Drop of the Dice (7 page)

I tried not to look at Damaris. ‘Oh yes… of course.’

‘I was hoping that I could take you back with me.’

‘You mean for a visit?’

‘I mean just that.’

Damaris said quickly: ‘We should need time to get Clarissa ready for such a visit. And the North… it is a long way.’

‘The whole length of the country, one might say—your being in the extreme south and we in the north… right on the border.’

‘Is it rather lawless country up there?’

He laughed. ‘No more than the rest, I trow. You can be assured that the Fields know how to take care of their own.’

‘I am sure they do. But for a child…’

I felt a faint irritation. When were they going to stop referring to me as the child? It was at moments like this that I felt more intensely than ever the suffocation of this love they wrapped me in. It was like a great blanket—warm, soft and smothering.

‘Aunt Damaris,’ I said firmly, ‘I
should
see my father’s family.’

I wished I hadn’t spoken, for she looked so hurt. I went to her and took her hand.

‘It would only be for a little while,’ I reminded her.

Arabella said briskly: ‘I think this needs time and thought. Perhaps in a year or so…’

‘We are all impatience to meet our kinswoman. Her father was head of the family. It was a great shock to us when he died so suddenly… in his prime.’

‘It was such a long time ago,’ said Damaris.

‘That does not make it any less tragic for us, Madam. We want to know his daughter. Lord Hessenfield is very anxious that she should visit us for a time.’

Damaris and Arabella exchanged glances. ‘We will think about it,’ said Arabella. ‘Now you will be tired after your journey. I will have a room prepared for you. You will not want to start the journey back today, I am sure.’

‘My dear lady, you are so good. I shall take advantage of your hospitality. Perhaps I can persuade Clarissa to come back with me; I am sure if she knew how much we are longing to see her she would agree right away.’

‘She is a little young to make such decisions,’ said Arabella.

And again that insistence on my youth irritated me, and I think in that moment I determined to go to see my father’s family.

Poor Damaris! She was most distressed. I was sure she thought that if I went to the north I should never come back.

There were family conferences. Great-Grandfather Carleton was all against my going. ‘Damned Jacobites,’ he growled, growing red in the face. ‘There’s peace now, but they haven’t given up. They’re still drinking to the King over the Water. No, she shall not go.’

But Great-Grandfather Carleton was not the power he had once been, and Arabella finally decided that there was no harm in my going. It would only be a visit.

Priscilla was dubious and said I was too young to make such a journey.

‘She would not be on her own,’ persisted Arabella. ‘She would have a considerable bodyguard. Jeanne could go with her as her maid. It will keep her French up to standard. I always thought she shouldn’t lose that.’

‘And what of Damaris?’ demanded Priscilla. ‘She will be so wretched without her.’

‘My dear Priscilla,’ said Arabella, ‘she will miss the child, of course. We shall all miss her. We shall be delighted when she comes back. But Damaris cannot expect to keep her with her for ever… just for her own comfort. She’ll have to remember that Clarissa has her own life to lead.’

Priscilla retorted hotly: ‘You are not suggesting that Damaris is selfish, are you, Mother? Damaris is the sweetest-natured…’

‘I know. I know. But she sets such store by Clarissa. I know what she did for Clarissa… and what Clarissa has done for her. But that does not mean she can stop the child seeing her father’s relations just because she is going to miss her sadly.’

Priscilla was silent then. But the argument was continued later. Leigh thought I should go. They were, after all, my relations. ‘And it is only for a visit,’ he said.

Jeremy was against my going. But that was mainly because it upset Damaris.

This was when I really began to feel closed in by them all, and I decided that I had a right to choose my own future.

I said to Damaris: ‘Aunt Damaris, I
am
going to see my father’s people. I must.’

She looked sad for a moment; then she sat down and drew me to her. She looked at me very earnestly and said: ‘You shall go, my dear. You are right. You should go. It is just that I shall hate to be without you. I want to tell you something. I am going to have a child.’

