Curse of the Kings

II The Bronze Shield

My fourteenth birthday was one of the most eventful days of my life because on it not only did I find the bronze shield but I learned some truths about myself.

The shield came first. I found it during the hot July afternoon. The house was quiet for neither Dorcas, Alison, nor the cook and the two maids were anywhere to be seen. I suspected that the maids were exchanging confidences about their sweethearts in their attic bedroom; that cook was drowsing in the kitchen; that Dorcas was in her garden; that Alison was mending, or embroidering; and that the Reverend James Osmond was in his study pretending to prepare next Sunday's sermon and in fact dozing in his chair—now and then being awakened by a sudden jerk of the head or his own genteel snore and murmuring: "Bless my soul!" and pretending to himself—as there was no one else to pretend to—that he had been working on his sermon all the time.

I was wrong, at least about Dorcas and Alison; they were most certainly in one of their bedrooms discussing how best they could tell the child—myself—for now that she was fourteen years old they believed she should no longer be kept in the dark.

I was in the graveyard watching Pegger, the sexton, dig a grave. I was fascinated by the churchyard. Sometimes I would wake in the night and think of it. Often I would get out of bed, kneel on the window seat and look down at it. In the mist it would seem very ghostly indeed and the grey tombstones were like figures risen from the dead; in the bright moonlight they were clearly gravestones but they lost none of their eeriness for that. Sometimes it was pitch dark, and the rain might be teeming down, the wind howling through the branches of the oaks and buffeting the ancient yews; then I would imagine that the dead had left their graves and were prowling round the churchyard just below my window.

It was years ago that I had begun to feel this morbid interest. It probably started when Dorcas first took me to put flowers on Lavinia's grave. We did that every Sunday. Now we had planted a rosemary bush within the marble curb.

"That's for remembrance," said Dorcas. "It will be green all the year round."

On this hot July afternoon Pegger paused in his digging to mop his forehead with a red bandanna handkerchief and regarded me in the stern way he regarded everybody.

"You've a taste for graveyards, Miss Judith," he said. "You'm like me, I reckon. As I stand here, turning over the earth, I think of the one who'll be laid to rest in this deep dark grave. Like as not I've known 'un all me life—for that's how it be in a parish like St. Erno's."

Pegger spoke in a sepulchral voice. I suppose this was due to his connection with the church. He had been sexton all his life and his father before him. He looked like one of the prophets from the Old Testament with his mane of white hair and beard, and his righteous indignation against the sinners of the world into which category all but himself and a very chosen few seemed to fall. Even his conversation had a biblical flavor.

"This be the last resting place of Josiah Polgrey. He's lived his threescore year and ten and now he's to face his Maker." Pegger shook his head gravely as though he did not think highly of Josiah's chances in the next world.

I said: "God may not be as stern as you, Mr. Pegger."

"You come near to blasphemy, Miss Judith," he said. "You should guard well your tongue."

"Well, what would be the use of that, Mr. Pegger? The recording angel would know what was in my mind whether I said it or not—so even to think it might be just as bad, and how can you help what you think?"

Mr. Pegger raised his eyes to the sky as though he thought I might have invited the wrath of God to descend on me.

"Never mind," I soothed him. "Why you haven't had your lunch yet. It must be two o'clock."

On the next grave lay another red bandanna handkerchief similar to that with which Mr. Pegger had mopped his brow, but this one, I knew, was tied about a bottle containing cold tea and a pastry which Mrs. Pegger would have made on the previous night so that it would be ready for her husband to bring with him.

He stepped out of the grave and seating himself on the curb round the next grave untied the knot in the handkerchief and took out his food.

"How many graves have you dug in your whole lifetime?" I asked.

He shook his head. "More than I can say, Miss Judith," he replied.

"And Matthew will dig them after you. Just think of that." Matthew was not his eldest son who should have inherited the doubtful privilege of digging graves of those who had lived and died in the village of St. Erno's. Luke, the eldest, had run away to sea, a fact which would never be forgiven him.

"If it be the Lord's will I'll dig a few more yet," he answered.

"You must dig all sorts and sizes," I mused. "Well, you wouldn't need the same size for little Mrs. Edney and Sir Ralph Bodrean, would you?"

This was a plot of mine to bring Sir Ralph into the conversation. The sins of his neighbors was, I think, Mr. Pegger's favorite subject, and since everything about Sir Ralph was bigger than that belonging to anyone else, so were his sins.

I found Sir Ralph, our Squire, fascinating. I was excited when he passed on the road either in his carriage or on one of his thoroughbreds. I would bob a little curtsy—as taught by Dorcas—and he would nod and raise a hand in a quick imperious kind of gesture and for a moment those heavy lidded eyes would be on me. Some had said of him—as long ago someone had said of Julius Caesar—"Hide your daughters when he passes by." Well, he was the Caesar of our village. He owned most of it; the outlying farmlands were on his estate; to those who worked with him he was said to be a good master, and as long as the men touched their forelocks with due respect and remembered he was the master and the girls did not deny him those favors which he desired, he was a good master, which meant that men were assured of work and a roof over their heads and any results which might ensue from his dallying with the maidens were taken care of. There were plenty of "results" in the village now and they were always granted the extra privileges over those who had been sired elsewhere.

But to Mr. Pegger the Squire was Sin personified.

Out of respect for my youth he could not talk of our Squire's major qualification for hell fire, so he gave himself the pleasure of touching on his smaller ones—all of which, in Mr. Pegger's opinion, would have ensured his entry.

There were houseparties at Keverall Court almost every weekend; in the various seasons the guests came to hunt foxes, otters, and stags, or to shoot pheasants which were bred on the Keverall estate for this purpose, or merely to make merry in the baronial hall. They were rich, elegant— often noisy—people from Plymouth and sometimes as far as London. I always enjoyed seeing them. They brightened the countryside, but in Mr. Pegger's estimation they desecrated it.

I considered myself very lucky to visit Keverall Court every day except Saturday and Sunday. This had been a special concession because the Squire's daughter and nephew had a governess and were also taught by Oliver Shrimpton, our curate. The rather impecunious rector could not afford a governess for me, and Sir Ralph had graciously given his consent—or perhaps had raised no objection to the proposal—that I should join his daughter and nephew in their schoolroom and profit from the instruction given there. This meant that every day—except Saturdays and Sundays—I passed under the old portcullis into the courtyard, gave an ecstatic sniff at the stables, touched the mounting block for luck, entered the great hall with its minstrels' gallery, mounted the wide staircase as though I were one of the lady visitors from London, with a flowing train and diamonds glittering on my fingers, passed along the gallery where all the dead—and some living—Bodreans looked down on me with varying expressions of scorn, amusement, or indifference and into the schoolroom where Theodosia and Hadrian would be already seated and Miss Graham the governess would be busy at her books.

Life had certainly become more interesting since it had been decided that I share lessons with the Bodreans.

On this July afternoon I was interested to learn that the Squire's current sin was, as Mr. Pegger said, "putting in his nose where God hadn't intended it should go."

"And where is that, Mr. Pegger?"

"In Carter's Meadow, that's where. He wants to set up digging there. Disturbing God's earth. It's all along of these people who've been coming here. Filling the place with heathen ideas."

"What are they going to dig for, Mr. Pegger?" I asked.

"For worms I'd reckon." That was meant to be a joke for Mr. Pegger's face creased into what did service for a smile.

"So they're all coming down to dig, are they?" I pictured them—ladies in silks and velvets, gentlemen in white cravats and velvet smoking jackets all with their little spades in Carter's Meadow.

Mr. Pegger brushed the pasty crumbs from his coat and tied the bottle back into the red handkerchief.

"It's digging up the past, they'm saying. They reckon they'm going to find bits and pieces left behind by them as lived here years and years ago."

"What here, Mr. Pegger?"

"Here in St. Erno's. A lot of heathens they were, so why any God-fearing gentleman should bother himself with them is past my understanding."

"Perhaps they're not God-fearing, Mr. Pegger; but it's all very respectable. It's called archaeology."

"What it's called makes no difference. If God had intended 'em to find these things He wouldn't have covered 'em up with his good earth."

"Perhaps it wasn't God who covered them up."

"Then who?"

"Time," I said portentously.

He shook his head and started to dig again, throwing the soil up onto the bank he had made.

"Squire were always one for taking up with these fancies. I don't like this one. Let the dead bury their dead, I say."

"I believe someone else said that some time ago, Mr. Pegger. Well, I think it would be interesting if we found something very important here in St. Erno's. Roman remains perhaps. We'd be famous."

