“I shall never forget that it was my carelessness which brought them to him.”
“He should never have given you the ring in the first place. He brought it on himself. It was too obvious a form of identification. But it is done. Dear Priscilla, in time you will have to go home. They will expect it.”
“I know, Harriet. I wish I could stay with you.”
“You must come back soon.”
“At home … they know …”
“They know, of course, that he gave you the ring.”
“My father will be very angry.”
“He has had his adventures. He has done what he wanted to. And so have you. As for helping the fugitive, you were not the only one, were you? Leigh, Edwin, myself … we were all involved.”
“Oh, Harriet, you are so good!”
She laughed. “You might find a number of people to disagree with you on that point. A good woman is a compliment rarely applied to me. But I know how to live, how to enjoy life. I don’t want trouble for myself, nor for others. Perhaps that is rather a good way of living—so I may be good after all.”
I clung to her, for into my misery had crept a new emotion: a dread of going home. But I realized I had to face it.
I would soon be fifteen years old and I had already had a lover. Was that so unusual? He would have been my husband had he lived.
I shall never marry now, I thought. I have been married all but ceremonially to the one I loved and whom I shall love forever.
Christabel was with me a great deal. She seemed to have grown more fond of me in my misfortune. Perhaps those hard days at the rectory and Edwin’s lack of purpose seemed less tragic now that she could compare her lot with mine.
On the day before we were due to leave for Eversleigh, I went down to the gardens and walked round. There was a faint mist in the air which reminded me of that other day.
One of the gardeners was digging, and as I approached he leaned on his spade and looked in my direction.
“Good day to you, Mistress Priscilla,” he said.
I returned his greeting.
“You be. leaving us I hear, mistress.”
“Yes,” I said.
“’Twere a sad matter,” he went on. “There’s many of us here as would like to see that Titus Oates get a taste of his own medicine, that we would. Oh, yes, ’twere a terrible business. If only the mist hadn’t come up so bad you’d a been back that day and your gentleman would have been over the seas afore they got here. Why did you go out, mistress, when I warned you?”
“Warned me? Warned me of what?”
“I’ve lived in these parts all my life and that’s nigh on fifty years. I can tell what the weather’s going to be … and never wrong … well once or twice maybe. I said there’ll be heavy mist long before nightfall. Unless the wind comes up sudden … which it can do, winds being something you can’t count on. Given no wind, though, that mist will be in from the sea and Eyot will be wrapped up in it. ‘Don’t you go out today, mistress,’ I said.”
“You didn’t tell me. I didn’t see you on that day.”
“No. ’Twas the other one. She were going, weren’t she? There was to be the three. Mary said she’d make a hamper for three.”
So he had told Christabel!
“Yes, I see that we shouldn’t have gone,” I said. “Good day to you, Jem.”
“Good day to you, mistress. And I’ll look to see you again in happier times.”
I went into the house. I wondered why Christabel had not told me that she had been warned about the mist. How very strange.
Of course she had a raging headache. Perhaps it had made her forget. Hardly that, though, when the headache was the reason why she had decided not to come. Surely the thought of our going must have reminded her.
It seemed strange, so I sought her out at once and asked her.
She flushed painfully and her mouth moved with emotion.
“I have suffered such remorse,” she said. “I did see Jem and he did mention the mist. My head was throbbing. I only remembered it when you didn’t come back. I feel responsible …”
“It’s no use worrying now,” I said. “It’s over and done. He is dead. He is lost to me forever.”
“But if you had not gone to the island he would have got away in time.”
“Yes. If I had not lost the ring … If I had not taken it in the first place … So many ifs, Christabel. But what is the use of all this remorse? It’s over. There is no going back. I have lost him forever.”
My father was away when I returned to Eversleigh Court. I think my mother was relieved. She was anxious and sympathetic, I knew, but at the same time deeply shocked that I could have become so involved in such a dangerous situation without her knowledge.
The very first day she sought an opportunity to be alone with me and she wanted to hear everything that had happened. I was so distressed that I found it difficult to talk at first.
I could only keep saying: “I loved him. I loved him. And now they have killed him.”
She took me into her embrace as she used to when I was very young, but I did not feel comforted, only impatient. It was almost as though she thought it was a matter of “kiss and make better” as it had been when I had fallen and scratched myself.
“Dearest Cilla,” she murmured, “you are young … so young.”
I wanted to shake myself free of her. I wanted to say: I am not young. I am grown up. Some people are, you know, at fifteen—and I am nearly that. I have loved. I have lived. And I am not a child anymore.
She went on talking. “It seemed very romantic. He was very good-looking, I believe. And the way he came here … He had no right to come.”
“He was looking for Edwin. Edwin was his friend.”
“Edwin should not have tried to hide him.”
“What should he have done? Given him up to that brute Titus Oates?”
She was silent, stroking my hair.
“You know your father is most put out. You know his feelings.”
“He has never shown me much of his feelings,” I said. “All he showed me was indifference.”
