The Return of the Gypsy

Suicide or Murder?

I WAS BACK AT Grasslands. I had not had a moment’s peace since that interview with Peter Lansdon. I saw Jake only once before we returned. I dared not tell him what had happened for fear of what action he would take. It was blackmail of a sort. I was as guilty as Peter himself. If he were blackmailing me I was blackmailing him.

I had a notion that Jake might welcome the exposure. Jake was the sort of man who hated inaction. Patience was not one of his virtues. I knew that he was capable of reckless action as he had shown when he had run off and joined the gypsies, when he had dashed in and killed the man who would have ravished Leah. He would have said: “Let him talk. He should be exposed for what he is—and we’ll take the consequences.”

Those consequences, he would believe, might well result in our being together. I wanted to be with Jake forever. I wanted a permanent union. I wanted a home with him; I wanted his children. But I could not hurt Edward. I could not disturb his world in which I knew I was more important than anything. He would have his comforts, the attentions of James, Toby and Clare. But it was my presence which made it possible for him to endure the life into which misfortune had thrust him.

I could never be completely happy if I hurt Edward.

So I could not tell Jake. But what had happened could not fail to have an effect on me; and he knew that something was wrong.

I left him frustrated and uneasy.

Peter Lansdon had returned to Enderby before we arrived home. He had already told his story and I had to admit he made it sound plausible enough. He mentioned what a great pleasure it was to him to be able to put right this little difference between my father and Jonathan.

The great topic at Eversleigh was Peter’s discovery of Prue Parker. My father was a little shamefaced, trying to be more gracious to Jonathan. Jonathan was delighted that his innocence had been proved.

When we returned Tamarisk’s pleasure in seeing Jonathan again was overwhelming. She kept telling him how she had seen Prue in the street and, recognizing her, had followed her because she was determined to prove him right and Prue wrong. “And then we went there,” she cried, “and Peter was there…”

Nobody thought it strange that we should have seen her when she was on her way to meet Peter and that he had chosen that questionable club as a rendezvous. It was a coincidence, but they were so interested in the story that they did not probe too deeply into the details.

Peter dismissed any doubts they might have had. “It was a place she knew; she was attached to it in some way. It seemed reasonable to meet her there.”

He modestly accepted the gratitude of all for having solved the mystery.

I wanted to shout at them that it would have remained a mystery if Tamarisk hadn’t seen the girl in the street and we had caught him there redhanded.

But how could I? I had to be silent.

I did not want to go to London again. I did not feel I could go to Jake. How would I know whether or not I was being watched? Peter had spoiled everything for me. He had made me feel unclean … wicked … as bad as he was. He did not mind; he revelled in his wickedness; he called it shrewdness.

When he caught my eye he would smile at me in a very special way. I had the horrible feeling that he was assessing me. What had he said: “I always found you attractive …” He was implying “More so than Amaryllis.” But he had chosen her because she was docile. I told myself I would never have married him. I admit I had at first been attracted, but not by him as much as the glamour of romance … being rescued, as I had thought he had rescued me.

The horrible thought came to me that he might make another suggestion as a price of silence. I was thankful that I had enough against him to balance our evil doings.

There was something cold about him, snake-like. I wondered at Amaryllis who was so much in love with him still. He was clever. He could slip in and out of his masks, changing his personality, shedding a skin. Yes, snake-like.

He began to haunt my dreams as a nightmare figure.

Sometimes in the night I felt I would go to Edward and confess. I would tell him that I would stay with him for ever and never see Jake again. Jake must take Tamarisk away. They could go to Cornwall on the other side of England, a long way from us.

Only confession could free me from Peter Lansdon.

My mother said: “Are you all right? You haven’t looked well since you came back from London.”

“I’m quite well, thanks.”

If only I could tell her! She would understand. But I dared not.

“It will soon be Christmas,” she went on. “It is amazing how time creeps up on one. We’ll have to start planning for it soon.”

I agreed.

She was not the only one who noticed. Clare said to me: “Are you well?”

“Why do you ask?”

“You seem different… since you came back from London. A little nervous … Did anything happen during your trip?”

“No … no.”

I had always had an uneasy feeling about Clare. She was useful in the house. She would sit and read to Edward and play piquet with him. She was a great help but I always felt she resented me.

Leah was useful too. While Tamarisk was in London she turned her attention to the sick room.

“I have two handmaidens now,” said Edward. “Clare and Leah. And with James and Toby I am really cossetted.”

“You have me … another handmaiden,” I reminded him.

“You are not a handmaiden. You are my queen.”

I laughed, but my heart was heavy. He must never know, I told myself.

Meanwhile Jake was getting restive. He had been to Cornwall, for it was necessary for him to return, but his stay there was brief and he was soon back in London.

He wrote to me again. His letter was an impassioned plea to come to London. If I did not, he said, he would come to Grasslands. He had plans. He could not wait forever. We were wasting our lives. We belonged together.

The letter alarmed me while it delighted me.

I told myself I should destroy it but I could not bring myself to do so. For a day I carried it with me, tucked into my bodice but I thought that might be detected so I hid it at the back of one of my drawers with that other letter. I read them again and again. They comforted me; they set me dreaming of the impossible.

When I was talking to my mother about Christmas I said: “What about Tamarisk’s father?”

“Perhaps he will want her to go to him in Cornwall?”

“She never would. She is more devoted to Jonathan than ever.”

“I suppose we should ask him here.”

I hesitated.

“Is it difficult? We could have him at Eversleigh.”

“No … no. He should be where Tamarisk is.”

“He doesn’t seem in any hurry to take action about the child.”

“I think he would. It rests with Tamarisk.”

“It’s an unfortunate business. One sees why convention and regularity in family life is so sought after.”

“I agree,” I said.

“We shall have a full house as usual at Eversleigh, I daresay. The Pettigrews will be here … and others, I suppose.”

“Oh … I have room at Grasslands.”

The idea of having him in the house excited me while it filled me with apprehension.

Peter would be at Enderby. He would certainly be home for Christmas. The three houses would be united in the festive celebrations and I should see a great deal of him. I wondered how I should feel being with Jake, while Peter looked on. I could imagine his bland looks and secret amusement.

I wrote asking Jake to come for Christmas.

After I had done so I went up to my room and, as I did in moments of solitude, I wanted to read the letters again.

Reading them brought him back to me, made me relive those magic moments, made the longing for him so intense that I forgot everything else but him.

I opened the drawer and felt behind the gloves and handkerchiefs for the letters.

They were not there.

But I remembered putting them away. I had been most careful. I turned out the drawer. I rummaged through the one immediately below it. I went through all the drawers. There was no sign of the letters.

Panic set in. Someone had taken them.

The idea of someone else reading those letters horrified me. Peter! I thought. It must be Peter.

I must find him at once. I must retrieve the letters. What price would he ask for them? I should never have allowed myself to be blackmailed. Blackmailers were known for not stopping in their demands. They wanted more and more. Oh, I should never have entered into this diabolical pact. I felt frantic with anxiety.

I met Clare on the way down.

I said: “Did Peter call yesterday?”

“Yes … I believe he did. He was with Amaryllis. They looked in while you were out. They must have forgotten to tell you.”

“I must see him at once.”

I went to Enderby. Peter was not there.

“He’s gone into town,” said Amaryllis. “He’s leaving for London tomorrow.”

“What… again?”

“He’s so involved in business,” she said with pride.

I pondered whether I should go and look for him. No, I thought. It will make me appear too anxious. If he threatened to use those letters I should go at once to my father and expose him for what he is. He would not want that. I was safe because I knew so much about him.

