Lament for a Lost Lover (22 page)

Dick was excited, and I heard him telling the others the wildest stories about an England he had never seen. But he had his own pictures of it, for he had heard much of it over the years.

Harriet seemed to enjoy the company of those who came to the
château.
She reminded me of the Harriet who had gone to Villers Tourron and had been the centre of attraction. She rode out with our guests, and I often heard their laughter when she amused them with her conversation and stories about herself which I knew were mainly fabrications. But they were always amusing and told with a wit which seemed to charm the listeners. She posed as the young widow, and it was assumed that her husband had lost his life in the same affray that Edwin had, and like me she was the widow of a hero who had given his life in the King’s cause.

Sir James Gilley told me one bright morning that on the next day he would be moving on. He was making his way to the coast and there he would await the King’s party. They would cross the Channel and a great welcome would be awaiting them on the other side, he doubted not.

“And, dear lady, it will not be long before you will follow us, I am sure of that. I trust we shall meet at the King’s Court. Charlie will want to meet those who have been his good friends throughout the years.”

I said that I doubted not my father would be coming to the
château
soon, for if the King were on his way, so would he be.

“Then we shall meet soon. Tomorrow morning early I shall depart and I shall say farewell to you this evening, for I shall be off, I doubt not, before you are astir.”

“I will rise early.”

“Nay, it would grieve me. You have been such a perfect hostess, I should not wish to cause you further trouble.”

“It would be no trouble.”

“Nay, dear lady,” he said. “Let me slip away. Our next meeting will be in London, I promise myself.”

That day he made preparations, and I saw very little of him, and after we had supped that night he thanked me formally for my hospitality and he vowed that when he saw my father he would tell him what a fine daughter he had.

He said he would retire early to be off at the first sign of dawn.

Harriet came to my room that night.

“He will be gone tomorrow,” I told her. “You have been good friends. You will miss him.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “In these days people come and go. Until we are living in a more stable society, one should not attach too much importance to passing acquaintance.”

“James Gilley says we shall meet again ere long.”

“That may be. I wonder if the King will remember all his friends. There will be so many around him to remind him of their loyalty.”

“Perhaps he will remember those who do not need to remind him.”

“Ah, there’s wisdom there.” She looked intently at me. “Change … everywhere,” she went on. “You feel it all around you. It’s in the air.”

“Naturally. At least that for which we have waited all these years is about to come to pass.”

“Do you think it will live up to expectations, Arabella?”

“It will be good to be home. We shall no longer be exiles living on the charity of our friends.”

“Ah, that
will
be good. Oh, Arabella, we shall always be friends. I know it.”

“I hope so.”

“Whatever I’ve done you would forgive me, wouldn’t you?”

“I suppose so.”

“Always remember that.”

“How solemn you are tonight.”

“It’s a solemn occasion.”

“You are anxious about the future, I believe. You mustn’t be. You’re coming with me. I would not allow it to be otherwise.”

She came over to the bed and kissed me.

“God bless you, Arabella.”

I thought she looked unusually solemn. Then she laughed and said: “I’m tired. Good night.”

And she was gone.

The next day stands out clearly in my memory.

I did not hear the departure. Sir James must have left early and quietly, as he had said he would.

I went in to the babies. They were sleeping peacefully. I picked up Edwin cautiously and sat for a while as I loved to do, rocking him in my arms.

He awoke and started to whimper. Then Leigh heard him and started too. So I took him up and sat for some time, holding one in the crook of each arm.

Madame Lambard came bustling in to attend to them and I went back to my room to dress.

When I was ready, I did not hear Harriet stirring, so I knocked at her door, and as there was no answer I went in.

Her bed was made. Either it had not been slept in or she had been up early and made it herself.

I went to the window and looked out. It was a peaceful scene; the countryside green and fresh, the budding trees, the birds still wild with joy because the morning had come.

I remembered that Sir James Gilley had left and we should have a quiet day free from guests. I should be getting my possessions together because I knew that any day now my parents would arrive and it would be our turn to travel to the coast.

