Текст книги "The Return of the Gypsy"

Автор книги: Philippa Carr

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

“Oh, I wouldn’t have my Jessica changed … not even for a son.”

“I am flattered. But is this all that is wrong? No boys in the family?”

“David and Claudine won’t have any more. David won’t live forever.”

“I hate talk about death. It’s morbid.”

“I’m just planning for the future. Seeing that boy, Charlot, with his Pierre growing up in the business, teaching him everything … and the other boys as well. It made me think. What about us? David … and then what? Jessica, I am sixty-nine years of age.”

“And you are as well and vigorous as someone twenty years younger.”

“Even I cannot defy nature forever, my dear. There is going to be a day when I go, and then David will follow me. And what of Eversleigh? Do you realize that for centuries this family have lived in this house?”

“Yes, I did know. They were Eversleighs at one time and then the name changed.”

“I want Frenshaws to be here for another four hundred years. You see, you have made this marriage. It was your choice. But I had hopes of you. If you had brought me even a girl I would have said Jessica’s girl would be as good as anyone else’s boy. Now what? Amaryllis has had this girl. If she had had a boy it would have been different. What I am getting at is that there is only one thing for me to do—Jonathan.”

“I see. You are going to bring him to Eversleigh.”

“That is what I am going to do, and without delay. But he’s wild. That worries me. He’s like his father. His father would never have been any good for the estate.”

“You were lucky to have twin boys. Just like you. Not content with one you had to have two.”

“That was indeed good luck. Jonathan was a fine fellow. Adventurous, brave … none braver … full of vitality and charm. But he would never have been any good on the estate. David stepped into the breach and I have to say he is a natural squire. I have been lucky. I had hoped David would have had sons, but all he gets is Amaryllis. That leaves Jonathan who I am afraid is going to turn out just like his father.”

“He is young yet.”

“But he already shows tendencies. I would never have attempted to put his father on the estate. Fortunately there were other interests, and he excelled in those. The estate would have gone to rack and ruin under him and that is what I want to avoid.”

“So you are going to train Jonathan?”

“That’s about it. But I must say I am uneasy. I know his sort. That affair with the farmer’s daughter. Fortunately there were no results, but there might have been and then he would have been saddled with keeping a child begotten in a few moments in a hayloft.”

“Quite a number of people recover from a misspent youth.”

“That’s what I want him to do. But one has to have a talent for managing an estate. I had it… in spite of being somewhat like Jonathan in my youth. I was in and out of trouble but it was always the estate which was of the utmost importance. Not only the estate … other business too. I have to make Jonathan realize this. That is why I am bringing him into the household.”

“And that is what is putting furrows on your brow?”

“Your mother is in such a state of excitement about Charlot’s return that I can’t get a sensible word out of her.”

“So you turn to your offspring who was so inconsiderate as to be born of the wrong sex.”

“She’s clever enough to know she couldn’t have meant so much to me if she had been a boy.”

“But how much more convenient.”

“And not half so charming.”

“You are a flatterer, dear sixty-nine-year-old Papa.”

“Jessica, my dear child, I don’t often mention this to you, but you and your mother are the most important things in my life.”

“Dear Father, do you know, you rank rather high in ours.”

There was a brief silence when I think both of us were too moved to speak.

Then he said briskly: “So you think it is a good idea to send for Jonathan?”

“I do. But what of the Pettigrews?”

“What of them?”

“They might not want to let their darling boy go.”

“He’s a Frenshaw. His duty is to his father’s family. Of course, it will mean having Millicent here too. Anyway, we’ll see.”

I kissed him on the forehead and left. I was touched that he had confided in me. But I was at the same time worried about him. It was disturbing to have brought home to me the fact that this man who had dominated my childhood, who was held in such awe throughout the estate—and the country it seemed—who had always harboured such a deep love for me, should be an old man.

There were several meetings between Eversleigh and Pettigrew Hall and at length it was agreed that Jonathan should come to Eversleigh. He was to work with David, establish a relationship with the tenants, learn about estate management—all with a view to eventual inheritance.

David had thought it was an excellent idea. Amaryllis and I were the natural heirs after him, of course, but as we were both of the female gender, it was not easy to decide who should have come first between us two. Eversleigh would naturally pass to David on my father’s death; true I was my father’s daughter but

Amaryllis was the direct descendant of the man who, on my father’s death, would own the place, so I supposed she would come before me.