I must have been away an hour. The house was quiet when I returned. Soon it would be time for me to go to Edward. I would tell him that my mother was full of Christmas plans and had suggested that we invite Tamarisk’s father for the holiday.

I kept thinking about the letters and imagining their falling into Edward’s hands. It would be better for me to tell him myself. I would make him understand how it had happened. It should never happen again, I would assure him. I would pledge myself to that.

How devious I was! And with the worst kind of deviousness, because I deceived myself. I was longing for Jake to come and I knew that when he did, nothing would matter to me but that we were together again.

I went up to my room, took off my riding clothes and changed into a house dress.

I saw Leah and the thought struck me that she would have ample opportunities for taking the letters. She had loved Jake and had lured Tamarisk away from her home because she was his daughter. Since she had joined our household she had seemed to be gentle, law-abiding, but at heart she might well still be the fierce gypsy. Did she still love Jake? Had she, with that special perception which gypsies possess, divined that Jake and I were lovers? Why should she take my letters? And having read them what would she think of them? Clare? Could it be Clare? Clare loved Edward. She would believe that she should have been the one who should look after him. What would she think of one who had taken the position which should have been hers and then showed contempt for it?

If Clare had found the letters would she show them to Edward? Would she expose me for the adulteress I was?

My uneasiness had increased. Each morning when I awoke it was with a fearful dread of what the day would bring.

Christmas was almost upon us. The following day Jake would be here.

The weather had turned cold and I was anxiously watching the sky, fearful that there might be snow which would impede his journey.

I yearned to see him and yet I was fearful of his coming.

I went up to see the room which had been prepared for him. It was on the first floor. I opened the door and looked in. There was the red-curtained four-poster bed; the rich red curtains and the carpet with the touch of flame colour in it. I had changed the furnishings when I had come here. This had been Mrs. Trent’s room. It had been rather sombre then. She had been a strange woman who had had a reputation for being a witch and I had wanted to eliminate all traces of her.

A fire was now burning in the grate. Rooms grew cold in a house like this when they were not used.

I touched the bed. The warming pan was already there. They would renew it when it grew cold.

I thought of his arrival. He would try to lure me into this room, but I must be strong.

I sat down by the window and watched the firelight throwing flickering shadows on the walls.

The door began to open cautiously.

It was Leah.

She jumped when she saw me—as startled to see me as I was her.

“I… just came in to look at the fire,” she said. “They can be dangerous … even with the guard up.”

“Oh yes. Sparks on the carpet.”

“Yes,” said Leah and prepared to go out.

I said: “Just a moment, Leah.” She paused and I went on: “Sit down.”

“This room looks cosy in firelight, doesn’t it?” I said. “It’s really a very pleasant room.”

Leah said that it did look cosy and it was a pleasant room.

Edward had used it before he had gone to the one downstairs and many times had I sat by the red-curtained bed reading to him. I had been content enough then … living in the glory of self sacrifice. But making sacrifices, so ennobling in the initial stages, becomes wearying. A quick sharp sacrifice is all very well, but when it goes on and on one becomes angry—not so much with oneself who has made the decision in the first place, but with the one for whom the sacrifice is being made.

I must never show the faintest irritation which I sometimes felt towards Edward. How perverse people are! They are irritated by the goodness in others. If Edward had been a little tetchy more often, a little less patient, I could have let my anger flare up, I could have released my pent-up feelings. But because he was so good, I must feel this bitter remorse.

“Leah,” I said suddenly, “do you ever think of the old days?”

“Oh yes, Mrs. Barrington.”

“Do you ever wish yourself back with the caravans and the free and easy life of the roads?”

She shook her head. “I’m content here. It was bitterly cold at night. The sun was too hot or the wind blew too cold. I’ve got used to living in a house.”

“And of course Tamarisk is here. You will go to Cornwall with her when … and if… she goes.”

“Is she going, Mrs. Barrington?”

“I suppose she will eventually.”

“She won’t want to leave here. That I know.”

“She will, I daresay, go with her father.”

“She didn’t know she had a father until a little while ago.”

“Well, now she does and her place is with him.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Leah. “Her place is where she is happy.”

“She’s a strange child. You know her well, Leah. It is hard to get close to her.”

“Oh, she’s fond of you … in her way, Mrs. Barrington. And she’s fond of me … in the same way.”

“She has her likes and dislikes. Yet she ran away from us, remember. Can you understand her running away from a comfortable home to live in the open?”

“Sir Jake did it, Mrs. Barrington.”

“So he did and became Romany Jake for a while. Those days seem long ago, Leah.”

“Yet they live clear in the memory. They might have been yesterday.”

I looked at her across the darkening room. There was an expression of terror flitting across her face and I knew that she was living through those moments when that man had seized her and Jake had come to her rescue. That was something she would never forget.

She had lured Jake’s daughter away from us, yet how gentle she looked now as she sat there with her hands in her lap, remembering.

Did she love Jake? Was she aware that he was my lover? Was it Leah who had taken the letters from my drawer?

We were both startled by the opening of the door.

Clare looked in.

“Oh,” she said, “sitting in the dark?”

“I came in to see if the fire was all right. Leah did the same. Then we started to talk.”

Clare looked from one to the other of us. “Shall I light a candle?” she asked. “It looks a little eerie in the firelight.”

She did so and turned to look at us, her eyes gazing steadily into mine.

I could not read her expression, but it seemed to be hiding something.

What is she thinking? I wondered. What does she know?

She was right. It did suddenly seem very eerie in that room.

Jake arrived two days before Christmas and my joy on seeing him was intense. I thought the manner in which we looked at each other must surely betray our feelings. I took him up to the red room myself. As soon as we were there he turned to me and held me fast against him.

“The waiting has been maddening,” he said.

“But now you are here, Jake,” I answered. “Yes … it has seemed very long.”

“I’ve made up my mind,” he went on. “We are not going on like this. Something shall be done.”

He would not release me and as I clung to him I shivered. “Not here, Jake. Not here in this house.”

“Something has to be done … and soon.”

“Yes,” I said. “But wait. Be patient. We’ll talk.” Then I tried to behave like a hostess. “I hope you have everything you want. If you don’t, one of the maids …”

He laughed. It was rather wild, reckless laughter which I had heard so often. “There is only one thing I want,” he said. “You know what that is.”

I replied: “I must go down. People are watchful in this house, I believe.”

“Watchful?”

“Leah … because I believe she is in love with you and Clare because she is in love with my husband.” I drew myself away. “We shall be dining at seven. Could you be down just before.”

And I was gone.

It was a pleasant evening. I was amazed how Jake could behave with such detached calm towards Edward. No one would have guessed that he was indulging in a love affair with Edward’s wife.

As her father’s presence made it a special occasion, Tamarisk dined with us. I was delighted when she asked him questions not only about London but about Cornwall too.

He discussed the differences between farming in England and Australia and talked so entertainingly that Tamarisk said: “I should like to go to Australia.” And he replied: “Perhaps I will take you one day.”

Much later when I went to say goodnight to Edward I sat down and we talked for a while.

He said: “I think that man is beginning to charm Tamarisk a little.”

“I thought so too.”

“I daresay the day will come when she will go to him.”

“We shall have to wait and see. I have a feeling that she will always prefer to be where Jonathan is.”

“She’s a faithful creature. I like that in her.”

I said a hasty goodnight. Talk of faithfulness was a little disturbing to such a guilty conscience as mine.

The next day with Tamarisk and Jake I rode over to Eversleigh to help my mother with the arrangements for Christmas.

