The Drop of the Dice

INTRIGUE

I LEFT GREAT-UNCLE CARL and Lance Clavering in York, and only then did I realize how much I had enjoyed Lance’s company. His lively conversation had been so invigorating, and what I had liked most was to be treated like a grown-up person.

I had only the grooms as companions now for the remainder of the journey and as the weather continued good, and we were starting at dawn and riding till sunset we had only two nightly stops at inns which had been recommended.

We rode over moors and along by the sea. It thrilled and inspired me. This wild northern country was the home of my ancestors.

At length we came to Hessenfield Castle. It was not far from the coast—about a mile, I should say—and was a fine yellow stone edifice forming a quadrangle enclosing a court and finished at the four angles with tall square towers. At the corners of these towers were projecting octagonal turrets, machicolated and clearly intended for the convenience of archers who could drive their arrows down on an invading army.

The projecting gateway with its turret and battlemented gallery was most impressive, and above were the carved armorial bearings of the noble Field family whose title was that of Hessenfield. I looked at those mullioned windows and I felt a glow of pride because this was the home of my father’s family.

As we rode through the gateway grooms came running out to see who had arrived and as soon as they glimpsed me they guessed who I was, and I saw at once that I was going to be made very welcome.

‘His lordship said as we were to be on the look-out these last two days,’ said one of them. ‘I’ll take you to him without delay.’

I dismounted and my horse was taken from me by another groom, and two others came out to look after my guards and the saddle-bags.

As I entered the castle I was immediately aware of its grandeur. I was accustomed to Eversleigh Court, which was a magnificent mansion; Enderby was a fine old house; but this was a castle. It owed its existence to the Normans—Eversleigh was Elizabethan and therefore comparatively modern. I was immediately struck by the thick stone walls, and the spiral staircases with rope banisters in that part of the castle which was like a fortress. We emerged into the great hall—far bigger than the one at Eversleigh; on the stone walls hung weapons from another age; and when I looked up at the high vaulted roof I saw the minstrels’ gallery and was reminded of Enderby.

‘His lordship is in his sitting-room,’ said the groom. ‘I will let him know you are here.’

In a short while I was taken up a wide staircase, through a gallery hung with portraits. I took a quick look. All the men and women seemed very much alike. My father, I guessed, must be among them, but there was no time to search for him. The servant was hurrying me on.

We went through the gallery and were in a long corridor. Here there were carpets on the floor which gave a more modern touch to the place. Comfort prevailed over antiquity.

The servant knocked on a door and I was advancing into a room. It was not a large room but there was an air of extreme comfort there. The heavy blue curtains at the mullioned windows matched the blue of the carpet; there was a fire burning in the large grate and seated in a chair was a man with a rug over his knees. On the chair opposite him was a young woman.

The man spoke at once but did not rise.

‘You are Clarissa,’ he said. ‘At last you have come. I thought you would never arrive.’

I went towards him quickly and he took my hand. I realized then that he was an invalid.

‘Forgive my not rising,’ he said. ‘The plain fact is that I can’t. I have to live my life in this chair. Aimée, my dear, come and greet Clarissa.’

The young woman had risen. She was only a few years older than I… perhaps eighteen, I guessed. She was beautifully dressed in a gown of deep green velvet cut away in front to show a grey silk petticoat.

She took my hand and smiled at me. Her look was searching. I was sure she noticed how untidy my hair was and that my hands were red from the cold.

‘You will be tired and want to rest,’ said my uncle. ‘You will want to wash, perhaps, and change and then eat. Something warm, eh? I was not sure what you would want to do first but I was so anxious to see you as soon as you arrived. Now say… which is it to be? Would you like to wash first? In the kitchens they will be preparing something good to eat. And we can get to know each other over a meal.’

‘It is so good to see you…’ I began.

‘Uncle,’ he said. ‘I’m your Uncle Paul. Your father was my eldest brother. I knew of your existence but only just became aware of where you were. I wanted so much to see you. Now say what you would wish to do first.’

Because I was aware of the elegant appearance of the girl called Aimée I said I would like to wash and change. I could wait for food to be served for everyone. We had eaten cold bacon with bread and cheese at an inn shortly before we reached the castle.

‘Then Aimee will take you to your room. You can explain to Clarissa who you are, Aimée. You two are going to have a great deal in common. When you are ready you and I will have a long talk, too. But first things first. I know how you ladies feel after a long journey and our climate up here is less benign than yours in the south.’

I thought he was charming. He resembled my father slightly but the first thing that always struck one about Hessenfield was his towering height. To see his brother, my Uncle Paul, in a chair had been a great surprise to me.

Aimée flashed a smile at me. ‘I am so glad you have come,’ she said. ‘You can’t imagine how we’ve been longing to see you. Come along. Let’s get you comfortable and then we can talk.’

She led me out of the room and we seemed to go through a maze of corridors and up several staircases until we came to a room in one of the turrets. I went to the narrow window. I could see for miles over the moorland and in the distance the sea.

Aimée came and stood beside me. She smelt faintly of some perfume—rather musky and vaguely seductive. I glanced at her. She had dark—almost black—hair and beautiful long dark brown eyes with black lashes. Her skin was pale, her lips faintly carmined. I did not know then that she augmented her beauty with certain aids. I found her rather fascinating in a slightly disturbing way and I was very curious to know who she was and whether she was related to me.

‘Uncle Paul selected this room for you,’ she said. ‘He thought you would like the view.’ I noticed that she had a slightly French accent and intonation which added to her exotic aura. ‘The wind screeches across the moors when it blows from the east. Ugh.’ She shivered. ‘It creeps into the castle,’ she went on,’ and then it is so difficult to keep warm. It is very cold… here in the north.’ I noticed how she stressed her r’s, and was reminded of Jeanne.

‘Tell me,’ I said, ‘are you my cousin… or are we related in some other way?’

She came a step nearer to me and regarded me with something like amusement.

‘Not cousin,’ she said. ‘Closer… much closer… Can you guess?’

‘No,’ I said and began to wonder whether Uncle Paul had married a young wife.

Her next words so startled me that I thought I must be dreaming. ‘We are sisters,’ she said.

‘Sisters! But… how…’

She was smiling. ‘How do you call it? Demi-soeur. What I tell you is this. Your father… he was my father too.’

‘Hessenfield!’

‘Ah, yes,’ she said with a great effort to pronounce the H, ‘Yes, Hessenfield.’

