The adulteress (15 page)

He was strange . . . not mad, for at times his brain worked most efficiently; but he wanted to live life in his own way. I could imagine that some years before he must have been an extremely active man. He had lived to excess after his marriage, I was sure. And now he was old and incapable of moving from this room he created his own shadow play.

He knew a great deal about us—that Jessie was here for all the advantage it could bring her; he was aware that Amos Carew was her lover; he might even have guessed at the relationship between Gerard and myself—and it was all of immense interest to him. We were the players on the stage who provided the interest which his own life had denied him now that he was old.

He would not prevent my telling Jessie about the will because that would interfere with the natural actions of human beings. He knew very well that his life could be in danger if she thought she would inherit Eversleigh on his death. But he was ready to risk that for the sake of the play.

After the orderly manner in which my life had been lived until I came on this visit it seemed incredible. I felt I had stepped into a world of fantasy and melodrama, a world of cynicism where what other people thought of as sin was simply the order of the day.

They were amoral, without that sense of duty and honor which, until I came here, had been the rule of life with me. And who was I to criticize? I had been caught up in this web of intrigue since had I had come here.

However, I had made up my mind that I was going to let Jessie know that it was to her advantage to keep Uncle Carl alive, for with his death all the blessings which she now enjoyed would be cut off.

After breakfast the next morning, I asked if I could have a word with her, and, looking rather surprised, she led me into the winter parlor.

I said: "I have had a letter from my mother. My husband is not well. I shall be returning home at the end of the week."

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said. "You must be worried, poor dear."

"I must get back, you see."

"Have you told Lordy?"

"Yes, I have."

She nodded.

"There is something else I wanted to say to you."

"Say on, my dear."

"I want to assure myself—and my family will want this too—as to the state of Lord Eversleigh's health."

"Oh, he's in good health, dear."

"I want the doctor's opinion. You understand my family will expect that, so I am going to ask him to call and give a thorough examination."

"Lordy won't like that."

"Well, I shall ask him to come in any case."

"For his age he'd take a lot of beating."

"It would be good to have that confirmed."

"Oh well, you must suit yourself."

"I shall. There is another matter. You must have guessed that Lord Eversleigh asked me here for a purpose."

"Why bless you, you're his relation. He just wanted to see you."

"Yes, but something else. He's made a will. It is now with Messrs. Rosen, Stead and Rosen . . . you know, the solicitors in the town."

I was watching her closely. She lowered her eyes and I knew that she was afraid for me to see any sign of anger or speculation.

"Well," I went on, "you're comfortable here, and there is no reason why this situation might not go on for many years ... as long as we keep Lord Eversleigh healthy and strong. You see . . ."

She did see. Under the carmine of her cheeks she had flushed and I saw the color spread down her neck. I was telling her as clearly as I could without actually stating the fact that I considered her capable of . . . murder.

She recovered herself quickly. She was a good actress. I am sure she satisfied Uncle Carl in that respect as in many others: "Oh, I'll take care of him. You've nothing to fret about on that score. I'll keep him hale and hearty till he's a hundred."

"I am sure you will, and of course he is contented in his mind now that his will has been completed and is in safe hands. I had to get it properly executed. You can be sure that if this had not been so there could have been some difficulty. You know what solicitors are. . . . They spot loopholes. However, they have supervised this one and so we know that it is valid."

She hated me. How she hated me! I could feel it in her false smile. I was determined to get the doctor and have a verdict on my uncle's health. I knew that I had shaken her.

I was glad, concerning myself over this matter took my mind from my own desperate situation.

The time was passing. Soon I must be on my way home. Gerard was still waiting for a miracle. I really think he believed that I would abandon everything and go away with him.

The doctor came and spent an hour or so with Uncle Carl. His verdict was that my uncle's organs were in a sound condition. His inability to walk far was due to advanced rheumatism. With proper care he had years before him.

I conveyed this news to Jessie. She had recovered from the first shock of our encounter and was particularly ingratiating toward me.

She said: "Well, that's good news. You can rest assured, dearie, that every attention he needs he shall get. I'll make sure he's taken good care of."

She would, I believed, because if he were to die she would no longer have a comfortable home. I daresay the feathers for the nest might become more expensive. Well, that was Uncle Carl's affairs.

Whether she upbraided him for making the will after signing that "something" in her favor, I did not know. But what I did know was that Jessie was on the alert and she knew that if anything untoward happened to Uncle Carl I would be there with strong supporters to discover the reason why.

I thought I had made quite a good job of my mission and but for my own deplorable conduct I could be proud of myself.

Everything about me had changed. I was bolder. The way I had tackled Jessie had shown that; I was tolerant. I accepted her situation at Eversleigh. Of course I did. How could I condemn my uncle's relationship with his housekeeper ... I who stole out of the house to make love with a man whom I had only known for a few weeks.

But I was leaving. I was determined on that. It was only when I lay in Gerard's arms that I wavered; but even then I knew I could not face the ultimate betrayal. I would have to go back and try to forget; I saw before me a dreary lifetime of trying to expiate my sin. It would be there always to haunt me . . . there would be so much to remind me and I should never be truly happy again.

Gerard was getting frantic. The time was flying. I had two more days before I would set out for Clavering. The grooms who would accompany me had arrived at Eversleigh and were already preparing for our journey.

I was still meeting Gerard; we were still making frantic love; there was a desperation in our relationship and never had our encounters seemed so sweet as they did now that we knew that soon they would be over.

On the afternoon two days before my departure we arranged to meet at the cottage which we had made our rendezvous. I arrived first and as I did so a voice from above called: "Who's there?"

It was not Gerard.

A young woman was coming down the stairs.