The house was in turmoil. The gardeners were bringing in plants from the greenhouses and festooning holly and ivy round the pictures in the gallery and on the walls of the great hall: mistletoe was placed in such places as would allow people to stand beneath them and give and receive the traditional kisses. From the kitchen quarters came the smell of baking.

My mother was in a state of delight and exasperation. She loved these occasions at Eversleigh when everything must be done in accordance with the old traditions. Jonathan had gone with some of the gardeners to bring in the yule log and Tamarisk immediately declared her intention of going to help them.

“The Pettigrews will be arriving today,” said my mother. “You know how house-proud her ladyship is. She’s prying into everything to see if there is a speck of dust anywhere.”

“I daresay the servants at Pettigrew Hall are glad to be rid of her for a short while,” I said.

Tamarisk had gone off and after a little conversation during which my mother told me that everything was under control and there was nothing I could do to help, Jake and I left. I could see that this was one of the rare occasions when my mother wished to be on her own.

As we rode off together, Jake said: “How good it is to be alone … for a while.”

I broke into a gallop and he was soon pounding along beside me.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“To the sea,” I shouted.

I could smell the sea… that mixture of seaweed and wet wood and the indefinable odour of the ocean. I filled my lungs with it and I was happy for a moment… putting aside all fears and doubts and giving myself up to the sheer joy of being with Jake.

We pulled up as we came to the cliff and I walked my horse through the gully onto the shore, Jake following me.

The sea was slate grey on that morning; the waves came in delicately swishing the shore, showing a lacy froth on the edge of their frills.

“It is always magnificent… whatever mood it is in,” I said.

“Admittedly the sea is very grand,” said Jake. “But, Jessica, what about us?”

“What can there be? You’ve been to the house. You’ve talked with Edward. Surely you can see there is nothing I can do. I could never tell him that I was going away from him.”

“You could spend the rest of your life … just like this?”

“I have accepted it.”

“You accepted it before you realized what it meant.”

“You mean … before you came back?”

“That has changed it, hasn’t it?”

I was silent.

Then he said: “Jessica, what are we going to do?”

“Nothing. There is nothing we can do. The wisest thing would be for you to go away from here … for us to forget each other.”

“Do you think I should ever forget you?”

“I don’t know. In time I suppose you would.”

“Never,” he said. “You can’t believe I shall allow this state of affairs to continue.”

“It is not a matter of whether you will allow it or not. It is as it is. We have made it as it is and that is how it must remain.”

“You will give me up … for Edward?”

“I have no alternative. I shall never be happy, I know, for I shall be thinking of you every minute of the days. But if I left Edward I should be thinking of him. I have resigned myself to living this life which leads nowhere … except to the end. That is how it must be. I made it that way and now I must endure it.”

“I shall not let it be like that.”

“Dear Jake, how will you prevent it?”

“I shall find a way. I shall not rest until I find a way.”

“Let’s gallop along the beach,” I said. “It’s exhilarating. I always love to do it. Come on.”

I went forward and he followed me. The wind caught at my hair and for a few moments I could forget everything but the joy of the ride, forget all the problems which had to be faced; I could forget trusting Edward and demanding Jake; I could forget that I had betrayed my husband and that I was being blackmailed by Peter Lansdon and that someone else had seen the impassioned letters which Jake had written to me and in which was an unmistakable admission of our relationship. All that could be set aside during those few moments of a reckless gallop along a shore with the grey quiet sea on one side and the white cliffs rising on the other.

But as we walked our horses, single file, through the gully which led from the beach to the road, I kept thinking of Jake’s words: “I shall not rest until I have found a way.”

Christmas Day dawned mild and damp.

We had all been to the midnight service on Christmas Eve and had gone back to Eversleigh to drink hot punch and eat mince pies afterwards. Then Jake and I, with Tamarisk—who had pleaded to be a member of the party—all rode back to Grasslands while Amaryllis and Peter went back to Enderby.

There were several guests staying at Eversleigh—including Millicent and Lord and Lady Pettigrew. So we were a very merry party.

“You must come over in the morning, Jessica,” said my mother. “You must be here when the carol singers arrive.”

“I’ll be here,” I told her. “But I’ll go home for luncheon and come back again with everyone about six o’clock.”

My mother nodded, well pleased.

There was a great deal to do and this was one of the occasions when my help was needed.

I awoke on Christmas morning with that strange mingling of excitement and alarm which was often with me now.

I went to see Edward, taking my gift with me … a silk dressing gown, the kind of garment which he used frequently now, for often he would not get dressed but would sit in his dressing gown all day.

He received it with great pleasure and he produced his gift for me. It was an eternity ring, one of those with diamonds all round. It was very beautiful and I exclaimed in delight.

His next words disturbed me slightly. He said: “I asked Clare to choose for me what she thought would suit you best.”

So Clare had chosen the ring! An eternity ring! Was that to remind me that I was bound to Edward for as long as I should live? What was going on in Clare’s mind? I was convinced now that she was the one who had found the letters.

I slipped the ring on my finger.

“It’s beautiful,” I said.

“It is to remind you that I shall love you for ever. I don’t say enough. I’m too reticent, but there are things which I feel so deeply and words are inadequate to express. I could never tell you what I feel about all you have done for me. When I knew I was never going to be whole again I was in despair. Willingly I would have ended my life. Then you came and said you were going to marry me.”

“You tried to dissuade me, Edward.”

“I had to. I couldn’t condemn you to a life that was really no life for a healthy young woman. And when you insisted I was coward enough to let you do it. But that gave me the courage to go on. I knew I could … with you. And that is how it is. While you are with me, showing me your loving care, I can bear it all. You are wonderful.”

“Oh Edward,” I said, “you make me feel so ashamed.”

“Ashamed! Why should you? You have made life happy for me. When I see you in the mornings I feel glad to be alive. I would do anything within my power for you, Jessica.”

“You do,” I replied. I kissed him and he held me tightly. I felt very emotional. I loved him. It is possible for a woman to love two men at the same time. I loved Edward for his gentleness, his unselfishness, his kindliness, and for the depth of his love for me. I loved Jake because he was vital, exciting, the man with whom I could know complete happiness if in taking it I was not hurting Edward.

I released myself and he kissed the ring on my finger. I made a vow within myself then. I said: “Edward, I shall always be here … as long as you want me.”

We went to church on Christmas morning and after that we all went back to Eversleigh. The carol singers came and I helped my mother serve them with hot punch and Christmas cake which was the traditional offering.

Then I returned to Grasslands for luncheon. In the afternoon I went for a ride with Tamarisk and Jake. Clare joined us.

There was little opportunity to talk to Jake. He sought to elude the others but I did not encourage him in this. That tender scene with Edward was still very much in my mind and I was conscious of my eternity ring and all it implied.

Clare seemed to be always beside me. There was a set smile about her lips. I fancied she was reminding me of the duty I owed to Edward.

The evening was like many Christmases I remembered at Eversleigh. The table in the great hall was beautifully decorated with several silver candelabra which were only used on such occasions; and there were sprigs of holly by every place.

We had the usual fare and dinner went on for a long time after which we retired to the solarium where games were played until the hall was cleared for dancing.

I was sitting beside Edward when Jake came along and asked me to dance with him.

I said: “No. I would like to sit beside my husband.”

But Edward would have none of it. “You must dance,” he said. “I like to see you dancing.”

“I don’t think I will, thanks.”

Jake took my hands. “She should, shouldn’t she?” he said to Edward.

