Voices in a Haunted Room (42 page)

In that moment her reflection had looked wicked, ruthless.

Yes, I said to myself. I believe she would.

I was relieved when they left, although the days seemed empty and colourless.

I went over to see Aunt Sophie, who still mourned Alberic and talked of little else. She had been deeply shocked by Jessica’s disappearance and talked a good deal about that. Any disaster attracted her sometimes I felt that, when there was a happy ending, as in the case of Jessica, she lost interest. Although, of course, there was the question of who and why; and this could involve a great deal of unpleasant speculation.

Dolly Mather was with her as much as possible. I had been to Grasslands to call on Mrs. Trent once or twice. The first time I had been shocked by her appearance. She felt the death of Evie very much and she could not stop herself raging against the cruelty of fate and the wickedness of the one she spoke of as “the man.” I think if Harry Farringdon had put in an appearance she might well have tried to do him an injury, which was all very understandable, of course.

Then later when I called, Dolly told me that she was lying down. She was not well and felt too ill to receive visitors. She hardly ever went out. The servants at Grasslands reported to ours that she was getting “a little strange.”

There was gloom all round us and it all stemmed from Alberic’s death.

David announced that he had to go to London to procure some stores for use on the estate; he also had to see our agents about the sale of farm produce. Some of our farmers had been introducing extra sheep to their land, and the wool products were requiring more and more marketing.

My mother said to me: “Why don’t you go with David? You haven’t been in London together since your honeymoon. It would make all the difference to him if you went. Instead of regarding it as rather a bore he’d look forward to it. You have the house to yourselves because Jonathan and Millicent will be at Pettigrew Hall.”

I hesitated and she went on: “I know you are thinking of Amaryllis. I understand just how you feel.” She winced. The memory was still more than she could bear. “She would be perfectly safe with us here. We’d guard her as we do Jessica. You know Grace can’t bear the children out of her sight. I still have to impress on her twenty times a day that what happened was not her fault. Jessica would miss her if she went. They are getting such little people now. They notice everything. Do stop fretting about what’s happening here. We can manage without you for a week or so, you know.”

“Oh Maman,” I said, “I should like to go, but…”

“No buts. Why, if you stayed at home because you were afraid to leave Amaryllis, I should take that as an insult to me. Amaryllis will be under surveillance night and day.”

So I decided to go.

We went by post chaise, which was perhaps the most pleasant way of taking to the road, for the posting houses were the very best of the inns, and although those who travelled this way paid highly for it, it was well worthwhile to enjoy the extra comfort.

We travelled leisurely with two stops on the way. It seemed, now that I was accompanying him, more like a holiday than a business trip, said David.

I found it thrilling driving into the City, to see in the distance the bastions of the Tower and to drive along by the river and suddenly to find myself caught up in that vitality.

The servants were prepared for us at the house, for my mother had sent a message on ahead of us to tell them to expect us. I remembered how we had come here just after the wedding—in the days of my innocence, I thought; and I was glad that Jonathan was at Pettigrew Hall. I should not have come if he had not been.

David, too, was remembering, and we had a pleasant candlelit meal in the dining room while the servants flitted silently in and out attending to our needs. David was blissfully happy but it was at times like this that my conscience troubled me most.

Then we retired to our bedroom—that pleasant gracious room, so different from Eversleigh—with its long windows to let in the light and the delicate curtains and Queen Anne furniture.

David said: “You have made me very happy, Claudine… happier than I ever thought to be.” Then he kissed me and noticed that there were tears on my cheeks.

“Happy tears?” he asked, and I nodded, for how could I tell him that they were tears of contrition and that while I loved him for his goodness, his gentleness, his selflessness, I could not stop thinking of someone else who was as different from him as a man could be, someone who was ruthless, without sentiment, dangerous… and yet who had taken possession of my mind as well as my body and whom—although I deplored my bondage to him and my deceit towards the finest of husbands—I could not stop loving. Was that the word? Perhaps not. Obsession was more apt.

I tried to shake off my melancholy, to refuse to admit to my regrets that it was not Jonathan who was with me now. I tried not to think of him when David made love to me.

But the truth was that I was obsessed, and here in London, which was so much more his home than anywhere else because he spent so much time here, it was stronger than ever.

I felt better the next day. I accompanied David on his various journeys and I was glad that I was quite knowledgeable about the matters which were discussed. He was delighted in my interest.

I thought: We are so suited. We understand each other. We are a perfect match. The other… is madness. It is like a disease. I must cure myself and I can when I do not see him.

The following day David said: “There will be little business done today. There will be the crowds in the streets for the opening of Parliament. It might be fun to go out and mingle.”

“I hope we shall see the King,” I said. “I wonder what he looks like now.”

David shook his head rather sadly: “Very different from that bright and earnest young man who came to the throne thirty-five years ago.”

“Well, people must change in thirty-five years—even kings.”

“He has had his trials. His family, for one thing. The Prince of Wales has caused him great anxiety.”

“Yes, of course. The morganatic marriage with Mrs. Fitzherbert, and now his strained relations with Princess Caroline.”

“And not only that. He has never got over the loss of the American Colonies, for which he blames himself.”

“And rightly so.”

“Well, that makes it all the more a burden on his mind.”

Indeed it did, I thought, and wondered why I turned everything back to my own case.

“He says over and over again, ‘I shall never lay on my last pillow in quiet as long as I remember my American Colonies.’ He does repeat himself. It’s a feature of that mental illness he had about seven years ago. I am sorry for him. He tried so hard to be a good king.”

“He’s recovered now though.”

“They say so, but I think he is a little strange at times.”

“Poor King. It is all very sad.”

“And more so because he is a good man… a family man… a man who has tried to do his duty.”

“Well, I shall look forward to seeing him. What do you propose we do?”

