I said: “I’ll try to talk him out of it.”

“Do you think you can?” asked Jonathan.

“If anyone can, I can … or my mother. I’ll get her help.”

We did talk him out of it, but it was not easy.

I said that people who wrote anonymous letters were the worst possible and to give them the satisfaction of achieving their ends, was to pander to them.

I insisted that Jonathan had learned his lesson. He would never be so foolish again.

My mother and I both agreed that if he were found guilty of gambling again we would stand firmly beside my father and make no attempts to persuade him to act other than his inclinations advised him to.

And at last he gave way with a bad grace.

“When Eversleigh is bankrupt, you’ll be the ones to blame … just as much as that young jackanapes,” he growled.

We said meekly that we would accept the blame, hugged him and told him that he was not really such a fierce old curmudgeon as he made himself out to be—and even if he were, we still adored him.

Jonathan paid back the five hundred pounds and came back with us to Eversleigh.

But I did wonder who had written that anonymous letter and as the weeks passed I saw that Tamarisk’s feeling for Jonathan was growing stronger.

After Waterloo

THE MONTHS PASSED QUICKLY. One day was so like another. I seemed to be caught in the monotony of the days. Sometimes when I awoke in the mornings, I would say to myself: Another day. Is it going to be like this all my life?

Mr. and Mrs. Barrington were frequently at Grasslands. There was less trouble with the Luddites now. They may have been sobered by the terrible events of the day when Edward had been hurt and the fact that two of them had gone to the gallows for it.

New machines had been installed in the factory and the workers seemed to be reconciled to that necessary evil. Mr. Barrington would talk to Edward for hours and I would see the light in Edward’s eyes which would afterwards be replaced by a look of helplessness. I often thought how frustrating he must find it to be reduced to his state.

He was, on rare occasions, mildly irritable and afterwards suffered great remorse. I used to tell him that it was nothing and I marvelled at his good humour. He suffered a great deal—not only physically.

Try as we might we could not make ours a really happy household.

Amaryllis was pregnant again. When I heard this a great depression seized me. I congratulated her and pretended to be pleased, and I despised myself but I could not control the jealousy which beset me.

I had been rash. I could have remained Edward’s friend. I could have devoted a great deal of time to him, visiting him, playing chess and piquet with him. Why had I married him? It had been a quixotic gesture, which was certain to bring frustration. My parents had tried to make me see this but as usual I had been obstinate and gone my own way.

There were days when I felt shackled, when I looked ahead to the years to come and saw myself growing older in this house, rising in the morning, taking solitary rides and walks, sitting with Edward, playing endless games with him, retiring at night. That was my life.

I would get old, lined and wrinkled, beyond the age of child-bearing.

I was becoming obsessed by the desire for a child. And now that Amaryllis was going to have another, this desire in me was stronger than ever.

My mother guessed at my feelings. I would often find her eyes on me, a little sad and sometimes, I thought, with a hint of fear. She knew me well, perhaps better than anyone, even myself. I think that in her mind was the thought that somewhere, sometime my resolution would break. I was a woman of natural impulses. I was not meant to live unfulfilled.

She and my father had paid a visit to France that autumn and she had come home very happy. They had been present for the vendange, and how exciting that had been! Charlot and Louis Charles lived with their families in a small chateau which, although it had been vandalized to some extent during the revolution, they had been able to restore, and there they lived with their growing families in perfect harmony it seemed.

Louis Charles and Charlot had always been like brothers. They were actually half brothers for Louis Charles had been my mother’s first husband’s bastard. There was a great bond between the two and it seemed such a happy solution that they should share a flourishing vineyard.

My mother gloried in long descriptions of how they brought in the grapes, the pressing, the bottling, and the great rejoicing when everything was brought to a satisfactory conclusion.

My father grudgingly admitted that they were making a success of it and that their wines were excellent.

I saw him looking at Jonathan and drawing comparisons. He was still suspicious of Jonathan. He would never forget that episode, and every now and then would expound on the pitfalls of gambling.

I teased him a little about it. “Obviously,” I said, “it is one of the few vices in which you have not indulged at some time or other.”

He replied that he had always been intent on making a success of what he had and, thank God, had had the sense to realize that he would not jeopardize one acre of land to chance. “Certainty was what I was after,” he added. “I was not staking my future on the drop of the dice or the place of a card in the pack.”

I think he was anxious about me and I guessed he and my mother had long talks in the privacy of their bedroom.

In the meantime life went on as before. Jonathan was doing well… at least he was avoiding trouble. I think he really was interested in the estate, but that nonchalant air, that easy charm which gave him an air of indifference, was something my father found irritating.

There were occasional explosions of temper on his part which my mother usually managed to soothe without too much trouble.

Tamarisk was often at Eversleigh and there was a very special friendship between her and Jonathan. My mother did comment on this once and betrayed a certain apprehension. “She is young yet. Not nine until the summer. But she is a precocious girl. No doubt her feelings will abate a little as she gets older.”

“Jonathan is very fond of her,” I pointed out. “She will be quite safe with him.”

“I hope so. I haven’t said anything to your father about it. He’s very critical of Jonathan and I don’t want to make him worse. He would come to all sorts of conclusions.”

“You worry too much,” I told her and added: “About everything.”

Which brought us back to the position in which I found myself. There was an uneasiness in the air—faint but present.

I had never been perfectly at home with Peter since his announcement of the engagement between himself and Amaryllis; and I often felt that he was a little wary of me. He must have known that I had believed his interest to be in me. I often thought of our dramatic meeting and how he had followed me in the street. He had seemed so attentive, so eager to know me, and then suddenly he had fallen in love with Amaryllis.

I suppose it was natural, but it did seem a little odd. He must have been aware of this and it made for restraint between us.

When I looked back I realized that I had scarcely been alone with him since the announcement. He was always busy—making frequent visits to London. He was a highly successful businessman. He was doing well with his rum and sugar and seemed to have many interests. He was still renting Enderby, which seemed an ideal arrangement; the money was banked for Tamarisk for when she came of age, so the house was an investment for her; and the fact that Amaryllis and Peter continued to live there shelved the problem of what was to be done with it. I sometimes wondered about his business and would have liked to see those warehouses of his. I still marvelled at Amaryllis’ lack of interest, particularly as she had money invested in the company. Once or twice I tried to discover something about this but she was vague. All she could tell me was that they were very successful and Peter’s business was growing so rapidly that he had to be more and more in London.