Will You Love Me in September

I wore the necklace that evening. It looked magnificent with a white brocade gown.

Jeanne fingered it almost lovingly when I put it on. "It's the most beautiful necklace I ever saw," she said. "Sir Lance knows what is elegant. You would think he was....”

"A Frenchman," I added. "I'm glad you approve of my husband, Jeanne.”

"I do not like that others like him too much.”

She was referring to Aimee. Would she never get over her dislike of my half sister?

"She has a beautiful brooch give her." Her lips were pursed in disapproval because it was Lance who had given her the brooch.

"It is Christmas, Jeanne. A time for giving.”

Jeanne continued to express her disapproval as she brought out the bezoar ring from its case and gave it to me to slip on my finger. She had treated it with great respect since she had heard it belonged to a queen.

She could not take her eyes from the necklace.

"It is beautiful," she said. "Think what it stands for. It is worth a flower shop in the Rue St. Honore.”

"Worth a flower shop!”

"I mean if it were sold... . You could buy a flower shop in the heart of Paris for what that's worth.”

"Oh, Jeanne," I said reproachfully, "you make me feel as though I'm walking round with a flower shop round my neck.”

I was to remember that conversation later.

It was a strange Christmas without the family and I was rather glad when it was over.

There was far too much gambling, and my thoughts were at Enderby with Damaris and Sabrina.

It was a harsh winter. We stayed in London, where the weather was slightly less rigorous, but even there frozen snow remained piled high against the houses, and we were unable to go out.

The thaw set in at the end of February, and at the beginning of March I received a letter from Priscilla.

"I didn't want you to risk the roads," she wrote, "but I do think you should come down as soon as you can manage it. Damaris is worse. The rheumatism seems to have affected her heart. I think you ought to come, dear. She longs to see you, but she would not let you know for fear you might risk the roads, and she did not want that.”

I showed the letter to Lance. He was loath to leave London now. He had had several invitations to people's houses and I knew that he was looking forward to them. Moreover, his presence was required on the country estate. On the other hand, he did not care for me to make the journey alone.

I said, "I shall be all right. I must go because there is an urgency in Priscilla's letter. I shall have the grooms with me.”

"I'll come with you," he said.

I was pleased that he wished to do so, and then I wondered what I would find at Enderby.

Damaris was clearly very ill indeed. If she were to die-and I had an overwhelming premonition-I must think of Sabrina, and I knew that I could handle whatever was awaiting me better if I were alone.

When Lance was there Sabrina held aloof. There was some absurd but passionate resentment in her jealous little heart, and it was directed against Lance solely because she believed he came first with me.

I said, "I don't know what I'm going to find there. It will be depressing, I am sure.

Sabrina is a very unhappy child at this "me. Lance, I do believe I can handle this best alone.”

He understood at once. Perhaps he was relieved. Morbid sit awns did not appeal to him. He liked everything to be pleasant. As you wish," he said. "But if you want me to go with you, you Only have to say so.”

"I know," I said gratefully. "And thank you, Lance.”

Jeanne insisted on coming with me. I should need her, she said. And I was glad of her company. "And Sir Lance," she went on, "he will stay behind?”

"I have told him that is best.”

She shook her head. "He should go with you. You should not leave him alone with ...”

She did not continue and I did not ask her to.

So on the last day of March I set out for Enderby.

Although I had known that Damaris was seriously ill, I was unprepared for what I found.

It was indeed a house of mourning. Damaris was dead when I arrived. Her heart had been weakened during the first attack of rheumatic fever when she was young and this return of the disease had been too much for her.

When I stepped into the house I had the feeling that it was content, because this was its natural state. Happiness, gaiety, merriment did not rest comfortably at Enderby.

The house had become alive again; it had come into its own-evil, menacing, haunted by tragedies of the past.

In a small room on the first floor stood the coffin. The room was darkened, for the curtains had been drawn across the windows. Lying there in the light of two candles, looking young and beautiful, with the lines of pain wiped from her face, lay Damaris.

She wore a white cap of fine Brussels lace and I could just see the top of the shift in which they had laid her out, with lace at its neck. She looked so peaceful there, remote from all the harassments of life. Damaris was at rest; but what of those whom she had left behind?