Lament for a lost lover

I answered quickly: “We were all expected to do tasks. She went out gathering herbs and she used to rest there.”

Charlotte’s lips tightened. Of course she would never forgive Harriet for taking Charles Condey from her.

Then I poured out my feelings to her. I told her about the button and how foolish I had been and how it had aroused suspicions against me. “You were not to know,” she said. “It was all so innocent. You must not reproach yourself.”

She was gentle and kind to me and I felt I had a friend in Charlotte.

What a house of mourning that was and how poignant I felt when Matilda thanked me for making Edwin’s last weeks so happy.

She said: “We are a military family. He died for his King and that is something of which we must be proud. He died as bravely as his ancestors have died on the battlefields. Let us remember that.”

My mother mentioned Harriet one day when we were sitting together-Matilda, she and I. Charlotte was not present. I guessed my mother knew that the subject of Harriet would be too painful for Charlotte to bear.

“A strange young woman,” said my mother. “Arabella has been telling me how she came.

What did you think of her, Matilda?”

Matilda Eversleigh hesitated. “She was very good with the play,” she said. “We thought her a great asset ... in the beginning ...”

“And afterwards?” asked my mother.

“Well, there was Charles Condey.”

I said: “It was scarcely Harriet’s fault. He fell deeply in love with her.”

“She is very attractive,” admitted my mother.

“It was rather unfortunate. Poor Charlotte ...”

“But a happy escape if he was so fickle,” my mother pointed out.

“Ah, yes, perhaps’ sighed Matilda.

“And that was all?” went on my mother. “Until that happened you were quite happy about her being here?”

“It was the best house party I have had since I left England.”

“And it was all due to her,” I said quickly.

“Oh, yes, yes,” agreed my mother-in-law.

My mother appeared to be satisfied, but I who knew her well realized that she was thinking deeply. I had a feeling that she was not completely happy about Harriet. I said good-bye to my mother and the Eversleighs, and when I reached Chateau Congreve there was a great welcome awaiting me. Madame Lambard had baked a pie with “Welcome home, Arabella” worked on it with strips of paste, and the three young children sang a song of welcome which Harriet had taught them and which she whispered to me they had practised every day, so I must be pleased with it.

“No tears,” she whispered. “They’ve worked so hard. You can’t disappoint them.” Nor could I. I was surprised to find that the gloom which had till now enveloped me had lifted a little.

It was a revelation which came to me suddenly.

I had awakened to a bright morning, and as usual as soon as I opened my eyes and remembered that I was a widow, the terrible desolation swept over me. I lay for a while thinking of waking with Edwin beside me, and how I would watch him until he suddenly burst out laughing because he had only pretended to be asleep. Then I would shut my eyes and wallow in my grief and assure myself that life was over for me. I would force myself to get up and remember that I had to be bright because of the children.

And as I lay there that morning it flashed into my mind. It was possible. Could it really be?

If it was, it would make all the difference in the world to me. Of course I could not yet be sure. But if it were. Oh, God, I thought, I should begin to live again.

I lay there as though wrapped up in a cocoon of hopefulness. The next weeks would tell me, and if it were true, I should have something to live for.

I could only keep saying to myself: I shall begin to live again.

They noticed the change in me.

“You’re getting over it,” said Harriet, and she looked so happy that I knew she was truly fond of me. The children noticed it. They leaped about making strange contented noises as they used to. Lucas, dear Lucas-who seemed to have grown up so much in the last months-was quietly happy.

Oh, indeed, I owed it to them to shake myself out of my misery. And if this were true ... oh, if only this were true ... I should not have lost Edwin entirely. By the end of July I was sure.

I was going to have a child.

Madame Lambard, who had acted as a midwife when she had had the opportunity, confirmed my condition.

She was so delighted that she burst into tears and became emotionally voluble. The good God had answered her prayers, she told me. She had prayed to Him to give me this. He had made me suffer but He had his reasons. Now He was giving me this blessing.

They were going to take care of me-she and the good Lord together, and with such guardians I could rest assured I should come to no harm. I should have every care ... every attention. I would be happy again.

Yes, I thought, I can be happy again. When I hold my child ... mine and Edwin’s ... in my arms, I shall be happy again.

Of course I told Harriet.

She was amused and went into fits of laughter.

“What is funny about it?” I demanded.