The love child

Carlotta’s Cupboard

MY MOTHER’S RECOVERY WAS rapid. The doctor had been right when he had said that all she needed was to see my father safe and well.

We made hasty preparations to leave, for she said that should not feel safe until we were back in Eversleigh. There was a determined look about her mouth. I could see that she had made up her mind that there would be no more dabbling in rebellions. We had King James the Second on the throne; he was a Catholic, and my father, in common with a great many English men and women, did not want a Catholic King; but my mother’s theory was that he was there and there he must stay and we must put up with him. We were running no more risks.

I think seeing her so ill and anxious had affected my father deeply. During the days which followed they would not allow one to be out of the other’s sight. It was moving, and in spite of my bruised and humiliated body, I felt exultant because but for me it would have been a very different story.

We took the first coach back and went by stages. My father thought it best to travel as simply as possible in case there had been a mistake.

When we were back in Eversleigh they talked more freely.

“I cannot think who my benefactor was,” said my father. “It happened so suddenly. I was taken to a room where I spent the night alone. It was a relief. The conditions were appalling. I shall never get that stench out of my nostrils. Just to be taken away from it was a blessing. And the next day I was free.”

He was convinced that my mother had paid a heavy bribe to someone. She assured him that she had not. Indeed when we had arrived in Dorchester she had been in a fever and had not even known where she was.

“It must have been someone,” said my father. “I wonder who. I shall discover. I certainly have a very good friend somewhere.”

“Someone for whom you once did a service,” suggested my mother.

“I should remember. But I can think of no one. It would have needed a great deal, I am sure. Jeffreys—the devil—is becoming rich through the assizes.”

Neither of them noticed me, and it occurred to me that after the experience of that night there must be a change in me. I felt I should never be the same again. It had been utter degradation, complete submission to a man who mingled his sexual desires with a passion for revenge. I would never forget his gloating laughter, and I had known that he was thinking of Leigh and his own humiliation in being severely thrashed. How that must have offended what he called his refined tastes! What lotions he would have needed to heal his wounds! But what had affected him most deeply was the humiliation. I guessed he had soothed that a little after what he had done to me.

And yet, to witness the love of my parents and their joy in finding themselves together again filled me with exultation because but for me their lives would lie in ruins.

I had saved my father’s life, and my mother from a living death, so I could not regret what had happened.

My mother insisted that we celebrate my father’s return. Harriet must come over with the child.

“I know how you love to see them,” said my mother. “My dear Priscilla, this has been a great ordeal for you, too.”

“But he is safe now,” I said.

“My dearest child, I want to go down on my knees and thank whoever did this for us. It is such a mystery. But I think we shall know one day.”

“I am sure it will be reward enough for this … benefactor to see your happiness.”

“Your father and I are like one person,” she confided. “If one was lost to the other there would be little in life left for the one who remained.”

I felt too emotional to speak.

“And you, dear,” she went on, “we are forgetting you. It has been such a terrible time for us both. You looked after me so well. It was such a comfort to have you with me.”

I thought to myself: If you only knew! But I could never tell them. I wondered, though, what their reaction would be if I did. There was no one to whom I could talk of what had happened. Not Harriet … not Christabel … no one. My great desire was to wipe it from my memory. I should never do that completely. Every time I smelt that hideous musk smell I would remember him … his eyes gleaming as he talked of the deer.

How different from that night of tender love which I had spent with Jocelyn. That had produced Carlotta. The fear hit suddenly. What if there was a child born of that night of horror! What should I do then?

It could not be. That would be too much. I had paid for my father’s life. Surely I had paid in full.

At times I would wander out into the garden. I would go to the bed of red roses and think of when I had first met Jocelyn and I would say to myself: If it should be so, what can I do?

I was, however, spared that.

There would be no child of that shameful night.

Now, I said to myself, I must try to forget.

There was not, after all, to be a great show of rejoicing on my father’s return.

“From now on,” said my mother, “we must live quietly.”

There would be no journeys to and from Court. We were out of favour there. We must not remind anyone that we had favoured Monmouth’s cause. We had a new King on the throne, and if we did not like him, we must make the best of him.

My father was restive. It was his nature to be, and I was sure that if it were not for worrying my mother, he would have been involved in some plot or other. They were uneasy days which followed the death of easygoing Charles. Charles had been so popular since the days of his restoration but James had not the gift of winning people to his side.

“It is no concern of ours,” said my mother firmly, and as she showed signs of becoming ill every time she saw the lust for adventure in my father’s eyes, he would regretfully turn away from whatever he was planning.

He loved her dearly. There was no doubt of that.

So his return was not a matter for an open celebration. We did entertain friends. Harriet came over with Gregory, Benjie and Carlotta and they stayed for several weeks. I could forget my experiences in the company of my daughter. She was now nearly four years old and she was going to be a beauty; her blue eyes were growing more and more like Jocelyn’s; they had not that deep violet shade which was Harriet’s great beauty; they were clear, like cornflowers; her dark hair was a lovely contrast, and her short, pert nose was adorable. Her skin was like flower petals and she was enchanting. But her chief attraction was her vitality. She was so lively that Sally Nullens said that it was one body’s work just to keep pace with her. Emily Philpots saw that she was always exquisitely dressed and had already started teaching her to read, which she quickly learned. Emily said she had never known a child to learn so quickly. To those two women Carlotta was the centre of life.

And being a child with a quick and shrewd mind, Carlotta had rapidly become aware of her importance. She could be imperious, and then she would be very loving; she could stamp and kick when forced to obey, and at the same time she could burst into tears if she saw anyone or -thing in distress. She was a child of moods, which could change so quickly that it was hard to keep pace with them and assess her nature.

Benjie loved her and was teaching her to ride. Gregory accepted her as though she were truly his daughter, and had recently bought her a beautiful little pony which he considered safe for her to ride. Harriet treated her with a sort of mild tolerance; she never went out of her way to make a fuss of her as the others did, but I believe that Carlotta loved Harriet best of all. From the others she accepted homage as her right, but there were times when I noticed her trying to please Harriet.

When they arrived I went down to the courtyard to greet them. My eyes went at once to my daughter—so beautiful in her red cloak, the colour of her cheeks, her blue eyes sparkling and her dark curls in disorder as she pulled off her hood. She flung herself at me and hugged me. I felt so emotional that I feared I should not be able to hold back my tears. She always had this effect on me.

It was almost as though she knew of this special relationship between us. She put her hand into mine as we went into the house.

My mother greeted them warmly, my father less so. He was always slightly hostile towards Harriet. I saw the corners of her mouth turn up with amusement. She resented him as one of the few men who had refused to be overwhelmed by her charm.

“This is a happy day,” said Harriet. “We were all so anxious.”

“We don’t speak of it,” my mother told her. “It is over now and best forgotten.”

“You are back home, Carleton,” added Harriet, “and here you must stay.”

Benjie told my father how far he could shoot his arrows now and he wondered whether we should be practising archery on the lawns. He was sure he could beat Carl. Carl immediately challenged him and they went off chattering.

“Are you going to have Carlotta in your room this time, Priscilla?” Harriet asked me. “She likes that, don’t you, Carlotta?”

Carlotta looked at me and nodded.

“It would be a help,” said my mother. “That small bed could easily be put up.”

“I’ve already had it done,” I assured her.

Carlotta ran over to me and gripped my skirt. She smiled at me as though there were secrets between us. I felt overwhelmed by happiness. How I loved this child!

My father said: “I should have thought she was old enough to sleep in the nursery. I am sure Sally thinks so, too.”

Carlotta scowled at him and said: “I don’t like you.”

My father guffawed. “What shall I do about that?” he asked. “Go out and jump in the sea?”

“Yes,” cried Carlotta excitedly. “Yes, yes. You go and jump in the sea. Then you’ll be drownded.”

