Lament for a Lost Lover (18 page)

“Ah, tell me about the house. They are good Christian people?”

“As good Christians as you can find, I doubt not,” I said.

“I am a proud man, I would not be turned away, mistress.”

“Have no fear. If you are a good Puritan you will be given what you need.”

“Oh, but we are all good Puritans now, mistress.” He was looking at me oddly. “Needs must, eh?”

“’Tis so,” I said, not meeting his eyes.

“And you have come from afar?”

“From Chester.”

“A long journey.”

“Yes. Our money was stolen at an inn. We have thrown ourselves upon the kindness of these good people and we await the return of our servant with the means which will enable us to continue our journey.”

“There are evil men about, mistress. One would have thought that with so much piety abroad we should not have to look to our purses.”

“No, indeed.”

“I was once in Chester,” he went on. “Oh, many years … I knew it well.”

I hoped I didn’t show my uneasiness.

“A beautiful city, eh, friend? But cities are not meant to be beautiful. Where there is beauty there is corruption … so they tell us. And you travelled down from Chester, did you? A long journey. I once lived in Liverpool. Now you would have passed through it on your way.”

“Oh, yes,” I said quickly. “Let me take you to the house.”

“Thank you, friend. I watched you at work. If you will allow me to say so, you did not seem as though you were experienced at it.”

“No. I have done it only since I came here. It is fitting, of course, that we should all have our tasks …”

“Fitting, indeed.” He came a little closer to me. “Perhaps the day will come when we have time for other matters, eh?”

My heart was beating fast. I was sure that he was not what he seemed. I believed he wanted to get to the house to talk to Carleton and Edwin. He was one of their friends.

“It may be,” I said.

Slowly he closed one eye. It was meant to be a gesture of complicity. I started to walk towards the house.

Ellen was in the kitchen when we reached it. I said: “Here is a friend who seeks shelter.”

“Come in,” said Ellen. “That was never denied in this house.”

I went to the room I shared with Edwin, feeling a little uneasy. I wanted to find my husband to tell him what had happened, but he was nowhere to be seen.

I couldn’t find Harriet either. I supposed she was out gathering plants again. She had said she had to go far afield for them, and she was going to explain to Ellen how to use them when they were ready and to tell her what ills they would cure.

“I hope you won’t poison them all,” I had said, and she retorted that they were all so virtuous that they should welcome a quick trip to Heaven.

Whilst I was pondering what to do, Carleton came into the room. He did not knock, he just walked in. I started up angrily but he silenced me immediately.

“Make your way to the library as soon as you can. Wait there until I come. Where are Edwin … and Harriet?”

I told him I did not know. He nodded and said: “Get down soon.”

I knew that something was terribly wrong, and naturally I connected it with the man I had brought to the house.

I went down to the library. Carleton was soon there. He locked the door and opened the secret panel behind the books and we stepped into the storeroom.

“Trouble,” he said. “Trouble and you are to blame.”

“I!”

“You’re a fool,” he snapped. “Don’t you realize the seriousness of our position? Clearly, you don’t. You were the first to arouse suspicion. What a fool Edwin was to bring you.”

“I don’t understand …”

“Of course you won’t understand. That’s obvious. You gave the button to the child. Don’t you know yet that no Puritan, whether she came from Chester or London or anywhere in Cromwell’s land, would wear such a button, would have such a button, and to give it to a child …”

“I thought …”

“You never think. You are empty-headed. How could Edwin have been such a fool as to let you come? There is a man in the house. He has come to investigate. Jasper sent for him because he suspects you all. By the mercy of God he does not suspect me. I have played my part well all these years, and you come here and in a few days we are in acute danger. This man has come here to watch you, Edwin and Harriet. You are under suspicion … and our work not completed. You’ll have to go as soon as we can arrange it.”

