us, and we were all growing very excited. I did once or twice see the man who had filled me with apprehension. He appeared again when we were shopping, but as he ignored us completely, I was able to dismiss him from my mind. There was, however, one other occasion when I saw him in his gondola looking up at the palazzo, but I soon forgot about him.

A few days before that fixed for the ball, we had a great surprise. Leigh came to Venice.

Christabel and I were not at the palazzo when he arrived. We were shopping and when we returned Harriet was waiting for us impatiently.

“Leigh is here,” she cried. “I sent him off to look for you. He has gone to the Rialto.”

“We were in St. Mark’s Square.”

“I know. That’s why I sent him to the Rialto. I wanted to see you first. This may be tricky. Leigh must not know why we are here.”

I saw the point, but it would be difficult not to tell Leigh. He and I had always been completely frank with each other.

“You will have to be careful, Priscilla. He won’t suspect anything though. It wouldn’t occur to him … provided none of us betrays anything.” She was looking steadily at Christabel. “I do not want anyone to know of this … except us and Gregory. The fewer who know the better. Leigh would be absolutely trustworthy but he is hotheaded and I know how upset he would be. He is devoted to you, Priscilla. Well, I just know in my bones that it must be kept from him. So … be careful.”

We promised we would, but I was very uneasy.

Leigh was very soon with us. He had scoured Venice, he said, looking for us. He picked me up in his arms and looked searchingly at me.

“You look … blooming.”

Harriet smiled on us benignly.

During lunch Leigh told us that he could only be in Venice one week. He had wasted some time of his leave by going to Eversleigh, where he had heard that we had left for Venice; and more time was spent getting to us as more would be going back. Edwin was envious of him. Poor Edwin, he had been unable to get away.

“You will be able to attend the masked ball,” said Harriet. “I am sure the Duchessa will be most put out if you do not accompany us. She especially welcomes dashing young men.”

Leigh thought it would be amusing. He told us that that villain Titus Oates was beginning to show a certain reticence in his discoveries, and there was a feeling that the tables might really be turning against him. He had been a fool to slander the Duke of York, who was far more powerful than the poor little Queen who relied on her husband’s natural benevolence to save her from disaster.

It was when I was alone with Leigh that I had to be most careful.

But it was wonderful to be with him again. He had always given me a sense of security and I had turned to him for that affection which I had lacked from my father. In the past I had taken my difficulties to Leigh and he had so much enjoyed coming up with the solution. And now this great secret must be kept from him.

We were on the veranda watching the boats pass by on the canal when he said to me: “You mustn’t grieve over Jocelyn Frinton. I know about the ring.”

I could not answer. Those simple words had brought it all back to me with startling clarity.

He patted my hand as he used to when I was a little girl.

“He shouldn’t have given you that ring. It’s over now. I’m glad you’re with Harriet. She’ll be best for you now.”

“She has done so much for me. I don’t think I shall ever be able to repay her.”

“My dear Priscilla, the last thing friends want from each other is payment. Harriet wants you to get over this thing … and you’ll do it.”

“Yes, Leigh.”

“Of course,” he went on, “it was all rather a romantic adventure, wasn’t it, and you are so young.”

“I don’t feel young anymore,” I said tersely.

“But you are. And I’m glad you came to Venice with Harriet. By the way, has she told you her news?”

“News?” I said uncertainly.

“She’s going to have a baby.”

“Oh,” I said faintly.

“She’s delighted. Can’t wait, she says. I must say I was surprised. I never thought of her as the maternal type. Fancy Harriet! Everyone will be amazed. She’ll be telling you all about it. By the way, I went to see Benjie at his new school. He says he hopes you will all be in Venice for his holidays when he wants to come out here.”

I felt apprehensive. It was even harder than I had believed it would be.

“You look worried,” he went on. “Harriet will be all right. She’s a natural survivor.”

“And I’m glad you’ll be here for the ball,” I said.

“Gaiety in Venice, eh? As for you, I’m not sure you should go. You’re not really old enough for balls.”

It was the old theme with him. He regarded me as the perpetual child. I wondered what he would say if he knew the truth, and although I hated having to be secretive with him, I was glad in a way that he did not know.

It was the night of the ball. How romantic it was sailing down the canal to the Palazzo Faliero in our flowing gowns and our masks. The great hall of the palazzo was lighted with flaring torches. Its marble walls—mauves, greens and gold—gave it the appearance of a fairy palace. The water below the palazzo was crowded with boats and the sound of music was in the air.

It seemed as though everyone in Venice was going to the masked ball.

There was no formal reception by the Duchessa because everyone was supposed to be unrecognizable behind their masks, which added to the excitement. At the hour of midnight all would assemble and unmask.

Gregory said that he thought there would be several uninvited guests.

Leigh’s comment was: “You must keep with me, Priscilla. I really think you are too young for such affairs.”

