Lament for a Lost Lover

by Philippa Carr

  It was scene one of act two when Mistress Page came onto the stage.

  “What! have I ’scaped love-letters in the holiday-time of my beauty, and am now a subject for them?”

  She was holding the paper in her hand and my heart leaped as I watched her. There was no mistaking her. Harriet!

  I turned and saw Carleton’s eyes on me. He was smiling sardonically. He had known. He had brought us here for this purpose.

  I turned my attention to the stage. She had changed little. Perhaps she was less slim. Perhaps she was a little older. But she was as beautiful as ever.

  I was aware that Charlotte had grown tense. She had recognized her too.

  I turned my attention back to the stage. I could not stop looking at Harriet. She had that magnetism of which I had always been aware and the audience was, too, for they had ceased to fidget and cough and there was a deep silence in the playhouse.

  I was deeply moved. I could not follow the play, I could only think of Harriet. What had happened to her? How had she come to this? Had James Gilley discarded her or had she left him of her own free will? Was she happy? Was she doing what she wanted? I would speak to her tonight.

  I was aware of Charlotte tense beside me.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  “Did you see?” she whispered.

  I nodded.

  “He must have left her. She has come to this. …”

  Carleton whispered, “Silence, ladies. This audience oddly seems intent upon the stage.”

  I kept thinking of her, wondering about her. I felt exhilarated because I had seen her again.

  “I must go to her,” I said. “I cannot leave without seeing her.”

  Charlotte cried: “No, Arabella! It is wrong. We do not want to see her again.”

  “I can’t ignore her,” I said. “I want to see her.”

  Carleton said: “I’ll take you to their green-room. She’ll be there, I doubt not.”

  “Thank you,” I answered.

  “Always at your service,” he whispered.

  I could see that he knew his way about the playhouse. The management knew him too. We met a man and told him that we were friends of Mistress Page and would like a word with her.

  It could be arranged, was the answer and I saw money pass between them.

  For the first time I was grateful to Carleton.

  We were shown into a small room and very soon Harriet came in.

  “Harriet!” I cried, and I could not stop myself rushing towards her and putting my arms about her.

  She embraced me. “I saw you in the box,” she said, “and I knew you would come to see me.”

  Carleton bowed. “Your performance was superb,” he said.

  She bowed her head. “Thank you, good sir.”

  “I will leave you to talk and come and collect you in ten minutes, Cousin.”

  Harriet grimaced as the door shut. “I never liked him,” she said.

  “Harriet, what are you doing here?”

  “I should have thought that was obvious.”

  “Are you … do you …”

  “I am one of Thomas Killigrew’s players and, believe me, that is something of an achievement.”

  “But Sir James …”

  “Him! Oh he was just a stepping-stone. I had to get away. He was there … providing the means.”

  “So you weren’t in love with him.”

  “In love! Oh, my dear romantic Arabella, always thinking of love. What’s the good of love to a girl who has to keep a roof over her head and has a fancy for the luxuries of life.”

  “You are so beautiful. You could have married Charles Condey.”

  “I see you had sour-faced Charlotte in the box tonight. I’ll warrant she won’t be here to see me.”

  “You treated her rather badly, Harriet.”

  “Badly? By being kind to a young man who clearly didn’t want Charlotte? But we waste time. Tell me, what are you doing? How do you like England now? How are the boys?”

  “Very well and happy.”

  “And young Leigh?”

  “He’s handsome and knows how to stand up for himself.”

  “He gets that from me, and you’re a good mother to him, are you?”

  “Harriet, how could you leave him?”

  “How could I take him with me? Oh, it was a wrench but what could I do? I could see I wouldn’t have been very welcome with you. Madame Charlotte would hardly want me there. Your mother was not prepared to issue an invitation. It was poor Harriet all alone again. So I said: James Gilley will get me there and I’ll be with him until I’m tired. I always wanted to get onto the stage and here l am.”

  “Is it a good life, Harriet?”

  She burst out laughing. “Dear Arabella, you always amused me. For me it’s good enough. Full of ups and downs … always exciting. I was made for it. And you? Still brooding for Edwin?”

  “There was never anyone like him.”

  “What of Carleton?”

  “What of him?”

  “He has a reputation for being irresistible. I’ve heard he can pick and choose. Castlemaine herself has her eyes on him. He’s a bit too wily for that. He doesn’t want to get in the Black Boy’s bad books.”

  “I don’t understand all this talk.”

  “Castlemaine’s the King’s mistress and the Black Boy is H.M. himself. Carleton’s quite a character. He sets the town wagging with gossip and then he slips off to Eversleigh and stays there for a while. I hear he is furious because there is now a baby heir. Your own sweet child, Arabella. Oh, there’s quite a bit of gossip about Carleton Eversleigh and I lap it up … having once been a connection of sorts.”

  “Harriet, I want to know that you’re happy.”

  “I want to know that you are.”

  “As happy as I can be without Edwin. Reassure me, Harriet.”

  “As happy as I can be without a grand mansion of my own and a fortune so that I can live in luxury until the end of my days.”

  “Oh, Harriet,” I said, “it’s been wonderful seeing you.”