“Oh, Carleton, I’m sorry …”

“Sorry. It’s too late to be sorry. A little good sense would have done us more good than sorrow. You must get out as soon as I can arrange it. The moment Edwin and Harriet return, you will have to leave. I don’t know how much has been discovered yet. Apparently you said you had come through Liverpool which is north of Chester. They suspect you never came from Chester at all and they are beginning to see what happened. They suspect you are spies from France. The button betrayed you. In France they would wear such buttons, it seems. Well, there’s no good to be served by telling you what a fool you are and how much better it would have been for us all if you had had the good sense to stay in France. Go to your room. Lock the door. Open to none but me, and if Edwin should return and you see him, make him lock himself in the room while you find me, but I shall be on the watch.”

It was an hour or so later. I was waiting in my room for Harriet or Edwin to return. I was frantic with anxiety. I was afraid they would catch Edwin as he came back to the house.

Then Carleton burst into my room. His eyes were wild and I had never imagined he could be so distraught. Harriet was with him. Her cloak was bloodstained.

“What’s happened?” I cried.

Carleton said: “Get out of your things—change at once. Into your riding habits. Be prepared. I have to get you out of here quickly.”

He went out and I cried: “Harriet, what does it mean? … Where is Edwin?”

She looked at me steadily. Her eyes were burning blue lights in her pale, pale face, and I saw that there was blood on her hair.

“It was terrible,” she said. “Terrible.”

“What? For God’s sake tell me.”

“Edwin,” she began, … “in the arbour. He was trying to save me. You know the arbour … on the edge of the gardens … that tumbled-down old place …”

“What about it? Tell me, Harriet, for Heaven’s sake, tell me.”

“I was near there with my basket of plants and I saw Edwin. I called to him and just then I saw a man with a gun …”

“Oh, no … no …”

She nodded. “He shouted something and Edwin tried to protect me. … He pushed me into the arbour, and stood in front of me. Then he was shot … The blood was terrible …”

“You … you’ve left him …”

I was ready to run from the room but she caught me.

“Don’t go. Carleton said we must stay here. We must wait. He said I must keep you here. There’s nothing you can do. He’s gone to him. They’ll bring him in …”

“Edwin … shot … dying … Of course I must be with him. …”

She clung to me. “No. No. They will kill both of us … as they’ve killed him. You can do no good. You must obey Carleton.”

I stared at her. I could not believe it. But I knew it was true.

They brought him into the house. They had made a rough stretcher. I could not believe that was Edwin—my merry Edwin—lying there. Alive one moment, laughing at life, and then suddenly he was there no more.

Harriet was with me. She had taken off her cape and washed the bloodstains from her hair.

I kept moaning: “I must go to him.”

But she wouldn’t let me. There had been trouble enough. We must not make it worse.

I knew she was right, but it was cruel to keep me from him.

Carleton came in.

He looked at us steadily. “Are you prepared?” he asked.

It was Harriet who answered, “Yes.”

“Ready. We’re going down to the library at once.”

We followed him down and there he locked the door and opened the bookshelves.

“You will stay here until tonight when I hope to get you away. I’ve sent word to Tom. He’ll be waiting for you in the cave. The boat is there. You’ll wait for the tide and pray for a smooth sea.” He looked at me. “Edwin is dead,” he said expressionlessly. “He was shot in the arbour. He died immediately and would have known little of what happened. There was no pain. Now this operation is over. I shall leave our findings with Tom and he can take them back.”

I said: “I want to see Edwin.”

“Impossible,” he said. “He is dead. It would only distress you. I knew it would go wrong when he brought you with him. It’s too late for regrets now. Fortunately, they trusted me.”

He shut us in, and Harriet put her arm about me.

“You have to be strong, Arabella. We’ve got to get back. Think of your family and how much is at stake.”

“Edwin is dead,” I said. “I wasn’t with him … This morning he was well and so alive and now …”

“He died instantly. He wouldn’t have known anything. That must be a consolation.”

“A consolation. What consolation can there be for me? He was my husband.”

I could say no more. I sank down on one of the trunks and thought of Edwin … as I had first seen him; Edwin as Romeo; the occasion when we arrived at the inn and he saw us there. Oh, he was so much in love with life. He knew how to live it. How cruel that he should be taken.

Then I tried to look ahead to the rest of my life without him.

I could not talk to Harriet. I could talk to no one. I only wanted to be alone with my grief.

