The Song of the Siren

A General Calls

BEAU HAD COME BACK. He was there, standing before me in all his elegance, his arrogance, his overwhelming charm. I had become alive again. I threw myself into his arms and I lifted up my face and looked at him.

I cried out “Beau! Beau! Why did you go away? Why did you leave me?”

And he answered: “All the time I have been here close … close …” His voice went on echoing through the house saying: “Close … close …”

Then I awoke to the realization that he was not with me. It was only a dream, and misery descended upon me, for I was alone again—even more desperately so because for a short while I had believed he had come back.

It was more than a year since he had gone away. We were to have been married. It had all been arranged. We were going to elope again—we had tried that once unsuccessfully—but this time we would plan more carefully. He had been hiding in the haunted house and I used to go there and visit him. My family had no idea of this; they thought they had separated us, but we were cleverer than they were. We had laid our plans carefully.

My family did not like Beau—particularly my mother, who became almost demented when his name was mentioned. I could see from the first that she was determined to prevent our marrying. At one time I thought that she was jealous of my love for Beau but I changed my mind later.

I had never felt I quite belonged to the Eversleighs, although Priscilla, my mother, had always made me feel I meant a great deal to her. I had always been deeply conscious of her possessiveness. She was quite unlike Harriet, who for so long I had believed to be my mother. Harriet was fond of me but not excessively so. She did not overwhelm me with her affection; and I was sure that if she knew that Beau and I had forestalled our marriage vows she would just have shrugged her shoulders and laughed, while Priscilla would have behaved as though it was a major disaster, although my very existence was evidence of her lack of conventionality in such matters.

It is known now that I am a bastard—the illegitimate daughter of Priscilla and Jocelyn Frinton, who was beheaded at the time of the Popish Plot. Of course he and my mother had intended to marry but he had been taken and executed before they could do so. Then dear Harriet had pretended to be my mother and she and Priscilla had gone to Venice, where I was born. On discovering this I had been rather pleased by my melodramatic entrance into the world. It was when my father’s uncle left me his fortune that the story came out; everyone accepted it then and I came to live with my mother and her husband, Leigh, at Eversleigh, although I visited Harriet frequently.

Now Priscilla and Leigh had moved to the Dower House in the grounds of Eversleigh and lived there with my half sister, Damaris. Close by was Enderby Hall, where Beau and I used to meet. It had been left to me by my father’s uncle Robert Frinton. Enderby was a house of memories. It was said to be haunted. It was for this reason, I suppose, that I had been fascinated by it ever since I was a child before it seemed possible that it could ever belong to me. Some terrible tragedy had taken place there and certainly there was an eerie atmosphere about the place. Beau liked it. He used to call out to the ghosts to come and see us. When we lay on the four-poster bed, he would draw back the curtains. “Let them join in our bliss, Carlotta,” he said. He was bold, so recklessly adventurous and he cared for no one. I was sure that if one of the ghosts appeared he would not feel a twinge of uneasiness. He would have laughed in the face of the devil himself if that awesome being had put in an appearance. He used to say he was one of the devil’s own.

How I longed for him! I wanted to creep into that house and to feel his arms about me as he sprang out on me. I wanted to be lifted in those arms and carried up the stairs to the bedroom in which the ghosts had slept when they were on earth; I wanted to hear his lazy voice, so beautifully modulated, so musical, so characteristic of him—determined to get what was good out of life, no matter how—and equally determined to turn his back on what could bring him nothing.

“I’m not a saint, Carlotta,” he told me, “so don’t think you’ll get one for your husband, dear child!”

I assured him that a saint was the last thing I wanted.

He agreed that I was wise in that. “There’s a passionate woman in you, my little virgin-no-more, waiting to get out. I am giving her the key.”

He had constantly reminded me that I had lost my virginity. It seemed to be a source of amusement to him. Sometimes I believed it was because he was afraid they might persuade me not to marry him. “You’re committed now, my little bird,” he said once. “You cannot fly away now. You belong to me.”

Priscilla, when she was trying to persuade me to give him up, said that it was my fortune that he wanted. I was very rich—or I would be when I was eighteen or in the event of my marrying; and when I taxed him with this, he replied: “I’ll be frank with you, my sweet child, your fortune will be useful. It will enable us to travel, to live well. You would like that, my dear heiress. We’ll go to Venice, to your birthplace. I believe I was there at that auspicious time, which seems like fate, does it not? We were intended for each other, so don’t let a paltry fortune come between us. We cannot with truth say we despise your fortune. Let us say we are glad of it. But do you doubt, my dearest love, after all that has happened between us that you I mean more to me than a thousand such fortunes? We could live well together if you were but a little match girl, a seamstress. We are in tune, do you understand that? You were meant to love. There is such response in you. You are fiery; passion will be a part of your life; you are young yet, Carlotta. You have much to learn of yourself and the world; and fortune or not, I will be there to teach you.”

I knew that he spoke the truth; that I was of a nature which matched his own. I knew that we were perfectly in harmony and that I was fortunate to have found him.

There was accord between us. I was only fifteen then and he was more than twenty years older—he would not tell me his age. He said: “I am as old as I can make the world believe I am. And you more than anyone must accept that.”

So we met in the haunted house. It amused him that we should do so and it seemed a good place because so few people went there. Priscilla sent servants over once a week. They would not go singly because there was not one of them who would have entered the house alone. I knew when they would be going and could warn Beau to leave. He stayed there for three weeks; and then one day he was gone.

Why? Where? Why should he suddenly disappear? I could not understand it. At first I thought that he had been called away and there had been no means of letting me know. But when the time went on I began to be frightened.

I did not know what to do. I could not tell people that he had disappeared from the house. I could not understand it. For the first few days I was not unduly worried; but when the days went by as weeks and then the months, terror seized me and I feared some terrible doom had overtaken him.

I would go over to Enderby and stand there in the hall and listen to the silence of the house. I would whisper his name and wait for some response.

It never came. Only in dreams.

There is a certain comfort in writing down my feelings. By doing so I may come to a better understanding of what has happened and of myself too.

I shall soon be seventeen. I shall go to London and there will be entertainments there and at Eversleigh, for my grandparents as well as Priscilla and Leigh will want to provide me with a husband. I shall have suitors by the score. My fortune will take care of that; but as Harriet says I have what she calls that special quality which attracts the opposite sex like bees round the honey. She should know, for she has had it all her life. “The trouble is,” she once said, “that the wasps come too—and all other kinds of noisome insects. What we have can be the greatest asset a woman can have, but, like most such gifts, wrongly handled it can work against us.” Harriet has never denied herself the intimate society of men and I feel sure that she would have behaved exactly as I did with Beau. She had had her first lover when she was fourteen; it had not been a passionate love affair but it had provided both her and her lover with advantages, and she added when she told me: “Made us both very happy while it lasted, which is what life is meant to do.”

I think I feel closer to Harriet than to anyone—except Beau. After all I had believed Harriet to be my mother for a long time. Harriet was a perfect mother. She never smothered me with affection; she never wanted to know where I had been, how I was getting on with my lessons; she was never anxious about me. I found Priscilla’s obvious anxiety exasperating. I did not want my conscience disturbed by the fears of Priscilla for my welfare—particularly after I met Beau. Harriet was a comforting presence, though. I felt that she would help me if I were in difficulties and she would understand my feelings for Beau as my real mother never could.

I was always welcome at Eyot Abbass, and Benjie was there a good deal. I was rather fond of Benjie. He was Harriet’s son, and for a long time I had believed him to be my brother. I knew he was very fond of me. He was so delighted to discover that I was not his sister, and that seemed to indicate something which I might have found interesting if I had not been so completely absorbed by Beau.

Benjie is a good deal older than I—it must be about twelve years—but I know how he feels about me. I became aware of it when Beau became my lover. In fact, I became aware of a good deal then. “You grew up overnight, as they say,” commented Beau, “which means, my dear innocent, that you have ceased to be a child and have become a woman.” Beau laughed at everything; there was so much that he despised; I think he despised innocence so much that he wanted to destroy it. He was quite different from everyone I had ever known. There would never be anyone else to take his place. He must come back. There must be some explanation. Sometimes when I smelt somewhere the faint musk-like smell—a mixture of scent and sandalwood—it would bring back poignant memories of him. His linen had always been scented with it; he was very fastidious; once when we were at the house he made me undress and he filled a bath with water which he scented with a scent of rose and made me bathe in it; and then he anointed me with the rose-scented lotion, which he said he had made himself; and he was very amused when we made love as though it was some ritual and there was some significance in it.

Harriet talked of him now and then. She did not know of course that he had been at the house. “He’s gone away,” she said. “Forget him, Carlotta.”

I said: “He’ll come back.”

She said nothing but her beautiful eyes were unusually sad.

“Why should he go away?” I demanded.

“Because he decided that it was useless to wait. There was too much opposition.”

“There was no opposition from me.”

“How can we know what took him?” she said. “But the fact remains that he has gone.”

I knew what she was thinking. He had gone abroad. In London, where he was well known in Court circles, it was being said that that was what he had done. When Harriet went to London she had heard that he had disappeared leaving enormous debts. She hinted that he had gone off in pursuit of another heiress. I could not tell even her that we had been meeting at Enderby, that we were making plans to elope.

It was strange how at times I felt so much aware of him. I often went to Enderby and sometimes I would shut myself in the bedroom and lie on the four-poster bed and dream it was all happening again.

I felt an irresistible urge to go there whenever I dreamed of him. That was how I felt after the dream and on the afternoon of the day which followed that night when he had seemed so real to me I rode over to Enderby. It was not very far, ten minutes’ ride at the most. When I used to go to meet Beau I walked over because I didn’t want anyone to see my horse and know that I was there.

On this day I tethered my horse to the post by the mounting block and taking out the key opened the door. I stood in the hall. It was a lovely old place, the vaulted roof was quite magnificent and the panelling on the walls was beautiful; at one end of the hall were the screens, beyond which were the kitchens, and at the other end was the minstrels’ gallery. It was supposed to be the haunted part because one of the owners whose husband had been involved in the Rye House Plot had tried to hang herself over that gallery; the rope was too long and she injured herself and lived in lingering agony afterwards. At least that was the story I heard. I remember one occasion when I entered. Beau appeared there dressed up in a female costume he had found in the house. He liked to frighten me.

Now as I came in, my eyes immediately went to the gallery. They always did, and I thought, as I had a thousand times, how happy I would be if I could have seen him, if I could have had some indication that he was somewhere, that he would come back for me.

But there was nothing. Just silence and gloom, and that terrible oppressive atmosphere, that sense of brooding evil. I went across the hall, my footsteps ringing out on the stone pavings of the floor, and up the stairs, past the empty gallery.

I opened the door of the bedroom which we had made ours. The bed looked impressive with its velvet hangings. I began to think of the people who had died in that bed; then suddenly I flung myself down on it and buried my face in the velvet bolster.

“Oh, Beau. Beau, where are you?” I cried. “Why did you leave me? Where did you go?”

I started. I sat up in bed. It was as though I had been answered. I knew I was not alone. Someone was in the house. It was a movement. A footstep? Was it a footstep? I knew the sounds of this house, the creak of the old wood, the protesting groan of a floorboard. I used to be afraid when I lay on this bed with Beau that we would be discovered. How he had laughed at me. I think he rather hoped we would be. Once he said: “I should love to see Prim Priscilla’s face when she saw me in bed with her daughter.” Yes, I did know the sounds of the house and I now had a firm conviction that I was not alone in it.

A wild elation possessed me. My first thought was: He has come back.

“Beau!” I called. “Beau! I’m here, Beau.”

The door opened. My heart leapt and I felt that it would suffocate me.

Then I felt furiously angry. It was my half sister, Damaris, who had come into the room.

“Damaris!” I stammered. “What … what are you doing here?”

My disappointment sickened me and for the moment I hated my sister. She stood there, her lips slightly parted, her eyes round with astonishment; she was not a pretty child; she was quiet, obedient, and had a desire to please, which our mother said was “engaging.” I had always found her rather dull; I ignored her in the main, but now I positively hated her. She looked so neat and clean in her pale blue gown with its sash of a slightly lighter hue and her long brown hair hanging down in loose curls. There was a certain amount of curiosity in her expression which was rapidly replacing the concern.

“I thought someone was with you, Carlotta,” she said. “You were talking to someone, were you not?”

“I called out to know who was there. You startled me.” I frowned at her accusingly.

Her mouth was a round O. She had no subtlety. Perhaps one should not expect it of a child of ten. What had I said? I believed I had called out Beau’s name. Had she noticed it? I felt certain she had never heard of Beau.

“I thought you said something like Bow,” she said.

“You were mistaken,” I told her quickly. “I said: ‘Who’s there?’ ”

“But …”

“You imagined the rest,” I went on sharply. I had risen from the bed and gripped her none too gently by the shoulder so that she winced a little. I was glad. I wanted to hurt her. “You have no right to come here,” I said. “This is my house and I came to see that it was all right.”

“Were you testing the bed?”

I looked at her intently. No, there was no ulterior motive in the remark. No suggestions. No probing. One thing about my little sister, she was completely innocent. She was only ten years old in any case.

I pondered. Should I try to give her some explanation? No, it was best to leave things as they were.

We went out of the house together.

“How did you get here?” I asked.

“I walked.”

I mounted my horse. “Then you can walk back,” I said.

It was two days later and a Saturday. I was in the garden of the Dower House when a man appeared on horseback. He dismounted and bowed to me.

“Am I mistaken or is this the Dower House Eversleigh and does Captain Leigh Main live here?”

“You are right. He is not here at the moment but will be back very soon, I believe. Do come in. I’ll show you where you can tether your horse.”

“Thank you. You must be his daughter.”

“His stepdaughter.”

“I’m Gervaise Langdon. We were in the army together.”

“General Langdon!” I cried. “I have heard him mention your name. General Sir Gervaise Langdon. Is that right?”

“I see you are well informed.”

I took him to the post by the mounting block and as I was directing him towards the house my mother appeared.

“This is General Sir Gervaise Langdon, mother,” I said.

Priscilla cried: “Oh, please come in. My husband should be here very soon.”

“I was passing through the district,” explained Sir Gervaise, “and I remembered my old friend lived here so I thought I would pay him a visit.”

“He will be delighted. He has talked of you a great deal, hasn’t he, Carlotta? This is my daughter Carlotta.”

Sir Gervaise bowed again to me. “It is a great pleasure,” he said.

My mother led the way into the hall.

“I was about to call at the big house,” said Sir Gervaise, “and one of the grooms there told me that you were now at the Dower House.”

“Oh, yes,” said my mother. “My parents are at the Court.”

“Lord Eversleigh too, I believe. Where is Edwin now?”

“He’s abroad on service,” said my mother.

“Ah, yes. I had hoped to see him too.”

“You know my husband has retired from the army, of course.”

“Yes, indeed I do. Eversleigh stays on.”

“Yes, but I think his wife would like him to do what Leigh has done.”

“A pity,” said the General. “We need men like them.”

“I always think that their families need them too.”

“Ah, the wives’ complaint!” said the General with a smile.

Priscilla took him into the drawing room and sent for wine and cakes.

Damaris appeared and was introduced.

“You have two charming daughters,” said the General.

He talked to us about his travels abroad and how delighted he was to be in England, and while this was going on Leigh arrived. He was delighted to see the General and after a while my mother said she was sure they had a great deal to say to each other and she hoped the General was in no hurry and would stay awhile.

He replied that he was going to visit his old friend Ned Netherby and planned to stay the night at an inn about four miles on and then go to Netherby the following day.

“But you cannot do that,” cried my mother. “You must stay here for the night. We wouldn’t hear of your going to stay at an inn, would we Leigh?”

Leigh said that the General must stay and the latter needed little persuasion.

“Then that is settled,” said my mother. “You will excuse me and I will see that they get your room ready. Carlotta, Damaris, come along and help.”

We went out with her.

“I could see that the General wished to talk to your father,” she said. “They will have memories to share. I know they served together at one time.”

I went to my room and Damaris went to help my mother. I was mildly excited as I always was by visitors; and there was something about the General which made me feel that this was not an idle call. There was something purposeful about him. He was an attractive man. He must have been about six feet tall and a little older than Leigh, I imagine. He had a very military bearing and there was no doubt that he was a soldier. There was a scar on his right cheek to confirm this. It added to rather than detracted from his rugged good looks.

I had an idea that he might have come to persuade Leigh to come back to the army. A thought I was sure could not have occurred to my mother or her welcome would not have been so warm.

At dinner there was a great deal of talk about the old army days and Leigh quite clearly enjoyed these reminiscences.

The General talked about the King, whom he clearly did not like. “The Dutchman,” he called him and used the term as one of contempt; and when he mentioned his name his colour deepened and the scar showed up whiter in contrast to the reddish tinge of his skin.

We left them talking together over their wine and my mother said to me: “He is a charming man but I hope he is not reminding Leigh too much of his life in the army. He talks about it as though it is some sort of paradise.”

“My father would never want to leave you again, mother,” said Damaris.

My mother smiled. Then she said: “I wonder why the General came?”

“It is because he was passing on his way to Netherby Hall,” said Damaris. “He said so.”

I smiled at my dear innocent sister. She believed everything everyone said.

The next day was Sunday and we were going to Eversleigh to dine, as we always did on Sundays. Although Leigh and my mother had bought the Dower House, they both regarded Eversleigh as their home. I had lived part of my life there and my mother all her life until recently. Damaris had been born there and it was only within the last year or so that Leigh had bought the Dower House. There was a walk of five minutes between the two houses and my grandparents became indignant if we did not call frequently. I loved Eversleigh, although perhaps Harriet’s Eyot Abbass was more like home to me.

It was dinnertime and we were all at table in the great hall. My grandmother Arabella Eversleigh loved to have us all together. Damaris was a special favourite of hers, in a way that I could never be; but my grandfather Carleton had always had a special feeling for me. He was a most unconventional man, of fiery temper, arrogant and obstinate. I felt especially drawn towards him and I believe he did to me. I think he was rather amused by the fact that I was his daughter’s bastard and there was a grudging admiration in him because my mother had defied conventions and produced me. I liked Grandfather Carleton. I fancied our characters were not dissimilar.

The house had been built in the days of Elizabeth in the E style with a wing on either side of the main great hall. I was attracted by that hall with its rough stone walls and I liked the armoury which adorned it. There was a military tradition in the Eversleigh family. Carleton had only briefly been a soldier; he had stayed home after the Civil War to hold the estates until the Restoration; the part he had played, I had always heard had demanded far more courage than a soldier needed and infinitely more skill; for he had posed as a Roundhead when his sympathies were Royalist in the extreme and so saved Eversleigh for posterity. I could well imagine his doing that. Every time he looked up at the vaulted ceiling with its broad oak beams, every time he glanced at the family tree which had been painted over the great fireplace, he must have reminded himself: If it had not been for my courage and resource during those Commonwealth years all this would have been lost.

Yes, the military history of the family was apparent everywhere. Leigh had been a soldier until recently; my grandmother Arabella’s son by her first marriage was Edwin, the present Lord Eversleigh, and he was away from home now in the army. Jane—a rather colourless female—and their son, Carleton—called Carl to distinguish him from Carleton—lived at Eversleigh, which was indeed Edwin’s, although my grandfather regarded it as his, which was not surprising since he managed the estate for years and had saved it for them in any case. There would not have been an Eversleigh Court but for him. My grandmother’s father had been General Tolworthy who had distinguished himself in the Royalist cause. I remember that Beau had been in the army for a while. It was during the Monmouth Rebellion, he told me once and had seemed secretly amused by this. Even Carleton himself had been in the army then—on the side of Monmouth. Not that he had been a professional soldier. He had just been fighting for a special cause then.

So we were sure that our guest General Langdon would feel at home in such a household.

