Voices in a Haunted Room

Dolly Mather was with her as much as possible. I had been to Grasslands to call on Mrs. Trent once or twice. The first time I had been shocked by her appearance. She felt the death of Evie very much and she could not stop herself raging against the cruelty of fate and the wickedness of the one she spoke of as “the man.” I think if Harry Farringdon had put in an appearance she might well have tried to do him an injury, which was all very understandable, of course.

Then later when I called, Dolly told me that she was lying down. She was not well and felt too ill to receive visitors. She hardly ever went out The servants at Grasslands reported to ours that she was getting “a little strange.”

There was gloom all round us and it all stemmed from Alberic’s death.

David announced that he had to go to London to procure some stores for use on the estate; he also had to see our agents about the sale of farm produce. Some of our farmers had been introducing extra sheep to their land, and the wool products were requiring more and more marketing.

My mother said to me: “Why don’t you go with David? You haven’t been hi London together since your honeymoon. It would make all the difference to him if you went. Instead of regarding it as rather a bore he’d look forward to it. You have the house to yourselves because Jonathan and Millicent will be at Pettigrew Hall.”

I hesitated and she went on: “I know you are thinking of Amaryllis. I understand just how you feel.” She winced. The memory was still more than she could bear. “She would be perfectly safe with us here. We’d guard her as we do Jessica. You know Grace can’t bear the children out of her sight. I still have to impress on her twenty times a day that what happened was not her fault. Jessica would miss her if she went. They are getting such little people now. They notice everything. Do stop fretting about what’s happening here. We can manage without you for a week or so, you know.”

“Oh Maman,” I said, “I should like to go, but ...”

“No buts. Why, if you stayed at home because you were afraid to leave Amaryllis, I should take that as an insult to me. Amaryllis will be under surveillance night and day.”

So I decided to go.

We went by post chaise, which was perhaps the most pleasant way of taking to the road, for the posting houses were the very best of the inns, and although those who travelled this way paid highly for it, it was well worthwhile to enjoy the extra comfort.

We travelled leisurely with two stops on the way. It seemed, now that I was accompanying him, more like a holiday than a business trip, said David.

I found it thrilling driving into the City, to see in the distance the bastions of the Tower and to drive along by the river and suddenly to find myself caught up in that vitality.

The servants were prepared for us at the house, for my mother had sent a message on ahead of us to tell them to expect us. I remembered how we had come here just after the wedding-in the days of my innocence, I thought; and I was glad that Jonathan was at Pettigrew Hall. I should not have come if he had not been.

David, too, was remembering, and we had a pleasant candlelit meal in the dining room while the servants flitted silently in and out attending to our needs. David was blissfully happy but it was at times like this that my conscience troubled me most.

Then we retired to our bedroom-that pleasant gracious room, so different from Eversleigh-with its long windows to let in the light and the delicate curtains and Queen Anne furniture.

David said: “You have made me very happy, Claudine ... happier than I ever thought to be.” Then he kissed me and noticed that there were tears on my cheeks.

“Happy tears?” he asked, and I nodded, for how could I tell him that they were tears of contrition and that while I loved him for his goodness, his gentleness, his selflessness, I could not stop thinking of someone else who was as different from him as a man could be, someone who was ruthless, without sentiment, dangerous ... and yet who had taken possession of my mind as well as my body and whom-although I deplored my bondage to him and my deceit towards the finest of husbands-I could not stop loving.

Was that the word? Perhaps not. Obsession was more apt.

I tried to shake off my melancholy, to refuse to admit to my regrets that it was not Jonathan who was with me now. I tried not to think of him when David made love to me.

But the truth was that I was obsessed, and here in London, which was so much more his home than anywhere else because he spent so much time here, it was stronger than ever.

I felt better the next day. I accompanied David on his various journeys and I was glad that I was quite knowledgeable about the matters which were discussed. He was delighted in my interest.

I thought: We are so suited. We understand each other. We are a perfect match. The other ... is madness. It is like a disease. I must cure myself and I can when I do not see him.