Curse of the Kings

IV Tybalt's Wife

Sir Ralph was deeply shocked and this shock resulted in another stroke, which impaired his speech. It was then that rumors circulated about the significance of his illness. It was the Curse of the Kings, said these rumors, for it was known that he had backed the expedition financially. He was unable to attend the funeral but a few days later he sent for me and when I went to his room I was surprised to see Tybalt there.

It was pitiful to see the once robust Sir Ralph the wreck he now was. His efforts to speak were painful and yet he insisted on attempting to do so because there was something he wanted to say.

He indicated that he wished us to sit on either side of him.

"Ju ... Ju ..." he began and I realized he was trying to say my name.

"I'm here, Sir Ralph," I said, and when I laid my hand on his he took it and would not release it.

His eyes turned towards Tybalt, and his right hand moved, for it was with his left that he held mine.

Tybalt understood that he wanted his hand so he laid it in that of Sir Ralph. Sir Ralph smiled and drew his hands together. Tybalt then took my hand and Sir Ralph smiled faintly. It was what he had wanted.

I looked into Tybalt's eyes and I felt the slow flush creeping over my face.

Sir Ralph's implication was obvious.

I withdrew my hand but Tybalt continued to look at me.

Sir Ralph had closed his eyes. Blake had tiptoed in.

"I think it would be better, sir," he said, "if you and Miss Osmond left now."

When the door shut on us Tybalt said to me: "Will you walk to Giza House with me?"

"I must go to Lady Bodrean," I replied. I was shaken. I could not understand why Sir Ralph should have placed us in this embarrassing position.

"I want to talk to you," said Tybalt. "It's important."

We went out of the house together and when we had walked a little distance from it, Tybalt said: "He's right you know. We should."

"I ... I don't understand."

"Why, Judith, what has happened to you? You are usually so forthright."

"I ... I didn't know you knew so much about me."

"I know a great deal about you. It's a good many years since I first met you disguised as a mummy."

"You will never forget that."

"One doesn't forget one's first meeting with one's wife." But . . .

"It's what he meant. He was telling us that we should marry."

"He was wandering in his mind."

"I don't think he was. I think it has been his wish for some time."

"It is becoming clear to me. He thought I was Theodosia. He had hoped that you and Theodosia would marry. You did know that, didn't you?"

"I think it was talked over with my father."

"So . . . you see what happened. He had forgotten that Theodosia was married. He thought that I was his daughter. Poor Sir Ralph. I'm afraid he is very ill."

"He is going to die, I fear," replied Tybalt. "You have always been interested in my work, haven't you, vitally interested?"

"Why yes."

"You see, we should get on very well. My mother was bored by my father's work. It was a very dismal marriage. It will be different with us."

"I don't understand this. Do you mean that you will marry me because Sir Ralph has implied that he wants you to?"

"That's not the only reason, of course."

"Tell me some others," I said.

"For one, when I leave for Egypt, you could come with me. You would be pleased by that, I'm sure."

"Yet, even that does not seem to me an adequate reason for marrying."

He stopped and faced me. "There are others," he said, and drew me close to him.

I said: "I would not wish to marry because I would be a useful member of an expedition."

"Nevertheless," he replied, "you would be."

Then he kissed me.

"If love came into it ..." I began.

Then he laughed and held me tightly against him.

"Do you doubt that it does?"

"I am undecided and I should like some sort of declaration."

"First let me have one from you because I'm sure you will do so better than I. You're never at a loss for words. I'm afraid I am . . . often."

"Then perhaps I shall be even more useful to you. Writing your letters, for instance. I shall be a good secretary."

"Is that your declaration?"

"I suppose you know that I have been in love with you for years. Sir Ralph knew it, I believe."

"I had no idea I was so fortunate! I wish I had known before."

"What would you have done?"

"Asked myself whether if you knew me better you might have changed your mind, and wondered whether I dared allow that to happen."

"Are you really so modest?"

"No. I shall be the most arrogant man in your life."

"There are no others of any importance . . . and never have been. I shall spend my life if necessary convincing you of that."

"So you agree to share it with me?"

"I would die rather than do anything else."

"My dearest Judith! Did I not say that you had a way with words!"

"I have told you quite frankly that I love you. I should like to hear you say that you love me."

"Have I not made it clear to you that I do?"

"I should love to hear you say it."

"I love you," he said.

"Say it again. Keep saying it. I have so long dreamed of your saying those words. I can't believe this is really true. I am awake now, am I? I'm not going to wake up in a minute to hear Lady Bodrean ringing the bell?"

He took my hand and kissed it fervently. "My dear dear Judith," he said. "You put me to shame. I don't deserve you. Don't think too highly of me. I shall disappoint you. You know my obsession with work, I shall bore you with my enthusiasms."

"Never."

"I shall be an inadequate husband. I have not your gaiety, your spontaneity, everything that makes you so attractive. I can be dull, far too serious . . ."

"One can never be too serious about the important things of life."

"I shall be moody, preoccupied. I shall neglect you for my work."

"Which I intend to share with you, including the moods and the preoccupation, so that objection is overruled."

"I am not able to express my feelings easily. I shall forget to tell you how much I love you. You alarm me. You are carried away by your enthusiasms always. You think too highly of me. You hope for perfection."

I laughed as I laid my head against him. "I can't help my feelings," I said. "I have loved you so long. I only want to be with you, to share your life, to make you happy, to make your life smooth and easy and just as you wish it to be."

"Judith," he said, "I will do my best to make you happy."

"If you love me, if you allow me to share your life, I shall be that."

He slipped his arm through mine and gripped my hand tightly.

We walked on and he talked of the future. He saw no reason why our marriage should be delayed; in fact he would like it to take place as soon as possible. We were going to be very busy with our plans. Would I mind if after the ceremony we stayed at Giza House and plunged straight into our arrangements?

Would I mind? I cared for nothing as long as I could be with him. The greatest joy which could come to me was to share his life forevermore.

