“Oh, Harriet,” I cried as we rode along, “how glad I am that we did this! I wonder what Edwin will say?”
“He’ll laugh at you,” she answered. “He’ll say, ‘Could you not do without me for a few weeks?’”
I laughed aloud with happiness. “Oh, Harriet, it is good of you to come with me.”
“Didn’t I tell you, you have only just begun to live.”
I felt it was true.
I was so happy as we rode through the night.
By great good luck we found the inn L’Ananas with the pineapple painted on its sign and there caught up with Edwin.
He, with his servant, was preparing to leave when we rode into the stables.
I did not think he was altogether surprised, though he pretended to be, and I was exultant because I had come to him and grateful to Harriet. I myself should never have thought of undertaking such an adventure.
We dismounted and stood before him. He caught us both up in his arms and hugged us.
“What …?” he began. “Well …” Then as Harriet had predicted he started to laugh.
“I had to come, Edwin,” I said. “I had to be with you.”
He nodded and looked from me to Harriet.
“It seemed the best thing to do,” she said.
He hesitated just for a second or so and then he said: “It calls for celebration. There’s nothing but mine host’s vin ordinaire … and very ordinaire, I warn you. Come let us go inside and we’ll drink to our reunion.”
He walked between us, an arm through each of ours.
“You must tell me all about it. What did my mother say?”
“She will know when she finds her note this morning,” I said.
“Oh, notes, eh? Drama indeed! Bless you. I have never been more glad of anything in my life than the sight of you.”
“Oh, it’s all right, then, Edwin?” I cried. “You’re not angry? We haven’t been foolish?”
“Foolish, I dare say, but adorable.”
What an enchanting hour we spent in that inn. The wine was brought and we sat, Harriet and I, one on either side of Edwin.
“Do you know,” he said, “it’s a strange thing but I was hoping you would come. That’s why I hesitated about leaving here. I should have been on my way at dawn.”
“It was Harriet who thought of it.”
He put his hand over hers and held it for a moment. “Wonderful Harriet,” he said.
“I must admit,” I babbled, “when I first heard of it I thought it rather outrageous. I didn’t really take it seriously. I wondered if you would be annoyed.”
“Have you ever seen me annoyed?”
“No, but perhaps so far there has been nothing to be annoyed about.”
“You are enchanting,” he said. “I could never be anything but pleased to see you. We shall have to do something about clothes, however. You both look too splendid to be welcome in Puritan England. Are you good sailors?”
We declared we were excellent sailors, not that I could be sure of that—there was only one thing I could be sure of and that was that, when I was with Edwin, I was happier than I had ever dreamed possible.
“What Cousin Carleton will say when I arrive with two beautiful ladies, I do not know. He is expecting me and my one servant. Well, the more the merrier.”
I was serious suddenly. “I hope we shan’t make it dangerous for you, Edwin?”
“Indeed not. You will make it easier. A Puritan gentleman escorting two ladies … How natural. Whereas a man on his own with one who is obviously a servant … that could arouse suspicions.”
“I can see,” said Harriet, “that your husband is determined to make us feel welcome.”
“Welcome,” cried Edwin, “as the flowers in May.”
I was so happy I wanted to burst into song. What particularly delighted me was his attitude towards Harriet. He was so charming with her and I could see that she felt as welcome as I.
We rode out in the pride of the morning, for we assured him we needed no rest although we had ridden through the night, and we sang as we went along—Edwin in the middle, Harriet and I riding on either side of him—on to the coast and England.
Stepping onto one’s native shore from which one has been an exile for so many years must necessarily be an emotional occasion.
Wrapped in my sombre cloak, acquired before we set sail, I felt a strange exhilaration. This was home. Something we had talked of for years, certain that one day we would be there. And here I was.
I could not help my thoughts going back to that long-ago night when we had been accompanied to the coast by my grandparents; I remembered the smell of the sea and the way in which the boat had tossed, and our mother had held Lucas and me close to her while the waves rocked the boat and the wind caught at our hair. I remember our grandparents standing on the shore, watching and watching, and the strange, mingled feelings of sadness and exhilaration which I had felt then.
Now there was only exhilaration. Tom, Edwin’s servant, jumped out of the boat and waded ashore. Then Edwin stepped out. He took first me in his arms and carried me to dry land, and then Harriet.
It was dark. He whispered to me: “Don’t be afraid. I know every inch of this shore. Eversleigh is six miles from here. I used to ride down here to play on the beach. Come.”
He took my hand in his left and Harriet’s in his right and we walked over the shingle.
“Can you see anyone around, Tom?” he asked of his man.
“No, sir. Maybe if you stayed here with the ladies I’ll scout around.”
“I know where,” Edwin said. “White Cliffs cave. We’ll wait there. Don’t tarry too long, Tom.”
“No, sir. I’ll be back at the cave in twenty minutes or so if I can’t find what we need.”
I listened to Tom’s footsteps crunching on the shingle. Then Edwin said: “You ladies follow me.”
Within a few minutes we were in the cave. “White Cliffs cave,” he went on. “Why they called it that I don’t know. It’s all white cliffs here. I used to hide in here when I was a boy. I’d make a fire and spend hours here. It was my special hideaway.”