At the table on this day were my grandparents, Carleton and Arabella, Edwin’s wife, Lady Eversleigh, and young Carl; Priscilla, Leigh, myself and Damaris. Also present were our neighbors of Grasslands Manor, Thomas Willerby and his son, Thomas Junior, who was about a year or two younger than I. Thomas Willerby was a widower whose wife had died recently. He was very sad about this, for it had been an exceptionally happy marriage. My mother felt the death of Christabel Willerby deeply, for Christabel had been a governess companion to her before her marriage and remained a good friend. There was another Willerby child at Grasslands—a baby girl. She was probably a year old and had been named Christabel after the mother, who had died bringing her into the world. My mother had made the tragedy hers, and the Willerbys were constant visitors at our house. She had insisted that Christabel come to our nursery for a while until arrangements could be made; and Sally Nullens, our old nurse, and Emily Philpots, who acted as governess to the children for years, were delighted with the arrangements. As for Thomas Willerby, he was so overcome with gratitude towards my mother that his eyes filled with tears almost every time he looked at her. He was a very sentimental man.

Both my grandparents welcomed General Langdon warmly and the conversation at the dinner table for the first fifteen minutes was all about the army.

Then Priscilla said rather pointedly, so I knew that she was giving voice to something which had been occupying her mind for some time: “It seems to me that Enderby Hall should not be left standing idle. It never did a house any good to remain empty.”

“True,” said Thomas, always ready to back her up. “They get damp. Houses need fires and people. They need living in.”

“Such a lovely old house,” said Jane Eversleigh. “Though I don’t think I should like to live in it. I get the shivers every time I pass by.”

“Only because you listen to gossip,” said my grandfather. “If this talk of ghosts hadn’t got around, no one would think of ghosts.”

“Are you interested in ghosts, General Langdon?” I asked.

“I have never seen one,” he said, “and I am inclined to need the evidence of my eyes.”

“Oh, you have no faith,” said Arabella.

“Seeing is believing,” said the General. “How did the gossip start?”

“I think it began when one of the occupiers tried to hang herself. She did not have a long enough rope and was badly injured. She died soon after.”

“Poor woman, what made her do such a thing?”

“Her husband was involved in a plot.”

“The Popish Plot,” said Carl.

“No,” I said, “that was my father. This was the Rye House Plot, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Priscilla, rather uneasily I thought.

“They plotted against the King,” said Carleton. “It was a foolish and criminal thing to do.”

“I cannot understand why people have to do these things,” said Priscilla.

“My dear lady,” said the General, “if they feel something is wrong some men have the urge to put it right.”

“And endanger lives,” said Arabella fiercely.

“Oh, it is all past and done with,” said Carleton. “But that is just how the house got its reputation.”

“I should like to see a nice family settled in,” said my mother. “It is pleasant to have good neighbors.”

She was nervous and Leigh was watching her anxiously. I thought: They have talked about this together. I was sure then that my sister had reported finding me lying on the four-poster; she might even have mentioned that she thought I was talking to someone called Bow.

“It does happen to be my house,” I said. I turned to the General. “It was left to me by my father’s uncle. He was Robert Frinton.”

The General said: “I knew the family. A great tragedy.”

My mother was clenching her hands uneasily. She was very nervous today. It was the General who was making her so.

“There are a few months to go before you can claim possession,” said my grandfather. “But I don’t doubt that if a sale was arranged it would be approved.”

“I am not sure that I want it sold.”

“Perhaps you like ghosts, Mistress Carlotta,” said the General.

“I should be interested to see one. Shouldn’t you, General?”

“I think it would depend on the ghost,” he replied.

Leigh said: “You should sell it, Carlotta. You’ll never want to live there. But perhaps you could find a tenant and let it.”

I was silent, very much aware of them all. They were tense. I wondered whether the General noticed. For some reason they wanted me to be prevented from going there, wandering through those empty rooms; Damaris must indeed have reported what she had seen and heard, and they would know I was still hoping to find Beau again.

“Think about it,” said my grandfather.

“Do you know, I’ve been pondering in my mind whether or not I won’t give up Grasslands,” said Thomas Willerby.

“Give up Grasslands, Thomas!” cried my mother. “But why?”

“So many memories,” he said, and there was silence at the table.

After a pause Thomas went on, “Yes, I’ve been thinking it might be easier to go back north. Try to build a new life. That was what I came here for and thanks to you all … and Christabel … I had a good one. Perhaps it would be best for me to move on now …”

My mother looked sad, but I could see she was working out a future for him. Let him go and find a new wife … a new life and perhaps come back then.

“Oh, it’s all in the future,” said Thomas. “There’s a lot to be thought about yet. But I do believe something should be done about Enderby.”

To stop them talking of Enderby I said that I heard the Lady Elizabeth Villiers was to have the Irish estates of James the Second bestowed on her.

The General’s face went deep red and he murmured, “Monstrous.”

“Let the King please his mistress,” said Carleton. “I’m surprised he has one. I wish him joy of the lady.”

“It is a pity,” said Arabella, “that things turned out as they have. Daughters against their father …”

“True, my lady,” said the General. “I think Queen Mary must have been deeply troubled by her conscience. As indeed Anne will be if she takes the crown.”

“Not a bit of it,” cried Carleton. “England will not tolerate a Papist King. They got rid of one Papist. James is where he belongs—in exile. That’s where he’ll stay till he dies. And if William should go … God forbid that he should, for he’s been a good ruler of this country … then it will be Anne to follow him and she’ll have the support of all those who wish this country well.”

I could see that the General was striving hard to control himself. Leigh looked uncomfortable. He knew something of the General’s thoughts in these matters and it was typical of my grandfather to state his views and not consider whether he was offending anyone.

“Usurpation of a throne,” said the General in a quiet controlled voice, “often brings sorrow to those who take it.”

“It was hardly that. James was useless. His daughter Mary was next and William was in the line of succession too. I was against him as soon as we heard of his Papist views and I would have put Monmouth on the throne rather than let that Papist rule over us. James was defeated and he’s in exile. Let him stay there.”

“You are vehement, sir,” said the General.

“Are you not, sir?” said Carleton. “I tell you this. I feel strongly about these matters.”

“That much is obvious,” said the General.

Arabella changed the conversation tactfully and we talked of trivial matters such as whether we should have a bad winter, and even that recalled the time when the Thames was frozen and reminded poor Thomas of his meeting with Christabel.

I was rather glad when we went back to the Dower House. The General was silent and I fancied he had not greatly enjoyed his visit to my grandparents.

He and Leigh were alone together that evening and early the next morning the General took his leave of us and left.

My thoughts were occupied by Enderby. I wondered how I should feel if I could no longer go there. New people there would change the place. It would be a different house. Did I want to keep a monument to the lover who had deserted me? Would I be happier if I could no longer go to the house and brood?

It was strange but something had happened to me. An anger had come to me; it soothed my misery a little because it hurt my pride. Could it really be true that he had deliberately gone away, that he had found a richer heiress? That was what they had said. He had borrowed money on the prospects of marriage with me; he was mercenary; he had gone in pursuit of richer game. Someone abroad … in Paris … in Venice perhaps. He had always talked a great deal about Venice. He had never pretended that he possessed the honour of a gentleman; he had constantly stressed the fact that he was no saint. “I have a lot of the devil in me, Carlotta,” he had once said. And he made me search in his head to see if horns were sprouting there. “But then that’s what you like,” he said. “Because, let me tell you, Carlotta, there’s a bit of the devil in you.”

What a fool I was to dream that he would come back. It was more than a year now since he had gone. I pictured him living in some strange city—a castle on the Rhine, a palazzo in Italy, a chateau in France—with an heiress who was richer than I was. And he would laughingly talk about me, for Beau would talk about his mistresses. He jeered at that code of honour which gentlemen were supposed to respect.

I nursed my anger against him and found it was a kind of balm.

Yes, I thought, why should not Enderby be sold or let? What was the point of keeping a shrine to a false lover?

September had come. In a month’s time I should reach my eighteenth birthday and that would be a very important occasion in my life, for on that day I should receive my inheritance. I would have come of age.

There must be a special celebration, Priscilla declared, and of course my grandparents insisted that it should be held at Eversleigh, which was so much more suitable than the Dower House.

Eversleigh was full of visitors and I knew that Leigh and Priscilla had invited some eligible young men in the hope that I should display some interest in them.

Harriet came with her husband, Gregory, and Benjie. I was happy to see them again. “We don’t see enough of each other,” was Harriet’s comment. She always amazed me. She was no longer young but she still retained that marvellous beauty. It was true that she took great pains to preserve it. Her hair was still dark (“my special concoction,” she whispered to me, when I commented on it. “I will give you the recipe so that you will be prepared when you need it”).

They were to stay for a week. “Why don’t you come to Eyot more often?” asked Benjie.

I had nothing to answer to that. I couldn’t tell Benjie that I was still hoping Beau would come back.

We rode a great deal together; I found I was enjoying those rides. I loved the cool damp September air; I began to notice the countryside as I never had before; I loved the tawny leaves of the beeches and the cones which were beginning to appear on the pines. Everywhere were the spiders’ webs—a feature of autumn—and I thought they looked enchanting with the dewdrops sparkling on them. It had always been unlike me to notice nature. I began to feel as though I was awakening from a long nightmare.

Benjie was an exhilarating companion; he had always been ready to laugh, easy going, good natured, more like his father than his mother. Sir Gregory Stevens might not be the most exciting person I had ever met but he was certainly one of the kindest.

Benjie was twelve years or so older than I but that did not seem a great difference to me. I compared everything and everyone with Beau, who had been more than twenty years older. Oddly enough I felt as old as Benjie in experience of life. Beau had done that for me.

One day when we had been riding in the woods we came home past Enderby Hall.

“Dreary old place,” said Benjie. “I remember once you followed your uncle Carl and me there.”

“I remember well,” I said. “You were horrible boys. You would have none of me. You told me to go away and not pester you.”

“Put it down to our ignorant youth,” said Benjie. “I promise I’ll never say that to you again, Carlotta.”

“I must have been an impossible child.”

“No … just certain that Carlotta was the centre of the universe and all must bend the knee to her.”

“Except Benjamin and Uncle Carl.”

“Idiots we were.”

“But it was all for the best. I followed you there, went to sleep in a cupboard and that was how we all got to know Robert Frinton, who turned out to be my father’s uncle …”

“Fell victim to your charms and left you his fortune. It’s like a story in a ballad and just the kind of thing that would happen to you.”

“I don’t think there’s much of the fairytale heroine about me, Benjie. Didn’t you say yourself that I thought I was the centre of the universe. I imagine I haven’t changed much and that means I am an extremely selfish creature.”

“You’re an adorable one, Carlotta.”

He was looking at me with a certain intensity, and under Beau’s tuition I had learned what that meant.

I said on impulse: “Let’s go and look at the house.”

“Isn’t it locked up?”

“I have the key. I always carry it on my belt. Just in case I take the fancy to go in.”

He looked at me oddly. He knew about Beau—the whole family did. But I did not think they knew he had stayed at Enderby.

We tethered our horses and walked towards the front porch. Being with Benjie was arousing certain emotions in me. I didn’t understand myself. I had a sudden fancy to know what it would be like to make love with Benjie. Perhaps I was as Beau had suggested, the sort of woman to whom physical passion is a necessity. Beau had said he had never met such a ready virgin; meaning of course that I had not shrunk from him even in the first encounter. Like a flower opening to the sun, he had said. I remembered in the days before I had met Beau I liked to be with Benjie, and the knowledge that he felt something special for me had filled me with a gratified delight.

I opened the door. I had a feeling then that it might be possible to dispel the image of Beau for ever.

“It is an eerie place,” said Benjie. “Don’t you think so?”

“That’s all in the mind,” I retorted.

“Yes. I suppose you’re right. It doesn’t look eerie now with you standing there. Carlotta, you are beautiful. I only ever saw one other woman as beautiful as you and that was my mother. I was very proud of you when I believed you were my sister.”

“Your pride did not extend to letting me accompany you on your jaunt to Enderby.”

“I’ve told you you must put that down to boyish stupidity.”

He was looking at me earnestly and I knew that in a moment he was going to kiss me. I started to cross the hall, looking up at the minstrels’ gallery to remind me. The old ache was still there. There would never be anyone like Beau. I started to walk up the staircase, Benjie following close … past the haunted gallery. I was thinking, Why should I continue to brood on you, Beau. You went away and left me.

We looked into the rooms and we came to the one with the four-poster bed.

I stood looking at it and the bitterness and longing seemed as strong as ever. Benjie was beside me. He said: “Carlotta, you’re no longer a child. I’ve been wanting to speak to you for a long time, but you seemed so young …”

That made me want to laugh. How much younger I was when I had frolicked on that bed with Beau! How … unadventurous! How different from Beau.

“Carlotta, I think they are expecting it.”

“Expecting what?”

“Us to marry.”

“Are you asking me?”

“I am. What do you say?”

I seemed to see Beau laughing at me. “It is what they expect. Your laggard lover has waited until you are of a ripe age. That makes us laugh, does it not, Carlotta? Bless you, my dear, you were ripe from the cradle. Such as you are. Marry your quiet Benjie. You will have a secure life, a safe one, and I promise you an incredibly dull one.”

I knew I had not escaped from Beau. If I said yes now to Benjie I would feel no elation, no exhilarating anticipation such as I had felt when I entered this house to meet Beau.

“No,” I said to Benjie. “No.” And something made me add: “Not yet.”

Benjie was all understanding. “I have hurried you,” he said.

Hurried me! I thought. I have known your feelings for a long time. He had no notion of the sort of person I was. I imagined Beau in similar circumstances. If I had refused him he would have laughed at me. He would have forced me onto that bed.

Did I want that sort of lover?

Again I seemed to hear Beau’s laughter. Yes, you do. You do.

He would think it a great joke that here in this very room where, as Beau would have said, we had sported so merrily, Benjie should ask me to marry him and when I said no imagine that he had hurried me, and suggested marriage when I in my innocence was not prepared for it.

No, I had not escaped from Beau.

We went out to our horses.

“Don’t be disturbed, dearest Carlotta,” said Benjie. “I am going to ask you later.”

Harriet came to my room. She was sparkling with good health and I was sure that she was no less beautiful than she had been ten years before. She was plumper perhaps but not in an unsightly way; in fact the extra flesh did not detract from her beauty. She saw to it, she said, that it appeared in the right places.

I think she knew that Benjie had asked me to marry him. Some of the servants believed she had special powers and I was inclined to agree with them. Those incredibly beautiful violet eyes with the heavy black lashes were unusually discerning and there was little they missed.

“So, my little seductress,” she said, “you have failed to make my Benjie a happy man. He asked you today, didn’t he?”

I nodded.

“And you said no. My deduction is that you added the rider ‘not yet,’ for he is not so dejected as I would expect him to be if he had received a blank refusal.”

“Harriet, you are right as usual.”

I was laughing with her. She always lightened my spirits. I suppose I loved Harriet more than anyone except Beau. It was due to the fact that during the formative years of my childhood I believed her to be my mother. No, it was more than that. She was what I thought of as one of us—that meant that she was like Beau and myself.

We were the adventurers of this world, determined to have what we wanted and, if circumstances warranted it, were none too scrupulous as to how we got it.

It suddenly occurred to me that we had all been sent into the world with outstanding beauty. Beau and Harriet had that and it would have been false modesty on my part not to agree that I had it in some measure. By some strange quirk of nature I might have been Harriet’s daughter. I was dark though not quite as dark as she was; I had blue eyes and they were deep blue rather than violet; but I did have similar black lashes and brows. There the resemblance ended, it was true. My oval face and high cheekbones, full lips and straight nose were pure Eversleigh. My nature resembled Harriet’s and perhaps that, as much as our looks, made us seem alike.

However, we were in harmony and I could talk to Harriet more easily than to anyone else. My mother must have felt the same because it was to Harriet she had gone when she knew she was going to have me and was afraid to face her family.

“My poor Benjamin,” she said. “He has long loved you. From the moment he learned that you were not his sister the idea began to form in his mind. He has lived for the day when he will take you to the altar. And I must say that I should very warmly welcome my new daughter.”

“Dear Harriet, it is an alluring prospect to have you as my mother-in-law, but even so it is not a strong enough reason for marriage.”

“It would be good for you, Carlotta. Benjie will be good for you. He’s like his father, and a woman could not have a better husband than my Gregory.” She looked at me seriously: “You would have been very unhappy with Beaumont Granville,” she added.

I turned away and she went on: “Yes, you would. Oh, I admit he is a fascinating creature. I can picture him now living in splendour, congratulating himself on his cleverness. He cannot return to England. His creditors would descend on him like vultures. I wonder where he is. I don’t think it is Venice. I have written several times to a very dear friend of mine, the Contessa Carpori who owns the palazzo where you were born. She knew Beau. He was quite a well known figure in Venice. She says he is not there. If she hears of his turning up in any other Italian city she will let me know. Stop thinking of him. Get him out of your thoughts. It was fun while it lasted, was it not? Can you look on it as experience.”

“It was such a wonderful experience, Harriet.”

“Of course it would be. He would be a superb lover. But there are others in the world. It was your fortune he wanted, Carlotta.”

“Then why did he not stay to take it?”

“It could only be because some more attractive proposition presented itself. That is the only thing I can think of. He owed money all round. He could not stay and face his creditors. It might be that your grandfather threatened him. Carleton Eversleigh has great influence at Court. He could ruin Beau if he set out to. But I don’t think Beau is the type to give way lightly. You should face the facts, Carlotta, even when they’re not very pleasant. The only solution seems that he scented a better proposition somewhere else and went off to pursue it.”

“Harriet, it is nearly three years.”

“And you have come of age. Forget him. Strike out anew. You have everything a girl could ask for. Beauty of the kind which will make you irresistible to almost any man; you have wealth; my dear child, what would I have done for your fortune when I was your age!”

“You managed very well without it.”

“I had to face years of struggle. I enjoyed it, yes. It’s the adventure in my bones, but sometimes I had to do certain things which I had rather not. Carlotta, turn away from the past. Look ahead. The future’s bright. Don’t take Benjie if you don’t want to. But I hope you will for many reasons …”

“The fortune being one.”

“The fortune being one. But let me tell you that doesn’t count with Benjie. He’s a good boy, my Benjamin. He takes after his father, and believe me if it’s a husband and not a demon lover you are looking for, you couldn’t find a better man.”

Harriet kissed me and showed me what she was going to wear to the banquet which was to celebrate my coming of age.

She had had an effect on me as she always did. Eversleigh Court was full and there were guests in the Dower House too. It was a solemn as well as a festive occasion. My coming of age. I had to listen to Sally Nullens telling me that I was the naughtiest of all her children and I had the best pair of lungs she had ever encountered which I used to get what I wanted. “There’s some who would have given it to you,” she commented. “But that was not my way. I could give a sharp smack where it hurt most and that’s what you got from me and didn’t bear a grudge for it—I will give you that.” And there was Emily Philpots: “I’ll say this for you, you might have got your pretty clothes in a mess but you did look lovely in them and it was a pleasure to sew for you. You haven’t changed, Mistress Carlotta. I pity the man who gets you, yes I do.” I might have said that as no man had ever tried to get Emily she might not be the best authority on the subject, but I loved them both in my way. They had been part of my childhood.

Damaris followed me around with a look of awestruck wonder on her face. She was eleven now—rather gauche and too fat; her adora-always nursing sick animals and unhappy because some of them had died. She loved her horse and was quite an expert horsewoman. She was the pet of Sally Nullens and Emily Philpots. I gathered she had had the right sort of lungs and had rarely been beaten where it hurt most; and I was sure that she kept her clothes tidy and I felt a mean gratification that she hadn’t looked as beautiful in them as I had in mine.

My mother, Leigh and even my grandparents were all hoping I would marry Benjie. It seemed they all knew that he wanted me to. There was a certain watchfulness about everyone. Almost as though they wanted to see me settled so that they could write “Finish” to the episode between Beau and me. I think they had the facile thought that once I was married it could be as though I had never known Beau.

