Love Child

by Philippa Carr

  “I am not too young,” I answered.

  Then he turned to me and kissed me with a mingling of tenderness and passion which moved me deeply.

  “Shall we go into that room? I think they would have called it the scriptorium. There would be shelter there. I’ll get the rugs out of the boat and we’ll spread them out in the flags there. Then we’ll eat in our roofless heaven. What do you think?”

  “It sounds wonderful. Let’s do it.”

  We laughed together as I spread the cloth and brought out the cold beef and pies which had been packed for us with the cider to quench our thirst.

  “There is ample here,” I said. “Enough for three. Of course some of it was for Christabel.”

  “It was good of her to give us this time to ourselves,” said Jocelyn.

  “Do you think she did it purposely?”

  “I do,” he answered.

  I was thoughtful. I was not sure.

  We leaned against the wall of the scriptorium and I looked up at the grey mist through what was left of the roof.

  “What a strange place this is,” I commented. “The servants say they see lights here at night.”

  “Servants will say these things. Are you getting frightened?”

  “Not with you here.”

  “That’s what I like to hear. You never need be afraid, Priscilla, as long as I am here to protect you.”

  “What a comforting thought! Have some more of this pie. It is rather delicious.”

  “Harriet has a good cook.”

  “Harriet would always have the best of everything.”

  “We have every reason to be grateful to her.”

  I agreed.

  Then we talked about the wonder of our meeting and the glorious possibility of our marrying. I had heard of girls making runaway matches. There had been one big scandal when a girl had run away with a man twenty years older than herself. He was a fortune hunter and it had been too late for her family to stop the marriage. The girl had been only fourteen at the time.

  I was fourteen and I was proposing to marry not a fortune hunter but a fugitive.

  I couldn’t help it. I was in love. I was going to live my own life. I was sorry because I had to hurt my mother. As for my father he might rave all he liked … but perhaps he wouldn’t. Perhaps he would shrug his shoulders and say, “Well, it is only Priscilla.”

  We were so happy talking, making plans—although I wondered whether he felt as I did, that there was something unreal about them and that it was hardly likely that they would ever come to pass.

  We would go back to the house. We would tell Harriet that we were going to be married. She would find a priest for us and we would make our vows. Then the boat would come and we would go to France. There would be an outcry against us but in due course the wretched Titus Oates would be seen to be the villain he was and my parents would realize that it was no use continuing to fret about an established fact.

  “My mother was exiled in France when she was a girl,” I told Jocelyn. “How strange! It will seem like history repeating itself.”

  “This will be rather different.”

  “I know. Nothing like this ever happened to anyone before.”

  We went on talking of what we would do when we were married. We would explore the fair land of France together and then we would come home and live in his family house in Devonshire which I would learn was the most beautiful county in England. Nowhere else was the grass so green; nowhere else was there that red earth which meant fertility. There the cream was richer, the beef more succulent. “You’ll be a lady of Devon, my dear Priscilla, when you marry me,” he said.

  And so we sat there, with his arm about me and I lying close to him while we dreamed an hour or so away.

  It was I who noticed that it was growing considerably darker. It could not be much more than three o’clock, and if this were so there should be another hour or so of daylight. Gregory had been warned that we should be back before dark, so we should leave the island by half-past four.

  I said: “How dark it has grown. It must be later than we think.”

  I stood up and was immediately conscious of the cold dampness of the air.

  “It’s the sea mist,” said Jocelyn, and as we went out through the door, it was clear that he was indeed right.

  “Why look!” he cried in dismay. “You can only see a few feet ahead.”

  I stood beside him and he put his arm about me.

  “We couldn’t even see to find the boat,” he went on.

  “We’d better try,” I answered.

  I tripped over a jutting stone and he caught me in time to prevent my fall.

  “We shall have to be careful,” he warned. “You could have hurt yourself badly then.”

  “You saved me, Jocelyn.”

  “I’ll always be at your side to save you, I trust.”

  I took his arm and clung to him. There seemed to be an ominous warning in the air. It was indeed an eerie spot, with the mist enveloping everything and the stark grey ruins around us like the landscape of another world. There was no wind at all—no sound of the sea. It seemed as though Jocelyn and I were alone on another planet.

  We looked at each other in dismay as the realization of our position struck us. I saw the moisture on his lashes and brows, and I felt waves of emotion surging over me because it occurred to me then how acute was the danger he was in, and that this time on the island was very precious indeed, for if his enemies captured him they might sever that fair head from his shoulders. Or they would put a rope about it. I had never asked how his father had died. I did not want to know. I wanted to forget it had happened and make Jocelyn forget.

  “What are we going to do?” I asked.

  “There’s nothing we can do. We’d better get back inside the scriptorium. We’ve got our rugs and at least we shall be sheltered to some extent there. We had no idea how thick the mist was because we were shut in by those four walls.”

  “Don’t you think we ought to try to get to the boat?”

  “We might not find it and you saw how a moment ago you slipped. It would be difficult to see which way we were going. No, it’s safer to stay here until the mist clears. Even if we found the boat, it would be folly to try to reach the mainland. We might drift right out to sea.”

