Lament for a Lost Lover

by Philippa Carr

  Now I gave myself up to contemplation of what had happened. I wished I could stop thinking of that piece of paper writhing in Carleton’s hands. The words on it were indelibly written in my mind. How could they have deceived me so! How could I ever trust anyone again? But my overwhelming preoccupation was with my surrender. He had arranged it purposely. He had come to me when he knew that I was weak with misery. My conception of my marriage had crashed about my head, and he was there seizing the opportunity to offer me tender comfort, to daze me with his beverage, whatever that was, to weaken my resistance to him, to remind me that I had to turn to someone, to seek comfort somewhere, and he was there. Opportunity. No. He had contrived it. The idea must have come to him when the family coach was stuck in the mud and he knew they would be away for the night. He was cunning, he was devious, and I had given way to him.

  I was trying to ignore those memories which came back to me. A wild and searing joy to be with him … Ecstasy there had been with Edwin, but different somehow. … Perhaps because with Carleton there was more than love and passion. There was a kind of mingling of love and hate which was surely wrong and yet … and yet …

  I was a little afraid of myself. I was thankful that he had not been there when I awoke and realized how my life had changed overnight.

  I thought then of my mother and my father in the days when he had been married to my Aunt Angelet. The passion which had flared up between them, of which she had written so vividly that even before I had experienced such emotions I had understood.

  I was like her. I needed that which was called fulfillment. During the last years since Edwin’s death I had been only half alive. I had been living in a false world. I saw that now, and how inevitable it was that sooner or later I was going to let Carleton become my lover.

  Why Carleton? Why did I not accept Geoffrey’s honourable offer of marriage? Because instinctively I had known that Carleton was the man for me. His virility could call forth a response in me. That I disliked him seemed to be no deterrent. Physically we were a perfect match. That I had discovered, and it was something he—with his knowledge of women and the world—had known immediately. He might feel that marriage with me was good for his ambitions, but at the same time it suited his physical needs.

  I had grown up overnight.

  Perhaps that was something I should be grateful for.

  There was a knock on the door. The maid came in with hot water.

  She said “Good morning, mistress,” and drew back the curtains.

  I expected her to show by some way that she noticed the change in me. Surely I must seem different after my experiences? But she set down the water and brought me a note.

  “Master Carleton went off early this morning, mistress. He left this note for you.”

  I wanted to tear it open but had no wish to appear overeager.

  I yawned, I hoped convincingly.

  “Not a very good morning, Em,” I said.

  “Still raining, mistress. I believe it’s been raining all through the night.”

  Yes, I thought, the patter of rain against the windows … lying there with him … just not wanting to move away … forgetting everything but the need to be there.

  “Tis to be hoped milord and milady and the others will get the coach set to rights.”

  “I daresay they will, Em.”

  She went out and I opened the note.

  It was brief. “I have had to go out on Court business. I shall return during the day. C.”

  No indication that anything unusual had happened. I felt a rush of disappointment. How could he go like that after what had happened? Was he implying that there was nothing extraordinary? It was all very natural that he and I should become lovers? It was what he had always suggested. Was he laughing in triumph now?

  I felt angry with him and with myself. How could I have been so weak, so foolish!

  It was the impulse of a moment, I told myself. I had had a shock and he was there. He had dulled my resistance with his strong wines. What was that he had given me? It had acted like some witch’s love potion. Perhaps it was. I could hardly imagine his trafficking with witches. But he was capable of anything.

  I washed and dressed. I was thankful that I did not have to face him yet.

  I was very pale. I found a little rouge and rubbed it into my cheeks. That was better. I thought how I had loved Harriet. She had been as a sister to me. I had been really upset when she had gone away. If I had known …

  But what a stupid innocent I had been!

  How long and dreary was that day. Nothing happened. I stood at the window watching the raindrops. The grass was sodden. The last of the leaves were rapidly being tossed to the ground and there was a wet bronze carpet on the grass.

  Why didn’t he come in? How like him to go off on business. I didn’t believe it. Where was he? I wondered if he were with a woman. A feeling of intense rage possessed me. I should hate her … and him. I could never trust anyone again. Oh, Edwin … Harriet … how could you? How could I ever bear to look at Leigh again?

  In the early afternoon a messenger came to the house. I ran down to greet him, sure that he came from Carleton.

  He did not. He was from my mother-in-law. They had had greater difficulties with the coach than had seemed likely yesterday. A spoke in one of the wheels had been damaged and was being repaired. This meant that they would be away for one more night. If the rain would stop it would be easier. They would be with me tomorrow without fail.

  The evening came and Carleton had not returned.

  I was angry with him. He had succeeded as he always said he would. Was that what he wanted? One single victory.

  I ate alone—or made a pretence of eating. How different from last night. I found myself longing to see his dark, clever, wicked face opposite me. I wanted to hear his voice mocking me. I wanted to respond.

