Philippa Carr - [Daughters of England 06]

by The Love Child

  It was Leigh whom I loved. That was why I feared for him when he went to London, why I attempted to gather news of what was happening, why I began to fear another civil war, a rebellion … just as my mother did. And this was not due to patriotic fears for our country but simply that we were women who wanted to protect our men.

  It was a great revelation. I loved Leigh and we were to be married. He knew about Carlotta and he understood. He was going to help me. He would be a wonderful father to her. I was happier than I had been for a long time, but soon I began to be haunted more than ever by memories of Beau Granville. I would dream of him. Leigh would be in that dream, and suddenly as he came towards me he would change into Beaumont Granville. I began to experience a vague apprehension.

  My wedding day had almost come. The house was in a bustle of excitement. From the kitchens came the smell of roasting and baking. My mother was in a blissful state. She refused to think of possible trouble coming to the realm. Her family was about her. Edwin was married to a girl of her choice and she told me she had always wanted it to be Leigh for me. Leigh was a strong man, she said. He was not unlike my father. Such men needed special care.

  “He shall have it,” I assured her.

  “Leigh is a man in every way … just like your father, and you’ll be happy with him. He will take care of you and he has loved you for a long time. I am so glad, dear child, to see you settled.”

  Carlotta was sleeping in my room. She was very interested in all the preparations and spent a lot of time in the kitchens watching the baking and now and then slipping a finger in some bowl to extract a delicacy, I was sure.

  They pampered her down there and I knew that Ellen liked to have her seated at the table and even showed her how to stone raisins.

  Old Jasper, of course, was immune to her charms. I daresay he thought her a devil’s imp with her bright colouring and obvious beauty of which he would not approve. She did not like Jasper and made no attempt to hide the fact. She told him that she did not think God would like him very much either, which I believe shook Jasper more than anything that had happened for a long time.

  At night she would creep into my bed and talk to me. When I was married, I told her, she would not be able to come. I should be in the bridal chamber where lots of other brides had slept.

  She listened entranced.

  “When shall I marry?” she wanted to know.

  “It will be years yet,” I told her.

  “Will you have a baby?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Promise.”

  “Promise what?”

  “When you do, you’ll still love me best.”

  “I shall always love you, Carlotta.”

  “But best,” she said. “I want to be best.”

  “Promises like that can’t be made. You have to wait and see.”

  She was thoughtful, and pondering that fell asleep.

  I had many gifts. Christabel had made some fine pillowcases for me, delicately embroidered as she knew so well how to do. I had more embroidered linen from Emily Philpots. Sally Nullens was delighted at the prospect of more babies, both from me and from Edwin. My mother gave me some beautiful silks, which could be made up into bed gowns and wraps as well as dresses.

  “From your father and me,” she said, but I knew he had had no hand in the gift.

  There was one present which was brought to the house by a messenger who would not wait for a reply. One of the servants brought it in. The messenger had said that it was to be delivered to me but would not say who had sent it. It was a flat, square package. I was very curious. I took it up to my room and opened it.

  It was a picture, painted in delicate colours, of St. Mark’s Square in Venice, and the shop where I had bought the slippers was represented in it.

  I knew who had sent it and if I had had any doubt, there were the initials in the corner to confirm my fears: B.G.

  I felt sick with fear. What did it mean? It was clearly a reminder. He was telling me that he was still there in my life and I must not think I was rid of him.

  The picture was lying on my bed. I turned away from it. I could not bear to look at it. My apprehension was growing with every minute.

  What could he do to me now?

  I thought then of what Leigh’s fury would be like if he ever knew. I believed he would kill Beaumont Granville. He had nearly done so once before for a lesser offence.

  Leigh must never know.

  I wondered if any member of the family had seen the messenger arrive. My mother might ask what had been brought. Could I show the picture? “It was someone we met in Venice,” I could say.

  Leigh would see it. He would see those initials in the corner.

  My impulse was to destroy it, but I decided not to do so just yet. I put it into a drawer with some kerchiefs and collars on top of it. In a few days I would destroy it, for if no one had mentioned its arrival by then, they would not do so later.

  I had to compose myself before I went downstairs. I managed to do so, but a terrible shadow hung over me.

  No one had seen the messenger come, and as nothing was said about what he had brought, a few days later I tore up the painting and burned it in the grate. I felt better as soon as I had done so.

  It was just a mischievous gesture, I assured myself. But I was uneasy that he had known about my coming marriage. Leigh had been in London and there was no reason why our marriage should be kept a secret. He was known by too many people and naturally they would want to know whom he was marrying. I was the granddaughter of General Tolworthy, a very well-known soldier, who had distinguished himself in the Royalist cause. My father was Carleton Eversleigh, who had been a close friend of the late King. It was to be hoped that not too much had been said about the Monmouth Rebellion, but I gathered that so many people were disillusioned by the present King that there would be little rancour against my father.

