The Love Child

Carlotta was fearless.

We were in the garden where she was running about with her shuttlecock. My father was sitting on a wooden seat by the pond; he had shouted to her once not to make so much noise.

She stood looking at him, and then went on batting her shuttlecock in silence.

He appeared to be asleep and I saw her creep up to him. She stood watching him for a moment. I was about to call her away but hesitated. She was breaking no rules by looking at him. She crept closer. I saw her hand on his knee. Then to my amazement she scrambled up and put her arms round his neck-not in a gesture of affection, but to steady herself. She waited a few seconds, looking into his face as though examining every detail. Then I heard her shout: “You’re a nasty old man!” And then she attempted to jump down.

I saw him catch her in his arms. I did not know what I expected but I heard him say: “What was that? What was that, eh?”

She was silent, looking into his face so closely that I was sure he could not see hers very clearly. ?

“You’re a bold child,” he said, “when you think the old ogr^ can’t see you. You thought he was asleep and you could tell him what you think of him. It’s different now, eh?”

“It’s not different!” she shouted.

“Then say it again.”

“You’re a nasty old man!” she shouted.

“So you’re not afraid of me, then?”

She hesitated.

“You are!” he cried triumphantly. “You’re afraid I’m going to whip you. Till the blood runs, eh? That’s what you think. And you still say it.”

“You’re a nasty old man,” she repeated but more quietly.

“And you’re not afraid of me?”

I could imagine those beautiful blue eyes as they looked into his. She was frightened of him, but she was fascinated too. He was the only one in the world who did not think Carlotta must be cherished.

“You are afraid of me,” he insisted.

She nodded.

“And still you come right up to me and tell me I’m a nasty old man.”

She nodded again.

He started to laugh. “I’ll tell you something,” he said. “You’re right. I am.”

Then she laughed and the sound of their mingling laughter was very sweet to me.

I knew she had won him as I had never been able to.

I crept away. Half an hour later she was still seated on his knee telling him the story of the wicked Roundheads who had cut off the King’s head.

That visit was memorable because Edwin came home.

There was great rejoicing in the household. My mother was always delighted when Edwin came. He was subdued on this occasion, and it was, of course, because of what had happened. It was clear that he thought my father had been ill-advised to join Monmouth because as a soldier he knew that the Duke had never had a chance. It was true that the country was not in love with its new King, but rebellion by such as Monmouth who, many would say, was not an improvement on James, was not the way to help matters.

But Edwin was never one to force his opinions on others. The army had not changed him. He was still gentle, unassuming, malleable. I wondered what would happen when he met Christabel because as such near neighbours we saw a great deal of each other.

Their meeting passed off easily. He was clearly pleased to see Christabel so happy.

As for her she was so contented with her present state that she had completely forgotten her disappointment of the past.

Young Thomas was thriving, and according to Christabel and Thomas Senior, he was the most marvellous child that had ever been born.

She was still discussing the anguish we had suffered in the Monmouth Rebellion.

“It was like a miracle,” she said, “when you all came back safely. Thomas could scarcely believe it. We were so anxious for you. It just shows that miracles do happen.”

She was thinking of herself; and indeed when I saw her looking almost beautiful, the centre of her happy home, I thought that perhaps she was providing the greatest miracle of all.

My mother was eager to see Edwin married. He was now past twenty-five-so was Leigh-and neither of them married. I was occupying her thoughts too, for I was nineteen. Now that she could keep my father at home she planned entertaining so that we could meet families like our own among whom there might be a husband for me and a wife for Edwin.

Jane Merridew had always been a favourite of hers. Jane must be about twenty-five-a rather handsome girl, serious-minded, practical, just the girl for Edwin.

The Merridews came and stayed. They were stern Protestants and viewed the new reign with disquiet just as my father did; so they had a great deal in common. Before the end of the visit Jane and Edwin were betrothed.

“There should not be a great deal of delay,” said my mother. “Soldiers should marry quickly. So much of their married life is spent away from their wives, so they must make the most of the time.”

The Merridews were not averse to a prompt wedding either. Jane was not so young that they wanted to wait.

It should be in six months’ time, decreed my mother, when Edwin believed he would have leave and Leigh would be present, too.