The Drop of the Dice

SABRINA

THE MONTHS PASSED QUICKLY. I visited Enderby in the autumn. It was a sad visit for as soon as I saw Damaris I realized that her health had deteriorated still further. She rarely left her bed now and when she did she had to be carried downstairs to lie on the sofa in the drawing-room. Jeremy insisted on carrying her himself and tragedy was already beginning to look out of his eyes. His tenderness and devotion to Damaris was deeply moving to watch, but it was clear to me that he was still blaming Sabrina.

She clung to me when I arrived… a new Sabrina who had lost that insouciant gaiety which had been so much a part of her nature. She brooded; she was disobedient.

‘She’s a handful,’ said Nanny Curlew, who was the only one who could manage her. I was shocked, for I understood that the tragedy on the ice was by no means over.

She was delighted to see me at first and told me I must stay with her always. When I said I should have to go home because Enderby was not my home any more, she sulked and avoided me for several days. I could see that there was truth in Nanny Curlew’s comment that she was a handful.

I was with Damaris a great deal. She wanted me to be there. Her face had grown very thin and there were dark circles under her eyes caused by the pain she suffered.

She never talked of it, but she had reverted to the incapacitation of her youth before she had roused herself to look after Jeremy and me. I knew she tried to exert herself, for she was very anxious about Sabrina and the relationship between the child and her father. I think she regarded them both as two children who needed her care and guidance, but she was too ill, too racked by pain, too tired to give them the attention they needed.

She did not talk of the incident on the ice, nor of the future. But she did seem to find great pleasure in talking of the past, of her trip to Paris when she had rescued me. It was as though we relived that time together from the moment when Jeanne came into the cellar with her tray of violets bringing Damaris with her.

‘Violets have always been my favourite flowers ever since,’ she said.

Sometimes Jeremy would come in and sit silently watching her. She meant everything to him. She had brought him out of the Slough of Despond. She had shown him that there was happiness—great happiness—in the world for him as well as for everyone else.

Priscilla was very worried about her. ‘She’s going downhill,’ she said. ‘She’s worse than she was all those years ago. Then she was younger. That last miscarriage drained her of all her strength. It’s as though she can’t fight this any more.’

‘She has a great spirit,’ I replied. ‘She will fight with all her might if only for the sake of Jeremy and Sabrina.’

‘Ah,’ went on Priscilla, ‘he can’t forgive the child. Every time he looks at her he thinks that it is her fault. She can see it in his eyes.’

‘Poor Sabrina.’

‘She is a wayward child. She’s Carlotta all over again. You used to be able to deal with Sabrina, Clarissa, but she seems to have turned against you now.’

‘She must be made to feel that all this is not her fault.’

‘But it is. She has logic enough to see that. If she hadn’t disobeyed orders and gone skating Damaris would be well today. The child might have been safely born. Whichever way you look at it it comes back to Sabrina.’

‘She’s only a child. It’s making things so much worse by enlarging on her guilt.’

Priscilla lifted her shoulders helplessly. ‘And my mother is very worried about my father. I think he’ll be lucky to get through the winter. And if anything happens to him… that would just about finish Arabella. I think, dear, that it would be wise for you not to come this Christmas. It would be too much for them at Eversleigh, and at Enderby it wouldn’t be easy. I shall be busy in both places, it seems.’

‘I’ll come in the spring,’ I said. ‘Everything will be different then.’

My words were sadly prophetic.

We spent that Christmas at Clavering in the traditional way, with plenty of card parties thrown in.

On Christmas morning among my presents was a long narrow case of dark green velvet and when I opened it I disclosed a necklace of glittering diamonds and emeralds.

Lance watched me as I took it out.

‘Lance!’ I cried. ‘You!’

‘Who else? Don’t tell me you are in the habit of receiving such gifts from others?’

‘It’s quite beautiful,’ I said, and I immediately thought of the coat and those unpaid bills about which Lance was so nonchalant.

‘Put it on,’ he commanded.

I did so. It transformed me.

‘Let’s have a look at you,’ he said. ‘Ah, I knew it. It brings out the green in your eyes.’

‘But, Lance, it’s terribly expensive.’

‘Only the best will do for you, my darling,’ he answered promptly.

‘You shouldn’t…’ I wanted to say that I should have been more pleased with something which had cost less, but I couldn’t, of course.

‘A bit of luck at the tables,’ he said.

‘You should keep your winnings to set against your losses.’

‘Losses! Don’t talk of losses. It’s a word I don’t much like.’

‘Nevertheless it exists…’ I stopped. There I was lecturing him again. Perhaps this anxiety over his gambling was making a shrew of me. I went on: ‘Lance, I love it. It’s beautiful and it is wonderful of you to give me such a present.’

I wore the necklace that evening. It looked magnificent with a white brocade gown.

