The Silk Vendetta

Tragedy in the Forest

How different was our homeward journey compared with that on which we had set out. I was sure Philip, like myself, could not stop thinking of Lorenzo. He had come only briefly into our lives but I was sure that we should never forget him and that it was in Philip’s cloak and hat that he had met his death.

I thought of him—setting out so jauntily, seeing himself as a sophisticated man about town … and then suddenly death striking him. I wondered if he had had time to realize what was happening to him and why. Perhaps … for one terrifying moment …

What a vicious attack it had been. He had been struck several times and nothing taken. That was strange. Perhaps it had not been robbery, but a long-standing quarrel. Perhaps the stories of his conquests had been true and there was some jealous rival. No. The cloak and the hat were significant. He had been mistaken for a tourist.

It occurred to me that it might so easily have been Philip and that really frightened me. I told him of my fears, clinging to him as though I was afraid to let him go.

He said: “This has changed Florence for us.”

And I agreed.

So we came home.

Grand’mere was waiting for us, her hands clasped, her eyes anxious as she surveyed me. She was soon smiling: nothing could hide the contentment in my face.

“I am so happy … so happy,” she said. “It is a dream come true. Oh, how rarely does that happen in this life! One plans … one hopes … and then it does not come. But this time … yes. You are happy, mon amour. He is good, is he not, this man? And good men are rare … and those who find them are fortunate.”

“It was wonderful. I must tell you about Florence. The beautiful buildings … the pictures … the sculptures … everything … the lovely bridges over the river … the little shops there…the streets…” I trailed off. The dark, narrow streets where a man could go out jauntily … happily … in love with life and himself … and meet death.

“What is it?” asked Grand’mere, all concern.

I told her about Lorenzo and she listened intently. “And he was wearing Philip’s cloak and hat?”

“Yes. He must have been mistaken for a rich tourist and that was why …”

“Mon Dieu … it could have been …”

I nodded. “That’s what I thought. That is why we have come home earlier than we intended.”

“Thank God you are safe. Thank God you are happy. This is how it must stay. I missed you. I thought of you all the time. I wondered. Marriage means much in a woman’s life. There are some who did not find happiness in it, but I see you have and that makes me happy.”

But what had happened to Lorenzo had thrown a shadow even over Grand’mere’s contentment. I could see that she could not forget what might have happened to Philip.

Lady Sallonger was pleased to see me back.

“You have been away so long,” she said. “Now I hope you are not going away again. That would be really thoughtless of you.”

I was no longer subservient. I was a daughter of the house, married to one of the sons. Mrs. Philip Sallonger—no longer plain Lenore Cleremont.

I said: “Philip wants us to find a house in London. He will be there most of the time and of course I shall be with him.”

“He can come here whenever he likes,” she protested. “It is his home as well as the rest of us.”

“I know. But we are going to have our own house.”

“Tiresome,” said Lady Sallonger. “Well, it will be some time before these things can be arranged. I have The Moonstone now. I heard it is most exciting. I thought we might start it this afternoon.”

I could see that she wanted to bring me back into bondage, though I must say that one of my most agreeable tasks was reading to her.

But Lady Sallonger would have to realize that life had changed.

Cassie embraced me warmly. She said: “It has been so dull here, Lenore. I’ve been longing for you to come back. Your grandmother and I were counting the days. I had a calendar and used to mark them off. We were so pleased when you came home early.”

She listened wide-eyed while I told her about Florence and the terrible thing that had happened to Lorenzo.

“If he hadn’t taken the cloak it wouldn’t have happened,” she said awestruck.

“We don’t know. But he did seem to have been mistaken for a tourist. On the other hand it might have been the outcome of some quarrel. He was always talking about his conquests and the Italians are a fiery people. They are always having feuds and vendettas.”

“Romeo and Juliet and all that. But how upsetting for you.”

“It was. If you had seen him, Cassie …”

“How I wish I had!”

“It was just horrible to think of that happening to him.”

“Because he was wearing Philip’s cloak. It might have happened to Philip.”

“Don’t speak of it.”

“You do love him, don’t you? I’m so glad. I love him too. This makes you really a part of the family.”

“Yes, I am very glad about it and so is Grand’mere.”

“So we are all happy.”

Julia came to the house accompanied by the Countess. The latter greeted me warmly, Julia less so. She looked at me with grudging admiration. Really, I thought, this capturing of a husband became an obsession with these girls because so much was made of their coming out. I was lucky. It hadn’t happened to me. My entrance into the world might have offended convention but it had given me Grand’mere and brought me to Philip. I must throw off the shadow Lorenzo’s death had cast over me; I must accept my happiness and rejoice in it.

Charles arrived at The Silk House. He and Philip were clo-setted together for a long while while Philip, as he said, caught up with what had been going on during his absence. One of the managers came down with a case full of papers and Philip decided that he would stay at The Silk House with the manager and Charles while he sorted them out.

We had been home only three days when Madalenna de’ Pucci arrived at the house. She came in a most unexpected manner.

