Voices in a Haunted Room

The Fifth of November

AUGUST HAD COME. It was several weeks since Evie’s funeral. I often went to her grave and took flowers with me. I noticed that a rose had been planted there and I wondered by whom.

I thought a great deal about her. I could well understand her succumbing to temptation. Who better than I? And often I thought how harsh life was with some people and lenient with others. I had sinned more deeply than she had, for I had betrayed my husband; yet she had suffered and I had gone free—not exactly free, but to be troubled only by my conscience.

Life is so unfair, I thought. If only she had confided in me and I had been able to help her! I could have found comfort in that for myself. What agony of mind a person must endure to come to the conclusion that there was no other way than to end it all!

Mrs. Trent kept largely to her house and I rarely saw her. I had called once or twice, but I think seeing me recalled Evie to her more vividly and it seemed that it was better to leave her alone.

Aunt Sophie was horrified by what had happened. She could always have pity for others’ misfortunes; in fact she was apt to brood on them as she did on her own; and Jeanne said that she talked incessantly about Evie’s death and the wickedness of men who betrayed women.

Young Dolly was with her a great deal.

“Poor child!” said Jeanne. “It is a terrible blow to her. She adored her sister. She has become more withdrawn than ever; but she and Mademoiselle seem to bring some comfort to each other.”

“Time will help,” I said. “It always does.”

Jeanne agreed with me. “Time,” she repeated, “even with Mademoiselle and the little Dolly… it will help.”

There was a change in the air. Events were moving fast and it was clear that what was happening on the Continent must affect our lives. England was indeed deeply involved in the conflict.

In June the little Dauphin had died in the Temple. He had been twelve years old. Now there was no king of France. I often thought of that little boy. What a sad life he had had! And how he must have suffered, parted from his mother, forced to make cruel and even obscene allegations against her. And then… to die. How had he died? We should never be sure of that.

Oh, what a cruel world this had become.

There were riots in some parts of the country due to the high price of food. I wondered if Léon Blanchard had helped to rouse the mobs. Jonathan was right. Agitators must be eliminated—even young men like Alberic.

There was some consternation when Spain made peace with France; and it seemed that all our allies were deserting us because they realized that France, led by this adventuring Corsican Napoleon Bonaparte, war-torn though it was by revolution, was a power to be reckoned with.

It was afternoon. I had been in the garden and as I came in I saw Grace Soper on the lawn with the babies. Jessica was now a year old, Amaryllis a little younger. They were both crawling all over the place and could now take a few staggering steps. Soon they would be running about.

“That’s the time we shall have to watch them,” said Grace Soper. “My word, that Miss Jessica, she’s a little madam, she is. She wants this, she wants that and I’ll tell you this, Mrs. Frenshaw, she won’t be happy till she gets what takes her fancy. Miss Amaryllis is such a good little girl.”

My mother took as much pride in Jessica’s waywardness as I did in Amaryllis’s docility; they were both perfect in our eyes.

I looked into the little carriage in which they slept side by side. Jessica with her dark hair and long sweeping lashes, cheeks faintly tinted, was beautiful in a striking way; I thought she might be like my mother except that her eyes were dark and my mother’s a brilliant blue. “She must get them from some of her fiery French ancestors,” my mother said.

“The Eversleighs can be somewhat fiery too on occasions,” I replied.

She admitted it. “Amaryllis looks like a little angel,” she said; and so she did with her fair hair and blue eyes and a certain air of fragility which alarmed me sometimes but which Grace Soper said was due to small bones, and that my Amaryllis was in as perfect health as her robust nursery companion Jessica.

I left them slumbering side by side under the shadow of a sycamore tree on that peaceful August afternoon and went into the house.

It must have been about half an hour later when I heard shrieks coming from the garden. I hastily ran downstairs. Grace Soper was there with my mother and they were both distracted. All my mother could say was: “It can’t be… How can it be? What does it mean?”

Grace was shaking so much that she could scarcely speak.

“The babies…”

My mother cried: “Jessica… she’s not there…”

I looked into the baby carriage. Floods of relief swept over me, for Amaryllis was lying there fast asleep. But then the horror of what had happened dawned on me. Jessica was missing.

“How… what has happened?” I cried.

“They were asleep,” stammered Grace. “I went into the house. I was only gone five minutes… When I came out…”

“She can’t be far,” said my mother.

“Could she have got out of the carriage?”

Grace shook her head. “They were both strapped in. I always see to that.”

“Oh, God help us,” I prayed. “Someone has taken Jessica.”

Fortunately Dickon was at home and he took charge in that calm efficient way of his.

“The strap could have been loose,” he said. “She might have undone it.”

“It wouldn’t have been easy for her to get out even then,” said my mother. “Someone’s taken her. Oh… Dickon… who? Who? We must find her.”

“We’ll find her,” said Dickon. “Now first of all we must have a thorough search of the garden and all around. It is possible that she could have got out. She could have crawled into the bushes somewhere. That’s where she’ll be. We’ll waste no more time.”

The servants had come running out of the house. Everyone was deeply shocked. The search began; but although the gardens were thoroughly checked there was no sign of Jessica.

I took Amaryllis from the carriage. I couldn’t bear to let her out of my sight. Poor Grace Soper was in a state of collapse, blaming herself, which we assured her she should not do. She was an excellent nurse and had been assiduous in her care for the babies. She had left them for only five minutes asleep in their carriage.

The straps were examined. There was nothing wrong with them and that brought us to the only conclusion.

Jessica had been kidnapped.

Dickon said that there would almost certainly be a demand for ransom.

“I hope so,” said my mother. “I hope so… soon… anything, just anything, to get my baby back.”

Dickon himself led a party and searched and questioned everyone on the estate.

The news spread.

I don’t know how we lived through the rest of that day. My mother was distracted. I think we all were. It was so unexpected.

Dickon immediately had posters set up in the town offering a reward for any news of his daughter. He sent messengers out to all the neighbouring towns and to the ports.

By the end of the day we were all exhausted with anxiety. Night had fallen and there was still no sign of the child. There was nothing further we could do. We all knew it. We sat in the punch room—silent and desperate.

Grace Soper was upstairs in the nursery. She would not go to bed, but kept her vigil beside Amaryllis’s bed. Dickon said: “You can rest assured we shall hear something in the morning. They are giving us time to work ourselves into a frenzy. I know these people. We shall hear, you see.”

