The Adulteress

A Visit to London

IT WAS AS I had said it would be. Mr. Rosen senior took over the matter with calm efficiency: the will was perfectly in order and there could be no doubt of Mr. Mather’s intention. Everything with the exception of one or two legacies—including something for the nephew—was left to Evalina in trust for Richard. “Perfectly straightforward,” declared Mr. Rosen. “I will see the gentleman who is raising objections.”

This he did and that gentleman was soon departing—slinking away might be a more apt description. “He is thoroughly ashamed of himself,” Mr. Rosen commented to me. “It is my belief that he thought he could delude an ignorant female.”

His parting words to Evalina were: “You did right to come to me. If you are ever in any difficulties I shall be pleased to help you.”

Evalina was grateful to me. She looked upon me as a very clever woman. But in everything she said I felt there was a reference to my love affair with Gerard. Even now the implication was: How clever you are. Look how well you managed your own affairs. Jean-Louis has not a suspicion. She had done very well herself in deluding Andrew but she had to admit she had gone to pieces when that sly old nephew had arisen.

However, all was well. He was sent packing by that wily Mr. Rosen and now we were safe … both of us.

So although I felt relieved I was still a little uneasy, and I often wondered how far I could trust Evalina.

She settled down without Andrew and quite clearly loved her baby. There were rumors of a somewhat torrid relationship between her and Jack Trent, who looked after the Grasslands farms, but I think everyone felt that something of the sort was to be expected. She was a young woman without a husband and clearly she had a fancy for men and they for her.

I saw her frequently, which was inevitable, our being such close neighbors. She would be at church gatherings; it was quite clear that she wished to be an accepted member of the community and wanted me to help her. I did so—half because I was sorry for her, half because I felt it would be expedient to do so, and we began to succeed. People could not go on remembering that she was her mother’s daughter forever.

Letters came from Clavering. They were well and they were thinking it was a long time since they had seen us. They missed us very much. The estate was being perfectly run. Dickon had a flair for the work. He was so enthusiastic, and it was such fun to see him thinking up new schemes which would be so very advantageous to everyone.

I said to Jean-Louis: “They behave towards him one moment as though he is some blessed infant and the next some towering genius.”

“He’ll be in his element,” said Jean-Louis. “He was always longing to get his hands onto everything.”

“Yes.” I agreed. “He’s a very acquisitive young man.”

“We must meet at Christmas,” my mother continued. “Dear Zipporah, we can’t be separated much longer, can we? I long to see darling Lottie. Perhaps we will come to you for Christmas or you must come to us. We must be together then. … By the way, a letter came for you and Jean-Louis. I am enclosing it herewith. …”

I looked at the letter and recognized the handwriting. We had once been very familiar with it.

“It’s James …” I cried. “James Fenton.”

We opened it at once and read it together. James would be staying at the Black Swan in London for a week. He wondered if we could come up and see him. He had given us good warning because he would so much like to see us. He would make the journey to Clavering but we would understand that he had no great wish to come there for fear of unpleasant encounters.

I looked at Jean-Louis. “We must go.” I said. “Look, there is time. His week doesn’t end until next Thursday.”

Jean-Louis looked dismayed. He did not see how he could get away on so little notice. If he had a manager it would be so different, but as it was so much depended on him. I looked at him sadly. It was not only that, I knew. The journey to London would be exhausting for him.

“I will write to him and tell him we are here. There could be no reason why he shouldn’t come to Eversleigh.”

I said nothing but I was going to do my best to go to London and see James Fenton.

I went to Enderby later that day because my friendship with Isabel Forster had grown even more firmly and I made a habit of talking over my problems with her.

She said: “To catch him you would have to go by the end of the week. It need only take two days to get to London. You could make reservations at the Black Swan.”

“Yes,” I said, “but I can’t very well go alone.”

Isabel said: “I don’t see why Derek and I shouldn’t come. We were going to London later on. As a matter of fact we have stayed at the Black Swan. We could bring forward our visit and make the arrangements now.”

“Oh, Isabel,” I cried, “that would be wonderful. Jean-Louis would have no fears if I traveled with you.”

As soon as Derek came in she put the plan to him.

I said earnestly: “I have an idea that it is rather important for me to see James. I think he might be able to recommend someone who can help Jean-Louis. After Amos Carew he is reluctant to engage anyone.”

“Who wouldn’t be? I daresay Amos had some good recommendations.”

“It just occurred to me that James might know someone … well, let me tell you what is exactly in my mind. I was wondering whether I could persuade him to come to Eversleigh.”

Jean-Louis was delighted when he heard that the Forsters were going to London for he hated to disappoint me and he knew how much I wanted to go. This seemed an admirable solution.

The day before we were to set out I went over to Enderby to discuss last-minute preparations and found that Charles Forster was there.

