Drop of the Dice

by Philippa Carr

  ‘It is all so bewildering. I had no idea what was going on.’

  ‘How could you? What were you… five or six?’

  ‘I just knew that I was with my parents in that luxurious house and then they were gone and I was in a damp, dark cellar, frightened, bewildered, wondering what it all meant.’

  ‘My poor, poor child! But you were brave, I don’t doubt. You have a look of your father. What a waste of a life! I should have been the one. Here I am, condemned to a chair for the rest of my life… That’s self-pity. One should beware of that. It’s taking your troubles out and nourishing them… pampering them… instead of shutting them away in a dark cupboard and forgetting them—which is the wise thing to do.’

  I said: ‘I’m sorry. Has it been long…?’

  ‘Fourteen years ago, when I was twenty-five. I was thrown from my horse when I was out hunting. I knew she couldn’t take that hedge. It was too high. Others turned away and took a detour. But I had to do it. It was showing off… nothing more. I crashed. My mare was on top of me. She had to be shot. I sometimes think it was a pity they didn’t shoot me. There’s self-pity again.’

  ‘It’s understandable,’ I replied.

  ‘They never thought I should recover. I was engaged to be married to a beautiful girl. She looked after me in those first weeks. She said we would go through with the marriage… but old self-pity came along. I was impossible, I knew. I had a grievance against life. We had always been so active in our family. I couldn’t endure it; and then there was the pain… the intermittent pain. The trouble was that I never knew when it was coming on. I had rages. In the end she saw how useless it would be. So did I. I couldn’t condemn her to a life like that. She married someone else in time.’

  ‘I am so sorry. Now you seem so calm and gentle… so reconciled.’

  ‘That is what time does, Clarissa. Time is the great teacher, the great healer. I tell myself that it was tragic that John should die of a strange disease in Paris and that I, his successor, should be a cripple spending his days in a chair. You might say it was the curse of the Fields, if you believe in such things.’

  ‘Is there supposed to be a curse?’

  ‘No. We’ve been strong and vigorous through the ages, defending our lands and goods from marauding Scots when they made their forays over the border. It was just one of the misfortunes which beset most families at some time. I have been talking a great deal about myself. I want to hear about you.’

  I told him about life at Enderby and how we were close to the Dower House, the home of my Grandmother Priscilla, and Eversleigh Court where my great-grandparents lived.

  ‘You have an uncle too, have you not? One who is in the army?’

  ‘He’s my great-uncle, actually. He’s Carleton really but we call him Carl always to distinguish him from my great-grandfather.’

  ‘Yours is a long-lived family.’

  ‘My grandmother was very young when my mother was born and my mother was young when I was born.’

  ‘I see. It makes a small gap between the generations. Do you see much of your Uncle Carl?’

  ‘No. Very little until lately. He came with me to York.’

  He nodded and was silent for a while and then there was a knock on the door and Aimée came in. She had changed her velvet dress for one of brocade in a bluish shade. The bodice was low-cut and her skin looked pearly. She wore garnets at her throat and in her ears. They suited her. I learned afterwards that they had been a gift from Uncle Paul to his fiancée who, when she had broken off the engagement, had returned all the presents he had given her. I thought he must be very fond of Aimée to have given her his fiancée’s presents.

  Before we dined there were arrivals at the castle. The nephew who had visited us at Enderby came with his father. Matthew Field was very like what I remembered of my father—tall and commanding. He seemed very pleased to see me.

  ‘You are as pretty as my son Ralph described you,’ he told me.

  Ralph greeted me like an old friend. ‘It was good of you to come all this way,’ he said. ‘I trust the baby arrived in good condition.’

  ‘She did, and she is flourishing. I had to stay until she was born. You did understand, I hope.’

  ‘But of course.’

  Dinner was leisurely and lavish. There were a great many dishes, some of which I did not know.

  ‘We eat heartily up here,’ my Uncle Paul explained. ‘More so than you southerners.’

  ‘It’s due to the climate,’ said Ralph, it can be bitterly cold up here and we need hot soups, black puddings and hot roast beef in abundance to keep out the cold.’

  I felt exhausted after the food and unaccustomed wine, not to mention the journey and the revelations which had disclosed the fact that I had a half-sister. I must have shown this because Uncle Paul said: ‘What Clarissa needs most just now is a good night’s rest. Aimée, take her to her room. She might get lost in the castle.’ He turned to me. ‘People do, you know. That’s until they begin to know the place. It began life as a fortress, but so much has been added over the centuries that sometimes I think it resembles a maze more than a dwelling.’

  Aimée rose obediently and, smiling at me, asked if I were ready. I said I was, for I felt a great desire to be alone and digest what I had heard. She took a candle from a chest and lighted me up the stairs.

  As we ascended them she waved the candle about and turned to smile at me.

  ‘It is a little… what you say?… eerie by the light of the chandelle.’ Like Jeanne she introduced a French word into her speech every now and then. It added a certain charm to the conversation.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Our house is a little like that too.’

  She nodded. ‘But you are not afraid of shadows… not you.’

  ‘I try not to be.’

