Mrs. Barrington noticed my looks, I think. She took my hand and pressed it.

“I want to have a talk with you, dear,” she said. “When we are alone.”

Alarm shot through me which was due to the sensitivity of a guilty conscience. Whenever anyone spoke to me in that way, I imagined that something had been discovered.

The moment came.

She said: “Sit down, dear. I’m a little worried.”

“Oh? What about?”

“About you, my dear. You look a little drawn.”

“Drawn?”

“Not quite yourself. I think you must be very tired.”

“Oh no, I’m not in the least tired.”

She patted my hand.

“You’ve been wonderful. We never cease to talk about you and all you have done for Edward. I know how fond of him you are … but I think you are getting a little tired.”

“You mean …”

“I just mean that you are here all the time … and you must get really worn out.”

“Oh no … no. I’ve been to London. I went for the Waterloo celebrations. Edward insisted that I did and so I went.”

“I understand, dear. But I think you need help. That is why we have decided that Clare shall stay here … to help you.”

“Clare?”

“Why not? She is like a sister to Edward. They are fond of each other.”

“I know she has always been fond of Edward.”

“And he of her. But it is you I am thinking of, my dear. It will give you a little respite.”

“It is not necessary.”

The last thing I wanted was for Clare to come here. I always felt she had been resentful of me. I thought: She will be watchful. And I could not afford to be closely watched. She would try to find fault with me. Heaven knew that should not be difficult.

I protested again, but Mrs. Barrington had made up her mind.

“Do you know,” she went on, “being forced to go back to Nottingham has put new life into us both. Father didn’t really want to retire. It was those mobs that upset him. Well, that’s quietened down now. The punishment was getting so severe that they thought better of making all that trouble.”

“Yes,” I said, thinking of the man, Fellows, who had been hanged for what he had done.

“So you see, we can do without Clare quite easily. She will help with Edward.”

“It is so kind of you, but I really can manage quite well.”

“I know you can, dear. But Clare will stay and I’ll send on what she needs.”

There was only one thing to do and that was thank her graciously.

There were letters from Jake—one for me, one for Tamarisk.

He had written what could only be called a love letter, telling me how lonely it was in London without me. He would have to go to Cornwall, he supposed, and he would hate to be so far away. Suppose he asked me to bring Tamarisk for a visit? Since I had given him such irrefutable proof of my love, he could not do without me. He lived over and over again those hours we had spent in Blore Street and separation was unendurable.

I read the letter and put it away. I knew I should want to read it again and again.

Tamarisk was pleased with her letter, and although she assumed an indifference I believed she was really delighted to find herself with a father. I think she was a little fascinated by him.

“Would you like to go to London?” I asked her, trying to keep the lilt out of my voice.

“I don’t mind,” she said, coolly but with her eyes sparkling at the prospect.

“Your father thinks it would be a good idea if I took you. You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t mind,” she repeated.

I decided I would talk the matter over with my mother. The prospect of a visit to London always excited her. She said she thought it was a good idea and Tamarisk ought to see more of her father.

“It might well be that he will want to take her,” said my mother.

“You mean to live with him?”

“Why not? It would be natural.”

“I wonder if Tamarisk would want to go.”

“She could take Leah with her.”

The thought of Leah in Cornwall and myself miles away at Grasslands tormented me. Beautiful Leah who, I was sure, was either in love with Jake or ready to be.

“I don’t think she would want to leave Jonathan,” went on my mother, “although it might be a good idea if she did.”

“You’re a little worried about her penchant for Jonathan.”

“I would call it more than a penchant. A grand passion, more likely. She’s an intense little thing and Jonathan … well, let’s face it… he’s not the most stable of young men. He seems to enjoy that adoration she gives him.”

“We all like to be admired.”

“She’s growing up fast.”

“Oh, she’s a child.”

“Some girls don’t remain children long. Your father has misgivings about Jonathan.”

“Because of that gambling incident.”

“That was the start. No … I suppose the farmer’s daughter was that. But he has got off to a bad start. Your father thinks a great deal about the estate nowadays … more than he used to.”

“David looks after it magnificently.”

“Yes … but David hasn’t a son. Now there is little Peterkin, bless him.”

“Dear Mother, is Father planning to teach him estate management in his cradle?”

“No. But it has made a lot of difference. He feels if Jonathan is unsatisfactory there is little Peterkin to follow.”

“I think Jonathan will be all right.”

“He is so like his father.”

“A very fascinating gentleman, by all accounts.”

“Supposed to be. David is the solid one … and that’s what your father wants.”

“I gather he himself was not unlike his son, Jonathan, and that must mean that his grandson Jonathan is a little like him too.”

“Your father is unique. He could live recklessly and at the same time get to the top of whatever he undertook. I do wish he and Jonathan got on better. However, what about this trip to London? It should be easier for you now that Clare is with you.”

I found it hard to hide my eagerness.

“I could go quite soon,” I said.

“I think your father wants to go. He wants Jonathan to meet someone up there. So we might all go again. Amaryllis wouldn’t want to. I wonder she doesn’t take a trip with Peter now and then. He is always up and down.”