I turned suddenly and saw the letter lying on a table. I went to it. It was addressed to me so I opened it and attempted to read it, but the words swam before my eyes and I had to go back and start again before I could believe what was written.

My dear Arabella,

This is good-bye. I am leaving this morning with James Gilley. He is devoted to me and will look after me. Believe me, when I tell you I hate to leave you, but I could see no other way. Your mother-in-law, with whom you will now live, dislikes me. She would never have tolerated me in your house. I fancy your mother is not overfond of me and would not have wanted me in hers. This seemed the answer. And when James asked me I said yes. He is rich and I like my comforts. I shall know how to handle him. I shall enjoy the Court, I am sure. I really have only one regret and that is leaving you, Arabella. We have been special friends, have we not? And we always shall be. For we shall meet again.

There is one other thing. I am leaving Leigh in your care. I know you will do the right thing by my baby. You will bring him up with your own dear Edwin, and there is no one else with whom I would rather leave him.

This is not good-bye, dear Arabella. It is au revoir. God bless you

Your loving friend,

Harriet.

Again and again I read through what she had written. I didn’t believe it. It couldn’t be. She had gone as dramatically as she had come. But she had left something behind to remind us of her. Her own child! How could she leave him!

Of course she could. Harriet was capable of everything.

I went into the room which we had made the nursery.

Madame Lambard was rocking Leigh up and down because, as she started to say, he had the wind.

I stared at the baby and Madame Lambard said: “Is anything wrong, Madame Arabella?”

I answered simply. “She has gone. She has left the baby and has gone.”

During the third week of May my parents came to the
château
to take us back, and what wild rejoicing there was at our reunion. This, alas, did not extend to the kitchens and Marianne, Jeanne and Jacques were very subdued; as for Madame Lambard, she was desolate, though perhaps this was mainly due to the babies.

My mother was most disturbed when she heard that Harriet had gone, leaving her son behind.

“The unnatural creature!” she cried. “How could she do such a thing? And who is the father?”

I told her it was Charles Condey who had fallen passionately in love with Harriet during our visit to Villers Tourron.

“We know him well. He is such a sober young man. I find it hard to believe that he would not stand by a girl who was to have his child.”

“He wanted to marry her but she wouldn’t have him.”

“He was, of course, meant for Charlotte.”

“You do not know Harriet, Mother. She is so attractive. People find her irresistible … or most of them do.”

“That is understandable … but to leave a child!”

“She knew I would always look after him.”

“And what shall you do? Take him to Eversleigh?”

“Of course. He will grow up with Edwin.”

My mother shook her head anxiously. Then she embraced me and said: “You are a good girl, Arabella. I can’t tell you how often your father and I have thanked God for you. You know what you mean to your father?”

I nodded. “How wonderful it will be to be together again. I wish I were coming home with you to Far Flamstead.”

“I know, my dearest. But you must comfort Matilda. Poor lady, she has lost her only son. She loves you dearly. She told me that as soon as she saw you she knew you were the wife she wanted for Edwin. And now when this terrible tragedy has come to her, it is you who are the greatest help to her because you have given her little Edwin. You’ve given her something to live for. A grandson is what she prayed for and, through you, she has him. So do not regret that you are not coming to Far Flamstead. We shall not be very far away. We will meet often and you will be happy because you have brought such joy to your new family.”

Lord Eversleigh, Edwin’s father, was a delightful man; he was considerably older than my own father, as Matilda was also. I remembered Edwin’s telling me how they had been married for some time before they had any children and that was why Carleton had had his hopes.

Lord Eversleigh was deeply moved when he was presented to my son, and although at such a time I must miss my husband even more bitterly than at others, I was happy to have brought such joy to them by giving them a grandson.