We sat through the night. My mother stared before her, huddled close to Dickon. Every now and then he would murmur something reassuring. “You see, we’ll hear something in the morning. I know the way these people work.”

“But what will they do to her… my little baby. She’ll be hungry…”

“No, no. They’ll look after her. You’ll see. In the morning…”

Should we hear in the morning? I wondered.

David put his arm round me. He knew I was fearful for Amaryllis.

All through the next day we waited. There was no news. The usual rumours began to circulate, for the whole neighbourhood knew that Jessica was missing. Someone had seen a stranger carrying a baby hurrying through the main streets of the town. Dickon and David hastened off to make enquiries and when the woman was tracked down she proved to have been visiting her relations in the town—so naturally she was a stranger to some people.

I shall never forget the look of hopelessness in my mother’s eyes when they returned.

I suppose the most difficult thing to endure in such circumstances is the frustration, the utter helplessness of not knowing which way to turn.

“How can anyone be so cruel as to do this?” I cried for the twentieth time. “Do they not think of mothers…”

David soothed me.

“Dickon’s right. It’s money they want. It’ll be a ransom.”

“We’ll pay and they’ll give her back. You really think that?”

“They know my father is a rich man. It can’t be anything but that. What point could there possibly be in harming Jessica?”

I shook my head. “There are so many things I don’t understand. Why do people want to inflict torture on others… without a reason.”

“There’s always a reason. In this case it is money. You’ll see. Dickon will pay. He’d give anything for the family… and particularly your mother.”

I knew it was true. But the waiting… the anxiety… the terrible fear of the unknown… they were hard to endure.

My mother looked like a ghost. All her vitality seemed to have been drained away. I tried to persuade her to rest and I did induce her to lie down for a while. I sat by her bed but I could think of nothing to say which would comfort her; she just lay staring ahead of her and then she rose saying that she could lie idle no longer, although there was nothing we could do.

I went to the nursery and played with Amaryllis. I felt so grateful that she was safe—and yet the very sight of her brought back more acutely the terrible loss of Jessica.

Poor Grace Soper continued to blame herself. She needed comforting. She said that someone must watch over Amaryllis day and night, and she would see to it that no one got at that precious little mite.

The long, long morning ended and the long weary afternoon began.

No news. Let something happen soon, I prayed. We can’t go on like this.

Dickon and David had been out all the afternoon. They were searching everywhere they could think she might possibly be; they were seeing everyone who they thought might help. They came back and even Dickon was dispirited. His prophecy that a ransom would be demanded had not happened.

That night we made a pretence of going to our bedrooms to sleep; but none of us could rest.

David and I sat through the night talking desultorily. Now Jessica had been away two nights and we were really getting very frightened.

There was one horrible thought which had occurred to me. I would not have mentioned it to my mother but I did to David, as I wanted him to reassure me that it could not be.

I said: “David, your father must have many enemies.”

David was thoughtful.

I went on: “A man in his position surely would have. He is rich and the rich are envied—and envy is a powerful force. This could be a form of revenge.”

David’s words horrified me. “I had thought of that,” he said. “He has many contacts… not only in this country but abroad. There must be many who would wish to do him some injury.”

“I know there are these secret matters and that he and Jonathan are involved in them.”

“It is so. You remember those people who came to stay for a night. It was something in his study they were after. Some secret document. And they found it. If you live dangerously you must expect your enemies to strike you in unexpected ways.”

“So it could be possible that someone has taken Jessica out of revenge… against Dickon?”

David was silent for a few moments. I knew he wanted to comfort me; but that inherent honesty made it difficult for him to dissemble. At last he said: “It is possible. But I don’t think we should allow ourselves to think the worst. The most likely answer is ransom, and perhaps we can deal with that.”

“But why don’t the kidnappers ask for it? Why do they delay?”

“Because they want to keep us in suspense.”

“Do you think they are looking after Jessica?”

“Yes, they usually do in these circumstances. A live child is of more value to them than a dead one.”

So we talked, and at length from sheer exhaustion I dozed, only to be startled into wakefulness by a nightmare—confused and horrible, in which I was clutching Amaryllis to me while someone was trying to drag her away.

“It’s all right,” I heard David saying. “It’s all right.”

I opened my eyes.

“I think it is better to stay awake,” I said.

We watched the dawn come. Another day! Another weary vigil! What would it bring forth? I asked myself and trembled as I tried to dismiss the thoughts which crowded into my mind.

I felt a sudden urge to get out of the house, to walk through the gardens, to make yet another search.

“I can’t stay in,” I cried. “Let’s go into the garden.”

“All right,” said David.

He put a cloak round my shoulders. “It will be a bit chilly,” he said, “and the grass will be damp.”

We opened the door and stepped into the porch.

Something was lying there. I stared. I thought I was dreaming. Then floods of joy swept over me. Lying there wrapped in a blanket was Jessica.

I picked her up. David was staring at her. She opened sleepy eyes, looked at me, gave a big yawn and closed them again.

“It is!” I cried. “It is!”

I went into the hall shouting: “She’s here. Jessica is here.”

My mother came first. She ran to me and snatched the sleeping Jessica from me. There was Dickon… Grace Soper… all the servants.

“She’s back! She’s back!” cried my mother; and I thought she would collapse from very joy.

Dickon took Jessica. “She’s in fine shape,” he said.

My mother snatched her. “She’s well,” she murmured. “She’s not harmed… Oh, my little baby.”

Jessica opened her eyes; she gave a crooked smile and when she saw her mother started to wail.

After the joy of having Jessica back we fell into a state of great uneasiness, asking ourselves: Who could have done this? And for what purpose?

It was clear that during her absence the child had been well cared for and she seemed to accept her return to her family without any great show of delight—although she did smile with a rather special contentment when her mother held her fast in her arms.

Who had submitted us to this suffering, seemingly without purpose? We could not forget it and the memory hung over us like a pall clouding our days. The babies were never left alone for a moment. First thing in the morning my mother and I would hurry to the nursery to assure ourselves that they were safe. Grace had her bed moved into the night nursery and she said she slept with one eye and one ear open.

Her niece, a pleasant girl of about fourteen, came as nursery maid and her room led out of the night nursery, so she was on the alert too.

But we should never feel entirely safe again.