Jeanne fingered it almost lovingly when I put it on. ‘It’s the most beautiful necklace I ever saw,’ she said. ‘Sir Lance knows what is elegant. You would think he was…’

‘A Frenchman,’ I added. ‘I’m glad you approve of my husband, Jeanne.’

‘I do not like that others like him too much.’

She was referring to Aimée. Would she never get over her dislike of my half-sister! ‘She has a beautiful brooch given her.’ Her lips were pursed in disapproval because it was Lance who had given her the brooch.

‘It is Christmas, Jeanne. A time for giving.’

Jeanne continued to express her disapproval as she brought out the bezoar ring from its case and gave it to me to slip on my finger. She had treated it with great respect since she had heard it had once belonged to a Queen.

She could not take her eyes from the necklace.

‘It is beautiful,’ she said. ‘Think what it stands for. It is worth a flower-shop in the Rue St Honoré.’

‘Worth a flower-shop!’

‘I mean if it were sold… You could buy a flower-shop in the heart of Paris for what that’s worth.’

‘Oh Jeanne,’ I said reproachfully, ‘you make me feel as though I’m walking round with a flower-shop round my neck.’

I was to remember that conversation later.

It was a strange Christmas without the family and I was rather glad when it was over. There was far too much gambling and my thoughts were at Enderby with Damaris and Sabrina.

It was a harsh winter. We stayed in London where the weather was slightly less rigorous, but even there there were several days when the frozen snow remained piled high against the houses and we were unable to go out.

The thaw set in at the end of February and at the beginning of March I received a letter from Priscilla.

I didn’t want you to risk the roads [she wrote], but I do think you should come down as soon as you can manage it. Damaris is worse. The rheumatism seems to have affected her heart. I think you ought to come, dear. She longs to see you, but she would not let you know for fear you might risk the roads, and she did not want that.’

I showed the letter to Lance. He was loath to leave London now. He had had several invitations to people’s houses and I knew that he was looking forward to them. Moreover, his presence was required on the country estate. On the other hand he did not care for me to make the journey alone.

I said: ‘I shall be all right. I must go, because there is an urgency in Priscilla’s letter. I shall have the grooms with me.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ he said.

I was pleased that he wished to do so and then I wondered what I would find at Enderby. Damaris was clearly very ill indeed. If she were to die—and I had an overwhelming premonition—I must think of Sabrina and I knew that I could handle whatever was awaiting me better if I were alone.

When Lance was there Sabrina held aloof. There was some absurd but passionate resentment in her jealous little heart and it was directed against Lance solely because she believed he came first with me.

I said: ‘I don’t know what I’m going to find there. It will be depressing, I am sure. Sabrina is a very unhappy child at this time. Lance, I do believe I can handle this best alone.’

He understood at once. Perhaps he was relieved. Morbid situations did not appeal to him. He liked everything to be pleasant. ‘As you wish,’ he said. ‘But if you want me to go with you, you have only to say so.’

‘I know,’ I said gratefully. ‘And thank you, Lance.’

Jeanne insisted on coming with me. I should need her, she said. And I was glad of her company. ‘And Sir Lance,’ she went on, ‘he will stay behind?’

‘I have told him that is best.’

She shook her head. ‘He should go with you. You should not leave him alone with…’

She did not continue and I did not ask her to.

So on the last day of March I set out for Enderby.

Although I had known that Damaris was seriously ill, I was unprepared for what I found.

It was indeed a house of mourning. Damaris was dead when I arrived. Her heart had weakened during the first attack of rheumatic fever when she was young and this return of the disease had been too much for her.

When I stepped into the house I had the feeling that it was content because this was its natural state. Happiness, gaiety, merriment did not rest comfortably at Enderby. The house had become alive again; it had come into its own—evil, menacing, haunted by tragedies of the past.

In a small room on the first floor stood the coffin. The room was darkened for the curtains had been drawn across the windows. Lying there in the light of two candles, looking young and beautiful with the lines of pain wiped from her face, lay Damaris. She wore a white cap of fine Brussels lace and I could just see the top of the shift in which they had laid her out, with lace at its neck. She looked so peaceful there; remote from all the harassments of life. Damaris was at rest; but what of those whom she had left behind?

Jeremy was a man who had lost his way and despaired of ever finding it again. He looked like a ghost. Smith told me that he neither ate nor slept. He did not seem to be able to realize that she had gone.

‘I dunno,’ said Smith. ‘When she came it changed everything. She was an angel, that’s what she was. And now she’s gone to the angels… if you believe in that sort of thing. They’d have done better to let her stay. Angels could do without her. Mr Jeremy can’t. She’s gone. That means everything will change back. I don’t know, Miss Clarissa. I don’t know at all. There’s the little nipper. What’s to become of her?’