There was astonishment at Rainbow Cottage when I told Dorcas and Alison my news. They were glad that I was to be married but they were a little dubious about my bridegroom. Oliver Shrimpton would have been so much more eligible in their opinion; and the rumors in St. Erno's were that the Traverses were rather odd people. And now that Sir Edward had died so mysteriously they felt that they would have preferred me not to be connected with such a mysterious affair.

"You'll be Lady Travers," said Alison.

"I hadn't thought of that."

Dorcas shook her head. "You're happy. I can see that."

"Oh Dorcas, Alison, I never thought it possible to be so happy."

"Now, now," said Dorcas, as she used to when I was a child. "You could never do things by halves."

"Surely one should not contemplate marriage 'by halves' as you say."

"No, but you hope for too much. You think everything's going to be perfect."

I laughed at her. "In this marriage," I said, "everything is."

I said nothing at Keverall Court about my engagement. It hardly seemed appropriate with Sir Ralph so ill; and the next day he died.

Keverall Court was in mourning, but I don't think anyone missed Sir Ralph as much as I did. The great joy of my engagement was overshadowed. But at least, I thought, he would have been pleased. He had been my friend, and during the weeks before his death, our friendship had meant a good deal to me, as I believed it had to him. How I wished that I could have sat in his room and told him of my engagement and all that I hoped to do in the future. I thought of him a great deal and remembered incidents from the past—when I had brought the bronze shield to him and he had first become interested in me, how he had given me a ball dress and had defended me afterwards.

Lady Bodrean put on a sorrowing countenance but it was clear that it hid a relief.

She talked to me and to Jane about the virtues of Sir Ralph; but I sensed that the lull in her hostility to me was momentary and she was promising herself that now that I had lost my champion I should be at her mercy. Little did she know the blow I was about to deliver. I was to be married to the man whom she had wanted for her daughter.

It was going to be a great shock to her to learn that her poor companion would soon be Lady Travers.

Hadrian came home. I told him the news.

"It's not officially announced yet," I warned him. "I shall wait until after the funeral."

"Tybalt's lucky," he said glumly. "I reckon he's forestalled me."

"Ah, but you wanted a woman with money."

"If you'd had a fortune, Judith, I'd have laid my heart at your feet."

"Biologically impossible," I told him.

"Well, I wish you luck. And I'm glad you're getting away from my aunt. Your life must have been hellish with her."

"It wasn't so bad. You know that I always enjoyed a fight."

That night I had a strange intimation from Sir Ralph's lawyers. They wanted me to be present at the reading of his will.

When I called at Rainbow Cottage and told Alison and Dorcas of this they behaved rather oddly.

They went out and left me in the sitting room and were gone some time. This was strange because my visit was necessarily a brief one and just as I was about to call them and tell them that I must be going, they came back.

Their faces were flushed and they looked at each other in a most embarrassed fashion, and knowing them so well I realized that each was urging the other to open a subject which they found distasteful or distressing in some way.

"Is anything wrong?" I asked.

"There is something we think you ought to know," said Dorcas.

"Yes, indeed you must be prepared."

"Prepared for what?"

Dorcas bit her lip and looked at Alison; Alison nodded.

"It's about your birth, Judith. You are our niece. Lavinia was your mother."

"Lavinia! Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because we thought it best. It was rather an awkward situation."

"It was a terrible shock to us," went on Dorcas. "Lavinia was the eldest. Father doted on her. She was so pretty. She was just like our mother . . . whereas we were like Father."

"Dear Dorcas!" I said, "do get on and tell me what this is all about."

"It was a terrible shock to us when we heard she was going to have a child."

"Which turned out to be me?"

"Yes. We smuggled Lavinia away to a cousin . . . before it was noticeable you see. We told people in the village that she had taken a situation, a post of governess. And you were born. The cousin was in London and she had several children of her own. Lavinia could look after them and keep her own baby there. It was a good arrangement. She brought you to see us, but of course she couldn't come here. We all met in Plymouth. We had such a pleasant time and then saw her off on that train."

"There was an accident," I said. "She was killed and I survived."

"And what was going to happen to you was a problem. So we said you were a cousin's child and brought you here ... to adopt you, as it were."

"Well, you are in fact my aunts! Aunt Alison! Aunt Dorcas! But why did you tell me that story about being unclaimed?"

"You were always asking questions about the distant cousins who, you thought, were your close family, so we thought it better for you to have no family at all."

"You always did what you thought best for me, I know. Who was my father? Do you know that?"

They looked at each other for a moment and I burst out: "Can it really be? It explains everything. Sir Ralph!"

Their faces told me that I had guessed correctly.

"He was my father. I'm glad. I was fond of him. He was always good to me." I went to them and hugged them. "At least I know who my parents are now."

"We thought you might be ashamed to have been born . . . out of wedlock."

"Do you know," I said, "I believe he really loved her. She must have been the one love of his life. At least she gave him the great solace he needed married to Lady Bodrean."

"Oh Judith!" they cried indulgently.

"But he has been kind to me." I thought of the way he looked at me; the amused twinkle in his eyes, the shake of his chin. He was saying to himself: This is Lavinia's daughter. How I wished that he was alive so that I could tell him how fond I had grown of him.

"Now, Judith," said Dorcas, "you must be prepared. The reason you are expected to be at the reading of the will is because he has left you something. It may well come out that you are his daughter and we wouldn't want it to come as a shock to you."

"I will be prepared," I promised.

They were right. I was mentioned in Sir Ralph's will. He had left a quarter of a million pounds to Archaeological Research to be used depending on certain conditions, in whatever way Sir Edward or Tybalt Travers thought fit; he had left an income for life to his wife; to Hadrian an income of one thousand a year; to Theodosia, his heiress, the house on the death of her mother and one half of the residue of his income; the other half was to go to his natural daughter, Judith Osmond; and in the event of the death of one of his daughters her share of his fortune would revert to the other.

It was astounding.

I, penniless, unclaimed at birth, had acquired parents and from one had come a fortune so great that it bewildered me to contemplate it.

Dramatic events had taken place during the recent weeks. I was to be married to the man I loved; and I should not go to him, as I had thought, a penniless woman. I should bring with me a great fortune.

I thought of Sir Ralph taking my hand and Tybalt's and placing them in each other. I wondered if he had told Tybalt of our relationship and of what he intended to do.

