Zipporah's Daughter

Griselda

I WAS SO ABSORBED with my baby that I did not take much interest in what was happening in the outside world. My great pleasure was in the nursery, where the new baby was received with awe by Charlot and Louis-Charles. Claudine was a noisy baby with a good pair of lungs and from the first seemed to know what she wanted.

‘She’s different from Monsieur Charlot,’ said the nurse. ‘A will of her own, that one.’

She had been born rather an ugly baby but grew more beautiful every day. She had dark fluffy hair and quite a lot of it for one so young and eyes that were of a vivid blue.

We all adored her and when she cried it was a charming sight to see Charlot at the side of her cradle murmuring: ‘Hush! Hush! Charlot is here.’

I was very happy with my children.

Charles talked of little else but the trouble between England the colonists. At first I thought he was so strongly on the side of the colonists to tease me by jeering at the English. He often reminded me, rather ruefully, that I was more English than French; and this was true, for although no one could be more French than my father and even Jean-Louis, who I had believed for so long had sired me, by a strange coincidence had been half French, having been brought up in England by my English mother, I was decidedly of that nature—in my outlook, my manners—in fact in everything. Even though I now spoke fluent French and often thought in that language, Charles liked to remind me of what he called my Englishness and whenever there was a disagreement between us, he would say: ‘There is the Englishwoman.’

Whether he really did have the Frenchman’s natural antipathy to the English I was not sure, or whether it was done in a bantering way, but it continued and the war made more verbal ammunition to hurl at me.

Without knowing very much about the situation I defended the English, which delighted him and gave him a chance to prove me wrong again and again.

‘I tell you,’ he said on one occasion, ‘this could mean war between England and France.’

‘Surely the French would not act so out of character as to go to war for someone else’s benefit?’

‘It is the cause of liberty, my dear.’

‘There are troubles enough here in France,’ I said. ‘Why do you worry about colonists from another country far from here when your own peasants are verging on revolt and would perhaps like to see a little of that fair treatment you are talking about.’

‘You talk like a rebel,’ said Charles.

‘You talk like a fool. As if France would go to war about this matter which is the concern of another country.’

‘There is strong feeling here.’

‘For the sole purpose of embarrassing the English.’

‘They got themselves into this embarrassing situation. We did nothing to bring it about.’

‘But you seek to exploit it.’

And so we went on.

About the time when Claudine was five months old there was a Declaration of Independence in America and Charles was jubilant.

‘These brave people are fighting a big nation for their freedom. Mon Dieu, I should like to join them. Do you know there is talk of sending an army from France?’

It occurred to me then that Charles might be finding life at Tourville a little dull. He was not really meant to manage a large estate, and because I had seen something of the manner in which such places were run—there was my father for one at Aubigné and I had lived on our estates of Clavering and Eversleigh—I did realize that Charles lacked the real aptitude. There was a manager, of course, but managers, however good, did not compensate for the indifference of their owners.

I listened half-heartedly to the talk about the American War of Independence and the part France was going to play in it, but I was really absorbed by the children. Then Lisette and I spent hours talking and riding together and sometimes walking. It was always fun to be with Lisette.

In December Charles went back to Paris and stayed there for several weeks. When he came back his enthusiasm for the war was at fever pitch. He had met three deputies from America—Benjamin Franklin, Silas Deane and Arthur Lee. Everyone was talking about them, he said, and in spite of their extraordinary appearance they had been invited everywhere as the French were so eager to hear about their fight for independence.

‘Their manners were so simple,’ he said, ‘and they wore their hair unpowdered and the plainest cloth suits I ever saw in my life. But Paris is in a frenzy over them. People are demanding that we go to war against the English at once.’

He had been in the company of the Marquis de Lafayette earlier in the year and had been most impressed when the Marquis bought a vessel and loaded it with ammunition and after certain troubles set sail from America.

Feeling in the country was high against England but the King was adamant that France should not become involved in a war.

That was the state of affairs when a messenger arrived from Aubigné.

My mother had news from Eversleigh that my grandmother was very ill and was longing to see us. Sabrina had written that if we could possibly make the journey Clarissa would be so happy and if we did not come soon we might not have an opportunity of seeing her.

Sabrina was clearly distressed, for she and my grandmother had been very close all their lives.

‘Dickon has never recovered from his wife’s death,’ she continued. ‘It has been a great sadness to us all. Poor Dickon. Fortunately he is very busy and spends most of his time in London, so he has plenty to occupy him which stops him brooding on his loss … ’

I wondered what he was like now. What would he do? Look round for a new heiress, I thought cynically. It was of no interest to me now. I was a wife and a mother.

My mother had also written. ‘My dear, I know it is asking a good deal to expect you to leave your home but we should not stay long … just long enough to see your grandmother. As Sabrina says, there might not be another chance. I shall go in any case and it would be wonderful if you came with me. Your grandmother asks particularly for you.’

When I showed Charles the letter he said of course I must go.

Lisette thought it would be interesting for me to see my old home. She longed to come with me but that was, of course, out of the question.

‘Don’t stay long,’ she implored me. ‘I can’t imagine this place without you.’

Charles’s parting shot was: ‘See if you can persuade them over there to come to their senses. They’re in for a humiliating defeat if they don’t. Wait till France gets busy across the Atlantic.’

‘I am not going on a political mission but to see a sick grandmother,’ I reminded him.

‘Then make sure you don’t stay too long,’ he said. ‘This place is quite dull without you.’

My feelings were very mixed as my mother and I made the journey to the coast accompanied by my father who saw us on to the packet boat before leaving us. It had been sad to say goodbye to the children, to Charles and Lisette, but I was anxious about my grandmother and I could not suppress a certain excitement at the prospect of seeing Eversleigh again. I think my mother felt the same, though she was very subdued.

We had a reasonably good crossing and arrived at Dover in the afternoon so that it was evening before we reached Eversleigh.