‘But how…?’

‘Very simple. In the usual way. You understand?’

I flushed and she went on, ‘Ah, I see you do. Our father was a very loving man. He loved my mother… very much. He loved me too… very much. He was a very loving man.’

‘You mean you are his illegitimate daughter?’

‘It is an honour we both share. He was never married to your mother… nor to mine. Your mother was married already. Mine…’ She lifted her shoulders in an entirely Gallic gesture. ‘Well, he was not a man to marry. But we came… you and I… all the same. We are bâtards, eh? Bâtards who share the same loving father.’

‘My sister,’ I murmured.

She put her hands on my shoulders and, drawing me to her, kissed me on both cheeks. I was conscious of a certain revulsion. My mother had been known as Lady Hessenfield; she had lived with my father in his hôtel and all the time there had been this girl who must be some four or five years older than I. Perhaps that explained it. He had known her mother before he had known mine.

I was learning. The King had brought his German mistresses with him. Hessenfield had been like a king; he had had mistresses. My mother had been one of them; Aimée’s mother another.

‘Well,’ she went on, ‘how does it feel to find you have a sister?’

‘It is so unexpected, of course. But it is exciting.’

‘You thought you were the only one, didn’t you?’ she said rather slyly.

‘I was led to believe it.’

‘Not with a man like my Lord.’

‘How long have you been here?’

‘About a year. I could not come before the Peace. It was not easy for us… in Paris. And then I thought I should come here, for after all… it was my home. This was where my father meant to bring me when he had put King James on the throne. He always said so to my mother. He used to. say: ‘When this is completed, we will go home to Hessenfield Castle.’”

‘And you knew of me?’

‘Oh yes, we knew of you.’

‘And you knew that my Aunt Damaris had brought me to England?’

‘No.’

‘Then how did my uncle… our uncle… know where to send for me?’

‘He has ways of finding out. Perhaps he will tell you.’

I said: ‘It is all such a surprise for me. I shall need time to get used to it.’-

‘You will. I find it good… amusing. We shall have much to share.’

‘There is a lot I want to know. Did you just come here and tell my uncle who you were?’

‘Are you thinking that I might not be saying the truth?’ She looked angry suddenly. ‘I am as much his daughter as you are.’

‘No, no. You mistake me. I merely wondered how you came here and what did our uncle think when he met you so suddenly.’

‘I had proof.’ She spoke vehemently, and then she smiled. ‘Ah, I could prove who I was. I had his signet ring. The ring worn by all the holders of the title. I brought it back to our uncle who now wears it on the third finger of his right hand. Our father wore it on his little finger.’

I nodded. I remembered that ring. It was gold, with a stone called bezoar. I could hear his voice then, telling me this when I had shown interest in it.

‘Our father was a big man. The ring just fitted his little finger. I brought his watch too, and there was the letter: These things I brought because they were given to my mother by Lord Hessenfield in case something should happen to him. He loved well his daughters, did our father. He wanted us to be taken care of. That was what he always said. He wanted me taken care of as well as you.’

A maid came in with cans of hot water and Aimée said she would leave me to wash. Then if I would pull the bell-rope it would tell them in the kitchen that I was ready to be taken to my uncle. We could then talk together until dinner was served.

I felt in a daze as I washed the grime of the journey from my hands and face. My saddle-bags were brought up and I was glad to get out of my riding clothes and into a red dress which I felt was rather becoming. I wanted to look my best so that I might not compare too unfavourably with Aimée.

When I was ready I rang the bell as I had been told to, and was conducted back to the room where my uncle was impatiently awaiting my coming.

‘Ah,’ he said, ‘now you are ready.’

I looked for Aimée, and he said: ‘I implied that you and I should best get to know each other alone at first. Were you surprised to find you had a half-sister?’

‘Yes, indeed I was.’

‘My brother was always a lusty man. All the Hessenfields are… except those who are incapacitated.’ He spoke without bitterness. He had a very sweet expression and I began to warm towards him.

‘John—your father, that is—was always an adventurer. He was the eldest of a family of brothers. We were all daring. As I said, it runs in the family. But he was always the leader. John led, we followed. Sometimes we shared his adventures. He was a wonderful man in so many ways. It has always been as though he lives on. And so he does in a way, in you two girls. Strange that he should have left girls. One would have imagined he would have had sons.’

‘Would you have preferred them?’

‘Not now I have seen you both.’

‘How did you know where I was?’

He hesitated for a moment. ‘Oh… I was told. A friend of a friend… one of those coincidences.’

For the first time he seemed to lose that open look, and I felt my question had embarrassed him. I decided not to probe just then but to try to discover who the friend was later.

‘My brother sent messages from France. You know he was one of the leading Jacobites?’

I nodded. ‘If he were alive today…’

‘You are going to say that he would bring the Chevalier of St George to England.’

‘I am sure of it.’

‘And you share his views?’

He was evasive. ‘These could be dangerous times,’ was all he said. After a slight pause he went on: ‘Let me tell you what your father wrote to me about you. He said you were the most adorable child he had ever seen and he was proud of you. He loved you dearly, you know.’

‘Yes, I did know it. It is something one knows even at an early age. I still remember it.’

‘He loved your mother too. He regretted there could be no marriage. She was already married. He told me all about it. It was one of those adventures that came his way.’

‘And what about Aimée?’

‘That must have been some time before. I don’t know much about Aimée’s mother, but he must have been fond of her to give her the watch and the ring… particularly the ring. I think he must have known your mother was dying. You see, this ring is a rather special one in our family. It has always been worn by the head of the house. It has special properties.’

‘Does it bring good luck?’

‘It is not that. Here, take a look at it.’ He took the ring from his finger. I remembered it vaguely. I did not find it attractive. It was heavy gold with a stone of a nondescript colour. The setting was elaborate. ‘It meant a good deal to me to get this back,’ went on my uncle. ‘It is important to the family. When he knew that he was dying of the same fatal illness which took your mother too, he sent for Aimée’s mother and gave her the ring and his watch to bring to me with the letter. I thought we had lost the ring for ever and that because of his illness it would have been buried with him. Then when Aimée arrived with it she had brought back the Hessenfield heirloom. It convinced me that she was his daughter. I knew he would never have parted with the ring unless he was dying and could not give it to your mother. Of course, owing to the war, a long time elapsed before she was able to get here.’

‘When did you hear of his death?’

