Voices in a Haunted Room

Meeting in a Coffee House

CHRISTMAS CAME AND WENT. There were the usual feasting and games. Our neighbours came in as they had done the previous year and that included Mrs. Trent with her grand-daughters. The Farringdons were our guests and of course the Pettigrews. Lady Pettigrew said that we should have spent Christmas with them this year, but the babies made travelling difficult and so it was easier to celebrate the festive season at Eversleigh.

The marriage of Jonathan and Millicent was to take place in June and we must travel there then, said my mother, for the babies would be older, and that would simplify matters.

It was hard to believe that it was a year ago that I had been in the midst of my affaire with Jonathan. It was last Boxing Day when I had ended it abruptly and almost immediately afterwards discovered that I was going to have a child.

Harry Farringdon had still not declared himself; and I asked my mother if she thought he ever would.

“The courtship—if courtship it is—does seem to drag on. I would say that Evie is in love. One can tell that sometimes.”

“And Harry?”

“Well, he does seem to delight in her company.”

“Do you think the delay is due to his parents?”

“Or her grandmother.”

“A man does not marry his wife’s relations surely.”

“No. But they might give him cause for thought. I imagine Harry is a cautious young man.”

“Well, I think he should make up his mind soon.”

“You give them every opportunity, I must say. You’ve become a matchmaker, Claudine. At least where those two are concerned.”

I did not tell her why. I was not sure whether it would have disturbed her or not. But I had a strong conviction that I should help Evie all I could, and there was no doubt that marriage into the Farringdon family would be very desirable for her.

Jonathan went back to London. There was great consternation over the war, which seemed to be resulting in successes for the French throughout Europe. Dickon was in London with Jonathan and now that my mother had a baby she did not accompany him as frequently as she had once.

There had been more causes for alarm in January when Utrecht, Rotterdam and Dort fell into the hands of the French, and the Stadtholder and his family made their escape to England, arriving in an open boat. It was a wonder they survived, for the weather had turned bitterly cold and everything was frozen up.

Throughout the house great fires burned but even so the wind seemed to whistle through the windows and there were draughts everywhere.

The men seemed greatly concerned about the French victories which, according to Jonathan, were due to the genius of one man—a Corsican adventurer by the name of Napoleon Bonaparte. It had been hoped that with the fall of Robespierre there would be an end to these successes, for Bonaparte was a well-known supporter of the tyrant; but by some clever manoeuvring he managed to extricate himself from the slaughter when so many suffered the same fate as their friend and master. So Napoleon Bonaparte continued with the army.

“Even the bloodthirsty mob have the sense to realize what he is doing for his country,” commented Jonathan.

We talked often of Charlot and Louis Charles, who might well be involved in these successful campaigns. But we had no news of them.

My mother used to say: “Charlot is well. Something tells me that. If only he could get a message to us! But how could he with his country at war with the whole of Europe.”

When Dickon and Jonathan were with us the talk was all of war and political matters. Prussia was asking for a loan and endlessly they discussed the rights and wrongs of this.

And all the time we shivered, until February came bringing with it the melting snows, and then it rained so heavily that there was the problem of flooding in many parts of the country.

Then Tuscany made peace with France.

Dickon said: “I can see others doing the same.”

David’s point was that the revolution was over now and the Republic had to be accepted. He said: “At least we shall settle down to peace. The French have chosen the government they want. There is nothing to be done but leave them to it.”

Dickon replied: “They have gone to a great deal of trouble, much blood has been shed, and now they are learning that it need never have happened. They have exchanged one set of rulers for another every bit as harsh.”

“The Monarchy would never have abdicated,” said Jonathan. “The people wanted to be rid of them and they saw that the only way of doing so was through the guillotine.”

When the Swedes acknowledged the French it seemed obvious the way things were going.

“If this continues,” said Dickon, “we shall be left alone fighting the French.”

He and Jonathan went up to London, and this was one of the occasions when my mother did not go with him.

It was a cool March day. There were still signs of the heavy flooding and some of the fields were under water. I had been out with David during the morning and we had ridden round the estate. I enjoyed these morning rides, meeting the tenants, chatting with them, stopping to taste their wine.

David never hesitated to discuss their ideas with them, which made an ideal relationship between landowner and the people who lived on his estate. Jonathan would never have had the same patience, the good will, the unselfishness, the ability to see a matter from someone else’s point of view. They had chosen their careers wisely—or perhaps their father had selected them for them—for Jonathan was suited to the worldly life of London society and all those secret matters of which even my mother could not guess.

On that afternoon I was in the sewing room with my mother and Molly Blackett going through materials and discussing clothes for the babies when one of the servants came in and said: “There is a lady and gentleman downstairs, Madam. Friends of the master, they say. I’ve taken them to the hall and they are waiting there.”

“I’ll come down,” said my mother.

I went with her. Standing in the hall was a rather tall fair-haired man of about forty, and the lady with him appeared to be a few years younger.

When he saw my mother the man came towards her, holding out his hands.

“My dear Mrs. Frenshaw. I would have known you from Dickon’s description. How are you? I am James Cardew and this is my wife, Emma. I wonder if he has ever mentioned me to you.”

“No,” said my mother, “I don’t think he has.”

“I come from the North. Dickon has always said I must call and see him at Eversleigh if ever I was in the neighbourhood, and he would be most offended if I did not. I wonder if he is at home?”

“No, I’m afraid not. He is in London.”

The man raised his eyebrows in exasperation. “What bad luck! Of all the times he has insisted I call. And now I find that he is away.”

“He may be back tomorrow,” said my mother. “But let me introduce you to my daughter.”

He had taken my hand and was looking at me intently. “This is another Mrs. Frenshaw. Claudine, is it?”

I laughed. “You seem to know a good deal about us.”

“Dickon has talked of you. This is my wife, Emma.”

She was attractive, with dark lively eyes.

My mother said: “Well, it is a great pity that my husband is not at home. You will need some refreshment. Do come into our little winter parlour and I will have something brought to us. Have you eaten yet?”

“We had a meal some miles back,” said James Cardew. “A little wine would be welcome… to slake the thirst.”

“Come along then. Claudine, will you ask them to send something to the winter parlour,” said my mother.

I went away to do her bidding and then returned to the visitors. They were sitting down and saying what a wonderful old house Eversleigh was. They felt they knew it well, Dickon had talked so much about it.

“Have you seen him recently?” asked my mother.

“Well, it must have been a year ago. I happened to be in London for a brief spell.”

“I expect I was with him,” said my mother. “I usually am, but not so much now since my baby was born.”

“Unfortunately we didn’t meet then. Tell me, is Dickon well?”

“Very well, thank you.”

“Have you ever known Dickon otherwise?”

“He does enjoy good health.”

“He is the most vital man I have ever known,” said James Cardew.

My mother looked pleased, and as the wine arrived then, she poured it out for our guests.

“Delicious,” said Emma Cardew. “I must admit to being thirsty. It is thirsty travelling.”

“Did you say Dickon will be back tomorrow?” asked her husband.

“We can never be certain,” said my mother. “But I do expect him. Something may turn up to keep him though.”

“Yes, yes. We live in strange times. You are well aware of that if anyone is, Mrs. Frenshaw.”

“I see Dickon has been talking freely about us.”

“He is a very brave man, Mrs. Frenshaw.”

“Amen to that,” said my mother fervently.

“I was delighted to hear about the babies,” put in Emma.

“Oh, you are very up-to-date with our news.”

“As a matter of fact,” explained Emma, “I was talking to someone at the inn. It is amazing how much people know about their neighbours. And don’t they love to pass on information! We mentioned we were looking for Eversleigh, and the babies were mentioned. Two of them in fact. That seemed something to talk about. Oh dear, I do hope we are not going to miss Dickon.”

“Are you staying at the inn?”

“As a matter of fact we did ask, but they hadn’t a room for us.”

“Had they not? At this time of the year!”

“Well, they had something to offer. Emma declined it.”

“I’m a bit particular,” explained Emma. “It was more or less a cup board that they offered us.”

“I know the accommodation is not very good,” said my mother, “but there is not very much about here.”

“Never mind. We’ll go on to the next town. Our horses are in your stables. Your grooms dashed out and took them. I daresay they’ll feed and water them. Poor things, they have travelled fairly far.”

“You must stay for dinner,” said my mother.

“Oh, no, no. Not if Dickon isn’t here.”

“He would want you to.”

“I think,” said Emma slowly, “we ought to be making our way. We have to find somewhere to sleep for the night.”

My mother said warmly: “Of course we can give you a bed.”

Emma and James spoke simultaneously. “Oh, what a relief!” said Emma.

“We couldn’t possibly encroach on your hospitality,” said James.

“Nonsense,” replied my mother. “We have plenty of room. There is no one staying here at the moment. Dickon would be put out if we let you go. Besides, he will probably be back tomorrow. You can catch him if you don’t leave too early.”

They were beaming their satisfaction.

“Will you go and see about it right away, Claudine?” asked my mother.

I said I would and went to the servants’ hall, where I told them that we had visitors and that a room was to be prepared.

“The bed is made up in the red room, Mrs. Frenshaw,” said one of the maids. “I’ll light a fire and put the warming pan in the bed. That’s all that will be needed.”

I went to the nursery to look at the babies. They were fast asleep in their cots, which stood side by side. I had a word with the nurse, who told me that Jessica had had a little tantrum earlier, but that Amaryllis had been as good as gold.

“Such a contented baby, Mrs. Frenshaw. Madam Jessica is of a fiery nature.”

“Can you tell so soon?” I asked.

“Oh yes, indeed you can. They start to show their natures almost as soon as they are born.”

I stooped and kissed the little faces—Amaryllis pink and white, Jessica dark-haired. Her eyes were fast shut but they were deep blue like my mother’s.

I felt contented as I always did when all was well in the nursery, and I told the servants in the kitchen to lay two more places for dinner.

They were entertaining company, James and Emma Cardew. They talked knowledgeably about affairs, the state of the country and what was happening across the water. But my mother soon changed the subject—of which we had far too much when Dickon and Jonathan were home—and turned the talk to more domestic matters. Emma told us about her children; she had two, a boy and a girl, and their ages were fourteen and sixteen. The son would take care of their estate in Yorkshire when he was old enough; at the moment they had an excellent manager. James and Emma paid visits to London occasionally when they made arrangements for the sale of their wool.

David was interested and asked a good many questions and so the evening passed pleasantly.

