The adulteress (8 page)

"Oh."

"Yes, you see there are formalities. Things have to be signed and the lawyers have to come. It's rather difficult"— he smiled at me deprecatingly—"in the circumstances."

I decided to speak out boldly. I said: "You mean because of Jessie."

"Yes," he said. "Because of Jessie." He lifted a hand. "I know what you are going to say. Get rid of Jessie."

I nodded.

"This is something you won't understand. You have lived a conventional life, you had good parents, and now a good husband. We are not all so fortunate as you. Our lives don't run along such pleasant tracks. We ourselves are not always very pleasant people."

I said: "You are telling me that Jessie occupies a rather special position in this household and because of that it is not easy to get rid of her."

"Well, she would have to go if I told her to. That could be arranged."

"And you want me to get your lawyers to do that."

"No. Oh dear me, no. I don't want to be rid of Jessie. I don't know what I'd do without her. ... It is just for the will."

"And yet . . ."

"I told you it would be difficult for you to understand, didn't I? I am very fond of ladies. I always have been . . . from the age of about fourteen. I could not imagine my life without them. There were always ladies. I led a wild life. I had had a dozen mistresses by the time I was twenty. I am sorry. I am shocking you but you must understand. I don't want to upset Jessie. She means a great deal to me. My . . . comforts depend on her. But I don't want trouble and she can't have Eversleigh, can she? Can you imagine all those irate ancestors of ours rising up against me? I'd be struck down before I could put pen to paper. Well, there is family pride in me too. No . . . Eversleigh for the Evers-leighs. The long line must not be broken."

"I think I begin to understand, Uncle Carl."

"That is good. You may have heard about Felicity, my wife. ... I was forty when we met. I loved her dearly. She was twenty-two. Five years we were together. I was different then . . . the model husband . . . never wanted to stray from my own fireside. Then we were going to have a child. That seemed perfection. She died and the child with her. That was the lowest point of despair I have ever known."

"I'm sorry, uncle. I had heard of that."

"A common tragedy perhaps. Well, what did I do? I pulled myself out of my misery and went back to what I had been before Felicity came into my life. Women. . . . They had to be there, I couldn't do without them. There were always women. My namesake, that other uncle Carl of yours, the general, didn't approve of me at all. I should have been managing the estate after Leigh died and he had to do it because I wouldn't leave my life in London. He was an army man. . . . He hadn't the same feel for the place that had gone into it. And then when he died I changed again. I saw my duty. And suddenly I thought I'd come into my own . . . so I came back. I got quite fond of the place. You do, you know. All those ancestors hanging around in frames . . . they become part of you. I began to take a pride in old Eversleigh . . . and see what a

fine thing it was for the old house to stand all those years in the same family . . . while we of frailer stuff than bricks and stone pass on. I had a good manager in Amos Carew. And then Jessie came along. I saw in Jessie that which had always attracted me in a woman ... a sort of readiness ... a sort of understanding that passes between you. You want the same thing and you're of one mind about it. You wouldn't understand that, dear child. You are so different. Jessie and I were like old friends from the start. She has given me a lot of pleasure."

"She runs the household."

"She is the housekeeper, you know."

"But . . . she seems to control everything."

"Myself, you mean."

"Well, I have to come when she is . . . sleeping."

"That's because I wouldn't want her upset. I don't want her to know about this will."

"She surely doesn't believe that she is going to inherit this house."

"She may think it could come to that. It couldn't possibly, of course, but I don't want her upset. So I want you to find some way of getting the lawyers here. If you could get into town and explain to them. I'll draw up what I want and you can take it in. Then they can come here with witnesses to do the signing . . . during an afternoon."

"I expect it could be managed."

"But Jessie mustn't know. It would make her really angry."

