I was bewildered. I was overcome by my emotions and found it difficult to understand them. I did not know whether I was wild with joy or filled with misery. I was lost in limbo, black and uncertain. I called his name again. My voice echoed through the house. That was no good. What if that stupid little Damaris was hiding somewhere, spying on me? No, that was not fair. Damaris did not spy. But she did have a habit of turning up when she wasn’t wanted.

Beau! What does this mean? Are you there? Are you hiding? Are you teasing me?

I went out of the gallery. I was going to look through the house. I went to our bedroom. I could smell the musk there.

It was awe inspiring, and the darkness would soon fall. The ghosts would come out—if ghosts there were.

“Oh, Beau, Beau,” I whispered, “are you here somewhere? Give me a sign. Let me understand what this means.”

I could feel the button growing hot in my hand. I half expected it to disappear but it was still there.

I went out of the house to my horse.

It was dark when I reached the Dower House. Priscilla was in the hall.

“Oh, there you are, Carlotta. I knew you were out. I was beginning to grow anxious.”

I wanted to shout: Leave me alone. Do not watch me and worry about me. Instead I said coldly: “I can take care of myself.”

I hesitated a moment and then went on: “I don’t think I want to sell Enderby after all.”

There was consternation at my decision. My grandfather said it was absurd that a chit of a girl should have a say in such matters. The house was neither use nor ornament and should be sold. My grandmother, I think, agreed with my grandfather; Leigh was tolerant and said it was my affair, and Priscilla, of course, started to worry about my strangeness in the matter. She knew it was something to do with Beau and she was upset because she had begun to think I was getting over that affair.

I sent a messenger to Mistress Pilkington at Crowhill to tell her that I had changed my mind. She sent back the key with a message that she was disappointed but understood how difficult I found it to part with such a house.

Christmas was coming and there was the usual bustle of preparation. Priscilla did all she could to arouse my interest; but I knew that I was difficult. My temper burst out at the least provocation, and Sally Nullens said I was like a bear with a sore head. Harriet sent a message to say that she, Gregory and Benjie would be joining us. We either spent Christmas at the Abbas or they came to Eversleigh. My grandmother insisted. She was very fond of Harriet; they after all had been friends almost all their lives and had met in France before the Restoration. My grandmother sometimes showed a certain asperity towards her, which seemed to amuse Harriet. Anyone who knew their history would understand it, because for a time Harriet had been Arabella’s rival and Edwin Eversleigh had been the father of Harriet’s son, Leigh, now Priscilla’s husband. We were a complicated family. It had all happened long ago and in Harriet’s eyes should be forgotten. But I could understand Arabella’s resentment towards her. Then Priscilla had gone to Harriet when I was about to be born. I could imagine Arabella resented that too. However, Harriet stayed at Eversleigh, and there was a very firm bond between her and my grandmother just as there was between my mother and Harriet, and myself and Harriet for that matter. Harriet had played a major part in all our lives and she was like a member of the family. My grandfather was the only one who disliked her and as he was a man who would not bother to hide his feelings, this was obvious. But there again I think he enjoyed his battles with her and I was sure she did. So it was always good when Harriet arrived.

It was the usual Christmas, getting in the yule log, decorating the great hall, giving the carol singers mulled wine out of the steaming punch bowl, feasting and dancing under the holly and mistletoe.

The Willerbys were there of course. Little Christabel was taken off to the nursery by Sally and she and Emily shook their heads and muttered about the less efficient methods employed at Grasslands compared with those at Eversleigh.

As we sat drowsily over the remains of the Christmas dinner, our goblets full of the malmsey and muscadel of which my grandfather was justly proud, Thomas Willerby again raised the question of his giving up Grasslands.

“I don’t know,” he said looking at my mother, “there is too much to remind us of Christabel.”

“We should hate you to go,” said Priscilla.

“And it would be so strange to have someone else at Grasslands,” added my grandmother.

“We’re such a happy community,” put in Leigh. “It’s really like one big family.”

Thomas’s expression grew very sentimental. I guessed he was about to say again that he owed his happiness to the Eversleighs.

Christabel had been my grandfather’s illegitimate daughter. He was a wild man, my grandfather; it always delighted me, though, to see how devoted he was to my grandmother. Harriet once said: “He was a rake till he married Arabella. Then he reformed.” I liked to think that that was how Beau would have been had we married.

“It is only the thought of leaving you all that has stopped my going before,” went on Thomas. “When Christabel went I knew I could never forget while I was here. There’s too much to remind me. My brother in York is urging me to go up there.”

“Dear Thomas,” said Priscilla. “You must go if it makes you happier.”

“Try it for a while,” suggested Harriet. “You can always come back.” She changed the subject. She was a little impatient of this sentimental talk, I knew.

“Strange if there were two houses for sale,” she said. “Ah, but Carlotta has changed her mind. She is not going to sell Enderby … for a while. I wonder what our new neighbors would have been like.”

“Carlotta was rather taken with her, were you not, Carlotta?” said my mother.

“She was very elegant. Not exactly beautiful but attractive with masses of red hair. I was very interested in Mistress Pilkington.”

“Pilkington!” said Harriet. “Not Beth Pilkington!”

“She was Mistress Elizabeth Pilkington.”

