The house was set in hilly country about a mile from the sea, which could be glimpsed from the topmost windows. From there, too, it was possible to see the island known as the Eyot from which the house had taken its name. Once it had been quite a large island large enough to contain a monastery which had been destroyed at the time of the Dissolution. Now the sea had encroached considerably and there were only a few ruins of the monastery remaining. I had been there on several occasions for picnics.
It had always seemed a wild and fascinating place, rather eerie; and there were, of course, the usual rumours of lights being seen there and bells heard tolling.
Eyot Abbas was a rambling old house, Elizabethan. It had its share of towers and turrets, and with its red Tudor bricks it was delightfully mellow, set in the luxuriant green of the countryside. The grounds were beautiful and not too well tended. There was a delightful orchard next to the paddock where one could go for solitude. During my visits I liked to take a book there and curl up under my favourite apple tree.
I had very happy memories of Eyot Abbas. Everything was easygoing there. Harriet reigned like a queen over the household and the servants all behaved as though it were a privilege to serve her. Gregory never seemed to have recovered from the shock of her having married him. Benjie delighted in teasing her and clearly adored her even though she never worried about him, did not seem to care when he came hi wet through after riding and that he nearly shot one of the gardener boys when he was practising archery. He was eleven years old and suffered from no restrictions. Perhaps that was why he was so pleased with life.
There were no tensions in that household. Harriet never treated us any differently from the grown-ups. She would not have age mentioned. It was something she preferred to forget and that suited us all.
When we arrived the grooms were expecting us and they took our horses and the bags from the saddle horse and we went into the house.
Harriet was not at home. She was out riding with her guest.
“You know your room, Mistress Priscilla,” said Mercer, Harriet’s personal maid who had been with her in the theatre. “And I have put Mistress Connalt next to you.”
“That’s good, Mercer,” I replied. “I’ll take Mistress Connalt up.”
We mounted the stairs to our rooms. The colours were very bright. Harriet had refurbished Eyot Abbas when she became its mistress and the colours she had chosen were scarlet, purples and gold. “Trust Harriet to introduce royal colours,” my mother had commented.
My bedroom was in purple-purple hangings on the bed, purple rugs on the floor, purple curtains. The bedspread was of a lilac shade which toned in perfectly. Christabel’s room was in a bluish mauve.
I could see that she was impressed by the richness of everything and delighted to be treated as though she were not a governess. That meant a great deal to her-even more than usual because of what was happening between her and Edwin.
Mercer brought water for us to wash, so we did so and changed; and while this was happening Harriet returned. I heard her voice immediately. It was always like that with her-as though a fanfare of trumpets must greet her arrival.
I ran out of my room to the top of the staircase.
She was in the hall, and beside her, looking even more handsome than I had been imagining him, was Jocelyn. For a few seconds I stood still watching them, my emotions enveloping me.
Then Harriet saw me.
“Ah, my darling child! Priscilla, my love, come down at once. I want to welcome you and introduce you to John Frisby.”
I ran down the stairs. She caught me in her arms and I was wrapped in fragrance.
She looked magnificent in her riding habit. It was pale grey and there was a deep blue cravat at her throat which was the exact colour of her eyes. “I never saw anyone with eyes to match Harriet’s,” my mother had said. “I think they are the secret of her charm.” They were beautiful eyes-deep blue and heavily fringed with black lashes; her brows were black, too, very well defined, and her hair, luxuriantly curly, abundant and springing with life, was very dark, too. It was that contrast of blue eyes and black hair with a fair skin, rather impudent nose and perfect white teeth which made Harriet the beauty she was. But it was her exuberant manner, her displays of affection which she bestowed carelessly on all who wanted them-and that was everyone who came within her orbit-that made her the person she was, one who could commit that which hi others would be unforgivable and yet in her would be forgiven.
“Harriet is larger than life,” Mother had said. “She can’t be judged by normal standards.”
