When I was ready, I did not hear Harriet stirring, so I knocked at her door, and as there was no answer I went in.
Her bed was made. Either it had not been slept in or she had been up early and made it herself.
I went to the window and looked out. It was a peaceful scene; the countryside green and fresh, the budding trees, the birds still wild with joy because the morning had come.
I remembered that Sir James Gilley had left and we should have a quiet day free from guests. I should be getting my possessions together because I knew that any day now my parents would arrive and it would be our turn to travel to the coast.
I turned suddenly and saw the letter lying on a table. I went to it. It was addressed to me so I opened it and attempted to read it, but the words swam before my eyes and I had to go back and start again before I could believe what was written.
My dear Arabella,
This is good-bye. I am leaving this morning with James Gilley. He is devoted to me and will look after me. Believe me, when I tell you I hate to leave you, but I could see no other way. Your mother-in-law, with whom you will now live, dislikes me. She would never have tolerated me in your house. I fancy your mother is not overfond of me and would not have wanted me in hers. This seemed the answer. And when James asked me I said yes. He is rich and I like my comforts. I shall know how to handle him. I shall enjoy the Court, I am sure. I really have only one regret and that is leaving you, Arabella. We have been special friends, have we not? And we always shall be. For we shall meet again.
There is one other thing. I am leaving Leigh in your care. I know you will do the right thing by my baby. You will bring him up with your own dear Edwin, and there is no one else with whom I would rather leave him.
This is not good-bye, dear Arabella. It is au revoir. God bless you
Your loving friend,
Harriet.
Again and again I read through what she had written. I didn’t believe it. It couldn’t be. She had gone as dramatically as she had come. But she had left something behind to remind us of her. Her own child! How could she leave him!
Of course she could. Harriet was capable of everything.
I went into the room which we had made the nursery.
Madame Lambard was rocking Leigh up and down because, as she started to say, he had the wind.
I stared at the baby and Madame Lambard said: “Is anything wrong, Madame Arabella?”
I answered simply. “She has gone. She has left the baby and has gone.”
During the third week of May my parents came to the château to take us back, and what wild rejoicing there was at our reunion. This, alas, did not extend to the kitchens and Marianne, Jeanne and Jacques were very subdued; as for Madame Lambard, she was desolate, though perhaps this was mainly due to the babies.
My mother was most disturbed when she heard that Harriet had gone, leaving her son behind.
“The unnatural creature!” she cried. “How could she do such a thing? And who is the father?”
I told her it was Charles Condey who had fallen passionately in love with Harriet during our visit to Villers Tourron.
“We know him well. He is such a sober young man. I find it hard to believe that he would not stand by a girl who was to have his child.”
“He wanted to marry her but she wouldn’t have him.”
“He was, of course, meant for Charlotte.”
“You do not know Harriet, Mother. She is so attractive. People find her irresistible … or most of them do.”
“That is understandable … but to leave a child!”
“She knew I would always look after him.”
“And what shall you do? Take him to Eversleigh?”
“Of course. He will grow up with Edwin.”
My mother shook her head anxiously. Then she embraced me and said: “You are a good girl, Arabella. I can’t tell you how often your father and I have thanked God for you. You know what you mean to your father?”
I nodded. “How wonderful it will be to be together again. I wish I were coming home with you to Far Flamstead.”
“I know, my dearest. But you must comfort Matilda. Poor lady, she has lost her only son. She loves you dearly. She told me that as soon as she saw you she knew you were the wife she wanted for Edwin. And now when this terrible tragedy has come to her, it is you who are the greatest help to her because you have given her little Edwin. You’ve given her something to live for. A grandson is what she prayed for and, through you, she has him. So do not regret that you are not coming to Far Flamstead. We shall not be very far away. We will meet often and you will be happy because you have brought such joy to your new family.”
Lord Eversleigh, Edwin’s father, was a delightful man; he was considerably older than my own father, as Matilda was also. I remembered Edwin’s telling me how they had been married for some time before they had any children and that was why Carleton had had his hopes.
Lord Eversleigh was deeply moved when he was presented to my son, and although at such a time I must miss my husband even more bitterly than at others, I was happy to have brought such joy to them by giving them a grandson.
We were all to cross the Channel together, and my parents would stay for a night at Eversleigh Court which was near the coast. Our emotions were at such a pitch that I felt part of the time that I was in a dream. After all, this was the fulfillment of our hopes of years. We had talked so much of going home that, now the time had come, we were uncertain of our happiness. In the first place we had to say good-bye to so much that we had known for so long; and the sad eyes of the servants at Congrève and the red ones of Madame Lambard could not do anything else but depress us.
How should I have felt had I been going back with Edwin? So different, I was sure.
The crossing was a smooth one, which was a blessing, and we made for an inn not much more than a hundred yards from the sea which had been well known to the Eversleighs in the old days.
Then it had been called the Jolly Waggoner but the Jolly had been painted out and it was now simply the Waggoner—a particular piece of Puritan folly which made us all laugh.
The landlord, Tom Ferret, was, like most people, I was to discover, eager to cast aside the gloomy piety he had been obliged to practice for a more convivial manner.
