I saw them all to the tables. There were three tables and four people at each. Aimée was next to the rather ageing baron who had sat beside her at dinner and seemed rather taken with her. At their table were another couple of middle age. Lance’s friends were of all ages. The only thing they all had in common was a love of gambling.
Lance put his arm about me and kissed me lightly on the back of my neck.
‘Slip away if you wish, my dear,’ he said.
I nodded. I intended to.
I waited a while and watched the play start, fascinated by the intent look on their faces, Aimée’s no less than the others. I felt a little uneasy about her. I thought, Lance has made a gambler of her. And I felt somewhat responsible.
In this room was a marble fireplace with a large mirror above it and on the mantelpiece a bowl of chrysanthemums I myself had arranged them that morning. Someone must have brushed against them when passing, for one of them was almost falling out of the bowl. I started to adjust it while I listened to them calling their stakes. I shuddered. It was all so depressing to me for many of them would come out of that room much poorer than they went in.
I was looking straight at Aimée through the glass. I could not believe that I saw correctly. Her hand moved inside the opening in her skirt to her petticoat. There had been no card in her hand when she put it in and she was holding one when she drew it out. I saw her slip the card among those she was holding in her other hand.
I felt faintly sick. It was hot in the room. Or was that my imagination? I wanted to get out, but I stood there, fixed to the spot, staring at Aimée through the looking glass.
She was smiling and they were all congratulating her. She had won again.
I had to get away. I called good night to them and went to the bedroom. I sat down and stared at my reflection in the glass.
I must have been mistaken. Of course I had not been. I had seen it all so clearly. I kept going over it… that vital moment when she had brought the card out from her petticoat, the smile on her face, her leaning forward and putting her elbow on the table, holding the cards fan-shaped before her.
She had great good luck. Of course she did. She made her luck by cheating at cards.
It was impossible! But it wasn’t, of course. Cheating was the greatest sin among gamblers. What did they do about people who cheated? They were banished from clubs. No one would play with them. Duels had been fought between accusers and accused.
What could I do? One thing was certain. I could not allow Aimée to go on cheating in my house. Should I tell Lance? He would be horrified. That would be one of the things which could really move him. And where would she go if she were asked to leave? What would happen to Jean-Louis?
I was very upset and uncertain.
I undressed and went to bed. I lay sleepless listening for the sounds of departure, for Lance’s step on the stairs. I had not yet made up my mind what I should do.
I waited all next day and in the afternoon when the house was quiet, I went along to Aimée’s room, for I knew she would be there.
She gave me a warm smile when I entered.
I said quietly: ‘I have come to talk to you.’
‘That’s nice,’ she said.
I shook my head. ‘You do very well at the card table,’ I said.
‘Not so bad for a beginner.’
‘You must have won a considerable sum.’
‘Oh, a little. Enough to pay my debts to Lance and to give me a chance to recoup my losses over the Bubble.’
‘Naturally your methods are successful.’
She looked puzzled.
‘I saw you cheating last night,’ I said.
All the colour drained from her face. She stood up and stared at me, her eyes blazing.
‘What are you talking about! You weren’t there.’
‘I was… for a while; I saw you through the mirror.’
‘You were dreaming.’
‘No. I was wide awake. I saw distinctly. You had a winning card in the pocket of your petticoat. I saw you take it out after the cards were dealt.’
‘It is not true.’
‘I tell you I saw you do it.’
‘Through the looking glass! That’s quite impossible. What are you trying to say?’
‘Only that I saw you cheat at cards.’
‘Nonsense.’
‘It is not nonsense and you know it. Lance would never allow it.’
‘Have you made this monstrous accusation against me to him?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Not yet! You mean you are going to?’
I hesitated and when I saw the hope spring up in her eyes I knew without a doubt that she was guilty.
‘I am not sure what I shall do,’ I said. ‘Oh Aimée, how could you do such a thing!’
‘There is only your word against mine.’
‘Do you think Lance would believe you rather than his wife?’
‘No… he’d believe you and then…’ She stared blankly ahead.
‘Why did you do it?’
‘I didn’t. I didn’t.’
‘Please don’t lie to me. I saw you. I saw it all. I was terribly upset.’
Her face crumpled suddenly and she began to cry. That touched me terribly. I always thought her rather hard and well able to take care of herself. To see her so abjectly miserable made me sorry for her.
‘Aimée,’ I went on, ‘why… why?’
She took out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. ‘I suppose I shall have to go now,’ she said. ‘You’ll tell Lance and he will send me away. He would never have anyone here who cheated at cards. I wasn’t going to make a habit of it… only until I had things straight. You’ve no idea what it’s like living on charity. I want to work… to do something for myself and Jean-Louis. I want our independence. I want…’
‘That wasn’t the way to do it.’
‘I know. But I saw how it could be done… and then I did it. I’m saving, Clarissa, saving for myself and Jean-Louis.’
‘It’s taking money which doesn’t belong to you.’
‘They are all rich. They can afford it.’
‘That’s no reason why you should do it.’
