The Adultress (38 page)

I saw that it was the best I could do.

“I wish you could see Jean-Louis. He’d be so pleased. Why don’t you come and stay with us for a few days? I assure you that there would be no possibility of your meeting Dickon. They are considering coming for Christmas but that’s way ahead.”

He hesitated and said he would think about it.

“The journey only takes two days. … Not a lot of time really. Do think very seriously about it, James.”

He did and at length decided that he would accompany us.

I was delighted, although my scheme had failed. I don’t know why I had felt that I had to come to London to see James. I had been convinced that something good would come out of it, and the good must be that he would come back to us.

The Forsters, who had taken a liking to James—and he to them—were very pleased to hear that he was going to travel back with us. “First, though,” said Isabel, “we must remember that we were having a jaunt to London and we must take advantage of the opportunity to do those things which we could not do at home.

“Charles,” she said, “you know how you always liked the theater. What if we all went to Drury Lane?”

Everyone agreed that that would be an excellent idea and accordingly I found myself seated in the stalls with Charles next to me, enjoying every moment, for it was a privilege to see the great Garrick perform. Charles, who had evidently been an ardent theatergoer at some time, was very knowledgeable about the stage. He told me that the best performance he had ever seen was that of Peg Woffington playing with Garrick in the
Beaux’ Stratagem.

“Alas,” he said, “she is no more, though only a few years ago she was striding across the boards full of vitality. A great actress, and she and Garrick, you know, were lovers. It was believed they would marry. It was a surprise to us all when he left Peg for that foreign dancer … Eva Maria Violetti.”

Much of his melancholy had lifted. I had noticed that when we had driven through London. He pointed out certain landmarks to me almost with pride. I thought:
This was once his home and he loved it.

I was carried away by the play and the players and I sensed that my enthusiasm pleased him. He said: “I once knew actors … I was a great theatergoer in my young days. Mind you, it’s a hard life. They look so pleased with themselves when they can win the approval of the audience that you’d think they hadn’t a care in the world beyond that. The reality is somewhat different.”

I said: “Surely you were never on the stage?”

He gave a sudden laugh. “Me? Good heavens, no.” Then the mask seemed to slip over his face and his mood changed. I longed to know what had happened to him to make him so withdrawn, for I was sure something had. I was intrigued because I had at times been aware of a different man peeping out from behind the mask. I wanted to bring out that man. I was burning with curiosity to know more about Charles Forster.

We walked back through the streets to the inn.

“Safe,” said Derek, “because there are so many of us. There are plenty of pickpockets about after dark.”

Charles took my arm as we walked along the narrow street, not only to assure me of his protection but to keep me free of the mud which was splashed up as the coaches rattled by.

I felt very happy that night; even though my mission in getting James to come and act as manager had failed, I could not despair and I was delighted that he had agreed to come back with us.

We supped on cold venison and pigeon pie with muscatel wine and it all tasted delicious. I was excited by the London life and I remembered the days of my childhood when my parents had had a house in Albemarle Street and we had spent much of our time there. My father had preferred the town life; he had spent a great deal of time at his clubs and the houses of gambling friends but he too had imbued in me a love for the metropolis. I did not realize until this moment how much I had missed it although I had paid other visits to London before.

We discussed the play. Charles seemed to have thrown off his melancholy once more and spoke of it, criticizing certain points, praising others.

“You are so knowledgeable,” I said.

“Oh yes,” said Isabel, smiling at her brother-in-law. “I always enjoy going to the theater when Charles is a member of the party.”

“I hope that is no reflection on me,” said Derek.

“Of course not, idiot,” said Isabel. “I like the way in which Charles brings out certain things, making it more of an experience.”

“I always thought that the best part of an evening at the theater was the aftermath—when the play and players are on trial, as it were.”

“The inquest,” said Derek.

“Just imagine,” pointed out Charles, “Cromwell shut down the theater. He might have known the people would never accept that.”

