I could not forget Beaumont Granville. So often when Leigh embraced me I would see the mocking face of that man, and the beloved body of my husband would seem to change to that other. Beaumont Granville had not only bruised and humiliated me on that night; he had done so forever. That was the price I had paid for my father’s life.
Sometimes I wanted to tell Leigh, to explain to him my emotions. I thought if he knew we might grow towards an understanding. I wanted to tell him that I loved him, that I wanted perfect union between us. I did not shrink from passion, as I knew he sometimes believed I did. It was simply that I could not forget.
I was sure that if only I could bring myself to tell him, he would understand. He would help me overcome this barrier which I had set up between us. He was a man of a passionate nature. I often wondered about him—those long separations were dangerous, particularly as when we were together our relationship lacked the ultimate satisfaction which it should have had.
At the back of my mind was the niggling fear that one day he might turn from me.
What a price I had paid for my father’s life!
And now … Carlotta.
Twelfth Night had come and gone. We had had the traditional cake and the ring had fallen to Harriet who had been Queen of the Night. She had, of course, made us perform all kinds of charades which we mimed under her direction.
I thought wistfully how I should have enjoyed it if Leigh had been there and I had never heard of Beaumont Granville.
The day after Twelfth Night, Carlotta was missing.
I shall never cease to be grateful that we discovered her absence almost as soon as she had gone.
Emily Philpots had come to her room to take a petticoat which she had been embroidering for her, and had found her gone. Emily went in search of her and by great good fortune she met me on the stairs.
“I’ve just been to Mistress Carlotta’s room,” she said.
“Is she still sleeping?”
“No. She is not there. I wonder where she could be at this hour.”
She was not an early riser so it seemed strange that she should be about already. We breakfasted at no given time but came down when we wanted to between half-past seven and nine o’clock to help ourselves from the sideboard—except Harriet who took a dish of chocolate in her room. I had been down at eight and had not seen Carlotta.
I felt a twinge of apprehension and went up to her room.
To my relief I saw that the bed had been slept in. So she must have gone out in the early morning.
I went out into the garden. Jasper was already working near the haunted patch.
I paused to chat with him. He said the weather was unseasonable, too warm. What we needed was a touch of snow to keep the bulbs warm.
He shook his head mournfully. “I don’t know what the world’s coming to.”
“You mean … no snow in January.”
“This is a wicked world,” he went on. “People pay for their sins. Everyone has to be accounted for.”
“That’s a gloomy thought,” I replied. “We’re none of us so pure that some price won’t be extracted for them. Even you, Jasper, will have an account rendered.”
Irony was lost on him. “I’ve served the Lord as best I know,” he said grimly.
“Has it occurred to you that many of us do that? But what we consider best might not be what God does.”
“You was always one to try and twist right and wrong around with words. I mind you as a little girl.”
“Well, Jasper, we are as God made us, as you know full well, and if He doesn’t like us the way we are, well … He shouldn’t have made us that way.”
“I can’t listen to blasphemy, mistress. It’s sinful to open the ear to what may offend the Lord. Besides, I’ve got too much to do. A fine mess that carriage has made out there in the drive. It’s this damp and the rain. Carriage ruts right into the grass.”
“When was this done?”
“Well, ’tweren’t yesterday. No rain then … but we had a real downpour in the night.”
I went with him to the end of the drive and saw the ruts made by a carriage. A sudden horror overwhelmed me. This morning … early … a carriage had drawn up there. For whom? Carlotta?
I went at once to Harriet. She was sleeping; the empty dish which had contained her chocolate was beside her bed.
“Harriet,” I cried. “Wake up, Harriet.”
She opened her eyes and stared at me.
“Do you know where Carlotta is?” I asked.
She looked puzzled and yawned.
“She’s gone,” I cried. “A carriage came this morning. Have you seen Carlotta? What has she told you? What is going on? I must know.”
She sat up. “I have no idea where she is,” she said. “I know nothing.”
I was convinced that she was speaking the truth. I was frantic. Carlotta had run away and I could guess to whom she had gone.
I questioned the servants. No one had seen her leave. Ellen thought she had heard a carriage at about seven o’clock. She wasn’t sure.
It was Amelia Garston who confirmed my fears. When I questioned her, there was something furtive about her. I guessed that Carlotta had confided in her.
At last I made her tell me, although she tearfully protested that she had promised not to.
Carlotta had eloped. Beaumont Granville had come for her early that morning. He had had the carriage waiting at the gates. They were going to London where they would be married.
I thought we should never arrive in time. I insisted on going with them. We took the most fleet of the horses—my father, Gregory and I. I was glad my father had come because I believed he would know how to deal with Beaumont Granville. Carlotta was too young to marry, and Gregory, who had always been as a father to her, and I, her mother, and her grandfather must carry some weight. My father was no longer out of favour at Court and his presence would give us the influence we needed. I doubted Beaumont Granville was the kind of man who would find much favour with the King.
We were in sight of London. It was a misty day with a drizzle in the air. I could just see the towers and spires of the city rising up through the mist. The distance seemed twice as long as it normally did, and I was in the deepest despair before we had the greatest stroke of luck.
There in the road less than a mile from the city was the carriage. One of the wheels had gone into a ditch and the coachman was doing his best to get it out.
“Thank God,” I cried, “we are in time.”
My father took charge.
“Good day, sir,” he said. “And what are you doing on this dull morning? Stuck in a ditch, eh? That’s justice. You have no right, sir, to take this young lady from her home.”
Carlotta had appeared. I saw the blank dismay on her face. She had flushed scarlet and she cried out: “I was not taken from my home. I came willingly.”
“You will return with us … albeit less willingly,” said my father. “This is no way to behave.”
She clenched her fist, but she looked uncertain. She had always been slightly in awe of my father, although he had been softer to her than he ever had to me. There was an affinity between them. She was wild, passionate and self-willed. He was all that, too.
Beaumont Granville looked as urbane as ever and quite unruffled.
“I can explain,” he began.
“No need to,” retorted my father. “Everything is clear to me.
“My intentions were entirely honorable. I proposed marriage and was accepted.”
I cried out: “You were to wait awhile. That was the agreement.”
“You treat me as though I am in the nursery,” protested Carlotta.
“You behave as though you are still there,” growled my father. “Come, get up on my horse. We’ll turn in at the next inn and get you something to ride.”
“It is the young lady’s wish …” began Beaumont Granville.