“Well, Tom,” said Lord Eversleigh. “Times are changing.”
Tom put his finger to his nose and said slyly: “And about time too, and good it is to see you back, milord.”
“And how is your father?” asked Lord Eversleigh.
Tom pointed upwards, and I wasn’t sure whether he meant his father was in the room above or in Heaven. I realized it was the latter, for he went on: “Sorry I am, milord, that he can’t see this day. Now we’ll look forward to the good times, we will.”
“A return to prosperity,” said Lord Eversleigh. “Puritanism is no good for business, eh, Tom?”
“It has been a struggle to keep going, milord, but praise God His Majesty is coming back. Do you know when the happy day will be, milord?”
“Soon, Tom. Soon. We want him back for his thirtieth birthday. And that will be the twenty-ninth of this month.”
“God bless him. You’ll drink his health, I hope, in my best malmsey wine.” He winked. “Tucked away in the cellar these many years. No sense in giving good wine to them that thinks it’s a sin to enjoy it.”
“We will, we will, and will you have a message sent to the Court, Tom, to tell my nephew that we’re home?”
“Master Carleton, he has been working for the King all this time it seems … and him playing the Puritan up there … one of the sternest of ’em, I heard, and all the big’uns coming to stay at Eversleigh to see him and talk about how they could make us even more miserable than we were.”
“No Eversleigh would ever be disloyal to his King, Tom.”
“No, milord, but Master Carleton fooled us all right.”
“As was necessary.”
“Yes, milord. Now for the mess
age … I’ll get a man off at once. Then for the malmsey.”
Milk was brought for the babies, and we sat at the inn table sampling hot bread with cheese and malmsey wine, which tasted good to me.
An hour or so later Carleton Eversleigh was at the inn. Lord Eversleigh took his hand and shook it. Matilda embraced him. There were tears in her eyes.
“Oh, Carleton,” she cried. “It is so long …”
He nodded. “But we knew it would come and here it is. So let us be joyful.” I felt he was anxious to curtail the emotion, for I guessed he would hate any show of it.
He was looking at me, and I noticed the slow smile which I could not understand. “Ah,” he said, “it is not so long since we met.”
I nodded and introduced him to my parents.
He exchanged greetings with them and then he saw the children. Of course he would not know. How could he? He was looking askance at my mother’s two women holding them.
“My son,” I said. “My son Edwin.”
He was frankly amazed.
He looked down at the baby. “So … he left you a child, then.”
“Yes.”
“Twins?”
“No. This is Edwin. This is Leigh.”
“And whose child is Leigh, I wonder?”
“You remember Harriet Main.”
“Harriet Main.” He gave a sudden, short laugh. He looked round him, obviously for Harriet.
“She is not with us,” I said. “She went to London with Sir James Gilley. They are to be married. Then, I doubt not, she will come to claim the child.”
I was romancing in the way Harriet herself might have done. It was foolish, but his sly smile angered me.
“Well, you can reckon that she will be long before she claims the child if she is waiting for Gilley to marry her. He is very much married to a lady I know well. A most respectable lady with two sons and four daughters, and as she is in a remarkably good state of health, it seems unlikely that James Gilley will be free for some time yet.”
I hated him for exposing Harriet before them all. I could see that the Eversleighs were shocked, and my mother, although she told me afterwards that she had guessed this was how it was, was faintly annoyed.
Carleton had that effect, I discovered later. If there was a peaceful, happy atmosphere, he could be depended on to shatter it.
“So you are left with the baby, eh?” he went on laughing. “Well, the two of them will grow up together. Let me look at the little fellow. He’s bonny.” He held out a finger which Edwin, with what seemed to me superhuman intelligence, grasped. “I think he’s taken a fancy to me.” I wanted to snatch my baby away. I was sure Carleton was thinking that Edwin’s existence robbed him of what he had been considering was his inheritance.
Carleton had brought a carriage and horses to take us to the house which was some three miles from the coast, and as we trundled along the lanes, everyone was exclaiming about the beauty of the countryside.
“Oh, those green, green fields,” cried Matilda. “How I have missed them! Look at the blooms on that horse chestnut. Oh, Arabella, do look over there, my dear—apple trees! Rose-coloured blossom, and look there’s white cherry.”
We had, of course, seen green grass and fruit trees in blossom during our exile, but the fact that this was home endowed it all with a very special beauty.
It was indeed a lovely time of the year. The Restoration could not have come at a better time. We were all noticing the beauties of nature afresh—the bronze tufts of the sycamores and purple lilac and gold laburnum.
England. And we were no longer exiles.
And now we were at Eversleigh Court. Inevitably my mind went back to that day just over a year ago when I had arrived here with Edwin and Harriet. I could hear Carleton’s voice oddly enough rather than Edwin’s. “God preserve you, friend.”
How well Carleton had done it. What an actor he was. He had not betrayed by a flicker of an eyebrow that he resented my baby, and yet he must do so, because merely by being born Edwin had deprived him of great estates and a noble title.
