I SUPPOSE ALL MY life I have been overshadowed by Carlotta. She is seven years older than I, which gives her a certain advantage, but age has nothing to do with it. Carlotta is herself, and as such the most fascinating person I have ever met.
People turn to look at her when she comes into a room. It is as though the desire to do so is irresistible. Nobody could understand it better than I because I feel this deeply and always have. She is of course startlingly beautiful with that dark curling hair and those deep blue eyes; if one is the sister of such a creature one is immediately dubbed plain merely by comparison. I don’t doubt that if I had not had Carlotta for a sister I should have passed as quite a pleasant-looking, ordinary sort of girl; but there was Carlotta, and I became accustomed to hearing people refer to “the beauty.” I quickly accepted this and I didn’t mind nearly as much as my mother thought I might. I was one of Carlotta’s worshippers too. I loved to watch those deep-set eyes half closed so that the incredibly long dark lashes spread fanlike on her palish skin; then her eyes would open and if she were angry flash with blue fire. Her skin was pale but with a certain glow. It reminded me of flower petals. It was the same colour and texture. I was pink and white with straight brown hair which did not curl very easily and never stayed where I wanted it to. My eyes seemed to have no definite colour; I used to say they were water colour. “They are like you,” Carlotta once said. “They have no colour of their own. They take colour from whatever is close. You’re like that, Damaris. The good girl. ‘Yes, Yes, Yes,’ you say to everything. You never have an opinion that is not given to you by someone else.” Carlotta could be cruel sometimes, particularly when someone or something had annoyed her. She liked to take her revenge on whoever was near—and that was often myself. “You’re such a good girl,” was her constant complaint, and she made it sound as if goodness was a despicable thing to be.
My mother was always trying to let me know that she loved me as much as she loved Carlotta. I was not sure about that, but I did know that I did not cause her the anxiety that Carlotta did.
I overheard my grandmother once say to my mother, “You’ll have no trouble with Damaris, at any rate.”
I knew they were comparing me with Carlotta.
Carlotta was constantly involved in some controversy. Exciting things happened about her and she was generally the centre of them all.
Not only was she beautiful but she was rich. She had charmed Robert Frinton, who had lived at Enderby Hall, and so completely had she done this that he left her his fortune. Then there was all the fuss about her elopement with someone called Beaumont Granville. I never saw him but there was a great deal of talk about him and his name was on everybody’s lips—even the servants’.
That was over a long time ago and now she was married to Benjamin Stevens—dear Benjie, whom we all loved so much, and my mother was particularly pleased as there was a little baby.
We had spent Christmas at Eyot Abbass and everything had circled round Carlotta then.
My mother insisted on staying until the baby—a little girl called Clarissa—was born and my father and I had come home.
“Now she has a baby,” my mother said, “Carlotta will settle down.”
“Settle down!” cried my grandfather with a chuckle. “That girl will never settle down. Mark my words, she’ll always be the centre of some storm.”
My grandfather had a specially warm spot for Carlotta. He never seemed to notice me. My mother said that he had not been like that with her. It made his affection for Carlotta even more remarkable.
My mother was coming home shortly. There was no longer any reason why she should stay away. She had seen her granddaughter safely into the world, and Eyot Abbass was Carlotta’s home now that she had married Benjie. She had more or less returned to the scene of her childhood, for her early years, when everyone thought she was Harriet’s daughter, had been spent at Eyot Abbass.
Yesterday one of the Stevens’s grooms had ridden over with letters. My mother would be setting out at the end of the week. The journey was not long. It usually meant two nights at an inn, and that was taking it slowly. The grooms managed it in two days and they were always trying to do it in record time.
It was a sparkling morning. March had just come in like a lion, as the saying goes, and we were hoping it would prove the old saying true by going out like a lamb. There was a feeling of spring in the air. The long winter was, over; the nights were getting shorter, and although there was not much warmth in the sun yet, it gave a promising radiance to the fields and hedgerows. I loved to ride out into the country; I loved to watch for the changing of the land. I had a great fondness for the animals too. Apart from my dogs and horses I loved the birds and all wild things. They came to me first and always seemed to understand that I would not dream of hurting them and above all wanted to help. I knew how to speak to them, how to soothe them. My father said it was a natural gift. I had tended rabbits and sparrows and once there was a redshank which I found on the marshes. He had a broken leg and I had set it for him. It was amazing how it healed.
I loved the country life; I knew that the time would come when I would go to London with my family and there would be balls and such things for me, the object being to find me a husband. I dreaded that; but there was one consolation, neither of my parents would force me into marriage if I didn’t want it; and their great desire was to see me happy.
In any case I was only thirteen and that was in the future. I remembered that Carlotta had not been much more when she had fallen in love with Beaumont Granville. But Carlotta was Carlotta.
“She was born with all the wiles some women take a lifetime to learn,” said my grandfather. “And then only get half of them.”
He spoke with approval. I quickly realised that I had been born with none of those wiles.
On this particular March morning I did not care. I saw that the rooks were busy making their nests and I saw some meadow-pipits, which we sometimes called tit-larks. They were a little like larks and could be mistaken for them by some who had not studied them as I had. I loved to see them on the ground, where they ran instead of hopped. I heard the cry of a redshank—a sort of whimper. I would not go near her because the nest would not be far off and it would throw her into panic if anyone approached her young.
I came past Enderby Hall. No one lived there, which was rather absurd, said my father. A big house like that, furnished, standing vacant just because Carlotta had some caprice to keep it so. The house had been left to her by Robert Frinton with the rest of his fortune, and at one time she had thought to sell it and suddenly and capriciously, said my father, had changed her mind.
I didn’t like Enderby very much. When we were young Carlotta had tried to frighten me there. She told me how when she was very small she had wandered in there and been lost. They had all been in a panic and finally she was discovered in a cupboard fast asleep. Robert Frinton had been so taken with her that he had called it Carlotta’s cupboard.
She enticed me into it and tried to lock me in but I had known what she might have in mind too and for once in my life had been too quick for her. “Silly!” she had said afterwards. “I wouldn’t have kept you there. I just wanted you to learn what it feels like to be shut up alone in a haunted house.” She had looked at me with that trace of malice she often showed. “Some people’s hair turns white overnight,” she said. “Some just die of fright. I wonder what you would look like with white hair? It might be better than no real colour at all.”
Yes, there had been times when Carlotta had been merciless. But I had never faltered in my admiration and I always sought her attention and was gratified to receive it even when it could result in ghoulish experiments such as she had planned for me in the cupboard in Enderby Hall.
