The Love Child

Thomas Willerby was a man who clearly liked company. He also liked to talk about himself. He was that very Thomas Willerby, he assured my father. He had suffered a bereavement a year ago. He had lost his dear wife. They had had no children, a great sorrow to them both. Well, now he was thinking of retiring from business. He had made his fortune and would like to settle in the country … not too far from the town … within reach of London. Perhaps he would like to do a little farming.

He was not sure. What he needed was the right house.

They talked awhile of the country’s affairs and the Rye House Plot, of course. They agreed that it would be a sad day for England when the King died, there being no heirs but the King’s brother and the questionable one of his illegitimate son.

Thomas Willerby did not wish to see the country go Papist and in this he was in complete accord with my father.

By the time the coat was brought in, sponged and looking fresh and as clean as it had been before the wine was spilled on it, we had become very friendly and my father had suggested that Thomas Willerby might like to look at two properties not very far from our own Eversleigh Court.

These were Enderby Hall and Grassland Manor, which had been confiscated when their owners were caught in the Plot. My father believed that these could be had by the right buyer.

The outcome was that Thomas Willerby decided that he must come and look at them.

That turned out to be quite an eventful morning.

There was no sign of the thaw until February. Then the booths disappeared from the river and gradually the ice began to crack.

By that time Thomas Willerby had bought Grassland Manor, which was only about half a mile from us. My father seemed very pleased to have him as a neighbour and showed great friendship towards him.

He visited us frequently and paid a great deal of attention to us all, but I fancied particularly to Christabel. He was clearly delighted to have made a contact which brought him into our family.

My father was, of course, a man who was rather sought after. He was rich and influential in Court circles, being such a close friend of the King and the Duke of Monmouth-not that the latter was a favourable thing to be at this time since the Duke was in exile.

But it was known that the King showed special favour to my father because he amused him.

Thomas Willerby was a man who had not moved in the highest echelons of society. He was rich, though he had not inherited a penny. He was a countryman who had come to London to seek his fortune, which through hard work and honest dealing he had found in good measure. Having a deep respect for those born in a higher grade of society than himself, he was delighted to be received as a friend at Eversleigh.

He and Christabel were often together. There was that trait in Christabel’s character which made her constantly imagine that she was not quite acceptable-though had she not assumed this, no one would have doubted it. But this attitude did not naturally extend to Thomas Willerby; and one day she came to me in a state of obvious pleasure.

“I must speak to you, Priscilla,” she said. “Something wonderful has happened.”

I begged her to tell me without delay.

“Your father sent for me. He has told me that Thomas Willerby has asked for my hand in marriage and that he thinks it would be a suitable match. I am going to marry Thomas Willerby, Priscilla.”

“Do you … love him?”

“Yes,” she said fervently, “I do.”

I embraced her. “Then I am so happy for you.”

“I don’t really deserve this happiness,” she said.

“Oh, nonsense, Christabel, of course you do.”

She shook her head. “You see, this will make everything come right.”

I was not quite sure what she meant. She hesitated for a moment, then she said: “He has admitted it now. And you should know. I always guessed, of course, when I came here …”

“What are you talking about, Christabel?”

“I am not the Connalts’ daughter. My father is yours and my mother was Lady Letty.”

“Christabel!”

“Oh, yes,” she said, “theirs was an affair which had unfortunate consequences-myself.

Our father was then married to his first wife, and it was unthinkable-as you yourself know-that an unmarried lady should produce a child. So I was born in secret like your own Carlotta and then I was given into the care of the Connalts to be brought up as their daughter. Lady Letty arranged the living for them and they came to the rectory with the newly born child.”

“My dear Christabel!” I put my arms about her and kissed her. “Then we are sisters.”

“Half sisters,” she corrected me. “But what a difference! You were acknowledged, accepted, born in wedlock. That makes all the difference.”

I immediately thought of Carlotta and I said to myself: It shall make no difference to her. She shall have every advantage.

“And you knew this, Christabel.”