‘We’ll sort something out, Smith,’ I said. ‘Never fear.’

Sabrina had not come to greet me as she had in the old days. I asked Nanny Curlew where she was.

‘Nobody can do anything with that child, these days,’ she told me. ‘She’s shut right in on herself. Doesn’t seem to want anybody.’

I found her at last. She was in one of the attics sitting under an old table pretending to read.

‘Hello, Sabrina,’ I said. ‘Did you know I was coming?’

‘Yes,’ she answered, and looked down at her book.

I crawled under the table and, sitting beside her, put my arm about her.

‘I thought you’d be glad to see me. Aren’t you?’

‘I don’t mind.’

I started to get out from under the table but she made a half-move towards me. ‘She’s dead now,’ she said.

I went back and sat close to her.

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘I haven’t got a mother now.’

‘Dear Sabrina, you have us all. You have your grandparents… your great-grandparents… and here am I.’

‘They all think I killed her.’

‘They don’t.’

‘They don’t say it but they mean it, and I did, didn’t I? It was because she pulled me out of the frozen pond.’

‘That was an accident, Sabrina.’

‘I made it an accident and Papa hates me.’

‘Of course he doesn’t.’

‘Why do you say that when you know he does? Why do people always tell lies? We ought to tell the truth.’

‘Of course we should, and we do. Your father does not hate you.’

‘You tell lies,’ she said. ‘You needn’t. I don’t mind if he hates me. I hate him too.’

I put my arm round her and held her fast. I kept saying: ‘Sabrina, Sabrina, my dear little Sabrina.’

Suddenly I felt her clinging to me. I thought she was going to cry and I knew it would be good for her if she did. But she didn’t. Instead she said in a small voice: ‘Stay here, Clarissa.’

I stroked her hair. ‘I’ll look after you, Sabrina,’ I said.

After that she did not avoid me and I felt I had made progress.

I went to the Dower House. Poor Priscilla was weighed down with grief. Damaris had been her favourite daughter. I don’t think she ever understood my mother. Carlotta had, throughout her life, been exotic and dramatic. But Damaris had been the quiet and affectionate home-lover, the daughter every woman wants—kind, generous, unselfish in the extreme, the one who gives all she has to give without thought of self-gratification. Dear, loving, simple Damaris was no more; she had gone, leaving behind so many who mourned for her, whose lives had become poorer without her, people who needed her.

There was gloom at Eversleigh. Carleton was confined to bed and Arabella was in a state of acute anxiety because of his health. The death of Damaris was a blow which she was not strong enough to sustain at this time.

It was indeed a house of mourning.

It was an April day, a week after her death, when Damaris was buried in the graveyard attached to the church, where generations of Eversleighs had been laid to rest.

I shall never forget the dismal tolling of the bell as the pallbearers carried the coffin into the church. I kept Sabrina’s hand in mine; she was very quiet and her beautiful eyes were enormous in her pale face.

When we stood round the grave and listened to the sound of the clods of earth falling on the coffin, the child shrank close to me and I put an arm about her to comfort her. She turned away from the gaping grave and buried her face in my skirts.

I dared not look at Jeremy, who was as a man in a dream. I saw that Smith was close beside him and I was grateful to Smith. He had looked after Jeremy in the past and would do so now.

Back at the house we partook of some refreshment—ham, beef and little pies with mulled wine. In the great hall the company was assembled—a quiet, sad company. They talked of Damaris’s many virtues. It is the custom at funerals to praise the deceased’s accomplishments and gifts—but in the case of Damaris the compliments were deserved.

How we should miss her! This house would not be the same again. I realized that it was her presence which had dispersed that air of menace.

Jeanne had said it was not a happy house; now it seemed to me that it was haunted by malevolent ghosts.

The guests had departed and silence fell on the house. Jeremy went to the room he had shared with Damaris and shut himself in with his grief.

I suggested to Sabrina that we walk round the gardens for an hour and she agreed to come with me. She was silent for a while and then she began to talk about the funeral.

‘My Mama is down there in that big hole in that box,’ she said. ‘It was a nice box, with shiny woods and a lot of gold on it.’

‘Brass,’ I said.

‘Gold’s better than brass. But you can’t bury gold, can you? It costs too much. The gravestones look like old women… men, too… wrapped in grey cloaks.’

‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘A little.’

‘When it’s night they stop being stones and turn into people.’

‘Who told you that?’

‘I heard them talking.’

She meant the servants. I knew they gossiped together and several of them were sure Enderby was haunted.

‘And,’ went on Sabrina, ‘the graves open and dead people come out of their coffins.’

‘That’s nonsense.’

‘They dance on the graves and if anybody goes there when they’re dancing they catch them, and won’t let them go. They take their hearts and everything and keep them for themselves. Then they’re alive again and the other one is dead.’