I rode past, skirting the land which my father had bought and which had once belonged to Enderby. There was a wall about it now.
I came past Grasslands Manor, the home of the Willerbys, and young Thomas Willerby saw me and called to me.
I would have to go in. They expected it; and old Thomas loved to have callers. He was particularly fond of everyone from our family.
I took my horse to the stables and Thomas and I went into the house together.
Old Thomas was delighted to see me. I told him the news while he sent for wine and cakes, which I should have to take because he would be hurt if I didn’t. He loved to show his hospitality.
I told him my mother was returning home and he said how glad we must be and how happy to have an addition to the family.
I admitted I was longing for my mother’s return. She would have all the news of the baby and Carlotta to tell us.
He said: “I have some news too. I have bought a place near York.”
“Oh,” I said, “You really will be going then.”
“As you know, my dear, I have been shilly-shallying for a long time, but now I really have made up my mind.”
“And what of Grasslands?”
“I shall sell it.”
I was thinking it strange how there seemed no lasting luck in either Grasslands Manor or Enderby Hall. I wondered if there was such a thing as ill fortune, for these houses seemed to have incurred the wrath of fate. Even the Willerbys had not escaped, though at one time they had been very happy. Then Thomas’s wife had died giving birth to young Christabel. It was all very sad.
“Yes,” he said. “It may be that your parents will give me a hand with the selling. I don’t want to wait here … now I have the new house.”
“We shall all be delighted to show people round it. Have you spoken to my father yet?”
“No, I was waiting until your mother came back. Now she is coming. That is good news. Less happy news at Court.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, the King has broken his collarbone.”
“That is not very serious, is it?”
“I heard he has been ill for some time,” said young Thomas. “He was riding from Kensington to Hampton Court when he was thrown from his horse. The horse caught his foot in a molehill, they say. It didn’t seem much at the time.”
His father put in: “I hear the Jacobites are drinking to the Little Gentleman in Black Velvet, meaning the mole who in making his hill has done the country a service.”
“It seems a pity that they must be so pleased about an accident. What of the horse? Was it badly hurt?”
“Now that I didn’t hear. I suppose they thought it wasn’t important.”
While we were drinking the wine another visitor arrived. It was my uncle Carl from Eversleigh. He was in the army and home on leave.
“Oh, hello, Dammee,” he said. He was very jovial, Uncle Carl, and thought it amusing to make a joke of my name, which he knew irritated my mother. “There’s news. The King is dead.”
“I thought it was just his collarbone,” said Tom Willerby.
“He had several fits apparently, and he has been trying to keep his weakness a secret from the people for some time. He died at eight o’clock this morning.”
“There will be excitement across the water,” said Thomas Willerby.
“Among the Jacobites, yes. They haven’t a chance. Anne was proclaimed Queen this very day. Let’s drink to the new reign, eh?”
So our glasses were filled and we drank to our new sovereign: Queen Anne.
The Eversleighs had always had close connections with the court. My grandfather Carleton Eversleigh had been a great friend of Charles the Second. After he had been involved in the Monmouth Rebellion he had fallen out of favor with James, of course, and although William and Mary had received him, he had never been on the same terms with them as he had with Charles. However, that we should go to London for the coronation was taken for granted and we made ready.
It was now April. Carlotta’s baby was two months old and she was not going to London this time. Harriet was not either. It must have been one of the first times she had missed a royal function, but I suppose even she was beginning to feel her age. She was several years older than my grandmother.
Nevertheless it was quite a big party that set out from Eversleigh. My grandparents, my parents, Uncle Carl and myself.
“Dammee,” said Uncle Carl, “it’ll be good for you to see a bit of life.”
“She is young yet, Carl,” said my mother, “and her name is Damaris.”
“Very well, sister,” retorted Uncle Carl. “She is as yet a babe in arms and I’ll remember not to call little Dammee Dammee.”
My mother clicked her tongue impatiently but she was not annoyed. There was something very lovable about Uncle Carl. He was several years younger than she was and sometimes she talked about the old days and then she told me how their father had doted on Carl while he hardly seemed aware of her.
“There came a time when things changed,” she said once, and there was a note in her voice which made me want her to tell me more; but when I asked she shut her lips tightly together and wouldn’t say a word more on the subject. Secrets, I thought. Family secrets. I should probably know them one day.
Well now we were going to London and there was all the fun of setting out. If Edwin had been home, as a peer of the realm, he would have played a big part in the ceremony. My grandmother regretted that he was away on foreign service. However, we were determined to make a jolly time of it.
“If you can’t rejoice at coronations, when can you?” said my grandfather. “You have a new monarch and you can with a good conscience delude yourself into thinking all will live happily ever after. So let us all enjoy our coronation.”
We were in high spirits as we set out. The family and six servants. We had three saddle horses, for we should need special clothes if we were to go to Court.
I was watching out for birds. I knew where to look for them—willow warbler in the open country, tree pipit always where there were trees and turtle doves in the woods. I loved to hear their joyous singing at this time of the year. They were so happy because the winter was over.
I told my mother that it made me feel happy just to hear them.
She gave me her warm approving smile. Later I heard her say softly to my grandmother, “Damaris will never give me one moment’s cause for anxiety, I am sure.”
And my grandmother replied: “Not of her own free will, Priscilla, but sometimes disaster strikes from unexpected quarters.”
“You are in a strange mood today, mother.”
“Yes,” said my grandmother, “I think it’s because we’re all riding to London. It makes me think of the time when Carlotta eloped.”
“Oh, how thankful I am that is all over.”
“Yes, she is safe with Benjie.”
“And now this child. A baby will sober even Carlotta.”
They lapsed into a comfortable silence and in due course the grey walls of the Tower of London came into sight. We were almost at the end of our journey.
It was always exciting to arrive in London. The streets were teeming with life; there was noise and bustle everywhere; I had never seen so many people as I saw in London—all sorts of people, all different, all, I imagined, leading the sort of lives we of the country could only guess at. There were gentlemen in exaggeratedly elegant garments flashing with what could have been real jewels but might well have been imitation; ladies patched and powdered; vendors of all kinds of objects and apprentices standing at the doors of the shops calling out to passersby to buy their wares. There was the excitement of the river, which was always crowded with craft of all kinds. I could never tire of watching the watermen shouting for customers with the cry of “Next oars” and piloting their passengers from bank to bank and taking them for pleasure trips past the splendours of Westminster to beyond the Tower. I liked the songs they sang; and when they were not singing they were shouting abuse at each other. My mother had never wanted me to use the river. I had heard her say that people forgot their manners and breeding when they stepped into a boat, and even members of the nobility assumed a coarseness which would not have been acceptable to polite company ashore.
