The Adulteress

Harvest Home

MORE THAN A YEAR had passed since our return from Eversleigh. It had been an eventful time as far as the country was concerned for George the Second died and his grandson ascended the throne. The third George was a youth of twenty-two and very much under the influence of his mother and Lord Bute, the man who was said to be her lover and that, most people said, augured no good for England.

In the country I was too immersed in my own private affairs to think much about which George ruled us—second or third, it seemed unimportant to me.

During the year I had not visited Eversleigh. Sometimes I felt I should go but I could never bring myself to it. The thought of facing Jessie and Evalina repelled me so strongly that I made excuse after excuse to myself not to go. There was no need, I would say. Uncle Carl had written—there were about four letters over the year—and he was well and happy and very well cared for. These words he underlined. Life was as good as it could be for an old man who could do little but sit in his chair or lie in his bed and review the days of glory—or folly, whichever way one looked at it.

Time passed so quickly and I had given up hope of ever seeing Gerard again. I did not think of him so frequently as I had in the past and when I did it was to look back on that adventure as something not quite real. I could even believe that Lottie was Jean-Louis’s daughter. She was four years old now and beautiful. I suppose all mothers think that their children are more beautiful and intelligent than others but I don’t think I was exaggerating her charms. Those violet eyes, with their fringe of dark lashes, and dark curling hair alone would have made her a beauty. She was not plump as some children are; her face was oval, her chin a little pointed. There were times when she looked older than her years. She was spritelike, mischievous, not fractious but fun-loving. Needless to say she was adored.

My mother, who could only vaguely remember her own mother—the legendary Carlotta—said she was sure there was a resemblance between my daughter and her great-grandmother.

Dickon had never betrayed by a look or a word that he knew of what had happened to me at Eversleigh before Lottie’s birth. He never referred to my surprising him in the barn with Evalina. Perhaps he had not asked her what she had meant when she had shouted at me. It might have been the sort of remark that could have been thrown at anyone. Perhaps he thought that his behavior with Evalina was commonplace—as it might well be with him—and that my stepping into the barn at such a moment was no more than opening someone’s door before they were properly dressed.

His attitude toward me had never been of a friendly nature. He had always sensed my disapproval—or rather my refusal to adore him as his mother and my mother did.

Our visit to Eversleigh had changed him, though. He became thoughtful and serious; he was to go away to school but he persuaded his mother and mine that he should not go.

He wanted to learn about the estate.

“Darling,” said Sabrina, “you have to be educated, you know.”

“I am. I’ll go on with old Faulkner. But I want to be here. I want to be with you, dear mother, and you, Aunt Clarissa.”

It amazed me how he could get his way with them. He was not demonstrative by nature and to have him declaring that he wanted to be with them—as though for their own sakes—seemed to put them into such a delirium of joy that they were ready to grant him anything.

They exchanged glances, their eyes brim full of joy.

“Well, shall we leave it for a while?” said my mother. “Postpone school for another year, shall we say?”

He was now in his fifteenth year but he looked eighteen. He had shot up amazingly and was nearly six feet tall and there was more growing time left to him. He was very handsome, with light blond hair—thick and waving—and very piercing blue eyes; he had perfect teeth and his skin was flawless; moreover, his feature was so perfectly chiseled that he might have been a Greek god. In fact he reminded me of Michelangelo’s David. There was one flaw and it was only apparent at times. It was most obvious when that calculating look came into his face and then it reminded me of a fox’s mask. Cunning was there, ruthlessness, an absolute disregard for what stood in the way of his getting what he wanted. But I seemed to be the only one who saw this. I knew that he had tried to shift the blame for the fire onto the gardener’s boy. I would remember that because it was the beginning of the decline in Jean-Louis’s health. I knew too that for some time he had come to manhood physically. I had seen his watchful eyes on some of the prettier maids; he reminded me then of a fox waiting to spring on a chicken. I knew that he was growing up into a ruthlessly ambitious man whose sexual appetites would be voracious and that he would not care in what manner they were satisfied as long as they were. Perhaps these qualities were born in him—although I understood his father had been a kindly idealistic man, and Sabrina might have been rebellious in her youth but there was an inherent goodness in her. But the indulgence he had received from those two doting women had certainly not helped to eradicate his less attractive qualities.

But there was no doubt now that he was going to work hard. He was constantly with James Fenton and would ride with him round the estate listening intently to all that passed between the agent and the farmers. He was also often in the company of Jean-Louis, which meant that he came over from the Hall almost every day.

“That boy has a real flair for estate management,” said Jean-Louis. “He reminds me of myself at his age. I always wanted to manage the place.”

“He seems to have changed so suddenly,” I said. “He did not seem to be interested in work before.”

My mother and Sabrina were delighted. They thought he was more wonderful than ever—if that were possible.

I found James Fenton very interesting. He was fond of talking. He had been abroad for some time in France so that he felt he had a knowledge of that country. That was what had first aroused my interest in him. He was a very good agent, Jean-Louis said; and he was grateful to have someone on whom he could rely just now, for he tired very easily and he could not walk at all without the aid of his stick. I often wondered whether he was getting worse but he always shrugged aside my inquiries, and as I knew he hated talking of his disability I refrained from mentioning it.

They were peaceful days and there were long periods when I was lulled into a sense of security. My life with Jean-Louis was satisfactory. I knew my attitude toward him had changed since I had made that fateful visit to Eversleigh. I had been very solicitous towards him and he was immensely grateful and I believe he thought it was something to do with his disability. He loved me very tenderly and was always anxious to assure me of this. I knew I was lucky in my husband. I did sometimes wonder what life would have been like with Gerard—wild, passionate, stormy. There would have been jealousy perhaps, misunderstandings, quarrels and reconciliations. Life would have been lived on a different plane, but would our love have stood the stress? I wondered. Could such violent passion as that which we had shared go on? Surely its power must diminish. Sometimes I even thought it had been so overwhelming for me because it was illicit. I couldn’t understand myself yet. I still longed for that ecstasy I had shared so briefly with Gerard. That comes once in a lifetime, I told myself. You achieved it; you have recovered from it; you have had a miraculous escape. Be contented.

