I thought the evening would never end; but at last there was no longer any excuse for staying, and we left them there to return to our hotel. I was relieved to feel the night air, but I had lost my peace of mind.

We did not sing as we rode back. Bevil was silent—still, I believed, in the past.

“How well did you know her?” I asked.

“Know whom?” he queried unnecessarily.

“The beautiful Lisa.”

“Oh, I just knew her.”

It told me nothing, yet I imagined it told me so much.

When we reached the hotel, Madame wanted to know if we had enjoyed the dancing. Bevil was unusually quiet, but I managed to reply brightly that it had been a most illuminating evening.

Bevil made love to me fiercely that night, and I asked myself as we lay in the darkness: Is it Lisa to whom be is making love? Am I the substitute?

We didn’t meet them again, and in a few days Bevil had recaptured his high spirits and I was able to hide my misgivings. The honeymoon continued, but nothing was quite the same.

7

We had been in Provence six weeks. It was a long honeymoon. November was with us and the rainy weather had set in. It fell in torrents, bouncing up and down on the balcony and flooding the bedroom; the clouds completely blotted out the mountains and the sea, and without the sun there was a decided chill in the air. It was time to leave for home.

It was good to be back in Menfreya. My spirits were lifted by my first glimpse of the house, and as we drove under the old clock tower I told myself that I was going to be happy in my new home. I was determined to be all that Bevil wanted in a wife.

It soon became clear that a ministerial crisis was brewing. Balfour had replaced Salisbury as Prime Minister not long after the new King’s coronation, and Chamberlain, with his following, was threatening to resign over Protectionist proposals. I must understand these problems thoroughly if I were going to be of any real help. The duty of a politician was to make laws which would improve the well-being of the country; it seemed to me that that was a noble ambition. I was fired with enthusiasm. When I told him this he kissed me and said I was going to be the ideal politician’s wife. He would grow enthusiastic over some wrong which in his view was a particular evil. He would discuss the problems with me, and I found myself caught up in his zeal.

He took his duties so seriously. In the town of Lamella he had chambers, and there, when be was in Cornwall, he spent two mornings a week so that those whom be represented in Parliament might come to see him with any problems they wished to discuss. I sometimes went there with him and, to my delight, found that I could be of use and that he realized It Then I forgot that honeymoon incident which had so disturbed me; I was even able to tell myself I had imagined the Whole thing.

Bevil’s career began to obsess me as it did him. I was delighted to find that, although he was ambitious—he dreamed of Cabinet office and the ultimate prize of the premiership— he really had the good of his constituents at heart and was determined to make himself as accessible as possible. This meant a great deal of hard work; there was a constant stream of people to see, a tremendous amount of correspondence; and although William Lister was very efficient, there were many ways in which I could make myself useful.

I was happier than I had ever been.

It has always astonished me how changes come into one’s life. The gradual change becomes acceptable, but sudden shock, presenting itself without warning to shatter the existence so completely that nothing will ever be the same again, makes me uneasily aware of the perpetual uncertainties of life.

That is what happened to me on that April morning. There were wild violets under the hedges and cowslips in the meadows, and I was waking every morning to find my room full of sunshine and the sound of the waves as they slowly advanced and retreated in a steady, soothing rhythm.

It was Bevil's day for receiving people in his Lansella chambers, and I was alone that morning as he had work to do there with William Lister. I went down to deviled kidneys and bacon which were in a chafing dish on the sideboard. Breakfast was from seven-thirty till nine at Menfreya, and this morning, as neither of my parents-in-law were down and Bevil had already left, I was alone. I was studying the papers carefully when one of the servants brought in the letters and laid them on the table.

I glanced at them, and the handwriting on one of them made me catch my breath.

Gwennan’s!

I slit open the envelope. There was a Plymouth address at the top of the letter. I read:

“Dear Harriet, This is like old times, isn’t it? I expect you’ve been wondering what has been happening to me all this time. I am about to satisfy your curiosity, if you still have it and want it satisfied. This is between us two. I want to see you first and in secret Will you come to this address either today or tomorrow. I shall be here. There is a condition. You must come alone and tell no one. I hope you will. I rely on you.

