We mounted the stairs to our rooms. The colours were very bright. Harriet had refurbished Eyot Abbas when she became its mistress and the colours she had chosen were scarlet, purples and gold. “Trust Harriet to introduce royal colours,” my mother had commented.
My bedroom was in purple—purple hangings on the bed, purple rugs on the floor, purple curtains. The bedspread was of a lilac shade which toned in perfectly. Christabel’s room was in a bluish mauve.
I could see that she was impressed by the richness of everything and delighted to be treated as though she were not a governess. That meant a great deal to her—even more than usual because of what was happening between her and Edwin.
Mercer brought water for us to wash, so we did so and changed; and while this was happening Harriet returned. I heard her voice immediately. It was always like that with her—as though a fanfare of trumpets must greet her arrival.
I ran out of my room to the top of the staircase.
She was in the hall, and beside her, looking even more handsome than I had been imagining him, was Jocelyn. For a few seconds I stood still watching them, my emotions enveloping me.
Then Harriet saw me.
“Ah, my darling child! Priscilla, my love, come down at once. I want to welcome you and introduce you to John Frisby.”
I ran down the stairs. She caught me in her arms and I was wrapped in fragrance.
She looked magnificent in her riding habit. It was pale grey and there was a deep blue cravat at her throat which was the exact colour of her eyes. “I never saw anyone with eyes to match Harriet’s,” my mother had said. “I think they are the secret of her charm.” They were beautiful eyes—deep blue and heavily fringed with black lashes; her brows were black, too, very well defined, and her hair, luxuriantly curly, abundant and springing with life, was very dark, too. It was that contrast of blue eyes and black hair with a fair skin, rather impudent nose and perfect white teeth which made Harriet the beauty she was. But it was her exuberant manner, her displays of affection which she bestowed carelessly on all who wanted them—and that was everyone who came within her orbit—that made her the person she was, one who could commit that which in others would be unforgivable and yet in her would be forgiven.
“Harriet is larger than life,” Mother had said. “She can’t be judged by normal standards.”
And that was true. She was scheming, she was selfish, but she was generous. Her great charm was her vitality, her ability to extricate herself from any awkward situations with little cost to herself, and most of all, perhaps, an interest and excitement in life. She lived it fully and with zest, and those about her were caught up in that. No one could be near Harriet and be dull; and this made everyone want to be near her.
Neither of her sons was legitimate. Leigh had been born to her before she was married. His father had been my mother’s husband, and it said a great deal for Harriet’s charm that my mother, who had been desperately in love with her first husband, now bore no grudge against Harriet. Finding Leigh an impossible encumbrance Harriet had abandoned him when he was a few months old and left him in my mother’s care. Years later she married into the Eversleigh family—an uncle of my father’s much older than herself. Then she had given birth to Benjie, but it turned out he was not the son of her husband but of Gregory Stevens, who was tutoring at the house at that time. Then when her husband died and Gregory came into his title and fortune, she married him, and Benjie’s name was changed from Eversleigh to Stevens, and Harriet emerged as the adored wife and mother.
I was afraid to look at the young man beside her. I said: “Harriet, you look as beautiful as ever.”
“Bless you, dear child. I want you to meet my dear friend, John Frisby. John this is my … well, it’s a complicated relationship and I should need pen and paper to work it out. But I love her dearly all the same and I want you to get to know each other.”
The beautiful blue eyes were mocking as Jocelyn took my hand and kissed it. We smiled at each other and I thought jubilantly: Nothing has changed. It is just as it was. He loves me still.
And I felt wildly happy.
Christabel was coming down the stairs. I saw Harriet appraising her.
I said: “Oh, here is Mistress Connalt. Christabel, this is Lady Stevens.”
Harriet was charming and I saw Christabel flush with pleasure at her reception.
“Welcome, my dear,” said Harriet. “I do like to have young people in the house. Priscilla has told me so much about you. Now come and meet John. He’s longing to know you.”