  He was right, of course. We went back to our rugs. It was certainly better within the walls of the scriptorium. We sat down on the rugs and he put an arm about me.

  “The Fates are with us,” he said. “Here we are alone … isolated from the rest of the world, shut off by a blanket of mist. Don’t you find that an exciting prospect, Priscilla?”

  “Of course, but I am wondering what will happen.”

  “They know where we are, and they’ll know what has happened. They won’t be worried about us. They know we’ll have the good sense to stay here until the mist lifts.”

  “That could be a very long time, Jocelyn.”

  “Hardly likely. The wind will rise soon and carry it away.”

  “I wonder what the time is?”

  “It’s afternoon.”

  “How long were we talking?”

  “Does it matter?”

  We sat close, leaning against one of the walls, and we talked again of our marriage which should take place without delay when we returned to the mainland. Everything seemed credible there in that quiet atmosphere of strange, whirling mist.

  We had no idea what the time was but we realized that it was getting late because it was growing darker and we could not even see the mist. But we were aware of it—damp and clinging. It was growing colder; Jocelyn held me tightly against him.

  He said: “Suppose we spent the rest of our lives here? It doesn’t seem such a bad prospect.”

  “How could we?”

  “We could build a house and grow our own food. We could live the simple life like Adam and Eve.”

  “It’s hardly the garden of Eden.”

  “It would be paradise for me while
you were there.”

  It was lovers’ talk. There was no sense in it; yet it soothed and comforted, and there was something inevitable about the mist. We were held here by the forces of nature and we could not be blamed for taking these hours together.

  I think that in our hearts there was a sort of desperation, a looming fear that life was not going to be as easy as we had deluded ourselves into believing it would be.

  We ate the remains of the picnic; it was dark by now and the mist was more dense. There was a deep silence all around us. It was strange to be so near the sea and not to hear even a murmur.

  It was night now and growing colder.

  Jocelyn spread out one rug and we lay on it. The other he wrapped round us. He took me into his arms and we lay close together.

  I suppose what happened was inevitable. We were young, and there was passion in our blood.

  “We shall be together for the rest of our lives,” said Jocelyn. “We are married, you and I, sweet Priscilla. Is a ceremony so important? There will be one when we get back. Immediately we shall be married. We shall tell Harriet and she will help us. You will come to France with me.”

  I believed it fervently, because I wanted to.

  I did resist a little … at first. It was the thought of my mother. I wished I could forget her. But when I thought of my father, I felt defiant. What had he ever cared for me! Why should I think of him now? But I did think of him with a kind of exultation. I should be married. He would no longer be burdened with a useless girl.

  Jocelyn was kissing me fervently.

  “Priscilla, sweet Priscilla,” he was saying, “shall I tell you what bliss is? It’s a mist-shrouded island where I am alone with you.”

  And there on that island we were lovers in truth.

  I was a little bewildered, exalted and exultant. I felt as though I had left all that I had been before behind me. I was no longer Carleton Eversleigh’s daughter. I was Jocelyn Frinton’s wife.

  I awoke to hazy sunshine. It was morning. My limbs were stiff with cold. Jocelyn was still sleeping and I was overcome by tenderness as I watched him. He looked so young, so defenceless without his periwig. I thought inconsequently: I know why men wear them. It gives them importance. Without his Jocelyn looked like a beautiful boy.

  I leaned over and kissed him.

  He caught me in his arms. “My Priscilla,” he murmured and drew me down beside him.

  I said: “The morning has come. The mist has almost cleared.”

  He sat up. “It’s over then …” He looked at me wonderingly. “Oh, my love,” he went on, “you and I together for the rest of our lives.”

  “It has to be a long lifetime,” I said. “Oh, Jocelyn, I’m frightened.”

  “Don’t be. I’m determined now … more than I ever was. There are two of us now, my darling. You don’t know what a difference that makes.”

  “I do. Because I am one of the two.”

  He kissed me.

  “We must be going,” I said.

  “Just a little while yet.”

  “Look at the sun breaking through. They’ll be expecting us.”

  “Just a few more minutes,” he pleaded. He held me against him. “My bride,” he went on, “tell me you regret nothing.”

  “I regret nothing.”

  “We’ll tell Harriet. She’ll help us. She must now.”

  “She would in any case. I know what she’ll say. Be bold. Be adventurous. Take what you want and if it doesn’t work out as you had hoped don’t complain. I think that’s her motto.”

  “It’s served her well. Darling, don’t let’s go yet. Let us stay awhile …”

  I lay down beside him and his arms were tight about me. There was a desperate passion between us as though the daylight were telling us that the dreams that came in the mist might disappear under the searching light of reality.

  I raised myself. “We must go,” I said. “It may be they will be looking for us. They’ll know we have not been back all night.”

  “Perhaps they won’t. Harriet will see that they won’t.”

  I shook my head. “Come, Jocelyn. We must not delay.”

  We took the rugs and basket back to the boat. I think we were almost hoping that it would be gone so that we would have an excuse to continue with our island idyll. But it was there just as we had left it. He unmoored it and in a short while we were rowing to the mainland.

