The Reckoning by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles Page B

surprised to speak, and Mathilde's eyes clouded. 'You do know about it, don't you?' she said anxiously. 'I haven't said the wrong thing? She swore you knew all along.’
    This was painful. 'Who swore?'
    ‘ Mrs Skelwith. It was she who told me. Last Christmas.' She paused, and her mouth quivered. 'I think she did it to spoil things for me. She didn't like me, you know. Only it didn't, of course, because I like James very much. How could I not? Only, you see, I don't really know who knows what, or who's supposed to know what, and —'
    ‘ Mathilde, let us be clear about this at once. What was it that Mrs Skelwith told you?’
    Mathilde looked frightened. 'That James is really my John's father,' she said in a small voice. 'You did know, didn't you? Oh please, say you did! If I've said the wrong thing I shall never forgive myself!’
    Héloïse let out a long breath. 'Yes, my dear, I knew. I just didn't know that you did.'
    ‘ Oh, thank heaven! Well, that's all right, then,' Mathilde said with a shaky laugh. 'Only John's mother was such an odd person, you see –'
    ‘ Yes,' Héloïse said. 'And she may well have told you only to upset you, as you suspected.'
    ‘ It did upset me at first, because I didn't know whether it was true or not, and whether I was supposed to admit I knew. But in the end, after Mrs Skelwith died, I decided to speak to John about it, and we had a long talk and brought it all out into the open, which was such a relief. He said he'd known about it for a long time, but that it was supposed to be a secret. So I said, surely it didn't matter any more, now that his mother was dead, and he said that there might still be a scandal if it became public knowledge. He said there was no sense in opening old wounds, and that we'd better simply forget about it. As if,' she added in a burst of feminine reason, ‘you could forget about something like that!’
    No, Héloïse thought, it was not something you could just forget.
    ‘ But now there's a baby coming,' Mathilde went on, 'it does change things, doesn't it? Because James will be the baby's grandfather, won't he? And the poor little thing won't have any other grandparents – or any other relatives at all, come to that, with both of us being orphans. So I thought I'd ask you what's best to be done.’
    She stopped, and looked at Héloïse so hopefully that Héloïse wanted to laugh. An absurd spring of laughter was bubbling up inside her over the whole nonsensical, incon gruous, painful business. All the secrecy and deceit, the jeal ousy and suffering and bitterness that had marred the thirty years of John Skelwith's innocent life, were wiped away in an instant by the open-hearted innocence of this young woman, who saw with a mother's single-mindedness only that her baby ought to have a family. Perhaps Mary Skelwith's death had finally purged the evil. Perhaps they might all live in the sunlight from now on.
    ‘I think,' she said, a little unsteadily, 'that honesty is always the best policy, and that secrets are dangerous, disagreeable things. I think I had best talk to James about it.’
    Mathilde looked relieved, and then faintly doubtful. 'You – you are still pleased, aren't you, Madame? About the baby?’
    Héloïse took her hands and reached up on tiptoe to kiss the rosy cheek. 'More pleased than I can tell you. Now I can be a real grandmother.’

CHAPTER THREE
     
      Scarborough was enjoying a rare fine day that wet summer. Inland, indeed, a band of heavy grey clouds could be seen, raining away over the rest of Yorkshire as if it never meant to stop; but here along the coast there was a thin, blue sky high above, and a breezy sunshine chasing across the sparkling, white-capped sea.
    Sophie and Rosamund had gone out early for their walk. They both had early habits – Sophie from living in the country, and Rosamund from riding with her mother before the Park grew crowded – and when the weather allowed they liked to get out and have the town and the