Edward replied most emphatically that I should. “I’ll watch you,” he added.

“I’ll take great care of her,” replied Jake.

“I’m sure you will,” said Edward.

I felt uneasy with Jake and a little angry. I was very emotional on that night and Jake seemed almost lighthearted. He did not seem to understand how I felt about Edward.

I knew that Edward’s eyes were on us as we danced. I could imagine that he was thinking how cruel life was to rob him of his strength and manhood, of his ability to lead a natural life so that he must sit there and watch his wife dance with another man.

I don’t know what was the greater in that moment—the desire to abandon myself to this emotion which Jake alone could arouse in me, or my love for Edward and my determination never to let him know that I had swerved from the vows I had taken on our marriage.

Jake said: “You must tell him some time, Jessica.”

“How could I?”

“Just tell him.”

“You’ve seen how he is.”

“I believe he would understand.”

“He would certainly understand. But how could I leave him?”

“You have a choice to make. So has he. So have I. Yours to take which way of life is more important to you; his to keep you and suffer infinite remorse because of what he has deprived you. Mine is how much longer I shall allow this state to prevail.”

“It is not in your hands, Jake.”

“It could be,” he said.

“It is for me to make the choice, and I have known for a long time that I cannot leave Edward.”

“You love him more?”

“Of course I don’t. I could love you completely … if Edward were not there. But he is there. I married him and I know for certain now that I can never leave him.”

“And what of us?”

“You will go back to Cornwall. You will forget me.”

“I must certainly go to Cornwall. Forget you, I never will. Nor shall I lose you. I am going to find a way, Jessica. Believe me … we are going to be together … somehow.”

“No, Jake. It can’t be. I knew today … if ever I knew, that I have to stay with Edward as long as he needs me.”

Clare passed. She was dancing with Lord Pettigrew who performed rather ponderously. They were close to us and I saw that Clare’s eyes were watchful. What was she thinking? She knew that Jake and I were lovers. The letters had betrayed that. I believed she hated me because I had married Edward. I had taken him from her and now it seemed I did not want him.

Of course he ought to have married Clare. She would have been a devoted nurse. That would have been enough for her. She had always loved him. I guessed she would have looked up to him as a small child when he would have seemed so much older than she was, and so powerful. He would have been kind to the poor orphan girl, the poor relation who had been taken into the household because there was nowhere else for her to go. He would have been kindly sympathetic, sensing her loneliness. And of course she had given her absolute devotion to him. She was the faithful sort who would love him for ever. She must have hoped to marry him. That would have been the perfect culmination for her. Then I had come along, taken him from her, and having secured the prize indulged in a passionate love affair with someone else.

I could see Clare’s point of view and why her antagonism was aroused against me.

I was glad when it was midnight and I told my mother we must leave. We had to get Edward home and for that reason we had the carriage, so we would all go home in it with Edward: Jake, Clare, myself and Tamarisk who had been allowed to sit up as it was Christmas.

Toby came too for he was needed to help Edward into the carriage. James was still suffering from his strained back and Toby was very useful.

We said goodnight to my mother and other guests and set out for home.

“What a wonderful Christmas Day it has been!” said Jake. “There is nothing like the old traditions.”

We all agreed and Edward told us about Christmases in Nottingham and we all joined in until we arrived at Grasslands.

Toby—with Jake’s help—took Edward to his room; Clare said goodnight and took a somewhat subdued Tamarisk off with her. She would soon be asleep. Indeed she was halfway to that state already.

I met Jake coming out of Edward’s room. “All is well,” he said. “That Toby is a strong young man.”

“Goodnight, Jake.”

He took my hand and kissed it. “Come with me,” he whispered.

I shook my head.

“Just see me up and say goodnight.”

I went up the stairs with him to the bedroom. It looked very cosy. There was a fire in the grate and it threw its flickering light on the red curtains which had been drawn across the windows.

He closed the door and put his arms round me. “Stay with me,” he said.

“No. I am going to sit with Edward. I always do when they have got him to bed.”

“Afterwards … come back.”

“No, Jake. Not here.”

“Does it matter where?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“What strange ideas you have, Jessica. Place and time … they are unimportant. What matters is that we are together.”

“Edward is so near.”

He looked at me in tender exasperation. “You will stay with me here … through the night… please.”

“I couldn’t. It would seem to me as though Edward were here… in this room. It would seem like the ultimate betrayal.”

“If you are going to think along those lines the ultimate betrayal has already taken place.”

“I don’t think you see it as I do. Perhaps infidelity comes more naturally to men. It is condoned by society … unless it is discovered. What I have done is so wrong. It would be wrong for any woman … but because of Edward it is dastardly. I hate myself.”

“For loving and being loved by me?”

“Oh no … not for that. That is something which will always sustain me. I shall always love you, Jake. But I have made up my mind very definitely that I cannot leave Edward. I shall be with him as long as he needs me. I have given him my word and that is how it shall be. He has suffered so much. I would never add to that suffering if I could help it.”

“Do you mean that I must go away … I must leave you … that all I have to hope for is the snatched moment?”

“You will go away knowing that I love you as you love me.”

“I love you exclusively. I would never allow anything to stand in my way. I should consider no one but you… us … being together always.”

“You have seen how it is.”

“I have seen, of course, that Edward relies on you. He would be very sad if you went away. But he is not a man who would demand a sacrifice.”

“He is the most unselfish of men.”

“Yes. He has qualities which I do not possess. Yet you love me, remember. You loved me enough to break those marriage vows by which you set such store.”

“I do. I do. But you must understand. I must be here. I must stay with Edward while he needs me. I married him. I must remember that. It is too late for us, Jake.”

“It is never too late.”

And now, I thought, someone knows about us. Someone took the letters you wrote to me. Clare? Leah? I wanted to tell him to make him understand how careful we must be. But I hesitated. He would brush it aside. It was unimportant, he would say. Some day everyone would know that we were lovers because he did not intend to allow matters to remain as they were.

I withdrew myself.

“I must go and sit a while with Edward. I always chat with him for a few minutes before I say goodnight. He looks forward to it.”

“Come back,” he said.

I did not answer but came out of the room, and as I did I heard a door quietly shut. It could have been Clare’s room or that of Tamarisk. Tamarisk was adept at listening at doors. I thought Clare might not be guiltless either.

I went down to Edward’s room. He was in bed waiting for me. And his face lit up with pleasure as I came in.

I sat down beside the bed. On the top of the small cabinet which served as a table was the sleeping draught he took most nights, for he often found it difficult to sleep and the doctor said he must get the rest he needed.

On this night he looked tired. It had been a strenuous day for him.

I said: “You must be tired. It has been a heavy day.”

“Christmas is rather special, isn’t it?”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Very much. Has our guest retired?”

“Oh yes. He’s probably fast asleep by now.”

“So should you be.”

“I shall go after our chat.”

“I loved to see you dancing. How I wish …”

I sighed and he went on: “Sorry, self pity.”

“You’re entitled to a little. Heaven knows you don’t indulge in it often.”

“I should not be sorry for myself… having you.”

I kissed him.

“Sleep well,” I said.

“I’m not really tired. It must be the excitement of Christmas.”

“So you will have your draught tonight?”

“Yes. I asked James to leave it ready for me. It’s effective.”

I picked up the glass and gave it to him.

He drank it and grimaced.

“Unpleasant?”

“A little bitter.”

“Well, I shall say goodnight.” I stooped over and kissed him. He returned my kiss lingeringly.

“God bless you, dearest Jessica, for all you have given me.”

“God bless you, Edward, for all you have given me.”

