Voices in a Haunted Room

It was hard to believe that it was a year ago that I had been in the midst of my affaire with Jonathan. It was last Boxing Day when I had ended it abruptly and almost immediately afterwards discovered that I was going to have a child.

Harry Farringdon had still not declared himself; and I asked my mother if she thought he ever would.

“The courtship-if courtship it is-does seem to drag on. I would say that Evie is hi love. One can tell that sometimes.”

“And Harry?”

“Well, he does seem to delight in her company.”

“Do you think the delay is due to his parents?”

“Or her grandmother.”

“A man does not marry his wife’s relations surely.”

“No. But they might give him cause for thought. I imagine Harry is a cautious young man.”

“Well, I think he should make up his mind soon.”

“You give them every opportunity, I must say. You’ve become a matchmaker, Claudine.

At least where those two are concerned.”

I did not tell her why. I was not sure whether it would have disturbed her or not. But I had a strong conviction that I should help Evie all I could, and there was no doubt that marriage into the Farringdon family would be very desirable for her.

Jonathan went back to London. There was great consternation over the war, which seemed to be resulting in successes for the French throughout Europe. Dickon was in London with Jonathan and now that my mother had a baby she did not accompany him as frequently as she had once.

There had been more causes for alarm in January when Utrecht, Rotterdam and Dort fell into the hands of the French, and the Stadtholder and his family made their escape to England, arriving in an open boat. It was a wonder they survived, for the weather had turned bitterly cold and everything was frozen up.

Throughout the house great fires burned but even so the wind seemed to whistle through the windows and there were draughts everywhere.

The men seemed greatly concerned about the French victories which, according to Jonathan, were due to the genius of one man-a Corsican adventurer by the name of Napoleon Bonaparte.

It had been hoped that with the fall of Robespierre there would be an end to these successes, for Bonaparte was a well-known supporter of the tyrant; but by some clever manoeuvring he managed to extricate himself from the slaughter when so many suffered the same fate as their friend and master. So Napoleon Bonaparte continued with the army.

“Even the bloodthirsty mob have the sense to realize what he is doing for his country,”

commented Jonathan.

We talked often of Chariot and Louis Charles, who might well be involved in these successful campaigns. But we had no news of them.

My mother used to say: “Chariot is well. Something tells me that. If only he could get a message to us! But how could he with his country at war with the whole of Europe.”

When Dickon and Jonathan were with us the talk was all of war and political matters. Prussia was asking for a loan and endlessly they discussed the rights and wrongs of this.

And all the time we shivered, until February came bringing with it the melting snows, and then it rained so heavily that there was the problem of flooding in many parts of the country.

Then Tuscany made peace with France.

Dickon said: “I can see others doing the same.”

David’s point was that the revolution was over now and the Republic had to be accepted.

He said: “At least we shall settle down to peace.

The French have chosen the government they want. There is nothing to be done but leave them to it.”

Dickon replied: “They have gone to a great deal of trouble, much blood has been shed, and now they are learning that it need never have happened. They have exchanged one set of rulers for another every bit as harsh.”

“The Monarchy would never have abdicated,” said Jonathan. “The people wanted to be rid of them and they saw that the only way of doing so was through the guillotine.”

When the Swedes acknowledged the French it seemed obvious the way things were going.

“If this continues,” said Dickon, “we shall be left alone fighting the French.”

He and Jonathan went up to London, and this was one of the occasions when my mother did not go with him.

It was a cool March day. There were still signs of the heavy flooding and some of the fields were under water. I had been out with David during the morning and we had ridden round the estate. I enjoyed these morning rides, meeting the tenants, chatting with them, stopping to taste their wine.

David never hesitated to discuss their ideas with them, which made an ideal relationship between landowner and the people who lived on his estate. Jonathan would never have had the same patience, the good will, the unselfishness, the ability to see a matter from someone else’s point of view. They had chosen their careers wisely-or perhaps their father had selected them for them-for Jonathan was suited to the worldly life of London society and all those secret matters of which even my mother could not guess.