‘A few months after it happened. Our friends could not get across immediately to tell me. We heard that your mother had died too. I wondered what had become of you. I asked for news but could get none. No one knew your whereabouts.’

‘Jeanne, one of the maids at the hôtel, looked after me. She kept me until my Aunt Damaris—my mother’s half-sister—came to look for me.’

‘Yes, I know that now. But I did not then. As soon as I discovered where you were I sent my nephew to invite you to come here. I wished you had come earlier.’

‘I should have done so if my aunt had not been expecting a baby.’

‘The good Aunt Damaris. Tell me more about her. Aimée says that her mother tried to find you and failed to do so. She said that after the death of your father and mother there was chaos in the house. Of course, Aimée can only speak from hearsay. She only knows what her mother told her. It was all very mysterious to her before she had the opportunity of coming to England. It was what her mother had waited for. She wanted Aimée to present herself to her father’s family—and to bring back the ring and the watch. I suspect that she hoped Aimée would find a home over here. Aimée tells me that she had recently married and set up home with her new husband just outside Paris. I can imagine that a grown-up daughter would be rather de trop in such a household. I was touched to see how delighted Aimée was by her welcome here and when I suggested she stay as long as she liked… in fact, make her home here… she was overcome with joy.’

‘It is all so bewildering. I had no idea what was going on.’

‘How could you? What were you… five or six?’

‘I just knew that I was with my parents in that luxurious house and then they were gone and I was in a damp, dark cellar, frightened, bewildered, wondering what it all meant.’

‘My poor, poor child! But you were brave, I don’t doubt. You have a look of your father. What a waste of a life! I should have been the one. Here I am, condemned to a chair for the rest of my life… That’s self-pity. One should beware of that. It’s taking your troubles out and nourishing them… pampering them… instead of shutting them away in a dark cupboard and forgetting them—which is the wise thing to do.’

I said: ‘I’m sorry. Has it been long…?’

‘Fourteen years ago, when I was twenty-five. I was thrown from my horse when I was out hunting. I knew she couldn’t take that hedge. It was too high. Others turned away and took a detour. But I had to do it. It was showing off… nothing more. I crashed. My mare was on top of me. She had to be shot. I sometimes think it was a pity they didn’t shoot me. There’s self-pity again.’

‘It’s understandable,’ I replied.

‘They never thought I should recover. I was engaged to be married to a beautiful girl. She looked after me in those first weeks. She said we would go through with the marriage… but old self-pity came along. I was impossible, I knew. I had a grievance against life. We had always been so active in our family. I couldn’t endure it; and then there was the pain… the intermittent pain. The trouble was that I never knew when it was coming on. I had rages. In the end she saw how useless it would be. So did I. I couldn’t condemn her to a life like that. She married someone else in time.’

‘I am so sorry. Now you seem so calm and gentle… so reconciled.’

‘That is what time does, Clarissa. Time is the great teacher, the great healer. I tell myself that it was tragic that John should die of a strange disease in Paris and that I, his successor, should be a cripple spending his days in a chair. You might say it was the curse of the Fields, if you believe in such things.’

‘Is there supposed to be a curse?’

‘No. We’ve been strong and vigorous through the ages, defending our lands and goods from marauding Scots when they made their forays over the border. It was just one of the misfortunes which beset most families at some time. I have been talking a great deal about myself. I want to hear about you.’

I told him about life at Enderby and how we were close to the Dower House, the home of my Grandmother Priscilla, and Eversleigh Court where my great-grandparents lived.

‘You have an uncle too, have you not? One who is in the army?’

‘He’s my great-uncle, actually. He’s Carleton really but we call him Carl always to distinguish him from my great-grandfather.’

‘Yours is a long-lived family.’

‘My grandmother was very young when my mother was born and my mother was young when I was born.’

‘I see. It makes a small gap between the generations. Do you see much of your Uncle Carl?’

‘No. Very little until lately. He came with me to York.’

He nodded and was silent for a while and then there was a knock on the door and Aimée came in. She had changed her velvet dress for one of brocade in a bluish shade. The bodice was low-cut and her skin looked pearly. She wore garnets at her throat and in her ears. They suited her. I learned afterwards that they had been a gift from Uncle Paul to his fiancée who, when she had broken off the engagement, had returned all the presents he had given her. I thought he must be very fond of Aimée to have given her his fiancée’s presents.

Before we dined there were arrivals at the castle. The nephew who had visited us at Enderby came with his father. Matthew Field was very like what I remembered of my father—tall and commanding. He seemed very pleased to see me.

‘You are as pretty as my son Ralph described you,’ he told me.

Ralph greeted me like an old friend. ‘It was good of you to come all this way,’ he said. ‘I trust the baby arrived in good condition.’

‘She did, and she is flourishing. I had to stay until she was born. You did understand, I hope.’

‘But of course.’

Dinner was leisurely and lavish. There were a great many dishes, some of which I did not know.

‘We eat heartily up here,’ my Uncle Paul explained. ‘More so than you southerners.’

‘It’s due to the climate,’ said Ralph, it can be bitterly cold up here and we need hot soups, black puddings and hot roast beef in abundance to keep out the cold.’

I felt exhausted after the food and unaccustomed wine, not to mention the journey and the revelations which had disclosed the fact that I had a half-sister. I must have shown this because Uncle Paul said: ‘What Clarissa needs most just now is a good night’s rest. Aimée, take her to her room. She might get lost in the castle.’ He turned to me. ‘People do, you know. That’s until they begin to know the place. It began life as a fortress, but so much has been added over the centuries that sometimes I think it resembles a maze more than a dwelling.’

Aimée rose obediently and, smiling at me, asked if I were ready. I said I was, for I felt a great desire to be alone and digest what I had heard. She took a candle from a chest and lighted me up the stairs.

As we ascended them she waved the candle about and turned to smile at me.

‘It is a little… what you say?… eerie by the light of the chandelle.’ Like Jeanne she introduced a French word into her speech every now and then. It added a certain charm to the conversation.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Our house is a little like that too.’

She nodded. ‘But you are not afraid of shadows… not you.’

‘I try not to be.’

‘That is all we can do about anything… try.’

When we came to my room she threw open the door and we entered. A fire was burning in the grate, which gave out a cosiness. ‘I told them you must have a fire,’ she said. ‘It is so cold when the wind blows.’ Heavy curtains had been drawn across the window; the bed quilt was turned back and the four-poster bed looked very inviting.

