Philippa Carr - The love child

Harriet was our informant.

“It’s very strange,” she said. “Our Beau seems to have disappeared completely. No one has heard of him in London for months.”

“Are they trying to find him?” I asked.

“They think he’s gone abroad. He owed a good deal of money. His creditors are gnashing their teeth. He apparently borrowed a good deal on the strength of his coming marriage.”

“I daresay,” I replied.

“Then … he just disappears. People are getting more and more certain that he has gone abroad. He always travelled quite a lot. They are saying that the heiress must have jilted him and he had to get away, as he couldn’t face his creditors.”

“It seems a possible explanation.”

“But of course, the heiress didn’t jilt him, as we know full well.”

“There might have been another reason.”

“There must have been. Carlotta is heartbroken. She cannot understand it. They were going to London together and there were not going to be any carriage mishaps that time.”

“And yet he has gone.”

“I have a theory.”

“What?” I asked, trying to keep the note of fear out of my voice.

“He scented an even greater heiress … someone in another country.”

“That seems a likely explanation.”

“I put it to Carlotta. It made her furious at first, but I think she is beginning to suspect it might be true.”

“She rarely comes to see me,” I said sadly.

“Oh, she blames you for spoiling the romance. I have come to the conclusion that you acted wisely.”

“Thank you.”

“He was a little too blatant. Just going off like that without a word! He ought to have stayed and honoured his obligations. At least he should have presented her with a good excuse. I am sure he could have thought of something moderately plausible. But to go like that …”

“Do you think she is getting over it?”

“Yes. She is not brooding so much. Benjie is a great help.” She smiled secretly. “They were always such friends … and still are.”

I closed my eyes.

“At least she has been saved from disaster,” I said.

And I thought once more: And at what bitter cost!

I sometimes went to that spot where on the day after that fearful night I had noticed the disturbed earth. The grass had now grown over it. It was not easy to find.

No one would think of looking for Beaumont Granville there.

They had ceased to talk of him now. I wondered if they still did in London. They would shrug their shoulders. He had no close family. They would presume he had gone abroad as he often did. Perhaps years later they would presume him dead and some distant cousin would take over his estates.

Now the months were passing. Summer had come. I wondered how long Leigh and I could go on in this way.

I sometimes asked myself whether it would have been easier if I had told him that I knew what had happened, that I had seen the bloodstained body of Beaumont Granville, that I had watched him as he dug his grave. Would it have been better if we had been entirely frank?

I could not know, but it seemed to me that whatever happened Beaumont Granville would lie between us for the rest of our lives.

Our marriage should have brought such happiness to us both. We loved each other. There was no doubt of that. I knew I would never love anyone as I loved Leigh and he had committed murder out of his love for me. Yet we were like two people struggling in a mist, wanting to find each other and yet unable to because of the great burden of guilt which lay between us.

Leigh was my beloved husband, but he was a murderer; and I shared his guilt because that murder had been done because of me. Moreover, how could I be sure that if Leigh had not arrived at Enderby Hall before me, I might have been the one who was guilty of taking a life?

And so we went on through those hot summer days. There was no peace for either of us. For me the future seemed completely bleak. There was only one matter which made me rejoice.

Carlotta had been saved.

We had taken the Dower House. We had acquired the land. On that land was Beaumont Granville’s grave. Leigh had been adamant that we must have that area.

I thought: We are safe now. No one will ever discover the body. But I would never forget. I wondered whether his ghost would return to haunt us. It was there already. There was no need for strange sounds or weird sights. I believed that he would be there to torment me for as long as I lived. Could we ever be happy again? Oh, yes, he was dead; he was lying there murdered in his grave, but he was still with us.

November had come—the season of mists and darkness.

Christabel’s child was born. It was a healthy girl and we were all delighted. Alas, it was as it had been with the other child. She became ill immediately after the birth.

The doctors shook their heads and said they had warned her. She should never have risked having another child.

I went to see her. She looked almost radiant. She was very proud of the baby.

“Thomas has his daughter,” she said. “It is what I wanted for him. He has two lovely children and I have given them to him.”

I thought: She will get well. She must. She was so contented.

The day after I had visited her, Thomas came over to the Dower House.

“Christabel wants to see you urgently,” he said. “She wants you and Leigh, and she says you must come together. You two alone … and now.”

I said: “She is feeling better. She must be.”

Thomas said: “She seems very happy. Very much better, yes. I am sure she is going to be well soon. But she did say she wanted to see you two as soon as possible. Will you come back with me?”

I said we would and went off to find Leigh.

We went over to Grassland without delay and straight to her room.

She was lying propped up on pillows and there was a strangeness about her. She looked almost ethereal.

“Priscilla!” she cried. “Leigh! I am glad you have come. I was afraid you would not get here in time.”

“Of course we came,” I answered. “But what’s the urgency, Christabel? You are looking better. You look …”

“Yes, how do I look?”

“Radiant in a way … You look happy.”

“I am … in a way … now you’re here. There is something I have to tell you … something important. It’s not easy, but I can’t rest until I tell you. It’s very important. I must begin at the beginning. Then you’ll understand. You know my nature, Priscilla. Envy has ruled my life.”

“It was because of your birth, Christabel. I understand. But you changed when you married.”

She nodded. “I was so jealous of you … particularly you … because you were born in the right place.”

“I know. But there is no need to worry about it anymore.”

“People should think before they bring children into the world. A short-lived pleasure … and there is a life … someone else’s life. When I thought Edwin might love me I was very happy. Not that I loved him exactly, but I yearned for what marriage with him would have meant. And then we went to Venice and I was in your confidence and I was pleased about that. Priscilla, I was pleased about your trouble …and because of everything that had to be done. I was fond of you. That’s why it is so hard to understand. Yet because of your difficulty I couldn’t help being pleased in a strange way.”

“It’s of no importance now,” I said. “Please don’t distress yourself, Christabel.”

“But it is of importance. Listen. In Venice when Carlotta was about to be born, Beaumont Granville was there. He sought me out …” She lowered her voice and for a few moments seemed unable to go on. “He could be so charming. He knew just how to handle a woman like me. He quickly understood how starved of affection I had always been and how I longed for it. You can guess what happened.”