Philippa Carr - [Daughters of England 06]

by The Love Child

  I think seeing her so ill and anxious had affected my father deeply. During the days which followed they would not allow one to be out of the other’s sight. It was moving, and in spite of my bruised and humiliated body, I felt exultant because but for me it would have been a very different story.

  We took the first coach back and went by stages. My father thought it best to travel as simply as possible in case there had been a mistake.

  When we were back in Eversleigh they talked more freely.

  “I cannot think who my benefactor was,” said my father. “It happened so suddenly. I was taken to a room where I spent the night alone. It was a relief. The conditions were appalling. I shall never get that stench out of my nostrils. Just to be taken away from it was a blessing. And the next day I was free.”

  He was convinced that my mother had paid a heavy bribe to someone. She assured him that she had not. Indeed when we had arrived in Dorchester she had been in a fever and had not even known where she was.

  “It must have been someone,” said my father. “I wonder who. I shall discover. I certainly have a very good friend somewhere.”

  “Someone for whom you once did a service,” suggested my mother.

  “I should remember. But I can think of no one. It would have needed a great deal, I am sure. Jeffreys—the devil—is becoming rich through the assizes.”

  Neither of them noticed me, and it occurred to me that after the experience of that night there must be a change in me. I felt I should never be the same again. It had been utter degradation, complete submission to a man who mingled his sexual desires with a passion for revenge. I would never forget his gloating laughter, and I had known that he was thinking of Leigh and his own humiliation in being severely thrashed. How that must have offended what he called his refined tastes! What lotions he would have needed to heal his wounds! But what had affected him most deeply was the humiliation. I guessed he had soothed that a little after what he had done to me.

  And yet, to witness the love of my parents and their joy in finding themselves together again filled me with exultation because but for me their lives would lie in ruins.

  I had saved my father’s life, and my mother from a living death, so I could not regret what had happened.

  My mother insisted that we celebrate my father’s return. Harriet must come over with the child.

  “I know how you love to see them,” said my mother. “My dear Priscilla, this has been a great ordeal for you, too.”

  “But he is safe now,” I said.

  “My dearest child, I want to go down on my knees and thank whoever did this for us. It is such a mystery. But I think we shall know one day.”

  “I am sure it will be reward enough for this … benefactor to see your happiness.”

  “Your father and I are like one person,” she confided. “If one was lost to the other there would be little in life left for the one who remained.”

  I felt too emotional to speak.

  “And you, dear,” she went on, “we are forgetting you. It has been such a terrible time for us both. You looked after me so well. It was such a comfort to have you with me.”

  I thought to myself: If you only knew! But I could never tell them. I wondered, though, what their reaction would be if I did. There was no one to whom I could talk of what had happened. Not Harriet … not Christabel … no one. My great desire was to wipe it from my memory. I should never do that completely. Every time I smelt that hideous musk smell I would remember him … his eyes gleaming as he talked of the deer.

  How different from that night of tender love which I had spent with Jocelyn. That had produced Carlotta. The fear hit suddenly. What if there was a child born of that night of horror! What should I do then?

  It could not be. That would be too much. I had paid for my father’s life. Surely I had paid in full.

  At times I would wander out into the garden. I would go to the bed of red roses and think of when I had first met Jocelyn and I would say to myself: If it should be so, what can I do?

  I was, however, spared that.

  There would be no child of that shameful night.

  Now, I said to myself, I must try to forget.

  There was not, after all, to be a great show of rejoicing on my father’s return.

  “From now on,” said my mother, “we must live quietly.”

  There would be no journeys to and from Court. We were out of favour there. We must not remind anyone that we had favoured Monmouth’s cause. We had a new King on the throne, and if we did not like him, we must make the best of him.

  My father was restive. It was his nature to be, and I was sure that if it were not for worrying my mother, he would have been involved in some plot or other. They were uneasy days which followed the death of easygoing Charles. Charles had been so popular since the days of his restoration but James had not the gift of winning people to his side.

  “It is no concern of ours,” said my mother firmly, and as she showed signs of becoming ill every time she saw the lust for adventure in my father’s eyes, he would regretfully turn away from whatever he was planning.

  He loved her dearly. There was no doubt of that.

  So his return was not a matter for an open celebration. We did entertain friends. Harriet came over with Gregory, Benjie and Carlotta and they stayed for several weeks. I could forget my experiences in the company of my daughter. She was now nearly four years old and she was going to be a beauty; her blue eyes were growing more and more like Jocelyn’s; they had not that deep violet shade which was Harriet’s great beauty; they were clear, like cornflowers; her dark hair was a lovely contrast, and her short, pert nose was adorable. Her skin was like flower petals and she was enchanting. But her chief attraction was her vitality. She was so lively that Sally Nullens said that it was one body’s work just to keep pace with her. Emily Philpots saw that she was always exquisitely dressed and had already started teaching her to read, which she quickly learned. Emily said she had never known a child to learn so quickly. To those two women Carlotta was the centre of life.