There was the old house as I remembered it—not so imposing perhaps as the Château d’Aubigné, but grand in its own manner.

Sabrina rushed out when she heard our arrival. She embraced us fervently. ‘It is wonderful to see you!’ she cried. ‘I am so delighted that you have come.’

‘How is my mother?’ asked my mother.

‘Weak … but so excited at the prospect of seeing you. I am sure it will do her the world of good. Oh, here’s Dickon.’

And there he was—Dickon, who had been so much in my thoughts for so long. He was just as I remembered him—‘larger than life’, as someone had once said of him; and as good-looking as he ever had been. A wig covered those hyacinthine locks, which was a pity, but his eyes were even more startlingly blue than I remembered.

‘Zipporah!’ he cried, first to my mother. He embraced her and I noticed that she tried to hold aloof, but he appeared not to notice that and hugged her affectionately.

And then he was looking at me. He said my name softly. ‘Lottie … Lottie … grown-up Lottie.’

I held out my hand to him but he ignored the gesture and lifted me up in his arms, laughing up at me.

‘How exciting … Lottie is here.’

Sabrina was looking at him with that mingling of admiration, tenderness and adoration which I remembered so well. I saw my mother’s lips tighten, and I thought: Nothing has changed.

As for myself I had been waiting ever since I knew I was coming here for this moment.

‘They must be worn out,’ said Sabrina. ‘Did you have a good journey? Your rooms are ready … your old rooms. I thought you would like that. But would you like to see Clarissa first?’

‘Of course,’ said my mother. ‘Let’s go to her at once.’

Sabrina led the way up the staircase which I remembered so well.

Dickon was close to me. He put an arm around me. ‘Lottie,’ he said, ‘what fun that you are here.’

I said coolly: ‘I hope my grandmother is not seriously ill.’

‘She is getting on in years now,’ said Sabrina, ‘and she has grown weaker these last months. That is why I thought you should come.’

‘You should have come before,’ said Dickon.

Sabrina smiled. ‘Of course they should. In fact we were all very put out that you went abroad.’

‘At least that left you Eversleigh,’ I said, looking at Dickon. I was telling myself: It is different now. I know so much about you. I know you chose this place instead of me.

I must remember that, for in these first moments I was beginning to be too much aware of the potent charm of Dickon and was filled with misgiving.

We went to my grandmother’s room. She was sitting up in bed looking frail but pretty in a lacey pink bedjacket.

‘Zipporah!’ she cried and my mother ran to her. ‘And Lottie! Oh my dears … how wonderful to see you. It has seemed so long …

We embraced and she made us sit on either side of the bed. ‘Tell me all your news,’ she said. ‘Tell me about dear little Charlot and Claudine. Oh, Lottie, it is so odd to think of you as a mother. You seem only a child yourself.’

‘Time passes. I am no longer a child, Grandmother.’

‘Dear Lottie, as lovely as ever. She is, is she not, Sabrina? Dickon?’

Sabrina nodded and Dickon said: ‘She’s lovelier. She’s Lottie-grown-up, Lottie the woman. She’s even more lovely than Lottie the child.’

Sabrina and my grandmother looked at him and smiled in the way I remembered so well. My mother’s face had hardened and the years seemed to drop away and we were back in those days when there was conflict because Dickon wanted to marry me.

‘You are a father now, Dickon,’ she said.

‘Oh, the terrible twins,’ put in Sabrina indulgently. ‘They were rather cross because they weren’t allowed to sit up. You’ll see them in the morning.’

‘They must be about eight years old now,’ said my mother.

‘So you remember,’ commented my grandmother indulgently.

‘You’ll have a lot of time to talk,’ said Sabrina, smiling at my grandmother. ‘I’m going to take them to their rooms now. You’ll want to wash and have something to eat, I dare say. You’ll see them again very soon, Clarissa.’

My grandmother nodded and smiled contentedly while Sabrina took charge of us and led us to our rooms.

What memories come back to me in that room! And I am sure my mother felt the same in hers. She had not always been happy here and she was obviously remembering a great deal that was disturbing. We were both going to find our stay here rather upsetting. A brief glimpse of Dickon had made that certain. He had lost none of his charm and I was as conscious of him as I had ever been. I warned myself I would have to be wary.

I washed and changed and went down with my mother to a meal.

‘Are you feeling all right?’ I asked her.

She turned to give me a searching look. ‘I’m a little emotional, I’m afraid. It’s coming back here. I remember so much about the place. Uncle Carl … and then Jean-Louis and I here together.’

‘Grandmother, Sabrina and Dickon were not here then.’

‘No, they came when we left.’

‘I dare say there will be lots of differences.’

‘Oh, I dare say. Your grandmother does not seem as bad as I feared she might be. That’s a relief. I don’t think we should stay very long, do you, Lottie? I mean … you’ll be wanting to get home … and your father made me promise not to stay too long.’

‘We have only just come,’ I reminded her.

But even as early as that I was telling myself that I should never have agreed to come, for Dickon was determined to take up our relationship where it had been broken off, which was characteristic of his attitude to life. I really do believe that he saw himself as the very centre of existence with everything revolving round him and everyone there for his convenience. Others might be obliged to take care what they did; the same did not apply to him. If he wanted to act without honour he would do so; I am sure he believed so charmingly that everyone would forgive him.

‘No, I told myself. Not everyone. I shall never forget that he chose Eversleigh and let me go.

As we sat at table that night he singled me out for his attention.

‘Do you ride much in France, Lottie?’ he asked.

‘A great deal,’ I replied.

‘Good. We’ll go out tomorrow. I have just the horse for you.’

Sabrina smiled. ‘It will do you good, Lottie. And you’ll be safe with Dickon.’

I wanted to burst out laughing. I should be safer even alone than with Dickon.

My mother was talking about Claudine and what an enchanting child she was. ‘She has a bit of a temper, the nurse tells me. Oh, I do wish I could see my grandchildren more. Little Charlot is quite a charmer.’

