Lament for a lost lover

For some days she seemed rather reticent and I guessed she was wondering if she had told me too much. excitement there was when we did our little play on the ais in the hall. Our audience were Jeanne, Marianne, Jacques and the Lambard family. It was a short drama in which Harriet played the lead, of course; Lucas was her lover and I was the villainess 0 sought to poison Harriet. The children had parts, and even young Fenn came in and brought a letter, saying, “This is for you, which for some reason unknown to the rest of us sent him into transports of mirth which he found it impossible to control.

When I drank the poison draught which I had prepared for Harriet and fell sinking to the ground, Madame Lambard grew so excited that she cried out: “Though you don’t deserve it, Mademoiselle Arabella, what you want is a drop of my agrimony cordial.”

“She’s too far gone for that,” said Jeanne. “And it wouldn’t be right to save her, her being what she is.” Then Fenn burst into tears because he thought I was dead. So the drama threatened to become a farce, and it was fortunate that my sinking to the floor in my death agony was the end.

Afterwards there was the supper just as we had had on the night when the players were with us. Monsieur Lambard brought in some of his wine and Madame Lambard had baked a great pie with a stage worked on it with strips of paste and we were all very merry except Fenn who kept hold of my skirt all the time to reassure himself that I was not dead.

When I think of that night and how simple we all were and how amused Harriet must have been, I look upon it as the end of an era, and I sometimes wished that I could have stayed as I was on that night forever, believing that everyone in the world was good.

Harriet was happy too. She was the centre of our lives at that time. There wasn’t one among us who did not realize that the exciting turn our lives had taken was due to her.

The day after the play a rider called at Congreve with letters from my mother. There was one for each of us-even Fenn.

I took mine to my room that I might be alone while I read it.

My dearest daughter,

It is so long since I have seen you. I think of you all constantly. There is change in the air. I have a feeling that before long we are all going to be together. News has come from England that in September Oliver Cromwell died, so he has now been gone for some months. This is going to mean change. Your father thinks that his son can never command the same respect, and that as the people are growing weary of Puritan rule, they may ask the King to return now. If this could come about our lives would be completely changed.

It was the best news - we have had since the King’s father was martyred. Another piece of news for you, my dear. Lord Eversleigh, who is here with us, tells us that his family have taken a house quite near Chateau Congreve. Your father and I thought it would be pleasant for you to meet them. They will be getting into touch with you and may well ask you to stay with them for a while. Congreve is hardly the place for you to entertain, I know, but if that should be necessary, everyone understands the difficulties in which the times have placed us. If you have an opportunity of visiting them you and Lucas should take it. I know the Lambards, with Marianne, Jeanne and Jacques, would look after the little ones. It would be an opportunity for you to meet people. Your father and I are often worried about your spending day after day in that place. If only things were normal we should be arranging for you to meet young people of your own age and kind. Alas, it is impossible now, but who knows perhaps before long, it will be different. In the meantime it would be interesting for you to meet the Eversleighs. I have been unable to come to see you because so much is going on here. Imagine the excitement after Cromwell’s death! But I hope to see you before long, dear Arabella. In the meantime keep your spirits up. At least you are in safety where you are and you are old enough to remember what it was like in those days at Far Flamstead and even later at Trystan. Much love to you and always remember that you are ever in my thoughts.

Your devoted mother, Bersaba Tolworthy.

I could see her as I read the letter. I had admired her fervently my earliest years. She had always seemed so strong, and my hazy thoughts of those far-off days were dominated by her, the eading spirit who seemed omnipotent and omniscient guiding us.

Dearest mother! I wondered what she would think of Harriet.

She would have understood immediately that she was deceiving us, I was sure. My mother had always been very wise in the ways of the world.