“Please don’t. I have no desire to hear.” I looked at him intently. I said: “And what of Amelia’s baby?”

He stared at me.

“You said you met her in the town. Why? So that you could drive her back … and have a little upset… nothing to hurt the carriage much but to destroy her baby … or try to.”

He was silent. I saw a glimpse then of the Aubrey I had known in the beginning. There was a look of contrition in his eyes.

“I might have known,” I said.

“It happened,” he said quickly.

“These things happen. I had no intention …”

“Why did you go to meet her? They were to take the trap. You must have arranged it.”

“She lost her babies .. all of them… the least little thing.”

“So you decided to arrange … this little thing.”

“It happened, I tell you. It happened. Why bring it up? It’s over.”

“There is only one thing more for me to say,” I went on.

“I am leaving here this afternoon.”

“Where will you go?”

“To my father, of course.”

“I see. You, who adhere so fondly to convention, should not take such a daring action.”

“It is not convention but decency which I want to adhere to. I will not have my child brought up in a house like this.”

“So you propose to take my son away from his home?”

“Of course he will come with me.”

He shook his head slowly. All trace of his old self had disappeared. A smile played about his lips and it was not a pleasant one, and a terrible fear struck me. His next words confirmed that fear.

“You are inclined to think that I have played no part in producing that boy.

But that is not the case. Any court of law would tell you that. “

I stared at him in horror. He understood my feelings perfectly. He went on: “You could leave here, of course. But you could not take my son with you.”

My mouth was suddenly parched. The air was full of menace.

“Yes,” he went on.

“You may leave. Of course, the world does not look too kindly on the married woman who deserts her husband, though there arc some who take this unwise action. But you cannot take my son away with you.”

I cried out: “Why do you keep calling him your son? He is mine, too.”

“Ours,” he said.

“But I am his father. This is a man’s world, my dear Susanna. I am sure that fact has occurred to a strong-minded woman like you. If you went and took our son with you, I would soon have him back in his rightful place. The law would see to that.”

“You do not love him.”

“He is my son. This is his home. All this will be his one day. The house … the estate … even the temple. All his. He must be brought up in his own home. That is something I shall insist on.”

“You would not be so cruel as to take my child from me.”

I do not propose to separate you. All you have to do is to remain. I shall not ask you to leave, but if you do, the child stays here. “

I was stunned. I could see that he had defeated me.

He went on: “You have monopolized the child. You have taken him out of my care. He hardly knows his father.”

“Because his father has not had the time to spare for him, being so occupied with his drug-inspired orgies.”

“Who would believe that?”

“I do. I know it.”

“Your opinion would not count. If you want to go, if you want to create a scandal, if you want to bring disgrace on your father’s grey hairs, and on the father of your son, then you must do so. I cannot make you a prisoner here. But let me tell you this: if you attempt to take my son from his rightful home, I shall see that he is brought back here. The law would demand it and you would have to obey the law.”

“You forget what I know of you. Surely no court of law would want a child brought up in a home where these evil practices are carried on, where the father indulges in intrigues with the servants …”

“That is no uncommon practice, my dear. And it would have to be proved. I could make sure that it was not. If you are prepared to lose your son … then go ahead and do so. I shall put no obstacle in the way of your going. But a court might well commit you as insane, a poor woman who has fantasies. I would see to it.”

He turned and left me.

I knew that I was a prisoner in this house. I was held here by the one thing which could prevent my escape.

What he had said about the law was true. If I went away I should lose my son; and that was the one thing I could never do.

I was in a state of wretched uncertainty. I knew that Aubrey meant he would not let me take Julian away with me. It was not that he wanted the boy himself; but he did want a son and heir to be brought up on the estate. I also thought that he wanted his revenge on me.

I knew now that his feelings towards me were mixed, and in the force of his hatred for me were the grains of love. He had been in love with me; there had been something very special about those days in Venice; it was just that the drug habit was too strong for him; he wanted me to share everything with him, and because I would not, because I despised him for what he was doing, he hated me.

My great desire was to get away. I had thought it would be so simple just to walk out of the place with Julian. How I had miscalculated!

It was hard to live through the days. Julian seemed more precious to me than ever if that were possible. If we were separated he would be heartbroken, no less than I. There was one thing which was clear to me: I would endure anything rather than be separated from my child.

I should have liked to go and stay with my father, but I knew that after that scene between us, Aubrey would not allow me to take Julian with me. If I wanted to stay with Amelia who had frequently asked me to visit her I should have to leave Julian behind. It was clear to me that Aubrey would never allow me to take the boy from the Minster for fear I might not return with him.

Mrs. Pollack was a little worried about my health.

“You’re not looking yourself, if I may say so, Madam,” she said.

I assured her that I was all right. I tried to behave as though nothing had happened. I saw as little of Aubrey as I possibly could; but when I did he regarded me with a sardonic look, the triumphant look of a conqueror.

Two weeks passed, two of the most wretched weeks I had ever known till then. I would lie awake at night devising wild plans which seemed plausible then, but which I knew to be impossible in the light of the next day.

I could think of nothing else. When Mrs. Pollack told me I should avoid going into the town I hardly listened.

“It’s the linen-draper’s daughter. They say it’s cholera. That’s frightened the life out of everyone. They all remember the epidemic two years ago.”

“Oh yes,” I said.

“I remember, of course. It was terrible.”

“They say that more than fifty-three thousand people died of it in England and Wales,” said Mrs. Pollack.

“It’s brought in by foreigners, that’s what.”

I said I supposed so; and I wondered once more whether, if I gave Aubrey a solemn promise that I would return with Julian, he would allow me to go and see my father.

I could not go on like this. Yet what could I do? I longed to get away but I could not go without Julian. If necessary I should stay here until he was of age. I would never leave him.

It must have been about four weeks after that scene with Aubrey when I received a letter. I did not know the writing on the envelope and when I opened and read it my anxieties increased.

Dear Mrs. St. Clare [I read], I am taking the liberty of writing to you because I am concerned about Colonel Pleydell’s health. I think you should know that he had a mild stroke yesterday. It has impaired his speech a little and he is slightly paralysed. I am afraid that he could have another stroke and perhaps a major one at any time.

I thought you should know this. Yours truly, Edgar Corinth.

I read and re-read the letter. The words danced in front of my eyes.

It was as though I felt that by staring at them hard enough I could change them.

I could not believe this. Not now . when I needed his help. I felt the need to lean on someone, to have someone to talk with me, plan with me, advise me. And when I thought of someone I meant my father.

He was the one who cared most of all; he would make my troubles his own.

I must go to him at once and I must take Julian. Surely I could do that in these circumstances. I decided to talk to Aubrey.

He had come in from the estate and I watched him approach the house.

It struck me afresh how he was changing. He looked considerably older than the Aubrey of our honeymoon; his eyes were sunken and his skin was an unhealthy colour.

I met him in the hall.

“I have to talk to you,” I said.

He raised his eyebrows and we went into one of the little rooms which led from the hall. I gave him the doctor’s letter and he read it.

“I have to go to him,” I said.

“Of course.”

“I shall take Julian with me.”

“Take the child into a house of sickness?”

“It is certainly not communicable. It is a stroke. There are servants there. They love to look after him. I can be with my father and Julian will be all right.”

He smiled at me slowly.

“No,” he said.

“You shall not take the child out of this house.”

“Why not?”

“Because you may decide not to bring him back.”

“I would give my solemn oath.”

“You are a very determined woman. Solemn oaths are not always kept by the ruthless and you could be ruthless where the boy is concerned.”