“Meeting new people is always stimulating,” said my mother when we had taken our guests to the red room, which looked cosy with its red velvet curtains drawn to shut out the weather, and a fire blazing in the grate.

In our bedroom David and I talked about the guests.

“I gather their money comes mostly from sheep,” he said. “They would be big farmers, I imagine.”

“They seemed to know a great deal about us,” I commented. “I wonder if they keep a dossier of all their friends.”

“They seemed the kind who would be interested in people.”

“I’m surprised that your father talked so much about us all. It is the last thing I would have expected him to do.”

“Oh, he has changed a lot since he married your mother. But I do agree, it would be unlike him to talk a lot about the family. I hope he gets back tomorrow.”

“They’ll be disappointed if he doesn’t.”

David was thoughtful for a moment; then he said: “I hear that the war is going to be over soon.”

“Do you think the French are going to beat the allies?”

“What with Tuscany making peace and Sweden acknowledging the Republic, I hope we are not going to be left fighting on our own. I think it must end soon, and when it does, Claudine, you and I will have that promised honeymoon. Italy! I long to see Herculaneum.” He put his arm about me. “In the meantime, my dearest, you will have to put up with an extended honeymoon, here in Eversleigh.”

“Honeymoons are to start married life with. We are no longer beginners.”

“I love you more than I ever did.”

He held me close to him and it was all I could do to stop myself crying out: “I don’t deserve it.” I felt I should never rid myself of this burden of guilt as long as I lived.

And later, when there should have been perfect intimacy between us, I kept thinking of a gondolier singing Italian love songs, and as we floated down the canal my company was not David but Jonathan.

In the morning, as I passed through the hall, I noticed that the silver punch bowl, which always stood in the centre of the big table, was not there.

David and I went to the dining room.-My mother was already seated.

She said: “Oh hello, my dears. Our guests are not up. They must have been tired out. Travelling can be so exhausting!”

“They didn’t seem exhausted last night,” commented David.

“What’s happened to the punch bowl?” I asked.

“Oh, you noticed too. I expect they’ve taken it to the kitchen to clean it.”

While we were eating one of the servants came in.

“Something awful’s happened, M’am,” she said. “I think we’ve been broken into.”

“What?” cried my mother.

“Cook has noticed there’s things missing from the hall. Silver and things…”

“The punch bowl!” I cried.

We went into the hall. Several of the servants were there.

“It must have been vagrants,” said my mother. “How could they have got in? Who locked up?”

“The doors were all locked last night,” said the butler quickly. “I always see to that myself. And this morning the doors were shut but unbolted. I couldn’t understand it.”

“Extraordinary!” said my mother. “What could have happened? Did anyone hear anything in the night?”

Nobody had.

“We’d better look round quickly and see what has been taken.”

On the floor leading from the hall were one or two rooms including the winter parlour and Dickon’s study. The winter parlour seemed to have been untouched. This was not the case with Dickon’s study. The door of the cupboard had been forced open and papers were scattered on the floor. One of the drawers of his desk had been broken open.

“This is terrible,” said my mother.

At that moment a maid appeared. She said: “Madam, I took hot water up to the red room. There was no answer so I knocked again and when there was still no answer I went in. There was no one there and the bed hasn’t been slept in.”

We were all aghast and hurried up to the red room. The maid was right. The bed was untouched. It was instantly clear that the people whom we had entertained last night were not Dickon’s friends, but had come here expressly to rob us.

My mother was filled with trepidation. She had welcomed them and had entertained them; and all the time she had been harbouring thieves.

We went round the house to try to discover what had been taken. Dickon’s study seemed to have been the main object of their interest. That was what was so alarming, for there was not much of value there. It was true they had taken silver, but why overturn Dickon’s office?

The people calling themselves James and Emma Cardew were clearly no ordinary thieves.

It was no use trying to send someone after them. They would be well away by now, and who could say what direction they had taken?

We were helpless and stupidly gullible to have been so deceived.

“But they seemed so genuine,” my mother kept saying. “They knew so much about us. They must have known Dickon was not home. To think of them prowling about down here while we were all in our beds! It makes your flesh creep. And what were they looking for in Dickon’s study? Did they find it? Oh, I wish he’d come home.”

He returned in the early afternoon.

When he heard what had happened he turned white with anger. He immediately went to his study. Jonathan was with him. In a short time we knew that something very important had been taken. Dickon said little but there was a flush in his face and a glint in his eyes which told me that he was very disturbed.

“What were they like?” demanded Jonathan.

We described them as best we could.

“It didn’t occur to us…” cried my mother. “We didn’t realize that they could be criminals. They knew so much about the family. I naturally thought that they were friends.”

“They had their informants,” said Jonathan. “And they knew that we should be away.”

“They couldn’t have pulled it off otherwise,” added Dickon. “My God, how far has this gone? They knew what was in my study. I’ll have to go back to London at once. We have to follow this up. Lottie, you will have to come with me. It may be that someone will know who they could be.”

“I’ll get ready at once,” said my mother. “Oh, Dickon, I’m sorry, but we have all been taken in.”

“Of course you would be. They would be clever enough and well informed enough to deceive anyone.”

“They took some silver too.”

“Oh, that was to make it seem like an ordinary robbery. It was what was in my study that they came to get. It is better that the servants should think that was the case. We don’t want them to talk.”

My mother nodded.

“I shall want to leave in an hour,” said Dickon.

He with Jonathan and my mother left for London. The servants could talk of nothing for days but the effrontery of the people who had called themselves Cardew.

To us who knew that there was some ulterior motive for the robbery, the incident seemed very sinister. I wondered more than ever about Dickon’s and Jonathan’s affairs. It had been clear to me for a long time that they were not merely bankers; they were engaged in some secret diplomatic work and of course in such times as ours such work must become increasingly important.

They did live dangerously. Both Dickon and Jonathan were men who knew how to take care of themselves, but I guessed that the work they did made them ruthless, and of course, those who worked against them would be equally so.

I hoped Dickon would not run into danger. I trembled to think of what my mother would do if anything happened to him.

And Jonathan? I tried not to think of him; but he did intrude often into my thoughts.

For a few weeks no subject was discussed in the servants’ quarters but the audacious burglary at Eversleigh, and it was talked of with equal interest in the neighbourhood I was sure.

Dickon, back at Eversleigh, had decreed that there should be no mention of important papers having been taken and that the impression should be given that it was only valuable silver which had been stolen.

“I believe there is an old proverb which says that it is too late to shut the stable door after the horse has been stolen,” I said.

“Quite right,” answered my mother. “But I intend that no more horses shall be stolen.”

“Is Dickon still very upset?”

“Yes, indeed he is. I do wish he were not so involved. These people are dangerous, capable of anything. It worries me… but this is Dickon’s life. He always has taken risks, and I suppose he always will. Jonathan is the same. I am so glad you chose David. I married two adventurers.”

“And you were happy.”

“My first husband went to America to fight and died there. I worry a lot about Dickon. But it was worth it. I wouldn’t have him otherwise.”

But in due course the burglary became a nine-days’ wonder and the excitement shifted to Jonathan’s and Millicent’s wedding.

Another wedding was to take place in April—that of the Prince of Wales to the Princess Caroline of Brunswick.

“I thought he was married to Maria Fitzherbert,” I said.

“So he was,” replied David, “but the marriage was not considered legal.”

“Do you remember we saw them once at the theatre? I thought they looked so handsome and so fond of each other.”

“Times change, Claudine.”

“And they are no longer in love.”

“They say he greatly resents having to marry Princess Caroline, and would not if he could avoid it.”

“Poor kings, poor princes.”

“How lucky we are!” said David. “We should always remember that, Claudine. We should never let anything spoil what we have.”

“We must not… ever,” I said fervently.

There were to be celebrations for the royal wedding and my mother suggested that we go to London to join in them.

“We could do our shopping during the visit. We shall both need new gowns for Jonathan’s wedding.”

I said that would be wonderful and we could feel quite safe leaving the babies in the charge of Grace Soper, who was proving herself to be an excellent nurse.

“Fashions have changed so much in the last years,” went on my mother. “Everything seems to be so much simpler. I suppose it is something to do with France, as the fashions have always started there. This new simplicity has grown out of the revolution. I’m glad we’re rid of those hooped petticoats. They were so restricting. I rather like those high-waisted gowns, don’t you?”

I said yes, but did she think Molly Blackett could do them justice?

“Molly’s a good dressmaker. She’ll try. I don’t think she likes the new simplicity though. It makes much less work for her, I suppose, and it is not so easy to hide the little flaws. I thought if we got the material now there would be plenty of time for her to make them up before the wedding. We shall need some lace for fichus and perhaps shawls. The low-cut shoulders can be a little chilly. So you see, we shall have plenty of shopping to do…”

“I’ll look forward to it,” I said.

“We’ll go in good time. The royal wedding is on the eighth. If we arrived on the fifth we could get the shopping done first. I doubt the shops will be open on that day. Shall we try that?”

I said it would be excellent and as Jonathan and Dickon agreed to the dates, the four of us set out in the carriage. David said he would take the opportunity of going over to the Clavering estate—another of Dickon’s properties—as it was some time since he had been and another visit was due.

I always enjoyed London. I felt excitement grip me as I drove through those crowded streets. There were people everywhere bent on their own business, dashing around as though they were in a mighty hurry. I watched them all with pleasure—the hawkers, the ballad singers, the lavender women, the apple women, the watercress sellers—they were all there. I used to listen to their cries and was delighted to discover new ones like that of the lady with her paper of pins who stood on a corner singing in a high cracked voice:

Three rows a penny pins,

Short whites and middlings.

There was the Flying Pieman who ran from Covent Garden to Fleet Street between noon and four o’clock crying:

Who’s for a mutton or a Christmas pie

Buy, buy, buy

A piece for a penny,

while people stopped him for a piece of his meat pies or baked plum pudding.

Won’t you buy my sweet blooming lavender,

Sixteen branches one penny,

sang the lavender woman.

“Fine fritters, hot fine fritters,” cried out the woman who was frying batter on a tripod over a fire set on bricks.

I loved to hear the bell of the muffin man as he wandered through the streets, performing an admirable balancing feat as he carried his basket on his head.

Every time I came to London I tried to discover a new trader and I invariably did.

I enjoyed watching the carriages trundling through the streets—hackney coaches and private carriages, the phaetons, barouches, calashes—and of course the highly polished mail coaches the colour of claret, drawn by four splendid-looking horses driven by the coachman in his box coat fastened by enormous buttons of mother-of-pearl, in his big-brimmed hat looking very powerful and able to deal with any hazard of the road.