“Nonsense,” retorted Harriet. “One is never too young for such affairs. Priscilla passed out of babyhood some time ago.”

“Leigh will be calling me his little sister when I am fifty,” I said.

His voice was close to my ear. “I intend to call you something else then.”

We alighted and mingled with the guests.

There was an intoxication about the soft lighting and the music. From the veranda on the palazzo the torches shone out on the water and I felt I had come a long way from Eversleigh.

Leigh was close to my side. We danced together … not very well. Neither of us was exactly skilled and there were too many people to make it easy for the most practised performers.

Leigh said: “I don’t know why people come to these affairs, except of course to meet strangers.”

“Perhaps that is what you should be doing,” I suggested.

“I’m going to look after you.”

“Really, there’s no need to make such a task of it.”

“My dear child, do you think I would leave you alone … here!”

“I could look after myself.”

“There are some shady characters around, I do assure you. Adventurers, robbers, seducers … And I don’t think you can look after yourself. You’ve shown …”

I said quickly: “You mean Jocelyn.”

“Well,” he said gently, “you are so young.”

I wanted to shout at him: Stop harping on my youth. I am not young anymore. I shall soon be a mother. That would startle him.

I felt impatient with him. I don’t know what it was about Leigh but I was always happy in his company. I wanted him so much to think highly of me. I had laughed and felt really happy when I was dancing with him; and I was gratified—while at the same time impatient—that he should insist on taking care of me. But I was irritated by his constant references to my youth, and I wanted to jerk him out of his belief that I was still a child.

In a room leading from the hall, tables had been set up and loaded with delicious meats, wines and fruit to which the guests were invited to help themselves when they felt in need of refreshment. Leigh and I took ours out to the veranda and found chairs there. We sat watching the lights on the water and the gondolas going back and forth, and at the same time listening to the clamour which came from the hall.

“It’s a little more peaceful here,” said Leigh. “I am sorry I shall have to leave you the day after tomorrow.”

“How is Edwin? Is he happy?”

“Do you mean that affair with Christabel?”

“Poor Christabel!”

“It would have been quite unsuitable.”

“Why should it have been?”

“She is not the one for Edwin.”

“You mean not rich enough? Not of the right background?”

“I meant nothing of the sort. She is a strange girl. She broods so much. I don’t understand her. Edwin needs someone lively. He is rather quiet. He needs someone who is entirely different from himself.”

“Did he really love Christabel?”

“He liked her very well. I think he was sorry for her. Edwin would always be moved by pity.”

“You think it was pity then?”

“It could have been.”

“He didn’t help her much, did he? It’s no use feeling pity for someone for a while and making it worse than it was before.”

“He was persuaded that it was not right to continue with it and I think he realized that.”

“She was very unhappy, you know.”

“She will recover. It’s better for her to be unhappy for a few months than for the rest of her life.”

“I wish he had not taken so much notice of her in the first place.”

“We all wish we had not done certain things at some time in our lives, my dear Priscilla.”

“Even you?” I asked.

“Even I.”

After a while we went back to the ballroom, Leigh keeping close to me all the time. I did not know what came over me then. Perhaps it was the sight of a couple embracing in a sequestered corner of the ballroom. It seemed to me that many people had come here to meet romance, to enjoy an adventure, to revel in the anonymity which their masks gave them. I had come here because Harriet had suggested it, and Leigh had come to take care of me. He could not get out of his mind the belief that I was a child. I felt a sudden urge to show him I was quite capable of taking care of myself.

There was such a press of people in the ballroom that I managed to escape from him. I had to choose my moment, of course, but it came and I took it.

I pushed my way through the crowds and went back to the veranda. There was no one there and I found it pleasant to inhale the fresh air. I stood for a moment thinking of the strangeness of everything that had happened, and suddenly I was aware of a touch on my arm. I turned, expecting to see Leigh. I was looking into a masked face. I gave a little exclamation of surprise and the man who was standing there lifted his mask briefly and then let it drop. He had shown me enough. He was the man I had seen in the shop in St. Mark’s and who had watched my window from the canal.

“At last we meet,” he said.

There was no doubt of his nationality. He was as English as I was.

“Who are you?” I asked.

He put his hand to his lips. “At the moment let me remain your mysterious admirer,” he said.

“For what reason?” I asked.

“Oh, just because it makes our meeting so much more interesting. Romance thrives on mystery.”

“I don’t understand you,” I said coldly, preparing to walk back into the ballroom.

“Not so fast, elusive lady,” he murmured. “I wish to speak to you.”

“I wish to return to the ballroom.”

“First listen to me.”

“I would prefer to return to the ballroom.”

“Sometimes even charming ladies have to do what others prefer.”

I was beginning to be alarmed. This man had inspired me with apprehension from the moment I had seen him. Now I realized that my misgivings had not been without some foundation.

He held my arm in a grip which was firm and which belied his ingratiating manner. I attempted to wrest myself free but his grip tightened and I knew I was in danger.