In September Jonathan and Millicent came to Eversleigh; they were only staying for a few days and then going on to Pettigrew Hall for a short visit before returning to London.

I was suffering from a return of that apprehension which I always felt when Jonathan was under the same roof. I tried to discover surreptitiously what difference marriage had made to him. I could see none; Millicent had changed, though; she seemed softer, more pleased with life; I supposed that meant she was finding her marriage satisfactory.

She would certainly find Jonathan a charming husband, I thought, until she discovered his true nature.

He had not changed at all. He was daring, completely without restraint, defying conventions as he had always done when he contrived to be alone with me.

The babies were sleeping in the garden in their carriage just as they had been on the day Jessica had disappeared. Grace Soper and her niece were sitting near the carriage and my mother was there talking to them.

I was gathering some of the autumn flowers. I had some purple asters and Michaelmas daisies in my basket and as I was cutting them Jonathan came and stood beside me.

“What joy to see you again, Claudine,” he said. “I have missed you.”

“Is that so?” I asked, lightly snipping at a Michaelmas daisy.

“Indeed it is. Should I say so if it were not so?”

“You might,” I replied.

“Are you pleased to see me here?”

“My mother likes to have the entire family gathered together under one roof.”

“What a way you have for parrying the question. You should be in Parliament… or in the diplomatic service. Claudine, you do miss me sometimes. Come on. Tell the truth.”

“Not often,” I lied.

“Do you tell falsehoods to yourself as well as to me?”

I said sharply: “Enough of this. You are a married man. I am a married woman—and we are not married to each other.”

He burst out laughing and my mother looked up and smiled in our direction.

“I am me and you are you,” he said. “Nothing can alter that, my love.”

I replied almost pleadingly: “Jonathan, it is wrong of you to talk like this—and you so newly married. What if Millicent heard you? I thought she looked so happy.”

“She is happy. Is she not married to me? I tell you, Claudine, I am the very model of a husband.”

“On the surface,” I said. “You do not seem to fit the description at this moment.”

“And who is to blame for that?”

“You are to blame.”

“Not entirely. I share the blame with you.”

I was angry. I had tried so hard to forget what had happened and he only had to look at me to remind me. I despised my weakness in the past, and it was particularly shameful because I could so easily fall into temptation again. I vigorously snapped a stem.

“Don’t blame the daisies for fate, Claudine,” he said. “Poor little starry creatures. It is not their fault that you and I were meant for each other and that you discovered it too late. But you should be grateful. You would never have known how perfect a relationship can be… but for the time you spent with me.”

“I have never known real peace since.”

“Poor Claudine. You would have gone on living in ignorance, contented perhaps in a mild cosy way… never really living. Safe in your little paradise, never venturing into the real world… the world of passion and adventure and the excitement which comes from living life to the full. Into your self-made paradise, walled in with the security of cosy unawareness, came the serpent one day and tempted you to eat of the tree of knowledge… and this you did. You tasted the true joy of living… and ever since you have been afraid… afraid to live… afraid to love… You know this and you long to escape to me… You won’t admit it. But I know it and so do you… in your secret thoughts.”

“I must go in,” I said.

“Retreat is a symbol of defeat.”

I turned to face him. “I am trying to forget that ever happened.”

“You never will.”

“Jonathan, I am going to try.”

“Face the truth,” he said. “What I have said is right. You will never forget. You have tasted the fruit of the tree of knowledge. Rejoice, my darling. Life was meant to be lived joyously.”

“I want to live mine… honourably,” I said.

And I turned and walked across the lawn.

“Isn’t it a beautiful afternoon?” said my mother. “There won’t be many more this year. Come and sit down for a while.”

I thought she might notice the colour in my cheeks, that sparkle of battle in my eyes which came when I had these encounters with Jonathan, so I said: “I think I should put the flowers in water first. They wilt so quickly. Then I’ll join you.”

Jonathan threw himself down beside my mother.

I heard him say as I hurried across the lawn: “How beautiful you are, dear Step-mama!”

Later I had a talk with Millicent, and that again made me uneasy.

She wanted to borrow one of my brooches which she needed for a dress she was wearing; she explained that she had left most of her jewellery in London. She knew my garnet-and-diamond brooch well… and if I could spare it…

“Of course,” I said. “I’ll bring it along when we go upstairs.”

When I went to her room she was seated at the dressing table wearing a peignoir of magenta colour which suited her. Her dark hair was loose and she looked so much prettier than she used to.

“That’s what I wanted,” she said. “Thank you, Claudine.”

I hesitated. This was the room which they shared legitimately. I thought of that other room… dusty blue curtains and the mysterious voice which had come to me through the speaking tube.

I did not want to think about Millicent and Jonathan together. I could imagine so much so vividly. I felt a frustrated anger as I looked at her. I had to admit that I was jealous. What was the use of pretending that I did not care for him, that I wanted to forget? No. I wanted to remember. I wanted to dream about those days when I had forgotten my marriage vows, when I had behaved so wantonly and been so happy.

It was no use deceiving myself. Whatever he was, I wanted him. Did I love him? Who could truly define love? I loved David. I would have done a great deal not to hurt him. There were times when I hated myself for what I had done. But if feeling wildly excited, that the world was a delightful place and that I had so much to learn of many things which I wanted him to teach me… if that was love… then I loved Jonathan.

She had picked up the garnet brooch and held it against her peignoir.

“It’s very pretty,” she said. “So kind of you, Claudine.”

“It’s nothing. I’m glad you like it.”

“One can’t take all one’s things when travelling.”

“Of course not.”

“And we left in rather a hurry. That’s how it always seems with Jonathan.” She smiled indulgently.

“Yes, I supposed so. You look… very happy.”

“Oh, I am. I never dreamed…” She was smiling, looking back, I imagined… thinking of their being together.

“Well, that is how it should be,” I said, trying to speak in a cool matter-of-fact way.

“Some people think it was a marriage of convenience.”

“You mean… you and Jonathan?”

She nodded. “Well, the parents were rather pleased.”

“Yes, it was what they hoped for on both sides.”

“You would have thought… in the circumstances… But it was not at all like that.”

“It is good that you have found such happiness.”

“In a way,” she said, “it is a sort of challenge.”

“You mean marriage. I suppose it often is.”

“Not in the same way. You and David… Well, David is quite different from Jonathan, isn’t he? And twins are supposed to be so much alike. But they are opposites. No one could be less like Jonathan than David. What I mean is… you always know what David is going to do.”