"We weren't meant to be famous, Miss Judith. We were meant to be . . ."

"God-fearing," I supplied for him. "So the Squire and his friends are looking for Roman remains close by. And it's not a sudden fancy of his. He's always been interested. Famous archaeologists often come to stay at Keverall Court. Perhaps that's why his nephew is named Hadrian."

"Hadrian!" thundered Mr. Pegger. "It's a heathen name. And the young lady too."

"Hadrian and Theodosia."

"They'm not good Christian names."

"Not like your Matthew Mark Luke John Isaac Reuben . . . and the rest. Judith is in the Bible. So I'm all right."

I fell to thinking of names. "Dorcas! Alison!" I said. "Did you know, Mr. Pegger, that Theodosia means divinely given? So you see it is a Christian name. As for Hadrian, he's named after a wall and a Roman Emperor."

"They're not good Christian names," he repeated.

"Lavinia," I said. "I wonder what that means."

"Ah. Miss Lavinia," said Mr. Pegger.

"It was very sad, wasn't it, to die so young?"

"With all her sins upon her."

"I don't think she had many. Alison and Dorcas speak of her as though they loved her dearly."

There was a picture of Lavinia hanging in the rectory on the landing just at the top of the first flight of stairs. I used to be afraid to pass it after dark because I imagined that at night Lavinia stepped out of it and walked about the house. I used to think that one day I would pass it and find the frame empty because she had failed to get back into it in time.

I was such a fanciful child, said Dorcas, who was very practical herself and could not understand my strange imaginings.

"Every mortal man has sins," declared Mr. Pegger. "As for women they can have ten times as many."

"Not Lavinia," I said.

He leaned on his spade and scratched his white mane of hair. "Lavinia! She were the prettiest of the rectory girls."

Well, I thought, that might not have meant a great deal if I was not so familiar with Lavinia's picture, for neither Alison nor Dorcas were exactly beauties. They always wore somber-colored skirts and jackets, and thick strong boots—so sensible for the country. Yet in the picture Lavinia had a velvet jacket and a hat with a curling feather.

"It was a pity she was ever on that train."

"In one moment she had no idea what was about to happen and the next . . . she was facing her Maker."

"Do you think it's as quick as that, Mr. Pegger? After all she would have to get there . . ."

"Taken in sin, you might say, with no time for repentance."

"No one would be hard on Lavinia."

Pegger was not so sure. He shook his head. "She could have her flighty ways."

"Dorcas and Alison loved her, and so did the reverend. I can tell by the way they look when they say her name."

Mr. Pegger had put down his spade to mop his brow once more. "This be one of the hottest days the Lord have sent us this year." He stepped out of the hole and sat down on the curb of the next grave so that he and I were facing each other over the yawning hole. I stood up and peered down into it. Poor Josiah Polgrey who beat his wife and had his children out working on the farm at five years old. On impulse I jumped down into the hole.

"What be doing, Miss Judith?" demanded Mr. Pegger.

"I just want to see what it feels like to be down here," I said.

I reached up for his spade and started to dig.

"It smells damp," I said.

"A fine muss you'll be getting yourself in."

"I'm already in it," I cried, as my shoes slipped down into the loose earth. It was a horrible feeling of being shut in with the walls of the trench so close to me. "It must be terrible, Mr. Pegger, to be buried alive."

"Now you come out of there."

"I'll dig just a bit while I'm here," I said, "to see what it feels like to be a gravedigger."

I dug the spade into the earth and threw out what it had picked up as I had seen Mr. Pegger do. I repeated the operation several times before my spade struck something hard.

"There's something here," I called.

"You come out of there, Miss Judith."

I ignored him and went on probing. Then I had it. "I've found something, Mr. Pegger," I cried. I stooped and picked up the object. "What is it, do you know?"

Mr. Pegger stood up and took it from me. "Piece of old metal," he said. I gave him my hand and he pulled me out of Josiah Polgrey's grave.

"I don't know," I said. "There's something about it."

"Dirty old thing," said Mr. Pegger.

"But look at it, Mr. Pegger. Just what is it? There's a sort of engraving on it."

"I'd throw that away . . . sharp about it," said Mr. Pegger.

But I would do no such thing, I decided. I would take it back with me and clean it. I rather liked it.

Mr. Pegger took up his spade and continued to dig while I tried to wipe the earth from my shoes and noticed with dismay that the hem of my skirt was decidedly grubby.

I talked for a while with Mr. Pegger, then I went back to the rectory carrying the piece of what appeared to be bronze with me. It was oval shaped and about six inches in diameter. I wondered what it would be like when it was cleaned and what I would use it for. I didn't give much thought to it, because talking about Lavinia had made me think about her and what a sad house it must have been when the news was brought that Lavinia, beloved daughter of the Reverend James Osmond and sister of Alison and Dorcas, had been killed in the train which was traveling from Plymouth to London.

"She was killed outright," Dorcas had told me as we stood at her grave while she pruned the roses growing there. "It was a mercy in a way for she would have been an invalid for the rest of her life had she lived. She was twenty-one years old. It was a great tragedy."

"Why was she going to live in London, Dorcas?" I had asked.

"She was going to take up a post."

"What sort of post?"

"Oh . . . governess, I think."

"You think! Weren't you sure?"

"She had been staying with a distant cousin."

"What cousin was that?"

"Oh dear, what a probing child you are! She was a very distant cousin. We never hear of her now. Lavinia had been staying with her so she took the train from Plymouth and then . . . there was this terrible accident. Many people were killed. It was one of the worst accidents in living memory. We were heartbroken."

"That was when you decided to take me in and bring me up to take Lavinia's place."

"Nobody could take Lavinia's place, dear. You have a place of your own."

"But it's not Lavinia's. I'm not a bit like her, am I?"

"Not in the least."

"She was quiet, I suppose, and gentle; and she didn't talk too much, probe or be impulsive or try to order people about ... all the things that I do."

"No, she was not like you, Judith. But she could be very firm on occasions, although she was so gentle."

"So then because she was dead and I was an orphan you decided to take me in. I was related to you."

"A sort of cousin."

"A distant one, I suppose. All your cousins seem to be so distant."

"Well, we knew that you were an orphan and we were so distressed. We thought it would help us all ... and you too of course."

"So I came here and it was all because of Lavinia."

So considering all this I felt that Lavinia had had a marked effect on my life; and I fell to wondering what would have happened to me if Lavinia had not decided to take that particular train to London.

It was cool in the stone hall of the old rectory, cool and dark. On the hall table stood a great bowl of buddleia, lavender, and roses. Some of the rose petals had already fallen onto the stone flags of the hall floor. The rectory was an old house, almost as old as Keverall Court. Built in the early days of Elizabeth's reign it had been the residence of rectors over the last three hundred years. Their names were inscribed on a tablet in the church. The rooms were large and some beautifully paneled but dark because of the small windows with their leaded panes. There was an air of great quietness brooding over the house and it was particularly noticeable on this hot day.

I went up the staircase to my room; and the first thing I did was wash the soil from the ornament. I had poured water from the ewer into the basin and was dabbing it with cotton wool when there was a knock on the door.

"Come in," I called. Dorcas and Alison were standing there. They looked so solemn that I completely forgot the ornament and cried out: "Is anything wrong?"

"We heard you come in," said Alison.

"Oh dear, did I make a lot of noise?"

They looked at each other and exchanged smiles.

"We were listening for you," said Dorcas.

There was silence. This was unusual. "Something is wrong," I insisted.

"No, dear, nothing has changed. We have been making up our minds to speak to you for some time; and as it is your birthday and fourteen is a sort of milestone ... we thought the time had come."

"It is all rather mysterious," I said.

Alison drew a deep breath and said: "Well, Judith . . ." Dorcas nodded to her to proceed. "Well, Judith, you have always been under the impression that you were the daughter of a cousin of ours."

"Yes, a distant one," I said.

"This is not the case."

I looked from one to the other. "Then who am I?"

"You're our adopted daughter."

"Yes, I know that, but if my parents are not the distant cousins, who are they?"

Neither of them spoke, and I cried out impatiently: "You said you came to tell me."

Alison cleared her throat. "You were on the train . . . the same train as Lavinia."

"In the accident?"

"Yes, you were in the accident ... a child of one year or so."

"My parents were killed then."

"It seems so."

"Who were they?"

Alison and Dorcas exchanged glances. Dorcas nodded slightly to Alison which meant: Tell her all.

"You were unharmed."

"And my parents killed?"

Alison nodded.

"But who were they?"

"They . . . they must have been killed outright. No one came forward to say who you were."

