Lament for a lost lover

He went to a cupboard and, taking out a bottle, poured liquid into a glass and held it to my lips.

“It will soothe you,” he said. “It will make you feel better.”

He had his arms about me and I drank. The draught was like fire in my throat. He was murmuring soothingly: “Now you are going to feel better. You are going to see that it happened a long time ago. It is over now. You have your beautiful son ... and if it had never happened you would not have had him, would you? It is your legitimate Edwin who is heir to Eversleigh, not the bastard Leigh ... not her child. And does she care? No, she went off and let you bring up the boy. Doesn’t that tell you the kind of woman she is?”

I felt dazed, as though I were floating in midair. He picked me up and carried me as though I were a baby. He was sitting in the chair holding me, rocking me tenderly, and I felt comforted.

So we sat thus and I heard him telling me that he loved me. That there had never been anyone he wanted as he wanted me, that everything was going to be wonderful for us both. I had not lost anything. Instead I had found that which would compensate me for everything I now thought I had lost.

I felt him gently unbuttoning my dress. I felt his hands on my body. He lifted me and, kissing me with the utmost tenderness, lay me on his bed. Then he was with me and I felt dazed and yet somehow happy. It was as though I was escaping from bonds which had been restraining me for a long time. I heard him laugh in the darkness. His voice came from a long way off. And he kept calling me “His love, his Arabella.”

THE RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL

WHEN I AWOKE, FOR A FEW SECONDS I FELT DAZED AND bewildered. I looked about the unfamiliar surroundings. Memory came back. I was in his room. I sat up in bed. He was not there.

I saw my clothes lying on the floor where they had been dropped last night.

I closed my eyes, childishly trying to shut out memories with the sight of that room.

Last night ... I thought of Carleton holding that piece of paper in his hand ... that revealing paper which was positive proof of the deception which had been carried out against me. The desolation ... how could I describe it? My dreams, my ideals on which I had lived for seven years had been demolished by one single stroke. And afterwards ... I could not fully remember how it had happened. He had comforted me. He had soothed my wounded vanity, perhaps. He had given me something to drink which had warmed me and at the same time dulled my resistance. I had been like a wax doll in his hands-no will to resist, I just gave myself up to him. How could I! How could I! yet I had been unable to do otherwise.

Where had he gone? What time was it?

I got out of bed, and horrified by my nakedness I slipped my gown over my head. I went to the window. The rain was still falling. It was probably later than I had realized because it was a dark morning. I thought of the maid arriving at my room with hot water, finding my bed unslept in. Strange that at such a time I should be thinking of the proprieties.

I snatched my things from the floor and opened the door. I looked out. The house seemed quiet and I sped along to my room.

To my relief I saw from my clock that there were a good fifteen minutes before they would bring my hot water. I took off my dress and threw it into a cupboard with the rest of my things, then putting on a nightgown I got into bed. Now I gave myself up to contemplation of what had happened. I wished I could stop thinking of that piece of paper writhing in Carleton’s hands. The words on it were indelibly written in my mind. How could they have deceived me so! How could I ever trust anyone again? But my overwhelming preoccupation was with my surrender. He had arranged it purposely. He had come to me when he knew that I was weak with misery. My conception of my marriage had crashed about my head, and he was there seizing the opportunity to offer me tender comfort, to daze me with his beverage, whatever that was, to weaken my resistance to him, to remind me that I had to turn to someone, to seek comfort somewhere, and he was there. Opportunity. No. He had contrived it. The idea must have come to him when the family coach was stuck in the mud and he knew they would be away for the night. He was cunning, he was devious, and I had given way to him.

I was trying to ignore those memories which came back to me. A wild and searing joy to be with him ... Ecstasy there had been with Edwin, but different somehow..

.. Perhaps because with Carleton there was more than love and passion. There was a kind of mingling of love and hate which was surely wrong and yet ... and yet ...