I was desperately unsure, but I wanted to find out whether they were right and I suppose that was a step forward.

So I rode with Benjie; I danced with Benjie. I liked Benjie. I felt a mild excitement when he held my hand or touched my arm or now and then kissed me.

It was not that wild leaping of the senses I had felt with Beau but there was some response in me.

I imagined Beau laughing at me.

“You are a passionate young lady,” he had said.

Was I? Was it just the need for physical satisfaction which Beau had led me to appreciate that I wanted now, or was it Benjie?

I was unsure. But I had made one decision. I was going to sell Enderby Hall. Perhaps that was symbolic, an acceptance of the fact that Beau would never come back now.

Mistress Elizabeth Pilkington had come to look at Enderby Hall. She had arrived the day before and was staying with friends a few miles from Eversleigh. She said she would ride over to look at the house if someone would meet her there.

Priscilla had thought Leigh should go but I had refused to allow that. They had to forget I was a child. I was a woman of means now and in any case Enderby Hall belonged to me. I wanted to show them my independence, so I would meet the lady and show her the house myself.

It was November and ten o’clock in the morning. I had suggested that time as it grew dark soon after four o’clock and if Mistress Pilkington came in the afternoon there would be little time for viewing. She agreed. She wanted to see the house in daylight of course.

I was conscious of a certain feeling of relief. I had at last come to the conclusion that once I no longer owned Enderby I should really be able to start afresh.

There was a chill in the air. I had never liked November. The winter lay before us and it seemed a long time to the spring. The trees had now lost most of their leaves and I fancied there was a melancholy note in the snatch of song I heard from a blackbird. He sounded as though he were trying to throw off his melancholy and couldn’t succeed.

There was a little mist hanging about the trees. It glistened on the yews and there seemed more spiders’ webs than ever. The end of the year was close; the end of a phase of my life perhaps.

She was waiting for me. I was rather surprised by her appearance. She was extremely elegant and had the most attractive reddish hair. Her riding habit was in the very latest fashion and most becoming. It was dark green in colour and she wore a hat with a little brown feather in it which matched that strikingly beautiful hair.

“Mistress Pilkington,” I said. “I am afraid I have kept you waiting.”

“Indeed not.” She smiled, showing a beautiful set of teeth. “I arrived early. I was so eager to see the house.”

“I hope you are going to like it. Shall we go inside?”

“Please.”

I opened the door and we stepped into the hall. It looked different already. Much of the eeriness seemed to have disappeared. She looked up at the roof.

“It’s impressive,” she said. Then she turned and studied me carefully. “I know you are Mistress Carlotta Main. I did not expect I should have the pleasure of meeting you. I thought someone …”

“Someone older,” I finished for her. “No. This is my house and I prefer to deal with business matters myself.”

“Hurrah for you,” she said. “I am like that too. The house was part of your inheritance.”

“You seem to know a good deal about me.”

“I move in London society. I remember the time when there was a great deal of talk about your betrothal to Beaumont Granville.”

I flushed. I had not expected this.

She went on: “It was so very strange, was it not … his disappearance?”

She was looking at me intently and I was beginning to feel very uncomfortable indeed.

“There were all sorts of theories,” she continued. “But he went, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” I said rather shortly. “He went. Those are the screens. Would you like to look at the kitchens or perhaps go upstairs first?”

She smiled at me as though to say, I understand, you do not want to talk of him.

“Upstairs please,” she said.

I showed her the minstrels’ gallery.

“Enchanting,” she said.

We went through the rooms and she paused in the bedroom with the four-poster bed, that room with such poignant memories.

“What of the furnishings?” she asked.

“Those are for sale too if they are wanted. If not they can be disposed of elsewhere.”

“I like them,” she said. “I have a house in London which I do not think I would want to give up, so the furnishings would suit me well.”

She went from room to room; then I took her behind the screens to the kitchens and then to the outhouses.

“Charming, charming,” she said. “I cannot understand how you can bear to part with it.”

“It has been uninhabited for a long time. There seems little reason why it should remain so any longer.”

“No indeed. My son will be delighted with it, I am sure.”

“Oh, you have a family then?”

“Just a son.”

“Your husband …?”

“I have no husband,” she answered.

She smiled at me brightly. I was conscious that all the time she had been looking at the house she had been casting covert glances at me. It was almost as though I were at least of equal interest.

She must have sensed that I was aware of her scrutiny for she said: “Forgive me. I am afraid I embarrass you with my interest. You are a very beautiful young lady, if you will forgive my saying so. I am very susceptible to beauty.”

I flushed a little. Not that I was averse to receiving compliments. I liked to feel I was attracting attention and I was quite accustomed to people taking a second glance. But there was something in her manner which disturbed me. I had a fleeting thought that she was not interested in the house but had some ulterior motive for coming here.

She herself was a very attractive woman and I thought it incumbent on me to return the compliment.

“You are very handsome yourself,” I said.

She laughed, well pleased. “Past my prime, alas. There was a day …”

She struck a dramatic attitude almost as though she were performing for an audience. I said: “No, no, you are mistaken. That day is now.”

She laughed and said: “I think we shall get along well together. It is good to get along well with one’s neighbors. I know this is quite close to Eversleigh.”

“It is very near. I live at the Dower House with my mother, but my grandparents are at the Court. There are three big houses fairly close together here. Eversleigh, Enderby and Grasslands Manor.”

“That,” she said, “sounds very cosy. Shall we look at the grounds?”

We went out into the misty air and together we walked through the gardens and the shrubberies.

“They are not as extensive as I thought they would be,” she commented.

“Oh, they were bigger. But when my stepfather bought the Manor he took over some of the land which had belonged to Enderby.”

“Interesting. What did he buy? It would be interesting to see what I might have had.”

“He had a wall built round it and it now joins our lands at the Dower House.”

“Is that the wall?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“He seemed determined to keep people out.”

“The plan at one time was to use if for growing something … He has not gone on with the idea yet.”

“It looks rather wild in there.”

“It’s been neglected but it will be cleared up one day, I don’t doubt.”

“Well, I have to thank you, Mistress Main. I am enchanted with the house. I shall want to see it again.”

“Certainly. I shall be delighted to show you.”

“I was going to ask a favour. I am spending a week or so with my friends the Elsomers over at Crowhill. Do you know them?”

“Yes, we have met.”

“Then you know you can trust me. Would you allow me to have the key of the house so that I might come over at my leisure in a day or so and look at it in detail?”

“But of course.” I said readily. I could understand her wanting to see the place alone, and although it was furnished, it was only with the things which could not easily be removed. I had no fears of her taking anything. Although she engendered a certain uneasiness in me, I could not imagine her stealing.

Readily I gave her the key. I had another at home so that I could come back when I wished to.

We went out to our horses. She mounted with grace, bade me farewell and rode back to Crowhill.

I heard nothing for three days and one afternoon I was overcome by a longing to be in Enderby, for if I was going to sell it I should not have many more opportunities.

It was a misty afternoon; that morning it had been quite foggy and it seemed certain that the fog would descend again as soon as it was dark. Now the mist hung in swirls; everything was damp, the bushes, the trees, my hair. Christmas will soon be here, I thought. We would go to Harriet’s or she would come to us. I should be with Benjie again. He would certainly ask me once more to marry him. Perhaps I should say yes. Selling Enderby would be one small step away from the past and Beau; marrying Benjie would be a big one.

I was thinking of Mistress Pilkington and how interested she had been in everything—no less in me and my betrothal to Beau than in the house. She had sharp, lively eyes, tawny eyes I remembered, and they matched that magnificent red hair. She had a well-groomed look about her which suggested she was a woman who knew how to take care of her appearance and spared no pains in doing so. I was sure that she moved in Court circles, and there must have been a great deal of talk about Beau and me before he disappeared. I daresay there were cruel comments about my being an heiress. He had long ago attempted to abduct an heiress, Harriet told me when she was trying to soothe me, and had been prevented from marrying the girl by her father. “Poor Beau!” Harriet had said. “He was unlucky in his elopements.” And then Beau’s disappearance must have meant that he would be talked of even more.

So it was only natural that this elegant Mistress Pilkington would have heard of the matter and be interested when she came to see a house which belonged to the heiress in the case.

I opened the door and went into the house. I stood for a moment looking up at the gallery. It was so quiet. I found myself listening.

I should be rid of these fancies when Mistress Pilkington was installed here with her family. I expected I should be asked to call. It would all be so different then. That was what I wanted. I had done the right thing.

I walked up the staircase and turned into the minstrels’ gallery. Something was different there. Oh yes, one of the stools had been moved forward and there was an impression on it as though someone had recently sat there.

Of course, Mistress Pilkington had been here.

Then I smelt the scent. It was unmistakable. It gave me a shock and set my heart hammering against my side.

It was that smell of musk. It brought back Beau so clearly. I could see his face, hear his voice. He had told me that he liked the scent because of its strength. He was interested in perfumes; he distilled them himself. Musk was the erotic perfume, he said. It was often added to others to give them a touch of the erotic. It was the aphrodisiac perfume. “Do you know, Carlotta, that it is absorbed by everything that comes near it. It stimulates desire. It is the love perfume.”

That was how he talked, and the strong odour of the musk smell brought him back more clearly than anything could.

My mood changed at once. If I thought I had escaped from the spell he had laid on me I was mistaken. He was back as strong as ever.

For the first few seconds I was so overcome by my emotion that I did not ask myself why I should smell this in the minstrels’ gallery. I just stood there with the longing to see him again so strongly with me that I could think of nothing else.

Then I thought to myself: But how did it come here? Someone has been here, someone so scented with musk that it remains after he or she has left.

Mistress Pilkington. Of course. But I had not noticed she was using musk when I had shown her round the house and I could not have failed to notice if she had. I recalled there was a delicate perfume clinging to her. It was of violets as far as I remembered.

She had the key. That was the answer. Why was I standing here in this dazed fashion? There was a perfectly logical explanation. Beau was not the only person who had used musk to scent his linen. There was quite a fashion among the fastidious gentlemen of the Court. It had come in with the Restoration. Beau said there were so many evil smells in London, and all over the country, for that matter, that a man must do something to prevent their assaulting his nostrils.

I must not be foolish and fanciful.

I would leave at once. There was no point in going through the house. I was too upset. No matter what explanation I could offer, the scent had conjured up too vivid a picture of him. I wanted to get away.

And then suddenly I saw it glinting on one of the floorboards. I stooped and picked it up. It was a button. A very unusual button, gold, and very delicately engraved.

I had seen that button before. It had been on a coat of claret-coloured velvet. I had admired the buttons very much. Beau had said: “I had them especially made for me by my goldsmith. Always remember, Carlotta, that it is the finishing touches to the garment which give it quality. Now these buttons make this coat unique.”

And here … lying on the floor of the minstrels’ gallery was one of those buttons.

Surely it could mean only one thing. Beau had been here.

“Beau,” I whispered, half expecting him to materialize beside me.

There was nothing but the silence of the house. I turned the button over in my hand. It was real. This was no hallucination. It was as real as the scent which hung about the place—Beau’s scent.

It is a sign, I thought. It is a portent because I am proposing to sell the house.

I sat down on one of the stools and leaned my head against the balustrade. The indentation on the chair, the scent … they could have meant anything. But the button, that was proof positive.

When had I last seen him wearing that coat? It was in London. Yes. He had not worn it here as far as I remembered. Yet here was this button. He could not have lost it while he was here. Surely it would have been found before if he had.

I was bewildered. I was overcome by my emotions and found it difficult to understand them. I did not know whether I was wild with joy or filled with misery. I was lost in limbo, black and uncertain. I called his name again. My voice echoed through the house. That was no good. What if that stupid little Damaris was hiding somewhere, spying on me? No, that was not fair. Damaris did not spy. But she did have a habit of turning up when she wasn’t wanted.

Beau! What does this mean? Are you there? Are you hiding? Are you teasing me?

I went out of the gallery. I was going to look through the house. I went to our bedroom. I could smell the musk there.

It was awe inspiring, and the darkness would soon fall. The ghosts would come out—if ghosts there were.

“Oh, Beau, Beau,” I whispered, “are you here somewhere? Give me a sign. Let me understand what this means.”

I could feel the button growing hot in my hand. I half expected it to disappear but it was still there.

I went out of the house to my horse.

It was dark when I reached the Dower House. Priscilla was in the hall.

“Oh, there you are, Carlotta. I knew you were out. I was beginning to grow anxious.”

I wanted to shout: Leave me alone. Do not watch me and worry about me. Instead I said coldly: “I can take care of myself.”

I hesitated a moment and then went on: “I don’t think I want to sell Enderby after all.”

There was consternation at my decision. My grandfather said it was absurd that a chit of a girl should have a say in such matters. The house was neither use nor ornament and should be sold. My grandmother, I think, agreed with my grandfather; Leigh was tolerant and said it was my affair, and Priscilla, of course, started to worry about my strangeness in the matter. She knew it was something to do with Beau and she was upset because she had begun to think I was getting over that affair.

I sent a messenger to Mistress Pilkington at Crowhill to tell her that I had changed my mind. She sent back the key with a message that she was disappointed but understood how difficult I found it to part with such a house.

Christmas was coming and there was the usual bustle of preparation. Priscilla did all she could to arouse my interest; but I knew that I was difficult. My temper burst out at the least provocation, and Sally Nullens said I was like a bear with a sore head. Harriet sent a message to say that she, Gregory and Benjie would be joining us. We either spent Christmas at the Abbas or they came to Eversleigh. My grandmother insisted. She was very fond of Harriet; they after all had been friends almost all their lives and had met in France before the Restoration. My grandmother sometimes showed a certain asperity towards her, which seemed to amuse Harriet. Anyone who knew their history would understand it, because for a time Harriet had been Arabella’s rival and Edwin Eversleigh had been the father of Harriet’s son, Leigh, now Priscilla’s husband. We were a complicated family. It had all happened long ago and in Harriet’s eyes should be forgotten. But I could understand Arabella’s resentment towards her. Then Priscilla had gone to Harriet when I was about to be born. I could imagine Arabella resented that too. However, Harriet stayed at Eversleigh, and there was a very firm bond between her and my grandmother just as there was between my mother and Harriet, and myself and Harriet for that matter. Harriet had played a major part in all our lives and she was like a member of the family. My grandfather was the only one who disliked her and as he was a man who would not bother to hide his feelings, this was obvious. But there again I think he enjoyed his battles with her and I was sure she did. So it was always good when Harriet arrived.

It was the usual Christmas, getting in the yule log, decorating the great hall, giving the carol singers mulled wine out of the steaming punch bowl, feasting and dancing under the holly and mistletoe.

The Willerbys were there of course. Little Christabel was taken off to the nursery by Sally and she and Emily shook their heads and muttered about the less efficient methods employed at Grasslands compared with those at Eversleigh.

As we sat drowsily over the remains of the Christmas dinner, our goblets full of the malmsey and muscadel of which my grandfather was justly proud, Thomas Willerby again raised the question of his giving up Grasslands.

“I don’t know,” he said looking at my mother, “there is too much to remind us of Christabel.”

“We should hate you to go,” said Priscilla.

“And it would be so strange to have someone else at Grasslands,” added my grandmother.

“We’re such a happy community,” put in Leigh. “It’s really like one big family.”

Thomas’s expression grew very sentimental. I guessed he was about to say again that he owed his happiness to the Eversleighs.

Christabel had been my grandfather’s illegitimate daughter. He was a wild man, my grandfather; it always delighted me, though, to see how devoted he was to my grandmother. Harriet once said: “He was a rake till he married Arabella. Then he reformed.” I liked to think that that was how Beau would have been had we married.

“It is only the thought of leaving you all that has stopped my going before,” went on Thomas. “When Christabel went I knew I could never forget while I was here. There’s too much to remind me. My brother in York is urging me to go up there.”

“Dear Thomas,” said Priscilla. “You must go if it makes you happier.”

“Try it for a while,” suggested Harriet. “You can always come back.” She changed the subject. She was a little impatient of this sentimental talk, I knew.

“Strange if there were two houses for sale,” she said. “Ah, but Carlotta has changed her mind. She is not going to sell Enderby … for a while. I wonder what our new neighbors would have been like.”

“Carlotta was rather taken with her, were you not, Carlotta?” said my mother.

“She was very elegant. Not exactly beautiful but attractive with masses of red hair. I was very interested in Mistress Pilkington.”

“Pilkington!” said Harriet. “Not Beth Pilkington!”

“She was Mistress Elizabeth Pilkington.”

“I wonder, was she tall with rather strange-coloured eyes—topaz colour she used to call them? In the theatre we said they were ginger like her hair. Good Heavens. Fancy that! If Priscilla would have allowed her to, Beth Pilkington would have bought Enderby. She was a considerable actress. I played with her during my season in London.”

“I see it now,” I said. “She was an actress. She said she had a son.”

“I never saw him. I believe she had a rich protector. He would have to be rich to satisfy Beth’s requirements.”

My mother looked uneasy and said she thought it was going to be a hard winter. She disliked what she would think of as loose talk before Damaris and me. Leigh, who was always protective towards her, came in to help and talked about what he intended to do with some of the land he had acquired. My grandfather looked sardonic and I thought he was going to pursue the subject of Beth Pilkington, but Arabella gave him a look which surprisingly subdued him.

Then the talk turned to politics—beloved by my grandfather. He was fierce in his views—a firm Protestant and never afraid to state his feelings. These views of his had nearly cost him his life at the time of the Monmouth Rebellion, in which he had taken an active part and come before the notorious Judge Jeffreys. It was rarely mentioned in the household but I had heard of it. It upset everyone very much if that time was ever hinted at. However, he was safe enough now. Protestantism had been firmly established in England with the reign of William and Mary; although there was always a faint fear that James the Second might try to return, and I knew that a lot of people secretly drank to The King Across the Water, meaning James, who was sheltering in France as the guest of the French King.

Now there were whispers that King William was ailing. He and his wife, Mary, had had no children; and when Mary died, William had not married again. He was a good King though not a very likable man, and when he died there was a possibility that James might attempt to come back.

I knew this was a source of anxiety to both my mother and grandmother. They had a woman’s contempt for wars in which men liked to indulge generally to no purpose, as Harriet said.

Someone mentioned the death of the little Duke of Gloucester, the son of the Princess Anne, sister of the late Queen Mary and sister-in-law of the King. The little Duke had lived only eleven years.

“Poor woman,” said Arabella. “What she has gone through! Seventeen children and not one of them to live. I hear she is heartbroken. All her hopes were centred on that child.”

“It’s a matter of concern to the country also,” said my grandfather. “If William is not to last long, the only alternative is Anne, and if she does not produce a child what then?”

“There’ll be many eyes turned towards the throne during the next year or so, I’ll swear,” said Leigh.

“You mean from across the water,” added Thomas Willerby.

“Aye, I do,” agreed Leigh.

“Anne has many years left to her. She is thirty-five or thereabouts, I believe,” said Priscilla.

“And,” said my grandfather, “she has shown she cannot bear healthy children.”

“Poor little Duke,” said my mother. “I saw him when we were in London once exercising his Dutch Guards in the park. He was a real little soldier.”

“A sad creature,” said Harriet. “His head was too big for his body. It was clear for a long time that he couldn’t last long.”

“Eleven years old and to die! The King was fond of him, I think.”

“William has never had much affection to spare for anyone,” said Leigh.

“No,” agreed my grandfather, “but a King’s duty is not to spare affection but to rule his country and that is something William has done with commendable skill.”

“But what now, Carleton?” asked Thomas Willerby. “What now?”

“After William … Anne,” said my grandfather. “Nothing for it. We can hope that she produces another son … this time, a healthy one.”

“If not,” said Benjie, “there may be trouble.”

“Oh enough of all this talk of strife,” cried Harriet. “Wars never brought any good to anyone. Is this Christmas talk? Let us have a little more of the season of peace and goodwill and less of what will happen if … If is a word I never did greatly like.”