And I had my Lottie—my delightful wayward sprite of a child, who was, my mother was fond of saying, so unlike what I had been at her age. “You were such a good little thing, Zipporah,” she said often. “So easy to understand.”

So life went on. Uncle Carl coddled and contented through our clever strategy with his Jessie; myself a happy wife and mother who had succeeded in forgetting her own now long ago lapse; and my mother and Sabrina looking on with admiration at their darling’s preoccupation with work.

James Fenton said to me: “It is a good thing really that he is taking such an interest. It could be useful to have him working with us when he’s older, for Jean-Louis gets more tired than he will admit, and young Dickon does make himself useful.”

I knew what was in Dickon’s mind. He believed that one day Jean-Louis and I would go to Eversleigh and that he would inherit Clavering. Anything that was his would loom very important in his mind. Thus it was with Clavering. He saw it through new eyes.

There were long summer evenings after Lottie was in bed when we sat and talked—Jean-Louis, James Fenton and I. There were occasions when Dickon would join us; and if he did the talk was all about the estate.

One day a cousin of James’s called on him. He was a soldier and he had come from France and stayed a few days with James before going on to his family in the Midlands. James brought him to sup with us and we learned from him a great deal of what was happening on the Continent.

The war was still dragging on but, said James’s cousin Albert, both sides were getting tired of it and as no subsidies were being sent fighting was desultory. Each side seemed to spend the time in retreating and advancing and no progress was made.

“It’s a mess … as most wars are. It can’t go on … and it’s inconclusive anyway. They say there are negotiations beginning for peace.”

I was thoughtful. If there were peace, I thought, would Gerard come again?

“The people here are indifferent,” said James. “They see the war as something happening a long way off and therefore of no concern to them.”

“The taxes to pay for it are their concern,” his cousin reminded him.

“Well, there are always taxes for something.”

His cousin was thoughtful for a moment. Then he said: “Something is happening in France.”

“What?” I asked eagerly.

He turned to me, his brow puckering. “There’s a certain mood among the people. They resent the king so much that he dare not appear in Paris: He has had a road built between Versailles and Compiègne to bypass the city so that he need not ride through it.”

“You mean he is afraid of his people?”

“He is too indifferent to them to feel fear. He just despises them. He does not want to see them. Their problems are of no interest to him.”

“But surely he depends on their approval to hold his throne!”

“The French monarchy is different from ours … just as the people are. They are more formal … and yet they could be more terrible. They are more excitable than we are … more impulsive. Though I suppose the people here would rise up if provoked too far.”

“What happens there?” I asked. I was thinking of the Château d’Aubigné, the name of which was so engraved on my memory that I would never forget it.

“There is a subtle change. The king is so dissolute. He cares for nothing but his own pleasure. He leaves everything to the Pompadour, who is consequently hated and shares the blame with the king. He seems concerned only with his own debaucheries and the infamous Parc aux Cerfs is discussed and reviled throughout the country. There is the dauphin, whom the king hates. They say he does not wish to see him because he will be his successor and he cannot bear to think of death. Even the nobility is changing and the wealthy are buying themselves into the aristocracy. It isn’t the same. They haven’t the same sense of responsibility. I don’t like it. It makes me very uneasy.”

“Is this feeling general throughout France?” asked Jean-Louis.

“So many seem intent on nothing but their own pleasure. The king for one. It has been said that he was heard to remark when warned of signs of unrest, ‘Oh, it will last my time.’ ‘And after you, sire?’ he was asked. ‘After me,’ he said, shrugging his shoulders, ‘the deluge.’”

“How terrible!” I cried.

“Oh, these things happen in countries,” said Jean-Louis. “Everything seems desperate and then there is a change … and prosperity comes and the dark days are forgotten.”

“I trust it will be so,” said James’s cousin.

While they were talking a caller arrived.

It was Hetty Hassock who had come to ask if James would call on her father in the morning when he was making his rounds.

James rose, smiling at Hetty.

“Well, of course I’ll come,” he said. “What time would suit your father? Say eleven o’clock?”

“That would suit him very well, I’m sure,” said Hetty. She was a very pretty girl about seventeen, I think, and rather different from the rest of the Hassock family. She had recently come to the farm, having been brought up by an aunt in London.

Hetty apologized for intruding and Jean-Louis assured her that she had done no such thing and he added: “Come and sit with us a moment, Hetty.” Hetty flushed a little and returned to the table. James looked pleased.

“Would you like to try this malmsey?” asked Jean-Louis. “We’re rather proud of it.”

Hetty declined gratefully but she sat down.

“How are you liking it at the farm?” I asked. “You must find it very different from London.”

“Oh yes, I miss the town … but everything is interesting here and I suppose I should be with my family.”

There were four Hassock girls and three boys. Hetty was quite different from all the others. I believed Farmer Hassock was very proud of her. I had heard him say only the other day “Our Het’s been brought up like a lady.”

While she sat there making light conversation I was struck by James Fenton’s expression. He was watching her with obvious pleasure. I thought, He’s halfway to falling in love with her—perhaps he is already there, and I felt pleased.

That night I mentioned it to Jean-Louis. He agreed with me that he had noticed.

“It would be a good thing for James to marry,” he said, “and I think Hetty would make him a good wife. She is intelligent as well as pretty and she is different from so many of the girls around here. More likes James himself. I’d be glad to see James marry. He’d feel more settled. Let’s hope something comes of it.”

The matter about which Farmer Hassock wanted to see James turned out to be the strip of land between his farm and that of Farmer Burrows. Long ago it appeared there had been some controversy about this particular spot because there was uncertainty as to which farm it had originally belonged. My father—who had been a lover of peace and who had really been more interested in gambling than the estate—had solved the problem by saying that neither should have it. Therefore it had been fenced off and lay idle for some years.