I was silent and he put his hand over mine. "Don't think hardly of Jessie. She's what she is and so am I . . . and so perhaps are we all. She brings me comfort in my old age. I couldn't do without her. I know a great deal about her . . . how she must seem to someone like you. But I want you to arrange this for me. I shall leave this house to you. I want you to have it because you're Carlotta's granddaughter. Carlotta was the loveliest creature I ever saw. Mind you, your mother was the daughter of that rogue Hessenfield, one of the greatest Jacobites of the times. But Carlotta was a wonderful creature. Beautiful . . . wild . . . passionate. I saw her only as a child but I recognized it all. I never forgot her. You remind me of her in a way. It's your eyes—that deep blue, almost violet. I remember hers were that color. She wanted to marry some rake who'd fascinated her. They used to meet at

Enderby. . . . That was the story. Then he disappeared . . . very mysteriously. . . . There were a lot of rumors later on. Some said he was murdered and his body lies under the ground somewhere at Enderby. Oh, there were a great many stories about her. I often think about her . . . now I'm so much confined to my bed. She was so full of life . . . and so beautiful. And she died so young . . . she couldn't have been more than in her early twenties. ... I often think about that. I'm old . . . ready to go, you might say. I've had my life. How do those feel who are cut off in the prime of youth and beauty ... a whole life before them . . . and then ... no more. I wonder someone like that doesn't try to come back . . . and finish her life. . . . You're thinking I'm a strange old man. Well, I am, I suppose. It's lying here . . . having time to think."

I said: "I'm glad I came."

"I can't tell you how glad I am. And you'll do this for me. You will . . . discreetly, I mean."

"I will do what I can. Will you draw up what you want to say and give it to me? I'll take it to the lawyer and they can prepare what they have to. And then there'll have to be the signatures. It'll have to be done here, I suppose. Is there anyone who could do it? Jethro . . ."

"No, not Jethro. I shall be leaving him something and I think therefore it's against the rules for anyone who is a beneficiary to sign. It has to be a disinterested party. You can find out from the lawyers."

"Well," I said, "the first thing for you to do is write the instructions and then I will get them to the lawyer to be drawn up. After that we'll arrange about the signing."

"I can see you are a practical young woman."

"Can I find pen and paper somewhere?"

"In the desk."

I brought it to him and he started to write.

I took my seat by the window. I wondered whether Jessie might return early, for it was possible that she might be uneasy on account of my being in the house. Also there was Evalina. I was sure that child was a practiced spy.

I thought, what a strange situation I had walked into, and wondered what would have happened if Jean-Louis had been with me. I was sure he would have taken over the management of this matter with quiet efficiency.

Uncle Carl was writing steadily. All was quiet. I listened to

the clock on the wall ticking the minutes away. There was a feeling of unreality in the air.

I looked back at the bed. Uncle Carl smiled at me.

"Here it is, my dear. If you take that in to Rosen, Stead and Rosen and tell them that's what I want we'll go on from there. Rosen, Stead and Rosen," he repeated. "They are in the town. You can't miss them. Number Eighty, The Street. There's only one street worthy of the name."

I took the paper.

"Come and sit by my bed," he said. "Tell me about your husband. He manages Clavering, I know."

"Yes, he has done so since the manager died. That was when we were married ten years ago."

"This is a very large estate. Carew's a good man, I believe. But it's always better when the landowner himself takes an active part. It makes it more of a family affair ... if you know what I mean. These estates in England have always been run by the great families who regard their workpeople as a responsibility. The good ones have always taken an interest. I came to realize that . . . and when I did it was too late. I know the people regret the departure of my predecessors. The old ones talk a lot about them. I neglected my duty, Zipporah. I know it now."

"Well, you have this good manager and you are trying to put your affairs in order."

He nodded. "I've been an old reprobate ... an old sinner. Sins come home to roost, Zipporah. At least I've had a long life . . . not like poor Carlotta."

I said I thought that Jessie would be stirring soon—a polite way of expressing what I meant. It only wanted a quarter to four.

I leaned over the bed and kissed his forehead. I did not want to be caught by Jessie with the papers in my hand. I tapped them significantly. "I will deal with these," I said, "and I'll see you later . . . alone."