‘Where on earth did you hear such gruesome tales?’

‘I won’t tell.’

‘You made them up.’

‘Perhaps.’

‘Sabrina,’ I said, ‘it’s nice to be with you. The two of us together. Do you think so?’

‘It would be, if…’

‘If what?’

‘Just if,’ she said.

I fancied the old Sabrina was returning. She laughed a little. I thought: She’s getting over it. She’s only a child really.

I stayed for three weeks in that house of mourning and during that time the sadness did not diminish. Jeremy nursed his grief. He was the sort of man who concentrates his main affection on one person and that person had been Damaris. His wife had been the centre of his life, and his love for her, his need of her, was so intense that nothing else could encroach on it. His wife would always come first, and although he would have been fond of his children, they would always have taken second place in his affections; and he. was a stern disciplinarian. He had wanted a son and Damans had always hoped to give him one. The miscarriage had been a bitter disappointment but was of secondary importance compared with the loss of Damaris. When she had died he had lost his will to live and his was not the temperament to allow him to adjust to a new set of circumstances. Nor did he make any effort to do so, and because Sabrina’s wayward, thoughtless act had brought about the tragedy he remembered it whenever he saw her. I knew it would be well for Sabrina to keep out of his way. She knew it too, poor child, and robbed of her mother, whom she had deeply loved, found no one to whom she could turn but myself and Nanny Curlew.

I should have gone back to London but I did not feel I could leave Sabrina in this unhappy state. So I stayed on and spent as much time as possible with her and I was rewarded by occasional glimpses of the child she used to be.

Then came the night when she was missing.

Nanny Curlew came to me in great distress.

‘I went to her room,’ she said. ‘She was getting ready for bed. I heard her saying her prayers. I saw her into bed and told her you might be along to tell her a story.’

‘I did go in,’ I answered. ‘But she seemed sleepy so I tucked her in and kissed her good night.’

‘The minx,’ said Nanny Curlew. ‘She must have got up and gone off somewhere.’

‘Whatever for?’

‘You can never know with Miss. But she’s up to something, you can be sure.’

‘We must find her, Nanny, and bring her back to bed. I expect she’s in the attic. She likes hiding up there.’

‘I’ll go up right away and look, Miss Clarissa.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ I said.

We were dismayed to find she was not in the attic. We searched through the house. No one had seen her. Nanny Curlew and I looked anxiously at each other.

‘She must have gone out,’ I said. ‘Why… and where?’

‘She’s been strange lately. She’s upset about her mother… and there’s her father. She seems frightened of him and keeps saying she hates him.’

‘Poor, poor little Sabrina. We must find her quickly, Nanny.’

We hurried back to her room. Her slippers were gone and so was her dressing-gown, but the rest of her clothes were there.

‘She can’t go far,’ I said. ‘She’s not dressed for going out. Oh, where can she have gone?’

I tried to think of her favourite places. The stables was one. We went there together. There was no sign of her. Her pony was there so she had not taken him. That was a relief. The thought of her going out at night on her pony was terrifying.

As we came out of the stables, Damon ran up to us. He was essentially Jeremy’s dog and slunk about mournfully these days as though aware of the tragedy which had befallen the household, but he was constantly in Sabrina’s company.

I called to him: ‘Damon, Damon. Where is she? Where is Sabrina?’

He gave a little bark and looked at me with limpid, sorrowing eyes.

‘Find her for us, Damon,’ I said. ‘Please, Damon, find Sabrina.’

The dog wagged his tail, looked up at us and whimpered. Then he turned and started trotting towards the house.

I followed him in disappointment. I was sure Sabrina was not there.

As we neared the house Smith appeared.

‘Hi, Damon,’ he cried. ‘I was looking for you, boy.’

Then he saw us.

‘Oh Smith,’ I cried. ‘We can’t find Sabrina.’

Smith looked grave. ‘Not in her bed, then?’

‘No. We’ve searched the house. We think she must have gone out. I can’t think why and I can’t think where. Have you any idea?’

There was a special bond between Smith and Sabrina, as there had been between myself and the man. He was of the kind who has little time for adults but a great deal more to spare for children. I had discovered that; so had Sabrina.

‘Poor mite,’ he said. ‘This is a hard time for her. The mistress… going. The master as he is…’

‘I’m worried, Smith. So is Nanny. Where could she have got to?’

He said after a moment: ‘Damon will take us to her. He’ll know where the little missee is. Come on, boy.’

Damon was pricking up his ears. He stood very still as though testing the air; and then he started trotting away from the house. He stopped and looked back at us.

‘He’s asking us to follow him,’ said Smith.

I cried out: ‘Good Damon. Take us to Sabrina, Damon.’

He started to trot in the direction of the church. He paused by the lych-gate which led into the graveyard. Smith opened it and we all went through.

