Philippa Carr - The love child

“I shan’t come down tonight,” I told her. “I feel too ill.”

“We shall have to have the feasting tomorrow, and if you are not better I shall call the doctor in to see you.”

“Oh, dear Mother,” I said, “I am so sorry.”

She kissed me. “It’s nothing, dear child. There is tomorrow. It will be all right then. I’ll leave you now to rest.”

I lay in the darkness. Then I got up and undressed. I must pretend to be asleep because I could not speak to anybody yet.

It was nearly two hours later when Leigh came in.

He came quietly and I pretended to be asleep. He came to the bed, holding a lighted candle and looking down at me. I kept my eyes shut and when he turned away I opened them. I saw his muddied clothes and I felt sick with fear.

He was a long time washing the mud from himself.

That night we lay side by side. I had not spoken to him since his return, pretending to be in a deep sleep. He did not seem to want to speak either. We lay side by side through the night, feigning sleep, but I was aware of his wakefulness.

LOOKING BACK, I CANNOT think how I lived through the next few weeks. The memory of Beaumont Granville was always with us.

The next day I had gone out to that spot where I had seen Leigh among the trees. It was clear that the earth had been disturbed and I knew that the body of Beaumont Granville was lying underneath it.

I was almost beside myself with grief and anxiety. Somehow I had always known that that night which I had spent with him had not been the end. It was only the opening of a hideous tragedy. It was like a macabre masque and this was the inevitable ending.

The affair at Venice had been the prelude. The attempted abduction and the thrashing had set the stage for what was to come.

Leigh was a murderer because of what I had done. I had always known that he would kill Beaumont Granville if he learned what had happened. His nature was one of impulsive passion. When he had heard what had happened, he had planned to kill him and he had done so without delay. Then he had dug his grave and buried him.

Murder is a fearsome thing. I suppose anyone who has committed it can never forget it. I had come near to committing it myself. But should I have fired the fatal shot when I had come face to face with my tormentor? I began to wonder. Instinct told me that I would never have done it. I could never have killed another human being whatever the provocation. But I could almost wish that I had done it myself rather than that Leigh should.

It had been my tragedy. I had made the decision to save my father’s life. I should have been the one who took that last action.

But I could never have done it. I realized that now.

And now what was next? I was sure it was not finished.

For a whole week nothing happened. Leigh and I were like strangers. We could not even make an attempt at leading a normal married life.

He seemed as though he did not want to come near me, and yet I was aware that he was yearning for me. I took refuge in illness. It was not difficult.

My mother sent for the doctor, who said I needed to eat more. I was exhausted. I must rest and eat nourishing food, or I might go into a decline.

Carlotta came to see me. I believe she had to be persuaded to do so. She was aloof and sullen.

Harriet came. “What on earth has happened to you?” she demanded. “You are so wan. You haven’t been yourself for a long time. What is it?”

I repeated what the doctor had said.

“Carlotta is disturbed,” she said. “She hasn’t heard from our romantic hero for some time.”

“Oh?” I said faintly.

“No. Apparently he had been at Enderby and he has just disappeared.”

“At Enderby!” I said blankly.

“Yes. The empty house. It’s hers, of course, and it seems he went there so that he would be near and she could go and see him. Then one day … he’s gone. She thought he had to go to London and didn’t have time to tell her. She’s anxious now to go to London.”

I said nothing.

“She’s determined to marry him,” went on Harriet. “I expect she will. Once she’s made up her mind she doesn’t rest until she gets what she wants. You’ll have to get reconciled, Priscilla.”

I turned my head away listlessly.

“Well,” said Harriet, “it’s life. If he’s a bit of a rogue she’ll get used to it. The young have to live for themselves, you know. No use trying to set them on the straight and narrow path before they have explored the byways.”

I wanted to shout at her: Go away. I can’t bear any more.

Christabel came to see me. She soothed me because she did not talk about Beaumont Granville but herself. She wanted another child. She thought she ought to have one. She knew it was what Thomas wanted more than anything.