Although Carlotta would have called me rather slightingly a country girl, I could not help but be fascinated by the London scene. There was so much to see which we never saw in the country. The coaches which rattled through the streets containing imperious ladies and gentlemen so sumptuously attired fascinated me as did the street shows. One could see Punch and Judy in a booth at Charing Cross; and along Cheapside there were knife swallowers and conjurors and their tricks for the delight of passersby. There were giants and dwarfs performing all sorts of wonders; and the ballad sellers would sing their wares in raucous voices while some pie man would shout to you to come and test his mutton.
The greatest attraction was a hanging at Tyburn, but that was something I had no wish to see—nor should I have been allowed to if I had wanted to. Carlotta had seen a hanging once and she had described it to me—not that she had enjoyed it, I believed, but she could become exasperated with me at times and liked to shock me.
Her lover had taken her to see it because, he had said, she must learn what the world was about. She said it was terrible to see the men to be hanged arriving in a cart, and although she had pretended to look she had her eyes shut. She said there were men and women selling gingerbread, pies, fairings and the dying speeches and confessions of others who had recently met their death in this way.
I had said: “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to hear.”
But she had gone on telling me and, I believed, making it even more gruesome than it actually was.
On other visits to London I had walked with my parents in the Mall, which was delightful, and this fashionable thoroughfare was very much used by members of the respectable nobility. There one paraded and bowed to one’s friends and acquaintances and sometimes stopped and talked and made arrangements to meet at some place. I loved the Mall. My grandfather told me how he had played Pell Mell there several times with King Charles. Nowadays there were flower girls there with their blooms, girls with baskets of oranges, which they proferred to passersby; and one could come face to face with a milkmaid driving her cow and stopping now and then to take milk from the cow so that buyers could be sure of its freshness. Strolling by watching the people was a great excitement to me. I had always enjoyed it.
“You should see it at night,” Carlotta had said to me; and she had described the gallants who went out prowling through the crowds searching for young girls who took their fancy. At night one could see the ladies patched and beribboned and sometimes masked. That was the time to stroll down Pall Mall. “Poor little Damaris! They’ll never allow you to do that.” And when I had said they wouldn’t allow her either she had just laughed at me.
I could never stop thinking of Carlotta for long and here in this city of adventure she seemed closer than ever.
We were all installed in the Eversleigh town house which was not far from St. James’s Palace, and my mother said I should have a good night’s rest for we would be out early the next day to see the beginnings of the coronation ceremonies.
I woke early the next morning, excited to find myself in a strange bed. I went to my window and looked down on the street where people were already gathering. They would come in today from the surrounding country. It was the twenty-third of April, St. George’s Day. The people were very excited. I wondered how the Queen felt. What would one’s reaction be if one were taking a crown which did not by right belong to one. Of course the English would never have a Catholic on the throne. I had heard my grandfather expound at length on that subject. And King James could have retained his crown if he had given up his faith. He refused and lost it, and then we had had Protestant William and Mary, now both dead, and Mary’s sister Anne was our Queen.
The Jacobites would be angry but the mood of the people seemed to indicate that they wanted Anne. Or perhaps they just wanted a coronation.
At eleven o’clock we rode into the streets and saw the Queen on her way from St. James’s Palace to Westminster Hall. She was carried in a sedan chair because she was so troubled with dropsy and swollen feet that she could not walk. She was about thirty-seven years of age, which seemed young to be afflicted with such an infirmity, but she had given birth to so many children and not one of them had survived—the young Duke of Gloucester, on whom all her hopes were set, having died recently—that this had had its effect on her.
Prince George of Denmark, her husband, who was as devoted to her as she was to him, walked before her and he was preceded by the Archbishop of Canterbury.
It was a glittering sight with garter-king-at-arms and the lord mayor and black rod with the high steward of England all in attendance.
The Queen looked calm and surprisingly beautiful in spite of the fact that she was very fat, a condition induced by a lack of exercise and a love of food; on her head was a circle of gold set with diamonds and its simple elegance became her.
We had places in the Abbey and we followed the procession treading our way through the sweet herbs which had been sprinkled on the ground and taking the places allotted to us.
It was an uneasy moment when Thomas Tennison, the Archbishop of Canterbury, presented the Queen to the assembly and asked the question: “Sirs, I here present unto you Queen Anne, undoubted Queen of this realm. Whereas all you that are come this day to do your homages and service, are you willing to do the same?”
It seemed to me that the pause following those words went on for a long time, but that was merely my imagination because I had heard so much talk about the Jacobites.
Then the shout was deafening: “God save Queen Anne.”
The Archbishop had to repeat the question three times after that—for he had to face the east, west, north and south each time he said it.
It was a thrilling moment when the choir began to sing the anthem. “The Queen shall rejoice in Thy strength, oh Lord. Exceeding glad shall she be in Thy salvation. Thou shalt present her with the blessings of goodness and shalt set a crown of pure gold on her head.”
When I heard all those voices singing in unison I felt sure that Anne really was the chosen sovereign and the King Across the Water presented no threat to the peace of the land.
It was sad, though, to see the Queen having to be helped to the altar; but when she made the declaration her voice was loud and clear.
“Will you to the utmost of your power maintain the laws of God, the true profession of the gospel, and the protestant reformed religion established by law …?”
“I promise to do this,” declared Anne firmly.
This was what the people wanted. After all, it was because her father had not been an upholder of the Protestant faith that he had lost his throne.
After that there was the ceremony of the anointing, which was carried out in accordance with the ancient customs. Anne must stand while she was girt with the sword of St. Edward and then she must walk to the altar to offer it there. The spurs were presented to her and she placed them beside the sword on the altar and then she was invested with the ring and the staff.
The ring, my father had told me, was called the wedding ring of England and was engraved with the Cross of St. George. When it was placed on the finger it symbolized that the sovereign was pledged to honour his or her country and offer all the service and devotion of which that sovereign was capable. It is like a marriage, added my father.
I was deeply moved by the ceremony, as one must be, and when the Queen was seated on her chair and the Dean of Westminster brought the crown for the Archbishop of Canterbury to place on her head I joined with fervour in the loyal shout of “God save the Queen.” It was wonderfully inspiring to hear the guns booming out from the turrets of the Abbey and being answered by those of the Tower of London.
I watched the peers led by the Queen’s Consort, the Prince of Denmark, pay their homage to the new Queen by kneeling before her and then kissing her cheek.
