Lament for a lost lover

“Of course,” I said. “I knew you didn’t love him.” How wise I felt myself to be in my own exalted experience. I was so happy that I wanted everyone to share my happiness, particularly Harriet. I would have felt it to be wonderful if she could have become betrothed at the same time.

“It would not have been suitable’ she said.

“But, Harriet ...”

She turned on me suddenly. “Good enough for me, you are thinking. A strolling player’s bastard. Is that it?”

“Harriet, how can you say that!”

“You are to marry the scion of an ancient house. Money and title in due course. Lady Eversleigh! That is well. You are the daughter of a great general. But anything is good enough for me.”

“But, Harriet, Charles is of good family. He is young and charming.”

“A third son ... without means.”

“Well, the Eversleighs apparently thought him good enough for Charlotte.”

She was venomous suddenly. “They were hard put to it to find anyone to take Charlotte. There would have been a big dowry along with her. Once they were back in England ... Charles Condey would have done very well for himself.”

“It shows how noble he was in giving it up. I mean it shows he was really in love.”

“Dear Arabella, we are not discussing his feelings, but mine. When I marry it must be someone equal to your gallant bridegroom.”

“Harriet, there are times when I don’t understand you.”

“Which is just as well,” she muttered.

Then she was subdued and would say no more, but she had made me uneasy and I could not recapture that first bright flush of happiness.

I noticed too that, though Charlotte tried to be bright, there was a sadness beneath her efforts. My own happiness was clouded. I wanted to show friendliness towards her but it was not easy. Charlotte had encased herself behind a defensive wall.

Two days after Charles had left, when the guests were gradually leaving, I went up to the turret to the lookout tower. I was expecting letters from my parents, and from there I could see right out to the horizon. Perhaps it was too early yet to receive replies, but I wanted to look just in case.

There was a door which led onto a stone parapet and below this was a sheer drop to the ground. I don’t know what it was that sent me there at that time. I liked to think it was some instinct, but I thanked God that I went. Charlotte was there, her hands on the stone parapet. And the horrible realization struck me that she was poised to jump.

“Charlotte!” I called, my voice shrill with terror.

She started and hesitated. I froze with horror, for I thought she was going to throw herself over before I could reach her. “No, Charlotte. No!” I cried. Then to my relief she turned and looked at me.

I have never seen such misery as I saw in her face, and I felt a deep pity that was tinged with remorse because I knew that I was in a way responsible for her unhappiness. It was I who had brought Harriet to Villers Tourron. But for Harriet she would be a happy girl now, betrothed to the man she loved.

I ran to her and caught her arm.

“Oh, Charlotte!” I cried, and she must have seen the depth of my feelings, for they called forth some response in her.

Acting purely on impulse, I put my arms round her and for a few seconds she clung to me. Then she drew quickly away and the habitual coldness had crept over her face. “I don’t know what you think,” she began.

I shook my head. “Oh, Charlotte!” I cried. “I understand. I do understand.” Her lip trembled slightly. I felt she was going to tell me that she been admiring the view and ask me why I was behaving so ridiculously. Then her lips tightened and there was contempt in her ... contempt for herself. Charlotte was of a nature that would despise hypocrisy. She could not pretend.

“Yes,” she said, “I was going to jump over.”

“Thank God I came.”

“You sound as though you really care.”

“Of course I care,” I said. “I’m going to be your sister, Charlotte.”

“You know why?”

“Yes, “I said.

“Charles has gone. He did not love me after all.”

“He did perhaps, but he was ... bemused.”

“Why did she have to come here?”

“I brought her. If I had known ...”

“Perhaps it’s as well. If he is so easily ... bemused ... he might not have been a good husband, do you think?”

“I think he will come back.”

“And you think I would take him then?”

“It depends how much you love him. If you loved him enough to do that ...”I looked towards the parapet ... “perhaps you would love him enough to take him back.”

“You don’t understand,” she said.

“Come away from there. Let us go somewhere where we can talk.”

“What is there to say?”

“It is often helpful to talk to someone. Oh, Charlotte, it will not seem so cruel later on. I am sure of it.”

She shook her head and I slipped my arm tentatively through hers. I was waiting to be repulsed, but she accepted the gesture and I fancied was somewhat comforted by it.

She stood still, misery in her eyes.

“He was the first who ever looked at me,” she said. “I thought he loved me.. But ... as soon as she came ...”