  In any case, I felt better when the picture was no longer there, and I tried to forget it on my wedding day.

  And so we were married in the Eversleigh chapel, and even as we emerged, my arm in Leigh’s, I was deeply conscious of the secret which lay between us and I longed to tell Leigh of that fearful night, but I knew that if I did he would not rest until he had taken revenge on Beaumont Granville and that could result in the death of one of them.

  I could not escape from Beaumont Granville. I loved Leigh, I was capable of passion, but Beaumont Granville was there all the time. Leigh was conscious that something was wrong. He was puzzled and hurt. I think he believed that I still hankered for Jocelyn. I could not explain that I loved him, that I wanted him only, but there was something else I could not do and that was drive from my mind the memory of that night in Dorchester.

  Leigh still thought of me as not quite grown up in spite of the fact that I had a child. He was uncertain of me and I knew vaguely disappointed. I guessed he would be uneasy when we were apart. He talked a great deal about the future and said that he did not think it was good for married people to be apart as they inevitably must if one was a soldier. When the situation was more stable he thought it would be a good idea to get out. We could not stay at Eversleigh Court for the rest of our lives, for that was the home of Edwin, his wife and the children they would have, as well as my parents and Carl. But there was the old Dower House. It was a fair-sized Elizabethan house—Eversleigh Court on a smaller scale. He would buy it from the Eversleigh estate and we could live there. Already he had plans for enlarging the house and farming some of the land. There was quite a large area of land which he could acquire.

  “It would keep me home with you,” he said; and I was aware of the disappointment he felt in our marriage and I longed to tell him of that terrible night which had scarred me forever. I wanted him to know that it was due to no lack of love on my part, that all that had gone before had shown me that I could never love any man as I loved him. But when I thought of what the consequences might be, I dared not.

  Harrie
t stayed on with Carlotta, Benjie and Gregory. She said she wanted to be with her son as long as possible and of course I was delighted, not only that Harriet should stay-she was always an asset at any gathering—but because Carlotta remained too.

  Carl was sixteen now, Benjie a year or so older, so they were really quite grown up and were going to the university together in the autumn.

  Leigh was talking about the Dower House, a favourite topic of his, and my father was pointing out that some of the land there would need a good deal of treatment before it offered good crops.

  Carl said suddenly: “Why don’t you have Enderby Hall, Leigh? That’s a grand house … or was …”

  “Enderby Hall,” echoed Leigh. “Hasn’t anyone taken it yet?”

  “No,” replied my mother, “and not likely to. It has the reputation of being haunted.”

  “What nonsense!” cried Leigh. “It was all right when the Enderbys were there.”

  “Oh, that was a great tragedy,” said my mother.

  “He was involved in the Rye House Plot with Gervaise Hilton of Grassland Manor,” added my father. “The houses were confiscated then.”

  “First, though,” said my mother, “the men were taken away. Poor Grace Enderby was heartbroken. She tried to hang herself. It was in the great hall and she tried to do it from the gallery. The rope wasn’t long enough and she fell to the ground instead of swinging as she had intended to. She didn’t die immediately. Some of the servants said she laid a curse on the place and that her cries can be heard as you pass by at night.”

  “So that’s how it got the reputation for being haunted, was it?” asked Leigh.

  “No one has heard the cries,” put in my father. “It is always someone who knows someone who did.”

  “I think it is often like that with these haunted houses,” Leigh said.

  “We always thought it was a strange old place though,” added my mother. “The family had been ardent Catholics and there are said to be hidden places where they used to hide the priests.”

  “What a sad story,” said Jane. “I don’t think I should like to go there after dark.”

  “Surely you’re not affected by such nonsense,” chided my father.

  “It’s all very well to be brave by daylight,” said my mother. “It is a gloomy old place now. The garden’s overgrown. It’s for sale. But who will buy a house where that sort of thing has happened?”

  “I think it passed into the hands of some distant cousin of the Enderbys and he wants to get rid of it as fast as he can. He’ll never sell until he clears the garden, which would do a great deal to dispel the gloom and make sure that all that gossip about a ghost is put a stop to.”

  “I’d like to go in and look at it,” said Benjie.

  “You’d never dare,” challenged Carl.

  “Don’t be silly,” retorted Benjie, “of course I would.”

  “Well,” I said, “it has stood empty for a long time. If someone would take it and let in the sunshine, it would be just a normal house.”

  The conversation turned to the affairs of the country, which were always uppermost in our minds, and the ghostly house and the Enderbys were forgotten.

  It was late afternoon of the following day when Sally Nullens came running into the garden, where we were all sitting enjoying the sunshine, with the disturbing news that Carlotta was nowhere to be found.

  I was immediately afraid.

  I turned to Sally and cried: “But where can she be?”

  “She was in her bed having a nap, so I thought. I went in to rouse her and she was not there.”

  Carlotta had returned to the nursery when I was married and had been a little resentful about that and was inclined to blame Leigh who, she was afraid, was usurping her place with me.