I knew then that Sabrina had gone to her mother’s grave.

I saw her first. She was kneeling and her arms were spread out over the earth.

‘Sabrina!’ I cried. ‘Oh… Sabrina.’

She did not move and for a moment a terrible fear ran through me. I ran to her and, kneeling beside her, turned her body to face me. She was deathly pale and her eyes were wide.

‘Clarissa,’ she said and threw herself at me. I held her tightly. She was shivering.

‘Nobody came,’ she said. ‘The graves didn’t open. I waited… and it was just the same.’

‘We must get her to bed quickly,’ I said. ‘She’s shivering with the cold.’

Smith picked her up in his strong arms.

‘So you left your bed, Miss,’ began Nanny Curlew.

I put a hand on her arm. ‘Don’t scold… now,’ I whispered.

Sabrina reached for my hand and I took hers and kissed it. Nanny Curlew said: ‘We’ll soon have you safe in bed.’

Damon jumped up, barking.

‘Good dog, Damon,’ I said. ‘Damon brought us to you, Sabrina. Let’s get going quickly. It’s all right. I’m going to look after you now.’

‘Always?’ asked Sabrina.

‘Always,’ I said firmly.

Smith carried her back and we put her to bed. She lay shivering while Nanny Curlew warmed up some broth and I wrapped her in blankets.

She said: ‘Stay with me, Clarissa.’ So I lay down beside her, holding her tightly in my arms.

I hoped she would sleep but she could not. She drank the broth and nestled close to me, holding on to my hand tightly as though she feared I was going to run away.

‘Clarissa,’ she said.

‘Darling, try to sleep. You can tell me tomorrow.’

She was silent for a while, then she said my name again.

‘What is it?’ I asked gently.

‘They don’t come out.’

‘Who?’

‘Dead people in graves.’

‘No,’ I said, ‘they’re at peace. They have finished with the world. They don’t want to come back.’

‘My Mama would want to. She would want to come back for me.’

‘She would want you to be happy here.’

‘I want to go with her. I wanted one of them to come out and take my heart and make me dead so that I could get into the grave with my mother.’

‘Oh, Sabrina,’ I said, ‘you couldn’t do that. You have to live your life here and make it happy.’

‘It won’t be now because… I killed her.’

‘That’s nonsense.’

‘I did, I did. I went skating and she came and saved me and it killed her.’

‘No. It’s not like that at all. She was ill long ago before you were born. She was just ill again.’

‘But she wouldn’t have been if she hadn’t got cold on the ice.’

‘Listen, Sabrina, we are going to forget all that. It’s over. It is what your mother would want.’

‘My Papa won’t forget about it.’

‘Things like that happen sometimes. They can’t be helped. When they are over there is nothing to be done but forget them. You’re going to forget, Sabrina. I will make you forget.’

‘But…’

‘Listen. You went on the ice when you were forbidden to do so. You fell in and your mother saved you. That was what she wanted. She was ill for a while. Then she was better. Then she was ill again.’

‘Was she better?’ asked Sabrina.

‘Of course she was,’ I lied. ‘She was ill before and she had the same illness again.’

‘My Papa…’

‘He loved your mother dearly. He is hurt and wounded and when people are hurt they like to blame other people. It’s wrong… but it’s human. So be gentle with him… and stop blaming yourself.’

‘You say nice things, Clarissa.’

‘I say what’s true.’

She was comforted and lay beside me, holding my hand tightly. I stayed with her until she slept. Then I crept quietly away.

The next day I saw Jeremy. He did not want to see me. He didn’t want to see anybody. But I insisted.

I was very shocked by his haggard looks, but more, perhaps, by the bitterness of his mouth. Smith had said: ‘He’s gone right back, Miss Clarissa, right back to what he was before he went to France and brought you home.’

He had been a bitter, angry man in those days, railing against fate, living the life of a recluse. Was that what he was going to return to?

‘Jeremy,’ I said, ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, but I want to talk to you. It’s about Sabrina.’

He frowned as though the very mention of her name was distasteful to him.

‘We have to remember how young she is,’ I went on. ‘She is only seven years old.’

He nodded, a little impatient with me, I thought, for reminding him of an obvious fact.

‘Children are very impressionable and this tragedy is having an effect on her.’

‘I should hope it is,’ he retorted. ‘She should be made to realize what her wickedness has brought about.’

‘Jeremy, it was the thoughtless act of a child!’

‘She had been told skating was dangerous and warned not to go.’

‘But danger appeals to children, don’t you see?’

‘And Damaris went after her and gave her life for that child.’

‘It was not quite like that, Jeremy.’

‘I cannot see how else it happened.’

I realized it was hopeless to try to make him see a different point of view so I decided to come straight to the point.

