The Adultress by Philippa Carr Page A

my kinsman. Lordy! I found myself smiling rather ruefully at the sobriquet. I was sure it had been bestowed by Jessie and it was really very revealing. So it was in a mood of expectancy that I descended to the dining room.
    Jessie was already there. She was in a morning gown of cambric—lilac-colored and elaborately embroidered. She wore slightly less jewelry than last night but she was still overloaded with it. Her maquillage was more noticeable and the sun was more harsh than the gentle light of candles.
    She greeted me effusively. “Oh, there you are! Had a good sleep, I hope. My goodness me, you must have been well nigh wore out last night.” She had abandoned the attempt at refinement which she had adopted on our first meeting and I think I liked the present style better. It was certainly more natural. “Was the bed comfortable? Made up in a hurry, I’m afraid, and you know what these maids are like. It’s one body’s work looking after them.”
    I said that my bed was comfortable, but “it is always a little different in a strange bed.”
    “I’d agree on that one.” Her laugh was high pitched and she was near enough to give me one of her playful pushes which I was too late to evade.
    “Now what will you have to eat? Not expecting visitors, we wasn’t, so you’ve caught us on the hop, so’s to speak. But being as I’m one for the victuals, they don’t do so bad in the kitchen.”
    It was true there was plenty to eat. There was fish and pies containing meat. I was not hungry and took a little fish, which was all I could manage. Jessie meanwhile sat opposite me as she had on the previous night.
    “My! You eat like a little bird,” she said. I guessed she had already breakfasted but she could not resist taking some of the pie and eating it in a way expressive of great enjoyment, smacking her lips and licking her fingers.
    I said: “When shall I be able to see Lord Eversleigh?”
    “Now, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. He’s not so good in the mornings, poor pet. He needs time to pull himself together, you might say. Oh, he’s no spring chicken, though he’s good for his age.” Her eyes sparkled rather reminiscently, I thought, and I was sure that had the table not separated us it would have been an occasion for one of her pushes.
    “I am sure he will wish to see me when he knows that I am here.”
    “Oh yes, I expect you’re right. Let’s say give him an hour or two, eh? I’ll let you know when he’s ready. Say about eleven o’clock.”
    I said I should look forward to eleven.
    She stood up. “Well, I reckon you’ll want to get those bags unpacked, eh? One or two things you may want to do. Take a walk in the gardens. They’re very nice. Don’t go too far away, though, and come in at eleven. I reckon he’ll be ready then.”
    I went to my room, unpacked the little I had brought with me and then, taking her advice, went into the gardens. I noticed that they were not as well cared for as they might have been. The general atmosphere of the house pervaded the gardens.
    At eleven o’clock I was back in the house and Jessie was waiting for me in the hall.
    “His lordship is excited. He wants you to go up at once.”
    I followed her up the stairs. Memories from my childhood were coming back to me and parts of the house were already seeming familiar to me. I knew that we were going to the main bedroom. I remembered coming here with my mother to see my great-grandmother when she was ill.
    Jessie unceremoniously opened the door and I followed her in.
    There was the four-poster bed and sitting up in it an old man. His face was a whitish yellow and there was scarcely any flesh on his bones; he might have been a corpse but for his large lively brown eyes.
    “Here she is, Lordy. Here’s the little lady.”
    Those bright eyes were turned on me and a thin hand came out to grip mine.
    “Zipporah!” he said. “So it’s you, Clarissa’s girl. You came.”
    I took his hand and held it