Gwennan.

P.S. It’s easy to find. When you come out of the station turn right, then turn left as far as you can go. Turn right again and you’ll see it. No. 20. I shall be waiting.”

She knew then that I was at Menfreya; she knew that I was married to Bevil, for the letter was addressed to Mrs. Menfrey. I was thankful that I had been alone when I received it.

As I walked through those streets, which grew more and more squalid with every step, I was being prepared for what I should find. Number 20 was a three-storied house in the final stages of decay. The front door was open, and as I stepped into a hall an old woman called out to me. She was sitting in a rocking chair in a room on the right, the door of which was wide open. I saw a line of washing in the room and several children in ragged garments.

“I want Mrs. Bellairs,” I told her.

“Right at the top,” she said.

I felt sickened as I mounted those rickety stairs; it wasn’t the smell; it wasn’t the obvious dirt and poverty; it was the fear of what I should find when I opened that door beyond which Gwennan was waiting for me.

I knocked. I heard her voice, with the lilt in it which was so like Bevil’s.

“Harriet So you came … you angel!”

“Gwennan.” I stood there staring at her. Where was my beautiful Gwennan with the scornful, flashing eyes, the springing, tawny hair, the Menfrey look? In her place was an emaciated woman, so gaunt that it took me some seconds to assure myself that it was Gwennan. Her body was wrapped in a dressing gown that might once have been gay. I noticed it was torn in places.

I could have wept at the change hi her since I had last seen her. I wanted to hide from her the horror in my face, so I drew her to me and held her fast.

“Oh, Harriet … you sentimental creature! You always were, I knew it”

“You had better tell me everything,” I said. “Where is Benedict Bellairs?”

“I don’t know.”

“So you’ve left him?”

She nodded. “It was the biggest mistake I ever made, Harriet, when I ran away with him.”

“So it went wrong?”

“Almost from the start. He thought that I had money of my own. He’d heard of the Menfreys … old family … traditions, and the rest. And then … I brought nothing.”

“So you found your marriage was a mistake and …”

“It wasn’t exactly a marriage. I thought it was, but he was married already. I was a simpleton, Harriet. It didn’t take much subtlety to deceive me. I went through a form of marriage … but he didn’t even commit bigamy for my sake. It was a friend of his who played the parson. Another actor, so he did it rather well.”

“Gwennan!”

“You look shocked. I read about you in the papers. ‘Daughter of Lansella’s late M.P. marries the present Member. Miss Harriet Delvaney, daughter of the late Sir Edward, was married to Mr. Bevil Menfrey, M.P. for Lamella and district. So, Harriet, you got your wish then. You always wanted Bevil, didn’t you?”

I nodded.

She smiled rather sadly. ‘Tell me what happened when I left?”

The same Gwennan I Her own affairs were always more interesting than those of others, and she made no attempt to hide this.

“Consternation,”

“III bet there was. And Harry?”

“He was heartbroken.”

“Poor Harry! He would have been a good husband to me.”

“What happened after this … mock marriage?”

“I became ‘with child', as they say.”

“You have a child?”

“It’s for that reason that I’ve asked you here really. Tm sinking my pride for him.”

“Where is he?”

She went to a door and opened it. In a small room was an old wicker basket, and in this a child lay asleep. He was pale-faced and not very clean, but he had the Menfrey tawny hair, and I recognized him as one of them.

“Benedict,” she said gently.

“Benedict Bellairs,” I added.

“Benedict Menfrey,” she corrected me.

“Of course.”

“It’s a difficult situation, Harriet”

I agreed, “Why did you ask me? Tell me everything, Gwennan.”

“I asked you because you’re one of the family now and I expect more help from you than the others. I want to come back to Menfreya, Harriet. I can’t stand this life any longer. And I want him brought up at Menfreya,”

“Well, of course you’ll come back.”

“And how explain … ?”

“It could be done. You’ve lost your husband, so you’ve come home. It’s a delicate situation but could be arranged.”