We were dining. As Julia and the Countess were with us as well as Charles, we were a larger party than usual. On what she called “her good days” Lady Sallonger dined with us, and she was wheeled into the dining room. This was one of those occasions.

We were half way through the meal when one of the servants came in and announced that there had been an accident. A carriage had overturned right outside the house. The occupants were foreigners and it was not easy to understand what they were saying, but it seemed they were asking for help.

Lady Sallonger looked alarmed. “Oh dear … how tiresome,” she murmured. Charles said we had better go out and discover what it was all about.

In the hall stood a man. He was very dark and obviously harassed. He was talking at a great rate and in Italian.

We gathered that the carriage which he had been driving had overturned. His mistress, who was with her maid, had been hurt. He had been taking her to London.

Out in the road the carriage was lying on its side. The horses however were unharmed and standing patiently by. Seated on the roadside was a young woman; she was dark-haired and outstandingly beautiful. She was holding her ankle and appeared to be in some pain. Beside her sat a middle-aged woman who was wringing her hands and attempting to soothe her though the younger woman seemed calmer than she was.

Charles went to the young woman. “Are you in pain?” he asked.

“Si … si …” She lifted her beautiful eyes to his face appealingly.

“You must come into the house,” said Charles. I could see he was impressed by her beauty.

“Shall we see if you can stand on it?” said Charles. “If you can … I think that means no bones are broken.”

Philip said: “I’ll get some of the men from the stables to see what can be done about the carriage.”

The maid was talking volubly in Italian and the young woman got to her feet. She fell towards Charles who caught her.

“I think a doctor ought to see it,” I said.

“That’s the idea,” added Charles. “Send one of the servants for him. Let him explain what has happened.” He turned to the young woman. “Meanwhile you must come into the house.”

She leaned heavily on Charles who took her in, the maid running behind them talking all the time.

Some of the men had come out and were looking at the carriage. Philip remained with them while I went with Charles and the women into the house.

“Has the doctor been sent for?” asked Charles.

“Jim has gone off to fetch him,” Cassie told him.

“You are so kind …” said the Italian girl.

“Everything will be all right.” Charles spoke soothingly, caressingly.

Lady Sallonger, left in the dining room, was querulously asking what was going on. She called to me and I went in and told her.

“What is going to happen then?” she asked.

“I don’t know. They have sent for the doctor. She’s hurt her ankle and Charles thought it ought to be seen to.”

The doctor was soon with us. He examined the ankle and said he was certain no bones were broken. He thought it might be a strain. He must bind it up and he thought that a few days’ rest might put it to rights.

Charles said she must stay at The Silk House until she was fit to walk. Meanwhile Philip was discovering where the little party had come from and what their destination was. They were Italians—that we already knew—and they were visiting relations in England. The young lady, Madalenna de’ Pucci, had come from friends and was returning to her brother who was staying in London. They were going to return to Italy shortly.

A plan of action was decided on.

Charles insisted that she stay with us until her ankle was well. She protested weakly but Charles was adamant. She and Maria, the maid, should stay at the house. The carriage needed very little repairs and the men could do them immediately. The driver would take the carriage to London and explain to the brother what had happened, and in a few days Signorina Madalenna and her maid could return to London.

This plan was finally agreed on and a room was prepared for Madalenna and an adjoining one for her maid. She was effusively grateful to us and kept talking of our kindness.

The excitement pleased the servants, who did all they could to make the newcomers welcome—so did the rest of us, especially Charles who was clearly taken with the Signorina’s charms.

Only Lady Sallonger felt aggrieved to have a rival invalid in the house, but it was only for a few days and even she was reconciled and during the next few days she became quite pleased to have them there. She liked to talk to Madalenna about her ailments which, she assured the young lady, were far worse than anything she could imagine; and Madalenna, who did not understand half of what she said, was too polite to show anything but absorbed interest and deep sympathy.

I think we all enjoyed her stay. It was soon clear that her ankle was not seriously damaged; she was able to hobble to the table and to and from her room; and when we were in the drawing room she would have her ankle supported on a stool or sometimes she would lie on a settee. She was very graceful, elegant and obviously well educated.

Maria, the maid, was not so fortunate. She was quietly aloof.

I supposed that was inevitable. The servants were suspicious of her. She was a foreigner who did not understand English—and that was enough to arouse their dislike. Moreover, she appeared morose; and even when kindly gestures were made they were met with something almost like hostility. She seemed to like the forest and used to go for long walks alone in it. She moved about the house silently; one would suddenly look up and see her though one had not heard her approach. Madalenna told us that it was the first time she had left Italy and she was bewildered; and that this accident should have happened had completely upset her.

Mrs. Dillon said she gave her “the creeps.”

Our recent visit to Italy made us especially interested in Madalenna. She was eager to hear what we thought of Florence and her eyes shone with pleasure when we extolled its beauty and told her how fascinating we found it all. Once I was on the point of telling her about Lorenzo but I did not do so. The memory always made me feel sad. Moreover, I thought she might fancy it was a criticism of her country as a place where law-abiding citizens could go out into the streets and be stabbed to death.