  ‘That is all we can do about anything… try.’

  When we came to my room she threw open the door and we entered. A fire was burning in the grate, which gave out a cosiness. ‘I told them you must have a fire,’ she said. ‘It is so cold when the wind blows.’ Heavy curtains had been drawn across the window; the bed quilt was turned back and the four-poster bed looked very inviting.

  ‘They have put in the warming-pan… you will see.’

  ‘They are determined to make me comfortable.’

  ‘We want you to know… Uncle Paul and I… that you are with your family.’

  ‘You have certainly made me feel that.’

  ‘Now is there anything else you want… for the night?’

  ‘I don’t think so, thank you.’

  ‘If you should want…’ she waved her arms in an expansive gesture… ‘you will ring the bell. So.’ She indicated the bell-rope. ‘Or if there is something I can do… I am not far away. We are both in the turret. I look out to the west… over the countryside… you look out to sea.’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll remember.’

  ‘Good night, ma soeur. Sleep well.’

  She shut the door quietly and went out. I stood staring at it for a few seconds. It was a thick oak door with a latch and a bolt which could be drawn across. On a sudden impulse I went to the door and bolted it.

  Then I wondered at myself. Why had I done that? It was almost as though I were afraid. Suppose Aimée came back for something and heard me unbolt the door? It would seem very unfriendly. I drew back the bolt and undressed. The firelight threw flickering shadows round the room. It was warm, cosy… and yet… there was something alien here, something which was almost a warning, and I believed that, tired as I was, I should find it difficult to sleep in this room.

  I drew back the curtains as though to let in the outside world. There was a half-moon and it was a clear night. I could see the sea distinctly in the distance. There was a quietness in the air… no wind ruffled the grass of the moorlands. I could get a glimpse of the gate of the castle, majestic in moonlight.

  I turned back to the comfort of the fire and got into bed.

  I had been right. It was dif
ficult to sleep. I knew there were all sorts of unusual noises in old houses. When darkness falls it is as though those who have lived out their lives within the walls and who cannot rest come out to live again. It was like that at Enderby, but I had grown accustomed to the creak of the wood there. I knew which stair seemed to protest every time one trod on it; I knew that the creaking went on until the early hours of the morning. It would be the same here, but as yet they were to me unfamiliar creaks.

  I lay there for about half an hour, sleep eluding me. I dozed once and dreamed the door opened and Aimée came in. She was smiling at me, laughing at me, noting that I lacked her elegance. She was saying. ‘I am your sister… ma soeur… ma petite soeur.’

  I awoke frightened, though there was nothing frightening in the dream. I expected to see her standing by the bed laughing at me. There was no one there. I rose from my bed and bolted the door. I knew that would help me to sleep.

  I was so tired that I did fall asleep, and suddenly I was awakened by the sound of voices. They came from below. I sat up in bed, startled.

  I thought I heard the sound of horses. I listened intently and went to the window. The moon shone serenely on the moors, and although I could see nothing below me I was aware of the sounds of activity.

  I went back to bed. The fire had died down and there was a chilliness in the room. My feet had grown cold. I tucked them into my nightgown and I saw from my watch, which I had laid on the table beside the bed, that it was three o’clock. I tried to sleep, but it was impossible. I was wide awake now.

  I lay still while my feet grew warmer and I went over every detail of my arrival at the castle, particularly my talks with Uncle Paul and Aimée. Such revelations as she had made were enough to create insomnia in anyone, I assured myself, and as I slept so well normally I could easily cope with the very occasional bad night when it came along. Moreover, it was understandable as it was the first night in a new bed. One had to grow accustomed to beds.

  I was thinking how complicated life was, and how the actions of the past created the future and their effects could be felt through the generations.

  Then suddenly I heard voices… low, sibilant voices. I got out of bed and went to the window. Men were coming out of the castle; they had come through the gatehouse. I saw my Uncle Matthew and Ralph with them, and there were three other men. One of these three was vaguely familiar to me. He wore a brown frieze coat and black stockings; on his head was a three-cornered hat. I was trying to think where I had seen him before. The men were out of sight and I guessed they were going to the stables where they would have left their horses. I was right. After a short while they emerged on horseback. The man in the brown frieze coat was with them.

  I watched them ride away, standing at the window until they were out of sight. Then, cold and shivering a little, I went back to bed. I lay there for a long time wondering why I should feel there was something strange going on. Why shouldn’t my uncle and cousin, with friends who had arrived after I had left the company, leave in the early hours of the morning? There was no reason why they should retire early because I did. But there were the three other visitors. They must have come very late. Well, why should they not do so?

  I was imagining all sorts of strange happenings. Why? Because I had just discovered that I had a sister, and had left the quiet world of my mother’s family. I had escaped from the cocoon and perhaps was looking for adventure. I had come into the orbit of the bold Hessenfields. Already I was learning a little more about my exciting father and discovering that there was still much to learn.

  The dawn was now in the sky. I got out of bed again and unbolted the door. I did not want someone to bring up hot water and find that I had shut myself in. I did not want to betray my uneasiness.

  I lay waiting for morning, and suddenly the realization came to me.

