Voices in a Haunted Room (28 page)

“No. I saw you come down here, so I followed.”

“For what purpose?”

“Unnecessary question. To do that which you are making increasingly difficult. To talk to you.”

“What about?”

“Us.”

“There is nothing more to be said.”

“After all we have been to each other! You can’t dismiss it like that.”

“It was madness… momentary madness.”

“Oh come, Claudine. It wasn’t momentary, was it? Didn’t we meet by arrangement?”

“I admit I did a terrible thing. Please, Jonathan, forget it, and let me forget it.”

“You are never going to forget that, Claudine. Nor am I. Besides, we have our little angel upstairs to remind us.”

“No, no,” I said. “Amaryllis is David’s.”

He smiled at me maliciously. “It’s a wise father who knows his own child. How wise is David? How wise am I?”

“It pleases you to be flippant. Jonathan, let me alone. It’s over… done with. We have sinned terribly against David. I shall try to do everything I can to make him happy. Won’t you help me?”

“I certainly will. You don’t think I’m going to tell him: ‘Your wife is a very passionate little lady, which I discovered to my delight.’ What do you take me for?”

I looked at him steadily and wondered: What? He frightened me. Why, oh why, when he stood before me with his blue eyes alight, should I feel that desire to be close to him, to forget for a while everything but that overwhelming sexual satisfaction which he alone could provide?

I was trembling a little. I was sure he was aware of it. He was a man who had had a great deal of experience in what he called love. I am not sure that I called it that.

What was it I felt for him? Love? No. It had a less pleasant name. It was lust. But where did lust end and love begin? I loved David. I wanted to be with David. I wanted never to hurt him and yet this man had made me break my marriage vows and hurt David in a manner which could be more wounding than anything else I could do; and still, although I was trying not to admit it, I was drawn to him.

I was ignorant, inexperienced. I could not understand myself and I was afraid.

I tried to speak firmly. “It’s all over, Jonathan. I’m deeply regretful that it ever happened. I don’t know what possessed me.”

He came closer and laid a hand on my shoulder. “I do, Claudine,” he said softly. “I do.”

I stepped backwards.

“You can’t do without me,” he said, “any more than I can do without you. We were meant for each other. What a pity you galloped into marriage!”

“And now you are about to do the same.”

“Not a gallop. A graceful, well-planned canter.”

“I’m sorry for Millicent.”

“You shouldn’t be. She is perfectly contented.”

“When she discovers she is married to a philanderer, what will she think? A man who is contemplating marriage with her and at the same time is trying to seduce another woman.”

“She is delighted with the amalgamation of the two families. You don’t realize what that is going to mean. She does—and so do her papa and mama. Millicent is too worldly not to realize that there are certain concessions to be made even in the best of bargains.”

“You are so calculating.”

“All part of my success.”

“And I am tired. Good night.”

He caught my hand.

“Are you going to tell me that you don’t love me any more?”

“I never loved you. It was something different. I know that now.”

“Well, whatever it was, it was rather fierce, wasn’t it?”

“I was foolish. I can only say ignorant. Please, Jonathan, I want to forget it. When you are married you will be mainly in London. Don’t think we can ever start again.”

“Is that what you want?”

“With all my heart.”

“For the sort of man I am it is a challenge. That which is out of reach is always more desirable than that which falls into one’s hands. You’re challenging me, Claudine.”

“I am telling you to let me alone. Good night.”

I went to the door. He laughed and I heard him say: “I never give up.”

I ran into the hall. David was just coming in with Harry.

“Safely delivered to her home,” said David, referring to Evie. He put an arm round me and I smiled at him.

“You’re tired,” he said.

“It’s been a long day.”

“The christening went off perfectly,” said Harry. “The babies were very good… on the whole.”

“Particularly Amaryllis,” said David proudly. “She is a beautiful child.”

Harry smiled at me. “Fond parent,” he said.

“I think Evie enjoyed it,” I put in.