Harriet burst out laughing and my mother said, “Now that is no way to talk to your Uncle Carleton.”

“It’s my way to talk,” retorted Carlotta defiantly. She put out her tongue at my father.

I feared he would order her to be whipped, but I saw that he was trying hard to control his laughter. Even he, who had no great love for children, and especially female ones, could not but be charmed by my daughter. “That child is spoiled,” said my mother. “She should be restrained.”

“She’s all right,” replied Harriet. “She says what she means. She has not yet learned to dissemble.”

I was terrified that my mother might suggest some punishment. I would not allow that. I picked up Carlotta, who put her arms about my neck. “What’s restrained?” she whispered.

I said: “I’ll tell you later.”

“You won’t let that man and her, will you … ?”

“No,” I whispered.

She laughed and nuzzled close to me.

Harriet watched us, looking as near sentimental as Harriet could look.

“Come on,” I said, “we’ll go to our room.”

I set Carlotta down and she put her hand in mine, looking triumphantly over her shoulder at my parents.

How happy I was to have her with me! She jumped up and down on my bed and she said: “I’ll sleep here, won’t I?” And I knew it would be as it had been on other occasions. She would be put to bed by Sally Nullens and when I came up she would be awake. She would watch me undress and when I was in bed creep in with me. I would tell her a story and she would be asleep halfway through it and I would lie there and hold her in my arms and my love for her would overwhelm me.

Of course, Sally Nullens, as my father suggested, said it wasn’t right. There was room in the nursery and the child should sleep there where she could keep an eye on her. But I soon subdued Sally. She remembered that I was the one who had recommended her to Harriet, and so did Emily Philpots. They soon accepted the situation and raised no more objections.

It was during that visit that Carlotta showed the extent of her powers to fascinate. She shared a certain characteristic with me, which I suppose was not surprising since she was my daughter, inasmuch as because my father was unimpressed by her charms she must feel an urge to impress him.

I saw her often watching him; and if she had a chance, when she thought he was not looking, she would put out her tongue at him. I warned her not to do this, for I was afraid that if she were caught some punishment would be considered necessary. I wanted to protect her from that. I knew that Sally was too good a nurse not to inflict punishment now and then and Carlotta accepted the occasional slap. I had seen Sally turn her across her knee and apply a light cane, which made Carlotta roar with anger, but I noticed that Sally was very soon afterwards given a good-night kiss without rancour, so I presumed she took punishment from Sally without its impairing their relationship.

My father was of a different calibre. I was terrified to think that he might want to punish Carlotta for her insolence.

Carlotta was fearless.

We were in the garden where she was running about with her shuttlecock. My father was sitting on a wooden seat by the pond; he had shouted to her once not to make so much noise.

She stood looking at him and then went on batting her shuttlecock in silence.

He appeared to be asleep and I saw her creep up to him. She stood watching him for a moment. I was about to call her away but hesitated. She was breaking no rules by looking at him. She crept closer. I saw her hand on his knee. Then to my amazement she scrambled up and put her arms round his neck—not in a gesture of affection, but to steady herself. She waited a few seconds, looking into his face as though examining every detail. Then I heard her shout: “You’re a nasty old man!” And then she attempted to jump down.

I saw him catch her in his arms. I did not know what I expected but I heard him say: “What was that? What was that, eh?”

She was silent, looking into his face so closely that I was sure he could not see hers very clearly.

“You’re a bold child,” he said, “when you think the old ogre can’t see you. You thought he was asleep and you could tell him what you think of him. It’s different now, eh?”

“It’s not different!” she shouted.

“Then say it again.”

“You’re a nasty old man!” she shouted.

“So you’re not afraid of me, then?”

She hesitated.

“You are!” he cried triumphantly. “You’re afraid I’m going to whip you. Till the blood runs, eh? That’s what you think. And you still say it.”

“You’re a nasty old man,” she repeated but more quietly.

“And you’re not afraid of me?”

I could imagine those beautiful blue eyes as they looked into his. She was frightened of him, but she was fascinated too. He was the only one in the world who did not think Carlotta must be cherished.

“You are afraid of me,” he insisted.

She nodded.

“And still you come right up to me and tell me I’m a nasty old man.”

She nodded again.

He started to laugh. “I’ll tell you something,” he said. “You’re right. I am.”

Then she laughed and the sound of their mingling laughter was very sweet to me.

I knew she had won him as I had never been able to.

I crept away. Half an hour later she was still seated on his knee telling him the story of the wicked Roundheads who had cut off the King’s head.

That visit was memorable because Edwin came home.

There was great rejoicing in the household. My mother was always delighted when Edwin came. He was subdued on this occasion, and it was, of course, because of what had happened. It was clear that he thought my father had been ill-advised to join Monmouth because as a soldier he knew that the Duke had never had a chance. It was true that the country was not in love with its new King, but rebellion by such as Monmouth who, many would say, was not an improvement on James, was not the way to help matters.

But Edwin was never one to force his opinions on others. The army had not changed him. He was still gentle, unassuming, malleable. I wondered what would happen when he met Christabel because as such near neighbours we saw a great deal of each other.

Their meeting passed off easily. He was clearly pleased to see Christabel so happy. As for her she was so contented with her present state that she had completely forgotten her disappointment of the past.

Young Thomas was thriving, and according to Christabel and Thomas Senior, he was the most marvellous child that had ever been born.

She was still discussing the anguish we had suffered in the Monmouth Rebellion.

“It was like a miracle,” she said, “when you all came back safely. Thomas could scarcely believe it. We were so anxious for you. It just shows that miracles do happen.”

She was thinking of herself; and indeed when I saw her looking almost beautiful, the centre of her happy home, I thought that perhaps she was providing the greatest miracle of all.

My mother was eager to see Edwin married. He was now past twenty-five—so was Leigh—and neither of them married. I was occupying her thoughts too, for I was nineteen. Now that she could keep my father at home she planned entertaining so that we could meet families like our own among whom there might be a husband for me and a wife for Edwin. Jane Merridew had always been a favourite of hers. Jane must be about twenty-five—a rather handsome girl, serious-minded, practical, just the girl for Edwin.

The Merridews came and stayed. They were stern Protestants and viewed the new reign with disquiet just as my father did; so they had a great deal in common. Before the end of the visit Jane and Edwin were betrothed.

“There should not be a great deal of delay,” said my mother. “Soldiers should marry quickly. So much of their married life is spent away from their wives, so they must make the most of the time.”

The Merridews were not averse to a prompt wedding either. Jane was not so young that they wanted to wait.

It should be in six months’ time, decreed my mother, when Edwin believed he would have leave and Leigh would be present, too.

Harriet walked in the gardens with me. “Your turn will come soon,” she said. “You’re no longer a child, Priscilla. You can’t go on grieving for a dead lover all your life.”

I did not answer.

“You’ll fall in love one day, my dear child, and you’ll be happy then. I know you will. There’s one I’ve always wanted for you. I think you know who. But I wouldn’t press it. You have to discover each other for yourselves. You mustn’t let what happened colour your future.”

“But surely, Harriet,” I replied, “what happened must colour my future, mustn’t it? Something happens and we go on from there.”

I thought of the steps which had led me to that musk-scented bed and my crushing humiliation at the hands of Beaumont Granville. The discovery of Jocelyn, our love, its consummation, Venice and all it entailed, and there he was, the evil genius who had done something to me which I could never forget and which in spite of Harriet’s injunctions must colour my life and would hang over me for as long as I lived.

“If we make mistakes,” said Harriet, “we must never brood on them. We should accept them as experience.”

Experience! I thought. A musk-scented bed and a man who demanded everything from me, who humiliated me in such a way that I could only find peace of mind in forgetfulness.

I was almost on the point of confessing to Harriet, but I restrained myself in time. It was my shameful secret. It was better locked away in my mind. It must never come out to the light of day. I wouldn’t let it. I could not bear it.