Now Farmer Hassock wanted a little more space for his wheat and he was sure that Farmer Burrows had forgotten all about the controversy which had been in the time of his father. He wondered whether he might take down the fence and take in this strip of land.

James and Jean-Louis discussed it for a while and they both agreed that to allow the land to lie idle was rather foolish when Hassock, who was a better farmer than Burrows in any case, could make good use of it.

“Let Hassock have it,” said James. “I’ll tell him to go ahead and prepare the land. It will need a bit of work after all these years. He should get a start on it right away.”

James rode over to the farm to tell Hassock the verdict and I had no doubt to have a word with Hetty while he was there.

It was a few days later when Dickon came over. We were at table still after the midday meal, for we liked to sit awhile and talk of the affairs of the estate and of the country as a whole.

Dickon appeared flushed and I was struck afresh by his handsome looks. He seemed to have grown a little every time I saw him.

He sat down unceremoniously and said: “Do you know what Hassock is doing? He’s taken down the fence of that no-man’s-land strip and is obviously intending to use it.”

“That’s right,” said James. “He’s going to extend his wheat field.”

“But it’s not his.”

“He’s been given permission,” said James.

“Who gave him permission?”

“I did,” answered James.

“But who said you might?” Dickon’s voice was cold and haughty.

Jean-Louis said quickly: “I did. James and I discussed it and decided it was foolish to let the land lie idle and Hassock was the one to make the best use of it.”

“I don’t agree,” said Dickon.

“You don’t agree,” cried James. He was less calm than Jean-Louis, and Dickon’s behavior was certainly provoking.

“No,” retorted Dickon, “I don’t. Burrows has as much right to that land as Hassock. I’ve told him so.”

“Dickon,” said Jean-Louis, “I know how much you care about the estate, and you have been very helpful, but James and I must decide on these matters. It is our job to run the estate profitably.”

“Hassock must be told to stop what he is doing immediately. James, you should tell him that before he goes too far.”

“The matter has been decided,” said James. “If Burrows is dissatisfied he had better come here to discuss it with Jean-Louis and me. There has been too much trouble in the past over that strip of land. It is very insignificant in any case.”

“I have told Burrows that he shall have it since Hassock has taken it into his head to filch it.”

“Filch it!” I could see that James’s temper was rising. “This is absurd. You have been helping us on the estate for a few months and you think that you are fit to manage it … going over our heads. We have had years of experience in these matters.”

Dickon stood up. “We shall see,” he said.

When he had left we looked at each other in amazement.

I said: “He has gone to my mother.”

“Lady Clavering will understand that we are managing the estate,” said James.

“I hope so. But she is inclined to indulge Dickon.”

James shook his head. “She will see the sense of this.”

“Shall I go over to see her this afternoon?” I asked.

“I’ll come with you,” said Jean-Louis.

My mother was delighted to see us as always and asked questions about Lottie, whom she hadn’t seen for two whole days, which seemed a long time to her.

“We’ve come to talk business,” I told her. “James is rather put out.”

“Oh yes … Dickon was saying that there had been a disagreement about that land. He’s given it to Burrows.”

“No,” I put in. “Jean-Louis and James had decided that Hassock should have it.”

“And he has already been given permission to use it,” added Jean-Louis.

“Oh, dear,” said my mother, “how tiresome these people are! Your father always said, Zipporah, that the land was almost useless.”

“Well, Hassock can make good use of it,” said Jean-Louis.

“And,” I added, “he has already been given permission to have it.”

“Oh, but Dickon has promised it to Burrows.”

“Mother,” I said, “Dickon has no right to promise anything. Just because he has been allowed to have a little insight into the way the estate is run he thinks it belongs to him. It’s yours, and Jean-Louis and James manage it. How can they do that successfully if this … boy comes in and tells them what to do.”

“Don’t let him hear you call him a boy,” said my mother.

“What else is he? Please be sensible. I know how you dote on him but …”

She looked as though she were going to burst into tears. I think she sensed some reproach in my words implying that she cared for this son of the man she had once loved more than for her own daughter.

I went to her quickly and put my arm about her. “Mother dear, you do see that Jean-Louis and James must have a free hand. I know the estate is yours … but you know little of it. You can’t undermine the manager’s standing with the tenants, otherwise there would be chaos. And just because this pampered boy suddenly takes an interest and thinks he can have his own way you cannot give in to him. I think we should probably lose James if you did.”

“We can’t afford to lose James,” said Jean-Louis. “I need him now.”

He looked sad and I felt fresh anger against Dickon for creating this absurd situation.

My mother looked apologetically at us both and said: “It was so wonderful to see him … enthusiastic … and caring about it all.”

“It doesn’t mean he can run it, mother.” I said. “You can’t seriously be thinking of letting him have his own way.”

She hesitated and I cried out: “You are. Then I think you had better hand over the management to Dickon. James will resign and so perhaps will Jean-Louis.”

“Zipporah. How can you say that? You and Jean-Louis are my own … my daughter and my son. …”

“But you will still have Dickon, you know,” I said angrily. For I realized now that I hated Dickon, and because my hatred was tinged with a certain emotion—not exactly fear but uneasiness—I was unusually vehement.

My mother was at heart a very sensible woman and it was only when her emotions were deeply involved that she would behave without good sense.

She saw in that moment the absurdity of the situation and must have realized that she was jeopardizing the love of her own daughter for the sake of Sabrina’s son.

She said quietly: “Of course—Jean-Louis and James know best. Poor Dickon, he will be very disappointed. It is such a pity that this should have happened just when he is getting so excited about the place.”

We had won the battle. Hassock would continue preparing the land. Burrows would have to accept that and realize that Dickon was not in a position to make promises which he had no power to keep.

It was the next day that Dickon came over when we were at the table. I guessed that he had just heard of the decision, for I could imagine my mother’s putting off telling him for as long as she could.

He came in glaring at us. His glance was cold but I could see the anger seething beneath it.

“So,” he said looking at James, “you have been to Lady Clavering.”