‘They have put in the warming-pan… you will see.’

‘They are determined to make me comfortable.’

‘We want you to know… Uncle Paul and I… that you are with your family.’

‘You have certainly made me feel that.’

‘Now is there anything else you want… for the night?’

‘I don’t think so, thank you.’

‘If you should want…’ she waved her arms in an expansive gesture… ‘you will ring the bell. So.’ She indicated the bell-rope. ‘Or if there is something I can do… I am not far away. We are both in the turret. I look out to the west… over the countryside… you look out to sea.’

‘Thank you. I’ll remember.’

‘Good night, ma soeur. Sleep well.’

She shut the door quietly and went out. I stood staring at it for a few seconds. It was a thick oak door with a latch and a bolt which could be drawn across. On a sudden impulse I went to the door and bolted it.

Then I wondered at myself. Why had I done that? It was almost as though I were afraid. Suppose Aimée came back for something and heard me unbolt the door? It would seem very unfriendly. I drew back the bolt and undressed. The firelight threw flickering shadows round the room. It was warm, cosy… and yet… there was something alien here, something which was almost a warning, and I believed that, tired as I was, I should find it difficult to sleep in this room.

I drew back the curtains as though to let in the outside world. There was a half-moon and it was a clear night. I could see the sea distinctly in the distance. There was a quietness in the air… no wind ruffled the grass of the moorlands. I could get a glimpse of the gate of the castle, majestic in moonlight.

I turned back to the comfort of the fire and got into bed.

I had been right. It was difficult to sleep. I knew there were all sorts of unusual noises in old houses. When darkness falls it is as though those who have lived out their lives within the walls and who cannot rest come out to live again. It was like that at Enderby, but I had grown accustomed to the creak of the wood there. I knew which stair seemed to protest every time one trod on it; I knew that the creaking went on until the early hours of the morning. It would be the same here, but as yet they were to me unfamiliar creaks.

I lay there for about half an hour, sleep eluding me. I dozed once and dreamed the door opened and Aimée came in. She was smiling at me, laughing at me, noting that I lacked her elegance. She was saying. ‘I am your sister… ma soeur… ma petite soeur.’

I awoke frightened, though there was nothing frightening in the dream. I expected to see her standing by the bed laughing at me. There was no one there. I rose from my bed and bolted the door. I knew that would help me to sleep.

I was so tired that I did fall asleep, and suddenly I was awakened by the sound of voices. They came from below. I sat up in bed, startled.

I thought I heard the sound of horses. I listened intently and went to the window. The moon shone serenely on the moors, and although I could see nothing below me I was aware of the sounds of activity.

I went back to bed. The fire had died down and there was a chilliness in the room. My feet had grown cold. I tucked them into my nightgown and I saw from my watch, which I had laid on the table beside the bed, that it was three o’clock. I tried to sleep, but it was impossible. I was wide awake now.

I lay still while my feet grew warmer and I went over every detail of my arrival at the castle, particularly my talks with Uncle Paul and Aimée. Such revelations as she had made were enough to create insomnia in anyone, I assured myself, and as I slept so well normally I could easily cope with the very occasional bad night when it came along. Moreover, it was understandable as it was the first night in a new bed. One had to grow accustomed to beds.

I was thinking how complicated life was, and how the actions of the past created the future and their effects could be felt through the generations.

Then suddenly I heard voices… low, sibilant voices. I got out of bed and went to the window. Men were coming out of the castle; they had come through the gatehouse. I saw my Uncle Matthew and Ralph with them, and there were three other men. One of these three was vaguely familiar to me. He wore a brown frieze coat and black stockings; on his head was a three-cornered hat. I was trying to think where I had seen him before. The men were out of sight and I guessed they were going to the stables where they would have left their horses. I was right. After a short while they emerged on horseback. The man in the brown frieze coat was with them.

I watched them ride away, standing at the window until they were out of sight. Then, cold and shivering a little, I went back to bed. I lay there for a long time wondering why I should feel there was something strange going on. Why shouldn’t my uncle and cousin, with friends who had arrived after I had left the company, leave in the early hours of the morning? There was no reason why they should retire early because I did. But there were the three other visitors. They must have come very late. Well, why should they not do so?

I was imagining all sorts of strange happenings. Why? Because I had just discovered that I had a sister, and had left the quiet world of my mother’s family. I had escaped from the cocoon and perhaps was looking for adventure. I had come into the orbit of the bold Hessenfields. Already I was learning a little more about my exciting father and discovering that there was still much to learn.

The dawn was now in the sky. I got out of bed again and unbolted the door. I did not want someone to bring up hot water and find that I had shut myself in. I did not want to betray my uneasiness.

I lay waiting for morning, and suddenly the realization came to me.

The man I had seen below was the same one whom I had noticed in the inn.

How strange! He had seemed to take an interest in our party. And now he had turned up at the castle. What did it mean?

The comforting daylight was creeping into my room, dispelling the imaginings of the night.

How many men in England wore brown frieze coats, black stockings and three-cornered hats? The answer was: thousands.

I was going to laugh at myself in the morning.

For a long time I was to remember those first days at Hessenfield Castle. There were the conversations with Aimée—light-hearted, frivolous chatter—which enthralled me because with them came an aura of the past and they brought memories which I had long forgotten. Then there were my sessions with my Uncle Paul, my interest in the castle, and the strange atmosphere of tension which I did not understand at the time. It was a suppressed excitement, and uneasiness which seemed to affect them all except Aimée. I believed she was aware of it and that it both amused and exasperated her.

She had made herself mistress of the castle and it was quite clear that my Uncle Paul was fond of her. She would make him laugh and I suppose anyone who could do that would be a favourite of his.

He talked about her to me. ‘She has the true Gallic charm,’ he said. ‘That comes from her mother. I must say we have been more lively in the castle since she came.’

I got him to tell me how she came.

‘When the war was over and there was free traffic between the two countries, she arrived. She is a resourceful young lady. One summer’s morning she presented herself at the Castle, announcing who she was. She gave me the ring which she said your father had wished to be returned to me and she brought his watch too which he had presumably left to her mother and there was a letter from my brother.’

‘When did he write it?’ I asked.

‘It must have been before he died. He must have given it to Aimée’s mother as a sort of guarantee that the child would be cared for. He died suddenly, but living was precarious for him. He never knew from one day to the next when he would run into an ambush or someone would assassinate him. There was a price on his head, you know.’