  And being a child with a quick and shrewd mind, Carlotta had rapidly become aware of her importance. She could be imperious, and then she would be very loving; she could stamp and kick when forced to obey, and at the same time she could burst into tears if she saw anyone or -thing in distress. She was a child of moods, which could change so quickly that it was hard to keep pace with them and assess her nature.

  Benjie loved her and was teaching her to ride. Gregory accepted her as though she were truly his daughter, and had recently bought her a beautiful little pony which he considered safe for her to ride. Harriet treated her with a sort of mild tolerance; she never went out of her way to make a fuss of her as the others did, but I believe that Carlotta loved Harriet best of all. From the others she accepted homage as her right, but there were times when I noticed her trying to please Harriet.

  When they arrived I went down to the courtyard to greet them. My eyes went at once to my daughter—so beautiful in her red cloak, the colour of her cheeks, her blue eyes sparkling and her dark curls in disorder as she pulled off her hood. She flung herself at me and hugged me. I felt so emotional that I feared I should not be able to hold back my tears. She always had this effect on me.

  It was almost as though she knew of this special relationship between us. She put her hand into mine as we went into the house.

  My mother greeted them warmly, my father less so. He was always slightly hostile towards Harriet. I saw the corners of her mouth turn up with amusement. She resented him as one of the few men who had refused to be overwhelmed by her charm.

  “This is a happy day,” said Harriet. “We were all so anxious.”

  “We don’t speak of it,” my mother told her. “It is over now and best forgotten.”

  “You are back home, Carleton,” added Harriet, “and here you must stay.”

  Benjie told my father how far he could shoot his arrows now and he wondered whether we sho
uld be practising archery on the lawns. He was sure he could beat Carl. Carl immediately challenged him and they went off chattering.

  “Are you going to have Carlotta in your room this time, Priscilla?” Harriet asked me. “She likes that, don’t you, Carlotta?”

  Carlotta looked at me and nodded.

  “It would be a help,” said my mother. “That small bed could easily be put up.”

  “I’ve already had it done,” I assured her.

  Carlotta ran over to me and gripped my skirt. She smiled at me as though there were secrets between us. I felt overwhelmed by happiness. How I loved this child!

  My father said: “I should have thought she was old enough to sleep in the nursery. I am sure Sally thinks so, too.”

  Carlotta scowled at him and said: “I don’t like you.”

  My father guffawed. “What shall I do about that?” he asked. “Go out and jump in the sea?”

  “Yes,” cried Carlotta excitedly. “Yes, yes. You go and jump in the sea. Then you’ll be drownded.”

  Harriet burst out laughing and my mother said, “Now that is no way to talk to your Uncle Carleton.”

  “It’s my way to talk,” retorted Carlotta defiantly. She put out her tongue at my father.

  I feared he would order her to be whipped, but I saw that he was trying hard to control his laughter. Even he, who had no great love for children, and especially female ones, could not but be charmed by my daughter. “That child is spoiled,” said my mother. “She should be restrained.”

  “She’s all right,” replied Harriet. “She says what she means. She has not yet learned to dissemble.”

  I was terrified that my mother might suggest some punishment. I would not allow that. I picked up Carlotta, who put her arms about my neck. “What’s restrained?” she whispered.

  I said: “I’ll tell you later.”

  “You won’t let that man and her, will you … ?”

  “No,” I whispered.

  She laughed and nuzzled close to me.

  Harriet watched us, looking as near sentimental as Harriet could look.

  “Come on,” I said, “we’ll go to our room.”

  I set Carlotta down and she put her hand in mine, looking triumphantly over her shoulder at my parents.

  How happy I was to have her with me! She jumped up and down on my bed and she said: “I’ll sleep here, won’t I?” And I knew it would be as it had been on other occasions. She would be put to bed by Sally Nullens and when I came up she would be awake. She would watch me undress and when I was in bed creep in with me. I would tell her a story and she would be asleep halfway through it and I would lie there and hold her in my arms and my love for her would overwhelm me.

  Of course, Sally Nullens, as my father suggested, said it wasn’t right. There was room in the nursery and the child should sleep there where she could keep an eye on her. But I soon subdued Sally. She remembered that I was the one who had recommended her to Harriet, and so did Emily Philpots. They soon accepted the situation and raised no more objections.

  It was during that visit that Carlotta showed the extent of her powers to fascinate. She shared a certain characteristic with me, which I suppose was not surprising since she was my daughter, inasmuch as because my father was unimpressed by her charms she must feel an urge to impress him.

  I saw her often watching him; and if she had a chance, when she thought he was not looking, she would put out her tongue at him. I warned her not to do this, for I was afraid that if she were caught some punishment would be considered necessary. I wanted to protect her from that. I knew that Sally was too good a nurse not to inflict punishment now and then and Carlotta accepted the occasional slap. I had seen Sally turn her across her knee and apply a light cane, which made Carlotta roar with anger, but I noticed that Sally was very soon afterwards given a good-night kiss without rancour, so I presumed she took punishment from Sally without its impairing their relationship.

  My father was of a different calibre. I was terrified to think that he might want to punish Carlotta for her insolence.

  Carlotta was fearless.

