Lament for a Lost Lover

by Philippa Carr

  I was very apprehensive thinking about Jocelyn and wondering what the outcome of everything would be. I wondered how long he could reasonably stay with Harriet. His sojourn there must be continued as only a temporary answer to our problem.

  From the back of the drawer I took out the chain on which hung the ring. I pulled the ring off the chain and slipped it onto my finger. I sat there looking at it. It was the sort of ring which would have been noticed immediately. Leigh was right about that. Not only was the rather elaborate crest etched in gold on the lapis lazuli but inside the ring was the family name. One had to look close to read it but then it was clear enough.

  I put my lips to it, thinking of those moments in the cave and the deep tenderness of his voice when he had said he loved me. I had remembered it when I was in the hall and my father had scarcely noticed me. Like Christabel, like Sally Nullens and Emily Philpots and like everyone else I suppose I wanted to be loved.

  There was a knock on my door. My mother called softly: “Priscilla.”

  I hastily took off the ring and picking up the chain pushed both of them into a drawer.

  She came in and I could see that there was something on her mind.

  “Not undressed yet.” She smiled at me tenderly. “I love you in that dress. The lace is so soft and feminine. It suits your brown eyes. It is a little too short though … and a little too tight. We must get Chastity to let out a seam and lengthen it. It’s worth it and she could do that quite well. I want Emily to get on with embroidering my petticoat. You’re growing, that’s what it is.” She kissed me. “Priscilla, I want to talk to you.”

  My heart started beating uncomfortably. When one is guarding an important secret I suppose there must be these constant alarms.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Well, don’t look scared. Sit down. Are you all right? You seem a little …”

  I looked at her fearfully. “A little what?”

  “A little on edge. Are you sure everything is all right?”

  “Yes. I’m all right.”

  “That’s good. This is rather a delicate matter. I’m not sure how far it has gone.”

  “What … matter?” I asked faintly.

  “Edwin and Christabel Connalt.”

  “Oh,” I said blankly.

  “So there is something. It must be stopped.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “It’s most unsuitable.”

  “If they love each other …”

  “My dear Priscilla, you must not be so childish.”

  “Is it childish to believe in love?”

  “Of course not. But this governess …”

  “Dear Mother, she is a governess because she has to earn her own living. She is well educated. You would not be able to tell her from any people who come here. If Edwin loves her …”

  My mother’s face hardened. It was not like her to be harsh or particularly socially conscious. I thought I understood. She was suspicious of Christabel because of the manner in which my father had brought her into the house. If it were in fact the truth that Christabel and my father had been lovers, it was perfectly understandable that my mother would not wish her to marry her son. I did not believe this for one moment—having come to know Christabel—but I had been confirmed in my opinion that it was what some of the servants believed, and if my mother was suspicious, too, that would explain her attitude.

  She said: “It will have to be stopped. She will have to go away.”

  “Where will she go? You have no idea what the home she came from was like. She has told me about it.” I tried to make my mother see something of what Christabel had told me, and my purpose was to reveal to her how impossible it would be for her to have carried on an affair with my father or anyone from such a place.

  My mother, who when she had made up her mind usually had her way, was not listening. I could see that she was determined that Edwin should not marry Christabel.

  But it would be for Edwin to decide.

  I pointed this out.

  “Edwin is sensible,” said my mother. “He has always listened to me.”

  “It will depend on what he thinks is sensible,” I retorted. “I know he loves you dearly and will always listen to you, but you see there is Christabel.”

  “So this has gone further than I feared. And it is such a short time that they have known each other.”

  “Yes, but because of what happened …” I stopped short. How angry Leigh would have been, and how easy it was to betray secrets!

  “What happened?”

  “Well, I mean Edwin and Leigh came back from service abroad and they looked so splendid in their uniforms … and it was all rather romantic …” I trailed off lamely.

  “I just wanted to confirm what Sally Nullens had told me.

  “So it was Sally Nullens, was it? That gossiping old woman!”

  “You’re being unfair to Sally. She loves Edwin and she worries about him. She doesn’t want to see him caught by an adventuress. He is far too young to marry in any case.”

  “He is twenty-one.”

  “My dear Priscilla, you are very unworldly. Edwin bears a great name and he must marry in accordance with his position.”

  “I am very surprised to hear you talk like this. I never thought you could be hard and ruthless and socially ambitious. You have always been so different.”

  “I shall do everything I can to prevent Edwin’s marrying Christabel Connalt,” said my mother firmly.

  “Have you spoken to my father about it?” I asked.

  Her colour heightened. I knew then. She really believed this story about the reason for my father’s bringing Christabel to the house. It seemed ridiculous. As if he would bring a mistress into the place. It showed that even now my mother was not very sure of him.

  She said coldly: “It is not a matter for your father. Edwin is not his son.”

  She saw how distressed I was and her mood changed. She became the loving mother I had always known.

  “Darling child, you must not distress yourself. I shouldn’t have bothered you but I thought you would know more than most people did, and we don’t have secrets from each other, do we?”