"Then I might be anybody!" I cried.

"So," went on Dorcas, "as we had lost a sister we adopted you."

"What would have happened to me if you hadn't?"

"Someone else would have done so perhaps."

I looked from one to the other and thought of all the kindness I had had from them and how I had plagued them —talking too much and too loudly, bringing mud into the house, breaking their prized crockery; and I ran to them and put my arms about them so that the three of us were in a huddle.

"Judith! Judith!" said Dorcas smiling, and the tears— which always came rather readily to her—glistened in her eyes.

Alison said: "You were a comfort to us. We needed comfort when Lavinia was gone."

"Well," I said, "it's nothing to cry about, is it? Perhaps I'm the long-lost heiress to a great estate. My parents have been searching high and low for me . . ."

Alison and Dorcas were smiling again. I had further food for my flights of fancy. "It's better than being a distant cousin anyway," I said. "But I do wonder who I was."

"It is clear that your parents were killed outright. It was such a ... violent disaster that we heard many people were unrecognizable. Papa went and identified poor Lavinia. He came back so upset."

"Why did you tell me that I came from distant cousins?"

"We thought it better, Judith. We thought you'd be happier believing yourself related to us."

"You're thinking I was unclaimed . . . unwanted, and that might have upset me and thrown a shadow over my childhood."

"There could have been so many explanations. Perhaps you only had your parents and no other relations. We thought that very likely."

"An orphan born of two orphans."

"That seems possible."

"Or perhaps your parents had just come to England."

"A foreigner. Perhaps I'm French, or Spanish. I am rather dark. My hair looks quite black by candlelight. My eyes are much lighter though, just ordinary brown. I do look rather like a Spaniard. But then lots of Cornish people do. That's because the Spaniards were wrecked along our coasts when we destroyed the Armada."

"Well, all ended well. You came to be as our very own and I can never tell you what a joy that has been for us."

"I don't know why you're looking so glum. It's rather exciting I think, not to know who you are. Just think what you might discover! I might have a sister or brother somewhere. Or grandparents. Perhaps they'll come and claim me and take me back to Spain. Senorita Judith. It sounds rather good. Mademoiselle Judith de . . . de Something. Just imagine going to see my long-lost family in their wonderful old chateau."

"Oh Judith, you romance about everything," said Dorcas.

"I'm glad she's taken it like this," added Alison.

"What other way should I take it? I never did like those distant cousins anyway."

"So you don't feel that you were . . . deserted . . . unwanted . . . unclaimed?"

"Of course not. They didn't know that my parents had been killed. Nobody told them and as they were in a foreign country they weren't missed. They just thought they had slipped out of their lives. As for the little baby, me, well they often dream of me. 'I wonder what the child is like,' they say. 'She will be fourteen today. Dear little Judith.' But I suppose you named me that."

"You were christened by Papa soon after we brought you to the rectory."

"Well," I said, "it's all very exciting. A nice birthday surprise. Look at this. I found it. I think when it's cleaned up it will be rather unusual."

"What is it?"

"I've no idea. What would you say, Dorcas? There are scratchings on it. Look."

"Where did you find it?"

"In Josiah Polgrey's grave. Mr. Pegger was digging it and I had a go, and lo and behold my spade struck this. I shall clean it up and then see what I shall use it for. It's a sort of birthday present from Josiah Polgrey."

"What an ideal I've seen something like this before," continued Alison. "I think it may have some significance."

"What do you mean, Alison? Significance?'

"Sir Ralph would know."

Dorcas and Alison exchanged looks. Alison said, speaking rather slowly: "I think, Judith, that you should take it along to Keverall Court and ask if you may show it to Sir Ralph."

"Whatever for?"

"Because he's interested in this sort of thing."

"Things that are dug up you mean?"

"Certain things. Of course this may be just nothing . . . but there is something about it. I think it may be very old indeed and you have stumbled on something important."

I was excited. It was true there was talk of digging up Carter's Meadow. How interesting if I had been the first to find something!

"I'll take it right away," I said.

"I should wash first, change your dress and comb your hair."

I smiled at them. I loved them very much; they were so normal. It was my birthday; they had just told me that I had been unclaimed, my parents had been killed and I might be just anybody; I may have stumbled on something important from centuries ago and they were worried about my changing my dress and making myself presentable to see Sir Ralph!

Under the portcullis, into the courtyard, sniffing the stables and touching the mounting block for luck; and then into the great baronial hall. The heavy iron-studded door creaked as I pushed it open. How silent it seemed! I stood there for a second or so looking at the two suits of armor on either side of the wide staircase and the weapons on the walls; on the refectory table were pewter utensils, and there was a great bowl of flowers too.

I wondered what Hadrian and Theodosia were doing and what fun I would have tomorrow when I told them what I had found. I had already magnified it into something priceless. The greatest archaeologists in the world were shaking me by the hand. "We are so grateful to you, Judith. We have been digging for years and never have we found anything quite so wonderful as this."

I heard the scraping of a chair behind me. I had not noticed Derwent, the footman, dozing in a chair.

"Oh, it's you," he said.

"I want to see Sir Ralph immediately. It is a matter of the utmost importance."

He looked at me superciliously. "Now, Miss. This is another of your tricks, I know."

"It's no trick. I have found something which is of great value. My aunts"—I called Dorcas and Alison aunts; it simplified the relationship—"said I was to bring it to Sir Ralph without delay and woe betide anyone who tries to keep this from him."

I hugged the piece of metal against me and faced him squarely.

"He's taking tea with her ladyship."

"Go and tell him I am here," I said imperiously.

Because there had been some talk about Carter's Meadow, and Sir Ralph's interest in what could be dug out of the earth was well known, I eventually prevailed on Derwent to go and tell Sir Ralph that I had found something which my aunts thought might be of interest. Consequently within five minutes I was in the library, that fascinating room full of Sir Ralph's collection of exotic pieces.

I laid the metal on the table, and from that moment I knew that I had made an impression.

"Good God," said Sir Ralph; he used oaths of which, I reflected, Dorcas, Alison, and the Reverend James would not have approved, "where did you find this?"

I told him that it was in Josiah Polgrey's grave.

His bushy eyebrows were lifted. "What were you doing there?"

"Helping to dig it."

He had two kinds of laughter—one a wild sort of roar and the other inward when his chin shook and I think that was when he was most amused. He was amused in that way now and pleased. He spoke jerkily always as though he were in too much of a hurry to complete his sentences.

"H'm," he said. "Graveyard, eh?"

"Yes. It's important, isn't it?"

"Bronze," he said. "Looks prehistoric to me."

"That's very interesting I believe."

"Good girl!" he said. "If you find anything more, bring it to me."

He nodded in a way which I realized meant dismissal, but I had no intention of being dismissed like that.

I said: "You want me to leave you my er . . . bronze?"

He narrowed his eyes and his jaw wagged slightly. "Yours!" he bellowed. "It's not yours."

"I found it."

"Findings—keepings, eh? No, not with this sort of thing, my girl. This belongs to the nation."

"That's very strange."

"Number of things you'll find strange before you're much older."

"Is it of interest to archaeologists?"

"What do you know of archaeologists?"

"I know they dig and find things. They find all sorts of wonderful things. Roman baths and lovely tiles and things like that."

"You don't fancy yourself as an archaeologist because you found this, do you?"

"It's doing the same as they do."

"And that's what you'd like to do, is it?"

"Yes, I would. I know I'd be good at it. I'd find wonderful things that people didn't know were there in the earth."

He laughed then—the wild roar. "You fancy archaeologists are constantly finding jewels and Roman villas. You've got a lot to learn. Greater part of the time is spent digging looking for tilings of little value—things like this—the sort of things that have been found times out of number. That's what the majority of them do."

"I wouldn't," I said confidently. "I'd find beautiful things, significant things."

He laid a hand on my shoulder and led me to the door.

"You'd like to know what this is you've found, wouldn't

"Yes. After all I found it."

"I'll let you know when I get the verdict on it. And meanwhile, if you find anything else, you'll know what to do with it, won't you?"

"Bring it to you, Sir Ralph."

He nodded and shut the door on me. I went slowly down through the hall and out into the courtyard. I had lost my piece of bronze but it was pleasant to remind myself that I had contributed to the knowledge of the world.

Although my find was identified as part of a shield, possibly of the Bronze Age, and it appeared that many of its kind had been found before, it brought about several changes which were important.