“It was his first step to destruction,” put in James. “Thank goodness we’re at peace at last.”

“There is every sign that we are not taking advantage of the peace,” said Charles. “We need Pitt. But he goes into retirement worn out by a war which could be said to have been won by his wise policies … and we’ve had years of unwise government … not helped by the king.”

“Charles gets very fierce on the subject of the colonies,” said Isabel to me.

I listened. I liked hearing Charles talk. He was a different man again, his eyes glowing with enthusiasm. He was passionate in his defense of Pitt; scornful in his denunciation of the policies of the government supported by the king.

“What about the colonies, Charles?” asked Derek.

“They’re getting restive. We shall have America up in arms against us if we don’t show a little restraint … a little common sense. But you’ll never get that from the government.”

“I like the royal family,” said Isabel. “The king and the queen are so … homely.”

Everybody laughed and then we were discussing our plans for departure.

“We do have one day left to us … only one, did you realize it?” said Derek.

“I have certain business which I must do tomorrow,” said James.

“We have to visit the Chensons, remember?” said Isabel to Derek.

“Oh yes … we promised we would. They don’t know you’re here, Charles, but they’ll be pleased to see you and you must come along with us, Zipporah.”

Charles said: “I don’t think they’re expecting me and they’re certainly not expecting Zipporah. She was saying she has never been to Ranelagh. I was wondering whether I might suggest to her that we take a look at it … together.”

I felt the color rising to my cheeks. They were all watching me, and I tried not to sound too ecstatic as I said that I had always wanted to see Ranelagh.

That was the happiest day I had spent since that period when I had abandoned myself to the joy of being with Gerard. In a way this was similar. I was able to forget everything that had disturbed my peace of mind for years. I suppose always at the back of my mind was the fear that one day my sin would be discovered; and although I almost forgot it for long periods it was always there as a vague shadow, an apprehension. I would sometimes remember with a jolt, and my peace of mind would be in ruins.

Charles Forster could make me forget. That was significant in some ways. For my part I was so anxious to make him lighthearted, to make him forget whatever it was that oppressed him. I understood what it meant to be oppressed in such a way.

We were in a mood to enjoy the day, both of us. Charles was such an interesting companion when he cast aside his gloom. I found his conversation lively and he made me realize how much I had been tucked away from affairs. Vaguely I remembered the excitement of being with my father, who used to talk to me sometimes. He had never been serious like Charles, but he had talked of worldly matters; I realized that I had been rather shut in between my mother, Sabrina and yes … Jean-Louis.

However, I was determined to enjoy the day and as I was sure Charles felt the same, it was inevitable that we did.

Charles knew London so well that he could explain so much to me. First he took me riding through the streets, for he said that Ranelagh should not be seen in broad daylight. It was meant to enchant like a veiled beauty who might not be able to face up to the harsh reality of a too bright sun.

I said: “That throws a new light on your character. I should have thought you stood for the bare stark truth.”

“There are times when it is better to veil it,” he said.

“So you are a romantic after all?” I asked lightly.

“I see that you have put me into a niche—unromantic, dour, looking on the grim side of life. … Had you?”

I hesitated. “I thought there was a certain sadness about you. But beneath it … well, I just think if you could throw that aside you might be very merry.”

He put his head on one side, smiling at me.

“For today,” he said, “this very special day, I am going to do that.”

“Can you?” I asked.

“With your help,” he replied. “You will see.”

“Tell me your plans.”

“We ride through the streets to an inn I know of where it is possible to get the very best steak pies in London. Do you like steak pies? Ah, I see you hesitate. Withhold your verdict until you have tried the Rainbow variety. The Rainbow is an inn in Fleet Street. They have excellent roast beef and pork, if you prefer that. It is the place to eat for those who like good food. Will you trust me?”

“I am in your hands,” I said.

So we rode out. We rode slowly through those crowded streets. I was fascinated by all I saw. He showed me where the great fire had started and where it had been stopped; he pointed out the magnificent churches which Sir Christopher Wren had built to replace those which had been burned down.

