The Return of the Gypsy

Blackmail

IF THAT HAD BEEN the end perhaps there would have been an excuse for me. But it was not. I was as though intoxicated. I made excuses for myself. I was a woman with natural desires. Edward could never help me fulfil these. I had taken a lover. That sounded casual. I loved deeply and was loved in return. I believed now that I had always loved Jake. Something had passed between us when we first met and I had only to see him again to realize that he was the man for me.

I went on explaining to myself. Edward would understand. He had always been worried because he knew that this was not a natural life we were living. I would make up to him for what I had done. I would be even more solicitous, even more caring.

I told myself that I must never go to that house again; but I could not keep away. We had planned to spend four more days in London. Four more days! I could not help it. I sought every opportunity to be with Jake.

I was shameless, I supposed. I realized that I had been starved of love. I was wildly happy in some moments, filled with remorse in others. I would experience a deep sadness when I contemplated Amaryllis who had made such a success of her life—the happy wife and mother. I often thought how happy I could have been if I were married to Jake.

As for him, he was less burdened by guilt than I. Indeed I believe he felt none. But then I was deceiving my husband. He had no such matrimonial burdens to consider. He constantly tried to lift my spirits. Mine was no ordinary marriage, he insisted. It was understandable that this should happen some day. Edward would understand if he ever knew.

“He must never know,” I cried vehemently. “He has suffered enough.”

“He would realize …”

I shook my head. “He would be kind, understanding, forgiving, but he would be wounded … deeply wounded.” Then I added: “I must not come here again.”

I said that often, but I did go … again … and again, and I waited through the days for the opportunities, so that I could slip into that house in Blore Street.

They were such strange days—days of exultation, days of shame. The hours flew by as they never had before and yet those four days seemed like a year. I had experienced so much; grown up, I supposed. I had ceased to be an innocent girl. I was a vital woman, scheming for meetings with her lover—eager, passionate … and then suddenly remembering what I was doing.

I felt my guilt must be written on my face for them all to see. But no one noticed. Not even my mother.

One day I had been to the house and Jake was escorting me back to Albemarle Street, and as we walked along we came face to face with Peter Lansdon.

Hastily I withdrew my arm from Jake’s. I think I flushed a little.

“Peter!” I cried. “I didn’t expect to see you. I didn’t know you were in London.”

He smiled at me. “Business,” he said. “Trouble at one of the warehouses.”

“This is Sir Jake Cadorson. Sir Jake, this is Peter Lansdon—my niece’s husband.”

The two men acknowledged each other.

“I was just returning to the house,” I floundered. “I had been out… and I met Sir Jake.”

“You will be going back to Eversleigh soon, I believe.”

“Have you been to Albemarle Street?”

“No. I have just arrived. I went straight to the warehouse.”

“Peter is a very busy man,” I said to Jake.

“Trouble has a habit of cropping up,” said Peter. “I must be going. More business to attend to. I’ll be coming on to Albemarle Street later.”

We said goodbye.

“Do you think he knew?” I asked. “Was it obvious that we had been together?”

“I think he had one thought in mind … his own affairs.”

“He is very absorbed in them,” I replied with relief. “I am afraid it might seem a little obvious.”

“You must silence that uneasy conscience of yours, my dearest,” he said. “Everything will be all right.”

But Peter Lansdon had put a blight on the day. He had brought home to me more forcibly the wrong I was doing.

Edward was pleased to see me. “It has seemed so long,” he said.

“It was not really very long.”

“How were the celebrations?”

“Very enthusiastic.”

“I wonder how long the mood will last.”

“We are at peace. People are going to remember that for a long time.”

“People have short memories.”

“Edward, how pessimistic you have become!”

He laughed. “Well, it is nice to have you back.”

“James has showed his usual efficiency?”

“Oh yes, we played a lot of piquet and I’m teaching him chess. I think he’ll be quite a good player.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“Jessica … you look different.”

I felt my voice falter. “Different? How different?”

He looked at me with his head On one side. “You look … radiant. It was obviously a good holiday.”

“Yes, I think it was. All the excitement… There was such adulation for the Duke. One gets caught up in all that.”

“It’s a very happy state of affairs. We should all enjoy it while we can.”

After a while I said: “Oh, an interesting thing happened. It was at the Inskips’ ball.”

“That was a grand affair, I imagine.”

“Very grand. We met a Sir Jake Cadorson. Guess who he turned out to be. I’ll give you three guesses.” I gave a nervous little laugh, trying to be merry. Did it sound artificial?

“Some businessman?”

“No … not exactly.”

“I was going to say a friend of Peter.”

“No, I’d better tell you. Do you remember Romany Jake?”

“The gypsy, yes. I’ll never forget him. It was through him that we met each other.”

“Well, he has become Sir Jake.”

“How did he manage that?”

“He was no real gypsy. He ran away to join them. He comes from an old Cornish family. He went to Australia and served his seven years and then heard he was heir to estates in Cornwall. There was a title too. And there he was at the Inskips’ ball—quite an honoured guest.”

“I never saw him. Did you recognize him?”

“After a while, yes. We had a talk together … several talks. My father asked him to the house.”

“That must have been interesting.”

I was glad I was sitting with my back to the light.

“You know he is Tamarisk’s father,” I said.

“Good Lord, yes. Dolly, of course.”

“I have had to ask him to come down here for a short visit. He wants to see his daughter.”

“That’s natural enough.”

“I am wondering how to break the news to Tamarisk. What will her feelings be, do you think?”

“She can be unpredictable.”

“I want to get her used to the idea before he comes.”

“Of course. What sort of man is he … this gypsy cum baronet?”

“Well, I suppose he is in his late twenties … maybe thirty. He’s dark …”

“I didn’t mean his appearance so much.”

“He … er … fitted very well into the Inskips’ circle.”

“That’s just about top notch, isn’t it?” he said with a laugh.

“I suppose so. He told me that he had run away from home to join the gypsies because of family disagreements.”

“And now he has apparently stepped back into his rightful niche.”

“I suppose you could say that.”

“Tamarisk ought to be pleased to have such a father. I wonder if he will want to take her away.”

“I wonder if she would want to go.”

“With Tamarisk, one never knows. One thing I know is that you will do what is right… and for the best.”

He smiled at me lovingly and in that moment I felt the burden of my guilt was almost unbearable.

Tentatively I approached the matter with Tamarisk.

“Tamarisk,” I said, “have you ever missed not having a father?”

She looked surprised and thought for a moment. Then she said: “No.”

“What would you say if you suddenly found you had one?”

“I don’t want one,” she said.

“Why not?”

“He’d tell me what to do. Old Mr. Frenshaw still tells young Mr. Frenshaw what to do and he’s quite old.”

I laughed. “Old Mr. Frenshaw tells everybody what to do. You might like your father.”

“I don’t think I need one.”

“It’s nice to have one.”

“What for?”

“Well, everybody had a father at some time.”

“I haven’t.”

“You couldn’t be born without one. There has to be a mother and father.”

She looked puzzled, and feeling I was getting into difficult ground, I started again. “As a matter of fact you have a father.”

“Where?”

“In London. He wants to meet you.”

She stared at me in amazement. “How can he, when he doesn’t know me?”

“He knows of you.”

“Why isn’t he here then … like other fathers?”

“It’s rather complicated. He had to go away. He’s been away for a long time, right to the other side of the world. Now he’s back and he wants to meet you.”

“When?”

“Next week?”

“Oh,” she said. There was a pause before she went on. “Brownie had to have a bran mash this morning. Stubbs is giving it to her. Jonathan is coming over this afternoon and we’re going to ride together.”

Brownie was her very own horse and the joy of her life. Stubbs was one of the grooms.

I could see that she was not greatly impressed by the prospect of seeing her father, and that her mind was on other matters far more interesting in her opinion. Riding with Jonathan was far more important to her—so much so that she did not want to consider anything else.

I felt excited and apprehensive at the thought of having Jake at Grasslands. I was very much afraid that we might betray our feelings for each other.

I introduced him to Edward and watched them together… my husband and my lover. Edward was courteous and as Jake was quite frank about his life as a gypsy and on the convict settlement there were none of those uneasy moments which occur when there are subjects which must be avoided.

