The Adultress (3 page)

“No, darling,” replied Sabrina. “You’re not invited.”

“But he’s your relation too, and if he’s yours he’s mine.”

“Well, it is Zipporah he is inviting.”

“I could go to be her companion … instead of Jean-Louis.”

“No,” said Jean-Louis. “I have to be there to take care of Zipporah.”

“She doesn’t want taking care of. She’s old.”

“All ladies need taking care of when they make journeys,” said my mother.

Dickon was too busy consuming cold venison to answer that.

Jean-Louis said that he thought the best time would be in three weeks. He could then make the necessary arrangements, providing we did not stay for more than two weeks.

My mother smiled at him. “I knew you’d make it possible. Thanks, Jean-Louis. I will write immediately. Perhaps you could send a note at the same time, Zipporah.”

I said I would and we finished dinner.

Dickon was yawning. It was long past his bedtime, and when Sabrina suggested he might like to go to bed he did not protest.

I went with my mother to write the note, leaving Sabrina and Jean-Louis together making desultory conversation. There was a bureau in the old card room and I said I would do it there.

“Wouldn’t you like to come to the library?” my mother asked. “It’s more comfortable there.”

“No, I always like to be in the card room.”

I went in and sat at the bureau. She stood beside me and touched my hair. “You were so fond of your father, weren’t you?”

I nodded. “You look rather like him,” she said. “Fair hair … almost golden, those blue eyes … startlingly blue; and you’re tall too, as he was. Poor Lance! What a wasted life.”

“He died nobly,” I said.

“He would … He squandered his life as he did a fortune. … It was all so unnecessary and it could have been so different.”

“It is so long now.”

“Memories linger on for you, and you were only a child when he died. Only ten years old.”

“Old enough to know him and to love him,” I said.

“I know. And you feel close to him here.”

“I remember him here. … He was happier here in this room than anywhere else in the house.”

“Here he had his gaming parties. They were the only thing that made the country tolerable to him.” She frowned, and I turned to the letter. It was brief. I thanked my kinsman for the invitation and told him that I with my husband would be visiting him in about three weeks. We would let him know the date of arrival later.

My mother read what I had written and nodded her approval.

Shortly afterward Jean-Louis and I left for home.

We had fixed the date of arrival for the first of June. We should go on horseback with two grooms for company and another to look after the saddlebags.

“Carriages,” said my mother, “are far more dangerous, with so many highwaymen about. It is so much easier to attack a cumbersome coach; and with the grooms and Jean-Louis you’ll be well protected.”

There was another letter from Lord Eversleigh. He was almost pathetically pleased. When Sabrina read it she said: “One could almost think he was calling for help … or something like that.”

Calling for help! What an odd thing to say. I read the letter again and could not see that there was anything in it except that an old man who had been separated too long from his relatives was eager to see them.

Sabrina shrugged her shoulders and said: “Well, he’s delighted you’re going.”

I felt rather glad. Poor old man, he was clearly lonely.

It was a week before we were due to leave. I was sitting in the garden working on a square of tapestry for a fire screen when I heard the sound of voices. I recognized Dickon’s imperious tones, and on impulse, putting down my tapestry, I went to the edge of the shrubbery and saw him. He was with another boy, Jake Carter, son of one of the gardeners, a boy who worked in the gardens with his father now and then. He was about Dickon’s age and Dickon was often with him. I believe he bullied the boy shamefully and was not at all sure that Jake wanted to be with him. He had probably received threats if he did not comply, and indeed so besotted were my mother and Sabrina with Dickon that they might have listened to any complaint he made about a servant if the boy showed his displeasure if they refused to.

The boys were now some little distance off, but I could see they were carrying something which looked like a pail, and Jake was holding a paper which seemed to be crammed full of something.

I watched them disappear in the direction of Hassocks’ farm which bordered on our grounds. The Hassocks were good farmers of whom Jean-Louis heartily approved. They kept their barns and hedges in good order, and Farmer Hassock was constantly in discussion with Jean-Louis about methods of improving the yield of the land.