She seemed drawn to me more than to either Cassie or Julia. I thought it was because I had recently been in her country. She wanted to meet Grand’mere and I took her up to the workroom. She was most interested in the machine and the loom and the dummies and bales of materials. Grand’mere talked to her about the work she did. She fingered the material tentatively.

“What beautiful silk,” she said.

“That’s Sallon Silk,” I told her.

“Sallon Silk? What is this Sallon Silk?” she asked.

”It’s the newest kind of weaving. Can you see the beautiful sheen? We’re very proud of it. We were the first to put it on the market. It’s a great invention really. My husband says it has revolutionized the silk industry. He is very proud of it.”

“He must be,” said Madalenna. “It is interessante … to find all this … in a house.”

“Yes, it is, is it not?” I agreed. “My grandmother has been with the family for years. I have been here all my life.”

“And now you are Mrs. Sallonger.”

“Yes, Philip and I were married about six weeks ago.”

“It is very … romantico.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

”I hope,” she said to Grand’mere, “that you will let me come again.”

Grand’mere said she would be delighted.

Charles hovered round her. He liked to sit beside her when we were all in the drawing room; he would talk to her in his execrable Italian interspersed with English, which made her laugh; but clearly she liked his attentions.

When we were alone at night I asked Philip if he thought Charles was falling in love with Madalenna.

“Charles’s emotions are ephemeral,” he said, “but there is no doubt that he finds Madalenna very attractive.”

“It is so romantic,” I said. “She had her accident right outside the door. She might have had it five miles away and then he would never have seen her. It seems as though it was meant.”

Philip laughed at that.

“Accidents can happen anywhere. There was a weakness in the harness.”

“I like to think it was fate.”

I should like to think of Charles’s marrying for he still made me feel uneasy, and I often wondered if he still remembered that occasion when Drake Aldringham had thrown him into the lake.

Madalenna had been in the house four days when one evening the manager of the Spitalfields works came to The Silk House in some agitation. It appeared that there was a crisis at the works and the presence of both Charles and Philip was urgently needed.

Charles was annoyed. Usually he was ready to leave The Silk House after a short stay, but now that Madalenna was there he felt differently. He wanted to stay but it seemed his presence was necessary and he was finally persuaded that he had no alternative but to go.

I heard him explaining to Madalenna. “I am sure they could manage very well without me. But it will only be a day. I shall be back either late tonight or tomorrow morning.”

“I shall look forward to that with pleasure,” Madalenna told him; and Charles seemed reconciled, and with Philip and the manager, he left early the next morning.

Soon afterwards I happened to be sitting in my window when I saw Maria. She was walking towards the forest with quick, short, determined steps as though she were in a great hurry.

I watched her until she disappeared among the trees. I was rather sorry for Maria. She must find communication with the servants difficult and they were decidedly not friendly towards her. Her stay in the house was very different from that of Madalenna who had been made so much of—particularly by Charles.

It was mid morning when the carriage arrived. Cassie and I had been riding in the forest and had just come in when we saw it. I recognized it at once, as I did the coachman.

He descended from the driver’s seat and bowed to me. He then implied that he must see the Signorina at once.

“Come along in,” I said. “She is much better.”

He murmured something about God and the saints and I imagined he was offering a prayer of thanksgiving to them.

Madalenna was in the drawing room resting her leg on a stool. Lady Sallonger was there drinking her glass of sherry she took at this time. Lady Sallonger was in the middle of one of her monologues which compared her present suffering with past glories.

As I entered with the coachman, Madalenna gave a cry and got to her feet quickly. Then suddenly she winced and sat down again. She spoke in rapid Italian, to which the man replied. Then she turned to us.

“I have to leave at once. It is a message from my brother. I must meet him in London. We leave for Italy tomorrow. It is necessary. My uncle is dying and calling for me. I hope to be there in time. We are so sorry to go like this … but…”

“My dear,” said Lady Sallonger, “we understand. We shall be very sorry. You must come again … when your ankle is quite well. Then we can show you everything, can’t we, Lenore?”

“Indeed, yes,” I agreed. “Can I help you … packing or anything like that? Do you want to go immediately?”

“It is nearly time for luncheon,” said Lady Sallonger. “Yes … you must stay for luncheon.”

“I do not think …” said Madalenna. “My brother says we have to leave early tomorrow. We have to be soon in Italy. It may be that we shall go this night. No, there must be no delay. Lady Sallonger, how can I thank you? You … your family … for your goodness to me. There is no way of saying how grateful …”

Lady Sallonger said: “Oh, but we have enjoyed having you, my dear. It has been no trouble at all.”

“I’ll go and tell Maria,” I said. “I saw her return from her walk a little while ago.”

She was about to protest but I went on ahead of her. I ran up to the room, knocked on the door and walked in. Maria was startled when I entered. She had the travelling bag on the bed and she was putting things into it.

