Will You Love Me in September

I often thought of the bezoar ring, and I wondered if it had more magical qualities than those assigned to it. Through it I had learned of Jeanne's frailty, and I would have sworn her loyalty was unshakable and perhaps the most important emotion in her life. And through it the fact that Lance would stop at nothing in his mad passion for gambling had shown itself.

Sabrina's study of Lance and Aimee was becoming noticeable. She was very watchful.

I was sure they would notice and I told her so.

She said cryptically, "I have to watch them. How would I know what they will be doing next if I don't?”

She was firmly convinced that Lance and Aimee were lovers. There had been a case in the village when one of the farm laborers had come home suddenly and caught his wife in bed with another man-one of his fellow workers. He had strangled him and later been hanged for murder. Everyone talked of it for weeks, and Sabrina, of course, listened with the utmost interest.

One day when she was sitting by my bed-I had stayed there, having felt ill in the morning-she narrowed her eyes and said, "Perhaps you are being poisoned.”

"My dear Sabrina, what notions you get! Who would want to poison me?”

"Some," she said darkly. "They put things in people's food." "Who?”

"People who want to get rid of someone. The Borgias were always doing it.”

'But we have no Borgias in this house, darling.”

"It's not only them. Other people do it too. Kings and queens used to have tasters, just to make sure their food wasn't going to poison them.”

"Who told you that?”

"It comes in history. You ought to have a taster. I'll be your taster.”

"Then if there was poison, you'd take it.”

"I'd save you, and that is what tasters are for.”

"Dear Sabrina, it is sweet of you, but really I don't think I need a taster.”

"You're going to have one," she said firmly.

That evening when my meal was served she insisted on being with me and tasted everything before I ate it. She enjoyed it, being rather fond of food.

My tisane came up, and when one of the servants brought it to my bed, Sabrina looked at it suspiciously.

"Do you remember how we used to put the ring in it?" she asked.

"You did," I reminded her.

Her eyes grew round with horror. "You haven't got the ring anymore. Perhaps they took it away from you because ... because ...”

"Sabrina, my ring was lost in a gamble.”

She narrowed her eyes. "I don't believe it," she said. "It was stolen because it was taking the poison out of your food.”

She picked up the tisane and took a gulp. She grimaced. I went to take it from her, and in doing to I spilt it over the counterpane.

I laughed at her. "Oh, Sabrina," I said, "I do love you.”

She flung her arms about me.

"I'm going to keep you," she told me. "We're going to catch the murderers, and they'll be hanged like poor old George Carey who was hanged because he killed his wife's lover. I wouldn't have hanged him, but I would anyone who hurt you.”

"Dearest Sabrina, always remember that there is a special bond between you and me.

Promise me you'll never forget that, and won't be jealous if there is someone else I love besides you.”

"I'll remember, but I might be jealous.”

* * *

This ten-year-old girl was half child, half woman; at times she seemed merely her age and at others much wiser than she could possibly be. She was passionately interested in everything that went on around her. She listened unashamedly at doors; she watched people and followed them. The act of spy-protector was one after her own heart. Once she said she saw Lance and Aimee kissing, and when I pressed her, admitted that they had just stood close together talking. If anything did not happen as she wanted it to, she tried to make it do so, and sometimes imagined it had. She did not exactly set out to tell lies, but her imagination ran away with her. When I said that she must not say they had been kissing if they had not been, she replied, "Well, they might have been when I wasn't looking." That was her reasoning. She was obsessed with the idea of saving my life.

So when next day she was ill, I was not sure whether the illness was ... well, not exactly faked, but whether her strong imagination had willed her into sickness because she so wanted to prove her point about the tisane.

I went up to see her at once. She was lying very still, her eyes raised to the ceiling.

I was concerned as I knelt by the bed; then I saw the smile of satisfaction steal across her face.

"Sabrina," I whispered, "you're pretending.”

"I did feel sick," she said. "I had cramping stomach pains.”

She had heard that was a symptom of poisoning, I realized at once. "Where?" I asked.

She hesitated for a moment and then placed her hands on her stomach.

"Sabrina," I said, "are you sure you didn't imagine it?”

She shook her head vigorously. "It's what happens to tasters," she whispered. Her eyes grew round with excitement. "Last night I tasted the tisane," she said. "Just one sip was enough." She threw up her hands dramatically.