He smiled at me ironically and I shook my head at him.

“Always remember, Jessica, I want to do what is best for you.”

I kissed him hurriedly once more and went out of the room. I felt as I always did when he revealed his devotion to me … unclean and ashamed.

I came up the stairs. The door of Jake’s room was slightly open. I stood still for a few seconds looking at it. Then I took a step towards it.

I hesitated. I had a feeling I was being watched.

I turned away and went deliberately to my own room. I shut the door firmly, all the time fighting the urge to go to him to give way to my longing, to abandon the principles to which I was trying so desperately to cling.

I went to bed, but not to sleep. I lay awake for a long time thinking of Jake in his room, waiting for me in vain.

It was symbolic of the future.

I must never go to him. I must give my life to looking after Edward. I felt very apprehensive, waiting, fearful that Jake would come to me, for if he did I knew I should have no power to resist.

Finally I slept.

I was awakened early next morning by a knocking on my door.

I called: “Come in.” It was Jenny, one of the maids. She looked white-faced, disbelieving and scared.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, starting up.

“Oh, Madam, will you come … at once. It’s the master. James said to tell you he wanted to see you.”

“Where is he?”

“In the master’s bedroom.”

I leaped out of bed snatching my dressing gown. I ran downstairs to Edward’s room. He was lying back in bed, unnaturally white and very still.

I felt myself turn cold and I started to shiver.

I murmured: “Oh God, please don’t let it be …” I went to the bed and took his hand. It was cold and fell limply from my grasp.

“James?” I cried.

James came to me and shook his head. “I’m afraid …” he began.

I murmured: “Dead. Oh no, James … not dead.”

“I’ve sent Toby for the doctor.”

“When … ?”

“I came in this morning to see about breakfast as usual. I did not notice at first. I drew back the curtains and said good morning. There was no answer. Then I came to the bed and I saw … I couldn’t believe it. Then I sent Jenny for you.”

“James … how… ?”

James looked at the glass which was on the top of the cabinet—the very one which I had handed to Edward on the previous night.

“Oh … no,” I said.

“We won’t know until the doctor comes.”

“But there was nothing wrong with him … apart from his injuries … nothing that would be fatal?”

James shook his head. “Sit down, Mrs. Barrington. You look faint.”

“It can’t have been …” I went on.

“He was worried about himself… being so incapacitated. We’ll have to see what the doctor says.”

Clare came running in. “What is it? They are saying …”

She looked from Edward to me. “Oh no. It can’t be true …” Her eyes came to rest on me. They were dark with misery and suspicion.

“How I wish the doctor would come,” I said.

There was a terrible silence in that room. The tick of the clock seemed unusually loud. I thought: I’m dreaming. This can’t be. Edward … dead!

At last the doctor was with us. We left him alone with Edward and when he came out he was very grave.

“Mrs. Barrington,” he said, “this is most distressing.”

“I cannot believe it,” I said. “Why … Doctor … what…”

“I am certain it is the sleeping dose. How much did he take?”

“James always prepares it for him.”

James said quickly: “It was the usual dose, doctor.”

“I think it was more than that last night.”

“So it was that,” I murmured.

I thought of our last meeting when I had sat by his bed and he had kissed the eternity ring. He had wanted the best for me. A horrible thought struck me. Had he deliberately taken that dose … to make me free? Oh no, he would not do that. I had never allowed him to think for a moment that I wanted to be free. But did he know?

Clare was looking at me with horror in her eyes.

The doctor said: “Was the bottle within his grasp?”

I knew that question was fraught with meaning. Had Edward taken the strong dose himself or had it been given to him?

James hesitated. “It was in the cupboard beside his bed. I suppose he could just have managed to get the door open and take out the bottle.”

The doctor nodded. “There will have to be an autopsy, of course.”

A terrible fear had started to race round and round in my mind. I was trying to remember all that had happened last night. Jake had helped Toby carry Edward in. The glass had been beside his bed when I entered the room. I had actually given it to him.

How much of the drug had been dissolved in that water? One small dose was all that must be taken. It was dangerous to take more. That was clearly stated and the doctor had warned us many times that more than the prescribed dose could be fatal.

Jake had been there. He had helped Toby to bring Edward in. He had killed a man once and he had said only this night: “I will find a way.”

I was desperately afraid.

The doctor had just left and we were seated together in the drawing room—myself, Clare and Jake with James. A terrible silence had fallen on us. I dared not look at Clare; I could see the accusation in her eyes. I dared not look at Jake. I was terribly afraid of what I might read in his eyes.

At length James spoke: “How could it have happened? I did not think he would ever attempt it. He was a man who believed that life had to be lived to the end no matter what tribulations had to be faced. It would have been all against his nature … as I knew it.”

Jake said: “Where was the stuff? Could he have reached it?”

“Yes … just,” said James. “The little cabinet served as a table. It wouldn’t have been easy for him to reach the bottle but he could have done so.”

“He would never have done it,” burst out Clare. “I know he would never have done it.”

“What alternative is there?” asked Jake in a curiously quiet voice.

There was silence and I felt Clare’s eyes on me accusingly. I raised mine and looked at Jake. For a few moments his gaze held mine. I did not know what I read there. But the thought would come to me. He killed a man once. He had done that in the heat of anger. If one had killed once did it come easily to do it a second time?

No, I thought. Not that. There had been a barrier between us before. That would be an insurmountable one. I must know the truth. I should not have a moment’s peace until I did.

I heard myself saying: “What actually happened last night? When could it have been put in the glass? Was Edward alone for any time?”

James said: “Sir Jake and Toby helped him out of the chair. We got him into bed between us. I poured out the water and put in the sleeping draught. I put it on top of the cabinet. We talked as we always did. He was in good spirits but of course he always did hide his feelings. What happened then? I think we all went out.”

“I believe I lingered to say a few words to him,” said Jake.

My heart began to beat very fast. Oh, Jake, I thought, were you alone with him … even for a few minutes?

“Well, Mr. Barrington was by himself until you came in, Mrs. Barrington.”

“Had he taken the sleeping draught then?” asked Jake.

“No. He usually took it while I was there… just as I was leaving actually. He didn’t want to feel sleepy while we were talking. I stayed a while. We talked as usual. He drank it while I was there. Then I took the glass from him and put it on top of the cabinet.”

“I can’t understand it,” said James. “And on Christmas night! If he had contemplated doing it he would surely not have chosen Christmas night.”

“You think the time is important?” said Clare harshly.

“Well,” explained James, “he would think of people enjoying Christmas. He was always one to think of other people. No. It was a mistake. He would never have killed himself in the first place … and certainly not on Christmas night.”

“Then,” said Clare, and I noticed how her eyes glittered, “someone else must have done it.”

There was silence with none of us daring to look at each other.

Suddenly I knew I could endure no more. I stood up and said: “There will be things to do.” And I went out of the room.

I cannot remember much of the rest of that day, except that it was like a bad dream. Messages were sent to Mr. and Mrs. Barrington. My father and mother came to Grasslands. They were deeply shocked. Amaryllis came over with Peter.

Amaryllis was deeply moved; she embraced me with great affection. “Dear, dear Jessica, this is terrible. Poor Edward! But it is those who are left who suffer. He was such a good man, and he loved you so much.”

I knew that whatever happened I would always have Amaryllis’ support and affection. I noticed Peter watching me rather sardonically. I dared not think what was going on in his mind.

My mother said: “Would you like to come back with us to Eversleigh? Your father says you are not to worry. He is going to take charge of everything. There’ll have to be an inquest. Perhaps it would be better for you to stay with us until that is over.”