Harriet whispered to me: “Well done. You play well. We have to be careful. Servants peek and pry, you know.”
“Yes,” I whispered back. “Thank you, Harriet. Oh, thank you.”
She pressed my arm.
“Now, how have you been looked after? Has Mercer given you what you need? I thought you would like Mistress Connalt close by.”
“It was kind of you to ask me,” said Christabel rather stiffly.
“Nonsense. I am delighted. Has Mercer unpacked for you? You must be hungry.”
“Not really,” I replied. “We had a pie and cider at the Stag’s Head.”
“Did you, indeed? Even so we will eat early. John, do go to the kitchens and tell them to put whatever they are cooking forward. We shall eat at six of the clock.”
He bowed. His eyes were on me, warm and dancing with excitement.
“Come, my dears,” said Harriet, “I want to make sure you are comfortable.”
She led the way to my room and ushered us in. She shut the door and leaned against it. Her mood had changed; her eyes flashed with excitement.
“Now … we can talk. We have to be so careful. Servants are everywhere. They have their uses, but in a situation like this they can present difficulties.” She turned to Christabel. “My dear, I am so glad you came. I know of your part in all this … you and those dear boys, Leigh and Edwin. I am sure Leigh was the leading spirit. He was born to be a leader that one. Now to work. My dear Gregory has been such a help. Who would have believed that he would ever be involved in such a matter!” Again to Christabel. “My husband is the mildest of men. He likes to lead a simple and uncomplicated life. But I am afraid I drag him into the most dramatic situations. Darling Gregory! He is so good about it. But you are longing for news of our friend John.”
“Oh, yes, please,” I said fervently.
“And I chatter!” She leaned against the door, her hands pressed against it, looking like a queen of intrigue—which she was, of course. How she loved to play a part! “Now listen to me carefully, my dears. They are looking for John. You must never refer to him as anything but John Frisby in this house … never … never! Gregory has his ears to the ground. He was in London recently. This odious Oates is frightened now that he sees his rule coming to an end, but he is determined to let no victims escape him. He and his friends are furious that our friend got away. Oates harbours some special grudge against the Frintons. He got the father and is determined to wipe out the family—and that means first of all the son. Our John Frisby is in acute danger.”
I caught my breath and put my hand to my throat. Harriet smiled tenderly at me and went on: “I know how you are feeling. I share your anxiety. There is no suspicion in this household at the moment. I am sure of that. But if something should lead them here … Well, they would try and question … and I am not sure that our disguise would stand up to scrutiny.”
“Oh, Harriet, what can we do?”
“You can be sure I would take some action. I have been working on it and I am going to smuggle him to France. I think it is the only thing to be done. We are negotiating now and we hope to have arranged for a boat to take him by the end of the week. I wanted you to come and see him before he went.”
“Harriet,” I cried, “you are marvellous!”
I felt so emotional that I was afraid I would not be able to hold back my tears, so I threw myself at her and buried my face against her.
She touched
my hair. I heard her say to Christabel: “This child has always been a special favourite of mine. Her mother did so much for me. It is something one never forgets.”
That helped me a great deal. It made me smile because I knew exactly how she was looking at that moment, posing, of course, as she always did. I often wondered how much of what she said she really meant. It didn’t matter. She was Harriet and she fascinated me completely.
“There now,” she said, when she felt the scene had been played long enough, and I was now in control of my feelings, “we must be practical. You must not take too much notice of John Frisby … and yet on the other hand you must not ignore him. You must be interested, yet not too interested. You must be careful but not obviously so.”
“I think we understand, Lady Stevens,” said Christabel.
“Call me Harriet, my dear. Everybody does.” She turned to me. “I know your mother thinks I am the most unconventional being on earth and perhaps I am, but it does not stop people’s being fond of me. Isn’t that so, dear child?”