I then felt my first twinge of uneasiness.

The truth of my birth was now known throughout the village. That I was Sir Ralph's daughter surprised few; there was a certain amount of gossip among Oliver's parishioners who recounted how I had been educated with his legitimate daughter and nephew and afterwards taken into Keverall Court, albeit in a humble position. They had guessed, they said, being wise after the event. Alison and Dorcas were alternately pleased and ashamed. Alison said that she was glad her father had not had to face this scandal; their sister, the rector's daughter, the mistress of Sir Ralph who had borne him a child! It was rather scandalous. At the same time I, who meant far more to them than their dead sister's reputation, was now a woman of means whose future was secure. I had also so charmed my father that he had shown the world that I was almost as important to him as his legitimate daughter.

The scandal would die down; the benefits remain.

They had been so anxious for me to marry but now I was about to do so they were, I sensed, not so pleased. As a young woman of means I no longer needed the financial support a husband could give me, and it was for this support that they had selected first Oliver and then Evan for me; and now, before I had known of my inheritance I had become engaged to that rather strange man whose father had recently died mysteriously. It was not what they had planned for me.

When I went to them after the reading of the will they looked at me strangely as though I had become a different person.

I laughed at them. "You foolish old aunts," I cried, "for aunts you have turned out to be, the fact that I'm going to be rich doesn't change me at all! And let me tell you, there is going to be no cheeseparing in this house again. You are going to have an income which will enable you to live in the manner to which you have been accustomed."

It was a very emotional moment. Alison's face twitched and Dorcas's was actually wet. I embraced them.

"Just think of it," I said. "You can leave Rainbow Cottage. Sell it if you wish"—for Sir Ralph had left it to them—"and go and live in a lovely house, with a maid or two . . ."

Alison laughed. "Judith, you always did run on. We're quite happy here and it's our very own now. We shall stay here."

"Well, you shall never worry about making ends meet again."

"You mustn't go spending all the money before you've got it."

That made me laugh. "I believe there's quite a lot of it, and if you think my first thought wouldn't be to look after you, you don't know Judith Osmond."

Dorcas dabbed her eyes and Alison said seriously: "Judith, what about him."

"Him?"

"This er . . . this man you plan to marry."

"Tybalt."

They were both looking at me anxiously.

"Now that er . . ." began Alison. "Now that you have this . . . fortune . . ."

"Good Heavens," I cried, "you don't think—"

"We ... we wondered whether he knew . . ."

"Knew what?" I demanded.

"That you ... er ... were coming into this money."

"Aunts!" I cried sternly. "You are being very wrong. Tybalt and I were meant for each other. I'm passionately interested in his work."

Alison said with a touch of asperity quite alien to her: "I hope he's not passionately interested in your money."

I was angry with them. "This is monstrous. How could he be? Besides . . ."

"Now, Judith, we are only concerned for your good," said Dorcas.

My anger melted. It was true. All their anxiety was for my welfare. I kissed them again. "Listen," I said, "I love Tybalt. Do you understand that? I always have. I always will. And we are going to work together. It's the most ideal match that was ever made. Don't dare say anything else. Don't dare think anything else . . ."

"Oh, Judith, you always swept everything along with you. I only hope . . ."

"Hope. Who has to hope when one knows."

"So you really love him?"

"Do you doubt it?"

"No. We were wondering about him."

"Of course," I said, "he doesn't show his feelings as I do. Who does?"

They agreed that few did.

"He may seem aloof, remote, cool—but he's not so."

"It would break our hearts if you weren't happy, Judith."

"There's nothing to be afraid of. Your hearts are going to remain intact."

"You really are happy, Judith," said Alison.

"I'm in love with Tybalt," I said. "And he wants to marry me. And that being so, how could I possibly be anything but happy?"

It was different at the rectory. Sabina welcomed me warmly.

"Oh this is fun, Judith," she cried in her inconsequential way. "Here we are, the old gang all happily tied up together. It is interesting, isn't it? The only one left out is poor Hadrian. Of course we were uneven weren't we. Three women and four men. What a lovely proportion—and a rare one. Tybalt wasn't really one of us though. In the schoolroom I mean. And dear old Evan and darling Oliver . . . well they were the teachers. I'm so pleased. After all you did bully us, didn't you, Judith, so Tybalt is just right for you. I always say to Oliver you need someone to bully you. And now you've got Tybalt. Not that he'll bully in the way you did but he'll keep a firm hand. You can't imagine anyone bullying Tybalt, can you? Oh, Judith, aren't you lucky! And I can't think of anyone I'd rather have for my darling perfect brother."

This was more comforting than the views at Rainbow Cottage.

And she went on. "It was all so exciting. Sir Ralph and all that. . . and the money! You'll be able to go everywhere with Tybalt. My father was always having to get people interested, to back his trips you know. Not that he didn't spend a lot on it himself. We'd have been fabulously rich, my mother used to say, if it hadn't been for my father's obsession."

So it seemed that whenever my coming marriage was discussed, my recently acquired fortune always seemed to come under consideration.

I couldn't help enjoying my interview with Lady Bodrean.

After the will had been read I presented myself to her. She regarded me as though I were quite distasteful, which I suppose I was.

"So," she said, "you have come to hand in your notice."

"Certainly I have, Lady Bodrean."

"I expected it would not be long before you did. So I am to be inconvenienced."

I replied: "Well, if I was so useful to you, a fact which you very carefully concealed, I would be willing to stay for a week or so until you have replaced me."

"You know by now that you were forced on me. I had not employed a companion before you came."

"Then you will have no objection to my leaving immediately."

She had obviously come to the conclusion that the new turn in my fortunes meant that I would no longer be a good object for oppression and she decided I should go at once, but she pretended to consider this.

That I was Sir Ralph's daughter was, I am sure, no surprise to her. In fact I think his behavior towards me had convinced her of our relationship and it was for this reason that she had been particularly unpleasant to me. But that Tybalt should have asked me to marry him was something which puzzled her. She had wanted Tybalt for her own daughter and the fact that Theodosia had married Evan Callum and I had won the prize was galling to her.