“You will take your hands from me,” I commanded.

He brought his face close to mine. He smelt of a delicate perfume—musk or sandalwood. There were several rings on his fingers and jewels in his cravat. “Is that an order?” he asked.

“It is,” I replied.

“How charming!” he murmured. “But it is time for me to give the orders.”

“You speak in riddles, sir. And I have no wish to learn the answers.”

“You have a sharp tongue, dear lady. I like my ladies to have spirit. First I demand beauty; then they must love me dearly; but I am not averse to a little acidity on the tongue. It makes a diversion.”

“You are talking nonsense.”

He had bent me backwards and put his lips, hard, against mine.

I fought him off. “How dare you?” I stammered indignantly.

I fought him off. “How dare you?” I stammered indignantly.

“You must be mad.”

“Mad for you. You are so young and youth is so appealing. I do so much enjoy the company of young ladies.”

I turned but he held me firmly. He had great strength and agility. He had doubtless had a great deal of experience in this kind of adventure. I was unable to withstand his attack, and in a short time he had dragged me from the veranda and down the steps to the very edge of the canal.

I called out: “Leigh! Leigh! Come quickly …”

A gondola was bobbing about below me. I was lifted up suddenly and caught by a man who was waiting in the boat.

It had all happened so quickly that I could not believe that I was actually being abducted. I screamed, but my screams were futile and were drowned in the noise of the music which came from the palazzo. One or two gondolas went past, but no one seemed interested in the struggling girl who was clearly being taken away against her will.

My captor leaped down into the gondola beside me.

“Ready, Bastiani,” he cried and we started to move.

I cried out but his hand was over my mouth.

“Too late, little bird,” he said. “You are trapped now. Oh, so haughty you were. Not one smile for me! Well, now I am going to make you smile. I have ways, you know. I like a little reluctance at first … but only at first.”

My intended fate was obvious. I felt sick with fear, and anger against myself. What a fool I had been! Leigh was right. I was a child … unable to look after myself. I had meant to teach Leigh a lesson. And what a bitter one I was learning myself.

I would fight, though. I would never give way to this man. He had to get me out of this gondola and carry me to his horrible, sinister place. He would not do that easily. I should fight him with all my strength.

We had left the wide canal. It was darker now. We shot under a bridge and I heard the gondolier say something.

“Go on. Go on,” commanded my captor.

We went on.

I called out but a hand was immediately placed over my mouth.

The gondola stopped.

My captor had leaped out and was waiting to receive me. I refused to get out. Just then a gondola shot past us. I did not see it stop because I was by then struggling in the arms of the gondolier who was trying to hand me up to my captor who was prepared to drag me up to him. I was very frightened, for I knew that I could not hold out indefinitely.

Suddenly I saw a dark figure spring upon the man. He spun round and I heard him give a cry of pain and anger. I could see the two figures struggling and then there was a cry as one of them fell into the canal.

The gondolier had released me. He was attempting to move away when a voice cried: “Wait.” I felt joy sweep over me, for it was Leigh’s voice.

The gondolier seemed to be struck with terror. The man who had tried to abduct me was clawing at the gondola; but Leigh was reaching for me and I sprang up into his arms.

He did not say anything. In a few seconds we were getting into the gondola in which Leigh had followed me, and were swiftly moving away down the canal.

I looked back fearfully and saw that my would-be abductor was being pulled into the gondola by his accomplice.

“Oh, Leigh!” I cried.

He put his arm about me and directed the gondolier to take us to the Palazzo Carpori.

We did not speak until we were in the palazzo.

Then he said: “Thank God I saw you.”

“You saw me dragged away?”

“Yes. I came to look for you. Thank God I was in time.”

“I was so frightened, Leigh.”

“I’m not surprised. I told Harriet that you should not have gone to the ball. You’re too young for affairs like that. These people … well, you don’t understand. They are capable of all kinds of villainy.”

“Who was that man?”

“I know his reputation. I regret to tell you he is one of our own countrymen. He has been involved in scandals at home. He’s a friend of the Earl of Rochester—and you know what that means. Abductions of young ladies is one of their favourite games. I’d like to break his neck. I would have given him something to remember tonight but I was thinking of getting you back.”

“Oh, Leigh, you are a comfort to me.” I put my arms about his neck. “If you hadn’t been there …”

“But I was there. You’ve nothing to fear while I’m around. How did you come to miss me?”

“It was my fault.”

“Idiot!” He spoke tenderly. “I’m going to talk to Harriet. There are to be no more masked balls for you. I don’t want you attending such dens of iniquity when I am not there to protect you.”

He kissed me tenderly and I longed to tell him of my love for Jocelyn and why I was here, but it was not only my secret now. It was Harriet’s as well and she had distinctly said that Leigh was not to be told.

I was upset and nervous. I must be very careful.

