The Merridews were there and so were the Eghams. My mother said how unfortunate it was that Edwin and Leigh could not be with
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them. It was too tiresome of Lord Carson-their fierce old Generalto send them off abroad on some duty just over the festive season. She would tell him how she appreciated that when she had the chance!
I understood then. She really would thank him when she saw him.
I went to Christabel’s room two or three days after Christmas. It was bedtime and I had thought she looked very sad during the evening.
“I came to see if you were all right,” I said.
She smiled at me wanly. “It is not going to happen, Priscilla,” she answered. “I might have known it was too good to be true.”
I tried to comfort her.
Sometimes I wished that Edwin and Leigh had not come back to stay in the house during my parents’ absence. If my mother had been there she would have seen Edwin’s affection growing and she would have done something about it before it reached that stage.
Then I thought of the ecstasy when Jocelyn had put his ring on my finger and the agonies I had suffered when I had lost it. I was certain that it had fallen down at the back of the court cupboard which was too heavy for me to move. It was the only answer. At least it was out of sight there and safe, for they could not move the cupboard until springtime when they did the annual turning out. By that time perhaps this stupid persecution would be over and it would not matter who saw the ring.
That was how I comforted myself.
There was a letter for me from Harriet.
My dearest Priscilla,
It seems so long since we have met. I do want you to come and stay for a week or so with me. Just you … and perhaps bring that nice Christabel you told me about in your letters. I know your mother will spare you. We are doing a little masquerade.
John Frisby, the young man I told you about-the one who is staying here-is so good in his part, and I have one for you, too. I think he may be leaving soon and I should like you to meet him before he goes. Why not come soon? Don’t fail me, dear Priscilla.
I am writing to your mother …
I could imagine her. Dear, exciting Harriet, who was the most beautiful and attractive woman I had ever seen. She must have been absolutely irresistible when she was young.
When I mentioned this to her once, she laughed and retorted: “My darling, I was never so irre-72
sistible as I am now. I have gained experience and I find art quite a good compensation for nature.”
It was true that she painted her face with the consummate skill of an artist and gave an impression of dazzling beauty which could dispense with youth.
It was characteristic of her that she should throw herself wholeheartedly into this rescue. I wondered a little jealously whether Jocelyn had fallen in love with her.
Most men did.
I went to my mother and showed her Harriet’s letter.
“You must go, of course,” she said. “It will do you good. You have been looking a little wan lately. You seem as though you are worried about something. Dearest Cilia, don’t fret about Edwin. Bless your kind heart, it will all work out for the best, you will see.”
She kissed me fondly and I clung to her. I had a great impulse to confess everything and to tell her how worried I was about the lost ring and to explain all we had done about Jocelyn.
That would have been folly. I could imagine Leigh’s fury if I had done it.
So I said nothing and just hugged her.
“Harriet and her masquerades!” she went on. “I wonder what it will be this time.
I remember long ago before the Restoration when we did Romeo and Juliet. Harriet was a bit of a minx in those days. I wonder if she really has settled down. Gregory adores her, of course, and so does Benjie. She was always a collector of men. I think Leigh is fond of her, too.”
“I know he is. And so am I.”
“Of course he is. She’s his mother and she could even desert a child and still keep his love. Well, you go to her and … yes … take Christabel with you. It will do her good, too. Harriet stimulates people. I wonder what this young actor is like.
As I said, Harriet always had a way of collecting men. What are you going to take?
You should really have some new clothes now. We’ll talk about that when you come back. I don’t think you’ve finished growing yet. You are going to be a tall young woman, I can see.”
She patted my arm.
My emotions were mixed: pity for Christabel, apprehension about the lost ring, shame for deceiving my beloved mother, and above all excitement at the prospect of seeing Jocelyn again.
It was mid-January when we arrived at Eyot Abbas. It was a fine old house which Gregory Stevens had inherited when his elder brother had died. It was set in beautiful country, much more lush
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than that about Eversleigh, for it was not pestered by the cold east winds as we were.