It was all too complicated and neither of us would know how to manage an estate. Jonathan came before either of us, and he had the additional qualification of being masculine.

The solution clearly lay in him and my father’s real anxiety was that he should be worthy.

“There is a great danger,” my father told me during one of our talks, “of getting a gambling squire. That’s the worst thing possible for an estate. A frolic in the hay … well… that’s to be deplored if it is someone on the estate …”

“Outside is quite permissible?” I asked.

“Oh quite,” he answered. “One must not be too puritanical or attach too much blame to a young man for indulging in a little frolic now and then. It’s all in the nature of the animal.”

“And for young women?”

“An entirely different matter.”

“It is a great advantage in this day to be born a man,” I commented with a degree of bitterness.

“I am not sure of that. Women have their advantages if they know how to use them.”

“It is so unfair. These little frolics, which are so natural for a young man and so disastrous to a woman.”

“Because, my dear, these little episodes can have results and it is the woman in the case who is saddled with them. It is very logical when you look at it. A young woman has to bear her husband’s children. It is, to say the least, awkward, when she bears someone else’s.”

“People should remember when they condemn her …”

“When did people ever do what they should? And we are straying from the point. I am talking about young Jonathan. He is the sort of young man who will have his fun. All I ask is that he chooses partners who are not on my estate, that’s all. It’s the gaming tables I won’t have. I have seen good estates dwindle away … and all because their owners had a fancy for a gamble … I suppose there are some who have success at the tables, but that is rare and for one success there are a thousand failures. Yes, I want young Jonathan trained before I go. David is too gentle. He needs a firmer hand than David will give.”

Soon after that conversation Jonathan arrived. His mother had decided she would stay with her family. Jonathan, of course, would visit her frequently, and the Pettigrews would be coming to Eversleigh. They were not so very far away.

It was a week or so after Jonathan was installed at Eversleigh that I noticed a certain relationship growing up between him and Tamarisk. He visited us often and Tamarisk would go to Eversleigh which she regarded as her home as much as she did Grasslands and Enderby.

This relationship showed itself in a certain antagonism. Jonathan teased her; and she told him she hated him. He called her Little Gypsy which infuriated her. I remonstrated with him for it and he retorted: “Well, she is, isn’t she? She knows it and I don’t think she minds, after all. In fact I think she likes it. She’s proud of her connections.”

She was sharp witted and I began to realize that she enjoyed his taunts and tried hard to give him as good as he gave her. There was no doubt that if he did not come to Grasslands to see her she grew moody.

Leah said he was good for her and she should know. Miss Allen was only too glad to have the care of her taken from her shoulders however briefly. So Jonathan and Tamarisk were often together.

It was a strange attraction because their temperaments were in complete contrast. For all his faults Jonathan was very lovable. Tamarisk was scarcely that. She was rebellious, contradictory for no reason but that she wanted to disagree; she was a great trial to her governess, who was only mildly placated by her thirst for knowledge. Tamarisk could be interested in a subject, and then she was almost docile, asking many questions and listening intently to the answers. But if there was something she did not like, she would put up a stubborn resistance and refuse to learn. Arithmetic was one of those subjects which she was set against and she nearly drove Miss Allen to despair. I had to console the young woman again and again. I was afraid she would leave and that it would be impossible to find another governess who would stay.

Tamarisk was passionately interested in geography; she liked history only slightly less; but botany and literature were favourites. I suggested to Miss Allen that perhaps it would be best to concentrate on these subjects, although of course she must be taught everything she should know.

She was given to passionate loves and passionate hatreds. Passion was the keynote of her character. If she did not feel hatred or love she was indifferent—and that was how she was with most of us.

But she had a real affection for Jeanne, whom she visited often, and for Leah too. I was glad that Leah had come back with her for she seemed to be the only one who could control her. But she was certainly not indifferent to Jonathan. Her feeling for him seemed to be a passionate hatred—but I was not sure that that described it exactly.

She was eight years old at this time; he was ten years older, so the difference in their ages was great, and I wondered why there should be that sort of awareness between them. He was—so they told me—exactly like his father, undoubtedly good looking, though not in a conventional way. It was his manner which was so charming, his rather musical voice, and a certain insouciant attitude to life which quite a number of people—particularly women—found irresistible. His was a kind of careless good nature. Whatever outrageous thing he did would never be done out of malice. There was a certain lack of involvement in his attitude which seemed to set people at ease. I think the impression he gave was that he would never be critical and one felt he could charm his way out of any difficult situation. And that there might be plenty of those was evident. I was not surprised that my father felt a little apprehensive about him, and had secretly told me that an eye would be kept on him.