‘I want to take Sabrina back with me.’

I was astonished by his reaction for I had thought that in view of the effect Sabrina had on him, he would not hesitate for a moment to let her go.

‘This is her home,’ he said.

‘But I thought a little stay with Lance and me…’

‘Where she will doubtless be pampered and made to feel something of a heroine…’

‘I do think she needs a little special care at the moment.’

‘What she needs is to understand what she has done. She must be made to realize that her disobedience has cost her mother’s life.’

‘Oh no, Jeremy! She is filled with remorse. Last night she went to her mother’s grave. She had some childish notion of joining her mother. Don’t you see how deeply hurt she is? She needs nursing back to normality. She needs love and security. Damaris would have understood.’

The mention of her name seemed to unnerve him. He clenched his fists and turned away. When he spoke his voice sounded strangled.

‘Damaris is… dead… because of this child’s wanton action. She needs discipline. She is utterly selfish. She will stay here in her home. Thank you for offering, Clarissa. You have been a good girl. Damaris loved you dearly. But Sabrina has some wickedness in her and it has to be restrained. I can see trouble for her if she is not watched. She is to stay here. I want her to understand fully this terrible thing she has done.’

‘Jeremy,’ I said, ‘you were always kind to me. You were like a father to me. You and Damaris… I’ll never forget…’

I could see I was stirring up his emotions and because he had lost Damaris they could only bring out more bitterness.

He said firmly, ‘The answer is that Sabrina stays here. She has that good Curlew woman to look after her, and this is her home.’

‘For a brief visit, then,’ I pleaded.

‘Perhaps later. When she shows some contrition.’

I cried out in protest: ‘Don’t you see? She is becoming obsessed by this feeling of guilt. It’s doing something to her. Jeremy, she’s little more than a baby.’

He said: ‘My mind is made up.’

I knew from the past that when Jeremy spoke in that way it was final.

After I had left, Sabrina’s face haunted me for a long time.

‘Soon you will come and see me,’ I had said when we parted, and she had just looked at me reproachfully. I was sure she thought that I was deserting her, and I trembled to think how she would fare in that brooding house of mourning. I was sure it was the worst possible thing that she should be left there. I relied on Smith and Nanny Curlew and I had a word with them before I left.

It was in a very sad mood that I arrived back in London. Lance greeted me with pleasure. He was very happy to see me back, he said. He had had some good play and was richer by several thousands. I could not be elated by the news, for he was playing for high stakes and I felt sure there would in time be some disastrous results.

Aimée welcomed me affectionately and it was pleasant to see little Jean-Louis again. In spite of the ever-present apprehension caused by Lance’s gambling I could have been very happy if I could only have brought Sabrina with me.

Lance noticed that I was preoccupied and soon I was telling him all about it.

‘If only I could have brought her with me I would have been so relieved. I am sure I could make her into a normal child if I had her for a while.’

‘You are a little worker of miracles,’ he said lightly, and I felt a stab of disappointment, for I realized he was not really concerned about Sabrina. He would always be kind; he would put no obstacles in the way of my taking her as my own child if ever I was able to do so, and she could have a home with us and be treated as a member of the family; but at the same time he did not care deeply what became of her. There was a natural carelessness about him, an insouciance, and it applied to everything that touched him… except gambling.

In one way it was an asset, for it enabled him to make light of his troubles. When I considered how nearly the South Sea Bubble had ruined him, I was amazed at his reaction. I only learned later about this, and how he had sailed along very near the verge of bankruptcy. He owed money all round but he had continued to live in an extravagant style. That was Lance.

Perhaps it was through Sabrina that I began to feel a vague dissatisfaction with my marriage. I would not at first admit it. I had the kindest and most indulgent of husbands. I tried not to see the superficiality of our way of life. Now I began to feel that there was no depth in it. It was only a vague feeling, for my thoughts were so taken up with the plight of Sabrina.

Every day I thought of her and I wished that I had asked Smith or Nanny Curlew to write and let me know what was happening. Neither of them, I imagined, would be very good correspondents. I might have asked Priscilla, but she was very much occupied at this time, deeply concerned about the health of her parents.

I could talk to Jeanne about Sabrina. Jeanne understood.

‘Poor mite,’ she said. ‘It’s wicked to make her feel like a murderer. Men… I don’t know. They have no sense, if you ask me. It is very méchant of this Monsieur Jeremy. He is no good father to that child.’

‘Oh Jeanne,’ I said, ‘how I wish that I had brought her with me.’

‘She will grow up hating, that one. She will grow up with a… how you say?… une dent… against the world.’

‘A grudge,’ I said. ‘Yes, I think you are right, Jeanne, and I do worry about her.’

‘Life is hard for some,’ added Jeanne, shaking her head. ‘For others easy. Madame Aimée has come out of it very well… She knows how to make a home for herself, that one does. Sharp as a wagon of singes.’

