Love Child

by Philippa Carr

  “I was so anxious about my friend.”

  “I gathered that,” I answered.

  “He is a very sick man and is so easily disturbed.”

  “I promise I shall not disturb him.”

  I had an opportunity now to look at his face. It was an interesting one. He was deeply bronzed, and his peruke was dark but I imagined beneath it his hair would be fair; his eyes were light brown, almost golden, and he had strongly marked dark brows. It was a strong face—a deep cleft in the chin and full lips—sensuous lips, I decided, which could be cruel; there was a merriment in his eyes which contrasted with the mouth. His was a disturbing personality; or perhaps, as Beau had hinted, I enjoyed the company of the opposite sex in what he had called a normal, healthy way.

  I wished I could stop remembering what Beau had said and comparing everyone with him. My interest in this man was because there was something about him which reminded me of Beau.

  “May I sit down?” he said.

  “This is the general dining room, I believe. And I am about to go.”

  “You understand my discomfiture when I discovered that others were close by my sick friend.”

  “Others? You mean when you discovered I was.”

  He leaned his elbows on the table and studied me intently. I saw the admiration in his eyes and I had to admit that I was gratified.

  “You are a very beautiful young lady,” he said. “I am surprised that you are allowed to travel alone.”

  “This is hardly to the point,” I said coldly, then feeling it might be unwise to let him think I was alone added: “I am not travelling alone. I have grooms with me. They, alas, have had to find accommodation elsewhere. I make this journey frequently, but this is the first time something unfortunate like this has happened.”

  “Please do not think of it as unfortunate. I was angry, I admit. Now I rejoice that I have been given this opportunity to make your acquaintance. May I know your name?”

  I hesitated. I could understand his annoyance and he was clearly a quick-tempered man. He was doing his best to apologise now and I did not want to appear ungracious.

  “It is Carlotta Main. What is yours?”

  I saw that he was surprised. He repeated: “Carlotta Main. You belong to the Eversleigh family.”

  “You know my family?”

  “I know of them. Lord Eversleigh is your …”

  “He is my grandmother’s son by her first marriage.”

  “I see. And Leigh.”

  “He is my stepfather. We are a rather complicated family.”

  “And a military one. I believe the great General Tolworthy was a connection.”

  “That’s so. It seems that I am no stranger to you. I wonder if I have heard of your family. What is your name?”

  “It is … John Field.”

  “No. I have never heard of any Fields.”

  “Unexplored pastures,” he said with a hint of humour. “I wish we had met in happier circumstances.”

  “And I wish that you get your friend safely to London.”

  “Thank you. He needs skilled attention quickly. It is a great anxiety …”

  I realized that he was apologising again and I stood up. I felt I should retire. There was something too bold and disturbing in his looks. He studied me too intently, and having had some experience of such matters I was well aware that he was assessing me and for what purpose. He was too like Beau for my comfort, and Beau had taught me so much about the ways of men.

  The more I was close to this one, the more uneasy I became.

  He stood up with me. He bowed and I went out of the dining room. I took a candle from the table in the hall and started up.

  I met the innkeeper’s wife on the stairs with the serving maid. They were carrying food up the landing. It was evidently being served in one of those four rooms. So this John Field had come into the dining room just to apologise to me.

  I went into my room and was relieved to see that there was a key. I turned it in the lock and felt safe.

  It was stiflingly hot in the little cupboard so I went to the window and found to my delight that I could open it, and when a little air came in the atmosphere was more bearable.

  I sat down on my stool. It must be nearly ten o’clock. We should leave early in the morning. There was not a great deal of time to be spent here, and how glad I should be when the dawn came.

  Then suddenly a gust from the open window doused my candle. I sighed but did not attempt for a while to relight it. There was a halfmoon and it was a clear night, so as my eyes grew accustomed to the gloom I could see well enough.

  It was then that I became aware of the crack of light in the wall. Perplexed, I stared at it; then I got up to examine it.

  Good heavens, I thought. There must have been a door there at one time. It has been boarded up.

  Yes, that was it. Boarded up and not too expertly done. This cupboard room of mine must at one time have led from the room next to it—perhaps it was a kind of dressing room—and there had obviously been a small communicating door between the two rooms. Someone must have decided to shut it off completely to make a maid’s room of it.

  There was this slight crack at the side which would hardly have been visible if I had not been in the dark and there was light in the room behind the partition. And as I was examining it, I heard the mumble of voices. At first I thought they came from the corridor. Then I realized that they were coming through the crack in the wall.

  John Field and his friends were in urgent discussion. I shrugged my shoulders. I imagined them sitting down to the sucking pig, which had been brought up by the innkeeper’s wife and her serving woman.

  Then suddenly I heard my name and I was alert. I put my ear to the crack.

  I recognised the voice of John Field. “Carlotta Main … the heiress … one of the Eversleighs … That she should be here this night.”

  A mumble of voices.

  “I could murder that innkeeper. I said clearly that we were not to be disturbed …”

  “It’s only a girl …”

  “Yes … but one of the Eversleigh family …”

  “You spoke to her?”