His coming into the immediate family circle had certainly added a spice of interest to our lives.

I was often at Eversleigh. Whenever possible I would take Edward over there to dine. My mother always welcomed this. James would wheel him out to the carriage, lift him in, fold up the chair, and when we arrived at our destination, wheel him into the house.

Much as I wanted to go, I could not allow it to be too frequent an occurrence because it tired Edward a good deal, but on the other hand he did enjoy mingling with the family and during the course of the evening he often forgot his disability.

It was the beginning of June and we were at the dinner table at Eversleigh with my parents, Amaryllis and Peter, Claudine, David, and Jonathan. David and Jonathan had spent the day at a nearby sale and were describing what they had bought.

This gave my father an opportunity to expound one of his favourite themes.

“Just think of it,” he was saying, “Oaklands Farm used to be one of the finest in these parts. That was when old Gabriel was alive. He would turn in his grave if he could see this day.”

“It’s terrible for Tom Gabriel… his home gone like that.”

“Don’t waste your sympathy on Tom Gabriel,” snorted my father. “He brought it all on himself.”

“What was his particular sin?” asked Peter.

“That which has been the ruin of many a man,” said my father. “Could never resist a gamble, Tom Gabriel couldn’t. When he was a boy he would be gambling with conkers and marbles. It was in his blood. God knows, old Gabriel had a good head on his shoulders. It was a fever with Tom Gabriel and it destroyed him and his farm. It is by no means an unusual story, I can tell you. There are some who never learn. I have seen gambling ruin more homes than anything I know.”

“You have never been a gambler, sir?” asked Peter.

“Only when I’m certain of winning.”

“That is not a gamble, Father,” I said.

“I’m telling you it’s a fool’s game,” retorted my father. He banged his fist on the table. “I would never have it in my house.”

“I don’t think any of us is likely to take it up,” said Claudine lightly. “You wouldn’t, would you, David?”

My mother laughed. “I doubt David would know one card from another.”

“As a matter of fact,” said David, “I know the whole pack. But I agree with my father. Risks should never be taken with anything that is important.”

“Well, Jonathan,” went on my father, “you’ve seen today what can happen to a man who gets caught up in all that foolishness.”

“Of course,” replied Jonathan, who could never resist taking the opposite view, “he might have won at the tables and instead of seeing his farm sold might have bought several others.”

My father’s fist once more came down on the table and this time the glasses rattled.

“Careful, Dickon,” murmured my mother.

“I tell you, young fellow, it’s a fool’s game. The chances of coming out on top are one in a million. Any sign of anyone here taking to gambling and they’d be out… like a shot.”

I noticed Peter was watching Jonathan intently and there was a glitter of amusement in his eyes. Jonathan was silent. He realized, as we all did, that my father’s vehemence on this matter was not to be treated lightly.

My mother, as she often did on such occasions, changed the subject, and the first thing she could think of was Napoleon’s defeat. It was a subject which had not yet grown stale and there was excitement over Wellington’s return to London.

“There will be galas and celebrations,” said my father. “It was like that with Nelson. Wellington has taken his place. He’s a Duke now. Well, it is good to see honours bestowed where they are deserved.”

“It will be a great homecoming for him,” said my mother. “I heard that he had been out of the country for five years.”

“A long time to be away,” said Peter. “I know how I feel when I make my periodic trips to London.” He smiled at Amaryllis and she smiled back while Claudine looked at them fondly.

“They say,” went on my mother, “that he is not exactly enamoured of his Duchess.”

“But his marriage was most romantic,” said Claudine. “It is true I believe that he fell in love with Lady Wellington… I suppose one must say the Duchess now … when he was a very young man. I heard that Lord Longford, her brother, at that time refused to accept Wellington as his brother-in-law because he had only his army pay.”

“I daresay he would feel differently about it now,” I put in.

“Well, there was no marriage and Wellington went to India and when he came back he found Catherine Pakenham unmarried—it was said because she had remained faithful to him, and he felt in honour bound to marry her, even after all those years.”