“Here’s news,” said Isabel. “You tell her, Charles.”

“It’s about London,” he said.

My heart sank. I thought there must be some last-minute hitch and so strongly had I convinced myself that I should see James Fenton that I found the momentary anxiety intense.

“I wondered if you would mind my being a member of the party,” he went on.

Floods of relief swept over me and with it pleasure. I said: “I am sure we should all like that very much.”

“There you are, Charles,” said Derek. “I told you Zipporah would be pleased.”

So we made our arrangements and when I went back to Eversleigh and told Jean-Louis he was delighted. “Another man in the party is all to the good,” he said.

It was in high spirits that we set out on that June morning. There was a decided chill in the air which made us appreciate the sunshine as the morning wore on.

“It’s the best weather for traveling,” said Charles. “I made this journey in August and it was intolerable.”

“Do you often come to London?” I asked.

“Occasionally. It’s necessary to get supplies of medicines and so on. … Not more often than I need, I do assure you.”

“You are not fond of London?”

“Oh … it’s a great city … full of vitality and interest but …” I waited, for I had the idea that he was on the verge of a confidence and I was beginning to realize that this man interested me considerably, and I wanted to know more about him. He said: “Shall we say associations … ?”

“Something you would rather forget … ?”

I was aware that I had gone too far. He nodded and it was as though a mask had come down over his face. His expression warned me that it was not polite to pursue a subject which was not agreeable to one’s companion. I was ashamed of myself and asked at once if he had a preference for any of the inns, as a means of changing the topic of conversation.

He occupied my thoughts a good deal during that journey. In fact he had from the moment we had met. I felt there had been a tragedy in his life and that it had set that melancholy look on his features. I wondered why Isabel, who was a rather garrulous woman not given to harboring secrets, had said very little about her brother-in-law apart from the fact that he was a good man whom she very much admired.

The journey was uneventful, the weather being perfect for it, and as Derek had made careful reservations and was a frequent traveler on the route we were very comfortable at the inn where we stayed the night.

To my great delight James Fenton was already at the Black Swan and his pleasure at seeing me was great. He looked well, I thought, and when I inquired after Hetty and the children he assured me that they were in good health too. I introduced him to the Forsters and I was delighted that they seemed immediately to like each other.

During the morning of the day after our arrival all the Forsters went out discreetly leaving me with James. Charles said he had to see about ordering supplies for the hospital; Derek had business and he took Isabel with him. James told me that he was glad we could be alone. He wanted to know how things were with us.

He was surprised to hear that we were at Eversleigh. I explained that that was why we had been unable to let him know I would be here. The letter had had to be sent on and then it was too late to let him know.

“Hetty will be so interested to hear that I’ve seen you,” he said. “She would have liked to come with me but there are the children, you know.”

We discussed the children for a while and he asked after Lottie.

I explained that we had not been so very long at Eversleigh.

“And Jean-Louis?”

I shook my head sadly. “He never really recovered from that accident at the fire all those years ago. He never complains so it is difficult to know how he is, but sometimes he looks so tired. I think Eversleigh is too much for him.”

“It is bigger than Clavering, isn’t it?”

“Much bigger. We do want a man to act as manager.”

I saw a rather wistful look in his eyes which made my heart beat faster.

Then he said: “Shouldn’t be difficult to find someone.”

I told him we were being rather wary and gave him a brief resume of what had happened.

He was astounded and found my story difficult to believe. He listened avidly.

“My goodness, Mistress Zipporah, you had a lucky escape.”

“It was strange that the one who saved me should be … Dickon.”

I saw his fists clench and unclench.

“Well,” he said at length, “it turned out all right then, and you’re here. If I hear of a good man … someone I can recommend …”

I was sinking into deeper gloom every minute. I realized now that my conviction that I must come and see James was because I had had some wild hope that I might persuade him to come back.

“Well, how are you getting on at the farm?” I asked.

He was silent for a few moments and that silence was significant.

“Oh … all right,” he said. “I’d like to be on my own, of course. Two people don’t always see eye to eye.”

“You mean it’s not working out?” Hope was springing up again. I hoped he didn’t hear the lilt in my voice.

“Oh, it’s working all right. It’s just that … well, there are things I miss.”

“Eversleigh is a fine estate,” I said. “You should see it. Jean-Louis often talks of you. He says you were the best man they’d ever had or were ever likely to.” I decided to plunge: “Could you come back to us, James … ? There’s a pleasant house … everything you could want.”

He shook his head. “I won’t beat about the bush,” he said. “I’d be glad to. I often think of the good times we used to have. Jean-Louis and I always saw eye to eye. Something I don’t do with my cousin … but even at Eversleigh I might see him … Dickon.”

“He hasn’t been over yet. It would be very rarely. We’re quite a way from each other.”