“Talking of wars,” said my grandfather with a malicious glance at Harriet. “There is going to be trouble over Spain. What do you think”—he glanced towards Leigh and Benjie—“of the grandson of the French King taking the crown of Spain?”

“Dangerous,” said Leigh.

“Not good,” agreed Benjie.

“Now what has Spain to do with us?” said my grandmother.

“We can’t have France in command of half of Europe,” cried my grandfather. “Surely you see that.”

“No, I don’t,” said Arabella. “I do believe you like trouble.”

“When it’s there, we’re not so stupid as to turn our faces from it.”

Harriet waved her hands to the gallery and the minstrels started to play.

My grandfather looked at her steadily. “Have you ever heard of an Emperor who took his fiddle and played while Rome was burning?”

“I’ve heard of him,” said Harriet, “and I have always thought he must have been devoted to the fiddle.”

“You don’t believe me, do you?” said my grandfather. “Let me tell you this, that in the life of our country things happen which at the time seem of small importance to those who are too blind to see their real significance, or who are so bemused by their desire for peace that they look the other way. And what affects our country affects us. A little boy has died. Prince William, Duke of Gloucester. That little boy would have been King in due course. Now he’s dead. You may think it is unimportant. Wait and see.”

“Carleton, they should have called you Jeremiah,” said Harriet mockingly.

“You get too excited about things which may never happen,” put in my grandmother. “Who is going to lead the dance?”

My grandfather rose and took her by the hand. I was not the least bit interested in this talk of conflict about the throne. I didn’t see how it could affect me.

How wrong I was, I was soon to discover.

It was the following day. We were all seated at table again when we had a visitor.

Ned Netherby had ridden over from Netherby Hall and he was clearly distraught.

He came into the hall where we were gathered.

“You’re just in time for dinner,” my mother began.

Then we were all staring at him, for he had obviously ridden over in great haste.

“Have you heard?” he began. “No … evidently not …”

“What’s wrong, Ned?” said my grandfather.

“It’s General Langdon.”

“That man,” said my grandfather. “He’s a Papist, I truly believe.”

“He obviously is. They’ve caught him. He’s a prisoner in the Tower.”

“What?” cried my grandfather.

“He was betrayed. He tried to drag me in,” said Ned. “Thank God he didn’t.”

My mother had turned pale. She was avoiding looking at Leigh. I could sense the terrible fear which had come to her.

No, I thought, not Leigh. He won’t get caught in any plots.

“That’s why he was here a little while ago,” went on Ned Netherby. “He was trying to recruit … an army, I suppose. He’s been discovered, caught. It’ll be his head, you’ll see.”

“What was his plan, do you think?” said Carl.

“To bring James back and set him up on the throne, obviously.”

“The rogue!” cried my grandfather.

“Well, it’s come to nothing,” said Ned. “Thank God I kept out of it.”

“I should hope you would, Ned,” said my grandfather. “Papists in England! No. We’ve had enough of their like.”

“I thought I’d come …” Ned was looking at Leigh.

“Thanks,” said Leigh. “I am not involved either. It was good of you, Ned.”

“Thank God for that. I knew he had been here. Do you think we shall be suspected?”

My mother put her hand to her heart, and Leigh immediately laid a hand on her shoulder.

“Of course not,” he said. “Everyone knows our leanings. We’re staunchly behind William and we shall be with Anne.”

“And after her the Hanoverians if she has no issue!” roared my grandfather.

“The same with us,” said Ned. “But I thought I’d let you know.”

“So he is in the Tower. It’s where he belongs.” My grandfather beat his fist on the table, a habit of his when he wished to show authority or vehemence. “What do you think he was going to do, eh, Ned?”

“He hinted when he came here,” said Leigh. “He’s sounding people out to find out how many would rally to James’s banner if he came back. I don’t think he found many. We’ve all had enough of war. As for civil war, there’s not a man in the country who wants that. James will be wise to stay where he is.”

“Well then,” said Harriet, “the plot is over. I wonder what will happen to our General?”

“It’ll be his head,” growled my grandfather. “We cannot afford to have his like prowling around. It’s a sorry state of affairs when generals in the King’s army are ready to play the traitor.”

“The trouble is,” said Harriet, “he would think it was you who were playing traitor to James, who was after all the King.”

My grandfather ignored her and my mother said, “Ned, do sit down and join us.”

She was very grateful to him but I knew she was going to be uneasy for some time to come. Ever since my grandfather had been taken during the Monmouth Rebellion she was terrified of our men becoming involved in some intrigue.

She was at her most fierce when she spoke of their folly in this respect.

That evening had lost its festive air. I was melancholy thinking of the gallant General in a comfortless cell in the Tower of London and contemplating how easily ill fortune could come along.

We heard more of the affair as the days passed. It was not being generally regarded with any great surprise. There had been so many who wanted James back and the Jacobite Movement was known to flourish throughout England. The only difference was that this might be considered to be of more importance than most of the plots because it was being organized by one of the generals of William’s army.

However, no one we knew was implicated. We heard that the General had not yet been tried but soon would be, and as the days passed I, at least, forgot about it.

I had other matters with which to occupy myself, for during those Christmas holidays Benjie again asked me to marry him.

I still declined to give him a definite answer but he was a great deal in my mind.

He said: “You don’t still think of Beaumont Granville, do you?”

I hesitated.

“Oh, but he’s gone, Carlotta. He’ll never come back now. If he had intended to he would have done so long ago.”

“I think I must be the faithful kind, Benjie.”

“My dearest Carlotta, do you know what Harriet said to me the other day? She said: ‘Carlotta cherishes a dream. It’s about a man who never existed.’ ”

“Beau existed, Benjie.”

“Not as you see him. What Harriet means is you built up a picture about him and it was a false one.”

“I knew him very well. He never pretended to me that he was other than he was.”

“He’s gone, Carlotta. He could be dead.”

“Sometimes,” I said, “I think he must be. Oh, Benjie, if only I could find out the truth and if he is dead how he died … I think I could begin to start again.”

“I’m going to find out,” said Benjie. “He’s abroad somewhere, and Harriet said that he would be in some fashionable city. He would never bury himself in the country. I’m going to marry you, Carlotta. Remember that.”

“You’re good to me, Benjie,” I said. “Go on loving me … please.”

Perhaps that was an admission. Perhaps I knew that I would one day marry Benjie.

At the end of January Harriet, Gregory and Benjie went back to Eyot Abbass. Harriet had now firmly decided that the sooner I married Benjie the better. She asked me to go and stay with them soon.

“When the spring comes,” she said, “I shall expect you.”

It was May when I set out to visit Harriet.

My mother was in a happy state of mind. It was clear now that there would be no reverberations about General Langdon and I was sure she believed that when I returned I would announce my betrothal to Benjie. It was what she wanted. It would bind us all more closely together.

Leigh was always busy about his land. He was cultivating more and more. They were all very pleased that there had actually been a new Act of Settlement which declared that Princess Anne was next in the line of succession to William, and that if she died without heirs the throne should go to the descendants of Sophia of Hanover, providing they were Protestants.

Leigh said: “It’s sensible. It shows clearly that we’ll never have James back. And it means that England will never consider any but a Protestant King.”

I felt impatient with all this talk about religion. “What difference does it make?” I cried. “Who cares whether we have a Protestant or Catholic King?”

“It makes a difference when men start quarrelling about it and insist that others think as they do,” explained Leigh.

“Which is just what they are doing with this Act of Settlement,” I pointed out.

I didn’t really care. I just wanted to be argumentative. Perhaps I did feel a little resentment at the treatment of the Catholics, as my father had died because he was one and dear old Robert Frinton, who had left me his fortune, had been a staunch adherent of the Catholic Church. And now General Langdon was going to come to a tragic end. I knew these men courted danger—all of them—but I was impatient with their intolerance towards each other.

However, the fact that the King was obviously ailing, although there was an attempt to prevent this becoming public knowledge, did not matter as much because there was the Princess Anne to step onto the throne if he should die; and although she was without heirs, she was only in her thirties and there was always the Electress Sophia with her brood in the background.

So I prepared to leave for Eyot Abbass.

Damaris was sent by my mother to help me sort out my clothes. My mother was always trying to bring us together and created a fantasy in her mind that we were devoted to each other. That Damaris had a blind adoration of me I knew. She loved to brush my hair for me. She liked to put my clothes away; and when I was dressed ready for dinner when we had guests or was going riding, she would stand before me, that little round rosebud mouth of hers quite eloquent in her admiration.

“You are the most beautiful girl in the world,” she once said to me.

“How do you know?” I asked. “I suppose you’re a connoisseur of the beauties of all countries, are you?”

“Well,” she replied, “you must be.”

“Why, because I’m your sister and you think everything connected with our family is better than everything else?”

“No,” she answered. “Because you are so beautiful nobody could be more so.”

I should have been pleased by this simple adoration but it irritated me. She was all that I was not. Born in wedlock of a happy marriage. A good child, truly enjoying going with my mother to visit the poor and taking baskets of food to them. She really cared when somebody’s roof leaked and she would even beard our grandfather in his private chamber and beg him to do something about it, although he terrified her. She was not the sort of child he was interested in and characteristically he made no effort to pretend he was. He did everything he could to intensify her fear of him. Grandmother Arabella scolded him for it and was particularly sweet to Damaris because of it. My grandfather preferred a rebel like me. He had not really wanted to stop my marriage to Beau, although he had ridden out after us when we eloped. He thought it would be good for me to learn my own lessons. There was a great deal of him in me and he knew it, and as he thought what he was was the right thing to be, he had an affection for me which he never would have for Damaris.

She folded my gowns, stroking them as she did so.

“I love this blue one, Carlotta,” she said. “It’s the colour of peacocks’ feathers. The colour of your eyes.”

“Indeed it is not,” I said. “My eyes are several shades lighter.”

“But they look this colour when you wear this gown.”

“Damaris, how old are you?”

“Nearly twelve,” she said.

“Then it is time you started thinking about what brings out the blue in your own eyes.”

“But mine are not blue,” she said. “They’re no colour at all. They’re like water. Sometimes they look grey, sometimes green, and only a little blue if I wear something of a very deep blue. And I haven’t those lovely black lashes; mine are light brown and they don’t show very much.”

“Damaris, I can see what you look like very well and I don’t want a detailed description. What shoes have you packed?”

She started to enumerate them, smiling in her usual good-tempered way. It was impossible to ruffle Damaris.

Twelve years old, I mused. I was just past twelve when I first met Beau. I was very different from Damaris. Aware even then of those glances that came my way. Damaris never saw anything but sick animals and tenants who were in need of repairs to their dwellings. She would make a very good wife for someone as stolid and virtuous as herself.

“Oh, get along, Damaris,” I said. “I can do this better myself.”

Crestfallen, she went. I was unkind to her. I should have tried to deserve a little of that admiration which she gave me so unstintingly. Poor pudgy little Damaris, I thought. She would always be the one to serve others and forget herself. She would live pleasantly … for others and never really have a life of her own.

If I wasn’t so impatient with her I could find time to be sorry for her.

I was to leave the next day; and there was quite a ceremonial supper at Eversleigh, for my grandmother always insisted on our going over on occasions like this.

My uncle Carl, my mother’s brother, was home on leave. He had followed the family tradition and gone into the army. He was very like his father and Carleton was rather proud of him.

My grandmother gave me lots of messages for Harriet and had prepared some herbs and lotions which she thought might interest her. They would go with my baggage on one of the pack horses. It was a three-day journey taken in easy stages, and they were discussing the route by which I should go. As I had done it many times before this seemed unnecessary.

I protested that they were making it seem like the feast of the Passover.

Grandfather laughed and said: “Oh, our lady Carlotta is a seasoned traveller.”

“Enough of one to feel that all this discussion is unwarranted,” I said.

“I heard that the Black Boar is a most reliable inn,” put in Arabella.

“I can verify that,” said Carl. “I spent a night there on the way here.”

“Then you must go to the Black Boar,” said my mother.

“I wonder why they call it the Black Boar,” asked Damaris.

“They keep one there to set on the travellers they don’t like,” said my grandfather.

Damaris looked alarmed and my mother said: “Your grandfather is teasing, Damaris.”

Then the political talk started and once that had begun my grandfather would not let it stop. My grandmother suggested that we leave the men to fight their imaginary battles while we gave ourselves to more serious matters.

So the females sat in the cosy winter parlour and talked about my journey and what I must take, and that I must not allow Harriet to keep me too long. I was delighted when we left for the Dower House.

The next morning I was up at dawn. My mother and Damaris were in the stables and my mother assured herself that everything I should need was on the two packhorses. Three grooms were accompanying me and one of them was to look after the packhorses. My mother wore her anxious look.

“I shall expect a messenger to be sent back to me as soon as you arrive.”

I promised this should be done.

Then I kissed her and Damaris and set out, riding behind two of the grooms while one rode behind me; and the packhorses came a little way behind him. It was the usual procedure for the roads, for although they had improved in late years, they could still be unsafe.

I had had instructions, which I had agreed to obey, that I would not travel after dark.

I was on my way to Harriet.

An Encounter At The Black Boar

IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL morning and I felt my spirits rise as we rode along the familiar lanes all gay and full of flowers—meadsweet, stitchwort and ground ivy. I could smell the sweet hawthorn as we passed fields in which the buttercups and daisies abounded, and in the orchards the apple and cherry trees were a riot of rose and white.

The fresh morning air, the beauty of the countryside, could not fail to have their effect on me. I felt more carefree than I had since I lost Beau and it seemed as though nature was telling me that I must not go on brooding forever. One season was past but another was beginning. Beau had gone and I must face that.

And yet what of the button I had found in Enderby? What of the scent of musk that had hung in the air? I had gone there again and there was no longer perfume in the air. There was nothing. I could have believed I had imagined it all but for the button. He must have left it there before he went away. It could have remained in a corner, and perhaps when Mistress Pilkington went through the house she disturbed it. Yes, a possibility, but what of that scent?

You could have imagined it, I told myself.

Perhaps I wanted to think that on this May morning. I began to think of riding in the woods near Eyot Abbass with Benjie and rowing over to the Eyot with him. We could picnic there and stroll among the ruins. I was conceived there. My mother had told me that much. And when she and my father, Jocelyn, had returned to the mainland he had been captured and taken off to his execution. Yes, it was not to be wondered at that I had a special feeling for the Eyot.

We rode for a long time along the coast road and made good progress the first day. The weather was ideal and we put up at dusk at the Dolphin Inn, where I had stayed on other occasions and was known to the host. He was delighted to see me and my party and served us some very good pike. There were quarters for us all at the inn, and following a good night’s rest we left early in the morning after a hearty breakfast of ale and cold bacon with freshly baked bread to which we did justice.

The morning began well. The sun was warm and the roads fairly good, and just before midday we stopped at the Rose and Crown and there partook of pigeon pies with the inn’s special brew of cider, which was a little more potent than we realized. I had very little of it but the groom in charge of the saddlebags was less abstemious and by the time we were ready to go he had fallen into a deep sleep.

I roused him but I could see that he would be little use on the road until he had a rest.

I said to Jem, the chief of the groom guards: “We can either wait or leave him.”

“If we wait, mistress,” answered Jem, “we’ll not reach the Black Boar by dusk.”

“We could stop somewhere else, perhaps.”

“I know of no place, mistress, and your mother was insistent that we stay at the Black Boar.”

I shrugged my shoulders impatiently. “We will find somewhere else. It only means that we shall be a little late arriving at Eyot Abbass.”

“I know of no inn other than that of the Black Boar in the district; and we have to be careful. There are all sorts of wicked people on the roads. My lady impressed on me that we were to keep to the main roads and to stay only at inns which we knew could be trusted,”

“There is so much fuss,” I said.

“Mistress, I am to guard you and I dare not disobey my orders.”

“Well, I’m giving orders now,” I said. “We have to decide whether to leave that oaf to sleep off his drunkenness and go on without him or wait.”

“To go on without him means there are only two of us to look after you.”

“Oh, come, I am not a helpless invalid. I can give a good account of myself if necessary. Give him an hour and if he is not fully awake by then we’ll leave him here. He can follow us with the saddle horses and at least we will get to the Black Boar tonight.”

This was what we did. The grooms were very uneasy. I laughed at Jem. “You are looking over your shoulder all the time, Jem,” I cried. “Just because Old Tom gets tipsy on cider we are in no greater danger. I’ll swear he would be little good to us if we were attacked and we shall get away more easily without the packhorses. Moreover we have less to be robbed of.”

“There’s bad omens, mistress,” said Jem shaking his head, “and I never like it when things start to go awry.”

“He’ll get a good scolding when arrives at the Abbass, I promise you.”

“Oh, mistress, he weren’t to know how strong the cider were.”

“We knew by the first mouthful,” I protested.

In fact we were able to get along more quickly without Tom and the saddle horses, even so twilight was fading when we reached the Black Boar.

As we rode into the courtyard I was astonished by the activity there. Grooms were running about attending to the horses and there was a general air of bustle, which was unusual.

Jem helped me dismount and I went into the inn. The host came out to meet me rubbing his hands together with an air of consternation.

“My lady,” he said, “Oh, my lady, we are in such a turmoil. We are full to overflowing.”

I was dismayed.

“You cannot mean that you have no room for us?” I cried in dismay.

“I fear so, my lady. I have let the whole of the floor to a party. They are most important gentlemen and one of them is sick.”

I felt a twinge of apprehension. I remembered Jem’s saying that if one thing went wrong, it started a chain of events. If it had not been for that stupid groom drinking too much cider we should have arrived two hours earlier and have had our rooms before the important gentleman came. Always before there had been room at the Black Boar. It was not as though it was one of those inns on the main road to a big city. It was quite off the beaten track, and never before when travelling back and forth between Eyot Abbass and Eversleigh had I encountered such a situation.

“What can we do?” I cried in distress. “It will be quite dark soon.”

“There’s only the Queen’s Head as I can think of and that’s ten miles on.”

“Ten miles. We couldn’t do it. The horses are tired. There are only three of us—the grooms and myself. I have left one behind at the Rose and Crown to sleep off a surfeit of cider. It is because of him that we have arrived so late.”

The innkeeper’s face lightened a little. “Well,” he said, “I do wonder …”

“Yes.” I said. “Yes. You wonder what?”

“There is a little room—well, ’tis scarce worthy of the name. A big cupboard more like. But there is a pallet in it and a table and chair … no more, mind. ’Tis on the same floor as the gentlemen have took. I said naught about it. One of our maids sleeps there sometimes.”

“I’ll take it,” I said. “After all, we shall be off early tomorrow morning. What about my grooms?”

“Well, I be thinking of them too. There’s a farmhouse a mile along the road. Reckon they could sleep in the loft over the stable if they was prepared to pay for it.”

“I will pay,” I said. “Now show me this … cupboard.”

“ ’Tisn’t what I like to offer you, my lady …”

“It will suffice, I’m sure,” I said. “It will teach me to be early in future.”

He was immensely relieved and I followed him up the stairs.

We were on a landing which I remembered from the past. The first door was that of my cupboard. There were four other doors on the landing.

The innkeeper opened the door. I was dismayed, I had to admit. It was indeed little more than a cupboard. The pallet occupied one side of it and a stool and a small table were all else that it contained. There was a small window in it which would make it just tolerable.

The innkeeper was looking at me dubiously. I said: “It will have to do.” Then I turned to him. “There are four good rooms on this floor,” I went on, “and only six in the party, you say. Perhaps they would agree to share more evenly, so that I could have one of the rooms.”

The innkeeper shook his head. “They were most certain what they wanted. It was all that floor. They paid me well for them … right on the nail. They said the whole floor. They had this sick gentleman. They said they didn’t want him disturbed. Best say nothing, my lady. They said the whole floor. They was most insistent on that. I hadn’t thought of this little place, see.”