‘Oh… Aunt Damaris!’

‘You will pray for me, won’t you? You’ll pray this time that I shall succeed.’

All my animosity had left me. I threw my arms about her neck.

‘I won’t go, Aunt Damaris. No, I won’t go. I couldn’t. I should be so worried about you. I tell you what I’ll do. I’ll wait until you have the little baby… and then I’ll go and see my father’s brother.’

‘No dear, you must not think of me.’

‘How could I stop doing that! I couldn’t be happy if I were not here. I want to be here with you. I want to make some of the baby clothes. I want to make sure that you are all right.’

That settled it. I should in time visit the North, but it would have to be later. It would be several months before I could set out.

Grandmother Priscilla was very pleased with the decision. She kissed me tenderly. ‘It could not have been better,’ she said. ‘Damaris is so delighted that you want to stay with her. Pray God this time she will have a healthy child.’

So Ralph Field went back with the promise that I should visit my relations in a few months’ time.

We gave ourselves up to the preparations for the baby’s arrival. At first Damaris was too much afraid of losing it to talk very much about it. But I soon put a stop to that. I had a feeling that to imagine the worst might in some mystic way bring it about, and I insisted on believing that this time the baby would live; and I watched over Damaris with a care and tenderness which was greater because of what I thought of as my recent disloyalty.

Jeanne was very useful at this time. I was amazed at the change in her. When I had known her in France she had been obsessed, first by the need to please in the
hôtel
and later by an even greater need to exist when she was in the cellar. She had been careworn with these necessities and they had suppressed her naturally volatile nature.

Once she realized she was safe in this comfortable household from which she would not be ejected unless she committed some terrible crime, her character reverted to what nature had intended it to be. Her rendering of our language was a continual source of amusement to us all and she was delighted to see our smiles and hear our laughter. Sometimes I think she deliberately sought to arouse our mirth. She made herself very useful. I was a little old for the services of a nursemaid, so she became my lady’s-maid. She dressed my hair, saw to my clothes and was with me constantly.

‘Clarissa is becoming elegant,’ commented Arabella.

‘We don’t want any of those fancy French fashions here,’ growled Great-Grandfather Carleton.

But everyone was pleased that Jeanne had come. They all realized what a service she had done me and we were a family who did not like accepting favours, so when we had them bestowed on us, it was a point of honour that we repaid them a hundredfold.

Jeanne, of course, was delighted at the prospect of a new baby. She loved little babies and she knew a great deal about them. She was full of advice and, as she was very handy with her needle, she provided some exquisite garments.

It was not surprising that with such events looming in the family we should not pay a great deal of attention to what was happening in the world.

Carleton, of course, was aware of it, and extremely anxious. Old as he was, he was still interested in the country’s politics. Leigh and Jeremy were, too. I was aware of this because I was amused by the different reactions of them all; Carleton was staunchly anti-Catholic and his hatred of the Jacobites was the more intense because he would no longer be of an age to tackle them if ever they attempted to take over the country. Leigh believed that everything would settle down and he was ready to accept whatever monarch came; Jeremy feared the worst and expressed the opinion that if the Jacobites attempted to put James on the throne there would be war between the Catholic faction and the Protestant supporters of the Electress of Hanover.

‘The Queen is for her half-brother,’ declared Carleton. ‘She is bemused by family feeling. State affairs should be above sentimentality.’

‘The people will never accept James,’ said Jeremy. ‘There’ll be war if he lands.’

‘The mood of the country is for the Hanoverian branch,’ said Leigh. ‘It is because it is Protestant.’

‘They say the Queen won’t invite the Electress to come to England,’ said Jeremy.

‘But,’ pointed out Leigh, ‘there are some members of the government who are threatening to do just that.’

And so it went on.

The year passed uneasily, and all this talk about the succession seemed very boring to those of us who were thinking only of Damaris.

We watched over her with care and our spirits were lifted when Priscilla declared she was sure Damaris was better than she had been during her previous pregnancies. We were longing for July to come, and yet dreading it.