“A moral,” he said. “Out of the ashes rises the phoenix.”

He talked of the streets as though they were old friends. Cheapside, the center of the mercers and the haberdashers. Paternoster Row, where the makers of rosaries and those who earned their livings by writing text had resided; Cowcross Street with its cook shops and tripe and pork: Billingsgate, which smelled obnoxiously of fish; Fleet Street, the home of the lawyers. …

He was amusing, even witty. I saw another person emerging and I thought:
This is how he was meant to be
; and I knew that it had something to do with me and that made me very happy.

We skirted one area—the Whitefriars quarter, which he called Alsatia. “It stretches from Salisbury Court to the Temple,” he told me. “It’s a sanctuary of debtors. They dare not emerge and debt collectors dare not enter. They’d risk their lives if they did.”

“Could we not take a look?”

He shook his head. “I might not be able to protect you, and you wouldn’t like what you saw. It’s getting late. It’s time we made tracks for the Rainbow.”

At the Rainbow Inn we left our horses in the stable yard and went into the dining room.

The innkeeper’s wife appeared; she was very obsequious and I realized that she knew Charles well.

“I’ve brought a friend to try some of your steak pie,” he said.

“And you’ll take William’s home-brewed cider with it, I’ll be bound.”

He said we would and we sat down opposite each other.

He regarded me steadily. “I think.” he said, “you are liking your jaunt in the big city.”

“I never realized it was quite so exciting before, though I do remember long ago … when we lived here. My father used to take me out with him sometimes.”

“You look sad now,” he said. “You were very fond of your father, weren’t you?”

“He was wonderful … or so he seemed to me. He was a gambler. My mother was the steady one. He was killed in a duel—senselessly.”

“Don’t think of sad things … today,” he begged.

“If I don’t, you won’t. Is that a promise?”

“It is.”

The pie was brought and with it flagons of cider.

I agreed I had never tasted such food. But I knew in my heart that everything would be good today.

He talked more about London, about the contrasts one could see during a short walk through the city. Such luxury, such extravagance, and such poverty.

“Like that place we passed.”

“Whitefriars, oh yes.”

“Have you ever ventured there?”

“I did once … for a patient.” He shuddered.

“Were you alarmed?”

“I was going to see a sick person. I didn’t think beyond that. It became like a nightmare. A young girl ran up to me when I was passing and cried out that her mother was dying. I said: ‘I’m a doctor. Take me to her.’ And she took me. As soon as I stepped into that maze of streets there was the sound of horns blowing. I couldn’t understand what it meant. Then I learned that the whole community was being warned that a stranger was in their midst. The young girl screamed out that I was a doctor and she was taking me to her mother. I realized then what a fool I had been to come. I could have been murdered just for my watch. But I was going to a patient … and at such times one doesn’t think much beyond that.”

I said: “I think you must be a very good doctor.”

“A very ordinary one,” he said.

“Tell me about Whitefriars.”

“The woman I was being taken to was in labor. I delivered a child. That was my profession. … It was fortunate that the girl had run into a doctor. I think she thought it was a sort of miracle. Afterwards I escaped in possession of my watch and coins in my pocket. Looking back I think
that
was the real miracle.”

“So you really did have a glimpse inside.”

He was thoughtful. “For some time I felt I wanted to do something for those people. I wanted to take them out of Whitefriars. I had the usual dreams and ideals which beset the young until they realize that all they can do is what they’re qualified for. I was meant to care for the sick. It was for the politicians and such like to change the living standards of the people.”

“You have always been devoted to your work?”

He looked at me steadily. “It is like a crutch,” he said. “It helps me through life. When I am weary and melancholy and I feel no great enthusiasm for living … I work … and that soothes me. I limp along on my crutch and get by.”

There were so many questions I wanted to ask him. I was certain that there was some tragedy, some shadow hanging over him, something which had happened in the past and which he could not forget. But this was a day for forgetting, a day for enjoying.