  The man I had seen below was the same one whom I had noticed in the inn.

  How strange! He had seemed to take an interest in our party. And now he had turned up at the castle. What did it mean?

  The comforting daylight was creeping into my room, dispelling the imaginings of the night.

  How many men in England wore brown frieze coats, black stockings and three-cornered hats? The answer was: thousands.

  I was going to laugh at myself in the morning.

  For a long time I was to remember those first days at Hessenfield Castle. There were the conversations with Aimée—light-hearted, frivolous chatter—which enthralled me because with them came an aura of the past and they brought memories which I had long forgotten. Then there were my sessions with my Uncle Paul, my interest in the castle, and the strange atmosphere of tension which I did not understand at the time. It was a suppressed excitement, and uneasiness which seemed to affect them all except Aimée. I believed she was aware of it and that it both amused and exasperated her.

  She had made herself mistress of the castle and it was quite clear that my Uncle Paul was fond of her. She would make him laugh and I suppose anyone who could do that would be a favourite of his.

  He talked about her to me. ‘She has the true Gallic charm,’ he said. ‘That comes from her mother. I must say we have been more lively in the castle since she came.’

  I got him to tell me how she came.

  ‘When the war was over and there was free traffic between the two countries, she arrived. She is a resourceful young lady. One summer’s morning she presented herself at the Castle, announcing who she was. She gave me the ring which she said your father had wished to be returned to me and she brought his watch too which he had presumably left to her mother and there was a letter from my brother.’

  ‘When did he write it?’ I asked.

  ‘It must have been before he died. He must have given it to Aimée’s mother as a sort of guarantee that the child would be cared for. He died suddenly, but living was precarious for him. He never knew from one day to the next when he would run into an ambush or someone would assassinate him. There was a price on his head, you know.’

  ‘Could I see my father’s letter? I have never seen anything he wrote.’

  ‘Certainly you may. It clearly states that his daughter shall have a share of his estate.’

  ‘Does he mention me?’

  ‘Not in this letter. He had already written to me about you when your mother joined him in France. He said then that you should be his heiress.’

  ‘And he wrote later about Aimée?’

  ‘He had evidently given the letter to Aimée’s mother to bring to me in the event of his death.’ He took some keys from his pocket and gave them to me. ‘Go and open that desk,’ he said. ‘You will see some papers there… just inside. Will you please bring them to me?’

  I did as he bade and came back with the papers. He turned them over and brought out a letter which he handed to me. It had the address of the hôtel embossed on the top right-hand corner.

  I read:

  Dear Paul,

  We had an unpleasant scare today. It made me realize that I could be a dead man at any time. I know that applies to us all but to some more than others—and I am one of those to whom it could happen suddenly.

  I have involved myself in certain responsibilities and I want this daughter of mine to have a share in my fortune. Her mother will get the letter to you somehow. I will write in detail later but just in case something should happen before I have an opportunity to do so, I want to make sure this girl is cared for along with my other liabilities.

  ‘I’ll be setting it all out clearly later. This child is one of us, Paul, and I know I can trust you. I’ll send this over when I can work out how the money should be arranged.

  Your affectionate brother

  John.

  ‘And he gave this letter to Aimée’s mother?’ I said.

  ‘Yes. That was how it was done, I imagine.’

  ‘It is undated,’ I pointed out.

  ‘Aimée said it was written a few days before his death, it seems as though he had a premoniti
on of it… or perhaps he was then feeling ill.’

  ‘Then he must have been seeing Aimée’s mother right up to the time of his death.’

  ‘My dear,’ said Uncle Paul, ‘you must not be shocked. He was like that… polygamous. There were always women… although your mother was the one he cared for in a very special way… and for you too… as her daughter. But he had clearly been fond of Aimée’s mother and he certainly was of Aimée. He was a philanderer but there was a very sentimental side to his nature. He had a strong sense of honour and would never shirk his responsibilities.’

  I looked at the letter in his handwriting. Bold and flowing, typical of the man.

  ‘You can imagine how moved I was when Aimée arrived,’ went on Uncle Paul. ‘She told me that her mother had preserved that letter with the ring and watch and that she had planned to come to England herself as soon as she could do so. But when the opportunity came, Aimée was of an age to travel and her mother had married. It was only natural that she would not want to involve her new husband in a past love affair, so Aimée came alone. I trust you are pleased to have a sister. She is a charming girl, full of vitality. One would expect that from a daughter of my brother. You have the same quality, my dear. You must always keep it. I hope you two are going to be friends, as sisters should be.’

  I was getting very fond of my uncle.

  Aimée and I rode a good deal and she undertook to show me the countryside. Uncle Paul insisted that we take a groom with us when we rode out. These were troublous times, he said. But Aimée usually contrived to arrange it so that we rode ahead of the groom and she tried to lose him. I refused to do this as the groom would be reprimanded if he did not keep guard over us, but I did all I could to keep a distance between him and us so that we could indulge freely in one of those conversations which were so fascinating to me.

  They took place partly in French, partly in English and they taught me a great deal about life in Paris and quite a bit about the household in which I had lived in those early years.