“You don’t think Dolly will kill herself?”

“On the contrary. She seems delighted at the prospect.”

“ ‘My soul doth magnify the Lord’… and all that,” I quoted irreverently.

My mother looked at me intently. “Perhaps I shouldn’t be telling you all this. Sometimes, Jessica, I forget how young you are.”

“I’m quite knowledgeable. One learns about these things. I knew about Jane Abbey’s baby before she had it.”

“Your father thinks you are wise beyond your years.”

“Does he?”

“But most parents think there is something special about their offspring.”

“But my father is not like most parents. He would only think it if it were so.”

She laughed and ruffled my hair. “Don’t say too much about Dolly, will you? Not just yet. Of course it will come out and there’ll be a lot of gossip. But don’t set it going.”

“Of course not. I’ll only tell Amaryllis; and she never talks about anything if you tell her not to.”

I went away and thought a good deal about Dolly. Oddly enough I was to talk to her soon after my conversation with my mother.

I went over one day to see Aunt Sophie. Jeanne told me she was sleeping so I went into the garden to wait for a while and whom should I see there but Dolly.

She looked different. There was no thickening of her figure yet but there was a certain transformation in her face. The drawn-down eye was less noticeable. There was a little colour in her cheeks and the visible eye shone with a certain delight and, yes … defiance.

She was more talkative than I had ever known her.

I did not, of course, refer to the subject. It was she who brought it up.

“I suppose you know about me?”

I admitted I did.

“I’m glad,” she said. She gave me that odd look. “In a way you’re to blame.”

“I? What have I done?”

“When you were a little baby I kidnapped you. Did you know that?”

“Yes,” I said.

“I thought you were the other one. I was going to kill her.”

“Kill Amaryllis! Whatever for?”

“Because she was alive … and oh … it’s an old story. But my sister had lost her lover and she killed herself. It was all mixed up with them at Eversleigh. It was their fault that it had happened. She was going away with her lover and I was going with her to look after the little baby.”

“You mean … you wanted revenge through Amaryllis?”

“Something like that.”

“But Amaryllis … she is the most inoffensive person I ever knew. She would never do anyone any harm.”

“It was because she was a baby and I’d lost Evie’s. But I took you instead … the wrong baby, you see. I had you up in my room hidden away. I was afraid you were going to cry. You were the most lovely baby I had ever seen. I used to try to make myself believe you were Evie’s baby. You used to smile at me when I spoke to you. I just loved you when you were a baby. That was when above everything I wanted a baby of my own. It was you who started it. And now I’m going to have one.”

“You seem very happy about it.”

“I always wanted a little baby… ever since I took you. I thought I’d look after Evie’s. I don’t care what people say. It will be worth it to have a little baby. You’d like to know about it, wouldn’t you?”

I did not speak for a moment. I looked into her face and I thought of her dancing round the bonfire on Trafalgar night.

“And … the baby’s father?” I said weakly.

She smiled, reminiscently, I thought.

I said: “Was it… Romany Jake?”

She did not deny it. “He used to sing those songs for me. No one ever cared about me before. He said life was meant for enjoying. There should be laughter and pleasure. ‘Live for today,’ he said, ‘and let tomorrow take care of itself.’ The gypsies lived a life of freedom. It was what they cared about more than anything. And so … I was happy … for the first time in my life, really. And now… there is going to be a little baby … mine and Jake’s.”

I felt deflated; betrayed. I could see him so clearly standing there in the light of the bonfire. I had felt he was calling to me … to me … not to Dolly. He had wanted me to be down there dancing with him and I had wanted to be there. Only now did I realize how much.

“Dolly,” I said, “did he ask you to go off with the gypsies … with him … ?”

She shook her head.

“It was such a night… It was the people dancing and singing … and everything somehow not quite real. I’ve never known anyone like him.”

“You will love the baby, Dolly.”

Her smile was ecstatic. “More than anything on earth I wanted a little baby … a little baby of my own,” she repeated.

I thought what a strange girl she was! She had changed, grown up suddenly. Though she was adult in years, there had always been a childishness about her, perhaps because she was so vulnerable. I was angry suddenly with Romany Jake. He had taken advantage of her innocence. He had called to me with his eyes, with his presence … but I was too young … I was guarded by my family and so he had turned to Dolly. It was wrong; it was wicked … but it had given Dolly what she wanted more than anything on earth.

She said: “I have nightmares about Granny. You know how you feel when it’s your fault… in a way. I could say I killed her.”

“You!”

“I didn’t know where she had gone … not then. But now I know and I know why. There was a terrible scene that night before she died. I’ve got to tell someone so I’ll tell you because it was partly your fault for being the baby you were … and it was your family who made Evie do what she did. But for the Frenshaws at Eversleigh, Evie’s lover would never have been found out and he would have gone to France with Evie and me and she would have had the dear little baby … so it was the Frenshaws’ fault in a way.”

“Tell me what happened that night when your grandmother went out in the cold.”

