Текст книги "The Return of the Gypsy"

Автор книги: Philippa Carr

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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

Amaryllis was so proud. She lay in her bed, pale, looking fragile, but beautiful with that radiance on her which I had seen at the time of her marriage.

It was mean of me to feel those twinges of envy. Yet I could not help myself.

She has so much, I said to myself. And what have I? Guilty memories.

I must pull myself together. I must never become like Aunt Sophie … bitter because life had passed me by. I had chosen the way I should go. Of course it was not always one’s fault that life took a certain turn. Was it Sophie’s fault that she had been disfigured in that fireworks disaster? Was it Edward’s fault that he had been cruelly injured? But we must not nurse our misfortunes. Someone had said never take them out and teach them to swim. Take them out and drown them. I must remember that.

I kissed Amaryllis.

“I feel I am the luckiest woman on earth,” she said.

“What are you going to call him?”

“Peter,” she said promptly. “After his father.”

“Does Peter want that?”

“Yes. And I do too.”

So the child was called Peter and because it was a little confusing to have two Peters in the household, he was soon known as Peterkin.

My father was undoubtedly delighted with the boy.

“At last,” he said. “A man in this household of women!”

“Don’t you call David and Jonathan men?” I asked.

“David will never have a son. As for Jonathan … well, I’m uncertain about him.”

“You’re unfair to him,” said my mother.

“Unfair? In what way?”

“Just because of that gambling business and Farmer Weston’s girl.”

“He’s got to behave himself if he takes on Eversleigh.”

“All young men sow wild oats.”

“Not on their own patch of land.”

“Well, the gambling took place in London.”

“That could affect the estate more than anything. It’s the first step on the downward path.”

“Dickon, please, not another lecture on the dangers of gambling.”

“Too much can’t be said about it.”

“You have already made that plain. Well, now you have your great-grandson and you are very pleased. You should be grateful to Amaryllis …”

“I wish Jessica …”

She silenced him. “Let’s go and have a look at Peterkin.”

It was amusing to see my father marching round the nursery with Peterkin in his arms.

“The master just dotes on that child,” they said throughout the household.

And they were right.

The christening of little Peterkin caused the usual flutter in the household. Christening robes were brought out and examined; and there was a great deal of discussion as to the guests who would be invited.

The Barringtons came from Nottingham, Clare with them. I always felt uneasy in Clare’s presence and often thought how much wiser Edward would have been if he had married her. I was sure she would have been a faithful wife; and there was no doubt in my mind that she loved him. Men so often chose the wrong women … as a servant had once told me.

Jake had prolonged his visit but he could not stay with us indefinitely. He had departed most reluctantly after extorting a promise from me to go to London as soon as the christening was over.

“Bring Tamarisk,” he said. “I should get to know my own daughter. Or… I shall come back here. Bless the child. She gives me the excuse I need for visiting you.”

He took our affaire more lightheartedly than I did. Well he might. He was not deceiving anyone … as I was.

I loved his dominating nature while I deplored it. I kept telling myself that it was one lapse on my part and it must never happen again.

The ceremony went off very well. Peterkin behaved with unusual decorum and was duly christened. I don’t know who was more proud of him—his father or mine.

They had their precious boy.

Amaryllis looked beautiful. She was radiantly happy. Lucky Amaryllis, for whom life ran so smoothly.

There was a reception in the great hall at Eversleigh and the usual toasts were drunk. Peterkin, by this time, was sleeping in his cot and several of the guests were taken up to admire him. I was with them. The old Eversleigh nursery had new life in it. Helena was there seated on the floor building a castle with bricks. The perfect domestic scene, I thought enviously.

Mrs. Barrington noticed my looks, I think. She took my hand and pressed it.

“I want to have a talk with you, dear,” she said. “When we are alone.”

Alarm shot through me which was due to the sensitivity of a guilty conscience. Whenever anyone spoke to me in that way, I imagined that something had been discovered.