“James did not,” I said. “Jean-Louis and I saw her.”

“And you have persuaded her to go against me.”

“It’s not against you. Dickon,” said Jean-Louis. “It’s a matter of what we consider best for the estate.”

“What! That strip of land! It’s been idle for years and years! What effect does that have on the estate?”

“Hassock asked for it,” said Jean-Louis, “and James and I decided he should have it. That could not be rescinded.”

“Why not? Burrows has just as much right.”

“We decided that Hassock should have it. He asked for it first. Burrows did not,” said Jean-Louis.

“Hassock! Yes, of course!” Dickon was glaring at James. “You have a special fancy for Hassock … the girl. …”

James stood up and said: “What do you mean?”

“I mean that you can’t refuse dear little Hetty anything, can you, and if she says papa wants that bit of land, papa has to have it.”

“Hetty Hassock has nothing to do with this,” said James. “Please do not bring her into it.”

“It seems to me she is there … say what you will. I’ve eyes in my head, you know. I don’t go around blind.”

Jean-Louis said sternly: “You must behave properly in this house, Dickon, or I shall ask you to leave.”

Dickon bowed ironically: “I do not exactly yearn to stay,” he said. “But let me tell you this, James Fenton, I shall not forget this insult.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Dickon,” I burst out. “You haven’t been insulted. You’ve probably been sympathetic to Burrows but he doesn’t expect a boy like you to make important decisions on the estate.”

His glance swept over me fleetingly. He looked for a few seconds at James and that look of cold implacable hatred in his eyes made me very uneasy.

He turned and went.

Jean-Louis shook his head. “That boy should be sent away to school,” he said.

After the haymaking Lottie’s nanny developed a bad cold which turned to bronchitis. We missed her very much because she was an extremely efficient young woman. I did not like to leave Lottie to the servants and took over the care of her myself.

It was James who suggested that I should have some temporary help. I soon understood why.

“Hetty Hassock would like to come over and give you a hand with Lottie,” he said. “I think you would find her very useful.”

I was amused because I knew now that James was interested in Hetty. Jean-Louis and I had discussed the matter often. We were both very fond of James; he was no ordinary agent for not only did he take a keen interest in the estate, the management of which he did extremely well, but he was an amusing companion; meal times were enlivened by his conversation; moreover, I had noticed that he took over, most unobtrusively, much of the work which he thought would tire Jean-Louis.

Hetty came and I did find her a delightful young woman and during the time she stayed with me I learned quite a lot about her. She was not one to give her confidences easily, being somewhat introspective, I imagined, but in due course we became good friends.

She told me it had not been easy to adjust to life at the farm, coming to it, as she had, when she was grown up.

“Of course,” she explained, “I used to pay visits during the summer. I always enjoyed the haymaking and the Harvest Home, but I did find I had little in common with my brothers and sisters.”

I understood why. Tom Hassock was quite a good farmer but he had a large family to feed. It was for this reason that his wife’s sister had taken Hetty and brought her up, educating her and giving her a different life from that of her brothers and sisters.

“Aunt Emily had married well,” Hetty told me, “a tradesman with a mercer’s business in Cheapside, and they had lived over the shop.” She and her husband had been childless and for this reason soon after Hetty was born they had asked if they could take the burden of a new child off the already pressed Hassocks and bring her up as their own. The farmer and his wife had seen this as a good opportunity for the daughter which must not be missed. So at the age of two Hetty had gone to London.

She had gone to a school in London and had been fed and clothed in a manner which by the Hassock family was considered affluent.

“It became a little upsetting going home sometimes,” she said. “I had so much more than they had. It didn’t seem fair. They were always so proud of me, though. Particularly my father. He used to say: ‘Hetty is the lady in the family.’”

“Well, that should have made you proud. You mustn’t feel ashamed because you were the fortunate one and made use of your good fortune.” I said.

“Oh. I don’t. But sometimes I think they expect too much of me. When my aunt died I stayed on with my uncle; but after he died his nephew took over the business … and he had a wife and four children. There was no room for me so I came home.”

“I see. So now you have to adjust to being a farmer’s daughter.”

“It’s difficult. I’m really glad to get away from home for a while.”

“Oh, you’ll settle down,” I said. “And you might marry.”

She flushed slightly and lowered her gaze.

Of course she would. I thought. It was obvious that James felt very seriously about her.

The summer had almost gone and autumn was in the air. It was a good harvest that year and everyone was delighted. Preparations for harvest festival went on with great enthusiasm. The church was decorated with all the products of the earth from cabbages to dahlias and chrysanthemums. But the great occasion was in fact the Harvest Home, which would be celebrated on the Saturday before the church festival.

It had been the custom on the estate that the celebration should take place at Clavering Hall, so that all the farmers and the families who lived on the estate could celebrate together. There was a great deal of bustle at the Hall and Dickon threw himself wholeheartedly into the preparations and I think that my mother and Sabrina were especially interested because of Dickon’s excitement.

The trouble over the strip of land had not done anything to diminish his interest and he was still riding round with Jean-Louis or James Fenton and going to the estates office to learn about inside management.

James was very pleased about it and made it clear that he had not liked what had to be done one little bit. Dickon shrugged it aside and I thought that he had forgotten all about it.

He himself concocted the brew in the great punch bowl and the cooks were busy for a long time preparing the feast. No one talked of anything but Harvest Home; every farm had its corn dollies, which were hung up to decorate the hall and bring good luck beside the sheaves of wheat. The fruit, vegetables and great cob loafs would be distributed throughout the district when it was all over.

Fiddlers had been engaged and if the weather was bad there would be dancing in the great hall; if not it would be out of doors—which everyone was hoping for.

Great tables were set up and filled with refreshments. It was going to be one of the best Harvest Homes ever to have been known, said my mother to Sabrina; and they exchanged smiles. It was of course because Dickon had taken part in it.

Lottie’s nanny had now recovered but I said she must take things easily for a while as she must be considerably weakened and Hetty should stay with us until she was really strong. As neither of them had any objection, this was arranged.

