The Love Child

He knew about Carlotta and he understood. He was going to help me. He would be a wonderful father to her. I was happier than I had been for a long time, but soon I began to be haunted more than ever by memories of Beau Granville. I would dream of him. Leigh would be in that dream, and suddenly as he came towards me he would change into Beaumont Granville. I began to experience a vague apprehension.

My wedding day had almost come. The house was in a bustle of excitement. From the kitchens came the smell of roasting and baking. My mother was in a blissful state.

She refused to think of possible trouble coming to the realm. Her family was about her. Edwin was married to a girl of her choice and she told me she had always wanted it to be Leigh for me. Leigh was a strong man, she said. He was not unlike my father.

Such men needed special care.

“He shall have it,” I assured her.

“Leigh is a man in every way … just like your father, and you’ll be happy with him. He will take care of you and he has loved you for a long time. I am so glad, dear child, to see you settled.”

Carlotta was sleeping in my room. She was very interested in all the preparations and spent a lot of time in the kitchens watching the baking and now and then slipping a ringer in some bowl to extract a delicacy, I was sure.

They pampered her down there and I knew that Ellen liked to have her seated at the table and even showed her how to stone raisins.

Old Jasper, of course, was immune to her charms. I daresay he thought her a devil’s imp with her bright colouring and obvious beauty of which he would not approve. She did not like Jasper and made no attempt to hide the fact. She told him that she did not think God would like him very much either, which I believe shook Jasper more than anything that had happened for a long time.

At night she would creep into my bed and talk to me. When I was married, I told her, she would not be able to come. I should be in the bridal chamber where lots of other brides had slept.

She listened entranced.

“When shall I marry?” she wanted to know.

“It will be years yet,” I told her.

“Will you have a baby?” she asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Promise.”

“Promise what?”

“When you do, you’ll still love me best.”

“I shall always love you, Carlotta.”

“But best,” she said. “I want to be best.”

“Promises like that can’t be made. You have to wait and see.”

She was thoughtful, and pondering that fell asleep.

I had many gifts. Christabel had made some fine pillowcases for me, delicately embroidered as she knew so well how to do. I had more embroidered linen from Emily Philpots.

Sally Nullens was delighted at the prospect of more babies, both from me and from Edwin. My mother gave me some beautiful silks, which could be made up into bed gowns and wraps as well as dresses.

“From your father and me,” she said, but I knew he had had no hand in the gift.

There was one present which was brought to the house by a messenger who would not wait for a reply. One of the servants brought it in. The messenger had said that it was to be delivered to me but would not say who had sent it. It was a flat, square package. I was very curious. I took it up to my room and opened it.

It was a picture, painted in delicate colours, of St. Mark’s Square in Venice, and the shop where I had bought the slippers was represented in it.

I knew who had sent it and if I had had any doubt, there were the initials in the corner to confirm my fears: E.G.

I felt sick with fear. What did it mean? It was clearly a reminder. He was telling me that he was still there in my life and I must not think I was rid of him.

The picture was lying on my bed. I turned away from it. I could not bear to look at it. My apprehension was growing with every minute.

What could he do to me now?

I thought then of what Leigh’s fury would be like if he ever knew. I believed he would kill Beaumont Granville. He had nearly done so once before for a lesser offence.

Leigh must never know.

I wondered if any member of the family had seen the messenger arrive. My mother might ask what had been brought. Could I show the picture? “It was someone we met in Venice,”

I could say.

Leigh would see it. He would see those initials in the corner.

My impulse was to destroy it, but I decided not to do so just yet. I put it into a drawer with some kerchiefs and collars on top of it. In a few days I would destroy it, for if no one had mentioned its arrival by then, they would not do so later.

I had to compose myself before I went downstairs. I managed to do so, but a terrible shadow hung over me.

No one had seen the messenger come, and as nothing was said about what he had brought, a few days later I tore up the painting and burned it in the grate. I felt better as soon as I had done so.