“Oh yes,” agreed David. “She was rather reluctant to go home, I believe. Grandma Trent was waiting up for her. There was a candle in one of the windows. She was obviously watchful. She dashed down and wanted us to come in for some sloe gin or elderberry or dandelion or something. We pleaded the lateness of the hour.”

“She is devoted to her grand-daughters,” I said.

“No doubt about that,” added Harry.

We had come to the room which Harry was using so we said good night and left him there.

David and I went on to ours.

“Such a happy day it’s been! Shall we just peep into the nursery to look at her?”

So we went there and stood on either side of the sleeping child.

David looked down at her with wonder. Nothing… nothing must disturb his happiness.

C
HRISTMAS CAME AND WENT.
There were the usual feasting and games. Our neighbours came in as they had done the previous year and that included Mrs. Trent with her grand-daughters. The Farringdons were our guests and of course the Pettigrews. Lady Pettigrew said that we should have spent Christmas with them this year, but the babies made travelling difficult and so it was easier to celebrate the festive season at Eversleigh.

The marriage of Jonathan and Millicent was to take place in June and we must travel there then, said my mother, for the babies would be older, and that would simplify matters.

It was hard to believe that it was a year ago that I had been in the midst of my affaire with Jonathan. It was last Boxing Day when I had ended it abruptly and almost immediately afterwards discovered that I was going to have a child.

Harry Farringdon had still not declared himself; and I asked my mother if she thought he ever would.

“The courtship—if courtship it is—does seem to drag on. I would say that Evie is in love. One can tell that sometimes.”

“And Harry?”

“Well, he does seem to delight in her company.”

“Do you think the delay is due to his parents?”

“Or her grandmother.”

“A man does not marry his wife’s relations surely.”

“No. But they might give him cause for thought. I imagine Harry is a cautious young man.”

“Well, I think he should make up his mind soon.”

“You give them every opportunity, I must say. You’ve become a matchmaker, Claudine. At least where those two are concerned.”

I did not tell her why. I was not sure whether it would have disturbed her or not. But I had a strong conviction that I should help Evie all I could, and there was no doubt that marriage into the Farringdon family would be very desirable for her.

Jonathan went back to London. There was great consternation over the war, which seemed to be resulting in successes for the French throughout Europe. Dickon was in London with Jonathan and now that my mother had a baby she did not accompany him as frequently as she had once.

There had been more causes for alarm in January when Utrecht, Rotterdam and Dort fell into the hands of the French, and the Stadtholder and his family made their escape to England, arriving in an open boat. It was a wonder they survived, for the weather had turned bitterly cold and everything was frozen up.

Throughout the house great fires burned but even so the wind seemed to whistle through the windows and there were draughts everywhere.

The men seemed greatly concerned about the French victories which, according to Jonathan, were due to the genius of one man—a Corsican adventurer by the name of Napoleon Bonaparte. It had been hoped that with the fall of Robespierre there would be an end to these successes, for Bonaparte was a well-known supporter of the tyrant; but by some clever manoeuvring he managed to extricate himself from the slaughter when so many suffered the same fate as their friend and master. So Napoleon Bonaparte continued with the army.

“Even the bloodthirsty mob have the sense to realize what he is doing for his country,” commented Jonathan.

We talked often of Charlot and Louis Charles, who might well be involved in these successful campaigns. But we had no news of them.

My mother used to say: “Charlot is well. Something tells me that. If only he could get a message to us! But how could he with his country at war with the whole of Europe.”

When Dickon and Jonathan were with us the talk was all of war and political matters. Prussia was asking for a loan and endlessly they discussed the rights and wrongs of this.

And all the time we shivered, until February came bringing with it the melting snows, and then it rained so heavily that there was the problem of flooding in many parts of the country.

Then Tuscany made peace with France.

Dickon said: “I can see others doing the same.”

David’s point was that the revolution was over now and the Republic had to be accepted. He said: “At least we shall settle down to peace. The French have chosen the government they want. There is nothing to be done but leave them to it.”