We had places at the coronation banquet. My parents had been wondering whether the Queen would attend, for her disability must have made her quite exhausted, but my grandfather immediately replied that she must be there, tired or not. Otherwise those sly Jacobites would be saying she dared not face the traditional challenge of the champion Dymoke.
I enjoyed every moment. I was delighted to be able to gaze on the Queen. I thought she looked very regal and hid her tiredness very well. I liked her husband, who seemed mild and kind and was clearly anxious on her account.
It was after eight before the banquet was over and as the ceremonies had been going on for most of the day, the Queen was clearly relieved to leave for the palace of St. James’s. The crowds cheered wildly as she passed along in her sedan chair.
The banquet in Westminster Hall might be over but the people were going on carousing throughout the night.
My grandfather said we should get home before the streets became too rowdy, as they would later. “If you want to,” he said, “you can watch from the windows.”
This we did.
It was afternoon of the following day. My mother, my grandmother and I had shopped in the morning in the Piazza at Covent Garden, which was crowded with revellers still celebrating the coronation. My mother had admired some violets, one of her favorite flowers, and had meant to buy some, but we turned away, our interest caught by something else, and forgot about them.
As we sat there a young woman went by. She was young and very flamboyantly dressed; but something about her reminded me of Carlotta. It was only a fleeting resemblance of course. She was not to be compared with Carlotta. At that moment a young man walked past and stopped. I realised that he had been following her, that she was aware of it and was now waiting for him to make some proposition.
Of course I knew this sort of behavior was commonplace and that women came out, usually at dusk and at night, with the very object of finding companions, but I had never before seen it so blatantly undertaken.
The two went off together.
The incident had had an effect on me. Chiefly I think because the woman bore a slight resemblance to Carlotta and had brought memories of her. I thought, if she were with us she would not be sitting here looking out. What had she said to me once: “Damaris, you’re a looker-on. Things won’t happen to you. You’ll just watch them happen to other people. Do you know why? It’s because you’re afraid. You always want to be safe, that’s why you’re so dull.”
Cruel Carlotta. She so often hurt me. Sometimes I wondered why she meant so much to me.
Then the thought occurred to me that it Would be a lovely surprise for my mother to have her violets. Why should I not go out into the streets and buy them for her? I shouldn’t have to go back to the Piazza. There were many flower sellers in the streets—even more than there usually were because of the coronation, for they were taking advantage of the crowds to do more business.
I was not supposed to go out on my own. I seemed to hear Carlotta laughing at me. “It was only to the end of the street.”
I should be scolded, but my mother would be pleased that I had remembered.
I was sure that if I had not seen the woman and been reminded of Carlotta I should never have been so bold. I put on my velvet cloak, slipped my purse into the pocket of my gown and went out.
I reached the end of the street without seeing a flower seller, and as I turned the corner I was caught up in a howling mob. People were circulating about a man in a tall black hat and shouting abuse at him.
Someone pressed against me. I was wary and kept my hand on my purse.
A woman was standing near me. I said, “What is it? What has he done?”
“Selling quack pills,” she said. “Told us they’d make you young again, bring the colour back to your hair and cure all ailments, make you twenty again. He’s a quack.”
I stammered: “What will they do with him?”
“Duck him in the river, most like.”
I shuddered. I was made uneasy by the looks of the mob, for I suddenly realised that I myself was attracting some strange looks.
It had been rather foolish to come out alone. I must get away from the crowd, find my violets quickly and go home.
I tried to fight my way out. It wasn’t easy.
“Here, who you pushing of?” demanded a woman with greasy hair falling about her face.
I stammered: “I wasn’t pushing. I … I was just looking.”
“Just looking, is it, eh? The lady’s only looking at us common folk.”
I tried to move away unobtrusively, but she was not going to let me. She started to shout abuse at me.
I didn’t know which way to turn. Then suddenly a woman was standing beside me. She was poorly dressed but clean. She caught my arm and said: “Now let this lady alone, will you? She’s not sport for the likes of you.”
The other woman seemed so surprised at the interruption that she stared open-mouthed at the other, who took the opportunity to take my arm and draw me away. We were soon lost in the crowd.
I was grateful to her. I had simply not known what to do and how to escape from that woman who had seemed so determined to make trouble.
The crowd had thinned a little. I was not sure which end of the street I was at. I thought I would abandon the idea of getting the violets and go home as quickly as possible. I could see my mother had been right when she had not wanted me to go out alone.
The woman was smiling at me.
“You shouldn’t be out alone on the streets, dear,” she said. “Why, that’s a beautiful velvet cloak you’re wearing. Gives people ideas, see, dearie. Now let’s get you back home fast as we can. What made you come out alone? Who are you with?”
I told her I had come up from the country with my family for the coronation and I had slipped out to buy some violets for my mother.
“Vi’lets,” she cried. “Vi’lets. Now I know the woman what sells the best vi’lets in London and not a stone’s throw from this here spot where we standing. If you want vi’lets you leave it to Good Mrs. Brown. You was lucky you was, dearie, to come across me. I know that one who was after you. She’d have had your purse in no time if I hadn’t come along.”
“She was a terrible woman. I had done nothing to her.”
“Course you hadn’t. Now have you still got your purse?”
“Yes,” I told her. I had made sure to keep my hand on it after all the stories I had heard of the agility of the London thieves.
“Well, that’s a blessing. We’ll get them vi’lets and then, ducky, I think we should get you back home … before you’re missed, eh?”
“Oh, thank you. It is so kind of you.”
“Well, I likes to do a bit of good where I can. That’s why they call me Good Mrs. Brown. It don’t cost nothing, does it, and it helps the world go round.”
“Thank you. Do you know Eversleigh House?”
“Why, bless you, dearie, a’ course I do. There ain’t no place in these ’ere parts that Good Mrs. Brown don’t know about. Don’t you be afraid. I’ll whisk you back to Eversleigh House afore you can say Queen Anne—that I will—and with the best vi’lets you can find in London.”
“I shall be so grateful. They wouldn’t want me to be out, you see.”
“Oh, I do see, and right they are. When you think of what I just rescued you from. These thieves and vagabonds is all over this ’ere wicked city, dearie, and they’ve just got their blinkers trained on innocents like you.”
“I should have listened to my mother.”
“That’s what the girls all say when they gets into a bit of trouble, now don’t they? It never done no harm to listen to mother.”
While she had been talking we had moved away from the crowd. I had no idea where we were and I saw no sign of flower sellers. The street was narrow, the houses looked gaunt and dilapidated as we turned up an alley.
I said uneasily: “We seem to be coming a long way.”
“Nearly there dear. You trust Good Mrs. Brown.”