‘What would you expect of Lottie’s son?’ asked Dickon.

‘I am wondering,’ I retorted, ‘what I am to expect of yours.’

‘Strange to think of us as parents, eh Lottie?’ said Dickon.

‘Why? We are no longer young.’

‘That’s nonsense,’ he said. ‘I feel young. You look young. Therefore we are young. Is that not so, dear Mother?’

‘Dickon is right,’ said Sabrina. Indeed, I thought, when in your eyes has he ever been anything else?

My mother asked questions about the neighbourhood. ‘What of that old house. Enderby?’

‘It’s empty now,’ Sabrina told her. ‘The Forsters left after the fire. They wanted to get away … understandably. Another family came but they didn’t stay long. Nobody does at Enderby. Dickon was a hero in that fire.’

‘My mother always sees the best of me,’ said Dickon.

‘Yes,’ put in my mother coolly, ‘she does indeed.’

‘Well, isn’t that the way a mother should see her offspring?’ asked Dickon. ‘Don’t you look at dear Lottie through rose-coloured glasses?’

‘I don’t need to,’ retorted my mother. ‘Lottie pleases me very much in her natural state.’

‘Zipporah has indeed become the gracious lady,’ observed Dickon. ‘Madame la Comtesse—no less. You must live very magnificently in your château.’

‘It is very pleasant,’ admitted my mother.

‘You look younger than you did before you left England. Oh, but then, of course, you had such anxieties.’

My mother did not reply. She went on quietly eating her food; but I knew she was annoyed with him and that he was deliberately stirring up memories which she would rather forget. For all that, she was determined not to let him see this, but I, who knew her so well, realized that she was feeling far from calm.

I was glad when the meal was over and we could retire. My mother said she would go straight to her room, for the journey had been very exhausting indeed.

We called in on my grandmother and chatted for about a quarter of an hour and then went to our rooms.

I had not been in mine very long when there was a tap on my door. I felt my heart start to race. I thought: No. Even he would not dare.

A voice said: ‘May I come in?’

Relief flooded over me for it was Sabrina.

‘Oh, Lottie,’ she said. ‘I do hope you are comfortable. I am so glad you came with your mother. Your grandmother is delighted. She has talked of nothing else since she knew you were coming. We are all so pleased!’

I said: ‘I am looking forward to meeting Dickon’s sons.’

‘You’ll love them. They are such rascals. Dickon says Jonathan takes after him, so you will gather that Jonathan is the more lively of the two.’

‘It must be great fun to have twins.’

‘Yes … and very fortunate in view of what happened. I think he still grieves for Isabel. It was so sad. It was what they wanted more than anything else—a son.’

‘I have heard that she was not very strong.’

‘She had several disappointments before. Then she succeeded and brought them into the world and ironically their coming cost her life.’

‘It is very sad. I gather it was a happy marriage.’

‘Oh very. They were so well suited. So different too. She was so quiet. She adored him.’

‘So there was yet another to worship at his feet.’

‘Your mother always laughed at our fondness for him. You’re not surprised, are you? There is something very special about Dickon. I believe you thought that once.’

She was looking at me speculatively and I flushed.

‘A sort of child’s hero-worship,’ I murmured.

‘Dickon was quite upset when you went to France.’

‘I thought he was very happy to get Eversleigh. He wouldn’t have had it if my mother hadn’t married and gone away. That must have made up for everything else.’

‘Of course he loves Eversleigh and he manages it perfectly. Poor Jean-Louis was not up to it. Well, it worked out very well.’

‘Do you often go to Clavering?’

‘Hardly ever. Dickon put in a very good manager and he himself is here most of the time when he is not in London.’

‘Oh, I remember you wrote and said he had his fingers in a lot of pies.’

‘Dickon is not the sort to shut himself away in the country. He is in London a good deal, as a matter of fact. He has friends there … in influential places. Isabel’s father was a wealthy banker, as you probably know.’

‘I did hear that he had married a great heiress.’

‘Yes. When her father died she inherited everything. So with banking interests in London and friends at Court Dickon leads a very busy life. But he was determined to be at Eversleigh when you came.’

She stood up and regarded me intently. She took it for granted that I joined in this adulation for Dickon. After all, before I left England I had been as loud in my praises of him as anyone.

‘You have fulfilled your early promise, Lottie. You really are beautiful.’

‘Thank you,’ I said.

‘I am sure Carlotta must have been very like you. There is a portrait of her in the house. You will see for yourself that the likeness is remarkable. Oh well, my dear, it is wonderful to see you here. I hope you are not going to run away too soon.’ She kissed me. ‘I’ll say good-night. Sleep well.’

When she had gone I sat on the bed and thought of Dickon’s marrying Isabel, the banker’s daughter and heiress. He had done that soon after I had left for France. I thought cynically: He did well out of his women. Because of me … Eversleigh. And his wife Isabel had brought him a fortune as well as an interesting life in London. Court circles no less! One could trust Dickon to get the best out of life.

I could not stop thinking of him. I tried to analyse my feelings and I came to the conclusion that in many ways I felt unsafe.

I turned the key in the lock. Only thus could I feel secure.

During the next few days I spent a great deal of time in Dickon’s company. It was impossible to avoid him. Wherever I decided to go he would be there. He regarded me with that slightly sardonic look as though to say: It is no use trying to escape. You know you never could escape from me.

I reminded myself a hundred times a day that he was an adventurer, that nobody was of any great account to him except himself. He was proud of his boys. I found them interesting, for they were so much alike in appearance and had an undoubted look of Dickon. They were different in character though. David was quiet and studious; Jonathan noisy and excelling at outdoor sports. They were not close to each other as some twins are. In fact they seemed to be highly critical of each other. Jonathan was very quick to resort to fisticuffs, but David was the master of the cutting remark. There seemed to be a rivalry between them which their tutor tried hard to eradicate. Mr Raine was a man in his early forties with a rather forbidding manner which I thought was exactly what the boys needed. They were both in awe of Dickon, clearly admired him and sought his favour. Dickon himself had little time for them and had never been inclined to pretend what he did not feel. He had two sons, which pleased him. They were the heirs and necessary to propagate the line; he had employed a tutor who could deal adequately with their education until it was time to send them away to school; there his interest ended.

