The Love Child

She was pleased. I knew she was thinking that I was getting over what she thought of as “that unfortunate episode.” Christabel, too, was excited. They seemed to have forgotten-though I did not-that she had an unfortunate episode of her own to get over.

I was concerned about her, though. Sooner or later she would have to be in on the secret. I had told her nothing yet. I wanted to wait until I had consulted Harriet.

There was news from Court. Titus Gates was losing his importance. People were growing less afraid of criticizing him. He had made a big mistake in talking so disparagingly about the Duke of York and in such a way that it appeared he was preparing to make him his next victim.

“He is a fool,” said my father, “if he thinks the King would see the end of his own brother. Gates should have realized what dangerous grounds he was on when he tried to attack the Queen. The King showed it clearly. It seems to me the man is riding for a fall.”

I hoped so with all my heart, and then I felt bitterly angry because it was too late to save Jocelyn and my happiness.

There was comfort, though, in thinking that this wicked man who had caused such misery might now be seeing the end of that power which had been bestowed on him in such a ridiculous manner. It seemed incredible that Parliament could have made the Duke of Monmouth responsible for his safety, the Lord Chamberlain for his lodging and the Lord Treasurer for his food and such necessities. I had heard that he had three servants in constant attendance and two or three gentlemen-after the manner of royalty-to wait on him and wrangle over the honour of holding the basin for him to wash.

But as such men will do, he had gone a little too far. Voices were being raised against him. My father brought home a pamphlet which had been written by Sir Robert L’Estrange that demanded to know how much longer the country was going to allow Titus Gates to drink the tears of widows and orphans.

“He has made many enemies, that man,” said my father. “They are waiting to rise against him.”

I fervently hoped they would rise, and this man who had brought misery to so many would be called upon to answer for his sins.

But that would not bring Jocelyn back.

At the middle of March we were ready to leave for Harriet’s. It had been decided that I should stay with her for two weeks before leaving for Italy.

I said good-bye to my mother who was very sad at my leaving. I think she realized how eager I was to be gone and she construed that as meaning that I was happier with Harriet than with her. I almost felt like telling her the real reason why I had to go away but stopped myself in time.

The countryside was beautiful on the day we set out. It was a sparkling morning, though still cold. Spring was in the air and a certain exultation in my heart. I was very much aware of the growing life within me, and although the way ahead was fraught with difficulties, I could not regret what had happened.

Only my child could compensate me for what I had lost, and I longed for its birth.

I looked at Christabel beside me. She was happier than she had been since she had realized that Edwin was not going to defy his parents and offer her marriage. She, too, was getting over her sorrow.

Harriet received us with that exuberant welcome she bestowed on all her guests, but which was heartening all the same. She took my hands and pressed them with special significance. We were conspirators.

Soon we were in our rooms-the same as we had occupied on the previous visit-and Harriet was with me within five minutes.

She put her hands on her hips, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Let me look at you. No sign. No sign at all.” She put her head on one side. “Except, perhaps, a serenity of countenance which comes, so they tell me, to all expectant mothers. My dear child. I have such plans. All is prepared. Gregory will play his part as well as he can. He is not the world’s greatest actor … but never mind I shall be there if he fluffs his lines. Your part will be the most difficult . .

. with the exception of mine … but of course I have played different parts before.

I shall sustain the role with never a false step, you will see.”

“But it will only be necessary until we get to Venice.”

“I don’t plan it that way. This has to be the complete deception. A good name for a play, don’t you think? But this is a play … a masquerade. We can never be sure what might happen if things were known to be as they are. Life is full of coincidences.

You cross the Grand Canal on the Rialto Bridge and you run straight into someone you knew at home. ‘My dear Priscilla, how are you? How well you look. I do declare you have put on considerable weight!’”

I couldn’t help laughing. She had assumed the part of an inquisitive and malicious gossip.

” ‘People at home will be so interested to hear that we have met and how you are looking!”’ she went on. “You see what I mean? No. We are going to play this as it should be played, and that means playing it safely.”