Edward’s verdict when we were alone was: “What an interesting man! I suppose all that happening to one would give one a certain … what shall I say … an aura of fascination perhaps. Then running off with the gypsies. He’s an individualist. There is no doubt about that. He will liven us up, I daresay. You’ll want to take him over to Eversleigh, I imagine.”

I said they would invite us and we should also go to Enderby, although Amaryllis was scarcely in a condition to entertain.

“Oh, Eversleigh will do the honours. But the main problem is Tamarisk.”

It was a strange meeting. She came into the room and he stood up and went to her. She looked up at him with curiosity.

“So you are my daughter,” he said.

“They say that,” she said almost disbelievingly.

“Well, then it is time we got to know each other.”

She shrugged her shoulders and turned away.

“Tamarisk,” I cried indignantly. “Your father has come a long way to see you.”

“You’ve been to the other side of the world.” She turned to him and there was a certain interest in her eyes.

“Yes,” he said. “It’s very different there.”

“With kangaroos?”

He nodded.

“Did you ever see one?”

“Yes.”

“With a baby in its pouch?”

“Yes, and I’ve eaten kangaroo soup.”

“You killed it.”

“Somebody must have killed it to make the soup. You can’t make soup out of live things.”

“Did you have a boomerang?”

“Yes, I had that. I hear you are riding and that you are a good rider.”

“Do you like horses?”

“Very much. Perhaps we can go for a ride together and have a good talk.”

“All right,” she said. “I’ll put on my riding habit. I’ve got a new one.”

“That’s splendid. You can show me the country.”

“All right,” she said. “Wait there. I won’t be long.”

I smiled at him when she had gone. “I think,” I said, “you have taken the first step.”

We were alone in the room.

“Jessica,” he said. “I have missed you so much.”

“Please … not here … not in this house.”

“You will come to London.”

“Oh Jake, it can’t go on. Now I am back here with Edward I see that.”

“He will never know. And we need each other.”

“I could not bear for him to know.”

“You can’t be expected to live like a nun … not you, Jessica. You couldn’t.”

I said: “I have already shown that I am no nun. I have already broken my marriage vows.”

“I love you.”

“And I love you … but it is all impossible. We have to see that. This is the way I have chosen. I could not ever hurt Edward.

He has suffered so much already. What do you think it is like for him, lying there, day after day … a man and yet not a man.”

“What is it like for us … being denied each other?”

“You will find someone.”

“There is only one I want.”

“That can’t be so. If we had not met at the Inskips’…”

“I should have come down here and found you. It was inevitable … from the moment we met all those years ago. It had to be.”

“We must be strong. I am going to be. It was a madness which came to me in London. Now that I am home … with Edward … I know that.”

Tamarisk burst into the room wearing her new riding habit and looking pleased.

“I’m ready,” she announced.

“Well, let us away,” said Jake.

He opened the door for her and she went through. Then he turned to look back at me. He put his fingers to his lips and threw them towards me.

I should be pleased. The meeting had gone off better than I had hoped. Tamarisk was wary but he would soon win her with his charm. I could see that.

It might be that she would have another hero to set beside Jonathan.

I went to Edward.

“I can see all went well,” he said. “You look very pleased with yourself.”

“They’ve gone riding. I think she is going to take to him.”

“Well, he’s a likeable fellow. I wonder if he will want to take her away from us.”

“That will be for him and her to decide.”

“She might like the idea of that place in Cornwall.”

“There is one person you have forgotten. Jonathan. She has quite a passion for him.”

“Oh yes. It would take a great deal to get her to leave him.”

“I wouldn’t be sorry to see her go to Cornwall.”

“She is something of a liability.”

“I wasn’t thinking of that. She is old for her years and I am a little perturbed about this obsession with Jonathan. Jonathan himself has quite a reputation.”

“I am sure Jonathan would never misbehave at home.”

“I hope not. I fear that violent passion of hers might tempt him.”

“No, no. It is true he has been rather free with the girls. Tamarisk is different. Whatever his inclinations he would curb them where she is concerned.”

“The feeling might come over him. After all she is there, his willing slave. She is old for her years … precocious … growing up fast.”

Edward shook his head. “Jonathan would show restraint, I am sure. He is a decent fellow at heart.”

Oh Edward, I thought, you believe the best of everyone. What would you say if you knew your wife had thrown restraint to the winds in a house in Blore Street, that she has betrayed you not once but several times with this man who is now a guest in your house?

There was an innocence about Edward. He was like Amaryllis in a way. He believed in the goodness of people. Such as they were aroused a protective instinct. I never wanted Edward to know the truth about me. I vowed that he never should. I remembered fleetingly the occasion when Peter had come across us arm in arm in Blore Street. Peter might not be very observant, having other matters on his mind, but everyone might not be the same.

There was only one way to ensure Edward’s never finding out that he had an unfaithful wife. So far we had been undetected. We must never let there be a chance of our betraying our guilty secret.

I remembered what a big part Leah had played in our story. She had come into our household and now seemed like one of the ordinary servants. She was an excellent nurse for Tamarisk and I often wondered what I should have done without her. She was quiet, they said below stairs, and kept herself to herself. She was not interested in the young men although many would be ready to take notice of her with a little encouragement. It was whispered that she was afraid of them because of an “experience” she had once had.

We knew what that experience was for it had nearly cost her saviour his life and he had paid for his part in the affair with seven years in a penal settlement.

And now she would come face to face with him.

She was there when they returned from their ride. I had prepared her for I thought that was wise. She had turned very pale and then flushed.

She said: “It was a long time ago.”

“Yes,” I agreed.

“I never forgot what he did for me.”

“Of course you wouldn’t.”

And there they were. He was rather flushed from the ride; his eyes were alight with pleasure. I think he was rather intrigued by his daughter. Tamarisk looked like a handsome boy in her riding clothes; she was a daughter of whom he could be proud.

“We had a lovely ride, Leah,” said Tamarisk. “We raced. He beat me … but only just.”

“Leah,” he said. “Little Leah.”

He went to her and took both her hands. She lifted her eyes to his and I saw the adoration there. It moved me deeply.

“So you are looking after my daughter?”

She nodded. There were tears in her eyes. She said: “I have thought of you.”

“I’ve thought of you too, Leah,” he answered gently.

“What you did for me …”

“It was long … long ago.”

“And they blamed you. They were going to hang you…”

“But here I am … hale and hearty.”

“You’re gentry now,” she said. “You were never one of us.”

“It wasn’t for lack of trying.”

I thought I ought to go and leave them together. I felt as though I were prying on Leah’s emotion.

“Come, Tamarisk,” I said. Strangely enough she obeyed me.

She ran off to see that her horse was all right. I went into the garden … out to the shrubbery. I felt I wanted to get away from the scene of reunion.

I wondered if Leah loved him. She had made a hero of him, that much I knew. She had lured his child away from her home because she must have wanted something which was part of him. She loved Tamarisk devotedly.

And what were his feelings for Leah? He had spoken to her very tenderly. He had cared for the innocent young girl in the days when he had first gone to the gypsies. He had been overcome with fury when he had come upon that brute intent on rape. He had lashed out in that fury and it had nearly cost him his life.

How would he feel about Leah now? I was aware of the stirrings of jealousy.

He was susceptible to women, I was sure. I remembered Dolly dancing round the bonfire. Dolly had loved him, and how had he felt about her? He pitied her, I think, but there must have been some desire; and he had lightheartedly given way to it. How lighthearted had he been such a little while ago in a house in Blore Street?

And Leah? When she had been a gypsy girl and he had come among them, had she thought it possible that one day there might have been a match between them? It could have happened. Now, of course, everything was different with him. He was a country gentleman and Leah could have no place in his life. Or could she?

And in any case, what part could I have? Nothing but a secret one.

He must have seen me go into the shrubbery for he found me there.

“At last,” he said, “we are alone.”

I had sat down on the wooden seat there and he was beside me, very close. I was deeply stirred as I always was by his proximity.

I said: “Poor Leah was deeply moved.”

