Lament for a Lost Lover (12 page)

As the day progressed the tension within the
château
increased and in the early afternoon the actors retired to their rooms to prepare themselves.

At six o’clock we were all assembled. Seats had been set up in the hall and everyone for miles around who could possibly come was present. The servants were there in force, so it was a fairly large audience. We could not complain of them, for there was a hushed silence as the play began and I doubted many of them had ever seen anything like it. Harriet’s supervision had meant that to uncritical eyes we were by no means bad, and to see the ancient hall transformed into a theatre was something magical.

My first scene was with Harriet and of course it was her scene. It was only when Edwin and I came face to face that I really felt I was giving my best. I couldn’t help thrilling with pleasure when he, seeing me from afar, said I hung upon the cheek of night like a rich jewel on an Ethiop’s ear, and I was to remember for a long time after, the thrill of hearing him say of Juliet, “I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.”

And so it seemed to me we played for each other. We were the lovers. We met and loved—at least I did—as those two did. Surely, I told myself, he could not have played as he did if he had not cared for me.

I think I did rather well in the mausoleum scene. To see Edwin lying there, poisoned, I understood exactly how Juliet must have felt, and I believe I was really tragic when I snatched his dagger and pretended to plunge it into my heart and fell across him.

It was typical of Edwin that he should propose in such circumstances. “Cheer up,” he whispered. “Will you marry me?” I was carried completely back into reality, for I had really been thinking of how heartbroken I would be if he were dead. Edwin was suppressing his laughter and I had difficulty in doing the same.

The final speeches were made. The Duke had commiserated on the follies of enmity and the families had become friends. The play was over.

Everyone applauded wildly. Edwin and I sprang to life and came to stand with the others to take our bow. Harriet, hovering in the centre, took a hand of each of us and we stood there together.

She spoke to the audience and said she hoped they had enjoyed our effort. They must forgive us our faults, but we had done our best, at which Lady Eversleigh replied that she and her guests, she knew, would remember it forever.

Then Edwin stepped forward.

“I have an announcement to make,” he said. “It is a new ending to the play. Romeo and Juliet did not die after all. They lived on to marry and be happy ever after.” He turned, and taking my hand, brought me to stand beside him. “I have great pleasure in telling you that this night Arabella has promised to become my wife.”

There was brief silence and then the applause rang out. Lady Eversleigh came onto the dais; she held out her arms and embraced us both. Then she kissed us solemnly.

“It is the perfect ending,” she said.

The feast was prolonged. There was singing and dancing. The guests were very merry. It was nearly midnight when those who could reach their homes left and the others settled down to the accommodation they could find at Villers Tourron.

I had remained in my Juliet costume, and in the room I shared with Harriet I was reluctant to take it off. I felt the magic would somehow end if I did.

Harriet was watching me.

“You will remember this evening for quite a long time, I should imagine,” she said.

“I suppose one does remember the day one is betrothed.”

“Very dramatic, wasn’t it?” she said. “Trust your future husband for that.”

“It seemed the right moment.”

“Most effective, I grant you.”

“You are not pleased, Harriet?”

“Not pleased? What makes you think that? It is an excellent match. As good as any girl could make. If the King does go back to England and the Eversleighs regain their estates and more also, you will have a very rich husband. When did he ask you?”

“When we were in the tomb.”

“Not a very appropriate moment, surely.”

“It seemed just right,” I replied ecstatically.

“You are bemused,” she said.

“I am allowed to be happy on such a night, am I not?”

“Don’t hope for too much.”

“What’s the matter with you, Harriet?”

“I’m thinking of your happiness.”

“Then rejoice, for I have never been so happy in my life.”

She kissed me lightly on the forehead. Then she stood back. “The cap was too tight for you,” she said. “It’s left a mark.”

“That’ll soon pass.”

I felt rather sorry for Harriet. She had so wanted to be Juliet tonight, and it was a pity, because I knew that for all the flattering compliments I had received, she would have done it so much better than I.