Jeanne always grew more French when she was disturbed, so I knew that she, too, was worried about Sabrina.

‘I could never like ’er,’ she finished, on her favourite theme of Aimée. But at least I could talk to her.

‘Dear Jeanne,’ I said to her one day, ‘I don’t know what I should do without you.’

‘Never fret, little one,’ she answered, ‘you will never have to. The wild horse would not drag me from you.’

I waited for news from Eversleigh. Priscilla wrote now and then but her letters were mainly concerned with Carleton and Arabella. I gathered she was spending a great deal of time at Eversleigh Court and, was thinking of sending for her brother Carl. She did say that she saw little of Jeremy. ‘He is so sad,’ she added, ‘and I do not think he wants to see anybody.’

So my anxieties about Sabrina were not set at rest.

I was telling myself that I must go again to Enderby when I received the letter from Priscilla. It was a great shock.

My dear Clarissa [she wrote],

There has been a terrible tragedy here…

The words danced before my eyes and for a few moments I found it impossible to read on because I was terrified to read that something had happened to Sabrina.

But it was not Sabrina—though it was going to affect her deeply.

We think it was an accident. They found his clothes on the beach. He had told Smith he was going to swim. His horse was tethered near by. He had ridden down to the sea and there was no sign of him. There seems no end to this tragedy. Poor Jeremy, life was worthless for him without Damaris. I never knew anyone to be more devoted or to rely more on another person. We fear he is drowned. It is the only answer.

If you come to us now it would be so helpful. There is so much to see to and with things as they are at Eversleigh, I find it hard to cope with everything. I want to talk to you, Clarissa, about everything…

I sat there for some minutes with the letter in my hand. I could imagine it. Poor desolate Jeremy who could endure it no more, deliberately riding down to the beach and swimming out to sea with no intention of coming back.

Had it happened like that, or had it been an accident?

Who could be sure? Perhaps Jeremy did not want us to be sure. Perhaps it was a secret he wished to carry with him to the grave.

Lance immediately showed concern when I read him the letter, but even then I could not help wondering whether he was thinking of last night’s play.

I said: ‘I want to go, Lance. I want to leave at once. There is a cry for help here. They need me.’

‘Of course you must go, darling. I’ll come with you.’

He didn’t want to go, of course. How he would hate that house of gloom! It didn’t suit his mood at all. But it was the duty of a good husband to accompany his wife on such occasions and therefore he would do it with a good grace.

But I did not want him to make such a sacrifice and I did not really want him with me. I felt that this was too important a matter for anyone but myself. I sensed his relief when I insisted on going alone, although he displayed only concern for my safety.

Aimée said she would look after the household while I was away.

‘That she will!’ commented Jeanne. ‘She would like to be mistress of this household, mark my words.’

So I went, taking my dear faithful Jeanne with me.

It was indeed a house of gloom. Smith was there to greet me, shaking his head sadly.

‘Times has changed, Miss Clarissa,’ he said. ‘Forgive me. I should say “my lady”, I know.’

‘Miss Clarissa will do very well, Smith,’ I answered, ‘just as it used to be in the old days.’

‘They’ve brought him in, Miss. He was washed up with the tide. One of the fishermen found him early yesterday morning.’

‘I’m glad he was brought home,’ I said.

‘Yes. His funeral will be at the end of the week.’

‘Two funerals in such a short time. And Sabrina…?’

‘It’s hard to say,’ he replied. ‘You’ll see.’

‘Where is she?’

He lifted his shoulders. ‘She went off: Since it happened she’s been going off all day and staying away. She drives poor Nanny Curlew crazy.’

‘Does she know I’m coming?’

‘Oh yes. She was told.’

‘Was she pleased?’

‘She didn’t say, Miss Clarissa.’

I understood. She guessed I would be arriving some time this day and she had decided to stay away to show me that my coming meant nothing very special to her.

I felt depressed and uneasy.

I stood in the hall looking up at the minstrels’ gallery. The haunted hall, where a tragedy had happened years ago. The house had never been rid of tragedy. The things that had happened here had shown that. Perhaps they will sell the house, I thought, now that Jeremy and Damaris are both dead.

As I stood looking up at the gallery my eyes were attracted by a movement there and something told me that Sabrina was up there watching me.

I said: ‘I’ll go to my room.’

‘It’s all ready for you,’ Smith told me.

I went up past the gallery, not looking that way, and on to my room. There would be a great deal to decide. This time I must succeed in taking Sabrina back with me.

The door of my room was quietly opened.

‘Come in, Sabrina,’ I said without looking round.

She came in. ‘How did you know?’ she asked.

‘Guesswork. You wanted to see me as soon as I arrived. You could have come down. You would have seen me better than from the gallery.’