We spent a great deal of time with my grandmother. After all, that was the reason why we had come and our arrival had done a lot for her. She talked with my mother over old times and the happy life she and Sabrina had had together bringing up Dickon.

There was no escaping Dickon in that house. My grandmother and Sabrina talked of him constantly and whenever I was alone he contrived to find me. When I went riding he would be beside me. I knew what his purpose was and I guessed it would be the same with any reasonable young woman. Dickon knew exactly what he wanted and he expected everyone to fall in with his wishes.

Apart from ambitions he had been strongly attracted by me and I wondered whether he had been to Isabel; and being Dickon, he assumed that he was irresistible and it would only be a matter of time before he overcame my scruples and we indulged in a love-affair.

I was aware of this and so was my mother; no doubt she had memories about her first meeting with my father which had taken place near Enderby. I was determined not to be a partner in Dickon’s search for temporary satisfaction. Sabrina and my grandmother believed of course that he was merely playing the host in his charming, gracious way, but to me, from our first day, his intentions were clear.

After spending most of the morning with my grandmother I went down to the stables in the early afternoon and asked one of the grooms to saddle a horse for me, which he did. I was looking forward to a nostalgic afternoon, visiting the places I remembered from all those years ago and I would remind myself of what a happy life I had found in France. I loved Charles—with reservations, it was true. I saw his faults. I did not believe that he was always faithful to me; I had, in some measure, accepted the marital conventions of my new country and I realized that the basis of a happy marriage, to the French, meant one in which a woman did not probe too deeply into her husband’s extramarital relationships. Some women might have said that what was in order for men might be for women too and some I knew carried their beliefs into practice. But I did see that there was some point in inflicting a more rigid code on women for the simple reason that romantic interludes could result in children.

Lisette and I had discussed the matter frequently. She said it was unfair. There should be one law and one only and that should apply to both men and women. If a child was the result, the man who had fathered it should be named since the woman had no alternative but to be recognized as the mother. But no. It was not like that. How many men had their clandestine relationships, resulting in difficulties for the partner in them, and escaped the shame, humiliation and practical difficulties of having a child born out of wedlock?

Lisette could argue fiercely about the matter. I always enjoyed these discussions and we usually made a habit of taking opposite sides so that we could get the most out of the discussion.

Now I thought of Lisette and considered how amused she would be to see Dickon pursuing me.

I could almost hear myself talking to Lisette. Yes, I would say, he does attract me. He always did … I think more than anyone I ever knew. More than Charles? Well, Charles did too. There is a similarity about them. They both have that swaggering attitude to life and see themselves as the all-conquering male and the strange thing is that while I resent it strongly, I am attracted by it. I am determined to resist submission and yet at the same time I enjoy being conquered.

It was a pity Lisette had not come with us. She would force me to be absolutely frank about my feeling for Dickon.

Right from the first I was exhilarated. It was a battle between us from which both he and I were determined to come out victorious. He saw himself as the irresistible seducer; I, as the woman who, if tempted, was not going to sink her pride so deeply that she forgot her marriage vows and the fact that this man had jilted her in favour of a great property.

On that afternoon I had not gone very far when I heard the sound of horse’s hoofs and looking over my shoulder was not at all surprised to see Dickon.

‘Riding alone?’ he said. ‘That won’t do.’

‘I was finding it very pleasant.’

‘But so much more so with an interesting and charming companion who knows the countryside well.’

‘Your assessment of your character is your own, of course, and the countryside is not altogether unfamiliar to me. Remember I lived here once.’

‘Don’t remind me, Lottie. My life took the wrong turning when you went away.’

‘The wrong one? To Eversleigh, to the Bank, is it? … the life at Court, the fingers in pies? Oh, Dickon, how can you be so ungrateful to the fate which brought you all these good things!’

‘I am not ungrateful. I am just telling you that the very thing which would have made my happiness complete was denied me.’

‘You look contented with life, Dickon. I would forget the extra flavouring and thank God for your good fortune.’

‘I missed you, Lottie.’

‘One does miss people sometimes when they go away.’

‘You went to France for a holiday and stayed there.’

‘And you came to Eversleigh. It was yours; the dream of your life—or the chief one at that time—come true. What more could you ask?’

‘You, Lottie, with it.’

‘But there was a choice, wasn’t there? One or the other.’

‘You were a child. I didn’t know then … ’

‘It is strange to hear you admit ignorance. Shall we talk of something more interesting.’

‘This is of the utmost interest to me.’

‘But not to me and it takes two to make a conversation. Tell me about affairs in London. There is a great deal of talk in France about the American Colonies.’

‘Talk!’ he said. ‘There is more than talk. The wretched French are helping the rebels.’

‘I believe some people even over here think they are right.’

‘There is no reason why foreigners should interfere.’

‘My husband is a staunch supporter of the colonists and thinks those in France who are seeking to help them are doing what is right.’

‘And you can live with such a traitor?’

‘Traitor? He is no traitor. He is a man of opinions.’

‘Are you in love with him?’

I hesitated for a moment and then replied almost defiantly: ‘Yes.’

‘A convincing negative,’ he said. ‘Lottie, don’t go back. Stay here.’

‘You must be mad. I have two children over there.’

‘We could send for them.’

‘You’re joking, of course. You have a most extraordinary high opinion of yourself. I suppose that comes of living your life with two adoring females.’

‘I think I see myself as I am.’

I laughed. ‘Tall, handsome, commanding, irresistible to all women, chivalrous—in conversation—honourable, never betraying anyone unless the price is high enough … ’

‘You are hard on me.’

‘I see you as you are.’