  “Perhaps we’ll meet again. I intend to be the toast of the London playhouses. Carleton will be coming to take you back now. I’m glad you came, Arabella. There’ll always be something, won’t there, between us two?”

  She smiled at me somewhat enigmatically. I couldn’t make out whether she was really happy or not. I felt frustrated and uneasy. I wanted to persuade her to give up the stage and come back with me to Eversleigh.

  I knew I couldn’t. For one thing she would refuse, and for another my new family would never agree to it.

  I said good-bye to her, and as she kissed me she said: “We’ll meet again. Our lives, as they say in plays, are interwoven while we are on earth together.”

  It was the most exciting experience of my trip to London.

  Plague

  EVERSLEIGH SEEMED DULL AFTER London, but I was glad to be back with Edwin and to reassure myself that he had not suffered from my temporary desertion.

  Charlotte and I went first to the nursery where we were greeted vociferously by the boys, and when they saw what we had brought for them their welcome became even warmer. We had been careful that what one had so should the other, so they each had a popgun with clay pellets, a trumpet apiece made from cows’ horn, and kites—a blue one for Edwin, a red one for Leigh. With these and the peppermint drops in boxes with pictures of Whitehall Palace on them, the boys were enchanted. It was typical that Leigh’s favourite should be the popgun which he proceeded to fire at everyone and everything while Edwin loved his trumpet. The kites were almost equally favoured, I think, and they wanted to go out immediately to fly them. Charlotte said: “Which do you love best, us or the presents?” Both little boys looked puzzled. Leigh kept his eyes on his popgun, Edwin fingered his trumpet. Then with a gesture which moved me deeply because it reminded me of his father, Edwin put down his trumpet and ran to me and flung his arms about me.

  Leigh thoughtfully did the same
to Charlotte.

  We laughed a great deal and then Edwin said: “If you hadn’t come back you couldn’t have brought the presents, could you?”

  Leigh nodded solemnly.

  Even though this did suggest that the presents might be more desirable than our company, we were amused and delighted with the sagacity of the children.

  They were happy days—flying the kites, listening to the sound of the trumpets and escaping from clay pellets. We were so glad to be back. But all the time I was haunted by my memories of Harriet. I could not get her out of my mind.

  I thought of Carleton who had obviously arranged our visit to the playhouse knowing she was there. There was undoubtedly a streak of mischief in him, but what disturbed me most was his undoubted interest in me and his reference to the fact that Edwin had come between him and his inheritance.

  That he loved Eversleigh I had no doubt. Its concerns were of the utmost importance to him. He was very often there, and I noticed that the visits to London were becoming more rare.

  It was towards the end of the summer when Carleton’s wife, Barbary, came to Eversleigh Court. Carleton treated her with an indifference which I found ungallant.

  I realized during the day after her arrival that she was far from well. When I enquired of the servants—not having seen her throughout the day—I heard that she was in her bed, feeling too unwell to arise.

  I went to see her.

  She looked ill and I asked if there was anything she needed.

  She shook her head. “I have come to the quiet of the country for a rest,” she said. “I do now and then … when I feel tired. I don’t think her ladyship likes it very much, but, after all, this is my husband’s home and I have a right to be here, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Well that’s nice to hear since you are a kind of deputy châtelaine. Don’t you feel lonely living here?” She waved her hand disparagingly.

  “I find it peaceful,” I said, “as you obviously do since you come for a rest. Do you often feel that need?”

  She nodded. “Quiet … one day very like another, cows mooing, sheep bleating, and the birds are nice in the spring.”

  “I had no idea you had a taste for such things.”

  “You must know, Cousin Arabella, that things are not always what they seem.”

  “That’s true. Shall I get something sent up to you?”

  “Sally Nullens makes a good posset. I believe the children have it when they’re irritable.”

  “I’ll ask her.”

  I went down to Sally who was in the nursery sewing Leigh’s jacket where he had torn it.

  Yes, she had the very thing. She had given it to Mistress Barbary before. “Poor Mistress Barbary,” she commented, “I don’t think she is a very happy woman.”

  “I should think not … married to …”

  “Well, it takes two to make a marriage work … or go wrong, I’ve always heard. They’re wrong, these arranged marriages. Young people should be left to themselves.”

  “So theirs was arranged?”

  “Yes, ten years ago. Master Carleton was pretending to be a Roundhead. Hers was one of the families who had always been on Cromwell’s side. I reckon he married her to show what a good Roundhead he was. He played the part well, considering. The marriage never worked. They went their own ways. Wild, both of them—she perhaps because she’d been brought up so strict, and he because that was his way. Now she comes here to be made well. My possets do her a world of good, she always says. But I think the rest has a lot to do with it. I think sometimes something comes over her and she would like things to be different.”

  I took to going to see how she was and a kind of friendship grew up between us. That she was not averse to my visits was obvious and after a while she began to talk to me.

  She normally visited Eversleigh, she told me, when Carleton was away. “We don’t like to meet, of course.”

  “That seems strange since he is your husband.”

