Lament for a Lost Lover

by Philippa Carr

  “First I want your promise to be silent. There is nothing wrong in what you are asked to do. In fact it can only be good. All you need to do is say nothing. No one will ask you questions.”

  “It is about the … baby, my lady?”

  “You shall have half the money now,” said Harriet, ignoring the question, “and half when the matter is over. But first I must have your word on the name of God and the Holy Virgin that you will in no circumstances tell of what you learn in this house.”

  “My lady, I swear. In my profession there are sometimes secrets. I have always been discreet.”

  “You will need to be discreet now. You may think that when the money has been paid and we have gone, you are free to speak of what you know. If you do so, you will have broken your word and you will be punished. Do you know what happened to an English gentleman not so long ago? Have you ever heard the name of Granville?”

  The woman was trembling a little. I saw the sweat on her forehead.

  “I heard, my lady. He was very bad … because of what happened to him.”

  “It could happen to you, signora, if you betrayed a trust. It will not, I know. You are too wise. You are going to take the money, which is more, I vow, than you earned in the whole of your life before bringing babies into the world and now and then waiting on the nobility. What is it to be?”

  The woman lifted the cross which she wore about her neck and swore on it. Nothing on earth should drag the secret from her.

  It was dramatic, another of Harriet’s scenes, and naturally she played it to perfection.

  “I trust you,” she said. “And now you will find the matter very simple. When you came here before you did not examine me but this young lady. She is the one who is to have the child. For certain reasons we do not wish it to be known that the child is hers. All you have to do is attend her, make sure she has the best of care, bring a healthy child into the world with as little inconvenience to the mother as possible and hold your tongue.”

  Relief spread across the midwife’s face.

  “My lady,” she said, “it is nothing … it is little …”

  Then she stopped, obviously afraid that if she made it sound too easy the fee might be lowered.

  She went on: “Your secret is safe with me. There are many such in my work. I shall say nothing. I shall let it be believed that the child is yours, my lady. Oh, my lady … and signora …” She looked at me apologetically. “It often happens there are certain secrets.”

  “I am sure that in your profession it is one secret after another, but remember how well you are being paid to keep this one and remember too that Venice will not be a. very healthy place for you if you fail to keep it. Now you are free to look after your patient.”

  Harriet left me alone with Maria Caldori, who asked me a great many questions, examined me and declared herself delighted with my condition.

  “Two weeks perhaps,” she said. “It may be sooner. Babies like to choose their own time.”

  Harriet had arranged that I should sleep in her room and had had a small bed brought in. The fact was that she occupied this and made me sleep in the large one in which the child was to be born.

  Maria Caldori occupied a room close by and was in constant attendance. I think she enjoyed her part in the conspiracy and whenever we had visitors I would leave her and Harriet together and Harriet said she did her part very well. “Mind you,” she pointed out, “I carried her along. But I must say she played with a certain conviction.”

  Christabel was very kind and eager that I should not be put to any strain. I had never seen her so contented as she was at that time. She was out a good deal with Francesca and again and again I was struck by the change in her.

  The weather was still warm and I was feeling the heat very much. As I did not go out a great deal I liked to sit at the doors of my room which opened onto the veranda and watch life pass by on the canal.

  It was just after sundown, and as I sat there, I saw a gondola shoot by. There was a bright moon that night so I saw the gondolier quite clearly in his yellow coat and brown breeches, but it was his passenger who held my attention.

  As they passed he looked up at the palazzo and I saw his face distinctly.

  It was Beaumont Granville.

  I felt a sudden wave of terror wash over me. I stood up, turned abruptly and went into my room.

  Then I felt the pain take hold of me.

  My child was about to be born.

  For the next hours I forgot all about Beaumont Granville. There was only the agony to be endured; and yet all the time I was thinking of the child and assuring myself that soon I would emerge from the pain and would have the baby I longed for.

  I was aware of the candles that flickered and threw shadows over the room, the sound of voices. Maria Caldori soothing, Harriet tense and anxious … No longer in her role, I thought, in the midst of my pain.

  It was not an exceptionally difficult birth, but it seemed a long time to me before I heard the cry of a child.

  I was aware then of a wild exultation. I was a mother. That was all I could think of. I was more exhausted than I had ever been, but I thought: I’m happy.

  Harriet was at my bedside—dear, protective Harriet.

  “All is well, dear child,” she whispered. “A lovely little girl … our little girl.”

  A little girl! That was what I wanted more than anything in the world.

  I held up my arms.

  “Sleep first,” commanded Harriet. “That’s what you need. Maria Caldori says so. Maria has been wonderful. Now rest, my darling child, rest … rest and then we shall have the little rogue made presentable to meet her mama.”

  I was about to protest but an utter weariness came over me and I slept.

  It was late afternoon when I awoke. Harriet came quickly to my bedside. She kissed me. “You were wonderful. Now you want to see our little angel. Maria is a tigress. She hates me to go near her. You’d think it was her baby. Maria, I insist. Give me the child.”

