The adulteress

My mother said of her: "I think she must be the image of her great-grandmother. She's not like you or Jean-Louis. You were always such calm, sensible little things even when you were babies. It's like Carlotta born again. Strange that she should have been called Charlotte. You'll have to keep a watch on her, Zipporah."

I said I intended to.

"I often wonder how you feel about going to Eversleigh ... after all that happened there," she said.

"Well," I replied, "it seems that everyone thinks we should go."

I looked at her a little wistfully. She was ashamed that her love for Dickon was greater than that which she bore me. She had been obsessed by that adventure of her youth when she had loved Dickon's father and the fact that his child was Sabrina's made no difference to her love for the boy.

Sometimes I wondered whether people who were predictable like myself—apart from that one lapse—did not inspire the same affection as the wayward ones. Carlotta had evidently made a great impression on everyone and yet her life had been far from orthodox. Dickon inspired love such as I never could, although he acted in a manner which even those who loved him must admit was by no means admirable.

"What Lottie wants is a brother or sister," said my mother. "It's a pity ..."

"At least," I said, "we have a child."

That was a phrase I often used to myself. Whatever wrong I had done, it had given us Lottie.

So we prepared to leave. Dickon was to live in the house which we had occupied. There had been protests about that from my mother and Sabrina. Why did he want his own house? Why couldn't he go on living at the hall?

"It's the manager's house," said Dickon. "I am the manager now."

"My dear boy," said Sabrina, "how can we be sure that you will be properly looked after?"

I remember the way Dickon grinned at me. "I think I've proved that I can look after myself," he said.

Of course they couldn't go against him. He wanted to live in the house so he did.

I tried not to mind that he would be in that house where I had been happy with Jean-Louis. Jean-Louis understood. He said: "It will no longer be ours. We'll forget it."

As we journeyed to Eversleigh—Lottie seated between us in the carriage—I thought how tired Jean-Louis looked, and a little sad; and I was filled with tenderness toward him. I had wronged him in the most cruel way a woman could deceive a man in making him believe he was the father of a child who was not his. I must make up for what I had done. I think I had in a way. Looking back, my affection had been at least more demonstrative since Lottie had been born.

She was calling out excitedly and jumping up and down to call our attention to landmarks. Jean-Louis smiled at her. Poor Jean-Louis, he looked rather exhausted. It was a good thing that we had made the journey by carriage. He would never have been able to do it on horseback.

The house looked different. I suppose that was because it was mine and I couldn't help feeling a glow of pride to think of all my ancestors who had lived here before me, and now here I was taking possession.

We alighted from the carriage and I stood for a moment looking up. It was some two hundred years old, having been built in the days of Elizabeth, so it was in the familiar E style with the main hall and the wings on either side.

It was comforting to see old Jethro come hurrying out from the stables.

"I heard the wheels of the carriage," he said. "So I knew you was here."

"This is Jethro," I said to Jean-Louis. "The old faithful retainer."

Jethro touched his forelock to Jean-Louis and Lottie regarded him curiously.

"You'll find everything in order inside, Mistress Zipporah," said Jethro. "The servants has done well."

"The same ones?" I asked.

"Most on 'em scuttled off. That must have been friends of Jessie Stirling. I took the liberty of sending Mrs. Jethro over to take a hand and she got some girls from the village to come until you see what you want."

"Thank you, Jethro."

We went into the house. I stood in the hall with its rough stone walls on which hung the armory of past Eversleighs. Most of it would have seen action, for we had been a military family in the past.

"What's that?" cried Lottie and she ran to the fireplace.

I joined her. "It's the family tree. It was painted over the fireplace more than a hundred years ago ... and it is constantly added to."

"I shall be on it," cried Lottie ecstatically. "Shan't I?" she added anxiously.

"Of course."

"And," said Lottie, "my husband. I wonder who he'll be? There's something you put on your pillow, or under it ... on Christmas Eve ... or is it Hallowe'en? And when you wake up the first thing you see is your future husband's face. Oh, dear mama, dear papa, we must find out what it is and when. I can't wait to see my husband."

"Why Lottie," I said reproachfully, "here you are in your new home and all you can think of is husbands."

"It was the family tree that put me in mind of it," said Lottie. "What's down those steps?"