I said I would stay at Grasslands.

“What about Tamarisk? Perhaps I’ll take her back with me. Jonathan can come over and persuade her if she is difficult.”

“Yes,” I said. “I should be glad of that. It is no place for her.”

“I expect the Barringtons will be here soon. What a terrible blow to them! They are such a devoted family and Edward was the apple of their eyes … particularly I think since his infirmity.”

The long day dragged into evening and I was glad when it was time to retire. I had avoided Jake all day. There was so much I wanted to say to him and so much I was afraid to say. I thought that if I asked him outright he would tell me the truth.

But did I want to know the truth? In my heart I was terrified of it.

I went to bed but I knew I should not sleep. I lay there, my eyes shut, thinking of the previous night and trying to recall every second, what Edward had said, what I had said. Had he seemed different? I was trying to read something in his words, something significant. I was trying to make myself believe that there was a possibility that Edward had taken his own life. If he had, then it was what he wished. I remembered how he had persuaded me to dance with Jake. I had looked over my shoulder and seen his eyes following me wistfully.

If Edward had taken his life it must have been what he wished. He had a right to leave this world if it had become intolerable to him. But no one else had a right to banish him from it. Only if I could be sure that Edward had wished to die and had taken the action himself, could I begin to grow away from the tragedy. No one … not even Jake … could make me truly happy again if that were not so.

How could I know?

The door of my bedroom opened quietly. For a moment I thought it was Jake and sat up ready to protest. It was not Jake. It was Clare.

She stood at the end of my bed. “Edward is dead,” she said, as though I did not know it. “He had to die, didn’t he? Otherwise how could you marry your lover?”

“What are you saying?”

“Surely you know. I loved Edward as you could never love anyone. When I came to them I was only seven years old, the poor relation. Oh, they were kind, but he gave me a special sort of kindness. He made me feel as though I were a person … not just a poor relation taken in because I had nowhere else to go. He was different. He was fond of me. I believe he would have been very fond of me. But you had to come along and spoil it.”

“I’m sorry, Clare.”

“Sorry? I don’t suppose you ever thought of him… or me … or anyone but yourself. You wouldn’t have him for a long time and then you decided you would. After that you made the grand gesture, didn’t you? He was crippled. He would never walk again, so you would show everyone how noble you were.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“I know how it was. You thought Peter Lansdon wanted you. You thought every man must want you. And when he turned to Amaryllis it was a great shock, so you thought, All right, I’ll take Edward. So you did. That was why you became engaged to him. And then you got tired of it, didn’t you? I would have given my whole life to nursing him. But you took a lover, didn’t you … the dashing Sir Jake.”

“You don’t understand, Clare.”

“I understand everything. Do you think I am blind? I know what is going on. And I have proof.”

I stared at her and she laughed at me. “It’s all rather clear. He set it down, didn’t he? I have two letters he wrote to you. Don’t think you are going to brush me aside again. It’s evidence, you know. I will show them the letters. You were both with him that night. Sir Jake was there. Did he put in the extra dose or did you? Perhaps when you went in to say goodnight to him? You actually handed it to him, didn’t you? You said you did. Which one put in the fatal dose is anyone’s guess. But it was you who handed it to him.”

“Clare, Clare, what are you saying?”

“That you and your lover between you killed Edward.”

“It’s not true. I wouldn’t have hurt him for …”

“Wouldn’t you? When you had your lover staying in this very house?”

“There is so much that you don’t know.”

“And so much I do, eh? Don’t imagine I shall stand by and let you get away with this. I am going to show them at the inquest. I am going to give them proof.”

“It is no proof.”

“It is proof that two people in this house wanted Edward dead, and both of those people were with him on the night. They both had an opportunity of putting the dose into the water.”

“Clare, this is madness.”

“It sounds like common sense to me.”

With that she went out and left me.

I lay down. So she had the letters and she would show them. Jake and I would be exposed as having had a motive for murder. I would never have hurt Edward willingly. But Jake?

There was no sleep for me all through the night.

I rose early next morning. I went to the stables and saddled a horse. I had to get out of the house. I had to be alone to think. I rode down to the sea and galloped along the shore. There was no joy in the exercise on that morning. One thought was hammering in my mind; Clare had the letters. She it was who had stolen them. I had guessed correctly.

I could not face Jake yet. I was too much afraid of what I would discover.

There was one to whom I had turned during the whole of my life when I was in trouble: My mother.

I left the shore and rode to Eversleigh.

She expressed no surprise to see me. I said: “I have to talk to you at once … alone.”

“Of course,” she said.

She took me into the little sitting room which led from the hall. She shut the door and said: “No one will come here.”

I told her everything—that Jake and I were lovers. I told her of my remorse and my determination not to hurt Edward.

She nodded, understanding.

She said: “It was natural, Jessica. You cannot be blamed.”

But when I told her of the letters which had been written by Jake and stolen by Clare, she was very grave.

“It was clear from what he had written that we had been lovers,” I told her, “that he was impatient and wanted me to go away with him. She threatens to produce them and use them against me.”

My mother was silent. I could see that she was very disturbed.

“I’m afraid,” I concluded. “It will appear that either Jake or I… or the two of us together … planned to kill Edward.”

“Those letters must not be seen by anyone else,” she said.

“Clare has always hated me. She loved Edward and hoped to marry him. Perhaps if it were not for me she might have done so. She will never forgive me, and now she sees this chance …”

“It’s got to be stopped.”

“She is determined.”

“We must get hold of those letters before the inquest,” said my mother firmly.

“She will never give them up.”

She said then what she had always said in the past and which I had often laughed at: “I’ll talk to your father.”

I did not laugh now.

She went on: “My dear, you should go back to Grasslands now. I am going to suggest that Jake comes over to Eversleigh. It would be better that he is not in the house with you. We’ll explain that as things are it is better for him to be with us. Tamarisk is here, and Jonathan is being very good and giving her a lot of attention. It is not right for children to know too much of these things. The Barringtons will be here soon. Clare will be in the house of course. I hope she will not give too much trouble.”

I clung to her. She kissed me and said: “Everything will be all right. Your father and I will see to that.”

Jake saw the point of staying at Eversleigh. I did not have a chance to speak to him alone before he went. I did not seek it. If I had been alone with him I should have had to ask him outright if he had killed Edward, and I was afraid of the answer.

Mr. and Mrs. Barrington arrived. Their daughter Irene and her husband came with them. They had left the children with their paternal grandparents. They were heartbroken. Mrs. Barrington clung to me and wept.

Later we talked together. She said: “He was so noble, my dear Edward. He was always such a good boy, so thoughtful to others … always. When you married him he could not believe his good fortune. Poor dear boy! That he should be the one to suffer from those wicked men! But then you showed your love for him as few would have done, and I shall never forget it. You made him so happy. I blessed the day when you came into his life.”

I thought: Clare will talk to her. Clare will produce the letters. What will she think of me then? What would she say had she known that I had broken my marriage vows? She would have a different opinion of me then.

My parents came to Grasslands. They did not talk a great deal about the tragedy. In fact my father scarcely mentioned it except once when he said: “Poor Edward, he could see no future for himself. I would have been the same. Better to get out than the way it was.”

He had made up his mind that Edward had killed himself and he was the sort of man who would make sure that everyone agreed with him.

It would be different at the inquest. I had never been to an inquest and was unsure of the procedure, but I did know that the verdict was all-important, and it would be decided whether or not this was a case of suicide, accidental death or a case of murder against some person or persons unknown. And if the latter a trial would follow.