The moment came.

She said: “Sit down, dear. I’m a little worried.”

“Oh? What about?”

“About you, my dear. You look a little drawn.”

“Drawn?”

“Not quite yourself. I think you must be very tired.”

“Oh no, I’m not in the least tired.”

She patted my hand.

“You’ve been wonderful. We never cease to talk about you and all you have done for Edward. I know how fond of him you are … but I think you are getting a little tired.”

“You mean …”

“I just mean that you are here all the time … and you must get really worn out.”

“Oh no … no. I’ve been to London. I went for the Waterloo celebrations. Edward insisted that I did and so I went.”

“I understand, dear. But I think you need help. That is why we have decided that Clare shall stay here … to help you.”

“Clare?”

“Why not? She is like a sister to Edward. They are fond of each other.”

“I know she has always been fond of Edward.”

“And he of her. But it is you I am thinking of, my dear. It will give you a little respite.”

“It is not necessary.”

The last thing I wanted was for Clare to come here. I always felt she had been resentful of me. I thought: She will be watchful. And I could not afford to be closely watched. She would try to find fault with me. Heaven knew that should not be difficult.

I protested again, but Mrs. Barrington had made up her mind.

“Do you know,” she went on, “being forced to go back to Nottingham has put new life into us both. Father didn’t really want to retire. It was those mobs that upset him. Well, that’s quietened down now. The punishment was getting so severe that they thought better of making all that trouble.”

“Yes,” I said, thinking of the man, Fellows, who had been hanged for what he had done.

“So you see, we can do without Clare quite easily. She will help with Edward.”

“It is so kind of you, but I really can manage quite well.”

“I know you can, dear. But Clare will stay and I’ll send on what she needs.”

There was only one thing to do and that was thank her graciously.

There were letters from Jake—one for me, one for Tamarisk.

He had written what could only be called a love letter, telling me how lonely it was in London without me. He would have to go to Cornwall, he supposed, and he would hate to be so far away. Suppose he asked me to bring Tamarisk for a visit? Since I had given him such irrefutable proof of my love, he could not do without me. He lived over and over again those hours we had spent in Blore Street and separation was unendurable.

I read the letter and put it away. I knew I should want to read it again and again.

Tamarisk was pleased with her letter, and although she assumed an indifference I believed she was really delighted to find herself with a father. I think she was a little fascinated by him.

“Would you like to go to London?” I asked her, trying to keep the lilt out of my voice.

“I don’t mind,” she said, coolly but with her eyes sparkling at the prospect.

“Your father thinks it would be a good idea if I took you. You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t mind,” she repeated.

I decided I would talk the matter over with my mother. The prospect of a visit to London always excited her. She said she thought it was a good idea and Tamarisk ought to see more of her father.

“It might well be that he will want to take her,” said my mother.

“You mean to live with him?”

“Why not? It would be natural.”

“I wonder if Tamarisk would want to go.”

“She could take Leah with her.”

The thought of Leah in Cornwall and myself miles away at Grasslands tormented me. Beautiful Leah who, I was sure, was either in love with Jake or ready to be.

“I don’t think she would want to leave Jonathan,” went on my mother, “although it might be a good idea if she did.”

“You’re a little worried about her penchant for Jonathan.”

“I would call it more than a penchant. A grand passion, more likely. She’s an intense little thing and Jonathan … well, let’s face it… he’s not the most stable of young men. He seems to enjoy that adoration she gives him.”

“We all like to be admired.”

“She’s growing up fast.”

“Oh, she’s a child.”

“Some girls don’t remain children long. Your father has misgivings about Jonathan.”

“Because of that gambling incident.”

“That was the start. No … I suppose the farmer’s daughter was that. But he has got off to a bad start. Your father thinks a great deal about the estate nowadays … more than he used to.”

“David looks after it magnificently.”