“I thought you were supposed not to,” I said.

“It would be dangerous, they said. But I think young Thomas needs a brother or sister.”

“Don’t be silly,” I admonished, “he needs you more.”

“I suppose so,” she answered. “It was a miracle, wasn’t it, the way I became so important to my two Thomases? … I who had never been important to anyone before and only a nuisance to some.”

“You always did talk a lot of nonsense about that, Christabel.”

A few weeks later she came to me and told me she was pregnant.

“It will all work out for the best,” she said. “I know I am doing the right thing.”

My mother said it was foolish in view of what had happened at the time of young Thomas’s birth. Thomas Willerby was very worried; but there was an air of serenity about Christabel, and she kept insisting that this would make everything right.

We all began to believe her.

And I was glad to listen to talk about the coming baby rather than to let my thoughts dwell perpetually on the terrible thing which had happened.

There was a strangeness in the house. My father had changed towards me. I often found his gaze fixed on me, and when he saw that I noticed he would smile in an embarrassed way. When he spoke to me his voice was almost tender. He was noticing me at last.

I wanted to say: It is too late now. Everything is too late. Carlotta is saved … but by what means!

Leigh and I had fallen into a strange relationship. There had been restraint between us from the first and that had come from me. Now it was stronger. He was uneasy as well as I was.

My husband was a murderer. It might have been a righteous murder, but it was murder all the same. He had killed Beaumont Granville and had buried him under the ground. We never knew from one day to another when some clue might lead to the discovery of his body. The suspense was unbearable.

Harriet was our informant.

“It’s very strange,” she said. “Our Beau seems to have disappeared completely. No one has heard of him in London for months.”

“Are they trying to find him?” I asked.

“They think he’s gone abroad. He owed a good deal of money. His creditors are gnashing their teeth. He apparently borrowed a good deal on the strength of his coming marriage.”

“I daresay,” I replied.

“Then … he just disappears. People are getting more and more certain that he has gone abroad. He always travelled quite a lot. They are saying that the heiress must have jilted him and he had to get away, as he couldn’t face his creditors.”

“It seems a possible explanation.”

“But of course, the heiress didn’t jilt him, as we know full well.”

“There might have been another reason.”

“There must have been. Carlotta is heartbroken. She cannot understand it. They were going to London together and there were not going to be any carriage mishaps that time.”

“And yet he has gone.”

“I have a theory.”

“What?” I asked, trying to keep the note of fear out of my voice.

“He scented an even greater heiress … someone in another country.”

“That seems a likely explanation.”

“I put it to Carlotta. It made her furious at first, but I think she is beginning to suspect it might be true.”

“She rarely comes to see me,” I said sadly.

“Oh, she blames you for spoiling the romance. I have come to the conclusion that you acted wisely.”

“Thank you.”

“He was a little too blatant. Just going off like that without a word! He ought to have stayed and honoured his obligations. At least he should have presented her with a good excuse. I am sure he could have thought of something moderately plausible. But to go like that …”

“Do you think she is getting over it?”

“Yes. She is not brooding so much. Benjie is a great help.” She smiled secretly. “They were always such friends … and still are.”

I closed my eyes.

“At least she has been saved from disaster,” I said.

And I thought once more: And at what bitter cost!

I sometimes went to that spot where on the day after that fearful night I had noticed the disturbed earth. The grass had now grown over it. It was not easy to find.

No one would think of looking for Beaumont Granville there.

They had ceased to talk of him now. I wondered if they still did in London. They would shrug their shoulders. He had no close family. They would presume he had gone abroad as he often did. Perhaps years later they would presume him dead and some distant cousin would take over his estates.

Now the months were passing. Summer had come. I wondered how long Leigh and I could go on in this way.

I sometimes asked myself whether it would have been easier if I had told him that I knew what had happened, that I had seen the bloodstained body of Beaumont Granville, that I had watched him as he dug his grave. Would it have been better if we had been entirely frank?