Leigh told me that the man’s name was Beaumont Granville and that he was a gambler, a profligate and rake. “He has got through a fortune and is now on the Continent in disgrace. He abducted an heiress … only fourteen years old. He hoped to marry her. He needed her fortune. By good luck, her father caught him in time. He had to get out of the country quickly.”

“Oh, Leigh, how lucky I’ve been that you were there.”

“It makes me mad with fury to contemplate the plans he had for you.”

“I’m no heiress.”

“He likes to amuse himself with young girls. It’s only the heiresses he wants for marriage. You have no idea what wicked people there are in the world, Priscilla. You have learned a lesson tonight. Where was Christabel? Surely she was supposed to be looking after you?”

“You were doing that. She must have discreetly vanished when you took over. They will miss us at the unmasking.”

“Not they! There is too much of a crush.”

“Harriet …”

“She’ll presume I brought you here. I told her I would if it became too rowdy.”

I smiled gratefully. This was one of the occasions when I enjoyed being looked after.

“You’re very shaken,” he said. “That was more of an ordeal than you realize.”

I flushed slightly. If he knew of my condition would he be so concerned with my innocence? But that sweet and tender love with Jocelyn had been so different from what might have happened tonight.

I said: “You yourself couldn’t have emerged without a scratch.”

“That’s just about all I did get. I had him from behind and he was in the water almost immediately. That’ll cool him down a little I imagine. I’m sorry he got off so lightly.”

“We shouldn’t want trouble. He was all right. I saw him getting back into the boat.”

“Now listen to me, Priscilla. You must be very careful in this place. It’s not Eversleigh, you know. I shall speak to Harriet and Christabel. I don’t want you ever to go out without one of them.”

“I don’t.”

“You have seen tonight that it is necessary to take especial care. It’s unfortunate that I have to leave the day after tomorrow.”

“I shall remember, Leigh.”

“You must look on this as a lesson,” he went on. “If it helps you to be more careful it will have been worthwhile.”

“I was careful. From the moment I saw him I tried to escape. He frightened me so much.”

“The devil! There are many like him at Court nowadays, I’m afraid. The King is too lenient with such men. They are witty. They amuse him and he shrugs aside their rakish adventures. Anyway, Beau Granville is not going to forget easily his attempts on my little sister.”

“Leigh, I am not your sister.”

He laughed lightly and kissed me on the brow.

Again I put up my arms and placed them round his neck. He held my hands there for a moment. Then he said: “Look. There are bruises on your arm. I could kill him for these.”

“They will go.”

“I think,” he said, “that you should go to bed now. It’s late.”

“Time for little girls to be asleep?” I said mockingly.

“Exactly. It’s been a shock. You don’t realize it now. I’ll get them to send something up to you. Good night, Priscilla.”

“Good night, Leigh, and thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure to look after you now and always,” he said.

I went. My emotions were in such a turmoil that I did not trust myself to remain. One of the servants came up with some warm wine. I drank it and was soon asleep.

I awoke late next morning and so did everyone else. I did not see Harriet until the afternoon.

Leigh was making his preparations to leave and everyone seemed heavy-eyed and rather listless. I said nothing to anyone about what had happened the previous night. I could not bear to talk about it. It was a subdued household and when Harriet did appear, she told me that Leigh had been at the palazzo when she and Christabel with Gregory had come back at three o’clock in the morning.

“He had already told me that he would bring you away just after midnight.” She grimaced. “He didn’t think it suitable for little girls to be out after that hour.”

Leigh left early the next morning. He was subdued and very sorry to go. I knew he was anxious about our remaining in Venice and Harriet told me that he had tried to persuade her to go back to England.

“He thinks it unnatural to have the child here. He believes—good Englishman that he is—that none but the English are capable of delivering babies. How he imagines the rest of the world became so well populated I can’t imagine. I must confess, though, that in ordinary circumstances I should have wanted to have the child at home. But it will be rather amusing, I think, to give birth in Venice.”

She was, as she would say, working herself into the role and talked as though she would indeed bear the baby. Even when we were alone she kept this up. I had found it a little disconcerting at first but I was getting used to it.

It was after Leigh had left that we called on the Duchessa to thank her in person for the evening at the ball.

As we left the gondola and went up the steps to the veranda and into the great hall of the palazzo, my memories were such that they set me shivering. I wondered whether Harriet, Gregory or Christabel would notice the change in me.

They said nothing.

The Duchessa was full of the latest gossip. Had we heard? she wanted to know. It was most exciting. Did we know that wicked, wicked Beau Granville was in Venice? A fascinating creature … really quite irresistible, but oh, so wicked. No one was safe within a mile of him. He had a habit of scenting out the prettiest girls and he was insatiable for virgins. “They send him wild. Well, my dears, it will be interesting to discover who did it. Some husband, it is thought. Or perhaps a lover. However, our Beau is not looking quite as pretty as usual. Are you sure you haven’t heard?”