In the first place it sent up my prestige in the schoolroom. When I arrived for lessons both Hadrian and Theodosia were far more respectful than they had been before. I had always thought Theodosia rather a silly little thing— although she was about a year older than I—and Hadrian was slightly older still. They were both fair, Theodosia rather fragile looking with innocent blue eyes and a chin that receded a little. I was taller than she and, in reality, almost as tall as Hadrian. I never felt the difference in our ages, and in spite of the fact that they lived in this mansion and I came from the rectory I was a kind of leader and was constantly telling them what they ought to do.

They had been informed by their father that I had found something of some importance and had had the good sense to bring it along to him. He would like to see them show as much interest as I had.

I spent the morning on and off explaining how I had dug Josiah Polgrey's grave and how I had found the object, and I drove poor Miss Graham to despair. I drew the object for them. It had become enormous in my mind; it shone like gold. It had belonged to some king, who had buried it in the earth so that I should find it.

I whispered to them that we should all get spades and dig in Carter's Meadow because that was where they thought there was a lot of treasure. That afternoon we found spades in the gardeners' sheds and set to work. We were discovered and reprimanded; but the result was that Sir Ralph decided that we might learn something about archaeology and ordered the long-suffering Miss Graham to give us lessons. Poor Miss Graham was obliged to read up on the subject and she did her best in a difficult situation. I was fascinated—far more than the others. Sir Ralph discovered this and his interest in me, which began when I discovered the bronze shield, seemed to grow.

Then Sir Edward Travers and his family came to the old Dower House. The Traverses were already friends of the Bodreans; they had visited Keverall Court many times and Sir Edward was behind the plans for Carter's Meadow. My find had increased that interest and was probably the reason why, since he was looking for a country house, Sir Edward decided on the Dower House.

Sir Edward was connected with Oxford University in some way but was constantly engaged on expeditions. His name was often in the papers and he was very well known in academic circles, but Sir Edward needed a country residence where he could be quiet to compile his finds and set it all out in book form after he returned from one of his trips, usually in far-off places.

There was a great deal of excitement when we heard they were coming. Hadrian told me that his uncle was delighted and that now nothing could stop them digging up Carter's Meadow—parson or no parson.

I was sure he was right for the poor Reverend James was not the man to go into battle. His objections were entirely due to the prodding of his more forceful parishioners. All he wanted was to be able to lead a quiet life and the chief duty of Dorcas and Alison was to keep from him anything that might disturb him. I believe he was delighted by the coming of Sir Edward, for even the most militant of his flock would not dare raise issue with such an important gentleman.

So the Traverses arrived and the Dower House became Giza House.

"Named after the Pyramids, I believe," said Dorcas, and we confirmed this by looking it up in the encyclopedia.

The dark old Dower House with the overgrown garden which had stood empty for so long was now inhabited. I could no longer so easily scare Theodosia with stories that it was haunted and dare her and Hadrian to run up the path and look through the windows. It lost none of its strangeness though. "Once a house is haunted," I told the nervous Theodosia, "it's haunted forever."

And sure enough it was not long before we began to hear strange rumors of the house which was full of treasures from all over the world. Some of them were very odd indeed, so that the servants didn't feel at home with them; and because of these strange things the place was "creepy." If it had not been for the fact that Sir Edward was such an important man whose name was often in the papers, they would not have stayed there.

So there was digging in Carter's Meadow and important tenants at Giza House. We learned that although Sir Edward was a widower he had two children—a son, Tybalt, who was grown up and at the university—and a daughter, Sabina, who was about the same age as Theodosia and myself and was therefore to share our lessons.

It was some time before I saw Tybalt but I decided to dislike him before I set eyes on him, largely because Sabina spoke of him with awe and reverence. She did not so much love as adore him. He was omniscient and omnipotent according to her. He was handsome, in fact godlike.

"I don't believe anyone is as good as that," I said scornfully, glaring at Hadrian, forcing him to agree with me. Theodosia could think what she liked; her opinion was unimportant.

Hadrian looked from me to Sabina and came down on my side. "No," he declared, "nobody is."

"Nobody but Tybalt," insisted Sabina.

Sabina talked constantly and never minded whether anyone was listening or not. I told Hadrian this was because she lived in that strange house with her absent-minded father and those servants, two of whom were very strange indeed, for they were Egyptians named Mustapha and Absalam and wore long white robes and sandals. I had heard from our rectory cook that they gave the other servants the "creeps" and with all the peculiar things that were in that house and those two gliding about so that you never knew whether they were spying on you and you not seeing them —it was a queer household.

Sabina was pretty; she had fair curls, and big grey eyes with long golden lashes and a little heart-shaped face. Theodosia, who was quite plain, very soon adored her. I quickly saw that their friendship strengthened the alliance between Hadrian and myself. Sometimes I used to think it had been better before the Traverses came because then the three of us made a pleasant little trio. I admit that I bullied them a little. Dorcas was always telling me that I must stop trying to organize everyone and believing that what I wanted for them was the best from every point of view. It was a fact that although Hadrian and Theodosia were the children of the big house and I came from the impecunious rectory and had been allowed to have lessons in their schoolroom as a favor, I did behave rather as though I were the daughter of Keverall Court and the others were the outsiders. I had explained to Dorcas that it was just because Hadrian could never make up his mind and Theodosia was too silly to have any ideas about anything.

Then there was Sabina, good-natured, her lovely hair always falling into place in a manner most becoming, while my thick straight dark locks were always escaping in disorder from anything with which I tried to bind them. Her grey eyes would sparkle with gaiety when she spoke of frivolous things or shine with fervor when she talked of Tybalt. She was a charming girl, whose presence had changed the entire atmosphere of our schoolroom.

Through her we learned of life in Giza House. How her father was shut in his room for days and silent-footed Mustapha or Absalam took his meals to him on trays. Sabina had luncheon in a small dining room just off the schoolroom at Keverall as I did each day except Saturdays and Sundays, but in Giza House when her father was working she often had meals alone or with her companion-housekeeper, Tabitha Grey, who gave her lessons at the piano. She always referred to her as Tabby and I christened her the Grey Tabby which amused them all. I pictured her as a middle-aged woman, with greying dusty-looking hair, grey skirts, and dull muddy-colored blouses. I was very surprised eventually to meet a striking-looking youngish woman.

I told Sabina that she was no good at describing anything. She had made Grey Tabby sound like a dowdy old woman and I was sure that that wonder hero Tybalt would turn out to be a pale-faced youth with eyes ruined by looking at too much crabbed writing on ancient manuscripts—which he must have done, mustn't he, since he was so clever—round-shouldered and knowing absolutely nothing about anything but long dead people and what weapons they had used in battle.

"One day you may be able to see for yourself," said Sabina laughing.

We could hardly wait. She had so played on our imaginations—particularly mine which Alison had once said worked overtime—that this miraculous brother of hers was never far from my thoughts. I was longing to see him. I had so built up this picture of the stooping bespectacled scholar that I believed it to be true and had forced Hadrian to do the same. Theodosia took Sabina's version. "After all," she said, "Sabina's seen him. You haven't."

"People get bemused," I said. "She sees him through rose-colored spectacles."

We could hardly wait when the time came for him to come down from Oxford. Sabina was exalted. "Now you will see for yourselves." One morning she came in in tears because Tybalt was not coming, after all. He was going up to Northumberland on a dig and he would no doubt spend the entire vacation up there. Sir Edward was going to join him.

Instead of Tybalt we had Evan Callum, who was a friend of Tybalt. Wishing to earn a little money, he was going to spend the period before he went back to the university grounding us in the rudiments of archaeology, a subject in which he was quite proficient.

I forgot my disappointment about Tybalt and threw myself with fervor into my new studies. I was much more interested in the subject than the others. Sometimes in the afternoons I would go down to Carter's Meadow with Evan Callum and he would show me something of the practical work which had to be done.

Once I saw Sir Ralph there. He came over to speak to me.

"Interested, eh?" he said.

I replied that I was.

"Found any more bronze shields?"

"No. I haven't found anything."

He gave me a little push. "Finds don't come often. You started off with yours." His jaw wagged in the amused way, and I had a notion that he was rather pleased to see me there.

One of the workers who had come down with the party showed me how to piece a broken pot together. "First aid," he called it, until it could be treated properly and perhaps find its way into a museum. He showed me how to pack a piece of pottery which had been put together in this "first-aid" manner and which was to be sent away to the experts who would restore it and place it in its period where it might or might not betray some little detail of how life was lived four thousand years before.

I had dreamed of finding something in Carter's Meadow; golden ornaments, things that I had heard had been found in tombs. This was very different. I was disappointed for a while and then I began to develop a burning enthusiasm for the task itself. I could think of little else than the wonder of uncovering the record of the rocks.