We had turned into an alley. Some children were squatting on the cobbles; from a window a woman looked out and called: “Nice work, Mrs. Brown.”
“May God bless you, dear,” replied Mrs. Brown. “This way, ducky.”
She had pushed me through a door. It slammed shut behind us. I cried out: “What does this mean?”
“Trust Good Mrs. Brown,” she said.
She had taken my arm in a firm grip and dragged me down a flight of stairs. I was in a room like a cellar. There were three girls there—one about my age, two older. One had a brown wool coat about her shoulders and was parading up and down before the other two. They were all laughing but they stopped and stared when we entered.
It was now brought home to me that the fears which had started to come to me when we first turned into the labyrinth of back streets were fully justified. I was in a more unhappy position now than I had been when accosted by the woman in the crowd.
“Now don’t be frightened, dearie,” said Mrs. Brown. “No harm will come to you if you’re good. It’s not my way to harm people.” She turned to the others. “Look at her. Ain’t she a little beauty. Come out to buy vi’lets for her mamma. Feel the cloth of this cape. Best velvet. That’ll fetch a pretty penny. And she kept her hand on her purse too, which was nice of her. She came near to losing it in the crowd.”
I said: “What does this mean? Why have you brought me here?”
“There,” said Mrs. Brown, “Don’t she talk pretty. You two girls want to listen and learn how to do it. I reckon it would be a help to you in your work.”
She laughed. It was amazing how quickly Good Mrs. Brown had become Evil Mrs. Brown.
“What do you want of me? Take my purse and let me go.”
“First of all,” said Mrs. Brown. “We want that nice cloak. Off with it.”
I did not move. I stood there clutching it to me.
“Now, now,” said Mrs. Brown. “We don’t want trouble. Trouble’s something I never could abide.” She took my hands in a firm grip and wrenched them from my cloak. In a few seconds it was off my shoulders. One of the girls grabbed it and wrapped it round herself.
“Now then, now then,” said Mrs. Brown. “Don’t you dirty it, now. You know how particular Davey is. He wants it just as it comes off the lady.”
“I see you brought me here to steal my cloak. Well, you have it. Now let me go.”
Mrs. Brown turned to the girls and they all laughed. “She’s pretty, though, ain’t she?” said Mrs. Brown. “Such a trusting little piece. She took quite a fancy to Good Mrs. Brown, I can tell you. Was ready to follow her wherever she led.”
I turned towards the door. Mrs. Brown’s hand was on my arm.
“That’s not all, ducky.”
“No,” I cried. “You want my purse as well.”
“You did keep it nice and safe for us. It would be a pity not to have it after that, wouldn’t it?”
They kept laughing in a shrill way which frightened me.
I took out my purse and threw it on the floor.
“Good. You see she’s not one for trouble either.”
“Well, you have my cloak and my purse. Now let me go.”
Mrs. Brown was feeling the stuff of my gown.
“The very best cloth,” she said, “only worn by the gentry. Come on, dearie. Off with it.”
“I cannot take off my dress.”
“Her servants has always done it for her,” mocked one of the girls.
“We’ll be her servants today,” said Mrs. Brown. “I always believe in treating my friends in the way they’re used to.”
It was becoming more and more of a nightmare. They were pulling my dress over my shoulders.
“What shall I do?” I cried. “You are taking all my clothes. I shall be … naked.”
“See, a nice modest little girl. Now listen, dearie, we wouldn’t let you go out into the streets starkers, would we, girls? Now that would cause a bit of a barney, wouldn’t it?”
They all laughed hideously.
I felt numb with terror. How I longed to call back time. How I wished I was sitting at my window and that I had had the good sense to do what I had been told was the wise thing to do—never go out alone.
I was sure this was some sort of nightmare. It couldn’t be true. Things like this did not happen.
They had stripped me down to my shift. How I hated their dirty fingers feeling the cloth of my clothes, gloating, as they took them from me, over the price they would fetch.
I stood there shivering with the awful realisation that if I wanted to escape I could not run out into the street with no clothes on.
Nevertheless I felt I could not endure to stay any longer in this terrible room with the piles of clothes lying on the floor. I saw that it was the profession of women like Mrs. Brown to lure unsuspecting people—children, it seemed mostly—into her den and there rob them of their clothes.
“Well, dearie,” said Mrs. Brown, “you was a nice little pick up. But listen here. I don’t want no trouble. You understand. Trouble and Mrs. Brown is two that don’t go together.”
“You’re a thief,” I said. “You will get caught one day and you’ll go to Tyburn for what you do.”
“Not such a babe as we thought, eh?” She winked at the girls, who chortled with amusement.
“We’re careful. We’re good. Least I am. I wan’t called Good Mrs. Brown for nothing. Give me that cloak, ducks,” she said to one of the girls. The girl handed her a cloak which was rugged and torn.
“There, wrap that round yourself,” she said.
I looked at it distastefully.
“Oh, it’s not what you’re used to, dearie. I know that. But it’s better than going naked. It’s more decent, see.”
I wrapped the cloak round me and for a moment my disgust was greater than my terror.
“Now listen, dearie. We’re going out of here. I’ll take you back on your road, see. I don’t want no trouble. I don’t want nothing traced to me. Good Mrs. Brown keeps out of trouble. All she wants is the nice clothes rich little ladies and gentlemen wear. It don’t mean much to them because they have others. But it means the difference between eating and starvation to Good Mrs. Brown. So I shall take you out with me. And if you was to shout I’d got your clothes nobody here would listen to you. Then I’ll leave you to find your home on your own. Yes, when it’s safe I’ll leave you. Understand?”
I nodded. My one desire was to get out of this place with as little trouble as possible.
She gripped my arm. We went up the stairs. The relief to feel the fresh air again was great.
All the time she was taking me through the narrow streets she was talking to me. No one took any notice of us. She had had my shoes too, so I was barefooted and I could not walk easily on the cobbles.
She laughed at me because I stumbled.
