When Hessenfield saw me he was overcome with delight.

“No one ever did justice to you before, my love,” he said.

He took me into see Clarissa, who stared at me in amazement.

“Is it really you?” she asked.

I knelt down and kissed her.

Hessenfield cried out in dismay. “You’ll wreck your skirts.”

I laughed at him and he laughed with me.

“Are you proud of her, Clarissa?” he asked.

Clarissa nodded. “But I like the other way too.”

“You like me however I am, don’t you, Clarissa?”

She nodded.

“And do I come into this magic circle?” asked Hessenfield.

“What’s circle?”

“Later we’ll talk,” said Hessenfield. “Come on, my dear, the carriage awaits us.”

So I went to St. Germain-en-Laye and to the chateau there.

I was presented to the man they called James the Third as Lady Hessenfield. James was younger than I. I think he must have been about seventeen at this time. He greeted me warmly. Although he had a regal manner, he seemed to wish to show his gratitude to those exiles who had gathered round him and particularly those who, like Hessenfield, had sacrificed a good deal to serve him.

“You have a beautiful lady, Hessenfield,” he said.

“With that I am completely in agreement, Sire.”

“She must come often to our court. We need all the grace and beauty we can get during this period of waiting.”

I said how glad I was to be here and he replied that he would have said he hoped I would stay a long time, but none of us wished to stay as the guests of the King of France a moment longer than we need.

“Let us say, Lady Hessenfield, that you and I will be good friends in Westminster and Windsor.”

I said: “I trust it may be soon, Sire.”

I was presented to his mother—poor sad Mary Beatrice of Modena. I was drawn to her more than to her son. She was by no means young and must have been about thirty when James was born. And she had suffered a great deal when as a very young girl she had come to England most reluctantly to marry James—the Duke of York—already a widower with an established mistress. I was sorry for her. She had been a beauty once but now she was so thin as though worn out with the sorrows of life. Her complexion was pale but with those fine dark eyes she must have been very beautiful in her youth.

She was as welcoming as her son and told me how glad she was to see me and I should be welcome at court whenever I wished to come. She had heard I had brought my daughter with me and she talked of children for a while.

“Lord Hessenfield gave such support to my husband and now gives it to my son,” she said. “I am happy for him to have his beautiful wife with him, and having seen you, my dear Lady Hessenfield, I understand his pride in you. You are a very beautiful woman and a joy to our court.”

Hessenfield was delighted that I had been such a success.

“I knew you would,” he said. “Beauty like yours is a rare gift, sweet wife. It is for me alone but I am glad to let others have a glimpse of it—a glimpse, nothing more.”

“I am not your wife, you know,” I said. “But everyone here seems to think I am.”

“You are … you are mine. We are bound together for ever … I have told you only death shall part us. I swear it, Carlotta. I love you. You must love me too. We have our child. I would marry you tomorrow if it were possible. But here we are married. Everyone believes it to be so … and after all, what people believe to be is true for them. So let the strength of their belief be ours. My love … I am happier than I have ever been in my life … You and the child … I ask for nothing more.”

I realised that this was a strange speech for a man like Hessenfield to utter. There had been little sentimentality in his life until now. I could see that what was there had been born out of the strength of his feeling for me.

I was tremendously happy riding back in the carriage to our hôtel in Paris.

Yes, Hessenfield had changed. He had become the family man. He was still the passionate and demanding lover by night, and I was amused that during the day he became absorbed by arranging his household.

The dressmaker who served the French court was often at our house. I was to be the centre of her attention. I recognized her skill and I had always been proud of my good looks so it pleased me, therefore, to discover that there were so many ways of enhancing them.

I heard that I was referred to as the Beautiful Lady Hessenfield and when I rode out people stood about to watch me.

I was vain enough to enjoy it.

Clarissa commanded a good deal of Hessenfield’s attention and one day he said to me: “We shall have to stay at St. Germains at times. There is work for me to do and it can only be done there. We can’t take Clarissa. We should have a good nursery governess for her. Someone who can teach her and look after her at the same time.”

“I should not want her to speak French entirely. It would change her somehow.”

“She shall speak both languages.”

“But a French nurse would not speak English to her.”

“We should do that. It is hardly likely that you would find an English nursery governess here. We must look round. I have already let it be known that we are searching for someone suitable.”

“It must be someone of whom I approve.”

He kissed me. “It must be someone of whom we both approve.”

It seemed the greatest good fortune when Mary Marton arrived.

I was with Clarissa when she was announced. I left the child and received her in the salon. She was of middle height, very slender, with pale yellow hair and light blue eyes. She had an extremely deprecating manner. She had heard that I needed a nursery governess for a young child and had come to offer her services.

She told me that she had been brought to France by her mother, who had followed her father, who had been in the service of the late King. Her father had died almost immediately and she and her mother had gone to another part of France—near Angoulême. Her mother was now dead and she had come to Paris to see if she could earn a little money as she had become very poor.

She had a family in England and hoped eventually to return to them, but as her father had been a Jacobite it would not be easy for her to return. In the meantime she had to earn a living.

