The Love Child

Harriet walked in the gardens with me. “Your turn will come soon,” she said. “You’re no longer a child, Priscilla. You can’t go on grieving for a dead lover all your life.”

I did not answer.

“You’ll fall in love one day, my dear child, and you’ll be happy then. I know you will. There’s one I’ve always wanted for you. I think you know who. But I wouldn’t press it. You have to discover each other for yourselves. You mustn’t let what happened colour your future.”

“But surely, Harriet,” I replied, “what happened must colour my future, mustn’t it?

Something happens and we go on from there.”

I thought of the steps which had led me to that musk-scented bed and my crushing humiliation at the hands of Beaumont Granville. The discovery of Jocelyn, our love, its consummation, Venice and all it entailed, and there he was, the evil genius who had done something to me which I could never forget and which in spite of Harriet’s injunctions must colour my life and would hang over me for as long as I lived.

“If we make mistakes,” said Harriet, “we must never brood on them. We should accept them as experience.”

Experience! I thought. A musk-scented bed and a man who demanded everything from me, who humiliated me in such a way that I could only find peace of mind in forgetfulness.

I was almost on the point of confessing to Harriet, but I restrained myself hi time.

It was my shameful secret. It was better locked away in my mind. It must never come out to the light of day. I wouldn’t let it. I could not bear it.

So she thought only of my love for Jocelyn, which was something I did not want to forget.

“Your mother has the light of battle in her eyes,” went on Harriet.

“Edwin today, Priscilla tomorrow. She wants grandchildren playing at her feet. Dear Arabella, she was always a sentimental creature. I know exactly what she feels and thinks. I love her dearly. She has meant a lot in my life. And now there is you and our little devil-angel Carlotta. There is one who is going to live an exciting life. I hope I live to see it.”

Of course, Harriet was right about my mother. She was delighted by Edwin’s betrothal.

She said to me one evening: “Priscilla, I am so happy about Edwin. I am sure Jane will make him a good wife.”

“You always wanted Jane for him,” I reminded her. “You stopped his marrying Christabel.”

“And how right that was! Christabel has found complete happiness with Thomas. He was just right for her. And they have dear little Thomas. That is a happy household.”

“But she was very unhappy when Edwin allowed himself to be persuaded.”

“My dear child, if he had really cared for her he would not have been persuaded.

And if she had really cared for him she could not be as happy as she is with Thomas.

So it was all for the best.”

She looked at me wistfully.

“You were meant to marry, Priscilla,” she said. “Your turn must come.”

“I hadn’t thought of it,” I replied.

“To see you with that child Carlotta … She is a little minx, I think. She has even fascinated your father. To see you with her makes me feel that you should not delay too long before marrying. You can’t go on being a child forever. I thought only this morning when I watched you with Carlotta, Priscilla was meant to be a mother.”

I smiled at her. Dear Mother, I thought, I wonder what you would say if you knew that Carlotta is my daughter, and that I also gave myself so utterly, so completely and so shamefully to a wicked man in exchange for my father’s life.

It was April in the following year that Edwin and Jane were married. The Merridews lived not more than five miles from us and there were great celebrations in their country house.

Edwin seemed quite happy and Jane certainly was. My mother was contented too. She and Jane had become very good friends, which was as well, for, when the celebrations were over, Jane would come to live with us at Eversleigh which would be her home from henceforth. Eversleigh Court belonged to Edwin, as he was in the direct line, although my father had always managed the estate and I was sure looked on the place as his. Edwin was of such a temperament that it never occurred to him to stress otherwise.

It was a good match for the Merridews-providing, of course, that there was no trouble through my father’s involvement with the Monmouth Rebellion. Estates and fortunes could be lost overnight through such activities.

The Merridews, like ourselves, were keeping away from the Court at this time, remaining in the country, which was some way from London. We were hoping that recent events would soon be forgotten, although we did hear rumours that there were many who did not care for the new King’s views and that trouble was brewing in various quarters.

“Whatever it is,” said my mother firmly, “we are keeping out of it.”

And I think that in view of my father’s recent experiences, her words carried weight.