Two days before the Harvest Home, a message came for James. His cousin, the one who had visited us, wrote that his father was dangerously ill and he wanted to see James before he died.

“You must go, James,” said Jean-Louis. “You’d never forgive yourself if you didn’t. We’ll manage the Harvest Home without you. We have enough helpers. Besides it’s more or less settled, and with the harvest in this is the best time for you to take a break.”

So James left the day before the Harvest Home.

It was a great occasion with much merry making. The weather was good enough for people to be out of doors so the young ones danced on the lawns and the older ones sat inside and did full justice to the punch and pies and good food which the kitchens had provided.

Dickon had more or less placed himself in charge. He was rather pleased, I think, that James had been called away. I saw my mother and Sabrina watching him admiringly. He looked incredibly handsome, being affable to everyone and dancing the folk dances with such gusto and grace that he was admired by all.

He made sure to dance with most of the farmers’ wives, which was a duty James—since Jean-Louis could not—would have performed had he been there.

At ten o’clock Jean-Louis spoke to them and thanked them for the year’s good work and then we all sang together Harvest hymn.

It was moving and particularly so perhaps because this year there was so much to be thankful for.

After that Jean-Louis and I went home.

“A most successful Home,” he said. “One of the best I remember. A pity James couldn’t have been there to see it—because so much is due to his good management.”

“Dickon enjoyed it,” I said.

“Yes, he seems to have got over that bit of trouble. Learnt his lesson, I daresay.”

“I hope so,” I said.

The days seemed to fly by. It was the end of October with the days drawing in and the threat of winter in the autumnal mists. James had been away for three weeks. His uncle had died and he had stayed for the funeral. Hetty was still with us, although nanny had recovered now. I had thought she might resent having another woman in the nursery but she liked Hetty; they got on well together and as they both adored Lottie they were happy.

I was pleased because I had grown more and more fond of Hetty and I did know that she was happier with us than she had been on her father’s farm.

I noticed gradually that she was rather preoccupied and she began to lose some of her healthy color. I had the idea that something was troubling her. I asked on one occasion whether there was anything wrong and was told emphatically—perhaps too emphatically—that all was well.

But there was something, I knew. Sometimes I would see a blank look in her eyes as though she were trying to make some plan. I thought I detected a certain desperation.

There was a dignity about Hetty which made it impossible to intrude and to ask for confidences which she was not prepared to give. I fancied that she tried to avoid me, and I became seriously worried and decided that I would keep a sharp eye on her.

I considered speaking about her to James, but I thought she might resent that very much. I wondered if something had gone wrong between them. I did mention it to Jean-Louis.

“Some lovers tiff. I should imagine,” he said. “It’s always wise to keep out of that sort of thing.”

“I suppose I must, but I am worried about her.”

So I was watchful—and how thankful I was to be that this was so.

It was November … a warm damp day with the mist hanging in patches. I was looking from my window when I saw Hetty leave the house. Whether it was some premonition, perhaps the air of dejection and dogged determination that I seemed to sense, I did not know. But what I did know was that I had to follow her. I had to see where she was going.

I put on a cloak and ran out. I was just in time to see her disappearing round a bend in the lane.

I guessed now that she was going to the river.

To the river! On such a day! For what purpose? Perhaps for a walk. It could only be that.

I kept a good distance between us because I knew that she must not be aware of me. I had to find out where she was going. Perhaps she was meeting James. If so I would discreetly disappear and leave them together. But why should she walk so far to see James when she could see him in the house or near it.

Now I could smell the river and I heard the faint murmur of the water as it lapped the bank.

I watched her. And then suddenly I knew. She let her cloak drop from her shoulder and started to walk toward the water.

“Hetty!” I screamed. “Hetty!”

She stopped and looked round.

I ran to her. I seized her arm and looked into her face. It was white and her eyes were large pools of despair.

“What are you doing?” I demanded.

She stammered: “It’s all right. I was only looking at the river.”

“No, Hetty, not that. You were doing something. You must tell me. You must let me help.”

“There is no way out,” she said simply, “but this. Let me go.”

“You mean … you were going to walk out into the river … and not come back!”

“I’ve thought a lot about it,” she answered. “It is hard to do … but I can do it. …”

“What is it, Hetty? You can tell me. There must be a way out of your trouble. We’ll find it. I promise you. You mustn’t talk like this. It’s wrong … it’s foolish … nothing is so bad that something can’t be done about it.”

“Nothing can be done about this. I can’t face them, Mistress Zipporah. This is the way. I’ve thought and thought and can see no other.”

“Sit down. Tell me all about it.”

“I’m wicked,” she said. “You could never understand how wicked.”

“I can understand. All of us do wrong at times. We fall into temptation. Please tell me, Hetty.”

“I’m going to have a baby,” she said.

“Oh. Well, James loves you. He’ll understand. …”

She shook her head and stared blankly in front of her. “It’s not James’s,” she said.

“Hetty.”

“Yes, you see. It’s shocking, it’s awful. There is no way out … but this. I can’t face them, any of them. I don’t know how it happened … I can’t understand. Yet I can’t make excuses … it was my fault.”

“I thought you loved James.”

“I do.”

“Then …”

“You wouldn’t understand. How could you? Nobody could who was not … depraved I suppose as I am.”

“I’m not so good, Hetty, that I can’t understand how these things happen.”

We sat down on the river bank and she turned to me. “It was on the night of the Harvest Home. I had drunk too much punch. … I know it now but I didn’t at the time. Oh, I’m making excuses.”

“Please go on,” I said. “Who … ?”

But she didn’t have to tell me. Because I knew. I remembered that look of implacable hatred I had seen across the room. Oh, he was a fiend. This was his revenge on James.

“Dickon?” I said.

She started to shiver and I knew I was right.

“It was the Harvest Home … the punch … the dancing. … He danced with me … and we went out into the gardens … into the shrubbery. I don’t know how it happened. … But I was there … lying on the grass … I can’t tell you. It was too depraved … I didn’t seem to realize until it was too late. …”

I turned away. I could not bear her misery. So this was his revenge.

