The adulteress (44 page)

"He's been dead for some time," he said.

"Yes," I answered.

Charles bent over and put his face close to the dead one.

"Charles," I said, "he did it. He took the bottle from the cupboard."

"I thought . . ."

"Yes. I had the key in the secret drawer . . . but he knew it was there. It was the obvious place to put it . . . and he knew about the drawer in that desk. He came and got the key and the bottle. . . . He had talked to me about it just before. He had said it was the best way. I told him not to talk like that . . . but he must have had it in his mind to do it."

"Where is the bottle?"

"I put it back in the cupboard."

"Go and get it."

I did so. He looked at it. "When did you get this? Two days ago? My God, he's had enough to kill three people."

"It was what he wanted. He couldn't endure the pain anymore."

"Zipporah," he said quietly, "there mustn't be talk about this. In view of everything ... we can't have it said that he died of an overdose of laudanum. . . . People might say . . ."

"That I gave it to him?"

"People will say anything."

"Charles ... you don't think . . . ?"

"Of course not. I understand how it happened."

"In a way I did kill him," I said. "I knew he was going to do

it . . . and I let him. That's as bad as killing, isn't it? I'm a murderess ... as well as an adulteress."

"Hush. Don't say such things." He looked round him. "For God's sake be careful. It may be that . . . never mind. The thing is now that Jean-Louis is dead. Life was intolerable for him. He suffered a great deal of pain and naturally it weakened his heart. He died of heart failure. It was to be expected. I expected it."

I wanted him to put his arms about me, to reassure me.

He looked at me sadly and said quietly: "We shall have to be very careful ... for a while."

Jean-Louis was buried in the Eversleigh mausoleum. There were many to mourn him for he had been very much liked.

"Poor gentleman," said the tenants, "he suffered enough, God knows. It can only be a happy release."

A happy release. That was the way to look at it.

I saw little of Charles. There was no excuse now for me to go to the house to collect the medicine. I did see him at Ender-by and we had snatched conversations. There had been no lovemaking. It seemed that we had lost our taste for it.

We met in the woods a little distance from the houses.

Then he was as tender as ever. "We'll be married," he said. "It's what I've always longed for. But we shall have to wait a year . . . and just at present it should not be known that we are meeting."

I was concerned about Lottie. She mourned Jean-Louis deeply. It was strange to see her subdued. Hetty said that she hardly ever went to see the children now. I spoke to Isabel about her and she said: "She needs a new interest. Why don't you let her give a hand in the hospital? I am sure they could do with auxiliary helpers. Charles says they are always short of staff. It's nothing much they can do . . . but they can make beds and take the food round and things like that. If you'd like me to speak to Charles . . ."

I said I would and as a result both Lottie and Miss Carter went off every other day to work in the hospital.

I think it did Lottie good because she seemed to take interest in the work and was now talking a great deal about the mothers and their babies.

Letters came from Clavering. As soon as the weather allowed it they would come over and now that poor Jean-Louis was gone there was nothing to keep me from coming to

them . . . often. I must pay a visit with Lottie. They longed to see me. But first they would come over to us.

There were always letters for Lottie which she would seize on with delight. She would take them to her room and emerge starry-eyed.

She was still young enough, I thought, to enjoy getting letters but she was growing up fast. She was mature for her age and it was touching to see her breaking out into womanhood.

I felt as though I were in limbo. The days seemed long. I filled them with trivial tasks and I kept telling myself: This must pass.

In a year's time I was to marry Charles. He had said that we had to try to forget everything that had gone before . . . and that applied to both of us. We had to start a new life. Once we were together we must never look back.

It was the end of March, a stormy day with rain clouds being harried across the sky by a blustering southwest wind.

I was in the hall when Lottie came in with Madeleine Carter. They had ridden home from the hospital and were soaked to the skin.

"Now you must get those wet things off right away," I said.

"All right," said Lottie. "Don't fuss, mama. All in good time."

"Good time is now," I said. "Come on."