  I could not answer that. To have agreed would have been too false. How much easier life had been before I started to grow up.

  “Forget it,” she said. “It will soon be Christmas. We must start making plans, mustn’t we?”

  I caught her hands. “Please don’t send her away,” I begged. “She would be so miserable. It’s so wretched … that rectory. I don’t believe they really have enough to eat. Please don’t send her away.”

  “You have a soft heart, Priscilla, and I wouldn’t have it otherwise. You can rely on me to do the best thing possible for Edwin and for Christabel.”

  I threw myself into her arms. I was comforted by her as I always had been. I thought: In time she will accept Christabel. It will all come right.

  My mother kissed me and said good night. When she had gone, I sat at my dressing table and looked at my reflection. I wondered if she had noticed a change in me. Perhaps to her I still looked the same girl with the thick straight hair and the rather long brown eyes, the short nose, the wide mouth, the face which owed its attractiveness to its vitality rather than an evenness of feature. I could see a difference though. There were secrets in those eyes where there had been none, a new firmness about the lips. Yes, the last weeks had changed me and it was discernible to those who looked closely.

  I hung up my dress—glad to get out of it because it was indeed too tight. A further sign of growing up. I put on my nightdress. Then I remembered the ring and the chain, which I had hastily put into the drawer.

  I opened the drawer. There was the chain but I could not see the ring.

  It must be there. I took everything out of the drawer and still I could not find it.

  But I had put it into the drawer when my mother came in. I was frantic. I knelt down and searched the floor. I could not see it anywhere.

>   It would be better to search in the daylight. It must have dropped from my hands as I had thought I put it into the drawer. I had certainly done that hastily and it was really the only explanation.

  Again and again I went through the contents of the drawer. Gloves, handkerchiefs, collars and frills for cuffs. There was no sign of the ring.

  At last I abandoned the search and uneasily went to bed. I could not sleep. I was too upset both by my mother’s attitude and the loss of the ring.

  I was up as soon as it was daylight, but although I searched in every place, I could not find it.

  There was an uneasy atmosphere throughout the house. I saw my mother in the garden with Edwin. They were talking very earnestly. Later I saw her send off a messenger and I wondered to where.

  I was still obsessed by the loss of the ring. I was certain I should find it, for it must be in my bedroom.

  At first I thought my mother might have taken it, but that was not possible, for she could not have done so without my seeing her.

  I grew frantic searching over and over again.

  I did not tell anyone of my loss. Only Leigh and Christabel even knew I had the ring and recognized the danger possessing it offered. It must turn up. I had searched every inch of the floor. It was as though it had been spirited away.

  Christabel was growing uneasy. She was aware of my mother’s attitude. Then four days after I had lost the ring Edwin and Leigh received summonses to rejoin their regiment without delay.

  I guessed, of course, that my mother had arranged this and that the message she had sent had been a cry for help to one of her many influential friends in Court circles.

  They left. Edwin had made no declaration to Christabel and he had looked so wretched before his departure that I knew he was wavering and considering all the disadvantages which my mother must have put to him. I was sure that she had suggested a separation between him and Christabel so that he could consider very carefully what he was proposing to do quietly and calmly. Edwin was the sort of young man who could be persuaded. That he was especially devoted to my mother I had always known and he could never be happy if he displeased her. When he went away without asking Christabel to marry him, knowing Edwin, I guessed he never would.

  Poor Christabel! There was a desperate look in her eyes. She was even more unhappy than she had been before Edwin had come.

  We began our preparations for Christmas rather halfheartedly. Harriet very often spent that time of year with us or we with her. This year, however, she made excuses and I knew it was because of Jocelyn. When Harriet played a part she did so with all her heart.

  Many of my parents’ friends came from Court. They liked to spend Christmas in the country. So there were the usual festivities, and hunting during the day. They were disappointed, though, because the weather was not cold enough to provide skating. There was a great consumption of food, and dancing and games, and everything that we had been doing at that time of the year for as long as I could remember.

  Christabel mingled with us as though she were a guest or a member of the family and I was sure many people believed she was.

  The Merridews were there and so were the Eghams. My mother said how unfortunate it was that Edwin and Leigh could not be with them. It was too tiresome of Lord Carson—their fierce old General—to send them off abroad on some duty just over the festive season. She would tell him how she appreciated that when she had the chance!

  I understood then. She really would thank him when she saw him.

  I went to Christabel’s room two or three days after Christmas. It was bedtime and I had thought she looked very sad during the evening.

  “I came to see if you were all right,” I said.

  She smiled at me wanly. “It is not going to happen, Priscilla,” she answered. “I might have known it was too good to be true.”

  I tried to comfort her.

  Sometimes I wished that Edwin and Leigh had not come back to stay in the house during my parents’ absence. If my mother had been there she would have seen Edwin’s affection growing and she would have done something about it before it reached that stage.

