Lament for a Lost Lover (37 page)

“I want time,” I said. “Time to think.”

“You need that … now?”

“Yes, I do, and I shall have it.”

I turned away from him and went into the house.

In the afternoon the party returned in the carriage. They were full of their adventures and could talk of nothing else. I listened, I must admit, with divided attention, for I could not but be amazed by all that had happened since I had last seen them.

Charlotte came to my room in the early evening and said: “Something’s happened. You seem different.”

“Do I?” I tried to sound surprised. I glanced round my bedroom and the bed which last night I had shared with Carleton as though I thought there must be something there to betray me. “In what way?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t know … but you seem … excited and at the same time …”

“Yes?” I prompted, playing for time and wondering what she had noticed.

“I don’t know. I can only say … different.”

“I was very anxious on the first day when you didn’t come back. It was late before I heard what had happened.”

“Yes, Carleton said you would be worried and he would ride back to tell you.”

“It was a relief,” I said. “Well, we shall be going back to Eversleigh soon. I must confess I am longing to see the boys.”

Charlotte said no more of the difference in me, but I did catch her looking at me rather intently as the day wore on.

It was just before suppertime when the messenger came. There was some consternation, for his livery proclaimed that he was from the King.

During the digging after the fire, workmen had discovered Roman walls and tessellated pavements beneath the streets, and the King was greatly excited. He knew that Carleton had some knowledge of these matters and he wanted him to come to Court without delay. He wanted to talk with him and the next day they would pay a visit to the site.

Carleton, of course, had no alternative but to leave at once.

We returned to Eversleigh. We had been away much longer than we had intended and the children were delighted to see us. I had to tell them about the great fire and they listened round-eyed to the details of falling masonry, blazing roofs and molten lead running through the streets.

“Shall we have a fire here?” asked Leigh wistfully.

“Pray God not,” I replied sharply.

I was not sorry that Carleton had been called away. I wanted to think about the future and I found it easier to do that when he was not near.

I wondered what Edwin would feel about the change in our relationship. He did not dislike Carleton. Of course he had not the same feeling for him that he had for Geoffrey. Was that because Geoffrey had gone out of his way to interest and amuse? Both boys loved Uncle Toby who attracted them to him effortlessly.

I could not ask Edwin outright how he felt about Carleton. In any case I didn’t want to talk about Carleton. I really wanted to put him out of my mind. I was still stunned by my easy surrender, and in a way—perhaps unfairly—I blamed Carleton for it.

I made a habit of going to the arbour where Edwin’s body had been found. It was a gloomy place, hidden from the house by a shrubbery. As a place where murder had been committed it was neglected. No one cared to go near it, particularly after dark. I knew the servants avoided it, and so did the gardeners. The foliage round it was overgrown and rarely tended. It was a wooden structure and must once have been a very pretty retreat, secluded enough for privacy. The window through which the shot had been fired was now boarded up. No one had ever suggested that it should be replaced. I looked inside. It smelt damp and musty. There was a bench, a wooden chair and a small table with iron legs. I forced myself to step inside, and I stood there, imagining them together. A good place for an assignation. I saw the key hanging on a nail near the door. They could lock themselves in. They had forgotten that someone could have looked in from outside. Old Jethro … the avenging prophet!

Why did I come here, to exacerbate my wounds, I asked myself? I let myself picture the self-righteous Jethro, watching the lovers’ meeting, peering through that now boarded-up window at their abandoned lovemaking. I wondered if he had watched salaciously. That would not have surprised me. And then he brought out his gun and killed Edwin, taking him in the very act, which was scarcely what a Christian should do, since according to Jethro’s beliefs, Edwin would go to eternal damnation without hope of remission of his sins. Surely Jethro’s would be the greater crime in the face of heaven?

I often sat in the kitchen and talked with Ellen.

“Did you know Old Jethro?” I asked.

“Indeed, yes, mistress. Everybody hereabouts knew Old Jethro. Some said he was mad. His religion turned his brain. He used to beat himself with whips and wear a hair shirt just to make himself suffer. He thought it made him holy.”