‘Could I see my father’s letter? I have never seen anything he wrote.’

‘Certainly you may. It clearly states that his daughter shall have a share of his estate.’

‘Does he mention me?’

‘Not in this letter. He had already written to me about you when your mother joined him in France. He said then that you should be his heiress.’

‘And he wrote later about Aimée?’

‘He had evidently given the letter to Aimée’s mother to bring to me in the event of his death.’ He took some keys from his pocket and gave them to me. ‘Go and open that desk,’ he said. ‘You will see some papers there… just inside. Will you please bring them to me?’

I did as he bade and came back with the papers. He turned them over and brought out a letter which he handed to me. It had the address of the hôtel embossed on the top right-hand corner.

I read:

Dear Paul,

We had an unpleasant scare today. It made me realize that I could be a dead man at any time. I know that applies to us all but to some more than others—and I am one of those to whom it could happen suddenly.

I have involved myself in certain responsibilities and I want this daughter of mine to have a share in my fortune. Her mother will get the letter to you somehow. I will write in detail later but just in case something should happen before I have an opportunity to do so, I want to make sure this girl is cared for along with my other liabilities.

‘I’ll be setting it all out clearly later. This child is one of us, Paul, and I know I can trust you. I’ll send this over when I can work out how the money should be arranged.

Your affectionate brother

John.

‘And he gave this letter to Aimée’s mother?’ I said.

‘Yes. That was how it was done, I imagine.’

‘It is undated,’ I pointed out.

‘Aimée said it was written a few days before his death, it seems as though he had a premonition of it… or perhaps he was then feeling ill.’

‘Then he must have been seeing Aimée’s mother right up to the time of his death.’

‘My dear,’ said Uncle Paul, ‘you must not be shocked. He was like that… polygamous. There were always women… although your mother was the one he cared for in a very special way… and for you too… as her daughter. But he had clearly been fond of Aimée’s mother and he certainly was of Aimée. He was a philanderer but there was a very sentimental side to his nature. He had a strong sense of honour and would never shirk his responsibilities.’

I looked at the letter in his handwriting. Bold and flowing, typical of the man.

‘You can imagine how moved I was when Aimée arrived,’ went on Uncle Paul. ‘She told me that her mother had preserved that letter with the ring and watch and that she had planned to come to England herself as soon as she could do so. But when the opportunity came, Aimée was of an age to travel and her mother had married. It was only natural that she would not want to involve her new husband in a past love affair, so Aimée came alone. I trust you are pleased to have a sister. She is a charming girl, full of vitality. One would expect that from a daughter of my brother. You have the same quality, my dear. You must always keep it. I hope you two are going to be friends, as sisters should be.’

I was getting very fond of my uncle.

Aimée and I rode a good deal and she undertook to show me the countryside. Uncle Paul insisted that we take a groom with us when we rode out. These were troublous times, he said. But Aimée usually contrived to arrange it so that we rode ahead of the groom and she tried to lose him. I refused to do this as the groom would be reprimanded if he did not keep guard over us, but I did all I could to keep a distance between him and us so that we could indulge freely in one of those conversations which were so fascinating to me.

They took place partly in French, partly in English and they taught me a great deal about life in Paris and quite a bit about the household in which I had lived in those early years.

She reawakened memories in me. I could almost smell the Paris streets. ‘Hot bread,’ she said. ‘It is one of the most delicious smells on earth. It filled the streets when the bakers came in the Rue Gonesse with their baskets full of hot bread. Then there were the peasants with their farm produce… chickens, eggs, fruit and flowers.’

I did remember the barbers, covered from head to foot in flour, with wigs and tongs in their hands… and the stalls of fish and apples in the market place.

‘I would go into Les Halles with my basket on my arm,’ said Aimée. ‘Maman said I could drive a better bargain than she could herself. I was quick… I was… how you say?

‘Ruthless?’ I suggested.

‘Ruthless,’ she repeated. ‘I was the one to get the price less and come home with the bon marché.’

‘I can well imagine it.’

‘So you think I am… adroit… little sister?’

‘I not only think. I know.’

‘Why do you say that?’ she asked rather sharply.

‘It is just something of which I have become aware.’

She was ready to take offence over some matters. I think it was because she was not quite at home in the English idiom. I had thought she would be pleased because I had noticed her cleverness.

‘We were poor,’ she defensively. ‘We had to watch every sou. When our father died it made a difference.’

‘It did to all of us,’ I reminded her. I knew something of poverty in the streets of Paris.

I told her about the cellar, and the horror of it all came flooding back as I talked.

‘But you had the good Aunt Damaris to rescue you.’

‘You had your mother.’

‘But we lived through the hard times. Is it not comforting to live in a rich household when you have been so poor as to wonder where your next meal will come from? If you have been poor like that once… you never forget it.’

‘You are right,’ I answered.

‘You appreciate… You find it good. Money brings comfort. You would do a great deal to get it… and keep it.’

‘I should be terrified to go back and live as I did in the cellar.’

‘Jeanne took you and cared for you, did she not?’

‘What I should have done without her I cannot imagine. I should still be there… Or perhaps I should have died of the cold or something by now.’

‘It has taught you what poverty is… and that is the good lesson. It will make you understand those others who have suffered it.’

‘Oh yes, I agree. Tell me about my father. Did you often see him?’

‘Yes. He came to us often.’

‘My mother did not know…’

‘My dear sister, a man does not tell one mistress when he is visiting another.’

‘I am sure my mother had no idea.’

‘No. But we knew he was living with her. We could not help knowing. She was the maîtresse en titre. You see, Hessenfield was like a king. He could do these things as he willed.’

I tried to remember my mother and even though the pictures were hazy I could not believe she would ever have knowingly accepted such a situation.

Aimée seemed to think it was something of a joke.

‘I am four years older than you,’ she said. ‘There is much I can remember. He used to look a little… how you say it?… out of place… in our rooms in the Rue Saint-Jacques. We lived there many years over the shop of a bookseller.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘I can still smell the books. Some of them not very nice… not savoury. He filled our little room when he was there. He looked so grand; he used to make us feel shabby… but he did not seem to notice. He was so happy to see us. He used to take me on his knee and say I was a little beauty. I was so… désolée when he died. Those were the unhappy years. We were poor then. The bookseller was good to us, though. My mother worked in his shop and I helped. We could have sold the watch and the ring but my mother said “No. Never.” She say, “One day, you go to England. When war is over…” Then she marry and I come to England. She did not want me when she married. She have the new family. Well, I found mine, did I not? Uncle Paul is good to me. If I was not his niece I would marry him. Then I have found my little sister.’

