Philippa Carr - [Daughters of England 05]

by Lament for a Lost Lover

  Chastity was looking up at me, her eyes round with horror.

  “Mistress, it is haunted. Come away … now. …”

  Yes, I thought. It is haunted … haunted by memories. I never want to come here again.

  Chastity was tugging on my hands and we went outside.

  “Well, you see,” I said, “there was nothing to fear.”

  She looked at me curiously and said nothing. I noticed how hard she gripped my hand until we were well away from the arbour.

  That night looking from my bedroom window I saw a light flickering close to the arbour. I stared, fascinated, watching it moving among the bushes like a will-o’-the-wisp.

  Now the light had disappeared. A lantern, I guessed, and I wondered who carried it and whether he—or she—bad gone inside and for what purpose?

  I watched for a long time, but I did not see the lantern again. I began to think that I had imagined it.

  I was still feeling weak.

  Sally said: “Women can take a year or two to recover from a miss. Some says it’s worse than a birth. It’s unnatural, like, you see. And then of course that other affair …”

  She seemed to be right. I was not like the Arabella I had been. Sometimes I thought I would like to go to Far Flamstead and try to tell my mother something about the doubts and suspicions which seemed constantly to be chasing themselves round and round in my mind.

  And yet I wanted to stay here. I felt there was something going on in the house, something which deeply concerned me. I wished I could shake off this uneasiness, this feeling of foreboding.

  Was it really that someone had shot at me, had hoped to kill me? It had been said that I was lucky. The pellets had hit my arm. Had they gone into my head or some other vital part of my body, they could have been fatal.

  If Leigh had not accidentally shot me, who had? Was it someone aiming at a pigeon … or at me?

  Carleton had been summoned once more to Whitehall. He looked a little sad sometimes, as though he wondered what was going wrong with our marriage, for after that display of tenderness when I had had my accident, we seemed to be on edge, both of us. I was unable to express what I felt for him; indeed I was not sure. I wanted him to love me, to be with me, to act as a husband. It seemed sometimes that I was trying to make him a different person from what he was. I was suspicious, uncertain of him, asking myself whether it was possible for a man who had lived as he had to reform and become a faithful husband. I could not forget Edwin and the manner in which he deceived me; and I could see—while I was unable to prevent it—that I was allowing this to colour my life.

  I continued to be fascinated by the arbour. One afternoon when the household was quiet, I went out into the garden and almost involuntarily my footsteps led me there.

  It was November now—a dankness everywhere; almost all the leaves had fallen and only the conifers gleamed a shiny green. Cobwebs were draped over them, for it was the season of spiders.

  And as I came near to the arbour I heard a voice which seemed to be singing a mournful dirge. I went closer and to my amazement there against the wall of the arbour knelt a man. I recognized him at once as Young Jethro.

  I approached and studied him. He was on his knees and his hands were clasped together as in prayer. Then I realized that he was praying.

  He stopped suddenly. He must have been aware of my presence. He turned sharply and looked at me out of those wild eyes which were almost hidden by the unkempt eyebrows.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Praying,” he said. “Praying to God. There have been murder done here. ’Tis an unhallowed place. I’m praying to God for the soul of my father.”

  “I understand,” I said.

  “Oh, God, save his soul from eternal torment,” he said. “What he done, he done for the glory of God but the Book says, ‘Thou shalt not kill’ and that means even in His name. My father killed a man here. He were Satan’s own, caught in Satan’s work … but, the Lord says, ‘Thou shalt not kill.’”

  I said gently: “It was all long ago, Young Jethro. It is best to forget.”

  “He burns in hell. A good life and one false step and for it … he burns in hell.”

  I kept seeing it again. Should I ever forget it? That scene in the arbour and the madman with the gun. The lovers … caught there. Illicit love and Edwin dying instantly, and Harriet running into the house and the self-righteous man of God going back to his barn, the task he had set himself to do, done. And afterwards? Had he suffered remorse? He was a murderer no matter in which cause he had murdered. And he had disobeyed the law of God.

  I felt stirred with pity for this strange, near-mad man. I wanted to comfort him. To tell him that I who had suffered the loss of my husband through his father’s action forgave. And he must forget.

  But there would be no reasoning with him. I could see that reason and Young Jethro were strangers. There was only the law of God as he saw it, and he believed that his father, in spite of all his piety, had committed a mortal sin.

  I turned, and as I walked away I heard him muttering his prayers.

  There was one thing I was sure of now. Young Jethro had not been the one who fired the shot at me, and Carleton’s theory that the Jethros harboured enmity towards our family because we were Royalist and Young Jethro thought we were responsible for the licentious state of the country had no foundation in truth.

  Then it was someone else.

  It was Leigh, I told myself. It must be so. Poor child, he had fired in the wrong direction and then was so terrified of what he had done that he had convinced himself that he hadn’t done it.

  I was all right now. All I had to do was regain my inner health, to muster my spirits, to throw off my misgivings and feel life was good again.

  Carleton was still away. I was in the nursery with Sally and she was going through the children’s clothes and trying to decide what was needed. Later we should go to London and buy what was required.

