‘Come in,’ called Jonathan.
Mr Raine assured me that this was the morning break and that the boys would not resume lessons for another fifteen minutes.
‘Then may I sit down and talk. I want to get to know you.’
Jonathan grinned at me; David looked interested.
‘I have a boy of my own in France,’ I said. ‘He must be about three years younger than you.’
‘Three years!’ said Jonathan with a look of contempt.
‘You were three years younger once,’ David reminded him.
‘That was a long time ago.’
‘Three years to be precise,’ said Mr Raine. ‘Now, boys, stop arguing and be civil to Madame de Tourville.’
‘You’re French,’ said Jonathan, who clearly said the first thing that came into his mind.
‘She knows that and doesn’t want you to tell her,’ added David, who seemed to have an irresistible urge to irritate his brother at every turn.
‘I am French,’ I explained, ‘because my father and my husband are. But I used to live here for a while before I went to France.’
‘That was years ago.’
‘Before you were born.’
They looked at me in wonder.
‘They are still too young to grasp the fact that there was a world here before they joined it,’ said Mr Raine.
‘I also have a little girl. She is very young … little more than a baby.’
They dismissed her as of no interest.
‘What is your boy’s name?’ asked Jonathan.
‘Charles. We call him Charlot.’
‘That’s a funny name,’ commented Jonathan.
‘It’s French, silly,’ said David. ‘Why didn’t you bring them with you?’
‘We had to come quickly and my daughter is too young to travel.’
‘Charlot could have come.’
‘Yes, I suppose he could.’
‘I wish he had,’ said Jonathan. ‘I’d have shown him my falcon. I’m teaching him. Jem Logger is showing me.’
‘Jonathan spends a great deal of time in the stables with his dogs and horses,’ said Mr Raine. ‘And now we have a falcon. He is, I am afraid, far more interested in them than he is in literature and mathematics.’
David smirked and Jonathan shrugged his shoulders.
‘Does Charlot have a tutor?’ asked David.
‘Not yet. He only has a nursery governess at the moment.’
‘Like Grissel?’ asked David and the boys looked at each other and laughed.
‘Grissel?’ I said. ‘Now, I believe I saw her.’
‘She doesn’t come out much.’
‘But she is your nurse.’
Jonathan said scornfully: ‘We don’t have a nurse. We’re too old.’
‘Then Grissel … ’
‘She came with the boys’ mother,’ explained Mr Raine. ‘She keeps herself very much apart, but continues to stay here. She is…. rather strange.’
The boys exchanged glances and smiled. The subject of Grissel seemed the only one they could agree about.
‘She walks in her sleep,’ said David.
Jonathan made claws of his fingers and put on an expression of malevolence at which David laughed.
Mr Raine changed the subject and showed me some of the boys’ work. Jonathan had a talent for sketching which rather surprised me. He had done some pictures of his dogs and horses which showed that he had a really sensitive touch. I admired them, which pleased him very much.
‘Jonathan’s one talent in the schoolroom,’ said Mr Raine. ‘But he is a great sportsman. David, of course, has sharp wits. He’s the academic.’
Both boys looked very pleased with themselves and it occurred to me that Mr Raine did not have a very easy time.
I looked at their work and listened attentively, but I would rather have heard more about Grissel.
I asked Sabrina.
‘Oh, Grissel is a silly old woman,’ she said. ‘I wish she would go, but where would she go to? She came with Isabel. She had been her nurse and you know how fanatical these old nurses can be about their charges. When Isabel died I think it turned her head slightly. Sometimes she seems to believe that Isabel is still here. It is very disconcerting but what can we do? We can’t ask her to go. She is too old to take another post.’
‘I know how it is with these nannies and have often thought how sad it must be for them when their children grow up and no longer need them. Then they go on to the next … if they are young enough and it all starts again.’
‘Unfortunately poor Griselda is not young enough. Oh, she is all right here. She has her two little rooms there in the east wing. Her food is taken in to her and we forget her for the most part. The only trouble is that she seems to have a most extraordinary attitude towards the twins. She dotes on Jonathan and seems to dislike David. It is odd. David doesn’t care. They both used to play tricks on her until that was stopped. But she is quiet most of the time.’
‘I saw her looking out of one of the windows when I was coming in with Dickon.’
‘Oh yes. She watches Dickon all the time. He laughs at it and takes no notice. You know how he is. Your grandmother didn’t like it very much. She said it was uncanny. But it is just Griselda’s way.’
I didn’t think much more about Griselda until a few days later when I came into the house and saw what I can only describe as a shape looking over the banisters. It was there and gone in a flash so that I wondered whether I had imagined I saw something. It was nothing much, just one of those occurrences which, for some reason, send a shiver down one’s spine.
Then I became aware of that figure at the window watching me when I came in. I saw her once or twice before it occurred to me that she had some special interest in me.
A week had passed and we were still at Eversleigh. My mother wanted to get back but every time she suggested leaving there were protests and she was persuaded to wait another week before making plans for departure.
I was not sorry. Eversleigh was beginning to cast its spell on me—but perhaps that was Dickon. It was all very well for me to tell myself that he was making no impression on me and that I saw him clearly for what he was. Each day I awoke with a sense of excitement and it was all due to the fact that I knew I was going to be with Dickon.
Nothing had changed since those early days—except of course that I looked at him differently. I was no longer the wide-eyed innocent child. I saw him as he was, a buccaneering adventurer, determined to get the most out of life, completely self-centred, and a man whose own interests would always come first. The frightening thing was that it didn’t make any difference. I still wanted to be with him; the hours were dull when he was not there, although we spent most of the time in verbal conflict that was more exciting than the most friendly conversation with anyone else.
Our afternoon ride had become a ritual now. All the time he was trying to charm me, to lull my suspicions and to give him the opportunity of seducing me. So far I had resisted his attentions and I intended to go on doing so.
When we rode past Enderby, he said, ‘Why don’t you come and have a look over the house?’
‘Whatever for? I have no intention of buying a house so why should I want to look over it?’
‘Because it’s interesting. It is a house with a history. It’s haunted, you know, by all the ghosts of the past … those who have lived such evil lives that they can’t rest.’
‘I expect it is very dirty.’
‘Cobwebs. Dark shadows. Strange shapes looming up. I’d be there to protect you, Lottie.’
‘I would need no protection from cobwebs and shadows.’
‘Ah, but what about the ghosts?’
‘I don’t think I have anything to fear from them either. Why should they be interested in me?’
‘They are interested in any who brave their domains. But I see you are afraid.’
‘I am not afraid.’