  He helped me out and tied up the boat. We started to walk towards the house.

  We had not gone far when we saw Christabel running towards us. Her eyes were as expressionless as ever, but her mouth showed the stress of great emotion.

  “Come in at once,” she said. “There has been trouble. Where have you been?”

  “My dear Christabel, surely you were aware of the mist?”

  “They said you shouldn’t have gone. You have to leave at once. Harriet and Gregory are quite disturbed. The boat is in … waiting for you. It was there early this morning. Why didn’t you come back sooner? The mist had cleared at dawn. They’re very anxious.”

  We started to run towards the house.

  As we entered, Gregory came out to meet us.

  “Thank God you’re here,” he said. “They’re on the trail. I’ve been warned. You have to get going without delay. They could be here at any minute.”

  Harriet came into the hall, looking like the heroine in a play of adventure.

  “My dear boy,” she cried dramatically, “you must go at once. You should have left at dawn. There isn’t a moment to lose. Go at once. That’s so, eh, Gregory?”

  Jocelyn said: “I’ll get my things together. I’ll change quickly.”

  “Your things are ready,” replied Harriet. “I have them waiting. You can change in France.”

  Gregory said: “You must get out of the house quickly or we shall all be involved. Harriet’s right. There’s not a moment to lose. A few of your things are here in a bag. Get down to the shore as fast as you can. You know Lime Cove. That’s where the boat is. Get in and get off as fast as you can.”

  I said: “I must go …”

  “You must come with me, my child,” replied Harriet. “You are cold right through. The mist is dangerous and you have been out in it all night. Go now, dear boy, and God be with you.”

  That was how it happened. He had to go straight down to the cove and he had to go alone.

  There at the cove his enemies were waiting for him. They seized him as he was making his way to the boat.

  One of the servants told us that he had been seen, hands tied, riding on a horse in the midst of a company of soldiers who were taking him back to London.

  The weeks which followed were the most wretchedly tragic in my life up to that time, for it soon became clear that I should never be Jocelyn’s wife. His trial was brief; his sentence was carried out almost immediately. His guilt was clear, they said. Why else should he have run away? I had nightmares. I dreamed I was there at the scaffold when he laid his fair head on the block. In my dreams I saw the executioner’s bloody hands as he held up that beloved head now severed from the body which I had loved.

  I was stunned. There could never have been such misery as I was suffering. Jocelyn … dead! Never to see him again! Never to feel his arms about me!

  How I wished I had been beside him. I wished they had taken me with him. I wished that I had died beside him, for there seemed no point in living on without him.

  How quickly everything could change! I had been so happy. I had dreamed of our going to France together, living there so blissfully happy, and coming back later … husband and wife.

  I should never know peace again. I had lost my dear one. My life was finished. There could never be any happiness for me again.

  I could not eat. I could sleep only fitfully and then I was haunted by nightmares. In these I was at the scaffold. I saw the executioner with that beautiful, well-loved head in his hands—a head without a body. The voice echoed through my dreams: “Behold the head of
a traitor.”

  He was no traitor. He was just a good, kind man … the man I loved.

  I thought: My life is finished. I shall never be happy again.

  Harriet was wonderful to me. She looked after me through those weeks. She would not allow me to return home.

  Gradually I learned what had happened and it did not relieve my misery to know that I was responsible for his capture.

  It was Harriet who broke it to me. “You’ll have to know how they were led to him,” she said. “Now you mustn’t blame yourself in any way. You gave him the greatest happiness any one person can give another. I know that. You loved him and he loved you. So you must not fret. You will grow out of this. One does. You remember the ring he gave you … plighting your troth?”

  “The ring!” I cried. “Yes, the ring. It will be there beneath the court cupboard. I shall treasure it forever.”

  “You will never see it again, my child.”

  “What do you mean, Harriet?”

  “It was not behind the cupboard.”

  “Then it was found! But it couldn’t have been. I searched everywhere.”

  “Your mother has told me what happened. She took a dress from the cupboard and gave it to Chastity to lengthen or alter in some way. Chastity was to take it home with her. She went into the kitchen to have a word with her mother. The dress was over her arm, I imagine. There was a ring caught up in the lace.”

  I felt sick with misery. Why had I not examined the dress! Why had I been so foolish, so careless as to have deluded myself into thinking the ring had fallen behind the cupboard!

  “Jasper was in the kitchen at the time,” went on Harriet.

  “Oh, no, no no!” I cried.

  “Alas, yes. He seized the ring. He thinks all such baubles sinful. He examined it, saw the crest and the name inside. Then it was remembered that food had disappeared from the pantry … and conclusions were drawn. He told no one in the house what he intended to do. He took the ring to London and went to see Titus Oates.”

  “I hate Jasper,” I cried. “I hate his black, bigoted soul.”

  “He said he was doing his duty. Of course you can guess what happened. You were under suspicion immediately. Your parents did not know about it then because Jasper had acted without telling anyone. Oates’s men wanted to know where you had gone and that led them here. They have been asking questions in the neighbourhood. They discovered that a young actor calling himself John Frisby was here. The description fitted Jocelyn.”