Our lessons with Evan Callum were taken in the afternoons, because the mornings were spent with Miss Graham or Oliver Shrimpton learning what were called the three Rs. Reading, Writing, and Arithmetic. In addition, Theodosia, Sabina, and I had to do needlework with Miss Graham and three mornings a week we worked for an hour on our samplers. The alphabet had to be worked, a proverb, our names, and the date. Naturally we chose the shortest proverb we could find but even so the task was laborious. Horrible little cross stitches on a piece of cotton and if one stitch was too large or too small it had to be unpicked and put right. I was in revolt against such time wasting and I was so frustrated that my sampler suffered through it. There was music and we strummed on the piano under

Miss Graham's supervision, but now we had Grey Tabby it was decided that she should give the music lessons. So with our periodic lessons in archaeology our education was running on quite unconventional lines. We had our teachers from three sources—Miss Graham from Keverall Court, Grey Tabby and Evan Callum through Giza House, and from the rectory Oliver Shrimpton. Dorcas was delighted. It was an excellent way, she said, of three families pooling their educational resources and providing an excellent education for the young people involved. She doubted that anywhere in the country a girl was getting such a well-grounded training. She hoped, she added, that I was making full use of it.

What did intrigue me were the sessions with Evan Callum. I told him that when I was grown up I should go with expeditions to the far places of the world. He replied that he thought that as a female I might find this difficult unless I married an archaeologist; but all the same he encouraged me. It was gratifying to have such an apt pupil. We were all interested but my natural enthusiasm was perhaps more intense and more obvious.

I became particularly fascinated by the Egyptian scene. There was so much to be discovered there. I loved hearing about that old civilization; the gods that were worshiped, the dynasties, the temples that had been discovered; I caught my enthusiasm from Evan. "There's a treasure store in the hills of the desert, Judith," he used to say.

Of course I pictured myself there, making fantastic discoveries, receiving the congratulations of people like Sir Edward Travers.

I had imagined myself having long conversations with him but he, I must say, was a disappointment. He never seemed to see any of us. He had a strange far-away look in his eyes as though he were looking far back into the past.

"I expect that awful old Tybalt is just like him," I said to Hadrian.

Tybalt had become a new word which I had introduced into our vocabulary. It meant "mean, despicable." Hadrian and I used to tease Sabina with it.

"I don't care," she said, "nothing you say can change Tybalt."

I was fascinated by Giza House though and although I was a hopeless musician I used to look forward to going there. As soon as I entered the house I would become excited. There was something peculiar about it. "Sinister," I told Hadrian who agreed as he usually did with me.

In the first place it was dark. The bushes which surrounded the house might have been responsible for that, but in the house there were so many" rich velvet curtains— not only at windows but over doors and alcoves in which were often strange images. It was so thickly carpeted that you rarely heard people come and go and I always had the sensation in that house that I was being watched.

There was a strange old woman who lived at the top of this house in what appeared to be an apartment of her own. Sabina referred to her as Old Nanny Tester.

"Who is she?" I demanded.

"She was my mother's Nanny and Tybalt's and mine."

"What's she doing up there?"

"She just lives up there."

"But you don't want a nanny now surely."

"We don't turn old servants out when they have served us many years," said Sabina haughtily.

"I believe she's a witch."

"Believe what you like, Judith Osmond. She's old Nanny Tester."

"She spies on us. She's always peering out of the window and dodging back when we look up."

"Oh don't take any notice of her," said Sabina.

Every time I went to the place I looked up to the top window for Nanny Tester. I had convinced myself that it was a strange house in which anything could happen.

The drawing room was the most normal room, but even that had an Oriental look. There were several Chinese vases and images which Sir Edward had picked up in China. There were some beautiful pictures on the walls—delicate and in pastel shades; there was a big cabinet in which were Chinese figures—there were dragons and fat Buddhas with sly sleepy looks and thin ones sitting with apparent comfort in a position which I had tried unsuccessfully to copy; there were ladies with inscrutable faces and mandarins with cruel ones. But the grand piano gave the place an air of normality and it was on this that we strummed out our lessons under the tuition of Grey Tabby who was as enigmatical as one of the Chinese ladies in the cabinet.

Whenever I had an opportunity I would peep into other rooms forcing Hadrian to look with me. He was reluctant but he was afraid not to do as I wished because he knew that I would call him a coward if he refused.

We had been studying with Evan Callum some of the lore of old Egypt and I was greatly fascinated. He gave us an account of some recent discoveries there in which Sir Edward Travers had been involved; and then he went on to give us a little insight into the history of that country.

When I listened to Evan Callum I would be transported out of the schoolroom into the temples of the gods. I listened avidly to the story of the self-begotten god Ra—often known as Amen Ra; and his son Osiris who with Isis begot the great god Horus. He showed us pictures of the masks which priests wore during religious ceremonies and told us that each god was represented by one of the masks.

"The idea being," he explained, "that the great gods of the Egyptians possessed all the strengths and virtues of men, but in addition they had one attribute of an animal; and this animal was their particular sign. Horus was the hawk because his eyes saw all and quickly." I pored over the pictures he showed us. I was an apt pupil.

But I think what interested me most were the accounts of burials when the bodies of the important dead were embalmed and put in their tombs and there left to rest for thousands of years. With them would often be buried their servants who might have been killed merely that they might accompany them and remain their servants in the new life as in the old. Treasure was stored in their tombs that they might not suffer poverty in the future.

"This custom, of course," Evan explained to us, "has led to many of the tombs being robbed. Throughout the centuries daring men have plundered them . . . daring indeed for it is said that the Curse of the Pharaohs descends on those who disturb their eternal rest."

I was very interested to hear how it was possible to keep a person's body for centuries. "The embalming process," Evan explained, "is one which was perfected three thousand years before the birth of Christ. It was a secret and no one has ever really discovered how the ancient Egyptians did it so expertly."

It was absorbing. There were books with pictures. I was never tired of talking of this fascinating subject; I wanted to ignore other lessons for the sake of going on with Evan.

Sabina said she had seen a mummy. They had had one at Giza once.

Evan talked to her about it and I was a little envious that Sabina who had not taken particular note of it should have had the opportunity which I should have made such use of.

"It was in a sort of coffin," said Sabina.

"A sarcophagus," supplied Evan.

"We've still got it, I believe," said Sabina. "But the mummy has gone." She shuddered. "I'm glad. I didn't like it. It was horrible."

"It was interesting," I cried. "Just imagine. It was somebody who had actually lived thousands of years ago!"

I couldn't get the thought of it out of my mind and a few days later when we went for our music lesson I decided that I was going to see it. Theodosia was at the piano. She was better than the rest of us and Tabby gave us extra tuition.

I said: "Now is the time." And Sabina led us to that strange room. This was the one, of course, which I had heard about, the room which gave the servants "the creeps" and which they wouldn't enter alone.

I saw the sarcophagus at once. It stood in a corner of the room; it was like a stone trough. Along the top of it were rows of hieroglyphs.

I knelt down and examined them.

"My father is trying to decipher them," explained Sabina. "That's why it's here. Later it will go to some museum."

I touched it wonderingly. "Just imagine . . . thousands of years ago people made these signs and someone was embalmed and laid inside there. Don't you think that's wonderful? Oh, how I wish they'd left the mummy!"

"You can see them in the British Museum. It's just like someone done up with a lot of bandages."

I stood up and looked about the room. The walls of one side were lined with books. I looked at their bindings. Many were in languages I could not understand.

I said: "There's a strange feeling in this room. Are you aware of it?"

"No," said Sabina. "You're trying to frighten us."

"It's because it's dark," said Hadrian. "It's the tree outside the window."

"Listen," I said.

"It's the wind," said Sabina scornfully. "And come on. We mustn't be found in here."

She was relieved when she shut the door behind us. But I couldn't forget that room.

For the next few days I looked up everything I could find about ancient burials. The others were impatient with me because when I had an idea I was obsessed by it and would talk of nothing else. Sabina was very impatient and

Theodosia had begun to agree with everything Sabina said.

She declared she was tired of all this talk about mummies. They were nothing but dead people anyway. She had heard that if they were exposed to the air and the wrappings removed they all crumpled to dust. Why get excited about a lot of dust?

"But they were real people once. Let's go and look at the sarcophagus again."

"No," wailed Sabina. "And this is my house, so if you go without me you're trespassing."

"I believe you're afraid of that room," I declared.

She indignantly denied this.

