“I have two handmaidens now,” said Edward. “Clare and Leah. And with James and Toby I am really cossetted.”
“You have me … another handmaiden,” I reminded him.
“You are not a handmaiden. You are my queen.”
I laughed, but my heart was heavy. He must never know, I told myself.
Meanwhile Jake was getting restive. He had been to Cornwall, for it was necessary for him to return, but his stay there was brief and he was soon back in London.
He wrote to me again. His letter was an impassioned plea to come to London. If I did not, he said, he would come to Grasslands. He had plans. He could not wait forever. We were wasting our lives. We belonged together.
The letter alarmed me while it delighted me.
I told myself I should destroy it but I could not bring myself to do so. For a day I carried it with me, tucked into my bodice but I thought that might be detected so I hid it at the back of one of my drawers with that other letter. I read them again and again. They comforted me; they set me dreaming of the impossible.
When I was talking to my mother about Christmas I said: “What about Tamarisk’s father?”
“Perhaps he will want her to go to him in Cornwall?”
“She never would. She is more devoted to Jonathan than ever.”
“I suppose we should ask him here.”
I hesitated.
“Is it difficult? We could have him at Eversleigh.”
“No … no. He should be where Tamarisk is.”
“He doesn’t seem in any hurry to take action about the child.”
“I think he would. It rests with Tamarisk.”
“It’s an unfortunate business. One sees why convention and regularity in family life is so sought after.”
“I agree,” I said.
“We shall have a full house as usual at Eversleigh, I daresay. The Pettigrews will be here … and others, I suppose.”
“Oh … I have room at Grasslands.”
The idea of having him in the house excited me while it filled me with apprehension.
Peter would be at Enderby. He would certainly be home for Christmas. The three houses would be united in the festive celebrations and I should see a great deal of him. I wondered how I should feel being with Jake, while Peter looked on. I could imagine his bland looks and secret amusement.
I wrote asking Jake to come for Christmas.
After I had done so I went up to my room and, as I did in moments of solitude, I wanted to read the letters again.
Reading them brought him back to me, made me relive those magic moments, made the longing for him so intense that I forgot everything else but him.
I opened the drawer and felt behind the gloves and handkerchiefs for the letters.
They were not there.
But I remembered putting them away. I had been most careful. I turned out the drawer. I rummaged through the one immediately below it. I went through all the drawers. There was no sign of the letters.
Panic set in. Someone had taken them.
The idea of someone else reading those letters horrified me. Peter! I thought. It must be Peter.
I must find him at once. I must retrieve the letters. What price would he ask for them? I should never have allowed myself to be blackmailed. Blackmailers were known for not stopping in their demands. They wanted more and more. Oh, I should never have entered into this diabolical pact. I felt frantic with anxiety.
I met Clare on the way down.
I said: “Did Peter call yesterday?”
“Yes … I believe he did. He was with Amaryllis. They looked in while you were out. They must have forgotten to tell you.”
“I must see him at once.”
I went to Enderby. Peter was not there.
“He’s gone into town,” said Amaryllis. “He’s leaving for London tomorrow.”
“What… again?”
“He’s so involved in business,” she said with pride.
I pondered whether I should go and look for him. No, I thought. It will make me appear too anxious. If he threatened to use those letters I should go at once to my father and expose him for what he is. He would not want that. I was safe because I knew so much about him.
I must have been away an hour. The house was quiet when I returned. Soon it would be time for me to go to Edward. I would tell him that my mother was full of Christmas plans and had suggested that we invite Tamarisk’s father for the holiday.
I kept thinking about the letters and imagining their falling into Edward’s hands. It would be better for me to tell him myself. I would make him understand how it had happened. It should never happen again, I would assure him. I would pledge myself to that.
How devious I was! And with the worst kind of deviousness, because I deceived myself. I was longing for Jake to come and I knew that when he did, nothing would matter to me but that we were together again.
I went up to my room, took off my riding clothes and changed into a house dress.
I saw Leah and the thought struck me that she would have ample opportunities for taking the letters. She had loved Jake and had lured Tamarisk away from her home because she was his daughter. Since she had joined our household she had seemed to be gentle, law-abiding, but at heart she might well still be the fierce gypsy. Did she still love Jake? Had she, with that special perception which gypsies possess, divined that Jake and I were lovers? Why should she take my letters? And having read them what would she think of them? Clare? Could it be Clare? Clare loved Edward. She would believe that she should have been the one who should look after him. What would she think of one who had taken the position which should have been hers and then showed contempt for it?
If Clare had found the letters would she show them to Edward? Would she expose me for the adulteress I was?
My uneasiness had increased. Each morning when I awoke it was with a fearful dread of what the day would bring.
Christmas was almost upon us. The following day Jake would be here.
The weather had turned cold and I was anxiously watching the sky, fearful that there might be snow which would impede his journey.
I yearned to see him and yet I was fearful of his coming.
I went up to see the room which had been prepared for him. It was on the first floor. I opened the door and looked in. There was the red-curtained four-poster bed; the rich red curtains and the carpet with the touch of flame colour in it. I had changed the furnishings when I had come here. This had been Mrs. Trent’s room. It had been rather sombre then. She had been a strange woman who had had a reputation for being a witch and I had wanted to eliminate all traces of her.
A fire was now burning in the grate. Rooms grew cold in a house like this when they were not used.
I touched the bed. The warming pan was already there. They would renew it when it grew cold.
I thought of his arrival. He would try to lure me into this room, but I must be strong.
I sat down by the window and watched the firelight throwing flickering shadows on the walls.
The door began to open cautiously.
It was Leah.
She jumped when she saw me—as startled to see me as I was her.
“I… just came in to look at the fire,” she said. “They can be dangerous … even with the guard up.”
“Oh yes. Sparks on the carpet.”
“Yes,” said Leah and prepared to go out.
I said: “Just a moment, Leah.” She paused and I went on: “Sit down.”
“This room looks cosy in firelight, doesn’t it?” I said. “It’s really a very pleasant room.”
Leah said that it did look cosy and it was a pleasant room.
Edward had used it before he had gone to the one downstairs and many times had I sat by the red-curtained bed reading to him. I had been content enough then … living in the glory of self sacrifice. But making sacrifices, so ennobling in the initial stages, becomes wearying. A quick sharp sacrifice is all very well, but when it goes on and on one becomes angry—not so much with oneself who has made the decision in the first place, but with the one for whom the sacrifice is being made.
I must never show the faintest irritation which I sometimes felt towards Edward. How perverse people are! They are irritated by the goodness in others. If Edward had been a little tetchy more often, a little less patient, I could have let my anger flare up, I could have released my pent-up feelings. But because he was so good, I must feel this bitter remorse.