“Go out. Take little money, wear no jewellery of value and join the sightseers.”

“It sounds interesting.”

“We’ll get out early then.”

When we did go out the people were already lining the streets, but there was something about certain elements in the crowd which was rather disturbing.

One or two seemed to be talking in raised voices. I caught their words as we passed along. High taxes… low wages… unemployment… the price of bread.

I called David’s attention to this and he said: “There are always people like that in the crowds. They find it a little dull and are trying to bring about what they think of as excitement.”

We went into a coffee house and drank hot chocolate while we listened to the talk. It was mainly about the relationship of the Prince of Wales and his wife. He was reputed to have said: “Praise be to Heaven, I do not have to sleep with that disgusting woman any more.”

They were all laughing and speculating as to the sex of the child and whether it would resemble its father or mother. The Prince of Wales was not exactly popular but there was no doubt that the people were deeply interested in his affairs.

When the King’s carriage was due to arrive we were out in the streets. The crowd along the roadside was deep and David drew me a little apart from it. We were standing there when the King rode by, too far to see him clearly, and as I was straining to get a glimpse of him in his splendid robes, suddenly a shot rang out. There was half a second of deep silence. The bullet had struck the window of the King’s carriage. Pandemonium broke out then. People were shouting. They were pointing at the window of an empty house. We were all gazing at a window from which the shot must have been fired.

The King’s coachmen whipped up the horses and the carriage trundled on. Some men were running into the empty house. David put an arm round me. Neither of us spoke.

There was noise everywhere. People seemed to be shouting at each other.

“The King… do you think they shot him?” I stammered.

“I don’t know. Come on. Let’s go in here.”

It was the coffee house which we had previously visited. People were crowding in, talking all the time.

“Did you see? Is this the end of George? Is the Prince now the King?”

“What happened? What happened?”

The trouble was that nobody was sure, and being unsure, they provided their own stories. Rumour was wild. We were in revolt. It was Paris all over again. The revolution had started.

“Not here,” said someone. “Not here. We’ve seen enough of revolution from the other side of the water.”

“He’s not dead. He went straight on to Parliament.”

“He’s got courage, I will say that for him. He may be bumbling old Farmer George, but he’s got courage.”

“Who was it?”

“One of those anarchists, they say. They didn’t get him. He fired from an empty house and got away.”

“We shall hear the truth in due course,” said David.

When we left the coffee house the King was returning from opening Parliament. I saw him in his carriage and felt a great relief that he was unharmed. The mob seemed a little downcast—disappointed perhaps that he had survived. Why do people always relish disaster? I wondered.

He sat there, old and resolute. I felt sorry for him, for I knew it was true that he had tried hard to do his duty. It was not his fault that he had been thrust into a position for which his mental capabilities and his state of mind made him unfit.

I hated to see the cruel faces in the mob. It was distressing to see how they threw stones at the carriage. One hit the King on his cheek. He caught it in his hands and sat there impassive, as though he was quite indifferent to the abuse.

The carriage passed on and David said to me: “Would you like to go home?”

I said I would, and we walked back to Albemarle Street in silence.

The next day we heard that the King had returned safely to his palace and that when the bullet had struck his carriage he had been less agitated than his companions. He was reputed to have said: “My lords, there is One who disposes of all things, and in Him I trust.”

He kept the stone which had hit him—as a memento, he said, of the civilities he had received that day.

“David,” I asked, “what does this mean? Is what happened in France going to happen here?”

David shook his head. “No. I feel sure it won’t. There are not the same reasons. But we have to find these agitators. We have to stop them. I’d be ready to swear that many of these people who were throwing stones at the King’s carriage had become caught up in the excitement of the moment and ordinarily would have been the King’s docile subjects. They are egged on by the agitators. Mob frenzy is a madness, and the agitators know this. They start haranguing the people, telling them of their wrongs, and before long there is a riot… as we saw today.”

“Is it known who these agitators are?”

“They would not exist for long if it were. They are clever. The ringleaders get others to do the task for them, and I’d be ready to swear that they are moving about the country so that they don’t become too well known in one place.”

I was sure he was right and the following day a proclamation was issued offering a reward of a thousand pounds for information about those who had attempted to assassinate the King.

“Do you think there will be a response?” I asked.

“It’s a great deal of money,” mused David, “but I doubt it. These people are well organized. They are professional revolutionaries. It must have been well planned; the assassin was in his place at the precise moment the carriage passed along.”

“Many would know it was due to pass this way.”

“That is more than likely.”

Later we heard that Lord Grenville was introducing a bill into the Lords “for the safety of His Majesty’s person,” and more important, Mr. Pitt in the Commons was making his plans for the prevention of seditious meetings.

Later that day Jonathan and Millicent came to London and the peaceful domesticity was shattered.

Because of the disturbances David said it was necessary for us to stay in London rather longer than we had originally intended, for in view of the attempt on the King’s life, people were less inclined to discuss business. The attempt had been made on the twenty-ninth of October and we were still in London on the fifth of November.

I knew that Jonathan had hastily come to London because of what had happened. I guessed that more disturbances were expected and there was a secret state of emergency.

Jonathan looked alert, keen-eyed, as he did when he was in the throes of an adventure. Clearly he had come to London because he had work to do.

Millicent was serene. I believed that she did not care whether she was in London or the country as long as she was with Jonathan.

She told me that she believed she was to have a child. It was early days yet but she was sure… or almost. It was clear that the possibility made her very happy indeed.

It was the fifth of November, a very significant date in English history, because it was the anniversary of that day when Guy Fawkes had tried to blow up the Houses of Parliament and had been discovered just in time. It was a date which had been celebrated ever since, and even though it had happened long ago, in the year 1605 to be precise, people were still as zealous in their determination to remember the day as they ever had been.