She was desperate, poor girl. I had to comfort her. I was going to take her back with me, talk over the matter with Jean-Louis. He would understand and try to help.

I said: “There is a way out.”

“There is no way,” she said. “I cannot face anyone now. … My father, my mother, my brothers and sisters … and James. … No, I have thought and thought and this is the only way.”

“You must not talk like that. It’s nonsense. It’s feeble. At the worst you could go away and have the baby. My husband and I would help you.”

“You are the kindest people in the world.”

“We shall understand. This is the sort of thing that can happen … to anybody … to anybody,” I added vehemently. “I am going to help you, Hetty.”

“There is no help. I could drown myself … and perhaps my body would never be found.”

“I should have thought you would not want to take such a cowardly way out.”

“Perhaps I am a coward, but I just cannot face my parents. They thought too much of me. They would be so horrified … so ashamed. …”

“My dear Hetty, this happened. … You had had too much punch … you did not know. …”

“There were other times,” she said.

“Hetty. But why … ?”

“Because he said he would tell if I did not.”

“Blackmail!” I said aghast. I could see him so well—that handsome, cruel face. What havoc he had wrought in our lives.

“When he knew that I was pregnant he let me alone. He seemed … satisfied.”

“He is a monster, Hetty. He hates in a cold and calculating manner which is by far the worst sort of hatred. But we’re going to outwit him. Were not going to let him win.”

“How?” she asked.

“By not running away from this, by facing it, by looking at it and finding the way to act.”

“I can’t do it.”

“You can because I’m going to help you. Will you let me?”

She threw herself against me and then she was sobbing bitterly. The tears I knew brought relief. She was no longer alone.

She trusted me. My own experience had perhaps helped me to understand hers. I had been able to choose the right words to give her the support she needed.

I took her back with me to the house, put her to bed and told the household that she was suffering from a chill and was sleeping. No one was to disturb her.

I went straight to Jean-Louis. He was resting as he often had to do now.

I said: “A terrible thing has happened. I have to talk to you about it. It’s Hetty.”

“She’s been looking a bit strained lately. Is it something to do with James?”

“We’ve got to help her,” I said. “That girl will find some way of harming herself if something isn’t done. She’s going to have a child.”

“Well, she and James will marry, I suppose. They won’t be the first who have forestalled their wedding.”

“It’s not as simple as that. James is not the father.”

“Good God.”

“You may well be surprised. She has just told me. Jean-Louis, she was going to drown herself in the river. By a miracle I saw her. I have been watching her lately. I knew something was terribly wrong. It happened on the night of the Harvest Home. She had had too much punch and he … this er …”

“Do you know who it was?”

I looked at him steadily. He would have to know. I realized how calm and practical he had always been, how kind, un-condemning.

I said: “It was Dickon.”

“Good God,” he said again, and there was an expression of horror on his face. “He’s only a boy. …”

“I suppose someday people will stop saying ‘He’s only a boy.’ He may be young in years but he is old in sin. There is something evil about Dickon. Jean-Louis, what are we going to do? Hetty is desperate.”

“She couldn’t marry Dickon.”

“Marry Dickon! That would be quite impossible. Besides, she hates him.”

“Then why … ?”

“Oh, don’t you see, it’s a plot of revenge. Dickon knows James is in love with Hetty. Dickon was angry about the strip of land which was given to Hassock. That’s how it is with Dickon. It’s revenge.”

“Oh, surely not …”

“I think I know that boy. It was due to him that you … that you are not as well as you were. … He’s evil. I think it would have been better for Hetty to have walked into the river than marry Dickon.”

“We could send her away somewhere where she could have the child.”

“I thought of that. I don’t know whether she would go. You see, her life seems to her to be in ruins. Her family boast so much about her … and then this to happen. And of course James … She just can’t face it, poor girl.”

“She will gradually come to it.”

“Jean-Louis, what if James … ? James loved her. If he really loved her enough …”

“Yes, if he really loves her he will care for her no matter what she has done.”

I looked steadily at him and said: “If … I had done something like that … you would always love me, Jean-Louis, always care for me … ?”

I could not look at him. I wondered if he would notice how my heart began to hammer against my bodice.

He took my hand and kissed it. “No matter what,” he said. “I should always love you and protect you as far as was in my power.”

“Not many love like that,” I said. “Jean-Louis, I shall always be grateful for you.”

“My life would be nothing without you,” he answered and my thoughts were transported to that time when I had considered … going away with Gerard.

I said: “Thank you, my dear. I wonder if James’s love for Hetty is as strong as yours for me.” I rushed on because I felt too emotional to talk further of myself and had to get back to Hetty’s problem. “Do you think we could speak to James?”

He was silent for a long time. Then he said: “Would Hetty wish that?”

“No. She could never bring herself to. I don’t think he has asked her to marry him. I suspect that since the Harvest Home her attitude towards him would have changed. Jean-Louis, I think we have to speak to James. There is so much tragedy in the world because people don’t look facts straight in the face. If she goes away James will have to know. He should have a chance to show his love for her.”

“I think you’re right,” said Jean-Louis.

We deliberated for some time before we made our final decision and then Jean-Louis sent one of the men out to find James and bring him to us as soon as possible.

When he came Jean-Louis said: “We want to talk to you, James. Zipporah made a discovery today … about Hetty. …”

I said: “James, she was going to drown herself in the river.”

He stared at me unbelievingly.

“It’s true,” I said. “I prevented her in time, and she told me why.”

He still did not speak. His face was quite white and his hands were clenching and unclenching as he stood there.

“She is going to have a child,” I said. “Poor, poor Hetty, this is a terrible thing that has happened to her.”

James had turned away to the window. I guessed he did not want us to see his face. He said in a tight voice: “Are you telling me that she will marry … ?”

“No, James.”

“Who is it?” he demanded. He turned now and his eyes were blazing. “Who is this man?”