The house was set in hilly country about a mile from the sea, which could be glimpsed from the topmost windows. From there, too, it was possible to see the island known as the Eyot from which the house had taken its name. Once it had been quite a large islandlarge enough to contain a monastery which had been destroyed at the time of the Dissolution. Now the sea had encroached considerably and there were only a few ruins of the monastery remaining. I had been there on several occasions for picnics.
It had always seemed a wild and fascinating place, rather eerie; and there were, of course, the usual rumours of lights being seen there and bells heard tolling.
Eyot Abbas was a rambling old house, Elizabethan. It had its share of towers and turrets, and with its red Tudor bricks it was delightfully mellow, set in the luxuriant green of the countryside. The grounds were beautiful and not too well tended. There was a delightful orchard next to the paddock where one could go for solitude. During my visits I liked to take a book there and curl up under my favourite apple tree.
I had very happy memories of Eyot Abbas. Everything was easygoing there. Harriet reigned like a queen over the household and the servants all behaved as though it were a privilege to serve her. Gregory never seemed to have recovered from the shock of her having married him. Benjie delighted in teasing her and clearly adored her even though she never worried about him, did not seem to care when he came hi wet through after riding and that he nearly shot one of the gardener boys when he was practising archery. He was eleven years old and suffered from no restrictions. Perhaps that was why he was so pleased with life.
There were no tensions in that household. Harriet never treated us any differently from the grown-ups. She would not have age mentioned. It was something she preferred to forget and that suited us all.
When we arrived the grooms were expecting us and they took our horses and the bags from the saddle horse and we went into the house.
Harriet was not at home. She was out riding with her guest.
“You know your room, Mistress Priscilla,” said Mercer, Harriet’s personal maid who had been with her in the theatre. “And I have put Mistress Connalt next to you.”
“That’s good, Mercer,” I replied. “I’ll take Mistress Connalt up.”
We mounted the stairs to our rooms. The colours were very bright. Harriet had refurbished Eyot Abbas when she became its mistress
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and the colours she had chosen were scarlet, purples and gold. “Trust Harriet to introduce royal colours,” my mother had cornmented.
My bedroom was in purple-purple hangings on the bed, purple rugs on the floor, purple curtains. The bedspread was of a lilac shade which toned in perfectly. Christabel’s room was in a bluish mauve.
I could see that she was impressed by the richness of everything and delighted to be treated as though she were not a governess. That meant a great deal to her-even more than usual because of what was happening between her and Edwin.
Mercer brought water for us to wash, so we did so and changed; and while this was happening Harriet returned. I heard her voice immediately. It was always like that with her-as though a fanfare of trumpets must greet her arrival.
I ran out of my room to the top of the staircase.
She was in the hall, and beside her, looking even more handsome than I had been imagining him, was Jocelyn. For a few seconds I stood still watching them, my emotions enveloping me.
Then Harriet saw me.
“Ah, my darling child! Priscilla, my love, come down at once. I want to welcome you and introduce you to John Frisby.”
I ran down the stairs. She caught me in her arms and I was wrapped in fragrance.
She looked magnificent in her riding habit. It was pale grey and there was a deep blue cravat at her throat which was the exact colour of her eyes. “I never saw anyone with eyes to match Harriet’s,” my mother had said. “I think they are the secret of her charm.” They were beautiful eyes-deep blue and heavily fringed with black lashes; her brows were black, too, very well defined, and her hair, luxuriantly curly, abundant and springing with life, was very dark, too. It was that contrast of blue eyes and black hair with a fair skin, rather impudent nose and perfect white teeth which made Harriet the beauty she was. But it was her exuberant manner, her displays of affection which she bestowed carelessly on all who wanted them-and that was everyone who came within her orbit-that made her the person she was, one who could commit that which hi others would be unforgivable and yet in her would be forgiven.
“Harriet is larger than life,” Mother had said. “She can’t be judged by normal standards.”