She was well educated, was fond of children and qualified to take on the care of a child. In any case she would be most grateful for the chance.

I was delighted because I wanted Clarissa to retain her English characteristics. I was always hoping that we should return to England. I wanted to see my mother, and Damaris was on my conscience a great deal. She and Benjie were like two reproachful shadows who would appear at any moment to cloud my happiness.

I believed, and so did a good many other people, that when Anne died James would be invited to come back. That was the time we were all looking forward to. Anne was a sick woman; surely she could not live very long. She had that fearful dropsy which made it difficult for her to walk; and she had long given up hope of producing an heir.

So when we did go I wanted my daughter to be English. She could already chatter a little in French, which she did with the servants. That was good but her main tongue must be English.

Therefore I was delighted to engage Mary Marton, and when Clarissa seemed to take to her that settled it. Clarissa of course took to everyone; she had the beautiful notion that everybody in the world loved her and therefore she must love them. I would have liked to have taken that up with some of those who had declared she was spoilt. Spoiling perhaps had its point. It had certainly turned my child into an extremely affectionate one.

Hessenfield was delighted that we had found our nursery governess so quickly. He was beginning to talk to me about his plans and how members of his society were constantly going back and forth to England and that when the day came for the great invasion it would be known where they could most safely land and how many people they could rely on.

There was a tremendous project in progress at that time. Several men were going over to land arms and ammunition. They knew where it could safely be deposited. It would be left in the possession of trusted Jacobites who lived in England posing as loyal subjects of the Queen.

“There will be these strongholds throughout the country,” he explained to me. “We already have one or two but the one we are now planning will be the most important so far.”

“You are not going …?” I said fearfully.

“Not this time. I have work to do here.”

I was thankful for that.

It was two weeks or so after Mary Marton joined us when Jeanne, one of the maids, came in to tell me that a gentleman was asking to see me.

“Who?” I asked.

“Madame, he would give no name. He is an English gentleman.”

“A … a stranger?” I asked.

“I have not seen him before, Madame.”

I said he should be shown in.

My amazement was great when Matt Pilkington entered.

“Matt!” I cried.

He looked at me helplessly.

“Carlotta,” he said, and coming forward seized both my hands. “I know I shouldn’t have come … but I couldn’t help it. I had to see you again …”

“Matt!” I cried. “How could you? How did you get here …?”

“It was not too difficult,” he said. “I came on a boat … landing along the coast, and made my way to Paris.”

“You are mad. England is at war … and you are a soldier. You’re in enemy territory.”

“Yes, I know. I know all that … but I had to see you. I heard, you see.”

“What did you hear?”

“That you had been forcibly taken away.”

I felt an immense relief. So that was what they believed.

“I called at the house … at Eyot Abbass. You remember I was not very far off … at the Fiddlers Rest … And they were all talking about it. About you and the child … I had to come here and see if it was true … to see you again …”

“You are in great danger.”

He shook his head. “I have long had Jacobite sympathies,” he said. “They know it. I am welcome here. They want everyone they can get. I am in no danger, Carlotta. I came to see you …”

“You must not come here, you know.”

“You are with him. They say you are Lady Hessenfield.”

“It is easier that way.”

“But your husband …?”

“Did you see him?”

“Yes. He was very sad. He was talking of coming over here. But that is impossible only Jacobites are welcome.”

“Did you tell them you were coming?”

“No. They would know where my sympathies lie. I had to be secret about it. I slipped away. But I have friends over here so … I am all right.”

I sighed. Then I said: “You mustn’t come here again, Matt. That … incident … it is all over. It was a momentary madness … do you understand?”

“On your part, yes,” he said. “For me it is my most precious memory.”

“Oh, no, Matt.”

“It is no use, Carlotta. I don’t want to hurt you, or embarrass you in any way. I just want to see you sometimes … to be near you. I promise you … I swear it … that I will never mention that time. If I could just be here … see you sometimes … it’s all I ask. I just want to know that you are here. You are so beautiful. More than that. You are an enchantress. Carlotta, you owe me this. Let me come here sometimes. Let me see you. Please.”

I said: “Well, I suppose if you are one of them and are working for them you will see Lord Hessenfield from time to time.”

“It is you I wish to see. And the child. She is so like you, Carlotta. I should like to see her too.”

“Where are you staying?”

“In the rue Saint Jacques. It was the best lodging I could get just now. I shall move later, I daresay. Carlotta, let me be your friend. Let me see you sometimes.”

“Matt, if you will promise me to forget all that …”

“I can’t promise to forget,” he said fervently, “but I will promise never to mention it to you nor to anyone. If I can come here now and then … see you from time to time … that is all I ask.”

I said he might. I was shaken. He was gentle and adoring as ever, but there was so much of which I did not want to be reminded.

During the next few weeks Matt was a frequent caller at the house. He made a point of seeing Clarissa and they got on very well together. I thought he did it just to have an excuse for calling at the house; but it occurred to me that Mary Marton might believe that he was attracted by her.