I said rather formally: “One always knows that David will do what he considers to be right.”

“People have different ideas. Right to one might be wrong to another.”

“Oh come… there are certain standards.”

“I know what you mean. But David is predictable and I think that Jonathan must be the least predictable person on earth.”

“And you prefer unpredictability?”

She lifted a hairbrush and began brushing her hair, smiling secretly at her reflection in the mirror.

“Of course. It makes life an adventure… a challenge. You will be sure of David. I shall never be sure of Jonathan.”

“And you want… to be unsure?”

“I have no help for it. That is Jonathan’s way. David will always be the faithful husband.”

I could not resist saying: “And you think Jonathan will not be… and you find that challenging… adventurous?”

She turned to me and nodded slowly; her eyes glittered in the candlelight.

“He will have his little affaires de coeur. He always has and marriage will not stop him. I understand that. They will make him all the more ready to come back to me.”

I was astounded and I showed it. “I should have thought you were the last one to… er…”

“To be accommodating, to turn a blind eye to a husband’s misdemeanours?”

“Your mother…”

“Everyone compares me with my mother. I know I’m like her in a way. I am sure she never had to deal with the situation we are discussing. My father is a very moral gentleman.”

“Perhaps your mother would never allow him to be otherwise.”

I knew I ought to take my leave for I had a feeling that there was something dangerous about this conversation.

“My father and Jonathan are poles apart.”

“I am sure they are.”

“And my methods will be quite different from hers. No man of spirit would be so completely subdued as poor dear Papa is. I think he is fond of her in a way. He is a very gallant gentleman and I love him dearly.”

“It is always pleasant to hear of filial affection.”

“You are quite amusing, Claudine… sometimes so formal. I suppose that is the French in you. Oh yes, I shall know how to manage my life.”

“I am sure you will be very good at it.”

“So… I shall accept what has to be accepted. I shall countenance the little love affairs. It would only be if there was something greater—”

I felt my heart beginning to beat very fast. For a moment I wondered whether Jonathan had told her of his relationship with me. Surely he could not have done so. But who could say with Jonathan? Hadn’t she herself described him as unpredictable?

“If I thought I had a really serious rival, I could…” She hesitated and one of the candles spluttered and went out.

There was a brief silence which seemed eerie. I felt uncertain and had a great desire to escape from the room with its elaborate curtained bed, a desire to escape from the visions which kept coming into my mind.

“These candles!” she said. “They are always doing that. I shall complain that they do not make them properly now. Never mind. There is enough light.” She put her face close to the mirror and the reflection looked back at me. “What was I saying?” she went on. “If there was someone who was not a light o’ love… someone important to him, do you know, Claudine, I think I should hate her so much… that I would be tempted to kill her.”

I shivered.

She said: “It’s a little chilly in here. I’ll ring for the maid and ask her to build up the fire. Well, we are into autumn now.”

“I must go and get dressed.”

“Thank you for the brooch.”

I hurried out, thinking: Is it possible that she knows? Is she warning me? She had said: “I would be tempted to kill her.”

In that moment her reflection had looked wicked, ruthless.

Yes, I said to myself. I believe she would.

I was relieved when they left, although the days seemed empty and colourless.

I went over to see Aunt Sophie, who still mourned Alberic and talked of little else. She had been deeply shocked by Jessica’s disappearance and talked a good deal about that. Any disaster attracted her sometimes I felt that, when there was a happy ending, as in the case of Jessica, she lost interest. Although, of course, there was the question of who and why; and this could involve a great deal of unpleasant speculation.

Dolly Mather was with her as much as possible. I had been to Grasslands to call on Mrs. Trent once or twice. The first time I had been shocked by her appearance. She felt the death of Evie very much and she could not stop herself raging against the cruelty of fate and the wickedness of the one she spoke of as “the man.” I think if Harry Farringdon had put in an appearance she might well have tried to do him an injury, which was all very understandable, of course.

Then later when I called, Dolly told me that she was lying down. She was not well and felt too ill to receive visitors. She hardly ever went out. The servants at Grasslands reported to ours that she was getting “a little strange.”

There was gloom all round us and it all stemmed from Alberic’s death.

David announced that he had to go to London to procure some stores for use on the estate; he also had to see our agents about the sale of farm produce. Some of our farmers had been introducing extra sheep to their land, and the wool products were requiring more and more marketing.

My mother said to me: “Why don’t you go with David? You haven’t been in London together since your honeymoon. It would make all the difference to him if you went. Instead of regarding it as rather a bore he’d look forward to it. You have the house to yourselves because Jonathan and Millicent will be at Pettigrew Hall.”

I hesitated and she went on: “I know you are thinking of Amaryllis. I understand just how you feel.” She winced. The memory was still more than she could bear. “She would be perfectly safe with us here. We’d guard her as we do Jessica. You know Grace can’t bear the children out of her sight. I still have to impress on her twenty times a day that what happened was not her fault. Jessica would miss her if she went. They are getting such little people now. They notice everything. Do stop fretting about what’s happening here. We can manage without you for a week or so, you know.”

“Oh Maman,” I said, “I should like to go, but…”

“No buts. Why, if you stayed at home because you were afraid to leave Amaryllis, I should take that as an insult to me. Amaryllis will be under surveillance night and day.”

So I decided to go.

We went by post chaise, which was perhaps the most pleasant way of taking to the road, for the posting houses were the very best of the inns, and although those who travelled this way paid highly for it, it was well worthwhile to enjoy the extra comfort.

We travelled leisurely with two stops on the way. It seemed, now that I was accompanying him, more like a holiday than a business trip, said David.

I found it thrilling driving into the City, to see in the distance the bastions of the Tower and to drive along by the river and suddenly to find myself caught up in that vitality.

The servants were prepared for us at the house, for my mother had sent a message on ahead of us to tell them to expect us. I remembered how we had come here just after the wedding—in the days of my innocence, I thought; and I was glad that Jonathan was at Pettigrew Hall. I should not have come if he had not been.

David, too, was remembering, and we had a pleasant candlelit meal in the dining room while the servants flitted silently in and out attending to our needs. David was blissfully happy but it was at times like this that my conscience troubled me most.

Then we retired to our bedroom—that pleasant gracious room, so different from Eversleigh—with its long windows to let in the light and the delicate curtains and Queen Anne furniture.