I dared not tell him then. I thought he would go out and kill Dickon in the heat of the moment. I looked at Jean-Louis, who nodded, understanding my reasoning.

I said: “It happened on the night of the Harvest Home. You were not there, James, you remember. She had had too much punch … and it was very potent. I can only say that some unscrupulous person took advantage of this.”

“Who was this unscrupulous person … ? Tell me.”

“James,” I said, “Hetty is in a state of collapse. She needs so much care. Let’s think of her, shall we? I have her here in bed now. I’ve given her something to make her sleep. She is frantic with worry. We love her—Jean-Louis and I—and no matter what happens we are going to help her.”

“What does she say … ?”

“Poor child, she is too stricken to say anything.”

“Does she mention me?”

“Yes. She loves you. I think it is partly because of you that she cannot face up to this situation. Oh, James, what can we do for her? If you could have seen her when I found her by the river. …”

His face was working with emotion. He was thinking only of Hetty now; for a moment he had forgotten the author of her troubles—but that would come later. James was a man of strong emotions; he generally kept them in check but he would want to find the man who was responsible for Hetty’s condition.

There was a long silence. I could not bear it and I said: “James, what are you going to do?”

He shook his head.

“James,” I went on, “you can help her … only you. This happened … such things do happen. … You can’t blame her. She is so young. … Please, James, try to understand. There’s so much at stake. I don’t know what she plans to do but I am afraid for her.”

Still he did not answer.

Then he turned away and walked to the door. I ran to him and held his arm. I could see that he was beset by conflicting emotions—bewilderment, dismay, fury, frustration … but I think there was love there … love for Hetty.

He looked at me and said: “Thank you, Zipporah. … You are good. … Thank you … but I want to be alone. …”

I nodded and he went.

Jean-Louis and I were silent for a few moments after he had left. Then I said to Jean-Louis: “When he knows it was Dickon, what then?”

Jean-Louis shook his head.

“He mustn’t be here,” I said. “He must go away. … Heaven knows what James might do. … He mustn’t know.”

“It can’t be kept from him. He’ll discover.”

“Not yet. He mustn’t, Jean-Louis. Dickon will have to go away for a while.”

“He never would. He would stay here and perhaps get some amusement out of the storm he has raised.”

“I see you know Dickon as well as I do. I was beginning to think everyone saw him through his and my mother’s eyes. He has to get away, Jean-Louis. I have to frighten my mother and Sabrina into helping us.”

“Yes,” said Jean-Louis slowly. “I see what you mean.”

“And there is little time to lose. I’m going to see them now.”

“Dearest Zipporah,” he said, “are you being a little hasty?”

“I think this is a situation which needs prompt action. If James discovers Hetty’s seducer he will be enraged. I fear there might be murder here. I am going to see them now.”

“You may be right,” said Jean-Louis.

“Come with me. Your voice will add weight to mine. They may think I am impulsive but they never will think that of you.”

When we arrived at the Hall we were relieved to find both my mother and Sabrina at home. When I told them what had happened they were astounded.

“I don’t believe it,” said Sabrina.

“The girl is making it up,” added my mother.

“Hetty is telling the truth,” I said. “You must know what Dickon is like. I have seen him with the servant girls.” I had a quick vision of him in the barn with Evalina and I went on: “Dickon could be in danger, that’s what I have come to talk about.”

That startled them.

“In danger … you mean … ?”

“Yes, I mean from James. James loves Hetty. I believe he was planning to marry her himself. It is not difficult to understand his emotions now. If he learns that the man in the case was Dickon … and he gets his hands on him …”

My mother had turned pale. “This is terrible,” she said. “I don’t believe for one moment …”

“There is no time to start protesting Dickon’s innocence. And I don’t want him to know that he is accused or he might refuse to go.”

“That surely would show his innocence,” said Sabrina quickly.

“No, it would show a mischievous desire to cause trouble.”

“And risk to himself?”

“And risk to everything and everybody. Please don’t let us have a tragedy here. I have come to ask you to take Dickon away … until James has calmed down. I don’t want Dickon to be here when he discovers.”

“She is falsely accusing Dickon.”

“She is not. Why should she? I know Dickon if you don’t. He wanted revenge for Hassock’s getting that land. I understand exactly how his mind works.”

In their hearts they knew, of course; and I could see that they were already coming to terms with what they called Dickon’s manliness.

But I had succeeded in alarming them.

“Sabrina,” I said, “you did mention that you might pay a visit to Bath to see the new springs they had discovered there.”

“Yes.”

“Please. Sabrina, go there …and take Dickon with you. Please. He won’t need any persuading. He loves to travel. Jean-Louis, I am right, aren’t I?”

“Zipporah is right,” said Jean-Louis. “She has Hetty now under her care. The poor girl was going to kill herself.”

“Oh no!” murmured my mother.

“Does James know?” asked Sabrina.

“Yes, but he doesn’t know who seduced her … raped might be a better word.”

“No!”

“Oh, please, this is not a time to pick and choose our words to make them sound nicer. Jean-Louis knows what happened. He has seen James with me. Dickon is old for his years. He is capable of fathering a child; I think he’s in danger. Do get him away!”

My mother was trembling. She said: “Yes, Sabrina, we must. I know it’s not really true but if he is suspected.”

They knew in their hearts that it was true. Perhaps they knew too that he had used Hetty to take his revenge on James.

Sabrina said: “I could leave in two days. I know he wants to come with me.”

“Two days,” I said. “But no longer, please. James mustn’t know until you are out of the way.”

Jean-Louis and I went home feeling exhausted. Hetty was still sleeping peacefully. I should be with her when she awoke; and I was going to keep my eyes on her for a while.

We did not see James. He was grappling with himself, I imagined. I was glad because I wanted Dickon out of the way before we met just in case we should let the truth escape.

Two days later I went over to Clavering Hall. Sabrina and Dickon had left for Bath. They planned to be away for two weeks.

I felt immensely relieved; and so did Jean-Louis.