“They are such pretty shoes,” she murmured. Then she went on: “Listen to me, ducky. You’ve had a lucky escape. You lost your clothes. You could have lost more than that, dearie. Mrs. Brown has taught you a lesson. What a day for a rich little girl to go wandering out in her velvets and silks! Today, dearie, there’s more rogues and vagabonds in this ’ere city than at any time … and there are enough of us, Gawd knows, without this new lot. They comes in from all over the place, coronation days, royal weddings, you know … such like. They’re the times to make a picking. Well, you’ve been plucked, little pigeon, and thank your stars it was by Good Mrs. Brown. Now I don’t want no trouble. You haven’t been hurt, have you. I’ve even given you this ’ere cloak to cover yourself. They’ll ask questions. You’ll tell them it was Good Mrs. Brown … but you won’t know where I took you, will you? So you won’t be able to tell on me. You’ll get over this. My what a scolding you’ll get. Silly little pigeon. But they’ll be that glad to get you back; I reckon you’ll be petted more than ever. Thank Good Mrs. Brown. And you won’t want to bring trouble on her, will you? Remember the good she’s done you. Why, you might have been picked up by one of them old bawds and been sold to some loving old gentleman by now. See. You’ll be prepared next time. But I reckon there won’t be a next time. You’ve learned a lesson from Good Mrs. Brown.”
We had come out of the labyrinth of streets.
“There now,” she said. “You want to get home fast. Just round the corner is the street where they was getting ready to duck the old quack. You know where you are from there. Get home … quick.”
She gave me a little push. I looked round and she disappeared. My relief was intense. I started to run.
Yes, she was right. There was the street where it had all begun. If I turned the corner and went straight on I would come to Eversleigh House.
I turned that corner and ran full tilt into a woman who was walking along with a young man beside her.
She gave a little shriek of disgust and I think she put out a hand to ward me off. I fell sprawling to the ground.
“Gad,” said the young man. “She’s wearing nothing beneath the cloak.”
“She was after my purse,” said the woman.
“I was not,” I cried. “I have just been robbed of my clothes.”
They were startled by my voice, and having just come from Mrs. Brown’s terrible room I understood why. It did not match my appearance.
The young man helped me to my feet. We must have looked odd together, for his appearance could only be described as exquisite. I could smell the faint perfume with which his clothes were scented.
The lady was beautifully dressed too and also perfumed. We must have made a strange contrast.
“What happened to you?” said the lady.
“I came out to buy some violets for my mother,” I said quickly. “A woman started to shout at me in the crowd and then another woman came along. She said she would take me to buy the violets and she took me to a horrible room and made me take off all my clothes.”
“There’s quite a trade in it,” said the young man. “It is usually young children who are the victims. Are you hurt?”
“No, thank you. I want to get home quickly.”
“Where is your home?”
“It’s Eversleigh House.”
“Eversleigh House! So you are one of the Eversleighs,” said the woman.
“Let us get her home quickly,” said the young man. “They’ll be anxious, I daresay.”
They walked along beside me. I wondered what passersby thought to see this elegant pair in the company of such a ragged barefooted urchin. No one took very much notice. So many strange sights were seen in London that the people accepted them as commonplace.
I could have wept with relief when we arrived at the house. Job, one of our servants cried: “She’s here. Mistress Damaris is here.” I knew by his words that I had already been missed.
My mother came running into the hall. She saw me standing there in the horrible cloak, stared disbelievingly for a few seconds then, realising it was indeed her daughter, swept me into her arms.
“My darling child,” she said, “whatever has happened? We have been frantic.”
I could only cling to her speechless, I was so happy to be with her.
The lady spoke. “It’s a trick they practice often,” she said. “She was robbed of her clothes.”
“Robbed of her clothes …!” my mother repeated.
Then she looked at the two who had brought me home. I saw her glance at the young man and as she did so a strange look came into her face. It was a mingling of all sorts of things, amazement, disbelief, a certain fear and a sort of horror.
The lady was saying: “We found her running away … She ran into us, and then, when we heard who she was, we thought we would make sure she got home safely.”
My mother stammered: “Thank you.” Then she turned to me and hugged me against her and we just clung together.
My father appeared.
“She’s here. She’s home,” he cried. “Thank God. Why … for God’s sake.”
My mother said nothing and it was the strangers who explained.
“It was good of you,” said my father. “Come, dearest, let the child get rid of that awful garment. She had better have a bath quickly.” I ran to him and he held me tightly. I had never loved them so much as I did at that moment.
My mother was terribly shaken. She seemed to be in a kind of daze and it was my father who took charge.
“You must have some refreshment,” he said to the woman and the young man.
“It is not necessary,” said the woman. “You will all be feeling very upset.”
“Oh, come,” said my father, “you must stay awhile. We want to tell you how grateful we are.”
“The streets of London were never safe but they are becoming worse than ever,” said the young man.
“Priscilla,” said my father, “take Damaris up and look after her. I’ll see to our guests.”
I went upstairs with my mother. The cloak was taken away and given to one of the servants to burn. I washed all over in warm water and dressed myself while I told my mother exactly what had happened.
“Oh, darling,” she said, “you shouldn’t have gone out on your own.”
“I know, but I only meant to go to the top of the street and buy you violets.”
“When I think of what could have happened. That wicked woman …”
“She wasn’t so very wicked, mother. She called herself Good Mrs. Brown. She didn’t hurt me. She only wanted my clothes and my money.”
“It is monstrous,” said my mother.
“But she was poor and it was her way of getting something to eat, she said.”
“My dear, you are such a child. Perhaps you should rest now.”
“I don’t want to rest, mother, and I think I should go down and thank the people who brought me home.”
My mother stiffened in a strange way.
“Who are these people?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I was running along and fell into them. I went sprawling on the ground and they picked me up. They knew this was Eversleigh House, and when I told them it was my home they insisted on bringing me.”
“Very well,” she said, “let’s go down.”
My father was in the drawing room with them and they were drinking wine. They were still talking about the rogues who invaded London at a time like this. My grandfather and grandmother had joined them. They had not been aware that I had disappeared and had listened with horror to what had befallen me.
My grandmother rose up when I entered and embraced me with fervour, but the way my grandfather looked at me implied that he had never had much respect for my intelligence and had even less now.
My father said: “This is the strangest coincidence. This lady is Mistress Elizabeth Pilkington, who once thought of taking Enderby Hall.”
“Yes, and I was very disappointed when I heard that it was no longer for sale.”
“A caprice of my granddaughter’s,” said my grandfather with a curl of his lips. “The house belongs to her. It’s a mistake to give women power over property. I’ve always said it.”
“You have always nourished a feud against the opposite sex,” said my grandmother.
“It didn’t prevent my snaring you into matrimony,” he countered.
“I married you to show you how you underestimated us,” she countered.
“Alas,” he retorted, “my opinions do not seem to have changed after … how many years is it?”
They were always like that together; it was a constant sparring match and yet their devotion to each other kept showing itself; and they were as happily married as were my parents. They merely had a different way of showing it.
“Speaking of houses,” said my grandmother, “although Enderby Hall still stands empty, there is another in the district. Neighbours of ours—of whom we were very fond—are going away.”
