It was more even than my anxieties about my son which made me want to return to the country. It may have had something to do with my glimpse of Harriet. She had sat there on her horse, magnificent, flamboyant, her complexion glowing. I knew that it owed something to artifice now, for I had learned some of her secrets, but that made the sight of her no less beautiful. It was not how beauty was achieved, it was merely a matter of its being there. That gaiety, the belief in the future, how long could it continue? I kept thinking of Carleton’s cynical comment: “James Gilley doesn’t keep his women long.”

I hated to think of Harriet’s being in that position. But I fancied too that both she and Barbary had been somewhat condescending in their attitude towards me. They took lovers wherever they fancied. Let them, but should they despise me because I had no wish to do so? Yet I was sure they did.

I decided I would put them from my mind, and the best way of doing this was to devote myself to domesticity in my new home. There was a great deal to do at Eversleigh. Many of the treasures had still to be brought out of hiding and put in their rightful place. Matilda wanted to set up her stillroom where in the past she had made wines and simples. She loved sweet scents and I had to admit I did too. She liked to fill pomanders and bowls with herbs of her own combining, and sometimes the smell of her concoctions would fill the house and we called that “Simple Time.”

Charlotte shared my pleasure in the house, and there was no doubt that I was on happy terms with my husband’s family.

Chief of all my pleasures was caring for my baby. I had a nurse, Sally Nullens, who had nursed Edwin and Charlotte and had just been waiting, she said, for another little one who would need her. She was old, but I thought it was right to have someone who was trusted by the family, and Edwin showed a partiality for her which settled the matter. She tried to make no difference in her treatment of the two boys, but I knew that Edwin was her favourite.

Ellen was still in the kitchens and Jasper worked in the stables. It was pleasant to see little Chastity again. She came and stood shyly before me, and when I knelt down and put my arms about her, she hugged me tightly. She was clearly one who was glad I was back. I took her to see the babies and she laughed with pleasure. She seemed very happy that we were there, and no wonder. From now on it was not going to be sinful to laugh and play. Chastity seemed to believe that I was responsible for the new state of affairs and regarded me as though I were some sort of benevolent goddess.

Ellen was a little shamefaced. As for Jasper he was inclined to be sullen. Puritanism had been so much a part of him that he would not abandon it lightly. It was clear to see that Ellen was not displeased to escape from the yoke, and although she was loyal to Jasper and if she found herself laughing would stop suddenly and look ashamed, she was glad not to have to suppress her natural inclination to enjoy life.

Ellen liked to talk to me, and I soon had the notion that she was trying to tell me something. Once when I went into the kitchen and we were alone there she said: “It were a terrible tragedy … what happened to the young master.”

I nodded.

She went on: “We were not to blame. That’s what I want you to know. ’Tweren’t us. ’Twere nothing to do with us.”

“Don’t let’s talk of it, Ellen,” I said. “It distresses us all and nothing can bring him back.”

“But I think, mistress, that you may blame us. I want you to know it was not through us …”

“Ellen,” I interrupted, “it was my fault. I was careless. I did not consider that it would be thought irreligious to give a child a pretty button. It seemed such nonsense to me.”

Ellen flushed with a certain shame. “It was thought to be, mistress. And Jasper, he was of the opinion that it was bad for Chastity.”

“I understand, Ellen. And it was my carelessness that was to blame. Then that man came asking questions, and I betrayed us. We can talk of it now. There is no longer need for secrecy. Because of my carelessness my husband was killed.”

“’Twere not because of your talk, mistress. ’Twas not one of us that killed him. ’Twas something else.”

“I don’t understand you, Ellen.”

“I shouldn’t speak of it. But I know that you blame yourself. ’Twere known before. ’Twas not as you thought.”

“You mean it was not one of your friends who killed my husband?”

“I mean, mistress, that it was not because of what you said. They were growing wise to why you were at Eversleigh and there would have been trouble in time. But it were not because of you that he was killed.”

“Ellen, you are trying to comfort me.”

“You should be comforted, mistress. ’Twere no fault of yours. I tell you that. I can say no more. But you should not fret. You had no hand in it.”

I pressed her hand warmly. Ellen was a kindhearted, good woman now that she was at liberty to show her true nature.

“You must be happy, mistress,” she went on looking searchingly into my face. “You have the dear baby. He will be your strength and comfort. And as for the rest, you must say it was as the good Lord meant it to be, and perhaps he was saving you sorrow in one way while giving it in another.”

When I was in my room that night I thought, as I always did, of the nights Edwin and I had spent there. I remembered how he would often come in late at night and would sometimes leave early in the morning. I had not realized then the danger of his mission. I thought of Ellen’s words. It was almost as though she knew something and was holding it back.

It was not they who had killed him, she implied. Not the band of Puritans who had grown suspicious of our presence in the house. Who then?

I dozed and fell into a half dream. Carleton was in that dream, with his wife beside him. She was laughing at me for my simplicity. They both were. Then Ellen was there. We did not kill your husband, mistress. ’Twere not us.

Barbary’s voice, rather shrill and strident, broke into my dreams. “I have heard of you. You have a fine son, I believe.” And she was laughing at Carleton, and suddenly he brought something he had been holding behind his back and placed it over his face. It was a mask, evil, horrible and frightening. I screamed and woke myself up.