It was the day before that fixed for the inquest. My mother sent a message to Grasslands asking me to come over to Eversleigh.

I went immediately.

It was late afternoon and the house was quiet. She was waiting for me in the hall. She said: “Jonathan has taken Tamarisk for a ride. Jake has gone with them.”

“What has happened?”

“Come up to our bedroom,” she said. “Your father is there.”

“Something has happened. Do tell me.”

“Yes. You can trust your father to act.”

He was there in the bedroom and to my surprise Mrs. Barrington was with him. She kissed me warmly. “I expect you are surprised to see me here,” she said.

My father put his arms round me and kissed me.

“Sit down,” he said. “Everything is going to be all right. The inquest is tomorrow and there is going to be a verdict of suicide.”

“How?” I stammered.

“I’ve talked to Jake. I know he had no hand in Edward’s death.”

“How can you know?”

“Because he said so. I know men. I know he would not have been such a fool as to do a thing like that. He was confident of getting Edward’s understanding and you your freedom.”

“He had not spoken to Edward!”

“No, but he intended to.”

“Then how do you know … ?”

“Toby has told me that Edward spoke to him two nights before his death. He said he thought there was little point in his going on living. He said, ‘I am sometimes tempted to slip in an extra dose. That would finish the job and I’d slip quietly away.’ That will be important evidence and Toby will give it. There will be no one who had the slightest reason for wanting Edward’s death.”

I said: “What of the letters?”

My father put his hand in his pocket and drew out two sheets of paper. I snatched them from him.

“Where did you get them?”

“I have them. That’s the important part. I wanted you to be here … to be sure. These are the letters?”

“Why yes. But I don’t understand …”

There was a lighted candle on the dressing table. I had vaguely wondered why it was there as it was not dark. He took the letters from me and held them out to the flame. We watched them burn.

“There!” said my mother, blowing out the candle. “That is an end of that.”

“Did Clare give them up?” I asked.

My mother shook her head. “I took Mrs. Barrington into my confidence. When I explained everything to her she understood …”

She smiled at Mrs. Barrington who said: “Yes, Jessica my dear, I understood. You brought great happiness to my son. He was never so happy as he was through you. I am for ever grateful. Your mother made me see that you loved this man, and he you… and I love you all the more for not leaving Edward but staying by his side. I want to help you. Clare can be of a jealous nature. She was always a difficult child, always looking for slights. Edward could manage her better than the rest of us, and she was very fond of him. I did think at one time that they might have married… but it turned out otherwise, and he was so happy with you. I wanted to help, so when I knew there were incriminating letters I was determined to find them.

“Clare has a very special box which Edward once gave her. It was on her fourteenth birthday. It was very precious to her. In it she kept her treasures. Clare is a creature of habit. She always kept the key to that box on a key-ring—another present of Edward’s—and it was kept in the third drawer of her dressing table. I guessed that the letters would be in that box and I knew where the key was. Poor Clare, she has always been an unhappy girl. She came to us when she was seven. She was a distant cousin’s child. Her parents had been poor. Her mother had died and her father had very little time for her. He was glad when we offered to take her. She was an envious child. Perhaps if her life had been different, she would have been. She always had to remember misfortunes and thought other people should suffer as she had. The only time she was really happy was when she was with Edward. It might well be that he would have married her if you hadn’t come along. People drift into these things. I think she would have been a different girl if he had. Well, I knew of the box and I knew of the key. I chose an opportunity when she was out. It was quite simple. I went into her room. I took the key and opened the box and, as I expected, there were the letters. I brought them to your mother.”

“You have done this … for me?” I cried.

“How can we ever thank you,” said my mother warmly.

“I knew in my heart that it was what Edward would have wanted. The last thing he would have wished would have been for you, Jessica, to be unhappy. So I am doing this for Edward as well as for you.”

My father said: “This will make all the difference. There will be no accusation now.”

My relief was so intense that I could not speak.

My father took my arm and led me to a chair. I sat down beside my mother and she put an arm round me.

“This will pass, my darling,” she said. “Soon it will be like some hazy nightmare … best forgotten.”

I went back to Grasslands. I should have been easier in my mind but the gloom had returned to hang over me. I felt as though I were groping in the dark and at any moment would come upon a terrible discovery.

I wanted to see Jake … desperately I wanted to. I wanted to talk to him … to ask him questions, to beg him to tell me the truth. I did not think he would lie to me. Did he hold life cheaply? Once he had killed a man and felt no remorse for that. What sort of life had he led on that convict ship? He must have seen death and horror in various forms. Did that harden a man? Make him hold life cheap? Make him determined to get what he wanted no matter the cost?

Yes, I wanted to see him and I dared not see him.

As I approached the house I noticed a rider coming towards me. It was Peter Lansdon, one of the last people I wanted to see at that moment.

“Jessica!” he cried.

“Hello.”

“Amaryllis is coming over to see you. She’s very anxious about you. You look drawn. This is a terrible business.”

I was silent.

“Have you just come from Eversleigh?” he asked. “I suppose the parental wits are being exercised to fullest capacity.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“This kind of situation … it’s always difficult for the spouse in the case. It’s a commentary on marriage, I suppose, that when a man or woman dies mysteriously, the first suspect is the wife or husband.”

I hated him, with his cool supercilious eyes. How could Amaryllis love such a man? How could I myself have ever considered him romantically?

He was a man who could change his personality as easily as most changed their clothes. It was the secret of his success.

“I have no doubt,” he went on, “that your parents will extricate you from any difficult situation in which you find yourself. How fortunate you are to have a father who is not only doting and determined to save his daughter from any predicament into which she may project herself, but has the influence to do something about it!”

“The truth will be told,” I said. “That is what I want and what my father wants.”

“The truth? The whole truth and nothing but the truth?” he asked, lifting his eyebrows.

“We want the truth,” I said.

“There is one little aspect which I think it would be wise to keep secret. You know to what I refer for we have discussed that matter before.”

“What do you want now?” I said.

“I am no blackmailer. I just seize opportunities. And I would be a fool to blackmail you with staunch Papa standing guard. You and I share secrets about each other. What I want from you is perpetual silence. Suppose … just suppose … all goes well at this inquest and you and your lover are exonerated from all blame. Suppose you marry. Then you might say, ‘What does it matter now if the whole world knew that I took a lover before my husband’s death? The verdict is given. The matter is closed. What then? Why should I not tell what I know of Peter Lansdon and his less than respectable activities in London Town?’ I do not take risks. I want a vow of perpetual silence from you, Jessica, and I want it now before the inquest.”

“And if I do not give it?”

“Then I shall be forced to tell the coroner that you had a motive for wanting your husband out of the way, that I had discovered … quite by chance of course … that you and your lover used to meet surreptitiously in London. So … I shall be obliged to hint that you had a reason for wishing him out of the way.”

“You’re despicable.”

“One has to be ruthless sometimes to fight one’s way in the world.”

“I wonder what Amaryllis would say if she knew the sort of man she had married.”

“Amaryllis is devoted to the man she has married. She has never had a moment’s regret on that score.”

“That is strange to me.”

“Then it should not be. We all appear differently to different people. To you I am the abandoned sinner. To Amaryllis I am the hardworking and successful businessman who at the same time is the perfect husband and father. You judge too superficially. I am all that when I am with Amaryllis just as I am the wicked adventurer when I am with you. I am both these people, Jessica. Life is like that. Of course, I do not believe that you administered the fatal dose. But what of that other who would gain his desires by so doing, eh? What of the passionate Jake? Come on … give me your word. Forever more you keep my secret, and I shall not come forward at the inquest and tell what I know of you and Cadorson.”