I went with her into her room and while she was peeling off her riding skirt I got out fresh things from the drawers of her cupboard.

She stood before me without her bodice and hanging round her neck was a gold chain. I knew the chain well. I had given it to her myself but attached to it was a ring.

I looked at it in amazement.

A ring! And such a ring! It was a square-cut sapphire surrounded by diamonds.

I took it in my hand and looked at it.

She flushed a little. Then she said: "I'm betrothed. That's my betrothal ring."

"Betrothed! At your age!"

"I get older every day. I'm going to be married on the day I'm sixteen."

"Lottie! What do you mean? Who . . . ?"

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she said. "We went to London and chose it together."

"Who?" I said. "Who . . . ?"

She looked at me roguishly. "You're going to be surprised."

"Tell me," I said.

"Dickon."

"Dickon!" I felt as though the room was spinning round me. You don't mean . . . ?"

"I knew you'd be surprised. He said not to tell you . . . yet. So I wore the ring round my neck instead of on my finger."

"Dickon!" I said again. "But it's nonsense . . . it's absurd."

"Why?" she asked sharply.

"He's old . . ."

"He's not old. I don't like young boys in any case. Dickon is forever young . . . and he's not old really. He's about eleven years older than I am. That's nothing."

I said: "You must send that ring back."

"I shall not."

"You must stop this nonsense."

"Why are other people's love affairs nonsense . . . ?"

"You don't understand."

"I do. You think I'm a baby. You want me to stay a little girl forever because it makes you feel young. Mothers are like that."

"Oh no . . . no, Lottie," I said. "Anyone else . . . but not Dickon."

"Why don't you like him? Everybody else does. Grandmother and Aunt Sabrina thought it was wonderful. They said I was the luckiest girl. We had a party to celebrate . . . just among ourselves ... for now. Dear mama, don't quarrel. It has to be, you know. People have to marry. It won't make any difference to us . . . you and me . . . we'll always be the same."

I couldn't speak. I was so horrified.

She changed into her dry clothes, and taking the ring from the chain put it on her finger.

"There's no need for it to be a secret now," she said.

I couldn't talk to her anymore. I put my arms round her and held her against me. She thought that was acceptance of her engagement.

Then I left her and went to my room.

I wrote to Dickon.

"This has to stop. I shall never give my consent to a marriage between you and Lottie. I know how unhappy you will make her. I realize your motives. You wanted Eversleigh and see this as a way of getting it. I will never consent to this marriage and if Lottie married without my consent she should never inherit Eversleigh. I want you to stop this nonsense immediately. Zipporah."

I sent a messenger off at once and tried hard to grapple with this new problem.

A week had scarcely passed when he came to Eversleigh. I was glad that I saw him first. I was in the hall when he burst in, having left his horse in the stables.

"You look surprised," he said smiling blandly. "I thought I detected a certain urgency in your note."

"You have come to see me?"

"You and my adorable Lottie, of course. But you first. I have something to say to you. I don't think either of us want delay. Shall we go somewhere where we can be alone?"

"Come to my sitting room," I said. "Come quietly. I don't want anyone to know you are here yet."

"You mean . . . Lottie?"

"I mean anyone."

He seemed to dominate my sitting room as he did every room. He sat down on a chair, crossed his well-shaped legs, flicked a speck of dust from his fine hose and regarded me with a kind of tolerant amusement.

I said I was shocked to discover what had been going on.

"You are too easily shocked, Zipporah ... for a woman of the world."

I hated the veiled suggestion in the words.

I said: "Understand. There is no betrothal between you and Lottie."

"Oh, but there is! We have plighted our troth, as they say, and we have sworn that nothing . . . just nothing . . . shall stand in the way of our marriage."

"/ shall stand in the way."

"I don't think you will, Zipporah. You are a very sensible woman. I have always thought that. I have admired you, you know. At first you gave the impression of being a little dull . . . but we know different from that. You are a woman

who has lived dangerously. Oh yes, I have always had a great admiration for you, Zipporah."

"Spare the praises. I can't reciprocate."