“You are the dearest person in the world,” I said with vehement gratitude, “and everybody loves you.”
“You see how this Priscilla flatters me!” She was smiling at Christabel now. “Never mind. It shows that she loves me.
“Oh, Harriet, dear, dear Harriet, how can we thank you for all you have done!”
“I had to do it. Leigh would have wanted to know the reason why if I had not. I am afraid of that forceful son of mine, Christabel.”
“I cannot believe that you would ever be afraid of anything,” answered Christabel.
“Well,” said Harriet, “I must not linger too long. You will want to change and then we’ll dine … without ceremony. Gregory will be back for dinner. He should be in shortly. He is helping with the arrangements to get John out to safety. He can stay in France until this nonsense is over, and Gregory says that will soon be. This time next year he reckons it will be forgotten. Come down when you are changed.” She turned to the door and whispered: “Don’t forget. Careful where John Frisby is concerned. I must go along now and whisper a word of caution in his ear. I thought he looked rather like a lovesick Romeo when his eyes fell on you. Romantic and beautiful to behold but highly undesirable in the circumstances.”
She went out, leaving Christabel and me together.
“What a beautiful woman!” cried Christabel. “I never saw anyone like her before.”
“No one has,” I said. “There never has been anyone like Harriet.”
What a wonderful evening that was! It is one which I shall remember forever. We ate in a small room which was used when the family were alone, as we did at home in the winter parlour. It was lit by candlelight which threw shadows on the tapestries of sylvan scenes which hung on the panelled walls and gave them an air of mystery.
Gregory had returned. He was a tall, quiet man who seemed perpetually surprised at his good fortune in marrying such a dazzling creature as Harriet. He was completely her slave. I was sure that the smuggling of a wanted man to France was something he himself would never have undertaken if it had not been her wish that he should do so. He was the sort of man who would have lived to a set of rules from which he had never diverged until he had met Harriet.
I often wondered why she had married him. But she was fond of him as far as she could be fond of anyone, and it was a singularly successful marriage.
Now he was involved in this matter with her and it was one which could bring trouble to his house, and yet cheerfully he undertook what was expected of him because Harriet was the one who expected it.
He sat at one end of the table, Harriet at the other. She had placed Jocelyn on her right hand, I was on her left, so he and I were opposite and could gaze contentedly at each other throughout the meal.
While the servants were bringing in the dishes and serving us, the conversation was of Court matters. The King was seen everywhere with the Queen, Gregory told us. It was his answer to those who accused her of being concerned in the Popish Plot and of planning the death of her husband.
“Dear good lady,” said Gregory, “it was the most foolish accusation to bring against her. What has she ever been but a good and loyal wife to him?”
“And brought him Bombay and Tangiers into the bargain,” cried Harriet. “My dear Gregory, I could bring you nothing like that.”
“You brought me yourself,” he answered, like the gallant lover he was, “and that was all I wanted.”
She blew a kiss to him across the table. I wondered if she were faithful to him. I knew that she was the sort of woman who would not hesitate to take a lover if the whim came to her. But she would always do it carefully and in a manner to bring the least unhappiness to Gregory. One would always make excuses for Harriet when one was with her. But there was nothing to make excuses for now.
Gregory talked of the theatres and who was playing what and where.
“We’ve never had one to replace Nell Gwyn,” he said. “There are some who regret the King ever saw her and took her away from the stage.”
“I doubt Nelly would agree with that,” put in Harriet. “She has a great gift but I’m not sure that it was for acting. It was the way she laughed, the way she danced … It was inevitable that some connoisseur of women would see that one day. I liked her. Everybody did … except those who were jealous of her. People still like her in spite of her good fortune, for she was never one to give herself airs.”
“She is urging the King to set up a royal hospital at Chelsea for aged and disabled soldiers,” said Gregory. “They say he is interested in the scheme. She is one to ask for others rather than herself.”
“A rare quality,” said Christabel.