We became indifferent to the talk going on around us. Vaguely we heard mention of the Queen’s state of health. She was full of gout and could not walk. Names like Harley and Bolingbroke were often spoken of. I gathered there was some feud between them. Carleton stormed about ‘that besom Abigail Hill’, who, it seemed, ruled the country, for the Queen did everything that lady told her to.

‘She’s as bad as Sarah Churchill was,’ said Carleton. ‘
Women…
that’s what it is. Petticoat government never did a country any good at all.’

Arabella reminded us that under the reign of Elizabeth the country had been at peace and consequently more prosperous than at any other time. ‘Women have always ruled,’ continued Arabella, ‘though sometimes they are obliged to do it through men, but you may be sure they always had a hand in government.’

Then he abused her and her sex in that way which showed clearly how much he admired her, and we all knew that he had a special fondness for the feminine members of society, so all this added a lighter note to the general brooding on what trials the future might hold.

On the twenty-eighth of July Damaris’s pains started. It was a long and arduous confinement and the child was born on the thirtieth. How great was our joy to find that it was a healthy girl. Damaris was exhausted and there was some concern for her, but even that soon passed.

‘This will do her all the good in the world,’ said Priscilla. Jeremy sat by Damaris’s bed and held her hand. I was there too and I shall never forget the exalted look in Damaris’s eyes when the baby was put into her arms.

The child was alive, breathing, healthy. At last she had achieved her goal.

There was a great deal of discussion in the family as to what this precious and most important little girl should be called. Carleton wanted her to be Arabella and Arabella said that if she was going to be named after one of the family why not Priscilla. Leigh said that was an excellent idea, but Jeremy thought there was confusion in families when the same name appeared, even after a lapse of generations.

Damaris suddenly decided that she would call the baby Sabrina. The name just came to her as suitable and Jeremy said that Damaris was certainly the one who should have the final say in the matter, and in any case he supported her entirely for he thought it was a suitable name.

So she was to be Sabrina—and we added Anne, after the Queen.

A few days after her birth an event occurred which was of great significance. The dropsy, which had plagued the Queen for so long, went to her brain, so it was said. Queen Anne died.

In spite of the fact that she had been more or less an invalid for some time, her death was a shock. She had scarcely been a clever woman but the country had increased its importance under her rule. She had been surrounded by wily politicians and had had one of the most successful generals of all time in John Churchill, Duke of Marlborough. None could say she had failed in her duty in trying to produce an heir, for she had had seventeen children, but only one survived infancy and he—the poor little Duke of Gloucester—had died at eleven years of age. Thus she had plunged the country into a crisis by her death.

Only two months before, the Electress Sophia, the daughter of Elizabeth, herself the daughter of James the First, which was why Sophia had a claim to the throne, had died. She had collapsed when walking in the gardens of her palace. Some said her death was due to apoplexy brought on by her concern over the controversy aroused by the state of affairs in England.

However, that left her son George as the Protestant heir. Anne had hated what she had heard of George and always had referred to him as ‘the German Boor’ which was one of the reasons why she had been in favour of calling her half-brother James Stuart back from France.

It was this state of affairs which set the men of the family arguing together and the women praying that the foolish men would not bring about a war over whether German George or James Stuart should be their next King.

‘Why we cannot live together in peace is past my understanding,’ declared Priscilla angrily. ‘Their wars only cause misery to people who are ready to live contentedly side by side.’

Carleton was gleeful at the turn affairs had taken. Bolingbroke, that arch Jacobite, was taken by surprise when the Queen died. He had thought he would have longer to make arrangements with his Jacobite friends. He was too late, however. The Whigs were better prepared; they secured the persons of leading Jacobites in high places and simply proclaimed George of Hanover George the First of England.

Sabrina Anne was christened in September. They did not want to leave it later because of the approaching winter, so towards the end of the month when the weather was still mellow and there were bronze-tinted leaves on the trees, the ceremony was performed in Eversleigh Church with all the family present.