The Love Child

In Mulberry Gardens! Carlotta had betrayed the truth to me. During those days when I had been confined to my room, they had been meeting!

I do not know how I lived through that evening. I tried to hide my fears. I tried to be as merry as they were, and all the time I was endeavouring to discover how much they had seen of each other, how far this acquaintance had progressed.

If only we had not come to London!

It was late when we returned home. He put us into our carriage, kissed our hands with grace and charm, and as we made the short journey from his house to ours, my thoughts were in turmoil.

When we stepped out of the carriage and went into the house, Carlotta slipped her arm through mine.

“How is the ankle?” she asked.

I had forgotten it. I could think of nothing but this fearful thing which was looming up over me.

“I scarcely feel it,” I answered.

“I thought it must be painful. You were so quiet this evening.”

“Well, perhaps I felt a little …shutout.”

“Shut out! What do you mean?”

“You have apparently been seeing a great deal of that man while I have been incapacitated.”

“Oh, we have met once or twice. He always seemed to be where we were.”

“By arrangement?” I asked.

She flushed a little.

“Oh, come,” I said, “he knew we were going to be at the theatre this evening.”

“I told him we were going. Why shouldn’t I? It was no secret.”

“You seem to be on very good terms with him.”

“Why not? He is so kind. And is he not amusing? I think he is the handsomest man I ever saw.”

“You mean among the old men of your acquaintance?”

“Old? Oh, one never thinks of age in connection with Beau.”

Oh, God help me, I prayed, it has gone further than I thought.

“He is so much more interesting than young men,” said Carlotta. “He has the experience of the world which they lack.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“Why have you taken against him! He was so kind to you in the Exchange. I think you’re rather ungrateful.”

“So you have seen him more than once or twice when you have been out with Harriet?”

“Yes … a few times …”

“And have you ever seen him when you have been alone?”

She turned to me almost angrily. “When have I been allowed out alone? You all seem to think I’m a baby. Well, I’m not. And I don’t intend to be treated like one.”

I felt desperately uneasy. It was worse than I had thought.

I had to see him alone. I had to discover what he was planning, for that he was planning something seemed obvious to me.

Carlotta! Could it really be that he was leading her into seduction? What had he said? He had a passion for young virgins. He was cynical in the extreme, I knew.

Oh, yes, he was planning something. I could sense that. There was an air of triumph about him when he looked at me. He would be remembering that night when he had forced me to submit to his will, when he had humiliated me beyond endurance. If there had not been so much at stake I should never have agreed to such a bargain.

I imagined that his life had been full of adventures such as that. He would revel in this. It was his nature to wish to subdue people mentally and physically. He was proud, arrogant, vain and cruel. He saw himself as the only person of any importance in the whole world. His desires must be granted and if he had to contrive to achieve that end, he was only too pleased to do so. Intrigue was the breath of life to him. There had been one time when he had lost and he bore the scars to remind him.

Oh, God help me, I prayed. If he attempts to ruin Carlotta’s life there will be a second time. I will do anything … anything rather than that shall happen.

I thought I would first speak to Harriet and see what she had to say. She was a woman of the world. She must have some idea of his intentions.

It was midmorning. She was not yet up but was in bed sipping a dish of chocolate which one of the maids had brought to her.

“Priscilla!” she cried. “So early! And skipping around like a young lamb. That’s a good sign, I’ll warrant. The ankle is behaving in that seemly manner which all good ankles should.”

She was clearly in a good mood and was just about to launch into a comment on the Wycherley play when I said: “I’m worried about Carlotta.”

“Worried. Why, the child is having a wonderful time. And what a little beauty, eh?”

“It’s this man … Beaumont Granville.”

“What a charmer! He has englightened the days, I’ll admit.”

“How much has he been seeing of Carlotta?”

“Oh, it is Carlotta, is it?”

“Harriet, you don’t seem to understand what sort of man we are dealing with. Yet you know what happened in Venice.”

“My dear Priscilla, as I have said before, that was all those years ago. Most of us have adventures hi our youth which might be considered shocking. We grow out of them and if we are wise we forget them.”

“Carlotta is still in the schoolroom. I don’t want her to see this man. He is old … old in years and old in iniquity. I want her removed from hun.”

“She adores him. It is amusing the way in which her eyes light up at the sight of him.”

“It doesn’t amuse me.”