“Ah, my darling child! Priscilla, my love, come down at once. I want to welcome you and introduce you to John Frisby.”
I ran down the stairs. She caught me in her arms and I was wrapped in fragrance.
She looked magnificent in her riding habit. It was pale grey and there was a deep blue cravat at her throat which was the exact colour of her eyes. “I never saw anyone with eyes to match Harriet’s,” my mother had said. “I think they are the secret of her charm.” They were beautiful eyes—deep blue and heavily fringed with black lashes; her brows were black, too, very well defined, and her hair, luxuriantly curly, abundant and springing with life, was very dark, too. It was that contrast of blue eyes and black hair with a fair skin, rather impudent nose and perfect white teeth which made Harriet the beauty she was. But it was her exuberant manner, her displays of affection which she bestowed carelessly on all who wanted them—and that was everyone who came within her orbit—that made her the person she was, one who could commit that which in others would be unforgivable and yet in her would be forgiven.
“Harriet is larger than life,” Mother had said. “She can’t be judged by normal standards.”
And that was true. She was scheming, she was selfish, but she was generous. Her great charm was her vitality, her ability to extricate herself from any awkward situations with little cost to herself, and most of all, perhaps, an interest and excitement in life. She lived it fully and with zest, and those about her were caught up in that. No one could be near Harriet and be dull; and this made everyone want to be near her.
Neither of her sons was legitimate. Leigh had been born to her before she was married. His father had been my mother’s husband, and it said a great deal for Harriet’s charm that my mother, who had been desperately in love with her first husband, now bore no grudge against Harriet. Finding Leigh an impossible encumbrance Harriet had abandoned him when he was a few months old and left him in my mother’s care. Years later she married into the Eversleigh family—an uncle of my father’s much older than herself. Then she had given birth to Benjie, but it turned out he was not the son of her husband but of Gregory Stevens, who was tutoring at the house at that time. Then when her husband died and Gregory came into his title and fortune, she married him, and Benjie’s name was changed from Eversleigh to Stevens, and Harriet emerged as the adored wife and mother.
I was afraid to look at the young man beside her. I said: “Harriet, you look as beautiful as ever.”
“Bless you, dear child. I want you to meet my dear friend, John Frisby. John this is my … well, it’s a complicated relationship and I should need pen and paper to work it out. But I love her dearly all the same and I want you to get to know each other.”
The beautiful blue eyes were mocking as Jocelyn took my hand and kissed it. We smiled at each other and I thought jubilantly: Nothing has changed. It is just as it was. He loves me still.
And I felt wildly happy.
Christabel was coming down the stairs. I saw Harriet appraising her.
I said: “Oh, here is Mistress Connalt. Christabel, this is Lady Stevens.”
Harriet was charming and I saw Christabel flush with pleasure at her reception.
“Welcome, my dear,” said Harriet. “I do like to have young people in the house. Priscilla has told me so much about you. Now come and meet John. He’s longing to know you.”
Harriet whispered to me: “Well done. You play well. We have to be careful. Servants peek and pry, you know.”
“Yes,” I whispered back. “Thank you, Harriet. Oh, thank you.”
She pressed my arm.
“Now, how have you been looked after? Has Mercer given you what you need? I thought you would like Mistress Connalt close by.”
“It was kind of you to ask me,” said Christabel rather stiffly.
“Nonsense. I am delighted. Has Mercer unpacked for you? You must be hungry.”
“Not really,” I replied. “We had a pie and cider at the Stag’s Head.”
“Did you, indeed? Even so we will eat early. John, do go to the kitchens and tell them to put whatever they are cooking forward. We shall eat at six of the clock.”
He bowed. His eyes were on me, warm and dancing with excitement.
“Come, my dears,” said Harriet, “I want to make sure you are comfortable.”
She led the way to my room and ushered us in. She shut the door and leaned against it. Her mood had changed; her eyes flashed with excitement.
“Now … we can talk. We have to be so careful. Servants are everywhere. They have their uses, but in a situation like this they can present difficulties.” She turned to Christabel. “My dear, I am so glad you came. I know of your part in all this … you and those dear boys, Leigh and Edwin. I am sure Leigh was the leading spirit. He was born to be a leader that one. Now to work. My dear Gregory has been such a help. Who would have believed that he would ever be involved in such a matter!” Again to Christabel. “My husband is the mildest of men. He likes to lead a simple and uncomplicated life. But I am afraid I drag him into the most dramatic situations. Darling Gregory! He is so good about it. But you are longing for news of our friend John.”
“Oh, yes, please,” I said fervently.
“And I chatter!” She leaned against the door, her hands pressed against it, looking like a queen of intrigue—which she was, of course. How she loved to play a part! “Now listen to me carefully, my dears. They are looking for John. You must never refer to him as anything but John Frisby in this house … never … never! Gregory has his ears to the ground. He was in London recently. This odious Oates is frightened now that he sees his rule coming to an end, but he is determined to let no victims escape him. He and his friends are furious that our friend got away. Oates harbours some special grudge against the Frintons. He got the father and is determined to wipe out the family—and that means first of all the son. Our John Frisby is in acute danger.”
I caught my breath and put my hand to my throat. Harriet smiled tenderly at me and went on: “I know how you are feeling. I share your anxiety. There is no suspicion in this household at the moment. I am sure of that. But if something should lead them here … Well, they would try and question … and I am not sure that our disguise would stand up to scrutiny.”
“Oh, Harriet, what can we do?”
“You can be sure I would take some action. I have been working on it and I am going to smuggle him to France. I think it is the only thing to be done. We are negotiating now and we hope to have arranged for a boat to take him by the end of the week. I wanted you to come and see him before he went.”
“Harriet,” I cried, “you are marvellous!”
I felt so emotional that I was afraid I would not be able to hold back my tears, so I threw myself at her and buried my face against her.
She touched my hair. I heard her say to Christabeclass="underline" “This child has always been a special favourite of mine. Her mother did so much for me. It is something one never forgets.”
That helped me a great deal. It made me smile because I knew exactly how she was looking at that moment, posing, of course, as she always did. I often wondered how much of what she said she really meant. It didn’t matter. She was Harriet and she fascinated me completely.
“There now,” she said, when she felt the scene had been played long enough, and I was now in control of my feelings, “we must be practical. You must not take too much notice of John Frisby … and yet on the other hand you must not ignore him. You must be interested, yet not too interested. You must be careful but not obviously so.”
“I think we understand, Lady Stevens,” said Christabel.
“Call me Harriet, my dear. Everybody does.” She turned to me. “I know your mother thinks I am the most unconventional being on earth and perhaps I am, but it does not stop people’s being fond of me. Isn’t that so, dear child?”