“Yes, she was. It brought it all back to her. When I saw her again I was glad I killed that devil. She was such a gentle girl.”

“She still is and she has been wonderful with Tamarisk. If Tamarisk went to live with you in Cornwall Leah would have to go with her.”

“Tamarisk won’t leave you. I’m a newcomer. She’s not sure of me yet. Jessica, couldn’t we be alone … somewhere … together …”

“Here?” I cried. “In this house? Oh, no … no.”

“It is hard for me to see you here… so near and yet so remote.”

“That is how it has to be.”

“You’ll come to London?”

“Yes … no …”

He smiled at me teasingly. “You’ll come. You must, Jessica, we’ll work out something. We can’t just go on like this.”

“I cannot see any other way of going on.”

“There are ways. There are always ways …”

“You mean secret meetings. Clandestine … furtive meetings …”

“We must take what we can.”

“It should never have gone so far.”

“It was inevitable.”

“Tell me about Leah.”

“What of her?”

“How was she … coming face to face with you like that?”

“Deeply moved, I think.”

“I think she loves you.”

“She is grateful to me.”

“And you?”

“I am fond of her.”

“Do you love her? She is a beautiful girl.”

“She is. But I love one only … now and for ever.”

For a moment I lay against him and then I remembered that I was near the house and that at any moment someone might come out. I stood up and he was beside me, his arms round me. He kissed me tenderly and then with passion.

“Not here …” I said, which was an admission that it could be somewhere else.

“When will you come to London?”

“As soon as it is possible,” I said.

“Perhaps you could bring Tamarisk. She ought to be with her father.”

“She is very sharp. What if she saw …”

“We’d be careful.”

I said: “It must stop.”

I withdrew myself and came out of the shrubbery with him beside me. He was holding my arm tightly.

I looked towards the house and wondered if anyone was watching.

Jake’s visit was declared to have been a great success.

“I like him,” said my father. “He’s lively.”

My mother liked him too, but she was a little reserved when speaking of him and I wondered if she guessed that my feelings for him went deeper than was wise.

He had suggested that Tamarisk visit him in London. There was so much there that he wanted to show her. Then he thought it would be a good idea if she went to Cornwall.

She must remember that he was her father and that his home could be hers if she wished, I told her.

She said: “I like it here.” And she was looking at Jonathan who happened to be there.

The great concern now was Amaryllis. Her time was getting near and Claudine was fussing, as Dickon said, like an old hen.

“Amaryllis is a healthy girl, and women were meant to have children. Why all this fuss?”

“There speaks the arrogant man,” said my mother. “Naturally Claudine is fussing. All mothers do. I’m fussing and we shall continue to fuss until we have the baby. As for you, I remember you fussed a little when Jessica was born.”

“I must have known that she would not be content to make a quiet and ordinary appearance.”

“Well, you were wrong. She did. Jessica, you were such an adorable baby … right from the first.”

“A squalling brat as far as I remember,” said my father.

“Whom you adored from the moment she was born.”

That was how they always were, sparring in a way which betrayed their love for each other.

How fortunate they were! I thought. Aunt Sophie had always said my mother had been one of the lucky ones. Yet she had at first been denied the man of her choice and made a not entirely satisfactory marriage; and she had passed through a horrifying experience coming close to death in a most frightening manner during the revolution in France … and only finally to this happy state at Eversleigh.

Poor Aunt Sophie, who had always pitied herself and never learned that one has to make the most of what one has.

I was always telling myself that—particularly now. I had married Edward—good kind Edward—and it was my duty to care for him and shield him from all hurt.

I must learn to like this way of life, to stop dreaming of the impossible, to forget that I had stepped over the bounds of morality and convention … and never, never stray again.

I was with Amaryllis a great deal during those days when she was awaiting the birth of her child, wishing that I could have one. I must not wish for that—for if I did it could not be my husband’s.

I could only sit with Amaryllis and play with Helena.

Poor Amaryllis. She was rather long in labour but the great moment came and I could imagine her joy when she was coming out of her exhaustion and heard the cry of her child. And this one was a boy.

There was great rejoicing throughout the household. I had never seen Peter so delighted. What a store these men set by boys! I felt a little annoyed though I joined in the general rejoicing.

Amaryllis was so proud. She lay in her bed, pale, looking fragile, but beautiful with that radiance on her which I had seen at the time of her marriage.

It was mean of me to feel those twinges of envy. Yet I could not help myself.

She has so much, I said to myself. And what have I? Guilty memories.

I must pull myself together. I must never become like Aunt Sophie … bitter because life had passed me by. I had chosen the way I should go. Of course it was not always one’s fault that life took a certain turn. Was it Sophie’s fault that she had been disfigured in that fireworks disaster? Was it Edward’s fault that he had been cruelly injured? But we must not nurse our misfortunes. Someone had said never take them out and teach them to swim. Take them out and drown them. I must remember that.

I kissed Amaryllis.

“I feel I am the luckiest woman on earth,” she said.

“What are you going to call him?”

“Peter,” she said promptly. “After his father.”

“Does Peter want that?”

“Yes. And I do too.”

So the child was called Peter and because it was a little confusing to have two Peters in the household, he was soon known as Peterkin.

My father was undoubtedly delighted with the boy.

“At last,” he said. “A man in this household of women!”

“Don’t you call David and Jonathan men?” I asked.

“David will never have a son. As for Jonathan … well, I’m uncertain about him.”

“You’re unfair to him,” said my mother.

“Unfair? In what way?”

“Just because of that gambling business and Farmer Weston’s girl.”

“He’s got to behave himself if he takes on Eversleigh.”

“All young men sow wild oats.”

“Not on their own patch of land.”

“Well, the gambling took place in London.”

“That could affect the estate more than anything. It’s the first step on the downward path.”

“Dickon, please, not another lecture on the dangers of gambling.”

“Too much can’t be said about it.”

“You have already made that plain. Well, now you have your great-grandson and you are very pleased. You should be grateful to Amaryllis …”

“I wish Jessica …”

She silenced him. “Let’s go and have a look at Peterkin.”

It was amusing to see my father marching round the nursery with Peterkin in his arms.

“The master just dotes on that child,” they said throughout the household.

And they were right.

The christening of little Peterkin caused the usual flutter in the household. Christening robes were brought out and examined; and there was a great deal of discussion as to the guests who would be invited.

The Barringtons came from Nottingham, Clare with them. I always felt uneasy in Clare’s presence and often thought how much wiser Edward would have been if he had married her. I was sure she would have been a faithful wife; and there was no doubt in my mind that she loved him. Men so often chose the wrong women … as a servant had once told me.

Jake had prolonged his visit but he could not stay with us indefinitely. He had departed most reluctantly after extorting a promise from me to go to London as soon as the christening was over.

“Bring Tamarisk,” he said. “I should get to know my own daughter. Or… I shall come back here. Bless the child. She gives me the excuse I need for visiting you.”

He took our affaire more lightheartedly than I did. Well he might. He was not deceiving anyone … as I was.

I loved his dominating nature while I deplored it. I kept telling myself that it was one lapse on my part and it must never happen again.

The ceremony went off very well. Peterkin behaved with unusual decorum and was duly christened. I don’t know who was more proud of him—his father or mine.

They had their precious boy.

Amaryllis looked beautiful. She was radiantly happy. Lucky Amaryllis, for whom life ran so smoothly.

There was a reception in the great hall at Eversleigh and the usual toasts were drunk. Peterkin, by this time, was sleeping in his cot and several of the guests were taken up to admire him. I was with them. The old Eversleigh nursery had new life in it. Helena was there seated on the floor building a castle with bricks. The perfect domestic scene, I thought enviously.

Mrs. Barrington noticed my looks, I think. She took my hand and pressed it.

“I want to have a talk with you, dear,” she said. “When we are alone.”

Alarm shot through me which was due to the sensitivity of a guilty conscience. Whenever anyone spoke to me in that way, I imagined that something had been discovered.

The moment came.

She said: “Sit down, dear. I’m a little worried.”

“Oh? What about?”

“About you, my dear. You look a little drawn.”

“Drawn?”

“Not quite yourself. I think you must be very tired.”