“Edwin?” I cried. “Edwin …”

I was calling to my son and I had to get out of bed to assure myself that he was safe.

He was lying in his cot, smiling seraphically in his sleep. In the next cot was Leigh, one chubby hand clutching the coverlet.

All was well in the nursery. I had had a bad dream but the memory of it would not be dismissed. It stayed in my mind like a sleeping snake waiting to uncoil and strike. A vague uneasiness had come to me.

I was very reluctant to leave my son, and for that reason I remained at Eversleigh Court and did not go to London and the King’s Court, which I could so easily have done. If I went away even for a day, I would be uneasy, so that I could never have enjoyed any of the jaunts which had been arranged for me, in which case, as I explained to my mother-in-law and Charlotte, I was best at home. They agreed with me. Charlotte had no desire for society. She loved to be with the children and I was delighted that she seemed to have a special devotion for Leigh. In the beginning she had not wished to see him, which was understandable; then her mood changed, and she really began to look on him as hers. This was good, because I was afraid that the little boy might begin to notice that Edwin was specially favoured, and I thought it might give rise to jealousy. Leigh had a strong personality, vociferous and demanding—taking after his mother, I thought. He had inherited her lovely eyes and was going to be very handsome, there was no doubt of that. He did not seem to notice that he was of any less importance in the nursery than Edwin and had a habit of pushing himself forward as though it was his right. This was amusing, while he was so young, and Edwin was of such a gentle nature that he loved everybody and seemed to be of the opinion that everyone loved him … which they did. But perhaps not everyone. … I often wondered what Carleton thought of him.

Not that Carleton ever came to the nursery, or showed the slightest interest in the children. He was at Eversleigh now and then, for there was much to be done on the estate and that was his main preoccupation. But he did spend a certain amount of time at Court. He was, Charlotte told me, on terms of intimacy with the King and they enjoyed each other’s company immensely.

Nearly two years had passed since our return to England, and during that time my father had received lands and a title from the King for his services. He was now a baron, Lord Flamstead. This was gratifying and no more than he deserved. My mother was very happy. She had her family with her and I was not so very far off. We could meet now and then and she could have her brood almost completely under her wing. Cromwell’s men had made almost a ruin of Far Flamstead and there was a great deal to do in the restoration of it. It was an exciting project to rebuild, and under my mother’s direction, work was going on apace. She often accompanied my father to Court and she was, I knew, planning to get Lucas married. I doubt she had ever been so happy.

In spite of everything she did not forget me. I knew I had always been the very special favourite of my parents. I was their first child. They had suffered for me. I was a vindication to my father that he could beget healthy children and beneath that rather austere exterior, he was a sentimental man.

If only Edwin were alive, I used to think, I could be perfectly happy.

What celebrations there were when I visited Flamstead. My parents were determined to show me how much I meant to them. I took Edwin with me, and my father-in-law insisted that I travel in his carriage, a new acquisition of which he was very proud, and I set out accompanied by my father-in-law and about twenty men to guard me. I felt very moved that he showed such concern for me. He travelled all the way with us and stayed with us for two days before returning to Eversleigh.

When I arrived my parents said that now I was there with their grandson, their pleasure was complete. I was to stay for two weeks.

It was wonderful to be with my family. Dick, Angie and Fenn had grown up quite a bit. They remembered Congrève, though, and I think, in spite of everything, they looked back on those days with affection and perhaps a certain nostalgia.

They chattered a great deal about the play we had performed and they often mentioned Harriet, of course. Where was Harriet? they wanted to know. She had gone away, I told them. And did she take her baby with her? No, her baby had stayed behind with Edwin. Fenn informed the company that he was an uncle, which brought in a light note. I knew my parents did not want to talk about Harriet.

But my mother brought up the subject when we were alone.

“I am glad she has gone,” she said. “I did not like her being there. She is an adventuress. She imposed on your kindness of heart.”

“Perhaps,” I said, “but we had such fun, Mother. The children loved her. There is something lovable about her. I hope she will be happy.”

My mother shrugged her shoulders. “Gilley is notorious for his mistresses, apparently. She’ll be passed on to someone else, I daresay. Of course she is outstandingly handsome and will not lack lovers now. But when she gets older …”

I felt depressed thinking of an ageing Harriet, poor, lonely, no longer able to appeal to men.

My mother touched my hand lightly. “Don’t worry about her. You have done everything for her. You have even taken on the care of her son.”

“He’s an engaging little fellow.”

“Most babies are,” said my mother indulgently. “Arabella, perhaps before long you will marry again.”

I stared at her in horror.

“My dear child, it would be natural. You are young. You should have someone to care for you.”

“No one could care for me more than the Eversleighs. They are so good to me.”

“I knew they would be and I rejoice. But if you should fall in love again?”

“I couldn’t. You did not know Edwin, Mother. Nobody could be like him. If he had been less perfect … perhaps it would have been easy. But I should compare everyone with him …”

“Later on, perhaps?”

“Never,” I said vehemently.

I rode with my father around the estate. He delighted in showing me his new lands and what he was doing to restore the old ones. On the ruins of the old castle folly my mother was making a beautiful garden. She spent a great deal of time there.