“I wouldn’t trust myself. He could come over anytime. No … I’ll stay where I am. I’m safe there. It’s not ideal. I’ll make no bones about it. If it weren’t for him I’d be there like a shot. Well, come to think about it if it weren’t for him I’d never have gone.”

“James,” I said, “you don’t know how badly we want you.”

“I want to come … but no. Not with him likely to turn up at any time. It wouldn’t do. Mistress Zipporah, and that’s flat.”

“I wish I could persuade you.”

“Wouldn’t be any need for persuasion but for that one thing. Hetty couldn’t bear to see him either.”

“She’s got over all that.”

“Never will completely. But we manage. He’s right out of sight and that helps put him out of mind.”

“Jean-Louis was so sorry he couldn’t see you. We did wonder if you knew anybody.”

“Well, that’s something I might do. I could hear of someone. I’ll keep my ears to the ground and if I find a suitable man … I’ll have him down there in no time.”

I saw that it was the best I could do.

“I wish you could see Jean-Louis. He’d be so pleased. Why don’t you come and stay with us for a few days? I assure you that there would be no possibility of your meeting Dickon. They are considering coming for Christmas but that’s way ahead.”

He hesitated and said he would think about it.

“The journey only takes two days. … Not a lot of time really. Do think very seriously about it, James.”

He did and at length decided that he would accompany us.

I was delighted, although my scheme had failed. I don’t know why I had felt that I had to come to London to see James. I had been convinced that something good would come out of it, and the good must be that he would come back to us.

The Forsters, who had taken a liking to James—and he to them—were very pleased to hear that he was going to travel back with us. “First, though,” said Isabel, “we must remember that we were having a jaunt to London and we must take advantage of the opportunity to do those things which we could not do at home.

“Charles,” she said, “you know how you always liked the theater. What if we all went to Drury Lane?”

Everyone agreed that that would be an excellent idea and accordingly I found myself seated in the stalls with Charles next to me, enjoying every moment, for it was a privilege to see the great Garrick perform. Charles, who had evidently been an ardent theatergoer at some time, was very knowledgeable about the stage. He told me that the best performance he had ever seen was that of Peg Woffington playing with Garrick in the Beaux’ Stratagem.

“Alas,” he said, “she is no more, though only a few years ago she was striding across the boards full of vitality. A great actress, and she and Garrick, you know, were lovers. It was believed they would marry. It was a surprise to us all when he left Peg for that foreign dancer … Eva Maria Violetti.”

Much of his melancholy had lifted. I had noticed that when we had driven through London. He pointed out certain landmarks to me almost with pride. I thought: This was once his home and he loved it.

I was carried away by the play and the players and I sensed that my enthusiasm pleased him. He said: “I once knew actors … I was a great theatergoer in my young days. Mind you, it’s a hard life. They look so pleased with themselves when they can win the approval of the audience that you’d think they hadn’t a care in the world beyond that. The reality is somewhat different.”

I said: “Surely you were never on the stage?”

He gave a sudden laugh. “Me? Good heavens, no.” Then the mask seemed to slip over his face and his mood changed. I longed to know what had happened to him to make him so withdrawn, for I was sure something had. I was intrigued because I had at times been aware of a different man peeping out from behind the mask. I wanted to bring out that man. I was burning with curiosity to know more about Charles Forster.

We walked back through the streets to the inn.

“Safe,” said Derek, “because there are so many of us. There are plenty of pickpockets about after dark.”

Charles took my arm as we walked along the narrow street, not only to assure me of his protection but to keep me free of the mud which was splashed up as the coaches rattled by.

I felt very happy that night; even though my mission in getting James to come and act as manager had failed, I could not despair and I was delighted that he had agreed to come back with us.

We supped on cold venison and pigeon pie with muscatel wine and it all tasted delicious. I was excited by the London life and I remembered the days of my childhood when my parents had had a house in Albemarle Street and we had spent much of our time there. My father had preferred the town life; he had spent a great deal of time at his clubs and the houses of gambling friends but he too had imbued in me a love for the metropolis. I did not realize until this moment how much I had missed it although I had paid other visits to London before.

We discussed the play. Charles seemed to have thrown off his melancholy once more and spoke of it, criticizing certain points, praising others.

“You are so knowledgeable,” I said.

“Oh yes,” said Isabel, smiling at her brother-in-law. “I always enjoy going to the theater when Charles is a member of the party.”

“I hope that is no reflection on me,” said Derek.

“Of course not, idiot,” said Isabel. “I like the way in which Charles brings out certain things, making it more of an experience.”

“I always thought that the best part of an evening at the theater was the aftermath—when the play and players are on trial, as it were.”

“The inquest,” said Derek.

“Just imagine,” pointed out Charles, “Cromwell shut down the theater. He might have known the people would never accept that.”