  We were in the garden where she was running about with her shuttlecock. My father was sitting on a wooden seat by the pond; he had shouted to her once not to make so much noise.

  She stood looking at him and then went on batting her shuttlecock in silence.

  He appeared to be asleep and I saw her creep up to him. She stood watching him for a moment. I was about to call her away but hesitated. She was breaking no rules by looking at him. She crept closer. I saw her hand on his knee. Then to my amazement she scrambled up and put her arms round his neck—not in a gesture of affection, but to steady herself. She waited a few seconds, looking into his face as though examining every detail. Then I heard her shout: “You’re a nasty old man!” And then she attempted to jump down.

  I saw him catch her in his arms. I did not know what I expected but I heard him say: “What was that? What was that, eh?”

  She was silent, looking into his face so closely that I was sure he could not see hers very clearly.

  “You’re a bold child,” he said, “when you think the old ogre can’t see you. You thought he was asleep and you could tell him what you think of him. It’s different now, eh?”

  “It’s not different!” she shouted.

  “Then say it again.”

  “You’re a nasty old man!” she shouted.

  “So you’re not afraid of me, then?”

  She hesitated.

  “You are!” he cried triumphantly. “You’re afraid I’m going to whip you. Till the blood runs, eh? That’s what you think. And you still say it.”

  “You’re a nasty old man,” she repeated but more quietly.

  “And you’re not afraid of me?”

  I could imagine those beautiful blue eyes as they looked into his. She was frightened of him, but she was fascinated too. He was the only one in the world who did not think Carlotta must be cherished.

  “You are afraid of me,” he insisted.

  She nodded.

  “And still you come right up to me and tell me I’m a nasty old man.”

  She nodded again.

  He started to laugh. “I’ll tell you something,” he said. “You’re right. I am.”

  Then she laughed and the sound of their mingling laughter was very sweet to me.

  I knew she had won him as I had never been able to.

  I crept away. Half an hour later she was still seated on his knee telling him the story of the wicked Roundheads who had cut off the King’s head.

  That visit was memorable because Edwin came home.

  There was great rejoicing in the household. My mother was always delighted when Edwin came. He was subdued on this occasion, and it was, of course, because of what had happened. It was clear that he thought my father had been ill-advised to join Monmouth because as a soldier he knew that the Duke had never had a chance. It was true that the country was not in love with its new King, but rebellion by such as Monmouth who, many would say, was not an improvement on James, was not the way to help matters.

  But Edwin was never one to force his opinions on others. The army had not changed him. He was still gentle, unassuming, malleable. I wondered what would happen when he met Christabel because as such near neighbours we saw a great deal of each other.

  Their meeting passed off easily. He was clearly pleased to see Christabel so happy. As for her she was so contented with her present state that she had completely forgotten her disappointment of the past.

  Young Thomas was thriving, and according to Christabel and Thomas Senior, he was the most marvellous child that had ever been born.

  She was still discussing the anguish we had suffered in the Monmouth Rebellion.

  “It was like a miracle,” she said, “when you all came back safely. Thomas could scarcely believe it. We were so anxious for you. It just shows that miracles do happen.”

  She was thinking of herself; and indeed when I saw
her looking almost beautiful, the centre of her happy home, I thought that perhaps she was providing the greatest miracle of all.

  My mother was eager to see Edwin married. He was now past twenty-five—so was Leigh—and neither of them married. I was occupying her thoughts too, for I was nineteen. Now that she could keep my father at home she planned entertaining so that we could meet families like our own among whom there might be a husband for me and a wife for Edwin. Jane Merridew had always been a favourite of hers. Jane must be about twenty-five—a rather handsome girl, serious-minded, practical, just the girl for Edwin.

  The Merridews came and stayed. They were stern Protestants and viewed the new reign with disquiet just as my father did; so they had a great deal in common. Before the end of the visit Jane and Edwin were betrothed.

  “There should not be a great deal of delay,” said my mother. “Soldiers should marry quickly. So much of their married life is spent away from their wives, so they must make the most of the time.”

  The Merridews were not averse to a prompt wedding either. Jane was not so young that they wanted to wait.

  It should be in six months’ time, decreed my mother, when Edwin believed he would have leave and Leigh would be present, too.

  Harriet walked in the gardens with me. “Your turn will come soon,” she said. “You’re no longer a child, Priscilla. You can’t go on grieving for a dead lover all your life.”

  I did not answer.

  “You’ll fall in love one day, my dear child, and you’ll be happy then. I know you will. There’s one I’ve always wanted for you. I think you know who. But I wouldn’t press it. You have to discover each other for yourselves. You mustn’t let what happened colour your future.”

  “But surely, Harriet,” I replied, “what happened must colour my future, mustn’t it? Something happens and we go on from there.”

  I thought of the steps which had led me to that musk-scented bed and my crushing humiliation at the hands of Beaumont Granville. The discovery of Jocelyn, our love, its consummation, Venice and all it entailed, and there he was, the evil genius who had done something to me which I could never forget and which in spite of Harriet’s injunctions must colour my life and would hang over me for as long as I lived.