‘I know it’s wrong. I’m weak, I accept that. I deserve everything that’s coming to me. You’d better tell Lance at once and I’ll start making plans… though where I’ll go, I have no idea.’
I watched her. There was no mistaking the despair in her face. I could see her gloating over her winnings, calling them her means to her independence. She turned her pleading eyes to me.
‘It has been wonderful here. You have been so kind… you and Lance. But I see I must go now. You’re going to tell Lance, aren’t you?’
‘He will never allow you to play again,’ I said.
‘I know. And he’ll find some excuse to send me away.’
‘Aimée,’ I said slowly, ‘if I promise not to tell him will you promise me never to cheat again?’
She had taken my hands and gripped them hard.
‘Oh, I will, I will,’ she cried.
I came out of her room feeling emotionally exhausted. It seemed to me that I had emerged from the situation in the only way possible.
Aimée’s luck at the tables had changed drastically.
‘It is like that,’ said Lance. ‘You have a fantastic run of luck and then suddenly… it’s all over. It’ll come back.’
‘I don’t think it ever will,’ said Aimée sadly.
I was satisfied. She was no longer cheating.
I thought about her a great deal. I made excuses for her; she had come over from France on the chance of finding her father’s people and a new life; hers had been a precarious existence, and she had found great comfort in security. I suspected that she had married for it—she had more or less said so—and then it had been lost with the bursting of the Bubble and the death of her husband.
She still attended the gambling sessions, though with less zeal than before. Sometimes she was flushed with success, at
others despondent. I told her it was a mistake to join in but I could see that she had caught some of that fever which obsessed Lance.
It was too late now for her to draw away.
SABRINA
THE MONTHS PASSED QUICKLY. I visited Enderby in the autumn. It was a sad visit for as soon as I saw Damaris I realized that her health had deteriorated still further. She rarely left her bed now and when she did she had to be carried downstairs to lie on the sofa in the drawing-room. Jeremy insisted on carrying her himself and tragedy was already beginning to look out of his eyes. His tenderness and devotion to Damaris was deeply moving to watch, but it was clear to me that he was still blaming Sabrina.
She clung to me when I arrived… a new Sabrina who had lost that insouciant gaiety which had been so much a part of her nature. She brooded; she was disobedient.
‘She’s a handful,’ said Nanny Curlew, who was the only one who could manage her. I was shocked, for I understood that the tragedy on the ice was by no means over.
She was delighted to see me at first and told me I must stay with her always. When I said I should have to go home because Enderby was not my home any more, she sulked and avoided me for several days. I could see that there was truth in Nanny Curlew’s comment that she was a handful.
I was with Damaris a great deal. She wanted me to be there. Her face had grown very thin and there were dark circles under her eyes caused by the pain she suffered.
She never talked of it, but she had reverted to the incapacitation of her youth before she had roused herself to look after Jeremy and me. I knew she tried to exert herself, for she was very anxious about Sabrina and the relationship between the child and her father. I think she regarded them both as two children who needed her care and guidance, but she was too ill, too racked by pain, too tired to give them the attention they needed.
She did not talk of the incident on the ice, nor of the future. But she did seem to find great pleasure in talking of the past, of her trip to Paris when she had rescued me. It was as though we relived that time together from the moment when Jeanne came into the cellar with her tray of violets bringing Damaris with her.
‘Violets have always been my favourite flowers ever since,’ she said.
Sometimes Jeremy would come in and sit silently watching her. She meant everything to him. She had brought him out of the Slough of Despond. She had shown him that there was happiness—great happiness—in the world for him as well as for everyone else.
Priscilla was very worried about her. ‘She’s going downhill,’ she said. ‘She’s worse than she was all those years ago. Then she was younger. That last miscarriage drained her of all her strength. It’s as though she can’t fight this any more.’
‘She has a great spirit,’ I replied. ‘She will fight with all her might if only for the sake of Jeremy and Sabrina.’
‘Ah,’ went on Priscilla, ‘he can’t forgive the child. Every time he looks at her he thinks that it is her fault. She can see it in his eyes.’
‘Poor Sabrina.’
‘She is a wayward child. She’s Carlotta all over again. You used to be able to deal with Sabrina, Clarissa, but she seems to have turned against you now.’
‘She must be made to feel that all this is not her fault.’
‘But it is. She has logic enough to see that. If she hadn’t disobeyed orders and gone skating Damaris would be well today. The child might have been safely born. Whichever way you look at it it comes back to Sabrina.’
‘She’s only a child. It’s making things so much worse by enlarging on her guilt.’
Priscilla lifted her shoulders helplessly. ‘And my mother is very worried about my father. I think he’ll be lucky to get through the winter. And if anything happens to him… that would just about finish Arabella. I think, dear, that it would be wise for you not to come this Christmas. It would be too much for them at Eversleigh, and at Enderby it wouldn’t be easy. I shall be busy in both places, it seems.’
‘I’ll come in the spring,’ I said. ‘Everything will be different then.’
My words were sadly prophetic.
We spent that Christmas at Clavering in the traditional way, with plenty of card parties thrown in.
