Dickon was constantly with me, but he was clever. He did not suggest that I stay. He wanted Eversleigh to work its own magic on me.
I was conscious, too, of the peace of the countryside. There was a quietness in the air and I realized how different it was in that land from which that strip of water divided us. When I looked at those waves lapping on the shore, sometimes grey and angry, sometimes blue and gently swishing, I thought it was the great divide between this peaceful happy life and that of suspense and brooding menace.
I knew, when I was alone in my bedroom at night, that I wanted to be here, to stay here. It was my home, my country. And Dickon was here. If I were truthful I must admit I wanted Dickon.
Sabrina was watchful. To her Dickon was the whole meaning of life. She was blind to his faults; she thought he was perfect. Surely she must know what he was really like. Did she refuse to see it because she did not want to? She adjusted all his actions to fit her perfect picture of him. Her face changed when he appeared. Her eyes would follow him, her mouth curved in gentle contentment.
‘Nobody,’ I once said to Dickon, ‘has any right to be adored as your mother adores you. It’s irreligious. It’s blasphemous. I really do believe she thinks you are greater than God.’
He did refer then to his plans. He said: ‘There is only one thing needed to make me absolutely perfect in her eyes.’
‘Nonsense,’ I retorted. ‘There is nothing. You are that already.’
‘Yes, there is. She wants me to be happily married and nobody will be quite right for Sabrina but you.’
‘God is perfect … omnipotent, omniscient … and that is you in Sabrina’s eyes. Never mind whomsoever you marry, provided it is your choice; that will be good enough for Sabrina.’
‘It won’t be. It has to be you, for she knows that you are the only one for me. Therefore you are for her. Give her her heart’s desire. She is a lady who likes everything to be well ordered, neatly rounded off. She took the husband your grandmother Clarissa wanted, and although to her her marriage was perfect—you see, she finds perfection in her relationships—she was always worried because she took him from Clarissa. Now if Clarissa’s granddaughter married the son of that other Dickon whom both Clarissa and Sabrina loved, it would be a neat rounding off, wouldn’t it? Everyone can say amen and be happy.’
I laughed. ‘Except perhaps the two who had to bring about this neat solution.’
‘They would be happiest of all. You are learning that, Lottie. I have always known it.’
‘Oh, I remember. You were always omniscient. I shall have to go back to my father soon.’
‘We will bring him over here. I assure you that in a very short time men in his position will be giving everything they have to get away from the coming storm.’
That was the only time he mentioned our marriage. He let Eversleigh do the rest and more and more every day I longed to give in.
One night after I had retired there was a knock on my door and Sabrina came in.
‘I was afraid you might have gone to bed,’ she said. ‘I want you to have a look at this.’
‘What is it?’
‘It’s a diary.’
‘Oh … an old one? One of those family ones?’
‘Not those weighty journals. This is quite a slim volume, you see. When Griselda died we found it in Isabel’s room. It was caught up at the back of a drawer, otherwise I am sure Griselda would never have allowed it to fall into our hands.’
‘A diary! I always thought it was like prying to read other people’s diaries.’
‘So do I. But I did read this one. I felt it was important, and I do think it is important that you should see it.’
‘Why me?’
She laid the book on the table beside my bed and I felt reluctant to touch it.
‘Because I think you may have some misconception. This is the truth. It must be, because it was written by Isabel herself.’
‘Has Dickon seen it?’
‘No. I did not think that was necessary. I did give it to the twins, though. Griselda used to make a great deal of Jonathan. She used to have him to her room.’
‘Yes. I do remember that.’
‘She had a crazy notion that David killed Isabel. I suppose it was the second birth which weakened her, but Griselda—mad old woman—actually blamed David. That shows how senile she was.’
‘Yes. I see what you mean.’
‘Read it,’ she said. ‘I think it will tell you a great deal.’
She kissed me and left me.
The reluctance to open the book persisted. Diaries contained private thoughts. Perhaps it held an account of Dickon’s meeting with her, their early life together. In view of my own strong feelings for Dickon I found the thought of prying quite distasteful.
However I got into bed and lighted an extra candle, opened the book and started to read.
I became absorbed almost immediately. I was seeing Isabel clearly—the quiet, shy daughter of a powerful man—a man who loved her and wanted the best for her but who really did not understand what was the best.
There were references to Griselda. She was mentioned on every page. There were intimate little details.
‘Griselda curled my hair in rags last night. I found it hard to sleep for them, but Griselda said I must keep them in so that I had curls next day.’ ‘Griselda has put a blue fichu on my white dress. It looks rather pretty.’ There were accounts of assemblies she had been to. She wrote of her dread of them, her painful shyness. I went on reading until I came to the entry about Dickon.
Today I met the most handsome man I have ever seen. He is in London from the country where, my father says, he owns a large estate. He asked me to dance and I did … most awkwardly. He said he wasn’t much of a dancer either and he didn’t mind my mistakes at all. He talked a great deal, so cheerily and wittily. I couldn’t keep up with him. My father was very pleased.
Yesterday my father sent for me and I knew he had something very serious to say because he called me ‘Daughter’. ‘Daughter,’ he said, ‘you have a suitor.’ Then he told me it was Richard Frenshaw. It is that wonderful man who danced with me. I don’t know how I feel. I am in a panic and yet it might have been that horrible old Lord Standing. Instead it is this wonderful, handsome man. ‘But,’ I said to Griselda, ‘at least Lord Standing would not have minded that I am not clever and that my hair will not curl unless it is all night in rags, and that I stumble when I dance and am shy.’ Griselda said, Nonsense. He would be lucky to get me, and he knew it. I had a great fortune coming to me and that was when men liked. Moreover she would always be with me. That was my great comfort.
There were several entries about the clothes which were being made and the announcement of the engagement at a ball given by her father. There were meetings with Dickon—brief and never alone. And then the entry: ‘Tomorrow I am to marry Richard Frenshaw.’
Evidently after that she had not written in it for a long time. Then there were the brief entries.
‘This afternoon it rained and there was some thunder.’ ‘Went to the Charletons’ ball.’ ‘We had a dinner party for twenty.’ Just bald statements with very little hint of what she was feeling. Then it changed.
Another disappointment. Shall I ever achieve my heart’s desire? If I could have a little baby it would make up for everything. Dickon wants a boy. All men do. I wouldn’t mind what it was … just a baby. That’s what I want.
I saw Dr Barnaby today. He said there should be no more pregnancies and that he should speak to my husband. I begged him not to. I told him how much having a child meant to me. He shook his head and kept saying, ‘No. No.’ Then he said: ‘You have tried and failed. You did your best. Now, no more.’ They don’t understand, I must have a child. If I don’t I shall have lost Dickon completely. It is the only way.