And the shops! How I revelled in the shops! We were treated with such respect, and chairs were found for us that we might rest while we studied the bales of material which were brought for our inspection.

Then there were the theatres. The opera houses in the Haymarket and Drury Lane and Covent Garden as well as the pleasure gardens, which were all a delight.

We saw little of Dickon and Jonathan. They were always on business somewhere. I wondered a great deal about Jonathan’s life here for it was true that he spent more time in London than anywhere—as I believe Dickon had done before his marriage. What a different life it would have been for me if I had married him, I thought a little wistfully.

But I should never have been sure of him. Jonathan could never be faithful to one woman. I doubted Dickon could in his youth; but Dickon and my mother were now truly lovers, as the Comte, my grandfather, had been with my grandmother. It needed real love to change men like that. Dickon had, strangely enough, found that love, as my grandfather had, and as I knew many people had marvelled in the change in the Comte, so they now did in Dickon. I guessed it must be something very rare. And I thought sadly that Jonathan had not yet reached that stage.

I was ungrateful to wish for anything different from what we had. I had the best of husbands, an adorable child. What more could one ask for?

It was the excitement of the big city and all the pleasures that were to be found in it that made me thoughtful. But were the pleasures important compared with peace and contentment and the knowledge that one could trust completely in a husband’s love?

One would not want to visit the theatre every night, to wander through the pleasure gardens, to visit the shops every day. These things were exciting because they were rare. Familiarity bred contempt. That could be true. I must learn to accept what I had, to realize its worth and be grateful for it.

My mother and I spent a great deal of time choosing our materials. Silk was very expensive since it had become scarce, for much of it had come from France in the past and of course that industry had halted when the people began murdering each other. The same applied to lace. No other people seemed to make these materials with the elegance of the French, so it took us a little longer to find what we wanted.

We went to the theatre in the Haymarket and heard Handel’s Acis and Galatea, which was an uplifting experience; and then for contrast next day we went to Mrs. Salmon’s Waxworks, close by the Temple. We were very amused by the effigies outside the door of an old match seller on crutches, carrying a basket of matches, and beside her a beefeater in the most splendid costume. They were so lifelike that people came up to peer at them and make sure that they were not real. How we laughed and marvelled at the figures! There were the King and Queen Charlotte with the Prince of Wales, side by side with Dr. Johnson and John Wilkes and other notable figures—all startlingly lifelike. I loved the next room, which was a pastoral scene with shepherds courting shepherdesses. In another room was a model of a ship in a sea of glass. So we felt we had good value for our sixpence entrance fee and bought some marbles and Punch-and-Judy figures from the shop which was part of the establishment.

“The children will love them in a few years’ time,” said my mother.

She and Dickon were to attend the royal wedding, for Dickon was influential in high places and of course my mother must accompany him. I was looking forward to hearing an account of the wedding first hand. We had already seen the wedding cake going into Buckingham House, and it was so enormous that it had to be carried in a coach. The people had cheered it as it went along its route.

The Queen was to hold what was called “a drawing room” and Dickon and my mother would attend this after witnessing the ceremony in the Chapel Royal at St. James’s.

I had told my mother that I was a little envious.

“Oh, these ceremonies!” she replied. “Everybody wants to have been asked to them but nobody really wants to go. While I am standing there making sure that my behaviour is exactly as it should be in the royal presence I’ll think of you and Jonathan relaxing at peace and enjoying the day.”

It was my mother who had suggested that Jonathan should look after me while she and Dickon were at the palace. “You’ll want to see something of what’s going on, I daresay,” she said. “And I wouldn’t want you on the streets alone.”

“I’ll take good care of her, Step-mama,” said Jonathan.

“All the rogues and vagabonds will be out today,” added Dickon. “I’ll swear the beggars and pickpockets come in from fifty miles away. They’re looking for good pickings. You’ll have to take care.”

“Trust me,” said Jonathan.

I told myself that I was thrust into this situation. It was no fault of mine that I was to spend the day with Jonathan. How could I possibly have refused to be with him? It was no use pretending that I was not exhilarated by the prospect and I warned myself that I should have to be careful.

I took pleasure in watching my mother while she dressed in her court clothes. She had always been outstandingly beautiful and in all her splendour she was very lovely indeed. No one would have guessed that she was the mother of a son old enough to be a soldier—and fighting with the French at that.

I watched them leave in the carriage.

Her last words to me were: “When you go out, keep close to Jonathan. You’ll be safe with him.”

If only she knew!

Jonathan gleefully told me that he had plans for the day and that he intended to make up to me for not being included in the royal invitation.

“You must be disappointed,” I said. “I was under the impression that you would be honoured.”

“Places are limited, and one for father and son would be asking too much. It is an omission which, in the circumstances, gives me untold pleasure. I intend to enjoy every moment of this glorious day. We shall start on our horses.”

“Jonathan,” I began earnestly, “I want you to understand I will not have…”

He interrupted me. “I assure you I shall behave impeccably. I can on occasion, you know. I have decided to dedicate today to proving to you that I am not such a bad fellow after all. I shall respect your wishes in every way. There! Does that satisfy you?”

“If I could believe you…”

“You can. On my honour.”

“I was not aware that you were overburdened with such a quality.”

“Then that is something else I have to prove to you. Let us go soon. The streets will be impossible as the day wears on. Get into your riding habit at once and we’ll leave.”

“Jonathan,” I began uncertainly.

“I swear to you nothing shall be done against your wishes.”

“I did not seek this.”

“It was thrust upon you. There. I understand everything. Go on… change. This is going to be a day to remember.”

As we rode out into the streets the bells were ringing and the guns were booming from the park and the Tower. Carriages were making their way to St. James’s and people were shouting loyal slogans.

“Nothing like a royal wedding to bring out the patriotism,” said Jonathan.

“Who would believe now that people in this country—serious politicians—such a short time ago feared we should follow the example of the French.”

“They still fear,” said Jonathan. “Don’t be deceived by the flagwaving and the loyal shouts.”

We turned into Hyde Park and rode along by the Serpentine.

“Is it true,” I asked, “that the Prince is going into this marriage reluctantly?”

“I’m sorry for him. She appears to be rather an unattractive creature.”

“I feel sorry for her.”

“You support your own sex, of course.”

“Naturally when the man is said to flaunt his mistress before his bride, and, by the way, has already gone through a form of marriage with a good and virtuous lady.”

“Life can be cruel,” sighed Jonathan. “I thought we’d get out of London. Let’s get down to the river. I know of an inn where we can get a good meal, and as many people will be coming into the city for the wedding, it will not be too crowded.”

We rode down to the river and beside it for some distance.

It was true that the farther we rode, the more peaceful it became.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked.

“To the Dog and Whistle. It’s an old inn I know. They serve the most excellent roast beef.”

“I shall not want to be too late in returning.”

“Have I not told you that you may trust me to deliver you safely and in perfect order to your dear mama? Don’t forget, I am proving myself… winning my spurs, I think they call it. I expect to emerge from this day with a shining halo. You are going to say: I misjudged him. He is not the villain I thought him.”

“I think I shall wait until the end of the day before passing judgment.”

I thought how handsome he was with his fair hair and those deep blue eyes. I was glad that wigs were out of fashion. One scarcely ever saw them now. They had gone with powder—another fashion eliminated by the revolution. My mother said that men were becoming careless of their dress, led by people like Charles James Fox. Dickon explained that they did it to show their sympathy for the revolution, while Pitt and the Tories refused to comply with the new ways and wore splendid scarlet waistcoats to show their loyalty to the monarchy.

It was a beautifully warm April—one of the loveliest months of the year with the birds in full song and the trees in bud, and I could not help feeling happy on that morning. For one day I was going to forget my past sins; I was going to take my mind off my guilt; I was going to be completely happy… just for today.

“April showers bring forth May flowers,” I quoted irrelevantly.

“Pray that the showers will keep off until we reach the Dog and Whistle.”

It came into view, standing apart from the few houses which formed the hamlet. The sign swayed gently in the light breeze. The dog was brown and the whistle a bright red.

“Follow me,” said Jonathan. “We’ll take our horses round to the stables. They’ll look after them while we eat.”

We went into the inn parlour. It was a charming room, oak-panelled, and brasses gleamed on the walls while a fire burned in the grate.

The host came out rubbing his hands together.

“Well, sir, this is a nice surprise… to see you here today of all days.”

“Shall we say, Thomas, we are escaping. This is my brother’s wife.”

“Good day, my lady. Welcome to the Dog and Whistle.”

“Thank you,” I replied. “I am told it is a most excellent hostelry.”

He bowed in acknowledgement of the compliment and turning to Jonathan said: “And your noble father is, of course, with the royal party?”

Jonathan said this was so. “I trust your good lady is well,” he added.

“Oh, Matty will be here in a trice when she hears what company we’ve got. She’s got nothing cooking till tonight, sir. There’s only the cold lamb and roast beef.”

“Put Matty out of her misery at once, Thomas. It’s the cold roast beef we’ve come for.”

“That’s a mighty relief. I’ll just call her.” He went to the door and shouted: “Matty! Matty! Guess who’s here.”

There was a patter of feet and a plump woman arrived, a mobcap on her thick dark hair and a white apron over her blue cotton dress.

Jonathan went to her and picking her up swung her round.

“Oh sir,” she said, dimpling, “you will have your ways, won’t you? And you here with a young lady… and no warning so that I can cook something special for you!”

“Then I shall send you to the Tower and insist that you are hanged, drawn and quartered.”

“Oh sir, don’t say such things even in a jest.”

“All right, Matty. I’ll be good, as it is a special day. We want some of your famous roast beef, of which Thomas assures me there is a goodly supply.”

“Give me fifteen minutes, sir, and you’ll be surprised.”

“Fifteen minutes, it shall be.”

“And what shall it be for now… some ale… or would you like wine?”

“I’ve got something very special in the cellars,” said Thomas with a wink.

Jonathan returned the wink. “We’ll trust you, Thomas, and if it doesn’t come up to expectations you shall go along with Matty to your judgement. Oh, I forgot… I’m on my best behaviour today.”

He put Matty down. She was flushed and looking at him with something like adoration. Was this always the effect he had on women? I thought of Millicent and myself.

Matty curtsied and said she would be off. She’d so much to do and she had to do what was right for such a lady and gentleman.