“Well, I’m grateful to get it. I’ll see my grooms and send them off to the farmhouse. Then will you send me some hot water so that I can wash the grime of the road from my hands and face.”

“I will have it sent, my lady.”

I followed him down, saw the men and told them that they were to ride to the farmhouse. I would be up soon after dawn and pick them up as it was on our way.

Then I went back to my room and had not been there a few minutes when a maid arrived with some hot water for me. She set the bowl on the table and I felt a little better when I had washed and taken off my hat and shaken out my hair.

I would have something to eat in the dining room. The innkeeper had said there was sucking pig and I knew that it was a speciality of the inn and few people served it in a more tasty fashion than the innkeeper’s wife.

It had been a bad moment when I thought I was not going to find shelter for the night, but I had my little cupboard and it was only for a few hours. I should not undress. There was no room. Besides, anything I should need would be in the saddlebags.

A plague on the drunken groom. He would be roundly scolded by Harriet and Gregory when I arrived. It was a good thing we were not going back to Eversleigh. Priscilla would have been reduced to great anxiety—as for my grandfather, he would be capable of dismissing the groom on the spot.

Well, here I was and tomorrow I should have forgotten the incident.

I opened my door and stepped onto the landing. As I did so a man opened one of the other doors and came out. He stared at me in amazement. I felt a sudden tremor of excitement which I could only suppose was because he reminded me of Beau. Not that he looked the least bit like him. It was just his height and the fact that he was dressed with that fashionable discreet elegance which few men of my acquaintance possessed. His coat was square cut and as it was unbuttoned his embroidered waistcoat was just visible beneath it. His long shapely legs were encased in blue stockings with silver clocks and there were silver buckles on the garters just below the knee. The lower part of his coat was stiffened with wire, I imagined, and beneath it I caught a glimpse of a sword. He wore square-toed shoes with rather high blue heels and the silver buckles on his shoes matched those on his garters. His peruke was long and formally curled and on it he wore a three-cornered hat trimmed with silver galloon. It seemed strange to notice what a complete stranger was wearing. Afterwards I said it was because he had clearly taken such pains with his appearance that it seemed impolite not to notice it. There was a faint perfume emanating from him and that perhaps more than anything reminded me of Beau. He was a dandy—like Beau—and they were habitually users of scent. Beau once said that there were so many evil smells about that they must protect themselves. This man looked like someone one would meet at Court rather than in a country hostelry.

I did not have long to take in all this for he was clearly astonished to see me. I was about to shut the door of my cupboard room when he burst out: “Who are you and what are you doing up here?”

I raised my eyebrows to express my surprise.

He went on impatiently, “What are you doing on this landing? I have paid for the use of it, and have particularly asked that there should be no intruders.”

“I,” I replied haughtily, “have paid for this room … such as it is, and let me tell you, sir, I deeply resent your manner.”

He said: “You … have paid for a room here!”

“If you can call it a room,” I said. “I have taken this … this … space for the night, understanding that you and your party have taken the rest of the rooms.”

“How long have you been here?”

“I fail to see that that is any concern of yours.”

He walked past me and went downstairs. I heard him calling for the innkeeper.

I stood where I was, listening.

“You rogue. What do you mean by this? Did I or did I not pay you for the use of your rooms this night and was it not on the understanding that I and my party were not to be disturbed?”

“My lord … my lord … the lady has only this small room. It could be of no use to you. That was why I did not mention it. The lady comes frequently. I could not turn her away, my lord.”

“Did I not tell you that I have a very sick man up there?”

“My lord … the lady understands. She will be very quiet.”

“I have expressly commanded …”

I went downstairs and swept past them, for they were standing at the foot of the stairs.

I said: “Your sick friend will be more disturbed by all the noise that you are making than he possibly can by my presence on that floor.”

Then I went into the dining room.

I was aware of him looking after me. He turned and went back upstairs.

The innkeeper’s wife was in the dining room. She was clearly disturbed by all the fuss that was going on and tried to pretend that she was not.

The sucking pig would be served at once, she told me, and I said I was ready for it. She brought it herself. It was succulent and appetising and there was cold venison pie with a mulled wine to wash it down with. This was followed by apples and pears and biscuits flavoured with tansy and some herbs which I could not recognise.

It was when I was eating the biscuits that the man entered the dining room.

He came to my table and said: “I wish to apologise for my behaviour.”

I inclined my head to imply that an apology was needed.

“I was so anxious about my friend.”

“I gathered that,” I answered.

“He is a very sick man and is so easily disturbed.”

“I promise I shall not disturb him.”

I had an opportunity now to look at his face. It was an interesting one. He was deeply bronzed, and his peruke was dark but I imagined beneath it his hair would be fair; his eyes were light brown, almost golden, and he had strongly marked dark brows. It was a strong face—a deep cleft in the chin and full lips—sensuous lips, I decided, which could be cruel; there was a merriment in his eyes which contrasted with the mouth. His was a disturbing personality; or perhaps, as Beau had hinted, I enjoyed the company of the opposite sex in what he had called a normal, healthy way.

I wished I could stop remembering what Beau had said and comparing everyone with him. My interest in this man was because there was something about him which reminded me of Beau.

“May I sit down?” he said.

“This is the general dining room, I believe. And I am about to go.”

“You understand my discomfiture when I discovered that others were close by my sick friend.”

“Others? You mean when you discovered I was.”

He leaned his elbows on the table and studied me intently. I saw the admiration in his eyes and I had to admit that I was gratified.

“You are a very beautiful young lady,” he said. “I am surprised that you are allowed to travel alone.”

“This is hardly to the point,” I said coldly, then feeling it might be unwise to let him think I was alone added: “I am not travelling alone. I have grooms with me. They, alas, have had to find accommodation elsewhere. I make this journey frequently, but this is the first time something unfortunate like this has happened.”

“Please do not think of it as unfortunate. I was angry, I admit. Now I rejoice that I have been given this opportunity to make your acquaintance. May I know your name?”

I hesitated. I could understand his annoyance and he was clearly a quick-tempered man. He was doing his best to apologise now and I did not want to appear ungracious.

“It is Carlotta Main. What is yours?”

I saw that he was surprised. He repeated: “Carlotta Main. You belong to the Eversleigh family.”

“You know my family?”

“I know of them. Lord Eversleigh is your …”

“He is my grandmother’s son by her first marriage.”

“I see. And Leigh.”

“He is my stepfather. We are a rather complicated family.”

“And a military one. I believe the great General Tolworthy was a connection.”

“That’s so. It seems that I am no stranger to you. I wonder if I have heard of your family. What is your name?”

“It is … John Field.”

“No. I have never heard of any Fields.”

“Unexplored pastures,” he said with a hint of humour. “I wish we had met in happier circumstances.”

“And I wish that you get your friend safely to London.”

“Thank you. He needs skilled attention quickly. It is a great anxiety …”

I realized that he was apologising again and I stood up. I felt I should retire. There was something too bold and disturbing in his looks. He studied me too intently, and having had some experience of such matters I was well aware that he was assessing me and for what purpose. He was too like Beau for my comfort, and Beau had taught me so much about the ways of men.

The more I was close to this one, the more uneasy I became.

He stood up with me. He bowed and I went out of the dining room. I took a candle from the table in the hall and started up.

I met the innkeeper’s wife on the stairs with the serving maid. They were carrying food up the landing. It was evidently being served in one of those four rooms. So this John Field had come into the dining room just to apologise to me.

I went into my room and was relieved to see that there was a key. I turned it in the lock and felt safe.

It was stiflingly hot in the little cupboard so I went to the window and found to my delight that I could open it, and when a little air came in the atmosphere was more bearable.

I sat down on my stool. It must be nearly ten o’clock. We should leave early in the morning. There was not a great deal of time to be spent here, and how glad I should be when the dawn came.

Then suddenly a gust from the open window doused my candle. I sighed but did not attempt for a while to relight it. There was a halfmoon and it was a clear night, so as my eyes grew accustomed to the gloom I could see well enough.

It was then that I became aware of the crack of light in the wall. Perplexed, I stared at it; then I got up to examine it.

Good heavens, I thought. There must have been a door there at one time. It has been boarded up.

Yes, that was it. Boarded up and not too expertly done. This cupboard room of mine must at one time have led from the room next to it—perhaps it was a kind of dressing room—and there had obviously been a small communicating door between the two rooms. Someone must have decided to shut it off completely to make a maid’s room of it.

There was this slight crack at the side which would hardly have been visible if I had not been in the dark and there was light in the room behind the partition. And as I was examining it, I heard the mumble of voices. At first I thought they came from the corridor. Then I realized that they were coming through the crack in the wall.

John Field and his friends were in urgent discussion. I shrugged my shoulders. I imagined them sitting down to the sucking pig, which had been brought up by the innkeeper’s wife and her serving woman.

Then suddenly I heard my name and I was alert. I put my ear to the crack.

I recognised the voice of John Field. “Carlotta Main … the heiress … one of the Eversleighs … That she should be here this night.”

A mumble of voices.

“I could murder that innkeeper. I said clearly that we were not to be disturbed …”

“It’s only a girl …”

“Yes … but one of the Eversleigh family …”

“You spoke to her?”

“A real beauty.” I heard him chuckle. “A young lady with a high opinion of herself.”

“You were clearly taken with her. Trust you, Hessenfield.”

Hessenfield, I thought. He had said he was John Field. So he had given me a false name. This was no ordinary mission of taking a sick man to a doctor. And why should it need six men to do this? Unless of course they were servants; but from that scrap of conversation I had heard it did not seem that this was the case.

Then I heard him again: “A fiery creature, I imagine. A real beauty.”

“This is not the time for dalliance of that nature.”

“You’ve no need to remind me. We’ll have no trouble with the haughty young lady. She’ll be off at dawn. I gathered that from her.”

“Do you think it was wise …?”

“Wise? What do you mean …?”

“Making yourself known … going to speak to her …”

“Oh, an apology was needed, you know.”

“Trust you to play the gallant. What if she recognised you?”

“How could she? We’ve never met.”

“Well, gave an account of you …”

“The occasion won’t arise. We’ll be out and away within the next few days Stop fidgeting, Durrell. And now … let’s go and eat.”

I heard the shutting of the door and there was silence. They would be partaking of the sucking pig in the next room.

I lighted my candle and went back to my stool.

There was something very mysterious going on and in a way I was caught up in it. It was disconcerting to know how much my presence disturbed them. What had he meant when he said I might recognise the man who called himself John Field? And his real name was Hessenfield. Why should he have given a false name? Because if he were found out in whatever he was doing, he did not want it to be known.

There was a long night to be lived through and I did not expect to get much sleep.

I took off my jacket. I did not intend to undress completely. I had no nightclothes in any case. They were in the saddlebags.

I lay down on the pallet, blew out my candle and found myself watching the crack in the wall.

It must have been past midnight when I saw a flicker of light. I went to the wall and put my ear to the crack. There was no conversation. Evidently someone was in the room alone. In due course the light went out.

I dozed fitfully through the night and as soon as the first streaks of light were in the sky I was preparing to leave. I had settled my account with the innkeeper the previous night and told him that I might be leaving before the household was astir. He had left me some ale and cold bacon with bread on the table and there was a can of water and small ewer. I used these as silently as I could and ate my breakfast.

While I was doing this I heard signs of activity on the landing and guessed that my neighbours were astir also.

I looked out of my window and saw one of them going to the stables.

Then I heard the creaking of stairs.

I was ready. I opened my door and looked out. It was silent. Then I heard the sound of heavy breathing and a gasp as though someone were in pain.

I went along the landing. A door was half open. Then I heard the gasp again.

I pushed open the door and looked in. “Can I help?” I said.

I have often thought afterwards how one moment in time can affect our whole lives and wondered how different everything might have been if I had remained in my room until the party who had shown such a desire for secrecy had gone.

But my curiosity got the better of me and I took a fatal step when I pushed open that door and looked in.

A man was lying in the bed. There was blood on his clothes and his face was the colour of whey. His eyes were wide and glassy and he looked very different from when I had last seen him.

But I recognised him at once. I ran to the bed.

“General Langdon,” I said. “What are you doing here?”

And as I spoke I was aware that someone had come into the room. It was not the man who called himself John Field but one of the others.

He was looking at me with horror. He drew his sword and I thought for a moment that he was going to run it through me.

Then John Field was there.

“Hold!” he cried. “What are you doing, you fool?”

He had knocked the sword out of the other’s hand. I heard it clang to the floor and I stared at it in horror.

“She … knows him,” said the man. “By God, she’s got to die.”

“Not so fast,” said John Field Hessenfield, and it was clear to me that he was the leader. “Kill her … here! You must be mad. What would happen then? They would be after us and we should never get across.”

“We’ve got to finish her,” said the man who would have killed me. “Don’t you understand? She knows … she knows who he is.”

It is a strange feeling to look death in the face but that was what I was doing now. I was bewildered and I could only think that I might so easily now be lying on the floor of this room with a sword through my heart.

“We’d better get out of here quickly,” said the man Hessenfield. “Not a moment to lose.”

He took a step towards me and gripped my arm so firmly that I winced.

“She’ll have to come with us,” he said.

The man who would have killed me relaxed a little. He nodded.

“We can’t get rid of her here, you fool,” said Hessenfield.

“Come on.” Others had come into the room.

“What’s this?” said one.

“Our floor neighbour,” said Hessenfield. “Come on. Get the General out. Carry him carefully. And be quiet, for God’s sake be quiet.”

He pulled me to one side and two of the men came forward. Carefully they lifted the General. He groaned. I watched wide eyed and silent while they carried him from the room.

Hessenfield was still holding my arm.

“Come on,” he said.

I was forced along the landing. At the door of my room we paused and he flung open the door. “Nothing must be left behind,” he said.

“There is nothing. What are you doing?”

“Silence,” he hissed. “Do what I say or that will be the end of you.”

The clear morning air filled my lungs and I began to think clearly. What was General Langdon doing with these men? The last I had heard of him he had been a prisoner in the Tower.

There was no time to think. I was being hustled to the stables.

One of the men mounted a horse and the General was put on with him.

I was set on a big black horse and Hessenfield bounded up beside me.

“Don’t leave her horse behind,” he said. “We’ll have to bring it with us. Ready.”

Then we were riding through the dawn.

I shall never forget that ride. I tried to talk but he would not answer. They let my horse go free when we had gone some five miles. He was an encumbrance. Then we went on.

It was no use trying to protest. I was held fast against my captor. I knew that I was in imminent danger; that the reason this man had been so angry to find me on that floor was because he had something of great importance to hide. I knew what it was now. It was the presence of General Langdon.

My thoughts started to form into some sort of order.

General Langdon had come to Eversleigh, trying to recruit men to the Jacobite cause. He wanted to raise them against the present King and bring James back to the throne. Then he had been discovered and sent to the Tower. Now here he was—obviously very ill, but free.

It must have been about midday when we came to a wood. We rode into this and pulled up for a while. They evidently knew where we were and had been making for this spot. There was a stream where the tired horses were able to drink. The General was laid on a blanket and one of the men brought out some bread and bacon with a flask of ale.

“So far so good,” said Hessenfield.

He looked at me sardonically, I thought.

“I am sorry we have to inconvenience you like this, Mistress Main. But you do realise, do you not, that you have inconvenienced us far more.”

“What is all this about?” I demanded, trying to hide my fear with a show of bravado.

“Dear lady, it is not for you to ask the questions. From you—if you value your life—we expect blind obedience.”

“Don’t dally with the wench,” said the man who had been ready to kill me. “This would be a good spot to be rid of her.”

“Do not be so impatient, my dear fellow. We have one purpose ahead of us. All that matters is that we fulfil it.”

“She’s a danger.”

“A small danger which we do not want to turn into a big one.”

“I see that you have other plans for her. We expect that of you, Hessenfield.”

Hessenfield suddenly struck out and the man was lying on the grass.

“Just a little reminder, Jack,” he said, “that I give the orders. Never fear, I shall see that we are not betrayed. The lady shall be dealt with … but when dealing with her can bring no trouble to us.” He turned to me. “You must be tired. We have ridden far. Sit down … here.”

I moved away and he caught my arm.

“I said, sit here,” he told me, raising his eyebrows. His eyes were twinkling but his mouth was cruel. I was aware of the sword he wore at his waist. I shrugged my shoulders and sat down.

He sat beside me. “I am glad you are sensible,” he said. “Good sense is a great ally. And you need all the allies you can muster, Mistress Main. You are in a somewhat dangerous position. You understand?”

“What are you doing with General Langdon?”

“Saving his life. Is that not a commendable thing to do?”

“But he … he is the King’s prisoner.”

“He was,” said Hessenfield.

“You mean …?”

“I told you, Mistress Main, that it is not for you to ask the questions. Do as I tell you and who knows, you might save your skin.”

I was silent. He stood up and moved off. Then he came back with some bread and bacon for me. I turned my head away.

“Take it!” he thundered.

So I took it.

“And eat it,” he said.

“I do not wish to eat it.”

“But you will eat it all the same.”

He stood there, legs astride, looking down at me. I ate a little of the bread and bacon. Then he came back with a flask of ale. He threw himself down beside me and offered me the flask. I drank a little. He smiled and put it to his lips. “We shall share the flask,” he said. “One might say it is a loving cup.”

Then I was conscious of a tingling fear because there was that in his eyes which I understood. I thought of what one of the others had said: “You have other plans for her. We expect that of you, Hessenfield.”

I saw that I was completely at his mercy. The others would have killed me and thrown my body in a stream or buried it under the trees and nobody would ever know what had become of me. I would disappear … as Beau had disappeared.

He stretched out beside me eating bread and bacon and drinking from his flask.

He said: “You are a bold young lady, I know. Don’t think I don’t see those flashing eyes. You must realise that you are in acute danger. Your hope is in me. You know that. You have stumbled on something which is a matter of life and death … your death as well as others. You were too curious, mistress. Why did you not go on when there was no room at the inn? Why did you walk into that room when you had no business to?” He leaned towards me. “But, do you know,” he went on quietly, “I am glad you did.”

I did not answer.

I wondered what would happen to me next. I knew he desired me. I knew that he was a man who would have mistresses throughout the country. He was so like Beau in many ways. He did not want to kill me as the others did, at least not until after he had been my lover.

Death was very close but, strangely enough, I felt more alive than I had since Beau had died.

We were in the wood for two hours before we set out again. I was very conscious of his proximity and he was aware of this. I could see by the expression in his eyes that this amused him; but I warned myself against him. He was as ruthless as the rest of them.

They seemed to be making for some special place and I very soon realised that we were heading south. I was all right for now and then I fancied I caught the tang of the sea. We kept away from main roads and at length we came to a house in a very isolated part of the country. It overlooked the sea but there appeared to be no other dwelling for miles around.

We rode into the courtyard and dismounted. As we had ridden along I had been trying to think of ways of escaping from them. That was not going to be very easy, I could see; but the thought exhilarated me. I imagined their rage and fear when they discovered I had gone, and that gave me a certain pleasure.

One thing I had gathered was that General Langdon was no unwilling prisoner; and I came to the conclusion that they had rescued him from the Tower. Surely quite an undertaking, but I already knew that if Hessenfield made up his mind to do something he almost certainly would.

Could it really be that these men were members of that often spoken of Jacobite community who were determined to put James on the throne? That General Langdon was one of them I already knew. I could see what a dangerous intrigue I had fallen into without caring one way or the other for their aims.

I was hustled into the hall. There was an air of absolute quiet about the place.

Hessenfield said: “Better search thoroughly. Every room, every possible spot.”

I looked about the hall.

“Pleasant place,” said Hessenfield conversationally. “We’re lucky to have it.”

“How did you know it would be empty?”

He held up a finger almost playfully. “Really, my dear, must I tell you again not to ask questions?”

I turned away impatiently and I saw the excitement leap up in his eyes and it sent a shiver of apprehension through me which I could not honestly say did not hold a slight touch of pleasure.