She liked to shock me. She was constantly reminding me that I was a bastard; so was she, for that matter.

‘Love-children are the children of love,’ she said once. ‘That sounds romantic, does it not? I do not mind at all being a love-child… as long as I am cared for by my family.’

She did admit that when she had seen the lords and ladies riding in their carriages she had been overcome with envy. Then there were the old dowagers in the sedan chairs in the mornings—usually going to Mass. She did not envy them so much because they were old and it was a fearful thing to be old. But always she had wanted to be a lady in a carriage, patched, powdered, bewigged and perfumed, riding through the streets, splashing the Paris mud on passers-by and attracting the attention of equally elegant young men in their carriages, pulling up, slyly making assignations, visiting the theatre and being admired by the male audience and envied by the female. Life in Paris had been very much more exciting than it was at Hessenfield, but Paris had meant poverty, and Hessenfield affluence.

I felt as though I had been at Hessenfield a long time but it was only a week or so since I had arrived. My talks with both my Uncle Paul and with Aimée had made me feel I was part of the place. Uncle Matthew and Ralph were frequent visitors, and there were other people, mostly men, who came to the castle. Sometimes they dined with us and when they did I noticed there was a wariness about the conversation and I could not help realizing that the tension I had observed when I arrived increased rather than diminished.

One day I went into my uncle’s private sitting-room. He was in the chair, the tartan rug over his knees, and I saw that some papers had slid to the floor. He had fallen asleep and dropped them. I hesitated. There were about six sheets, and some of them had fallen quite a little way from his chair. I went forward quietly and picked one up.

I looked at it in amazement. There was a picture on it of a very handsome man. ‘James the Third, King of Britain’, was the heading. My eyes glanced down the page. It was an account of the virtues of the true King and it stated that he would soon be returning to claim his kingdom. When he did he must find his people ready to declare their allegiance to him.

I felt the colour rush into my cheeks. This was treason to our crowned King George.

I looked up. Uncle Paul’s eyes were on me.

‘You seem absorbed by what you are reading, Clarissa,’ he said.

‘I found these on the floor…’ I started to gather up the sheets and I could not help seeing as I did so that they were the same as the one I had read.

‘They slipped from my lap while I dozed,’ he said.

‘They are… treasonable!’ I whispered.

‘They would be called so, it is true. Nevertheless, they are being circulated in certain places.’

I shivered. ‘If they were discovered…’

He said slowly: ‘There is strong support for James in Scotland. There are even certain members of Parliament… men in high places who support him.’

‘Yes, so I have heard. My great-grandfather talked a lot about Bolingbroke and Ormonde… and men such as that.’

‘Give the sheets to me. I think they should be locked away in the desk, don’t you? Will you put them there for me? Thank you.’

He started to talk of other matters, but I knew there was something very dangerous afoot. Of course they would be Jacobites at Hessenfield. My father had been a leading one. That was why he had been in France… working to bring King James back to the throne. That James had now died but there was this other James, his son, the Chevalier of St George.

I wanted to talk to my uncle about this but he quite clearly did not intend to discuss the matter with me. I wondered what my Great-Grandfather Carleton would say if he knew Hessenfield Castle was what he would call a hotbed of traitors. He was intolerant, of course. He never admitted that there might be another side to a question than the one he took. I felt as my Grandmother Priscilla did, that one side was not entirely right any more than the other was. I only wanted them all to be friendly together.

My uncle said suddenly: ‘When I first invited you to come here I planned all kinds of pleasures for you.’

‘Pleasures?’ I asked.

‘Yes. I wanted you to meet the people of the countryside. Perhaps a ball or two. It may be that you are over-young for such. However, we should have made some attempt to show you that life is not as dull as you might think up here in the North.’

‘But I have not found it dull. I am having a very interesting time.’

‘It is fortunate that your sister is here. She provides the company. I am sure you would find it very dull otherwise. But it is not always so. My younger brothers are in Scotland at this time. Only Matthew is here.’

‘Something is happening,’ I burst out. ‘You are preparing for something.’ I was thinking of the papers I had found on the floor and thought of Great-Grandfather Carleton banging the table and talking of Jacobite plots.

He did not answer me. He merely said: ‘Perhaps later… if you stay with us… we shall be celebrating. Then we shall show you a little castle entertainment. But just now…’

‘I understand. You cannot celebrate something which has not happened.’

‘We shall see. Now would you please go and find Harper and tell him I am ready for my beef tea.’

Thoughtfully I went to the butler’s pantry and there found Harper already warming up the beverage my uncle took at this time. I understood now what the tension in the house meant. They were preparing for a coup, which meant that they were planning to bring James back to England and it was only natural that Hessenfield Castle—the home of staunch supporters of the Chevalier—should be at the heart of the plot.

I thought of my great-grandfather, my Great-Uncle Carl and Lance Clavering. I did not believe the plotters could succeed and I knew that there would be war.

I wanted to be alone to consider what this meant. As Priscilla had said, what did it matter which King was on the throne? But it mattered to fierce Protestants and perhaps fiercer Catholics. Wars, it seemed, were always about religion. Why was it that people who thought one thing was right wanted to force their views on others?

Uncle Paul was mild and gentle normally but he had looked quite fierce when he had talked about the return of James.

I wondered what the family at Eversleigh would do if there was war and I was up in the North, which I presumed could be called Jacobite country for the Scots would be more likely to support the Stuart line than the Hanoverian, although they were not of Catholic persuasion by any means—except perhaps in the Highlands.

It was later on in the afternoon when I went to my uncle’s sitting-room. I had made up my mind that I would ask him to tell me more of what was happening. I knew that there had been a company of Jacobites whose goal it had been to set James on the throne, though during the reign of Anne we had not heard a great deal about them, but perhaps I had not been sufficiently interested to notice. They had been mentioned from time to time, it was true, and there had always been a colony of them on the Continent, but I could see that now a new branch of the royal family had been brought to England, they might consider it was time to rise.

I came into the sitting-room but my uncle’s chair was not there. I was just about to leave when I heard the sound of a movement in the ante-room which led from the sitting-room. I went over to it, my footsteps silenced by the thick carpet. Then I heard someone—a voice I had not heard before—mention me. I stood still, listening.

