Lament for a Lost Lover by Philippa Carr Page A

Condey,” I said.
    “What about us?” she asked.
    “You know he is becoming infatuated by you.”
    She shrugged her shoulders. “Is that my fault?”
    “Yes,” I answered shortly.
    She burst out laughing. “My dear Arabella, it is up to Charlotte, is it not?”
    “Charlotte is a girl who would never deliberately set out to attract a man.”
    “Then it serves her right if she loses him.”
    “Oh, come, men are not prizes to be won for … I was going to say for good conduct … but I could hardly call the way you are behaving that, could I?”
    “Oh, but they are,” she said. “Some people have prizes presented to them when they really don’t deserve them. Others have to work for them. Charlotte may lose hers simply because she has made no effort to keep it.”
    “Are you trying to win Charles Condey?”
    “You know I always go for the top prizes. He’s hardly that.”
    “Then why not leave him to Charlotte?”
    “Perhaps I will.”
    I was very uneasy, but after our talk I noticed she was less with Charles than before. She said she had to concentrate on her scenes with Romeo.
    She was rather upset one afternoon after the midday meal when I came to our room to get a book and I found her there. When I asked if anything was wrong she grimaced and said: “Lady Eversleigh wants to talk to me. I am to go to her room at three o’clock.”
    “Why?” I asked in alarm.
    “That is what I should like to know.”
    “It’s something about the play, I expect.”
    Harriet shook her head. “I am not sure. She looked very grave, and what was more disconcerting she said little. You know she is usually so loquacious. I wondered why she couldn’t say it there and then. But this seems to be a secret.”
    “You don’t think she has discovered you are not what you seemed? Can she know about those atrocious lies?”
    “Even if she had she wouldn’t want to send me away. The play would collapse without me.”
    “Conceit!” I said.
    “Truth!” she parried. “No, it can’t be that. I wonder what it is.”
    I had rarely seen her so concerned as when she went for her talk with Lady Eversleigh, and when she came back, I was waiting for her in our room. Then she was really angry. Her cheeks were scarlet, her eyes blazing—and she looked magnificent.
    “Why, Harriet, what is it?”
    She threw herself into a chair and looked at me.
    “You are to play Juliet,” she said.
    “What are you talking about?”
    “The royal command,” she said.
    “She sent for you to tell you that .”
    Harriet nodded. “She didn’t say so but she thinks I am spending the time with her precious Edwin that he should be spending with you.”
    “I can’t believe it.”
    “Oh, yes, it’s true. She was very friendly, thanking me profusely for coming and working so hard to make her party a success. She appreciated that, she said. But she makes it quite clear that you are to play Juliet so that you can play at love with Edwin-Romeo. That is what is to be. It’s an ultimatum. Underneath all that inconsequential femininity, Matilda Eversleigh is a woman of iron. She knows what she wants and she is going to get it.
    “I said to her: ‘But the part is demanding. It needs a real actress. Arabella is not that. She hasn’t the experience … the acting ability to play it.’ She laughed and said: ‘My dear Mistress Main, it is only a game, you know. It will amuse our guests and that is its object. The little mishaps are such fun in games like this. Don’t you agree? And Charlotte tells me that Arabella looked quite beautiful in the cap you found in the attic.’ Then I thought to myself it’s that cat Charlotte who has done this.”
    “Don’t speak so loudly,” I warned. “And Charlotte is not in the least like a cat.”
    “She is. Sly, secretive, ready to scratch.”
    “Well, you shouldn’t have offended her by flirting with Charles Condey.”
    “Oh, nonsense! How can I help being more attractive than Charlotte? It is no great