"I hear you are shortly to be married," she said, her lip curling.

"You have heard correctly," I told her.

"I must say I was surprised until ... er ..."

"Until?" I said.

"I know that Sir Ralph confided a great deal in Sir Ed­ward. They were close friends. I've no doubt he told him the position and it was for this reason that er . . ."

"You have always been very frank in the past, Lady Bodrean," I said. "There is no need to be less direct now that we meet on an equal footing. You are suggesting that Sir Tybalt Travers has asked me to marry him because I am Sir Ralph's daughter?"

"Sir Ralph was eager for a union with that family. Of course he would have preferred his true daughter to have made the match—instead of which she must go off with this penniless schoolteacher."

"As I may now presume to correct you, something which was beyond my range before my true identity was discovered, I must remind you that Professor Callum is far from penniless. He holds a good post in one of the country's foremost universities and the term schoolteacher is hardly the correct one to apply to a lecturer in archaeology."

"He was not the man Sir Ralph wished his daughter to marry. She was foolish and flouted us—and it seems to me that Sir Ralph then decided that since Theodosia had been so foolish he would offer her chance to you."

"My future husband is not a prize packet on a dish to be offered round."

"One might say that there was quite a prize to be offered to him. I am surprised at the manner in which my husband has left his fortune. I would say it is a victory for immorality and extravagance."

I would not let her see that she had scored. This suggestion that I was being married for my money was not a new one.

However, I said goodbye to Lady Bodrean and left her with the understanding that our association as employer and employee was terminated.

I went back to Rainbow Cottage which would be my home until my marriage.

We were to be married very soon. Tybalt insisted. Dorcas and Alison thought it was somewhat unseemly to have a wedding so soon after a funeral; and I had to remember that that funeral had turned out to be my father's.

When I put this point to Tybalt he said: "What nonsense! You didn't know it was your father until afterwards."

I agreed with him. I was ready to agree with him on anything. When I was with him, I forgot all my misgivings. He was so eager for our wedding, and although he was by no means demonstrative he would look at me in a way which sent me into a state of bliss, for I knew that he was contemplating our future with the utmost pleasure. He took me into his confidence completely about his plans. This bequest of Sir Ralph's was a boon. Such a large sum of money suitably invested would bring in an income which could be entirely devoted to those explorations in which Sir Ralph had always delighted.

He talked a great deal about that other expedition which had ended abruptly and fatally for Sir Edward. He made me see the arid countryside, feel the heat of that blazing sun. I could visualize the excitement when they had found the door in the mountainside and the flight of steps leading down to corridors.

When he talked of ancient Egypt a passion glowed in him. I had never seen him so enthralled by anything as he was by his work, but I used to tell myself that our marriage was going to be the most important thing that ever happened to either of us, even more so than his work. I would see to that.

I was often at Giza House. It seemed different now that it was to be my home. Tabitha welcomed me warmly. She told me at the first opportunity how pleased she was that Tybalt and I were to marry.

"At one time," she whispered, "I greatly feared that it might be Theodosia."

"That seemed to be the general idea."

"There was a great deal of talk about it. I suppose because of the friendship between Sir Ralph and Sir Edward. And they died within a short time of each other." She looked very sad. "I am sure you are the one for Tybalt." She pressed my hand. "I shall never forget how you used to come and borrow the books. Those were not very happy days for you I fear."

I told her that nothing that had gone before was of any more importance. In the last weeks life had given me all that I had ever hoped for.

"And you dreamed your dreams, Judith!" she said.

"I was a great dreamer. Now I am going to live."

"You must understand Tybalt."

"I think I do."

"At times you will feel that he neglects you for the work."

"I shan't because it's going to be my work too. I'm going to join him in everything he does. I'm as excited as he is about all this."

"That's as it should be," she said. "I hope when you become mistress of Giza House you will not wish me to leave."

"How could I? We're friends."

"I have always been a close friend of Tybalt and his father. If I may continue here in my role as housekeeper I should be very happy. On the other hand if you should prefer . . ."

"What nonsense!" I cried. "I want you to be here. You're my friend too."

"Thank you, Judith."

Tybalt said he would show me the house but when he did we didn't get farther than that room in which the sarcophagus had once stood because he would show me books his father had written and plans of sites they had excavated. I didn't mind. I was just so happy to be with him, to listen and be able to make intelligent comments.

It was Tabitha who showed me the house and introduced me to the staff. Emily, Ellen, Jane, and Sarah were the maids, normal girls all four of them and so like others of their kind that it took me some time to know which was which. But there were three strange people in that house.

I had seen the two Egyptian servants, Mustapha and Absalam, strange, alien, and, I had heard, even sinister; I had listened avidly to the stories I had heard of them in the village.

Tabitha explained that Sir Edward liked them to look after him. They would cook him exotic dishes such as she knew nothing of. He had employed them on digs in Egypt and for some reason had taken a fancy to them; he had kept them with him and brought them to England.

She said they had been desolate but fatalistic about his death. They were certain it had come about because he had incurred the Curse of the Pharaohs.

"They are very concerned because Tybalt plans to carry on where his father left off. I think if it were possible for them to dissuade him they would do so."

When I was presented to them as the future Lady Travers they eyed me with suspicion. They would have seen me some years before racing up the path or round the garden.

I was prepared for them. Janet Tester was another matter. She was the old woman who had been nurse to Tybalt and Sabina, after fulfilling the same role for their mother; but she remained with them after Lady Travers's death. I remembered Sabina's saying that Old Nanny Tester went off into "funny fits," and her chatter about the old woman had been so interspersed with other matters—in Sabina's habitual manner—that I had not really taken a great deal of notice, because there was so much at Giza House to concern me. I had seen Nanny Tester on one or two occasions and had thought her a peculiar old woman, but as there was so much that was strange in Giza House, she did not seem so unusual as she would have elsewhere.

I had heard stories that the house gave the maids "the creeps"; and this I had thought had something to do with the strange objects it contained—the sarcophagus, for instance, and that never-to-be-forgotten mummy. Mustapha and Absalam clearly had something to do with it too—and I began to realize, so had Nanny Tester.