Thomas brought in the wine and poured it into goblets with such reverence that it might have been the nectar of the gods.

Jonathan sipped it and raised his eyes ecstatically to the ceiling while Thomas beamed.

They seemed really fond of him, those two. Or perhaps this was the way they welcomed all their visitors to the Dog and Whistle, I thought cynically, but I did not really believe that.

“There’ll be crowds in the City, I reckon,” said Thomas, gazing at the wine and then back at us, and it was hard to detect which he admired most.

“All are celebrating the wedding with glee—except the bridegroom, it appears,” said Jonathan.

“They say he compares his bride with Mrs. Fitzherbert.”

“And,” added Jonathan, “the comparison is not very favourable to the Princess.”

“But there’s that Lady Jersey, sir, his latest. If you ask me, His Royal Highness doesn’t know what he wants.”

Jonathan smiled at me. “He’s like a great many more of us, I fear,” he said.

“There you are, sir. I’ll just go to the kitchen to give Matty a hand. She’ll be ready as soon as she can.”

“Tell her not to hurry. We’re happy here.”

The door shut on us.

“What luck to have the room to ourselves. Usually it’s crowded. See how wise I was to come here.”

“They seem very pleasant… the host and hostess.”

“They’re a good hardworking couple.”

“And you come here often?”

“Frequently. They know me well. But I must assure you that I am on excellent terms with many keepers of inns and taverns.”

“Ah,” I said. “It is this secret work…”

“You are very interested to know more about that, are you not, little Claudine?”

“I am interested in everyone.”

“Well, you are right. People frequent taverns. They are inclined to drink too much. They talk. Do you understand?”

“I see. You are a very mysterious man.”

“That’s what makes me so attractive.”

“To people like Matty, for whom you know how to mingle the right brand of condescension and flirtation.”

“Oh, did you like the mixture?”

“I saw the point of it, of course.”

“Matty liked it.”

“I’m sure she did. The grand gentleman… the one who spends money in her husband’s inn. Of course she liked it.”

“You have to admit it was a slightly different approach.”

“Absolutely. But you did promise to forget all that, to behave in a manner which would be acceptable in any company.”

“I don’t remember the exact words, but I have promised to show you a new Jonathan, the man of honour.”

“I think you are going to find it rather hard to convince me.”

“Nevertheless, before this day is out you are going to change your opinion of me. I know you are very fond of me… in a special way. It is just that I offend certain codes which you have been brought up to observe. Believe me, it is merely a matter of how one interprets the rules.”

“Surely there must be only one interpretation of right and wrong.”

“That is the superficial view, dear Claudine. There are shades of right and shades of wrong, and it depends entirely on the angle from which you study these matters.”

“You have a talent for talking round a subject, trying to hypnotise your listeners so that after a while they begin to wonder whether black is really black and white white.”

“Is that so? Then it is yet another of my talents. Isn’t this fun… you and I here together, talking, actually talking! For so long you would scarcely speak to me.”

“We said we would not refer to that time.”

“It is you who insist on veering towards it.”

“Tell me then, how often do you come out here… in the course of your duty?”

He considered. “Once a month, shall we say?”

“And the obliging Matty and Thomas keep a check on their customers. They listen to their conversations and report what they think might be of interest.”

“Now we are getting into deep waters.”

“Secret matters. I wish I knew what you were involved in.”

“Do you worry about me?”

“I try not to think of you.”

“That is rather unkind.”

“It’s very wise really.”

He looked at me steadily, his eyes a burning blue. “I understand. In your view it would be unwise to think of me.”

“I want to forget,” I said. “And why are we talking like this?”

“You have brought us back to it again. It must be very much in your mind.”

I stood up and walked round the room, examining the brasses.

“Thomas has some very fine stables,” he said. “This is a typical coaching inn. I’ll show you round after we’ve eaten.”

There were some old hunting prints on the walls; he walked round explaining what they represented and while he was doing this Matty came in with the soup.

“There,” she said, “that will warm you before you get down to the cold. I’ve always got a cauldron of soup. People ask for it again and again.”

The pease soup was delicious and so was the roast beef, garnished with herbs, served with hot crusty bread and a fruit pie to follow.

I sat back, drowsily content. Jonathan watched me closely.

“You agree that I have brought you to a worthy inn?”

“It was a very good meal.”

“Imagine what Matty would have done if she had known we were coming!”

“It could not have been better.”

“Oh, you don’t know Matty.”

We complimented her while she cleared away and Jonathan said we would rest awhile before resuming our journey.

I felt very happy. I knew I shouldn’t be, but Jonathan had that certain effect on me. It was a kind of bewitchment. There were warning voices in my mind, reminding me what could easily happen again. It must not be.

I kept telling myself that my being here was not of my contriving. Excuses come glibly when one has need of them.

I just knew that I wanted this to go on. I had never felt the same with anyone else. Never with anyone had I felt the desire to catch at time and hold it, making moments last for ever.

He talked about London, how he would be there more and more, for his father was gradually relinquishing the London business to him.

“It was a good thing,” he said, “that there were two of us… and so different. David the countryman; myself the townsman.”

“I think your father arranged it.”

“Would even he be clever enough for that?”

“He always seemed to get what he wanted.”

“A trait I sincerely hope he has passed on to his son.”

“I think there is no doubt that you have inherited a little of that spirit.”

“A little? I was hoping it was a great deal.”

“Well, you are young yet. I don’t suppose that when he was your age everything fell quite so neatly into Dickon’s hands. For one thing, he wanted my mother and he didn’t get her, did he, until later.”

“But in the end he did.”

“Only after years…”

“And thank Heaven it worked out that way or where should you and I be today, somewhere in the region of the unborn… if there is such a place.” He stood up. “Let’s go. We’ll ride along by the river. There are some pretty spots. That is what is so delightful about London. It is teeming with life… yet in a short time you can be out in the heart of the country.”

What a perfect afternoon that was! We said our goodbyes to Matty and Thomas, complimenting them on the excellent meal, inspected the stables, mounted our refreshed horses and set out.

About a mile from the inn we came to a grassy bank and Jonathan suggested that we tether the horses to a nearby bush and sit down to watch the river. A few craft passed… one or two returning home after having been in the city for the celebrations.

Contentment… forgetting all evil… sitting on the grass idly watching the ripples in the water… looking up as the occasional vessel floated by.

Suddenly Jonathan said: “We should have married, Claudine, you and I.”

I was silent and he went on: “It would have been ideal. You know it, don’t you? You and I… loving… really loving.”

“I would want a faithful husband, and you would never be that.”

“I might. Who knows?”

“No,” I said. “It is not in your nature.”

“Look at my father. He had adventures far and wide. Now there is not a more faithful husband in the country.”

“He has matured and grown wise. You are young yet.”

“My dear Claudine, are you wishing that we were old?”

“I wish—”

“Come tell me what you wish. You wish that you had not hastily married my brother. You know that I am the one for you. You long for the kind of life you could have shared with me… exciting, adventurous.”

“Your wife would not be very happy.”

“Oh, she would. There would be the reunions after my absences. It would be like starting all over again… the honeymoon, the perpetual honeymoon.”

“No,” I said firmly. “I am happier as I am.”

“You merely accept life, Claudine.”

“You seem to have forgotten that you will soon be a husband yourself.”

“It has not escaped my memory.”

“Oh, Jonathan, do you feel no shame at all! You would deceive Millicent, and what we did, you and I… you don’t regret that…”

“How could I regret the most exciting experience of my life?”

“Save such talk for your gullible victims.”

“On this occasion I speak the truth. I love you, Claudine. I did, right from the first moment I saw you. You remember… a little girl who spoke such quaint English. I thought, She’s mine. From the moment I saw you I thought that.”

“We did a terrible thing, Jonathan.”

“Is it so terrible to love?”

“In the circumstances, yes. I deceived my husband. You deceived your brother. Surely you see how despicable that is. I cannot understand why you do not feel shame. You don’t, do you?”

“No,” he replied coolly.

“You think we did no wrong?”

“We shall only have done wrong if we are discovered.” He laughed at me. “You are shocked. Listen, Claudine, this is the way I see it.” He picked up a stone and threw it in the river. “Sin… wickedness is hurting others. If others are not hurt by what one has done, then one has done no wrong.”

“But we know that we did.”

“We do indeed… and I shall never forget. Constantly I long to be with you… as we were in that room. I shall never forget it. I can’t regret… As long as David does not know, what harm have we done?”

“You are amoral… as well as immoral.”

“Perhaps you are right. We were happy, you and I, and happiness is a rare and wonderful gift. Could it be a sin not to take it when it is offered to you?”

“When it is a sin against one’s marriage vows and duty towards one’s brother?”

“I repeat that if no one is hurt there is no need to regret. The trouble with you, Claudine, is that you have been brought up to observe a set of conventions. You believe they are unalterable. They are the Right and the Wrong, and to offend against them is to incur the wrath of God… or at least the wrath of your relations. That is too simple. It is not as easy as that. The rules are flexible. Take my simple one: Do not hurt anyone. Keep people happy. That is as good a doctrine as any.”

“But don’t you see how bitterly you and I have sinned against David?”

“Only if David discovers. Then we shall have hurt him. If he does not know, what harm is there? I can tell you I have rarely seen David as happy as he is now.”

“It is impossible to make you see reason.”

“Your reason, Claudine. I am trying to make you see mine.”

“Yours is trimmed to suit yourself.”

“Perhaps yours is too.”

“And,” I said, “there is something else I have to say to you. Someone knows about us.”

“What? Who?”

“I don’t know. You laughed at my voices. They were not fantasy. Jeanne discovered some sort of speaking tube, which extends from that room to the kitchens. So… someone was in the Enderby kitchens when we were there. It was that person’s voice I heard.”

“Is that really so?”

“It is. It surprises you, doesn’t it? You see, if someone knows, we could find your theories thrust aside. If that someone told David, what then?”

“Who can it be?” he said.

“I don’t know. I suspect Mrs. Trent.”

“That wicked old woman!”

“She has not said anything to me, but she did try to blackmail me… well, that’s hardly the word… persuade me to help Evie along with Harry Farringdon. She said that her son Richard was Dickon’s son.”

“I know there was a suspicion of that. My father has helped her quite a bit. Grasslands was doing very badly and he put money into it. Richard Mather was a gambler and he drank too much. He almost ruined the family. My father has helped them out of various difficulties.”