So she thought only of my love for Jocelyn, which was something I did not want to forget.

“Your mother has the light of battle in her eyes,” went on Harriet. “Edwin today, Priscilla tomorrow. She wants grandchildren playing at her feet. Dear Arabella, she was always a sentimental creature. I know exactly what she feels and thinks. I love her dearly. She has meant a lot in my life. And now there is you and our little devil-angel Carlotta. There is one who is going to live an exciting life. I hope I live to see it.”

Of course, Harriet was right about my mother. She was delighted by Edwin’s betrothal. She said to me one evening: “Priscilla, I am so happy about Edwin. I am sure Jane will make him a good wife.”

“You always wanted Jane for him,” I reminded her. “You stopped his marrying Christabel.”

“And how right that was! Christabel has found complete happiness with Thomas. He was just right for her. And they have dear little Thomas. That is a happy household.”

“But she was very unhappy when Edwin allowed himself to be persuaded.”

“My dear child, if he had really cared for her he would not have been persuaded. And if she had really cared for him she could not be as happy as she is with Thomas. So it was all for the best.”

She looked at me wistfully.

“You were meant to marry, Priscilla,” she said. “Your turn must come.”

“I hadn’t thought of it,” I replied.

“To see you with that child Carlotta … She is a little minx, I think. She has even fascinated your father. To see you with her makes me feel that you should not delay too long before marrying. You can’t go on being a child forever. I thought only this morning when I watched you with Carlotta, Priscilla was meant to be a mother.”

I smiled at her. Dear Mother, I thought, I wonder what you would say if you knew that Carlotta is my daughter, and that I also gave myself so utterly, so completely and so shamefully to a wicked man in exchange for my father’s life.

It was April in the following year that Edwin and Jane were married. The Merridews lived not more than five miles from us and there were great celebrations in their country house.

Edwin seemed quite happy and Jane certainly was. My mother was contented too. She and Jane had become very good friends, which was as well, for, when the celebrations were over, Jane would come to live with us at Eversleigh which would be her home from henceforth. Eversleigh Court belonged to Edwin, as he was in the direct line, although my father had always managed the estate and I was sure looked on the place as his. Edwin was of such a temperament that it never occurred to him to stress otherwise.

It was a good match for the Merridews—providing, of course, that there was no trouble through my father’s involvement with the Monmouth Rebellion. Estates and fortunes could be lost overnight through such activities.

The Merridews, like ourselves, were keeping away from the Court at this time, remaining in the country, which was some way from London. We were hoping that recent events would soon be forgotten, although we did hear rumours that there were many who did not care for the new King’s views and that trouble was brewing in various quarters.

“Whatever it is,” said my mother firmly, “we are keeping out of it.”

And I think that in view of my father’s recent experiences, her words carried weight.

At this time there was nothing to think about but the wedding and we travelled to the Merridews for the ceremony, which took place in the chapel in their house. There was a banquet and much toasting of the married pair, after which they went back to Eversleigh, for it was considered fitting that they should spend the first night of their married life in the traditional bridal chamber which my mother had prepared for them.

We stayed at Merridew Court for two nights before returning, and as we were riding home side by side my mother said to me: “It is a great pleasure to me to see Edwin happily married. Jane is such a pleasant creature. I am sure they will be happy.”

“Yes,” I agreed, “they suit each other. It wouldn’t occur to either of them to be anything but happy together.”

“Now what do you mean by that?”

“Well, I think they would always do what was expected of them and everyone expects them to be happy.”

“That is not such a bad thing, is it?”

“No. But it doesn’t always work out so neatly for some.”

I wished I had not said that for it gave her an opening.

“My dear Priscilla, I should like to see you as happily settled.”

I was silent.

“I know,” she went on, “that you felt some romantic attachment to that poor young man, but it is quite a long time ago and you were only a child then.”

Still I said nothing.

“It was only a childish fancy, my dear. You mustn’t let it colour your life. You must meet more people. You seem so serious sometimes … almost as though you are brooding. You have been different since we came back from Dorchester.”

It would have been so easy then to have shouted the truth, to tell her what I had done, to explain the mystery of my father’s release. I wanted to laugh mockingly at her references to me as a child. A child who had borne a child, who had lived through that night with Beaumont Granville! She was an innocent compared with me. I was the worldly one, the woman who had lived.

We had been back at Eversleigh Court two days when Leigh arrived. He had been unable to get back in time for the wedding.

It was a great pleasure to see him. He had grown visibly older. He had seen service abroad and there was a certain uneasiness in his manner. Later he told us the reason for this. Trouble was in the air. The King was favouring Catholics in all walks of life and a large proportion of the people did not like it. Leigh very much feared there would be rebellion in the country.

“Another civil war would be disastrous,” he said, when we sat over dinner. “Englishmen against Englishmen as it was not so long ago. It is different if it is one country against another. I don’t want to fight my fellow countrymen on whatever pretext. I wish I were not in the army. Perhaps I’ll retire and settle down.”

“That,” said my mother fervently, “would not be a bad idea. But if James were not King, who would be?”

Leigh lowered his voice. “There is the King’s son-in-law, William of Orange.”

“William of Orange!” cried my mother.

“Why not? He is married to Mary and she is the King’s eldest daughter. He has a claim of his own. Wasn’t his mother the eldest daughter of Charles the First? He is a Protestant and a steady man, a brave one too if not a very likeable one. But charm is not one of the necessary qualifications of a ruler.”

“This is strange talk,” cried my father, “but, by God, it would be a good day for England if ever this came to pass.”

“There would be a certain amount of conflict before it did,” Leigh pointed out. “I don’t like it at all. If only Charles had lived.”

“Ah, there you express the sentiments of us all,” said my father.

In spite of the happy occasion of the wedding a gloom had crept into the house. I think my parents were remembering the days of the Civil War when no man had known who was his enemy and my father had entered into a great charade, playing the character of a Roundhead while serving the Royalist cause. I had heard many a tale of those times.

Leigh and I went riding. We rode down to the sea and there tethered our horses. We walked together along the beach and suddenly he said: “Will you marry me, Priscilla?”

I suppose I had always believed that one day he would ask me. In the old days before I had known Jocelyn, I had hoped he would. I had had a kind of hero worship for him when I was a child. He had always been my champion. Until Jocelyn had come along I should have said that Leigh was the one with whom I should want to share my life.

But I wasn’t that simple, innocent girl anymore. I had fallen in love with Jocelyn and then … there was Beaumont Granville. I should never really get him out of my mind. That night with him had made me feel I had no desire for marriage.

And yet here was Leigh … and I loved Leigh. I trusted him. He was my protector. He was the one who had thrashed Beaumont Granville for daring to attempt my abduction.

I was silent for some minutes, and I sensed Leigh’s disquiet.

“I’ve been waiting for you to grow up,” he said. “And I have been away so much. Priscilla, you do love me, don’t you?”

“Of course I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

He stopped and joyfully took my hands. He looked into my face. “Then what is it?” he asked.

“I am not sure,” I answered.

“Not sure! But you have said you love me. You always did. When you were tiny you used to come to me first … with everything. I was the one you always wanted.”

“Yes, I know. You were like my brother.”

“Your brother. Yes that, but more besides. It wasn’t like Edwin, was it?”

“No, it wasn’t. Yes, Leigh, you were the hero, the one who saved me when I was in difficulties … the shining knight in armour.”

“Now you are getting poetic. Why do you hesitate, Priscilla? There is no one else, is there?”

I shook my head.

I wished we had not come to the beach. I could remember so much. Jocelyn and I sitting there near the cave … the man who had walked along with the dogs and the awful fear that had possessed me then … groundless fear as it had turned out to be.

“Then what is it?” asked Leigh.

“It is not quite what it seems, Leigh. There are things you would have to know.”

“Then let me know them,” he said.