“Are you suggesting that he did not want to?” asked Peter.

“That’s the story. He is supposed to have certain lady friends.”

My father rapped the table. “This is a hero. He has just defeated the menace of the world. Let him have his relaxation in whatever way he wishes. It is his reward.”

“I’d rather have a faithful husband than a hero,” said Amaryllis looking at Peter.

“Well, let’s hope that everyone will be satisfied,” said my father. “Now what I was saying was that there will be fine doings in London when the Duke arrives. I think it would be a good idea to take a little trip, a party of us.”

“Oh, it would be lovely!” I cried; then I saw Edward glance at me and I wished I had not spoken.

David said he could not go. “Estate matters,” he murmured.

My father nodded and Claudine said: “I shall stay at home, too.”

“You, my dear, will no doubt be one of the party.” My father smiled at my mother who replied: “Yes, indeed.”

Edward said: “You must go, Jessica.”

“Oh, I’m not sure.”

“Yes, you must. You are too much at home. I want you to go.”

“I’ll see,” I said.

“Amaryllis?” said my mother.

“Well, there is Helena.”

“Oh nonsense,” said my mother. “The nanny is excellent and your mother will be at home. You could leave for a few days.”

“Yes, do come,” said Peter.

She smiled and said: “Well, perhaps I could.”

“Well, that’s settled,” said my father. “Lottie and I, Amaryllis and Peter and Jessica. Jonathan?”

“Certainly,” said Jonathan. “I can’t wait to be in the big city.”

“It will make a pleasant party,” said my mother.

“I think the Duke will be there on the twenty-third,” said my father. “Suppose we went two days earlier?”

“So be it,” replied my mother.

When Tamarisk heard we were going to London she begged to come with us. I had not at first thought of taking her. To tell the truth I was a little afraid of having charge of her. At Grasslands I felt relieved by the presence of Leah and Miss Allen—and to have the entire responsibility thrust onto my shoulders was daunting.

“I want to go … so much,” she said. “Why can’t I go? What difference does it make to you?”

“If I could be sure that you would behave …”

“Oh, I will, I will. Only let me come. I long to see London and the great Duke.”

“There wouldn’t be room for Leah or Miss Allen in the carriage.”

“They won’t mind staying behind.”

I sighed. “If you will promise me to be good …”

“I will be good … I will”

So it was arranged.

My mother was dubious. “The child can be such a responsibility. And, after all, she is no relation of ours.”

“She is Dolly’s child,” Claudine reminded her.

“Yes, and of a wandering gypsy,” added my mother.

“She is mixed up with the family because Aunt Sophie adopted her,” I reminded them. “And she does own Enderby. She really is in a way a member of the family.”

“I wish she were more like the rest of us.”

“She’ll change perhaps. And she has promised to be good.”

It was a lovely summer’s morning when we set out—my mother, Tamarisk, Amaryllis and I in the carriage with my father, Jonathan and Peter on horseback.

And so we came to London.

Tamarisk watched our approach in silent wonderment. She sat quietly demure, her hands folded in her lap. How lovely she is I thought, when she is peaceful like that particularly! I could be very fond of her if she were always thus.

We arrived at the house and the following day Peter, Amaryllis, Jonathan and I took Tamarisk sightseeing. We sailed up the river as far as Greenwich. Later we walked in the park. Tamarisk was true to her promise and was on her best behaviour.

My mother, Amaryllis and I took advantage of being in town to shop; Peter disappeared, as he said, on business and my father was likewise engaged. Jonathan once more took Tamarisk on the river and gave her a whitebait supper. She came back with shining eyes and I think it was the first time I had seen her look completely happy.

The twenty-third, the great day, dawned. London was en fete. The great Duke was coming home victorious. Because of his efforts the bogey, Napoleon, was on Elba where he could do no harm. We could sleep happily in our beds again and all because of the mighty Duke.

There was no doubt about it, he was going to be given a great welcome.

People were in the streets early.

“We could get near Westminster Bridge where he will alight,” said Jonathan.

“There’ll be crowds there,” warned Peter.

“Maybe, but it will be the best spot.”

My parents were going to watch from a window and my father advised us to do the same.

“Oh, let’s go into the streets,” begged Tamarisk. “It can’t be the same from a window. I want to be down there with all those people.”

“You come with me,” said Jonathan.

