“You’re very kind,” said Christabel quietly.
“Now I told you not to fret.”
“You must come to our house,” said my mother. “I insist. There I will have the coat sponged and we will do what we can with it.”
“My dear lady, you are too good.”
But it was clear that he was very eager to accept the invitation. We took him to our London house, which was close to the Palace of Whitehall, and there my mother made him take off his coat and sent a servant to bring out one of my father’s. This he put on while his own was taken away, and mulled wine was served with cakes which we called wine cakes-spicy and hot from the oven.
“Bless my soul,” said Thomas Willerby, “I’ll say it was a lucky day when I was bumped on the ice.”
My father joined us and was told the story of the encounter. He clearly took a fancy to Thomas Willerby. He had heard of him. Wasn’t he a London merchant who had come up from the country ten years before and done very well for himself?
Thomas Willerby was a man who clearly liked company. He also liked to talk about himself. He was that very Thomas Willerby, he assured my father. He had suffered a bereavement a year ago. He had lost his dear wife. They had had no children, a great sorrow to them both. Well, now he was thinking of retiring from business. He had made his fortune and would like to settle in the country … not too far from the town … within reach of London. Perhaps he would like to do a little farming.
He was not sure. What he needed was the right house.
They talked awhile of the country’s affairs and the Rye House Plot, of course. They agreed that it would be a sad day for England
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when the King died, there being no heirs but the King’s brother and the questionable one of his illegitimate son.
Thomas Willerby did not wish to see the country go Papist and in this he was in complete accord with my father.
By the time the coat was brought in, sponged and looking fresh and as clean as it had been before the wine was spilled on it, we had become very friendly and my father had suggested that Thomas Willerby might like to look at two properties not very far from our own Eversleigh Court.
These were Enderby Hall and Grassland Manor, which had been confiscated when their owners were caught in the Plot. My father believed that these could be had by the right buyer.
The outcome was that Thomas Willerby decided that he must come and look at them.
That turned out to be quite an eventful morning.
There was no sign of the thaw until February. Then the booths disappeared from the river and gradually the ice began to crack.
By that time Thomas Willerby had bought Grassland Manor, which was only about half a mile from us. My father seemed very pleased to have him as a neighbour and showed great friendship towards him.
He visited us frequently and paid a great deal of attention to us all, but I fancied particularly to Christabel. He was clearly delighted to have made a contact which brought him into our family.
My father was, of course, a man who was rather sought after. He was rich and influential in Court circles, being such a close friend of the King and the Duke of Monmouth-not that the latter was a favourable thing to be at this time since the Duke was in exile.
But it was known that the King showed special favour to my father because he amused him.
Thomas Willerby was a man who had not moved in the highest echelons of society. He was rich, though he had not inherited a penny. He was a countryman who had come to London to seek his fortune, which through hard work and honest dealing he had found in good measure. Having a deep respect for those born in a higher grade of society than himself, he was delighted to be received as a friend at Eversleigh.
He and Christabel were often together. There was that trait in Christabel’s character which made her constantly imagine that she was not quite acceptable-though had she not assumed this, no one would have doubted it. But this attitude did not naturally extend to
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Thomas Willerby; and one day she came to me in a state of obvious pleasure.
“I must speak to you, Priscilla,” she said. “Something wonderful has happened.”
I begged her to tell me without delay.
“Your father sent for me. He has told me that Thomas Willerby has asked for my hand in marriage and that he thinks it would be a suitable match. I am going to marry Thomas Willerby, Priscilla.”
“Doyou…lovehim?”
“Yes,” she said fervently, “I do.”
I embraced her. “Then I am so happy for you.”
“I don’t really deserve this happiness,” she said.
“Oh, nonsense, Christabel, of course you do.”
She shook her head. “You see, this will make everything come right.”
I was not quite sure what she meant. She hesitated for a moment, then she said: “He has admitted it now. And you should know. I always guessed, of course, when I came here …”
“What are you talking about, Christabel?”
“I am not the Connalts’ daughter. My father is yours and my mother was Lady Letty.”
“Christabel!”
“Oh, yes,” she said, “theirs was an affair which had unfortunate consequences-myself.
Our father was then married to his first wife, and it was unthinkable-as you yourself know-that an unmarried lady should produce a child. So I was born in secret like your own Carlotta and then I was given into the care of the Connalts to be brought up as their daughter. Lady Letty arranged the living for them and they came to the rectory with the newly born child.”
“My dear Christabel!” I put my arms about her and kissed her. “Then we are sisters.”
“Half sisters,” she corrected me. “But what a difference! You were acknowledged, accepted, born in wedlock. That makes all the difference.”
I immediately thought of Carlotta and I said to myself: It shall make no difference to her. She shall have every advantage.
“And you knew this, Christabel.”
“Not for certain. I guessed, though. Our father used to come to the Connalts sometimes and he would watch me. I was aware of that. Lady Letty took an interest, too. She used to send things for me … although they weren’t supposed to come from her. And when I came
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here and was treated as I was … not like a governess really and at the same time not like a member of the family … I felt certain.”
“I wish you had told me before.”
“Suppose you had betrayed me? I might have been turned away.”
I understood it all now … the bitterness, the moods of dejection. Poor Christabel!
“It’s strange,” she said. “They call us … people born as I was … the love children.
Yet love is something which we so often miss.”
Carlotta, too, I thought. My love child. Carlotta was not going to miss love. That I should make sure of.
“It is wonderful to discover a sister,” I said.
“I have been so jealous of you.”
“I know.”
“It was hateful of me.”
“No. I understand. You won’t be jealous now, though.”
“Oh, no, no. I’m not jealous of anyone now. Thomas chose me right from the first.
