We sat through the night. My mother stared before her, huddled close to Dickon. Every now and then he would murmur something reassuring. “You see, we’ll hear something in the morning. I know the way these people work.”

“But what will they do to her… my little baby. She’ll be hungry…”

“No, no. They’ll look after her. You’ll see. In the morning…”

Should we hear in the morning? I wondered.

David put his arm round me. He knew I was fearful for Amaryllis.

All through the next day we waited. There was no news. The usual rumours began to circulate, for the whole neighbourhood knew that Jessica was missing. Someone had seen a stranger carrying a baby hurrying through the main streets of the town. Dickon and David hastened off to make enquiries and when the woman was tracked down she proved to have been visiting her relations in the town—so naturally she was a stranger to some people.

I shall never forget the look of hopelessness in my mother’s eyes when they returned.

I suppose the most difficult thing to endure in such circumstances is the frustration, the utter helplessness of not knowing which way to turn.

“How can anyone be so cruel as to do this?” I cried for the twentieth time. “Do they not think of mothers…”

David soothed me.

“Dickon’s right. It’s money they want. It’ll be a ransom.”

“We’ll pay and they’ll give her back. You really think that?”

“They know my father is a rich man. It can’t be anything but that. What point could there possibly be in harming Jessica?”

I shook my head. “There are so many things I don’t understand. Why do people want to inflict torture on others… without a reason.”

“There’s always a reason. In this case it is money. You’ll see. Dickon will pay. He’d give anything for the family… and particularly your mother.”

I knew it was true. But the waiting… the anxiety… the terrible fear of the unknown… they were hard to endure.

My mother looked like a ghost. All her vitality seemed to have been drained away. I tried to persuade her to rest and I did induce her to lie down for a while. I sat by her bed but I could think of nothing to say which would comfort her; she just lay staring ahead of her and then she rose saying that she could lie idle no longer, although there was nothing we could do.

I went to the nursery and played with Amaryllis. I felt so grateful that she was safe—and yet the very sight of her brought back more acutely the terrible loss of Jessica.

Poor Grace Soper continued to blame herself. She needed comforting. She said that someone must watch over Amaryllis day and night, and she would see to it that no one got at that precious little mite.

The long, long morning ended and the long weary afternoon began.

No news. Let something happen soon, I prayed. We can’t go on like this.

Dickon and David had been out all the afternoon. They were searching everywhere they could think she might possibly be; they were seeing everyone who they thought might help. They came back and even Dickon was dispirited. His prophecy that a ransom would be demanded had not happened.

That night we made a pretence of going to our bedrooms to sleep; but none of us could rest.

David and I sat through the night talking desultorily. Now Jessica had been away two nights and we were really getting very frightened.

There was one horrible thought which had occurred to me. I would not have mentioned it to my mother but I did to David, as I wanted him to reassure me that it could not be.

I said: “David, your father must have many enemies.”

David was thoughtful.

I went on: “A man in his position surely would have. He is rich and the rich are envied—and envy is a powerful force. This could be a form of revenge.”

David’s words horrified me. “I had thought of that,” he said. “He has many contacts… not only in this country but abroad. There must be many who would wish to do him some injury.”

“I know there are these secret matters and that he and Jonathan are involved in them.”

“It is so. You remember those people who came to stay for a night. It was something in his study they were after. Some secret document. And they found it. If you live dangerously you must expect your enemies to strike you in unexpected ways.”

“So it could be possible that someone has taken Jessica out of revenge… against Dickon?”

David was silent for a few moments. I knew he wanted to comfort me; but that inherent honesty made it difficult for him to dissemble. At last he said: “It is possible. But I don’t think we should allow ourselves to think the worst. The most likely answer is ransom, and perhaps we can deal with that.”

“But why don’t the kidnappers ask for it? Why do they delay?”

“Because they want to keep us in suspense.”

“Do you think they are looking after Jessica?”

“Yes, they usually do in these circumstances. A live child is of more value to them than a dead one.”

So we talked, and at length from sheer exhaustion I dozed, only to be startled into wakefulness by a nightmare—confused and horrible, in which I was clutching Amaryllis to me while someone was trying to drag her away.

“It’s all right,” I heard David saying. “It’s all right.”

I opened my eyes.

“I think it is better to stay awake,” I said.

We watched the dawn come. Another day! Another weary vigil! What would it bring forth? I asked myself and trembled as I tried to dismiss the thoughts which crowded into my mind.

I felt a sudden urge to get out of the house, to walk through the gardens, to make yet another search.

“I can’t stay in,” I cried. “Let’s go into the garden.”

“All right,” said David.

He put a cloak round my shoulders. “It will be a bit chilly,” he said, “and the grass will be damp.”

We opened the door and stepped into the porch.

Something was lying there. I stared. I thought I was dreaming. Then floods of joy swept over me. Lying there wrapped in a blanket was Jessica.

I picked her up. David was staring at her. She opened sleepy eyes, looked at me, gave a big yawn and closed them again.

“It is!” I cried. “It is!”

I went into the hall shouting: “She’s here. Jessica is here.”