“It was his first step to destruction,” put in James. “Thank goodness we’re at peace at last.”

“There is every sign that we are not taking advantage of the peace,” said Charles. “We need Pitt. But he goes into retirement worn out by a war which could be said to have been won by his wise policies … and we’ve had years of unwise government … not helped by the king.”

“Charles gets very fierce on the subject of the colonies,” said Isabel to me.

I listened. I liked hearing Charles talk. He was a different man again, his eyes glowing with enthusiasm. He was passionate in his defense of Pitt; scornful in his denunciation of the policies of the government supported by the king.

“What about the colonies, Charles?” asked Derek.

“They’re getting restive. We shall have America up in arms against us if we don’t show a little restraint … a little common sense. But you’ll never get that from the government.”

“I like the royal family,” said Isabel. “The king and the queen are so … homely.”

Everybody laughed and then we were discussing our plans for departure.

“We do have one day left to us … only one, did you realize it?” said Derek.

“I have certain business which I must do tomorrow,” said James.

“We have to visit the Chensons, remember?” said Isabel to Derek.

“Oh yes … we promised we would. They don’t know you’re here, Charles, but they’ll be pleased to see you and you must come along with us, Zipporah.”

Charles said: “I don’t think they’re expecting me and they’re certainly not expecting Zipporah. She was saying she has never been to Ranelagh. I was wondering whether I might suggest to her that we take a look at it … together.”

I felt the color rising to my cheeks. They were all watching me, and I tried not to sound too ecstatic as I said that I had always wanted to see Ranelagh.

That was the happiest day I had spent since that period when I had abandoned myself to the joy of being with Gerard. In a way this was similar. I was able to forget everything that had disturbed my peace of mind for years. I suppose always at the back of my mind was the fear that one day my sin would be discovered; and although I almost forgot it for long periods it was always there as a vague shadow, an apprehension. I would sometimes remember with a jolt, and my peace of mind would be in ruins.

Charles Forster could make me forget. That was significant in some ways. For my part I was so anxious to make him lighthearted, to make him forget whatever it was that oppressed him. I understood what it meant to be oppressed in such a way.

We were in a mood to enjoy the day, both of us. Charles was such an interesting companion when he cast aside his gloom. I found his conversation lively and he made me realize how much I had been tucked away from affairs. Vaguely I remembered the excitement of being with my father, who used to talk to me sometimes. He had never been serious like Charles, but he had talked of worldly matters; I realized that I had been rather shut in between my mother, Sabrina and yes … Jean-Louis.

However, I was determined to enjoy the day and as I was sure Charles felt the same, it was inevitable that we did.

Charles knew London so well that he could explain so much to me. First he took me riding through the streets, for he said that Ranelagh should not be seen in broad daylight. It was meant to enchant like a veiled beauty who might not be able to face up to the harsh reality of a too bright sun.

I said: “That throws a new light on your character. I should have thought you stood for the bare stark truth.”

“There are times when it is better to veil it,” he said.

“So you are a romantic after all?” I asked lightly.

“I see that you have put me into a niche—unromantic, dour, looking on the grim side of life. … Had you?”

I hesitated. “I thought there was a certain sadness about you. But beneath it … well, I just think if you could throw that aside you might be very merry.”

He put his head on one side, smiling at me.

“For today,” he said, “this very special day, I am going to do that.”

“Can you?” I asked.

“With your help,” he replied. “You will see.”

“Tell me your plans.”

“We ride through the streets to an inn I know of where it is possible to get the very best steak pies in London. Do you like steak pies? Ah, I see you hesitate. Withhold your verdict until you have tried the Rainbow variety. The Rainbow is an inn in Fleet Street. They have excellent roast beef and pork, if you prefer that. It is the place to eat for those who like good food. Will you trust me?”

“I am in your hands,” I said.

So we rode out. We rode slowly through those crowded streets. I was fascinated by all I saw. He showed me where the great fire had started and where it had been stopped; he pointed out the magnificent churches which Sir Christopher Wren had built to replace those which had been burned down.

“A moral,” he said. “Out of the ashes rises the phoenix.”

He talked of the streets as though they were old friends. Cheapside, the center of the mercers and the haberdashers. Paternoster Row, where the makers of rosaries and those who earned their livings by writing text had resided; Cowcross Street with its cook shops and tripe and pork: Billingsgate, which smelled obnoxiously of fish; Fleet Street, the home of the lawyers. …

He was amusing, even witty. I saw another person emerging and I thought: This is how he was meant to be; and I knew that it had something to do with me and that made me very happy.

We skirted one area—the Whitefriars quarter, which he called Alsatia. “It stretches from Salisbury Court to the Temple,” he told me. “It’s a sanctuary of debtors. They dare not emerge and debt collectors dare not enter. They’d risk their lives if they did.”

