I took the paper.
“Come and sit by my bed,” he said. “Tell me about your husband. He manages Clavering, I know.”
“Yes, he has done so since the manager died. That was when we were married ten years ago.”
“This is a very large estate. Carew’s a good man, I believe. But it’s always better when the landowner himself takes an active part. It makes it more of a family affair … if you know what I mean. These estates in England have always been run by the great families who regard their workpeople as a responsibility. The good ones have always taken an interest. I came to realize that … and when I did it was too late. I know the people regret the departure of my predecessors. The old ones talk a lot about them. I neglected my duty, Zipporah. I know it now.”
“Well, you have this good manager and you are trying to put your affairs in order.”
He nodded. “I’ve been an old reprobate … an old sinner. Sins come home to roost, Zipporah. At least I’ve had a long life … not like poor Carlotta.”
I said I thought that Jessie would be stirring soon—a polite way of expressing what I meant. It only wanted a quarter to four.
I leaned over the bed and kissed his forehead. I did not want to be caught by Jessie with the papers in my hand. I tapped them significantly. “I will deal with these,” I said, “and I’ll see you later … alone.”
He smiled at me and I went out.
The first thing to do was to hide the papers. I pondered for a while and finally decided to put them in the pocket of a rather voluminous skirt which was hanging in the cupboard. It would only be for a short while as I must get them to the lawyer at the earliest possible moment.
I sat by the window and saw Jessie return to the house, looking rather flushed and pleased, so the session must have been a good one. I imagined her telling her lover about my arrival and I wondered what they said about it. I was getting to get a clear picture. Jessie was obviously feathering her nest and, as Jethro said, Lordy was supplying the feathers. Jessie, devoted to the pleasures of the flesh, was determined to enjoy them—relying on Uncle Carl and Amos to supply her needs. I believed she was very shrewd and would have considered the possible impermanence of her position: no doubt she was endeavoring to prolong this very desirable way of life.
While I was ruminating there was a tap on my door and Jessie herself came in. She was elaborately dressed and must have spent the hour since her return on what I imagined must be a somewhat intricate operation.
She was smiling broadly and I did not think she could possibly have an inkling of what had happened during her absence.
“Supper is about fifteen minutes past six,” she said. “I see to Lordy at six and that gives me time to make sure he is all right before partaking myself. I shall be taking his up now … so can you be at the table shortly? There’s suckling pig.” Her mouth watered and her eyes glistened at the mention of the food. “It’s best served piping hot.”
I said I would be on time; and she gave me a little push.
“That’s it,” she said. “I can see you’re one of the punctual ones. I never could abide them as kept good food getting cold just because they couldn’t be at the table on time. Had a good afternoon? Manage to entertain yourself, did you?”
There was a shrewd glitter in her eyes and she was waiting as though for me to tell her. I felt a cold shiver run through me. This woman, I felt sure, was not quite what she seemed. I had to work hard to prevent my eyes straying to the cupboard.
I said coolly: “I had a very pleasant afternoon, thank you. Did you?”
“I did. There’s nothing like a spell of bed in the afternoons.”
I nodded and turned away.
“All right then,” she said. “See you at supper.”
And she was gone.
How could Uncle Carl endure such a woman? I wondered. But then people had strange tastes, and there was no accounting for them.
I went to the winter parlor precisely at a quarter past six. Jessie was there and with her Evalina.
“He’s enjoying the suckling pig,” said Jessie. “It’s nice to see him take an interest in his food.”
We sat down and fortunately Jessie was so intent on doing justice to the business of eating that she did not talk as much as usual.
Evalina said: “Do you like fairs, Mistress Ransome?”
“Fairs?” I said. “Oh yes, I do.”
“We have one here twice a year. It’s coming next week.”
“Oh, that’s interesting.”
“The noise!” said Jessie. “And the mess they make! Farmer Brady will go on for weeks about the rubbish they leave behind. They have the common land close to some of Brady’s fields. He don’t like it much. People come from miles around.”
“I like it,” said Evalina. “There are fortune-tellers. Do you believe in fortune-tellers, Mistress Ransome?”
“I believe them when they tell me something good,” I said, “but am inclined to disbelieve if it is bad.”
“That’s not very clever. If they tell you something bad you should be warned.”
“But what’s the good if it is written in the stars?” I said lightly.
Evalina regarded me with round eyes. “So you don’t believe in being warned.”
“I did not say that. But if a fortune-teller is telling the future and that is destined for you, how can I change it?”
Jessie paused in her chewing and said: “The servants will be there … the whole houseful of them. All through the day … you see.”
“Will you be here for it, Mistress Ransome?” asked Evalina.
“When is it?”
“The end of next week. They come on Thursday and stay there till Saturday night.”
They were both watching me intently, I fancied.
“So much will depend,” I said. “I can’t stay very long. My husband would have been with me, you know, if he had not broken his leg. I shall have to get back. You understand.”