David said: “You have made me very happy, Claudine… happier than I ever thought to be.” Then he kissed me and noticed that there were tears on my cheeks.

“Happy tears?” he asked, and I nodded, for how could I tell him that they were tears of contrition and that while I loved him for his goodness, his gentleness, his selflessness, I could not stop thinking of someone else who was as different from him as a man could be, someone who was ruthless, without sentiment, dangerous… and yet who had taken possession of my mind as well as my body and whom—although I deplored my bondage to him and my deceit towards the finest of husbands—I could not stop loving. Was that the word? Perhaps not. Obsession was more apt.

I tried to shake off my melancholy, to refuse to admit to my regrets that it was not Jonathan who was with me now. I tried not to think of him when David made love to me.

But the truth was that I was obsessed, and here in London, which was so much more his home than anywhere else because he spent so much time here, it was stronger than ever.

I felt better the next day. I accompanied David on his various journeys and I was glad that I was quite knowledgeable about the matters which were discussed. He was delighted in my interest.

I thought: We are so suited. We understand each other. We are a perfect match. The other… is madness. It is like a disease. I must cure myself and I can when I do not see him.

The following day David said: “There will be little business done today. There will be the crowds in the streets for the opening of Parliament. It might be fun to go out and mingle.”

“I hope we shall see the King,” I said. “I wonder what he looks like now.”

David shook his head rather sadly: “Very different from that bright and earnest young man who came to the throne thirty-five years ago.”

“Well, people must change in thirty-five years—even kings.”

“He has had his trials. His family, for one thing. The Prince of Wales has caused him great anxiety.”

“Yes, of course. The morganatic marriage with Mrs. Fitzherbert, and now his strained relations with Princess Caroline.”

“And not only that. He has never got over the loss of the American Colonies, for which he blames himself.”

“And rightly so.”

“Well, that makes it all the more a burden on his mind.”

Indeed it did, I thought, and wondered why I turned everything back to my own case.

“He says over and over again, ‘I shall never lay on my last pillow in quiet as long as I remember my American Colonies.’ He does repeat himself. It’s a feature of that mental illness he had about seven years ago. I am sorry for him. He tried so hard to be a good king.”

“He’s recovered now though.”

“They say so, but I think he is a little strange at times.”

“Poor King. It is all very sad.”

“And more so because he is a good man… a family man… a man who has tried to do his duty.”

“Well, I shall look forward to seeing him. What do you propose we do?”

“Go out. Take little money, wear no jewellery of value and join the sightseers.”

“It sounds interesting.”

“We’ll get out early then.”

When we did go out the people were already lining the streets, but there was something about certain elements in the crowd which was rather disturbing.

One or two seemed to be talking in raised voices. I caught their words as we passed along. High taxes… low wages… unemployment… the price of bread.

I called David’s attention to this and he said: “There are always people like that in the crowds. They find it a little dull and are trying to bring about what they think of as excitement.”

We went into a coffee house and drank hot chocolate while we listened to the talk. It was mainly about the relationship of the Prince of Wales and his wife. He was reputed to have said: “Praise be to Heaven, I do not have to sleep with that disgusting woman any more.”

They were all laughing and speculating as to the sex of the child and whether it would resemble its father or mother. The Prince of Wales was not exactly popular but there was no doubt that the people were deeply interested in his affairs.

When the King’s carriage was due to arrive we were out in the streets. The crowd along the roadside was deep and David drew me a little apart from it. We were standing there when the King rode by, too far to see him clearly, and as I was straining to get a glimpse of him in his splendid robes, suddenly a shot rang out. There was half a second of deep silence. The bullet had struck the window of the King’s carriage. Pandemonium broke out then. People were shouting. They were pointing at the window of an empty house. We were all gazing at a window from which the shot must have been fired.

The King’s coachmen whipped up the horses and the carriage trundled on. Some men were running into the empty house. David put an arm round me. Neither of us spoke.

There was noise everywhere. People seemed to be shouting at each other.

“The King… do you think they shot him?” I stammered.

“I don’t know. Come on. Let’s go in here.”

It was the coffee house which we had previously visited. People were crowding in, talking all the time.

“Did you see? Is this the end of George? Is the Prince now the King?”

“What happened? What happened?”

The trouble was that nobody was sure, and being unsure, they provided their own stories. Rumour was wild. We were in revolt. It was Paris all over again. The revolution had started.

“Not here,” said someone. “Not here. We’ve seen enough of revolution from the other side of the water.”

“He’s not dead. He went straight on to Parliament.”

“He’s got courage, I will say that for him. He may be bumbling old Farmer George, but he’s got courage.”

“Who was it?”

“One of those anarchists, they say. They didn’t get him. He fired from an empty house and got away.”

“We shall hear the truth in due course,” said David.

When we left the coffee house the King was returning from opening Parliament. I saw him in his carriage and felt a great relief that he was unharmed. The mob seemed a little downcast—disappointed perhaps that he had survived. Why do people always relish disaster? I wondered.

He sat there, old and resolute. I felt sorry for him, for I knew it was true that he had tried hard to do his duty. It was not his fault that he had been thrust into a position for which his mental capabilities and his state of mind made him unfit.

I hated to see the cruel faces in the mob. It was distressing to see how they threw stones at the carriage. One hit the King on his cheek. He caught it in his hands and sat there impassive, as though he was quite indifferent to the abuse.

The carriage passed on and David said to me: “Would you like to go home?”

I said I would, and we walked back to Albemarle Street in silence.

The next day we heard that the King had returned safely to his palace and that when the bullet had struck his carriage he had been less agitated than his companions. He was reputed to have said: “My lords, there is One who disposes of all things, and in Him I trust.”

He kept the stone which had hit him—as a memento, he said, of the civilities he had received that day.

“David,” I asked, “what does this mean? Is what happened in France going to happen here?”

David shook his head. “No. I feel sure it won’t. There are not the same reasons. But we have to find these agitators. We have to stop them. I’d be ready to swear that many of these people who were throwing stones at the King’s carriage had become caught up in the excitement of the moment and ordinarily would have been the King’s docile subjects. They are egged on by the agitators. Mob frenzy is a madness, and the agitators know this. They start haranguing the people, telling them of their wrongs, and before long there is a riot… as we saw today.”

“Is it known who these agitators are?”