“My dear child …”
I cried: “It’s no use talking to you. You don’t understand. Jocelyn came here. We helped him. We’re not ashamed of it. We’d do it again … all of us. He and I fell in love. We planned to marry.”
“Oh, my darling! But it’s all over now. We must try to make you forget.”
“Do you think I shall ever forget!”
“Yes, my dearest, you will. I know how it feels now.”
“You do not know and I wish you would stop talking about it. I have nothing to say to you. You don’t understand in the least. Harriet …”
“Harriet, of course, understood perfectly.”
“Harriet was wonderful to me.”
“And kept him there and sent for you! It’s what one would expect of Harriet. She is completely without thought for others.”
“I don’t agree.”
“Oh, she fascinates you as she does everyone else. I know that.”
“Harriet has been kind to me. I shall never forget what she has done for me. Please, Mother, leave me alone. I want to be by myself.”
The reproachful look she gave me touched me deeply and I threw myself into her arms. She did not say anything. She just held me and it was as it had always been between us.
Carl was very upset by what had happened. It was his first experience of real grief and I loved him for it. He just looked at me blankly and said: “They can’t have done that to Jocelyn!”
I turned away and he came and took my hand and pressed it.
“I wish I’d been there,” he said. “I wouldn’t have let it happen. You ought to have told me he was with Aunt Harriet.”
“There was nothing you could have done, Carl, nothing.”
“I hate Titus Oates.”
“So do countless others.”
Oddly enough Carl comforted me more than my mother had been
able to.
My father returned and he was very cool towards me. He hardly addressed me at all during the first evening. During the next day I went into the gardens and he followed me there.
“A nice mess you got yourself into,” he said.
I looked at him defiantly. “In what way?” I asked.
“Don’t be silly. You know what I’m talking about. This romantic adventure of yours. Fools … the whole lot of you. You particularly. Taking an incriminating ring and then leaving it for others to find.”
“You wouldn’t understand,” I retorted.
“One would have to be half-witted not to. A pretty young man comes along and you think it would be great fun to hide him and feed him and accept a ring from him with his crest and name on it. And he is suspected of taking part in a plot against the King’s life.”
“You know very well that there was no plot. You know it was fabricated by this friend of yours … this Titus Oates.”
He seized me by the wrist and I cried out in pain. His grip was like iron.
“He is no friend of mine,” he said. “I despise the man. But I have the sense not to entertain those against whom he brings accusations. Who can say who will be the next? And, by God, we might have been! You could have put the whole family into danger. It has not been easy extricating you, I can tell you. All this trouble because of a silly girl’s prank.”
“It was no prank.” I jerked myself free. “And I would do it again.”
“I shall have something to say to the others when I see them. If they want to risk their lives that’s their own affair, but they should not have involved a foolish girl who could bring trouble tumbling about our ears with great risk to our necks, I might tell you.”
“So you blame me for everything?”
“If you had taken his ring you should at least have kept it hidden.”
“It was an accident.”
He laughed. “I’m sure it was. Now a word in your ear. If you attempt any more of these follies don’t rely on me to get you out of them.”
“I’m surprised that you bothered.”
“It was necessary to save us all.”
I turned away and ran into the house. I shut myself in my room. I had never felt so unhappy in all my life. If only he had given me one word of tenderness. If only he had been concerned for me! But he had made me feel that had I alone been involved he would not have taken the trouble to save me.
He had looked at me with a certain contempt and I wondered why a man such as he was who was fond of women—some said too fond—should find nothing to care about in his own daughter. I wondered what he would say if he knew the extent to which I had been involved with Jocelyn. He would be horrified, I was sure. Yet according to what I had gathered he had had adventures at a very early age. What was natural for him and those who shared his pleasures was shocking in his daughter. This was strange, for he was a logical man in other matters.
A few days passed, and when the possibility that I might be going to have a child came to me I was jerked out of my misery momentarily. I had not thought of this. I had been so wrapped up in my grief. Now I was faced with a problem. If it were to be so, what should I do?
I could not marry because the father of my child was dead. I did not want to tell my mother. I could not bear to think what my father’s reaction would be. If Leigh or Edwin were here I might confide in them. They would help me, both of them. But they were far away and I did not even know where.
My emotions were in turmoil. I did not know whether I was glad or not that this had happened. I was filled at one moment with the wonder of it and the next with a fearful foreboding.
A child—the result of that night we had spent on the mist-shrouded island! Our wedding night, Jocelyn had called it. And our marriage was to have taken place as soon as we returned to the mainland.
Oddly enough a change had settled on me. I was more serene, which seemed strange in view of the enormity of the problem which was arising before me. It was almost as though Jocelyn were speaking to me from beyond the grave in which they had laid his poor mutilated body.
Then I was certain. It was to be.
I tried to work out what I must do. I needed help, but I did not want my mother to know. As to my father—I shivered at the thought. I could not talk to Christabel. Since our return I had avoided her. I kept wondering why she had not told me that it would be dangerous to go to the island and I could not completely convince myself that she had forgotten. She had played a big part in the tragedy and I felt unsure of everyone, including myself.
