Philippa Carr: Voices in a Haunted Room

It was an interesting situation. The brothers made me feel important and that was very pleasant for me, particularly as Charlot kept up the big-brother contemptuous attitude, and Louis Charles, although he was a little older than Charlot, looked up to him and took his cues as to how to behave from my brother.

When I was fifteen—that was about a year after we had settled in Eversleigh—my mother had a serious talk with me.

It was clear that she was anxious about me. “You are growing up now, Claudine,” she began.

I did not mind that in the least. Like most young people I was eager to escape the bonds of childhood and to live freely and independently.

Perhaps living in such a household was a kind of forcing ground. I was aware of the dynamic attraction between my mother and her husband; one could not live in such an atmosphere without being constantly reminded of the powerful effect one person can have on another. That my stepfather was a man of immense physical powers, I was sure, and that he had awakened my mother to an understanding of such a relationship I was subconsciously aware even then, although I did not see this clearly until later. My father—whom I remembered vaguely—had been a typical French nobleman of his age. He must have had numerous love affairs before his marriage, and I was to have proof of that later. But this bond between my mother and Dickon was different.

My mother was watchful of me, and no doubt because she was growing more and more aware of the power of physical attraction, she saw what was brewing round me.

She had suggested we walk in the gardens and we sat in an arbour while she talked.

“Yes, Claudine,” she said, “you’re fifteen. How the time flies. As I said… you’re growing up… fast.”

She had not brought me here to tell me such an obvious fact, so I waited somewhat impatiently.

“You look older than your years… and you are in a household of men… and brought up with them. I wish I could have had another daughter.”

She looked a little wistful. I think she was sad because this great passion which she shared with Dickon had so far been unfruitful. It seemed strange to me too. I thought they might have started a brood of sons… lusty sons, like Dickon himself… or Jonathan.

“As you grow older… they will realize that you are becoming an attractive woman. That could be dangerous.”

I began to feel uneasy. Had she noticed Jonathan’s way of trying to be alone with me? Had she seen the way in which he watched me with that look in his eyes which made them glow like two intensely blue flames?

Then she surprised me. “I must talk to you about Louis Charles.”

“Louis Charles!” I was amazed. I had not thought very much about Louis Charles.

She proceeded slowly, and rather painfully I imagined, for she hated talking about her first husband. “Your father was a man who… liked women.”

I smiled at her. “That does not seem so very unusual.”

She returned my smile and went on: “And in France they have a slightly different code of morals. What I am trying to tell you is that your father was also the father of Louis Charles. Lisette and he were lovers at one time and Louis Charles is the result of that liaison.”

I stared at her. “So that is why he was brought up with us!”

“Not exactly. Lisette was married off to a farmer and when he was killed… that fearful revolution again—she came to us, bringing her son with her. I am telling you this because Louis Charles is your half brother.”

Understanding dawned. She was anticipating a love affair between Louis Charles and myself. She stumbled on: “So you see you and Louis Charles could never—”

“Dear Maman,” I cried. “There is no danger in any case. I would never want to marry a husband who looked down on me. Charlot has taught him to do that and he follows Charlot in every way.”

“It is just a brotherly feeling,” she said quickly. “Charlot is really very fond of you.”

I was relieved. I had thought she was going to talk about Jonathan—but my relief did not last long, for she continued immediately: “Then there are Jonathan and David. With a household of young men… and one young woman among them… there are bound to be complications. I think both David and Jonathan are very fond of you, and although their father is my husband, there is not a close blood relationship between you.”

I flushed and my confusion seemed to answer her question.

“Jonathan is so like his father. I knew Dickon when he was Jonathan’s age. I was even younger than you are… and I was in love with him even then. I would have married him, but my mother stopped it. She had her reasons… and perhaps she was right at that time. Who shall say? But it was long ago. It is the future which concerns us.” She wrinkled her brows. “You see, there are two brothers—twins. They say twins are very close. Would you say that Jonathan and David are very close?”

“I would say they are poles apart.”

“I agree. David is so thoughtful, so serious. He is very clever, I know. Jonathan is clever too… but in a different way. Oh, he is so like his father, Claudine. I… I think they are both getting fond of you… and that could present a problem. You are growing up so quickly. Dear child, always remember that I am here to talk to… to confide in…”

“But I know you are.”

I felt that there was so much she wanted to say and that she was not quite sure of my ability to understand. Like most parents she saw me as a child, and it was hard to change that image.

What she was really doing was warning me.

There was a great deal of activity at Eversleigh. The running of the estate was not all that occupied Dickon and his sons. Dickon was one of the most important men in the South East; and he had many interests in London.

David loved the house and the estate, so Dickon had wisely made that his province. He spent hours in the library, to which he had added considerably; he had friends who would ride out from London and perhaps stay with us for a few days. They were all very erudite and as soon as meals were over, David would conduct them to the library, where they would sit for hours sipping port and talking of matters which were of no interest to Jonathan and his father.

I liked to listen to their conversation at dinner and when I joined in—or tried to—David would be delighted and encourage me to air my views; he often showed me rare books and maps and drawings—not only of Eversleigh but various parts of the country. He was interested in archaeology and taught me a little about it, showing me what had been found at various sites and how a picture of ancient days could be built up through artefacts. He was passionately interested in history and I could listen to him for hours. He gave me books to read and we would discuss them, sometimes walking in the gardens, sometimes riding together. We would stop now and then for refreshment, perhaps at some old inn, and I would notice how much people liked him. They showed him a certain deference, and I was quick to realize that it was a different kind of respect than that which was given to Dickon or Jonathan. They demanded it—not in so many words, of course, but by their attitude of superiority. David was different; he was gentle, and respect was given him because people responded to his gentleness and wanted him to know it.

I enjoyed being with David. He stimulated my interest in so many subjects, and matters which might have been dull became exciting when he explained them to me. I could see that he was advancing my education far more rapidly than my governess was doing, and I was beginning to cast off that French accent, and it was only occasionally that it showed itself. I was growing very fond of David.