“I am afraid this will be a shock for you. Carlotta is my daughter.”

He stopped still and stared at me.

“You see, Leigh,” I said, “when you know everything you may not want to marry me.”

He said slowly: “It was Jocelyn … but I thought that was just a child’s admiration for a handsome young hero.”

“You always insisted on my childishness. You have made me a child for too long. I was not a child. I was young, but I fell in love with him, and when we were marooned on the Eyot we were lovers. He was taken the next day and, as you know, executed. I have Carlotta to remind me of him.”

“But Carlotta is supposed to be my mother’s daughter.”

I shook my head. “Harriet helped me. What I should have done without her, I do not know.”

“So you went to Venice. It was you who were going to have the child.”

“It was like a play to her and she played it magnificently. Harriet was wonderful to me. I shall never forget it.”

“Carlotta …” whispered Leigh. “I can’t believe this. It’s preposterous.”

“It would be with anyone but Harriet. She was determined to carry it out and she did.”

“Is this why you do not want to marry me? You are still in love with a dead man?”

“I love you, Leigh. Nothing can alter that. I always did. If I married anyone I should want it to be you. But what has gone before changes everything.”

“It does not change my feelings for you.”

“Oh, Leigh,” I said. I put my head against him and he held me tightly. I felt at peace there. I listened to the rise and fall of the waves and the melancholy screeching of the sea gulls. These were the sounds which had accompanied my meetings with Jocelyn. But this was different. This was Leigh, the strong man, the protector. I realized in that moment that I had loved Jocelyn because I had felt the need to protect him. I knew that if I had Leigh beside me I should draw on his strength and perhaps in time forget my fears. He knew the secret of Carlotta’s birth. It was a great relief.

I loved Leigh. Of course I loved him. Our future would be built on strong foundations—a love and trust which had existed since my childhood. I felt a surge of happiness such as I had not known for a long time, and an urge to tell him everything. I wanted to explain our fears for my father, my mother’s sickness which was born of heartbreak. I wanted to make him see that I had done what I did because I had to. If I could tell him, the memories would begin to fade. I could be happy again. That was what Leigh meant to me.

But I could not tell him. I could imagine his fury. It would be a cold rage such as that which had sent him to Beaumont Granville’s apartments where he had thrashed him to a dangerous degree. If he knew of this, he would kill Beaumont Granville. Of course I dared not tell. It must remain my secret.

“You should have told me before,” he said.

“You understand, Leigh?”

“Yes, I understand. It was a romantic adventure. He was in danger and we were all helping him. I understand it, Priscilla. And the result was … Carlotta. That of course makes a difference. We must see what can be done about that.”

“What do you mean? What can be done?”

“I know how you must feel about the child. Perhaps we could take her. She needs a father.”

“She has that in Gregory. He adores her.”

“She needs a mother. Harriet was never very maternal.”

“Carlotta loves her dearly, all the same. But how I should love to have her all to myself.”

“We will see what can be done.”

“Oh, Leigh,” I cried, “I am happier than I have been since … since …”

He took me in his arms and said: “It’s coming right now, Priscilla. It always had to be. You and I … I always knew it.”

He kissed me solemnly. We had plighted our troth.

Then we went back to the horses.

My mother was delighted.

She kissed me and then Leigh. “It is what I always hoped,” she said. “You always looked after her, Leigh. I remember you as a boy. You felt you ought, in the manly tradition, to despise girls, but you never could quite manage it with Priscilla, could you?”

“Never,” agreed Leigh. “Of course Priscilla was no ordinary girl.”

My father showed little enthusiasm. He quite liked Leigh, who was not unlike himself and different from Edwin, of whom he had a very poor opinion. I thought resentfully: I suppose he is glad to have his daughter taken off his hands.

“There should be no delay,” said my mother. “I daresay you will be called away, Leigh, all too soon.”

Leigh agreed that it might be so and arrangements went afoot with all speed.

Christabel came over from Grassland Manor to congratulate me. She had left plump Thomas Junior in his nurse’s charge. She hated to leave him for long but she had to come and wish me well.

She came to my room for a téte-a-téte.

Leigh had always loved me, she said. She had been envious because he had never looked at her. She lowered her gaze and said: “Priscilla, what about Carlotta?”

“He knows. I told him. I wouldn’t marry him without his knowing.”

“And he … understands?”

“Yes, he understands. He said … Oh, Christabel, this makes me so happy … he says that we must work out some plan to get her with us, so that she can be with her mother. He knows me so well. He knows exactly what I want.”

“He will be a good husband to you, Priscilla, and there is nothing so wonderful in life as a happy marriage.”

“You should know,” I said. “You are one of the fortunate ones who have achieved it.”

“And I don’t deserve it. That’s the point.”

“Nonsense. Ask Thomas whether you do or not. You have made him a very happy man.”

“Yes, he is happy, and that is something, isn’t it? At least I am responsible for that.”

“You must stop reproaching yourself, Christabel. You still do it, you know.”

“I was so envious. Envy is a deadly sin, Priscilla.”

“Well, you are rid of yours now. Wish me happiness like yours.”

“I do,” she answered, “with all my heart.”

Harriet came over a few days before the wedding accompanied by Gregory, Benjie and Carlotta.

That Harriet was delighted was obvious.

“It was what I wanted for you and Leigh,” she told me. “I can’t tell you how happy this has made me. I was an Eversleigh once … when I married Toby … and I was proud to be one. Now I shall have an Eversleigh for a daughter-in-law and I tell you this, there is no one I would rather have.”

“You have always been so good to me, Harriet. I have told Leigh about Carlotta.”

She nodded.

“It makes no difference. He still wants to marry me.”

“I should not think much of him if he did not.”

“He says that in time she should come to live with us.”

She took my hand and pressed it. “He’s right. Oh, isn’t this a lovely solution to our little drama? Wedding bells. It was always a popular finale. And so they lived happily ever after! That was always my favourite line.”

“A fairy tale ending,” I said. “But life is not a fairy tale.”

She looked at me sharply and again I had that impulse to tell her about Beaumont Granville. I must not. Nobody must know. I promised myself that I was going to forget he had ever existed. I was going to wipe out the memory of that night forever.

Leigh had to go to London. He would not go to Court but he would frequent the coffeehouses there where it was possible to pick up the latest news, for in these shops men of the Court, soldiers, politicians, wits and gossips, gathered and talked together with the utmost indiscretion.

I didn’t want him to go. I was afraid that something would happen to him. With every passing day I realized how important he was to me. I was even beginning to see that what had happened with Jocelyn was not the grande passion I had imagined it to be. Jocelyn had been a handsome boy in danger. We were alone on an island … two young people … and we had loved in a natural way. It happened so quickly. We were in love and we knew we could quickly be parted, so we foolishly snatched at those moments. We had talked of marriage. For a night we were as married people. Now I began to wonder what would have happened if he had escaped, if we had married. I was realizing that this growing emotion I felt for Leigh was strong and steady, unwavering, the sort of love I had seen between my mother and father. It was the true love, the love of endurance which nothing could change … not the flimsy stuff which is airy romance.

It was Leigh whom I loved. That was why I feared for him when he went to London, why I attempted to gather news of what was happening, why I began to fear another civil war, a rebellion … just as my mother did. And this was not due to patriotic fears for our country but simply that we were women who wanted to protect our men.

It was a great revelation. I loved Leigh and we were to be married. He knew about Carlotta and he understood. He was going to help me. He would be a wonderful father to her. I was happier than I had been for a long time, but soon I began to be haunted more than ever by memories of Beau Granville. I would dream of him. Leigh would be in that dream, and suddenly as he came towards me he would change into Beaumont Granville. I began to experience a vague apprehension.

My wedding day had almost come. The house was in a bustle of excitement. From the kitchens came the smell of roasting and baking. My mother was in a blissful state. She refused to think of possible trouble coming to the realm. Her family was about her. Edwin was married to a girl of her choice and she told me she had always wanted it to be Leigh for me. Leigh was a strong man, she said. He was not unlike my father. Such men needed special care.