“I wonder, was she tall with rather strange-coloured eyes—topaz colour she used to call them? In the theatre we said they were ginger like her hair. Good Heavens. Fancy that! If Priscilla would have allowed her to, Beth Pilkington would have bought Enderby. She was a considerable actress. I played with her during my season in London.”

“I see it now,” I said. “She was an actress. She said she had a son.”

“I never saw him. I believe she had a rich protector. He would have to be rich to satisfy Beth’s requirements.”

My mother looked uneasy and said she thought it was going to be a hard winter. She disliked what she would think of as loose talk before Damaris and me. Leigh, who was always protective towards her, came in to help and talked about what he intended to do with some of the land he had acquired. My grandfather looked sardonic and I thought he was going to pursue the subject of Beth Pilkington, but Arabella gave him a look which surprisingly subdued him.

Then the talk turned to politics—beloved by my grandfather. He was fierce in his views—a firm Protestant and never afraid to state his feelings. These views of his had nearly cost him his life at the time of the Monmouth Rebellion, in which he had taken an active part and come before the notorious Judge Jeffreys. It was rarely mentioned in the household but I had heard of it. It upset everyone very much if that time was ever hinted at. However, he was safe enough now. Protestantism had been firmly established in England with the reign of William and Mary; although there was always a faint fear that James the Second might try to return, and I knew that a lot of people secretly drank to The King Across the Water, meaning James, who was sheltering in France as the guest of the French King.

Now there were whispers that King William was ailing. He and his wife, Mary, had had no children; and when Mary died, William had not married again. He was a good King though not a very likable man, and when he died there was a possibility that James might attempt to come back.

I knew this was a source of anxiety to both my mother and grandmother. They had a woman’s contempt for wars in which men liked to indulge generally to no purpose, as Harriet said.

Someone mentioned the death of the little Duke of Gloucester, the son of the Princess Anne, sister of the late Queen Mary and sister-in-law of the King. The little Duke had lived only eleven years.

“Poor woman,” said Arabella. “What she has gone through! Seventeen children and not one of them to live. I hear she is heartbroken. All her hopes were centred on that child.”

“It’s a matter of concern to the country also,” said my grandfather. “If William is not to last long, the only alternative is Anne, and if she does not produce a child what then?”

“There’ll be many eyes turned towards the throne during the next year or so, I’ll swear,” said Leigh.

“You mean from across the water,” added Thomas Willerby.

“Aye, I do,” agreed Leigh.

“Anne has many years left to her. She is thirty-five or thereabouts, I believe,” said Priscilla.

“And,” said my grandfather, “she has shown she cannot bear healthy children.”

“Poor little Duke,” said my mother. “I saw him when we were in London once exercising his Dutch Guards in the park. He was a real little soldier.”

“A sad creature,” said Harriet. “His head was too big for his body. It was clear for a long time that he couldn’t last long.”

“Eleven years old and to die! The King was fond of him, I think.”

“William has never had much affection to spare for anyone,” said Leigh.

“No,” agreed my grandfather, “but a King’s duty is not to spare affection but to rule his country and that is something William has done with commendable skill.”

“But what now, Carleton?” asked Thomas Willerby. “What now?”

“After William … Anne,” said my grandfather. “Nothing for it. We can hope that she produces another son … this time, a healthy one.”

“If not,” said Benjie, “there may be trouble.”

“Oh enough of all this talk of strife,” cried Harriet. “Wars never brought any good to anyone. Is this Christmas talk? Let us have a little more of the season of peace and goodwill and less of what will happen if … If is a word I never did greatly like.”

“Talking of wars,” said my grandfather with a malicious glance at Harriet. “There is going to be trouble over Spain. What do you think”—he glanced towards Leigh and Benjie—“of the grandson of the French King taking the crown of Spain?”

“Dangerous,” said Leigh.

“Not good,” agreed Benjie.

“Now what has Spain to do with us?” said my grandmother.

“We can’t have France in command of half of Europe,” cried my grandfather. “Surely you see that.”

“No, I don’t,” said Arabella. “I do believe you like trouble.”

“When it’s there, we’re not so stupid as to turn our faces from it.”

Harriet waved her hands to the gallery and the minstrels started to play.

My grandfather looked at her steadily. “Have you ever heard of an Emperor who took his fiddle and played while Rome was burning?”

“I’ve heard of him,” said Harriet, “and I have always thought he must have been devoted to the fiddle.”

“You don’t believe me, do you?” said my grandfather. “Let me tell you this, that in the life of our country things happen which at the time seem of small importance to those who are too blind to see their real significance, or who are so bemused by their desire for peace that they look the other way. And what affects our country affects us. A little boy has died. Prince William, Duke of Gloucester. That little boy would have been King in due course. Now he’s dead. You may think it is unimportant. Wait and see.”

“Carleton, they should have called you Jeremiah,” said Harriet mockingly.

“You get too excited about things which may never happen,” put in my grandmother. “Who is going to lead the dance?”

My grandfather rose and took her by the hand. I was not the least bit interested in this talk of conflict about the throne. I didn’t see how it could affect me.

How wrong I was, I was soon to discover.

It was the following day. We were all seated at table again when we had a visitor.

Ned Netherby had ridden over from Netherby Hall and he was clearly distraught.