“Oh no, I’m not in the least tired.”

She patted my hand.

“You’ve been wonderful. We never cease to talk about you and all you have done for Edward. I know how fond of him you are … but I think you are getting a little tired.”

“You mean …”

“I just mean that you are here all the time … and you must get really worn out.”

“Oh no … no. I’ve been to London. I went for the Waterloo celebrations. Edward insisted that I did and so I went.”

“I understand, dear. But I think you need help. That is why we have decided that Clare shall stay here … to help you.”

“Clare?”

“Why not? She is like a sister to Edward. They are fond of each other.”

“I know she has always been fond of Edward.”

“And he of her. But it is you I am thinking of, my dear. It will give you a little respite.”

“It is not necessary.”

The last thing I wanted was for Clare to come here. I always felt she had been resentful of me. I thought: She will be watchful. And I could not afford to be closely watched. She would try to find fault with me. Heaven knew that should not be difficult.

I protested again, but Mrs. Barrington had made up her mind.

“Do you know,” she went on, “being forced to go back to Nottingham has put new life into us both. Father didn’t really want to retire. It was those mobs that upset him. Well, that’s quietened down now. The punishment was getting so severe that they thought better of making all that trouble.”

“Yes,” I said, thinking of the man, Fellows, who had been hanged for what he had done.

“So you see, we can do without Clare quite easily. She will help with Edward.”

“It is so kind of you, but I really can manage quite well.”

“I know you can, dear. But Clare will stay and I’ll send on what she needs.”

There was only one thing to do and that was thank her graciously.

There were letters from Jake—one for me, one for Tamarisk.

He had written what could only be called a love letter, telling me how lonely it was in London without me. He would have to go to Cornwall, he supposed, and he would hate to be so far away. Suppose he asked me to bring Tamarisk for a visit? Since I had given him such irrefutable proof of my love, he could not do without me. He lived over and over again those hours we had spent in Blore Street and separation was unendurable.

I read the letter and put it away. I knew I should want to read it again and again.

Tamarisk was pleased with her letter, and although she assumed an indifference I believed she was really delighted to find herself with a father. I think she was a little fascinated by him.

“Would you like to go to London?” I asked her, trying to keep the lilt out of my voice.

“I don’t mind,” she said, coolly but with her eyes sparkling at the prospect.

“Your father thinks it would be a good idea if I took you. You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t mind,” she repeated.

I decided I would talk the matter over with my mother. The prospect of a visit to London always excited her. She said she thought it was a good idea and Tamarisk ought to see more of her father.

“It might well be that he will want to take her,” said my mother.

“You mean to live with him?”

“Why not? It would be natural.”

“I wonder if Tamarisk would want to go.”

“She could take Leah with her.”

The thought of Leah in Cornwall and myself miles away at Grasslands tormented me. Beautiful Leah who, I was sure, was either in love with Jake or ready to be.

“I don’t think she would want to leave Jonathan,” went on my mother, “although it might be a good idea if she did.”

“You’re a little worried about her penchant for Jonathan.”

“I would call it more than a penchant. A grand passion, more likely. She’s an intense little thing and Jonathan … well, let’s face it… he’s not the most stable of young men. He seems to enjoy that adoration she gives him.”

“We all like to be admired.”

“She’s growing up fast.”

“Oh, she’s a child.”

“Some girls don’t remain children long. Your father has misgivings about Jonathan.”

“Because of that gambling incident.”

“That was the start. No … I suppose the farmer’s daughter was that. But he has got off to a bad start. Your father thinks a great deal about the estate nowadays … more than he used to.”

“David looks after it magnificently.”

“Yes … but David hasn’t a son. Now there is little Peterkin, bless him.”

“Dear Mother, is Father planning to teach him estate management in his cradle?”

“No. But it has made a lot of difference. He feels if Jonathan is unsatisfactory there is little Peterkin to follow.”

“I think Jonathan will be all right.”

“He is so like his father.”

“A very fascinating gentleman, by all accounts.”

“Supposed to be. David is the solid one … and that’s what your father wants.”

“I gather he himself was not unlike his son, Jonathan, and that must mean that his grandson Jonathan is a little like him too.”

“Your father is unique. He could live recklessly and at the same time get to the top of whatever he undertook. I do wish he and Jonathan got on better. However, what about this trip to London? It should be easier for you now that Clare is with you.”

I found it hard to hide my eagerness.

“I could go quite soon,” I said.

“I think your father wants to go. He wants Jonathan to meet someone up there. So we might all go again. Amaryllis wouldn’t want to. I wonder she doesn’t take a trip with Peter now and then. He is always up and down.”

“It’s all those business interests, but of course she hates to leave the children.”

So it was arranged.

When I told Clare I was planning to go, she said I need not worry about leaving Edward so soon after my last visit. She would see that everything went well. I said I was grateful to her and she replied that that was what she had come for—to give me a change now and then.

“A respite,” she said, and there was a little curl to her lips which I tried not to notice.

The outcome was that we set out once more for London—my mother, my father, Tamarisk and myself in the carriage and Jonathan following us on horseback.

When we arrived at the house in Albemarle Street I noticed the new maid at once. Servants were apt to come and go in London. The housekeeper engaged them. Young girls often married after a short stay in the house and disappeared. In the country, if they married, it was usually someone on the estate and often meant that they continued working for us.

Prue Parker was the sort of girl one noticed because she was pretty in a rather gentle way. She had a demure manner. The housekeeper said that she was exceedingly shy, but she thought in time she would “shape up.”

I noticed Jonathan give her a second glance. He was like that with all young women. Weighing up their accessibility I called it.

Jake visited us on the day of our arrival.

“So eager to see your daughter?” said my mother.

“And delighted to see you… all,” he added.

He dined with us. He said he had paid a quick visit to Cornwall since he had last seen us and would have to go back there soon, but he would be in London for some little while yet; and he hoped during that time to get to know his daughter better.

He took her out the next day. He invited me to accompany them but I declined, saying that I must shop with my mother. But the following day Jonathan took Tamarisk for a trip on the river and there was our opportunity.

Of course I should have resisted it. I meant to, but my resistance crumbled and there I was as I had been before in that House in Blore Street, quite abandoned to my love.

He said that our separation had been unbearable. He made all sorts of wild plans and I let myself imagine that there might be possibilities of their coming to pass.

But how could there be? I was married to Edward. There was no way out for me.

I wondered how long he would wait. He was a very impatient man. He chafed against frustration more than I did. At least I had my guilt to hold me back.

When I looked ahead I saw years of secret meetings like this, years of frustrated longing and even when those longings were satisfied they were accompanied by the heavy weight of guilt.

“How I wish we need never leave here,” he said. “If we could stay here for ever … just the two of us …”

I reminded him: “You are forgetting this visit was arranged so that you could see your daughter.”

“And Jonathan has obligingly taken her off our hands.”

A thought struck me then. Obligingly? Could it possibly be that Jonathan knew? Was he helping us to be together? That was just the sort of thing he would do. Jonathan, at least, would understand.

But the very thought of anyone’s sharing our secret alarmed me.

I was restless … even in moments of intense passion. Then I thought of Amaryllis so secure in her domestic happiness. Oh happy Amaryllis!

I said: “We can’t go on like this.”

But he just looked at me and smiled. He knew—as I knew—that we would whenever the opportunity offered itself. More than that, he being the man he was would make those opportunities.

As we came out of the house I saw a man standing on the street corner. He turned and started to walk away in the opposite direction. I fancied I had seen him in this street before. It could have been on my last visit to London. I did not give him a second thought then.

We walked slowly back to the house.

We had retired for the night. I was very tired and went to sleep almost immediately to be awakened suddenly by the sound of shouts and footsteps. I hurriedly put on dressing gown and slippers and went into the corridor. I could hear someone crying. It sounded like a woman’s voice; and the noise was coming from my parents’ room.

I ran to it and there I stopped short. My father was red faced and angry. Jonathan was there in a state of undress as though he had just got out of bed hurriedly; and with her bodice torn and a scratch on her neck was Prue the new parlourmaid. Great sobs shook her body and she was trying to cover her breast with her hands.

