The Adultress (20 page)

Time passed so quickly and I had given up hope of ever seeing Gerard again. I did not think of him so frequently as I had in the past and when I did it was to look back on that adventure as something not quite real. I could even believe that Lottie was Jean-Louis’s daughter. She was four years old now and beautiful. I suppose all mothers think that their children are more beautiful and intelligent than others but I don’t think I was exaggerating her charms. Those violet eyes, with their fringe of dark lashes, and dark curling hair alone would have made her a beauty. She was not plump as some children are; her face was oval, her chin a little pointed. There were times when she looked older than her years. She was spritelike, mischievous, not fractious but fun-loving. Needless to say she was adored.

My mother, who could only vaguely remember her own mother—the legendary Carlotta—said she was sure there was a resemblance between my daughter and her great-grandmother.

Dickon had never betrayed by a look or a word that he knew of what had happened to me at Eversleigh before Lottie’s birth. He never referred to my surprising him in the barn with Evalina. Perhaps he had not asked her what she had meant when she had shouted at me. It might have been the sort of remark that could have been thrown at anyone. Perhaps he thought that his behavior with Evalina was commonplace—as it might well be with him—and that my stepping into the barn at such a moment was no more than opening someone’s door before they were properly dressed.

His attitude toward me had never been of a friendly nature. He had always sensed my disapproval—or rather my refusal to adore him as his mother and my mother did.

Our visit to Eversleigh had changed him, though. He became thoughtful and serious; he was to go away to school but he persuaded his mother and mine that he should not go.

He wanted to learn about the estate.

“Darling,” said Sabrina, “you have to be educated, you know.”

“I am. I’ll go on with old Faulkner. But I want to be here. I want to be with you, dear mother, and you, Aunt Clarissa.”

It amazed me how he could get his way with them. He was not demonstrative by nature and to have him declaring that he wanted to be with them—as though for their own sakes—seemed to put them into such a delirium of joy that they were ready to grant him anything.

They exchanged glances, their eyes brim full of joy.

“Well, shall we leave it for a while?” said my mother. “Postpone school for another year, shall we say?”

He was now in his fifteenth year but he looked eighteen. He had shot up amazingly and was nearly six feet tall and there was more growing time left to him. He was very handsome, with light blond hair—thick and waving—and very piercing blue eyes; he had perfect teeth and his skin was flawless; moreover, his feature was so perfectly chiseled that he might have been a Greek god. In fact he reminded me of Michelangelo’s
David.
There was one flaw and it was only apparent at times. It was most obvious when that calculating look came into his face and then it reminded me of a fox’s mask. Cunning was there, ruthlessness, an absolute disregard for what stood in the way of his getting what he wanted. But I seemed to be the only one who saw this. I knew that he had tried to shift the blame for the fire onto the gardener’s boy. I would remember that because it was the beginning of the decline in Jean-Louis’s health. I knew too that for some time he had come to manhood physically. I had seen his watchful eyes on some of the prettier maids; he reminded me then of a fox waiting to spring on a chicken. I knew that he was growing up into a ruthlessly ambitious man whose sexual appetites would be voracious and that he would not care in what manner they were satisfied as long as they were. Perhaps these qualities were born in him—although I understood his father had been a kindly idealistic man, and Sabrina might have been rebellious in her youth but there was an inherent goodness in her. But the indulgence he had received from those two doting women had certainly not helped to eradicate his less attractive qualities.

But there was no doubt now that he was going to work hard. He was constantly with James Fenton and would ride with him round the estate listening intently to all that passed between the agent and the farmers. He was also often in the company of Jean-Louis, which meant that he came over from the Hall almost every day.

“That boy has a real flair for estate management,” said Jean-Louis. “He reminds me of myself at his age. I always wanted to manage the place.”

“He seems to have changed so suddenly,” I said. “He did not seem to be interested in work before.”

My mother and Sabrina were delighted. They thought he was more wonderful than ever—if that were possible.