“Yes,” said my grandfather, “there is Grasslands Manor.”
“Are you still looking for a place in the country?” asked my mother.
“My mother is very interested in that part of the country,” said Matthew Pilkington.
A faint colour had appeared in Elizabeth Pilkington’s cheeks. She said, “Yes, I might like to take a look at this Grasslands Manor.”
“Any time which is convenient to you we shall be pleased to see you at Eversleigh,” my grandmother told her.
“It is so bracing there, I believe,” said Matthew.
“If you mean the east wind favours us with its presence very frequently, yes,” said my grandfather.
“An interesting spot, though,” said Elizabeth.
“Roman country, I believe,” added Matthew.
“Yes, there are some fine specimens of Roman remains,” put in my grandfather. “Well, we’re not far from Dover and there is the old Pharos there … the oldest in England.”
“You must go and look at this Grasslands Manor,” said Matthew Pilkington.
“Oh, I will,” replied his mother.
They took their leave soon after that. They had a house in London close by, they said, and hoped we should meet again before we left for the country.
“Unfortunately we shall be returning the day after tomorrow,” said my mother.
I looked at her sharply because we had made no arrangements so far.
My grandmother was about to speak but my grandfather threw a warning look in her direction. I felt there was something going on which was a secret to me.
“Well, I shall be down to look at this Grasslands place, I daresay,” said Elizabeth Pilkington.
When they had left I was plied with questions. What had possessed me to go out on my own? I had been warned often. I must never never do it again.
“Don’t worry,” I assured them. “I won’t.”
“To think how easily it could happen,” cried my mother. “And what might have happened. As it is there’s that beautiful new cloak and dress …”
“Oh, I am so sorry. I have been so foolish …”
My mother put her arm about me. “My dear child,” she said, “if it has taught you a lesson it was worth it. Thank God you came safely back.”
“It was good of the Pilkingtons to bring her back,” said my grandmother.
“I rushed into them. I was almost home then,” I said.
“But they really were concerned,” went on my grandmother. “Wouldn’t it be strange if they took Grasslands?”
“There’s something about them I don’t like,” said my mother, and there was a strange expression on her face as though she had drawn a veil over her features to hide what she really felt.
“They seemed pleasant enough,” said my grandmother.
“And to have the means to buy the place,” added my grandfather.
“Carlotta showed her over Enderby Hall,” said my mother. “And then she decided not to let. She must have taken a dislike to her.”
“Oh, it was just one of Carlotta’s whims,” said my grandmother. “That couldn’t have had anything to do with Elizabeth Pilkington. She just did not want to sell the house.”
“It will be strange if you have found a buyer for Grasslands, Damaris.”
I thought it would be strange too. I rather hoped I had. I thought it would be rather pleasant to have the Pilkingtons as neighbours.
The next day Matthew Pilkington called.
I was in the hall when he arrived so I was the first to greet him. He was carrying a big bunch of violets.
He smiled at me. He was very handsome—in fact I think the most handsome man I had ever seen. Perhaps his clothes helped. He was wearing a mulberry-coloured velvet jacket and a very fine waistcoat. From the pockets low down in his coat a frilly white kerchief showed. His stick hung on a ribbon from his wrist. He wore high-heeled shoes which made him look very tall—he must be of a considerable height without them; and the tongue of his shoe stuck up well above the instep, which, I had learned since coming to London, was the very height of fashion. In one hand he held his hat, which was of a deep shade of blue, almost violet. In fact his clothes toned beautifully with the flowers, so that I could almost have believed he had chosen them for that purpose. But of course that could not be so, violets having a special significance.
I felt myself flushing with pleasure.
He bowed low, took my hand and kissed it.
“I see you have recovered from your adventure. I came to enquire and I have brought these for your mother so that she shall not be without what you braved so much to get for her.”
“Oh, but that is so good of you,” I said. I took the flowers and held them to my nose, inhaling the fragrance.
“From the best flower seller in London,” he said. “I got them in the Covent Garden Piazza this morning.”
“She will be so pleased. You must come in.” I took him into the little winter parlour which led from the hall.
“Please sit down,” I said.
He put his hat on the table in the hall and followed me.
“So,” he said, “you are returning to the country tomorrow. I am sorry about that. My mother would so liked to have entertained you. She is anxious to hear more of this house which is for sale.”
“It’s a very pleasant house,” I said.
“I wonder why the owners left it.”
“The wife died having a baby and her husband can’t forget. He came from the north originally and has gone back there. They were very great friends of ours and we have offered to show people the house if they are thinking of buying it. My grandmother has the keys at Eversleigh House.”
“And what about this other house?”
“Enderby. Well, that is a fine house too, but it has the reputation of being haunted.”
“My mother was most impressed by it.”
“Yes, but Carlotta, my sister, who owns it, decided not to sell. It was left to her, you see, by the previous owner, who was a relative.”
“I see, and Enderby remains empty.”
“It is extraordinary. Carlotta’s whim, my grandfather calls it.”
“Where is your sister?”
“She is married now and lives in Sussex. She has the dearest little baby. Tell me, do you live in London?”
“Well, I have a place in the country—in Dorset—a small estate to look after. I am there sometimes and sometimes with my mother in London. Of course now that there is war I may join the army.”
I frowned. My mother hated wars so fiercely that she had imbued me with the same feeling.
“It seems ridiculous that we should concern ourselves with the problems of other countries,” I said. “Why should what happens in Europe matter to us?”
I was really repeating what I had heard my mother say.
He said: “It is not quite as simple as that. Louis the Fourteenth, the French King, made an agreement with our late King and he has broken that agreement. His grandson Philip of Anjou has been made King of Spain. You see France will be dominating Europe. He has already put garrisons into the towns of the Spanish Netherlands. Worst of all he has acknowledged the son of James the Second as James the Third of England. War has been declared and we have strong allies in Holland and the Austrian Empire. It is necessary to go to war, you see.”
“So you may become a soldier. My father was a soldier once. He gave it up. My mother was so much against it. He bought the Dower House at Eversleigh and farms the land there and looks after his tenants; he works with my grandfather, who is getting old now. You met him yesterday. My uncle Carl is in the army and so is my uncle Edwin. He is the present Lord Eversleigh. He lives at Eversleigh when he is home.”
“I know yours is a family with a strong military tradition.”
We were deep in conversation when my mother entered the room. She drew back in astonishment.
“Oh, mother,” I cried, “we have a visitor. And he has brought some violets for you.”
“That is kind,” she said. “Thank you.” She took them and buried her face in them.
