Yes, I wanted to see him and I dared not see him.
As I approached the house I noticed a rider coming towards me. It was Peter Lansdon, one of the last people I wanted to see at that moment.
“Jessica!” he cried.
“Hello.”
“Amaryllis is coming over to see you. She’s very anxious about you. You look drawn. This is a terrible business.”
I was silent.
“Have you just come from Eversleigh?” he asked. “I suppose the parental wits are being exercised to fullest capacity.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“This kind of situation … it’s always difficult for the spouse in the case. It’s a commentary on marriage, I suppose, that when a man or woman dies mysteriously, the first suspect is the wife or husband.”
I hated him, with his cool supercilious eyes. How could Amaryllis love such a man? How could I myself have ever considered him romantically?
He was a man who could change his personality as easily as most changed their clothes. It was the secret of his success.
“I have no doubt,” he went on, “that your parents will extricate you from any difficult situation in which you find yourself. How fortunate you are to have a father who is not only doting and determined to save his daughter from any predicament into which she may project herself, but has the influence to do something about it!”
“The truth will be told,” I said. “That is what I want and what my father wants.”
“The truth? The whole truth and nothing but the truth?” he asked, lifting his eyebrows.
“We want the truth,” I said.
“There is one little aspect which I think it would be wise to keep secret. You know to what I refer for we have discussed that matter before.”
“What do you want now?” I said.
“I am no blackmailer. I just seize opportunities. And I would be a fool to blackmail you with staunch Papa standing guard. You and I share secrets about each other. What I want from you is perpetual silence. Suppose … just suppose … all goes well at this inquest and you and your lover are exonerated from all blame. Suppose you marry. Then you might say, ‘What does it matter now if the whole world knew that I took a lover before my husband’s death? The verdict is given. The matter is closed. What then? Why should I not tell what I know of Peter Lansdon and his less than respectable activities in London Town?’ I do not take risks. I want a vow of perpetual silence from you, Jessica, and I want it now before the inquest.”
“And if I do not give it?”
“Then I shall be forced to tell the coroner that you had a motive for wanting your husband out of the way, that I had discovered … quite by chance of course … that you and your lover used to meet surreptitiously in London. So … I shall be obliged to hint that you had a reason for wishing him out of the way.”
“You’re despicable.”
“One has to be ruthless sometimes to fight one’s way in the world.”
“I wonder what Amaryllis would say if she knew the sort of man she had married.”
“Amaryllis is devoted to the man she has married. She has never had a moment’s regret on that score.”
“That is strange to me.”
“Then it should not be. We all appear differently to different people. To you I am the abandoned sinner. To Amaryllis I am the hardworking and successful businessman who at the same time is the perfect husband and father. You judge too superficially. I am all that when I am with Amaryllis just as I am the wicked adventurer when I am with you. I am both these people, Jessica. Life is like that. Of course, I do not believe that you administered the fatal dose. But what of that other who would gain his desires by so doing, eh? What of the passionate Jake? Come on … give me your word. Forever more you keep my secret, and I shall not come forward at the inquest and tell what I know of you and Cadorson.”
I remembered then one day long ago when we had met Leah and she had told our fortunes. She had said that Amaryllis would go through life happy because she could not see the unpleasantness and danger all around her. How right she was! I supposed Amaryllis had always been like that. It was why life had always seemed so good to her. She saw no evil and therefore for her there was no evil.
I remembered that Aunt Sophie had seen nothing but evil and how unhappy she had been; and it occurred to me that people made their own happiness or otherwise in this life; and that it was in the hands of us all to shape our own lives. And this was never more true than when one was passing through a situation such as this which now beset me.
“Well,” said Peter, “what is it going to be? Let us both take the vow of silence, eh?”
I said slowly: “I will never tell what I know.”
He leaned towards me. “Nor I of you, dear Jessica.”
He lifted his hat and rode away.
The day of the inquest came at length.
Jake was there; so was Amaryllis with Peter Lansdon. James and Toby would be called as witnesses, as I should with Jake. We had been the last to see Edward alive.
I sat between my father and mother. My father’s face was set and grim. He looked old and tired. How much of that was due to sleeplessness and anxiety I did not know. I knew he had been deeply worried by the danger which hung over me.
I watched Jake giving his evidence. He told how he had helped Toby to get Edward to bed. It was explained that it was James’ duty but because of his strained back Toby had been called in. That was all.
Then James said that he had put the dose into the glass of water and left it at the bedside on top of the cabinet. He had gone out with Toby, Sir Jake had remained behind for a few minutes, chatted with Mr. Barrington and then he had gone.
It was my turn. I told them that I had returned to the house on Christmas night and my husband had been brought out of the carriage and put into the wheelchair to go into the house. After he was in bed I had visited him which was a normal practice. The water containing the sleeping draught had been on the top of the cabinet and I had handed it to him as I usually did before I said goodnight.