It was dusk when Carleton came to us. He smuggled us out of the house to where he had horses ready for us, then he rode with us to the coast where Tom was waiting.

The sea was calm but I didn’t care. I wished there were a storm which would overturn our boat. I could not bear the thought of going back without Edwin.

And through my grief was the horrible suspicion. I kept thinking of myself playing with Chastity: I could see her holding the pretty button in the palm of her little hand.

Edwin is dead, I kept saying to myself, and your carelessness killed him.

What a burden I should suffer for the rest of my life. Not only had I lost Edwin, but I had only myself to blame.

Blithely I had entered into his adventure without fully grasping the seriousness of it. Instead of being the helpmeet, I had been the encumbrance which was responsible for his death.

I knew that I was going to suffer acutely for as long as I lived. It was small wonder that I wished for a sea that would envelop the boat. It was ironical. How merrily we had arrived; how tragically we returned.

I
SUPPOSE I SHOULD HAVE
been grateful to have made the crossing safely. But I could feel nothing but the numbness of my grief.

Harriet did her best to cheer me, but it was impossible for her to do so. She had been saddened even as I had, but at least she did not have to blame herself.

Tom looked after us well. He procured horses for us and we made our way to Château Congrève. He said he would leave us there and then make his way with the important papers he carried to the King, who was then in Brussels.

It was May, warm and sunny, and the gorse made golden clumps across the green landscape. There was bud and blossom on the hawthorn, and the birds seemed as though they wanted to tell the world how glad they were. How different was my mood, burdened as I was by the pain, the loss and the awful guilt.

Harriet tried to reason with me. “Forget that miserable button,” she said. “They’re so unnatural, Puritans. If one thing didn’t offend them, something else would.”

“We should never have gone. Don’t you see, Harriet?” I insisted.

“Look,” she said, “it didn’t seem wrong at the time. Think how cheered he was when he saw us. He worked better for knowing we were there. It wasn’t your fault. You’ve got to forget it.”

“How can you understand—” I demanded. “He wasn’t your husband.”

“Perhaps I do understand, all the same,” she said soberly.

How kind she was to me. How she tried to cheer me, but I set myself stubbornly against her cheering. I wanted to nurse my grief, to cherish it. I told myself my life was over. I had lost everything I cared for.

“Everything!” she cried angrily. “Your parents, your brothers and sister. My friendship. Do you value them so lightly?”

I was ashamed then.

“You have so much,” she said. “Think of others who have no family … who are quite alone …”

I took her hand then and pressed it. Poor Harriet, it was rarely that she betrayed her needs.

We came to Château Congrève. It looked different from when we left it—gloomy, dreary—not amusing as it had used to look in the days when we played our games there.

Our coming was unheralded and the great excitement it aroused should have been gratifying. Lucas was there and he had told them how I had gone to England. The consternation had been great. Dick, Angie and Fenn squealed with delight when they saw us. Dick flung himself at me and the other two almost knocked me over with the exuberance of their welcome. It was impossible not to be moved.

I took them in my arms and kissed each one fervently.

And there was Lucas smiling tremulously before he too hugged me tightly.

“We’ve been so anxious …” said Lucas.

Dick cried: “We knew you’d be all right because Harriet was with you.”

Then they were kissing her and dancing round us and suddenly I did what I had not done at the height of my grief. I burst into tears.

I heard Harriet talking to Lucas, telling him the news.

Tom, who had left for Brussels, would stop at Villers Tourron on the way to tell the tragic news. I felt deeply for Matilda and for poor Charlotte. What a tragedy it would be for them—almost as great as mine!

Now there was a hush over the
château.
Jeanne, Marianne and Jacques walked about on tiptoe. Madame Lambard came and wept with me and insisted that I take a brew made from gentian and thyme which she said would help me to overcome my grief.

I would lie in my room without any desire to rise from my bed. I didn’t care what happened, I could only think of Edwin.

The children kept away from me. I suppose I seemed like a stranger to them. Harriet was with me often. She would sit by my bed and try all manner of ways to rouse me. I would hear her voice without listening to what she was saying. She was very patient with me.