“He shall have it,” I assured her.

“Leigh is a man in every way … just like your father, and you’ll be happy with him. He will take care of you and he has loved you for a long time. I am so glad, dear child, to see you settled.”

Carlotta was sleeping in my room. She was very interested in all the preparations and spent a lot of time in the kitchens watching the baking and now and then slipping a finger in some bowl to extract a delicacy, I was sure.

They pampered her down there and I knew that Ellen liked to have her seated at the table and even showed her how to stone raisins.

Old Jasper, of course, was immune to her charms. I daresay he thought her a devil’s imp with her bright colouring and obvious beauty of which he would not approve. She did not like Jasper and made no attempt to hide the fact. She told him that she did not think God would like him very much either, which I believe shook Jasper more than anything that had happened for a long time.

At night she would creep into my bed and talk to me. When I was married, I told her, she would not be able to come. I should be in the bridal chamber where lots of other brides had slept.

She listened entranced.

“When shall I marry?” she wanted to know.

“It will be years yet,” I told her.

“Will you have a baby?” she asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Promise.”

“Promise what?”

“When you do, you’ll still love me best.”

“I shall always love you, Carlotta.”

“But best,” she said. “I want to be best.”

“Promises like that can’t be made. You have to wait and see.”

She was thoughtful, and pondering that fell asleep.

I had many gifts. Christabel had made some fine pillowcases for me, delicately embroidered as she knew so well how to do. I had more embroidered linen from Emily Philpots. Sally Nullens was delighted at the prospect of more babies, both from me and from Edwin. My mother gave me some beautiful silks, which could be made up into bed gowns and wraps as well as dresses.

“From your father and me,” she said, but I knew he had had no hand in the gift.

There was one present which was brought to the house by a messenger who would not wait for a reply. One of the servants brought it in. The messenger had said that it was to be delivered to me but would not say who had sent it. It was a flat, square package. I was very curious. I took it up to my room and opened it.

It was a picture, painted in delicate colours, of St. Mark’s Square in Venice, and the shop where I had bought the slippers was represented in it.

I knew who had sent it and if I had had any doubt, there were the initials in the corner to confirm my fears: B.G.

I felt sick with fear. What did it mean? It was clearly a reminder. He was telling me that he was still there in my life and I must not think I was rid of him.

The picture was lying on my bed. I turned away from it. I could not bear to look at it. My apprehension was growing with every minute.

What could he do to me now?

I thought then of what Leigh’s fury would be like if he ever knew. I believed he would kill Beaumont Granville. He had nearly done so once before for a lesser offence.

Leigh must never know.

I wondered if any member of the family had seen the messenger arrive. My mother might ask what had been brought. Could I show the picture? “It was someone we met in Venice,” I could say.

Leigh would see it. He would see those initials in the corner.

My impulse was to destroy it, but I decided not to do so just yet. I put it into a drawer with some kerchiefs and collars on top of it. In a few days I would destroy it, for if no one had mentioned its arrival by then, they would not do so later.

I had to compose myself before I went downstairs. I managed to do so, but a terrible shadow hung over me.

No one had seen the messenger come, and as nothing was said about what he had brought, a few days later I tore up the painting and burned it in the grate. I felt better as soon as I had done so.

It was just a mischievous gesture, I assured myself. But I was uneasy that he had known about my coming marriage. Leigh had been in London and there was no reason why our marriage should be kept a secret. He was known by too many people and naturally they would want to know whom he was marrying. I was the granddaughter of General Tolworthy, a very well-known soldier, who had distinguished himself in the Royalist cause. My father was Carleton Eversleigh, who had been a close friend of the late King. It was to be hoped that not too much had been said about the Monmouth Rebellion, but I gathered that so many people were disillusioned by the present King that there would be little rancour against my father.

In any case, I felt better when the picture was no longer there, and I tried to forget it on my wedding day.

And so we were married in the Eversleigh chapel, and even as we emerged, my arm in Leigh’s, I was deeply conscious of the secret which lay between us and I longed to tell Leigh of that fearful night, but I knew that if I did he would not rest until he had taken revenge on Beaumont Granville and that could result in the death of one of them.

I could not escape from Beaumont Granville. I loved Leigh, I was capable of passion, but Beaumont Granville was there all the time. Leigh was conscious that something was wrong. He was puzzled and hurt. I think he believed that I still hankered for Jocelyn. I could not explain that I loved him, that I wanted him only, but there was something else I could not do and that was drive from my mind the memory of that night in Dorchester.

Leigh still thought of me as not quite grown up in spite of the fact that I had a child. He was uncertain of me and I knew vaguely disappointed. I guessed he would be uneasy when we were apart. He talked a great deal about the future and said that he did not think it was good for married people to be apart as they inevitably must if one was a soldier. When the situation was more stable he thought it would be a good idea to get out. We could not stay at Eversleigh Court for the rest of our lives, for that was the home of Edwin, his wife and the children they would have, as well as my parents and Carl. But there was the old Dower House. It was a fair-sized Elizabethan house—Eversleigh Court on a smaller scale. He would buy it from the Eversleigh estate and we could live there. Already he had plans for enlarging the house and farming some of the land. There was quite a large area of land which he could acquire.

“It would keep me home with you,” he said; and I was aware of the disappointment he felt in our marriage and I longed to tell him of that terrible night which had scarred me forever. I wanted him to know that it was due to no lack of love on my part, that all that had gone before had shown me that I could never love any man as I loved him. But when I thought of what the consequences might be, I dared not.

Harriet stayed on with Carlotta, Benjie and Gregory. She said she wanted to be with her son as long as possible and of course I was delighted, not only that Harriet should stay-she was always an asset at any gathering—but because Carlotta remained too.

Carl was sixteen now, Benjie a year or so older, so they were really quite grown up and were going to the university together in the autumn.

Leigh was talking about the Dower House, a favourite topic of his, and my father was pointing out that some of the land there would need a good deal of treatment before it offered good crops.

Carl said suddenly: “Why don’t you have Enderby Hall, Leigh? That’s a grand house … or was …”

“Enderby Hall,” echoed Leigh. “Hasn’t anyone taken it yet?”

“No,” replied my mother, “and not likely to. It has the reputation of being haunted.”

“What nonsense!” cried Leigh. “It was all right when the Enderbys were there.”

“Oh, that was a great tragedy,” said my mother.

“He was involved in the Rye House Plot with Gervaise Hilton of Grassland Manor,” added my father. “The houses were confiscated then.”

“First, though,” said my mother, “the men were taken away. Poor Grace Enderby was heartbroken. She tried to hang herself. It was in the great hall and she tried to do it from the gallery. The rope wasn’t long enough and she fell to the ground instead of swinging as she had intended to. She didn’t die immediately. Some of the servants said she laid a curse on the place and that her cries can be heard as you pass by at night.”

“So that’s how it got the reputation for being haunted, was it?” asked Leigh.

“No one has heard the cries,” put in my father. “It is always someone who knows someone who did.”

“I think it is often like that with these haunted houses,” Leigh said.

“We always thought it was a strange old place though,” added my mother. “The family had been ardent Catholics and there are said to be hidden places where they used to hide the priests.”

“What a sad story,” said Jane. “I don’t think I should like to go there after dark.”

“Surely you’re not affected by such nonsense,” chided my father.

“It’s all very well to be brave by daylight,” said my mother. “It is a gloomy old place now. The garden’s overgrown. It’s for sale. But who will buy a house where that sort of thing has happened?”

“I think it passed into the hands of some distant cousin of the Enderbys and he wants to get rid of it as fast as he can. He’ll never sell until he clears the garden, which would do a great deal to dispel the gloom and make sure that all that gossip about a ghost is put a stop to.”