  “A real beauty.” I heard him chuckle. “A young lady with a high opinion of herself.”

  “You were clearly taken with her. Trust you, Hessenfield.”

  Hessenfield, I thought. He had said he was John Field. So he had given me a false name. This was no ordinary mission of taking a sick man to a doctor. And why should it need six men to do this? Unless of course they were servants; but from that scrap of conversation I had heard it did not seem that this was the case.

  Then I heard him again: “A fiery creature, I imagine. A real beauty.”

  “This is not the time for dalliance of that nature.”

  “You’ve no need to remind me. We’ll have no trouble with the haughty young lady. She’ll be off at dawn. I gathered that from her.”

  “Do you think it was wise …?”

  “Wise? What do you mean …?”

  “Making yourself known … going to speak to her …”

  “Oh, an apology was needed, you know.”

  “Trust you to play the gallant. What if she recognised you?”

  “How could she? We’ve never met.”

  “Well, gave an account of you …”

  “The occasion won’t arise. We’ll be out and away within the next few days Stop fidgeting, Durrell. And now … let’s go and eat.”

  I heard the shutting of the door and there was silence. They would be partaking of the sucking pig in the next room.

  I lighted my candle and went back to my stool.

  There was something very mysterious going on and in a way I was caught up in it. It was disconcerting to know how much my presence disturbed them. What had he meant when he said I might recognise the man who called himself John Field? And his real name was Hessenfield. Why should he have given a false name? Because if he were found out in whatever he was doing, he did no
t want it to be known.

  There was a long night to be lived through and I did not expect to get much sleep.

  I took off my jacket. I did not intend to undress completely. I had no nightclothes in any case. They were in the saddlebags.

  I lay down on the pallet, blew out my candle and found myself watching the crack in the wall.

  It must have been past midnight when I saw a flicker of light. I went to the wall and put my ear to the crack. There was no conversation. Evidently someone was in the room alone. In due course the light went out.

  I dozed fitfully through the night and as soon as the first streaks of light were in the sky I was preparing to leave. I had settled my account with the innkeeper the previous night and told him that I might be leaving before the household was astir. He had left me some ale and cold bacon with bread on the table and there was a can of water and small ewer. I used these as silently as I could and ate my breakfast.

  While I was doing this I heard signs of activity on the landing and guessed that my neighbours were astir also.

  I looked out of my window and saw one of them going to the stables.

  Then I heard the creaking of stairs.

  I was ready. I opened my door and looked out. It was silent. Then I heard the sound of heavy breathing and a gasp as though someone were in pain.

  I went along the landing. A door was half open. Then I heard the gasp again.

  I pushed open the door and looked in. “Can I help?” I said.

  I have often thought afterwards how one moment in time can affect our whole lives and wondered how different everything might have been if I had remained in my room until the party who had shown such a desire for secrecy had gone.

  But my curiosity got the better of me and I took a fatal step when I pushed open that door and looked in.

  A man was lying in the bed. There was blood on his clothes and his face was the colour of whey. His eyes were wide and glassy and he looked very different from when I had last seen him.

  But I recognised him at once. I ran to the bed.

  “General Langdon,” I said. “What are you doing here?”

  And as I spoke I was aware that someone had come into the room. It was not the man who called himself John Field but one of the others.

  He was looking at me with horror. He drew his sword and I thought for a moment that he was going to run it through me.

  Then John Field was there.

  “Hold!” he cried. “What are you doing, you fool?”

  He had knocked the sword out of the other’s hand. I heard it clang to the floor and I stared at it in horror.

  “She … knows him,” said the man. “By God, she’s got to die.”

  “Not so fast,” said John Field Hessenfield, and it was clear to me that he was the leader. “Kill her … here! You must be mad. What would happen then? They would be after us and we should never get across.”

  “We’ve got to finish her,” said the man who would have killed me. “Don’t you understand? She knows … she knows who he is.”

  It is a strange feeling to look death in the face but that was what I was doing now. I was bewildered and I could only think that I might so easily now be lying on the floor of this room with a sword through my heart.

  “We’d better get out of here quickly,” said the man Hessenfield. “Not a moment to lose.”

  He took a step towards me and gripped my arm so firmly that I winced.

  “She’ll have to come with us,” he said.

  The man who would have killed me relaxed a little. He nodded.

  “We can’t get rid of her here, you fool,” said Hessenfield.

  “Come on.” Others had come into the room.

  “What’s this?” said one.

  “Our floor neighbour,” said Hessenfield. “Come on. Get the General out. Carry him carefully. And be quiet, for God’s sake be quiet.”

  He pulled me to one side and two of the men came forward. Carefully they lifted the General. He groaned. I watched wide eyed and silent while they carried him from the room.

  Hessenfield was still holding my arm.

  “Come on,” he said.

  I was forced along the landing. At the door of my room we paused and he flung open the door. “Nothing must be left behind,” he said.

  “There is nothing. What are you doing?”