“My mother asked me to try to persuade you to stay a few more days so that we could entertain you here in London,” said Matthew Pilkington.
“That,” said my mother, “is extremely kind but we have made our arrangements.”
She sent for the customary wine and he stayed for an hour. I felt he was reluctant to go but I sensed that my mother was not eager for him to stay. I hoped he did not realise this and that I did only because I knew her so well.
When he left he said: “I believe we shall meet again soon.”
“I hope so,” I said warmly.
Later that day my mother told my grandparents that Matthew had called.
“A suitor for Damaris already,” said my grandmother.
“Nonsense,” retorted my mother, “she is far too young. In any case he brought the violets for me.”
“An excuse of course,” said my grandmother.
I suppose hearing Matthew referred to as my suitor set me thinking. He had seemed to like me. Then I realised that this was one of the rare occasions when Carlotta had not been present to demand attention.
Still, I rather liked the idea of having Matthew for a suitor.
We left London the next day. As we rode out of the town, passing through Temple Bar into Cheapside, where the stall holders and their customers made passage difficult, to Bucklersbury, where the tantalising smells which came from the apothecaries and grocers shops filled the air, and as I saw the grey walls of the Tower of London rising above the river I thought of what could have happened to me when I ventured into these fascinating but terrifying streets and how fortunate I had been to encounter no worse than Good Mrs. Brown.
Indeed I was beginning to bestow on her that benevolence she had been so eager to claim. Moreover, I remembered that she had brought the Pilkingtons into my life; and since Matthew had called with the violets I had been thinking about him a good deal.
My mother had been inclined to laugh at what she called his dandified appearance. My grandfather said it was the fashion and most young men looked like that nowadays. He thought fashions were less exaggerated than in his young days. “We were beribboned. Yes, that’s it! Ribbons in every conceivable place.”
My grandmother was rather pleased that Matthew had called again. She was sure he had come to see me. She had always felt that Carlotta overshadowed me and I knew that now she believed I should come into my own.
When I came to think of it I was rather pleased that Carlotta was not here. Then I fell to wondering whether I should ever see Matthew again.
So we left London and came into the country.
We stayed one night in an inn near Seven Oaks and the next day were home.
When I had assured myself that my dogs and my horse had been well cared for I was prepared to settle down to the daily routine, but somehow nothing could be quite the same again. We had a new sovereign; and I had had that adventure which was going to haunt me for a while. It did. I had a few nightmares dreaming I was in that horrible room with the three young girls and they were creeping up to me led by Good Mrs. Brown. I would awake calling out and clutching the bedclothes frantically to me. Once my mother heard me. She sat by the bed.
“How I wish we had never gone up to London,” she said.
But after a while I ceased to dream, and then there was the excitement of Elizabeth Pilkington’s coming to Grasslands Manor.
As soon as she saw it she declared that she liked it; and this time the sale went through. By the end of the summer she was installed in the Manor.
Matthew by that time was serving with the army, and I did not see him, but I became friendly with her and we visited each other frequently.
I helped her move in and buy some of the furniture for the house, for she was still keeping her London residence.
“I am so used to town life,” she told me, “that I can’t abandon it altogether.”
She was amusing and lively and talked a great deal about the theatre and the parts she had played. She reminded me of Harriet and indeed they had known each other at one time when they had played together in William Wycherley’s The Country Wife. My grandfather liked her and she was often invited to Eversleigh. My mother became friendly with her too. Her dislike seemed to be for Matthew and now that he was in the army she seemed to have forgotten about him.
That Christmas we went to Eyot Abbass. Little Clarissa was quite a person now. She was ten months old and beginning to take an interest in everything. She was fair haired and blue eyed and I loved her dearly.
My mother said: “Damaris will make a good mother.” And I thought more than anything I should like to have a baby of my own.
Carlotta was as beautiful as ever. Benjie adored her and was so delighted to be her husband. It was not so easy to know how Carlotta felt. She had always been unpredictable. There was a vague restlessness in her which I could not understand. She was the most beautiful girl in any gathering; she had a husband who clearly wanted to grant her every wish; she had a dear little baby, a gracious home; Harriet and Gregory were very fond of her and she had all her life been like a daughter to them. What did Carlotta want to make her happy?
I couldn’t resist asking her once. It was four days after Christmas and I went out walking with Gregory’s retriever when I came upon her sitting in the shelter of a cliff looking out to the Eyot.
I sat down beside her. “You are lucky, Carlotta,” I said. “You just have everything …”
She turned to look at me in amazement. “What has come over our little Damaris?” she asked. “She used to be such a contented little piece. Happy in her lot, ministering to the sick—animals mostly but not above taking a basket of goodies to the ailing of the district-goodness and contentment shining from her little face.”
“You always made fun of me, Carlotta.”
“Perhaps it was because I could never be like you.”
“You … like me! You’d never want to.”
“No,” she said. “You’re right there. What an adventure you had in the wicked city. Robbed of your clothes and sent out naked. My poor Damaris!”
“Yes, it was terrifying. But I ran into the Pilkingtons and because of that Elizabeth Pilkington is at Grasslands. Carlotta, isn’t it strange how one thing that happens leads to something else which wouldn’t have happened otherwise?”
She nodded and was serious. I could see her thinking of that.
“You see, if I hadn’t gone out to buy violets …”
“I get the point,” she said. “No need to elaborate.”
“Well, it just struck me.”
“You like this woman, don’t you? I did when I showed her Enderby.”
“Why did you decide so suddenly not to sell?” I asked.
“Oh, I had my reasons. She has a son, has she?”
“Yes … Matthew.”
“You like him, don’t you?”
“How … did you know?”
She laughed at me and gave me a friendly push. “That was the trouble, Damaris. I always know what you’re going to do. You’re predictable. It makes you …”
“I know,” I said. “Dull.”
“Well, it is nice to meet a little mystery now and then. So Matthew was very gallant, wasn’t he?”
“He brought violets for our mother.”
She burst out laughing.
“Why do you laugh?” I asked.
“Never mind,” she said. Then she stared out to sea and said: “You never know what is going to happen, do you? Right across the sea, that’s France over there.”
“Of course,” I said, a little nettled by her laughter. “What’s odd about that? It’s always been there, hasn’t it?”
“Imagine it over there,” she said. “There’ll be a lot of excitement. The old King dying and now the new one.”
“There isn’t a new one. It’s a Queen we have.”
“They don’t think so over there.”
She hugged her knees, smiling secretly.
I was about to remark that she was in a strange mood. But then Carlotta was often in a strange mood.
A few days later when I was riding I passed the same spot and there she was seated by the rock staring out to France.