He came close to me, took my arm and brought his face near to mine. “Remember,” he said. “One word from you and I shall go straight to your husband and tell him of those jolly little occasions in Blore Street. Do you understand, Jessica?”
I nodded dumbly. Then I wrenched myself away and ran from the room.
Suicide or Murder?
I WAS BACK AT Grasslands. I had not had a moment’s peace since that interview with Peter Lansdon. I saw Jake only once before we returned. I dared not tell him what had happened for fear of what action he would take. It was blackmail of a sort. I was as guilty as Peter himself. If he were blackmailing me I was blackmailing him.
I had a notion that Jake might welcome the exposure. Jake was the sort of man who hated inaction. Patience was not one of his virtues. I knew that he was capable of reckless action as he had shown when he had run off and joined the gypsies, when he had dashed in and killed the man who would have ravished Leah. He would have said: “Let him talk. He should be exposed for what he is—and we’ll take the consequences.”
Those consequences, he would believe, might well result in our being together. I wanted to be with Jake forever. I wanted a permanent union. I wanted a home with him; I wanted his children. But I could not hurt Edward. I could not disturb his world in which I knew I was more important than anything. He would have his comforts, the attentions of James, Toby and Clare. But it was my presence which made it possible for him to endure the life into which misfortune had thrust him.
I could never be completely happy if I hurt Edward.
So I could not tell Jake. But what had happened could not fail to have an effect on me; and he knew that something was wrong.
I left him frustrated and uneasy.
Peter Lansdon had returned to Enderby before we arrived home. He had already told his story and I had to admit he made it sound plausible enough. He mentioned what a great pleasure it was to him to be able to put right this little difference between my father and Jonathan.
The great topic at Eversleigh was Peter’s discovery of Prue Parker. My father was a little shamefaced, trying to be more gracious to Jonathan. Jonathan was delighted that his innocence had been proved.
When we returned Tamarisk’s pleasure in seeing Jonathan again was overwhelming. She kept telling him how she had seen Prue in the street and, recognizing her, had followed her because she was determined to prove him right and Prue wrong. “And then we went there,” she cried, “and Peter was there…”
Nobody thought it strange that we should have seen her when she was on her way to meet Peter and that he had chosen that questionable club as a rendezvous. It was a coincidence, but they were so interested in the story that they did not probe too deeply into the details.
Peter dismissed any doubts they might have had. “It was a place she knew; she was attached to it in some way. It seemed reasonable to meet her there.”
He modestly accepted the gratitude of all for having solved the mystery.
I wanted to shout at them that it would have remained a mystery if Tamarisk hadn’t seen the girl in the street and we had caught him there redhanded.
But how could I? I had to be silent.
I did not want to go to London again. I did not feel I could go to Jake. How would I know whether or not I was being watched? Peter had spoiled everything for me. He had made me feel unclean … wicked … as bad as he was. He did not mind; he revelled in his wickedness; he called it shrewdness.
When he caught my eye he would smile at me in a very special way. I had the horrible feeling that he was assessing me. What had he said: “I always found you attractive …” He was implying “More so than Amaryllis.” But he had chosen her because she was docile. I told myself I would never have married him. I admit I had at first been attracted, but not by him as much as the glamour of romance … being rescued, as I had thought he had rescued me.
The horrible thought came to me that he might make another suggestion as a price of silence. I was thankful that I had enough against him to balance our evil doings.
There was something cold about him, snake-like. I wondered at Amaryllis who was so much in love with him still. He was clever. He could slip in and out of his masks, changing his personality, shedding a skin. Yes, snake-like.
He began to haunt my dreams as a nightmare figure.
Sometimes in the night I felt I would go to Edward and confess. I would tell him that I would stay with him for ever and never see Jake again. Jake must take Tamarisk away. They could go to Cornwall on the other side of England, a long way from us.
Only confession could free me from Peter Lansdon.
My mother said: “Are you all right? You haven’t looked well since you came back from London.”
“I’m quite well, thanks.”
If only I could tell her! She would understand. But I dared not.
“It will soon be Christmas,” she went on. “It is amazing how time creeps up on one. We’ll have to start planning for it soon.”
I agreed.
She was not the only one who noticed. Clare said to me: “Are you well?”
“Why do you ask?”
“You seem different… since you came back from London. A little nervous … Did anything happen during your trip?”
“No … no.”
I had always had an uneasy feeling about Clare. She was useful in the house. She would sit and read to Edward and play piquet with him. She was a great help but I always felt she resented me.
Leah was useful too. While Tamarisk was in London she turned her attention to the sick room.
“I have two handmaidens now,” said Edward. “Clare and Leah. And with James and Toby I am really cossetted.”
“You have me … another handmaiden,” I reminded him.
“You are not a handmaiden. You are my queen.”
I laughed, but my heart was heavy. He must never know, I told myself.
Meanwhile Jake was getting restive. He had been to Cornwall, for it was necessary for him to return, but his stay there was brief and he was soon back in London.
He wrote to me again. His letter was an impassioned plea to come to London. If I did not, he said, he would come to Grasslands. He had plans. He could not wait forever. We were wasting our lives. We belonged together.
The letter alarmed me while it delighted me.
I told myself I should destroy it but I could not bring myself to do so. For a day I carried it with me, tucked into my bodice but I thought that might be detected so I hid it at the back of one of my drawers with that other letter. I read them again and again. They comforted me; they set me dreaming of the impossible.
When I was talking to my mother about Christmas I said: “What about Tamarisk’s father?”
“Perhaps he will want her to go to him in Cornwall?”
“She never would. She is more devoted to Jonathan than ever.”
“I suppose we should ask him here.”
I hesitated.
“Is it difficult? We could have him at Eversleigh.”
“No … no. He should be where Tamarisk is.”
“He doesn’t seem in any hurry to take action about the child.”
“I think he would. It rests with Tamarisk.”
“It’s an unfortunate business. One sees why convention and regularity in family life is so sought after.”
“I agree,” I said.
“We shall have a full house as usual at Eversleigh, I daresay. The Pettigrews will be here … and others, I suppose.”
“Oh … I have room at Grasslands.”
The idea of having him in the house excited me while it filled me with apprehension.
Peter would be at Enderby. He would certainly be home for Christmas. The three houses would be united in the festive celebrations and I should see a great deal of him. I wondered how I should feel being with Jake, while Peter looked on. I could imagine his bland looks and secret amusement.