“Ah … I had come to tell you that the carriage is here … your driver is downstairs. Signorina de’ Pucci wishes to leave at once.”

She stared at me and of course she did not understand what I was saying. I could see she was taken aback. She had expected her mistress to come in—not me.

The odd thing about it was that she was packing—as though she knew they were about to depart. I thought there was something uncanny about her. Why was she packing? How did she know about the message?

But there was something strange about Maria.

Madalenna came in.

“Maria!” she cried and spoke in rapid Italian. Maria threw up her hands to the ceiling. I left them together, still puzzled.

Within an hour they were ready to go. Cassie, Julia and I with the Countess went down to wave them farewell. Madalenna again expressed her gratitude. She said: “I will write.”

Then they were gone.

When Charles and Philip returned that night and Charles heard what had happened he went white with anger.

He glared at Philip. ”There was no need for me to have gone to London,” he said. “You could have done everything without me.”

“My dear fellow, your presence was necessary. Don’t forget we are partners. We had to have your signature on the documents.”

“Where have they gone?” demanded Charles.

Julia said: “Her uncle is ill. They’ve gone back to Italy.”

“I could have driven them to London.”

“They went in their own carriage. The driver came down with it. Her brother had sent him.”

“Where did they go?”

“To London, of course … for a night … perhaps not that,” I told him. “She did say that they might leave for Italy tonight. They were in a great hurry.”

Charles turned on his heels and left us.

I said to Philip that night: ”I think he really did care for her.”

Philip was inclined to be sceptical. He said: “He is just annoyed that the chase is over before the capture.”

“Are you a little cynical about your brother?” I asked.

“Shall I say I know him well. In a few weeks he will find it difficult to remember what she looked like. He is not a faithful-to-one-woman-type like his brother.”

“I am glad you are that type, Philip,” I said fervently. “You were not in the least overwhelmed by the charms of the siren.”

”There is only one for me today … tomorrow and for ever.”

In my happiness, I could feel sorry for Charles.

Three days after their departure two letters came—one was for Charles, the other for Lady Sallonger.

Lady Sallonger could not find her spectacles so I was called upon to read hers to her. It was a conventional little note saying how Madalenna would never forget the kindness of being taken in and looked after so wonderfully. She could never express her gratitude.

The address was a hotel in London.

Charles’s must have been the same. He went up to Town the next day and called at the hotel, but of course by that time she had left.

“That little episode is over,” said Philip.

* * *

When Philip went to London, I was with him. I think Grand’mere was a little sad to see me go, but her joy in my marriage overshadowed everything else and it was a constant delight for her to see how it was between us.

The London house seemed different now. Before it had been rather alien—very grand, the Sallonger Town House. Well, now I was a Sallonger. The house belonged—at least partly—to my husband; and therefore it was in a way my home too.

The elegant Georgian architecture appeared less forbidding; the all but nude nymphs, who supported the urns on either side of the door, seemed to smile a welcome at me. Greetings, Mrs. Sallonger. I thought I should never get used to being Mrs. Sallonger.

The butler looked almost benign. Did I really detect a certain respect in the crackle of Mrs. Camden’s bombazine?

“Good evening, Madam.” How different from my last visit when I was plain Miss—not exactly a servant—but not of the quality either—a kind of misfit.

That had changed. The proud gold ring on my finger proclaimed me a Sallonger.

“Good evening, Evans. Good evening, Mrs. Camden,” said Philip. “We’ll get up to our room first I think. Please have hot water sent up. We must wash away the stains of the journey.” He took my arm. “Come along, darling. If you’re anything like me you’re famished.”

I was conscious on every side of my newly acquired status. I would tell Grand’mere about it when I saw her. We would laugh together and I would give an imitation of Mrs. Camden’s very gracious but slightly hesitant condescension.

I loved being in London with Philip. He was so enthusiastic about everything. He talked unceasingly and it was usually about the business. I did not have to feign interest. He said he would take me to the works at Spitalfields. “It’s wonderful,” he said, “to have a wife who cares about the things I care about.”

I vowed that I would learn more and more. I would please him in every way. I was so glad that Grand’mere had taught me so much.

My complete pleasure was spoilt by the presence of Charles. He was still sulking about Madalenna and seemed to think that we had deliberately refused to find out where she was going. Apparently his letter had been on the same lines as that she had written to Lady Sallonger–just a conventional thank-you letter; and he had no more idea where she had gone than we had. All he knew was that she had written from that particular hotel. Philip told me that Charles had been there several times but could get no information as to her address in Italy.

I would sometimes find his eyes watching me … almost speculatively and there was an expression in them which I could not fathom; but I did not think it was one of brotherly love.

I was glad when Julia and the Countess came to the house. Julia had had her little respite and was now once more in search of a husband.

I was becoming friendly with the Countess. She told me how much she admired Grand’mere who had made a niche for herself and kept her dignity; and now her granddaughter had married into the family. The Countess thought that was a very happy conclusion.

