“I had a horse to ride.”
“Silk dresses … delicious food.”
“It wasn’t that… only.”
“Poor Tamarisk. You made a mistake. You walked thoughtlessly away from Mademoiselle Sophie who had done everything for you.
“I remembered after.”
“Yes. When it was too late.”
“I wanted to come back. I did really.”
“I daresay you did.”
“I couldn’t get home … because of the water. And they wouldn’t let me go.”
“You chose them. You hurt Mademoiselle Sophie deeply by deserting her for them.”
She was crying gently. I was unsympathetic but I felt that was what she needed. Any attempt to smooth over what she had done would not have pleased her. She was, at heart, an extremely logical person. She was more impressed if one spoke the truth. She had brought great sorrow to Sophie who had given her nothing but kindness, and any attempt to deny it would strike her as extremely false.
“When something is done it’s done,” I said. “There is no going back. You have to accept it and go on from there. That’s the best way.”
“But she’s dead.”
“Yes. But that is past. You have learned a lesson.”
“What lesson?”
“To think of others besides yourself.”
“Do you think of others?”
“Sometimes.”
“Not always?”
“We’re none of us perfect.”
“So you do wrong things.”
“Of course I do.”
She smiled and the tears stopped flowing.
“Listen, Tamarisk,” I said. “You’re a lucky girl. You did a wicked thing. You walked out on someone who had been kind to you and loved you dearly.”
“I killed her.”
“No, you didn’t. If she had been stronger she wouldn’t have died. She caught a cold and became ill. It was some time after you left. You caused her great suffering, that’s true. But most of us act badly at some time. The great lesson to learn is that it is done and you must try to atone for it.”
“What is that?”
“Being better in the future. Think of others. Go and visit Jeanne more often. Let her see you love her and that you are grateful to her for all the love she gave you. Try to be thoughtful and kind and then Mademoiselle Sophie will look down from Heaven and say, ‘It was not in vain.’ There! Here endeth the first lesson. Now go to sleep.”
I tucked her in and wiped the tears from her cheeks.
“Goodnight,” I said.
I tiptoed out and shut the door.
I wish I could say she changed after that night. She did not. But I think she began to grieve less. She was as headstrong as ever.
Leah was her constant companion and she was a great help in looking after her. I engaged a governess for her. She was eight years old now and in need of tuition. She was bright and eager to learn and very quickly made up for a lack of schooling during the time she had been with the gypsies.
I was seeing a great deal of Amaryllis and every time I came back from Enderby I would fight a battle with myself, for I was becoming more and more aware of what I was missing in life. What I wanted more than anything was a child. I learned that Amaryllis was expecting one. She was in a seventh heaven of delight. She was so much in love with her husband. It could not be anything but a happy house with Amaryllis in it. She was in constant conclave with Claudine; they went to London to buy materials for the baby’s clothes; the nurseries which had been quiet for so long were opened.
David had been wrong when he had said that if the bushes were cut down and more light let in it would take away the eerie brooding atmosphere. The bushes were of no account. Amaryllis, her happy marriage and her coming baby were enough to change that house.
Oh yes, I was envious. Not of her husband. That had passed. It was the baby I wanted.
So much was happening abroad. Napoleon was no longer having one success after another and Wellington was making progress. He was the hero of the hour and when he with his allies marched into Paris and Napoleon was forced to abdicate, we believed that really was the end of him. Napoleon had been banished to Elba and there was once more a king on the throne of France. Louis XVIII now reigned over them.
My mother’s comment was: “All the misery might never have taken place. Here they are just as they were before the storming of the Bastille.”
“Wiser, let’s hope,” said my father.
But the great topic was the coming baby.
Peter was often in London. He had great interests there. He had abandoned the idea of buying an estate. He said he did not think he was meant to be a squire. Moreover he had gone into several flourishing concerns and it was these, apparently, which took him so frequently to London. He talked a little about his affairs with my father and David. David, of course, did not pretend to understand the sort of business in which Peter was engaged. My father admitted that it was a little obscure and something with which he had never had any connection. Peter talked a great deal about his interests in Jamaica and I gathered that he was concerned in the importing of sugar and rum. He discussed Jamaica at length; but since my father was not entirely sure about what he was doing, it was hardly likely that the rest of us would be.
It was of little importance. He was clearly a man of substance; Amaryllis was very happy; and he was the father of the newcomer for whom such a welcome was being prepared.
At the end of April Amaryllis’ baby was born, and there was great rejoicing throughout the family although my father said: “Another girl. When is this family going to produce a boy?”
My mother chided him and said she had not noticed that he had an aversion to her sex.
The baby was christened Helena. I saw her when she was a few hours old, looking rather like a wrinkled and irritable old gentleman; but as the days passed the wrinkles disappeared, her skin developed the texture of a peach and her startlingly blue eyes delighted us all. We were all very soon Helena’s slaves; and the ache within me grew stronger every day.
I took to calling frequently. Amaryllis used to watch me with the child, for I always held her, if chat were permitted, and I did fancy she had a special feeling for me. I caught Amaryllis’ eyes on me and they were full of pity. I felt resentful against her then … against life, I suppose. I began to ask myself whether I should have listened to my parents’ warning.
Then I went home to Edward and sat by his bed desperately trying to checkmate him and failing miserably. I thought: No. I have done the right thing, the only thing. I should never have been happy if I had rejected him because of what had happened to him. But however right an action may be at the time it can be hard to live with. One quick act of self sacrifice is easy; but to go on practising it for years—perhaps for life—that is a very different matter.
I noticed that Peter was spending more and more time in London; and I wondered if this hurt Amaryllis. I mentioned it tentatively one day.
She said: “Oh, Peter is very busy. He has all sorts of commitments in London. He is very much the businessman.”
“All that sugar and rum,” I said.
“Yes. He knows so much about it, having been brought up where they produce it. He has opened several new warehouses.”
“Does he store the stuff then?”
“I suppose he must do if he is opening these places.”
“Have you seen any of them?”
“Me? Oh no. They are near the docks, I think. He has never taken me there. He said they were no place for me. He is so happy about it because he says it has turned out so well.”
“Does he talk to you about his business?”
“Very little. But he does give me money now and then saying that is a dividend.”
“You mean you have money in his ventures?”
“Of course.”