“Yes … but David hasn’t a son. Now there is little Peterkin, bless him.”

“Dear Mother, is Father planning to teach him estate management in his cradle?”

“No. But it has made a lot of difference. He feels if Jonathan is unsatisfactory there is little Peterkin to follow.”

“I think Jonathan will be all right.”

“He is so like his father.”

“A very fascinating gentleman, by all accounts.”

“Supposed to be. David is the solid one … and that’s what your father wants.”

“I gather he himself was not unlike his son, Jonathan, and that must mean that his grandson Jonathan is a little like him too.”

“Your father is unique. He could live recklessly and at the same time get to the top of whatever he undertook. I do wish he and Jonathan got on better. However, what about this trip to London? It should be easier for you now that Clare is with you.”

I found it hard to hide my eagerness.

“I could go quite soon,” I said.

“I think your father wants to go. He wants Jonathan to meet someone up there. So we might all go again. Amaryllis wouldn’t want to. I wonder she doesn’t take a trip with Peter now and then. He is always up and down.”

“It’s all those business interests, but of course she hates to leave the children.”

So it was arranged.

When I told Clare I was planning to go, she said I need not worry about leaving Edward so soon after my last visit. She would see that everything went well. I said I was grateful to her and she replied that that was what she had come for—to give me a change now and then.

“A respite,” she said, and there was a little curl to her lips which I tried not to notice.

The outcome was that we set out once more for London—my mother, my father, Tamarisk and myself in the carriage and Jonathan following us on horseback.

When we arrived at the house in Albemarle Street I noticed the new maid at once. Servants were apt to come and go in London. The housekeeper engaged them. Young girls often married after a short stay in the house and disappeared. In the country, if they married, it was usually someone on the estate and often meant that they continued working for us.

Prue Parker was the sort of girl one noticed because she was pretty in a rather gentle way. She had a demure manner. The housekeeper said that she was exceedingly shy, but she thought in time she would “shape up.”

I noticed Jonathan give her a second glance. He was like that with all young women. Weighing up their accessibility I called it.

Jake visited us on the day of our arrival.

“So eager to see your daughter?” said my mother.

“And delighted to see you… all,” he added.

He dined with us. He said he had paid a quick visit to Cornwall since he had last seen us and would have to go back there soon, but he would be in London for some little while yet; and he hoped during that time to get to know his daughter better.

He took her out the next day. He invited me to accompany them but I declined, saying that I must shop with my mother. But the following day Jonathan took Tamarisk for a trip on the river and there was our opportunity.

Of course I should have resisted it. I meant to, but my resistance crumbled and there I was as I had been before in that House in Blore Street, quite abandoned to my love.

He said that our separation had been unbearable. He made all sorts of wild plans and I let myself imagine that there might be possibilities of their coming to pass.

But how could there be? I was married to Edward. There was no way out for me.

I wondered how long he would wait. He was a very impatient man. He chafed against frustration more than I did. At least I had my guilt to hold me back.

When I looked ahead I saw years of secret meetings like this, years of frustrated longing and even when those longings were satisfied they were accompanied by the heavy weight of guilt.

“How I wish we need never leave here,” he said. “If we could stay here for ever … just the two of us …”

I reminded him: “You are forgetting this visit was arranged so that you could see your daughter.”

“And Jonathan has obligingly taken her off our hands.”

A thought struck me then. Obligingly? Could it possibly be that Jonathan knew? Was he helping us to be together? That was just the sort of thing he would do. Jonathan, at least, would understand.

But the very thought of anyone’s sharing our secret alarmed me.

I was restless … even in moments of intense passion. Then I thought of Amaryllis so secure in her domestic happiness. Oh happy Amaryllis!

I said: “We can’t go on like this.”

But he just looked at me and smiled. He knew—as I knew—that we would whenever the opportunity offered itself. More than that, he being the man he was would make those opportunities.