“They would not exist for long if it were. They are clever. The ringleaders get others to do the task for them, and I’d be ready to swear that they are moving about the country so that they don’t become too well known in one place.”

I was sure he was right and the following day a proclamation was issued offering a reward of a thousand pounds for information about those who had attempted to assassinate the King.

“Do you think there will be a response?” I asked.

“It’s a great deal of money,” mused David, “but I doubt it. These people are well organized. They are professional revolutionaries. It must have been well planned; the assassin was in his place at the precise moment the carriage passed along.”

“Many would know it was due to pass this way.”

“That is more than likely.”

Later we heard that Lord Grenville was introducing a bill into the Lords “for the safety of His Majesty’s person,” and more important, Mr. Pitt in the Commons was making his plans for the prevention of seditious meetings.

Later that day Jonathan and Millicent came to London and the peaceful domesticity was shattered.

Because of the disturbances David said it was necessary for us to stay in London rather longer than we had originally intended, for in view of the attempt on the King’s life, people were less inclined to discuss business. The attempt had been made on the twenty-ninth of October and we were still in London on the fifth of November.

I knew that Jonathan had hastily come to London because of what had happened. I guessed that more disturbances were expected and there was a secret state of emergency.

Jonathan looked alert, keen-eyed, as he did when he was in the throes of an adventure. Clearly he had come to London because he had work to do.

Millicent was serene. I believed that she did not care whether she was in London or the country as long as she was with Jonathan.

She told me that she believed she was to have a child. It was early days yet but she was sure… or almost. It was clear that the possibility made her very happy indeed.

It was the fifth of November, a very significant date in English history, because it was the anniversary of that day when Guy Fawkes had tried to blow up the Houses of Parliament and had been discovered just in time. It was a date which had been celebrated ever since, and even though it had happened long ago, in the year 1605 to be precise, people were still as zealous in their determination to remember the day as they ever had been.

Jonathan and David had gone out. I was not sure whether they had gone together, but I knew David had some business deals to conclude and I had decided not to accompany him. Millicent was in her room: she had declared that she was feeling a little delicate and would stay in bed for a while.

I was alone… thinking of the difference which had come over the house since Jonathan had come and telling myself that perhaps it was just as well that David and I would soon be setting out for Eversleigh.

I heard someone come in.

I thought it was David and went to see, but it was Jonathan who stood smiling at me.

“At last,” he said. “Alone.”

I laughed at him and said uneasily: “You are ridiculous.”

“I am sure of it. But is it not exciting to be by ourselves at last? David is like a watchdog; Millicent is like a shadow; but shadow and watchdog are no longer beside us.”

“The shadow could well appear at any moment.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m getting ready to leave. I think we shall probably start out tomorrow.”

“Just as I have come!”

“That seems as good a reason to go as any.”

“Still afraid of me?”

I turned away.

“I am going out,” he said. “Come with me.”

“I have so much to do here.”

“Nonsense. One of the servants can do it. Do you remember that lovely day we had in London? The time of the royal wedding?”

“It is not very long ago.”

“And they say our Princess is fruitful. I am glad for the Prince’s sake. Poor fellow. It was hard on him to have to do his duty.”

“I think he is able to take care of himself.”

“Like the rest of us he needs the solace of congenial feminine company. Listen to me, Claudine, I want to go out… just to mingle with the crowd and watch. Come with me.”

“Is it people like Léon Blanchard and Alberic you are looking for?”

He came closer to me and looked at me intently. “You’re caught up in this, Claudine,” he said. “I’d rather you weren’t, but you are. From the moment you saw Alberic and recognized the man he was meeting, you became involved.”

“Yes, I see that.”

“It will be easier for me if I am escorting a lady. I want to look like an ordinary sightseer—looking at the guys which are being paraded through the streets. I want to see what is going on. You can help me, Claudine.”

An excitement was gripping me. I told myself it was because of the nature of the exercise rather than because I should be with him.

“Oh come on,” he said. “You are not doing anything important, are you? No business with your husband. A little jaunt can do no harm and I’ll be perfectly harmless on the streets, won’t I? What tricks could I get up to there?”

“I’ll come,” I said.

“Brave lady!” he said ironically. “Go and get your cloak. I’ll be here. I shall just slip up and tell Millicent that I have to go out.”

“Tell her that I shall be with you,” I said.

He smiled at me slyly and said nothing.

There was excitement in the streets of London—and not only because I was with Jonathan.

“The best time is at night,” he said, “when the bonfires are lighted. We must come out tonight.”

“Do you think the others would want to?”

“David… perhaps… Millicent… perhaps too. It would be more fun if you and I were alone.”

I said: “Look at that extraordinary guy. What is it supposed to be?”

“I could not begin to guess. Perhaps just Master Fawkes himself.”

Six ragged little boys carried the straw-packed figure, singing as they went:

Guy, guy, guy, stick him up in high,

Hang him on the lamp post and there let him die.

Jonathan slipped a coin into their proffered hands which set them grinning with delight.

“Who is your guy?” he asked.

“It’s the Pope, mister,” said the tallest of the urchins.

“How stupid of me not to recognize him,” replied Jonathan lightly. “The likeness is remarkable.”

The boys gaped at him and we passed on, laughing.

“Most of them don’t know what it’s about,” said Jonathan. “Something to do with Catholics, that’s all. Let’s hope they don’t start insulting people of that faith. It can happen when they get rowdy later on.”

We saw many guys—grotesque figures made of straw and old rags which would burn well on the bonfires which would be lighted that evening.

The words were chanted through the streets and I found myself singing with them.

Remember, remember, the fifth of November,

Gunpowder treason and plot.

We see no reason, the gunpowder treason

Should ever be forgot.

Jonathan took me where I might see the parade of the butchers who came from all the markets to join in the procession, clapping marrow bones together.

A stick and a stake for King George’s sake

A stick and a stump for Guy Fawkes’ rump

Holler boys, holler boys, make the bells ring.

Holler boys, holler boys, God save the King.

I watched with amusement and I said: “How different from the mob at the opening of Parliament.”

“The mob is here already,” he answered seriously. “It’s ready to emerge at the appropriate moment. On occasions like this it is lurking.”

“And you are watchful.”

He said: “We should all be watchful. The King was very lucky the other day. Shall we go to a coffee house? Would you like coffee or chocolate? We’ll hear some amusing talk, I daresay. We might learn something. I know of a good one close to the river. Jimmy Borrows’ Riverside Inn. You can watch the boats from the windows while you drink.”

