Philippa Carr - Voices in a Haunted Room

David looked down at her with wonder. Nothing… nothing must disturb his happiness.

CHRISTMAS CAME AND WENT. There were the usual feasting and games. Our neighbours came in as they had done the previous year and that included Mrs. Trent with her grand-daughters. The Farringdons were our guests and of course the Pettigrews. Lady Pettigrew said that we should have spent Christmas with them this year, but the babies made travelling difficult and so it was easier to celebrate the festive season at Eversleigh.

The marriage of Jonathan and Millicent was to take place in June and we must travel there then, said my mother, for the babies would be older, and that would simplify matters.

It was hard to believe that it was a year ago that I had been in the midst of my affaire with Jonathan. It was last Boxing Day when I had ended it abruptly and almost immediately afterwards discovered that I was going to have a child.

Harry Farringdon had still not declared himself; and I asked my mother if she thought he ever would.

“The courtship—if courtship it is—does seem to drag on. I would say that Evie is in love. One can tell that sometimes.”

“And Harry?”

“Well, he does seem to delight in her company.”

“Do you think the delay is due to his parents?”

“Or her grandmother.”

“A man does not marry his wife’s relations surely.”

“No. But they might give him cause for thought. I imagine Harry is a cautious young man.”

“Well, I think he should make up his mind soon.”

“You give them every opportunity, I must say. You’ve become a matchmaker, Claudine. At least where those two are concerned.”

I did not tell her why. I was not sure whether it would have disturbed her or not. But I had a strong conviction that I should help Evie all I could, and there was no doubt that marriage into the Farringdon family would be very desirable for her.

Jonathan went back to London. There was great consternation over the war, which seemed to be resulting in successes for the French throughout Europe. Dickon was in London with Jonathan and now that my mother had a baby she did not accompany him as frequently as she had once.

There had been more causes for alarm in January when Utrecht, Rotterdam and Dort fell into the hands of the French, and the Stadtholder and his family made their escape to England, arriving in an open boat. It was a wonder they survived, for the weather had turned bitterly cold and everything was frozen up.

Throughout the house great fires burned but even so the wind seemed to whistle through the windows and there were draughts everywhere.

The men seemed greatly concerned about the French victories which, according to Jonathan, were due to the genius of one man—a Corsican adventurer by the name of Napoleon Bonaparte. It had been hoped that with the fall of Robespierre there would be an end to these successes, for Bonaparte was a well-known supporter of the tyrant; but by some clever manoeuvring he managed to extricate himself from the slaughter when so many suffered the same fate as their friend and master. So Napoleon Bonaparte continued with the army.

“Even the bloodthirsty mob have the sense to realize what he is doing for his country,” commented Jonathan.

We talked often of Charlot and Louis Charles, who might well be involved in these successful campaigns. But we had no news of them.

My mother used to say: “Charlot is well. Something tells me that. If only he could get a message to us! But how could he with his country at war with the whole of Europe.”

When Dickon and Jonathan were with us the talk was all of war and political matters. Prussia was asking for a loan and endlessly they discussed the rights and wrongs of this.

And all the time we shivered, until February came bringing with it the melting snows, and then it rained so heavily that there was the problem of flooding in many parts of the country.

Then Tuscany made peace with France.

Dickon said: “I can see others doing the same.”

David’s point was that the revolution was over now and the Republic had to be accepted. He said: “At least we shall settle down to peace. The French have chosen the government they want. There is nothing to be done but leave them to it.”

Dickon replied: “They have gone to a great deal of trouble, much blood has been shed, and now they are learning that it need never have happened. They have exchanged one set of rulers for another every bit as harsh.”

“The Monarchy would never have abdicated,” said Jonathan. “The people wanted to be rid of them and they saw that the only way of doing so was through the guillotine.”

When the Swedes acknowledged the French it seemed obvious the way things were going.

“If this continues,” said Dickon, “we shall be left alone fighting the French.”

He and Jonathan went up to London, and this was one of the occasions when my mother did not go with him.