  Then I thought of the ecstasy when Jocelyn had put his ring on my finger and the agonies I had suffered when I had lost it. I was certain that it had fallen down at the back of the court cupboard which was too heavy for me to move. It was the only answer. At least it was out of sight there and safe, for they could not move the cupboard until springtime when they did the annual turning out. By that time perhaps this stupid persecution would be over and it would not matter who saw the ring.

  That was how I comforted myself.

  There was a letter for me from Harriet.

  My dearest Priscilla,

  It seems so long since we have met. I do want you to come and stay for a week or so with me. Just you … and perhaps bring that nice Christabel you told me about in your letters. I know your mother will spare you. We are doing a little masquerade. John Frisby, the young man I told you about—the one who is staying here—is so good in his part, and I have one for you, too. I think he may be leaving soon and I should like you to meet him before he goes. Why not come soon? Don’t fail me, dear Priscilla. I am writing to your mother …

  I could imagine her. Dear, exciting Harriet, who was the most beautiful and attractive woman I had ever seen. She must have been absolutely irresistible when she was young. When I mentioned this to her once, she laughed and retorted: “My darling, I was never so irresistible as I am now. I have gained experience and I find art quite a good compensation for nature.”

  It was true that she painted her face with the consummate skill of an artist and gave an impression of dazzling beauty which could dispense with youth.

  It was characteristic of her that she should throw herself wholeheartedly into this rescue. I wondered a little jealously whether Jocelyn had fallen in love with her. Most men did.

  I went to my mother and showed her Harriet’s letter.

  “You must go, of course,” she said. “It will do you good. You have been looking a little wan lately. You seem as though you are worried about something. Dearest Cilla, don’t fret about Edwin. Bless your kind heart, it will all work out for the best, you will see.”

  She kissed me fondly and I clung to her. I had a great impulse to confess everything and to tell her how worried I was about the lost ring and to explain all we had done about Jocelyn.

  That would have been folly. I could imagine Leigh’s fury if I had done it.

  So I said nothing and just hugged her.

  “Harriet and her masquerades!” she went on. “I wonder what it will be this time. I remember long ago before the Restoration when we did Romeo and Juliet. Harriet was a bit of a minx in those days. I wonder if she really has settled down. Gregory adores her, of course, and so does Benjie. She was always a collector of men. I think Leigh is fond of her, too.”

  “I know he is. And so am I.”

  “Of course he is. She’s his mother and she could even desert a child and still keep his love. Well, you go to her and … yes … take Christabel with you. It will do her good, too. Harriet stimulates people. I wonder what this young actor is like. As I said, Harriet always had a way of collecting men. What are you going to take? You should really have some new clothes now. We’ll talk about that when you come back. I don’t think you’ve finished growing yet. You are going to be a tall young woman, I can see.”

  She patted my arm.

  My emotions were mixed: pity for Christabel, apprehension about the lost ring, shame for deceiving my beloved mother, and above all excitement at the prospect of seeing Jocelyn again.

  It was mid-January when we arrived at Eyot Abbas. It was a fine old house which Gregory Stevens had inherited when his elder brother had died. It was set in beautiful country, much more lush than that about Eversleigh, for it was not pestered by the cold east winds as we were.

  The house was set in hilly country about a mile from the sea, which could be glimpsed from the top
most windows. From there, too, it was possible to see the island known as the Eyot from which the house had taken its name. Once it had been quite a large island—large enough to contain a monastery which had been destroyed at the time of the Dissolution. Now the sea had encroached considerably and there were only a few ruins of the monastery remaining. I had been there on several occasions for picnics. It had always seemed a wild and fascinating place, rather eerie; and there were, of course, the usual rumours of lights being seen there and bells heard tolling.

  Eyot Abbas was a rambling old house, Elizabethan. It had its share of towers and turrets, and with its red Tudor bricks it was delightfully mellow, set in the luxuriant green of the countryside. The grounds were beautiful and not too well tended. There was a delightful orchard next to the paddock where one could go for solitude. During my visits I liked to take a book there and curl up under my favourite apple tree. I had very happy memories of Eyot Abbas. Everything was easygoing there. Harriet reigned like a queen over the household and the servants all behaved as though it were a privilege to serve her. Gregory never seemed to have recovered from the shock of her having married him. Benjie delighted in teasing her and clearly adored her even though she never worried about him, did not seem to care when he came in wet through after riding and that he nearly shot one of the gardener boys when he was practising archery. He was eleven years old and suffered from no restrictions. Perhaps that was why he was so pleased with life.

  There were no tensions in that household. Harriet never treated us any differently from the grown-ups. She would not have age mentioned. It was something she preferred to forget and that suited us all.

  When we arrived the grooms were expecting us and they took our horses and the bags from the saddle horse and we went into the house.

  Harriet was not at home. She was out riding with her guest.

  “You know your room, Mistress Priscilla,” said Mercer, Harriet’s personal maid who had been with her in the theatre. “And I have put Mistress Connalt next to you.”

  “That’s good, Mercer,” I replied. “I’ll take Mistress Connalt up.”