‘And if you were honest with yourself you would admit you like what you see.’

I pressed my horse to a gallop, for at that moment we had come into open country.

He was beside me and I enjoyed the sheer exhilaration of the ride.

We came back past Enderby. It looked gloomy now. I remembered it as it had been when the Forsters had been there. They had cut away the shrubs which grew in profusion round the house; now they were overgrown again. I could see why it had a reputation for being haunted.

‘Would you like to look round it?’ asked Dickon. ‘We can get in easily through one of the ground-floor windows. It has a broken latch. The place is very overrun. It has been empty for two years.’

I wanted to go inside and yet on the other hand I was aware of warning within me. No, I must not go into that house. My mother had gone there with my father. Very possibly I had been conceived in that house. There was something about it which was apparent even from the outside. My mother, when she had told me about my birth, had felt that there was some spirit there … something which had the power to change people who entered.

Fanciful thinking, perhaps, but I would not go into that house with Dickon.

‘Not now,’ I said. ‘It’s getting too late.’

And turning our horses away we rode back to Eversleigh.

A groom was coming round by the house as we approached, and Dickon called to him to take our horses to the stables. Dickon leaped down before I could to help me. He took me in his arms and lifted me up as he had when I arrived. A gesture, I think, which was meant to be symbolic. He was strong. I was at his mercy.

‘Thank you,’ I said coolly. ‘Put me down.’

But for a few moments he held me, and I did not want to meet his eyes. I saw someone at a window looking down at us. Even as I looked up, whoever it was stepped back.

As Dickon put me on the ground I said: ‘Who is up there?’

‘Where?’ he asked idly.

‘That window … right at the top.’ I nodded in the direction and he looked up.

‘That would be old Grissel’s place.’

‘Old Grissel?’

‘One of the servants. Griselda. The boys call her Grissel. It fits.’

I went into the house, my thoughts full of Dickon and his implications so that I forgot about old Grissel until later.

I wanted to get to know something about Dickon’s sons and one morning, when I knew it was time for their break from lessons, I went up to the schoolroom.

The boys were seated at a table with Mr Raine their tutor drinking glasses of milk.

‘I hope I’m not intruding on lessons,’ I said.

‘Come in,’ called Jonathan.

Mr Raine assured me that this was the morning break and that the boys would not resume lessons for another fifteen minutes.

‘Then may I sit down and talk. I want to get to know you.’

Jonathan grinned at me; David looked interested.

‘I have a boy of my own in France,’ I said. ‘He must be about three years younger than you.’

‘Three years!’ said Jonathan with a look of contempt.

‘You were three years younger once,’ David reminded him.

‘That was a long time ago.’

‘Three years to be precise,’ said Mr Raine. ‘Now, boys, stop arguing and be civil to Madame de Tourville.’

‘You’re French,’ said Jonathan, who clearly said the first thing that came into his mind.

‘She knows that and doesn’t want you to tell her,’ added David, who seemed to have an irresistible urge to irritate his brother at every turn.

‘I am French,’ I explained, ‘because my father and my husband are. But I used to live here for a while before I went to France.’

‘That was years ago.’

‘Before you were born.’

They looked at me in wonder.

‘They are still too young to grasp the fact that there was a world here before they joined it,’ said Mr Raine.

‘I also have a little girl. She is very young … little more than a baby.’

They dismissed her as of no interest.

‘What is your boy’s name?’ asked Jonathan.

‘Charles. We call him Charlot.’

‘That’s a funny name,’ commented Jonathan.

‘It’s French, silly,’ said David. ‘Why didn’t you bring them with you?’

‘We had to come quickly and my daughter is too young to travel.’

‘Charlot could have come.’

‘Yes, I suppose he could.’

‘I wish he had,’ said Jonathan. ‘I’d have shown him my falcon. I’m teaching him. Jem Logger is showing me.’

‘Jonathan spends a great deal of time in the stables with his dogs and horses,’ said Mr Raine. ‘And now we have a falcon. He is, I am afraid, far more interested in them than he is in literature and mathematics.’

David smirked and Jonathan shrugged his shoulders.

‘Does Charlot have a tutor?’ asked David.

‘Not yet. He only has a nursery governess at the moment.’

‘Like Grissel?’ asked David and the boys looked at each other and laughed.

‘Grissel?’ I said. ‘Now, I believe I saw her.’

‘She doesn’t come out much.’

‘But she is your nurse.’

Jonathan said scornfully: ‘We don’t have a nurse. We’re too old.’

‘Then Grissel … ’

‘She came with the boys’ mother,’ explained Mr Raine. ‘She keeps herself very much apart, but continues to stay here. She is…. rather strange.’

The boys exchanged glances and smiled. The subject of Grissel seemed the only one they could agree about.

‘She walks in her sleep,’ said David.

Jonathan made claws of his fingers and put on an expression of malevolence at which David laughed.

Mr Raine changed the subject and showed me some of the boys’ work. Jonathan had a talent for sketching which rather surprised me. He had done some pictures of his dogs and horses which showed that he had a really sensitive touch. I admired them, which pleased him very much.

‘Jonathan’s one talent in the schoolroom,’ said Mr Raine. ‘But he is a great sportsman. David, of course, has sharp wits. He’s the academic.’

Both boys looked very pleased with themselves and it occurred to me that Mr Raine did not have a very easy time.

I looked at their work and listened attentively, but I would rather have heard more about Grissel.

I asked Sabrina.

‘Oh, Grissel is a silly old woman,’ she said. ‘I wish she would go, but where would she go to? She came with Isabel. She had been her nurse and you know how fanatical these old nurses can be about their charges. When Isabel died I think it turned her head slightly. Sometimes she seems to believe that Isabel is still here. It is very disconcerting but what can we do? We can’t ask her to go. She is too old to take another post.’

‘I know how it is with these nannies and have often thought how sad it must be for them when their children grow up and no longer need them. Then they go on to the next … if they are young enough and it all starts again.’