It was a cool March day. There were still signs of the heavy flooding and some of the fields were under water. I had been out with David during the morning and we had ridden round the estate. I enjoyed these morning rides, meeting the tenants, chatting with them, stopping to taste their wine.

David never hesitated to discuss their ideas with them, which made an ideal relationship between landowner and the people who lived on his estate. Jonathan would never have had the same patience, the good will, the unselfishness, the ability to see a matter from someone else’s point of view. They had chosen their careers wisely—or perhaps their father had selected them for them—for Jonathan was suited to the worldly life of London society and all those secret matters of which even my mother could not guess.

On that afternoon I was in the sewing room with my mother and Molly Blackett going through materials and discussing clothes for the babies when one of the servants came in and said: “There is a lady and gentleman downstairs, Madam. Friends of the master, they say. I’ve taken them to the hall and they are waiting there.”

“I’ll come down,” said my mother.

I went with her. Standing in the hall was a rather tall fair-haired man of about forty, and the lady with him appeared to be a few years younger.

When he saw my mother the man came towards her, holding out his hands.

“My dear Mrs. Frenshaw. I would have known you from Dickon’s description. How are you? I am James Cardew and this is my wife, Emma. I wonder if he has ever mentioned me to you.”

“No,” said my mother, “I don’t think he has.”

“I come from the North. Dickon has always said I must call and see him at Eversleigh if ever I was in the neighbourhood, and he would be most offended if I did not. I wonder if he is at home?”

“No, I’m afraid not. He is in London.”

The man raised his eyebrows in exasperation. “What bad luck! Of all the times he has insisted I call. And now I find that he is away.”

“He may be back tomorrow,” said my mother. “But let me introduce you to my daughter.”

He had taken my hand and was looking at me intently. “This is another Mrs. Frenshaw. Claudine, is it?”

I laughed. “You seem to know a good deal about us.”

“Dickon has talked of you. This is my wife, Emma.”

She was attractive, with dark lively eyes.

My mother said: “Well, it is a great pity that my husband is not at home. You will need some refreshment. Do come into our little winter parlour and I will have something brought to us. Have you eaten yet?”

“We had a meal some miles back,” said James Cardew. “A little wine would be welcome… to slake the thirst.”

“Come along then. Claudine, will you ask them to send something to the winter parlour,” said my mother.

I went away to do her bidding and then returned to the visitors. They were sitting down and saying what a wonderful old house Eversleigh was. They felt they knew it well, Dickon had talked so much about it.

“Have you seen him recently?” asked my mother.

“Well, it must have been a year ago. I happened to be in London for a brief spell.”

“I expect I was with him,” said my mother. “I usually am, but not so much now since my baby was born.”

“Unfortunately we didn’t meet then. Tell me, is Dickon well?”

“Very well, thank you.”

“Have you ever known Dickon otherwise?”

“He does enjoy good health.”

“He is the most vital man I have ever known,” said James Cardew.

My mother looked pleased, and as the wine arrived then, she poured it out for our guests.

“Delicious,” said Emma Cardew. “I must admit to being thirsty. It is thirsty travelling.”

“Did you say Dickon will be back tomorrow?” asked her husband.

“We can never be certain,” said my mother. “But I do expect him. Something may turn up to keep him though.”

“Yes, yes. We live in strange times. You are well aware of that if anyone is, Mrs. Frenshaw.”

“I see Dickon has been talking freely about us.”

“He is a very brave man, Mrs. Frenshaw.”

“Amen to that,” said my mother fervently.

“I was delighted to hear about the babies,” put in Emma.

“Oh, you are very up-to-date with our news.”

“As a matter of fact,” explained Emma, “I was talking to someone at the inn. It is amazing how much people know about their neighbours. And don’t they love to pass on information! We mentioned we were looking for Eversleigh, and the babies were mentioned. Two of them in fact. That seemed something to talk about. Oh dear, I do hope we are not going to miss Dickon.”