One of the men, who was called Geoffrey, returned to the hall.

“All in order,” he said.

“Good. Now for a council of war. First get the invalid to a bed.”

I said: “His leg is bleeding badly. It needs attention.”

They were all looking at me.

“She’s right,” said Hessenfield. “One of you had better see about that doctor. You know where to go.”

Durrell said: “I’ll go.”

“At once.”

“The bleeding should be stopped at once,” I said.

“Help him up and we’ll look at his leg again,” said Hessenfield. He was gripping my arm and two of them carried the General up the stairs. Hessenfield and I followed.

The house was in good order. I could not understand why it should be deserted. There was a wide staircase leading to a landing, and the General was taken into a bedroom and laid on a four-poster bed.

His hose were removed and his breeches cut away. There was an ugly wound on his thigh. I said it should be bathed and bandaged. That might stop the flow of blood.

“Get water for her,” said Hessenfield.

“I want bandages too,” I said.

It seemed that there were no bandages, but one of them found a man’s shirt in a cupboard and we tore it up. It served well enough.

“How did this happen?” I said.

And Hessenfield gripped my shoulder and laughed at me, reminding me that I was at it again. Questions were forbidden—at least coming from me.

“You understand we have to stop the flow of blood,” I said. “If we don’t he’ll die. I think I know how to do it.”

I was remembering an occasion when Damaris had cut her arm badly and Leigh had stopped the bleeding. I had watched him fascinated and now it came back to me.

“I need a strong stick,” I said.

There was silence and then Hessenfield said: “Find something for her.” They found a back scratcher on the dressing table; it was long and thin, yet strong, made of ebony and had carved claws at the end.

I found the throbbing point and put a pad of cloth over it; then I tied a strip of bandage over it leaving a half-knot in which I placed the back scratcher before tying it firmly. Then I carefully turned the wood, tightened the bandage as I had seen Leigh do. It was not long before the profuse bleeding had stopped.

I sat by the bed and anxiously watched the General. The men were looking at the wounded man. I could see that he was badly injured and wondered how he had affected his escape from the Tower.

It seemed a long time before the doctor came. He was obviously nervous and I guessed that he was a Jacobite and would not have been brought to the house otherwise.

I explained to him what I had done. He said: “Good. Good,” and I felt an immense lifting of my spirits.

“He has lost a lot of blood,” he said. “A little more could have been fatal. This action may well have saved his life.”

I was overwhelmed with joy. Hessenfield was looking at me with a sort of proprietary pride which amused me and I must say gave me a certain exhilaration.

I was walked out of the room by the man called Durrell and put in the next one. He stood guarding me. I knew that he would have despatched me on the spot if he had had his way.

He was not young; he must have been about fifty. There was fanaticism in his face; I guessed he was a man who would take up a cause and give everything to it. He was different from Hessenfield, to whom I was sure life was intended to be enjoyed however serious the undertaking. Hessenfield must be at least twenty years younger than this man. I guessed him to be about thirty, though, like Beau, he appeared to be younger. I wished I could stop comparing him with Beau.

I heard the doctor leave. Hessenfield came into the room. He was smiling. “He’ll be all right,” he said. “He couldn’t have afforded to lose much more blood. You see, Durrell, our lady is proving a useful member of the party. Perhaps she will prove to be more useful. Who knows? There is usually some good to be found in feminine society.”

Durrell went close to him and whispered: “Do you realise someone has to guard her all the time?”

“I shall make that my special pleasure.”

“All the time … have you thought what that means?”

“All the time will be only a day or so.”

“It might be a week.”

“No! Three days at most.”

“Weather permitting,” said Durrell.

I guessed then that they were here to wait for a ship to take them to France.

I was beginning to piece the story together.

The two men went out and one of the younger ones, named James, was sent to guard me. James was very young, about eighteen, I supposed, an earnest boy who I was sure was longing to die for his cause.

I was getting to know them all. Hessenfield, Durrell, James, Shaw and Carstairs. James was the son of Carstairs. They were of the nobility, I believed, and at one time had been at court. Hessenfield was clearly the leader—which was fortunate for me, for there was no doubt that had it been left to Durrell I should have been dead by now. Durrell believed that I was an encumbrance and I could quite see his point. At least I had been useful in attending to the General, and the General’s life was of the utmost importance to them otherwise why should they all have risked their own to save it?

It was like living in a dream. In fact, I kept thinking that I was going to wake up and find it really was one. It was so fantastic to find myself in a mysterious house which looked as though it had been inhabited a few minutes before we arrived and then was miraculously empty. In the kitchens, I was to discover, were hams and joints of beef and mutton. There were pies in the larder—ample food to feed a party of men for at least a week. It was clear that we had been expected. And here was I in the heart of this fantastic adventure with a sword of Damocles hanging over my head, for I was here on sufferance. One false step and that would be the end of me. I was being allowed to live because of some purpose the man called Hessenfield had in store for me. I had stumbled on a dangerous plot and become part of it.

I did not need an explanation of what was happening. It was obvious. They were Jacobites; General Langdon had tried to raise an army to fight for James; he had been discovered, imprisoned and would have been condemned to death. Then a band of bold conspirators, headed by Hessenfield, had rescued him from the Tower and they were trying to get him out of the country. That was why they were in this house waiting for the ship which would take them across to France where they would join King James at St. Germain-en-Laye.

For me to have discovered so much without being told explained how very vulnerable they all were. If I escaped and gave the alarm before they were able to get out of the country it would be the hangman’s noose or the executioner’s block for the lot of them.

So it was not surprising that it should be deemed wise to despatch me on the spot, bury my body somewhere and let my disappearance remain the mystery which Beau’s death was. That set me wondering if something like this had happened to Beau.

Darkness fell.

We went down to eat in the great kitchen. The doors were bolted and barred and no one could have got in easily.

I sat at the table with them and there was little conversation. I made that impossible. Durrell was afraid to say too much in front of me. My impression grew that he would kill me if he had a chance.

They ate heartily, which was more than I did. They drank openly to the true King. No secret drinking to the King Across the Water here.

Hessenfield said: “We shall retire early. It may be that our deliverers will be here by morning.”

“I pray God we will be gone by this time tomorrow,” said Durrell.

“Aye, I hope He will hear your prayers,” said Hessenfield.

Durrell was looking at me.

“You may leave her to me,” said Hessenfield; and I saw the rather sour smile on Durrell’s lips.

Hessenfield had me by the arm.

I said: “I will stay here. I will give you my word …”

“That you will not try to get away?” said Hessenfield. “I’d feel safer with you in my care.”

Again that smirk.

He nodded to everyone, and still holding my arm he took me from the room.

We went to that one which he had chosen for himself. It was a very fine bedchamber with a four-poster bed draped with green velvet curtains.

He locked the door and turned to face me.

“Here we are at last,” he said. “I am sorry, Mistress Main, that you must remain our prisoner but we must make the best of it, do you agree?”

“It is always wise to make the best of everything,” I muttered.

“And you are wise. I see that … almost always wise. But perhaps not so wise as usual when you pried into matters which did not concern you this morning.”

“I did not intend to pry. Let me tell you that I am not interested in your plots and counterplots.”

“Well, interested or not, you have become part of this one.”

He removed his coat and started to unbutton his waistcoat.

“I think,” he said, “you will find this bed more comfortable than the one you had last night. A wretched affair, was it not? I was so sorry that you were forced to use that. I’ll warrant you slept little.”

I went to him and laid a hand on his arm. “Let me go,” I said. “What do you think will happen? Do you think my family will stand aside and allow me to be kidnapped in this way?”

“My dear Carlotta. May I call you that? Mistress Main does not suit you in the least. Carlotta, my dear. They are not going to find you. You left the inn with your horse early in the morning as was arranged; you went to join your grooms a mile up the road. It was early morning. There was no one about. Lying in wait for you was some footpad. He stole your possessions. Being you, you put up a fight, in which you were killed. He buried your body in a wood or threw it in a stream or something such. A far more plausible explanation than that you fell in with a band of desperate men, one of whom is so gallant that he is going to let you live awhile … if you deserve to.”

“It pleases you to joke about this matter.”

“It pleases me because I am so happy to be here with you.”

He took hold of me then and held me powerless in his arms.

“Presumably,” I said, “you are displaying your superior strength.”

“Rather unnecessary, is it not? One should never stress the obvious. I find you most desirable.”

“I am sorry I cannot return the compliment.”

“You will change your mind.”

“So you saved my life … for this.”

“A worthy cause,” he said.

“You are … wicked.”

“I know. But you are not so very virtuous yourself, are you, Carlotta?”

“I don’t think you know anything about me.”

“You’d be surprised how much I do know.”

“You know my family. That should be enough to tell you they will not stand aside and allow me to be treated like this.”

“I could take you very easily, you know … now … this moment. You are looking round for means of escape. You could scream. Who would care? In fact that might bring Durrell with his sword. You are trapped, sweet Carlotta. At the mercy of your ravisher. There is nothing to be done in such circumstances but to submit. It saves a great deal of trouble.”

I wrenched myself away from him and ran to the door. I pummelled on it with my fists.

“Now that,” he said, “is an action scarcely worthy of you. Who in this house is coming to your rescue? Save your energies for more worthy purposes.”

He had taken me by the shoulders and led me back into the room.

“You are irresistible and we shall be lovers this night,” he said. “It is what I wanted from the moment I saw you. You are such an attractive creature, Carlotta. You invite. You promise. You are meant for love … our sort of love.”

“Love,” I cried. “I should think that is a subject you know nothing about. You mean lust, do you not? I am at your mercy. You are intent on rape—a very gentlemanly activity, I believe, and I have no doubt you are well versed in it. It is easy, is it not, to seek out helpless women who are unable to fight against you. Oh, very gallant. I despise you … Field … Hessenfield, whatever your name is. You haven’t even the courage to own up to that and have to masquerade under a false name. Let me tell you this, if ever I get out of this place I shall not forget you.”

“I hope not,” he said. “I intend to make you remember me for the rest of your life.”

“With a shudder … with loathing … Yes, you are probably right. That is how I shall remember you.”

“No,” he said, “perhaps otherwise.”

His arm was about my shoulder and there was a curious gentleness in his touch. He forced me onto the stool and knelt at my feet and taking my hands in his smiled up at me. His eyes were shining. I noticed that they were golden coloured. Again he reminded me of Beau. He had looked like that before we made love.

He kissed my hands just as Beau used to and he said: “Carlotta, you have been very unhappy. I am going to change that.”

I tried to snatch my hands away. “You know nothing about me,” I cried.

“I know a great deal,” he answered. “I knew Beaumont Granville … well.”

I closed my eyes. There was something unreal about this scene. If he had taken me by force, roughly, crudely, it would have seemed the natural outcome and in any case I had been expecting it. But this talk about Beau was unnerving.

“He was a friend of my father,” he said. “He often came to our house. He took a fancy to me. He used to talk a great deal to me.”

“Did he talk of me?”

“He talked of all his women.”

“All his women!”

“They were legion. There had been women in his life since he was fourteen. He was very frank with me. He said he would undertake my education. What aspect of that education I don’t need to explain.”

“I don’t want to hear any more.”

“My dear, it is for me to say what shall and shall not be. I know you still think of him, don’t you? How long is it since he disappeared? Three years. Four years. What happened to him do you think?”

“Perhaps he was killed as you intend to kill me.”

He was thoughtful. “He had many enemies. A man like Beaumont Granville would. It is generally thought that he went abroad … in search of higher game. It was not unusual for him to disappear for periods at a time. Usually creditors or having involved himself in some affair that was giving him trouble was the cause.”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“Because you must get him out of your mind. You have set up a great memorial to him. He is not worth it, Carlotta.”

“Another quality I have discovered in you. Such loyalty to your friends.”

“Yes, he was a friend in a way but you mean more to me.”

I laughed. “This time yesterday I saw you for the first time. I wish to God I never had.”

“I do not think that is exactly true.” He laid a hand on my wrist. “I can feel your heart beating fast, Carlotta. Oh, it is going to be wonderful between us. I know it. But I want you to stop comparing me with Beaumont Granville.”

“I did nothing of the sort …”

“You should keep to the truth, Carlotta. The truth is so much more interesting than lies.”

“Oh, let me out of here. I promise I will not say a word of what I have seen. Give me a horse. Let me go. I will find my way to Eyot Abbass. I will say I lost my way. I will make up some plausible tale. I promise you, you and your band shall not be the worse for anything I shall say.”

“Too late,” he said. “You are here, Carlotta, in the trap. A most delightful trap, I promise you.”

“With death at the end …?” I asked.

“It will depend on you. You will entertain me and each night I shall look forward to more shared joys. Have you heard of Scheherazade? She told stories and for her skill was allowed to live through another day. You are a Scheherazade of sorts, Carlotta, and I am your sultan.”

I put my hands over my face. I did not want him to see my expression. His talk of Beau had brought back so many memories of the room in Enderby Hall. This room was not unlike it. He reminded me more and more of Beau. I was afraid of myself. I felt that if this man touched me I should not be able to fight off the fantasy. I should let myself slip into the dream.

“Stop regretting Beaumont Granville,” he was saying. “You would have been wretched with him. Your people were right to try to stop the marriage. Beaumont could never be faithful to one woman for more than a week. He was completely cynical about them. He talked of them to me … to others too, I don’t doubt. He talked of you, Carlotta.”

I repeated blankly: “He talked of me!”

“He was going to marry you because of your fortune. Solely because of your fortune, Carlotta. He wasn’t in the least reluctant, though. A nice fortune and a loving little wife. He told me how it was with you. He described those times you spent together in Enderby Hall, wasn’t it? He talked about women like that. He used to talk about Naturals. They were born for it, he said. Lovely passionate creatures. They are as eager as you are. Carlotta, he said, is like that. He was glad, he said. One grew tired of the shrinking kind who had no heart in the romp.”

“Be silent,” I cried. “How can you? I hate you. I hate you. If I could I would …”

“I know. If you had a sword here you’d run it through me as Durrell would have run it through you this morning. You owe me your life, Carlotta.”

I could not explain my feelings. There was shame there, shame for what Beau had said of me. I never wanted to see that room at Enderby again. My mother had done everything she could to stop me and she had been right. I could not bear to think of him—discussing me and my emotions and my reactions to this … disciple of his.

His fingers were on my coat. “Come, dear Carlotta,” he said. “Forget him. He is past. Perhaps he lies mouldering in some grave. Perhaps he is at this moment lying with someone who can give him more than you could. Forget him. I know you and love you already. You are no stranger to me, Carlotta.”

He had taken off my coat. He was undressing me with unexpectedly tender hands.

I wrenched myself free suddenly. I looked about the room. He took my face in his hands and said: “Caught. Trapped, like a little bird in a net. Sweet Carlotta, life is fleeting. Who knows, perhaps this very night men will come to this place and take me. Perhaps in a week, a month, my head and shoulders will have parted. Life is short. It has always been my motto. Enjoy it while we can. That should be yours, too. Who shall say what tomorrow shall bring to either of us? But there is tonight.”

Then he picked me up and carried me to the bed.

He laid me there and I closed my eyes.

Resistance was useless. I was completely in his power. I knew the sort of man he was. Beau’s sort. He was moving about the room. Then he blew out the candle and was beside me.

I wanted to cry out in protest. But cries, as he had pointed out, were useless. I was in his power.

I heard him laugh in the darkness. I think he knew me better than I knew myself.

It is difficult to understand myself. I suppose I should have felt degraded and humiliated; and in a way I did, and yet … It is hard to explain except to say that I am a woman who was meant to experience physical passion and I was beginning to understand that it was not so much Beau himself that I had missed as the opportunity to match my physical needs with one with whom I was in complete bodily harmony. This was how it was with Hessenfield. We were as one flesh; I forgot the reason for my being where I was and although I brought out all my pride—and that was considerable in ordinary circumstances—I could not hide the fact that I found pleasure in this encounter.

Hessenfield knew it; he exulted in it, and he was by no means a rough or uncouth lover as might have been expected in the circumstances. He behaved as though his great desire was to please me and he made no secret of his delight in me.

He told me that I was wonderful; that he had never enjoyed such an experience as much as he had with me.

In the darkness he whispered to me: “I could so easily fall in love with you.”

I did not jeer at him; I remained silent. I was overcome by a mixture of shame and ecstasy.

We were as suited as lovers as Beau and I had been. There was an overpowering sensuality in us both which gave us a rare appreciation of the sensations we could evoke in each other. Whatever happened to me, I could not wholeheartedly regret this adventure.

He knew it even as I did. He certainly behaved like a lover after that first onslaught. It was as though he was telling me that he was sorry it had happened in this way.

When the first streaks of light were in the sky he was at the window. He was looking for the ship.

“There is nothing there,” he said; and there was almost a relief in his voice.

Another day passed. A long day it seemed. They were all watching for the arrival of the ship. I dressed the General’s wound. I seemed to be more adept at nursing than any of the others and they let me do it. They seemed glad that I could.

The General was not quite sure where he was, so he did not question my presence. I was glad of that. Later I went down to the kitchen and prepared the food for them. It was only a matter of setting it out on the table for whoever this house belonged to had left it well stocked with food.

I was embarrassed to meet Hessenfield’s gaze during that morning. He was so knowledgeable; he would know exactly how I was feeling, and I could scarcely pretend to be as outraged as I should be. He had been fully aware of the passion in me which had matched his own. He was too experienced not to understand my nature. At one time he came up behind me, caught me and held me against him; I felt his lips on my ear. He was behaving as a true lover might. It was disconcerting.

I felt ashamed to face the others, for they all knew what had happened. Hessenfield undoubtedly had a reputation for his amorous adventures. Beau’s pupil, I thought.

He had taught me something. It was that it was not so much Beau whom I wanted but a man who could satisfy me in the way Beau had.

The night came and we were alone again. As he held me tightly against him he said: “I am glad the ship did not come today.”

“You are a fool,” I said. “Every day your danger grows.”

“It’s worth it,” he answered, “for a night with you.”

We lay together in the big four-poster bed just as I had lain in that other with Beau.

He said: “I believe you love me a little.”

I did not answer and he went on: “At least you do not hate me. Oh, Carlotta, who would have thought this would have turned out so. Since I saw you in the inn I wanted this. I wouldn’t have anything changed …”

Then he kissed me and I tried to ward off the desire which he knew so well how to kindle.

“You should never pretend, sweetheart,” he said. “There is nothing wrong in being a vibrant woman. Oh, God, how I wish that things were not as they are. I like to think that these traitors had not arisen, that you and I had met perhaps at some court function. And I saw you and loved you and asked for your hand in honourable marriage. Think of that, Carlotta.”

“I should have to agree, you know,” I reminded him.

“You would. There would have been no objection from your family, I promise you, and if there had been from you I should have brought you to some place like this and proved to you how necessary I was in your life. You would have accepted me then, Carlotta, would you not?”

“I suppose if you had seduced me I should have to,” I retorted.

“Sweet Carlotta. I shall pray that the ship does not come tomorrow.”

I said nothing. I was afraid to betray my feelings with words as I had in other ways.

In a strange way I was in love with him. It must be remembered that we were all in a highly emotional state. Death hovered over all of us. It seemed unlikely that they would allow me to live. I knew too much. Durrell was right. Although they guarded me night and day it would not have been impossible for me to escape their vigilance and then, considering what I knew, I could be a terrible danger to them.

I thought of it. While Hessenfield lay sleeping beside me I could have risen, found the key to the door, unlocked it, got out of the house, taken one of the horses from the stable and been away. Hessenfield was taking a great risk in letting me live. And they no less than I were close to death, and that knowledge must have its effect. I was conscious of a great desire to go on living—a lust for life which I had not noticed before. In the last day or so I had moved away from the past. I had changed. I was not exactly happier than I had been, but I can only say that I was more alive.

