The adulteress

I felt embarrassed and said: "Oh ... you cannot come to the house. That would not be a very good idea."

He looked puzzled and I hurried on. "Lord Eversleigh does not want ... people at the house ... to know that he has made this will. It is for this reason that he invited me to come to Eversleigh and ... er ... arrange it for him." I hurried on: "Are you aware of the state of affairs at Eversleigh Court?"

It was his turn to look faintly embarrassed. "I understand the estate is well managed and there is a housekeeper there."

I decided that it was no time for veiled hints and said: "Do you know of the relationship between Lord Eversleigh and the housekeeper?"

He coughed and said: "Well ..."

"The fact is," I went on, "there is a very special friendship between them. I don't know whether she has pretensions as to what will be left to her but Lord Eversleigh wishes the estate to remain in the family."

"But naturally. It would be unthinkable ..."

"At the same time he does not wish to offend his housekeeper. Apparently he relies on her."

"I see ... I see. So he does not wish it to be known that he is making this will."

"Exactly."

"And he is obviously not able to come into town to sign it."

"I'm afraid not. It will have to be done at the house. I have not really thought how that can be brought about. It must be done in the housekeeper's absence ... that is Lord Eversleigh's wish."

"If you like to name a time ..."

"I must think about it. Perhaps one afternoon. In the meantime if you will draw up the will I can consult Lord Eversleigh and see what arrangements we can arrive at. I'm afraid you must find this rather an odd situation."

"My dear lady, in my profession we are constantly confronted by unusual situations."

He smiled at me and went on: "I should like my father to deal with this matter. He has always taken charge of Lord Eversleigh's affairs and knows more about what goes on at the Court than I do."

"He is not here, though."

"No, but I am expecting him back tomorrow. He will know the best way of dealing with the matter."

"Thank you."

"Perhaps you would look in again the day after tomorrow. I am sure the work will be done then and you will be able to see my father."

This I agreed to do.

As he said good-bye he asked me if I had ridden into the town. "It's quite a step from the Court," he added. I told him that a neighbor had driven me in and would take me back. That satisfied him, so I left the office and made my way to the inn.

Gerard d'Aubigne was waiting for me and he greeted me with the news that he had taken the opportunity of ordering a tankard of cider apiece. "They have some good cakes straight from the oven—the innkeeper's wife assures me—and I thought you would like a short rest before driving back."

"That's good of you," I said, and he led me into the inn parlor, where the hot cakes were already being put on a table with two tankards of cider.

"Was the business successful?" he asked.

"As successful as I could hope."

"You sound as though it was not entirely so."

"It's not completed, of course." The cider was cool, a little heady, I thought; but perhaps that was the company, and rather to my surprise I found myself telling him the story.

"It sounds so absurd ... when one speaks of it in the light of day."

"Not at all absurd. Of course Lord Eversleigh cannot leave his estates to his Jessie; and of course he doesn't want her to know he's leaving them to someone else. It's perfectly understandable."

"But it seems so ridiculous. There is a peer of the realm, a man of substance ... and he is afraid of his housekeeper!"

"Afraid of losing her. That is very different from being afraid of her. I'm afraid that you may disappear as suddenly as you came, but I'm certainly not afraid of you."

"Oh, I thought it was clear now that I'm an ordinary mortal."

"Far from ordinary," he said. "Now tell me about it ... the life with the good husband whom you so regretted you must leave behind."

And I found myself telling him.

He listened very carefully as I, who was usually restrained, told him of my wonderful father who had been killed in a duel, and how, ever since, we had lived quietly in the country and that I had married the companion of my childhood as everybody had expected and hoped I would.

"Do you always do what is expected of you?" he asked.

"Yes ... I think perhaps I do."

"That must please them all very much ... but the main thing is that you should be pleased, is it not?"

"It has all worked out very well and happily for me," I said.

He raised his eyebrows and smiled at me in a manner I did not understand and vaguely felt that it was better so.

"And you?" I said. "What of you?"

"Ah, like you I doubtless do what is expected of me. Alas, it is not always the good thing that is expected."

"And your home is in France. What part?"

"My home is in the country—a small place a few leagues from Paris—but I spend most of my time in Paris and am chiefly at court."

"You serve the king."