And that was true. She was scheming, she was selfish, but she was generous. Her great charm was her vitality, her ability to extricate herself from any awkward situations with little cost to herself, and
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most of all, perhaps, an interest and excitement in life. She lived it fully and with zest, and those about her were caught up in that. No one could be near Harriet and be dull; and this made everyone want to be near her.
Neither of her sons was legitimate. Leigh had been born to her before she was married.
His father had been my mother’s husband, and it said a great deal for Harriet’s charm that my mother, who had been desperately in love with her first husband, now bore no grudge against Harriet. Finding Leigh an impossible encumbrance Harriet had abandoned him when he was a few months old and left him in my mother’s care. Years later she married into the Eversleigh family -an uncle of my father’s much older than herself.
Then she had given birth to Benjie, but it turned out he was not the son of her husband but of Gregory Stevens, who was tutoring at the house at that time. Then when her husband died and Gregory came into his title and fortune, she married him, and Benjie’s name was changed from Eversleigh to Stevens, and Harriet emerged as the adored wife and mother.
I was afraid to look at the young man beside her. I said: “Harriet, you look as beautiful as ever.”
“Bless you, dear child. I want you to meet my dear friend, John Frisby. John this is my … well, it’s a complicated relationship and I should need pen and paper to work it out. But I love her dearly all the same and I want you to get to know each other.”
The beautiful blue eyes were mocking as Jocelyn took my hand and kissed it. We smiled at each other and I thought jubilantly: Nothing has changed. It is just as it was.
He loves me still.
And I felt wildly happy.
Christabel was coming down the Starrs. I saw Harriet appraising her.
I said: “Oh, here is Mistress Connalt. Christabel, this is Lady Stevens.”
Harriet was charming and I saw Christabel flush with pleasure at her reception.
“Welcome, my dear,” said Harriet. “I do like to have young people in the house. Priscilla has told me so much about you. Now come and meet John. He’s longing to know you.”
Harriet whispered to me: “Well done. You play well. We have to be careful. Servants peek and pry, you know.”
“Yes,” I whispered back. “Thank you, Harriet. Oh, thank you.”
She pressed my arm.
“Now, how have you been looked after? Has Mercer given you 76
what you need? I thought you would like Mistress Connalt close by.”
“It was kind of you to ask me,” said Christabel rather stiffly.
“Nonsense. I am delighted. Has Mercer unpacked for you? You must be hungry.”
“Not really,” I replied. “We had a pie and cider at the Stag’s Head.”
“Did you, indeed? Even so we will eat early. John, do go to the kitchens and tell them to put whatever they are cooking forward. We shall eat at six of the clock.”
He bowed. His eyes were on me, warm and dancing with excitement.
“Come, my dears,” said Harriet, “I want to make sure you are comfortable.”
She led the way to my room and ushered us in. She shut the door and leaned against it. Her mood had changed; her eyes flashed with excitement.
“Now … we can talk. We have to be so careful. Servants are everywhere. They have their uses, but in a situation like this they can present difficulties.” She turned to Christabel. “My dear, I am so glad you came. I know of your part in all this .
. . you and those dear boys, Leigh and Edwin. I am sure Leigh was the leading spirit.
He was born to be a leader that one. Now to work. My dear Gregory has been such a help. Who would have believed that he would ever be involved in such a matter!” Again to Christabel. “My husband is the mildest of men. He likes to lead a simple and uncomplicated life. But I am afraid I drag him into the most dramatic situations. Darling Gregory!
He is so good about it. But you are longing for news of our friend John.”
“Oh, yes, please,” I said fervently.
“And I chatter!” She leaned against the door, her hands pressed against it, looking like a queen of intrigue-which she was, of course. How she loved to play a part!
“Now listen to me carefully, my dears. They are looking for John. You must never refer to him as anything but John Frisby in this house … never … never! Gregory has his ears to the ground. He was in London recently. This odious Gates is frightened now that he sees his rule coming to an end, but he is determined to let no victims escape him. He and his friends are furious that our friend got away. Gates harbours some special grudge against the Frintons. He got the father and is determined to wipe out the family -and that means first of all the son. Our John Frisby is in acute danger.”