"I must explain Janet Tester to you," said Tabitha, before she took me up to introduce us. "She's a strange woman. She is really quite old now. She came as nurse to Sir Edward's wife, to whom of course she was devoted. She stayed on to look after Tybalt and Sabina; but when Lady Travers died she was almost demented. We have to be a bit careful with her, and treat her gently. Her mind wanders a bit. Sir Edward would have pensioned her off but she didn't want to go. She said she'd always been with the family and wanted to stay. There was the ideal apartment at the top of this house, completely shut off from the house. Janet was struck with it and asked to have it. She keeps to herself, although of course we keep an eye on her."

"What an unusual arrangement."

"You'll find you're marrying into an unusual family. Tybalt is like his father, far from conventional. Sir Edward never wanted to be bothered with everyday things. He brushed them aside and took the easy way out. Tybalt is very like him in that and lots of ways. It was either a matter of having Janet Tester here or sending her to some sort of home. That would have made her really unhappy. Tybalt goes up to see her, when he remembers her existence. Sabina comes in quite often. That keeps her happy. Sabina is her pet. It used to be Tybalt but since he's following in his father's footsteps she's turned to Sabina."

We mounted the stairs. What a silent house it was; our feet sunk into those thick carpets which covered every space of floor.

I commented on them and Tabitha said: "Sir Edward could not endure noise while he was working."

The house was a tall one, and Janet Tester's apartment consisted of several attic-type rooms above the fourth story.

I was unprepared for the white-haired, gentle-looking woman who opened the door when we knocked. She wore a crisply laundered sprigged muslin blouse and a black bombazine skirt.

Tabitha said: "Janet, I've brought Miss Osmond to see you.

She looked at me and her eyes were misty with emotion. "Come in, come in," she said.

It was a charming room with its sloping roof, and it was prettily furnished with handmade rugs on the floor and lots of embroidered cushion covers. There was a fire burning and the kettle on a hob was beginning to sing.

"You'll take some tea with me," she said, and I replied that I should love to.

"You've heard of me then?" I said.

"Why bless you, yes. Tybalt told me and I said to him 'Now you tell me what she's like, Tybalt,' and all he could say was 'She's enthusiastic about the work.' How like him! But I knew. I've seen you often tearing about down in the gardens there. What a one for mischief you were! I'll make the tea."

"Shall I do that," asked Tabitha, "while you and Miss Osmond have a chat?"

The expression in the gentle old face changed startlingly. The eyes were almost venomous, the lips tightened. "I'll do it, thank you," she said. "I'll make my own tea in my own room."

When she was making it Tabitha gave me a glance. I imagined she was preparing me for the strangeness she had mentioned in Janet Tester.

The tea was made. "I always stir it," she told me, "and let it stand five minutes. It's the only way to get the right brew. Warm the pot, I used to say to Miss Ruth . . ."

"That's Lady Travers," explained Tabitha and this remark brought forth another venomous glance.

"And the tea must go into a dry pot," went on Janet Tester. "That's very important."

She purred as she poured out the tea.

"Well, I hope you'll be happy, my dear," she said. "Tybalt used to be such a good boy."

"Used to be?" I asked.

"When he was a little one he was always with me. He was his mother's boy then. But when he went away to school and started to grow up he turned to his father."

She shook her head sadly.

"Tybalt had a natural bent for archaeology right from the start," explained Tabitha. "This delighted Sir Edward, and naturally Tybalt had so many advantages because of his father."

Janet Tester was stirring the spoon round and round in her cup. I could sense an uneasy atmosphere.

"And now you're going to marry him," she said. "How time flies. It seems only yesterday I was playing peekaboo with him."

The thought of Tybalt's playing peekaboo was so funny that I couldn't help laughing. "He's come a long way since then," I said.

"I hope it's not on the road to ruin," said Janet Tester stirring fiercely.

I looked at Tabitha who had lifted her shoulders. I decided then that Tybalt's and his father's profession was not a happy subject so I asked about his childhood.

That pleased her. "He was a good boy. He didn't get into all that much mischief. Miss Ruth doted on him. He was her boy all right. I've got some pictures."

I reveled in them. Tybalt sitting on a furry rug all but in the nude; Tybalt a wondering two year old; Tybalt and Sabina.

"Isn't she a little pet?" doted Nanny Tester.

I agreed. "Such a little chatterbox. Never stopped."

I remarked that it was a trait which had remained with her.

"Little minx!" said Nanny Tester fondly.

There was a picture of Tybalt, standing beside a rather pretty woman with a lot of fluffy hair who was holding a baby on her lap. "There they are with their mother. Oh, and here's Tybalt at school." He was holding a cricket bat. "He wasn't good at sports," said Nanny Tester in a disappointed voice. "It started to be all study. Not like Sabina. They all said she couldn't concentrate. But of course he walked off with all the prizes. And then Sir Edward who'd scarcely noticed the children before, started to prick up his ears."

She conveyed her feelings by so many gestures—the tone of her voice, a contemptuous flick of the hand, a turning down of the lips, a half closing of the eyes. I had been with her a very short time but I had learned that she disliked Tabitha, and Sir Edward; she had adored Miss Ruth and while Tybalt, the child, had qualified for her devotion I was not so sure how she regarded the man.

I was interested—greatly so—and I did get the impression that had Tabitha not been with me, I should have understood so much more about Janet Tester.

I sensed Tabitha's relief when we could politely leave; Tabitha went on ahead of me and Janet suddenly caught my hand in hers when we were in the little hall. Her fingers were dry and strong.

"Come again, Miss Osmond," she said, and whispered: "Alone."

As we descended the stairs I said: "What a strange little woman!"

"So you sensed that."

"I thought she was not exactly what she seemed. At times she was so gentle—at others quite the reverse."

"She has a bit of an obsession."

"I gathered that. Miss Ruth, I suppose."