I became more and more obsessed and wanted to know exactly what it felt like to be embalmed and laid to rest in a sarcophagus. I forced Hadrian to join me and together we found some old sheets and one of these we cut into strips, and when we all went to Giza House for our music lesson Hadrian and I contrived to have ours first and then we went into the garden where we had hidden our sheets and bandages in an old summerhouse. We retrieved them and together we went into the room in which was the sarcophagus. I put the sheet over my head—having cut holes in it for my eyes—and made Hadrian bind me up with the bandages. I scrambled into the sarcophagus and lay there.

My only excuse is that I was young and thoughtless. It just seemed a tremendous joke—and an exciting one too. I thought I was very brave and bold to lie in that sarcophagus alone in the room for I had twinges of doubt and felt that my boldness might arouse at any moment the wrath of the gods.

It seemed a long time before the door opened. Sabina said: "Oh, why do you want to keep looking at it . . ." And I knew Hadrian had brought them in as we had arranged.

Then they saw me. There was a bloodcurdling scream. I tried to scramble out of the trough-like receptacle which smelled peculiar and was so cold. It was the worst thing that I could have done for Theodosia, seeing this thing rising from the dead, as she believed, began to scream.

I heard Hadrian shout: "It's only Judith."

I saw Sabina was as white as the sheet which was wrapped round me; and then Theodosia slid to the floor in a faint.

"It's all right, Theodosia," I cried. "It's Judith. It's not a real mummy."

"I believe she's dead," said Sabina. "You've killed her."

"Theodosia!" I wailed. "You're not dead. People can't die like that."

Then I saw the stranger standing in the doorway. He was tall, and so different from anyone I had ever seen before that for the moment I thought he was one of the gods come for vengeance. He looked angry enough.

He stared at me. What a sight I must have looked—my bandages hanging about me, the sheet still over my head.

From me he looked to Theodosia. "Good God," he said and picked her up.

"Judith dressed up as a mummy," squealed Sabina. "It's frightened Theodosia."

"How utterly stupid!" he said, giving me such a look of contempt that I was glad of the sheet to cover my shame.

"Is she dead, Tybalt?" went on Sabina.

He did not answer; he walked out of the room with Theodosia in his arms.

I scrambled out of the bandages and sheet and rolled them into a bundle.

Sabina came running back into the room.

"They're all fussing round Theodosia," she informed us, and added rather gleefully: "They're all angry with you two."

"It was my idea," I said, "wasn't it, Hadrian?"

Hadrian agreed that it was.

"It's nothing to be proud of," said Sabina severely. "You might have killed her."

"She's all right?" I said anxiously.

"She's sitting up now, but she looks pale and she's gasping."

"She was only a bit frightened," I said.

"People can die of fright."

"Well, she isn't going to."

Tybalt came into the room. He still looked angry.

"What on earth did you think you two were doing?"

I looked at Hadrian who waited as usual for me to speak. "I was only being a mummy," I said.

"Aren't you a little old for such tricks?"

I felt small and bitterly humiliated.

"You didn't think, I suppose, of the effect this might have on those who were not in the joke?"

"No," I said, "I didn't think."

"It's quite a good habit. I should try it sometime."

If anyone else had said that to me I should have been ready with a pert answer. But he was different . . . right from the beginning I knew it.

He had turned to Hadrian. "And what have you to say?"

"Only the same as Judith. We didn't mean to hurt her."

"You've behaved very stupidly," he said; and turned and left us.

"So that's the great Tybalt!" said Hadrian waiting until he was out of earshot.

"Yes," I said, "the great Tybalt!"

"You said he stooped and wore glasses."

"Well, I was wrong. He doesn't. We'd better go now."

I heard Tybalt's voice as we went down the stairs.

"Who is that insolent girl?"

He was referring to me of course.

Sabina joined us in the hall. "Theodosia is to go back in the carriage," she said. "You two are to walk back. There's going to be trouble." She seemed rather pleased about it.

There was trouble. Miss Graham was waiting for us in the schoolroom.

She looked worried—but then she often did. She was constantly afraid, I realized later, that she would be blamed and dismissed.

"Young Mr. Travers came over in the carriage, with Theodosia," she said. "He has told Sir Ralph all about your wickedness. You are both going to be severely punished. Theodosia has gone to bed. Her ladyship is most anxious and has sent for the doctor. Theodosia is not very strong."

I couldn't help feeling that Theodosia was making the most of the occasion. After all what was she worried about? She knew now that I had been the mummy.

We went into the library, that room where three of the walls were lined with books and the other was almost all window—large, mullion, window-seated, and with heavy dark green curtains. It was a somewhat oppressive room because so many objects seemed to be huddled together under the enormous glass chandelier. There were carved wooden tables from India and figures with similar carving. Chinese vases and an ornate Louis Quinze table supported by gilded cherubs. Sir Ralph had had this assortment of treasures brought to him from all parts of the world and had gathered them together here irrespective of their suitability. All this I noticed later. At this time I was aware only of the two men in the room. Sir Ralph and Tybalt.

"What is all this, eh?" demanded Sir Ralph.

Hadrian always seemed to be struck dumb in the presence of his uncle so it was up to me to speak. I tried to explain.

"No right to be in that room! No right to play such silly tricks. You're going to be punished for this. And you won't like it."

I did not want Tybalt to see that I was afraid. I was thinking of the worst punishment that could befall me. No more lessons with Evan Callum.

"Have you nothing to say for yourself?" Sir Ralph was glaring at Hadrian.

"We only . . . pretended."

"Speak up!"

"It was my idea," I said.

"Let the boy speak for himself, if he can."

"We ... we thought it would be a good idea for Judith to dress up . . ."

Sir Ralph made an impatient noise. Then he turned to me. "So you were the ring leader, eh?"

I nodded and I was suddenly relieved because I was sure I saw his chin move.

"All right," he said. "You'll see what happens to people who play such tricks. You go back to the rectory now and you'll see what's in store for you." Then to Hadrian, "And you, sir. You go to your room. You're going to have the whipping of your life because I'm going to administer it myself. Get out."

Poor Hadrian! It was so humiliating—and in front of Tybalt too!

Hadrian was severely beaten which at sixteen was hard to endure.

When I arrived back at the rectory it was to find Dorcas and Alison very disturbed, as they had been already informed of my sinful folly.

"Why Judith, what if Sir Ralph had refused to have you at Keverall Court again?"

"Has he?" I asked anxiously.

"No, but orders are that you are to be punished and we daren't go against that."

The Reverend James had retired to his study muttering something about pressure of work. This was trouble and he was going to be out of it.

"Well," I demanded, "what are they going to do to me?"

"You are to go to your room and read a book which Mr. Callum has sent for you. You are to write an essay on its contents and to have nothing but bread and water until the task is completed. You are to do this if you stay in your room for a week."

It was no real punishment for me. Dear Evan! The book he chose for me was The Dynasties of Ancient Egypt which fascinated me; and our cook at the rectory in the safety of her kitchen declared that she was not taking orders from Keverall Court; nor was she having me on bread and water. The next thing, she prophesied, would be Dr. Gunwen's brougham at the door and nobody was going to make her starve little children. I was amused that I who had often been called a limb of Satan should have suddenly become a little child. However during that period some of my favorite foods were smuggled in to me. There was a hot steamy pasty I remember, and one of her special miniature squab pies.

I had quite a pleasant two days for my task was finished in record time; and I learned later from Evan that Sir Ralph, far from expressing his disapproval of my exploit, was rather pleased about it.

We were growing up and changes came, but so gradually that one scarcely noticed them.

Tybalt was frequently at Giza House. One of my favorite dreams at that time was that I made a great discovery. This varied. Sometimes I dug up an object of inestimable value; at others I found some tremendous significance in the hieroglyphs about the sarcophagus at Giza House, and this discovery of mine so shook the archaeological world that Tybalt was overcome with admiration. He asked me to marry him and we went off to Egypt together where for the rest of our lives we lived happily ever after piling up discovery after discovery, so that we became famous. "I owe it all to you," said Tybalt, at the end of the dream.

The truth was that he scarcely noticed me, and I believed that if ever he thought of me it was as the silly girl who had dressed up as a mummy and frightened Theodosia.

It was different with Theodosia. Instead of despising her for fainting he seemed to like her for it. She had opportunities for knowing him which were denied me. After lessons were over I went back to the rectory while she, now that she was growing up, joined the family at dinner and the guests were often Tybalt and his father.

Hadrian went off to the university to study archaeology, which was his uncle's choice rather than his. Hadrian had confided to me that he was dependent on his uncle, for his parents were in meager circumstances. His father—Sir Ralph's brother—had married without the family's consent. As Hadrian was the eldest of four brothers and Sir Ralph, having no son of his own had offered to take him and educate him—so Sir Ralph had to be placated.