“No,” said Harriet, “we haven’t heard.”

“He has been thrashed within inches of his life! A pretty mess, they tell me. Attacked … in his own house. They have had to get doctors to him. He will not be chasing women for some time, I imagine. It is rather amusing. Of course, they are saying he has brought it on himself. And of course it is true. It was certain to happen to him sometime. I wonder what effect it will have on him. I’ll swear he will rise from his convalescence every bit the rake he was. It’ll be fun to see.”

“It will be the greatest fun,” agreed Harriet. “And, Duchessa, we are so grateful to you for giving us such an entertainment. There hasn’t been anything like it for years, they tell me, even in Venice.”

“If it was a success it was you dear people who made it so.”

“Alas,” said Harriet, “I shall be living a quieter life from now on. Necessity, my dear Duchessa. But we are not unhappy about it, are we, Gregory?”

Gregory said it was the greatest joy to them and he was going to be very stern and forbid his wife to exert herself.

“What a fierce husband you have, my dear,” said the Duchessa somewhat maliciously.

“I live in terror lest I displease him,” replied Harriet, smiling affectionately at Gregory.

Christabel was silent, but then she usually was. She murmured her thanks to the Duchessa, who showed little interest in her.

When we returned to the palazzo, Harriet came to my room.

“You know it was Leigh, don’t you?” she said.

“I … I guessed.”

“He told me what happened. He was so furious he couldn’t contain himself. He said he only gave Beau Granville a taste of what was to come at the time because his one idea was to get you to safety. He went back last night to settle the score.”

“Yes,” I said faintly.

“I’m glad he’s left. Beau Granville could be vindictive, I’m sure. Leigh says I have to take special care of you. He wanted us to leave here. I couldn’t tell him, of course, why we couldn’t. But he has given me and Gregory very special instructions. I daresay Granville will leave Venice when he’s able to. He’ll feel humiliated and he won’t like that. Leigh will be able to take care of himself, I know. But I’m glad he’s gone.”

“It’s all so horrible.”

“There’s something else. Gregory knows what happened and he’s afraid it may have done some harm to you.”

“Harm?”

“Yes, the baby and all that. He thinks that we should have you looked at. It’s all rather difficult but I do agree with him. The Duchessa has recommended a midwife … a poor woman who will be ready to serve us well for a good payment. You will be Lady Stevens during the examination. We have to change identities. Never mind. It will be a little rehearsal.”

I was thinking too much about Leigh and wondering what the result of this affair would be to worry much about the encounter with the midwife.

Harriet staged it perfectly. She had touched up my face to add a wrinkle or two and make me look older. She had assumed the character of a young girl and so good was she that she played the part to perfection. Christabel and Gregory were helpful.

I was examined by the midwife in one of the small rooms and quickly informed that all was well with me and I could expect a normal delivery in due course.

Harriet was delighted with the result—not only with the midwife’s verdict but the way in which we all played our parts.

“You can be sure,” she told the midwife, “that we shall follow your instructions and look forward to the time when you come to help Lady Stevens bring the little one into the world.”

Like many of Harriet’s dramatic announcements it resembled the last line of the act. And indeed it seemed so. Leigh had gone and Beau Granville must have recovered from the attack, for we heard a month later that he had left Venice.

“He won’t come back,” said Harriet. “I doubt he’ll ever want to see Venice again.”

I hoped that would be so.

I must settle down now to the quiet time of waiting.

The summer was beautiful. It was hot, but by nature of our mission we lived quietly. Harriet and I were often together. I developed a desire to make clothes for the baby and I did so under Christabel’s guidance. Harriet would smile at us benignly and I marvelled that she who had such a taste for gaiety should be content to shut herself away in this manner. She was playing a part, and how well she played it!

She rested in the afternoons, she walked rather slowly about the palazzo and discussed symptoms of pregnancy with Caterina, the chief of the women servants who was the mother of five children, and she deceived her completely, for if she were in any difficulty she would always pretend that it was due to her imperfect knowledge of the language.

Gregory had to return to Court and was loath to go, but she insisted. He was not necessary to the plan now that he had given his blessing to his wife’s pregnancy which, said Harriet, had strengthened the case considerably. It was arranged that he would return as soon as he was able and perhaps by that time the child would be born and we could all return to England.

“We should be back before Christmas,” said Harriet. “The child is due in mid-October, and by the beginning of December it should be old enough to travel.”

It was August when Gregory left. In two months my child would be born and I was beginning to find it difficult to hide my condition. The loose gowns we wore were a great help and I kept to my rooms and those of Harriet a good deal. I think she made a better job of being a pregnant woman than I did of attempting to deny I was one.

In a way they were happy months. I had never felt quite like this before. A serenity had settled on me. I thought almost exclusively of the child. I forgot Jocelyn and my heartbreak over his death for weeks at a time. I forgot the terror I had suffered at the Duchessa’s ball. All that seemed to fade away and there was only this life which was growing within me—making itself felt every minute of the day. I longed for my child.