She and Julia went out a great deal. There was constant discussion about Julia’s clothes. Often the Countess would call me in to ask my advice.

“You have a flair,” she said.

She admitted that she had one, too.

I liked her very much; and one morning when Julia was in bed—she invariably slept late after her social engagements—the Countess and I talked together. She was very frank. She said she thought her work was rather futile. She would like to do something worthwhile. She spoke of Grand’mere. “What a dressmaker! None of the court people can compare with her. How I wish I could do something more to my taste.”

“Have you any idea what?”

“Something in the dress line. I’d like to have a shop … all the very best clothes. I’d make it famous throughout Town.”

I often remembered that morning’s talk.

But at that period my time was mostly taken up by Philip. He gave me a book to read which he said would enhance my interest in silk and tell me something of its romantic beginnings. I found it fascinating to read how nearly three thousand years before the birth of Christ the Queen of Hwang-te was the first to rear silkworms and how she prevailed upon the Emperor to have the cocoons woven into garments. So the art of silk-weaving became known in the time of Fouh-hi who lived a hundred years before the Flood. But this all took place far away and it was not until the sixth century a.d. that two Persian monks brought knowledge of the process to the Western World.

Philip would talk enthusiastically about the beginnings of the industry and how important it was that the worms should be fed on the right kind of mulberry. He greatly regretted that it was not possible to rear them effectively in this country and the importing of so much raw materials was necessary.

He took me to the works and I learned something of the processes through which the materials were put. I saw the large reels called swifts, and watched the people at work. I saw the manipulating of the hanks; and Philip was delighted to see my growing interest.

He took me to the shop. It was scarcely a shop by normal standards. It was more of an establishment, discreetly curtained and presided over by a certain Miss Dalloway who was the essence of elegance and known throughout the building as Madam. There I saw displayed some of the gowns which Grand’mere had made. They seemed like old friends and much grander here than they had appeared in the workroom on Emmeline, Lady Ingleby and the Duchess of Malfi.

I was even more fascinated by the place than I had been by the workrooms and I asked Miss Dalloway a great many questions. Since the introduction of Sallon Silk there had been a great rush of business. The place had a reputation and reputations were all important when it came to clothes. The label inside could be worth a fortune. People liked a dress because it came out of the Sallonger stable. Produce the same dress without the magic label and it would only be worth half the price.

I contested the point with her saying that if the two were the same, they must be of equal value. She smiled at me in her worldly-wise way.

“The majority of people need others to think for them,” she explained. “Tell them something is wonderful and they believe it. If you were in the business you would see at once what I mean.”

I talked to Philip about it afterwards and he agreed with Miss Dalloway.

“If one intends to be successful in life,” he said, “there is one truth to be learned. One must understand people and the way their minds work, the way they think.”

Oh yes, they were happy days; but I still felt a little uneasy about Charles. He was always polite, but I would be uncomfortable if I found his eyes on me.

He will always be there, I thought. It is his home as well as ours.

Certainly his presence spoilt my pleasure in London.

Philip was very discerning. He knew of the Aldringham episode and that Drake had fought Charles and thrown him in the lake because of what he had done to me.

He said: “What we must set about doing without delay is finding a house of our own for we shall be living in London a great deal.”

“Oh, that would be wonderful!”

“We should start looking right away. Houses are not all that easy to find and the search might take some time. I have one or two in mind which we could look at.”

How I enjoyed those days! We looked at several houses—none quite to our taste.

“We must find exactly what we want,” said Philip. “It must be somewhere near here.”

There was a tinge of sadness for me as I looked at houses. Our home. But I would think about Grand’mere … still living at The Silk House. I knew she would miss me terribly, for all my life we had been together. She had never mentioned this; nor had she shown any sadness at the prospect of our separation; her devotion was entirely selfless. She believed that my marriage to Philip was the best thing that could happen to me and she was content for that reason.

Philip was very susceptible to my moods. He had known that I disliked living under the same roof as Charles and understood why although I had never told him of that encounter before the episode with Drake which had made him so angry with me.

Houses were fascinating. I would wander round the empty rooms, imagining the people who had lived there and wondering what had happened to them and where they were now. We found one house—not very far from the river; it had eight rooms—two on each floor, so it was rather small for its height and a room had been added to the top floor, with a glass roof and very large windows. We were told that the house had belonged to an artist and this had been his studio.

“What a lovely room!” I cried. “It reminds me of Grand’mere’s at The Silk House.”

“It would be an ideal workroom,” said Philip. “It would suit her very well. And you see, there is a room adjoining which could be her bedroom.”

I turned and looked at him. “You mean that Grand’mere would come and live with us?”

“Well, that is what you want, isn’t it?”

“Oh Philip,” I cried, “you have made me so happy.”

“That is what I want.”

Then I told him of how I had been worrying about her. She would have been miserable in The Silk House without me.

“I know you well,” he replied, “so I knew what was on your mind.”

“You are so good to me.”