“And one to be applauded,” put in Jocelyn.
“We of the theatre owe a great deal to her,” said Harriet with a grimace at Jocelyn.
“Oh, indeed,” agreed Jocelyn, “I remember …”
Harriet silenced him with a look. “For the benefit of anyone with an ear to the keyhole,” she whispered to me, “I have to watch those reminiscences of the theatre in that direction. I couldn’t have chosen a worse profession for him. It was a good thing I arranged that he should be a child actor who did not fulfill his early promise.”
Gregory was saying: “Nelly and Monmouth are not good friends.”
“Of course not,” agreed Harriet. “She thinks he has his eye on the throne and she can’t bear to contemplate his ever reaching it, for that would mean the death of Charles.”
“She has given him a nickname and called him Prince Perkin,” went on Gregory.
“Plainly referring to Perkin Warbeck, who claimed a throne to which he had no right,” added Harriet.
“He retaliated by asking in public how his father can have such a low-bred creature constantly in his company. Then she reminded him that his mother, Lucy Walter, was no better bred than she was. You see, it’s a regular battle between them, though they both stand for the Protestant side.”
“I know she calls herself the Protestant Whore. Forgive me, dear ladies.” Harriet smiled at Christabel and me. “But the Court is far from pure and that means we have to be a little impure when speaking of it. It’s a real turmoil of opinions, and I reckon that when the King does die there’ll be trouble once more. So … a health unto His Majesty.”
The talk went on but what I wanted to hear were the plans for Jocelyn and that, of course, was something which could not be discussed at table. Nor would Harriet allow me to be alone with Jocelyn. She believed at the moment that all was well and that no one suspected that Jocelyn was anything but what he claimed to be; and no one in the household, apart from herself and Gregory, must know that Jocelyn and I had met before.
“We went over to the Eyot a few weeks ago,” she said. “It was a beautifully calm and pleasant day. John knows how to handle a pair of oars with real skill. You could row the ladies over tomorrow, John, if the weather is good.”
“I should love to go,” I said, my eyes shining
as I realized Harriet was making our opportunity for us.
“Then we’ll pray for a calm day,” said Harriet. “I’ll have a basket of delicacies prepared for you. There are some really sheltered places among the ruins and you can imagine that the ghosts of the monks are looking after you. Mind you, I don’t think they’ll appear by day, do you, Gregory?”
Gregory said he doubted they appeared even at night, but according to popular belief they did.
I was longing to be alone with Jocelyn, to talk to him, to make our plans. I wondered where he would go when he reached France. I could see how dangerous it was for us to be too much together, or to talk of these matters in the house. I had to behave as though I had never met Jocelyn before and that was not easy.
I was too excited to sleep when I retired to my room. I put on a dressing gown and was combing my hair when I received the first of my visitors. It was Christabel.
She had changed back to the Christabel she had been when she first came to Eversleigh. That radiant girl I had briefly glimpsed had retreated behind the mask, and there she was with her expressionless eyes and that mobile mouth which was a traitor to her.
She sat down. “May I stay and talk just for a few minutes?” she asked.
“But of course.”
“It’s been such a day … strange and exciting. I think Harriet is the most unusual woman I have ever seen. She is absolutely beautiful and so attractive. I was thinking while I was watching her that she is everything that I am not. I realize how gauche and plain I am when I see her.”
“We all feel that beside Harriet.”
“It’s unfair that some of us …” That little quirk of the mouth was obvious though she sought to control it. She went on: “Some people are born with everything and others …”
“Harriet wasn’t. She was poor, I believe. I think my mother said she was the illegitimate daughter of a strolling player and a village girl. My mother said that one could never be sure whether Harriet was romancing. However, I am sure she did make her way in the world.”
“Illegitimate! Harriet!”
“So my mother said. I shall know all about it one day when I read my mother’s journal. Harriet would always get what she wanted though.”
Lament for a Lost Lover Page 46