There was, of course, Harriet. I wrote to her, carefully disguising what was wrong but wondering whether a woman of her worldliness might guess. I had to see her, I said. I wanted to talk to her, as I could not talk to anyone else. Would she invite me please?
Her response was immediate.
My mother came to my room holding a letter in her hand. “It’s from Harriet,” she said. “She wants you to go over for a visit. She thinks it would be good for you. Would you like to go?”
“Oh, yes,” I said fervently.
“Perhaps it would be a good idea.”
“I should like to get away for a while.”
She looked at me sadly, and I went on angrily: “I think my father would be delighted not to have to see me.”
“Oh, Priscilla, you must not say that.”
“But it’s true.”
“It is not true.”
“It is. Why do we have to pretend? He has never wanted me. I was of the wrong sex. He wanted a boy who would be just like himself. I am expected to go through my life apologizing for not being a boy.”
“You are overwrought, my dearest.”
“Yes, I should like to go away,” I said firmly.
I could see how hurt she was and I was sorry.
She put her arm about me and I was stiff and unyielding. She sighed and said: “Christabel should go with you.”
I did not protest although I would rather have gone alone.
At Eyot Abbas, Harriet greeted me warmly.
“I was afraid you would not want to come here again,” she said. “I feared it might bring it all back too clearly.”
“I had to come,” I told her. “And I want to remember … I want to remember every minute.”
“Of course you do.”
Harriet greeted Christabel with warmth but I did not think she greatly liked her. Harriet was a superb actress though, and one could never be sure.
I knew it would not be long before we were alone together and Harriet soon contrived that. I had been in my room only five minutes when she arrived. She had given Christabel a room on the next floor and I guessed there had been a purpose in this. Harriet anticipated many an uninterrupted talk.
She came in conspiratorially, her lovely eyes alight with speculation.
“Tell me, my dear, just tell me.”
“I am going to have a child,” I said.
“Yes. I thought that was it. Well, Priscilla, we must see what can be done. There are people who can be of assistance.”
“You mean get rid of it. I don’t want that, Harriet. I should hate it.”
“I thought so. Well, what do you propose? What will your parents say?”
“They’ll be horrified. My father will be quite contemptuous.”
“He would. Having himself played the masculine role in dramas of this nature, he would be deeply horrified at his daughter’s taking the feminine one. Such men always are. I want to snap my fingers at them.”
“You don’t like him, Harriet, I know. He is one of the few people I have heard you speak quite vehemently against.”
“No, I don’t like him. To be perfectly honest I think it’s because he never liked me.”
“All men like you, Harriet.”
“Most of them,” she agreed. “He hardly looked at me. He was all for your mother. She was the one he wanted.”
“I know he has a very special feeling for her. I wish they were more gentle
with each other.”
“He’s not the kind. But what are we doing talking of him? We have our problem.”
It was typical of Harriet that she should call it “our problem.” That was the charm of her. She was not in the least shocked and she was going to summon all her ingenuity to help me.
I felt the tears come to my eyes and she, seeing them, patted my hand and said practically: “We’ve got to get down to serious planning. You’re sure, are you?”
“Yes.”
“And you are going to keep the child?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Have you thought what this will mean? The child will always be there in your life. You see, this matter does not now end with Jocelyn’s death. He will always be there through this child. Now, you have your own life before you. It has scarcely begun. You should ask yourself whether you want this child to be there for the rest of your life. It is possible to get rid of it. I know how that can be done, but it will have to be now. It is dangerous later. In fact it could be dangerous now. I hope you won’t want to do it, Priscilla. But if you decide …”
“I couldn’t. I want the child. It has already made a difference to me. I no longer feel as though I died with him. I now feel there is something for me in the future.”
“Very well, that’s settled. But what are we going to do? Are we going to tell your parents?”
“I don’t want to. I’d rather go away.”
“Does anyone else know this? Does Christabel?”
“No. No one.”
“So at the moment it is our secret … yours and mine.”
I nodded.
“You could go to your mother and tell her. She would consult your father. They might decide on two alternatives: to send you away where you could have your child in secret and then get it adopted, or marry you off to some willing young man who will take you for a price and it will be pretended that your child was born prematurely. No one will believe it, of course, but it helps the conventions. Do either of these prospects appeal to you?”
“I wouldn’t agree to either.”
She smiled at me. “You are a very determined young woman, Priscilla. I understand your feelings. Now when I had Leigh I had no such fine feelings. You see how much easier it is for a woman like me. I’m bold and I snap my fingers in the face of convention and everyone thinks I am rather a wicked woman. But I get along very well. I have been thinking about you so much. I shall never forget your dear stricken face when you heard the news. I knew what had happened on the island. It is often easy to see in a young girl’s face when she has taken a lover. I saw it in yours and I was glad for you. He was a charming boy and young love is beautiful. Well, now it is over and I do not regret it. You have had a taste of life and found it first sweet, then bitter. But that is life, my dear. I must stop philosophizing and we must plan.”
Philippa Carr - [Daughters of England 05] Page 49
