I had seen the passionate devotion of my parents. Perhaps I wanted something like that to happen to me. I had also seen the love between Amaryllis’ parents—strong, solid and true—but there was not that between them which there was between my parents; and it was that which I wanted.
Perhaps I was obsessed by foolish dreams. I was, when all was said, only eighteen. I did not seek the peaceful life; I wanted adventure, and deep within me was the conviction which had been planted there some years before, that there was someone who could give me what I wanted.
Clare Carson was coming across the lawn. I withdrew myself from Edward involuntarily. I had a feeling that Clare did not like me very much, and rather resented my intrusion into the family; and what she liked less than anything was Edward’s feeling for me. I was certain that she was in love with Edward.
He was always charming to her, treating her like a sister; but that, I sensed, was not what she wanted and I had a feeling that often his brotherly attitude exasperated her.
“Jessica,” she said, “your mother wants you to go to her as soon as you can. I told her I had an idea where you were and would look for you.”
“What has happened?” I cried in alarm.
“She wants you to go quietly. Not make a fuss … not to disturb the party.”
“I’ll come with you,” said Edward.
Clare put in quickly: “Mrs. Frenshaw did particularly say that she wanted no one else but Jessica.”
Clare took the place I had vacated and I went quickly across the lawn and into the house. I went straight up to my mother’s room. Tamarisk’s governess, Miss Allen, was with her.
“Oh, Jessica,” cried my mother. “I’m glad you’ve come. Amaryllis is looking for your father and David. Tamarisk is lost.”
“Lost? How? Where?”
“Heaven knows. She is not in her room. She went to bed as normal and Miss Allen said she was asleep almost immediately, but when she looked in about half an hour ago the bed was empty.”
“Oh, that child! She is always up to some mischief.”
“Jeanne asked Miss Allen to come over. Jeanne is with Sophie who is almost frantic.”
“I can imagine it. Why, it must be past eleven.”
“Where can the child be at this hour?” said my mother. “Oh, here is your father. Dickon, something terrible has happened. Tamarisk is not in her bed. Where can she be? Sophie is in a demented state. What can we do?”
“I’ll get over there and find out what I can. Where’s David? He can come with me. Oh, here he is.”
My mother quickly explained to David what had happened.
“We’ll get over there with Miss Allen as quickly as we can,” said my father. “Don’t break up the party. No doubt she’s hiding somewhere in the house. We’ll be back soon, I daresay.”
They slipped away and the rest of us joined the guests.
The party broke up at midnight. I think we were all relieved when the last guest departed. The family assembled in the hall—my mother, Claudine, Amaryllis and I. The men had not returned.
“What on earth are they doing!” cried my mother. “If she were hiding in the house they would have found her by now.”
“It seems obvious that they haven’t found her,” I said.
“I think,” continued my mother, “that we should go over there and see what is happening.”
“I shall come with you,” said Claudine.
Amaryllis suggested that we go too.
“There’s no need for you girls to come,” said my mother. “You go to bed.”
But we insisted.
Aunt Sophie was in the hall with Jeanne, Miss Allen and some of the servants. Aunt Sophie, wrapped in a heavy dressing gown in spite of the fact that it was a warm night, looked very ill. Jeanne was hovering over her anxiously. The men were not there.
“No news?” asked my mother.
Aunt Sophie shook her head mournfully.
“Where are the men?” asked my mother.
“They are searching with some of our people,” explained Jeanne.
“The house … the garden …”
“We’ve been over every inch of them,” said Miss Allen. “I can’t understand it. She was there, asleep in her bed …”
“Perhaps pretending to be asleep,” I suggested.
“I don’t know. She was there … I saw her when I looked in. It is terrible …”
“It was not your fault, Miss Allen.”
She looked at me gratefully.
“How can we know what is happening to that poor child?” said Aunt Sophie.
“She will be found,” Jeanne said soothingly. “She will be safe. No harm will come to that one.”
“Taken from me,” mourned Aunt Sophie. “Why is it that I cannot keep anyone I love? Why is life always against me?”
No one answered. There was a faraway look in my mother’s eyes and I knew she was thinking of the time when I was taken away by Dolly Mather. I had heard the story many times. And now Dolly’s child had been taken. Or had she gone of her own accord? I could not imagine Tamarisk’s being forcibly taken away. She would have screamed with all the strength of her lungs, which was considerable. But I could imagine her planning some devilment to teach us all a lesson, no doubt. She had been very angry about the party. She might have taken her revenge for not being allowed to attend.
My mother, who like me could not bear inaction, said: “Have the servants been questioned? Do any of them know anything?”
“They all know that she is not here,” said Miss Allen.
“Well, let’s do something,” said my mother. “Let’s have them in. Let’s question them.”
All those servants who were not out of doors searching for Tamarisk were commanded to come into the hall.
My mother said: “I want you all to think. Has anything strange happened in the last few days? Did the child say anything that might give us a clue as to where she may have gone?”
There was silence. Then one of the maids said: “She was always talking about being a witch.”
“She told me yesterday that she would put a spell on me if she didn’t get her own way,” said another.
“Yes,” I said. “She was always talking about being a witch. You don’t think she has gone to Polly Crypton’s place, do you?”
“Polly would have brought her home if she had. Polly’s a witch but a white one. She would do no harm to anybody … not lest they’d done her wrong,” said the cook.
“Perhaps we should send over to Polly’s to see?”
Two of the girls said they would go at once.
When they had gone one of the housemaids said: “She was always talking about the gypsies.”
“Oh yes,” I said, remembering the occasion when Leah came to tell our fortunes. There had seemed to be a special affinity between them then. Of course the child’s father was Romany Jake. “She wouldn’t have gone to the gypsies, surely.” I felt sure that if she had they would have brought her back.
“They say gypsies steal children,” said the parlourmaid. “They sell their clothes. Miss Tamarisk always had of the best. Mademoiselle Sophie saw to that.”
My mother cut in with: “Nonsense!” because she saw this talk was upsetting Aunt Sophie who had covered her face with her hands. Jeanne bent over her whispering in French that all would be well. Tamarisk would be coming through the door at any moment. She was sure of it.
My father and David came back with some of the men servants. One look at their faces showed us that the search had been unsuccessful.
Jeanne was telling Aunt Sophie that she would be more comfortable in bed and as soon as we had news it should be brought to her. If only she would go, Jeanne would make her comfortable. She could bring her something to soothe her throat.