“So you think she is right about Richard’s being your father’s son.”

“I daresay. There were always women with him, and what happened between them must have been when he was very young. It would give her a feeling that she had certain rights, I suppose… or at least Richard’s daughter had.”

“Yes, that was what she implied. She didn’t threaten or anything like that, but during the conversation there were one or two innuendos which might have suggested she knew something about me.”

“We’ll have no nonsense from her.”

“I did what I could for Evie… but that was because I was sorry for her and I did not know how my mother would feel about old scandals being raked over.”

He leaned towards me and took my hand.

“If she attempts to make any trouble, don’t try to handle it yourself. Let me know. I’ll soon settle her.”

I felt a relief sweeping over me. I had been more anxious than I cared to admit since Jeanne had shown me the speaking tube at Enderby.

“Thank you,” I said.

“After all,” he went on, smiling at me, “it’s our secret matter, isn’t it… yours and mine?”

“I shall never take your view of that sort of thing.”

“You might… in time. It’s the wise view.”

“I shall never forget. Every time I look at Amaryllis…”

“She’s mine, isn’t she?”

“I don’t know. I never shall.”

“I shall think of her always as mine and David will think of her as his.”

“David adores her,” I said. “I believe you hardly ever give her a thought.”

“You know so little about me, Claudine. It could take a lifetime to learn all the intricacies of my nature and to explore its hidden places.”

“I shall have to leave it to Millicent to make that voyage of discovery.”

“She will not make the attempt. Millicent accepts in the same way as you do. Our marriage will be an ideal one from her family’s point of view and from my family’s too. Important families are obsessed by what they think of as linking up. They’ve been doing it for centuries. It is the rock on which many of our noble houses have been founded. Little families become larger families, larger families become big ones. They grow in wealth and importance. Their watchword is Wealth and Power through Union.”

“It is all so cynical.”

“And all very wise.”

“And what of the people who are used to make these great edifices? Are they of no importance?”

“Of the utmost importance. They are the bricks and stones which one by one build up the tower of strength. It is their united cooperation which makes us what we are.”

“My mother brought nothing. It is true she would have been extremely wealthy…”

“And that would have delighted Dickon. However, he is so much in love with her that he took her penniless… as I should have taken you.”

“But your father had done his duty once in marrying your mother. I gather she contributed in great measure to the Eversleigh fortunes.”

“Ah yes, indeed. She brought in much of the London side. The banking… and all the interests that entailed. My father did his duty to the family admirably and therefore he earned the right to marry for love.”

“You are the most cynical man I ever met.”

“Because I look facts straight in the face, because I do not pander to sentimentality?”

“You don’t love Millicent.”

“I like Millicent. She amuses me. There will be battles between us, for Millicent is a very strong lady who likes to command. So is her mother, who has had a fair success with old Pettigrew. Look at Lady Pettigrew and there you see Millicent thirty years hence.”

“And the thought does not terrify you?”

“Indeed no. I admire Lady Pettigrew. I would not care for a mild simpering wife. Battle will be more stimulating than cloying reproaches.”

“Perhaps there will be reproaches.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“You do not present yourself in a very favourable light.”

“Yet I have a notion that you have some regard for me, Claudine. Have you?”

“I suppose you are what is called a rather fascinating man.”

“I am flattered.”

“I have seen you with people, with Millicent—the way the women servants look at you—and Matty today. It’s a sort of challenge to sex, I suppose.”

He laughed. “I like women. They are so pleasant to look at, and when they are clever, so interesting to talk to. I like battles… battles of words.”

“You like the sparring kind of flirtation at which you excel.”

“You do, too, Claudine.”

“I can’t think why you should imagine that.”

“Because you do it so well. People always like what they do well.”

He turned to look at me and I saw the blazing blue of his eyes and I thought: No, no. Not again. It must never happen again.

“Claudine,” he said seriously, “I love you. It will always be you, you know.”

He had drawn me to him and for a blissful moment I allowed myself to lie against him. I wanted to be with him; I wanted to be in that little room again. He had caught me in his spell and something told me he would never let me go.

I said: “I think we should go back.”

“It’s early yet. There’ll be crowds in the streets. All the Court ceremonies won’t be over for a while yet. The servants and apprentices will be out in their thousands. You couldn’t keep them in on a day like this. We could go somewhere… be quite alone… together.”

For a moment I actually considered it. Then I was filled with shame.

“No,” I said firmly. “Never again. Sometimes I wake in the night. I have been dreaming…”

“Of me… of us,” he said.

“Of you and myself, and I awake hating myself. Your standards are not mine. You are soon to be married. We are actually preparing for your wedding. And I am married to David, your own brother. He is such a good man.”

“Yes, David is a good man.”

“He is at Clavering now, working hard as he always does, thinking perhaps that we shall soon be together. You have tried to explain yourself to me… your philosophy of life. It is so cynical, Jonathan. You think so little of matters which are of the utmost seriousness to me.”

“We won’t hurt David. He shall never know.”

“How can you be sure? I’d rather die than that he should know.”

“He won’t suspect. He would never doubt you. He is completely straight himself and he thinks others are the same, particularly you. He has lived his life along lines laid down for him. I know him well. We were in the nursery together; we shared tutors. I was the devious one. I made adventure. I used to spy for my old nurse when she became quite mad, and was so upset by my mother’s death that she watched my father, hoping to catch him in some villainy. Every woman who interested him she wanted to know about. I actually enjoyed that. Once I followed him and your mother into Enderby. That old house, how it crops up! It seems to be a place for secret assignations. David is simple… I don’t mean mentally. He is very clever, intellectually, far more than I ever was, but he is ignorant of life… my sort of life. He lives conventionally, thinks conventionally, and he is inclined to bestow on everyone else the same qualities which he possesses. Therefore he would never suspect.”

“If this terrible wrong I have done him…”

“I have told you it is only a wrong if it is found out.”

“I don’t accept your cynical deductions. But if this terrible wrong I have done him can be kept from him, I shall never, never do anything that can hurt him again.”

“It is unwise to make such vows, Claudine.”

I stood up and he was beside me.

“What a beautiful day,” he said. “The river, the quiet of the countryside… and you alone here with me.”

“Let us go back,” I said.

We rode back and when we reached the City the crowds were still in the streets.

There were one or two servants in the house. They told us that they were having time free in the evening when the others returned.

It was about five o’clock.

Jonathan said: “As you have no desire to remain in the house, I suggest we go out again. In an hour, eh? We’ll get a boat and I’ll row you down the river… or up if you prefer. You shall decide.”

I was so happy and the day was not yet over. I wanted so much to be with him. I believed I enjoyed the battle within myself and I was gratified because I was sure of my ability to win.

“Change into something, not too elaborate,” he said. “We don’t want to attract the attention of rogues and pickpockets. We’ll look like a merchant and his wife out to enjoy all the fun.”

It must have been about six o’clock when we left the house. The river was even more crowded and the taverns overflowing. Jonathan put his arm through mine protectively and held me close against him as we made our way down to the river’s edge, where he hired a boat.

There were a lot of craft on the river and. Jonathan said we must get away from the crowds. It was not easy but Jonathan was determined, and as most people did not want to stray too far from the centre of the town where all the fun was, in due course we found ourselves passing through Kew on the way to Richmond.

There was magic in the evening, or perhaps I felt that because Jonathan was beside me. He managed the boat with easy skill. I trailed my hand in the water and thought: I’m happy. I want this to go on and on. There was no harm in being happy, was there?

“This is pleasant isn’t it?” he asked.

“It’s lovely.”

“You look contented. I like to see you thus. This has been a wonderful day for me, Claudine.”

“I have enjoyed it very much.”

“And do you feel you know me a little better now?”

“Yes. I think perhaps I do.”

“And do I improve on closer acquaintance?”

I was silent.

“Do I?” he insisted.

“I could never think as you do, Jonathan. I could not take such a view of life.”

“So you would suffer agonies of remorse when there is no need to.”

“Oh, Jonathan, as I see it, there is every need to.”

“One of these days I will make you see from my point of view.”

“It is too late,” I told him. “I married David and you are going to marry Millicent. Let your consolation—if consolation you need—be that her father’s financial interests will make very sturdy bricks in that great family edifice which it is so important to build. If you had married me, I should have brought you nothing. Think what you would have missed!”

“David would have had Millicent then.”

“David… Millicent. Oh no!”

“I agree he would have been no match for her. Accept life, Claudine. He takes you. I take Millicent. But you and I are caught in love, and if in life one cannot have everything one wants, at least one can take what one can get.”

“I had never before considered how magnanimous it was of your father to agree to the marriage of one of his sons to a penniless girl.”

“The circumstances were unusual. There was your mother’s influence and you were no ordinary penniless girl. As long as one of us took Millicent, the other could have you.”

“I cannot believe it was worked out like that.”

“Not so plainly. These matters are arranged by gentle suggestions. But they are nonetheless firm for all that. But why waste this evening on such sordid matters? Do you like it here, Claudine? The stars will be coming out soon. I know of a very pleasant inn near the Richmond towpath.”

“How knowledgeable you are about the inns of the country!”

“It is quite an art to know where to eat well.”

“More friends of yours?”

“All innkeepers are friends of mine. Yes, I am right. There is the first star. Venus, I think. See how bright she is. The star of love.”

“It could well be Mars,” I told him.

“Oh Claudine, why did you do this? What fun we could have had, you and I together. Your miserable conscience could have gone slumbering on.”

“You promised not to talk of it,” I said.

“So I did… and I think the inn is just along here. There. You can see the lights. I’ll pull in at the privy steps and tie up the boat.”

He lifted me out and held me for a few seconds, smiling up at me. Then he took my hand and we went into the riverside inn. There were several people there and ale was being served which the people were drinking while they ate the whitebait, which was a speciality of the inn.

I was amazed to see how easily Jonathan fitted in with this kind of company. We sat at one of the tables, drank mild ale, and ate the fish which was brought to us.

“There,” he said. “You have never done this before.”

“Never,” I agreed.

“Enjoying it?”

“Very much.”

“Is it the venue or the company? Come, Claudine, you can be honest.”

I said: “I think perhaps it is both.”

He speared a whitebait on the prong of his fork.

“Delicious,” he said. “Small but none the worse for that, eh? No wonder whitebait is becoming more and more popular.”

Someone started to sing. The singer had a good tenor voice but his song was one which could be called controversial on a day such as this. I knew it well, as most people did. It had been written by a Yorkshire man, William Upton, about his lady love; but it fitted another couple so well that this was the very reason why it had become so popular.

