“What you did for me …”
“It was long … long ago.”
“And they blamed you. They were going to hang you…”
“But here I am … hale and hearty.”
“You’re gentry now,” she said. “You were never one of us.”
“It wasn’t for lack of trying.”
I thought I ought to go and leave them together. I felt as though I were prying on Leah’s emotion.
“Come, Tamarisk,” I said. Strangely enough she obeyed me.
She ran off to see that her horse was all right. I went into the garden … out to the shrubbery. I felt I wanted to get away from the scene of reunion.
I wondered if Leah loved him. She had made a hero of him, that much I knew. She had lured his child away from her home because she must have wanted something which was part of him. She loved Tamarisk devotedly.
And what were his feelings for Leah? He had spoken to her very tenderly. He had cared for the innocent young girl in the days when he had first gone to the gypsies. He had been overcome with fury when he had come upon that brute intent on rape. He had lashed out in that fury and it had nearly cost him his life.
How would he feel about Leah now? I was aware of the stirrings of jealousy.
He was susceptible to women, I was sure. I remembered Dolly dancing round the bonfire. Dolly had loved him, and how had he felt about her? He pitied her, I think, but there must have been some desire; and he had lightheartedly given way to it. How lighthearted had he been such a little while ago in a house in Blore Street?
And Leah? When she had been a gypsy girl and he had come among them, had she thought it possible that one day there might have been a match between them? It could have happened. Now, of course, everything was different with him. He was a country gentleman and Leah could have no place in his life. Or could she?
And in any case, what part could I have? Nothing but a secret one.
He must have seen me go into the shrubbery for he found me there.
“At last,” he said, “we are alone.”
I had sat down on the wooden seat there and he was beside me, very close. I was deeply stirred as I always was by his proximity.
I said: “Poor Leah was deeply moved.”
“Yes, she was. It brought it all back to her. When I saw her again I was glad I killed that devil. She was such a gentle girl.”
“She still is and she has been wonderful with Tamarisk. If Tamarisk went to live with you in Cornwall Leah would have to go with her.”
“Tamarisk won’t leave you. I’m a newcomer. She’s not sure of me yet. Jessica, couldn’t we be alone … somewhere … together …”
“Here?” I cried. “In this house? Oh, no … no.”
“It is hard for me to see you here… so near and yet so remote.”
“That is how it has to be.”
“You’ll come to London?”
“Yes … no …”
He smiled at me teasingly. “You’ll come. You must, Jessica, we’ll work out something. We can’t just go on like this.”
“I cannot see any other way of going on.”
“There are ways. There are always ways …”
“You mean secret meetings. Clandestine … furtive meetings …”
“We must take what we can.”
“It should never have gone so far.”
“It was inevitable.”
“Tell me about Leah.”
“What of her?”
“How was she … coming face to face with you like that?”
“Deeply moved, I think.”
“I think she loves you.”
“She is grateful to me.”
“And you?”
“I am fond of her.”
“Do you love her? She is a beautiful girl.”
“She is. But I love one only … now and for ever.”
For a moment I lay against him and then I remembered that I was near the house and that at any moment someone might come out. I stood up and he was beside me, his arms round me. He kissed me tenderly and then with passion.
“Not here …” I said, which was an admission that it could be somewhere else.
“When will you come to London?”
“As soon as it is possible,” I said.
“Perhaps you could bring Tamarisk. She ought to be with her father.”
“She is very sharp. What if she saw …”
“We’d be careful.”
I said: “It must stop.”
I withdrew myself and came out of the shrubbery with him beside me. He was holding my arm tightly.
I looked towards the house and wondered if anyone was watching.
Jake’s visit was declared to have been a great success.
“I like him,” said my father. “He’s lively.”
My mother liked him too, but she was a little reserved when speaking of him and I wondered if she guessed that my feelings for him went deeper than was wise.
He had suggested that Tamarisk visit him in London. There was so much there that he wanted to show her. Then he thought it would be a good idea if she went to Cornwall.
She must remember that he was her father and that his home could be hers if she wished, I told her.
She said: “I like it here.” And she was looking at Jonathan who happened to be there.
The great concern now was Amaryllis. Her time was getting near and Claudine was fussing, as Dickon said, like an old hen.
“Amaryllis is a healthy girl, and women were meant to have children. Why all this fuss?”
“There speaks the arrogant man,” said my mother. “Naturally Claudine is fussing. All mothers do. I’m fussing and we shall continue to fuss until we have the baby. As for you, I remember you fussed a little when Jessica was born.”
“I must have known that she would not be content to make a quiet and ordinary appearance.”
“Well, you were wrong. She did. Jessica, you were such an adorable baby … right from the first.”
“A squalling brat as far as I remember,” said my father.
“Whom you adored from the moment she was born.”
That was how they always were, sparring in a way which betrayed their love for each other.
How fortunate they were! I thought. Aunt Sophie had always said my mother had been one of the lucky ones. Yet she had at first been denied the man of her choice and made a not entirely satisfactory marriage; and she had passed through a horrifying experience coming close to death in a most frightening manner during the revolution in France … and only finally to this happy state at Eversleigh.
Poor Aunt Sophie, who had always pitied herself and never learned that one has to make the most of what one has.
I was always telling myself that—particularly now. I had married Edward—good kind Edward—and it was my duty to care for him and shield him from all hurt.
I must learn to like this way of life, to stop dreaming of the impossible, to forget that I had stepped over the bounds of morality and convention … and never, never stray again.
I was with Amaryllis a great deal during those days when she was awaiting the birth of her child, wishing that I could have one. I must not wish for that—for if I did it could not be my husband’s.
I could only sit with Amaryllis and play with Helena.
Poor Amaryllis. She was rather long in labour but the great moment came and I could imagine her joy when she was coming out of her exhaustion and heard the cry of her child. And this one was a boy.
There was great rejoicing throughout the household. I had never seen Peter so delighted. What a store these men set by boys! I felt a little annoyed though I joined in the general rejoicing.
Amaryllis was so proud. She lay in her bed, pale, looking fragile, but beautiful with that radiance on her which I had seen at the time of her marriage.
It was mean of me to feel those twinges of envy. Yet I could not help myself.