  “She’s probably in the garden somewhere,” said my mother.

  “I’ll go and look,” I replied.

  “And I’ll come with you,” said Leigh.

  We searched the garden, but there was no sign of Carlotta. Then we went into the house and searched every room.

  Now I was really alarmed.

  “Where can she have got to?” I cried frantically.

  Sally Nullens was muttering: “The imp. She didn’t want to go to bed. I had trouble with her. She’s getting above herself, that one. Wants her own way all the time. Said she wanted to go with Carl and Benjie. Young men like them don’t want a baby at their heels.”

  “Where are Carl and Benjie?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” replied Sally. “They went off somewhere together about two o’clock. I haven’t seen them since.”

  I felt a faint twinge of relief. “She must be with them.”

  “She was pestering and they said they wouldn’t take her. And then I came along and said Bed.”

  “I think she must have gone with them, Sally,” I said anxiously. “They relented perhaps and took her.”

  “I don’t know, I’m sure. I’ll have something to say to her when she comes back, mark my words.”

  Sally was worried, I could see.

  We went back to the group in the garden.

  “Did you find the mischievous creature?” asked Harriet.

  “No,” I replied. “Sally thinks she went off with Carl and Benjie.”

  “Oh, that’s it. She’s always trying to link up with them.”

  “She’s like you, Priscilla,” said my mother. “You always wanted to go where Edwin and Leigh went.”

  “Sally is put out. She is supposed to be in bed.”

  “Carlotta has an adventurous nature,” put in Harriet. “There will always be some excitement where she is.”

  “She’s a spoiled child,” said my father, but there was a hint of indulgence in his voice. I never ceased to marvel at the way she had bewitched him.

  We talked of other matters: what was happening at Court, Continental affairs. The name of William of Orange was mentioned as it was frequently nowadays.

  It was about an hour later when Carl and Benjie returned.

  I ran to meet them.

  “Where is Carlotta?” I cried.

  They looked puzzled.

  “Wasn’t she with you?”

  They shook their heads.

  Now I was really frightened.

  “We had better start searching at once,” said Leigh.

  “She can’t have gone far,” Harriet pointed out.

  I thought of her wandering in the woods lost. I was terrified of what might befall her. Occasionally gipsies camped in the woods. I had heard stories of their stealing children. I felt sick with horror.

  My father said: “We’ll soon find her. We’ll have two separate parties and we’ll scour the neighbourhood. She can’t have gone far.”

  I went off with Leigh, Carl and Benjie; my father headed another party.

  “I reckon,” said Leigh, “that she has gone somewhere and fallen asleep.”

  “Either that or she’s lost,” I said blankly. If the gipsies found her, her clothes would be taken from her. The gold chain which Gregory had given her and which she always wore round her neck would be worth something. Her outstanding beauty would attract them. I imagined their gloating over my beautiful child. What would they do with her? I pictured her, dirty and unkempt, selling clothes pegs and telling fortunes. That would never suit her imperious nature. How rebellious she would be. And what would they do to her?

  Leigh was comforting me. “We’ll find her soon. She’s somewhere close. She couldn’t have gone far.”

  We searched all round the house and beyond. I said I wondered whether she had tried to get to the sea. She was talking about it yesterday.

  “She wanted to come with us,” said Carl. “She was here when we left.”

  “What time was that?”

  “It was just after two o’clock.”

  “But she was supposed to be resting then. Sally had sent her to bed.”

  “She said she wanted to come with us and I said, ‘You can’t. We’re going t
o the haunted house.’ She kept saying she wanted to come. So we went off and left her.”

  “You don’t think …” I began.

  “The house is nearly a mile from here,” Leigh pointed out.

  “She knows the way,” said Carl. “We rode past it only the other day. She said she wanted to see a ghost.”

  “She’s been listening to gossip,” I said. “That’s where she’s gone. I’m sure of it. Carl and Benjie were going and she wanted to go with me. Come on. We’re going to Enderby.”

  Leigh said we should ride there, for we should get there more quickly that way, so we ran to the stables and in a short time we were on the road to Enderby.

  We tethered the horses and dismounted. The drive was so overgrown that we had to pick our way carefully. I must confess to a little shudder as we passed through the gates. There was something eerie about the place which seemed more than the state of the grounds warranted. The house rose before us—red Tudor brick—centre hall with east and west wings; the walls were covered with creeper, which hung over some of the windows.

  It was easy to imagine why it had been called haunted.

  Eager as I was to search the place I felt a great repugnance about entering it.

  “Creepy,” commented Benjie.

  “You can get in quite easily,” said Carl. “You just unlatch the door. We didn’t see any ghosts,” he added.

  “No,” put in Benjie, “but you felt they were there … watching you.”

  “We must go in,” I insisted. “We have to search the place.”

  Then I felt my blood run cold, for I saw a light flicker in one of the windows and then disappear.