“I’d like to go in and look at it,” said Benjie.

“You’d never dare,” challenged Carl.

“Don’t be silly,” retorted Benjie, “of course I would.”

“Well,” I said, “it has stood empty for a long time. If someone would take it and let in the sunshine, it would be just a normal house.”

The conversation turned to the affairs of the country, which were always uppermost in our minds, and the ghostly house and the Enderbys were forgotten.

It was late afternoon of the following day when Sally Nullens came running into the garden, where we were all sitting enjoying the sunshine, with the disturbing news that Carlotta was nowhere to be found.

I was immediately afraid.

I turned to Sally and cried: “But where can she be?”

“She was in her bed having a nap, so I thought. I went in to rouse her and she was not there.”

Carlotta had returned to the nursery when I was married and had been a little resentful about that and was inclined to blame Leigh who, she was afraid, was usurping her place with me.

“She’s probably in the garden somewhere,” said my mother.

“I’ll go and look,” I replied.

“And I’ll come with you,” said Leigh.

We searched the garden, but there was no sign of Carlotta. Then we went into the house and searched every room.

Now I was really alarmed.

“Where can she have got to?” I cried frantically.

Sally Nullens was muttering: “The imp. She didn’t want to go to bed. I had trouble with her. She’s getting above herself, that one. Wants her own way all the time. Said she wanted to go with Carl and Benjie. Young men like them don’t want a baby at their heels.”

“Where are Carl and Benjie?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” replied Sally. “They went off somewhere together about two o’clock. I haven’t seen them since.”

I felt a faint twinge of relief. “She must be with them.”

“She was pestering and they said they wouldn’t take her. And then I came along and said Bed.”

“I think she must have gone with them, Sally,” I said anxiously. “They relented perhaps and took her.”

“I don’t know, I’m sure. I’ll have something to say to her when she comes back, mark my words.”

Sally was worried, I could see.

We went back to the group in the garden.

“Did you find the mischievous creature?” asked Harriet.

“No,” I replied. “Sally thinks she went off with Carl and Benjie.”

“Oh, that’s it. She’s always trying to link up with them.”

“She’s like you, Priscilla,” said my mother. “You always wanted to go where Edwin and Leigh went.”

“Sally is put out. She is supposed to be in bed.”

“Carlotta has an adventurous nature,” put in Harriet. “There will always be some excitement where she is.”

“She’s a spoiled child,” said my father, but there was a hint of indulgence in his voice. I never ceased to marvel at the way she had bewitched him.

We talked of other matters: what was happening at Court, Continental affairs. The name of William of Orange was mentioned as it was frequently nowadays.

It was about an hour later when Carl and Benjie returned.

I ran to meet them.

“Where is Carlotta?” I cried.

They looked puzzled.

“Wasn’t she with you?”

They shook their heads.

Now I was really frightened.

“We had better start searching at once,” said Leigh.

“She can’t have gone far,” Harriet pointed out.

I thought of her wandering in the woods lost. I was terrified of what might befall her. Occasionally gipsies camped in the woods. I had heard stories of their stealing children. I felt sick with horror.

My father said: “We’ll soon find her. We’ll have two separate parties and we’ll scour the neighbourhood. She can’t have gone far.”

I went off with Leigh, Carl and Benjie; my father headed another party.

“I reckon,” said Leigh, “that she has gone somewhere and fallen asleep.”

“Either that or she’s lost,” I said blankly. If the gipsies found her, her clothes would be taken from her. The gold chain which Gregory had given her and which she always wore round her neck would be worth something. Her outstanding beauty would attract them. I imagined their gloating over my beautiful child. What would they do with her? I pictured her, dirty and unkempt, selling clothes pegs and telling fortunes. That would never suit her imperious nature. How rebellious she would be. And what would they do to her?

Leigh was comforting me. “We’ll find her soon. She’s somewhere close. She couldn’t have gone far.”

We searched all round the house and beyond. I said I wondered whether she had tried to get to the sea. She was talking about it yesterday.

“She wanted to come with us,” said Carl. “She was here when we left.”

“What time was that?”

“It was just after two o’clock.”

“But she was supposed to be resting then. Sally had sent her to bed.”

“She said she wanted to come with us and I said, ‘You can’t. We’re going to the haunted house.’ She kept saying she wanted to come. So we went off and left her.”

“You don’t think …” I began.

“The house is nearly a mile from here,” Leigh pointed out.

“She knows the way,” said Carl. “We rode past it only the other day. She said she wanted to see a ghost.”

“She’s been listening to gossip,” I said. “That’s where she’s gone. I’m sure of it. Carl and Benjie were going and she wanted to go with me. Come on. We’re going to Enderby.”

Leigh said we should ride there, for we should get there more quickly that way, so we ran to the stables and in a short time we were on the road to Enderby.

We tethered the horses and dismounted. The drive was so overgrown that we had to pick our way carefully. I must confess to a little shudder as we passed through the gates. There was something eerie about the place which seemed more than the state of the grounds warranted. The house rose before us—red Tudor brick—centre hall with east and west wings; the walls were covered with creeper, which hung over some of the windows.

It was easy to imagine why it had been called haunted.

Eager as I was to search the place I felt a great repugnance about entering it.

“Creepy,” commented Benjie.

“You can get in quite easily,” said Carl. “You just unlatch the door. We didn’t see any ghosts,” he added.

“No,” put in Benjie, “but you felt they were there … watching you.”

“We must go in,” I insisted. “We have to search the place.”

Then I felt my blood run cold, for I saw a light flicker in one of the windows and then disappear.

“Someone’s there!” I gasped.

“I’m going in,” said Leigh.

We unlatched the door and stepped into the hall. The door shut with a bang behind us. Only a little light came through the dirty windows. I looked up at the great, vaulted ceiling; the stone walls were damp; there was a great staircase, which must have been beautiful once, and over which the lady of the household had tried to hang herself.

Yes, it was a haunted house. It repelled me. It was almost as though there was an atmosphere of hostility, something which warned me to keep out.

Then we heard a noise above. The opening and shutting of a door. Someone was there. There must be. We had seen a light.

“Carlotta,” cried Leigh in a loud voice, “are you there? Come here, Carlotta. We have come for you.”

His voiced echoed through the empty house.

“Carlotta! Carlotta!” I cried in anguish.

Could she really have come here alone? I had a terrible premonition that we were going to discover something fearful.

“Listen,” said Leigh.

We distinctly heard the sound of footsteps and they were not those of a child.

“Who’s there?” called Leigh.

There was a movement from above and we saw a face on the balcony … the balcony over which the rope had been thrown.

A man was standing there.

“Have you come to see the house too?” he asked.

He started to descend the stairs. There was nothing ghostly about him. He was by no means young and was quite soberly dressed in a frogged coat and grey velvet breeches; his clothes were quiet, well cut and of good quality.

“We are looking for a lost child,” said Leigh. “We thought she might be here.”

“A lost child,” he repeated. “I have seen no one.”

I felt ill with disappointment and anxiety.

“We have reason to believe she may have come here,” said Leigh.

“Yes,” went on Carl. He turned to Benjie. “You remember I said I heard something. You said I thought it was the ghost.”

Benjie nodded slowly.

“We must look for her,” I insisted. “We mustn’t waste any time. She’ll be frightened.”

“I have been over the house,” said the man. “Some of it is very dark. But I had a lantern which I have left up there.” He pointed upwards. “I haven’t seen a child, but of course there are so many rooms. I doubt I have seen everything.”

“We shall search every corner,” said Leigh.

“I will join with you,” the man replied.

“Let’s all keep together,” suggested Leigh, “and we will search from top to bottom. She may be shut in somewhere. Come on, we’ll waste no more time.”

We searched the hall and the kitchens. We went into the outhouses, and it was in the washhouse that I found a button lying on the floor. It had come from Carlotta’s coat.