“What did people hereabouts think of him?”

“Well before the King came back they reckoned he was a good man. He was all for the Parliament, but I think even they would not be stern enough for him. He once killed his dog for going with a bitch.”

“I had heard that.”

“He was all against maidens who forestalled their marriage vows. He’d be there in church when they was called to atone. He wanted ’em beaten and their bastards killed at birth.”

“A good Christian!” I said with sarcasm.

“It depends on what you see as Christianity.”

I thought I must go carefully, for Jasper had remained a stern Puritan and I would never forget how he had thought a pretty button was an object of the Devil.

“They say Young Jethro be as bad as his father and growing more like him every day.”

“Young Jethro?”

“Oh, he’d not be so young. I reckon he must be nearly forty now.”

“So he had a son. I am surprised, since he disapproved of dogs propagating their kind.”

“Old Jethro were married once. Oh, he was a bit of a rake in them days, so I heard. Then suddenly he saw the light. That’s what he says. God came to him in a vision and said, ‘Jethro, what you’re doing here is sinful like. You get out and preach my Word.’ So then he was reformed. His wife left him. Young Jethro was about five then. He kept the boy and, as I said, he’s made him another such as himself. Used to keep him chained up on his knees praying four hours a day.”

“Old Jethro died, then?”

“Yes, some time ago. Some said he starved himself to death and all them whippings didn’t help.”

“Where does Young Jethro live? Is it near here?”

“Not far. On the edge of the estate. In a sort of barn. Very rough it is and Young Jethro be his father all over again. He’s got a nose for sin. If there’s a bit of sin hereabouts he’d sniff it out. Polly, one of our kitchen girls, was in a bit of trouble. Jethro knew it before the rest of us … almost before Polly knew herself. Took her in his barn and told her she was damned and how the Devil was laughing his head off and getting his imps to stoke up the fires for her. Poor Polly: she went to her grandmother’s place and hanged herself. ‘Wages of sin,’ said Young Jethro. Poor Polly, ’twas only a little frolic in the stables. If she hadn’t got caught, she’d have been no worse than the rest.”

“This Young Jethro sounds a very uncomfortable sort of person to have about.”

“Them that’s over good is often uncomfortable, mistress.”

I agreed.

By an odd chance a few days later when I was riding with the boys, we tethered the horses and went down to the beach near that cave where I had sheltered with Harriet and Edwin when we had come back to England. I had a morbid fancy for returning to such places and conjuring up visions of the past.

There on the shingle the boys took off their boots and dabbled their feet in the sea while I sat watching them.

The waves were a little rough on that day and every time one came in they would shriek with laughter, run forward daringly and then run back. Then they amused themselves by sending pebbles skimming over the water.

The noise of the sea, the odour of seaweed, the happy shrieks of the boys were a background to my thoughts. I remembered the boat’s coming in. I pictured Edwin and Harriet exchanging looks. I tried to remember what they had said, and how they had said it. It was there for me to see and I had been blind.

I was aware suddenly of a crunching of boots on the shingle and looking up I saw a man coming along. He carried a basket in which he had some pieces of driftwood and perhaps other things he had picked up during his beachcombing.

He was muttering to himself. “Sinful. Should be beaten.” I knew instinctively that I was face to face with Young Jethro whose father had murdered my husband. I could not let him pass. “Sinful?” I cried. “Who is sinful?” He pulled up and looked at me with fierce, fanatical eyes shaded by brownish yellow brows so untidy that they sprouted in all directions and threatened to cover his eyes themselves. His great pupils stood out, for the whites of his eyes showed all round them so he had a look of fierce surprise and horror. His mouth was tight and drawn in, turning down at each side.

“Them bits of sin,” he said pointing to the boys. “I can assure you that they do not know the meaning of sin.”

“You go against God’s Word, woman. We be all born in sin.”

“Even you?”

“God help me, yes.”

“Well since you share in the sin, why are you so eager to point it out in others?”

