The Drop of the Dice (Will You Love Me in September?) (24 page)

It was all very exciting and amusing. Then there were the cosmetics. I must be patched and powdered like every other lady of fashion. Jeanne quickly adapted herself to the art, as she had done with that of hairdressing.

‘I am not having one of these fancy hairdressers doing your hair, Milady,’ she announced firmly.

I was all too ready to leave myself in the capable hands of Jeanne and Alison.

I said to Lance: ‘I shall soon be as elegant as you are.’

It must have been about a month after I had received that first letter from Aimée that I had another.

My Dear Sister [she wrote],

A wonderful thing has happened to me. I am to be married. Just as I was thinking myself all alone and forlorn—it was a few days after I wrote to you before—I met Ralph. He lives close by Hessenfield Castle in a fine old house. Is it not strange that we did not meet before? He was not one for the social life… until we met. We like each other… we meet again… and again, and then to my surprise he said “Marry me!” Well, I am amazed, but after a while I say yes. He is a little older than I am… well, thirty years to be truthful. But I do not notice… I am so happy. Dear little sister, you must come and see us. You will one day, eh? I have a fine house and am mistress of it. It makes me feel happy to be wanted, for I was not at Hessenfield and even dear Uncle Paul was never completely warm towards me. He was a most conventional man and I think he did not like the irregularity of our births. But our father, being as he was, how could it have been otherwise…?

I thank you for your warm invitation. It has made me so happy. One day we shall meet again…’

I wrote back to say how delighted I was that she had found happiness with Ralph! I could see her as the mistress of some stately home with an elderly husband who adored her.

The summer days flew past, and I was too young and inexperienced not to believe that they would go on like that for ever.

I could not have had a better companion than Lance. He was completely at home in London—far more so, I was to realize, than he could ever be in the country. He loved the coffee-house talk, and we would go out, dressed more simply than usual so that we could mingle more easily. The Calf’s Head, the Apollo, the October, the Mughouse… I was taken to them all. We would sit listening to the talk, which was clever and even witty, and Lance often joined in.

‘The coffee house is one of the best things that has happened to London,’ he declared.

After the theatre we would have supper in one of the restaurants which were springing up all over the town. We went to Pontac’s or Locket’s, which were two of the most exclusive; but sometimes we went to the less elegant ones—just for the adventure of it, Lance said. There was, for instance, the Salutation in Newgate Street and the Mitre in Fleet Street.

The days and nights were filled with new experiences and I felt that marriage was a wonderful experience. I could now respond to Lance’s passion, which delighted him. I was no longer the shrinking and reluctant maiden and although I could not be said to be worldly, I was growing into a full-blooded woman.

Though the streets could be dangerous at night, and pickpockets—and worse—lurked in the shadows, I always felt safe with Lance. His carriage with its stalwart driver and footman would always be waiting for us.

‘They have, thank God, got rid of the Mohocks,’ Lance commented. ‘A scandalous club, that was… dedicated to making mischief. No one was safe from them. They’d run a sword through a sedan and they once rolled women down Snow Hill in hogsheads. It is a few years since they were disbanded but memories of them linger on, and although the streets are still a danger, they are better for the removal of those men.’

We were entertained a great deal. Lance had many friends in fashionable London. I visited gracious houses with him and we gave dinner parties. There was no anxiety for me, for arrangements were taken care of by an adequate staff; my own concern was that I should be a credit to Lance.

I was welcomed into society. I was known as a member of the Eversleigh family and Lance was a favourite everywhere. We did not go to Court, though Lance supposed we should have to at some time.

‘It’s incredibly dull how,’ he said. ‘Those Germanic customs are not appreciated here. The King is dull and heavy and there is no Queen… only those grasping mistresses; who, I believe, are making fortunes for themselves out of selling favours. George is criticized for putting his poor wife, Sophia Dorothea, away—they say she is more or less a prisoner—and all because he suspected her of being unfaithful with Count Königsmarck, and if she were, she was only following in the footsteps of her husband.’

The London life absorbed me and I was a little disappointed when Lance said it would be necessary for us to go to his estates in the country for a little while.