  “Silence,” he hissed. “Do what I say or that will be the end of you.”

  The clear morning air filled my lungs and I began to think clearly. What was General Langdon doing with these men? The last I had heard of him he had been a prisoner in the Tower.

  There was no time to think. I was being hustled to the stables.

  One of the men mounted a horse and the General was put on with him.

  I was set on a big black horse and Hessenfield bounded up beside me.

  “Don’t leave her horse behind,” he said. “We’ll have to bring it with us. Ready.”

  Then we were riding through the dawn.

  I shall never forget that ride. I tried to talk but he would not answer. They let my horse go free when we had gone some five miles. He was an encumbrance. Then we went on.

  It was no use trying to protest. I was held fast against my captor. I knew that I was in imminent danger; that the reason this man had been so angry to find me on that floor was because he had something of great importance to hide. I knew what it was now. It was the presence of General Langdon.

  My thoughts started to form into some sort of order.

  General Langdon had come to Eversleigh, trying to recruit men to the Jacobite cause. He wanted to raise them against the present King and bring James back to the throne. Then he had been discovered and sent to the Tower. Now here he was—obviously very ill, but free.

  It must have been about midday when we came to a wood. We rode into this and pulled up for a while. They evidently knew where we were and had been making for this spot. There was a stream where the tired horses were able to drink. The General was laid on a blanket and one of the men brought out some bread and bacon with a flask of ale.

  “So far so good,” said Hessenfield.

  He looked at me sardonically, I thought.

  “I am sorry we have to inconvenience you like this, Mistress Main. But you do realise, do you not, that you have inconvenienced us far more.”

  “What is all this about?” I demanded, trying to hide my fear with a show of bravado.

  “Dear lady, it is not for you to ask the questions. From you—if you value your life—we expect blind obedience.”

  “Don’t dally with the wench,” said the man who had been ready to kill me. “This would be a good spot to be rid of her.”

  “Do not be so impatient, my dear fellow. We have one purpose ahead of us. All that matters is that we fulfil it.”

  “She’s a danger.”

  “A small danger which we do not want to turn into a big one.”

  “I see that you have other plans for her. We expect that of you, Hessenfield.”

  Hessenfield suddenly struck out and the man was lying on the grass.

  “Just a little reminder, Jack,” he said, “that I give the orders. Never fear, I shall see that we are not betrayed. The lady shall be dealt with … but when dealing with her can bring no trouble to us.” He turned to me. “You must be tired. We have ridden far. Sit down … here.”

  I moved away and he caught my arm.

  “I said, sit here,” he told me, raising his eyebrows. His eyes were twinkling but his mouth was cruel. I was aware of the sword he wore at his waist. I shrugged my shoulders and sat down.

  He sat beside me. “I am glad you are sensible,” he said. “Good sense is a great ally. And you need all the allies you can muster, Mistress Main. You are in a somewhat dangerous position. You understand?”

  “What are you doing with General Langdon?”

  “Saving his life. Is that not a commendable thing to do?”

  “But he … he is the King’s prisoner.”
r />   “He was,” said Hessenfield.

  “You mean …?”

  “I told you, Mistress Main, that it is not for you to ask the questions. Do as I tell you and who knows, you might save your skin.”

  I was silent. He stood up and moved off. Then he came back with some bread and bacon for me. I turned my head away.

  “Take it!” he thundered.

  So I took it.

  “And eat it,” he said.

  “I do not wish to eat it.”

  “But you will eat it all the same.”

  He stood there, legs astride, looking down at me. I ate a little of the bread and bacon. Then he came back with a flask of ale. He threw himself down beside me and offered me the flask. I drank a little. He smiled and put it to his lips. “We shall share the flask,” he said. “One might say it is a loving cup.”

  Then I was conscious of a tingling fear because there was that in his eyes which I understood. I thought of what one of the others had said: “You have other plans for her. We expect that of you, Hessenfield.”

  I saw that I was completely at his mercy. The others would have killed me and thrown my body in a stream or buried it under the trees and nobody would ever know what had become of me. I would disappear … as Beau had disappeared.

  He stretched out beside me eating bread and bacon and drinking from his flask.

  He said: “You are a bold young lady, I know. Don’t think I don’t see those flashing eyes. You must realise that you are in acute danger. Your hope is in me. You know that. You have stumbled on something which is a matter of life and death … your death as well as others. You were too curious, mistress. Why did you not go on when there was no room at the inn? Why did you walk into that room when you had no business to?” He leaned towards me. “But, do you know,” he went on quietly, “I am glad you did.”

  I did not answer.

  I wondered what would happen to me next. I knew he desired me. I knew that he was a man who would have mistresses throughout the country. He was so like Beau in many ways. He did not want to kill me as the others did, at least not until after he had been my lover.

  Death was very close but, strangely enough, I felt more alive than I had since Beau had died.

  We were in the wood for two hours before we set out again. I was very conscious of his proximity and he was aware of this. I could see by the expression in his eyes that this amused him; but I warned myself against him. He was as ruthless as the rest of them.