The Richmond Hill in the song might be that Richmond in Yorkshire, but there was also a Richmond near London and Mrs. Fitzherbert had lived at Marble Hill close by; moreover there was a rumour that she and the Prince had met on the towpath at Richmond. So that song had become popular throughout the country—made so by the Prince’s romance, without which Mr. Upton’s song would have gone unnoticed.

On Richmond Hill there lives a lass

More bright than May day morn,

Whose charms all other maids’ surpass

A rose without a thorn.

This lass so neat, with smiles so sweet

Has won my right good will.

I’d crowns resign to call thee mine

Sweet lass of Richmond Hill.

The last lines were particularly apt because there had been a time when the Prince of Wales had considered, some said, resigning his crown for the sake of Maria Fitzherbert. However, all that was past now; he had repudiated Maria, and if his new wife was Caroline of Brunswick, his mistress was Lady Jersey.

Some joined in the chorus, but there were some who refrained from doing so and showed more than a little repugnance.

Then one man rose, and taking the singer by the lapel of his coat with one hand, shouted: “It is an insult to the monarchy.” At which he threw the wine from his half-filled tankard into the face of the singer.

There was a scuffle and it seemed that the company was taking sides.

Jonathan seized my arm and hustled me through the crowd.

When we were outside he said: “We’ll leave the royalists and the republicans to settle their score.”

“Do you think it was really serious?” I asked. “I should like to have stayed to see what happened.”

“They’ve drunk too much.”

“The singer had a pleasant voice and I am sure he meant no harm.”

“He chose the wrong song at a time like this. People are looking for trouble. They are seizing opportunities to declaim against the monarchy. To sing of the Prince’s amours on his wedding day was lese majesty in the eyes of some… or it may be that the gentleman made his graceful gesture of aiming his drink into the other’s face merely to start trouble. I’m sorry for the innkeeper; he’s a good man and keeps a respectable house.”

We could hear the shouts coming through the night air.

“Here’s the boat,” said Jonathan.

“You got out very quickly.”

“I recognized the signs and I have a precious charge. I assured your mother that I would look after you, and I would not let you run the slightest risk.”

He had taken the oars and we slid away from the bank. I looked back at the inn. Some of the people had come outside and were shouting at each other.

“I was enjoying the whitebait,” I said.

“I was enjoying the company… and as long as I still have that, little fishes do not concern me. There will be many a little contretemps before the night is out, you can be sure.”

It was dark now. I looked up at the stars and then at the bushes on the bank. I was happy. Jonathan started to sing. He had a strong tenor voice which was attractive, and the song he sang was full of a haunting beauty.

Drink to me only with thine eyes,

And I will pledge with mine;

Or leave a kiss but in the cup

And I’ll not look for wine.

The thirst that from the soul doth rise

Doth ask a drink divine:

But might I of Jove’s nectar sip

I would not change for thine.

And as I sat back in that boat and looked at his face in the starlight and listened to the rise and fall of his voice and the beautiful words which Ben Jonson had written to a certain Celia, I knew that I loved him and that nothing… my marriage… his marriage… could alter that.

I think he knew it too, and that, in his way, he loved me. We were both silent until we came to Westminster Stairs and we left the boat and walked home through the streets.

There was still revelry; people were singing and some danced and many were drunk. Jonathan showed a tender concern for me and I felt very safe, secure and happy.

When we reached the house, my mother and Dickon had returned. They were seated in the small sitting room before a fire.

“Oh, I’m glad you’ve come,” said my mother. “We were getting quite concerned, weren’t we, Dickon?”

Dickon answered: “You were. I knew Jonathan would take good care of Claudine.”

“What a day!” said my mother. “Are you tired? Are you hungry?”

“Not tired. We’ve been on the river and we came away when a brawl started.”

“Wise,” commented Dickon. “There’ll be plenty of brawls tonight, I can tell you.”

“Why does a day of rejoicing always have to end up in fighting?” I asked my mother.

“Put it down to strong drink and human nature,” said Dickon.

He poured out wine and gave it to us.

“Our whitebait supper was interrupted,” I said.

“That was very unfortunate,” said my mother. “Well, you both look as if you have enjoyed the day.”

“We did,” I told her.

“We rode to the Dog and Whistle at Greenwich and then afterwards went by boat to Richmond.”

“You kept away from all the fuss.”

“That was the idea,” said Jonathan.

“But you are the ones who have been right in the centre,” I added. “Do tell us what happened.”

“It was rather sad,” said my mother. “I was so sorry for the Princess. She is so gauche and so plain, and you know the Prince’s taste for things exquisite.”

“It must be awful to be forced into marriage,” I said.

“The penalty of royalty,” commented Dickon. “The Prince likes all that goes with his royal state. All right. That’s fine. But he has to pay for it.”

“Everything has to be paid for in this world,” said my mother.

Jonathan disagreed. “Sometimes it can be avoided,” he said. “After all, some kings have had brides whom they have loved deeply. They had the right woman and the royalty too.”

“Life is not always very fair,” I added.

“As for the Prince,” went on Jonathan, “it’s only a momentary discomfort. This marriage is not going to make much difference to his way of life. He just has the inconvenience of spending a few nights with his bride, and once she becomes pregnant he can be off.”

“He did seem very put out though, didn’t he, Dickon?” said my mother. “I am sure the two dukes who walked beside him were holding him up because he had been drinking so much that he was unsteady.”

“There was a moment when I thought he was going to refuse to go ahead with it,” said Dickon.

“Oh yes,” continued my mother. “The King must have felt sure of it because at one point he stood up and whispered something to the Prince. It was quite conspicuous, for the pair were kneeling before the Archbishop at the time and the Prince had actually got to his feet.”

“He must have been very drunk,” said Dickon.

“I believe he was. But at one point I really did wonder what was going to happen. I was quite relieved when it was over. The music was lovely, the choir sang:

For blessed are they that fear the Lord.

Oh well is thee! Oh well is thee!

How happy shalt thou be.

But it was rather unfortunate to talk about happiness, for both the bride and groom showed clearly that that was the last thing they were feeling. And then the chorus of ‘Happy, happy shalt thou be’ sounded a little hollow.”

“Well, you have had the satisfaction of being present at a historic occasion,” I reminded her.

“I shall never forget it. I particularly noticed Lady Jersey. She seemed more contented than anyone.”

“She was afraid the Prince might have a beautiful bride with whom he would fall in love,” said Dickon.

“Temporarily, of course,” added Jonathan. “His amours are generally transient. But a lady of uncertain age like Madam Jersey cannot afford even little interruptions.”

“It is a great pity he left Maria,” said my mother. “She was so good for him and I think he truly loved her.”

“He couldn’t have done or he wouldn’t have repudiated her,” I put in sharply.

“Imagine the pressure,” said my mother. “I don’t think he has ever been happy since they parted.”

“Don’t waste your sentiment on HRH,” said Dickon. “I think he is quite capable of taking care of himself.”

“Well, he didn’t seem so today,” said my mother. “Tell us about the Dog and Whistle.”

We sat there talking desultorily and sleepily but none of us wanted the day to end. The candles guttered and some of them went out but no one thought of replacing them. It was very pleasant, very intimate. There were long silences which no one seemed to notice. I suppose we were all busy with our own thoughts and they seemed to be pleasant ones.

I kept going over the incidents of the day. I could smell the river; I could taste Matty’s roast beef; I could see the shining brasses in the inn parlour; I could hear the soft lapping of water against a bank.

It had been a happy day.

The spell was broken as the fire collapsed into the grate.

“It will soon be out,” said Dickon.

“And it’s getting chilly,” added my mother.

She yawned and rose. She and I went upstairs together, her arm through mine. She kissed me at my door and I went in and lighted the candles on my dressing table.

I looked at my reflection. I seemed almost beautiful by candlelight. Candlelight can flatter, I told myself. But there was something more than that. There was a softness, a radiance, about me. It had been a day I should never forget.

I brushed my hair dreamily and thought of “Drink to me only with thine eyes.”

Suddenly I rose and locked my door.

Surely he would not attempt to come to me, not here in this house with my mother close at hand. But would he not dare anything?

That was why I must lock my door, for if he did come, how could I trust myself on a night like this?

In spite of the late night we were all up early the next morning, and my mother was already at breakfast when I went down.

“Oh, there you are!” she said. “Did you sleep well after all the excitement?”

“Not at first, but I feel surprisingly refreshed.”

“What a day! I shall never forget it. I’m glad it’s over though. I’m longing to see Jessica. I do hate leaving her so long. And you must feel the same about Amaryllis.”

I admitted I did.

“I thought we’d go back the day after tomorrow.”

“Yes, why not?”

“If Dickon can make it,” she added.

“Has he said so?”

“He’s not quite sure. But in case he does I want to go to the mercer’s this morning. I must get some more of that lace. He said he would have it in today. Will you come with me this morning? I might want your opinion.”

“I’ll like that.”

“All right then. Ten o’clock? We can walk there. It’s not more than ten minutes away.”

“I’ll be ready.”

We went to the mercer’s shop and were some time choosing the lace. My mother also bought some pale mauve and pink ribbons which she thought would be useful for the babies’ clothes.

As we came out of the shop she said: “I know what we’ll do. We’ll have some coffee or chocolate. I do think the coffee houses are interesting.”

I agreed with her that they had become a part of London life and they were more than just a place to stop and take a drink of coffee or chocolate. One could eat there, read the papers which were available for clients, could write letters and most of all listen to the conversations of the great. Certain coffee houses were frequented by people in various walks of life; there were the political coffee houses, literary coffee houses, musical coffee houses, and there people could congregate and join in discussions on their favourite topics. Sometimes well-known men of wit and erudition frequented them. In his day Samuel Johnson had held court at the Turk’s Head or the Bedford or Cheshire Cheese; and Walpole and Addison had rivalled Congreve and Vanbrugh at the Kit Cat.

The coffee house we chose was only a few steps from the mercer’s. It was Benbow’s—named, I heard, after its founder, who had made a fortune at the gaming tables. At this hour of the day there were no wits present and I imagined the house was probably used by people like us who merely wished to stay for as long as it took to drink our coffee or chocolate.

When we went in we were effusively greeted by the owner. He knew who my mother was and she told me afterwards that she had been in the place with Dickon on their last visit to London.

He ushered us to our seats. “Here in this little alcove you will view the company in comfort,” he added with a little wink.