"Oh," she said, "you're the lady from Eversleigh."

She curtsied and looked at me with respect.

I was astounded but I grasped the situation at once. This was the new tenant.

I said: "I saw the door open . . ."

"Well, 'tis good of you to take the interest, mistress. Ted and me is so pleased to get the place. Had our eyes on it since old Barnaby died. And they've done it up so beautiful."

"It's . . . it's very nice," I said.

"Lucky we be. Able to keep some of the bits and pieces too. Cramped we was in me mum's place. Now we'll be on our own. Like to see upstairs, mistress?"

She was proud, longing to show me. I said I would like to see it.

So I followed her up. There were curtains at the window . . . chintz, pretty.

She followed my gaze and said: "I put them up this morning. Surprising what a difference curtains make . . . and a bit of carpet. That bed was here. . . . Nice, ain't it? We had to use one of me mum's. We're glad to have that."

I looked at the bed on which I had known such hours of ecstasy.

There was a sound from below and I knew it was Gerard. I hurried to the stairs. I had to speak to him before he said something which might betray us.

I called out: "Who's there? I was just being shown the cottage."

He stood in the small room looking incongruous there as he must always have looked but I hadn't noticed until now.

I said: "Oh, it is Monsieur d'Aubigne from Enderby. You must have been attracted by the open door as I was. I've been talking to the new tenant."

He bowed to the pretty young woman, who flushed at such attention.

"I apologize for the trespass. I saw the door open and I believe it has been empty for some time."

"They been doing it up for us, sir."

"She and her husband are so happy to have their own place. Thank you for showing me."

She gave another curtsy and said: "Pleasure's mine, mistress."

Gerard bowed to me, said "Good day" and we walked away in opposite directions. I thought, how calm he is, how gracefully he dealt with the situation. I suppose I had done the same.

We were born deceivers, both of us. But the pretty little tenant had not thought it strange. She had been too happy in her own good fortune to pay much attention to us.

It was not long before Gerard, having turned in his tracks, was walking beside me.

"So," he said, "we have lost our meeting place. I had grown to love it."

"It was very reckless of us to go there. We might have been disturbed at any time."

He said: "Where shall we meet now? If you are really going to leave me on Friday . . ."

"I am, Gerard. I must."

"Tomorrow then will be our last day. How am I going to bear being without you?"

"I wonder how I shall bear being without you."

"There is the remedy."

"It just is not possible."

"Everything is possible."

"At too great a price."

"Surely . . ."

"No," I said. "Please, Gerard, understand. I have been your mistress ... I have broken my marriage vows ... I have behaved as I never thought it possible . . . but this is the end. All that I have done will not hurt Jean-Louis ... if he never knows of it. I shall go back and try to be a good wife."

"You torture me," he said.

"I torture myself."

So we talked, and although I wavered a little, one fact remained clear. I could not leave Jean-Louis.

So we came to that last night. He wanted so much to be with me throughout. Perhaps if the cottage had been vacant I would have gone there and stayed with him and somehow made my way back to the house through the early hours of morning.

Although I knew Gerard was reckless and adventurous I was unprepared for what happened.

I was to leave early on the following day. The grooms had said that we should start just after dawn, which would enable us to get a fair distance on the first day when we would stop at the inn we had used on the journey to Eversleigh.

I said I would retire early. I had said good-bye to Uncle Carl for I did not want to disturb him in the morning; Jessie had said she would be up to see me off with Evalina.

My bags were packed. I was ready.

I had said good-bye to Gerard that afternoon. He had not tried to persuade me and seemed to have realized at last the futility of it.

I was about to get into bed when I heard a scratching at my window.

I went there and to my amazement and overwhelming joy there was Gerard. He had climbed up with the help of the creeper and was urging me to let him in.

I opened the window and in a few seconds I was in his arms.

"You didn't think I was not going to be with you, did you?" he demanded.

That night was one of bitter sweetness for me. The unexpected joy of being with him, the heartbreaking knowledge that it would be the last time, made it different from any of those times we had spent together.

There was a frenzy in our passion; it was the ultimate joy mingled with the abject sorrow. I felt that in every gesture he was begging me to abandon everything and go with him.

We lay side by side listening to the gentle breeze rustling the leaves of the trees; the light of a half moon shone into the room. I wanted to preserve every moment as I used to press rose petals in my Bible at home and look at them afterward and recall the day I had picked them.

"You can't let me go alone," he said.

But I only shook my head in sorrow.

At dawn I must rise. I must prepare myself to start on my journey . . . away from ecstasy to the long dreary years ahead, remembering, almost regretting, living with my terrible guilt. I wondered how well I would do that; whether I should be able to keep my guilty secret from them. Would Jean-Louis guess something tremendous had happened to me? I would be different, I was sure. My mother and Sabri-na . . . No. When I came to think of it they had put me aside as some cherished object that was in safekeeping. Their anxieties and plans were all for Dickon.

"Don't go away from me," whispered Gerard. He knew me so well that he read my thoughts and he knew they had strayed from him to the people I should have to face at Clav-ering.

Then he kissed me and held me and we were as one.

We lay together, hands clasped, talking in whispers.

He said: "When you go back ... if you go back . . . you will realize how desolate you are without me. . . . You will see that we must be together. . . ."

"I shall be desolate. I shall so desperately want to be with you . . . but I know I must be with my husband."

"You cannot look into the future. You don't know what will happen. I am going to give you the address of my chateau in France. I have written it for you. You will always be able to find me there."

I felt a certain lifting of my gloom. When I rode out tomorrow I should not have entirely lost him.

"Always there will be the hope," he said. "Every day I shall to myself say perhaps today there will be news of her. . . ."