As we came out of the house I saw a man standing on the street corner. He turned and started to walk away in the opposite direction. I fancied I had seen him in this street before. It could have been on my last visit to London. I did not give him a second thought then.

We walked slowly back to the house.

We had retired for the night. I was very tired and went to sleep almost immediately to be awakened suddenly by the sound of shouts and footsteps. I hurriedly put on dressing gown and slippers and went into the corridor. I could hear someone crying. It sounded like a woman’s voice; and the noise was coming from my parents’ room.

I ran to it and there I stopped short. My father was red faced and angry. Jonathan was there in a state of undress as though he had just got out of bed hurriedly; and with her bodice torn and a scratch on her neck was Prue the new parlourmaid. Great sobs shook her body and she was trying to cover her breast with her hands.

Jonathan was shouting: “It’s a pack of lies. I did not send for her. She came.”

“Oh sir… oh sir…” moaned Prue. “Nobody will believe me.

“Be silent,” cried my father. “Do you want to wake the house?”

“Oh sir … he sent for me … he did … on my honour he did … and when I come he just got hold of me … and tore my bodice. I was frightened.”

My father said: “All go to your rooms. We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

“You won’t believe me,” wailed Prue. “You’ll all say I’m a bad girl… I’m not. I’m a good girl. I never done nothing …”

“You won’t be condemned without reason,” said my father, glaring at Jonathan. “But this is not the time.”

My mother got out of bed and put on her dressing gown.

“Come with me, Prue,” she said. “You should go to bed. We’ll hear all about it in the morning.”

“The girl’s a brazen liar,” said Jonathan.

“Hold your tongue!” cried my father. “And get out. Lottie, can you do something about this girl?”

I went over to her. “Come on, Prue,” I said. “You can tell me all about it.”

She lifted her face to mine. “I never… I swear I never.”

“All right,” I said, “all right. Which is your room?”

“I share with Dot and Emily.”

“Well, first of all we’ll tidy you up a little.”

My mother looked relieved. “Will you see to it, Jessica?”

“Yes,” I said.

Jonathan caught my arm.

“I swear, Jessica, she came to me.”

“Look, Jonathan,” I said. “It’s late. We don’t want to wake all the servants. Go to your room. It can all be sorted out in the morning.”

“It was a trick.”

“All right. But go now.”

I could see my father was getting more and more angry and that his anger was directed at Jonathan, and I felt I must put an end to the scene as soon as possible.

I managed to get Jonathan and the girl outside. Then I saw Tamarisk.

“What’s happened?” she cried.

“Nothing,” I said. “Go back to bed.”

She looked at Jonathan. “Are you all right?” she asked.

He nodded, smiling at her.

She ran to him and caught his arm. “You look funny.”

“Angry,” he said.

“Not with me?”

“Of course not.”

“With Jessica?”

He shook his head.

“Why is Prue’s blouse torn? Why is she crying?”

“Never mind now.”

She clung to his arm. “Are they trying to hurt you?”

“Yes, they are.”

“I won’t let them.”

“No, of course you won’t.”

“Jonathan,” I said. “Go to your room. You, too, Tamarisk. We’ll meet in the morning. Come along with me, Prue.”

I took her into my room and firmly shut the door.

I said: “We’ll wash your face and tidy you up a bit. Tell me exactly what happened.”

“It was my turn for late duty. I was just going to bed when the bell rang for Mr. Jonathan’s room.”

“Yes?”

“So I went up, Mrs. Barrington.”

“And what happened then?”

“He said. ‘Come in.’ He was in bed. He said, ‘Come over here, Prue.’ So I went to the bed. Then he got hold of me and pulled me down. I knew that I had to get away. I started screaming and fighting. He was very angry. But I got away and ran to Mr. and Mrs. Frenshaw’s room because I reckoned that was where I could be safe from him. They won’t believe me, Mrs. Barrington. They’ll believe him.”

“They’ll want to know the truth and that is what they’ll believe.”