I pounced on it. It was the most hopeful sign we had had. I was sure now that Carlotta was in the house and I was not going to leave it without her.

“This is her coat button. She has been in here,” I cried. “She must be in this house now. She must.”

We went up the stairs—those sad, haunted stairs which creaked protestingly under our feet. There was the balcony where the minstrels had once played in the days when it had been a happy home with tragedy undreamed of.

There were heavy curtains at either side of it and an alcove in which musical instruments had been kept. There was a door in it. I opened it and there, lying fast asleep, was Carlotta.

I swooped on her.

She opened her eyes. “Hello, Cilla,” she said.

I just held her in my arms and stepped out onto the balcony.

Everyone cried out joyfully at the sight of us. Carlotta looked at them all in surprise.

“Did you come to see the haunted house?” she asked. She looked at the stranger. “Who’s that?” she said.

I said: “Carlotta, we have been looking for you. You have been naughty again. You were supposed to be in your bed.”

She laughed. She was so enchanting when she smiled and I was overcome with such happiness to have her safe that I could only laugh with her.

“I wanted to see the haunted house,” she explained. “They went.” She pointed to Carl and Benjie. “They wouldn’t take me with them.”

“Well, we’ll get home now quickly,” said Leigh. “Do you realize that they are all worried about you? Sally will have something to say to you, I can tell you.”

Carlotta was momentarily sober.

“A happy conclusion to our search,” said the stranger.

“We are sorry to have intruded on you,” I replied. “And thank you for your help.”

“It was a very interesting encounter. I shall always remember the charming young lady who was asleep in the cupboard. If I take the house I shall call it Carlotta’s cupboard.”

“You must have the house!” cried Carlotta. “I want it to be called Carlotta’s cupboard. You will have it, won’t you?”

“Just to please you, I am sure that the gentleman will,” commented Leigh.

“My name is Frinton,” said the man. “Robert Frinton.”

I felt my senses swimming. Frinton! Jocelyn had been a Frinton. It was not an unusual name, and yet on the other hand it was not a common one.

“I am Leigh Main and this is my wife, her brother and my half brother. There are rather complicated relationships in our family. Come back with us and have a meal. That is, if you have time. We must hurry now because they are all anxious about this errant child.”

“What’s errant?” asked Carlotta.

“What you have been,” I replied fondly.

“Is it something nice?” she asked complacently.

Robert Frinton was saying how happy he would be to accept our invitation. He felt almost inclined to buy the house since it would mean that he would acquire such pleasant neighbours.

His horse was at the back of the house, which was why we had not seen it when we arrived, and soon we were all mounted, Carlotta riding with Leigh, and on our way back to Eversleigh.

There was great rejoicing when we arrived. Sally Nullens and Emily Philpots were waiting in the courtyard, and Sally pounced on Carlotta and demanded to know what she had been up to, the bad, wicked girl, giving us all the fright of our lives and going off like that.

Emily said: “And look at your gown. All dirty. And you’ve caught that lovely stitching. I shall never be able to get that right, you see.”

Harriet smiled on the child benignly; my mother was beaming with delight and my father was trying to look stern and failing completely, while Carlotta smiled at us and said: “He’s going to call the cupboard Carlotta’s cupboard. It’s after me … because I went to sleep in it.”

“People that goes off and worries the life out of everyone don’t get cupboards named after them,” pronounced Sally. I burst out laughing. It was rather wild laughter, I suppose, because Leigh put his arm about me and said, “We’re forgetting to make the introductions.” And he told Robert Frinton who everybody was and my mother said how delighted she would be if he stayed and ate with us, and she would love to hear what he thought of Enderby.

Carlotta was put to bed with a scolding from Sally and Emily. I went in to see her when I was ready for dinner. She was in bed by then. I think the walk to Enderby’s had tired her out, which was why she had promptly fallen asleep, after the manner of children.

She was none the worse for the adventure, but it struck me that she was growing up fast and we should have to be watchful of her. She was going to be wayward. I had always known that. I would talk to Sally about her the next day.

I kissed her and she smiled happily as I did so; she was half asleep but aware of me. I loved her so much and I wondered how I should feel when I had Leigh’s child, which I supposed I would in time.

I did not believe I could ever love any child as I loved this one.

Over dinner we learned that Robert Frinton was of the same family as Jocelyn.

“There was trouble in our family,” he told us. “A great tragedy it was. My brother and nephew were the victims of that archvillain, Titus Oates.”

“Ah, yes,” said my father, “I remember that well.”

“They confiscated much of his property. My brother was older than I and had the family estate. We lost it all. I have been compensated now but shall never go back to the old place. I was wondering about this Enderby Hall. It has possibilities.”

“It used to be a delightful place,” said my mother. “Once the garden has been cleared up and the house cleaned out, I think it should be all that it used to be in the past.”

“I think so, too,” said Robert Frinton. “I have a fancy for this part of the world.” He looked at us rather shyly. “It was a strange way that we met this afternoon, but the fact was I was hoping to call on you. I wanted to thank you for all you did for my nephew.”

He was looking at my father who said: “Don’t thank me. I knew nothing of it until it was over.”

I said: “It was Leigh, my husband, and my brother Edwin … and, of course, Lady Stevens who did so much. It could have worked. We could have saved him … but circumstances were against us.”

“I know. He was taken and murdered. Yes, it was murder and I will call it nothing else. That man Oates deserved the worst possible fate and so do all those who were afraid to stand up against him. What misery he caused while his brief reign of glory lasted. But I do want to thank you for what you did. It is something I shall never forget.”

Harriet put in: “He was such a charming young man. We all loved him. What we did for him was so little. If only we could have saved him!”

“My lady, you have earned my eternal gratitude.”

“Well, you must repay us all by taking Enderby Hall and becoming our good neighbour,” declared Harriet.

“I feel very much inclined to do so.”

“We will all drink a toast to that,” said my father. “Let the goblets be filled.”

So we drank, and in due course Jocelyn’s uncle bought Enderby Hall.

The next two years were, I think, some of the most momentous in English history and I never ceased to marvel at how quietly we lived through those events. Leigh was still in the army, serving under the Earl of Marlborough, whom my father had known in the days when, as John Churchill, he had been a rival of the King’s for Barbara Castlemaine’s favours. Leigh had a great admiration for him as a soldier and there could be no question, at this time, of his leaving the army.

It soon became obvious that trouble was inevitable, for the King was at variance with so many of his subjects.

The belief in the Divine Right of Kings which had brought his father to the scaffold was there in James, and my father said he could see disaster creeping nearer and nearer. He simply could not believe that he could be turned off the throne, although one would have thought that what had happened to his father would have been a lesson to him. Poor James! He lacked not only his brother’s wit and charm but his common sense.

There was a great deal of talk about the number of Catholics he was appointing to important posts, and when he issued the Declaration for Liberty of Conscience, this was seen as a scheme to establish Papal Supremacy in England.

It was discussed over meals. There would be Thomas Willerby, Gregory and my father all earnestly asking themselves and each other what the outcome would be. Robert Frinton sometimes joined them, and although he came of a Catholic family and would have welcomed freedom for all opinions, he could see that Catholicism would never be accepted in England, for the people had sternly set their faces against it since the reign of Bloody Mary. They still remembered the Smithfield fires when so many Protestants had been burned at the stake. It had happened more than a hundred years before, but the memory remained.

The King should have seen disaster approaching, but blithely he pursued the course, turning his face away from the will of the people; and when the seven bishops, who refused to accept the declaration, were arrested and taken to the Tower, there was a general murmuring throughout the country.

On the day of the trial my mother implored my father not to go to London, and to please her he desisted; but it was against his nature. He was born to fight and to fight recklessly. One would have thought his experiences in the Monmouth Rebellion would have taught him a lesson; but he was the sort of man who would never learn from that kind of experience. When he supported a cause, he did so wholeheartedly.