I lived from hour to hour. I did not want to look ahead to the time when I should gaze out and see the ship there. God knew what would happen to me then. Hessenfield would say good-bye to me. Would he do it with a sword? No, I could not believe he would harm me. Yet he would have imposed himself upon me however reluctant I had felt. He would have raped me and exulted in it.

And yet there had sprung up these strange emotions between us. Our natures went out to meet each other; in a way we belonged together. He was a man of power. Perhaps that was what I looked for in men. He was a natural buccaneer, an adventurer, a leader of men. He had grace, elegance and an air of gallantry; he was a man of the world; he combined fastidiousness with a kind of primitive strength. He was virile yet he was tender; he had the ability to make me feel that I was more important to him than anyone had ever been before and I thrilled to that, although I could not entirely believe it. Beau had that, I reminded myself. And to him I had just been a fortune—and the means of providing amusement for an hour or so.

There was no doubt that my emotions were in turmoil; my senses were heightened. I was living again—and more than anything I wanted to go on living.

It was the third day. They were beginning to get restive.

“What has delayed them?” I heard Durrell say. “It can’t be the weather. God help us, at any moment a storm could arise … gales … anything. That would be understandable … but it’s calm enough out there.”

The weather had turned warm and the sun beat through the windows. I looked longingly out at the green lawns and the shrubbery.

The house was built in a small valley and it was only from the second and third storeys that the sea was visible.

Hessenfield, seeing me gaze out with longing, came to stand beside me. He laid a hand on my shoulder and I felt the tremor run through me.

He said: “It looks inviting out there.”

“We have been cooped up so long,” I replied.

“Come,” he said. “We’ll take a walk.”

I was delighted, and I couldn’t help showing my pleasure.

“I don’t think you’ll try to run away,” he said. “In any case you wouldn’t have much chance, would you?”

I did not answer.

“Come,” he said. He unlocked the door and we went out. I stood for a moment breathing in the fresh air. It was exhilarating.

“A pleasant spot,” said Hessenfield. He gripped my arm. “Ah, it is good to be out of doors again.”

We walked in silence up the slight incline and now we were facing the sea. It was calm as a lake and of a beautiful mother-of-pearl translucency.

“Sometimes I think our ship will never come,” he mused. “Or come too late for us.”

“What shall you do if it does not come?”

“If it does not come our chances are slight. With every day that passes the danger becomes more acute.” He turned to me suddenly and looked intently at me. “And each morning I have said, ‘Not today. Give me another night with my love.’ ”

“You do not deceive me. You are as eager as the others for the ship to come.”

He shook his head, and we were silent for a while.

We had come out to the path which was close to the cliff edge. There was a narrow gully leading down to the beach.

I said: “I should like to go close to the sea … to touch it.”

“Why not?” he said. “Come on.” He took my hand and we ran down the slight slope. I crouched by the water and let my hand trail in it.

“So peaceful here … so quiet,” he said. “I wish … Ah, since I met you, Carlotta, I have done little but wish things were otherwise. Do you believe me?”

I said: “We often feel something at a certain time and think it is all-important. Then life changes and we see that which was so important to us was of small significance.”

“And you think this … our encounter … is of small significance?”

“If you kill me it will be of small significance to me, for I shall be dead.”

He turned away from the sea, and, holding my arm firmly, as though I had reminded him of the need to guard me, we walked up the incline to the path.

As we reached the top I heard him catch his breath. I glanced along the path and saw why. Four horsemen were riding towards us.

Hessenfield’s grip tightened on my arm. We were too late to turn back or to hide ourselves. They would have seen us as soon as we saw them.

Now, I thought. It is my chance. This is what they feared. Oh, Hessenfield, I thought, you have made a grave mistake. You should never have left the house with me.

The tables were turned. His life was in my hands now.

Triumphantly I saw that the men were soldiers of the King’s army and it could well be that they were on the trail of the conspirators who had rescued General Langdon from the Tower.

Hessenfield pressed himself against me. It was as though he was reminding me of everything we had been to each other. He said nothing. This was no time for words.

All I had to say was: “They are holding me prisoner because I know what they have done.” And I would be free.

The men were now within calling distance.

“Good day to you,” they shouted.

“Good day,” called Hessenfield. I said “Good day” too.

The horsemen drew up and looked at us keenly. They saw an elegant country gentleman and his woman in a well-cut riding suit.

“You live hereabouts?” asked the horseman.

Hessenfield waved his hand in the direction of the house.

“Then you know the district?”

“You could say so,” said Hessenfield. I was amazed by the calmness of his voice.

“Have you seen any strangers pass this way?” asked the horseman.

“Strangers? I have noticed nothing.”

“And you my lady?”

It seemed a long silence. I heard the shriek of a gull—mocking in a melancholy way. Revenge. Your chance. They will lose their heads, every one of them.

I heard myself say: “I have seen no strangers.”

“I’m afraid neither I nor my wife can help,” said Hessenfield and there was a lighthearted joy in his voice which I thought must be apparent to them. “Is it anyone in particular you are looking for?”

“No matter,” said the horseman. “But perhaps you can tell us how far it is to Lewes.”

“Five or six miles along the road,” said Hessenfield.

They doffed their hats and bowed. We stood for a moment looking after them. Then he turned to me. He said nothing. He just took me in his arms and held me tightly.

I had shown him my true feelings for him. It was like ridding myself of a burden.

There was no longer any need to pretend.

That night it was different.

We were lovers now in truth.

“Do you realise, foolish one, that you have declared yourself for us?”

“I care nothing for your plots.”

“That makes it all the more important. Oh, Carlotta, I love you. I would have loved you if you had betrayed us. But I don’t think I was ever so happy in my life as I was that moment when you stood there and declared yourself for us.”

“For you,” I said.

“Dearest Carlotta,” he said. “My love. A week ago I did not know you, now you are here and you have changed my life.”

“You will forget me,” I said.

“As you will forget me?”

“I don’t forget easily.”

Then he kissed me and we made love with an intensity as though we had some premonition that this would be our last night together.

We found sleep impossible.

We lay awake talking. There was no barrier between us now. I had held his fate in my hands and had shown clearly that I would save him at risk to myself. Nothing could have been more explicit.

He told me of the necessity of taking the General to France.

“We are determined,” he said, “to rid the country of the imposters. The throne belongs to James Stuart and his son after him. William has no right to it. Anne is not the true heir while James lives and has a son to follow him.”

“Why should such matters be of great importance to us? William is a good king, most people agree. Why should we risk our lives just so that one person shall wear the crown instead of another?”

He laughed at me. “Women’s reasoning,” he murmured.

“And none the worse for that. In truth, reasonable reasoning.”

He ruffled my hair and kissed me.

Then he told me of the disappointment over the plot that failed and the consternation in St. Germain-en-Laye when it was discovered that General Langdon was in the Tower. “We planned carefully. It was the usual escape. Wine smuggled in … drunken guards, stolen keys. Unfortunately at the last lap it was necessary for the General to jump to freedom. The rope he used was not long enough. He crashed to the ground. Hence his injuries. We got him away by boat to a spot on the river where horses were waiting. That was how we got to the Black Boar.”

“And if you were caught …”

“Our heads would be the price we should pay.”

I touched his head—his thick light brown hair with the tawny lights in it, which was so much more becoming, I thought, than the fashionable peruke.

“Yes,” he said, “and you have saved it this day, my love. Although we should have put up a good fight if you had betrayed us. Oh, I was so proud of you, so happy for myself when you stood there and told them you had seen no strangers pass by. You hesitated, though. Just a split second. You knew you could save yourself. Yes, you could … but at my expense … perhaps the cost of my life. And then you knew what you wanted to do. Never, never shall I forget.”

He told me of the Court at St. Germain-en-Laye where the sad old King lived out his days, an exile in a strange land, deserted by his people, betrayed by the daughters he had loved so well, living on the bounty of the King of France when he should be in his own Palace of Westminster.

“But he will come back,” said Hessenfield vehemently. “There are many in the country who want him and hate the usurpers. You see what support we have. This house was put at our disposal. The people who own it are good Jacobites. They moved out with all their servants and left it in readiness for us. The owner will return in a few days to see if we are gone. If we have he and his family will return. The doctor who came to see the General is another of us. You see we are scattered throughout the country and only awaiting the call …”

“They are foolish,” I said. “No good can come of civil war. That was proved years ago.”

“We are fighting for the true King, the King Across the Water, and we shall not cease until he is back where he belongs.”

“And if the ship comes you will go back?”

“When the ship comes, Carlotta, I shall go.”

I sighed and we lay in silence for a while.

As soon as it was light he went to the window. I heard him gasp and I leapt out of bed to stand beside him.

There was the ship.

He gripped my hand. “At last … it has come,” he said. Then he turned to me. “Get dressed. Lose no time.”

I did so and when I was ready so was he.

“Come,” he said, “quickly.”

I followed him to the stables where he selected a mount for me.

I said: “You are sending me away?”

“Before the others know the ship is here.”

“Durrell would kill me,” I said.

“He thinks it the only way. You must get away from here as soon as possible. You are some twenty miles from Eyot Abbass. You can do it today. Ride on to Lewes and there ask instructions. You will say you have lost your party.”

“And you will go to France?”

He put his arms about me and held me fast.

“I had thought to take you with me. But I dare not. It is too dangerous. You must go back to your home.”

“So it is good-bye.”

“I shall come back,” he said.

I shook my head and turned away.

“Come,” he said. “There is no time to lose. I want you away from here before Durrell wakes. The first thing he would want to do is kill you.”

“You would not let him. You would save me as you did before.”

“There might come that unguarded moment. Who knows? I cannot risk it. But I tell you this, Carlotta, I shall come back.”

He led my horse out of the stables. Anxiously he looked back at the house.

He patted the horse’s flanks. Then he took my hand and kissed it and then laid it against his cheek for a few seconds holding it there.

“Farewell, my sweet Carlotta,” he said.

Then I rode on.

I did not see where I was going. I could only see his face. After a while I looked back and he had gone.

I came to a small hill and I rode up this and as there was a clump of trees there, I dismounted, tethered my horse to a tree stump and looked back.

I could still see the ship.

And as I stood there I saw a boat lowered from the side of the ship and rowed ashore. Then I saw them lifting the General into the boat.

I watched and I waited there until the boat had reached the ship and they were all on board.

Then I untethered my horse and rode on to Lewes.

The episode was over.

A Child Is Born

IT WAS DARK WHEN I arrived at Eyot Abbass. I had received instructions in Lewes and at length I had come to a road which was familiar to me.

I rode into the courtyard and one of Harriet’s grooms who was there gave a great shout when he saw me.

I called out: “Yes, I’m here. At last I have arrived.”

He rushed to help me dismount. “I must go and tell the mistress. They’ve been that worried.”

“Yes,” I said. “I’ll come with you.”

We ran into the house. I was shouting: “Harriet. Gregory. Benjie. I’m here.”

Harriet was the first to appear. She stared at me for a few moments and then she ran to me and caught me in her arms. “Oh, Carlotta,” she cried. “Wherever have you been? We’ve been worried to death. Gregory. Benjie. She’s here. Carlotta’s here.”

Benjie came running into the hall. He swept me up into his arms. There was no mistaking his joy.

Then there was Gregory—dear quiet Gregory, who might be less effusive but who was as delighted to see me as the rest.

“You’ve come alone …”

“Harriet, I’ve had such an adventure …”

“But you’re worn out. You need something to eat and your clothes …” That was Harriet.

“The grooms came here without you. They said you must have been attacked on the way from the inn to the farm where they were staying.”

“I’ll tell you all about it. I hardly know where to begin.”

“I do,” said Harriet, “with food and a wash and change. Your saddlebags arrived. I can tell you we’ve been frantic. Now you men, leave Carlotta to me, and, Gregory, go and tell them to speed up supper, but first some chicken broth for Carlotta and it is to be brought to her room.”

Harriet took me up to the room I always occupied at Eyot Abbass. She brought out a gown from my baggage and almost immediately the chicken broth arrived. I took it greedily and then I washed in the hot water which was brought to me and changed into my gown.

Harriet came back to see how I was getting on.

“You’ve had an adventure,” she said. “A pleasant one.”

“I narrowly escaped being murdered.”

“You look elated. We’re longing to hear. I won’t question you now, my dear. You can tell us all over supper.”

So I told—at least what I wanted them to know. I had decided on my way here that there must be some truth in my story. I would soon be caught out if I made up something entirely different, which at first I had felt inclined to do because I did not want to put Hessenfield in danger. But he was safe now. I had watched him board the ship. He would probably be in France at this moment.

So I told them of our late arrival at the Black Boar and how all the rooms were taken by a party of six men and how all I could get was the small room on the same floor, which had not pleased them.

I went on to tell them how I had discovered that they had with them a sick man whom I recognised as General Langdon.

“Why, he has escaped from the Tower!” cried Benjie.

“Exactly,” I said. “They had rescued him. They were going to kill me because I knew who the General was, but one of them wouldn’t allow it.”

I wondered if a soft note had crept into my voice. I thought it might be so because Harriet looked especially alert.

“They took me with them to a house on the coast. A ship came and they went away in it.”

“And they released you then?” said Gregory.

“I suppose they thought they were safe, the vile wretches,” added Benjie.

“They believed in a cause,” I pointed out. “They really believe it is right to restore James to the throne.”

“Have they made a Jacobite of you?” said Harriet.

“Of course not. I’m not interested in their stupid causes.”

“What a terrible ordeal,” went on Harriet. “We’ve been frantic.”

“My mother?” I began.

“I didn’t tell her. I thought I’d wait awhile. I had a notion you were safe, and you know what she is. She would imagine the worst. But it couldn’t have been much worse. You … in the hands of those desperate men.”

“I don’t think Hessenfield would have let them kill me. Right from the first he saved me before …”

I was tired. I wasn’t thinking what I was saying and Harriet could always see farther than most people where human emotions were concerned.

“Hessenfield!” cried Gregory.

“Hessenfield,” repeated Benjie.

“Great heavens!” cried Harriet. “Lord Hessenfield, of course. We have met him in the old days. He was a close friend of James’s. Of course, he’s a leading Jacobite. All the Fields were hand in glove with James.”

“Fields!” I said blankly.

“The family name, dear. John—he’s the eldest of them. I remember his father before he died. My dear Carlotta, so it was Hessenfield who got General Langdon out of the Tower. Quite a feat. Typical of Hessenfield.”

John Field, I thought. He told me he was John Field. He had not lied about his name.

They were plying me with questions. I told them how I had ridden out with them and how we had stayed at a house on the coast in which we had lived for three days.

“My dear Carlotta,” said Harriet, “some of us have strange adventures. They somehow attract them. You certainly attracted one this time. Now what you want more than anything is rest, and I am going to insist that you go to bed at once. You can tell us more tomorrow. What you need is a good sleep, and I’m going to bring you some of my black currant posset. So off you go. Say good night to them and I’ll be up with the posset shortly.”

I knew Harriet. She wanted to talk and she wanted to do so more freely than she could before her son and husband.

She came to my room with the posset. By that time I was in bed. She was right, I was exhausted, and yet at the same time I knew I should not find sleep easily.

I kept thinking: This time last night I was with him. And I could not get out of my mind the memory of his face when he had kissed me good-bye.

Harriet handed me the posset and seated herself by my bed.

“Something else happened,” she said.

I raised my eyebrows to express innocence of her meaning.

“Hessenfield?” she said. “I remember him well. A fine gentleman.” She smiled. “And he saved your life. And you were with them for three days.”

I was silent.

“Do you want to tell me, Carlotta?” she asked.

“Harriet, I don’t feel I can talk about it … yet … even to you.”

She said: “I think I understand. You will tell me in time. My dear child, how glad I am to have you back. I have been terrified. … There are so many things that can happen to women in this world. But somehow I knew that you would know how to take care of yourself. You’re a natural survivor, Carlotta. I know them when I see them. I’m one myself.”

She bent over and kissed me and took the posset from my hand.

I believed she knew that Hessenfield and I had been lovers.

I could not have come to a better place in which to try to regain my composure. Gregory and Benjie were such dear, uncomplicated people. They accepted my story; they could only be thankful that I had come out of it alive. All they thought I needed was rest and feeding up a bit to make up for the discomforts I had endured.

It was different with Harriet. She knew something had happened, and being Harriet she guessed what. She understood, perhaps, and she had made in the past the acquaintance of Hessenfield. She knew how it would be with two people such as we were shut up for three days, with death hanging over us and me in their power.

But Harriet’s chief charm was that she never probed. I was aware—and my mother had discovered this too—that in any difficulty Harriet would bring out all her resources—and they were formidable—to one’s aid. But she behaved as though whatever had happened, however tremendous it might seem to other people, was in her eyes merely another piece of life. Never to be judged or condemned by others who could never see it in all its complexities. If it was good, enjoy it; if not, find a way to extricate oneself. Harriet was by no means what would be called a good woman, but she was a comforting one. She was engrossed in her own life, determined to get the best of it—and none could deny she had. She was by no means scrupulous; she was fond of the good things of life and would go to great lengths to get them. I suppose one of the comforting things about her was that one knew whatever one had done she had probably done also; she would understand the motive, and even if she didn’t she would never get lost in the devious paths of right or wrong.

I knew she would understand without question that what had happened between myself and Hessenfield was natural. In time I would talk to her as I never could have talked to my mother. One might say your mother gave birth to you—a bastard, born out of wedlock. Oh, yes, that was true but all that happened was that she had on one occasion forestalled her marriage vows, which had never been uttered because of the executioner’s axe. My mother was at heart an unadventurous woman with a deep respect for conventions. I was not and never would be. Nor was Harriet.

For the first few days I absorbed the peace of Eyot Abbass, that lovely old house which Gregory had inherited when he came into the title on the death of his elder brother. I had always loved it. In a way it was more my home than Eversleigh, for in the early years I had believed Harriet and Gregory to be my parents. I knew every nook and cranny of the house. I loved the hilly country round about. It was so flat at Eversleigh. In the country lanes I had ridden my first pony, in the paddock I had ridden round and round on a leading rein with Gregory or Benjie or one of the grooms in charge of me. It was home to me. It was about a mile from the sea, but as the house was built in a slight hollow—as a good protection against the southerly winds—the Eyot could only be seen from the topmost windows. A lovely old house built as most houses were in the Elizabethan style—hall in the centre with the west and east wings on either side. A house of towers and turrets and red Tudor bricks and a beautiful garden which was rather wild because Harriet liked it that way and Harriet’s will was law in that house.

From my window at the top of the house I often looked at the Eyot, about a mile out to sea. There had been a monastery on it before the dissolution and it had always been a specially exciting place to me.

I had loved to play hide-and-seek there in the summer days when we rowed over with picnics. When I learned the truth about myself I believed the Eyot was a special place to me because I had been conceived there. Very few people can be absolutely certain of where their conception actually occurred. I could, for the only time my mother and father had been lovers was on the Eyot. Poor star-crossed lovers. Then suddenly I thought it is like a pattern … in a way. She lost her lover because of some silly plot in which he was involved. And I …

I was not sure that I thought of Hessenfield as a lover. Our encounter was very different from that of my parents. They had met; she had tried to save him; they had loved romantically and the result was myself. I am sure that what had passed between them had been very different from my adventure.

I had to forget him now as I had to forget Beau. Was I destined to love so tragically?

I had been a week at the Abbass when I talked to Harriet. I had not meant to. She was sitting on a wooden seat in the garden. I saw her from the house and I felt the impulse to go down and join her.

She merely smiled when I sat down beside her.

“You are feeling better now,” she said, stating a fact. “And yet you are still not here half the time.”

I raised my eyebrows questioningly and she went on: “Still in that mystery house by the sea.”

She asked no questions. She sat there waiting and I knew that the time had come to tell her. I could hold it in no longer.

“Yes,” I said. “Still thinking of it.”

“It is bound to have its effect on you.”

“Harriet,” I said. “You know how it was between Hessenfield and me.

