“Yes. And we went to an inn called the Dog and Whistle near Greenwich, and there the host served us with the most excellent roast beef.”
“So it was a pleasant visit was it?”
“Oh yes.”
“And Jonathan immediately returned to London.”
“Yes. My mother does not know how long she will be there, and they wanted to bring me back so that I should be here when you returned.”
“Thoughtful of them.” He kissed me tenderly. “I’ve missed you so much… you and Amaryllis.”
I loved him, tenderly, dearly, steadfastly. So it is possible, I told myself, to love two people at the same time in different ways. To be with David was like taking a draught of crystal-clear water when one was thirsty. By the same analogy Jonathan was a sparkling intoxicating wine.
Was there something strange about me? If I looked right into my mind I had to admit that I wanted them both.
They were brothers… twin brothers. Could there be some explanation there? It was hard to imagine them as one person. They were so entirely different. And yet… I wanted them both.
“Well, we shall be having the wedding soon,” said David. “I daresay there’s a great deal of activity at the Pettigrews’ place.”
We talked about Amaryllis.
I spent a great deal of time in the nursery with her. The little girls were growing fast; they looked different every day. In the nursery I could have forgotten Jonathan if every time I looked at Amaryllis I did not have to think of him.
The day after David’s return a storm blew up. The wind howled at gale force and the rain beat horizontally on the windows. Nobody went out that day because it was almost impossible to stand up in the wind.
The next morning when we awoke it was quite calm. The birds were singing with joy and those flowers which had not been battened down looked fresh and beautiful; damp dripped from the trees, but when the sun rose they would be dried out.
It was a beautiful morning.
I said I would ride round the estate with David and he was delighted that I should join him. There was so much to catch up with, he said, after his being away at Clavering.
Just as we were about to leave, a messenger came from Jeanne. Would we please come over at once?
“Oh dear,” I said to David. “It’s going to spoil the morning. I wonder what it is now? Ride over with me. We need not stay long.”
I was trembling because I feared it might have something to do with Alberic, and if it were I should need David’s support.
We were met by a white-faced Jeanne. She came running out of the house and must have been watching for us.
“Oh Mrs. Frenshaw, Mr. Frenshaw, I am so glad you have come. A terrible thing has happened.”
“What?” I cried.
“It’s Alberic. They’ve found him.”
“Found him!” cried David. “Where has he been all this time?”
“He’s dead, Mr. Frenshaw. His body was washed up by the sea.”
“Drowned!”
Jeanne dropped her head and was silent for a few moments. I was trembling, wondering what was coming next.
“All this time,” murmured Jeanne, “and we were wondering where he was.”
“Drowned?” repeated David.
“Murdered,” Jeanne corrected him. “They said he’s been shot through the lungs. I don’t know what will happen now.”
“But who…” began David. “Just a minute. This is such a shock. I think my wife does not feel very well.”
He lifted me from my horse and kept his arm about me.
“It’s such a shock,” he said.
“Come into the house,” said Jeanne.
“Yes, I think we’d better, darling,” said David.
I sat in the cool hall and the faintness passed. So they would know now. What would they do? What would be the verdict as to what had happened to Alberic?
There was no talk of anything but Alberic’s death. It was impossible to escape from it. Rumour was rife. Who had killed Alberic? Poor innocent Alberic, who had done nothing wrong but to take out a boat for a little pleasure trip.
His friend Billy Grafter must have been with him, they said, since Billy had disappeared at the time Alberic came back from London.
There was an inquest. There was no doubt that Alberic had been shot at, although he had died by drowning. The verdict was murder against some person or persons unknown.
It was terrible to have to live with such a secret. I had nightmares and would awake crying in the night. David would hold me close to him soothingly and I wanted to be beside him, thankful for his presence.
In the morning I would try to reason with myself. Jonathan was right. The times were dangerous. I must remember what had happened to my mother and my grandmother, Zipporah. I could picture the latter going into the little town to shop in her splendid carriage with the d’Aubigné crest emblazoned on it, and coming out to the mob. Alberic’s death was a judicial killing. One should not look on it in a different light. It was logical. It was the law of survival.
During the day I could believe that. It was at night when the hideous dreams came.
Jonathan had come back to Eversleigh for the inquest.
I did not attend, but immediately it was over he sought an opportunity to be alone with me.
I said: “They will search for the one who killed him. Jonathan, what if—?”
He shook his head and smiled at me rather sardonically.
“They will talk of an enquiry. They will make a show of having one. But I can assure you that nothing will be revealed. That has been taken care of. It is for the country’s security, and that is understood in certain quarters.”
“It is all so… subversive.”
He laughed. “What did you expect? It is the very nature of the matter. How are you feeling now? You’ve not told anybody?”
I shook my head firmly.
“Not even David? He’d understand, of course. He’s always logical. But there is no point in people’s knowing when it is not necessary. I’m only sorry you had to see it.”
“What of Billy Grafter?” I asked.
“He got away. Never mind. We know what he looks like. He might provide a useful lead. And we know Léon Blanchard is—or has been—in London. I shall shortly be going to London again and when I come back I daresay Dickon and your mother will come with me.”
I put my hand to my head and said wearily: “I wish it would all end.”
“Poor Claudine! Life is very complicated, is it not?”
“I want mine to be simple… peaceful.”
“Oh come, you are too young for peace.” Then he kissed me briefly. “Au revoir, my love,” he said.
I was glad when he went. He added to my disturbed state of mind.
I went to see Aunt Sophie.
Jeanne greeted me. “She is in bed. She’s been poorly. This has upset her more than I would have believed possible.”
She certainly looked wan lying in her bed with the blue curtains drawn back.
“Oh, Claudine…” she said.
“Dear Aunt Sophie, you have been unwell, Jeanne tells me.”
“This is a house of mourning, Claudine,” she answered. Her fingers picked restlessly at the sheets. “Why is life always like this to me? Why is it that when I have a fondness for someone something like this happens?”
“There is always tragedy around us, Aunt Sophie.”
“For me, certainly,” she said.
“I’m sorry…”
“That poor boy, that poor innocent boy…”
Ah, Aunt Sophie, I thought, not so innocent. It is amazing how little we know of those with whom we live closely.
“What did he do? He only took out a boat… for a pleasure trip… and some wicked villain shot him. Can you understand it?” she demanded. “It doesn’t make sense,” she went on piteously.
“It is difficult to understand, Aunt Sophie. Why was he in the boat, do you think? Hadn’t he just returned from London? You thought he had gone back because he had forgotten something. But why should he have taken that moment to go out in the boat?”