"You're lucky," I said. "Wouldn't I like to go and study archaeology."

"You were always mad about it."

"It's something to be mad about."

I missed having Hadrian to order around. He was so meek; he had always done what I wanted.

Then Evan Callum ceased to come to teach because he had graduated and had taken a post in one of the universities. Miss Graham and Oliver Shrimpton continued to teach us and we still had music lessons with Tabitha Grey; but the changes were setting in.

Dorcas tried to teach me a few of what she called "home crafts" which meant trying to impart a light touch with pastry and showing me how to make bread and preserves. I was not really very good at that.

"You'll need it one day," she said, "when you have a home of your own. Do you realize you're nearly eighteen, Judith. Why some girls are married at that age."

When she said that there was a little frown on her brow. I believed that she and Alison worried a little about my future. I knew that they hoped I would many—and I knew whom.

We all liked Oliver Shrimpton. He was pleasant, not exactly ambitious but he had an enthusiasm for his work. He was an asset in the parish and for the last two or three years since the Reverend James seemed to get more and more easily tired he had—as Dorcas and Alison admitted—practically carried the parish on his own shoulders. He got on well with the old ladies and the not-so-old ones liked him very much. There were several spinsters who couldn't do enough in church activities and I guessed their enthusiasm had something to do with Oliver.

He and I had always been good friends. I had not shone at the subjects he had taught but living under the same roof with him for so long I regarded him as a kind of brother. I sometimes wondered though if I had never seen Tybalt I might have been reconciled to the idea of marrying him and going on in the rectory which had been my home all my life —for it was a foregone conclusion that when the Reverend James retired or died, Oliver would come into the living.

I could not talk to anyone of my feelings for Tybalt. They were absurd anyway, for surely it was ridiculous to feel this intense passion for someone who was hardly aware of one's existence.

But our relationship did undergo a change and he began to be a little aware of me. Tabitha Grey was very kindly and she noticed how despondent I was when Evan Callum ceased to teach us. As I grew older she seemed to grow younger. I suppose at fourteen anyone of twenty-four seems very old; but when one is nearly eighteen, twenty-eight seemed younger than twenty-four did at fourteen. Tabitha was Mrs. Grey so she had been married. Ever to have called her Grey Tabby was incongruous. She was tall with rippling dark hair and large light brown eyes; when she played the piano her expression changed, something ethereal touched it and she was then undoubtedly beautiful. She was gentle-natured, by no means communicative; sometimes I thought there was a haunting sadness in her face.

I had tried to find out from Sabina what exactly her position was in the household.

"Oh, she just manages everything," said Sabina. "She's there for me when my father and Tybalt are away; and she looks after the servants—and Nanny Tester too, though Nanny won't admit it. She knows quite a lot about Father's work. He talks to her about it—so does Tybalt."

I was more interested than ever and that gave us something in common. I had one or two talks with her after our music lesson. She became quite animated discussing Sir Edward's work. She told me that on one occasion she had been a member of his party when they had gone down to Kent working on some Roman excavation.

"When Sabina is married I shall go again," she said. "It's a pity that you're a girl. If you had been a boy you might have taken archaeology up as a profession."

"I don't think we have the money for that at the rectory. I was lucky they tell me to get the sort of education I have. I shall have to earn some money. What I shall do, I don't know . . . except that I shall probably have to be a governess."

"You never know what's waiting for you," she said. Then she lent me some books. "There's no reason why you shouldn't go on reading and learning all you can."

It was when I went to Giza House one late afternoon to return some books that I heard music. I guessed Tabitha was playing and glancing through the window into the drawing room I saw her seated at the piano and Tybalt was with her; they were playing a duet. As I watched the duet ended; they turned to each other and smiled. I thought then: How I wish he would smile at me like that.

As people do they seemed to guess that they were being watched and both of them looked simultaneously towards the window and saw me.

I felt rather ashamed for being caught looking in but Tabitha waved that aside.

"Come in, Judith," she said. "Oh, you've brought the books back. I've been lending these to Judith, Tybalt. She's very interested."

Tybalt looked at the books and his eyes lit up quite warmly.

"What did you think of them?"

"I was fascinated."

"We must find some more for her, Tabitha."

"That was what I was going to do."

We went into the drawing room and we talked . . . how we talked! I had not felt so alive since Evan Callum had left.

Tybalt walked back to the rectory with me, carrying the books; and he went on talking too, telling me of the adventures he had had; and how excited he had been when he had found certain things.

I listened avidly.

At the door of the rectory he said: "You really are very interested, aren't you?"

"Yes," I answered earnestly.

"Of course I always knew that you were interested in mummies."

We laughed. He said goodbye and that we must have another chat. "In the meantime," he said, "go on reading. I'm going to tell Tabitha what books to give you."

"Oh, thank you!" I said earnestly.

Dorcas must have seen us from one of the windows.

"Wasn't that Tybalt Travers?" she said as I started to ascend the stairs.

I said it was; and because she waited for some explanation I went on: "I took some books back to Giza and he walked back with me."

"Oh!" was all she said.

The very next day she mentioned him again. "I've heard that they're expecting a match between Tybalt Travers and Theodosia."

I felt sick. I hope I didn't show it.

"Well," went on Dorcas cautiously, "it's to be expected. The Traverses and the Bodreans have been friends for years. I'm sure Sir Ralph would like to see the families united."

No, I thought. Never. Silly little Theodosia! It wasn't possible.

But of course I knew that it was highly probable.

Oliver Shrimpton had an opportunity of a living in Dorset. Dorcas and Alison were very upset.

"What we shall do without you, Oliver, I can't imagine," said Alison.

"You've been wonderful," Dorcas told him.

He went to see the Bishop, and I have never seen Dorcas and Alison quite so happy as they were when he came back.

I was in my room reading when they came in. "He's refused it," they said.

I said, "Who?"

"Oliver."

"But what has he refused?"

"I don't believe you're listening."

"It takes a little time to tear oneself away from the ancient Egypt to the rectory of St. Erno's."

"You get too deep into those books. I don't think it's good for you. But Oliver has been to see the Bishop and refused the living. He has explained that he wishes to stay here, and the understanding is that when Father retires he will become rector here."

"That's wonderful news," I said. "Now we shan't have to worry about losing him."

"He must be very fond of us," said Dorcas, "to do so much for us."

"Fond of some of us," said Alison significantly.

Evan Callum came down to stay at Giza House with the Traverses. I believe he was invited quite often to Keverall Court.

He called at the rectory to see me and we had a very interesting talk. He told me I had been his most promising pupil and it was a great shame that I had not been able to take up the subject in earnest.

Miss Graham found another post and left; and then lessons were over. It was quite clear that I was never going to be a musician; but I didn't need that excuse now to go to Giza House. I could go into the library there and select books and if they were not some of Sir Edward's precious ones, I could take them home.

I saw very little of Theodosia now. There were many parties at Keverall Court to which naturally I was not invited; and there was entertaining at Giza too which was quite different—although Tybalt and his father often went to Keverall and Sir Ralph and Lady Bodrean visited Giza —but I gathered from Tabitha that there were dinner parties when the conversation sparkled and of course it centered round the work of those guests—this fascinating absorption with the past.

Life was quite changed for me. I did some of the parish visiting with Dorcas and Alison. I took flowers from the garden to the sick; I read to those whose eyesight was failing; I took food to the bedridden and went off to the town to shop for them in the little trap we called the jingle —a two-wheeled vehicle drawn by our own Jorrocks, who was something between a horse and a pony.

I was settling down to becoming the typical rectory daughter. That Christmas Oliver and I brought in the yule log and I made the Christmas bush with Alison and Dorcas.

This consisted of two wooden hoops fastened one into the other at right angles and we decorated this framework with evergreens—an old Cornish custom which we continued to follow rather than have the Christmas tree which, said some of the old folk, was a foreign invention. I went carol singing and when we called at Keverall Court we were invited in for hot pasties and saffron cake and a sip from the great wassailing bowl. I saw Theodosia and Hadrian in the great hall and I felt a nostalgia for the old days.

Soon after that Christmas we had a frosty snap—rare with us. The branches of trees were white with hoar frost and the children could even skate on the ponds. The Reverend James caught a cold and this was followed by a heart attack; and although he recovered slightly, within a week he was dead.

Dorcas and Alison were heartbroken. To me he had been remote for a long time. He had spent so much time in his bedroom; and even when he was in a room with us he scarcely spoke so it was like not having him there at all.