‘Unfortunately poor Griselda is not young enough. Oh, she is all right here. She has her two little rooms there in the east wing. Her food is taken in to her and we forget her for the most part. The only trouble is that she seems to have a most extraordinary attitude towards the twins. She dotes on Jonathan and seems to dislike David. It is odd. David doesn’t care. They both used to play tricks on her until that was stopped. But she is quiet most of the time.’

‘I saw her looking out of one of the windows when I was coming in with Dickon.’

‘Oh yes. She watches Dickon all the time. He laughs at it and takes no notice. You know how he is. Your grandmother didn’t like it very much. She said it was uncanny. But it is just Griselda’s way.’

I didn’t think much more about Griselda until a few days later when I came into the house and saw what I can only describe as a shape looking over the banisters. It was there and gone in a flash so that I wondered whether I had imagined I saw something. It was nothing much, just one of those occurrences which, for some reason, send a shiver down one’s spine.

Then I became aware of that figure at the window watching me when I came in. I saw her once or twice before it occurred to me that she had some special interest in me.

A week had passed and we were still at Eversleigh. My mother wanted to get back but every time she suggested leaving there were protests and she was persuaded to wait another week before making plans for departure.

I was not sorry. Eversleigh was beginning to cast its spell on me—but perhaps that was Dickon. It was all very well for me to tell myself that he was making no impression on me and that I saw him clearly for what he was. Each day I awoke with a sense of excitement and it was all due to the fact that I knew I was going to be with Dickon.

Nothing had changed since those early days—except of course that I looked at him differently. I was no longer the wide-eyed innocent child. I saw him as he was, a buccaneering adventurer, determined to get the most out of life, completely self-centred, and a man whose own interests would always come first. The frightening thing was that it didn’t make any difference. I still wanted to be with him; the hours were dull when he was not there, although we spent most of the time in verbal conflict that was more exciting than the most friendly conversation with anyone else.

Our afternoon ride had become a ritual now. All the time he was trying to charm me, to lull my suspicions and to give him the opportunity of seducing me. So far I had resisted his attentions and I intended to go on doing so.

When we rode past Enderby, he said, ‘Why don’t you come and have a look over the house?’

‘Whatever for? I have no intention of buying a house so why should I want to look over it?’

‘Because it’s interesting. It is a house with a history. It’s haunted, you know, by all the ghosts of the past … those who have lived such evil lives that they can’t rest.’

‘I expect it is very dirty.’

‘Cobwebs. Dark shadows. Strange shapes looming up. I’d be there to protect you, Lottie.’

‘I would need no protection from cobwebs and shadows.’

‘Ah, but what about the ghosts?’

‘I don’t think I have anything to fear from them either. Why should they be interested in me?’

‘They are interested in any who brave their domains. But I see you are afraid.’

‘I am not afraid.’

He looked at me slyly. ‘Not of the house … but of me.’

‘Afraid of you Dickon? In Heaven’s name, why?’

‘Afraid of giving me what I want and what you so much want to give.’

‘What’s that? You have Eversleigh, you know.’

‘Yourself,’ he said. ‘Lottie, you and I were made for each other.’

‘By whom?’

‘Fate.’

‘Then Fate made a very poor job of it. I assure you I was certainly not made for you … nor you for me. You were made for Eversleigh perhaps. That’s a different matter.’

‘You do go on about Eversleigh. You attach too much importance to it.’

‘No. It was you who did that.’

‘Thy tongue is sharp as the serpent’s. Did someone say that? If they didn’t they ought to have done. In any case I’m saying it now.’

‘And I say beware of serpents.’

‘Come. Admit the truth. You are afraid to step inside Enderby with me.’

‘I assure you I am not.’

‘Back up your assurance with words.’

On an impulse I dismounted. He was laughing as he tethered our horses to the post. He took my hand as we advanced towards the house.

‘The window with the broken latch is round there. It is quite easy to get in. Someone wanted to look at it a few weeks ago and I showed him the way in. I wonder if he made an offer for the place.’

He had found the window, opened it, looked inside and helped me in. We were in the hall, at the end of which was a door. It was open and we went through it into a large stone-floored kitchen. The spits were still there. We examined the great fireplace with its fire-dogs and cauldrons. There were layers of dust on everything. I found it quite fascinating and prowled about opening cupboards and exploring.

We must have been there for about five minutes before we went back to the hall. Above us was the minstrels’ gallery.

Dickon put his fingers to his lips. ‘The gallery is the most haunted spot. Let’s explore it.’

He took my hand and I was glad of the contact as the eeriness of the house began to wrap itself about me. I could well believe that at night the ghosts came to relive their tragic lives once more in such a house.

Our footsteps rang out in silence.

‘Cold, isn’t it?’ said Dickon. ‘Are you just a little scared, Lottie?’

‘Of course not.’

‘You look a little.’ He put his arm about me. ‘There. That’s better.’ We mounted the stairs. Some of the furniture remained, though most of it had been taken away.

‘Let’s go into the gallery. Defy the ghosts. Are you game?’

‘Of course.’

‘Come then.’ We mounted the staircase and went into the gallery; we leaned over the balcony and looked down on the hall.

‘Imagine it full of people … people dancing … long-dead people … ’

‘Dickon, you know you don’t really believe in ghosts.’

‘Not when I’m outside. In here … can you feel the malevolent influence?’

I did not answer. There was certainly something strange about the place. It was uncanny, but I had the feeling that the house was waiting for my answer.

‘Let’s defy the dead,’ said Dickon. ‘Let’s show them that at least we are alive.’

He put his arms about me.

‘Don’t do that, Dickon.’

His answer was to laugh. ‘Dear Lottie, do you think I am going to let you go now that I have you again?’

I tried to hold him off. My strength, I knew, was puny against his. He would not dare to force himself on me. He would have to be careful … even he. I was no village girl to be lightly raped and no questions asked. And that was not Dickon’s way. He was too sure of his charms and he wanted to be gratefully accepted; he would not want reluctance … not from me in any case.