“How lucky that we landed near it,” said Harriet.
“It was due to my expert navigation.”
“What is your cousin going to say when he finds us here?” I asked.
“That we shall discover,” replied Edwin blithely.
“I am looking forward to playing the Puritan,” said Harriet. “It’ll be a testing role, because I have a particular dislike of Puritans.”
“As we all have,” replied Edwin.
“Edwin,” I said, “what will be expected of Harriet and me at Eversleigh?”
“As we are not expected nothing will be expected of us,” retorted Harriet, and she and Edwin laughed as though sharing a joke.
But I insisted: “This is an important mission and we have joined it … rather recklessly. Your cousin will be surprised to see us, I know, and as we are here, we could perhaps do something to help the enterprise.”
“He will quickly make use of you if he feels a need to,” said Edwin. “We have to wait to see what he has discovered. I shall make him agree that it is less conspicuous travelling with two ladies than alone with a manservant, and I am sure he will grant me that.”
“Then we have been of some use,” said Harriet. “It is good to be useful.”
We lay against the hard rock and I felt I had never been so excited in my life. My quiet existence had suddenly become a thrilling adventure. How long ago it seemed since I had received a letter from my mother telling me that the Eversleighs would be inviting me. How could I have guessed what a sesame that would be to glorious living?
Edwin talked of his boyhood when he had camped in this cave. “My secret hiding place,” he called it. “When the tide is high the water comes in. One could be trapped here. It’s happened once in about fifty years. Don’t be alarmed; It’s low tide and at this time of the year we’re safe enough. Besides, Tom will s
oon be back. You can be sure Cousin Carleton has not let us down. We are to have horses waiting to take us to Eversleigh.”
“How many horses?”
“Two only, my darling.”
“But we are four.”
“Never fear, you will ride pillion. One with me, one with Tom.”
“So it has worked out very satisfactorily,” said Harriet.
I heard him chuckle in the darkness of the cave. “Couldn’t be more so.”
There was a crunching on the shingle and Tom was at the mouth of the cave.
“The horses are waiting, sir,” he said.
We emerged and climbed up the slight incline to a path.
“We’re to be travellers in difficulties,” said Edwin lightly. “Come.” He looked from me to Harriet, and hesitated a moment. “I’ll carry my wife,” he said. “Tom, you take Mistress Main.”
We mounted and were soon riding through the early morning.
The dawn was just breaking in the sky when we reached Eversleigh Court. A high wall surrounded it, and above this, one could glimpse the gables. The gates were open and we rode in. The austerity of the place hit me like a cold wind. Château Congrève and Villers Tourron had been shabby—second-rate dwellings of the rich offered by them to their needy friends who had become exiles—but this was different. Very clean, in good order, but on it was the stamp of that kind of Puritanism which sees sin in colour, beauty and charm.
I could imagine what this place had once been. I could picture lavish flower beds full of colour; the yews cut into quaint shapes, fountains and sequestered paths. The remains of these things were there, but everything proclaimed that this garden was not meant to be beautiful, only useful. There were herbs, fruit trees and vegetables. Everything for use and nothing ornamental.
“God!” whispered Edwin. “What a change. Eversleigh under the Puritans!”
My exultation was turning to apprehension. It was dangerous for Edwin to have come back to his own home, though it must be ten years ago that he had left it. He was now twenty-two, so he would have been twelve when he left. Would anyone recognize him? A boy of twelve could bear a resemblance to the young man of twenty-two whom he had become, but perhaps only those who knew who he was would look for it.
“Tom,” he said, “go to the house and ask for shelter. You know your part. We’ll stay here with the horses.”
It was not long before Tom returned with a groom, who looked at us curiously. “If you will go into the house, my master will see you,” he said.
“Ah,” said Edwin, “I did not think we should be turned away. Tom, help with the horses.”
Tom did so and we went across the path and into the hall. A serving girl was standing there waiting for us. I saw her eyes take in our appearance and come back to Harriet, who looked as beautiful as ever in her Puritan robes. It amazed me how she managed to convey a demureness which I knew was quite alien to her. She was a superb actress.
“Please to wait,” the girl said. “Master will be down.”
I studied the hall with its lofty vaulted roof and its panelled walls on which was displayed armour of all description. I supposed that was puritanical enough, as it was through force of arms that the Puritans had beaten the Royalists and driven them into exile. I could detect lightened patches where I presumed tapestry had hung. There was a long refectory table on which stood a few pewter utensils, and there were benches on either side of the table. I wondered whether they had been put there to create a lack of comfort while eating.
There was scarcely anything else in the hall, and although it was summer and promised to be a hot day, there was a chill in the air.
I shall never forget my first glimpse of Carleton Eversleigh.
He came down the stairs at one end of the hall. A fine, carved, wooden staircase of a kind which I remembered from before I had left England and which was typical of the Tudor era when this part of the house had clearly been built or reconstructed.