‘But is it not strange that she should be here just at this time. I’ll warrant she’s acting as a spy. I suspected that from the moment I saw them on the road. She was with Eversleigh… General Eversleigh… though he was disguised as a plain citizen and there was another of them with him… a fop… who perhaps is not such a fop… Clavering. They were with the girl… priming the girl. That’s what she’s here for. Who would suspect a girl of that age… little more than a child?’

‘No, no.’ That was my uncle. ‘She came because I invited her.’

‘Why did you invite her… at such a time?’

‘It was before this seemed possible. Her visit was delayed.’

‘Delayed! Of course it was delayed. I tell you they had wind of it. That’s why she’s here… at this moment. She’ll be peeping and prying into everything. I tell you she’s a danger. She’s putting us all at risk.’

I was too stunned to do anything, though I knew that at any moment the door could open and someone come out and find me here.

Yet I felt it was necessary for me to stay and listen. On the other hand I wondered what they would do if they discovered me.

‘You are making a great matter over nothing, Frenshaw,’ I heard my uncle say. ‘She is young… innocent… she knows nothing of these matters. She is concerned with riding and what colour sash she will wear and visiting a family she has just discovered…’

They have made a Hanoverian of her, Hessenfield. Don’t you see that? She’s here to spy. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if…’

I turned but I was too late. The door between the two rooms was suddenly opened. I swung round. The man in the brown frieze coat and black stockings was looking at me, and his expression in those first seconds of confrontation was frightening. There was triumph and malevolence. He was proved right and at the same time he was face to face with someone whom he believed to be a spy from the enemy’s camp.

‘I came to see my uncle,’ I said as firmly as I could. ‘I was surprised not to find him here.’

‘He is with friends,’ said the man, advancing towards me.

My heart was pounding so fiercely that I thought he must have noticed it beating against my bodice. I put my hands behind my back for fear he should see them trembling.

‘Then I must not disturb him now,’ I said.

‘Have you been waiting long?’ The eyes, I noticed, were grey and penetrating. I felt that he was trying to look right into my mind and was convincing himself that he found there what he suspected.

‘No… I had just come in.’

‘You must have heard us talking and known that he had visitors.’

‘I did not realize it until a moment ago.’

He hesitated and for a moment I thought he was going to seize me and make me his prisoner. He was a fanatic, if ever I saw one.

My uncle called out: ‘Who’s there?’

‘It’s your niece,’ said the man.

‘Tell her I’ll see her in about an hour.’

The man looked at me. I nodded and escaped. I ran to my room. I was still trembling. It was not pleasant to be caught eavesdropping, but to hear something which could be dangerous was quite terrifying.

I had no doubt now that I had walked into intrigue. I had chosen this time to come when something important was about to happen. I knew now what it was and that they were planning to bring James back to England and crown him King. But George of Hanover would not stand by and let that happen. There would be war and at Eversleigh they would be staunchly for George, while here, in my father’s family, they were the leaders of the plot to bring James back.

Aimée came to my room. I was lying on the bed, for I felt very shaken after that encounter.

‘Are you not well?’ she asked in astonishment.

‘A headache,’ I replied. I did not wish to talk to her about what I had heard and what I knew was happening. Not yet, at any rate—not until I had sorted out my thoughts.

‘I was just going out for a ride and hoping you would come with me.’

‘I won’t today, thanks, Aimée.’

‘Cá va. Au revoir. I will see you later on.’

I was relieved that she did not want to stay and talk.

It must have been about an hour later when I heard the sounds of departure below. I went to my window and saw a party of men riding away.

Then my uncle sent for me.

When I went to his room he was sitting in his chair in the usual place.

‘Clarissa,’ he said as I entered, and he held out his hand to me. I went to him and took it and knelt down beside his chair. ‘My dear child,’ he went on, ‘this is so difficult for me. I have so enjoyed your being here… but the times are dangerous.’

‘I know,’ I replied. ‘I have gathered that there is a plot to bring James back to the throne.’

‘It has always been our desire to do that. All these years we have promised ourselves that we would. Your father, as you know, was devoted to the cause. You could say he gave his life for it. Had he not been in Paris on the King’s business he would not have died as he did. Yes, we have never forgotten, and this time we are going to do it. It is unfortunate that you should be here now. It would have been far better if you had come when I asked you. Then this was not imminent. Now… it is.’

‘Uncle Paul,’ I said, ‘when I was in your room and you were in the ante-room I could not help overhearing that man… Frenshaw, was it… talking about me. He thought I was here to spy. You don’t think that, Uncle?’

‘Of course I don’t.’

‘I knew nothing of all this before I came. It is true that I did come as far as York with my Great-Uncle Carl and Sir Lance Clavering, but that was only because they were coming this way and my Aunt Damaris wanted me to have their protection on the roads. You do believe that?’

‘Yes, I do. I believe you so entirely that I am going to trust you. A Jacobite rising is imminent. There are many Scotsmen who are with us, that is why it will start in Scotland. Lord Kenmure has already proclaimed James King at Moffat. Lord Mar is rallying an army. The Lords Nithsdale, Wintoun and Carnwath are coming to his aid. They are already preparing to cross the Border and James is on his way to England.’

‘Uncle,’ I cried, ‘there will be war… civil war!’

‘Now listen to me. You must go back to Eversleigh. My friends suspect you of spying. If we found ourselves in difficulties they would be ruthless. I want you to prepare to leave at dawn tomorrow. I will send for your grooms and prepare them. Get your things together but don’t let anyone know. In the morning I will tell them that you have been called away.’

‘Shall I not say goodbye to Aimée?’

He hesitated. Then he said: ‘I think we can trust her, but wait until last thing tonight.’

I took his hand and kissed it. ‘I shall be so sorry to leave you,’ I said. ‘We have not had enough time together. There is so much I want to talk about.’

‘There will be other times. When all this is over the country will settle to peace and once the true King is here the German can go back to Hanover. I hear he prefers it to England in any case.’

‘Do you think it will work out like that?’

‘I know it will. And think, Clarissa, when it does it will be success for all we have been working for. Your father lived and died for this cause. You should be one of us for his sake, you know.’

I thought of Eversleigh then, and that warm protecting love I had had from my maternal relations, and I felt a sudden anger that there should be all this trouble and people should die just for the sake of putting one man on the throne against another. I was in complete sympathy now with my Grandmother Priscilla who was always more fierce than any of the others in her condemnation of war.

