The adulteress (22 page)

"I can understand. All of us do wrong at times. We fall into temptation. Please tell me, Hetty."

"I'm going to have a baby," she said.

"Oh. Well, James loves you. He'll understand. . . ."

She shook her head and stared blankly in front of her. "It's not James's," she said.

"Hetty."

"Yes, you see. It's shocking, it's awful. There is no way out . . . but this. I can't face them, any of them. I don't know how it happened ... I can't understand. Yet I can't make excuses ... it was my fault."

"I thought you loved James."

"I do."

"Then ..."

"You wouldn't understand. How could you? Nobody could who was not . . . depraved I suppose as I am."

"I'm not so good, Hetty, that I can't understand how these things happen."

We sat down on the river bank and she turned to me. "It was on the night of the Harvest Home. I had drunk too much punch. ... I know it now but I didn't at the time. Oh, I'm making excuses."

"Please go on," I said. "Who . . . ?"

But she didn't have to tell me. Because I knew. I remembered that look of implacable hatred I had seen across the room. Oh, he was a fiend. This was his revenge on James.

"Dickon?" I said.

She started to shiver and I knew I was right.

"It was the Harvest Home . . . the punch . . . the dancing. . . . He danced with me . . . and we went out into the gardens . . . into the shrubbery. I don't know how it happened. . . . But I was there . . . lying on the grass ... I can't tell you. It was too depraved ... I didn't seem to realize until it was too late. . . ."

I turned away. I could not bear her misery. So this was his revenge.

She was desperate, poor girl. I had to comfort her. I was going to take her back with me, talk over the matter with Jean-Louis. He would understand and try to help.

I said: "There is a way out."

"There is no way," she said. "I cannot face anyone now. . . . My father, my mother, my brothers and sisters . . . and James. . . . No, I have thought and thought and this is the only way."

"You must not talk like that. It's nonsense. It's feeble. At the worst you could go away and have the baby. My husband and I would help you."

"You are the kindest people in the world."

"We shall understand. This is the sort of thing that can happen ... to anybody ... to anybody," I added vehemently. "I am going to help you, Hetty."

"There is no help. I could drown myself . . . and perhaps my body would never be found."

"I should have thought you would not want to take such a cowardly way out."

"Perhaps I am a coward, but I just cannot face my parents. They thought too much of me. They would be so horrified ... so ashamed. . . ."

"My dear Hetty, this happened. . . . You had had too much punch . . . you did not know. . . ."

"There were other times," she said.

"Hetty. But why . . . ?"

"Because he said he would tell if I did not."

"Blackmail!" I said aghast. I could see him so well—that handsome, cruel face. What havoc he had wrought in our lives.

"When he knew that I was pregnant he let me alone. He seemed . . . satisfied."

"He is a monster, Hetty. He hates in a cold and calculating manner which is by far the worst sort of hatred. But we're going to outwit him. We're not going to let him win."

"How?" she asked.

"By not running away from this, by facing it, by looking at it and finding the way to act."

"I can't do it."

"You can because I'm going to help you. Will you let me?"

She threw herself against me and then she was sobbing bitterly. The tears I knew brought relief. She was no longer alone.

She trusted me. My own experience had perhaps helped me to understand hers. I had been able to choose the right words to give her the support she needed.

I took her back with me to the house, put her to bed and told the household that she was suffering from a chill and was sleeping. No one was to disturb her.

I went straight to Jean-Louis. He was resting as he often had to do now.

I said: "A terrible thing has happened. I have to talk to you about it. It's Hetty."

"She's been looking a bit strained lately. Is it something to do with James?"

"We've got to help her," I said. "That girl will find some way of harming herself if something isn't done. She's going to have a child."

"Well, she and James will marry, I suppose. They won't be the first who have forestalled their wedding."

"It's not as simple as that. James is not the father."

"Good God."