“I understand perfectly, dearie,” said Jessie. “You want to see your old uncle … and my goodness what a pleasure seeing you has given him … but at the same time you’re worried about that husband of yours. I understand.”
“I shall see. … I may have to go back.”
Jessie was smiling at me intently.
“Whatever you say suits me, and I’m only too sorry that I didn’t know you was coming and we gave you such a poor welcome. Whatever must you have thought of me!”
“It is my turn to understand,” I said.
“Then we’re all happy,” said Jessie. “I’ll have another slice of that pig … what about you?”
When the meal was over I rose and said I would take a stroll in the garden before going to bed.
“I reckon you’re still tired from the journey,” said Jessie soothingly.
I might be, but my mind was too full of strange impressions for me to be sleepy. I went up and sat for a while at my window while various images chased themselves round and round in my head. I felt as though I had been catapulted out of a sane world into one which was vaguely bizarre.
I thought of Sabrina’s saying that she thought she detected a cry for help in Uncle Carl’s letter. It was a cry for help in a way, though he was in no physical danger. On the other hand I had a feeling that Jessie could be capable of a great deal of deception and roguery to get her way, but unless Uncle Carl made a will in her favor—though even she must know that in view of the estates involved it would be unthinkable for him to do such a thing—it was better for her to keep him alive, for only as long as he lived could she enjoy this sybaritic existence. But that he should be obliged to go about the matter of making his will in this secretive manner was monstrous. He was afraid of a housekeeper—well, a little more than a housekeeper! It was amazing in what situations people’s sexual desires could involve them.
I would try to complete this matter of the will as soon as I could. Then I would go home and consult with Jean-Louis. Perhaps I could get him to come
to Eversleigh for a visit and see the state of affairs for himself. After all, if I were going to inherit our lives would be disrupted and it might mean that as Eversleigh would be of greater importance than Clavering we should have to come and live here. I believed that was what Uncle Carl would really want if he made me the heiress of the Eversleigh estates.
It would be a great upheaval in our lives and one I am sure which Jean-Louis would not want.
In the meantime I felt that my uncle should be rescued from this harpy. But how did one set about rescuing someone who so clearly did not want to be rescued?
Let well alone, perhaps, was the best thing. Go back home and hope that Uncle Carl lived on for many years. I put on a cloak and went out of the house. The gardens were still beautiful though somewhat neglected. I looked back at the house and wondered if I were being watched from the windows. The thought made me shiver. Yes, I should be glad when I had completed the business and was on my way home. It was possible that when I moved out of the picture I would be able to see it more clearly. After all, what was it but an old man who had been something of a rake in his youth, and was still trying to be one, with a voluptuous housekeeper who was trying to get what she could while the state of affairs lasted and to satisfy her physical needs, which I imagined must be overwhelming, took a lover at the same time.
A sordid situation, perhaps, but not such an unusual one. Certainly not one to give a practical woman—as I prided myself I was—this feeling of menace.
I wanted to get away from those windows which seemed like so many prying eyes. I walked to the edge of the garden and through the shrubbery.
It was a pleasant evening. The sun was just beginning to set—a great red ball in the western sky. The clouds were tinged with pink merging into a fiery red.
I remembered an old rhyme.
Sky’s red,
Billy’s dead
Fine day tomorrow
It was invariably right. Such a sky heralded a warm day to come. But who was Billy? I wondered, and why should they sing so happily about his death?
Death! Carlotta had died young. How uncle did brood on her! He must have been greatly impressed when he saw her. She was a legend in the family. Someone admired for her beauty, and the hope was always there that none of the girls would take after her. None had, presumably. Carlotta had been unique. She had lived here, though she had died in Paris.
Strange … in these fields and lanes many years ago Carlotta had once walked when she was in her early teens. She used to go over to Enderby and there met her lover. They had carried on their passionate liaison there—and he was murdered in time … deservedly, and his body buried somewhere nearby.
I found my footsteps were leading me toward Enderby.
It was not very far. Ten minutes’ walk—perhaps even less. I would walk to the house and then back. The air might make me sleepy, and I should be back just when it was beginning to get really dark.
I could see the house in the distance … a shadowy building in declining light, for the sun had now disappeared below the horizon and the clouds were fast losing their rosy glow.
I had come to that stretch of land close by the house which had once been a rose garden. Some of the bushes still remained. They were tall and overgrown but the flowers still bloomed on them. Few people had gone there in the old days. It had been said to be haunted. It was somewhere in that patch that the remains of Carlotta’s murdered lover lay. It had been fenced in at one time when it had been a rose garden but the fence was now broken down in several places. I don’t know what prompted me to step over the broken pales, but I did so.
There was a hushed feeling in the air—no wind at all, just a silence so deep that I was immediately aware of it. I took a few steps among the overgrown trees and then I saw what I took to be an apparition.
So startled was I that I gasped in dismay and felt myself turn cold, as a shiver ran through me. A man was standing a few yards from me. It was as though he had risen from the ground.