“It’s practical,” he said. “She can work there. It will be much more convenient than The Silk House.”

“I’ll tell her that. Oh Philip, I want to go back … now I can’t wait to tell her.”

What a happy homecoming that was! I think it made what happened afterwards the harder to bear.

The first thing I did was rush up to Grand’mere. She was in the workroom and had not heard our arrival.

“Grand’mere,” I cried, “where are you?” And then I was in her arms.

She studied my face and was aware of my happiness.

“Oh Grand’mere,” I said. “We’ve been house-hunting and we have found the very thing.”

Why does one want to withhold good news? Why did I not burst out with it? Perhaps one feels that by hesitation one gives it greater impact; perhaps one wants to prepare the other for complete enjoyment. She had given no hint of sadness although the fact that we had a home in London would, she must think, mean more separations for we should come only infrequently to The Silk House.

I could withhold it no longer. “What decided us was the room at the top. It is rather like this one. The roof is glass. The light is wonderful. It is the north light. It was designed by an artist so that he could work there. The first thing Philip said was: ‘This will be just right for Grand’mere.’ “

She looked at me in puzzlement.

“Are you pleased?” I asked.

She stammered: “But … you and Philip … will not want …”

“But we do want. I could never be completely happy away from you.”

“My child … mon amour …”

“It’s true, Grand’mere. We have been together all my life. I could not have any change now … just because I am married.”

“But you must not make these sacrifices.”

“Sacrifices! What do you mean? Philip is the most practical man where business is concerned. He talks business almost all the time. He thinks of little but business. And I am becoming the same. He said it will be easier if you are in London. It was always rather a nuisance sending those bales right down here. You are still in the hands of your slavedrivers … and you will have to work … and work … in that room with the north light.”

“Oh, Lenore,” she murmured and began to weep.

I looked at her in dismay. “This is a nice homecoming! Here you are in tears.”

“Tears of joy, my love,” she said. “Tears of joy.”

We had been home three days. What happened stands out in my memory as I hope nothing ever does again.

Philip and I had ridden out in the morning. The forest was beautiful in May. It was bluebell time and we constantly came across misty blue clumps of them under the trees.

As we rode along we talked excitedly about the house and how we would furnish it and how he hoped to find another material as successful as Sallon Silk.

He said: “It’s wonderful to be able to talk to you about all this, Lenore. Most women wouldn’t understand a thing.”

“Oh, I am Andre Cleremont’s granddaughter.”

”When I think how lucky I am …”

“I’m lucky, too.”

“We must be the luckiest people on Earth.”

What a joyous morning that was! It made what happened afterwards all the more incomprehensible.

Lady Sallonger joined us at luncheon. We had arranged that she should not be told about the house just yet. She would not want me to go. She seemed to think that now that I was her daughter-in-law she had an additional right to my services.

She was a little peevish because she had a headache. I suggested she go to her room instead of lying on the sofa in the drawing room. I would put some cotton wool soaked in eau de cologne on her forehead. She brightened up considerably; and when she went to her room I accompanied her.

I was with her quite a long time, for when I had ministered to her headache she wanted me to stay and talk until she slept; and it must have been almost an hour later when I was able to tiptoe out.

The house was very quiet. I went to our room expecting to find Philip impatiently waiting for me. He was not there. I was surprised for he had said something about our taking a walk together in the forest as soon as I was free of his mother.

There was a knock on my door. It was Cassie.

“So you’re alone,” she said. “Good. I wanted to talk to you. I hardly ever see you now. Soon you’ll be going to London and staying there. It’ll be your home … not this.”

“Cassie, you can come and stay with us whenever you want to.”

“Mama would protest. She is especially demanding when you are not here.”

“She is demanding when I am.”

“I am so glad you married Philip because it makes you my sister. But it does take you away.”

“A woman has to be with her husband, you know.”

“I know. I can’t imagine what it will be like when you stay all the time in London. What am I going to do? They won’t try to find a husband for me. They can’t even find one for Julia. So what chance would I have?”

“One never knows what is waiting for one.”

“I know what is waiting for me. Dancing attendance on Mama until I am old and just like her.”

“It wouldn’t be like that for you would never be like her.”

“Do you remember that time when we were all up in your grandmother’s room and we talked about having a shop together … making wonderful clothes and selling them? Wouldn’t that be lovely if we could take Emmeline, Lady Ingleby and the Duchess and all go off together? I used to dream we did and now you have married Philip and that has put an end to that.”

“Cassie, when I go to London, Grand’mere is coming with us.”

She looked at me in dismay.

I went on: “I have said that whenever you want to you can come and stay.”

“I will come,” she cried. “No matter what Mama says.”

I told her about the house and the big top room which had been designed by an artist. She listened avidly and because I did impress on her that she would be welcome to visit us whenever she could she grew a little less melancholy at the thought of our departure.

I was expecting Philip at any moment, but he did not come. I could not imagine where he was. If he had been going out somewhere, surely he would have told me.