"You know what these old nurses are like. They are like mothers to their charges. Far closer to them than their own mothers. She disliked Sir Edward. I suppose she was jealous and because her Miss Ruth had no interest in his work she blamed him for doing it. Very illogical as you can see. Tybalt's mother wanted him to go into the Church. Of course he was quite unsuited to that profession and from an early age had made up his mind to follow his father. Sir Edward's delight more than made up for Lady Travers's—and Janet's —disappointment. But they bore a grudge against Sir Edward for it. I'm afraid Lady Travers was a rather hysterical woman and I've no doubt she confided a great deal in Janet who could see no wrong in her. It was a disastrous marriage in many ways—although Lady Travers brought a big fortune with her when she married."

"Money again," I said. "It's odd how that subject seems to crop up continually."

"Well, it's a very useful commodity, you must admit." "It seems to have a big part to play in certain marriages." "That's the way of the world," said Tabitha lightly. "It's good to be out of Janet's rooms. They stifle me."

Later I thought a good deal about that encounter. I understood Janet's dislike of Sir Edward, but I did wonder why she felt so strongly—and her attitude had betrayed to me that she did—about Tabitha.

The weeks before my wedding were flying past. Dorcas and Alison wanted quite a celebration. They seemed so relieved that they no longer had to preserve the secret of my birth that they were almost like children let out of school. Moreover, anxieties for the future had been swept away. The cottage was theirs; I was going to give them an allowance; my future was settled although—in spite of their efforts to hide this—they had misgivings about my bridegroom. Tybalt had little to say to them and their meetings were always uneasy. When I was present I would keep the conversation going but when I went out of the room and returned I would be aware of the awkward pauses when none of them had anything to say. Yet they could chatter away to Oliver naturally about parish affairs and with Evan would talk of the old days and the pranks we used to get up to.

Tybalt was always so relieved when he and I were alone. I was so besottedly in love, always making the affectionate gesture, that his lack of demonstrativeness was not so noticeable as it might have been. Sometimes we would sit close together looking at plans, his arm about me while I nestled close and asked myself whether this was really happening to me; but the conversation was almost always of the work he and his father had been doing.

Once he said: "It's wonderful to have you with me, Judith." And then he added: "You're so absolutely keen. I never knew anyone who was so exuberantly enthusiastic as you."

"You are," I said. "Your father must have been."

"But in a quieter way."

"But very intense," I said.

He kissed me then lightly on the forehead. "But you express yourself so forcefully," he said. "I like it, Judith. In fact I find it wonderful."

I threw my arms about him and gathered him to me as I used to Dorcas and Alison. I hugged him and cried: "I'm so happy."

Then I would tell him about how I had decided to hate him when Sabina had spoken of him in such glowing terms. "I imagined you stooped and wore spectacles and were pale with lank greasy hair. And then you burst upon us, in the mummy room, looking fierce and vengeful like some Egyptian god come to wreak vengeance on one who had desecrated the old sarcophagus."

"Did I really look like that?"

"Exactly—and I adored you from that moment."

"Well, I must remember to look fierce and vengeful sometimes."

"And that you should have chosen me ... is a miracle."

"Oh Judith, surely you are too modest."

"Far from it! As you know, I used to dream about you . . . how you suddenly discovered my worth."

"Which I did in due course."

"When did you discover it?"

"When I knew that you had come to borrow the books and were so interested. Or perhaps it began when I saw you emerging from those bandages. You looked as though you had suffered a fatal accident rather than embalmment. But it was a good effort."

I took his hand and kissed it.

"Tybalt," I said, "I am going to look after you all the days of your life."

"That's a comforting thought," he said.

"I'm going to make myself so important to you that you will hate every moment you spend away from me."

"I've reached that stage already."

"Is it true? Is it really true?"

He took my hands in his. "Understand, Judith, I lack your powers of expression. Words flow from you expressing your innermost thoughts."

"I know I speak without thinking. I'm sure you never do."

"Be patient with me."

"Tell me one thing. Are you happy?"

"Do you think I'm not?"

"Not completely."

He said slowly: "I have lost someone who was closer to me, until you came, than anyone else in the world. We worked together; we would be thinking along the same lines together often without speaking. He is dead, and he died suddenly. He was there one day and the next he was stricken down . . . mysteriously. I mourn him, Judith. I shall go on mourning him for a long time. That is why you must be patient with me. I can't match your exuberance, your pleasure in life. My dear, dear Judith, I believe that when we are married I shall begin to grow away from this tragedy."

Then I put my head against him and kept my arms tightly about him.

"To make you happy, to give you something to replace what you have lost . . . that shall be my mission in life."

He kissed my head.

"Thank God for you, Judith," he said.

There was a little friction between Tybalt and the aunts over the wedding. This, said Alison firmly, could not take place until a "reasonable" time had elapsed since the deaths of Sir Edward and Sir Ralph.

"Fathers of both bride and groom so recently dead!" said Dorcas. "You should wait at least a year."

I had never seen Tybalt express his feelings so forcibly.

"Impossible!" he cried. "We shall be leaving for Egypt in a matter of months. Judith must come as my wife."

"I can't imagine what people will say," Dorcas put in timidly.

"That," said Tybalt, "does not concern me in the least."

Dorcas and Alison were deflated, but afterwards I heard them saying to each other: "It may not concern him, but it concerns us and we have lived here all our lives and shall do so until the end."

"Tybalt is unconventional," I soothed. "And worrying what people think is really rather unnecessary."

They did not answer, but they shook their heads over me and my affairs. I was besotted; and they were sure that to let a man see before marriage how much you adored him was wrong. Afterwards, yes. Then it was a wife's duty to think as her husband did, to submit to him in all ways—unless of course he turned out to be a criminal—but before the marriage one did not "make oneself cheap"; it was the custom for a man to go down on his knees before marriage.

I laughed at them indulgently. "My marriage, as you should know, is going to be like no marriage that ever was. You can't expect me to do what is expected of me."

When they were with me they grew excited sometimes, for after all a wedding in the family was an event. They produced all manner of objects for my bottom drawer; and they talked about the reception and worried because Rainbow Cottage was too small for it and the bride's house was the necessary place for it.

I could laugh at them mockingly but I sensed their uneasiness. They did not wish me to wait a year so much for convention but because they thought it would give me time to see clearly as they called it. The fact was that they had chosen Oliver for my husband; Evan was second choice; but Tybalt did not appeal to them at all.