“I should like that,” I told him.

He took my arm and I could not help it if I was happy, as I had been on that other occasion when we were out together.

It was a short step to the river. Jimmy Borrows evidently knew Jonathan.

He gave him a wink and nod as we entered and after I was seated Jonathan went over to him to have a word. They were in earnest conversation for some moments.

I knew enough now to understand that the tavern men were supplying information to Jonathan. I was beginning to learn a little about this secret business. Men like Jonathan and his father had contacts everywhere. It was for this reason that Dickon had been able to find the help he needed when he brought my mother safely out of France against such tremendous odds.

Jonathan returned to me, and hot chocolate was brought to us.

“Now, is this not pleasant?” he asked. “Here we are, you and I together, which is how it should be… often.”

“Don’t spoil it, Jonathan, please.”

“As if I would ever spoil anything for you!”

“I think we have spoiled a great deal, you and I between us.”

“I thought I had put that right. I thought you were beginning to understand.”

“Oh, you are referring to your philosophy. One is only guilty if one is found out.”

“It’s a good one. Look at these people strolling along by the river. How contented they look! Out to enjoy themselves! What dark secrets do you think they are hiding?”

“How could I know?”

“I asked you to guess. Look at that pretty little woman smiling up at her husband. But is he her husband? I suspect he is her lover. And if he is her husband, then she is far too pretty to be consistently faithful to him.”

“You are determined to bring everyone down to your level,” I said. “I believe there are virtuous people in the world.”

“The chaste and the pure! Show them to me and I’ll find sins of which they are guilty. They probably suffer from self-righteousness, pride in their virtue, condemnation of the weaker vessel. Now I would say that is a sin… far more than a little pleasant dalliance which has brought the greatest pleasure to two deserving people.”

I was staring out of the window. Alighting from one of the boats was a party of men. They carried a guy with them and there was no doubt who this one was meant to represent. It wore a farmer’s coat and there was a straw in its mouth. It had been very well done and on the head was a crown.

I said: “It’s the King.”

Jonathan was not facing the window and he said: “What… where? Coming down the river… surely not.”

“It’s a guy… made to look like the King,” I said. “And they are going to burn it.”

“That’s mischief.” Jonathan was up, but before he reached the window, I cried: “Jonathan, look. Billy Grafter is with them.”

Jonathan was beside me. The men were on the bank now… the guy in the arms of one of them.

“By God,” said Jonathan, “I’ll get him now.”

He ran out of the inn; I was immediately behind him.

Just at that moment Billy Grafter saw him and if ever I recognized panic in a man’s face I did then. Grafter turned and jumped into the boat and within a matter of seconds was pulling away from the bank.

Jonathan looked round him. There were several boats moored at the spot. He did not hesitate. He took my hand and almost threw me into one of them; then he was there beside me.

I could see Billy Grafter rowing as fast as he could. The tide was with him and he was making progress. But then so were we.

“I’ll bring him in,” growled Jonathan. “I’ll get him this time.”

The distance between us remained the same. Billy Grafter looked as though he was rowing for his life, which he probably was.

I clutched the side of the boat. I thought I was going to be thrown into the river at any moment. Jonathan was gaining when another boat drew level with us.

“Get out of my way,” shouted Jonathan.

The man in the boat said: “You insolent knave. Why should I? Do you own the river?”

“You’re obstructing me,” yelled Jonathan.

I could see Billy Grafter rowing furiously a little way ahead of us. Jonathan spurted forward. We were almost on a level with him now. Then the man who had come up beside us turned sharply, barring our way. Jonathan shot forward and within a matter of seconds we were in the water and Billy Grafter was getting farther and farther away.

Jonathan grabbed me and brought me back to the bank. I had never seen him look so furious.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

I nodded, gasping and shivering. I felt as though my lungs were full of water and my muddied stained dress clung coldly to my shaking body.

Jonathan was equally bedraggled.

A little crowd had gathered to watch us; some seemed amused. I supposed it was not such an unusual occurrence for a boat to be overturned.

Someone brought in the boat and one of the watermen said: “Best get back to Borrows’ Inn, sir. He’ll dry you and the young lady off there.”

Jonathan said: “Yes… yes. That’s best.”

“Get in, sir and I’ll row you back.”

The crowd began to disperse. The little entertainment was over.

“I saw what happened,” said the boatman. “Looked like deliberate to me, it did.”

“It was,” said Jonathan shortly.

“There’s some as likes a bit of mischief. Well, you’ll get into something dry and you’ll be none the worse.”

We had come to the inn. Jimmy Borrows came out rubbing his hands in consternation.

“We had a spill,” said Jonathan. “Can you help us dry our clothes?”

“Of a surety. Come in… come in. There’s a fire in the parlour. But first the clothes. You’ll catch your deaths if you stay in those.”

He took me to a bedroom and Jonathan to another. I was given a dressing robe which was far too big for me and slippers which would fit a man. Never mind. I was glad to get out of my wet clothes and rub myself down with a rough towel. The odour from the river was none too sweet. My hair hung limply about me, but there was colour in my cheeks and my eyes were bright and sparkling.

Jimmy’s wife, Meg, gathered up my clothes which she said she would put on a horse before the fire. I could go into the parlour, where the gentleman already was, and warm myself up. Jimmy had taken him mulled wine, which was just what was needed at such a time.

I went down to the parlour. Jonathan was already there. He wore a robe not unlike mine only his was too small. He laughed at me; he had recovered from his anger.

“Well, who can say this is not cosy! Borrows thinks you should have some of this mulled wine. It is very good and Mrs. B. has supplied some fritters which she says go with it.”

I sipped the wine. It was warming. I shook out my damp hair.

He said seriously: “I lost him, Claudine.”

“Yes.”

“It was the man in the boat… a fellow conspirator obviously.”

“I am sure that must be so. It was bad luck.”

“Bad strategy. I should have thought of that. I ought to have been quicker. Then I would have had him.” He looked at me steadily. “You know how I love to be with you, but I wish you had not been with me today.”

“Why?”

“Because this involves you even more than you were already. You know what happened there. You know that people… innocent people… like your mother and grandmother can be caught up in this holocaust. How much more danger is there for those who have special information.”

