The adulteress

"No ... no. Of course not. It's lovely to see you. Are you out for a ride?"

"Yes and called in ... only for a moment."

"You'll have a glass of wine and some of cook's biscuits."

Sabrina said: "I don't think we'll stop for that."

But Dickon interrupted her: "Yes, please," he said. "/ should like some biscuits."

Sabrina smiled fondly. "Dickon is very partial to those wine biscuits of yours. We must get the recipe, Dickon."

"Cook is very jealous of her recipes," I said.

"You could order her to give it to our cook," retorted Dickon.

"Oh, I wouldn't dare," I said lightly.

"So, Dickon, you will have to wait until you visit Zipporah for your wine biscuits."

The refreshment came. Dickon hastily finished all the biscuits, which would please cook anyway. She was very susceptible about her food and lapped up compliments. A good one could put her in a very pleasant mood for a whole day; while the faintest hint of criticism could, as one of the maids said, make life in the kitchen a hell on earth.

"It sounds as though something important has happened," I said.

"Well, it could be. It's a letter from old Carl ... you know, Lord Eversleigh."

"Oh ... yes of course. What does he want?"

"He's worried about the Eversleigh estate. Because he has no son to inherit."

"I suppose it would have gone to the general, if he hadn't died."

"Strange really to think there is no one in the direct line ... no male, that is. Everybody seemed to have girls. A pity old Carl didn't have a boy."

"Didn't he have one who died at birth?"

"Oh yes ... long ago ... and the child's mother died with him. That was a terrible blow. He never got over it, they said. He never married again, although I believe he had ... friends. However, that's past history and the old man is now a bit anxious and his thoughts have settled on you."

"On me! But what about you? You're older than I."

"Your grandmother Carlotta was older than my mother, Damaris, so I supposed you'd come first. Moreover, I wouldn't be considered. I've heard that he talked about my marrying that 'damned Jacobite.' "

"I think Jacobites were brave," put in Dickon. "I'll be a Jacobite if I want to."

"Thank heaven all that nonsense seems to be over now," I said. "The 'Forty-five finished it."

Then I was sorry I had said that because Sabrina had lost her husband at Culloden.

"We hope so," she said quietly. "Well, the fact is old Carl wants to see you, doubtless with a view to making you his heiress. He wrote to your mother, who would come before you, of course, but she is the daughter of that arch Jacobite, Hessenfield."

"How they seem to clutter our family," murmured Dickon.

"That leaves you," went on Sabrina. "Your father was a man Uncle Carl highly approved of, so the Jacobite strain is far removed and possibly wiped out, particularly as your father once fought for King George. So you are redeemed. The point is your mother wants you to come over so that we can discuss it all and decide what should be done."

"Jean-Louis couldn't leave the estate just now."

"It would only be for a short visit. Anyway, think about it and come over today."

"I'd like to go to Eversleigh," said Dickon.

His mother smiled at him fondly. "Dickon wants everything that's available, don't you, Dickon? Eversleigh is not for you, my son."

"You never know," said Dickon slyly.

"Talk about it with Jean-Louis," said Sabrina to me, "and we'll go into it thoroughly. Your mother will show you the letter. That will put you in the picture."

I saw them off and went back to the daffodils.

Jean-Louis and I walked to Clavering Hall from the agent's house which had been our home since we had married. I had told Jean-Louis of old Carl's desire to see me and he had been a little disturbed, I think. He was very happy managing the Clavering estate, which was not large and where he had everything working peacefully and in perfect order. Jean-Louis was a man who did not like change.

We walked arm in arm. Jean-Louis was saying that it would be difficult for us to leave Clavering just at this time. He thought we might go later when there was less to do on the estate.

I agreed with him. We rarely disagreed on anything. Ours was a very happy marriage. That was what made my actions all the more incomprehensible.

The only real cloud on our happiness was what appeared to be an inability to have children. My mother had spoken to me about it for she knew it grieved me. "It is sad," she admitted. "You would have made such good parents. Perhaps in time, though ... perhaps a little patience ..."

But time went on and still we had no child. I had seen Jean-Louis look at Dickon sometimes, with that rather wistful look in his eyes. He, too, was inclined to spoil the boy. It might have been because he was the only child in the family.