“My dear Jessica,” my mother kept insisting, “you must be more careful.”
I promised that I would indeed and I felt very ashamed to have been so easily duped.
Peter Lansdon proved to be an interesting guest.
The dinner was just for the four of us. My parents had thought it better not to ask others. They did not want it known what a narrow escape I had had, and my father—who was by nature suspicious—wanted to know a little more about Peter Lansdon before he introduced him to our friends.
Peter Lansdon was willing—almost eager in fact—to talk about himself.
He had recently come to this country, he said. His family owned estates in Jamaica and had exported sugar and rum in large quantities. A year ago he had decided to sell out his holdings and settle in England.
“Such matters take longer than one at first anticipates,” he explained.
My father agreed with this. “And what are you planning to do now that you are in England? I can see you are a young man who would not wish to remain idle … not one of those gentlemen about town who spend most of their time gambling in clubs.”
“You have assessed me accurately, sir. Indeed, that is not my wish. I had thought that I might buy an estate somewhere and settle here… somewhere in the south. Having been accustomed to a warm climate, I might find the north too invigorating.”
“Have you looked for anything yet?” asked my mother.
“I have seen one or two … nothing which pleases me.”
“Have you a place in London?”
“Not yet. I have been travelling around. I am in a hotel at the moment. Exploring as it were.”
“My daughter tells me that you saw us at the Green Man.”
I smiled at him. “I remember you were in the parlour when we arrived.”
He nodded.
“And you recognized my daughter when you saw her in the street,” said my father.
“Well,” he smiled warmly, “she is rather noticeable. My interest was aroused when I noticed the girl who was pretending to be blind.”
“An extraordinary business,” said my father. “The place was deserted when I called a few hours later. They must have left hastily. Madame Delarge who owns the place knew nothing of them.”
“She is a Frenchwoman?”
“I’m not sure. Posing as one perhaps. Why do they think the French are so much more expert at vice than we are?”
“Perhaps because they are,” I suggested. “Vice must be rather like fashion. There has to be a special elegance … otherwise it becomes quite sordid.”
Peter Lansdon laughed. “There is something in that, I suppose,” he said. “I have made enquiries too and I cannot believe that this Madame Delarge who seemed to be very desirous of keeping what she calls her reputation would stoop to such actions as these people did. It was so crude and so absurd.”
“You are making me feel that I was even more foolish than I have been led to believe to be taken in by it,” I said.
“Oh no, no. Who would not be taken in? A poor blind girl asks to be helped. It would be a hardhearted person who would refuse.”
“But to go into the house …” I said.
“It all happened so naturally, I am sure.”
“It certainly seemed very strange to me,” said my father, and my mother added: “I shudder to think what might have happened if you had not been there, Mr. Lansdon.”
“Don’t think of it. All’s well that ends well and this has ended very well for me, I do assure you. Coming from abroad I have few acquaintances here and it is a great pleasure for me to dine here with you. I sincerely hope this will not be the end of our acquaintance.”
“There is no reason why it should be,” said my mother.
“I was wondering if you could help me at all. You see, I know so little about this country. Although it is my native land I went to Jamaica as soon as I had finished with school and there I joined my father.”
“Your father is there now?” began mine.
“He died two years ago. He was the victim of a virulent fever, endemic to Jamaica. He had suffered from it a few years before. That had a weakening effect…” He shook his head sadly.
“And you decided you would leave,” I asked.
“One has a feeling for one’s own country. One wants to be among one’s own people … the same ideals … the same way of thinking … You know what I mean.”
“I understand perfectly,” said my mother. “I feel the same. I went to France when I was about twelve or thirteen. My first husband was French. But I always regarded England as my home.”
Peter Lansdon was looking at me.
“No, no,” said my mother. “This is Jessica’s father. By my first marriage I have a daughter, Claudine, who is married to my husband’s son. I also have a son who is in France.”
“I see.”
“A complicated relationship,” she added.
“But you understand how I felt about coming home.”
“Perfectly. One day you must meet my other daughter—Jessica’s half sister.”
“That would be a great pleasure. In what part of the country is your estate, if I may ask?”
“The south east. We are only a few miles from the sea. Our nearest big town is Dover.”
“Oh, that part of the country? Is it fertile?”
“Yes. Our bane is the south east wind. That can be pretty fierce. But as you know in the south of England we enjoy a fairly temperate climate. Farming is good. It’s quite a reasonable spot.”
“I shall have to explore.”
“I wonder …” began my mother; and I knew she was thinking about Enderby.
“Yes?” asked Peter Lansdon.
“There is a house which could be rented. It’s quite close to us. It belongs to someone connected with the family and we are looking after it.”
“Really?”
“It would be a good place to look round from, wouldn’t it, Dickon?”
“I don’t know of any estates up for sale in the area,” said my father.
“What about the house itself?” asked Peter Lansdon eagerly.
“There isn’t a lot of land attached to it.”
“Could one acquire land?”
“It might be possible. Our estate covers most of the area round there, and there is another house, Grasslands. There are two farms attached to that.”
“It seems promising. What is the name of this house?”
“Enderby,” I said.
He smiled. “I wonder …” he said.
After the meal we went into the drawing room and Peter Lansdon talked to my father about Jamaica and the exporting of sugar and rum. My father was always interested in business projects and I think found Peter Lansdon’s company entertaining. My mother had taken a great liking to him—largely I think because he had rescued me.
As for myself I was certainly intrigued. He had a special way of looking at me which told me that he admired me, and I guessed that the reason why he had been so interested was on my account.
He left us at ten thirty to go back to his hotel. My mother came up to my room and sat talking for a while.
“What an interesting young man! I am so glad he came to dinner.”
“He seemed delighted to come.”
“I daresay he hasn’t many friends … coming so recently from Jamaica. My dear child, I thank God for that young man. When I think …”