I remembered then one day long ago when we had met Leah and she had told our fortunes. She had said that Amaryllis would go through life happy because she could not see the unpleasantness and danger all around her. How right she was! I supposed Amaryllis had always been like that. It was why life had always seemed so good to her. She saw no evil and therefore for her there was no evil.

I remembered that Aunt Sophie had seen nothing but evil and how unhappy she had been; and it occurred to me that people made their own happiness or otherwise in this life; and that it was in the hands of us all to shape our own lives. And this was never more true than when one was passing through a situation such as this which now beset me.

“Well,” said Peter, “what is it going to be? Let us both take the vow of silence, eh?”

I said slowly: “I will never tell what I know.”

He leaned towards me. “Nor I of you, dear Jessica.”

He lifted his hat and rode away.

The day of the inquest came at length.

Jake was there; so was Amaryllis with Peter Lansdon. James and Toby would be called as witnesses, as I should with Jake. We had been the last to see Edward alive.

I sat between my father and mother. My father’s face was set and grim. He looked old and tired. How much of that was due to sleeplessness and anxiety I did not know. I knew he had been deeply worried by the danger which hung over me.

I watched Jake giving his evidence. He told how he had helped Toby to get Edward to bed. It was explained that it was James’ duty but because of his strained back Toby had been called in. That was all.

Then James said that he had put the dose into the glass of water and left it at the bedside on top of the cabinet. He had gone out with Toby, Sir Jake had remained behind for a few minutes, chatted with Mr. Barrington and then he had gone.

It was my turn. I told them that I had returned to the house on Christmas night and my husband had been brought out of the carriage and put into the wheelchair to go into the house. After he was in bed I had visited him which was a normal practice. The water containing the sleeping draught had been on the top of the cabinet and I had handed it to him as I usually did before I said goodnight.

Had there been anything different about it?

I had noticed nothing.

Had my husband noticed anything?

“He grimaced when he took it, but then he had done that before. He said the draught had a bitter taste.”

Had my husband ever said to me or implied in any way that he might take an overdose?

“Never,” I said.

That was all.

The sensation came with Toby’s evidence.

He had been a gardener, he told them, when Mr. James Moore had strained his back and could not easily lift Mr. Barrington. He had given up his work in the garden and had been solely employed in the sick room ever since.

Had Mr. Barrington at any time given the impression that he might have considered taking his life?

“Yes, he did on one occasion.”

“When was that?”

“The night before Christmas Eve.”

“What did he say?”

“He looked at the glass and said, ‘Sometimes, I feel I am a burden to so many.’ He asked what I thought of the morality of taking one’s own life; and he said was morality more important than common sense?”

“Was the bottle containing the sleeping draught within easy reach of Mr. Barrington?”

“It was in the cabinet. Not exactly within easy reach. But Mr. Barrington could just about reach the bottle … by stretching over.”

“Was it wise to leave it in such a place?”

“It would not have been possible to remove it without Mr. Barrington’s knowing that it was done,” said Toby.

It seemed the bottle was there where he could reach it, and he had considered the possibility of taking his own life.

Suicide was the verdict.

I sat in the garden of the old château in Burgundy. I could hear the shouts of Charlot’s children and those of Louis Charles as they played some ball game in the field near the old castle. I could look ahead to the vines with their ripening grapes.

In a few weeks the vendange would begin.

I had been here for eight months, and had left England with my mother and father soon after the inquest on Edward. They had said it was best to get away for a while.

My parents had sustained me during those months when I needed help. They knew that in my heart I did not believe that Edward had taken his life. He had always been stoical. He had accepted life. Even had he known of my love for Jake he would have accepted that, too, as inevitable. But he would never have taken that way out. I knew that someone had put that extra dose into the glass on that night.

My mother, with Mrs. Barrington, had made hasty arrangements. They had both agreed that I must get away for a while. For one thing I needed a change of scene, and for another there was the question of Jake.

Whatever the verdict, suspicions would remain. I could not go to Jake so soon. Nor could I see him every day. I was unsure of my feelings. There would always be a doubt in my mind. He had been there … alone. He had had the opportunity and I could not forget that he had said most vehemently: “I will find a way.”

All my life I would be haunted by those words.

So my mother had said: “We must get away. Why not go to Charlot? He has often said we should. You would like to see the place, Jessica. It is so interesting. And the children are fun. You will love it.”

I knew it was a great sacrifice for my father to leave England. He had always disliked the French and France, and I guessed that he must be longing for England, but his desire to be with my mother and me was greater than that; and he agreed that it was better for me to get as far away from Grasslands as possible.

I felt too listless to think for myself and I allowed them to make the arrangements.

Tamarisk went to stay with Amaryllis at Enderby; she was happy enough, I believe, because she saw a great deal of Jonathan who had said he would keep an eye on her. The Barringtons went back to Nottingham, taking Clare with them. They were going to stay in Scotland with Irene and her family.

Jake went to Cornwall. I had heard from him. In fact I had had several letters. I only had to say the word and he would come and get me, he reminded me. There was a convention that a widow should allow a year to pass after her husband’s death before she remarried. He did not care a fig for such conventions. He was ready for me now.

“You will come here,” he wrote. “You will be far away and on the other side of England. I am waiting for you, longing for you. I hope you are thinking of me. No one here will know what has happened; and when we pay our visits to London it will all have been forgotten. Who cares for conventions, anyway? True lovers never did.”

To read his letters brought him back to me so vividly. I thought of him constantly during the long hot days and dreamed of him at night.

If he came, I asked myself, how should I feel? Should I ever be able to see him without seeing also that room in Grasslands with the cabinet by the bed and the glass standing on it?

What had happened that night? Should I ever know? Could I love the man who had murdered my husband? Had he? Could I suspect the man I loved of such an act?

I was unsure of myself.

Perhaps that was why my mother had brought me here. That was why my father curbed his impatience and tried to suppress his longing for home.

I accepted their care of me. I leaned on them. I had to. I dared not go back … yet. I had to discover my true feelings.

If I went back it would be a sign to Jake to come to me. And if he did … what should I feel? What should I do? I would say: “Jake, tell me the truth. Did you kill Edward?”

He would answer No. And would I believe him? I was not sure. If I loved him, would I be unsure? Yes. But if I loved him truly would anything he had done make any difference to me?

Now the culmination of the season was upon us. I had helped with the vendange. I had seen the grapes gathered; I had watched the peasants who had come in from miles round to help with the wine harvest.

It was a warm night and they were celebrating the successful gathering in. I was in my room. There was a stone parapet outside my window and I could step out onto this, and leaning over the wrought iron rail I could smell the scents of the night. I could make out the pepper pot towers at the east side of the château which Charlot and Louis Charles had so lovingly restored. I could hear the strains of violins in the distance and the singing of the workers.

There was the sound of wheels on the cobbles of the courtyard. Then … I saw Jake.

He looked up and for a few seconds we were silent, gazing at each other. Then I turned and ran down to him. He caught me in his arms.

“I’m here,” he said. “No more partings.”

“Jake … Jake …” I gasped. He was holding me so tightly that I could scarcely breathe. “How … how did you get here?”

“On the wings of love,” he answered and laughed. “Actually it was by the usual tedious way. I wanted to be with you so much. I am not going… until you come with me. No more waiting. Nothing matters … except that we are together.”

I knew then that I did not care about anything. It did not matter what he had done. I only cared that he had come to me.