I found James Fenton very interesting. He was fond of talking. He had been abroad for some time in France so that he felt he had a knowledge of that country. That was what had first aroused my interest in him. He was a very good agent, Jean-Louis said; and he was grateful to have someone on whom he could rely just now, for he tired very easily and he could not walk at all without the aid of his stick. I often wondered whether he was getting worse but he always shrugged aside my inquiries, and as I knew he hated talking of his disability I refrained from mentioning it.

They were peaceful days and there were long periods when I was lulled into a sense of security. My life with Jean-Louis was satisfactory. I knew my attitude toward him had changed since I had made that fateful visit to Eversleigh. I had been very solicitous towards him and he was immensely grateful and I believe he thought it was something to do with his disability. He loved me very tenderly and was always anxious to assure me of this. I knew I was lucky in my husband. I did sometimes wonder what life would have been like with Gerard—wild, passionate, stormy. There would have been jealousy perhaps, misunderstandings, quarrels and reconciliations. Life would have been lived on a different plane, but would our love have stood the stress? I wondered. Could such violent passion as that which we had shared go on? Surely its power must diminish. Sometimes I even thought it had been so overwhelming for me because it was illicit. I couldn’t understand myself yet. I still longed for that ecstasy I had shared so briefly with Gerard. That comes once in a lifetime, I told myself. You achieved it; you have recovered from it; you have had a miraculous escape. Be contented.

And I had my Lottie—my delightful wayward sprite of a child, who was, my mother was fond of saying, so unlike what I had been at her age. “You were such a good little thing, Zipporah,” she said often. “So easy to understand.”

So life went on. Uncle Carl coddled and contented through our clever strategy with his Jessie; myself a happy wife and mother who had succeeded in forgetting her own now long ago lapse; and my mother and Sabrina looking on with admiration at their darling’s preoccupation with work.

James Fenton said to me: “It is a good thing really that he is taking such an interest. It could be useful to have him working with us when he’s older, for Jean-Louis gets more tired than he will admit, and young Dickon does make himself useful.”

I knew what was in Dickon’s mind. He believed that one day Jean-Louis and I would go to Eversleigh and that he would inherit Clavering. Anything that was his would loom very important in his mind. Thus it was with Clavering. He saw it through new eyes.

There were long summer evenings after Lottie was in bed when we sat and talked—Jean-Louis, James Fenton and I. There were occasions when Dickon would join us; and if he did the talk was all about the estate.

One day a cousin of James’s called on him. He was a soldier and he had come from France and stayed a few days with James before going on to his family in the Midlands. James brought him to sup with us and we learned from him a great deal of what was happening on the Continent.

The war was still dragging on but, said James’s cousin Albert, both sides were getting tired of it and as no subsidies were being sent fighting was desultory. Each side seemed to spend the time in retreating and advancing and no progress was made.

“It’s a mess … as most wars are. It can’t go on … and it’s inconclusive anyway. They say there are negotiations beginning for peace.”

I was thoughtful. If there were peace, I thought, would Gerard come again?

“The people here are indifferent,” said James. “They see the war as something happening a long way off and therefore of no concern to them.”

“The taxes to pay for it are their concern,” his cousin reminded him.

“Well, there are always taxes for something.”

His cousin was thoughtful for a moment. Then he said: “Something is happening in France.”

“What?” I asked eagerly.

He turned to me, his brow puckering. “There’s a certain mood among the people. They resent the king so much that he dare not appear in Paris: He has had a road built between Versailles and Compiègne to bypass the city so that he need not ride through it.”

“You mean he is afraid of his people?”

“He is too indifferent to them to feel fear. He just despises them. He does not want to see them. Their problems are of no interest to him.”

“But surely he depends on their approval to hold his throne!”

“The French monarchy is different from ours … just as the people are. They are more formal … and yet they could be more terrible. They are more excitable than we are … more impulsive. Though I suppose the people here would rise up if provoked too far.”

“What happens there?” I asked. I was thinking of the Château d’Aubigné, the name of which was so engraved on my memory that I would never forget it.