He had still not come back at dinner time, and the meal was delayed for half an hour; and still he had not returned.

We ate uneasily, for now we were beginning to be alarmed.

The evening wore on. We sat in the drawing room, our ears strained for sounds of his arrival. Grand’mere joined us. We were very worried.

We asked the servants if any of them had seen him go out. No one had. Where was he? What could have happened?

As the evening wore on so did our anxiety increase.

I was shivering with apprehension. Grand’mere put her arm about me.

I said: “We must do something.”

She nodded.

Clarkson thought he might have had an accident in the forest … broken a leg or something. He could be lying somewhere … helpless. He said he would get some of the men together and organize a search.

I felt limp. In my heart I knew something terrible had happened.

It was nearly midnight when they found him. He was in the forest not so very far from the house.

He was dead … shot through the head. The gun was one of those from the gunroom of The Silk House.

I cannot bear, not after all these years, to dwell on that time. I was stunned by my grief. The most incredible tragedy had burst upon me. Why? I kept asking myself.

I, who had so recently become a wife, was now a widow.

The days and nights seemed to merge into one. Grand’mere kept me with her. I was in bed most of the time. She was knowledgeable about herbs and such things and she gave me something which made me sleep, so I slept and when I awoke it was as though to some nightmare from which I longed to escape in more sleep.

There was an inquest, and I was required to be present. I went with Grand’mere and Charles. He had come up hastily from London when he heard the news. I could not grasp what they were saying. My thoughts were far away … in the forest with the bluebells … he had been so happy; he had said we were the luckiest people on Earth, and now … what had happened? There were so many questions and no answers to them, but the conclusion was that Philip had apparently taken a gun from the gunroom, gone into the forest and shot himself for the evidence pointed to the fact that the wound had been self-inflicted.

It is impossible … impossible … I kept saying to myself. We were so happy. Everything was set fair. We were going to buy the house. How could he possibly do such a thing? If he were in some sort of trouble he would have told me. But he was not. He was happy … he was the happiest man on Earth.

The verdict was: “Suicide while the balance of his mind was disturbed.”

I would not accept it. It could not be true. I wanted to stand up in court and shout at them all. Grand’mere restrained me.

I allowed myself to be taken back to the house. She said she would look after me. She took me to bed, undressed me and lay down beside me.

“It’s not true,” I said again and again.

She did not speak; she just held me close.

Days passed … grey days. Lady Sallonger wept genuine tears and wondered what she had done that God should punish her so. Charles was helpful. He managed all the formalities which such an event necessitated. We had to be grateful that he was there, Cassie tried to console me. Poor child, she was heartbroken. Philip had been her favourite brother.

“Why did he do it?” she asked.

None of us could answer that.

“He was so happy,” I said.

“Charles says it was a brainstorm. People have them and then they do wild things.”

“Philip was the calmest man I ever knew.”

“Calm people sometimes have them.”

“There must have been a reason,” I said. “But what … what? Could he really have been so unhappy that he took his own life?”

I would not believe it. It was ridiculous. How unhappy did people have to be? How tired of this life to take that step to get out of it?

People talked about it … whispered about it. There must have been something. So recently married.

They looked at me wonderingly. There must have been something.

People revel in mysteries and when they cannot find solutions they fabricate them. I had been closest to him. I was his newly wedded wife. Surely I knew. Was it something concerning me? He had been passionately in love with me. Why should he have wanted to leave me … unless …

I began to think that in their secret hearts they were blaming me. Lady Sallonger … Clarkson, Mrs. Dillon … I could imagine the conversation in the servants’ hall.

“Perhaps he found out something about her… . Who is she anyway? Her sort has no right to marry into the family her grandmother is working for.”

There were times when I did not care what they said. They were bound to gossip. All that mattered was that Philip was dead and that I had lost him for ever.

I was drifting along in a state of lethargy. I could not go on like that. Something had to change.

One night I awoke, startled. My body was damp with perspiration and yet I was shivering. It was a dream. I was in Florence. I was walking down a street. Ahead of me I could see a man in an opera hat and cloak. I saw the assassin creep up to him. He turned to face his assailant. It was Philip’s face. I saw the knife raised. Then it was Lorenzo … and as he fell he changed into Philip.

It took me a few seconds to realize I had had a nightmare. It had all seemed so real.

I lay there for some time. Then I put on my dressing gown and slippers and went into Grand’mere’s room.

She started up in bed. “Lenore, what is it?”

“I’ve had a dream,” I said.

She leaped out of bed and took my hands. “You are shivering,” she said.

“I shouldn’t have disturbed you, but I had to talk. I had to tell you about it.”

“Of course you did. Here. Get into bed.”

I did so and she lay beside me holding me close.

”I told you about the man in Italy … Lorenzo who was wearing Philip’s cloak and hat when he was killed. It … it seems clear to me suddenly. He was about the same height as Philip … from behind he would look exactly like Philip. It was not robbery … because nothing was taken. Someone must have come behind and stabbed him in the back … perhaps without realizing until later that they had killed the wrong man… .”