Had there been anything different about it?
I had noticed nothing.
Had my husband noticed anything?
“He grimaced when he took it, but then he had done that before. He said the draught had a bitter taste.”
Had my husband ever said to me or implied in any way that he might take an overdose?
“Never,” I said.
That was all.
The sensation came with Toby’s evidence.
He had been a gardener, he told them, when Mr. James Moore had strained his back and could not easily lift Mr. Barrington. He had given up his work in the garden and had been solely employed in the sick room ever since.
Had Mr. Barrington at any time given the impression that he might have considered taking his life?
“Yes, he did on one occasion.”
“When was that?”
“The night before Christmas Eve.”
“What did he say?”
“He looked at the glass and said, ‘Sometimes, I feel I am a burden to so many.’ He asked what I thought of the morality of taking one’s own life; and he said was morality more important than common sense?”
“Was the bottle containing the sleeping draught within easy reach of Mr. Barrington?”
“It was in the cabinet. Not exactly within easy reach. But Mr. Barrington could just about reach the bottle … by stretching over.”
“Was it wise to leave it in such a place?”
“It would not have been possible to remove it without Mr. Barrington’s knowing that it was done,” said Toby.
It seemed the bottle was there where he could reach it, and he had considered the possibility of taking his own life.
Suicide was the verdict.
I sat in the garden of the old château in Burgundy. I could hear the shouts of Charlot’s children and those of Louis Charles as they played some ball game in the field near the old castle.
I could look ahead to the vines with their ripening grapes.
In a few weeks the vendange would begin.
I had been here for eight months, and had left England with my mother and father soon after the inquest on Edward. They had said it was best to get away for a while.
My parents had sustained me during those months when I needed help. They knew that in my heart I did not believe that Edward had taken his life. He had always been stoical. He had accepted life. Even had he known of my love for Jake he would have accepted that, too, as inevitable. But he would never have taken that way out. I knew that someone had put that extra dose into the glass on that night.
My mother, with Mrs. Barrington, had made hasty arrangements. They had both agreed that I must get away for a while. For one thing I needed a change of scene, and for another there was the question of Jake.
Whatever the verdict, suspicions would remain. I could not go to Jake so soon. Nor could I see him every day. I was unsure of my feelings. There would always be a doubt in my mind. He had been there … alone. He had had the opportunity and I could not forget that he had said most vehemently: “I will find a way.”
All my life I would be haunted by those words.
So my mother had said: “We must get away. Why not go to Charlot? He has often said we should. You would like to see the place, Jessica. It is so interesting. And the children are fun. You will love it.”
I knew it was a great sacrifice for my father to leave England. He had always disliked the French and France, and I guessed that he must be longing for England, but his desire to be with my mother and me was greater than that; and he agreed that it was better for me to get as far away from Grasslands as possible.
I felt too listless to think for myself and I allowed them to make the arrangements.
Tamarisk went to stay with Amaryllis at Enderby; she was happy enough, I believe, because she saw a great deal of Jonathan who had said he would keep an eye on her. The Barringtons went back to Nottingham, taking Clare with them. They were going to stay in Scotland with Irene and her family.
Jake went to Cornwall. I had heard from him. In fact I had had several letters. I only had to say the word and he would come and get me, he reminded me. There was a convention that a widow should allow a year to pass after her husband’s death before she remarried. He did not care a fig for such conventions. He was ready for me now.
“You will come here,” he wrote. “You will be far away and on the other side of England. I am waiting for you, longing for you. I hope you are thinking of me. No one here will know what has happened; and when we pay our visits to London it will all have been forgotten. Who cares for conventions, anyway? True lovers never did.”
To read his letters brought him back to me so vividly. I thought of him constantly during the long hot days and dreamed of him at night.
If he came, I asked myself, how should I feel? Should I ever be able to see him without seeing also that room in Grasslands with the cabinet by the bed and the glass standing on it?
What had happened that night? Should I ever know? Could I love the man who had murdered my husband? Had he? Could I suspect the man I loved of such an act?
I was unsure of myself.
Perhaps that was why my mother had brought me here. That was why my father curbed his impatience and tried to suppress his longing for home.
I accepted their care of me. I leaned on them. I had to. I dared not go back … yet. I had to discover my true feelings.
If I went back it would be a sign to Jake to come to me. And if he did … what should I feel? What should I do? I would say: “Jake, tell me the truth. Did you kill Edward?”
He would answer No. And would I believe him? I was not sure. If I loved him, would I be unsure? Yes. But if I loved him truly would anything he had done make any difference to me?
Now the culmination of the season was upon us. I had helped with the vendange. I had seen the grapes gathered; I had watched the peasants who had come in from miles round to help with the wine harvest.