He was splendid. I did not meet many elegant men in the country but my father had been noted for his attention to dress, and I recognized at once that this apparition must be attired in the height of fashion, although I had no idea what that was.
His coat was full, spreading round him: it was velvet in a shade of mulberry as far as I could see in the fading light; it had huge cuffs which turned back from the wrists almost to the elbows. Beneath the coat was a waistcoat heavily embroidered, fringed and laced, open to show a white cravat, a mass of frills. His wig was a profusion of white curls and on top of this he wore a cocked hat.
He took a few steps toward me. My impulse was to run but my limbs seemed numb and I was unable to move.
He spoke then. “Are you real?” he said. “Or one of the ghosts that are said to haunt this place?”
He took off his hat and bowed gracefully in a manner which was a little different from that to which I was accustomed. I noticed that he spoke with a faint accent which was not English.
I heard myself stammer: “I was thinking that of you. You seemed to rise out of the ground.”
He laughed. “I was kneeling searching for a fob I had dropped. See … my eyeglass is attached to it.” He waved the eyeglass before me. “It’s a cursed nuisance to be without a fob and I doubt I can get a new one here. On my knees I was and then suddenly … I perceived an apparition.”
“Oh.” I said with a laugh. “I am so pleased that there is a logical explanation.”
A faint odor of sandalwood wafted toward me. I could not explain what had happened but from the moment I met him I was possessed by an extraordinary excitement which was quite alien to me. It really was as though I had suddenly become some other than quiet, practical Zipporah.
“I’m afraid I shall have to give up the search for the time being,” he said. He looked up at the sky.
“It will shortly be too dark to see anything,” I agreed.
“A clear sky and there will be a crescent moon. But as you say. too dark to find anything in the grass.”
There was a brief silence between us and I said: “Good night. I must be getting home. Good luck with the fob. Perhaps in the morning …”
He had moved round me, almost as though he were barring my way.
“Home?” he asked. “Where is that?”
“I was referring to Eversleigh Court, where I am staying. Lord Eversleigh is a kinsman of mine. I am here on a visit.”
“Visitors both. I am here … en passant too.”
“Oh … where do you stay?”
He waved his hand. “Close by. The name of the house is Enderby.”
“Oh … Enderby!”
“Oh yes, a haunted house, they say. My hosts snap their fingers at ghostly legends. Do you?”
“I have had very little concern with them.”
“You have some way to go back.”
“It’s only a short walk.”
“You are allowed out … so late.”
I laughed, a little uneasily, for there was something about this encounter which was disturbing me a great deal. “I am not a young girl,” I said. “I’m a married woman.”
“And your husband allows … ?”
“My husband is at the moment a long way from here. I am just on a brief visit and shall return very soon. I imagine.”
“Then I think,” he said, “that you should allow me to escort you to Eversleigh Court.”
“Thank you,” I said.
He put out a hand to help me over the broken pales and gripped my arm tightly. “They could be dangerous in the dark,” he said.
“Very few people come here in the dark. They wouldn’t dare.”
“We are brave, eh?”
“When I saw you rise up so suddenly I felt far from brave.”
“And when I saw you I was overcome by excitement. At last a ghost, I said to myself. But I will tell you this: I am relieved that you are flesh and blood after all … which is so much more interesting, don’t you agree?
than the stuff that ghosts must be made of.”
I agreed. “So you are visiting the owners of Enderby,” I went on. “I don’t know who they are. The place changes hands now and then, I believe.”
“My friends are not at the house now. They have allowed me to stay there—with their staff of servants—while I have to be in England.”
“It is only for a short time, you say?”
“A few weeks possibly. It is very convenient for me to have this house for my stay here.”
“You are here on … business?”
“Yes … on business.”
“Don’t you find Enderby isolated … for business?”
“I find it very much to my taste.”
“They say it’s gloomy … ghostly. …”
“Ah, but I have some very pleasant neighbors, I discover.”
“Oh … who are they?”
He stopped and, laying his hand on my arm, smiled at me. I could see the gleam of very white teeth and felt again that faint embarrassment.
“A delightful lady whom I shall always think of as my very own specter.”
“You mean me. Oh … well, we are scarcely neighbors. Birds of passage, shall we say?”
“That is a very interesting thing to be.”
“So you don’t know anyone at Eversleigh Court? Lord Eversleigh? The housekeeper … ?”
“I know no one. I am a stranger here.”
“How long have you been here?”
“A week.”
“You have beaten me. I shall have been here a day and night.”
“How fortunate that we met so soon.”
That remark disturbed me so I decided not to pursue it.
I was faintly relieved and yet disappointed to see that we had come to the edge of the Eversleigh gardens.
“I am back now,” I said. “Through the shrubbery and then across the lawns to the house. Thank you for escorting me … I do not know your name.”
“It is Gerard d’Aubigné.”
“Oh … you are … French?”
He bowed.
“You are thinking that perhaps in view of the relations between our countries I should not be here.”
Philippa Carr - [Daughters of England 09] Page 7