Zipporah's Daughter (Knave of Hearts) (36 page)

I wanted to forget that Dickon loved power and money more than anything else, that he had married Isabel for what she could bring him, and that her faithful nurse had accused him of murder; and although there was such happiness at Eversleigh there were dark shadows too. I thought a great deal about Isabel, and those months when she was awaiting the birth of babies that did not come and the two who had killed her. How frightened she must have been, poor Isabel! It was as though her ghost had remained behind to come to me in quiet moments and sometimes very happy ones to remind me.

Dickon was constantly there. Charlot admired him very much, so did Louis-Charles who was very happy at Eversleigh. Lisette had never really given him that deep mother love which children need; she had not wanted him and had so disliked the farmer whom she had married that she must see that period of her life often through Louis-Charles. He threw himself into the life of Eversleigh and he and Charlot often went off together and came back with stories of the inns they had visited and the towns through which they had passed.

Claudine loved Eversleigh too. She went riding with the rest of them on some days and was delighted when Jonathan taught her how to take high jumps. I was a little worried about her, but Dickon said she had to learn and Jonathan would take care of her. She enjoyed the attention of both twins and I fancied rather revelled in bestowing her attentions first on one, then on the other. At Eversleigh it was brought home to me more than ever how fast my daughter was growing up.

Time was flying past.

‘Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,

Old time is still a-flying,

And this same flower that blooms today Tomorrow will be dying …’

sang Sabrina, as she sat at the spinet and I knew that she meant me to take heed.

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.

There is to be another chance. Griselda will be angry. She hates Dickon because of this. It is silly of her, but then she is silly sometimes. I know it is only because of her feeling for me, but she is so difficult. She gets so anxious and worried. She frightens me. I haven’t told her yet. I haven’t told anyone. I want to be sure. I am determined this time my child will be born.

They know. Dickon is delighted. That makes me so happy. He takes a lot of notice of me and makes me take care of myself. I could be happy if only … But it will be all right this time. It must be.

Dr Barnaby has been today. I have had a long talk with him. He is concerned about my condition. He says he should not have allowed me to dissuade him from speaking to my husband. ‘However,’ he said, ‘it is done. You must be very careful. You must rest and rest. If you can get through the first three months we can still hope.’

Three months … and all is well. How I long for the time to pass. Every morning I awake and I say to myself rather like someone in the Bible: ‘I am with child. God be praised.’

My time is getting near. I have dreams … sometimes nightmares. It is because of all those failures. I saw Dr Barnaby today. I had a long talk with him. I said to him: ‘I must have this child. More than anything I want it.’ ‘I know that,’ he replied. ‘Now pray don’t get upset. It is bad for the little one.’ ‘I have had so many disappointments,’ I said. ‘I couldn’t bear another.’ ‘Do as you are told,’ he answered, ‘and it will very likely be all right.’ ‘Sometimes,’ I said, ‘there is a choice between mother and child. If there is a choice I want it to be the child who is saved.’ ‘You’re talking nonsense,’ he said. But I knew I wasn’t. I said, ‘I want you to promise me … ’ He looked exasperated and I remembered how he used to frighten me when I was a little girl and I hadn’t taken my physic. ‘This is nonsense,’ he said sternly. ‘You are worrying yourself about something which hasn’t happened.’ But I refused to be frightened of him. I insisted, ‘But it may. I have had difficult pregnancies, all of which so far have ended in disaster. I know that if I failed this time there would not be another chance. I want you to promise me … that if this situation should arise you will save the child and let me go.’ ‘These matters are for a doctor to decide when they happen,’ he said. ‘I know,’ I cried. ‘I am saying if … if …
if
… !’ ‘You are getting agitated,’ he said, ‘and that is bad for the child.’ ‘I shall be more agitated until I have your promise.’ ‘This is very unethical,’ he said severely. But I would not let him go. I made him swear. I brought my Bible to him, for I knew he was a very religious man, and only when he began to get alarmed for my state did he swear. He said, ‘If such a contingency should arise—and there is no reason to believe it will—and if there should be a choice between the lives of the mother or the child, then I swear I will save the child.’ He stayed by me for five minutes until he had satisfied himself that I was calm. I was calm, calm and happy, for something told me that whatever happened there would be a child.’

There was one more entry.

The time is near. It could be any time now. Today I went and looked at my nursery. The cradle is ready for the child. I had a vision. It was so strange. The cradle seemed to be surrounded by light and I knew there was a healthy child in it. I did not see myself. It seemed unimportant. The child was there.

I laid down the book. I was deeply moved.

The next morning Sabrina looked at me expectantly, when I put Isabel’s diary in her hands.

I told her how touched I had been.

‘She was such a dear, good girl. I remember it so well. She was so long in labour. Jonathan was born easily enough. It was David. They had to take him away from her and she didn’t survive. Dr Barnaby was very unhappy. When I saw the diary I knew why. I often wondered if he could have saved Isabel at the cost of David. It would not have occurred to me to think so if I had not read the diary. But I wanted you to see it because of Griselda. I think it turned her brain. Isabel with her child … the whole meaning of life to her. When she lost her there was nothing to live for, so she went back to the past. She was bitter and angry and she blamed Dickon. She had it in her mind that there had been a choice between Isabel and the baby and that Dickon had made the choice to save the child. She called him a murderer. I wondered whether Isabel had ever mentioned her own feelings to Griselda. It was clearly very much on her mind, as you see from the diary. It was dreadful to live in the house with that. I wanted to turn her away but your grandmother was against it, and I don’t think Griselda could have gone on living if she hadn’t had Isabel’s things to brood on. It was a great relief when she died.’