All next day I went about in a state of euphoria. I received congratulations, scarcely listening to them. I was carried off by Lady Eversleigh who kept impressing on me how delighted she was, and she told me that she was sending off a message to her husband and my parents that very day, so that they could share the good news. Would I like to write to Mother and Father and let them see how happy I was?

I wrote to them both.

Dearest Mother and Father,

The most wonderful thing has happened. Edwin Eversleigh has asked me to marry him. I am so happy. Edwin is wonderful, so handsome, so kind and so merry. Everything is a joke with him. He’s hardly ever serious. We have had such fun playing
Romeo and Juliet
together—he, Romeo, I Juliet. He actually proposed during the death scene. Do write to me soon and tell me that you are as happy about this as I am. I have no time for more, as the messenger is about to leave.

Your loving daughter,

Arabella Tolworthy.

The messenger left with the letters and Matilda Eversleigh kept me with her to talk to me and to tell me how well we should get on together. She was sure that the estates would soon be restored. The family mansion, Eversleigh Court, had not been destroyed by those dreadful Roundheads.

She would not let me go, though I was longing to be with Edwin, and at length when I did get away from her, I heard that Edwin had gone riding with several others it seemed. I went to my room. Harriet’s riding clothes were missing so she must have been one of the party.

It was late when they came back. Harriet seemed in very good spirits.

Several of the guests were still staying on, and that night in the great hall the talk was all of the previous night’s entertainment and the betrothal announcement at the end of it.

The musicians played and we sang. Harriet enchanted everyone with her singing. Then we danced. Edwin and I led off the dancing together, and people watching us, I heard afterwards, said that they could have believed they were back at home and the trouble was over, the spoilers of our country vanquished and good King Charles upon the throne.

“Did you enjoy your ride today?” I asked.

He hesitated only briefly. Then he shrugged his shoulders. “You were not with us,” he said. He said the most delightful things.

“So you missed me.”

“That, my dear Arabella, is what I would call an unnecessary question.”

“I should just like to know the answer.”

“I should miss you whenever you were not with me. I know you were with my mother and how much she wanted to talk to you, so I was self-sacrificing. I shall have you for the rest of our lives.”

“I didn’t know you were going riding or …”

“You would have wanted to come. I knew, so I left you with my mother.”

“I didn’t hear you all leave. I knew afterwards that Harriet had gone.”

“Oh, yes, Harriet,” he said.

“Poor Harriet. It was a blow to her not to play Juliet. She would have been perfect.”

“Different, yes,” he said. “But now we are together, let’s think of what’s to come.”

“I have thought of nothing else.”

“When we get back to England … that will be the time! Then we can live naturally … just as though that ridiculous war never happened. That’s what I am waiting for.”

“First, though, we have to get there. You have to go away soon.”

“That will not be for long. And then I shall come back and ever after we shall be together.”

One of the reasons I most enjoyed being with Edwin—apart from the fact that I was deeply in love with him—was that he carried one along on his ever-present optimism so that one believed in it as wholeheartedly as he did.

How happy I was during the days that followed.

Then something disturbing happened.

Charles Condey left. He pleaded urgent business, but I knew the real reason. The night before he left, Harriet told me that he had asked her to marry him.

She watched me closely as she told me this.

“Harriet!” I cried. “Did you say yes?” And even as I spoke I was thinking, Poor Charlotte.

She shook her head slowly.

“Of course,” I said. “I knew you didn’t love him.”

How wise I felt myself to be in my own exalted experience. I was so happy that I wanted everyone to share my happiness, particularly Harriet. I would have felt it to be wonderful if she could have become betrothed at the same time.

“It would not have been suitable,” she said.

“But, Harriet …”

She turned on me suddenly. “Good enough for me, you are thinking. A strolling player’s bastard. Is that it?”

“Harriet, how can you say that!”