“It’s all those business interests, but of course she hates to leave the children.”

So it was arranged.

When I told Clare I was planning to go, she said I need not worry about leaving Edward so soon after my last visit. She would see that everything went well. I said I was grateful to her and she replied that that was what she had come for—to give me a change now and then.

“A respite,” she said, and there was a little curl to her lips which I tried not to notice.

The outcome was that we set out once more for London—my mother, my father, Tamarisk and myself in the carriage and Jonathan following us on horseback.

When we arrived at the house in Albemarle Street I noticed the new maid at once. Servants were apt to come and go in London. The housekeeper engaged them. Young girls often married after a short stay in the house and disappeared. In the country, if they married, it was usually someone on the estate and often meant that they continued working for us.

Prue Parker was the sort of girl one noticed because she was pretty in a rather gentle way. She had a demure manner. The housekeeper said that she was exceedingly shy, but she thought in time she would “shape up.”

I noticed Jonathan give her a second glance. He was like that with all young women. Weighing up their accessibility I called it.

Jake visited us on the day of our arrival.

“So eager to see your daughter?” said my mother.

“And delighted to see you… all,” he added.

He dined with us. He said he had paid a quick visit to Cornwall since he had last seen us and would have to go back there soon, but he would be in London for some little while yet; and he hoped during that time to get to know his daughter better.

He took her out the next day. He invited me to accompany them but I declined, saying that I must shop with my mother. But the following day Jonathan took Tamarisk for a trip on the river and there was our opportunity.

Of course I should have resisted it. I meant to, but my resistance crumbled and there I was as I had been before in that House in Blore Street, quite abandoned to my love.

He said that our separation had been unbearable. He made all sorts of wild plans and I let myself imagine that there might be possibilities of their coming to pass.

But how could there be? I was married to Edward. There was no way out for me.

I wondered how long he would wait. He was a very impatient man. He chafed against frustration more than I did. At least I had my guilt to hold me back.

When I looked ahead I saw years of secret meetings like this, years of frustrated longing and even when those longings were satisfied they were accompanied by the heavy weight of guilt.

“How I wish we need never leave here,” he said. “If we could stay here for ever … just the two of us …”

I reminded him: “You are forgetting this visit was arranged so that you could see your daughter.”

“And Jonathan has obligingly taken her off our hands.”

A thought struck me then. Obligingly? Could it possibly be that Jonathan knew? Was he helping us to be together? That was just the sort of thing he would do. Jonathan, at least, would understand.

But the very thought of anyone’s sharing our secret alarmed me.

I was restless … even in moments of intense passion. Then I thought of Amaryllis so secure in her domestic happiness. Oh happy Amaryllis!

I said: “We can’t go on like this.”

But he just looked at me and smiled. He knew—as I knew—that we would whenever the opportunity offered itself. More than that, he being the man he was would make those opportunities.

As we came out of the house I saw a man standing on the street corner. He turned and started to walk away in the opposite direction. I fancied I had seen him in this street before. It could have been on my last visit to London. I did not give him a second thought then.

We walked slowly back to the house.

We had retired for the night. I was very tired and went to sleep almost immediately to be awakened suddenly by the sound of shouts and footsteps. I hurriedly put on dressing gown and slippers and went into the corridor. I could hear someone crying. It sounded like a woman’s voice; and the noise was coming from my parents’ room.

I ran to it and there I stopped short. My father was red faced and angry. Jonathan was there in a state of undress as though he had just got out of bed hurriedly; and with her bodice torn and a scratch on her neck was Prue the new parlourmaid. Great sobs shook her body and she was trying to cover her breast with her hands.

Jonathan was shouting: “It’s a pack of lies. I did not send for her. She came.”

“Oh sir… oh sir…” moaned Prue. “Nobody will believe me.

“Be silent,” cried my father. “Do you want to wake the house?”

“Oh sir … he sent for me … he did … on my honour he did … and when I come he just got hold of me … and tore my bodice. I was frightened.”

My father said: “All go to your rooms. We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

“You won’t believe me,” wailed Prue. “You’ll all say I’m a bad girl… I’m not. I’m a good girl. I never done nothing …”

“You won’t be condemned without reason,” said my father, glaring at Jonathan. “But this is not the time.”

My mother got out of bed and put on her dressing gown.

“Come with me, Prue,” she said. “You should go to bed. We’ll hear all about it in the morning.”

“The girl’s a brazen liar,” said Jonathan.

“Hold your tongue!” cried my father. “And get out. Lottie, can you do something about this girl?”

I went over to her. “Come on, Prue,” I said. “You can tell me all about it.”

She lifted her face to mine. “I never… I swear I never.”

“All right,” I said, “all right. Which is your room?”

“I share with Dot and Emily.”

“Well, first of all we’ll tidy you up a little.”

My mother looked relieved. “Will you see to it, Jessica?”

“Yes,” I said.

Jonathan caught my arm.

“I swear, Jessica, she came to me.”

“Look, Jonathan,” I said. “It’s late. We don’t want to wake all the servants. Go to your room. It can all be sorted out in the morning.”

“It was a trick.”