“This is my daughter,” said my mother.

“I am delighted to make your acquaintance, my lady,” he said.

He bowed with great dignity and I said: “And I to meet you.”

We were drinking the excellent chocolate when my mother said suddenly: “Oh dear, I’ve left the ribbons at the mercer’s.”

“We must go back and get them when we leave here.”

“I’ll run back now. It won’t take long. You stay here.”

She rose and Mr. Benbow came forward.

My mother said, “I am going to the mercer’s just along the street. I have left a parcel there. My daughter will wait for me here.”

“I will take the utmost care of her in your absence, my lady.”

I laughed. “Oh dear. Is it so dangerous?”

He lifted his shoulders. “Not exactly dangerous, but with a beautiful lady, gallants can be tiresome. I will guard her with my life.”

“I hope that won’t be necessary,” said my mother with a smile.

I looked about the room as I finished my chocolate. A man came in and sat down. As soon as he did so I had a strange sensation. I fancied I had seen him before, but for a few moments I was at a loss. It must have been a long time ago. It would have been in France. But who? Where? My mind went back to the château. That was it.

I had it. It was the tutor who had come long ago to teach Charlot and Louis Charles. Or if it was not, it was someone very like him.

I had been young at the time but this man had created quite a stir. I remembered he had left suddenly to go and look after his aged mother. And much later, when my mother had gone back to France and was in such acute danger, she had discovered that he had been a spy in the château, and it was due to him that the Comte’s son, Armand, had been taken to the Bastille.

I must have been staring at him for he was looking at me now. Clearly he did not recognize me. I had been a small child when he was at the château. It was coming back vividly to me now. There could be no doubt. He was the spy-tutor and his name was… I racked my brains. Then it came to me in a flash. Léon Blanchard.

I felt very uneasy. He had been a revolutionary. An agitator. Then what could he possibly be doing in Benbow’s Coffee House?

My heart gave a lurch, for someone else had come in. I almost cried out. It was Alberic.

He went straight to the table at which Léon Blanchard was sitting. He sat down and said something. For a few seconds they talked and then Alberic looked up and saw me.

I called: “Alberic…”

He rose. “Miss—Claudine—” he stammered. He was obviously shaken. “I—I—am doing a commission here for Mademoiselle d’Aubigné. Are—are you alone?”

“No, my mother is here. She will come in a few minutes.”

Léon Blanchard had risen. He moved towards the door.

“I must go,” said Alberic. “Good day, Miss Claudine.”

He followed Léon Blanchard out of the coffee house.

They had not been gone more than a minute or so and I was still sitting there in a state of bewilderment when my mother came in clutching the ribbons.

“I have just seen something rather strange,” I blurted out. “Alberic came in here. He was meeting a man. I thought I recognized him. I’m almost sure. It was Léon Blanchard, the tutor. Alberic left in a great hurry. They both did.”

My mother turned pale.

“God help us,” she murmured under her breath. Then she said: “Léon Blanchard… and Alberic. That can mean only one thing. I think we should go back without delay. Dickon must know of this at once.”

By great good fortune, Dickon and Jonathan were in the house, though just about to go out.

Breathlessly my mother explained what had happened.

Dickon was dumbfounded.

Jonathan looked at me incredulously. “Are you sure…?”

“Sure it was Alberic, of course,” I replied. “He spoke to me. The other one… Well, I was puzzling over him and then it suddenly came to me.”

“It makes sense,” said Dickon. “And there isn’t a moment to lose. Now… how best to act.” He looked at Jonathan and went on: “They’ll both go into hiding. Alberic must have had a shock to see Claudine, and Blanchard will be afraid that she has recognized him. He was obviously scared of being seen by Lottie. Then there would have been no doubt. It may be that Alberic will try to get to France.”

“Taking information with him, no doubt. He must be stopped.”

“And what of Billy Grafter in our own household… recommended by Alberic. We’ve had them both under our roof. That explains the visit by the Cardews. We know what they got away with. God, how careless we’ve been.”

“No use going over that now,” said Jonathan. “How best to act is the point.”

“You should leave for Eversleigh right away. Alberic may have certain things to clear up there. He may even have left something in Enderby. He’ll have to warn Grafter. There’s a possibility that he’ll have to go back to do that. On the other hand he may stay in hiding here in London.” He was thoughtful for a second. “Yes, Jonathan, you go back to Eversleigh. I shall have to stay here for a while. We’ve got to find him. If we can, it might lead a trail to the rest of them. I’d like to get Blanchard. But there is a possibility that Alberic will try for France. He is thoroughly identified now. What fools we were to be deluded by that old émigré story. How soon can you leave?”

“In half an hour.”

“And er—take Claudine with you.”

“But why?” I asked.

“I don’t know how long I shall be here. Lottie naturally will stay with me. It would arouse comment if you stayed on with us after David is back at Eversleigh. No, this is the best. There’s no time for discussion. We have to act quickly. I’ll take care of these things, and if he’s not here we’ll scent him out. He’s got to be stopped getting back to France.”

Jonathan said crisply: “I’ll see that the horses are made ready. Claudine, be ready in half an hour.”

I was bewildered. My mother came to my room to help me prepare.

“It seems so… dramatic,” I said.

“It is. I accept it. I was caught up in France, remember. That man Blanchard went round the country inciting the French to revolution. He and his kind were responsible for my mother’s death. I narrowly escaped through Dickon’s courage and resourcefulness. What happened in France must not happen in England, and that is what men like Blanchard and Alberic are trying to bring about. We have to help. We have to do all we can, and if we don’t always understand at the time, we have to wait for explanations later.”

I could not believe that only yesterday I had been sitting on a riverbank watching the water flow by, philosophically talking to Jonathan.

The horses were waiting for us. “You should get a good way by tonight,” said Dickon. “Then go to an inn and rest for a few hours, but be off with the dawn, and you might with luck reach Eversleigh by early afternoon. He can’t get there much before you.”

We went through the city, past the Tower—grey, gloomy and menacing; then we were away. Jonathan looked different, very determined. It was fortunate that I was a good rider. The bantering mood of yesterday was gone and in its place was one of intense seriousness. He was going to get Alberic… if that young man had decided to return to Enderby.

All through the afternoon we rode, stopping only to slake our thirst and eat a little cold lamb and bread. Then we were off again.

It was about ten o’clock that night when we pulled up at an inn. Our horses were flagging and I wondered if Jonathan was as tired as I was.

They had only one room. At any other time I should have protested, but we had to eat and sleep if we were going to make the long journey next day.

We ate in the inn parlour. As it was late, there was only cold food—mutton pie—and ale to drink. It was enough, and I was almost asleep over it.

There was only one bed in the room. I took off my boots and fully dressed lay down on it and was immediately fast asleep.

I was awakened by a light kiss on my forehead. Jonathan was standing over me.

“Wake up,” he said. “Time to be off.”

Then I remembered where I was and sprang up.

“We won’t stop for food,” he said. “We’ll try to snatch something on the way.”

We went out to the stables; our horses had been fed and watered and were rested. They were as frisky as ever.

As we rode out, Jonathan laughed heartily. I asked what was so amusing.

“It has just occurred to me. I have often thought of spending a night with you… to find you lying there beside me when I awoke. I’ve imagined that often enough, and when it does happen, all we did was sleep. It’s funny, you must admit. Come on. With luck we’ll make it by early afternoon.”

The journey was long and arduous. Twice we stopped for light refreshment but mainly to rest the horses. It must have been two o’clock in the afternoon when we reached Eversleigh.

“First,” said Jonathan, “we’ll go to the stables and get fresh horses. These have done enough. Then we’ll go to Enderby. I want you to find out whether Alberic is back. It will come better from you. Don’t let them know we want to see him urgently. There may be others of his friends in the neighbourhood. We don’t want them warned.”

“Don’t you think he would have got away by now?”

“He might. But he hasn’t had much time. He couldn’t have beaten us here by much, even if he left immediately after seeing you in the coffee house. Come on.”

We went through the gate and into the stables.

One of the grooms came out to greet us.

“We want fresh horses, Jacob,” said Jonathan. “Quickly, these are tired. We have to go out immediately.”

“Yes, sir. You’ve come back and, master…”

“Never mind now. Get the horses and see to these two… They’ve had a pretty long ride.”

“Shall I tell the household you’ve returned?”

“Do that. Is Billy Grafter about?”

“I’ll see, sir.”

“If he’s there, make sure he doesn’t go away. I want to talk to him seriously… but not now.”

“Right, sir.”

“Make sure you have him ready for me. Lock him in one of the rooms so that he doesn’t stray.”

All the servants at Eversleigh had learned to obey Dickon without question, and I could see the same applied to Jonathan.

Twenty minutes later I rang the bell at Enderby and one of the servants opened the door.

“Oh, Mabel,” I said. “I’m not calling to see my aunt. I just wanted a word with Alberic.”

“You’ve just missed him, Mrs. Frenshaw.”

“Missed him! He’s back from London then?”

“Only just a little while ago. He’s been in and out again.”

“Where did he go?”

“That I don’t know, Madam.”

“All right. Thank you very much.”

I hurried back to Jonathan. As I mounted my horse I said: “He’s been… and he’s gone.”

“That could mean he is trying to get to France. You stay behind. Make sure you hold Grafter till I return.”

“I’m coming with you,” I said.

He was off and I was beside him.

I shouted: “How will you find him? He could be anywhere along the coast.”

“We’ll go where you found him.”

“It’s a lonely spot.”

“Isn’t there a dilapidated boathouse somewhere?”

“Yes.”

“It is possible that he has anticipated an urgent flight. I wonder what was in that boathouse?”

“Nobody ever goes there. It will be washed out to sea one of these days. It only needs a gale to break it up.”

“But it would serve to keep a boat in readiness.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“Dear Claudine, my way of life leads me to believe everything is possible.”

“If he is not there… what then?”

“I shall go along the coast. He’s got to be stopped getting away. They will all be alerted. Unless my theory is correct and he has a boat in readiness, he is not going to find it very easy to get out of England.”

“There are many coves and bays along the coast which are isolated.”

“He’ll need a boat and that will be difficult.”

We were off again and it was only when we were forced to slow down that we could talk.

I could smell the sea now, hear the melancholy cry of the gulls. We had galloped down to the bay. This was the spot where Evie and Dolly had called me to their aid when they found Alberic.

We went down to the sandy beach.

I stared. A little boat was a short distance out at sea bobbing on the waves.