  Harriet brought my baby to the bed and placed her in my arms. I felt weak with happiness. I knew that nothing had ever been so important to me before as this red-faced child with the scanty dark hair and its button of a nose. She had been whimpering slightly, and when I took her into my arms she stopped and something which might have been a smile crept over her face. How I loved her! I examined her tiny fingers and marvelled at the minute nails. I looked at her little feet.

  “She’s perfect in every way,” cooed Harriet. “We could wish she had a slightly less lusty pair of lungs but Maria is overcome with admiration even for them. If you ask me she spoils the child.”

  I lay there holding her in my arms.

  This was my daughter, the result of my love for Jocelyn. I thought then: Everything was worthwhile for this.

  Harriet and I spent a long time discussing the name. At length we decided on Carlotta. It seemed to suit her. She was going to be dark-haired and she had the most enchanting pair of blue eyes. “As though,” said Harriet, “she knew she had to be my daughter so therefore her eyes should be the same colour as mine.” Harriet’s were that rare violet blue and her most startling feature. I wondered whether Carlotta’s would be the same.

  Harriet took charge of her. The midwife left with her money and made protestations of her loyalty and gratitude. Never, never should anyone know from her who the mother of the child really was.

  All the women of the household wanted the privilege of being the child’s nurse. Harriet chose the most likely, a middle-aged mother who had had several children of her own.

  Christabel showed great interest in the child and was clearly moved by her. Christabel was always surprising me. Despite what she had told me I should not have thought she cared greatly for children.

  A few weeks passed by. I was completely absorbed by the child and I was dreading the day when we should leave Venice, which meant that Harriet would take Carlotta and I would have to return to Eversleigh.

  �
�I shall tell your mother that you have been so helpful to me, and I am not really cut out to be a mother, and that she must spare you to me often.”

  “Harriet, you are a darling, but even so I shall have to leave her for long periods.”

  “We’ll work something out, never fear,” said Harriet.

  Oddly enough Carlotta managed to bewitch Harriet, who admitted that before the coming of this infant, young children had had no great charm for her. Perhaps all the effort we had made for Carlotta had given this child something extra.

  She was going to be a beauty, Harriet declared. “Look at those eyes! That deep sparkling blue. And that adorable button of a nose. It is just right. She knows it, too, I am sure. See how determined she is to have her own way.”

  “Really, Harriet,” I chided, “you positively drool over this baby.”

  “I find her excessively drool-worthy.”

  She talked of the nursery at the Abbas which would have to be completely refurbished. “Would it be a good idea to get old Sally Nullens over?”

  “She’s an old gossip.”

  “There’ll be nothing to gossip about and your mother says she is wonderful with children.”

  “Perhaps it would be a good idea,” I said. “We were fond of her when we were little.”

  “Old Nullens it shall be. I’ve had enough of this place. It’s romantic enough if your sense of smell is not too strong. I believe they throw all sorts of rubbish into the canals. I shouldn’t care for it in winter, and I do really think we should be making plans.”

  She was right, of course.

  When Gregory returned to Venice at the end of October, he, too, seemed to fall victim to the baby’s charms.

  He agreed that we should start the journey home almost immediately. To leave it later could mean that we might run into really severe weather.

  I was sure that he had been prompted to such a comment by Harriet who, now the baby was born and the real difficulties of the initial stages of the project were over, was growing tired of the monotony of life and was determined to return to England.

  So with some misgivings I made my preparations to leave. While I was packing with Christabel, I remembered seeing Beaumont Granville on the night before Carlotta’s birth. Strangely enough, in view of everything that had happened I had forgotten the incident.

  I said to her as she was helping me put my things together: “I had a shock on the night my pains started. I thought I saw Beaumont Granville.”

  “Beaumont Granville,” she repeated, as though she were trying to remember who he was.

  “The man who tried to abduct me. The one whom Leigh nearly killed.”

  “Do you think you really did?”

  “I was sure of it. I saw him clearly. He was going past in a gondola, and he looked up at the palazzo.”

  “You could have been mistaken. Do you think he would come back here after what happened?”

  “I shouldn’t have thought so.”

  “You haven’t seen him since?”

  “No.”

  “Well, you were in a state of tension, you know. You were expecting the baby at any moment … and I imagine it could have been someone who looked like him.”

  “That could be so,” I agreed.

  And I believed that might be true.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 1977 by Philippa Carr

  cover design by Jason Gabbert

  978-1-4804-0371-0

  This edition published in 2013 by Open Road Integrated Media

  345 Hudson Street

  New York, NY 10014

  www.openroadmedia.com

  THE DAUGHTERS OF ENGLAND

  FROM OPEN ROAD MEDIA

  Available wherever ebooks are sold

  Open Road Integrated Media is a digital publisher and multimedia content company. Open Road creates connections between authors and their audiences by marketing its ebooks through a new proprietary online platform, which uses premium video content and social media.

  Videos, Archival Documents, and New Releases

  Sign up for the Open Road Media newsletter and get news delivered straight to your inbox.

  Sign up now at

  www.openroadmedia.com/newsletters

  FIND OUT MORE AT

  WWW.OPENROADMEDIA.COM

  FOLLOW US:

  @openroadmedia and

  Facebook.com/OpenRoadMedia