‘How did you know I was there?’

‘The evidence of these eyes.’

‘I was hidden.’

‘You moved.’

She laughed suddenly, and there was the old mischievous Sabrina.

I turned and held out my arms. She hesitated for a moment and then ran into them.

‘Oh Sabrina… dear Sabrina… I am so glad to see you!’

‘You like him better though.’

‘Who?’

‘Uncle Lance, of course.’

‘He’s my husband. People have to live with their husbands, you know. I wanted to take you back with me, but your father did not wish it.’

‘He’s dead,’ she said. ‘I’m glad.’

‘Hush, Sabrina.’

‘Why hush? Aren’t people supposed to tell the truth?’

‘Yes, but you shouldn’t hate anyone.’

‘But I do, and it’s a lie to say I don’t. He’s lying in his coffin in that room Mama was in. I went in there and put my tongue out at him.’

‘Oh… Sabrina!’

‘Why do you keep looking like that and saying “Sabrina”? I like being an orphan. It’s better than it was before.’

She was truculent and, I could see, very unhappy.

‘Everything will be different now I’m here, Sabrina.’

‘Why?’ she asked.

‘Because there are two of us.’

‘I don’t mind there being one of us.’

I could see that a great deal of harm had been done. I longed to see the return of the carefree if rather wilful child who had been so affectionate before the fatal accident on the pond. Then I felt confident that I alone could give her the help she needed.

Smith told me that the funeral would be very quiet. Most people thought that Jeremy’s death was not accidental but there was a possibility that he had got into difficulties when swimming. I tried to believe that this was so, because that was what he had wanted people to think.

He was laid beside Damaris, which was where I knew he had wanted to be. Sabrina stood beside me during the service and when we were at the graveside. She allowed me to hold her hand and I think she was pleased that I did so. There were times when I thought she was almost ready to break down and cling to me.

Poor child, she had been deeply wounded; but now there was a chance to save her from her wretchedness and I was going to do that.

I talked to Leigh and Priscilla after the funeral and told them that I wanted to take Sabrina back with me. They were delighted. Neither of them wanted to have the care of a child—certainly not such a one as Sabrina. Priscilla had been overcome with grief by the death of Damaris, Leigh told me, and the fact that her parents were ailing and were clearly not long for this world, was an added blow to her.

‘I want to take her away for a while,’ said Leigh, ‘but she won’t leave her parents. In time, perhaps…’

Later Priscilla said to me: ‘Do you think you can undertake the care of Sabrina, Clarissa? It is rather a responsibility. It won’t be easy.’

‘I know it won’t. But I think I understand her and can look after her. I want to get her to put all that has happened behind her. I want her to stop brooding on it.’

Leigh nodded. ‘She will have money in due course,’ he said. ‘Jeremy left everything to Damaris with the exception of an annuity to Smith—so it will go to Sabrina, I suppose. I think Enderby should be sold.’

‘Yes,’ I said emphatically.

‘Do you think Lance will agree to have Sabrina living with you?’

‘I am sure he will.’

‘He’s a good husband. I’m happy for you, Clarissa, in that. Damaris always used to say how contented she was to see you in a happy marriage. There was that affair in your youth—that poor boy who was transported.’

‘Oh yes, yes,’ I said quickly, ‘but that was long ago.’

I did not want to think of Dickon. He had been coming more and more into my thoughts lately and I had often tried to visualize what sort of life he might be living in Virginia.

When I told Sabrina that she was coming to live with me she said in an off-hand way: ‘Am I?’

‘You needn’t, you know, if you don’t want to.’

‘I’ll think about it,’ she said.

I was surprised and a little hurt, because I had thought she would be so pleased, for I knew it was what she wanted. She had been so badly hurt that the only way she could find a little balm to lay on her wounds was in hurting others—even those whom, in her heart, she cared for.

‘You must decide quickly,’ I said. ‘Preparations will have to be made and I have to get back soon.

She shrugged her shoulders.

‘All right, then,’ I said. ‘You can’t stay here. I dare say you could go and live with your grandmother.’

‘I’ll come,’ she said ungraciously.

I spoke to Smith. He was very unhappy. His life had been with Jeremy for so long, but he was brave and philosophical. He said: ‘He would never have settled down without her. The difference she made to his life was just staggering. I know. I was with him. I remember her first coming… right from that time she changed him. He couldn’t have gone on without her. It’s best… the way it’s happened. Best for the nipper in a way, too. If you take her, you’ll bring her back to what she ought to be. I know you can do it, Miss Clarissa…’

He himself would go and live in a little cottage by the sea. He’d take Damon with him. ‘He’ll be able to run about on the beach and I’ll have the sound of the sea with me always… I’ll like that.’

So when I left Eversleigh I took Sabrina with me.