Jonathan was shouting: “It’s a pack of lies. I did not send for her. She came.”

“Oh sir… oh sir…” moaned Prue. “Nobody will believe me.

“Be silent,” cried my father. “Do you want to wake the house?”

“Oh sir … he sent for me … he did … on my honour he did … and when I come he just got hold of me … and tore my bodice. I was frightened.”

My father said: “All go to your rooms. We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

“You won’t believe me,” wailed Prue. “You’ll all say I’m a bad girl… I’m not. I’m a good girl. I never done nothing …”

“You won’t be condemned without reason,” said my father, glaring at Jonathan. “But this is not the time.”

My mother got out of bed and put on her dressing gown.

“Come with me, Prue,” she said. “You should go to bed. We’ll hear all about it in the morning.”

“The girl’s a brazen liar,” said Jonathan.

“Hold your tongue!” cried my father. “And get out. Lottie, can you do something about this girl?”

I went over to her. “Come on, Prue,” I said. “You can tell me all about it.”

She lifted her face to mine. “I never… I swear I never.”

“All right,” I said, “all right. Which is your room?”

“I share with Dot and Emily.”

“Well, first of all we’ll tidy you up a little.”

My mother looked relieved. “Will you see to it, Jessica?”

“Yes,” I said.

Jonathan caught my arm.

“I swear, Jessica, she came to me.”

“Look, Jonathan,” I said. “It’s late. We don’t want to wake all the servants. Go to your room. It can all be sorted out in the morning.”

“It was a trick.”

“All right. But go now.”

I could see my father was getting more and more angry and that his anger was directed at Jonathan, and I felt I must put an end to the scene as soon as possible.

I managed to get Jonathan and the girl outside. Then I saw Tamarisk.

“What’s happened?” she cried.

“Nothing,” I said. “Go back to bed.”

She looked at Jonathan. “Are you all right?” she asked.

He nodded, smiling at her.

She ran to him and caught his arm. “You look funny.”

“Angry,” he said.

“Not with me?”

“Of course not.”

“With Jessica?”

He shook his head.

“Why is Prue’s blouse torn? Why is she crying?”

“Never mind now.”

She clung to his arm. “Are they trying to hurt you?”

“Yes, they are.”

“I won’t let them.”

“No, of course you won’t.”

“Jonathan,” I said. “Go to your room. You, too, Tamarisk. We’ll meet in the morning. Come along with me, Prue.”

I took her into my room and firmly shut the door.

I said: “We’ll wash your face and tidy you up a bit. Tell me exactly what happened.”

“It was my turn for late duty. I was just going to bed when the bell rang for Mr. Jonathan’s room.”

“Yes?”

“So I went up, Mrs. Barrington.”

“And what happened then?”

“He said. ‘Come in.’ He was in bed. He said, ‘Come over here, Prue.’ So I went to the bed. Then he got hold of me and pulled me down. I knew that I had to get away. I started screaming and fighting. He was very angry. But I got away and ran to Mr. and Mrs. Frenshaw’s room because I reckoned that was where I could be safe from him. They won’t believe me, Mrs. Barrington. They’ll believe him.”

“They’ll want to know the truth and that is what they’ll believe.”

“But I’m only the maid and he … and he … Oh, they won’t believe me. They’ll say I’m a bad girl… They’ll send me away and I won’t get a reference …”

“Now listen to me, Prue. In the morning there’ll be questions. If you answer up truthfully you will be believed.”

She shook her head. “They won’t…”

“Oh yes, they will. Now let us bathe your face.”

She stood still, her face full of misery. I bathed her eyes.

“There,” I said briskly. “That’s better. How badly torn your bodice is. Do you think you could slip into your room without the others noticing?”

She nodded.

“Well, do that. Go quietly. They’ll probably be asleep. And in the morning we’ll sort it all out.”

“It’s no good. What’s my voice against his … He’s one of the family …”

“That won’t make any difference with Mr. Frenshaw. He will find out the truth and see that justice is done.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Barrington,” she said quietly.

I took her to the corridor and watched her go upstairs.

Oh, Jonathan, I thought, how foolish you are!

Next morning there was consternation in the house. Prue had left.

Dot came to tell me, her eyes wide with that excited horror which some people betray when they are the bearers of bad news.

“She’s gone, Mrs. Barrington. Clean gone. Took all her things, she has. We never heard nothing … me and Emily. Her bed wasn’t slept in. I reckon she crept out like … so’s we shouldn’t hear.”

Poor Prue, I thought. She couldn’t face the shame of it. She was so convinced that she would not be believed.

My father was furious when he heard. “I’ve just about had enough of that young man,” he said.

“You haven’t heard the whole story yet,” I reminded him. “You’re jumping to conclusions.”

“A pretty clear conclusion, I would say.”

“On the face of it.”

“You’re standing up for him. Can’t you see he has been caught redhanded this time?”

The scene between him and Jonathan was violent. I thought they might have come to blows. Then my mother went in to intervene.

When Jonathan came out he looked quite unlike himself.

He said to me: “I suppose you share the general view?”

“What’s that?”

“That I tried to rape the girl.”

“Did you?”

“I swear I didn’t.”

“What was she doing in your bedroom?”

“Ask her. She came in. I didn’t send for her.”

“She said you did.”

“Then she’s a liar.”

“Do you mean she just walked in?”

“That’s it. I was half asleep.”

“And … she offered herself?”

“I suppose it was like that. I didn’t have time to think. I was half asleep, I tell you. Jessica, like the rest you won’t believe me, but I’m innocent of this.”

“If you tell me so I’ll believe you, Jonathan.”

“Well, I am telling you.”

“What did she do it for?”

“Ask me something simple.”

“A victim to your fatal charm? She seemed a quiet girl. Shy, they said.”

“They are sometimes the worst… or the best… it depends which way you look at it.”

“Jonathan, this is terrible. You know what my father is like.”

“Not my most devoted admirer at the best of times.”

“The trouble is you are too like him.”

“You would think that would make for understanding. I am sure he was not exactly a paragon of virtue in his young days. What is so maddening, Jessica, is to be blamed for something you haven’t done when I suppose there are so many things for which one could be blamed.”

“This will pass.”

“The wretched girl has gone. I wanted to have it out with her face to face.”

“I wonder why she ran away.”

“Too shy to face the enquiry, they said. Guilty, that’s what.”

“I don’t think they’ll see it like that.”

“You can bet they won’t. I shall be branded yet again.”

“Never mind. It will blow over. These things often do.”

“If I don’t get sent packing in the meantime.”

“Oh no …”

“The old man is in a fury. Just another little nail in the coffin of the heir of Eversleigh. I seem to have some evil spirit dogging me. When you think of that letter some snake sent about my gambling spree … it makes me wonder. And now this.”

“That girl can’t have anything to do with your gambling. And I daresay there are little peccadilloes which don’t always come to light.”

I had managed to produce a smile.

Tamarisk came running up. She seized Jonathan’s arm.

“What are they going to do to you?” she asked.

“Hound me.”

“What’s that?”

“Lining up against me.”

“Who? Jessica?”

“No. Jessica is a pal, I believe.”

“I’m your pal.”

“I know that, Gypsy.”

“I’ll always be your friend and I’ll hate anyone who isn’t.”

“What could be fairer than that!”

“Is it that girl, Prue?”

“She’s gone away,” I said.

“Where to?”

“That is a mystery,” I told her. “Jonathan, go for a ride. There’s nothing like a gallop to take your mind off these things.”

“I’ll come with you,” said Tamarisk.

“All right,” replied Jonathan. “Come on.”

We left London. The affair of Jonathan and Prue had ruined the visit. My father was in a black mood and neither my mother nor I could charm him out of it.

Amaryllis rode over to Grasslands and Peter came with her. It was rarely that I saw them together and rarer still that he had time to pay visits.

Edward was with us in his chair.

James had, some time before, suggested that he occupy a bedroom on the ground floor, so that it would be easy for him to get into the garden if he wished to do so. This had proved to be an excellent idea and it gave Edward opportunities of getting about more easily.

We sat in the drawing room drinking tea.