“Oh yes.” She was jumping up and down with joy.

“Well, if you want to get into the crush, do,” said my father.

In the end, Amaryllis and I went out with Tamarisk, Jonathan and Peter.

“Not too near Westminster Bridge,” warned my father.

“I know the very spot,” said Jonathan.

I had to agree with Tamarisk that there was nothing like the excitement of being in the streets. Traders were selling flags and effigies of the great Duke. There were mugs with his image on them. “Not very flattering,” commented Jonathan.

Everyone seemed to be shouting. A band was playing Rule, Britannia. The crowds were greater as we came near the Bridge.

“We’ll stay here,” said Jonathan.

“It’s a little close,” pointed out Peter.

“We want to be close. We want to see the great man,” pointed out Jonathan.

“There’ll be a scuffle when his carriage moves away.”

“The great point is to see him,” said Jonathan. “Tamarisk has told me that she insists, haven’t you, Gypsy?”

“I want to see the Duke,” she replied firmly.

“It is all right now,” admitted Peter. “And it is the best spot we can hope for. I was thinking of when the crowd begins to move.”

“All keep together,” said Jonathan. “No straying, Gypsy. Do you hear me?”

“Of course I heard you.”

“Well, remember it.”

The tumult had increased and there, in person, was the great Duke. Tamarisk cried desperately: “I can’t see. There are too many big people.” Jonathan picked her up and, to her intense delight, set her on his shoulder holding her high above the crowd.

The Duke was stepping into the carriage, acknowledging the cheers. He was neither tall nor short—about five feet nine inches, I guessed. He was handsome in his uniform, which was glittering with medals—spare figure, muscular looking as though he were in perfect health; and his features were aquiline and I was close enough to see his grey penetrating eyes.

“God bless the great Duke,” cried the crowd and the cheers went up.

Then the crowd took over. The horses were removed from the carriage and the people crowded round for the honour of pulling his carriage to the Duchess’s house in Hamilton Place. It was an extraordinary sight.

“There,” said Jonathan. “It wouldn’t have been nearly so good from a window, would it?”

“More comfortable,” I commented.

“It is comfortable,” said Tamarisk.

“We don’t all have the privilege of being held aloft by a gallant gentleman,” I reminded her.

She looked blissfully happy then.

The carriage was moving slowly away and the crowd started to follow. Jonathan put Tamarisk down and said: “Keep close.”

The crowds were pressing round. This was what Peter had warned us against. The shouting throng was pressing round the Duke’s carriage.

“We’ll get away from the crowd,” said Peter. He took Amaryllis’ arm and mine. “Come on,” he added.

Tamarisk said: “I want to follow the coach.”

And with that she edged away in the opposite direction.

“Tamarisk,” I shouted.

But she had pushed herself farther away. I caught sight of her standing alone trapped by the surging mass of people and I imagined her being trampled underfoot for people were converging on her from all sides and she was so small and light. I was numb with horror.

Jonathan had seen what was happening. I heard him murmur: “She’ll be crushed to death.”

He pushed his way through the crowd. He was just in time to reach her before she was swept off her feet. He snatched her up and held her in his arms. He was attempting to force his way through the crowd to where we were standing. It was not easy. The crowd surged round him making its way towards the carriage. Amaryllis was clinging to Peter’s arm. I felt sick with fear. I had myself experienced that terrifying feeling of crowds surging round me … enveloping me … forcing me down, trampling over me. That would have been Tamarisk’s fate if Jonathan had not snatched her up.

He reached us. He was obviously shaken but I do not think Tamarisk realized the danger she had faced.

Jonathan did not set her down until we were on the edge of the crowd.

“What I need,” he said, “is a drink. A draught of good ale or cider, possibly wine. Something. I’m as dry as a bone.”

“I’m thirsty, too,” said Tamarisk.

“As for you,” said Jonathan, “you deserve a spanking. You were told to stay where you were. That should be your refreshment and I would like to be the one to administer it.”

“Don’t treat me like a child,” she said, her black eyes flashing.

“When you behave like one, Gypsy, that is how I shall treat you.”

I said: “We told you not to leave us, Tamarisk.”

“I wasn’t far off.”

“Thank God for that,” said Peter.

“You’re all against me,” cried Tamarisk. “I hate you all.”

“Extraordinary gratitude towards one who has just saved your life,” I said.

