The Love Child

“Really, Harriet,” I chided, “you positively drool over this baby.”

“I find her excessively drool-worthy.”

She talked of the nursery at the Abbas which would have to be completely refurbished.

“Would it be a good idea to get old Sally Nullens over?”

“She’s an old gossip.”

“There’ll be nothing to gossip about and your mother says she is wonderful with children.”

“Perhaps it would be a good idea,” I said. “We were fond of her when we were little.”

“Old Nullens it shall be. I’ve had enough of this place. It’s romantic enough if your sense of smell is not too strong. I believe they throw all sorts of rubbish into the canals. I shouldn’t care for it in whiter, and I do really think we should be making plans.”

She was right, of course.

When Gregory returned to Venice at the end of October, he, too, seemed to fall victim to the baby’s charms.

He agreed that we should start the journey home almost immediately. To leave it later could mean that we might run into really severe weather.

I was sure that he had been prompted to such a comment by Harriet who, now the baby was bora and the real difficulties of the initial stages of the project were over, was growing tired of the monotony of life and was determined to return to England.

So with some misgivings I made my preparations to leave. While I was packing with Christabel, I remembered seeing Beaumont Granville on the night before Carlotta’s birth. Strangely enough, in view of everything that had happened I had forgotten the incident.

I said to her as she was helping me put my things together: “I had a shock on the night my pains started. I thought I saw Beaumont Granville.”

“Beaumont Granville,” she repeated, as though she were trying to remember who he was.

“The man who tried to abduct me. The one whom Leigh nearly killed.”

“Do you think you really did?”

“I was sure of it. I saw him clearly. He was going past in a gondola, and he looked up at the palazzo.”

“You could have been mistaken. Do you think he would come back here after what happened?”

“I shouldn’t have thought so.”

“You haven’t seen him since?”

“No.”

“Well, you were in a state of tension, you know. You were expecting the baby at any moment … and I imagine it could have been someone who looked like him.”

“That could be so,” I agreed.

And I believed that might be true.

The Price of a Life

Christabel and I arrived back at Eversleigh in time for that Christmas of 1682. I had stayed for two weeks with Harriet, but could not in reason stay longer; and to tear myself away from my child-even though I knew she would receive the best of care-was heartbreaking.

I was certain that Carlotta was an exceptional child. Christabel might smile benignly when I mentioned the fact, but Harriet agreed with me wholeheartedly. My baby really took notice of what was going on, had a definite will of her own and was ready to scream until she was blue in the face until she obtained what she wanted.

I was with her constantly during those two weeks with Harriet, but I knew I had to go. To be parted from my daughter from time to time was the price I had to pay for my unconventional behaviour.

My mother welcomed me warmly.

“How could you stay so long away from us!” she said reproachfully. “Let me look at you. You’ve grown thinner. You’ve grown up.”

“Dear Mother, did you expect me to remain a child forever?”

“And to have travelled so far and lived abroad so long! You will miss all that now you are home. I suppose Harriet will want to be off again shortly. She was always a wanderer. It’s amusing about the baby. I’ll swear she wasn’t very pleased when she first discovered her condition.”

“Harriet loves Carlotta dearly. Oh, Mother, she is the most lovely little girl.”

“One would expect Harriet to have a beautiful daughter. If she is only half as goodlooking as her mother she will be the toast of the Court.”

“She is going to be a beauty, I am sure.”

“She seems to have charmed you, at any rate. Come into the house. Oh, Cilia, it is good to have you home.”

I wanted to say it was good to be home, but it wasn’t. No place could be good unless Carlotta was in it.

I told my mother that Harriet had suggested Sally Nullens go over to Eyot Abbas as nurse to the baby.

“That’s a wonderful idea,” she said. “Sally will be mad with joy. She’s been going round like a shepherd who has lost her sheep ever since Carl escaped from the nursery.”

“Shall I go and tell her right away?”

“Do. There’s no point in withholding such good news.”

I went up to Sally’s sitting room. It was just as it had been before I went away.

She was sitting watching the kettle which was beginning to sing and was close on boiling; and Emily Philpots was with her. They looked startled to see me and I thought they had aged a little since I last saw them.

“Well, if it’s not Miss Priscilla,” said Emily.