‘Lottie,’ he said, ‘it was always you. Never anyone else. Nor was it for you. You never forgot me any more than I forgot you. We’re together at last. Let’s take what we’ve got. Lottie … please.’

He held me fast now and I felt myself slipping away in some sort of ecstasy. I was a child again. Dickon was my lover. This was how it was always meant to be.

I was not fighting any more. I heard him laugh triumphantly.

‘No,’ I said. ‘No.’ But I did not make any other protest and Dickon would know that surrender was close.

But … just then, I heard a movement, the sound of a footstep overhead—and I was immediately brought back to sanity.

I said: ‘Someone is here … in the house.’

‘No,’ said Dickon.

‘Listen.’

There it was again. The definite sound of a footstep.

‘Come on. We’ll see who it is,’ said Dickon. He started out of the gallery and up the staircase. I followed.

We were in a corridor. There were many doors there. Dickon threw open one of them. I followed him into a room. There was no one there. We went into another room. There were a few pieces of furniture in this one and it took us a little time to make sure there was no one hiding there. And as he pulled back the tattered brocade curtains about a four-poster bed we heard the movement again. This time it was downstairs. There had been someone in the house, and whoever it was had eluded us, for he or she must at this moment be climbing through the window by which he had come in.

We rushed down. Soon we were through the window and out among the overgrown shrubs. I felt overwhelmingly grateful to whoever it was who had saved me from Dickon and myself.

We rode silently back to the house. Dickon was clearly disappointed but not utterly dismayed. I realized he had high hopes for the future. I felt a certain elation. Never again, I promised myself.

Something in the house had saved me. It had sounded like human footsteps, but I wondered whether it was some ghost from the past. There was that ancestress of mine, Carlotta. She had had connections with the house at some time; she had actually owned it.

I had almost convinced myself that it was Carlotta returned from the dead who had saved me, and this was an indication of the state of mind into which I was falling. I had always regarded myself as a practical woman. The French are notoriously practical; and I was half French. And yet sometimes I felt as though since I had come to England I was being drawn into a web from which I would eventually be unable to escape.

It was an absurd feeling, but I had to admit that it was there.

The sensation came to me that I was being watched. When I returned to the house, if I glanced up to what I knew to be Griselda’s windows there would be a hasty movement. Someone was there looking down on me and dodging back hoping not be seen. I could put that down to an old woman’s curiosity and according to Sabrina she was a little mad in any case; but it was more than that. Sometimes I felt I was watched from the banisters, from the corridors, and sometimes I hurried to the spot where I thought I had seen or heard a movement and there was nothing there. An old woman could certainly not have been agile enough to get out of Enderby and climb through the window.

My grandmother’s health had improved since we had come and my mother said it was time we thought of going home. Sabrina and my grandmother were sad at the prospect.

‘It has been so wonderful to see you,’ said Sabrina. ‘It has meant so much to us all. It has kept Dickon with us. It is a long time since he has been at Eversleigh for such a stretch.’

I said that our husbands would be wondering why we did not return and my mother added that they had only agreed that we should come because the visit was to be a short one.

I was determined to see Griselda before I left, and one afternoon I made my way to that part of the house where I knew her rooms to be.

It was very quiet and lonely as I ascended the short narrow staircase and came to a corridor. I had judged it from where I knew the window to be from the shadowy watcher who had looked down on me.

I found a door and knocked. There was no answer, so I went to the next and knocked again.

There was still no answer but I sensed that someone was on the other side of the door.

‘Please may I come in?’ I said.

The door opened suddenly. An old woman was standing there. The grey hair escaped from under a cap; her face was pale and her deep-set eyes wide with the whites visible all round the pupil which gave her an expression of staring. She was dressed in a gown of sprigged muslin, high-necked and tight-bodiced. She was very slight and thin.

‘Are you Griselda?’ I asked.

‘What do you want?’ she demanded.

‘I wanted to meet you. I am going soon, and I did want to make the acquaintance of everyone in the house before I do.’

‘I know who you are,’ she said, as though the knowledge gave her little pleasure.

‘I am Madame de Tourville. I lived here once.’

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘before my lady came here. You were here then.’

‘May I come in and chat for a moment?’

Rather ungraciously she stepped back and I entered the room. I was amazed to see Jonathan rise from one of the chairs.

‘Oh, hello,’ he said.

‘Jonathan!’ I cried.

‘Jonathan is a good boy,’ said Griselda; and to him: ‘Madame de Tourville thinks she should see everybody so she called on me.’

‘Oh,’ said Jonathan. ‘Can I go now?’

‘Yes, do,’ she said. ‘And come back tomorrow.’

She caught him and kissed him with emotion. He wriggled a little in her embrace and gave me an apologetic look as though to excuse himself for having been involved in such a demonstration.

As Jonathan went away, Griselda said: ‘He is a good boy. He looks after me and my wants.’

‘You never mingle with the family,’ I said.

‘I was the nurse. I came with my lady. I would to God we never had.’

‘You mean the lady Isabel.’

‘His wife. The mother of young Jonathan.’

‘And David,’ I added.

She was silent and her mouth hardened; her eyes looked wider and consequently more wild.

‘I’ve seen you,’ she said almost accusingly. ‘I’ve seen you … with him.’

I glanced towards the window. ‘I think I have seen you up there … from time to time.’

‘I know what goes on,’ she said.

‘Oh, do you?’

‘With him,’ she added.

‘Oh?’

‘I’ll never forgive him. He killed her, you know.’

‘Killed! Who killed whom?’

‘He did. The master. He killed my little flower.’ Her eyes filled with tears and her mouth quivered. She clenched her hands and I thought she looked quite mad.

I said gently: ‘I don’t think that is true. Tell me about Isabel.’