I did not even think very much of what would happen after its birth. I knew it was going to be close to me for the rest of my life. I thought I had loved Jocelyn with all my heart but I loved this child beyond anyone I had ever known.

I liked to sit with Christabel and talk about the wonders of motherhood. She was wistful. Poor Christabel! She told me she would have loved to have a child.

She would one day, I told her.

She said rather bitterly: “If what happened to you had happened to me, there would have been no kind friend to help me out of my troubles.”

It was almost as though she resented the fact that Harriet had gone to such pains to help me.

But this was not really so. She was careful of me and had done a great deal to help me. She had made some exquisite garments and I should treasure them even more than those which Harriet had bought for the baby. Harriet had sent to one of the shops and asked them to call on her. She received the proprietress in her bedroom where she reclined on the bed. I was present, seated on a chair close by.

“Put the things on the bed,” commanded Harriet, “where I can see them. Oh, that is beautiful. You understand, signora, how it is. Sometimes I feel I must keep to my bed. My time will soon come.”

The saleswoman nodded sympathetically and said that Lady Stevens must take great care. When was the little one expected?

“In October. I can hardly wait.”

“The waiting is so irksome,” said the woman. “I have two of my own.”

“Is that so? Then you must know all about it. I have two boys, you know. Of course, I am not so young as I was when they were born!”

“Lady Stevens will always be young,” was the answer.

Harriet smiled, well pleased, and spent lavishly.

Did she hope for a boy or a girl? asked the saleswoman.

“You know well how it is. One hopes for a boy. One hopes for a girl. And when it comes it is always what you wanted most. Is that not so?”

It was agreed that it was.

So they chattered; and knowing exactly how I felt as an expectant mother, I could not help but congratulate Harriet on a superb performance.

So the days passed.

September came. It was still very warm. I did not go out at all now. I felt it better not to. Christabel shopped for me. She liked to go into the square and buy ribbons and the things I needed.

I did lessons now and then as my mother would have expected us to, and it seemed incongruous to me that a mother should be in such a position. I had been fifteen on my birthday in the July just past.

I urged Christabel to go out more. There was no reason why she should not. Some protégée of the Duchessa—a certain Francesca Leopardi—became friendly with her and the two went out together now and then. Francesca asked permission for her to visit the Palazzo Faliero, which Harriet immediately gave, and it became a practice of hers to go there. She even spent a night there occasionally, which I thought was good for her because she blossomed noticeably during that time. I believed it was because at last someone was interested in her for herself and not because of her association with us.

But to tell the truth I gave very little thought to her. I was absorbed by my baby; and Harriet was of course the same because she was completely wrapped up in her part.

By the beginning of October, Harriet began to have certain qualms about me. It was the first time she had faltered.

I was young, this was my first child, and she was suddenly afraid that all might not go well. So far she had succeeded in playing her part to perfection. The only tricky moment had been the examination by the midwife. Now she wanted the midwife to move into the palazzo and it would mean, when she did that, that there could be no more pretence.

Harriet talked about it a good deal. She went to see the midwife and came back elated.

“My dear Priscilla, she lives in a hovel. Yes, nothing more than a hovel. There is one way to deal with her. Money. She will have to be in the secret. It is no use my pretending that I am pregnant to her. The time has come when a good performance must be supported by factual detail. Naturally she would be well paid for coming to the palazzo and spending a week or so here when the birth becomes imminent. But if we take her into our confidence—which we shall have to do in this case—and offer what will to her be a fantastic sum of money if she keeps our secret … I am sure she will do so.”

“Do you think she can be trusted?”

“I shall mingle bribes with threats. An irresistible combination, I assure you.”

“Harriet, you have been so wonderful to me.”

“Nonsense, my dear child, it has been my pleasure.”

“All these months when you have lived so quietly …”

“Enjoying every minute. My dear, I intend to see you out of this trouble. It has been an exacting role, but worth it.”

I went to her and kissed her, which pleased her. She liked demonstrations of affection.

“You are as my own child, Priscilla,” she said. “As I have said, I always wanted a daughter. And you are like my own. I was so involved with the Eversleighs. I was one myself once. So no more talk of gratitude and who owes this one what. As I’ve told you, I owe a big debt to your mother and I find it very gratifying to discharge my debts. Now let us be practical. Yes, I shall send for the midwife and have a little talk with her. You shall be present.”

She did so without delay. “For,” as she said, “I shall not feel happy until the woman is here. I want her to be on hand the moment she is needed.”

The midwife was rotund and pale faced, with lively black eyes, a patched gown and a cloak which showed signs of past grandeur and must have been presented by a client some years before. Her name was Maria Caldori and she was the mother of five children, which, said Harriet, was a good point, as it was always well to have firsthand knowledge of a subject.