“Laughing, shrieking … two days off the Sabbath!” I felt angry with him. His father had killed Edwin. But for his father Edwin would not have died. I might never have discovered his infidelities. But could he have gone on through his life pretending …

“Nonsense,” I said, “people are meant to be happy.” He moved away from me as though he feared to be contaminated by such wickedness. “You’re a sinful woman,” he said. “God will not be mocked.” Edwin had seen the man. He thought I needed protecting and came running up.

“Mama, Mama, did you want me?”

I was so proud of him. He looked up boldly into that repulsive face and said: “Don’t you dare hurt my mama.”

I had risen to my feet and placed my hand protectively on my son’s head.

Recognition dawned on Young Jethro’s face. “I knew your father,” he said.

“My father was the best man in the world,” said Edwin.

“Ananias,” cried Young Jethro. “Ananias.”

“What does he mean, Mama?” asked Edwin.

I did not speak. I was very shaken by this man who knew so much about my husband.

“The wages of sin …” muttered Young Jethro, his eyes on Edwin.

Leigh came running up. He was breathless. “I’ve thrown a pebble over and over the water. It’s gone all the way to France.”

“It couldn’t have,” said Edwin.

“It did. It did. I saw it go.”

Young Jethro had gone off muttering, “And the wages of sin is death.”

“Who’s that old man?” asked Leigh.

But Edwin was thinking of the pebble which had gone skimming across the water to France and was determined to throw one himself.

“Show me,” he said. “I’ll send one farther than you.”

They raced back to the water while I watched the retreating figure of Young Jethro.

I think I knew it was going to happen, and when I was sure, I felt a sense of relief because fate had made up my mind for me.

I knew I must act quickly and I did.

When I was alone with Carleton, I said: “I am pregnant.”

His eyes lighted up. His face seemed to shine with the enormity of his satisfaction.

“My dearest Arabella. I knew it.” He had lifted me in his arms. He held me tightly. He kissed me again and again. We were in the garden and I said: “We could be seen.”

“Does it matter? A man is allowed to embrace his future wife. Oh, my dear girl, this is the happiest moment of my life.”

“It is what you wanted. You will be Edwin’s stepfather and Eversleigh will be yours in all but name.”

“As if I was thinking of Eversleigh.”

“You know you always are thinking of it.”

“I am thinking of everything. My wife and already carrying our child. That is wonderful. I am an impatient man, you will find, my darling. This suits my mood. I am to acquire a wife and a child in the shortest possible space of time.”

“I see no alternative but marriage,” I said, trying to sound doleful.

“There
is
no alternative. I shall go straight in and tell my uncle. I know he’ll be delighted. It was what he wanted. Or shall we marry secretly? Then we might have another ceremony and festivities later. That would account for the early arrival of our child.”

“I did not think you were one to set such store by the proprieties.”

“I like to observe them when they fit in with my needs. Oh, Arabella, I am a happy man this day. That which I have so long desired has come to pass. Yes, let us marry in secret. I will arrange for a priest to do this. Then we will tell my uncle, and I know they will probably want another ceremony and celebrations here.”

“There seems no point in such subterfuge.”

“Yes. Because the sort of wedding they will wish us to have might take a little time to arrange. There is our child to consider. We want him to make a respectable entrance into the world.”

“Please do not think I am duty bound to provide you with a boy.”

“Believe me, it is Arabella I want. I shall be grateful for whatever she deigns to give me. Leave this to me, Arabella. Arabella, how I adore you.”

“At least,” I said, “I should be grateful that you are ready to make an honest woman of me.”

“Never change.” He smiled at me gently. “I could not bear you to change. There was always something of the polygamist in me, so I need my two Arabellas. Arabella of the sharp tongue by day and Arabella adorable, loving me as I love her in the dark of the night.”

“There is only one of me, you know. Do you think I can really supply all your needs?”

“You already have the answer to that. Proof positive.”

He went off that day and did not come back until the morning of the following one. I was to meet him at the stables that afternoon. We rode off some five miles together and there in a small church we were married. Two of his Court friends were witnesses.

I said: “It is exactly like what I hear of a mock marriage. I believe that is a practice some of your profligate friends indulge in now and then.”