Poor Hetty looked like a wraith. I told the servants that she had been very ill and I kept her alone in her room. I was with her a great deal. Sometimes she would not speak for a long time and when she did the confidences poured out. Dickon had terrified her. She had seen him assessing her even before the Harvest Home. She did not know how she could have let herself be taken into the shrubbery. She had been mildly enjoying the Harvest Home but regretting James’s absence when he had come up with the punch and forced it on her. Then he brought more for her. She had refused it and he had said “Don’t be a simple country girl,” or something like that, and foolishly she had taken the punch. She had been dizzy and he had said the fresh air would do her good and had taken her out. Then they were in the shrubbery and she grew more and more dizzy and could not stand up. Then … it happened.

“Oh, I was such a fool,” she cried. “I should have known. I thought I was wiser than the country girls … but I was not. And then he said that he would tell Lady Clavering that I had asked him to take me to the shrubbery. … She would have believed him. He said he would let everyone know what I was like. ‘Anybody’s for the asking,’ he said. Those were his words. And so I must go with him again. It was only when I told him that I was with child that he left me alone. …”

“There is evil in him.” I said. “But it’s over. Nothing can alter what is done. We have to go on from there.”

“What can I do?”

“My husband and I will arrange something. We’ll send you away from here. You can have the baby quietly … and then we’ll think again.”

“I don’t know what I should do without you.”

I said: “Something will be arranged. You have to think of the child. All this grieving is bad for it. You will love it when it comes. People always do.”

“But a child conceived in such a way,” she said. “His child.”

“The child will be innocent enough. But, Hetty, you must stop all this wild fretting. I tell you we will take care of you.”

She fell into weeping then and she said such things of me which made me ashamed. She would not believe that I was not a saint from heaven, and she brought home to me the extent of my own deceit and it was all fresh in my mind again.

James came over. I saw him arrive and ran to meet him.

“I can’t stay forever,” he said. “Where’s Hetty?”

“She’s here. Poor girl, she’s in a sad way. I worry about her a good deal.”

“Thank you for taking care of her … you and Jean-Louis.”

“Of course we will take care of her.”

“You know who it was, don’t you?”

I nodded.

“Please tell me, Zipporah.”

“James. I’m fond of you. We’re both fond of you … and of Hetty. This is terrible. Please, please don’t make it worse. Hetty needs care, tenderness … she’s bruised and wounded. Don’t you understand?”

“I do … and I want to take care of her.”

“Oh, James … that makes me so happy.”

“Bless you, Zipporah. I’ve grappled with myself. I was planning to marry Hetty.”

“I know. You love each other.”

“How could she … ?”

“She couldn’t help it, James. She was half intoxicated … she couldn’t hold him off. He overpowered her.”

“Who … who … ?”

I said: “It was Dickon.”

I saw his teeth clench and his face whiten. I was so thankful that Dickon was far away.

He turned as though to stride out of the house. “You won’t find him,” I said. “He and his mother have gone away. They’ll be away some weeks.”

“So he’s run away because …”

“No. He didn’t know that Hetty tried to kill herself.”

He winced. “Why didn’t she come to me?”

“How could she come to you? She thought you would never want to see her again.”

He looked infinitely sad and I went on: “Oh, James, you do … don’t you? You do.”

He nodded without a word. Then I put my arms round him and held him tightly to me for a moment.

“Oh, James,” I said, “please help me to heal this poor broken child.”

“I love her, Zipporah,” he said. “I love her.”

“I know, James. And how deep is that love? Is it big enough, strong enough … do you think?”

“I know it is.”

“James,” I said, “will you go to her now? Will you speak to her? Will you tell her that you love her, that you will look after her … that you understand? That’s the most important of all. To understand. It was no fault of hers. … If you had been there, it could not have happened. Oh, James, please, please.”

“Where is she?” he said.

“In her room upstairs.”

“I’ll go to her,” he said, “and, Zipporah, bless you.”

James was going to marry Hetty. Jean-Louis and I were delighted, but then came the blow.

It would be quite impossible for them to remain at Clavering. James could never trust himself near Dickon. Hetty never wanted to see him again. James’s uncle had recently died—it was his reason for not being at the Harvest Home—and his cousin wanted him to go in with him on the farm.

How we should manage without James was a great problem. We could get another agent, it was true, but James had been especially good and in view of Jean-Louis’s weakness we needed someone who was more than ordinarily good.

In time we found Tim Parker, who seemed to be efficient and keen, but we missed James in so many ways. Our consolation was that he and Hetty were settling down at the farm.

Three months after they left we heard that Hetty had had a miscarriage and three months after that that she was pregnant again.

I thought the child’s death was not such a tragedy after all because it would have been a constant reminder to them all through their lives. Now they had the opportunity to start afresh and I believe James, being the sensible young man he was, took it wholeheartedly and Hetty was grateful for all he had done for her.

When Dickon and Sabrina returned from Bath, which Dickon had thoroughly enjoyed, he took extra care with his clothes and turned into a dandy.

I hated him and in my hatred there was an element of fear. He was an evil influence on our lives, I was sure. My mother and Sabrina seemed to dote on him more than ever. He still professed a great interest in the estate and became quite friendly with Tim Parker. He was pleased that he had driven James away. He knew why, of course, and was secretly amused when he heard that James and Hetty were married. I think he thought he had shown James that no one could displease him and not expect to pay for it.

We had just had the news that Hetty’s son was born. We were settling down as well as could be hoped. Tim Parker was a good enough man so it had worked out not too unsatisfactorily. Then one day when I was in my stillroom one of the maids came to tell me that there was a young man below to see me.

I said he should be brought into the hall and I would come down.

He was not much more than a boy, and I thought I had seen him before.

Rather awkwardly he pulled his forelock and said: “Me grandad sent me. I’ve rid all the way from Eversleigh.”

“Your grandad?”

“Jethro, mistress.”

“Yes, yes.”

“He wants me to tell you, mistress, that he thinks you should come. There’s something going on up there that ought to be looked into.”