I shall always remember that.”
“I think he is a very good man, Christabel,” I said.
“He is,” she answered. “Oh, Priscilla, I am so happy.”
There was nothing to delay the marriage, said my father, and so it took place almost immediately. Christabel blossomed. She was clearly very happy. She was busy furnishing Grassland Manor and she often came over to see us, bustling about in a state of ecstatic domesticity. She had her stillroom and her flower garden and she fussed about Thomas Willerby in a manner which astonished me. She had always seemed a little cold before, never very demonstrative in her affections. I had never seen anyone change so much.
Of course, her husband was delighted with her and no one could doubt that it was the happiest of marriages.
Within a short time she came over to Eversleigh to confide in me that she was going to have a baby. It seemed all she needed to make her bliss complete.
With great pride she showed me the nursery, and Thomas purred and puffed and gazed at her as though, as Carl rather irreverently remarked, she were the Virgin Mary.
It gave me great pleasure to see their happiness and it was my turn now to feel a pang of envy. I thought how different everything would have been if Jocelyn and I had married and I had been able to make my preparations openly as Christabel did, instead of indulging in what, looking back, seemed a quite incongruous farce. Moreover I
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was separated from my child for long periods so I could not be very contented with my lot. I thought about consulting Harriet, asking if she could think up another plan in which I adopted Carlotta.
That December, Christabel’s child was born. Both my mother and I went to Grassland Manor and were there during the birth. We had to comfort Thomas, who was in a panic lest anything should go wrong. His devotion to Christabel was heartwarming, and I thought what a marvellous trick of fate it was to have sent us out on the ice that morning.
The birth was long and arduous. In due course though we heard the cry of a child.
The look of joy which came over Thomas’s face moved me deeply.
We sat tense, waiting. Finally the midwife emerged. “It is a boy,” she said.
There was silence. Thomas was too overjoyed to speak.
Then he said: “And my wife?”
“Very, very tired. She cannot see you… not yet.”
There was a warning in her voice and a terrible fear struck me. I looked at Thomas and saw the joy fading from his face.
My mother said: “It was a long labour. She will be all right when she has rested.”
During the few days which followed there were grave fears for Christabel’s survival.
She had developed a fever and needed the greatest care. My father sent our doctor to her and he also brought down one of the Court doctors. I was glad he did. It showed that he had some feeling for his daughter.
My mother and I were at Grassland Manor more often than at Eversleigh Court. Together we nursed her and great was our joy when at last we began to see signs of improvement.
My father had told my mother that Christabel was his daughter. She said she had guessed and wanted to do everything she could to make up for those early days at the rectory.
“She’s going to get well,” I told Thomas.
He just put his arms round me and clung to me. I was touched and surprised to think that Christabel had inspired such devotion.
As for the baby-christened Thomas-he thrived, quite unaware of the near tragedy his coming had brought with it.
The doctors said that Christabel must go very carefully and must not think of having more babies for a long time… if ever.
Christmas had passed almost unnoticed and the New Year was upon us. A wet nurse had been found for Master Thomas and he
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gave little trouble. He was a contented child, healthy in every way and a great delight to both his parents.
This was what Christabel had needed all her life-to be loved. She was ready enough to give love in return and I have never known any woman more contented with her lot than Christabel was with hers at that time.
One cold January afternoon when the north wind was buffeting the walls of the house and it was comforting to be sitting before a warm fire, she confided in me.
She said: “How strange life is, Priscilla. Only a short time ago I had nothing. The future looked bleak. I dreaded it. And then suddenly everything changed. Happiness such as I had never dreamed possible came to me.”
“That is life, Christabel. It’s a lesson, I suppose. One shouldn’t ever be too despondent.”
“Or too elated, perhaps.”
“I don’t agree. When we are happy we should live it fully at the tune and give no thought to the future.”
“Is that what you thought when you were on the island with Jocelyn?”
“I didn’t consciously think it. I suppose I was just happy to love and be loved by him. I accepted that moment and did not think beyond it.”
“With what consequences!”
I said: “I would not be without Carlotta for anything.”
“I understand that, Priscilla. I’m rather wicked, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, nonsense! What are you talking about?”
“I don’t deserve all this.”
“Of course you do. It wouldn’t be yours if you didn’t. Do you think Thomas would be so completely in love with the sort of person you’re trying to make out you are?”
“I’m different with him. I loved him from the moment he was so charming about the coat. He loved his first wife but she couldn’t give him children, and now we have little Thomas. He is so happy about it. He always wanted children and now he has a son. He says he can’t believe all this could come to him because of a piece of slippery ice.”
“Well, it has come and now all you have to do is appreciate it and keep yourselves happy.”
“I intend to. I wouldn’t do anything to spoil it.”
“Then don’t talk of spoiling it. Don’t even think of it.”
“I won’t. But I can’t be completely happy until you have forgiven 159
“I forgive you? For what?”
“I was envious. I think I sometimes hated you. You were so kind to me, yet I couldn’t stop it. I was fond of you often, but there was this strong resentment inside me.
It was horrible. It was so strong it made me want to harm you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I was so conscious of being the outcast, the unwanted one, the child whose existence had been an embarrassment … like something you hide under a stone. To be put out by your parents, Priscilla, is heartbreaking to a sensitive child. I never had any love at all. The Connalts had none to give to anyone. They were the worst possible foster parents for a child like myself.”
“It’s all over, Christabel. It’s done with. You’re out of it. You have your son and your husband who adores you, and you have this lovely home. Never mind what you suffered to get here … you’re here now and it’s going to stay this way.”
“You will understand me, Priscilla, I know, but let me confess. It will ease my conscience.”
“Very well. Confess.”