It was a warm night and they were celebrating the successful gathering in. I was in my room. There was a stone parapet outside my window and I could step out onto this, and leaning over the wrought iron rail I could smell the scents of the night. I could make out the pepper pot towers at the east side of the château which Charlot and Louis Charles had so lovingly restored. I could hear the strains of violins in the distance and the singing of the workers.
There was the sound of wheels on the cobbles of the courtyard. Then … I saw Jake.
He looked up and for a few seconds we were silent, gazing at each other. Then I turned and ran down to him. He caught me in his arms.
“I’m here,” he said. “No more partings.”
“Jake … Jake …” I gasped. He was holding me so tightly that I could scarcely breathe. “How … how did you get here?”
“On the wings of love,” he answered and laughed. “Actually it was by the usual tedious way. I wanted to be with you so much. I am not going… until you come with me. No more waiting. Nothing matters … except that we are together.”
I knew then that I did not care about anything. It did not matter what he had done. I only cared that he had come to me.
The Understanding
JAKE TOOK ME DOWN to Cornwall and we were married there. His house was like a castle, set high on the cliffs; it stood facing the sea, defiant and formidable as a fortress, and the gardens which wound down to the shore were a blaze of colour in the spring and summer; yellow gorse bloomed almost all the year round and in season there were the rhododendrons, azaleas and hydrangeas.
The house was almost feudal. I marvelled afresh that he had once left such splendour for a life with the gypsies. But that was Jake … unaccountable, the complete individual. It was one of the reasons why he was so exciting to be with.
I had no doubt that I loved him absolutely, that no matter what he had done I would follow wherever he led.
My parents had said it was right for me to go with him. It was the only way in which I could be cured of my melancholy. It was the only way I could forget the past and begin my life afresh.
That made the way easy for me.
My mother had decided that it would be best for Tamarisk to go to Amaryllis. She was rather fascinated by Jake, but Jonathan was the most important person in her life. She was a different girl with him—softer, more reasonable, humble, even biddable. “She reminds me of myself when I was a girl and loved Dickon,” said my mother. “We were separated because they thought it was best, but I never forgot him… all those years when we were both married to someone else. It was only when we came together that I knew fulfilment and complete contentment. I understand Tamarisk. Let her stay near us. She grows more mature every day and she is a precocious girl. I believe she will marry Jonathan one day. There is no need to worry about Tamarisk. She will always take care of herself. My dear Jessica, you have now to grow away from all that has happened. You have to put the past behind you. You have to be happy.”
The Barringtons had left Grasslands when we came to France. They said they would not want to come back for it could never be the same to them after Edward’s death. In time they would see what they would do about the house.
And when I married, my parents suggested putting it up for sale.
Jake and I did not go back to Grasslands. We left France with my parents and parted from them at Dover—they to go to Eversleigh, Jake and I to Cornwall.
My mother’s parting words were: “Be happy.”
My father’s were: “You’ll be all right. Jake’s the man for you. He’ll look after you.”
I wondered what their thoughts were about Edward’s death. What did they say to each other when they were alone? Did they accept the theory of Edward’s suicide? Toby’s evidence had made that seem almost plausible. Yet I who knew Edward so well, had my doubts. I wished I could throw them aside but they lingered with me … and they came back to me in odd moments. Even when I
was most happy, they would intrude.
We went to London now and then and my parents always contrived to be there when we were. That first Christmas after Edward’s death they came to Cornwall. It was hard to believe then that it was only a year after that fateful night.
It was scarcely a merry Christmas to me. There were too many echoes from the past. I lived it all again, returning from Eversleigh, going to Edward’s room, talking to him, handing him the glass. And the morning’s discovery. Then I must go over the questions which crowded into my mind. Did Edward do it because he knew? Had he realized that Jake and I were lovers? Was I to blame?
When my son was born how proud I was! How proud was Jake! We called him Jake and he was soon Jacco which in Cornwall means a conqueror. He certainly conquered the hearts of all who saw him. The servants adored him and Jake thought him the most perfect child who had ever been born; and although I laughed at him and said he saw in Jacco an image of himself, I shared his view of our infant son.
I should have been completely happy. I was … almost. It was just that now and then the doubts would come. How had Edward met his death? Could it really have been that the decision to die had been his?
Always … always … the same niggling doubt.
The months passed quickly, and when I knew I was to have another child I was delighted. Jacco was now eighteen months old and a bonny boy.
And then I achieved what I had wanted so much. I had a daughter.
It was three days after her birth. I lay in bed with my little girl in her cradle beside me. Jake was at my bedside when one of the servants came in to say that there was a gentleman who wished to see me. He had come from a long way and was a stranger in these parts. “A foreigner,” the maid called him; but that could apply to anyone who was not Cornish.
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