“You mean that I know for sure that Billy Grafter is a spy.”

He nodded. “You see, I have brought you into this.”

“No. I brought myself into it when I recognized Alberic in the coffee house. That was none of your doing.”

“You’ll have to be careful, Claudine. I think they’ll move Billy Grafter out of London. They know now that we are aware that he is here. He runs the risk of coming face to face with me or my father. He will be transferred to do his evil work elsewhere.”

“Which is inciting the people to riot.”

Jonathan nodded. “The same method which was used so successfully in France.”

“They shot at the King…”

“One of their fraternity most surely. If that had succeeded it would have been a start. I worry about you.”

“Oh, Jonathan, I shall be all right. I can look after myself. I don’t know much of all these things—but at least I now know a little.”

He came to me and took my hands in his.

“You are very precious to me,” he said.

“Oh, please, Jonathan… don’t,” I said tremulously.

He was silent for a while—more serious than I had ever known him to be. He had been greatly shaken, not only by the incident and its failure for him; and I knew in that moment that he really was deeply concerned for me.

The wine was warming me. I gazed into the blue flames which spurted out of the logs. I could see all sorts of pictures in the fire—castles, fiery red faces… figures, and I thought: I wish this could go on.

But that was how I always felt when I was with him.

It must have been about an hour that we sat there before Meg Borrows came in to say that our things were dry enough to put on now and would we like some more mulled wine?

I said: “We must be going. They’ll be missing us.”

“I’ll have your things taken up to the rooms,” said the obliging Meg, “and you can go up when you like.”

Jonathan looked at me. “Let us have a little more of your excellent wine,” he said.

Meg looked delighted and went off to get it.

“We should go back,” I said.

“Just a little longer.”

“We ought…”

“My dear Claudine, as usual you are concerned with what you ought instead of what you want.”

“They’ll be wondering what has become of us.”

“They can wonder for a little longer surely.”

Meg brought in the wine, poured it out and carried it to us.

Jonathan watched me as he drank.

“In the years to come,” he said, “I shall remember this moment. You and I in our ill-fitting robes, damp from the river, alone, drinking in paradise. This stuff tastes like nectar to me and I feel like Jove.”

“I do believe your tastes run in similar directions.”

“You find me godlike?”

“I believe he was constantly chasing women.”

“In various shapes when doing so… swans… bulls… what a gift!”

“Presumably he felt he was not attractive enough to be as he really was.”

“I can see I do not need such a gift. I believe I am irresistible just as I am.”

“Are you?”

“Almost,” he replied. “I have no rivals except dull Duty, who is a formidable one, I agree, where a certain would-be virtuous lady is concerned.”

“I wish you would be serious.”

“I have to be…. most of the time. Let me dally for a while. At this moment I should be on my way back to the house. I should be changing into presentable garments. I am sure those we are wearing are ruined. I have work to do. You don’t realize, Claudine, how desperately I long to be with you, for when I am, I forget that I should be hot on the trail of our enemies. You are the seductress.”

“No,” I said, “it is you who are the seducer.”

“Claudine, listen to me. Just one thing before we go. Here we are in our natural state, you might say. Will you answer me one question truthfully?”

I nodded.

“Do you love me?”

I hesitated before I said: “I don’t know.”

“You like to be with me?”

“You know I do.”

“It is more exciting than anything else?”

I was silent.

He said as though to himself: “Construe silence as an affirmative.” Then he went on: “Do you ever think of those hours we spent together?”

“I try to forget.”

“Knowing in your heart that wrong as you might have thought them, you would not have missed them.”

“I’ve had enough of this catechism.”

“You have answered all my questions. Claudine, what are we going to do? Are we going on like this all our lives… seeing each other fairly frequently, finding that this love between us is growing, that it is never going to fade? Do you really believe that all our lives we are going on denying ourselves…”

I stood up. “I shall go and put on my dry things now. We must go back.”

I ran out of the parlour and up to the room. I was trembling as I put on my clothes. They were stained with mud and smelt none too savoury, but at least they were dry. My hair was still damp about my shoulders.

I went downstairs. Jonathan was dressed and waiting for me. Jimmy Borrows had offered his gig to take us back to Albemarle Street. We should look rather odd arriving at the house in that, but it was quicker than trying to find some other conveyance.

As we came into the house, Millicent appeared. She stared at us.

“Hello, my love,” said Jonathan. “You are astounded by the spectacle, are you not?”

“Whatever happened?”

“A spill on the river.”

“Did you go on a boat then?”

“We were not walking on the water.”

“What on earth were you doing?”

“Rowing… and some idiot ran into us.”

“I thought you were going out on business.”

“It was business, and we took a boat. Well, here we are and I want to get into some clean clothes. I have to go out immediately.”

I went up to my room and changed everything. I was sitting at my dressing table combing my hair when there was a knock on my door and Millicent came in. Her eyes were wide and suspicious, I thought.

She said: “It must have been quite a shock.”

“It was.”

“You might have been drowned.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. There were lots of boats on the river.”

“I did not know that you had gone out with Jonathan.”

“It was decided right at the last minute. I was here and he thought I might like to go out… and as David wasn’t here and you were resting…”

She nodded. “Your clothes will be ruined,” she said.

“I daresay.”

She shrugged her shoulders and went out.

I felt very uneasy. She is aware of something, I thought, and she is suspicious.

Jonathan went out and was away all that day. When David came back I told him of our adventure.

“I thought you weren’t going out today, as you had so much to do in the house,” he said.

“I meant to get ready for our departure, but as it was a special sort of day… Guy Fawkes and all that… I thought it would be silly not to see something of the fun, and as Jonathan was going out he said he would take me along with him.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“The guys and everything, yes. The ducking, well, that was less pleasant.”

“I should have thought Jonathan could have managed a boat better than that.”

“Oh, it was an idiot in another boat. He went straight into us.”

“Well, you are none the worse, I hope.”

“No. Fortunately, the inn was close by and we were able to dry off there. The host and hostess were very helpful. We are going home tomorrow, aren’t we?”

“I think we could. You’re missing Amaryllis.”

I admitted that I was.

“I too,” he said.

I thought how much easier he was to deceive than Millicent.

I was very much aware of her. She seemed to be watching me. Night came and from the windows I looked out on the night sky which was red from the light of the bonfires which were burning all over London.

“It looks,” I said to David, “as though London is on fire.”