  “He didn’t want the marriage. He only entered into it because he had to create a good impression at that time. People were suspicious of his motives. There was a danger of his being found out. Marriage with a family like ours gave him standing … if you know what I mean. My father was a dedicated Roundhead. Marriage into such a family was a guarantee for a man who might have aroused suspicions because he belonged to a family most of whom were in exile with the King.”

  “I see … a marriage of convenience.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And you didn’t love each other at all?”

  She was silent. Then she said: “You know a little of him.”

  “Y … yes.”

  “He is unique. I have never known anyone like him. There’s a strength about him … a power. He’s the sort of man who, when he makes up his mind that he wants something, won’t rest until it is his.”

  “Is that so unique?”

  “No. But he is a man who goes out to get it with more vigour than anyone I know. I was very young when we were married. Seventeen, in fact. Young, romantic, and heartily sick of the way of life in my parents’ house. If you smiled during the week, that was sin, and if you happened to on a Sunday you were set for hellfire.”

  “I saw some of it when I came here.”

  “Yes, but that was pretence, wasn’t it? You could escape from it. I had scarcely known anything else. And then to be with him. For three weeks he treated me like a wife. I believed he meant it. It was a new way of life—exciting, intriguing. It was all pretence on his part, of course. But he never had difficulty in convincing a woman that he was fond of her. He’s practised so long that it’s second nature to him. Then I found he was unfaithful. As a pious Roundhead he was living dangerously, but that was what he liked. I think as much as women he likes danger. I was young and angry.”

  I said: “You were in love with him.”

  “It was easy to fall in love with him. He had those strong good looks. He suggested power. He had all the tricks at his fingertips. He knew exactly how to treat me. When I remonstrated with him, the truth came out. He had married me because it was necessary. He liked me well enough but I must not expect his exclusive devotion. I should do what I wished and he would do what he wished. There was no reason why we should not go our separate ways. You can imagine how hurt I was … how angry. You’ve guessed I was in love with him. I was a romantic girl. I was ready to believe that I had made the perfect marriage. And now I was told we would go our own ways. I am impulsive. I am not a good character. I was so hurt and bewildered I went to bed that night with one of the grooms who had been watching me as much as he dared with a certain look in his eyes. Now you are shocked.”

  “No. I think I understand.”

  “You. With your dead husband to whom you remain faithful forever! You couldn’t begin to understand. I am no prude. I will not pretend. I like men … as Carleton likes women. He taught me to cast aside all scruples so I did. He knew, of course. I think it pleased him. He rather encouraged me in my affairs, although he was a little shocked by the groom. He took me to London and introduced me to people of what was considered a more worthy station of life to share my bed. I have had scores of lovers since. Why am I telling you this?”

  “Tell me by all means if you find some relief in doing so.”

  “Yes, I do find relief. I want to talk to you … you of all people. For several reasons. One because at the moment you have set up a shrine to your dead husband and are going to spend the rest of your days worshipping that shrine like a vestal virgin. Not quite a vestal though … since you are the mother of young Edwin. And this is what makes the situation what it is.” She laughed suddenly. “It won’t last, you know. You’ll break out one day and then … and then …”

  I said: “I have decided that I have no wish to marry again, if that is what you mean.”

  “Don’t be too sure. I know there are eyes watching you.” She lowered her voice and involuntarily I looked over my shoul
der.

  “Yes,” she said, “You are chosen for a destiny. I know it. Someone has his eyes on you … but there are obstacles … living obstacles.”

  “You are talking in riddles.”

  “Easy ones to solve. Do you know what Eversleigh means to Carleton?”

  “A great deal I am sure.”

  “A great deal! That’s putting it mildly. It means everything to him. Poor Carleton, he has been cheated twice. Once as a ten-year-old when his uncle, the present Lord, most inconsiderately sired a son—your own beloved husband. In a confiding mood Carleton once told me what that had meant to him. ‘I was only ten,’ he said: ‘but I can remember my baffled fury now. I had been brought up at this house. My uncle taught me everything. He was always saying … or if he didn’t say it he implied it: “One day this will be yours.” I learned about the estate. When I rode out it was as though trumpets sounded and voices were singing, “It’s yours. It’s yours.”’”

  “Did he really feel as strongly as that? He was only ten years old!”

  “Carleton was never childish. He always knew what he wanted, and he had been led to believe Eversleigh was his. Well, he suppressed his anger and, loving Eversleigh, tried to make his cousin worthy of his inheritance. He told me how he made him sit his horse, hold his arrow, shoot his guns. Making a man of him, he called it. He said Edwin was too soft to manage Eversleigh. He would never have made a good job of it.”

  “That was nonsense. Sheer jealousy.”

  “As his loyal widow it would seem so to you. Carleton was determined to hold Eversleigh after the King was beheaded. As you know he stayed behind when so many were fleeing the country. He risked his life for Eversleigh. Then Edwin came and was killed and he was the heir again. I remember him then—the quiet confidence … the assurance.”

  “It sounds as though he rejoiced in his cousin’s death.”

  “He had never had a high opinion of him. I think it seemed to him that fate had decided to watch over Eversleigh by giving it a strong master.”

  “This does not endear me to him.”