“You’re a nasty old man,” she repeated but more quietly.
“And you’re not afraid of me?”
I could imagine those beautiful blue eyes as they looked into his. She was frightened of him, but she was fascinated too. He was the only one in the world who did not think Carlotta must be cherished.
“You are afraid of me,” he insisted.
She nodded.
“And still you come right up to me and tell me I’m a nasty old man.”
She nodded again.
He started to laugh. “I’ll tell you something,” he said. “You’re right. I am.”
Then she laughed and the sound of their mingling laughter was very sweet to me.
I knew she had won him as I had never been able to.
I crept away. Half an hour later she was still seated on his knee telling him the story of the wicked Roundheads who had cut off the King’s head.
That visit was memorable because Edwin came home.
There was great rejoicing in the household. My mother was always delighted when Edwin came. He was subdued on this occasion, and it was, of course, because of what had happened. It was clear that he thought my father had been ill-advised to join Monmouth because as a soldier he knew that the Duke had never had a chance. It was true that the country was not in love with its new King, but rebellion by such as Monmouth who, many would say, was not an improvement on James, was not the way to help matters.
But Edwin was never one to force his opinions on others. The army had not changed him. He was still gentle, unassuming, malleable. I wondered what would happen when he met Christabel because as such near neighbours we saw a great deal of each other.
Their meeting passed off easily. He was clearly pleased to see Christabel so happy. As for her she was so contented with her present state that she had completely forgotten her disappointment of the past.
Young Thomas was thriving, and according to Christabel and Thomas Senior, he was the most marvellous child that had ever been born.
She was still discussing the anguish we had suffered in the Monmouth Rebellion.
“It was like a miracle,” she said, “when you all came back safely. Thomas could scarcely believe it. We were so anxious for you. It just shows that miracles do happen.”
She was thinking of herself; and indeed when I saw her looking almost beautiful, the centre of her happy home, I thought that perhaps she was providing the greatest miracle of all.
My mother was eager to see Edwin married. He was now past twenty-five—so was Leigh—and neither of them married. I was occupying her thoughts too, for I was nineteen. Now that she could keep my father at home she planned entertaining so that we could meet families like our own among whom there might be a husband for me and a wife for Edwin. Jane Merridew had always been a favourite of hers. Jane must be about twenty-five—a rather handsome girl, serious-minded, practical, just the girl for Edwin.
The Merridews came and stayed. They were stern Protestants and viewed the new reign with disquiet just as my father did; so they had a great deal in common. Before the end of the visit Jane and Edwin were betrothed.
“There should not be a great deal of delay,” said my mother. “Soldiers should marry quickly. So much of their married life is spent away from their wives, so they must make the most of the time.”
The Merridews were not averse to a prompt wedding either. Jane was not so young that they wanted to wait.
It should be in six months’ time, decreed my mother, when Edwin believed he would have leave and Leigh would be present, too.
Harriet walked in the gardens with me. “Your turn will come soon,” she said. “You’re no longer a child, Priscilla. You can’t go on grieving for a dead lover all your life.”
I did not answer.
“You’ll fall in love one day, my dear child, and you’ll be happy then. I know you will. There’s one I’ve always wanted for you. I think you know who. But I wouldn’t press it. You have to discover each other for yourselves. You mustn’t let what happened colour your future.”
“But surely, Harriet,” I replied, “what happened must colour my future, mustn’t it? Something happens and we go on from there.”
I thought of the steps which had led me to that musk-scented bed and my crushing humiliation at the hands of Beaumont Granville. The discovery of Jocelyn, our love, its consummation, Venice and all it entailed, and there he was, the evil genius who had done something to me which I could never forget and which in spite of Harriet’s injunctions must colour my life and would hang over me for as long as I lived.
“If we make mistakes,” said Harriet, “we must never brood on them. We should accept them as experience.”
Experience! I thought. A musk-scented bed and a man who demanded everything from me, who humiliated me in such a way that I could only find peace of mind in forgetfulness.
I was almost on the point of confessing to Harriet, but I restrained myself in time. It was my shameful secret. It was better locked away in my mind. It must never come out to the light of day. I wouldn’t let it. I could not bear it.
So she thought only of my love for Jocelyn, which was something I did not want to forget.
“Your mother has the light of battle in her eyes,” went on Harriet. “Edwin today, Priscilla tomorrow. She wants grandchildren playing at her feet. Dear Arabella, she was always a sentimental creature. I know exactly what she feels and thinks. I love her dearly. She has meant a lot in my life. And now there is you and our little devil-angel Carlotta. There is one who is going to live an exciting life. I hope I live to see it.”
Of course, Harriet was right about my mother. She was delighted by Edwin’s betrothal. She said to me one evening: “Priscilla, I am so happy about Edwin. I am sure Jane will make him a good wife.”
“You always wanted Jane for him,” I reminded her. “You stopped his marrying Christabel.”
“And how right that was! Christabel has found complete happiness with Thomas. He was just right for her. And they have dear little Thomas. That is a happy household.”
“But she was very unhappy when Edwin allowed himself to be persuaded.”
“My dear child, if he had really cared for her he would not have been persuaded. And if she had really cared for him she could not be as happy as she is with Thomas. So it was all for the best.”
She looked at me wistfully.
“You were meant to marry, Priscilla,” she said. “Your turn must come.”
“I hadn’t thought of it,” I replied.
“To see you with that child Carlotta … She is a little minx, I think. She has even fascinated your father. To see you with her makes me feel that you should not delay too long before marrying. You can’t go on being a child forever. I thought only this morning when I watched you with Carlotta, Priscilla was meant to be a mother.”
I smiled at her. Dear Mother, I thought, I wonder what you would say if you knew that Carlotta is my daughter, and that I also gave myself so utterly, so completely and so shamefully to a wicked man in exchange for my father’s life.
It was April in the following year that Edwin and Jane were married. The Merridews lived not more than five miles from us and there were great celebrations in their country house.
Edwin seemed quite happy and Jane certainly was. My mother was contented too. She and Jane had become very good friends, which was as well, for, when the celebrations were over, Jane would come to live with us at Eversleigh which would be her home from henceforth. Eversleigh Court belonged to Edwin, as he was in the direct line, although my father had always managed the estate and I was sure looked on the place as his. Edwin was of such a temperament that it never occurred to him to stress otherwise.