“You are to marry the scion of an ancient house. Money and title in due course. Lady Eversleigh! That is well. You are the daughter of a great general. But anything is good enough for me.”

“But, Harriet, Charles is of good family. He is young and charming.”

“A third son … without means.”

“Well, the Eversleighs apparently thought him good enough for Charlotte.”

She was venomous suddenly. “They were hard put to it to find anyone to take Charlotte. There would have been a big dowry along with her. Once they were back in England … Charles Condey would have done very well for himself.”

“It shows how noble he was in giving it up. I mean it shows he was really in love.”

“Dear Arabella, we are not discussing his feelings, but mine. When I marry it must be someone equal to your gallant bridegroom.”

“Harriet, there are times when I don’t understand you.”

“Which is just as well,” she muttered.

Then she was subdued and would say no more, but she had made me uneasy and I could not recapture that first bright flush of happiness.

I noticed too that, though Charlotte tried to be bright, there was a sadness beneath her efforts. My own happiness was clouded. I wanted to show friendliness towards her but it was not easy. Charlotte had encased herself behind a defensive wall.

Two days after Charles had left, when the guests were gradually departing, I went up to the turret to the lookout tower. I was expecting letters from my parents, and from there I could see right out to the horizon.

Perhaps it was too early yet to receive replies, but I wanted to look just in case.

There was a door which led onto a stone parapet and below this was a sheer drop to the ground. I don’t know what it was that sent me there at that time. I liked to think it was some instinct, but I thanked God that I went.

Charlotte was there, her hands on the stone parapet. And the horrible realization struck me that she was poised to jump.

“Charlotte!” I called, my voice shrill with terror.

She started and hesitated. I froze with horror, for I thought she was going to throw herself over before I could reach her. “No, Charlotte.
No
!” I cried.

Then to my relief she turned and looked at me.

I have never seen such misery as I saw in her face, and I felt a deep pity that was tinged with remorse because I knew that I was in a way responsible for her unhappiness. It was I who had brought Harriet to Villers Tourron. But for Harriet she would be a happy girl now, betrothed to the man she loved.

I ran to her and caught her arm.

“Oh, Charlotte!” I cried, and she must have seen the depth of my feelings, for they called forth some response in her.

Acting purely on impulse, I put my arms round her and for a few seconds she clung to me. Then she drew quickly away and the habitual coldness had crept over her face.

“I don’t know what you think,” she began.

I shook my head. “Oh, Charlotte!” I cried. “I understand. I
do
understand.”

Her lip trembled slightly. I felt she was going to tell me that she had been admiring the view and ask me why I was behaving so ridiculously. Then her lips tightened and there was contempt in her look … contempt for herself. Charlotte was of a nature that would despise hypocrisy. She could not pretend.

“Yes,” she said, “I was going to jump over.”

“Thank God I came.”

“You sound as though you really care.”

“Of course I care,” I said. “I’m going to be your sister, Charlotte.”

“You know why?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Charles has gone. He did not love me after all.”

“He did perhaps, but he was … bemused.”

“Why did she have to come here?”

“I brought her. If I had known …”

“Perhaps it’s as well. If he is so easily … bemused … he might not have been a good husband, do you think?”

“I think he will come back.”

“And you think I would take him then?”

“It depends how much you love him. If you loved him enough to do that …” I looked towards the parapet … “perhaps you would love him enough to take him back.”

“You don’t understand,” she said.

“Come away from there. Let us go somewhere where we can talk.”

“What is there to say?”

“It is often helpful to talk to someone. Oh, Charlotte, it will not seem so cruel later on. I am sure of it.”

She shook her head and I slipped my arm tentatively through hers. I was waiting to be repulsed, but she accepted the gesture and I fancied was somewhat comforted by it.

She stood still, misery in her eyes.

“He was the first who ever looked at me,” she said. “I thought he loved me. But … as soon as she came …”

“There is something about her,” I assured her. “I daresay most men would be attracted … temporarily.”