I returned to my tapestry and after a while went indoors and up to my still room, where I set about preparing the containers for the strawberries, which I wanted to have picked and preserved before I went away.

It must have been an hour later when one of the servants came running up to me.

“Oh, mistress,” she cried, “there’s fire over at Hassocks’. The master has just ridden over. I thought you should know.”

I ran out and saw immediately that one of the barns was blazing. Several of the servants had come hurrying out to join me and we all went together across the gardens into the Hassocks’ field and toward the barn.

There was a lot of commotion. People were running about and shouting to each other; but I saw that they were getting the blaze under control.

One of the maids gave a little cry and then I saw Jean-Louis. He was lying on the ground and some of the men were trying to lift him onto a piece of wood which looked like a shutter.

I dashed over and knelt beside him. He was pale but conscious. He smiled at me wanly.

One of the men said: “Master have broken his leg, we think. We’ll get him to the house … and perhaps you’d send for the doctor.”

I was bewildered. The barn was smouldering black and scarred, with now and then a flame jutting out. The acrid smell of burning made us cough.

“Yes … quickly …” I said. “Get him to the house. One of you go for the doctor … at once.”

One of the men servants dashed off and I turned my attention to Jean-Louis.

“Bit of mischief … looks like,” said one of Farmer Hassock’s laborers. “Looks like someone started a fire in the barn. Master were first in. The roof fell on him and got his leg. … A mercy we was working close by and got him from under.”

“Let’s get him into the house quickly,” I said. “Is he all right on that shutter?”

“Best for him, mistress. Doctor’ll soon put it to rights.”

I noticed that Jean-Louis’s leg was in a strange position and guessed there was a fracture. I was the sort of woman who could be calm in a crisis, suppressing my emotions and fears and putting all my efforts into doing what was necessary.

I knew that we had to set that fracture in some way before moving him and I determined to make an effort to do so, although I was inexperienced of such cases. I sent the maids running into the house for the tallest, straightest walking stick they could find and something we could use for bandages.

They had placed Jean-Louis very carefully in his improvised stretcher and I took his hand. I guessed he was in pain but it was typical of him that he should be as concerned about my anxiety as his own suffering.

“I’m all right,” he whispered. “Nothing … much …”

Then the walking stick, which I could use as a splint, and the torn-up sheets arrived. Carefully my helpers held his leg in place while I very gently bandaged the limb to the stick. Then Jean-Louis was carried into his bed, by which time the doctor had arrived.

It was a broken leg—nothing more—said the doctor. He complimented me on my prompt and right action in setting the bone at once—so saving a simple fracture from becoming a compound one.

I sat by his bed until he slept. Then I remembered those agonizing seconds when I had thought he might be dead and the terrible desolation which had swept over me. Dear Jean-Louis, what should I have done without him? I should be thankful for all the happiness we had together; I must not feel a slight resentment against a fate which had made me barren.

Jean-Louis had scarcely fallen into his sleep when my mother with Sabrina and Dickon arrived.

The two women were very shocked. They wanted to hear all about it.

“To think that Jean-Louis might have hurt himself seriously … and all for Hassock’s barn!”

“Seeing a fire, he just naturally attempted to put it out.”

“He should have called for help,” said Sabrina.

“You may be sure,” I said, “that Jean-Louis did whatever was best.”

“But he might have been killed!”

“He wouldn’t think of that,” said my mother. “He would just go in and try to put the fire out. And if he hadn’t, it could have spread into the fields and Hassock could have lost his corn.”

“Better Hassock’s corn than Jean-Louis,” said Sabrina.

“Is there any idea how it started?” asked my mother.

“They’ll find out,” I said.

She looked at me steadily. “This will put an end to your plans for Eversleigh.”

“Oh … yes. With all this happening I’d forgotten that.”

“Poor old Carl. He’ll be so disappointed.”

“Perhaps you could go in my place, Sabrina,” I said. “Take Dickon.”

“Oh yes,” cried Dickon. “I want to go to Eversleigh.”

