The Love Child

I had saved my father’s life, and my mother from a living death, so I could not regret what had happened.

My mother insisted that we celebrate my father’s return. Harriet must come over with the child.

“I know how you love to see them,” said my mother. “My dear Priscilla, this has been a great ordeal for you, too.”

“But he is safe now,” I said.

“My dearest child, I want to go down on my knees and thank whoever did this for us.

It is such a mystery. But I think we shall know one day.”

“I am sure it will be reward enough for this … benefactor to see your happiness.”

“Your father and I are like one person,” she confided. “If one was lost to the other there would be little in life left for the one who remained.”

I felt too emotional to speak.

“And you, dear,” she went on, “we are forgetting you. It has been such a terrible time for us both. You looked after me so well. It was such a comfort to have you with me.”

I thought to myself: If you only knew! But I could never tell them. I wondered, though, what their reaction would be if I did. There was no one to whom I could talk of what had happened. Not Harriet … not Christabel… no one. My great desire was to wipe it from my memory. I should never do that completely. Every time I smelt that hideous musk smell I would remember him … his eyes gleaming as he talked of the deer.

How different from that night of tender love which I had spent with Jocelyn. That had produced Carlotta. The fear hit suddenly. What if there was a child born of that night of horror! What should I do then?

It could not be. That would be too much. I had paid for my father’s life. Surely I had paid in full.

At times I would wander out into the garden. I would go to the bed of red roses and think of when I had first met Jocelyn and I would say to myself: If it should be so, what can I do?

I was, however, spared that.

There would be no child of that shameful night.

Now, I said to myself, I must try to forget.

There was not, after all, to be a great show of rejoicing on my father’s return.

“From now on,” said my mother, “we must live quietly.”

There would be no journeys to and from Court. We were out of favour there. We must not remind anyone that we had favoured Monmouth’s cause. We had a new King on the throne, and if we did not like him, we must make the best of him.

My father was restive. It was his nature to be, and I was sure that if it were not for worrying my mother, he would have been involved in some plot or other. They were uneasy days which followed the death of easygoing Charles. Charles had been so popular since the days of his restoration but James had not the gift of winning people to his side.

“It is no concern of ours,” said my mother firmly, and as she showed signs of becoming ill every tune she saw the lust for adventure in my father’s eyes, he would regretfully tarn away from whatever he was planning.

He loved her dearly. There was no doubt of that.

So his return was not a matter for an open celebration. We did entertain friends.

Harriet came over with Gregory, Benjie and Carlotta and they stayed for several weeks.

I could forget my experiences in the company of my daughter. She was now nearly four years old and she was going to be a beauty; her blue eyes were growing more and more like Jocelyn’s; they had not that deep violet shade which was Harriet’s great beauty; they were clear, like cornflowers; her dark hair was a lovely contrast, and her short, pert nose was adorable. Her skin was like flower petals and she was enchanting. But her chief attraction was her vitality. She was so lively that Sally Nullens said that it was one body’s work just to keep pace with her. Emily Philpots saw that she was always exquisitely dressed and had already started teaching her to read, which she quickly learned. Emily said she had never known a child to learn so quickly.

To those two women Carlotta was the centre of life.

And being a child with a quick and shrewd mind, Carlotta had rapidly become aware of her importance. She could be imperious, and then she would be very loving; she could stamp and kick when forced to obey, and at the same time she could burst into tears if she saw anyone or -thing in distress. She was a child of moods, which could change so quickly that it was hard to keep pace with them and assess her nature.

Benjie loved her and was teaching her to ride. Gregory accepted her as though she were truly his daughter, and had recently bought her a beautiful little pony which he considered safe for her to ride. Harriet treated her with a sort of mild tolerance; she never went out of her way to make a fuss of her as the others did, but I believe that Carlotta loved Harriet best of all. From the others she accepted hornage as her right, but there were tunes when I noticed her trying to please Harriet.