“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.
&nbs
p; 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 interest
ed 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.
Song of the Siren Page 4