"You may well be surprised. She has just told me. Jean-Louis, she was going to drown herself in the river. By a miracle I saw her. I have been watching her lately. I knew something was terribly wrong. It happened on the night of the Harvest Home. She had had too much punch and he . . . this er . . . "

"Do you know who it was?"

I looked at him steadily. He would have to know. I realized how calm and practical he had always been, how kind, uncon-demning.

I said: "It was Dickon."

"Good God," he said again, and there was an expression of horror on his face. "He's only a boy. . . ."

"I suppose someday people stop saying 'He's only a boy.' He may be young in years but he is old in sin. There is something evil about Dickon. Jean-Louis, what are we going to do? Hetty is desperate."

"She couldn't marry Dickon."

"Marry Dickon! That would be quite impossible. Besides, she hates him."

"Then why . . . ?"

"Oh, don't you see, it's a plot of revenge. Dickon knows James is in love with Hetty. Dickon was angry about the strip of land which was given to Hassock. That's how it is with Dickon. It's revenge."

"Oh, surely not . . ."

"I think I know that boy. It was due to him that you . . . that you are not as well as you were. . . . He's evil. I think it would have been better for Hetty to have walked into the river than marry Dickon."

"We could send her away somewhere where she could have the child."

"I thought of that. I don't know whether she would go. You see, her life seems to her to be in ruins. Her family boast so much about her . . . and then this to happen. And of course James . . . She just can't face it, poor girl."

"She will gradually come to it."

"Jean-Louis, what if James . . . ? James loved her. If he really loved her enough . . ."

"Yes, if he really loves her he will care for her no matter what she has done."

I looked steadily at him and said: "If ... I had done something like that . . . you would always love me, Jean-Louis, always care for me . . . ?"

I could not look at him. I wondered if he would notice how my heart began to hammer against my bodice.

He took my hand and kissed it. "No matter what," he said. "I should always love you and protect you as far as was in my power."

"Not many love like that," I said. "Jean-Louis, I shall always be grateful for you."

"My life would be nothing without you," he answered and

my thoughts were transported to that time when I had considered . . . going away with Gerard.

I said: "Thank you, my dear. I wonder if James's love for Hetty is as strong as yours for me." I rushed on because I felt too emotional to talk further of myself and had to get back to Hetty's problem. "Do you think we could speak to James?"

He was silent for a long time. Then he said: "Would Hetty wish that?"

"No. She could never bring herself to. I don't think he has asked her to marry him. I suspect that since the Harvest Home her attitude towards him would have changed. Jean-Louis, I think we have to speak to James. There is so much tragedy in the world because people don't look facts straight in the face. If she goes away James will have to know. He should have a chance to show his love for her."

"I think you are right," said Jean-Louis.

We deliberated for some time before we made our final decision and then Jean-Louis sent one of the men out to find James and bring him to us as soon as possible.

When he came Jean-Louis said: "We want to talk to you, James. Zipporah made a discovery today . . . about Het-ty. . . ."

I said: "James, she was going to drown herself in the river."

He stared at me unbelievingly.

"It's true," I said. "I prevented her in time, and she told me why."

He still did not speak. His face was quite white and his hands were clenching and unclenching as he stood there.

"She is going to have a child," I said. "Poor, poor Hetty, this is a terrible thing that has happened to her."

James had turned away to the window. I guessed he did not want us to see his face. He said in a tight voice: "Are you telling me that she will marry . . . ?"

"No, James."

"Who is it?" he demanded. He turned now and his eyes were blazing. "Who is this man?"

I dared not tell him then. I thought he would go out and kill Dickon in the heat of the moment. I looked at Jean-Louis, who nodded, understanding my reasoning.

I said: "It happened on the night of the Harvest Home. You were not there, James, you remember. She had had too much

punch . . . and it was very potent. I can only say that some unscrupulous person took advantage of this."

"Who was this unscrupulous person . . . ? Tell me."

"James," I said, "Hetty is in a state of collapse. She needs so much care. Let's think of her, shall we? I have her here in bed now. I've given her something to make her sleep. She is frantic with worry. We love her—Jean-Louis and I—and no matter what happens we are going to help her."