“Certainly not,” replied Sabrina. “We shouldn’t be welcome there. Remember, I’m the wife and you’re the son of that damned Jacobite.”

“Well, we shall have to see,” said my mother. “What we have to do now is get Jean-Louis’s leg mended.”

“It will take the usual time,” I pointed out.

“And if this fire was started wantonly … ?”

“Who would?” I asked.

“Someone for mischief, perhaps,” said Sabrina.

While we were talking, two of Farmer Hassock’s laborers came in. They were carrying what looked like the remains of a tin pail and there were some pieces of charred beef in it.

“We know how it started, mistress,” he said. “Someone—who didn’t know much about such things—was trying to cook some meat by making a fire in this old pail; there’s some grid here … that were cooking it on … over the pail, seems like as not.”

“Good heavens!” I cried. “Surely not a tramp?”

“Oh no, mistress. Tramps ’ud have more sense. One who did this ’adn’t much. But that’s how it started. They must have made a fire in the pail and it got out of hand. They got frightened and run for it.”

“What about the pail? Where did it come from? Do you know?”

“No, mistress, but we’m going to find out if us can.”

I had an uneasy night. I slept on the narrow couch in the dressing room adjoining our bedroom with the door open so that I could hear Jean-Louis if he awoke. He lay in our big bed with his leg in splints and I should have been relieved because there was nothing wrong except a broken leg which would heal in due course.

I was rather surprised to feel an acute sense of disappointment because I should have to cancel my visit to Eversleigh … for quite a long time, it seemed, for even when the bone set I doubted whether Jean-Louis would be fit for some time after to make the long and rather exhausting journey.

I had allowed myself to think a great deal about Eversleigh Court and I longed to take a look at Enderby, that house which had played such a big part in our family story. I had not realized how very much I had been looking forward to the adventure; and now it was postponed … for a very long time, I should imagine.

I dozed fitfully and in the middle of the night I woke up. I wondered what had wakened me. I listened. All was quiet in the bedroom. Then I knew. It was a startling idea. Why should I not go alone?

The more I pondered it, the more feasible it seemed. There would be a great shaking of heads. Young women did not travel alone. I was not such a young woman. I didn’t propose to go quite alone, of course; I could take the two grooms and another for the packhorse just the same. The only difference would be that Jean-Louis would not be with me.

I was too excited to sleep after that, but lay in bed making plans for going to Eversleigh even though Jean-Louis would not be able to accompany me.

There was a great deal of excitement the next morning because the pail was traced to our garden. A pail was missing from one of the sheds, and in spite of its buckled and scarred appearance the one found in the barn was undoubtedly that one which was missing.

That dispensed with the tramp idea. It was one of our people who had caused the fire.

Farmer Hassock had declared that he’d beat the daylights out of the culprit when he found him, for this bit of mischief would cost a pretty penny.

Having discovered the identity of the pail the search for the culprit was a simple one. In the early afternoon Ned Carter came to see me—as Jean-Louis’s deputy—dragging with him his son, Jake.

Jake’s face was white and frightened and there were tear stains on his cheeks.

“This is the young imp of mischief, mistress,” said Ned Carter. “I got it out of him. It was him what took the pail … to cook some meat, he said. And where does he get the meat? I ask. That’s something I can’t beat out of him. Though I will. When he has another taste of my belt! I’ll find out. Well, it was him, see. It was him that had this wicked notion to steal the pail and take it in the barn where he tries to cook the meat what he got from who knows where. I tell him it’ll be transportation for him or a gibbet fore long.”

I felt sorry for Jake Carter. He was only a boy—a nervous child overcome with terror.

Memory stirred in me. I remembered the last time I had seen him and he had not been alone. Of course! It was an hour or so before the fire had started.

I knew then that the idea of taking the pail and the meat would not have been Jake’s. He would have been ordered to do so and join in the expedition.

I said: “Jake, was somebody with you when you went to the barn?”

Jake looked more frightened than ever.

“No, mistress, ’twas by myself, I was. I didn’t mean to do no harm. … There was this bit of meat like …”