“Could we not take a look?”

He shook his head. “I might not be able to protect you, and you wouldn’t like what you saw. It’s getting late. It’s time we made tracks for the Rainbow.”

At the Rainbow Inn we left our horses in the stable yard and went into the dining room.

The innkeeper’s wife appeared; she was very obsequious and I realized that she knew Charles well.

“I’ve brought a friend to try some of your steak pie,” he said.

“And you’ll take William’s home-brewed cider with it, I’ll be bound.”

He said we would and we sat down opposite each other.

He regarded me steadily. “I think.” he said, “you are liking your jaunt in the big city.”

“I never realized it was quite so exciting before, though I do remember long ago … when we lived here. My father used to take me out with him sometimes.”

“You look sad now,” he said. “You were very fond of your father, weren’t you?”

“He was wonderful … or so he seemed to me. He was a gambler. My mother was the steady one. He was killed in a duel—senselessly.”

“Don’t think of sad things … today,” he begged.

“If I don’t, you won’t. Is that a promise?”

“It is.”

The pie was brought and with it flagons of cider.

I agreed I had never tasted such food. But I knew in my heart that everything would be good today.

He talked more about London, about the contrasts one could see during a short walk through the city. Such luxury, such extravagance, and such poverty.

“Like that place we passed.”

“Whitefriars, oh yes.”

“Have you ever ventured there?”

“I did once … for a patient.” He shuddered.

“Were you alarmed?”

“I was going to see a sick person. I didn’t think beyond that. It became like a nightmare. A young girl ran up to me when I was passing and cried out that her mother was dying. I said: ‘I’m a doctor. Take me to her.’ And she took me. As soon as I stepped into that maze of streets there was the sound of horns blowing. I couldn’t understand what it meant. Then I learned that the whole community was being warned that a stranger was in their midst. The young girl screamed out that I was a doctor and she was taking me to her mother. I realized then what a fool I had been to come. I could have been murdered just for my watch. But I was going to a patient … and at such times one doesn’t think much beyond that.”

I said: “I think you must be a very good doctor.”

“A very ordinary one,” he said.

“Tell me about Whitefriars.”

“The woman I was being taken to was in labor. I delivered a child. That was my profession. … It was fortunate that the girl had run into a doctor. I think she thought it was a sort of miracle. Afterwards I escaped in possession of my watch and coins in my pocket. Looking back I think that was the real miracle.”

“So you really did have a glimpse inside.”

He was thoughtful. “For some time I felt I wanted to do something for those people. I wanted to take them out of Whitefriars. I had the usual dreams and ideals which beset the young until they realize that all they can do is what they’re qualified for. I was meant to care for the sick. It was for the politicians and such like to change the living standards of the people.”

“You have always been devoted to your work?”

He looked at me steadily. “It is like a crutch,” he said. “It helps me through life. When I am weary and melancholy and I feel no great enthusiasm for living … I work … and that soothes me. I limp along on my crutch and get by.”

There were so many questions I wanted to ask him. I was certain that there was some tragedy, some shadow hanging over him, something which had happened in the past and which he could not forget. But this was a day for forgetting, a day for enjoying.

I said: “How shall we get to Ranelagh? Shall we ride?”

“Good heavens no. We shall go in the traditional manner. We shall wait till dusk and then we shall take a wherry along the river. We shall alight at Ranelagh; we shall walk through the enchanted glades and at the Rotunda there is a treat in store. There is a young genius who has come to this country for a short tour. I was determined to hear him. He is but eight years old and a composer already.”

“Is that possible? A boy?”

“Possible with this boy. Apparently he was astonishing people when he was but six years old. It will be interesting to hear if he is really as good as we have been led to believe. He has come to England from Salzburg with his father and sister. Marianne, I think. A musical family, it seems. He will play some of his own compositions on the harpsichord.”

“I so look forward to hearing him.”

“As well as Master Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart we may also hear the chorus from Acis and Galatea and “Oh, Happy Pair” from Alexander’s Feast. I think that Tenducci is singing the solo.”

“I can see it is going to be most entertaining. I wonder you live in the country when you could obviously find so much to enjoy here.” I waved my arms as though to embrace the town.

He said quietly: “I had my reasons. …” And there was that in his voice which told me I should ask no further questions on that matter.

We sat for a long time in the Rainbow Inn and when we came out we left the horses there and walked down to the river. There we took a boat and were rowed along the river past Westminster and right out to Hampton.

The red-brick manor house, which had been transformed into the palace of Hampton Court, looked magnificent.

“A palace of great importance in the country’s history,” commented Charles. “I have heard it is an interesting place. The Tudors enjoyed it and King William and Mary were fond of it. The alterations they made have transformed it into a most magnificent palace.”