Dorcas caught a cold—something she invariably did when she was anxious; and her colds had to be nursed because they turned to bronchitis.

Tybalt came hurrying over to Rainbow Cottage. His eyes were glowing with excitement as he took my hands in his. For the moment I thought it was pleasure in seeing me. Then I discovered another reason.

"A most exciting thing has happened, Judith. It's not very far from here. Dorset in fact. A workman digging a trench has unearthed some Roman tiles. It's quite a find. It seems very likely that this is going to lead to a great discovery. I've had an invitation to go along and give an opinion. I am leaving tomorrow. I want you to come with me."

"That's wonderful," I cried. "Tell me all about it."

"I know very little yet. But these discoveries are so exciting. One can never be sure what we're going to turn up."

We walked about the Rainbow garden talking about it. He did not stay long though for he had to go back to Giza House to make some preparations and I went into Rainbow Cottage to tell the aunts that I was leaving next day.

I was astonished at the opposition.

"My dear Judith!" cried Alison. "What are you thinking of? How can you ... an unmarried woman, go off with a man?"

"The man I am going to marry."

"But you are not married yet," croaked Dorcas.

"It wouldn't be right," said Alison firmly.

"Dear aunts," I said, "in Tybalt's world these little conventions don't count."

"We are older than you, Judith. Why, many a girl has anticipated her marriage to her own bitter cost. She trusts her fiance, goes away with him and discovers that there are no wedding bells."

I flared up. "At one moment you are suggesting Tybalt is marrying me for my money and at the next that he plans to seduce me and then discard me. Really, you are being so absurd."

"Why we suggested no such thing," said Alison firmly. "And if those sort of things are in your mind, well, Judith, you really ought to stop and consider. No bride should feel her bridegroom capable of such a thing."

How could I argue with them? I went to my room and started to pack for the next day's trip.

That evening when I was in my room Alison tapped at the door. Her face was strained. "I'm worried about Dorcas. I do think we should have Dr. Gunwen at once."

I said I would go and fetch him, which I did.

When he came he said that Dorcas had bronchitis and Alison and I were up all night with the bronchitis kettle in Dorcas's room.

I knew the next day that I could not go to Dorset and leave Alison to nurse Dorcas alone, so I told Alison that I was going over to Giza House to explain matters to Tybalt.

Before I could speak, he began to tell me that the finds were even better than had at first been thought. I interrupted him: "I'm not coming, Tybalt."

His expression changed. He stared at me incredulously.

"Not coming!"

"My Aunt Dorcas is ill. I can't leave Alison to nurse her. I must stay. She has these turns and it is rather frightening when she does. She is really very ill."

"We could arrange something. One of the servants could go over to take your place."

"Aunt Alison wouldn't have that. It wouldn't be the same. I must be there in case . . ."

He was silent.

"Please understand, Tybalt. I want to come ... to be with you more than anything, but I just can't leave Rainbow Cottage now."

"Of course," he agreed, but he was very disappointed. I trusted not in me.

Tabitha came out into the front garden where we were standing.

"I've come to explain that I can't go," I said. "My aunt is ill. I must stay here to help."

"But of course you must," said Tabitha.

"Would you come in Judith's place?" asked Tybalt. "I'm sure you'd find it of paramount interest."

Paramount interest. Was that a reproach? Did he feel that I should have found it of paramount interest?

Tabitha was saying: "Well, since Judith must stay, I will go in her place. You cannot leave your aunts now, Judith."

Tybalt pressed my arm. "I was so looking forward to showing you this marvelous discovery. But there'll be plenty of time . . . later."

"The whole of our lives," I said.

In a few days, much to our relief Dorcas began to recover.

She was touched that I had stayed behind to help nurse her and comfort Alison.

I heard her say to Alison when she thought I couldn't hear: "However impulsive Judith is, her heart's in the right place."

I knew they talked a great deal about me and my coming marriage. I did so want to reassure them; but they had taken it into their heads that Tybalt had asked me to marry him because he had preknowledge of my inheritance.

I was greatly looking forward to the day when I would leave Rainbow Cottage naturally because I longed to be Tybalt's wife and in addition I wanted to escape this atmosphere of distrust and to prove to them that Tybalt was the most wonderful husband in the world.

Tybalt and Tabitha were away for two weeks and when they returned they were so full of what they had seen that they talked of little else. I was filled with chagrin because I could not join in their conversation as I would have wished.

Tybalt was amused. "Never mind," he said, "when we're married you'll go everywhere with me."

The wedding day was almost at hand. Sabina had said that we might have a discreet reception at the rectory. After all, Dorcas had been ill and Rainbow Cottage was small and the rectory had been my home and she was Tybalt's sister. "I insist on it," she cried. "I can tell you, Judith, you are the most fortunate woman in the world . . . with one exception because even Tybalt could not be as wonderful as Oliver. Tybalt is too perfect. I mean he knows everything ... all about those ancient things, whereas darling Oliver knows about Greek and Latin. Not that Tybalt doesn't too, but you couldn't imagine Tybalt's preaching a sermon or listening to the farmers telling him about the droughts and the mothers about their babies . . . But our mother wanted him to do just that . . . Isn't it odd. She would have been pleased I'd married darling Oliver, you know. Old Nanny Tester is. But she was always a bit odd . . . since Mamma died, that is. Bats in the Belfry, they say of people like her. It means that they are a little peculiar in the head. Perhaps that's why she likes churches. . . ."

I said: "Really, Sabina, you do dodge from one thing to another, like a butterfly."

"My father used to say I was like a grasshopper. He didn't really approve of me, I wasn't clever like Tybalt. However grasshoppers are rather nice. I always liked them. Not so pretty as butterflies but hopping around seems to me a rather pleasant way of going on. Better than staying in the same place all the time. . . ."

"What are you talking about, Sabina? We're supposed to be discussing my wedding."

"Of course. It's to be here. I insist. Darling Oliver insists. You'll be married in his church and we'll have just a few friends as my father . . . and yours . . . what a surprise and fancy your being Sir Ralph's daughter all that time and our not knowing. What was I saying? Oh, you're to have your reception in the old rectory."

