He could not understand very well and I said: “Monsieur Claremont speaks very little English, Evie. Have you any French?”

She flushed again and stammered that she had a little but not much. “Grandmamma insisted that our governess teach Dolly and me French. But we aren’t very good at it, are we, Dolly?”

“You are, Evie,” said Dolly.

“Not very, I’m afraid.”

“Try,” I said.

And she did. She had just enough to make herself understood in simple sentences, and Alberic Claremont seemed to be very pleased to assist her. He tried to speak English and they laughed together while Dolly sat silent, watching her sister’s face all the time.

When she left, Evie asked if she might call again.

I said but of course she must.

My mother commented: “Evie is delighted with him because she has probably saved his life. There is nothing more endearing than someone who owes you a great deal, and what could be more than a life?”

“You sound more like Dickon every day.”

“I suppose one grows a little like someone with whom one is in constant contact.”

“Don’t grow too much like him, dear Maman. Stay yourself.”

“I promise,” she said.

Within a few days Alberic was quite well.

We had family discussions about him. What could we do for him? There he was, a young man restored to health; he had brought French currency with him, but what good was that in England? Where could he go? What could he do? Could he work somewhere? The French were not very popular in England at this time.

It was Sophie who came up with the solution.

She needed servants. She was looking for them now. What if she offered Alberic a post in her household? What could he be? A butler? Could he work in the gardens? It was not so important how he worked as that he did. She would talk to him and discover for what he was best suited.

“In any case,” she said, “he can come to Enderby and stay there until he decides what he must do. When this terrible revolution is over, perhaps there will be changes in France. In which case those French who are sheltering here might want to go back.”

It was a solution, and when it was put to Alberic that for the time being he should go to Enderby and work there for Aunt Sophie in whatever capacity they found most suitable, he accepted with alacrity.

At the end of February Sophie moved into Enderby. Alberic delighted her and Jeanne approved of him. He was an indefatigable worker, and he was so grateful to Sophie for providing a home for him that he declared he would die for her.

Dickon said cynically: “It might be a different story if the noble young gentleman were called upon to carry out his promise. All the same, French melodrama apart, he is reasonably grateful, and as Sophie was looking for people to serve her, she has found one, who because of his position and the fact that he shared her nationality, could prove satisfactory.”

At the beginning of March Jonathan went to London. I was always relieved when he was not in the house, and I was beginning to sink into a sense of security. I was completely absorbed by the baby as it grew within me, and other matters just slipped through my consciousness without my taking much notice of them.

My mother and I were together a great deal. As we both needed rest, we would often lie side by side on her bed and she would talk to me of her life, of her marriage to my father, of his death, and the knowledge that it had always been Dickon whom she had loved.

“My mother came to great happiness late in life, and so did I,” she said. “I think perhaps this is the best time for happiness to come. Then you appreciate it more; and it is not so easy to strive for it in one’s mature years, as it is when one is young. When you are young you believe in miracles. You think you just have to catch them and they are yours. When you are older, you know they are rare, and if one comes your way, how you cherish it, how you appreciate it!”

I was able to draw on her contentment, and it said a great deal for my powers of deception that I was able to convince her that I was as happy as she was.

We discussed the nursery. “It will be as though the babies are twins,” she said. “What if one of us did have twins? There are twins in the family. Twins for you and twins for me. Four of them, Claudine. Just think of that.”

I could laugh with her.

During that month Sabrina caught a cold which persisted. She lay in bed looking very small and wan.

Dickon spent a great deal of time with her, and that gave her immense pleasure.

We were all aware that she was dying and for several years we had watched her carefully through the winters. She liked to have my mother or me with her when Dickon could not be there. She would hold my hand and talk to me of the past, and again and again she stressed the great joy which had been hers when Dickon came home with my mother.

“He loved her as a child,” she said. “But your grandmother did not want the marriage. Oh, she did what she thought was right, and the result was that your mother—dear Lottie—was taken away from us. Dickon married and so did she, but now it is as it should be and they are together. It is wonderful that their marriage is to be fruitful. If I could have one wish it would be to see their child. But, my dear Claudine, I do not think I shall manage that.”

“You will,” I said. “Dickon says you must, and you know you always have pleased him.”

“He has brought the greatest joy into my life. When his father was killed in that dreadful battle at Culloden, I thought it was the end of everything for me, and then Dickon came and I started to live again.”

“I know,” I said. “And Dickon has made you happy.”

“He is the most wonderful of men, Claudine. And so are his boys. And now he is to have another child… and so are you. The family goes on. That is the important thing, Claudine. We come and we go; we live our lives; we make our marks. And I suppose every one of us has a part to play. Then we pass on. But the family remains. It will go on through the generations.”

I said she must not tire herself with too much talking; but she replied that it did her good to talk.

“Be happy, Claudine,” she said. “There is too much unhappiness in the world. I remember the guilt I felt as a child. It should never have been. It was only when I married Dickon’s father that I started to live. Then I lost him and would have mourned him all my life, but Dickon was born and then I was happy.”

I sat listening to her; and I saw clearly what I must do. Not only for my sake but for that of everyone else. There was no way of telling whether David or Jonathan was the father of my child, but I was going to believe that David was. I was going to try to put the past behind me and be happy.

March was gone and April had come in milder and with a touch of spring in the air.

It seemed that Sabrina had lived through another winter after all. But that was not to be. One morning in early April, her maid went into her bedroom as usual to take in her morning hot chocolate and could not wake her. Sabrina lay quietly, serenely, at peace.

Death in the house. It had come quietly and was not unexpected, but that did not make it any easier to bear. Sabrina had lived quietly, in the background; there had been days when we had not seen her; but she was part of the household and now she was gone.

Dickon was very distressed. She had adored him so unreservedly, and all his life she had been there to applaud his virtues and excuse his faults, and to assure him that he was the perfect man. My mother comforted him, but she, too, missed Sabrina.

Jonathan was away at the time and Dickon said that they must send for him to come home for the burial. I had thought that he was in London, but the messenger was sent to the Pettigrews’, and Jonathan came, accompanied by Lord and Lady Pettigrew and Millicent.

Sabrina was to be buried in the family mausoleum and there was to be a service for her in our own chapel. The priest who had married David and me read the service and we all followed the solemn procession to the mausoleum.

I was surprised to see that Harry Farringdon had arrived with several of those people who lived near enough to join the company.

Evalina Trent was there with her two grand-daughters. Afterwards they all returned to the house, where wine and food were served.

Everyone was talking about Sabrina, stressing her many virtues as people do at funerals, and we were all saying how much she would be missed.

“At least she died easily and happily,” was the verdict. “She was so delighted at the prospect of the new babies.”

I saw that Harry Farringdon was talking to Evie and that there was a slight flush in her cheeks. I thought: I hope something comes of that. It would be such a good match for Evie, and she is a nice girl, different from that dreadful grandmother of hers. Poor girl, she could not help her relations.

I sat down because I was beginning to feel tired, and in view of my condition I felt everyone would understand.

I was not long alone. To my dismay it was Evalina Trent who came and sat down beside me.

“Nice to get your feet off the ground,” she said cosily. “I expect you’re beginning to feel the weight. What’ll it be now, four months eh?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Then there’ll be rejoicing up at Eversleigh… and your mother too! That’s really a bit of fun, don’t you think?”

“It is very agreeable for us both.”

She looked at me slyly.

“Oh, you’re a lucky young lady. Such a good husband—and a little one on the way so soon! You’re one of the favoured of the gods, as they say.”