"What does she say . . . ?"

"Poor child, she is too stricken to say anything."

"Does she mention me?"

"Yes. She loves you. I think it is partly because of you that she cannot face up to this situation. Oh, James, what can we do for her? If you could have seen her when I found her by the river. . . ."

His face was working with emotion. He was thinking only of Hetty now; for a moment he had forgotten the author of her troubles—but that would come later. James was a man of strong emotions; he generally kept them in check but he would want to find the man who was responsible for Hetty's condition.

There was a long silence. I could not bear it and I said: "James, what are you going to do?"

He shook his head.

"James," I went on, "you can help her . . . only you. This happened . . . such things do happen. . . . You can't blame her. She is so young. . . . Please, James, try to understand. There's so much at stake. I don't know what she plans to do but I am afraid for her."

Still he did not answer.

Then he turned away and walked to the door. I ran to him and held his arm. I could see that he was beset by conflicting emotions—bewilderment, dismay, fury, frustration . . . but I think there was love there . . . love for Hetty.

He looked at me and said: "Thank you, Zippo-rah. . . . You are good. . . . Thank you . . . but I want to be alone. . . ."

I nodded and he went.

Jean-Louis and I were silent for a few moments after he had left. Then I said to Jean-Louis: "When he knows it was Dickon, what then?"

Jean-Louis shook his head.

"He mustn't be here," I said. "He must go away. . . . Heaven knows what James might do. . . . He mustn't know."

"It can't be kept from him. He'll discover."

"Not yet. He mustn't, Jean-Louis. Dickon will have to go away for a while."

"He never would. He would stay here and perhaps get some amusement out of the storm he has raised."

"I see you know Dickon as well as I do. I was beginning to think everyone saw him through his and my mother's eyes. He has to get away, Jean-Louis. I have to frighten my mother and Sabrina into helping us."

"Yes," said Jean-Louis slowly. "I see what you mean."

"And there is little time to lose. I'm going to see them now."

"Dearest Zipporah," he said, "are you being a little hasty?"

"I think this is a situation which needs prompt action. If James discovers Hetty's seducer he will be enraged. I fear there might be murder here. I am going to see them now."

"You may be right," said Jean-Louis.

"Come with me. Your voice will add weight to mine. They may think I am impulsive but they never will think that of you."

When we arrived at the Hall we were relieved to find both my mother and Sabrina at home. When I told them what had happened they were astounded.

"I don't believe it," said Sabrina.

"The girl is making it up," added my mother.

"Hetty is telling the truth," I said. "You must know what Dickon is like. I have seen him with the servant girls." I had a quick vision of him in the barn with Evalina and I went on: "Dickon could be in danger, that's what I have come to talk about."

That startled them.

"In danger . . . you mean . . . ?"

"Yes, I mean from James. James loves Hetty. I believe he was planning to marry her himself. It is not difficult to understand his emotions now. If he learns that the man in the case was Dickon . . . and he gets his hands on him . . ."

My mother had turned pale. "This is terrible," she said. "I don't believe for one moment ..."

"There is no time to start protesting Dickon's innocence. And I don't want him to know that he is accused or he might refuse to go."

"That surely would show his innocence," said Sabrina quickly.

"No, it would show a mischievous desire to cause trouble."

"And risk to himself?"

"And risk to everything and everybody. Please don't let us have a tragedy here. I have come to ask you to take Dickon away . . . until James has calmed down. I don't want Dickon to be here when he discovers."

"She is falsely accusing Dickon."

"She is not. Why should she? I know Dickon if you don't. He wanted revenge for Hassock's getting that land. I understand exactly how his mind works."

In their hearts they knew, of course; and I could see that they were already coming to terms with what they called Dickon's manliness.

But I had succeeded in alarming them.

"Sabrina," I said, "you did mention that you might pay a visit to Bath to see the new springs they had discovered there."