“I guessed,” she said. “Knowing him … knowing you. Did he force you?”

I hesitated. “Well, in a way …”

She nodded. She understood perfectly. “Hessenfield is a born charmer,” she said. “He’s another such as Beaumont Granville. Not such a villain, I hope. But there is a similarity.”

“You think Beau was a villain but you didn’t try to stop my marrying him as the others did.”

“I thought it was something you had to learn yourself. You’ve been brooding a lot about him. And now we have Hessenfield. But he’s gone now. It was inevitable that he would. He’s lucky. He did what he came to do and got away with it and his life; and I gather from you that some of his time here was spent very pleasantly.”

“Harriet, you are not shocked?”

“My dear child, should I be shocked … by life?”

“You have had a lot of lovers, Harriet.”

She did not answer. Her eyes had become vague as though she were looking a long way back, seeing a procession of them, men she had loved, and some of whom she had forgotten now. The words came falling out then and I could not stop them. I explained to her how he had saved my life when the man Durrell would have killed me; how he had made it plain what he would expect of me and how when it happened I had wanted it to.

“There. Can you understand that?”

“Indeed I can. I have seen him. It must have been as great an experience for you as it was with Beau.”

“Beau and I were lovers too, Harriet.”

“Of course you were. Beaumont Granville wouldn’t have played it otherwise. My dear child, you will have lovers. You are not like those good women, your grandmother and your mother. You can reach heights of passion which they wouldn’t dream of. It is nothing to be ashamed of. You are more sensitively moulded. That’s all. Do you know, you are very like me. I think when I decided to play the role of mother, fate was amused and made you my child. You even look a little like me. Do you mind?”

“Harriet, there is no one I would rather look and be like.”

“Said with more affection than wisdom, but bless you for it. Now there is something that has occurred to me. You spent three nights with Hessenfield. What if there should be consequences? Have you thought of that?”

“Yes, I have. When I look out of my window at the Eyot and remember how I was conceived there, I think to myself, what if I should have Hessenfield’s child?”

“Well, what conclusion did you come to, suppose that passionate relationship should bear fruit?”

“I am a little frightened at the thought and yet at the same time …”

“I know … elated.”

“It would be wonderful in a way to have a child to remember him by.”

“Children of such affairs make a good deal of pother when they make their entry into the world. You yourself made a most spectacular entry.”

“Only because you were stage managing it.” I began to laugh faintly hysterically, I must admit, for now that I had brought that possibility which had haunted my thoughts into the daylight I was indeed disturbed.

Harriet patted my hand suddenly. “If it should be so we shall have to consider what is to be done. Of course, it may not be so. It happened to your mother somewhat similarly. Life does not usually work out to such neat patterns. But let us be prepared, eh?”

“Oh, Harriet,” I said, “it is good to be with you. I suppose my mother must have felt like this all those years ago.”

She was silent with that glazed look in her eyes, again remembering the past. She must, I calculated, be quite sixty years old, but she had retained a certain youthfulness by her nature as well as artificial aids and in that moment she looked like a young girl.

Yet it was like repeating a pattern, for I did discover that there was to be a child.

I did not now know quite how I felt. I was dismayed, it was true, and yet I was conscious of an overwhelming excitement. I realized how dull life had been after Beau’s disappearance until my capture by the Jacobites. Then I felt that I had started to live again, and I wanted to live desperately; it was necessary to me even if it meant that I might have to endure dangers.

I wasted no time in telling Harriet. She was excited. I understood her perfectly. She liked things to happen even if they were going to present difficulties, and the more insurmountable those difficulties seemed the more excited she became.

It was the greatest comfort to be with her. She discussed my condition with verve. “It is different from your mother’s case. She was a young and innocent girl. To produce an illegitimate child seemed to her unthinkable. Yet there you were, my dear Carlotta, waiting to be born. We had to practice a good deal of subterfuge.”

“I know. Venice. That magnificent palazzo and then the pretence that I was your child.”

“It would have made a good play. But here we have a different situation. You were forced into this by that adventurer. To what children owe their lives! You might say that the one you have conceived owes his or her existence to a goblet of potent cider … But what are we going to do, Carlotta? You are a rich woman. You could defy them all if you wished. You could say: I am having this child and if you are going to criticise me for it, I shall snap my fingers at you. On the other hand, it is good for a child to have a father. Two parents are better than one, and it is not easy to flout society. I would like a father for the baby.”

“Its father will never know of its existence.”

“How can you be sure of that? But we waste time. Not that there is any immediate hurry, but it is well to plan ahead.”

I started to think of my mother and my grandmother. There would be consternation in the family. My grandfather would want to kill Hessenfield, and as he was a Jacobite into the bargain—my grandfather being a stern Protestant—I had no doubt of the rage he would feel. Then there was Leigh. Although he appeared to be mild enough, he had a fierce temper. I had heard how he had once attacked Beau when he had been, as Leigh called it, too friendly with my mother. I had seen the scars on Beau’s body inflicted by Leigh. And all for a mad escapade, Beau had told me that Leigh had come to his apartment and caught him unawares, and had inflicted those wounds on him.

So I could imagine my mother’s distress and the effect this matter would have on Leigh, and I should have to tell them of course that I had been caught up in the plot to rescue General Langdon, and they would insist that I had been raped and that the child was the result of that.

Oh, yes, I could well imagine an outraged party from Eversleigh even attempting to go to St. Germain-en-Laye to wreak vengeance.

I mentioned this to Harriet and she agreed.

“There is one other possibility which has occurred to me. I wonder if it has to you.”

“What?” I asked.

“Benjie,” she said.

I looked at her in amazement.

“Marry Benjie,” she said. “He would be a very nice father for the child.”

“Your son!”

“Well, there’s no doubt he’s that. No doubt that he’s Gregory’s either, though I had to pretend he was Toby Eversleigh’s for a long time. These contretemps occur and it is better to tackle them in the way which will bring less trouble to everyone. Listen. If you marry Benjie you can have a child—a little prematurely perhaps, but that is soon forgotten. You will have a husband, the child will have a father, and they are useful assets on most occasions.”

“Are you suggesting that I should deceive Benjie just to … to acquire these useful assets?”

“Not necessarily deceive him. Tell him the story of your capture, how your life was in danger and to preserve it you had to submit. That’s true, it is not?”

“It’s not the whole truth, Harriet. We …”

“I know what happened. You tasted excitement with Beau; you missed it and thought it was your love for him you missed. It was more than that, though, and then the dashing Hessenfield arrived and threw a little light on the subject. You’re not like your true mother, dear child, you take after me. It was a great adventure, was it not? While it lasted you were deeply involved in it. But there are other men in the world like Beaumont Granville and John Hessenfield. Benjie is not one of them. But that is all to the good. He’s the best kind to marry. He loves you truly. And there is a great deal to be said for true love. Look how I have settled down to happiness with his father.”

“You want my fortune for Benjie, don’t you, Harriet?”

“Of course. I’m not going to deny that it adds to your many attractions.”

“That was what Beau said. But I couldn’t marry Benjie without telling him.”

“I was not suggesting that you should. Benjie will love you none the less because he is going to play the saviour. That will suit him well. He’ll want to protect you. Yes, Benjie is the best answer.”

I shook my head.

“One can’t use people like that, Harriet. It’s not the way to live.”

“You still have some growing up to do,” she said.

Harriet was noted for taking matters into her own hands. She had with my mother; and she had always managed her own affairs with skill.

She spoke to Benjie without telling me, and his reaction was to seek me out at once.

He was tender; he was protective, all that she had known he would be.

“My dear little Carlotta,” he said. I noticed that I had become little, although I was a tall girl, almost as tall as he was. “Harriet has told me.”

“What has she told you?” I asked.

“There is no need to talk of it. It makes me furious. I wish he were here. I would kill him … But there is something I can do and I’m going to do it.”

I turned away from him but he caught my arm and said: “We’re going to be married. We’re going to be married from here, soon. Harriet and Gregory will arrange it. You know they always wanted it. You’ve been their special darling all your life. Mine too, Carlotta.”

I said: “Listen … you don’t know what you’re doing.”

He laughed. “Dearest Carlotta, it was no fault of yours. That black villain took advantage …”

“It was not quite like that, Benjie.”

He wouldn’t listen to me. He knew how it was. Harriet had told him, and, like his father, he had been listening to what Harriet had told him for a very long time.

I was shocked, he insisted. Who wouldn’t be? I had had a terrible experience. It was all so easy to understand and because of it I was going to have a child. That child would be his child. No one should know he was not the father. He was going to take care of me.

He had his arms about me and I had always been comforted by Benjie. When I started to grow up I was aware of the immense power I could wield over him and I shall never forget his joy when he discovered that I was not his sister. I knew he had planned to marry me from that moment.

It was a way out. I imagined what it would be like at Eversleigh if I had a child without a father. However independent one felt, however ready to fly in the face of convention, when it came to doing it there were complications which made it unpleasant. There would be disadvantages for the child also.

I could of course take the path which had been taken in so many cases. Go away secretly and have the baby, get someone to take it. Oh, no, I did not want that.

The alternative was to marry Benjie. Our marriage would surprise no one. For some time our families had been hoping for it.

I was not deceiving Benjie. If he liked to put his own construction on what had happened—and I could see that nothing I could say would make him do otherwise—then I must be thankful that I was provided with such an easy solution to my dilemma.

Harriet threw all her energies into making the arrangements. My mother was going to be put out because I had married from Eyot Abbass instead of from my own home in the conventional manner. But as soon as she knew that I was pregnant she would understand. She would believe that Benjie and I had forestalled our marriage vows and that the need for the wedding was urgent.

I could imagine my grandfather’s sly smiles and my grandmother’s telling my mother that she wouldn’t be surprised if Harriet had arranged the whole thing.

We were married in the nearby church. It was a simple ceremony and it took place exactly six weeks after my meeting with Hessenfield.

I vowed to myself that I would be a good wife to Benjie, and I did make him very happy.

Harriet was delighted, and commented that nothing could have pleased her so much and that all was well that ended well. It did occur to me that this was not the end, but I said nothing. I could only feel at that time an overwhelming gratitude to them all—my husband, Harriet and dear Gregory. Eyot Abbass would now be my home.

My mother arrived the day after the wedding, for Harriet had sent a letter to her telling her of the proposed marriage.

She was indignant. She believed that I had come over with the idea of marrying Benjie and that it was some plot concocted by Harriet to arrange the marriage for me.

She suspected that Harriet, having played such a major part at the time of my birth, wanted to control my life and play the part of my true mother. To console her I told her at once that the reason for the hasty marriage was my pregnancy.

She was shocked and then confused because we all knew that I was her love child. There was nothing she could say then but wish me happiness.

“Benjie is a good man,” she said. “You must make sure you make him a good wife.”

“I shall do my best,” I promised her.

I could see that she was working it out according to the rules. When the child was born they would say it arrived prematurely. No one would believe it, but they would all pretend to.

I wanted to laugh at such conventions; but when I considered how ready I had been to fall in with them, I could hardly do that.

Shortly after my marriage Benjie and I went back to Eversleigh. Harriet came with me, so did Gregory. It was to be some sort of celebration.

“The bride is supposed to be married, from her home,” said Harriet. “You know how your mother likes to do things according to the book … except of course on very special occasions.”

My mother had her way and there was a feast and people were invited.

My sister, Damaris, thought it was all so wonderful.

“Exciting things always happen to you,” she said.

I looked at her with a kind of affectionate scorn. Dear little Damaris, the good girl. Men like Beau and Hessenfield were not for her. She would marry some young man her parents would find for her and she would be perfectly content because it was what they wanted.

The visit went well and predictably and I was rather glad when we were on our way back.

When it was suggested by Harriet that we stay at the Black Boar, Benjie protested.

“It would be unpleasant memories for Carlotta,” he said.

“In my opinion,” said Harriet, “it would be a good idea to lay the ghost.”

When she said that, I had a great desire to see it again, wanted to find out what my real feelings were. I loved Benjie. He was delighted to find me a passionate wife. I think he had thought that after my adventures I might have felt some reluctance. I surprised him. I was fond of Benjie; it could never be Beau or Hessenfield of course—he lacked entirely that buccaneering spirit—but he was virile and adoring and he offered me the balm I needed at this time. I promised myself that I was going to be happy. Hessenfield had laid the ghost of Beau and Benjie would lay that of Hessenfield.

When I said I would like to go to the Black Boar that settled it and we went.

It was strange arriving there and being greeted by the innkeeper and his wife.

The innkeeper was full of apologies to Harriet and explained to her what she knew already, that he had been so upset to have let his floor to the party of noble gentlemen. I assured him that I quite understood and reminded him that he had most kindly, to their dismay, put me into the cupboard room.

“I am overcome with shame to have offered you such a place,” he said.

“You did everything you could.”

We had the floor to ourselves. Benjie and I in the room where the General had lain. It was a strange night. I dreamed of Hessenfield, and even when I was awake I kept fancying that it was he who lay beside me, not Benjie.

The next morning before we left, Harriet and I found ourselves alone together.

“Well?” she said. “What do you think now?”

I was silent and she went on: “That place they took you to must be near here.”

“It was not very far, I suppose.”

“Do you know where?”

“Yes. I discovered when I found my way back to you. It is five miles from Lewes.” I remembered so clearly then how we had stood there while the horseman looked at us searchingly. I could smell the tang of the sea. I could remember how time seemed to stand still and how Hessenfield had waited on my words. And when I had declared myself for him and the horseman had ridden on, how he had turned to me and held me against him. I had rarely been as happy in my life as I was in that moment.

“I could find it.”

“I’d like to see it,” said Harriet.

“We could hardly go there.”

“I have a plan. Leave it to me.”

The men joined us for breakfast in the inn parlour, and as we were partaking of hot bread and bacon, Harriet said: “I have a friend who lives nearby. I should so like to see her.”

“Could you not do so?” asked Gregory, always ready to indulge her.

“It seems odd to call after so many years without warning her. I could find her place. I visited it long ago, I remember, when she married. But I should like to look her up … and surprise her.”

Gregory said: “Let us look in then. It is far out of our way?”

Harriet said it would be a good idea. Then it occurred to her that perhaps it would not be fair for us all to descend upon her. Why should she and I not go alone? We could take one of the grooms with us if they were going to protest, and she knew they would.

“Let us spend another night at the Black Boar. And Carlotta and I can go and do our little visiting. You have always said, Gregory, that you like this countryside. Now is the chance for you to explore it.”

Harriet had a gift for making people believe that what she suggested for them was exactly what they wanted for themselves, and the outcome was that later that morning she and I, with a groom in attendance, were riding out along that road which I had been taken on that memorable night.

The smell of the sea was strong that morning. There was a faint breeze which ruffled the waves and set a frothy frill on them where they rose and fell on the sand.

I saw the roof of the house and I was overcome for a moment by the power of my emotions.

“Perhaps there’s no one there,” I said.

“Let’s go and see.”

We rode down the slight incline to the house.

There was a woman in the garden.

“Good day to you,” she said. She had a basket full of roses. She looked so much at home, and when I thought of arriving at that mysteriously empty house which at the same time showed obvious signs of recent habitation, I marvelled.

She obviously though we had lost our way and were asking for instructions.

“We have come from the Black Boar,” said Harriet.

She smiled. “And you are not sure of the road. Where do you want to go?”

I said: “Could I have a word with you?” She changed colour slightly. “You must come in,” she said.

We tethered our horses by the mounting block and followed her into the hall which I remembered so well.

“I will send for refreshment,” she said. “I am sure you would like to rest awhile before you continue your journey.” A servant appeared from behind the screens and she said, “Bring wine and cakes, Emily. To the winter parlour.”

And so within ten minutes, during which we had made conversation mainly about the weather and the state of the roads, wine was brought with wine cakes. Then the door was firmly shut and she was looking at us expectantly.

“You have brought a message for me?” she said.

Harriet was looking at me and I said: “No, there is no message. I was wondering if you could give me some information. I am a friend of Lord Hessenfield.”

She looked alarmed. “All is not well?” she asked.

“I believe nothing to have gone wrong,” I said.

“What we want to know”—Harriet could not stop coming forward, for what she hated was to play what she called a standby role—“is, did he reach his destination safely?”

“You mean … when he left here?”

“Yes,” I said. “That is what we mean.”

“But that is weeks ago. They had a rough crossing but made it in safety.”

“And they are now with the King?”

She nodded. “You must tell me who you are,” she said.

“Friends of Lord Hessenfield,” said Harriet firmly, and I could see that we had been accepted as workers in the Jacobite cause.

“I was with them when they brought the General here,” I said. “What we should have done without your house I cannot think.”

“It was a small thing to do,” she said. “We ran no risks. We just went away with the servants for a week. That was all.”

“It was our salvation,” I said. “But we must not stay. I just wanted to meet you.”

She filled up the wine and we drank to the King, which meant James the Second, not William the Third. Then we told her we were going back to the Black Boar.

She walked with us to our horses, and as we rode away Harriet said: “Well done, my little Jacobite. I am sure the good lady thinks there is some significance in our visit. As good Jacobites we should have known that Hessenfield is safe at St. Germain-en-Laye. The lady was a little puzzled, methinks.”

“You certainly think up the wildest things to do. You’re a lady of intrigue.”

“Well, what was that? Just a little exercise in deception of the mildest kind. I wonder how many Jacobites there are in this country, all waiting for the moment, eh? At least we know Hessenfield and his merry men made it safely. They are now at St. Germain planning fresh moves, I’ll warrant.”

I felt a great relief because he was safe.

Preparing for the birth of a baby was a new and enthralling experience.

As the weeks passed into months I became more and more absorbed by it, and when I was aware of the life within me I thought of little else but the time when my child should be born.

In September, four months after my child’s conception, news was brought to us that King James had died at St. Germain-en-Laye. There was a good deal of talk then and I remember Gregory’s saying that this would not be an end of the Jacobite movement. James had a son who would be considered the rightful heir.

“Poor James,” said Harriet, “what a sad life he had! His own daughters to turn against him. They say he felt it deeply.”

“He did not want to return to England and to his throne,” said Benjie. “To become a Jesuit as he did meant that he had finished with the world.”

I wondered what effect his death would have on Hessenfield, and I guessed that his efforts would not cease. He had a new pretender to replace the old one, and I wondered then if he would ever come to England and what his feelings would be if he knew I had borne him a child.

James was buried with honours and his body placed in the monasteries of the Benedictines in Paris and his heart sent to the nunnery at Chaillot. Most significant of all Louis the Fourteenth, the French King, had caused the young Prince to be declared King of England, Scotland and Ireland as James the Third.

There was much talk about this and as there were rumours that the health of our King William was not very good a certain speculation was growing up everywhere. Even the servants talked of it and, I believed, took sides.

To show his disapproval William recalled his ambassador from the French Court and ordered the French ambassador to return to France.

The next we heard was that England had entered into an alliance against France. This was called the Grand Alliance; it looked as though war might be imminent. This was not concerned with bringing back James but the Spanish Succession and the threat of war was disturbing, but through it all I remained wrapped up in the thoughts of my child.

At Christmas my mother and Leigh came to Eyot Abbass with Damaris.

My mother was very eager to hear how I was and she had brought garments and advice about the baby. She was determined, she said, to stay until my child was born and nothing was going to shift her. She said this almost defiantly, thinking of Harriet, I was sure, which was absurd really for Harriet had no desire to usurp her position as a mother. My mother would never understand Harriet. This ridiculous rivalry had only grown through me, I believed. Before my birth she must have felt much the same towards her as I did since she had gone to her for advice.

We had the usual Christmas festivities. I was getting large at that time, having only two months to go.

And on a bleak February day my child was born.

It was a strong healthy girl.

As I held my child in my arms I marvelled that out of that encounter, which had been so closely concerned with death, life should have come. A new life.

“What shall you call her?” asked my mother gloating over the child.

“I have decided to call her Clarissa,” I said.