“But I’m only the maid and he … and he … Oh, they won’t believe me. They’ll say I’m a bad girl… They’ll send me away and I won’t get a reference …”

“Now listen to me, Prue. In the morning there’ll be questions. If you answer up truthfully you will be believed.”

She shook her head. “They won’t…”

“Oh yes, they will. Now let us bathe your face.”

She stood still, her face full of misery. I bathed her eyes.

“There,” I said briskly. “That’s better. How badly torn your bodice is. Do you think you could slip into your room without the others noticing?”

She nodded.

“Well, do that. Go quietly. They’ll probably be asleep. And in the morning we’ll sort it all out.”

“It’s no good. What’s my voice against his … He’s one of the family …”

“That won’t make any difference with Mr. Frenshaw. He will find out the truth and see that justice is done.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Barrington,” she said quietly.

I took her to the corridor and watched her go upstairs.

Oh, Jonathan, I thought, how foolish you are!

Next morning there was consternation in the house. Prue had left.

Dot came to tell me, her eyes wide with that excited horror which some people betray when they are the bearers of bad news.

“She’s gone, Mrs. Barrington. Clean gone. Took all her things, she has. We never heard nothing … me and Emily. Her bed wasn’t slept in. I reckon she crept out like … so’s we shouldn’t hear.”

Poor Prue, I thought. She couldn’t face the shame of it. She was so convinced that she would not be believed.

My father was furious when he heard. “I’ve just about had enough of that young man,” he said.

“You haven’t heard the whole story yet,” I reminded him. “You’re jumping to conclusions.”

“A pretty clear conclusion, I would say.”

“On the face of it.”

“You’re standing up for him. Can’t you see he has been caught redhanded this time?”

The scene between him and Jonathan was violent. I thought they might have come to blows. Then my mother went in to intervene.

When Jonathan came out he looked quite unlike himself.

He said to me: “I suppose you share the general view?”

“What’s that?”

“That I tried to rape the girl.”

“Did you?”

“I swear I didn’t.”

“What was she doing in your bedroom?”

“Ask her. She came in. I didn’t send for her.”

“She said you did.”

“Then she’s a liar.”

“Do you mean she just walked in?”

“That’s it. I was half asleep.”

“And … she offered herself?”

“I suppose it was like that. I didn’t have time to think. I was half asleep, I tell you. Jessica, like the rest you won’t believe me, but I’m innocent of this.”

“If you tell me so I’ll believe you, Jonathan.”

“Well, I am telling you.”

“What did she do it for?”

“Ask me something simple.”

“A victim to your fatal charm? She seemed a quiet girl. Shy, they said.”

“They are sometimes the worst… or the best… it depends which way you look at it.”

“Jonathan, this is terrible. You know what my father is like.”

“Not my most devoted admirer at the best of times.”

“The trouble is you are too like him.”

“You would think that would make for understanding. I am sure he was not exactly a paragon of virtue in his young days. What is so maddening, Jessica, is to be blamed for something you haven’t done when I suppose there are so many things for which one could be blamed.”

“This will pass.”

“The wretched girl has gone. I wanted to have it out with her face to face.”

“I wonder why she ran away.”

“Too shy to face the enquiry, they said. Guilty, that’s what.”

“I don’t think they’ll see it like that.”

“You can bet they won’t. I shall be branded yet again.”

“Never mind. It will blow over. These things often do.”

“If I don’t get sent packing in the meantime.”

“Oh no …”

“The old man is in a fury. Just another little nail in the coffin of the heir of Eversleigh. I seem to have some evil spirit dogging me. When you think of that letter some snake sent about my gambling spree … it makes me wonder. And now this.”

“That girl can’t have anything to do with your gambling. And I daresay there are little peccadilloes which don’t always come to light.”

I had managed to produce a smile.

Tamarisk came running up. She seized Jonathan’s arm.

“What are they going to do to you?” she asked.

