“Now,” I said, “you have started something.”
“I’d like a little baby in a warming pan,” mused Clarissa.
“Clarissa,” I said sternly, “warming pans are for warming beds. They are not meant for babies.”
Clarissa opened her mouth to protest, but my mother laid a hand on hers and with the other put a finger to her lips.
Clarissa was not to be so easily subdued. She opened her mouth to speak, but my grandfather startled her by banging on the table. “Little children are here to be seen but not heard.”
She looked at him fearlessly in much the same way as I imagine I did at her age.
“Why?” she asked.
“Because,” he said, “what they have to say is of no interest to their elders and betters.”
Although Clarissa was not surprised to hear that there were people in the world older than herself she was momentarily taken aback to think that they could be better.
Uncle Carl said: “There’s going to be trouble from the Jacobites at some time, I’m sure. They’re not going to give up easily, you know.”
“They’ll never succeed. We’re never going to have the Catholics back here, depend on it,” said my grandfather. He brought his brows together; they had grown very bushy in the last years and had fascinated Clarissa from the moment she had seen them. Now she was absorbed by them and forgot to ask why.
My grandfather had always been staunchly Protestant. He had supported Monmouth because he represented the Protestants against Catholic James. I vaguely remembered the terrible time that had been when he had come before Judge Jeffreys and been miraculously saved at the eleventh hour.
“Some of them,” said Carl, “are fighting with Louis.”
“Disgraceful!” said my grandfather. “Englishmen against Englishmen.”
“Fighting in a stupid war about Spain!” put in my grandmother.
“Of course the King of France offered hospitality to James and his Queen and his son,” said Carl. “I daresay they feel they wish to repay him.”
“Oh, yes,” added Edwin. “A herald was at the gates of St. Germain-en-Laye when the King died, and in Latin, French and English proclaimed the Prince as James the Third of England and the Eighth of Scotland.”
“I wish I were young enough to take up arms against him,” said my grandfather. “How many of these Jacobites are there, do you think, Carl?”
“Many in France. They come over here quite often I believe … spying out the land.”
“And we allow that?”
“They come in secret, of course. It’s so easy, isn’t it? A ship brings them over … a little boat is let down … near some lonely stretch of coast and they’re here.”
“What are they doing?” I asked.
“Accessing the possibilities of victory. Finding out how many supporters they have. Believe me, there are a considerable number. They decide where a landing would be possible if they came with an army. They need to know where they are most likely to get a footing.”
“And,” said Harriet, “do we do nothing about this?”
“We have our spies as they have. There must be many … even at the Court of St. Germain. What we need to do is to get the ringleaders. There are a handful of men who are the very core of it. Men like Lord Hessenfield.”
“That fellow!” said my grandfather. “The Hessenfields of the north. They were always Catholics. They plotted in the reign of Elizabeth and tried to get Mary of Scotland on the throne.”
“Well, it is not surprising that he is one of the Jacobite leaders, I suppose,” I said, and hoped my voice sounded normal.
“It’s not so much a religious conflict now,” said Edwin. “True, it was religion which drove James from the throne. Now it is a question of right and wrong. Many would say that James is the true King and his son James is the Third of that name. It’s a reasonable assumption. And if William and Mary had not deposed her father and taken the throne, this young man who calls himself James the Third would indeed be our King.”
“You talk like a Jacobite,” growled my grandfather.
“No, indeed I do not,” said Edwin. “I merely put forward the facts. I can see reason in the actions of Hessenfield and his kind. They believe they are fighting for the right and it is going to take a great deal to stop them.”
“Hessenfield got General Langdon out of the Tower and away to France,” commented my grandfather.
I felt so emotional that I dared not attempt to speak again. I was aware of Harriet, watching me.
“A daring thing to do,” said Carl. “We have to be wary of a fellow like that. Clearly he’s a man to reckon with.”
“There are others like him,” added Edwin. “They are all dedicated men. Otherwise they would not have given up so much to serve what might be a lost cause.”
“Ah,” put in Harriet, “but they do not see it as a lost cause.”
“It must be. With Anne on the throne and men like Marlborough to fight for her.”
There was a brief silence and the conversation turned to local matters.
I told them I had decided to sell Enderby Hall. They applauded, every one of them.
“So you have seen sense at least,” commented my grandfather.
“I wonder who’ll buy it?” said my mother.
“It’s not the best proposition,” added my grandmother. “It’s a gloomy old place and standing empty so long …”
I looked at Damaris, who was smiling at Clarissa.
“What’s gloomy?” she was asking.
I turned to my mother. “Will you show people round if they want to see it?” I asked.
“Someone from the house will,” she said.
“We’ll have some keys here,” said my grandmother. “Prospective buyers are almost certain to come here.”
Then we talked of other matters and I was glad. Enderby Hall was almost as affecting as talk of Hessenfield and his Jacobites, but in a different way.
The weeks passed and we were still at the Dower House. Damaris’s attitude toward me had not changed. It was blank, as though she was scarcely aware of me. When I remembered what she had been like in the past I felt I was with a different person. Not that I was ever with her alone. I wondered what would happen if I were, but I did not want to test it.
August came and there was news of Marlborough’s victory at Blenheim.
There was great excitement at Eversleigh and Carl and Edwin fought out the battle on the dinner table using dishes and salters for the troops and the guns.
Apparently it was a resounding victory. Louis had hoped through the battle to menace Vienna and strike at the very heart of Austria, but Marlborough had once more thwarted him, and the French troops in Blenheim were surrounded and at length forced to surrender. The French were no match for Marlborough’s cavalry and had been forced to retreat beyond the Rhine.
I wondered how the news had affected Hessenfield as I listened to the rejoicing at Eversleigh.
I went once to look at Enderby Hall with my mother and Leigh.
I stood in that Hall with its strange brooding atmosphere. I could see that it had an effect on my mother and Leigh.
“Come on,” said my mother briskly. “Let’s go through the house and get it over with.”
So we went through. I went into that bedroom of many memories.
“That’s a very fine bed,” said my mother. “I daresay anyone who bought the house would want the furniture too.”
I was glad to get out of the room. I never wanted to see it again. Once I had loved it. Beau used to call it Our Sanctuary with that half-amused smile which indicated that anything with a trace of sentiment in it was something of a joke.
We came out of the house and I saw that that part of the land which had been fenced in was so no longer.