“We are gradually getting the place back to normal,” said Carleton. “I had hoped, Uncle, that I should have done more by now. You will see how much I was able to save. It’s really a remarkable achievement.”
“You were always clever, Carleton,” said Lord Eversleigh.
“By God, I’ve had need of my wits during the last year. I came near more than once to giving the whole show away. It wasn’t the easiest role for me to play … that of the Puritan.”
“I’ll warrant it wasn’t,” Lord Eversleigh laughed. “But well done, nephew. It’s good to be home. One deep regret …”
“I know,” said Carleton. “It was a tragedy.” He looked at me quizzically, and I felt myself disliking him afresh. “But you have the boy.”
“God takes away with one hand and gives with the other,” said Matilda. “I have lost my dear son but I have my new daughter. She has brought me great comfort and I am filled with a gratitude I find hard to express.”
She held out her hand and I took it.
“God bless you, Arabella,” she said.
“Arabella has given you your grandson,” put in Carleton. “I reckon that is a matter for rejoicing. Now come along and see what you think of everything.”
He walked beside me, and I fancied that he watched me closely because he wanted to know what effect it had on me, coming back to the scene of my tragedy.
I had never realized on my previous visit how beautiful Eversleigh Court was. I remembered clearly the high wall which surrounded the house and the gables which could be glimpsed above it. The gates were wide open and we rode in. The feeling of austerity was still there. It was too early to have changed it. The erstwhile flower beds still contained their herbs and vegetables. But a fountain was playing and the yews had been cut into fancy shapes. These stood out in the yards like an act of defiance to the recent regime.
“A shock to you, Aunt Matilda,” said Carleton. “But never mind. You will soon have your flowers again. You must remember that in my role of Puritan I had to get rid of them. They were so beautiful. The herbs and the vegetables were of use and therefore acceptable in the eyes of our lords and masters. Some of them are not without their charm, don’t you think?”
“Oh, Carleton, how did you endure it!” cried Matilda.
“In a way I quite enjoyed it. It amused me to hunt with the hounds while I was really running with the fox.”
“So few could have done it,” murmured his aunt.
We went into the hall. It had changed. The long table was shining and laid with pewter utensils. Velvet curtains had been hung at the minstrels gallery, which I had scarcely noticed before. A tapestry, obviously freshly brought from the secret store, hung on the walls.
“Home,” said Lady Eversleigh. “What can I say?”
Her husband put his arm through hers and pressed it.
We went up the great staircase. Several pictures hung on the wall—portraits of long-dead Eversleighs.
“So you salvaged all this, Carleton!” said Lord Eversleigh.
“And more also,” replied Carleton proudly. “You will see in due course. But now let me conduct you to your rooms. I am sure you are in need of rest. I was not aware that there would be babies. We have no nursery available. It is years since we had one here.”
He grinned at me with what was meant to be an apology.
Charlotte said: “There’s the old nursery.”
“I daresay my Cousin Arabella will want the baby near her just at first.”
“Indeed I do.”
“And the nurseries are at the very top of the house. Nothing is prepared up there.”
I said: “I’ll take the room I occupied before. There was one right next to it …”
I stopped. There would be memories in that room of the nights I had spent there with Edwin, and the next room was that which had been occupied by Harriet.
I wished she were with me. She wou
ld laugh at Carleton. She would make me see everything differently. I knew she was an adventuress. Hadn’t she told me often enough? She had taken Charlotte’s lover; she had had a child and abandoned him; she had lied, with such facility that one never knew whether or not she was speaking the truth; but I was fond of her. And I missed her.
Of course it would have been impossible for her to have been here. Charlotte would never have endured that. In going away she had done the right thing, I supposed.
I would look after Leigh. He should be with Edwin in the nursery. But how I wished she were here!
There was the room I had shared with Edwin, but how different it was! There was a beautiful tapestry on the wall and it contained some elegant pieces of furniture. These things would have been hidden at the time I stayed here, but how they transformed the room! I could not look at the four-poster bed without emotion, but even that looked different with its silk curtains.
I went into Harriet’s room where the babies were to be. My young brothers and sister were very silent, overcome with awe, I believed, by everything that was happening to them.
Charlotte seemed to have taken a fancy to them and I was glad, for they liked her and she said she would find a suitable room for them. She remembered so much of her old home, she said. It was all coming back to her.
I wondered how she would feel about the presence of Leigh. How did a woman feel about her lover’s child by another woman? Charlotte, however, gave no sign of disliking him. I was sure she was much too sensible to blame the child. I was beginning to like my sister-in-law, and I hoped very much that we should be friends, but no one could, of course, take Harriet’s place.
My parents would be leaving early the following morning, but as my mother told me more than once, we should all be in England now and we should see a great deal of each other.
Alone in my room, I washed the grime of the journey from my face and changed my travelling clothes for a gown of blue velvet which was somewhat the worse for wear. We had made our own clothes in Congrève and I wondered what they would look like now we were home. In Congrève it had not mattered what we wore, but I remembered vividly how bemused we were by the elaborate gowns which Harriet had worn and which looked so splendid by candlelight.
Philippa Carr - [Daughters of England 05] Page 18
