Lisette and I had discussed the matter frequently. She said it was unfair. There should be one law and one only and that should apply to both men and women. If a child was the result, the man who had fathered it should be named since the woman had no alternative but to be recognized as the mother. But no. It was not like that. How many men had their clandestine relationships, resulting in difficulties for the partner in them, and escaped the shame, humiliation and practical difficulties of having a child born out of wedlock?
Lisette could argue fiercely about the matter. I always enjoyed these discussions and we usually made a habit of taking opposite sides so that we could get the most out of the discussion.
Now I thought of Lisette and considered how amused she would be to see Dickon pursuing me.
I could almost hear myself talking to Lisette. Yes, I would say, he does attract me. He always did … I think more than anyone I ever knew. More than Charles? Well, Charles did too. There is a similarity about them. They both have that swaggering attitude to life and see themselves as the all-conquering male and the strange thing is that while I resent it strongly, I am attracted by it. I am determined to resist submission and yet at the same time I enjoy being conquered.
It was a pity Lisette had not come with us. She would force me to be absolutely frank about my feeling for Dickon.
Right from the first I was exhilarated. It was a battle between us from which both he and I were determined to come out victorious. He saw himself as the irresistible seducer; I, as the woman who, if tempted, was not going to sink her pride so deeply that she forgot her marriage vows and the fact that this man had jilted her in favour of a great property.
On that afternoon I had not gone very far when I heard the sound of horse’s hoofs and looking over my shoulder was not at all surprised to see Dickon.
‘Riding alone?’ he said. ‘That won’t do.’
‘I was finding it very pleasant.’
‘But so much more so with an interesting and charming companion who knows the countryside well.’
‘Your assessment of your character is your own, of course, and the countryside is not altogether unfamiliar to me. Remember I lived here once.’
‘Don’t remind me, Lottie. My life took the wrong turning when you went away.’
‘The wrong one? To Eversleigh, to the Bank, is it? … the life at Court, the fingers in pies? Oh, Dickon, how can you be so ungrateful to the fate which brought you all these good things!’
‘I am not ungrateful. I am just telling you that the very thing which would have made my happiness complete was denied me.’
‘You look contented with life, Dickon. I would forget the extra flavouring and thank God for your good fortune.’
‘I missed you, Lottie.’
‘One does miss people sometimes when they go away.’
‘You went to France for a holiday and stayed there.’
‘And you came to Eversleigh. It was yours; the dream of your life—or the chief one at that time—come true. What more could you ask?’
‘You, Lottie, with it.’
‘But there was a choice, wasn’t there? One or the other.’
‘You were a child. I didn’t know then … ’
‘It is strange to hear you admit ignorance. Shall we talk of something more interesting.’
‘This is of the utmost interest to me.’
‘But not to me and it takes two to make a conversation. Tell me about affairs in London. There is a great deal of talk in France about the American Colonies.’
‘Talk!’ he said. ‘There is more than talk. The wretched French are helping the rebels.’
‘I believe some people even over here think they are right.’
‘There is no reason why foreigners should interfere.’
‘My husband is a staunch supporter of the colonists and thinks those in France who are seeking to help them are doing what is right.’
‘And you can live with such a traitor?’
‘Traitor? He is no traitor. He is a man of opinions.’
‘Are you in love with him?’
I hesitated for a moment and then replied almost defiantly: ‘Yes.’
‘A convincing negative,’ he said. ‘Lottie, don’t go back. Stay here.’
‘You must be mad. I have two children over there.’
‘We could send for them.’
‘You’re joking, of course. You have a most extraordinary high opinion of yourself. I suppose that comes of living your life with two adoring females.’
‘I think I see myself as I am.’
I laughed. ‘Tall, handsome, commanding, irresistible to all women, chivalrous—in conversation—honourable, never betraying anyone unless the price is high enough … ’
‘You are hard on me.’
‘I see you as you are.’
‘And if you were honest with yourself you would admit you like what you see.’
I pressed my horse to a gallop, for at that moment we had come into open country.
He was beside me and I enjoyed the sheer exhilaration of the ride.
We came back past Enderby. It looked gloomy now. I remembered it as it had been when the Forsters had been there. They had cut away the shrubs which grew in profusion round the house; now they were overgrown again. I could see why it had a reputation for being haunted.
‘Would you like to look round it?’ asked Dickon. ‘We can get in easily through one of the ground-floor windows. It has a broken latch. The place is very overrun. It has been empty for two years.’
I wanted to go inside and yet on the other hand I was aware of warning within me. No, I must not go into that house. My mother had gone there with my father. Very possibly I had been conceived in that house. There was something about it which was apparent even from the outside. My mother, when she had told me about my birth, had felt that there was some spirit there … something which had the power to change people who entered.
Fanciful thinking, perhaps, but I would not go into that house with Dickon.
‘Not now,’ I said. ‘It’s getting too late.’
And turning our horses away we rode back to Eversleigh.
A groom was coming round by the house as we approached, and Dickon called to him to take our horses to the stables. Dickon leaped down before I could to help me. He took me in his arms and lifted me up as he had when I arrived. A gesture, I think, which was meant to be symbolic. He was strong. I was at his mercy.
‘Thank you,’ I said coolly. ‘Put me down.’
But for a few moments he held me, and I did not want to meet his eyes. I saw someone at a window looking down at us. Even as I looked up, whoever it was stepped back.
As Dickon put me on the ground I said: ‘Who is up there?’
‘Where?’ he asked idly.
‘That window … right at the top.’ I nodded in the direction and he looked up.
‘That would be old Grissel’s place.’
‘Old Grissel?’
‘One of the servants. Griselda. The boys call her Grissel. It fits.’
I went into the house, my thoughts full of Dickon and his implications so that I forgot about old Grissel until later.
I wanted to get to know something about Dickon’s sons and one morning, when I knew it was time for their break from lessons, I went up to the schoolroom.
The boys were seated at a table with Mr Raine their tutor drinking glasses of milk.
‘I hope I’m not intruding on lessons,’ I said.