“I should love to explore it,” I said.

“It’s full of ghosts and shadows, they say. Memories leaping out from every corner. I have heard that the ghost of Catherine Howard appears in the gallery along which she is reputed to have run seeking the king when she knew she was accused. Poor girl, remembering the sad fate of her cousin Anne Boleyn, she must have known what hers would be.”

“There must be pleasant memories, too.”

“It’s strange how the unpleasant ones are those to be remembered. I heard that our present George won’t go there because it is said his father once boxed his ears in the state apartments. As there were others present he felt so humiliated that whenever he sees the place he remembers the incident.”

“Poor George. People seem to enjoy humiliating him.”

“It must be something in his nature which provokes the teasing spirit.”

“And being a king that must be doubly hard to bear.”

“Don’t let’s waste sympathy on him. It’s not going to help him in any case. I should like to go along the river to Windsor but if we are going to get to Ranelagh to hear our child genius there would not be the time.”

Oh, what a happy day that was, sailing along the river, among hundreds of others who had had the same idea as we had. I thought the company added to my pleasure. It was good to see so many people laughing, calling to each other; there were some who had music on board, and the sound of it was very sweet to me.

We took the wherry just as it was beginning to get dark and we went along to Ranelagh.

The pleasure garden was like a fairyland. Thousands of golden lamps illuminated the scene and as we stepped ashore we heard the strains of music coming from a band hidden somewhere among the trees.

Charles took my arm as we started to walk through those laid-out paths paved with gravel and bounded on each side by hedges and trees.

Beautifully dressed women with male companions strolled by. Pleasure was in the air; one knew that everyone here was bent on enjoying the evening.

“There are more and more attractions every year,” said Charles. “Every time I come I notice something new. It can’t be much more than twenty years since the grounds were purchased from Lord Ranelagh and what has been done with them is amazing. We will eat before the concert begins. I believe it is possible to get an excellent cold collation and that is by far the best.”

I allowed myself to be led into that enchanted garden. We walked past grottoes, lawns, temples, waterfalls, delightful colonnades and rotundas with their decorated pillars and statues. The lamps were beautifully arranged to look like constellations. Because it was a warm, fine night tables had been set under the trees and here we sat and enjoyed the cold collation Charles had mentioned and watched the passersby until we left for the concert in the Rotunda.

I was enchanted by the music. Everything was of the newest fashion. For the first time I heard the cello, that instrument which was only just being introduced into the country, and to hear the great Pasqualino perform was wonderful. The band played the overture from Doctor Ame’s Thomas and Sally, which was wildly applauded. But the great event of the evening was the appearance of the child prodigy. I admitted afterward to Charles that I was prepared to be skeptical. It did not seem possible that a boy so young could play to compare with the experienced, but that he should compose was surely just too much to believe. Stories about the boy had been circulated to arouse people’s interest and bring them to the Rotunda to see him. There they would be entertained by superb artists and forget that they had been brought there under false pretenses.

Just talk, was what I thought, an unusual story to arouse people’s curiosity enough to bring them to the child.

How different was the truth! He came onto the stage—a small figure, dressed like a man in a blue coat and embroidered waistcoat, white cravat and frilled lace cuffs. His breeches, knee-length, showed beneath the waistcoat as his coat was unbuttoned and he wore silken hose and black shoes with silver buckles. I heard that his clothes were copied in a larger size from his gala suit, which had been presented to him by Maria Theresa of Austria on the occasion of his playing before her two years before when he was six years old. On his head was a crimped wig tied back with a black ribbon. Dressed thus in an adult style seemed to have the effect of making him seem more of a child than he actually was.

There was an air of self-assurance about him as he sat down at the harpsichord; and a silence reigned which I can only describe as indulgent. The audience had settled to hear a clever child perform for them.

But how mistaken we were! As the boy sat there and played we were transported from this fashionable rotunda. I don’t know whether others felt as I did, but it seemed to me that I was flying through space and the music so delicately played, so inspiring and yet so mysterious, was carrying me along.

I glanced sideways at Charles. He was sitting very still, completely entranced.

I think a good many of us that night realized that we were in the presence of genius.

When the boy stopped playing there was silence for a few seconds before the applause rang out.

The boy bowed calmly and then walked off the stage with dignity. I could see a man waiting for him in the wings and I presumed this was his father.

We did not want to hear any more music that night. To hear that child play his own composition was something I wanted to carry away with me, to remember forever, as I was sure I would.

Charles whispered: “I can see you were as impressed as I was.”

“It was wonderful. I couldn’t believe it was that little boy who was playing as he did.”

“Let’s get out into the fresh air. We can take a little walk if you wish before we get the wherry back.”

I said I should like that.

Silent, still under the spell of the music, we were leaving the rotunda when I heard a voice cry: “Charles.”