Everyone now knows the outcome of the trial, how the verdict was not guilty, and how those in court cheered until they were hoarse, how the people waited in the streets to welcome the seven bishops, how the whole of London was en fete.

Foolish James, he should have known; but so much did he believe in his right to the throne that he could not conceive that it could be taken away from him. The Queen had just given him a son, and the country must surely be delighted with a male heir, but a baby could not save him now.

I was getting anxious about Leigh at this point because there was so much talk about William of Orange and his wife Mary, and there were hints that they were to be invited to England to take the throne. It was three years since James had been crowned, and in that short time his actions had brought him to this state. There could not be a more unpopular man in the country than its King.

“The trouble with him is,” said my father, “that he is not content to be a Catholic—which the country might have accepted. He wants to be a Catholic reigning over a Catholic country. I know that certain ministers have been in touch with William.”

“As long as they don’t start fighting,” said my mother, “I don’t care what King we have.”

“Then you should care,” retorted my father. “James will try to turn us all Catholic … gentle persuasion at first and then … not so gentle. I know the methods. Englishmen will not endure it. James has had every opportunity to reign in peace, but he is obsessed not only by practising his religion but imposing it on the whole country.”

There came the day in the summer of 1688 when a party of men led by Lords Danby, Shrewsbury and Devonshire, and including the Bishop of London, sent an invitation to William inviting him to prepare to come to England. William arrived at Torbay, whither he had been driven by storms at sea, and his ship bore a flag on which were the words: “The Protestant Religion and the Liberties of England”; and beneath this was the motto of the House of Orange: “I will maintain.”

In the September of the year 1689 I gave birth to a daughter. I called her Damaris for no other reason than that I liked the name.

Edwin’s wife, Jane, had a child—a boy whom she called Carleton after my father. He took quite a fancy to the boy and was far more interested in him than in my Damaris.

Sally Nullens was in a fine state about the births because she did not like the thought of new nurses being brought in, although she was now with Carlotta at Eyot Abbas. She reckoned that young Carleton and Damaris were really her babies.

“And what’s to be?” she moaned. “I can’t split myself in two, can I?”

Harriet brought Carlotta over to stay when the babies were born so Sally took over the nursery—temporarily, as my mother said.

Emily Philpots was busy giving lessons to Carlotta and embroidering for the babies.

Harriet was greatly amused. She waylaid me in the garden one day and laughingly said: “I think this is the time to bring our little scheme into motion.”

“How?” I asked.

She put her hands on her hips and gave a good imitation of Sally. “‘I can’t split myself in two, can I?’ Sad, but true,” she went on. “Well, then since such division is impossible, and Sally can’t be in two places at once, all the children must be in one place.”

I laughed with her, my spirits soaring. “You mean Carlotta will come here?”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

“It’s an excellent idea.”

“Of course she will have to come visiting her supposed mamma quite frequently. Do you know, I should miss her if she didn’t.”

“Oh, Harriet, isn’t she the most adorable child you ever saw?”

“She is one of the most scheming, selfish little brats I ever saw. She is full of wiles, already aware of her attractions, which I admit are considerable. She has the art of attracting the opposite sex already at her fingertips. You see how she is throwing her web around Robert Frinton, who is becoming quite besotted … naming his cupboard after her! All this is going to her head.”

“But she is unusual. You must admit that, Harriet.”

“She will have to be guarded carefully; otherwise we shall have trouble there. She will mature early. You know, she is amazingly like me. Sometimes I think fate is having a little joke. She might be my daughter more easily than yours.”

“I suppose it is living so near you.”

“She lives nearer to Sally but I see no resemblance between them—thank God. But is this not a heaven-sent opportunity?”

“You mean she shall come over to our nurseries and be looked after by Sally who, with Emily, will move back to us?”

“A very sensible arrangement. Then, my dear Priscilla, you can glory in your offspring to your heart’s content.”

“Oh, Harriet, you are so good.”

“For heaven’s sake, child, you must be blind. I am only good when it is no trouble to be. I’m a little tired of the role of mother. I never thought I played it very well. Though I was very good as the expectant mother. But expectancy is always so interesting. It is the reality which can pall. I’ll speak to your mother about it. Then I’ll tell Sally. She will be filled with bliss. Greedy old thing! She wouldn’t give up one of her babies to some poor deserving nurse. Emily Philpots is such another.”

She kept her word and did speak to my mother.

My mother gravely came to me at once to tell me what had been arranged.

I said: “It is really an excellent idea. Sally will be delighted and so will Emily.”

“It saves having two nurseries where one will do. And I am sure Sally would have been unbearably critical about everything that happened in the nursery. You’re delighted, I can see. You can have your Carlotta under your eyes every day.”

I laughed. “She is an adorable child,” I said.

“Handsome, yes, but quite spoiled. She needs more discipline. I shall speak to Sally. You know, Sally is as bad as everyone else where that child is concerned.”

“Sally loves her.”

“Sally loves all babies. But I must say I think Harriet is rather an unnatural mother. She always was. When I think of her leaving Leigh as she did … when he was only a few months old …”

“Harriet is a good friend, though.”

My mother shrugged her shoulders. Although she agreed that it was a good, practical idea for the children all to be under one roof, she did not approve of Harriet’s action.

That was why that year was a happy one for me. What I had so desired had come about in a natural way. I had my new baby and my own Carlotta and I was with them every day. Leigh was away a good deal and I was anxious for him, but I had the comfort of my children and I was happier than I had been since Jocelyn’s death.

Then there was consternation in our household. My mother knew that if it came to war she would not be able to prevent my father’s sharing in it. One day he was missing and she found he had gone, leaving a note for her.

I found her seated in the window, the letter in her hand and a look of blank despair on her face.

“He’s gone,” she said. “I knew it was in his mind. I knew I kept him against his will.”

I took the letter from her and read:

My dearest,

I could not tell you. I knew you would unnerve me. You would have made me stay. I cannot. I must go. So much is at stake. Our future depends on it … the future of our grandchildren. Understand, dear Bella, I must go. You will be in my thoughts every minute. God bless you.

Carleton

She murmured: “It is like an evil pattern. Oh, God, if he should be taken again … as he was before …”

“Perhaps this will be over soon. They say the King hasn’t a chance.”

“He defeated Monmouth.”

“It was before he had shown that he was not a good King.”

Then a terrible thought struck me. Leigh would be involved in this. He was in the King’s army. My father would be on a different side from my husband. I knew that Leigh had no great respect for the King, but he was in the King’s service and a soldier’s first duty was loyalty.

I could not bear to think of what might be the outcome.

As for my mother, I was afraid she was going to be ill again as she had been in Dorchester.

The coming of William of Orange had set James attempting to rally men to his cause. There would be war, and the people remembered that other war of not so very long ago. The last thing they wanted was civil war—Englishmen fighting Englishmen. There was little glory to be gained and a great deal of sorrow. “No war!” declared the people.

I rejoiced when I heard that the Duke of Marlborough had deserted the King and gone over to William. That meant that Leigh and my father would not be on opposing sides. Everybody was deserting the King. I could feel sorry for him, although I knew he had brought this on himself by his obstinacy and foolishness. His daughter was the wife of the man he would call the usurper; his second daughter, Anne, with her husband, the Prince of Denmark, had turned against her father and was supporting her sister and brother-in-law.

That must have been a bitter blow for James. He would know then that the day was lost.

As disaster and defeat descended upon him, our spirits rose. It looked as though the war was over. James had fled to Ireland, where the Irish rallied to him because of religious sympathies. But William was a brilliant general, and James had little chance against him.

Both Leigh and Edwin fought in the Battle of the Boyne, which was decisive.

The war was over. The revolution was successful. Few kings had been turned from their thrones with such ease.

We had now moved into a new era. James was deposed and in exile. William and Mary reigned in England.