Harriet brought her up to my bedroom and closed the door firmly.

“Now,” she said, “I have something of great importance to say to you. If you were paid well to keep a secret would you be prepared to do so?”

The woman looked startled. A faint tinge of colour had crept into her cheeks. Harriet mentioned a sum of money which made her blink. I had a notion that she had never heard of such a sum in the whole of her life.

“You would do a great deal for so much, I don’t doubt, signora.”

“I would do nothing which could set the law on me,” said the woman, visibly trembling.

“This is nothing to do with the law and all you will be asked to do is say nothing. It is your silence which can put this money in your pocket.”

“What is this, my lady? Please tell me what it is.”

“First I want your promise to be silent. There is nothing wrong in what you are asked to do. In fact it can only be good. All you need to do is say nothing. No one will ask you questions.”

“It is about the … baby, my lady?”

“You shall have half the money now,” said Harriet, ignoring the question, “and half when the matter is over. But first I must have your word on the name of God and the Holy Virgin that you will in no circumstances tell of what you learn in this house.”

“My lady, I swear. In my profession there are sometimes secrets. I have always been discreet.”

“You will need to be discreet now. You may think that when the money has been paid and we have gone, you are free to speak of what you know. If you do so, you will have broken your word and you will be punished. Do you know what happened to an English gentleman not so long ago? Have you ever heard the name of Granville?”

The woman was trembling a little. I saw the sweat on her forehead.

“I heard, my lady. He was very bad … because of what happened to him.”

“It could happen to you, signora, if you betrayed a trust. It will not, I know. You are too wise. You are going to take the money, which is more, I vow, than you earned in the whole of your life before bringing babies into the world and now and then waiting on the nobility. What is it to be?”

The woman lifted the cross which she wore about her neck and swore on it. Nothing on earth should drag the secret from her.

It was dramatic, another of Harriet’s scenes, and naturally she played it to perfection.

“I trust you,” she said. “And now you will find the matter very simple. When you came here before you did not examine me but this young lady. She is the one who is to have the child. For certain reasons we do not wish it to be known that the child is hers. All you have to do is attend her, make sure she has the best of care, bring a healthy child into the world with as little inconvenience to the mother as possible and hold your tongue.”

Relief spread across the midwife’s face.

“My lady,” she said, “it is nothing … it is little …”

Then she stopped, obviously afraid that if she made it sound too easy the fee might be lowered.

She went on: “Your secret is safe with me. There are many such in my work. I shall say nothing. I shall let it be believed that the child is yours, my lady. Oh, my lady … and signora …” She looked at me apologetically. “It often happens there are certain secrets.”

“I am sure that in your profession it is one secret after another, but remember how well you are being paid to keep this one and remember too that Venice will not be a. very healthy place for you if you fail to keep it. Now you are free to look after your patient.”

Harriet left me alone with Maria Caldori, who asked me a great many questions, examined me and declared herself delighted with my condition.

“Two weeks perhaps,” she said. “It may be sooner. Babies like to choose their own time.”

Harriet had arranged that I should sleep in her room and had had a small bed brought in. The fact was that she occupied this and made me sleep in the large one in which the child was to be born.

Maria Caldori occupied a room close by and was in constant attendance. I think she enjoyed her part in the conspiracy and whenever we had visitors I would leave her and Harriet together and Harriet said she did her part very well. “Mind you,” she pointed out, “I carried her along. But I must say she played with a certain conviction.”

Christabel was very kind and eager that I should not be put to any strain. I had never seen her so contented as she was at that time. She was out a good deal with Francesca and again and again I was struck by the change in her.

The weather was still warm and I was feeling the heat very much. As I did not go out a great deal I liked to sit at the doors of my room which opened onto the veranda and watch life pass by on the canal.

It was just after sundown, and as I sat there, I saw a gondola shoot by. There was a bright moon that night so I saw the gondolier quite clearly in his yellow coat and brown breeches, but it was his passenger who held my attention.

As they passed he looked up at the palazzo and I saw his face distinctly.

It was Beaumont Granville.

I felt a sudden wave of terror wash over me. I stood up, turned abruptly and went into my room.

Then I felt the pain take hold of me.

My child was about to be born.

For the next hours I forgot all about Beaumont Granville. There was only the agony to be endured; and yet all the time I was thinking of the child and assuring myself that soon I would emerge from the pain and would have the baby I longed for.

I was aware of the candles that flickered and threw shadows over the room, the sound of voices. Maria Caldori soothing, Harriet tense and anxious … No longer in her role, I thought, in the midst of my pain.

It was not an exceptionally difficult birth, but it seemed a long time to me before I heard the cry of a child.

I was aware then of a wild exultation. I was a mother. That was all I could think of. I was more exhausted than I had ever been, but I thought: I’m happy.

Harriet was at my bedside—dear, protective Harriet.