A woman was coming up to us. She was exquisitely dressed in a gown of blue silk cut away in the front to reveal an embroidered petticoat in white satin. On her head was a most elaborate hat of white straw on which was perched yards and yards of blue ribbon the same color as her dress, niched in the front and culminating in an enormous bow at the back where it was tilted forward over her elaborate coiffure.

The woman went on to call her companion. “Ralph! Here, Ralph. Who do you think I’ve found? Charles … Charles Forster.”

A man appeared, fashionably dressed in velvet frogged coat with large turned back cuffs, long waistcoat, fine silk hose and buckled shoes; under his arm he carried a cocked hat.

“Charles!” he cried. “My dear fellow, what a delightful surprise. Haven’t seen you for years … since … er …”

Charles said: “I am escorting a friend of my sister’s. Mistress Ransome. … Dr. and Mrs. Lang.”

We bowed.

“Have you just come from the Rotunda?” asked the woman. “Did you see the child prodigy? Quite interesting, wasn’t he? Wonderful for his age. What about supper … ?”

“We ate before the performance and I really think I should be taking Mistress Ransome back to her friends.”

“Oh, come, Charles,” said the woman. “There’s no need to rush, surely? We were talking about you the other day, weren’t we, Ralph? We said it’s such nonsense of you to bury yourself in the country. You ought to come back. All that trouble is forgotten now. People soon forget. Nine days’ wonder and all that. I doubt whether anyone would remember if you came back now.”

Charles had turned rather pale. I felt the magic of the evening slipping away.

Ralph said: “Sybil’s right, Charles. Anyhow let’s talk of pleasant things. You and your friend must sup with us. We have a table near the colonnades. It’s very pleasant there and you can hear the band in the background.”

“No,” said Charles. “Thanks, but we must go. Goodbye.”

“Are you in town for long?” asked the man.

“No. I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“Pity. I should have liked to talk. I wish you’d bring Mistress … er … Ransome? along to see us before you go.”

“Thanks but there’s no time. Good-bye.”

“Au revoir,” said the woman.

Charles took my arm. I could feel the tension in him.

He was silent on the way back and I knew that that chance encounter outside the Rotunda had spoiled the day for him.

He was different now. The mask of melancholy which I had flattered myself I was helping to remove was now in place firmer than ever. I wished I could have asked him about the nine days’ wonder, whatever it was, which people would have forgotten by now.

One thing I had learned. It was that—whatever had happened—which was responsible for his melancholy. There was some tragedy in Charles Forster’s life and he could not forget it.

The wonderful companionship which we had shared during that magic day had gone; he was aloof, absentminded; and most of the time seemed hardly aware of me.

The journey back to Eversleigh seemed tedious. I rode between Isabel and James most of the time. I was of course pleased that James was coming back with us for a brief visit because I was sure Jean-Louis would be delighted to see him. At the back of my mind the thought persisted that I might even yet be able to persuade him to come to us.

As I was saying good-bye to the Forsters, who were about to ride on to Enderby, Jethro came hurrying up. He looked very solemn and I knew at once that all was not well.

He looked at me with unhappiness in his eyes and I said quickly: “What’s happened, Jethro?”

“It’s the master,” he said.

I felt myself go cold with fear.

“It was an accident. He fell from his horse.”

“He’s …”

“Oh, he’s all right, mistress. I mean he’s not …”

“How bad, Jethro?”

“Well, it happened two days back. They got him to his bed. He’s not moved from it since. The doctor’s been with him … the one who came in Dr. Forster’s place.”

I nodded impatiently. “I will go to him … at once.”

“You may be shocked, mistress. The horse threw him, you see. ’Tweren’t her fault. Master’s leg troubling him made him an unsure rider sometimes.”

Charles was beside me. “I’ll wait,” he said, “in case you want me to see him. Derek, you and Isabel go on to Enderby. I’ll be with you soon.”

“I’m going straight to him now,” I said.

I ran up to our bedroom. Jean-Louis was lying in bed. He looked different—his face was white and drawn. But his eyes lit up at the sight of me.

I went to him, kissed him and then knelt beside the bed.

“Oh, my dearest … what happened?”

“It was my fault,” he said. “I was careless. This old leg … and the pain in my back … Weil, I was off my guard and old Tessa threw me.”

“And the doctor … ?”

“He wants Dr. Forster to look at me. I can see he’s a little grim, although he won’t commit himself.”

“Grim?” I asked.

“Well, I believe he thinks I won’t walk again.”

“Oh, Jean-Louis! And while I’ve been away …”

I thought of that day … the meal in the Rainbow, the trip down the river and most of all the enchanted evening. And while I was enjoying all that Jean-Louis was lying in great pain.