  Both Benjie and Priscilla were having that afternoon nap which Sally insisted they have, and the boys were out riding.

  I was on the point of telling Sally about Young Jethro’s prayers at the arbour when Charlotte came in.

  She went to the cots and looked at the sleeping children.

  “How peaceful they look!” she murmured.

  “Not much peace about them half an hour ago,” said Sally. “Benjie was screaming his head off and Mistress Priscilla had fallen down and dirtied her clean dress.”

  “It’s all forgotten now,” commented Charlotte. “How soon their troubles are over. I was thinking we ought to do something about the arbour. It’s getting so overgrown.”

  “Yes,” I said, alert suddenly.

  “That old place should be pulled down, I reckon,” put in Sally. “What do you think of this muslin, mistress? Priscilla is getting too big for it. It’s in good order though. I’ll wash it and put it away. Who knows when it might come in handy?”

  I knew she was referring to the fact that in due course I should have another child. It was a habit of hers, done, I believe, to reassure me. Dear Sally!

  “I went inside the old arbour. I couldn’t resist it,” said Charlotte. “What a musty old place it is! Yes, I do think it should be pulled down. The paving must have been quite pretty at one time.”

  I thought of the paving—a mosaic in pale blue and white, stained red with Edwin’s blood and Harriet watching him, panic seizing her, wondering what she must do.

  I had to stop these pictures coming into my mind every time anyone mentioned the arbour.

  I tripped over one of the paving-stones which was loose,” went on Charlotte. “I stopped to fit it in place and I found these funny things … like little dolls. … They seemed to have been put under the loose stone. What are they?”

  She drew two little figures from the pocket of her dress.

  “What would you say they are meant to be?” she went on.

  Sally had come to look. She turned pale, then I sa
w that they were wax models. One had a look of someone. The set of the eyes, the shape of the moulded nose. Myself!

  I looked at Sally and saw the hot colour flame into her face which a moment before had been so pale.

  “That’s a witch’s work,” she said.

  “What do you mean, Sally?” asked Charlotte. “They’re children’s toys, I think. But what were they doing under the paving-stone in the arbour?”

  Sally picked up the figure which resembled me. “You see where the pins have been. There … where you would have been carrying the child.” She picked up the other figure. “Oh, my God. I see what it’s meant to be. It’s the wax image of an unborn child.”

  We all looked at each other.

  “How long have they been there, I wonder?” I said.

  “I … I have only just found them,” stammered Charlotte.

  “It looks as if …” began Sally. “No, I can’t say it.” She turned to me and laid her hand on my shoulder. “Oh, my poor Mistress Arabella, now we know …”

  “Know what?” I demanded. “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s witchcraft,” she said. “It’s killed the child … and it’s meant to harm you.”

  Sally had kept the wax dolls. “I’ll destroy these,” she had said. “That’s the best thing that can be done with them. The mischief they’ve done is over. It’s a good thing you found them, Mistress Charlotte. Now we’ve got to keep our eyes open. At least we know what’s going on.”

  When we had left her Charlotte said to me: “I wish I hadn’t shown them to her. I’m sure they mean nothing. They must be dolls children have had at some time. They might have been there years and become misshapen.”

  “One of them had a look of me, Sally seemed to think.”

  “Well, she would because of the accident. I wish I hadn’t been so thoughtless.” She looked at me anxiously. “All this hasn’t upset you, Arabella, has it?”

  I assured her it hadn’t, but of course it had.

  I was very uneasy. Carleton was in London. I wished he were here. I told myself that if he had been I should have gone to him and told him of Charlotte’s find and Sally’s comment. I could imagine his laughter. But I wanted to hear his laughter. I wanted to hear him pour scorn on what he would call “old goodies tales.”

  I went to bed early. I could not sleep. I lay listening to every sound, and how the boards creaked! I would start to doze and then start up suddenly because something had roused me. Probably my own uneasy thoughts.

  I heard midnight strike and lay listening to the timbre of the tower clock chime. I lay wondering about Carleton and what he was doing at Whitehall. I thought of all the stories one heard of the life that was lived there. The King was surrounded by favourites like Lady Castlemaine, Moll Davis—although I believe her reign was over—and Nell Gwyn. They lived lightheartedly, promiscuously, and Carleton was a member of that Court. I had heard it said that the King enjoyed his company. How could I help wondering who else did?

  A sound in the corridor. Yes, footsteps. Silently creeping.

  I leaped out of bed. I was shaking. I kept thinking of a doll made in my image with pinholes showing in the wax. It had not lain under the flagstone so very long. Those holes were too fresh for that. And what was the use of pretending it had? And it had been made to look like me!

  The light sound of a footfall. Someone was creeping slowly along …

  Cautiously, silently, I opened the door and peeped out. A light was moving along. It came from a candle which was being carried.

  She was going carefully, her lovely long hair flowing about her shoulders, her feet in soft slippers, a robe flowing open to show the edges of a silken bedgown.

  Harriet!

  If she turned now she would see me. But she did not turn. She went on along the corridor.

  I closed my door and leaned against it. What was Harriet doing creeping along the corridor when the household was asleep?

  In the morning, I thought, I will tell her I saw her and ask her where she was going.

