The Merridews were there and so were the Eghams. My mother said how unfortunate it was that Edwin and Leigh could not be with them. It was too tiresome of Lord Carson-their fierce old General to send them off abroad on some duty just over the festive season. She would tell him how she appreciated that when she had the chance!
I understood then. She really would thank him when she saw him.
I went to Christabel’s room two or three days after Christmas. It was bedtime and I had thought she looked very sad during the evening.
“I came to see if you were all right,” I said.
She smiled at me wanly. “It is not going to happen, Priscilla,” she answered. “I might have known it was too good to be true.”
I tried to comfort her.
Sometimes I wished that Edwin and Leigh had not come back to stay in the house during my parents’ absence. If my mother had been there she would have seen Edwin’s affection growing and she would have done something about it before it reached that stage.
Then I thought of the ecstasy when Jocelyn had put his ring on my finger and the agonies I had suffered when I had lost it. I was certain that it had fallen down at the back of the court cupboard which was too heavy for me to move. It was the only answer. At least it was out of sight there and safe, for they could not move the cupboard until springtime when they did the annual turning out. By that time perhaps this stupid persecution would be over and it would not matter who saw the ring.
That was how I comforted myself.
There was a letter for me from Harriet.
My dearest Priscilla,
It seems so long since we have met. I do want you to come and stay for a week or so with me. Just you … and perhaps bring that nice Christabel you told me about in your letters. I know your mother will spare you. We are doing a little masquerade.
John Frisby, the young man I told you about-the one who is staying here-is so good in his part, and I have one for you, too. I think he may be leaving soon and I should like you to meet him before he goes. Why not come soon? Don’t fail me, dear Priscilla.
I am writing to your mother …
I could imagine her. Dear, exciting Harriet, who was the most beautiful and attractive woman I had ever seen. She must have been absolutely irresistible when she was young.
When I mentioned this to her once, she laughed and retorted: “My darling, I was never so irresistible as I am now. I have gained experience and I find art quite a good compensation for nature.”
It was true that she painted her face with the consummate skill of an artist and gave an impression of dazzling beauty which could dispense with youth.
It was characteristic of her that she should throw herself wholeheartedly into this rescue. I wondered a little jealously whether Jocelyn had fallen in love with her.
Most men did.
I went to my mother and showed her Harriet’s letter.
“You must go, of course,” she said. “It will do you good. You have been looking a little wan lately. You seem as though you are worried about something. Dearest Cilia, don’t fret about Edwin. Bless your kind heart, it will all work out for the best, you will see.”
She kissed me fondly and I clung to her. I had a great impulse to confess everything and to tell her how worried I was about the lost ring and to explain all we had done about Jocelyn.
That would have been folly. I could imagine Leigh’s fury if I had done it.
So I said nothing and just hugged her.
“Harriet and her masquerades!” she went on. “I wonder what it will be this time.
I remember long ago before the Restoration when we did Romeo and Juliet. Harriet was a bit of a minx in those days. I wonder if she really has settled down. Gregory adores her, of course, and so does Benjie. She was always a collector of men. I think Leigh is fond of her, too.”
“I know he is. And so am I.”
“Of course he is. She’s his mother and she could even desert a child and still keep his love. Well, you go to her and … yes … take Christabel with you. It will do her good, too. Harriet stimulates people. I wonder what this young actor is like.
As I said, Harriet always had a way of collecting men. What are you going to take?
You should really have some new clothes now. We’ll talk about that when you come back. I don’t think you’ve finished growing yet. You are going to be a tall young woman, I can see.”
She patted my arm.
My emotions were mixed: pity for Christabel, apprehension about the lost ring, shame for deceiving my beloved mother, and above all excitement at the prospect of seeing Jocelyn again.
It was mid-January when we arrived at Eyot Abbas. It was a fine old house which Gregory Stevens had inherited when his elder brother had died. It was set in beautiful country, much more lush than that about Eversleigh, for it was not pestered by the cold east winds as we were.
