He nodded. ‘That is what I have decided … ’
‘And leave you here … sick!’
‘Listen to me, Lottie. I am not sick. I am merely old and unable to make a long and exhausting journey. That is not being sick. I don’t need nursing. If you stay here, there is nothing you can do. You cannot disappoint the children. You will go with them. That is my wish. And I shall stay here. I am well looked after. I have good servants. And you will come back to us in due course.’
I said: ‘This is a blow.’
He stared at the water of the moat and I wondered whether he had ever intended to come.
I couldn’t help being caught up in the young people’s excitement. We set out on horseback, considering the carriage too cumbersome and slow. Claudine rode between the two boys; she was growing very pretty and had a look of my mother. I think that was one of the reasons why she was the Comte’s favourite. She was sturdy, strong-willed and a little resentful of the protective air both boys showed towards her and the fact that they were inclined to treat her as a little girl. Charlot was handsome, dark-eyed, dark-haired with a quick alert look; Louis-Charles might have been his brother; they were close friends and got on very well, apart from the occasional disagreement which would end in fisticuffs as they were both hot-tempered.
We stayed a night at an inn which delighted them all, the two boys sharing a room and Claudine coming in with me. She was awake at dawn, eager to get on with the journey and making me rise with her.
She said: ‘There is only one thing missing to make this perfect. That is Grand’père.’
‘Pray don’t call him a thing,’ I said. ‘He would not appreciate that.’
We both laughed, but sadly because he was not with us.
The sea crossing provided a further delight to them and when we landed on English soil they could talk of nothing but Eversleigh. Dickon was at Dover to escort us to the house and there was wild excitement when Claudine flung herself at him and hugged him while the boys stood by grinning. Over Claudine’s head Dickon smiled at me, his eyes warm, but I did detect a hint of triumph in them and I thought: Even now he is thinking of winning.
But a visit did not mean that I had made up my mind. Perhaps I had been foolish to come. I had a fear that I was going to be swept off my feet, unable to make clear decisions, and I knew I must be wary of Dickon. He had the effect on me of potent wine.
Such memories came back. It was long since I had seen Eversleigh, but it always gave me a feeling of home. I did not know why that should be so since most of my life in England had been spent at Clavering. But this was the home of my ancestors. It seemed to wrap itself around me; it seemed to say: You have come home. Stay home. Home is the place for you.
Sabrina was waiting with a very warm welcome. She was as excited as the young people.
‘What a lovely house!’ cried Chariot.
‘It is not a castle,’ added Louis-Charles a trifle disparagingly.
‘Houses are really what you should live in,’ put in Claudine. ‘Castles are for sieges and holding out against the enemy.’
‘Some of our houses had to do that during the Civil War,’ said Sabrina. ‘But let me show you your rooms and you can explore the house later on. I am sure you will like it. It’s rambling and full of odd nooks and crannies. Your mother knows it well. It was once her home.’
Dickon said he would show them round in the morning when it was light.
We went to our rooms. I had my old one. I felt a twinge of sadness as I ascended the stairs because the last time I had been here my grandmother had been alive … so had my mother.
Sabrina knew what I was thinking. She said: ‘Your grandmother died peacefully. She never really got over Zipporah’s death.’
‘My father never has,’ I said.
‘I know.’ She pressed my hand. ‘But, Lottie, my dear, she wouldn’t want you to be sad while you are here. She would be so delighted that you had come.’
My old room. It must be more than ten years since I had been in it but it was still familiar to me.
Sabrina said: ‘Come down when you have washed and changed. We are eating almost immediately. Dickon thought you would be in need of a good meal.’
I washed and changed from my riding habit, and when I went downstairs I could hear the sounds of excited talking and laughter. The others were already in the punch-room close to the dining-room where, I remembered, they assembled before meals. I could hear Claudine’s high-pitched voice and the gruffer masculine ones.
I went in. There was a brief silence and then Dickon said: ‘You remember the twins, Lottie.’
Dickon’s sons! They must be almost twenty. Could that really be possible? I always thought of Dickon as being perpetually young. He must be forty-three. I had a sensation of time rushing past. My father was right. If we were ever going to make a life together, it should be soon.