"You are rather ungrateful, aren't you? Have you forgotten how once I saved your life?"

"You seem unable to forget it. And I am sure you had a reason for doing it other than saving me."

"Well, I was fond of you . . . and there was Eversleigh. You had to inherit it. Who knew who that crazy old Uncle Carl might have left it to, failing you!"

"You are quite cynical."

"I'm truthful. In your upright moments you surely believe in truth."

"Dickon," I said, "stop bantering. I want you to tell Lottie that you couldn't possibly be serious because she is only a child. Tell her gently. Imply it was only a game. I don't want her hurt."

"It's not a game. True, she is young yet. I have five . . . possibly six years' courting to do. That's all to the good. Look at you and Jean-Louis. I wonder if you would have married him if you had not been brought up with the idea that it was expected. That's how I intend it to be with Lottie. I shall charm her more and more with the years and when she is sixteen she will realize that she cannot do without me."

"It's Eversleigh you want. You believe she will inherit it."

"Of course."

"If Lottie married you she would not have Eversleigh."

"I think she would. Oh, you mean you will marry your doctor and you're not too old to produce a child. You could manage it ... a forceful woman like you. Is that the idea?"

"No," I said. "It is not."

"Listen, Zipporah, you are going to give your blessing to our courtship. You have no alternative. In the first place there is your reputation to think of. Then, perhaps even more important . . . there is the doctor's."

"Will you stop talking nonsense and talk sense."

"This is sense, plain, hard, unvarnished common sense. Let me recapitulate a little. In the first place I know of your little flutter with the Frenchman. What is Lottie going to say when she knows that her father was not Jean-Louis but an unknown . . . gentleman. Very charming . . . very attrac-

tive, I grant you. But our dear little Lottie was begotten in sin, was she not? Owing to the adultery of her mother . . ."

"Be silent."

"All right," he said. "You wouldn't want it known, I know. You managed it all very well. I admired you for that, Zippo-rah. But I knew all about it. I have always been observant and made use of that. I have my spies posted in convenient places."

I thought: Evalina, of course! She must have seen him climbing into my room . . . perhaps she saw his leaving. But she knew and she passed the information on to where it could do me most harm.

"Nor is that all. You are deep, dear Zipporah. Why you are a sinner such as I am. My heart goes out to you. You are not the sort of woman to accept meekly what fate deals out. You make life your own way. Now that is something I greatly admire. But we have to pay for our little adventures, don't we? I know about you and the doctor, Zipporah. You would like that to be nice and respectable now. It is best with the medical profession . . . particularly when there have been unpleasant rumors in the past. Oh yes, I made it my business to learn about your doctor and his mad wife. . . . He was lucky to get through that. But he is another like us. He does not let life take charge of him. He's a very worthy fellow . . . running a hospital for fallen women and the like ... a philanthropist, no less. And then he falls in love. Poor Jean-Louis is in the way, but Jean-Louis is very sick. He needs the doctor's ministrations, and one day he dies. Poor Jean-Louis! He died of heart failure, says the doctor. Now I have a strong suspicion that he died of an overdose of laudanum."

I had turned very pale. He looked so evil standing there smiling at me.

"This is a ridiculous conjecture," I stammered.

"Well, I daresay it could be proved, could it not? I think they can tell these things. They're very clever, you know."

"Do you mean to say you . . . you . . . would . . . ?"

"I am a very determined man, Zipporah. I want to marry Lottie and I want Eversleigh. It's true that you could stand in my way. All I am doing is point out to you the foolhardiness of doing so."

"It's blackmail," I said.

"It's getting what I want. I intend always to do that, Zip-porah."

I turned away, too sick at heart, too frightened to speak.

Jean-Louis had killed himself—but I had not stood in his way. It was what he had wanted. Should I have stopped him? And if I had then would he not have tried again? I could have put the key somewhere else.

No, I thought, a person in Jean-Louis's position should have the right to decide. Months, perhaps years of pain stretched out ahead of him and he had decided to end his life.