It was a warm October day and the French windows were wide open. The smell of burning leaves floated in to us and every now and then I saw a man pass to and fro, a long fork in his hand, picking up leaves and conveying them to the bonfire.

This was Toby Mann—a newcomer to the gardening staff. Old Robert, whom the Barringtons had brought with them from Nottingham, had died and Toby had come along at the right moment and taken the job. I had heard he was a very good worker. He did a little boxing and was known as the Champion by the servants. I was thinking of Jake, as I often did, and wondering if he was thinking of me. Was he planning to go to Cornwall? How I wished I could go with him! Should I take Tamarisk for a visit? How could I? It was too far away. If Tamarisk went Leah would have to go with her. That thought filled me with misgivings. Leah had been very fond of Jake. I expected she still was. She was a very beautiful woman and would be single-minded in her devotion.

Amaryllis was talking animatedly about her children and I fancied Peter listened with a kind of indulgent impatience. Perhaps he had heard accounts of their extraordinary prowess before.

He said suddenly: “Poor Jonathan seems a little melancholy these days.”

“It was that affair in London,” said Amaryllis. “You were there, weren’t you, Jessica?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Do you think your father will send him back to Pettigrew Hall?” asked Peter.

“I don’t think so. It will blow over.”

“There is little sign of it at the moment,” said Amaryllis. “Oh, I do wish they did not have to have all these quarrels.”

“A little discord I suppose is inevitable in the best regulated families,” said Peter. “What was the girl like, Jessica? I don’t remember ever seeing her at the house.”

“You wouldn’t notice her,” said Amaryllis almost teasingly.

“I confess I never did.”

“She hadn’t been there long. I thought she looked quiet and rather shy,” I said.

“And young Jonathan took advantage of that, eh?”

“He swears he didn’t.”

“Well, I suppose he would, wouldn’t he?”

“Not Jonathan. He’s amazingly frank. He told me seriously that she had come into his room of her own accord.”

“Why should she do that?” asked Amaryllis.

“Because, my dear, Jonathan is a very personable young man,” Peter explained. “That’s so, is it not, Jessica?”

“I don’t know much about these matters. If you say so, I suppose it is.”

“Well, his allure got him into serious trouble this time. I somehow don’t think it is going to blow over.”

“He is the heir, after David,” I said.

“Don’t forget we have our little Peterkin now. That has undermined the dashing Jonathan’s claim to the throne somewhat.”

Edward said: “It’s a sad business. From what I understand on the face of it it would seem that he summoned the girl… but things are often not what they seem.”

He was looking ahead of him and I felt a twinge of alarm. I was beginning to look for double meanings in all his remarks.

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” put in Peter, “and perhaps it would be a good thing, if Jonathan was asked to slip gracefully out.”

“I agree with Jessica. He is the heir. After all his father would presumably have had a share in Eversleigh had he lived. Jonathan could become quite steady once he has his responsibilities.”

I smiled at Edward. He was so balanced in his judgments, and he always had a special word for the oppressed. It was hard to think of Jonathan in that category, but in this instance he was generally looked upon as the one to blame.

I said: “My mother and I are rather concerned about the girl. We have been wondering where she went when she left the house.”

“Poor child,” said Peter. “I do think this will set his grandfather against Jonathan more than ever.”

Tea was brought. I served our guests and then took Edward’s over to him. He smiled at me tenderly.

There was a little shelf which could be placed across the chair and which we found very useful. This had been set up and I placed the cup on it. But as I turned away my sleeve must have caught in the shelf and the cup went over; the shelf was dragged off the chair. Edward made an effort to save it and fell from the chair to the floor.

I cried out in dismay. Peter dashed over. Edward lay on the floor, looking very pale and I guessed he was in pain.

I said: “Call James. He knows the right way to lift Edward.”

Peter was trying to help Edward to rise and I could see we needed James’ expert hands.

He came to us and his face was creased in consternation when he saw Edward. He half lifted him and then gave a little cry. Edward was back on the floor and James was writhing in agony.

“What’s happened, James?” I asked.

“I’ve strained something. It’s my back. I can’t move without excruciating pain.”

“Let me help,” said Peter.

“It needs two,” said James.

“Toby is outside,” I cried. “I’ll get him.” I ran to the window where I could see Toby wreathed in the smoke from the bonfire.

“Toby,” I cried, “come quickly.”

He came running and, taking one look at Edward, he saw at once what was required of him.

“We want to get Mr. Barrington into his chair, Toby,” said James.

“Right,” said Toby. Peter stood by. “Best manage on my own, sir,” added Toby and, with the greatest of ease it seemed, he picked up Edward and sat him gently in his chair.

“Edward,” I said, “are you all right?”

“Yes, quite. It’s poor James I’m thinking of.”

James’ face was white and I saw the sweat glistening on his skin. He said: “It’ll pass.”

He was about to wheel Edward’s chair across the room. I said: “I am sure Toby would do that. You’re going to find it difficult, James. Do you know what’s happened?”

“I’ve done it before. It can come suddenly. But it will pass. All I need is a little rest.”

“Then for heaven’s sake take it. What about Toby’s coming to give you a hand?”

Toby smiled: “I’d like that, Mrs. Barrington.”

“I thought you were so fond of your work in the garden?”

“I am … but if I could be of more use …”

“You could, I believe. The others can weed and make bonfires. James, you ought to rest I’m sure. And Edward, you’ve had a shock. You go along and help with Mr. Barrington, Toby.”

James looked relieved, though a little ashamed of himself for being so weak as to have an ailment. He was the sort of man who would pretend it didn’t exist.

Peter said: “Let me help.”

“We can manage, sir,” said Toby, his expression showing the delight he felt to be of such use.

“I’ll come with you, Edward,” I said. And to the others: “Excuse me.”

Edward said. “No. You stay. Don’t fuss, Jessica. I’ll be perfectly all right.”

I nodded. I always obeyed Edward on such occasions.

The door closed on them.

“Poor Edward,” said Peter.

“It is so sad,” murmured Amaryllis, no doubt comparing my barren life with her fruitful one.

“It was good that the bonfire man appeared so fortuitously,” said Peter.

“He seemed very eager to help,” added Amaryllis.

And as I sat there, the smell of burning leaves permeating the air, and talked in a desultory way, I thought how fortunate they were to have met, loved and married and to have two beautiful children to prove the success of their union.

Then I looked ahead to my own future. As far as I could see it would go on like this for ever.

Edward was none the worse for his fall. He said he was pleased that it had happened because it had brought Toby in to help James. He had been anxious about James for some time.

“I knew I was too heavy for him to lift,” he said.

“Toby seems a very pleasant young man.”

“Yes. Very eager to help. I feel a great burden. There are you, James, and Clare … and now Toby all waiting on one useless cripple. But you are the one I worry about most. Sometimes I feel it is too much for you.”

“What nonsense is all this?”

“You … young … beautiful… tied to me. It seems so wrong.”

“Please, Edward, you promised me not to talk like this. I chose this, didn’t I?”

“Sometimes people make rash choices and then they are stuck with them. It’s no life for you, Jessica. I was thinking of Amaryllis. There she is a happy wife and mother.”

“I wouldn’t change places.”

“You are so good, Jessica.”

I thought: If only he knew! I was almost on the point of telling him, of trying to explain. I love you, Edward, but I love Jake in a different way. It isn’t anything to do with your being crippled. I love Jake as I can never love anyone else. I’m not the same person when I am with him. Everything becomes exciting and wonderful.

How could I tell him that?

He was right. I had chosen this way. In a moment of pique I had chosen it. And now it was my life.

His next words startled me. “What about that man … Tamarisk’s father?”

“What… what of him?” I asked faintly.

“What is going to happen about him?”

“What do you mean?”

“Is Tamarisk going to live with him?”

“I think she ought to be given time to decide.”

“Is he agreeable to that? Did you see much of him when you were in London?”

“Oh yes. He came to dine with us, and Tamarisk was with him quite a few times.”

“Do you think she will want to go with him?”

“I think she is getting fond of him but she is so devoted to Jonathan.”

“Yes. That’s almost a love affair, isn’t it? It’s surprising that the young can have these fierce feelings.”