‘You will come again in happier times,’ went on my uncle. ‘Dear child, it seems so churlish of me to send you away, but I know these men I work with. I am not able to keep them in order as your father could. You understand?’

I kissed him tenderly and told him how much I had enjoyed meeting him and that I would come back as soon as I could.

He was frowning. ‘You will have to be careful,’ he said. ‘We don’t know what the state of the country will be later, but for the next few days it should be safe for you. Get south as quickly as you can. The grooms are good fellows and I have impressed on them the importance of taking the utmost care. I shall pay them well and I have promised—on behalf of your family at Eversleigh—that they will be amply rewarded when they deliver you safely to them. Will you see that my promise is honoured?’

‘I will, Uncle. I will.’

‘Then be prepared to leave at the first signs of dawn in the morning.’ He hesitated then he went on: ‘Before you go, there is something I want to give you. Wheel me into the ante-room.’

I did so and took him to a bureau there which he indicated. He unlocked it and took out a case. He sat for a while thoughtfully holding it in his hands.

‘This is a ring,’ he said. ‘It has been in our family’s possession since the days of Elizabeth. In fact, it is very valuable because she gave it to one of our ancestors… one of her attendants, of whom she was very fond. You see…’ He had taken the ring from the case and I saw that it was similar to the one he wore on his finger. ‘It is not as beautiful as diamonds, sapphires or emeralds, but because of its antiquity and what it stands for it is more valuable than those stones. Try it on.’

I put it on the third finger of my right hand. It was much too big.

‘You have some growing up to do,’ he said with a smile. ‘Surely there is one finger it fits.’

There was. It was my forefinger.

‘There,’ he said. ‘It is yours and you will give it to your eldest daughter. The eldest daughters in the family always have it.’

I looked at him sharply and said: ‘But Aimée…’

He was frowning again. ‘Yes, I suppose she should have it, but I hesitated. Your father wanted to marry your mother and he would have done so if she had not been already married. He felt about her as though she were his legitimate wife and you his legitimate daughter. He could not have felt the same about Aimée and her mother, for he did not mention her to me… except in that last letter. I think there may have been many women in his life who meant as much to him as she did. But with your mother it was different. That is why I am giving the ring to you. I am obeying some instinct. Preserve it. It is worth a small fortune. Look at the setting. It was designed by Elizabeth’s favourite jeweller and is recognized as such by experts. The Queen herself once wore it.’

‘I have never seen this stone before

‘No. It is fairly rare nowadays, but at one time it was worn a great deal by monarchs. They wore these rings because they were in constant danger of being poisoned. These stones are said to absorb arsenic from any liquid and they were generally worn by people who feared someone might attempt to make an end of them.’

‘It is all very interesting but I don’t think anyone is likely to put arsenic in my goblet.’

He smiled. ‘The ring is a sort of talisman… as things become when handed down through families.’

‘It is a very unusual stone,’ I said.

‘Yes. It is formed in the digestive organs of the Persian mountain goat.’

I gave a little exclamation of disgust.

‘It is all right,’ he said with a laugh. ‘It is purified, but that is what it is. It is formed by digested hair and it is this which makes it a good antidote to poison. In the Persian language Bezoar means “against poison”. And that is the name of the stone.’

‘How very interesting.’ I held out my hand and surveyed the ring. My uncle took my hand and held it tightly for a moment or two. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘you look as though you truly belong to Hessenfield.’

I thanked him warmly and as I knelt before him he took my face in his hands and kissed me.

‘Good luck, little Clarissa,’ he said. ‘Come back to us soon.’

When we were retiring that night I told Aimée that I wanted to speak to her. She said: ‘Come to my room,’ so I went.

She lay on her bed, her lovely dark hair hanging loose about her face, her eyes alert with interest. I sat by the bed on a chair, looking at her, thinking how attractive she was without being really beautiful.

‘I have come to say goodbye,’ I told her. ‘I am leaving early tomorrow morning.’

She stared at me incredulously.

‘Uncle Paul thinks it best,’ I went on. ‘There’s trouble coming.’

‘Oh, those wretches! Jacobites and Hanoverians, I suppose.’

‘Yes.’

‘Uncle must be triste because you are not a good little Jacobite.’

‘Uncle is too wise for that. He wouldn’t try to persuade anyone to be what they didn’t want to.’

‘And you are against these Jacobites?’

I shrugged my shoulders. ‘We have a King. We have crowned a King. There will only be trouble if they try to force another on the people.’

‘They seem to think here in Hessenfield that it would be a good thing for the people to have James back.’

‘It is never wise to decide what is good for others and to try to force it on them because it would be good for us. The people, in any case, will decide what they want.’

‘You are a little statesman, I see.’

‘If you mean I have some plain common sense I would agree with you.’

‘But what is all this… about your leaving us?’

‘Our uncle thinks it better if I leave now before the trouble breaks out in earnest. He thinks I should get back to my home in Eversleigh.’

She nodded slowly. ‘They are on the opposing side, eh?’ she asked. ‘Then is it goodbye for us?’

‘Only for the time being. I shall see you again, Aimée. You must visit us at Eversleigh. I know my Aunt Damaris would be pleased to see you…’

I hesitated. Would she? Would Jeremy? Would Priscilla and Arabella? They would not like to think that Hessenfield had kept a mistress when he had been all but married to their darling Carlotta. But Aimée was my sister. They had a strong family feeling and they would remember that.

She noticed my hesitation and smiled secretly. Sometimes I thought Aimée read my innermost thoughts. Aimée was clever. She was subtle but perhaps I was a little more astute than she gave me credit for. She expressed great sadness because I was going away, but I thought I detected a hint of elation. I wondered if she were a little jealous of my friendship with our Uncle Paul and perhaps was rather glad that I was leaving the field to her.

I said goodbye, with assurances that we should meet again as soon as was convenient; then I went to my room and made my final preparations to leave. When everything was ready for the early departure I went to bed, but I lay sleepless, fearful that I should not awaken in time, though my uncle had said that I should be called half an hour before dawn, when cold bacon and bread with ale would be sent to my room. Food for the first part of the journey had been put into saddle-bags so that we need not stop at an inn until we were well away from the neighbourhood.

All went according to plan and when the first streak of dawn was in the sky I said goodbye to my new-found uncle. I was touched because Aimée had come down to see the last of me.

So in the very early hours of the morning I rode away from Hessenfield and with my grooms began the journey south.