Cook said it was a Happy Release, because the poor Reverend Gentleman would never have been himself again.

And so the rectory blinds were drawn down and the day came when bells tolled and we lowered the Reverend James Osmond into the grave which Mr. Pegger had dug for him and then we went back to the rectory to eat cold ham and mourn.

Fear of the future mingled with the grief of Alison and Dorcas; but they were expectant, looking to me and to Oliver to bring about the obvious solution.

I shut myself in my room and thought about it. They wanted me to marry Oliver, who would become the rector in the Reverend James Osmond's place and we could all go on living under this roof as before.

How could I marry Oliver? I couldn't marry anyone but Tybalt. How could I tell Dorcas and Alison that? Moreover it was only in my wild and improbable dreams that that happy state of affairs could come about. I wanted to explain to them: I like Oliver. I know he is a good man. But you don't understand. I only have to say Tybalt's name and my heart beats faster. I know that he is unaware of me ... in that way. I know that they will think marriage with Theodosia a good match—but I can't help it.

Oliver had changed since he had become rector. He was as kind as ever to us; but of course, as Dorcas said to Alison, unless something was arranged, they and I would have to move out.

Quite suddenly something was arranged. Poor Alison! Poor Dorcas!

It was Alison who broached the subject. I think Oliver had been trying to but was too kind to do so for fear it would appear that he was asking them to leave.

Alison said: "Now that we have a new rector it is time for us to go."

He looked very relieved, then he said: "I want to talk to you. I'm thinking of marrying."

Dorcas's eyes shone as though she were the bride-to-be.

"I could not of course ask the lady until I had something to offer her. And now I have . . . and I am indeed fortunate. She has accepted me as her future husband."

Alison was looking at me reproachfully. You might have told us! she was implying—so I couldn't have shown her how startled I was.

Oliver went on: "Miss Sabina Travers has promised to marry me."

We congratulated him—I wholeheartedly, Dorcas and Alison in a bewildered way.

As soon as I went to my room I knew they would come to me. They stood looking at me—dismay and anger on their faces.

"To think that all this time he was deceiving us."

"You are not being fair," I protested. "How has he deceived us?"

"Leading us to think . . ."

"But he did no such thing. Sabina! Well, yes, there was always a sort of rapport between them. She wasn't any better at Latin and Greek than I, but she's very pretty and feminine. And I think she'll do quite well as the rector's wife."

"She's far too frivolous. I don't think she's capable of carrying on a serious conversation."

"She'll be wonderful with the parishioners. She'll never be at a loss for words and she'll be able to listen to all their troubles without really hearing them. Think what an asset that will be."

"Judith, you don't seem to care!" cried Alison.

Dorcas said: "There's no need to put on a brave face with us, dear."

I burst out laughing. "Listen to me, both of you. I wouldn't have married Oliver if he'd asked me. He's been too much like my brother. I'm fond of him; I like Sabina. Do believe me when I say I could never have married him, convenient as it would have been."

Then I went to them and hugged them both, the way I used to do when I was younger.

"Dear Dorcas and dear Alison, I'm so sorry. It's the end of the old life. We've got to leave the rectory. But even if I had been willing, Oliver had other plans, hadn't he?"

They were touched as always by my demonstrations of affection.

"Oh, it's not that," said Dorcas. "We were thinking of your happiness."

"And that could not be here," I said. Then I added: "Just think. Oliver and Sabina! Why he'll be Tybalt's brother-in-law!"

They looked at me in surprise as though to say What has that to do with our predicament?

Then Alison said: "Well, what we have to do is to start making plans at once."

So we made our plans.

The Reverend James Osmond had left very little money; there would be the tiniest of incomes for his daughters, but if they could find a reasonable cottage they could just about manage to exist.

As for me, I was dependent on them. They were happy to share everything they had with me but it would be far from an affluent existence.

"But it was always intended that I should be equipped to work if need be," I said.

"Well," admitted Dorcas, "that was one of the reasons why we were so pleased to be able to give you such a good education."

"We might hear of something congenial," suggested Alison.

It was no use sitting down waiting to hear. I promised myself and them that as soon as they were settled in their new home I would go and find a post.

I was uneasy—not at the prospect of working but of leaving St. Erno's. I pictured myself in some household far away from Giza House when I should quickly be forgotten by its inhabitants. And what should I do? Become a governess like Miss Graham? It was the kind of post for which I was most suited. Perhaps as I had had a classical education more advanced than most rectory girls, I might teach in a girls' school. It would be less stultifying than working in some household where I was not considered worthy to mix with the family and yet was that little bit above the servants, which made it impossible for them to accept me. What was there for a young well-educated woman to do in this day and age?

I could not bear to think of the future. I began to say to myself: If I had never found the bronze shield the Traverses might not have come to Giza House. I should never have met Tybalt, and Oliver would never have met Sabina. Oliver and I might in time have recognized what a convenient thing it would have been for us to marry and we might have done so. We might have had a peaceful, mildly happy life together as so many people do; and I should have been spared the anguish of leaving everything that was important to me.

Sir Ralph came to the rescue. There was a cottage on his estate which was vacant and he would allow the Misses Osmond to have it for a peppercorn rent.

They were delighted. It had solved half the problem.

Sir Ralph was determined to be our benefactor. Lady Bodrean needed a companion—someone who would read to her whenever required to do so, assist her in her charities, give the help she needed when she entertained. In fact a secretary companion. Sir Ralph thought that I might be suitable for the post, and Lady Bodrean was ready to consider me.

Alison and Dorcas were delighted.

"After our disappointment everything is working out so well," they cried. "We have our cottage and it would be wonderful to have you not too far away. Just imagine, we should be able to see you frequently. Oh it would be wonderful... if ... er ... you could get along with Lady Bodrean."

"Ah, 'there's the rub,'" I quoted lightheartedly. But I felt far from that.

And not without reason. Lady Bodrean, I had always felt, had never really cared for me to join her daughter and nephew in the Keverall Court schoolroom. On the rare occasions when I had seen her I had been met by frosty stares.

She always reminded me of a ship, for with her voluminous petticoats and skirts which rustled as she walked she seemed to sail along without being aware of anyone in her path. I had never tried to ingratiate myself with her, being conscious of a certain antagonism. Now I was in a different position.

She received me in her private sitting room, a small apartment—as rooms went in Keverall Court—but it was about twice the size of the cottage rooms. It was overcrowded with furniture. On the mantelpiece were vases and ornaments very close together; there were cabinets filled with china and silver and a what-not in one corner of the room full of little china pieces. The chairs were covered by tapestry worked by Lady Bodrean herself. There were two firescreens also of tapestry and two stools. The frame with a new piece stood close to her chair and she was working at this when I was shown into her room.

She did not look up for quite a minute implying that she found her work more interesting than the new companion. It might have been disconcerting if I had been the timid sort.

Then: "Oh, it's Miss Osmond. You've come about the post. You may sit down."

I sat, my head high, the color in my cheeks.

"Your duties," she said, "will be to make yourself useful to me in any capacity which arises."

I said: "Yes, Lady Bodrean."

"You will look after my engagements, both social and philanthropic. You will read the papers to me each day. You will care for my two Pomeranians, Orange and Lemon." At the mention of their names the two dogs reclining on cushions on either side of her raised their heads and regarded me with contempt. Orange—or it might have been Lemon —barked; the other one sniffed. "Darlings," said Lady Bodrean with a tender smile, but her expression was immediately frosty when she turned back to me. "You will, of course, be available for anything I may require. Now I should like to hear you read a passage to me."

Opening The Times she handed it to me. I started to read of the resignation of Bismarck and the plan to cede Heligoland to Germany.

I was aware of her scrutinizing me as I read. She had a lorgnette attached to a gold chain about her waist and she quizzed me quite openly. The sort of treatment one must expect when one was about to become an employee, I supposed.

"Yes, that will do," she said in the middle of a sentence so that I knew that engaging a companion was of greater moment than the fate of Heligoland.

"I should like you to start . . . immediately. I hope that is convenient."

I said I should need a day or so to settle my affairs, though what affairs I was not sure. All I knew was that I wanted to postpone taking up my new post for I found the prospect depressing.

She graciously conceded that I might have the rest of that day and the next in which to prepare myself. The day after that she would expect me to take up my duties.

On the way back to the cottage—which had the delectable name of Rainbow Cottage although the only reason known for this was that the flowers which used to be grown in the garden were all the colors of the rainbow—I tried to think of the advantages of my new position, and told myself that while I was going to hate being employed by Lady Bodrean I would have opportunities of seeing Tybalt.