He was, as I remembered Edwin’s telling me, tall and he was certainly impressive, perhaps more so in the plain black garments of a Puritan than he would have been in the silk and lace fripperies of the Royalist regime. His dark hair was short and fitted his head like a cap after the only acceptable fashion, and the touch of severity which I had noticed in people’s dress since I had set foot in England was accentuated in his costume.
But he was an impressive man—his complexion pale, his eyes dark and luminous, his brows heavy, his features strong and large. What Edwin had said about his being larger than life was certainly true.
His footsteps rang out on the stone flags as he advanced towards us. I did not detect any expression of recognition for Edwin or surprise at seeing Harriet and me.
“God preserve you, friend,” he said.
Edwin replied: “God preserve you, friend.” He went on: “I am travelling to London with my wife and her sister. We stayed the night at an inn and during that time our purses were stolen by villains who left the inn before sunrise. We travelled with one servant and I propose now to send him off to my house in Chester to bring money for me. Until then, we are in a sorry plight. Passing your house, sir, we called in the hope of finding a little shelter and perhaps a bite to eat.”
“You will be fed and sheltered here, friend, until your servant rescues you.”
“When, sir, you will be recompensed for all that you have given us.”
“As the Good Book says, we must not turn away the stranger within our gates,” replied Carleton Eversleigh, and I could not help feeling how incongruously this mode of speech seemed coming from him. He had the face of an Elizabethan buccaneer rather than a godly Puritan.
He went to a bell rope and pulled it. Two maids came hurrying in from behind the screens. One was the girl we had already seen.
“We have visitors seeking shelter, Jane,” said Carleton. “Pray have rooms made ready. A man and wife … did you say, friend? And sister-in-law and manservant. Two rooms then—one for the husband and wife, and another for his sister-in-law. The servant can be accommodated with our own.”
“Yes, master,” said the girl, bobbing a curtsy.
“Doubtless you are hungry,” went on Carleton.
We were. We had not felt like eating much while we were on the boat and had had nothing since we arrived in England.
“Sit down at the table,” he went on. “We abhor fleshly indulgence here and eat simply.”
He was right about that. Rye bread was brought and cold bacon with mugs of cider.
We were about to eat when we received a stern look from our host. We had not thanked God for what we were about to receive.
The simple food, however, tasted like ambrosia and nectar to us, though I was too excited to want to eat a great deal.
Carleton sat at the table as we ate and plied us with questions about our house in Chester. Between them, he and Harriet did very well. Harriet described it in detail. She spoke of flower beds bordered with rosemary, lavender and marjoram and how she enjoyed cultivating her flowers.
She became fascinated by the idea and went on to describe the exquisite blooms she grew, and I was sure she had never pruned a tree or pulled up a weed in her lifetime.
Carleton looked at her sternly and asked in a cold voice whether she could devote her time to a more useful purpose than growing flowers which were no good for anything but to be looked at.
Harriet demurely lowered her eyes and murmured, “God made flowers beautiful,” she reminded him, “but I see, my friend, that you have immediately probed my weakness. So much do I love flowers that they have become a vanity.”
“Vanity should be suppressed,” said Carleton, folding his hands together and raising his eyes to the vaulted roof, and I wondered whether he was immune from that sin—and even on such a short acquaintance I could well believe that he was not. “A sin,” he went on, “a snare. Continually must we fight to avoid the pitfalls which gape at our feet.”
“Amen,” said Harriet, and I thought of
how we should laugh about this when we were alone.
I must confess a certain curiosity to see the woman who had married this man. I knew she existed because Edwin had mentioned her, so I said I was wondering if we should be honoured by meeting the lady of the house.
“Mistress Eversleigh is away from home at this time,” he told me.
“Then we shall not have the pleasure of thanking her for her hospitality.”
“We are not put on earth to take pleasure, mistress,” said Carleton, “so it is mercy that you are prevented from indulging in it.” I fancied I saw a twist of his lips as though he might be enjoying the scene. “And your name is …?” he went on turning to Edwin.
“Edward Leeson,” replied Edwin glibly. “My wife Bella and my sister-in-law, Harriet Groper.”
Carleton bowed his head.
“When you have eaten you shall be taken to the rooms I have allotted to you. I doubt not the journey to Chester and back will take a few days. You are the guests of Eversleigh until the time your man returns.”
“God will reward you in heaven for your goodness to these poor travellers,” said Edwin piously.
“I seek no reward,” retorted Carleton. “I only seek to do my duty to God.”
I wondered whether they were carrying this a little too far, but my experience of the next few days taught me that this was a normal conversation in a Puritan home.
It would be small wonder if there was unrest throughout the country and people were looking to the new King to come back and set up a new set of customs and behaviour.
We were given rooms side by side, and what cold, dreary rooms they were! The only furniture the bed, a court cupboard and a chair. There was a chill about the place which suggested that no fires were ever lighted in these rooms even in the heart of winter. I was glad it was the height of summer.
Our bed was a large one with four posts. I was sure that once there had been elaborate hangings, but these were there no more and it looked starkly naked in some way. There was no rug on the floor … only the cold wooden boards. Harriet’s room next to ours was similar, only slightly smaller.
Philippa Carr - [Daughters of England 05] Page 12