We were all to cross the Channel together, and my parents would stay for a night at Eversleigh Court which was near the coast. Our emotions were at such a pitch that I felt part of the time that I was in a dream. After all, this was the fulfillment of our hopes of years. We had talked so much of going home that, now the time had come, we were uncertain of our happiness. In the first place we had to say good-bye to so much that we had known for so long; and the sad eyes of the servants at Congrève and the red ones of Madame Lambard could not do anything else but depress us.

How should I have felt had I been going back with Edwin? So different, I was sure.

The crossing was a smooth one, which was a blessing, and we made for an inn not much more than a hundred yards from the sea which had been well known to the Eversleighs in the old days.

Then it had been called the Jolly Waggoner but the Jolly had been painted out and it was now simply the Waggoner—a particular piece of Puritan folly which made us all laugh.

The landlord, Tom Ferret, was, like most people, I was to discover, eager to cast aside the gloomy piety he had been obliged to practice for a more convivial manner.

“Well, Tom,” said Lord Eversleigh. “Times are changing.”

Tom put his finger to his nose and said slyly: “And about time too, and good it is to see you back, milord.”

“And how is your father?” asked Lord Eversleigh.

Tom pointed upwards, and I wasn’t sure whether he meant his father was in the room above or in Heaven. I realized it was the latter, for he went on: “Sorry I am, milord, that he can’t see this day. Now we’ll look forward to the good times, we will.”

“A return to prosperity,” said Lord Eversleigh. “Puritanism is no good for business, eh, Tom?”

“It has been a struggle to keep going, milord, but praise God His Majesty is coming back. Do you know when the happy day will be, milord?”

“Soon, Tom. Soon. We want him back for his thirtieth birthday. And that will be the twenty-ninth of this month.”

“God bless him. You’ll drink his health, I hope, in my best malmsey wine.” He winked. “Tucked away in the cellar these many years. No sense in giving good wine to them that thinks it’s a sin to enjoy it.”

“We will, we will, and will you have a message sent to the Court, Tom, to tell my nephew that we’re home?”

“Master Carleton, he has been working for the King all this time it seems … and him playing the Puritan up there … one of the sternest of ’em, I heard, and all the big’uns coming to stay at Eversleigh to see him and talk about how they could make us even more miserable than we were.”

“No Eversleigh would ever be disloyal to his King, Tom.”

“No, milord, but Master Carleton fooled us all right.”

“As was necessary.”

“Yes, milord. Now for the message … I’ll get a man off at once. Then for the malmsey.”

Milk was brought for the babies, and we sat at the inn table sampling hot bread with cheese and malmsey wine, which tasted good to me.

An hour or so later Carleton Eversleigh was at the inn. Lord Eversleigh took his hand and shook it. Matilda embraced him. There were tears in her eyes.

“Oh, Carleton,” she cried. “It is so long …”

He nodded. “But we knew it would come and here it is. So let us be joyful.” I felt he was anxious to curtail the emotion, for I guessed he would hate any show of it.

He was looking at me, and I noticed the slow smile which I could not understand. “Ah,” he said, “it is not so long since we met.”

I nodded and introduced him to my parents.

He exchanged greetings with them and then he saw the children. Of course he would not know. How could he? He was looking askance at my mother’s two women holding them.

“My son,” I said. “My son Edwin.”

He was frankly amazed.

He looked down at the baby. “So … he left you a child, then.”

“Yes.”

“Twins?”

“No. This is Edwin. This is Leigh.”

“And whose child is Leigh, I wonder?”

“You remember Harriet Main.”

“Harriet Main.” He gave a sudden, short laugh. He looked round him, obviously for Harriet.

“She is not with us,” I said. “She went to London with Sir James Gilley. They are to be married. Then, I doubt not, she will come to claim the child.”

I was romancing in the way Harriet herself might have done. It was foolish, but his sly smile angered me.

“Well, you can reckon that she will be long before she claims the child if she is waiting for Gilley to marry her. He is very much married to a lady I know well. A most respectable lady with two sons and four daughters, and as she is in a remarkably good state of health, it seems unlikely that James Gilley will be free for some time yet.”