Филиппа Карр - Will You Love Me in September

I felt I was no longer a child on that day.

It was true that young bones healed quickly, and young bodies Id withstand such shocks and throw off the physical effects. °° Poor Benjie! He looked like a ghost. How cruel life was to _ njie who was so good and, I was sure, had never harmed anyone ? the whole of his life... . Yet he had lost my mother to Hessenfield, he had lost me to Damaris, and now he had lost his rents, whom I knew he had loved with that rare tender selfless emotion which only people like Benjie are capable of giving.

He came back with us to Eversleigh. Damaris and Jeremy insisted that he should.

Jeremy carried me into Enderby Hall and Smith and Damon were waiting to greet me.

Smith's face was wrinkled up with pleasure to see me safe so that the rivers in his face seemed more deeply embedded than ever, and Damon kept jumping up and making odd little whinnying noises to show how pleased he was that I was back.

Jeremy carried me up and down stairs every day until my bones healed; and Arabella, Carleton and Leigh were always coming to see me.

Arabella was very sad about Harriet. "She was an adventuress," she said, "but there was no one else quite like her. She has been in my life for a very long time. I feel that I have lost part of myself.”

They wanted Benjie to stay, but he had the estate to look after. He would be better working, he said.

He did not ask me to come to Ayot Abbas to see him, and I knew it was because he felt it would be too sad a place for me without Harriet.

I made up my mind that I would go often. I would do my best to comfort Benjie.

It was about a year after the accident when it was decided that my education must be attended to, and it was arranged that I should have a governess.

Grandmother Priscilla set about the task of finding one. Recommendations were always the best way, she decided, and when the Eversleigh rector, who knew we were looking for someone, rode over to the Dower House to tell my grandmother that he knew of the very person for the post, she was delighted.

Anita Harley came for an interview in due course and was immediately approved.

She was about thirty years of age, an impoverished parson's daughter who had looked after her father until his death, on which occasion she had found it necessary to earn a living. She was well educated; her father had given lessons to the local aristocracy in which Anita had shared, and as her aptitude for learning far outstripped that of her fellow students, she had, at the age of twenty-two, assisted her father in teaching local children. So she was well experienced to have charge of my education.

I liked her. She was dignified without being pompous and her learning sat lightly upon her; she had a pleasant sense of fun; she enjoyed teaching English and history and was not so keen in mathematics-so our tastes coincided. She also had some French and we could read stories together in that language. My accent was better than hers, for I had chattered away to servants at the hotel like a native. Since I had learned it when I was also learning my native English, my intonation as well as accent was entirely French.

We were very happy together. We rode, played chess and conversed constantly; she was indeed a happy addition to our household.

Damaris was delighted.

"She'll teach you more than I ever could," she said.

Anita was treated like a member of the family. She dined with us and accompanied us when we visited the Dower House or Eversleigh Court.

"A thoroughly charming girl," was Arabella's comment.

"So good for the child," added Priscilla. "The child" by this time was growing up, learning fast. I knew v origins; I had heard myself referred to as precocious, and °h "servants who came from Eversleigh Court whispered together ht I was a "Regular One" and it would not take a Gypsy with a crystal ball to see that I was going to turn out just like my m°I kept up my intention to visit Benjie often. Damaris approved f what she called my thoughtfulness. She said that she would have to come with me, for she would never have a moment's peace thinking of me on the roads after what had happened.

We went to Ayot Abbas and always made sure that we passed through Wokey's Wood, which was the scene of the accident, in daylight, and there was always a well-armed party with us. I enjoyed the adventure of going through those woods, though my memories of Hessenfield were now overshadowed by what had happened. I would think sadly not only of my exciting father but of dear Harriet and Gregory as well.

Anita accompanied us, for Damaris thought I should continue with lessons. I was glad to have her. We had become great friends. Alas, Ayot Abbas seemed quite different without Harriet, and it was depressing because there was evidence of her all over the house.

Damaris said that Benjie should change everything. It was always wise to do so when something had happened which was best forgotten. She looked very serious when she said that, and I thought of the bedroom at Enderby.

"Perhaps we can advise him," said Damaris. "You might have some suggestions, Anita.”

Anita had proved herself to be very good with flower arranging and matching colors.

She told me she had longed to be able to furnish the old rectory where she had lived, but there had never been enough money to do it.

So we went to Ayot Abbas, and Benjie was delighted to see us-especially me-but, oh, how sad he was!

He did say that he was almost glad his father had gone with his Bother, because he would have been so utterly desolate without her. Benjie implied that he was utterly desolate himself.

You must do everything you can to cheer him," Damaris had said to me. "You can do more than anyone.”

Perhaps I should go and live with him," I had said.

Damaris had looked at me steadily. "Is that ... what you want?" she asked.

I flung my arms about her neck then. "No ... no. It is you I want to be with.”

She had been tremendously relieved, and I couldn't help thinking how important I was. Then it occurred to me that all these people wanted me as a sort of substitute-Damaris because she had no child and poor Jeremy had his moods; Benjie wanted me because he had lost Carlotta and now his parents. I was flattered in a way, but I had to face the fact that I was wanted because what all of them really wanted was someone else. I was becoming introspective. It might be because of my talks with Anita.

We rode a good deal-Anita, Benjie and I. Damaris accompanied us sometimes, but she grew tired if she was too long in the saddle, so the three of us went alone. I think Benjie was happier on those rides than at any other time. He was interested in forestry and taught me a great deal. Anita was quite knowledgeable on the subject already.

I started to distinguish between the different species. Benjie waxed enthusiastic about the oaks, which were truly magnificent.

"It's a real English tree," he said. "It has been here since history began. Did you know that the Druids had a very special respect for it? They used to perform their religious rites under it, and courts of justice were held beneath its branches.”

"I believe," said Anita, "that some of these trees live for two thousand years.”

"That's so," answered Benjie. "And our ships are made from the rough timber of these trees. Hearts of oak, they say our ships have.”

I was sure that while he talked of the trees he loved he forgot his sorrow.

Anita wondered why the willow wept and told us that the aspen shivered because from its wood Christ's cross had been made and it had never been able to rest in peace since. She talked of the mistletoe, which was the only tree which had not promised not to harm Balder, the most beautiful of all the northern gods, so that the mischievous Loki had been able to slay him with it.