“I think it is better to stay awake,” I said.
We watched the dawn come. Another day! Another weary vigil! What would it bring forth? I asked myself and trembled as I tried to dismiss the thoughts which crowded into my mind.
I felt a sudden urge to get out of the house, to walk through the gardens, to make yet another search.
“I can’t stay in,” I cried. “Let’s go into the garden.”
“All right,” said David.
He put a cloak round my shoulders. “It will be a bit chilly,” he said, “and the grass will be damp.”
We opened the door and stepped into the porch.
Something was lying there. I stared. I thought I was dreaming. Then floods of joy swept over me. Lying there wrapped in a blanket was Jessica.
I picked her up. David was staring at her. She opened sleepy eyes, looked at me, gave a big yawn and closed them again.
“It is!” I cried. “It is!”
I went into the hall shouting: “She’s here. Jessica is here.”
My mother came first. She ran to me and snatched the sleeping Jessica from me. There was Dickon… Grace Soper… all the servants.
“She’s back! She’s back!” cried my mother; and I thought she would collapse from very joy.
Dickon took Jessica. “She’s in fine shape,” he said.
My mother snatched her. “She’s well,” she murmured. “She’s not harmed… Oh, my little baby.”
Jessica opened her eyes; she gave a crooked smile and when she saw her mother started to wail.
After the joy of having Jessica back we fell into a state of great uneasiness, asking ourselves: Who could have done this? And for what purpose?
It was clear that during her absence the child had been well cared for and she seemed to accept her return to her family without any great show of delight—although she did smile with a rather special contentment when her mother held her fast in her arms.
Who had submitted us to this suffering, seemingly without purpose? We could not forget it and the memory hung over us like a pall clouding our days. The babies were never left alone for a moment. First thing in the morning my mother and I would hurry to the nursery to assure ourselves that they were safe. Grace had her bed moved into the night nursery and she said she slept with one eye and one ear open.
Her niece, a pleasant girl of about fourteen, came as nursery maid and her room led out of the night nursery, so she was on the alert too.
But we should never feel entirely safe again.
In September Jonathan and Millicent came to Eversleigh; they were only staying for a few days and then going on to Pettigrew Hall for a short visit before returning to London.
I was suffering from a return of that apprehension which I always felt when Jonathan was under the same roof. I tried to discover surreptitiously what difference marriage had made to him. I could see none; Millicent had changed, though; she seemed softer, more pleased with life; I supposed that meant she was finding her marriage satisfactory.
She would certainly find Jonathan a charming husband, I thought, until she discovered his true nature.
He had not changed at all. He was daring, completely without restraint, defying conventions as he had always done when he contrived to be alone with me.
The babies were sleeping in the garden in their carriage just as they had been on the day Jessica had disappeared. Grace Soper and her niece were sitting near the carriage and my mother was there talking to them.
I was gathering some of the autumn flowers. I had some purple asters and Michaelmas daisies in my basket and as I was cutting them Jonathan came and stood beside me.
“What joy to see you again, Claudine,” he said. “I have missed you.”
“Is that so?” I asked, lightly snipping at a Michaelmas daisy.
“Indeed it is. Should I say so if it were not so?”
“You might,” I replied.
“Are you pleased to see me here?”
“My mother likes to have the entire family gathered together under one roof.”
“What a way you have for parrying the question. You should be in Parliament… or in the diplomatic service. Claudine, you do miss me sometimes. Come on. Tell the truth.”
“Not often,” I lied.
“Do you tell falsehoods to yourself as well as to me?”
I said sharply: “Enough of this. You are a married man. I am a married woman—and we are not married to each other.”
He burst out laughing and my mother looked up and smiled in our direction.
“I am me and you are you,” he said. “Nothing can alter that, my love.”
I replied almost pleadingly: “Jonathan, it is wrong of you to talk like this—and you so newly married. What if Millicent heard you? I thought she looked so happy.”
“She is happy. Is she not married to me? I tell you, Claudine, I am the very model of a husband.”
“On the surface,” I said. “You do not seem to fit the description at this moment.”
“And who is to blame for that?”
“You are to blame.”
“Not entirely. I share the blame with you.”
I was angry. I had tried so hard to forget what had happened and he only had to look at me to remind me. I despised my weakness in the past, and it was particularly shameful because I could so easily fall into temptation again. I vigorously snapped a stem.
“Don’t blame the daisies for fate, Claudine,” he said. “Poor little starry creatures. It is not their fault that you and I were meant for each other and that you discovered it too late. But you should be grateful. You would never have known how perfect a relationship can be… but for the time you spent with me.”
“I have never known real peace since.”
“Poor Claudine. You would have gone on living in ignorance, contented perhaps in a mild cosy way… never really living. Safe in your little paradise, never venturing into the real world… the world of passion and adventure and the excitement which comes from living life to the full. Into your self-made paradise, walled in with the security of cosy unawareness, came the serpent one day and tempted you to eat of the tree of knowledge… and this you did. You tasted the true joy of living… and ever since you have been afraid… afraid to live… afraid to love… You know this and you long to escape to me… You won’t admit it. But I know it and so do you… in your secret thoughts.”
“I must go in,” I said.
“Retreat is a symbol of defeat.”
I turned to face him. “I am trying to forget that ever happened.”
“You never will.”
“Jonathan, I am going to try.”
“Face the truth,” he said. “What I have said is right. You will never forget. You have tasted the fruit of the tree of knowledge. Rejoice, my darling. Life was meant to be lived joyously.”
“I want to live mine… honourably,” I said.
And I turned and walked across the lawn.
“Isn’t it a beautiful afternoon?” said my mother. “There won’t be many more this year. Come and sit down for a while.”
I thought she might notice the colour in my cheeks, that sparkle of battle in my eyes which came when I had these encounters with Jonathan, so I said: “I think I should put the flowers in water first. They wilt so quickly. Then I’ll join you.”
Jonathan threw himself down beside my mother.
I heard him say as I hurried across the lawn: “How beautiful you are, dear Step-mama!”
Later I had a talk with Millicent, and that again made me uneasy.
She wanted to borrow one of my brooches which she needed for a dress she was wearing; she explained that she had left most of her jewellery in London. She knew my garnet-and-diamond brooch well… and if I could spare it…
“Of course,” I said. “I’ll bring it along when we go upstairs.”
When I went to her room she was seated at the dressing table wearing a peignoir of magenta colour which suited her. Her dark hair was loose and she looked so much prettier than she used to.