Her face changed so suddenly that it was startling to watch her. ‘She was my baby from the first. I had had others but there was something about little Isabel. An only child, you see. Her mother died … died giving birth to her just as …Well, there she was, my baby. And him, her father, he was a good man. Never much there. Too important. Very rich. Always doing something …. But when he was there he loved his little daughter. But really she was mine. He never tried to interfere. He’d always say, “You know what’s best for our little girl, Griselda.” A good man. He died. The good die and the evil flourish.’

‘I can see that you loved Isabel very much.’

She said angrily: ‘There should never have been this marriage. Wouldn’t have been if it had been left to me. It was the one thing I can’t forgive him for. He just had the notion that girls ought to marry and that Isabel would be all right just as others were. He didn’t know my little girl like I did. She was frightened … really frightened. She used to come to me and sob her heart out. There wasn’t anything I could do … though I would have died for her. So she was married, my poor little angel. She said, “You’ll come with me, Griselda,” and I said, “Wild horses wouldn’t drag me away from you, my love.”’

I said: ‘I understand how you feel. You loved her dearly just as a mother loves her child. I know. I have children of my own.’

‘And I had to see her brought here … to this house with him. He didn’t care for her. What he cared for was what she brought him.’

I was silent. I could agree with Griselda on that.

‘Then it started. She was terrified. You see, she had got to get this son. Men … they all want children … but it would be different, eh, if they had the bearing of them. She was frightened when she knew she’d conceived … and, then before three months had gone she had lost it. The second was even worse. That went on for six months. There was another after that. That was her life. That was all she meant to him—except of course the money. And when her father died he got that too. Then he was ready to be rid of her.’

‘You said he killed her.’

‘He did. They could have saved her … but that would have meant losing the boys. He wouldn’t have it. He wanted the boys. That was it. He got them … and it cost her her life.’

‘You mean there was a choice?’

She nodded. ‘I was mad with sorrow. I was there with her. She would have me and even he did not try to stop that. He murdered her, just as sure as you’re sitting there, Madame. And now he has his eyes on you. What does he want from you, do you think?’

‘Griselda,’ I told her, ‘I am a married woman. I have a husband and children in France and I intend to go back to them shortly.’

She moved close to me and lifted her face to mine; her eyes seemed luminous in her wrinkled face. ‘He has plans for you. Don’t forget it. He’s one who won’t see his plans go awry.’

‘I make my own plans,’ I said.

‘You’re with him all the time. I know him. I know his way with women. Even Isabel …’

‘You know nothing about me, Griselda. Tell me more about Isabel.’

‘What more is there to tell? She was happy with me. She came here and was murdered.’

‘Do stop talking about murder. I know she died giving birth to the twins. You’re very fond of them, aren’t you?’

‘David killed her,’ she said.

‘David!’

‘It was both of them. Him forcing that on her … using her … my little Isabel, just to bear children when she wasn’t capable of it. Her mother had died giving birth to her. It was a weakness in the family. She should never have been forced to try it. Then there was David. He was born two hours after Jonathan. She might have been saved. But he had to have David, you see. He wanted two sons … just in case something happened to one of them. Between them they murdered her … him and David.’

‘Griselda, at least you shouldn’t blame David. A newly-born child! Isn’t that rather foolish of you?’

‘Whenever I look at him, I say to myself: It was you … It was your life or hers. They had Jonathan. That should have been enough.’

‘Griselda, what proof have you of this?’

Her wild eyes searched my face and she did not answer my question. She said: ‘He never married again. He’s got his two sons. That leaves him free for his women. He’s brought them here sometimes. I’ve seen them. I used to wonder whether there’d be anyone set up in Isabel’s place.’

‘Isn’t it time to forget the past, Griselda?’

‘Forget Isabel? Is that what you’re saying?’

‘Why did you watch me?’

‘I watch all of them.’

‘You mean … ’

She leaned towards me again and said: ‘His women.’

‘I am not one of them.’

She smiled secretly. I remembered that moment in the minstrels’ gallery at Enderby and was ashamed.

I said: ‘Do you have helpers in your watching?’

‘I can’t get about,’ she said. ‘It’s my rheumatics. Had them for a long time. Makes getting about very hard.’

‘Do you see a good deal of Jonathan?’

She nodded, smiling.

‘And David?’

‘I don’t have him here. He was never what his brother was.’

‘So Jonathan comes on his own. What do you talk about?’

‘His mother. The past.’

‘Is it wise to talk about that to a child?’

‘It’s truth. All children should be taught truth. It says so in the Holy Book.’

‘Do you let Jonathan … do things for you?’

‘He wants to,’ she said. ‘He comes in all excitement. “What’s the scheme for today, Grissel?” he says … the little monkey.’

‘So he follows his father. He … spies on him?’

‘We all want to know if the master is going to marry again. It would make a difference to us all.’

‘As a nurse, don’t you think it is wrong to involve a child in these things?’

‘Jonathan’s not a child. He was born a man … like his father. I know much of what goes on. I learned through Isabel. I saw him through her eyes. Have a care, Madame. No one is safe from him. Remember he murdered my Isabel.’

I had a great desire to get away from the scrutiny of those mad eyes. The room seemed to be stifling me. I felt I was shut in with a crazy woman. She had accused Dickon of murder because his wife died giving birth to twins. She was teaching Jonathan to spy for her. The idea of that boy following us to Enderby … lying in wait there to spy on us, revolted me.

I wondered whether I should tell Sabrina what I had discovered. I felt someone should know, and yet who? My grandmother was not in a fit state to cope with the situation. Sabrina? My mother? Dickon?

I did not feel I could confide what I had discovered to anyone in this house. Then I thought: What harm can the old woman do with her spying? To Jonathan it was just a game. To spy on his father and report to Griselda! There was something decidedly unhealthy about that. But there was something unhealthy about the entire matter.

While I turned all this over in my mind, preparations for our departure went on apace and a few days after my meeting with Griselda, my mother and I were on our way to the coast.