“Alberic,” I shouted.

He was battling with the oars, desperately trying to fight the sea. He could not possibly hope to cross the Channel in such a boat, could he? Perhaps it was just possible and he was a desperate man.

Jonathan stood there watching. He was looking helplessly about him. There was no one in sight, no vessel which could take us after the fugitive.

We had come so far; we were in sight of our prey and the wind was helping to carry him out of our reach.

Alberic had now shipped his oars and was letting the wind act for him. For a few seconds we stood there staring at the little craft bobbing about on the waves, every second being carried farther away from the English coast.

I was close to Jonathan and the explosion nearly knocked me off my feet.

I was looking out to sea. As far as I could discern, Alberic was slumped over the side of the boat. It turned over suddenly and Alberic was in the sea.

Jonathan lifted his gun and fired again. I saw the reddish tint on the water all round the boat.

Jonathan stood still watching. It seemed a very long time that we stood there. The waves were tossing the boat about as though it were light as air. It was being carried out to sea. I watched it go farther and farther away.

There was no sign of Alberic.

I turned to Jonathan. I had a great impulse to run away, to be alone, to overcome this terrible emotion which beset me. I had never seen a man kill another before.

Alberic is dead, I kept thinking. Jonathan killed him. Death is awesome; even the deaths of those one does not know affect one. And this is someone with whom I have laughed and joked… someone merry, and happy and good-natured. It had shattered my peace to see him killed by a man with whom I had shared the utmost intimacy.

Jonathan breathed with satisfaction.

I said: “You killed him. You killed Alberic.”

“That was lucky. Half an hour later and I should have been too late.”

“But we knew him. Aunt Sophie was fond of him… and now he is dead.”

He took me by the shoulders and shook me. “Stop it,” he said. “You’re getting hysterical. He’s dead, yes, and rightly so. How many people do you think might die if he were allowed to continue with his work? Your own grandmother was murdered by his kind. Thank God we found out what he really was.”

“You… you’re quite callous…”

“When it comes to his sort, yes. I have no more compunction in killing him than I would a snake.”

I put my hands to my face and felt the tears there.

“Come on,” he said. “Don’t be a fool, Claudine. We were out to catch him… and we’ve caught him.”

I looked at him in horror and I said: “But it was because of me… don’t you see? It was I who saw him. It was I who told… and because of that he’s dead. I killed him, in a way.”

“Congratulate yourself. One more little spy eliminated. You did good work, Claudine.”

“I… killed him. I have committed adultery and now… murder.”

He burst out laughing. It did not occur to me that he, too, was overwrought. He had just killed a man, a man whom we had all known, and he had ridden full speed from London in pursuit of that man. I had glimpsed the ruthlessness of him, which I had always known was there, but I had never seen it put to such practice as I had in the last half hour.

“Sometimes I think I hate you,” I said. “You are so—uncaring. Even if he had to be killed… even if he is responsible for the deaths of others… you seemed to enjoy killing him.”

He said coolly: “I enjoy seeing a mission satisfactorily concluded.”

I looked out to sea. “I can see the red tinge still there.”

“He’s dead, all right. I want to wait awhile. I wouldn’t want him to be washed ashore and nursed back to health by well-meaning little girls.”

I turned away but he caught me and held me to him for a few moments.

“You’re learning about life and the times we live in, Claudine,” he said. “Not very pleasant sometimes, I have to admit. We have to keep this country prosperous. We have to serve our country’s needs and when the snakes appear we scent them out and kill them. That’s how it is, Claudine. It was the greatest good luck that you happened to be in Benbow’s. You were sharp to recognize Blanchard. That has been a great help to us, to know that he is in London. But when Alberic came in, that was sheer good fortune.”

“For you,” I said. “For him… death.”

“Oh dear, you are determined to be melodramatic and sentimental with it. Alberic was playing with death. He knew that and he wouldn’t be so very surprised that it has caught up with him. There.” He kissed me gently. “We’ve got Alberic. Now we have to be careful. The fishes will finish him off.”

“Oh, please don’t talk like that about a human being.”

“Poor little Claudine, you keep rough company, I’m afraid. Never mind. You were one of us for a day or so. You did very well on the journey. I was proud of you. Now let us think what shall be done. We shall go back to the house. I doubt Grafter will be there. I imagine Alberic warned him. I wonder what papers he was taking with him. They are at the bottom of the ocean by now. This is to be a secret matter, Claudine. You don’t know what happened to Alberic, remember. He’ll be missing and maybe presumed drowned. As for Billy Grafter, if we’ve missed him and he’s disappeared, it will be thought he was with Alberic. But let’s hope he was not warned and is still at the house. There must be no shouting the truth from the housetops. The less that is known, the better.”

“I’ll say nothing,” I said.

“That’s right. I shall have to go back to London.”

“At once?”

“Yes, the fact that Blanchard is known to be in London will cause a flutter. He is one of the founders of the French revolution. You can guess what he is trying to do here.”

“But the revolution is over now. The Republic is being accepted by some states.”

“The French would still like to see us behave as madly as they did. We’re enemies, remember. We’re actually at war with them. I shall leave for London early tomorrow morning. They’ll still be searching for Alberic. Claudine, you must pull yourself together. You must not betray anything. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand.”

“You have to put aside all those sentimental notions of yours. Alberic might have been a very pretty boy but he was a spy working against this country and he got his deserts. Remember that. He would have done the same to me if he had had the chance. It’s all the luck of the game.”

“I understand,” I repeated.

“Good. I’m now sure he’s dead. We can safely leave him. I can’t see any sign of the boat now. Oh… is that broken spar right out there… part of it? Yes, I think it is. Now, Claudine, are you calm? Are you ready? We shall go back to Eversleigh and I shall leave tomorrow. You will resume life as though nothing extraordinary has happened. You can tell everyone about the excitement of the royal wedding and how the Prince had to be held up at the ceremony because he was drunk. That’ll make them laugh. And you’ll not betray you know where Alberic is… because he is going to be thought missing… possibly drowned. That’s the best way for us all.”

I mounted my horse and he was beside me.

“Now, are you ready? Back to Eversleigh.”

I explained to the servants that my mother was staying on with Dickon and that Mr. Jonathan would be returning to London the next day.

They accepted this as normal, for the comings and goings of both Dickon and Jonathan had always been erratic.

We were disturbed—but not entirely surprised—to find that Billy Grafter was not in the house. “Clearly he was warned,” said Jonathan. “But we’ll get him.”

I was glad that David was still at Clavering. It would have been difficult to behave normally with him.

I slept heavily that night and when I arose Jonathan had already left for London.

During the morning one of the servants from Enderby came over with a message from Aunt Sophie. She had heard that I was back and would like to see me.

I went over to Enderby in the afternoon. Jeanne greeted me. “Mademoiselle d’Aubigné is in bed. She has had a bad night. She is rather worried about Alberic. He returned from London yesterday and went straight out. He hasn’t been back all night.”

I heard myself say in a distant voice: “Oh… what has happened to him then?” And I despised myself for my falseness.

“That’s what Mademoiselle d’Aubigné is worrying about. He didn’t see her when he returned, which was rather strange. Do come up.”

Aunt Sophie was lying in that room with the blue velvet curtains. My eyes went immediately to that spot where I knew the speaking tube to be.

“Madame Claudine is here,” said Jeanne.

Aunt Sophie looked as melancholy as I remembered her from long ago, and I realized how much she had changed since she came to Enderby. Dolly Mather was seated by the bed, a book in her hand; she had obviously been reading to Aunt Sophie.

“Stay with us, Jeanne,” said my aunt.

Jeanne nodded, placed a chair by the bed for me and took one herself some little distance away.

“Did you enjoy your trip?” asked Aunt Sophie.

“Yes, it was very interesting.”

“I’m worried about Alberic,” she said.

“Oh?” I answered faintly.

“Yes, he went to London on some business for me. You know he is good at that.”

“I know he goes up quite often for you.”

“Well, he returned yesterday. Apparently he looked in briefly and then went out again. He hasn’t been back since.”

“Then you have no idea…”

“He might have left something in London and gone back for it.”

“Without telling you?” put in Jeanne.

Sophie smiled fondly. “He took such a pride in those London missions of his. He always wanted to do something for me and if he had forgotten something I asked him to get, he would not want me to know it. He would have gone straight back to get it. That’s the only thing I can think of. I thought you might help, Claudine.”

“I?”

“Well, you came to see him yesterday, didn’t you, as soon as you arrived back. Why?”

I was caught. I had not expected this.

“You did come yesterday, didn’t you?” insisted Aunt Sophie.

They were all watching me—Sophie and Jeanne questioningly and Dolly with an unfathomable expression on her face.

“Oh… I remember now. It was something about my horse. She seems to have a little colic. I had heard Alberic say something about a cure they have in France. I was so worried that I came to him without delay.”

“You should have gone to the stables,” said Jeanne. “They might have known.”

“No… It was a French remedy. However, the mare is better now.”

“When you came, you didn’t see him, did you?”

“No. They told me he had gone out.”

“I heard Billy Grafter is missing too,” said Jeanne. “He must be with Alberic.”

How quickly news travelled in the servants’ world. They already knew that Billy Grafter had disappeared—and it was only natural that they should connect it with that of Alberic.

“I thought you might have seen him,” said Aunt Sophie.

“No, he had already gone.”

“It’s not like him,” said Aunt Sophie.

“He’ll be back,” Jeanne assured her. “He has too good a post here to want to leave Enderby.”

“I shall scold him, when he comes,” said Sophie. “He should have let me know he was going back.”

I kissed her cheek and said that I would come again soon to see her.

“Yes, do,” she said.

Jeanne walked down the stairs with me.

“She misses him,” she said. “He could always cheer her up. He has that merry nature and she loves talking to him. Fortunately Dolly is here. She teaches her French, you know. The girl does quite well. She surprises me. She’s quite intelligent although it is not always apparent. I just hope Alberic comes back soon. I shall give him a piece of my mind. He has no right to stay away like this.”

“It is strange,” I said, “that she should be so taken by a young servant. He hasn’t been here so very long.”

“She always took fancies. I was so glad that there was someone at last in whom she could take an interest. He responded to her, being of our nationality. He seemed to know just how to behave towards her. She took to him from the start.”

I said goodbye to Jeanne and came away very sad. I seemed to have caught Aunt Sophie’s melancholy. Poor Aunt Sophie! She would never see Alberic again.