“All is well, dear child,” she whispered. “A lovely little girl … our little girl.”

A little girl! That was what I wanted more than anything in the world.

I held up my arms.

“Sleep first,” commanded Harriet. “That’s what you need. Maria Caldori says so. Maria has been wonderful. Now rest, my darling child, rest … rest and then we shall have the little rogue made presentable to meet her mama.”

I was about to protest but an utter weariness came over me and I slept.

It was late afternoon when I awoke. Harriet came quickly to my bedside. She kissed me. “You were wonderful. Now you want to see our little angel. Maria is a tigress. She hates me to go near her. You’d think it was her baby. Maria, I insist. Give me the child.”

Harriet brought my baby to the bed and placed her in my arms. I felt weak with happiness. I knew that nothing had ever been so important to me before as this red-faced child with the scanty dark hair and its button of a nose. She had been whimpering slightly, and when I took her into my arms she stopped and something which might have been a smile crept over her face. How I loved her! I examined her tiny fingers and marvelled at the minute nails. I looked at her little feet.

“She’s perfect in every way,” cooed Harriet. “We could wish she had a slightly less lusty pair of lungs but Maria is overcome with admiration even for them. If you ask me she spoils the child.”

I lay there holding her in my arms.

This was my daughter, the result of my love for Jocelyn. I thought then: Everything was worthwhile for this.

Harriet and I spent a long time discussing the name. At length we decided on Carlotta. It seemed to suit her. She was going to be dark-haired and she had the most enchanting pair of blue eyes. “As though,” said Harriet, “she knew she had to be my daughter so therefore her eyes should be the same colour as mine.” Harriet’s were that rare violet blue and her most startling feature. I wondered whether Carlotta’s would be the same.

Harriet took charge of her. The midwife left with her money and made protestations of her loyalty and gratitude. Never, never should anyone know from her who the mother of the child really was.

All the women of the household wanted the privilege of being the child’s nurse. Harriet chose the most likely, a middle-aged mother who had had several children of her own.

Christabel showed great interest in the child and was clearly moved by her. Christabel was always surprising me. Despite what she had told me I should not have thought she cared greatly for children.

A few weeks passed by. I was completely absorbed by the child and I was dreading the day when we should leave Venice, which meant that Harriet would take Carlotta and I would have to return to Eversleigh.

“I shall tell your mother that you have been so helpful to me, and I am not really cut out to be a mother, and that she must spare you to me often.”

“Harriet, you are a darling, but even so I shall have to leave her for long periods.”

“We’ll work something out, never fear,” said Harriet.

Oddly enough Carlotta managed to bewitch Harriet, who admitted that before the coming of this infant, young children had had no great charm for her. Perhaps all the effort we had made for Carlotta had given this child something extra.

She was going to be a beauty, Harriet declared. “Look at those eyes! That deep sparkling blue. And that adorable button of a nose. It is just right. She knows it, too, I am sure. See how determined she is to have her own way.”

“Really, Harriet,” I chided, “you positively drool over this baby.”

“I find her excessively drool-worthy.”

She talked of the nursery at the Abbas which would have to be completely refurbished. “Would it be a good idea to get old Sally Nullens over?”

“She’s an old gossip.”

“There’ll be nothing to gossip about and your mother says she is wonderful with children.”

“Perhaps it would be a good idea,” I said. “We were fond of her when we were little.”

“Old Nullens it shall be. I’ve had enough of this place. It’s romantic enough if your sense of smell is not too strong. I believe they throw all sorts of rubbish into the canals. I shouldn’t care for it in winter, and I do really think we should be making plans.”

She was right, of course.

When Gregory returned to Venice at the end of October, he, too, seemed to fall victim to the baby’s charms.

He agreed that we should start the journey home almost immediately. To leave it later could mean that we might run into really severe weather.

I was sure that he had been prompted to such a comment by Harriet who, now the baby was born and the real difficulties of the initial stages of the project were over, was growing tired of the monotony of life and was determined to return to England.

So with some misgivings I made my preparations to leave. While I was packing with Christabel, I remembered seeing Beaumont Granville on the night before Carlotta’s birth. Strangely enough, in view of everything that had happened I had forgotten the incident.

I said to her as she was helping me put my things together: “I had a shock on the night my pains started. I thought I saw Beaumont Granville.”

“Beaumont Granville,” she repeated, as though she were trying to remember who he was.

“The man who tried to abduct me. The one whom Leigh nearly killed.”

“Do you think you really did?”

“I was sure of it. I saw him clearly. He was going past in a gondola, and he looked up at the palazzo.”

“You could have been mistaken. Do you think he would come back here after what happened?”

“I shouldn’t have thought so.”

“You haven’t seen him since?”

“No.”

“Well, you were in a state of tension, you know. You were expecting the baby at any moment … and I imagine it could have been someone who looked like him.”

“That could be so,” I agreed.

And I believed that might be true.