“Here’s the Westminster Tavern,” said Peter. “It’s a reasonably good inn.”

“Let’s go in,” said Jonathan.

There were several people there, all presumably with the same idea of escaping the crowds.

We seated ourselves round a table and ordered cider.

“Did you really save my life?” asked Tamarisk.

“It’s difficult to say,” mused Jonathan. “You might merely have been scarred for life or suffered a few broken limbs. It might not have been death.”

She stared at him in horror. “Like Aunt Sophie,” she said. “I didn’t think…”

–”That is the trouble,” I said, governess-fashion, “you don’t think as much as you should … of other people.”

“I was thinking of other people. I was thinking of the Duke.”

Jonathan wagged a finger at her. “You were told not to stray and you promptly did so.”

“And if Jonathan hadn’t rescued you …” I began.

“Oh.” She looked at him with wondering eyes.

“That’s better,” he said smiling at her.

“Thank you, Jonathan, for saving my life.”

“It was an honour,” he said, taking her hand and kissing it.

I thought what a beautiful child she was when she was soft and affectionate. She was now looking at Jonathan with far more admiration than she had bestowed on the Duke himself.

We sat in silence drinking our cider. I was thinking of the great Duke being drawn in his carriage by the people who wanted to show him how they honoured him; and I wondered about the meeting between him and his Duchess when the carriage arrived at Hamilton Place. There he was at the height of his triumph, honours heaped upon him, the people wanting to show their gratitude. He must be a happy man. Was he?

There was Amaryllis sitting close to Peter. She was happy. There were Jonathan and Tamarisk; she was looking at him with something like adoration. I hoped she was not going to care too much for him, for something told me that when Tamarisk loved, it would be most passionately. And Jonathan … he was lightly bantering, mocking her, calling her Gypsy. I felt that nothing would ever touch him deeply. Yet a few moments before he had rushed in to save her. And there was I, bound to a man who, loving as he was, could never give me that which I was beginning to feel would become an ever-increasing need in my life.

Refreshed we went home. My parents were not yet in. They came later. They had had an excellent view of the carriage being drawn by the people. Did not the Duke look magnificent? asked my mother. And hadn’t it been a day to remember?

I retired early. It had become a habit with me. We entertained scarcely at all at Grasslands and Edward should not be up late, said James.

I could not sleep though. I kept thinking of that fearful moment in the crowd when I had thought Tamarisk was going to be trampled underfoot and how Jonathan had snatched her up just in time and brought her back to us.

I went to the window and looked out. I could see the firework displays over the Park and the light of bonfires. And as I stood there, two figures emerged from the house—Peter and Jonathan. I watched them walk down the street together.

It was ten o’clock. I wondered where they were going. But I was tired and soon forgot them. Their nightly outings were no concern of mine.

I went to bed and was soon fast asleep.

I thought Jonathan looked a little disturbed the next morning. This was so unlike his usual nonchalant self that I noticed it immediately.

I asked if he had had a pleasant evening, remembering that I had seen him leave the house in Peter’s company.

He said: “Yes, thanks, Jessica.” But without a great deal of conviction.

I wondered vaguely where he and Peter had been.

I was to discover a few days later.

We were still in Albemarle Street for, although immediately after his ride from Westminster to Hamilton Place the Duke had gone to join the Prince Regent at Portsmouth, he would shortly return to London to take his place in the House of Lords and the celebrations were still going on.

My mother always found a great deal to do in London and she was ready to stay a little longer than we had planned. I was the same, though Amaryllis found it very hard to tear herself away from her baby, but she was happy to be with Peter, whose business detained him here.

I was in the house when a man called asking to see Mr. Jonathan Frenshaw. I saw him arrive. He was a rather seedy looking individual with a somewhat truculent manner, and I wondered what his business could be with Jonathan. They were closetted together for about half an hour before he left, and as he was taking his leave I heard him say: “It must be settled by the fourth of July, Mr. Frenshaw. Not a day later.”

Then I knew that Jonathan was in trouble.

Although I was only two years his senior, I was a married woman and I felt that gave me some authority. I was very fond of Jonathan—it was difficult not to be—but I had always realized that he was the type of young man who could easily slip into trouble. There had already been the affair of the farmer’s daughter. He had skipped out of that by good luck. The girl had merely lost her reputation and he had enhanced his as a rake. That was the only outcome.