He smiled at me and I went out.

The first thing to do was to hide the papers. I pondered for a while and finally decided to put them in the pocket of a rather voluminous skirt which was hanging in the cupboard. It would only be for a short while as I must get them to the lawyer at the earliest possible moment.

I sat by the window and saw Jessie return to the house, looking rather flushed and pleased, so the session must have

been a good one. I imagined her telling her lover about my arrival and I wondered what they said about it. I was getting to get a clear picture. Jessie was obviously feathering her nest and, as Jethro said, Lordy was supplying the feathers. Jessie, devoted to the pleasures of the flesh, was determined to enjoy them—relying on Uncle Carl and Amos to supply her needs. I believed she was very shrewd and would have considered the possible impermanence of her position; no doubt she was endeavoring to prolong this very desirable way of life.

While I was ruminating there was a tap on my door and Jessie herself came in. She was elaborately dressed and must have spent the hour since her return on what I imagined must be a somewhat intricate operation.

She was smiling broadly and I did not think she could possibly have an inkling of what had happened during her absence.

"Supper is about fifteen minutes past six," she said. "I see to Lordy at six and that gives me time to make sure he is all right before partaking myself. I shall be taking his up now ... so can you be at the table shortly? There's sucking pig." Her mouth watered and her eyes glistened at the mention of the food. "It's best served piping hot."

I said I would be on time; and she gave me a little push.

"That's it," she said. "I can see you're one of the punctual ones. I never could abide them as kept good food getting cold just because they couldn't be at the table on time. Had a good afternoon? Manage to entertain yourself, did you?"

There was a shrewd glitter in her eyes and she was waiting as though for me to tell her. I felt a cold shiver run through me. This woman, I felt sure, was not quite what she seemed. I had to work hard to prevent my eyes straying to the cupboard.

I said coolly: "I had a very pleasant afternoon, thank you. Did you?"

"I did. There's nothing like a spell of bed in the afternoons."

I nodded and turned away.

"All right then," she said. "See you at supper."

And she was gone.

How could Uncle Carl endure such a woman? I wondered. But then people had strange tastes, and there was no accounting for them.

I went to the winter parlor precisely at a quarter past six. Jessie was there and with her Evalina.

"He's enjoying the sucking pig," said Jessie. "It's nice to see him take an interest in his food."

We sat down and fortunately Jessie was so intent on doing justice to the business of eating that she did not talk as much as usual.

Evalina said: "Do you like fairs, Mistress Ransome?"

"Fairs?" I said. "Oh yes, I do."

"We have one here twice a year. It's coming next week."

"Oh, that's interesting."

"The noise!" said Jessie. "And the mess they make! Farmer Brady will go on for weeks about the rubbish they leave behind. They have the common land close to some of Brady's fields. He don't like it much. People come from miles around."

"I like it," said Evalina. "There are fortune-tellers. Do you believe in fortune-tellers, Mistress Ransome?"

"I believe them when they tell me something good," I said, "but am inclined to disbelieve if it is bad."

"That's not very clever. If they tell you something bad you should be warned."

"But what's the good if it is written in the stars?" I said lightly.

Evalina regarded me with round eyes. "So you don't believe in being warned."

"I did not say that. But if a fortune-teller is telling the future and that is destined for you, how can I change it?"

Jessie paused in her chewing and said: "The servants will be there . . . the whole houseful of them. All through the day . . . you see."

"Will you be here for it, Mistress Ransome?" asked Evalina.

"When is it?"

"The end of next week. They come on Thursday and stay there till Saturday night."

They were both watching me intently, I fancied.

"So much will depend," I said. "I can't stay very long. My husband would have been with me you know if he had not broken his leg. I shall have to get back. You understand."

"I understand perfectly, dearie," said Jessie. "You want to see your old uncle . . . and my goodness what a pleasure

seeing you has given him . . . but at the same time you're worried about that husband of yours. I understand."

"I shall see. ... I may have to go back."