“The wrong man. What do you mean?”

“Philip would never kill himself. I am sure that someone killed him.”

“But the gun …”

“Would it be so difficult to stage a suicide … I believe now that Lorenzo was killed in mistake for Philip. I know he was murdered. I am sure of it now. I knew him so well.”

“None of us know the secret places of other people’s minds.”

“You still believe that there was something about Philip which I did not know.”

“Perhaps. But it is over. No good can come of going over all this. You should be getting your sleep.”

“This dream … this nightmare … Grand’mere, it was a revelation. I am sure of it. Someone meant to kill Philip in Florence. They killed Lorenzo instead. And now … they have succeeded in killing him in the forest.”

“Who would want to kill such a man?”

“I don’t know. But someone did.”

She stroked my hair. “I am going to make you a herb drink. It will soothe you. You need sleep.”

I did not answer. It was impossible to convince me of something of which I was now so sure.

Obediently I drank from the cup she gave me.

“Now I am going to take you back to your own room. You will rest more comfortably there. And don’t get up in the morning until I call you.”

I went back to my bed.

The draught was effective and I soon slept, but when I awoke in the morning, it was still with the conviction that Lorenzo’s death was in some mysterious way linked with that of Philip.

Oddly enough the thought helped me.

I no longer believed that Philip had killed himself because he found life with me intolerable.

Desperately I wanted to find out. How? I went over everything in my mind. That night in Florence. How we had stayed in. It was heartbreaking to recall how happy we had been. Lorenzo had taken advantage of the situation and slipped out in Philip’s cloak and hat. Someone was lurking near the hotel waiting … following him through the streets and then … pouncing with the knife. He must have realized too late that he had the wrong victim. Was that why he had pursued the man he wanted? Was that why Philip had died in the woods … and by his own gun? How could that have been?

It was a theory which appeared to have few roots in reason. Whichever way I turned I was baulked. There was no one with whom I could discuss my suspicions. Grand’mere? Cassie? It all turned to the same thing. Philip had taken one of the guns from The Silk House gunroom and how could an unknown assassin do that? He had deliberately walked into the forest and shot himself.

There was only one explanation, but I stubbornly refused to accept it.

I brooded on it. I would wake in the night thinking I had the solution; then by the light of day it proved to be just nonsense.

I felt I was drifting. I could not go on like this. Grand’mere was very anxious about me.

“There has to be a change,” she said.

And there was.

A suspicion had come into my mind. I hardly dared believe it. Then later it became a certainty.

I was going to have a child.

At first it was like a glimmer of light in my dark world. It seemed that I might not have lost Philip entirely. He might live on in our child.

When I told Grand’mere she was overwhelmed first with joy, then with anxiety.

“We shall have to take special care of you,” she said.

Cassie was delighted. “A baby,” she cried. “A dear little baby. Oh, isn’t that the most wonderful thing?”

And it was. It changed me. It helped me to forget. Long periods of the day were spent in planning for the baby, talking of babies. Grand’mere remembered the birth of my mother. The servants’ attitude changed. They looked forward to having a little baby in the house.

The serenity of pregnancy settled on me. My mind was now given over to such matters as layettes and the kind of cradle I should need. I was absorbed by it all. I was now to be a mother.

Lady Sallonger was a little peevish. She did not like the disruption of the household but it did give her an opportunity of recalling the terrible time she had had at Cassie’s birth, which was perhaps not the most tactful conversation to indulge in with an expectant mother present.

The summer slipped away and autumn was with us.

Julia had found a husband. He was thirty years older than she was and he drank heavily; but he had one redeeming feature: he was rich. The Countess was overjoyed. At last her task was completed; and she passed on to her next client.

I was now finding exercise difficult. I used to sit in the garden when the weather permitted either with Grand’mere or Cassie, and our talk would be all of the baby.

I was in good health, the doctor said; and I was strong. All would be well.

A midwife was engaged; she would stay at the house until the appointed time. I was counting the days now. I felt everything would be different when my baby was born.

It was on a bleak February day when Katharine appeared. She was scarcely a beauty; she had a wrinkled cross-looking face, some spiky fair hair and a snub nose; but I thought her perfect; and each day she changed until in a week she was beautiful.

I had rarely seen Grand’mere so happy. Cassie thought it a great honour to be allowed to hold her. Lady Sallonger said I must have a nanny to give me more time to myself—which meant for her, of course; but I wanted to look after my baby myself.

“Nonsense,” said Lady Sallonger, “only servants and those sort of people do that.”

But I was adamant. This was my child. My consolation and entirely mine.

There was so much to learn that my time was fully occupied. I was glad that this was so. We called her Katie—Katharine being too dignified for such a tiny creature. And when I held Katie in my arms and watched her change every day, saw her first smile and that recognition which told me that she knew who I was and that she felt safe and happy when I was close … they were my compensation.

With Katie I could grow away from my grief. She was more than my beloved child; she was my reason for living.