“There is a subtle change. The king is so dissolute. He cares for nothing but his own pleasure. He leaves everything to the Pompadour, who is consequently hated and shares the blame with the king. He seems concerned only with his own debaucheries and the infamous Parc aux Cerfs is discussed and reviled throughout the country. There is the dauphin, whom the king hates. They say he does not wish to see him because he will be his successor and he cannot bear to think of death. Even the nobility is changing and the wealthy are buying themselves into the aristocracy. It isn’t the same. They haven’t the same sense of responsibility. I don’t like it. It makes me very uneasy.”

“Is this feeling general throughout France?” asked Jean-Louis.

“So many seem intent on nothing but their own pleasure. The king for one. It has been said that he was heard to remark when warned of signs of unrest, ‘Oh, it will last my time.’ ‘And after you, sire?’ he was asked. ‘After me,’ he said, shrugging his shoulders, ‘the deluge.’”

“How terrible!” I cried.

“Oh, these things happen in countries,” said Jean-Louis. “Everything seems desperate and then there is a change … and prosperity comes and the dark days are forgotten.”

“I trust it will be so,” said James’s cousin.

While they were talking a caller arrived.

It was Hetty Hassock who had come to ask if James would call on her father in the morning when he was making his rounds.

James rose, smiling at Hetty.

“Well, of course I’ll come,” he said. “What time would suit your father? Say eleven o’clock?”

“That would suit him very well, I’m sure,” said Hetty. She was a very pretty girl about seventeen, I think, and rather different from the rest of the Hassock family. She had recently come to the farm, having been brought up by an aunt in London.

Hetty apologized for intruding and Jean-Louis assured her that she had done no such thing and he added: “Come and sit with us a moment, Hetty.” Hetty flushed a little and returned to the table. James looked pleased.

“Would you like to try this malmsey?” asked Jean-Louis. “We’re rather proud of it.”

Hetty declined gratefully but she sat down.

“How are you liking it at the farm?” I asked. “You must find it very different from London.”

“Oh yes, I miss the town … but everything is interesting here and I suppose I should be with my family.”

There were four Hassock girls and three boys. Hetty was quite different from all the others. I believed Farmer Hassock was very proud of her. I had heard him say only the other day “Our Het’s been brought up like a lady.”

While she sat there making light conversation I was struck by James Fenton’s expression. He was watching her with obvious pleasure. I thought, He’s halfway to falling in love with her—perhaps he is already there, and I felt pleased.

That night I mentioned it to Jean-Louis. He agreed with me that he had noticed.

“It would be a good thing for James to marry,” he said, “and I think Hetty would make him a good wife. She is intelligent as well as pretty and she is different from so many of the girls around here. More likes James himself. I’d be glad to see James marry. He’d feel more settled. Let’s hope something comes of it.”

The matter about which Farmer Hassock wanted to see James turned out to be the strip of land between his farm and that of Farmer Burrows. Long ago it appeared there had been some controversy about this particular spot because there was uncertainty as to which farm it had originally belonged. My father—who had been a lover of peace and who had really been more interested in gambling than the estate—had solved the problem by saying that neither should have it. Therefore it had been fenced off and lay idle for some years.

Now Farmer Hassock wanted a little more space for his wheat and he was sure that Farmer Burrows had forgotten all about the controversy which had been in the time of his father. He wondered whether he might take down the fence and take in this strip of land.

James and Jean-Louis discussed it for a while and they both agreed that to allow the land to lie idle was rather foolish when Hassock, who was a better farmer than Burrows in any case, could make good use of it.

“Let Hassock have it,” said James. “I’ll tell him to go ahead and prepare the land. It will need a bit of work after all these years. He should get a start on it right away.”

James rode over to the farm to tell Hassock the verdict and I had no doubt to have a word with Hetty while he was there.

It was a few days later when Dickon came over. We were at table still after the midday meal, for we liked to sit awhile and talk of the affairs of the estate and of the country as a whole.