Филиппа Карр - The adulteress

"You see," I explained to him, "I have a feeling that I must go. That second letter from the old man ... there was something about it. Sabrina said it was like a cry for help. That's rather fanciful, I suppose, but on the other hand, there did seem to be something in it ... in a strange sort of way."

"What worries me most is the journey," said Jean-Louis. "If I could feel that you would be safe ..."

"Oh, Jean-Louis," I cried, "people are making journeys every day. We don't hear of the thousands who arrive safely. There is always such a lot of talk when there is a mishap."

"Some parts of the road are very dangerous ... notorious haunts of highwaymen."

"We shall avoid those and I shall have protection."

"You mother is very much against it."

"I know. She was in an accident when she was a child and has never forgotten it. I'll be all right, Jean-Louis."

He looked at me earnestly. "You very much want to go, don't you?"

"Yes," I said. "I have a strong feeling that I should."

"I understand." He did understand. He was a quiet and thoughtful man and often understood my thoughts before I had expressed them. I believe now that he was thinking that life was beginning to pall; that I was looking for excitement. He did not want me to grow vaguely dissatisfied, which perhaps I was doing without realizing it. However, being Jean-Louis he was constructive rather than destructive; instead of deciding that the journey was impossibly dangerous, he set about planning how to make it as safe as possible.

"I think you should have six grooms," he said. "They can return as soon as you are safely delivered; and then come back for you when you return. Those and one more for the saddle horse and you will be a considerable party."

I kissed him. I felt brimming over with love.

"Well?" he said.

"I think I have the best husband in the world," I told him.

It was typical of him that he should hide his apprehension from me; he seemed to grow quite excited about the preparations as I discussed with him what I should take and the route we should travel.

It was on a lovely morning when we set out—a typical June day with the sun newly risen to give us a pleasant early morning warmth and the promise of a fine day. We made good progress and the feeling of expectation was growing. Everything seemed to be more vivid than usual. Butterflies the purest white against purple buddleia, the hum of the bees at work on vivid blue borage and clover, moon daisies in the fields with the buttercups and cowslips and the glimpse of the scarlet pimpernel on the edges of the cornfields—these miracles of nature, which I had taken for granted all my life, seemed especially wonderful.

We should have two stops on our journey and the arrangements at the inn had been most carefully made so, as expected, there was no difficulty about accommodation when we made our first stop in good time.

I did not sleep very well. I was too excited, and the next day, as soon as the first streaks of dawn were in the sky, I was getting ready to pursue our journey.

The morning passed swiftly and equally without untoward incident and then we were soon on the last lap of our journey.

We planned to reach Eversleigh by about four o'clock in the afternoon, but, unfortunately, when we stopped at an inn for refreshment just before midday, we discovered one of the grooms' horses had cast a shoe. This would delay us a little, and we wondered whether we should leave the groom to wait for his horse and go on without him or all remain until his horse was fit for the road.

I was uncertain, but my mother had made me promise that I would not ride without all the grooms in attendance, and after some deliberation I decided that we should wait for the horse to be shod and then all go together, which should not delay us very long.

It did, however, take longer than I had at first thought it would, for the blacksmith was not in his forge; he had had an urgent call to go over to a nearby mansion where the squire had some commission for him. We were assured that he would return within a very short time. The short time grew into a long time, and I began to wonder whether it would have been wiser to go on without the groom. After all, we should only be one man short.

It was then four o'clock and we had planned to leave just after midday, and as I was deciding that we should go on, for we had no reservation at an inn for the night and did not know where we should find one, the blacksmith returned.

He would get the work done right away, he said, and the horse would be fit for the road before we could say "God bless the king."

It wasn't quite as speedy as that but eventually we were on the road. Thus it was that by the time we reached Eversleigh Court it was growing dark.

Long ago I had been to Eversleigh Court and vaguely remembered it. I must have spent many Christmases there when I was a child because it had always been the center of the family. When the old people died and my mother went to live permanently in the country after the death of my father, we had not visited the old house. General Eversleigh, who had been fond of my mother, and who had in fact introduced my father into the family in the first place, had taken over the management of the estate for a while, but that other Carl— Lord Eversleigh's son—was the real heir to the estate as well as to the title, and when the general had died Carl Lord Eversleigh must have felt in duty bound to come back—I was not sure from where—and settle at Eversleigh.

My excitement was intense. I had during the journey been trying to look back and remember what I had heard about the family who had inhabited the great house during its heyday. I recalled there was a lot of talk about Enderby, that house of gloom which was wrapped in a kind of supernatural mystery. I had decided I would take a look at it at the first opportunity, but in the meantime here was Eversleigh Court.

A high wall loomed up in front of us. The gates were open; I thought this must be to welcome us. We rode through. It was too dark to see the house clearly, but memories of long ago came flooding back and the vague feeling of familiarity was comforting.

There was no sound from the house. Then I caught sight of flickering light in one of the upper windows. There was a dark shadow there. Someone must have been standing there holding a candle and looking out—perhaps awaiting our arrival.

I was rather surprised that the great door remained closed, as we must have been expected, and the sound of the horses must have been heard on the gravel of the drive.

We waited a few moments for the grooms to come and take the horses, but no one came and the house remained in darkness.

I said: "As we're so late they must have thought we wouldn't arrive tonight. Ring the bell. That will let them know we're here."

One of the grooms dismounted and did as I bid. I remembered the bell from long ago. It had always fascinated me and I used to enjoy pulling the rope and listening to the clamor it made throughout the house.

I sat on my horse, looking at the door, waiting for the moment when it would be flung open and someone would appear to welcome us.

There was silence when the bell ceased to clang. I began to feel a little uneasy. This was not the welcome I had expected from Lord Eversleigh's letters.

At last the door opened. A young woman stood there. I could not see her very clearly but she struck me immediately as being something of a slattern.

"What you be wanting?" she demanded.

I said: "I am Mistress Zipporah Ransome. Lord Eversleigh is expecting me."

The woman looked amazed. I thought she was half-witted. I tried to peer behind her but the hall was not lighted and there was only the dim glow from the one candle which she had set down when she unbolted the door.