“Tamarisk is fierce in her emotions.”

“I expect it’s a phase.”

“I think it is what will make her want to stay here. She wants to be where Jonathan is.”

“Time is the answer.”

“You mean … don’t rush into anything.”

“Exactly. Let her see as much of her father as she can. I suppose he would like to be asked down here.”

“He might find it difficult to leave London. I believe he has business there, and he also has that estate in Cornwall. Perhaps something will be decided soon.”

“In the meantime all you can do is take her to London to see him.”

“Y-yes. I shall want to go up before Christmas. Will you be all right?”

“Certainly. I have all these people to take care of me.”

“You don’t mind my going?”

“I miss you, of course. I miss you very much, but on the other hand I get a comfortable sort of feeling that at least you are getting a little respite. I know how much you enjoy those visits to London. You always come back rejuvenated.”

My deceit weighed heavily on me. But at the same time I was thrilled at the prospect of another visit to London.

I asked Tamarisk if she would like to go again. She wanted to know if Jonathan was going. I said I did not know. I thought he might not be eager to after the last disastrous visit.

“What happened about that girl?” asked Tamarisk.

“What girl?”

“Prue, of course. What was Jonathan supposed to have done to her?”

“Jonathan says he did nothing.”

“Then he didn’t. So why was there all that fuss?”

“Oh … it’s all over now.”

She stamped her foot. “It’s not over. Great-Grandpapa Frenshaw is very cross with Jonathan and he might not leave him Eversleigh.”

Where did she learn such things? Listening at doors, I supposed, slyly questioning the servants. I knew she would be adept at that.

She went on: “That girl came into his bedroom. He didn’t send for her.”

“Who told you that?”

“Never mind,” she said severely. “It’s not the point. She came in and he didn’t send for her. Then she blamed him and said he tore her clothes. She was lying.”

“It’s all over now,” I said. “We don’t want to worry about it any more.”

“I want to know the truth. I’m going to make Prue Parker tell the truth.”

“Prue Parker has gone. We shall never see her again.”

“She must be somewhere.”

“Listen,” I said, “do you want to go up to London to see your father?”

“Yes.”

“Very well, then. We’ll go.”

David and Claudine came with us this time. Neither of them really wished to leave Eversleigh, but there were some products which David had to buy. Peter was already in London. He had left some days before—on urgent business, he said.

When we arrived at the house in Albemarle Street he was there.

I could not stem the exuberance which was rising in me. I should see Jake. It would be difficult to be alone with him because there was Tamarisk to be looked after. It had been different when Jonathan was there to take her off my hands.

Jake was delighted to see us. Tamarisk asked a good many questions about his home in Cornwall which made me think she might be considering going there. There was no doubt that she was rather fascinated by him. Who would not be by Jake?

There was an occasion when Tamarisk was out of the room and we had a few words together.

“When?” he asked.

“It’s difficult,” I replied. “There is Tamarisk …”

“If you could come one evening.”

“I can hardly do that.”

“We could say we were at a concert… a theatre … Who is with you?”

“David and Claudine.”

“They would not be as watchful as your mother. I fancied sometimes she was … aware.”

“She may well have been. She is aware of a good deal… particularly when it concerns me.”

“This is too frustrating,” he said. “We shall be together. I can’t stay here just waiting for you to come to me. I’ll find some reason why you have to be here.”

“No … not in this house. It seems too great a betrayal.”

“We’ll stay in an inn … I’ll rent a house …”

I shook my head.

“What are we going to do, Jessica?”

“The wise thing would be to say goodbye. If Tamarisk would go with you to Cornwall that would be a solution.”

“And never see you … or rarely!”

“There isn’t anything for us, Jake.”

“Nonsense. You love me. I love you.”

“It’s too late. Someone once said that life was a matter of being in a certain place when the time was right. The time was wrong for us.”

“My dear Jessica, we have to make it right.”

I shook my head. “It is impossible. I couldn’t hurt Edward. He relies on me. He has suffered. I can’t just use people like that.”

“He would understand.”

“Yes, he would understand. But understanding doesn’t make the hurt less. He would understand too well. I will never leave him.”

“And what of me? What of us?”

“We are two strong and healthy people. We have to live our own lives in the best possible way.”

“You are condemning us to a life of emptiness.”

“You have your daughter. She is an interesting girl. You could find great joy in her, and if she gives you her affection she can be fiercely loyal.”

“As she is to Jonathan. Who else?”

I shrugged my shoulders and he went on: “To you? To the people who did so much for her? I agree she is interesting. I should be happy to have her affection … if she deigned to give it. But it is not a daughter I crave for. It is you… my own love, my Jessica.”

“I can’t see a way out then. Perhaps in time it will be easier to bear.”

“I don’t intend to stand aside and let life use me.”

“What will you do?”

“I’ll find a way.”

“You frighten me a little when you talk like that. I think you could be rather ruthless.”

“I am sure you are right,” he said.

“There is no way… except by telling Edward, and I will never do that.”

“If he knew he would understand. It is unnatural for you to be condemned to such a life.”

“He is my first duty.”

“Your duty is stronger than your love?”

“In this case it has to be.”

He shook his head. “I will find a way,” he repeated.

Tamarisk came into the room.

“Are you talking about me?” she demanded.

“You always imagine people are talking about you. Do you think you are such a fascinating subject?”

“Yes,” she said and we all laughed.

When it was time to leave Jake said he would come back with us.

“That is not necessary,” I said. “I want to call in at one of the shops and we have not far to go.”

He stood at the door waving to us. I was deep in thought remembering his words. He had looked so determined when he had said he would find a way. What could he do? There was only one way: To go to Edward and ask him to release me.

I knew I could never be completely happy again if I did that. Edward would haunt me all the days of my life.

We had turned out of Blore Street when I saw a young woman, some yards ahead of us, hurriedly start to cross the road.

In a second Tamarisk was after her. The woman disappeared round a corner. Tamarisk followed.

What was she doing? I started to run. I did not want her to be alone in the streets of London. She knew her way to Albemarle Street, of course, but how inconsiderate of her to run off suddenly without a word.

I turned the corner. The woman was going into a building. Tamarisk went after her.

I ran as fast as I could.

Then I recognized the building. It was Frinton’s Club, that place of ill omen where Jonathan had lost five hundred pounds on his visit.

“Tamarisk!” I shouted. “Where are you going?”

I pushed open the door and went in. There was a hall carpeted in glowing red. The walls were plain white. A man was seated at a desk, staring after Tamarisk’s flying figure.

“Where are you … ?” he was beginning when he saw me … I ignored him. My eyes were on Tamarisk who was disappearing through a door which led from the hall. I followed.

There were people in the room—two men and several women. I stared in bewildered amazement. One of those women was our one-time parlourmaid, Prue Parker. But what a different Prue Parker! Her face was delicately painted and she was smartly dressed in a light navy coat trimmed with fur; her gloves were a delicate grey which matched her shoes. I realized that she was the woman whom Tamarisk had been following.

That was not all. The girl beside her was not unknown to me. On the other occasion when I had seen her she had been pretending to be blind. Yes, there with Prue Parker was the girl who had led me to that empty house.

But the greatest shock of all was the sight of the man who had risen from his chair and was staring at us as though he could not believe his eyes.

It was Peter Lansdon.

There was a silence, which seemed to go on for a long time. It was as though neither of us could believe what we saw and were trying to come to understanding in our bewildered minds.

He spoke first. “Jessica?” he murmured.

I did not answer. I looked from him to those two women.

“How … how did you get in here?” he stammered.

“We walked in,” I said.

“It’s no place for you.”

“No. I daresay not.”

“There are explanations I must give you.”

“Indeed … yes.”

He came towards me, quite calm now. Everyone else in the room was silent.

“I’ll take you and Tamarisk home,” he said.

Tamarisk cried: “I want to take her back.” She pointed at Prue. “She lied. She was the one … not Jonathan.”

“Yes, yes,” said Peter soothingly. “I’ve discovered everything. I’ll take you back and tell you all about it. Come along, both of you.”