Dickon replied: “They have gone to a great deal of trouble, much blood has been shed, and now they are learning that it need never have happened. They have exchanged one set of rulers for another every bit as harsh.”

“The Monarchy would never have abdicated,” said Jonathan. “The people wanted to be rid of them and they saw that the only way of doing so was through the guillotine.”

When the Swedes acknowledged the French it seemed obvious the way things were going.

“If this continues,” said Dickon, “we shall be left alone fighting the French.”

He and Jonathan went up to London, and this was one of the occasions when my mother did not go with him.

It was a cool March day. There were still signs of the heavy flooding and some of the fields were under water. I had been out with David during the morning and we had ridden round the estate. I enjoyed these morning rides, meeting the tenants, chatting with them, stopping to taste their wine.

David never hesitated to discuss their ideas with them, which made an ideal relationship between landowner and the people who lived on his estate. Jonathan would never have had the same patience, the good will, the unselfishness, the ability to see a matter from someone else’s point of view. They had chosen their careers wisely—or perhaps their father had selected them for them—for Jonathan was suited to the worldly life of London society and all those secret matters of which even my mother could not guess.

On that afternoon I was in the sewing room with my mother and Molly Blackett going through materials and discussing clothes for the babies when one of the servants came in and said: “There is a lady and gentleman downstairs, Madam. Friends of the master, they say. I’ve taken them to the hall and they are waiting there.”

“I’ll come down,” said my mother.

I went with her. Standing in the hall was a rather tall fair-haired man of about forty, and the lady with him appeared to be a few years younger.

When he saw my mother the man came towards her, holding out his hands.

“My dear Mrs. Frenshaw. I would have known you from Dickon’s description. How are you? I am James Cardew and this is my wife, Emma. I wonder if he has ever mentioned me to you.”

“No,” said my mother, “I don’t think he has.”

“I come from the North. Dickon has always said I must call and see him at Eversleigh if ever I was in the neighbourhood, and he would be most offended if I did not. I wonder if he is at home?”

“No, I’m afraid not. He is in London.”

The man raised his eyebrows in exasperation. “What bad luck! Of all the times he has insisted I call. And now I find that he is away.”

“He may be back tomorrow,” said my mother. “But let me introduce you to my daughter.”

He had taken my hand and was looking at me intently. “This is another Mrs. Frenshaw. Claudine, is it?”

I laughed. “You seem to know a good deal about us.”

“Dickon has talked of you. This is my wife, Emma.”

She was attractive, with dark lively eyes.

My mother said: “Well, it is a great pity that my husband is not at home. You will need some refreshment. Do come into our little winter parlour and I will have something brought to us. Have you eaten yet?”

“We had a meal some miles back,” said James Cardew. “A little wine would be welcome… to slake the thirst.”

“Come along then. Claudine, will you ask them to send something to the winter parlour,” said my mother.

I went away to do her bidding and then returned to the visitors. They were sitting down and saying what a wonderful old house Eversleigh was. They felt they knew it well, Dickon had talked so much about it.

“Have you seen him recently?” asked my mother.

“Well, it must have been a year ago. I happened to be in London for a brief spell.”

“I expect I was with him,” said my mother. “I usually am, but not so much now since my baby was born.”

“Unfortunately we didn’t meet then. Tell me, is Dickon well?”

“Very well, thank you.”

“Have you ever known Dickon otherwise?”

“He does enjoy good health.”

“He is the most vital man I have ever known,” said James Cardew.

My mother looked pleased, and as the wine arrived then, she poured it out for our guests.

“Delicious,” said Emma Cardew. “I must admit to being thirsty. It is thirsty travelling.”

“Did you say Dickon will be back tomorrow?” asked her husband.

“We can never be certain,” said my mother. “But I do expect him. Something may turn up to keep him though.”

“Yes, yes. We live in strange times. You are well aware of that if anyone is, Mrs. Frenshaw.”