  But I did not ask, for when I left my room and went downstairs the first person I met was Carleton.

  “Carleton!” I cried. “When did you come home?”

  “Last night,” he said. “Rather late.”

  “Where did you sleep?”

  “In the grey room. I thought I wouldn’t disturb you. Sally tells me you haven’t been sleeping well of late.”

  “That … was thoughtful of you,” I said coolly, thinking of Harriet creeping silently along the corridor.

  Carleton had gone off for the day; he had some estate business to attend to. So much time spent at Court was not good for the estate, he said. It meant that when he did return he found arrears of work.

  “Will you be back tonight?” I asked.

  He kissed me tenderly. “I shall,” he answered. “And however late I am I’ll disturb you.”

  He kissed me with passion and my response was immediate. If only, I thought, all could be well between us, how much happier I should be.

  I did not see Harriet during the morning. She seemed to have disappeared. Then I heard that the boys had gone riding with Gregory Stevens and Harriet had decided to accompany them. The would be away for most of the day, as Gregory had promised to take the boys to an inn where they could have a mug of ale and some hot bread and bacon. Chastity told me that they had gone off in high spirits.

  It was a dark and misty afternoon. I was in my room when there was a knock on the door. It was Charlotte.

  She looked strange, I thought, uneasy. But then she often did.

  “Oh, Arabella,” she said, “I’m glad I found you alone. There’s something I wanted to say to you.”

  “Yes.”

  “Something is going on in this house. Oh, I don’t mean witchcraft, as old Sally says. But something nevertheless.”

  “What?” I asked.

  She was silent for a moment, then she said, “Oh, I know you think that I’m rather stupid …”

  “Of course I don’t.”

  “You don’t have to pretend. Most people do. Well, perhaps not stupid, but not very bright and not attractive … not like you and Harriet, for instance.”

  “You’re imagining this.”

  “I don’t think I am. But I’m not stupid. There are things I see which some people miss. You, for instance …”

  “Why don’t you tell me what you came to say, Charlotte?”

  “I’m trying to. It’s not easy. I don’t forget how you saved me once …”

  “Oh, that’s long ago.”

  “I’ve always remembered. Sometimes I wonder whether I should have done it. People think they will leave this world and then at the last minute they’re afraid. I just thought there wasn’t anything to live for. They had made so much fuss about Charles Condey … having that house party, talking of making the announcement … I just didn’t think I could face it.”

  “I understand that.”

  “Harriet is evil, Arabella. Do you know that? Oh, I’m not sure about witchcraft. But I do know she is evil. She wantonly broke up my life … now she will do the same to you. She already did it once, didn’t she? I knew how it was with her and Edwin. I knew right at the start. I daresay you’ll despise me, but I listen at doors. I pry and peep and find out things. It’s mean and underhand but it compensates me in a way. I don’t have much life of my own so I live other people’s. I know more than they do, because I listen and peep and that justifies me in a way because I’m not bright and attractive. Do you understand?”

  “Of course I do. But, Charlotte …”

  She waved her hand. “Listen. She married Uncle Toby, didn’t she, because she wanted to come here and she wanted his name and title because she was determined he should get it. You don’t think Benjie is Uncle Toby’s son, do you?”

  “Whose?” I asked.

  “Are you so innocent, Arabella?”

  I felt myself flushing hotly. “Charlotte, you are talking nonsense.”
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  “No. She wanted a son who was a claimant. Benjie to follow on Edwin.”

  “Are you suggesting that she would dare hurt Edwin? That’s nonsense.”

  “Perhaps I have said too much. You would rather not hear.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Forgive me, Arabella. I wanted to repay you … for saving my life once, but if you would be happier not knowing … if you would rather wait until doom overtakes you …”

  “Tell me what you know,” I said tersely.

  “I know this. Edwin was her lover. He was shot when they were in the arbour. At that time she was already carrying his child. Leigh is not Charles Condey’s son.”

  “I know,” I said.

  “So she deceived you with Edwin. Then she ran away, leaving you to look after your husband’s bastard, and you did. Arabella, you are a good woman. It grieves me to see you treated thus. But you are blind … sometimes I think wilfully blind. You really thought Benjie was Uncle Toby’s son. That was rather naive. Poor Uncle Toby, he had to die when she was pregnant.”

  “Are you suggesting she … killed him.”

  “In a comfortable, natural sort of way which could hardly be brought against her. It wasn’t difficult to excite the old gentleman. She knew he had already had his heart attack. Child’s play. She knew she would do it sooner or later. So natural, they said, didn’t they, an ageing husband, a young exciting wife.”

  “Oh, don’t, Charlotte.”

  “I know you hate it. I wouldn’t say anymore, but you’re in danger, Arabella. Don’t you see what they want?”

  “They? Who?”

  “Harriet and … Carleton.”

  “Carleton!”

  “Surely you know. Why is he away so much? Is he in London, do you think? Edwin was away on secret business, wasn’t he? Secret business with Harriet. She has their son. Benjie. Have you noticed that Carleton is rather fond of him? She has proved she can have sons. They want to marry. They want to take Eversleigh and rule it between them.”