I vowed to myself that I would look after him for as long as he should need me. I must do that … to make up for the way in which I had wronged him.

“You mustn’t be upset, dearest Zipporah,” he said. “It might not be so bad. The doctor seems to think a chair on wheels … You see, I don’t seem to be able to use my legs.”

He looked up suddenly. Charles had come into the room.

“I’ve come to see you,” he said. “What happened?”

Jean-Louis told him what he had told me.

“May I examine you now?”

“Oh, do please,” I said.

Charles turned to me and said: “Perhaps you would leave us.”

I went out. Poor Jean-Louis. Why did this have to happen to him! He was such a good man. I thought if Dickon had never started that fire in Hassock’s barn this wouldn’t have happened. Jean-Louis, who had been an excellent horseman before his accident, had become a clumsy one afterward. I felt waves of hatred against Dickon.

It was stupid. It was unfair. Dickon had acted as any mischievous boy might in making a fire in the barn.

I had forgotten we had a guest. I hurried down wondering what James would think of me. He was all sympathy. I was not to worry about him. Someone would tell him where his room was and then he would hope to see Jean-Louis when he was well enough.

As Jean-Louis was in our bedroom with the doctor I had water sent up to another and there I washed the grime of the journey from my face.

I went down to the hall to wait for Charles.

“He’s been badly hurt,” he said when he came. “I don’t know whether he will ever walk again. He appears to have lost the use of his legs.” He looked at me sorrowingly. “There is another thing: he may suffer a good deal of pain.”

“Oh no …”

“I fear this is inevitable in view of the seat of the damage. But don’t worry. We will alleviate it all we can. I will get you some laudanum and morphia perhaps. You will have to be careful how you administer them. They can be easily fatal. But I shall give you full instructions.”

“Oh, thank you,” I said. “Thank you.”

He smiled rather sadly and laid his hand on my shoulder. “A sad homecoming,” he said. “A pity …” He turned to the door and there he paused. “These things happen,” he went on. “Don’t fret. He will be my patient and you may be sure that I shall do everything I can … for you both.”

I ran to him and he took both my hands in his. Then he bent forward suddenly and kissed my forehead.

I felt a great desire to throw myself into his arms. I wanted him to hold me … to shut out the cruelty of the world … I wanted us to cling together and I to forget my guilt for what I had done to Jean-Louis and for him to cast out forever that shadow which was haunting his life.

It was over in a few seconds.

“Don’t fret,” he said again. “Everything will be all right.”

Then he was gone.

I went along to see Jean-Louis. He smiled and held out his hand.

“What did the doctor say?”

“He doesn’t seem to know what damage has been done yet. But he’ll be there to look after you, and I have great faith in him.”

“Yes,” he said, “so have I.”

“He said you might have some pain but he can give you something. And, Jean-Louis, I shall be there to look after you.”

“My Zipporah,” he said. “My little love.”

I was holding his hand tightly and he said: “You mustn’t cry.”

I did not realize I was but he had felt the dampness on his hand.

“Zipporah,” he said, “look at me.” I did. His eyes met mine steadily. “Whatever happens,” he said, “I’ve had a good life. I owe so much to your mother, who took me in … but to you most of all. I’ll never forget what I owe to you. … Whatever happens … it will always be so. Nothing … nothing could change that.”

For a moment I thought: He knows. He is telling me he knows.

But no. He did not know that his beloved Lottie was not his. It was one of the greatest joys of his life to think that he had fathered her.

He was talking of her. She had been so good, he told me. She had been with him in his room, looking after him. “I made her go out. otherwise she would have been in the sick room all the time. She’ll be back soon and the first thing she will do is come and see me. Oh, I am indeed blessed in my family.”

“It’ll be all right.” I said. “I will look after you always.”

He smiled. I looked into his good patient face and prayed that he would not have to suffer pain.

It turned out that good sometimes comes out of evil.

Jean-Louis was very pleased to see James. They talked a good deal together and Lottie, who took a fancy to James, took him out to show him the estate.

It was three days after we had returned home when James came to me.

There was a purposeful look in his face.

He said: “Zipporah, I’ve been thinking. … With Jean-Louis incapacitated … what are you going to do?”

“The first thing is to get a man to manage the estate, I suppose.”

“I’ve been thinking … but this is subject to Hetty, of course … I’d have to see her. …”

“Oh, James!” I cried.

“Yes,” he said. “He’ll need someone he can trust … someone who speaks his language.”

“There’s only one who could give him the relief he needs.”

“I’ll come, Zipporah. Yes, I’ll come. That’s if Hester’s not too set against it. But I can persuade her, and when she knows how things are I don’t think she’ll put obstacles in the way.”

“Oh, James … James … this is wonderful.”

“All right then,” he said, “and if there’s trouble later … well, we’ll face that when it comes along.”