“Hound me.”

“What’s that?”

“Lining up against me.”

“Who? Jessica?”

“No. Jessica is a pal, I believe.”

“I’m your pal.”

“I know that, Gypsy.”

“I’ll always be your friend and I’ll hate anyone who isn’t.”

“What could be fairer than that!”

“Is it that girl, Prue?”

“She’s gone away,” I said.

“Where to?”

“That is a mystery,” I told her. “Jonathan, go for a ride. There’s nothing like a gallop to take your mind off these things.”

“I’ll come with you,” said Tamarisk.

“All right,” replied Jonathan. “Come on.”

We left London. The affair of Jonathan and Prue had ruined the visit. My father was in a black mood and neither my mother nor I could charm him out of it.

Amaryllis rode over to Grasslands and Peter came with her. It was rarely that I saw them together and rarer still that he had time to pay visits.

Edward was with us in his chair.

James had, some time before, suggested that he occupy a bedroom on the ground floor, so that it would be easy for him to get into the garden if he wished to do so. This had proved to be an excellent idea and it gave Edward opportunities of getting about more easily.

We sat in the drawing room drinking tea.

It was a warm October day and the French windows were wide open. The smell of burning leaves floated in to us and every now and then I saw a man pass to and fro, a long fork in his hand, picking up leaves and conveying them to the bonfire.

This was Toby Mann—a newcomer to the gardening staff. Old Robert, whom the Barringtons had brought with them from Nottingham, had died and Toby had come along at the right moment and taken the job. I had heard he was a very good worker. He did a little boxing and was known as the Champion by the servants. I was thinking of Jake, as I often did, and wondering if he was thinking of me. Was he planning to go to Cornwall? How I wished I could go with him! Should I take Tamarisk for a visit? How could I? It was too far away. If Tamarisk went Leah would have to go with her. That thought filled me with misgivings. Leah had been very fond of Jake. I expected she still was. She was a very beautiful woman and would be single-minded in her devotion.

Amaryllis was talking animatedly about her children and I fancied Peter listened with a kind of indulgent impatience. Perhaps he had heard accounts of their extraordinary prowess before.

He said suddenly: “Poor Jonathan seems a little melancholy these days.”

“It was that affair in London,” said Amaryllis. “You were there, weren’t you, Jessica?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Do you think your father will send him back to Pettigrew Hall?” asked Peter.

“I don’t think so. It will blow over.”

“There is little sign of it at the moment,” said Amaryllis. “Oh, I do wish they did not have to have all these quarrels.”

“A little discord I suppose is inevitable in the best regulated families,” said Peter. “What was the girl like, Jessica? I don’t remember ever seeing her at the house.”

“You wouldn’t notice her,” said Amaryllis almost teasingly.

“I confess I never did.”

“She hadn’t been there long. I thought she looked quiet and rather shy,” I said.

“And young Jonathan took advantage of that, eh?”

“He swears he didn’t.”

“Well, I suppose he would, wouldn’t he?”

“Not Jonathan. He’s amazingly frank. He told me seriously that she had come into his room of her own accord.”

“Why should she do that?” asked Amaryllis.

“Because, my dear, Jonathan is a very personable young man,” Peter explained. “That’s so, is it not, Jessica?”

“I don’t know much about these matters. If you say so, I suppose it is.”

“Well, his allure got him into serious trouble this time. I somehow don’t think it is going to blow over.”

“He is the heir, after David,” I said.

“Don’t forget we have our little Peterkin now. That has undermined the dashing Jonathan’s claim to the throne somewhat.”

Edward said: “It’s a sad business. From what I understand on the face of it it would seem that he summoned the girl… but things are often not what they seem.”

He was looking ahead of him and I felt a twinge of alarm. I was beginning to look for double meanings in all his remarks.

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” put in Peter, “and perhaps it would be a good thing, if Jonathan was asked to slip gracefully out.”