  I retired early. I went to bed. I tried to sleep but I could not. I could not read because I kept going over the events of last night.

  It must have been nearly midnight when my door opened and he was there. He wore a loose night robe.

  I felt faint with baffling emotions as he looked at me.

  “I did not know you had returned,” I stammered.

  “Did you think I could stay away? There was much business, but I was determined to be with you.” He blew out the candle he was carrying. “We shall not need it,” he said.

  I struggled up, but he was beside me, pinning me down.

  “There is so much to say.”

  “We shall have the rest of our lives in which to say it, Arabella. I have been thinking of you all through the day. At last. At last … My heart’s desire …”

  I heard myself laugh. “To hear you talk so … it is unlike you. Sentimental …”

  “I can be sentimental, romantic … foolish … with one woman in the world. You are that woman, Arabella. At last you know it.”

  “You should not be here,” I said.

  “There is no other place where I should be.”

  I suppose everyone wonders at himself or herself at some time. I wondered then.

  Afterwards I could tell myself that I was so unhappy, so wretched that I had to stop myself thinking. I had to be shocked into forgetfulness.

  In any case that night, without the aid of spirits or love potions, I was submissive … no, not that … responsive … and I knew that in the morning I should despise myself for giving way so blatantly to the sensuous demands of my nature.

  When I awoke I was alone in my bed, and as before with the coming of daylight, I was surprised at my behaviour on the previous night. It seemed that I had two natures—one daytime and one my nighttime other self. Carleton filled my thoughts so that I even forgot to brood on Edwin’s deceit. What was the outcome to be? There seemed an inevitable solution. Marriage.

  Marriage with Carleton, who clearly wanted it so that as Edwin’s stepfather he could have a stronger control over the Eversleigh estates. I had been married once for
convenience. Should I do so again? Oh, but with Edwin … I thought of those delightful interludes which had seemed to me the expression of pure romantic love. I shivered. I would never again allow myself to be so used.

  When I went to breakfast Carleton was already there.

  He smiled at me. “Good morning, dear Arabella.” One of the servants was hovering and he went on with a lift of his eyebrows: “I trust you slept well?”

  “Thank you, yes,” I replied.

  “The rain has stopped at last,” he added. “Let us take a turn in the garden after breakfast, shall we?”

  “I should like that,” I replied.

  When we were a little way from the house he said: “The question now, Arabella, is not will you but when will you marry me?”

  “I … am not sure about marrying.”

  “What! You do not want to remain my mistress, surely?”

  I was angry with him just as I used to be. He had the power to make me so. In place of the passionate lover who could be sentimental and romantic just for me, here was the cynic, the Court wit, the man I always wanted to do battle with.

  “Let us forget what has happened.”

  “Forget the most wonderful nights of my life! Oh, come, Arabella, that is asking too much.”

  “You are mocking me as you ever do.”

  “No, I am serious. When my uncle returns I shall tell him the good news. He will be delighted. I know he has long decided that a marriage between us would be an ideal solution for Eversleigh.”

  “I am tired of being a pawn in this Eversleigh game.”

  “Not a pawn, my darling. I told you once before, you are a queen.”

  “A piece then … to be moved about this way and that. I am not at all sure that I want to marry you.”

  “Arabella, you shock me. Remembering what I shall never, never forget …”

  “You tricked me. You shocked me … and then you gave me something to drink. What was it?”

  He laughed at me and lifted his eyebrows again.

  “My secret,” he said.

  I turned away. “I am undecided,” I retorted.

  “At least there is some hope.”

  “After what happened …”

  “And it will happen again.”

  “I don’t want it to.”

  “Oh, Arabella, still deceiving yourself! There was no magic in a glass last night and yet, and yet …”

  “Oh, you … you …!”

  He took my hand and kissed it. “Tonight when they return we shall tell them?”

  “No,” I said.

  “You are surely not thinking of my rival Geoffrey now, are you?”

  I was not, but I could not resist the impulse to let him think I might be.

  “Because,” he said, “there would be trouble. Don’t think that what has happened between us is an isolated incident. When we are alone together it will happen again. We’re drawn together like the moon and the sun …”

  “You are the sun in this partnership, I presume?”

  “What does it matter which is which? It’s the drawing power of which I speak. Our being lovers is inevitable. It was from the first. I knew it. I wanted you. I wondered I didn’t take you down to the arbour and show you how your husband died. Taken in adultery.”

  “Stop it!”

  “I’m sorry. You arouse the worst in me … and the best, because you are the most maddening woman on earth … and yet I adore you.”

  I softened as I always did when he showed me affection. I wanted to say: “Yes, I will marry you. After what has happened I must marry you.” On the other hand it would be for the convenience of them all, and after having been so cruelly deceived by Edwin, how could I be sure that Carleton was not deceiving me in the same way?

  “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.”