On Christmas morning among my presents was a long narrow case of dark green velvet and when I opened it I disclosed a necklace of glittering diamonds and emeralds.
Lance watched me as I took it out.
‘Lance!’ I cried. ‘You!’
‘Who else? Don’t tell me you are in the habit of receiving such gifts from others?’
‘It’s quite beautiful,’ I said, and I immediately thought of the coat and those unpaid bills about which Lance was so nonchalant.
‘Put it on,’ he commanded.
I did so. It transformed me.
‘Let’s have a look at you,’ he said. ‘Ah, I knew it. It brings out the green in your eyes.’
‘But, Lance, it’s terribly expensive.’
‘Only the best will do for you, my darling,’ he answered promptly.
‘You shouldn’t…’ I wanted to say that I should have been more pleased with something which had cost less, but I couldn’t, of course.
‘A bit of luck at the tables,’ he said.
‘You should keep your winnings to set against your losses.’
‘Losses! Don’t talk of losses. It’s a word I don’t much like.’
‘Nevertheless it exists…’ I stopped. There I was lecturing him again. Perhaps this anxiety over his gambling was making a shrew of me. I went on: ‘Lance, I love it. It’s beautiful and it is wonderful of you to give me such a present.’
I wore the necklace that evening. It looked magnificent with a white brocade gown.
Jeanne fingered it almost lovingly when I put it on. ‘It’s the most beautiful necklace I ever saw,’ she said. ‘Sir Lance knows what is elegant. You would think he was…’
‘A Frenchman,’ I added. ‘I’m glad you approve of my husband, Jeanne.’
‘I do not like that others like him too much.’
She was referring to Aimée. Would she never get over her dislike of my half-sister! ‘She has a beautiful brooch given her.’ Her lips were pursed in disapproval because it was Lance who had given her the brooch.
‘It is Christmas, Jeanne. A time for giving.’
Jeanne continued to express her disapproval as she brought out the bezoar ring from its case and gave it to me to slip on my finger. She had treated it with great respect since she had heard it had once belonged to a Queen.
She could not take her eyes from the necklace.
‘It is beautiful,’ she said. ‘Think what it stands for. It is worth a flower-shop in the Rue St Honoré.’
‘Worth a flower-shop!’
‘I mean if it were sold… You could buy a flower-shop in the heart of Paris for what that’s worth.’
‘Oh Jeanne,’ I said reproachfully, ‘you make me feel as though I’m walking round with a flower-shop round my neck.’
I was to remember that conversation later.
It was a strange Christmas without the family and I was rather glad when it was over. There was far too much gambling and my thoughts were at Enderby with Damaris and Sabrina.
It was a harsh winter. We stayed in London where the weather was slightly less rigorous, but even there there were several days when the frozen snow remained piled high against the houses and we were unable to go out.
The thaw set in at the end of February and at the beginning of March I received a letter from Priscilla.
I didn’t want you to risk the roads [she wrote], but I do think you should come down as soon as you can manage it. Damaris is worse. The rheumatism seems to have affected her heart. I think you ought to come, dear. She longs to see you, but she would not let you know for fear you might risk the roads, and she did not want that.’
I showed the letter to Lance. He was loath to leave London now. He had had several invitations to people’s houses and I knew that he was looking forw
ard to them. Moreover, his presence was required on the country estate. On the other hand he did not care for me to make the journey alone.
I said: ‘I shall be all right. I must go, because there is an urgency in Priscilla’s letter. I shall have the grooms with me.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ he said.
I was pleased that he wished to do so and then I wondered what I would find at Enderby. Damaris was clearly very ill indeed. If she were to die—and I had an overwhelming premonition—I must think of Sabrina and I knew that I could handle whatever was awaiting me better if I were alone.
When Lance was there Sabrina held aloof. There was some absurd but passionate resentment in her jealous little heart and it was directed against Lance solely because she believed he came first with me.
I said: ‘I don’t know what I’m going to find there. It will be depressing, I am sure. Sabrina is a very unhappy child at this time. Lance, I do believe I can handle this best alone.’
He understood at once. Perhaps he was relieved. Morbid situations did not appeal to him. He liked everything to be pleasant. ‘As you wish,’ he said. ‘But if you want me to go with you, you have only to say so.’
‘I know,’ I said gratefully. ‘And thank you, Lance.’
Jeanne insisted on coming with me. I should need her, she said. And I was glad of her company. ‘And Sir Lance,’ she went on, ‘he will stay behind?’
‘I have told him that is best.’
She shook her head. ‘He should go with you. You should not leave him alone with…’
She did not continue and I did not ask her to.
So on the last day of March I set out for Enderby.
Although I had known that Damaris was seriously ill, I was unprepared for what I found.
It was indeed a house of mourning. Damaris was dead when I arrived. Her heart had weakened during the first attack of rheumatic fever when she was young and this return of the disease had been too much for her.
When I stepped into the house I had the feeling that it was content because this was its natural state. Happiness, gaiety, merriment did not rest comfortably at Enderby. The house had become alive again; it had come into its own—evil, menacing, haunted by tragedies of the past.
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