I was summing up the situation. He was involved in this. He knew the blind girl; he knew Prue; he knew these clubs. They were not ordinary clubs, after all. Strange things went on in them. What had I stumbled on?

He took Tamarisk and me by our arms.

Tamarisk was shouting: “You’ve got to tell them. You’ve got to tell Grandpa Frenshaw. It wasn’t Jonathan. It was Prue. She ought to come back with us. She ought to confess.”

“Leave it to me,” said Peter. “I’ll explain everything. Jonathan shall be cleared.”

That satisfied Tamarisk.

I was silent, bewildered and incredulous.

We came out into the street.

He said: “I found the girl. I was trying to help her. She planned the whole thing … to compromise Jonathan. She had blackmail in mind of course.”

“It’s all right now,” said Tamarisk. “I wish Jonathan were here. When can we go home and tell him, and tell them all. I found her. Wasn’t it clever of me? I recognized her by the way she walked … because she looked different, didn’t she? But I knew her.”

We came to the house. Tamarisk ran in at once to tell David and Claudine what had happened.

They listened in a somewhat bewildered fashion while Peter explained calmly that he had discovered Prue Parker and confronted her. She admitted she was trying to compromise Jonathan so that she could extract money from him. Then she became frightened and had run away. Peter said he believed he was going to save her from a shameful existence. He had already found a post for her in a respectable household and had arranged to meet her at the club where she worked to tell her of her good fortune. He was there for this purpose when we burst in on them.

“I saw her,” repeated Tamarisk. “I recognized her, Jessica, didn’t I?”

“You were very sharp, Tamarisk.”

After they had marvelled at the story Claudine said she and David had to call on the Mattons, who particularly wanted to meet Tamarisk. “Will you come with us, Jessica?” asked Claudine.

I said I would prefer to stay at home.

So they went off and as soon as they had gone Peter came to my room.

He stood looking at me almost slyly and then said: “Well?”

“Are there any warehouses?” I asked. “Is there any importation of rum and sugar?”

“There are as a matter of fact.”

“And your main business, I believe, is in another kind of house. Not exactly a warehouse. Do they call them whorehouses?”

“An unpleasant term I always thought.”

“Why did you want to see me?”

“I have to discover to what conclusions you have come.”

“I have been thinking a great deal… over our acquaintance, and certain things seem to be becoming clear to me. I hope you have not prepared some intricate fabrication for I shall not believe it.”

“I know that. You are very shrewd. I soon became aware of that. I can see the intricate fabrication would soon be pierced by your astuteness, so therefore it would be a waste of time to manufacture it.”

“I believe you are a scheming adventurer.”

“There is no point in denying it.”

“You came into my family because you knew there was money there.”

He nodded.

“I suppose the inn meeting was a chance one?”

“Yes. There I learned who your father was, and also a great deal about the family from the innkeeper.”

“I see, and you decided that his daughter would be a worthy wife. How could you make your entry? My father is a rather suspicious man with many interests in London. Is that how you figured it out?”

“But of course.”

“So we had the little blind girl episode. One of your girls from your warehouses?”

“We were moving out of the premises. That gave us the venue, you might say.”

“What a convenient coincidence that you were there that day with your decoy.”

“Oh, we had waylaid you several times. We were waiting for the opportunity.”

“It was an unusual beginning, designed of course to earn our gratitude. Having succeeded in that you started to pay court.”

“It was very agreeable. I have always found you attractive.”

“Thank you. But you turned to Amaryllis.”

“You were too lively … too inquisitive. I thought you would very quickly start to pry.”

“And Amaryllis was docile so you chose her.”

“And in pique you turned to the gentleman who is now your husband. Hard luck you should go on with the game after he was injured. But that was your own fault.”

“And having charge of Amaryllis’ fortune, you are increasing your holdings in your apparently very prosperous business?”

“It is indeed profitable. Amaryllis has increased her fortune since marrying me.”

“It is still her fortune, is it?”

“I have been very careful about that. I have used her money, but not taken it. If your father… or any of the family… decided they would look into my affairs they could not default me. I am in the clear.”

“How worthy of you! I wonder what Amaryllis would say if she knew for what purpose her money is being used.”

“She will never know. She is a completely contented wife and mother. It is better she remains so.”

“I think I would rather know what is going on around me. I know why Jonathan was led to Frinton’s. I know where the anonymous letter came from. And then you staged that little affair with Prue Parker. You are determined to discredit Jonathan in my father’s eyes.”

“Well, we have Peterkin now. A male heir right in line. I’ll see that he makes a better job of Eversleigh than Jonathan would.”

I cried: “It’s monstrous! And to think Tamarisk was the one to expose you!”

“That child is a nuisance. She always has been. Let’s hope she goes off with her father.”

“You amaze me,” I said. “You are so indifferent. You don’t mind being exposed.”

“Not by you.”

“What do you mean? You wouldn’t want my father to know the manner in which you make your fortune. You are a procurer. I always thought that was one of the worst things to be. You won’t want my father to know about those tricks you played on Jonathan.”

“I certainly would not.”

“And yet… you seem to think your secrets are safe with me!”

“They are.”

“What do you think my father will say when he knows you deliberately brought Prue into the house, sent her to Jonathan’s room and made her feign that attempted rape scene?”

“He would be horrified of course, but he won’t hear of it, will he? He will be told that by one of those queer quirks of coincidence—which happen more in life than people realize—I discovered Prue Parker walking the streets. I was horrified, for after all she had such a short time ago been a servant in the family house. I questioned her; she confessed that she had attempted to compromise Jonathan and demand money. She knew that he was already in his grandfather’s bad books and had a great deal to lose. It went wrong. Jonathan wouldn’t play, so she pretended he had attacked her. She became frightened by what she had done and fearing exposure ran away. She was without work and there was nothing for her but the streets. She was attached to that club where you discovered us, and when I had found a post of parlourmaid in a respectable household I went along to the club to find her. Then you and Tamarisk burst in.”

“And you think I will allow you to get away with this?”

“You must, mustn’t you?”

“Why should I? How do I know what other schemes you have. I think Amaryllis should know how her money is being used. I think my family should know. After all, you are a member of that family now.”

“But nobody must be allowed to bring disgrace on the family.”

“You already have. It was an ill day when you came into it.”

“We all have our weaknesses. You too, Jessica. This is going to be our little secret.”

“You presume too much.”

“I have justification. Let the one who is without sin cast the first stone.”

I was silent. A terrible fear was beginning to grip me.

“You certainly, my dear Jessica, are not without sin. What of this passionate love affair with the fascinating Sir Jake?”

I felt myself flushing hotly. I stammered: “What… what do you mean?”

“I have been frank with you. You must be with me. Do you think I don’t know what is going on? You and the handsome gentleman are lovers, are you not? You visit his house … alone. You spend several hours there. You see, Jessica, it ill behooves any of us to pass judgment on the rest of us.”

I could see his smiling face through a haze of wretchedness. My secret was in the hands of this evil man.

“Sit down,” he said. “You’ve had a shock. I was aware some time ago of the feeling between you. You couldn’t disguise it from me. You have the glow of love upon you, Jessica. Oh, I thought, I must be watchful of this. I am always eager for scraps of information. One never knows how useful they will be. And now here is this. One of my people has been set to watch you.”

“You mean I’ve been followed!”

“To and from the little love nest. Naughty Jessica! But understandable, of course. I’m not blaming you and I shall keep your secret… as long as you keep mine.”

“And if I don’t?”

“It would be rather sad for that kind husband of yours to know that when his wife comes to London it is to be with her lover. You would not want that?”

I was silent. I felt as though the walls of the room were closing in on me. I wanted to shout out to him to go away. He terrified me. He had changed a little. His face had become evil. He was like someone who had removed the mask he had been wearing and now showed himself for what he really was.

He was smiling at me cynically, sardonically, horribly.

“That’s our little bargain,” he said. “You don’t tell on me and I don’t tell on you.”

He came close to me, took my arm and brought his face near to mine. “Remember,” he said. “One word from you and I shall go straight to your husband and tell him of those jolly little occasions in Blore Street. Do you understand, Jessica?”

I nodded dumbly. Then I wrenched myself away and ran from the room.