“I agree with Jessica. He is the heir. After all his father would presumably have had a share in Eversleigh had he lived. Jonathan could become quite steady once he has his responsibilities.”

I smiled at Edward. He was so balanced in his judgments, and he always had a special word for the oppressed. It was hard to think of Jonathan in that category, but in this instance he was generally looked upon as the one to blame.

I said: “My mother and I are rather concerned about the girl. We have been wondering where she went when she left the house.”

“Poor child,” said Peter. “I do think this will set his grandfather against Jonathan more than ever.”

Tea was brought. I served our guests and then took Edward’s over to him. He smiled at me tenderly.

There was a little shelf which could be placed across the chair and which we found very useful. This had been set up and I placed the cup on it. But as I turned away my sleeve must have caught in the shelf and the cup went over; the shelf was dragged off the chair. Edward made an effort to save it and fell from the chair to the floor.

I cried out in dismay. Peter dashed over. Edward lay on the floor, looking very pale and I guessed he was in pain.

I said: “Call James. He knows the right way to lift Edward.”

Peter was trying to help Edward to rise and I could see we needed James’ expert hands.

He came to us and his face was creased in consternation when he saw Edward. He half lifted him and then gave a little cry. Edward was back on the floor and James was writhing in agony.

“What’s happened, James?” I asked.

“I’ve strained something. It’s my back. I can’t move without excruciating pain.”

“Let me help,” said Peter.

“It needs two,” said James.

“Toby is outside,” I cried. “I’ll get him.” I ran to the window where I could see Toby wreathed in the smoke from the bonfire.

“Toby,” I cried, “come quickly.”

He came running and, taking one look at Edward, he saw at once what was required of him.

“We want to get Mr. Barrington into his chair, Toby,” said James.

“Right,” said Toby. Peter stood by. “Best manage on my own, sir,” added Toby and, with the greatest of ease it seemed, he picked up Edward and sat him gently in his chair.

“Edward,” I said, “are you all right?”

“Yes, quite. It’s poor James I’m thinking of.”

James’ face was white and I saw the sweat glistening on his skin. He said: “It’ll pass.”

He was about to wheel Edward’s chair across the room. I said: “I am sure Toby would do that. You’re going to find it difficult, James. Do you know what’s happened?”

“I’ve done it before. It can come suddenly. But it will pass. All I need is a little rest.”

“Then for heaven’s sake take it. What about Toby’s coming to give you a hand?”

Toby smiled: “I’d like that, Mrs. Barrington.”

“I thought you were so fond of your work in the garden?”

“I am … but if I could be of more use …”

“You could, I believe. The others can weed and make bonfires. James, you ought to rest I’m sure. And Edward, you’ve had a shock. You go along and help with Mr. Barrington, Toby.”

James looked relieved, though a little ashamed of himself for being so weak as to have an ailment. He was the sort of man who would pretend it didn’t exist.

Peter said: “Let me help.”

“We can manage, sir,” said Toby, his expression showing the delight he felt to be of such use.

“I’ll come with you, Edward,” I said. And to the others: “Excuse me.”

Edward said. “No. You stay. Don’t fuss, Jessica. I’ll be perfectly all right.”

I nodded. I always obeyed Edward on such occasions.

The door closed on them.

“Poor Edward,” said Peter.

“It is so sad,” murmured Amaryllis, no doubt comparing my barren life with her fruitful one.

“It was good that the bonfire man appeared so fortuitously,” said Peter.

“He seemed very eager to help,” added Amaryllis.

And as I sat there, the smell of burning leaves permeating the air, and talked in a desultory way, I thought how fortunate they were to have met, loved and married and to have two beautiful children to prove the success of their union.

Then I looked ahead to my own future. As far as I could see it would go on like this for ever.

Edward was none the worse for his fall. He said he was pleased that it had happened because it had brought Toby in to help James. He had been anxious about James for some time.