Clavering Hall had been the house of the family for two hundred years, and I was back again in the kind of house I knew so well from Eversleigh and Enderby. After the airy comfort of the modern house in Albemarle Street I found the Hall a little oppressive. Like all such houses it seemed to carry with it an aura of the past, as though those who had lived there before lingered on in spirit, endowing the place with their joys and sorrows—mostly sorrows.

But no house in which Lance lived could be gloomy. There were elegant touches in curtains, carpets and such articles; but the court cupboards, the four-poster beds, and large refectory tables were relics of a bygone age.

The hall, of course, was the centre of the house, with the east and west wings on either side, and there were two fine staircases with handrails framed into the newels; the woodwork was exquisite, the doors intricately carved and the fireplaces, which were very fine indeed, were carved with scenes from the Bible. There were rich tapestries on the walls in beautifully blended colours. It was a gracious, lovely house and Lance was proud of it.

He had a large estate which demanded a great deal of attention, but he had several people who did the necessary work under a most efficient manager. That suited Lance, who, I discovered, did not care to do one thing for too long at a time. He could be enthusiastic about the estate for a few days and then when some weeks had passed it began to pall.

The house was frequently full of guests from the neighbourhood; they came to dine and, I discovered, to play games of chance.

I was dismayed one night after dinner when I, with the ladies, had left the table and we had chatted together, to rejoin the men and find them preparing to sit down and play with the cards.

I saw the excitement in Lance’s eyes and I realized then that when the gambling fever was upon him he was like a different man. Before, I had always been aware of his tender attention at gatherings like this. He always looked after me, which was what I had wanted when I was first introduced to his friends. He would give me a detailed—and always amusing—description of the people we were meeting, telling me their likes and dislikes, warning me of their foibles, making it easy for me to be a success in society. I had always been aware of that special care and had been grateful for it. Now, I realized that he had forgotten me. I saw that gleam in his eyes which I was to see many times in the years ahead.

The play began. Those who did not join in were left to amuse themselves. Quite a number of the women did join in and I noticed that they appeared to play with the same feverish intensity as the men.

When all those who did not wish to play had left I retired to my bedroom. Lance went on playing with those who had gone to the tables. I lay in bed waiting for him to come up. It was past three o’clock when he did.

He came to the bed and looked down at me.

‘Still awake?’ he asked. ‘You should be fast asleep by now.’

‘So should you,’ I said.

He bent over and kissed me. ‘A good night’s play,’ he said. ‘I won two hundred pounds.’

‘You might have lost it,’ I said, aghast.

‘What a dismal outlook! I won two hundred and you talk of losses. Never mind. I’ll buy you a new dress when we get back to London.’

‘I have enough new dresses.’

‘Oh come, a woman can always do with another. You sound a little piqued, sweetheart. Is it because I left you alone so long?’

I said: ‘I wish you didn’t love gambling so much.’

‘Sweet of you,’ he said lightly, ‘to care so much for what I do.’

‘One day,’ I began.

‘Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,’ he quoted. ‘That’s a good motto. It’s one of mine. You should make it one of yours, Clarissa. There. I’m back now. I’ll be with you in a moment.’

I lay uneasy until he came. He slipped into bed beside me and took me into his arms.

‘Let me kiss away the frowns,’ he said. ‘Remember, I’m the one you love… full of imperfections… but you love me all the same.’

He made such ardent love to me that I forgot I had been left alone. In my heart I knew it was something I must accept, but just then I preferred to forget.

C
HRISTMAS CAME, AND LANCE
and I went to Enderby. Jeanne came with us, of course, and it was wonderful to be in the heart of the family again.

Damaris was delighted to see us and I was touched by the earnest way in which she studied me to assure herself, I knew, that my marriage was happy. Jeremy was with her when she greeted us and although his welcome was more restrained than hers I know it was sincere. Sabrina ran headlong at me and embraced my knees.