“She thought there was something wrong with me and she questioned me. When I said I was going to have a baby she nearly went mad with rage. She kept saying, ‘The two of you. It’s happened to the two of you. What’s wrong with you …’ That seemed to upset her so much that it took her right back to the time when Evie had died. She always thought afterwards that if she had been different Evie would have come to her with her trouble and something could have been sorted out. She blamed herself and that was why she was so ill. She kept shouting, ‘Who was it?’ and when I told her she cried out, ‘The gypsy! God help us, I can’t bear this. You … and the gypsy …’ I told her that he was a wonderful man and that there was no one I’d rather have for the father of my child, and the more I talked the more mad she became. She kept saying she had failed with us. She had planned for us; she had wanted so much for us … and I was going the same way as Evie. She kept on and on about Evie. I thought she really had gone mad. I didn’t know she had left the house. She told me to leave her alone and I did. ‘Go away,’ she said. ‘I’ve got something to do. Go away and leave me in peace to do it.’ She was so upset I went out and left her and in the morning she had gone. I know now where she had gone. She was making her way to Polly Crypton. Polly knows what to do to get rid of babies. She had done it before for girls in trouble. That was where my grandmother was going on that night. She was going to Polly Crypton to get her to do something to destroy my child.”

“Oh, Dolly, what a terrible story! Poor Mrs. Trent, she cared so much for you.”

“It was the wrong sort of caring … with Evie and with me. Evie was afraid to tell her. I shall never forget the day she learned that her lover was dead and we shouldn’t be going away with him after all. She kept saying, ‘What shall I do?’ I said we’d tell Granny and we’d stand together and we’d manage somehow. But, you see, she could not bring herself to tell Granny. She chose to drown in the river instead. Granny blamed herself for that, and when she knew that I was going to have a child it brought it all back to her. She was going to stand by me. That was why she went to Polly Crypton’s on that night.”

“I’m so sorry, Dolly. You know we’ll do everything … everything we possibly can.”

“Yes. Madame Sophie wants to help me. So do the two Mrs. Frenshaws. I’ll be all right.”

Jeanne was calling that Aunt Sophie was ready to see me. I touched Dolly’s hand gently and as I ran into the house I was still seeing Romany Jake standing there in the light of the bonfire and wondering what would have happened … if I had danced with him as Dolly had done.

By the time spring came, people ceased to talk much about Dolly and her coming child. No one seemed to think very harshly of her. I suppose it is only when people envy others that they revel in their misfortunes. Nobody ever envied Dolly. “Poor Dolly,” they all said, even the most humble of them. So if she had had her hour of abandoned passion and this was the result—about which she was delighted—who was to grudge her that?

She spent a great deal of time at Enderby. Aunt Sophie was quite excited at the prospect of the coming child. Jeanne Fougere made all sorts of nourishing dishes, and Dolly seemed to like to be cossetted. Aunt Sophie said that when the time came she must go to Enderby. The midwife should be there and Jeanne would look after her. My mother commented that she had rarely seen Sophie so happy.

Soon it was summer. The war with France dragged on. One grew used to it and a little bored by it. It seemed there was always war with France and always would be.

It was the end of June. Dolly’s baby was expected in July. Aunt Sophie insisted that Dolly leave Grasslands and take up her residence at Enderby and Dolly seemed happy to do so. She was completely absorbed in the coming baby and it was wonderful to see her so contented. For as long as I could remember she had been mourning her sister Evie and had been very much her grandmother’s prisoner. Now she was free and that which she wanted more than anything—a child of her own—was about to come to her.

“It’s a strange state of affairs,” said my mother. “That poor girl with her illegitimate child … the child of a wandering gypsy… and there she is for the first time in her life really happy.”

“Yes,” added Claudine, “even in the days when Evie was alive, she was overshadowed by her. Now she is a person in her own right… about to be a mother, no less.”

“I do hope all goes well for her,” said my mother fervently.

Jeanne had taken one of the cradles from the Eversleigh nursery and had made flounces of oyster-coloured silk for it. It was a glorious affair by the time Jeanne had finished with it. There was a room at Enderby called “the nursery”; and Aunt Sophie talked of little else but the baby. Jeanne was making baby clothes—very beautiful ones at that—and Aunt Sophie embroidered them.

It certainly was an extraordinary state of affairs, as my mother said.

The few servants who had been at Grasslands resided chiefly at Enderby now, going to Grasslands only a few times a week to be sure the place was kept in order.

When I walked past it I thought it had a dead look. It would soon have the reputation Enderby used to have. David had said that a house acquired a ghostly reputation because the shrubs were allowed to enshroud it, giving it a dark and sinister appearance. It was not the houses themselves which were haunted; it was the reputation they were given, and people usually saw to it that those reputations were enhanced. Things happened in supposedly haunted houses because people imagined they would.

With July the weather came in hot and sultry. Late one afternoon I had been over to Aunt Sophie with a special cake our cook had made and to enquire after Dolly’s health. When I came out of the house I noticed the heavy clouds overhead.

One of the servants called to me: “You’d best wait awhile, Miss Jessica. It’s going to pelt down in a moment or two. There’s thunder in the air, too.”

“I’ll be at Eversleigh before it starts,” I replied.

And I set out.

There was a stillness in the air. I found it rather exciting. The calm before the storm! Not a breath of wind to stir the leaves of the trees … just that silence, rather eerie … ominous in fact. It was the kind of silence in which one could expect anything to happen.

I walked on quickly. I was near Grasslands. I glanced at the house … empty now. I stood for a few seconds looking up at the windows. Some houses seem to have a life of their own. Enderby certainly had. And now… Grasslands. Eversleigh? Well, there were always so many people at Eversleigh. Enderby had had an evil reputation before Aunt Sophie had gone there, and a woman whose face was half hidden from sight because of a dire accident could hardly be expected to disperse that. Grasslands? Well, people had said that old Mrs. Trent was a witch; and her grand-daughter had committed suicide and now the other was going to have an illegitimate child. It was stories like that which made houses seem strange … influencing the lives of the people who lived in them.