My mother came first. She ran to me and snatched the sleeping Jessica from me. There was Dickon… Grace Soper… all the servants.

“She’s back! She’s back!” cried my mother; and I thought she would collapse from very joy.

Dickon took Jessica. “She’s in fine shape,” he said.

My mother snatched her. “She’s well,” she murmured. “She’s not harmed… Oh, my little baby.”

Jessica opened her eyes; she gave a crooked smile and when she saw her mother started to wail.

After the joy of having Jessica back we fell into a state of great uneasiness, asking ourselves: Who could have done this? And for what purpose?

It was clear that during her absence the child had been well cared for and she seemed to accept her return to her family without any great show of delight—although she did smile with a rather special contentment when her mother held her fast in her arms.

Who had submitted us to this suffering, seemingly without purpose? We could not forget it and the memory hung over us like a pall clouding our days. The babies were never left alone for a moment. First thing in the morning my mother and I would hurry to the nursery to assure ourselves that they were safe. Grace had her bed moved into the night nursery and she said she slept with one eye and one ear open.

Her niece, a pleasant girl of about fourteen, came as nursery maid and her room led out of the night nursery, so she was on the alert too.

But we should never feel entirely safe again.

In September Jonathan and Millicent came to Eversleigh; they were only staying for a few days and then going on to Pettigrew Hall for a short visit before returning to London.

I was suffering from a return of that apprehension which I always felt when Jonathan was under the same roof. I tried to discover surreptitiously what difference marriage had made to him. I could see none; Millicent had changed, though; she seemed softer, more pleased with life; I supposed that meant she was finding her marriage satisfactory.

She would certainly find Jonathan a charming husband, I thought, until she discovered his true nature.

He had not changed at all. He was daring, completely without restraint, defying conventions as he had always done when he contrived to be alone with me.

The babies were sleeping in the garden in their carriage just as they had been on the day Jessica had disappeared. Grace Soper and her niece were sitting near the carriage and my mother was there talking to them.

I was gathering some of the autumn flowers. I had some purple asters and Michaelmas daisies in my basket and as I was cutting them Jonathan came and stood beside me.

“What joy to see you again, Claudine,” he said. “I have missed you.”

“Is that so?” I asked, lightly snipping at a Michaelmas daisy.

“Indeed it is. Should I say so if it were not so?”

“You might,” I replied.

“Are you pleased to see me here?”

“My mother likes to have the entire family gathered together under one roof.”

“What a way you have for parrying the question. You should be in Parliament… or in the diplomatic service. Claudine, you do miss me sometimes. Come on. Tell the truth.”

“Not often,” I lied.

“Do you tell falsehoods to yourself as well as to me?”

I said sharply: “Enough of this. You are a married man. I am a married woman—and we are not married to each other.”

He burst out laughing and my mother looked up and smiled in our direction.

“I am me and you are you,” he said. “Nothing can alter that, my love.”

I replied almost pleadingly: “Jonathan, it is wrong of you to talk like this—and you so newly married. What if Millicent heard you? I thought she looked so happy.”

“She is happy. Is she not married to me? I tell you, Claudine, I am the very model of a husband.”

“On the surface,” I said. “You do not seem to fit the description at this moment.”

“And who is to blame for that?”

“You are to blame.”

“Not entirely. I share the blame with you.”

I was angry. I had tried so hard to forget what had happened and he only had to look at me to remind me. I despised my weakness in the past, and it was particularly shameful because I could so easily fall into temptation again. I vigorously snapped a stem.

“Don’t blame the daisies for fate, Claudine,” he said. “Poor little starry creatures. It is not their fault that you and I were meant for each other and that you discovered it too late. But you should be grateful. You would never have known how perfect a relationship can be… but for the time you spent with me.”

“I have never known real peace since.”

“Poor Claudine. You would have gone on living in ignorance, contented perhaps in a mild cosy way… never really living. Safe in your little paradise, never venturing into the real world… the world of passion and adventure and the excitement which comes from living life to the full. Into your self-made paradise, walled in with the security of cosy unawareness, came the serpent one day and tempted you to eat of the tree of knowledge… and this you did. You tasted the true joy of living… and ever since you have been afraid… afraid to live… afraid to love… You know this and you long to escape to me… You won’t admit it. But I know it and so do you… in your secret thoughts.”

“I must go in,” I said.

“Retreat is a symbol of defeat.”

I turned to face him. “I am trying to forget that ever happened.”

“You never will.”

“Jonathan, I am going to try.”

“Face the truth,” he said. “What I have said is right. You will never forget. You have tasted the fruit of the tree of knowledge. Rejoice, my darling. Life was meant to be lived joyously.”

“I want to live mine… honourably,” I said.

And I turned and walked across the lawn.

“Isn’t it a beautiful afternoon?” said my mother. “There won’t be many more this year. Come and sit down for a while.”

I thought she might notice the colour in my cheeks, that sparkle of battle in my eyes which came when I had these encounters with Jonathan, so I said: “I think I should put the flowers in water first. They wilt so quickly. Then I’ll join you.”

Jonathan threw himself down beside my mother.