‘You’ve come home,’ she cried. ‘Clarissa has come home. Are you going to stay now? I want to show you my new pony. He’s called Gipsy because Grandpapa Leigh bought him from the gipsies. He can gallop miles and miles, and never gets tired like other ponies. Come and see him.’

‘Not now, darling,’ said Damaris. ‘There’s plenty of time.’

‘Oh now…
please
.’

‘Let me wash and change first, Sabrina,’ I said.

The same Sabrina, whose own affairs were of such immediacy that she could not conceive that anything else could be of the same importance.

She ran up to our room with us. It was that one where we had slept on the first night of our marriage, the room which had such memories for Damaris, as, having read her story, I now understood. Dear Damaris, I was closer to her than ever now that I knew how she had suffered and how she had at last come to happiness through Jeremy and myself. It made a special bond between us. I knew I should never forget what we had meant to each other, and although now I had moved out of her care and had a life of my own, the bond was still strong.

‘Can I stay with you here, Clarissa?’ asked Sabrina. ‘It’s a nicer room than mine.’ She laid her cheek lovingly against the damask bedcurtains, and looked pleadingly at me.

Lance said: ‘You can’t sleep with Clarissa now. I’m here.’

“Why not?’

‘Because it is my place.’

‘You can have my bed.’

‘So kind of you,’ said Lance, ‘but do you know, I prefer this.’

She sidled up to him. ‘It’s nice,’ she said. ‘Nanny Curlew comes to tuck you in.’

‘A delight I shall have to forgo,’ said Lance.

She frowned at him, but with no real animosity. She liked him; the only thing she had against him was that he had taken me away.

He picked her up; she kicked a little in remonstration. He put her outside the door and shut it on her. I heard her laughing as she ran along the corridor.

‘There is one who will want her own way in life,’ he said. ‘And get quite a lot of it, I should imagine.’

‘She is a dear creature.’

‘A little spoilt, I fancy, except by the worthy Nanny Curlew.’

Then he held me tightly against him and I knew that he was thinking of the first night we had shared this room.

It was a happy Christmas. There were the relatives to visit, and the celebrations took place mainly at Eversleigh Court in the traditional manner. There were the decorations with holly and ivy and the ceremony of bringing in the Yule log; carols; the midnight service on Christmas Eve; kissing under mistletoe; eating mince pies in the shape of coffins which were supposed to represent the manger at Bethlehem. Sabrina loved giving Christmas boxes on the day after Christmas when everyone who had rendered a service to the household appeared to collect what he or she called ‘the box’—which was in fact a gift of money. Great-Grandfather Carleton grumbled and said that he was the one who did the tradesmen a service by buying their goods and why he should be expected to reward his servants he could not imagine. They should be giving him a Christmas box.

‘Nonsense,’ said Great-Grandmother Arabella. ‘You know you would never stop the Christmas boxes.’

‘Poor Great-Grandpapa,’ put in Sabrina. ‘Nobody gives him a Christmas box.’

Then she came up with a bright new penny and thrust it into his hand; and the old man, who was really very sentimental, said it was the best Christmas box he could ever have had and he would carry it with him for the rest of his days and have it buried with him in his coffin.

This greatly intrigued Sabrina and spoilt her generous gesture, for she was clearly looking forward to seeing the penny placed in Great-Grandfather’s coffin.

‘Don’t grumble so, Carleton,’ said Arabella. ‘I declare you’d be a thorough wet blanket if I let you.’

Nothing changed at Eversleigh, it seemed. One Christmas was very like another; but of course there was really change taking place all the time. Sabrina was now five years old and Great-Grandfather Carleton was more quickly out of breath when he went walking in the gardens; there was more white in Arabella’s hair and it was beginning to show in Priscilla’s. I was a married woman of some months’ standing. Yes, time was moving on.

When we went back to London, Lance was caught up in the enthusiasm which was sweeping through the City. He came in one day in a fever of excitement.

It was the late afternoon, I remember, of a cold January day. There was a north wind blowing and it had started to snow. In the drawing-room a great fire was burning and I was seated close to it when he burst into the room.

He threw off his heavy coat and came close to the fire. He lifted me up and held me against him, laughing up at me.