The adulteress

"Have you just come from the Rotunda?" asked the woman. "Did you see the child prodigy? Quite interesting, wasn't he? Wonderful for his age. What about supper ... ?"

"We ate before the performance and I really think I should be taking Mistress Ransome back to her friends."

"Oh, come, Charles," said the woman. "There's no need to rush, surely? We were talking about you the other day, weren't we, Ralph? We said it's such nonsense of you to bury yourself in the country. You ought to come back. All that trouble is forgotten now. People soon forget. Nine days' wonder and all that. I doubt whether anyone would remember if you came back now."

Charles had turned rather pale. I felt the magic of the evening slipping away.

Ralph said: "Sybil's right, Charles. Anyhow let's talk of pleasant things. You and your friend must sup with us. We have a table near the colonnades. It's very pleasant there and you can hear the band in the background."

"No," said Charles. "Thanks, but we must go. Goodbye."

"Are you in town for long?" asked the man.

"No. I'm leaving tomorrow."

"Pity. I should have liked to talk. I wish you'd bring Mistress ... er ... Ransome? along to see us before you go."

"Thanks but there's no time. Good-bye."

"Au revoir," said the woman.

Charles took my arm. I could feel the tension in him.

He was silent on the way back and I knew that that chance encounter outside the Rotunda had spoiled the day for him.

He was different now. The mask of melancholy which I had flattered myself I was helping to remove was now in place firmer than ever. I wished I could have asked him about the nine days' wonder, whatever it was, which people would have forgotten by now.

One thing I had learned. It was that—whatever had happened—which was responsible for his melancholy. There was some tragedy in Charles Forster's life and he could not forget it.

The wonderful companionship which we had shared during that magic day had gone; he was aloof, absentminded; and most of the time seemed hardly aware of me.

The journey back to Eversleigh seemed tedious. I rode between Isabel and James most of the time. I was of course pleased that James was coming back with us for a brief visit because I was sure Jean-Louis would be delighted to see him. At the back of my mind the thought persisted that I might even yet be able to persuade him to come to us.

As I was saying good-bye to the Forsters, who were about to ride on to Enderby, Jethro came hurrying up. He looked very solemn and I knew at once that all was not well.

He looked at me with unhappiness in his eyes and I said quickly: "What's happened, Jethro?"

"It's the master," he said.

I felt myself go cold with fear.

"It was an accident. He fell from his horse."

"He's ..."

"Oh, he's all right, mistress. I mean he's not ..."

"How bad, Jethro?"

"Well, it happened two days back. They got him to his bed. He's not moved from it since. The doctor's been with him ... the one who came in Dr. Forster's place."

I nodded impatiently. "I will go to him ... at once."

"You may be shocked, mistress. The horse threw him, you see. 'Tweren't her fault. Master's leg troubling him made him an unsure rider sometimes."

Charles was beside me. "I'll wait," he said, "in case you want me to see him. Derek, you and Isabel go on to Enderby. I'll be with you soon."

"I'm going straight to him now," I said.

I ran up to our bedroom. Jean-Louis was lying in bed. He looked different—his face was white and drawn. But his eyes lit up at the sight of me.

I went to him, kissed him and then knelt beside the bed.

"Oh, my dearest ... what happened?"

"It was my fault," he said. "I was careless. This old leg ... and the pain in my back ... Well, I was off my guard and old Tessa threw me."

"And the doctor ... ?"

"He wants Dr. Forster to look at me. I can see he's a little grim, although he won't commit himself."

"Grim?" I asked.

"Well, I believe he thinks I won't walk again."

"Oh, Jean-Louis! And while I've been away ..."

I thought of that day ... the meal in the Rainbow, the trip down the river and most of all the enchanted evening. And while I was enjoying all that Jean-Louis was lying in great pain.

I vowed to myself that I would look after him for as long as he should need me. I must do that ... to make up for the way in which I had wronged him.

"You mustn't be upset, dearest Zipporah," he said. "It might not be so bad. The doctor seems to think a chair on wheels ... You see, I don't seem to be able to use my legs."

He looked up suddenly. Charles had come into the room.

"I've come to see you," he said. "What happened?"

Jean-Louis told him what he had told me.

"May I examine you now?"

"Oh, do please," I said.

Charles turned to me and said: "Perhaps you would leave us."