It did seem a good idea; and even Dorcas and Alison accepted it, though they insisted that in view of the recent deaths it must just be a quiet family affair.

When I discussed the matter with Tybalt he was rather vague. I could see that it was immaterial to him where we had a reception or whether there was none.

He wanted us to be married, he said. Where and how was unimportant.

He had a surprise for me.

"We'll have a honeymoon. You won't want to go straight back to Giza House."

"That," I said, "is immaterial to me. All I ask is that I am with you."

He turned to face me and with an unusually tender gesture took my face in his hands. "Judith," he said, "don't expect too much of me."

I laughed aloud--I was so happy. "Why I expect everything of you."

"That's what makes me uneasy. You see, I am rather selfish, not admirable in the least. And I am a man with an obsession."

"I share in that obsession," I told him with a laugh. "And I have another. You."

He held me against him. "You make me afraid," he said.

"You afraid? You are not afraid of anything ... or anyone."

"I'm certainly afraid of this high opinion you have of me. Where could you possibly have got it?"

"You gave it to me."

"You are too imaginative, Judith. You get an idea and it's usually something you want it to be and then you make everything fit into that."

"It's the way to live. I shall teach you to live that way."

"It's better to see the truth."

"I will make this my truth."

"I can see it is useless to warn you not to think too highly of me."

"It is quite useless."

"Time will have to teach you."

"I said we will grow closer together as the years pass. We shall share everything. I never thought it was possible to be so happy as I am at this moment."

"At least you will have had this moment."

"What a way to talk! This is nothing to what it is going to be like."

"My darling Judith, there is no one like you."

"Of course there isn't! I am myself. Reckless, impulsive, the aunts would tell you. Bossy, Sabina and Theodosia will agree and Hadrian will confirm that. They are the ones who have known me the longest. So you must not have too high an opinion of me."

"I'm glad there are these little faults. I shall love you for them as I hope you will love me for mine."

I said: "We are going to be so happy."

"I came to tell you about our honeymoon. I'm going to take you to Dorset. They are so excited about this discovery. I long to show it to you."

I said that was wonderful; but it did occur to me that there would no doubt be a great many people there and a honeymoon on our own might have been more appropriate.

But Tybalt would be there—and that was all I asked.

There was so much to do in preparation even for a "discreet" wedding, including sessions in Sarah Sloper's cottage which seemed to go on for hours. There was I in my white satin wedding gown with Sarah kneeling at my feet, her mouth full of pins, and as soon as she had it free she would talk all the time.

"Well, fancy it coming to this. You, Miss Judith . . . and him. He was for Miss Theodosia, you know, and she gets the little professor and you get him."

"You make it sound as though it's some sort of lottery, Sarah."

"They do say marriage be a lottery, Miss Judith. And you being Sir Ralph's girl and all. I always guessed that. Why he had a real fancy for you. And Miss Lavinia. Pretty as a picture she were but I'd say you took more after Sir Ralph."

"Thank you, Sarah."

"Oh, I weren't meaning it that way, Miss Judith. You'll look pretty enough in your bride's dress. Brides always do. That's why there's nothing I like making better. And is it to be orange blossom? I reckon there's nothing like orange blossom for brides. I had it myself when I married Sloper. That's going back a bit. And I've still got it. Put away in a drawer it be. I look at it now and then and think of the old days. You'll be able to do that, Miss Judith. It's a pleasant thing to do when things don't turn out just as you'd fancied. And don't we all have fancies eh, on our wedding days?"

"I look on it as a beginning of happiness not a climax."

"Oh, you and your talk. Always was one for it. But as I say it's nice to have a wedding day to look back on—as long as it don't make you fretful." She sighed and went on fervently: "I hope you'll be happy, Miss Judith. Well, we can but hope. So let's pray the sun'll shine on your wedding day. They do say 'Happy be the bride the sun shines on.'"

I laughed; but this assumption that my marriage would be a perilous adventure was beginning to irritate me.

On a rather misty October day I was married to Tybalt in the church I knew so well. Oddly enough as I came down the aisle on the arm of Dr. Gunwen, who had offered to "give me away," there being no one else to perform this necessary duty, I was thinking of how my knees used to get sore from kneeling on the mats which hung inside the pews for that purpose. An extraordinary thought to have when I was on my way to marriage with Tybalt!

A fellow archaeologist and friend of Tybalt's was his best man. He was named Terence Gelding and was accompanying us to Egypt. On the night before the wedding I had not seen Tybalt. He had gone to the station to meet his friend and bring him back to Giza House where he was spending a few days. Tabitha told me on my wedding morning that they had all stayed up too late talking. I felt that vague tinge of jealousy which I had begun to notice came to me when others shared an intimacy with Tybalt and I was not present. It was foolish of me but I supposed I had dreamed so long of this happening that I could not entirely believe that it was true; there had been covert remarks about my marriage from several directions and it seemed that these insinuations had penetrated even my natural optimism. I could not help feeling a twinge of uneasiness and distrust of this sudden granting by fate of my most cherished desire.

But as I made my vows before Oliver, and Tybalt put the ring on my finger, a wonderful happiness surged over me and I was more completely happy than I had ever been.

It was disappointing that as we came into the porch the rain should begin to pelt down.

"You can't walk out in that," said Dorcas at my elbow.

"It's nothing," I said. "Just a shower and we only have to go over to the rectory."

"We'll have to wait."

She was right, of course. So we stood there, I still holding Tybalt's hand saying nothing, staring out at the rain and thinking: I'm really married ... to Tybalt!

I heard the whispers behind me.

"What a pity!"

"What bad luck!"

"Not wedding weather by any means."

A gnome-like creature came walking up from the graveyard. As it approached I saw that it was Mr. Pegger, bent double with a sack, split down one side, over his head to keep him dry. He carried a spade to which the brown earth still clung. So he had been digging somebody's grave, and was, I supposed, coming to the porch for shelter until the downpour was over.

When he saw us he pulled up short; he pushed the sack farther back and his fanatical eyes took in Tybalt and me in our wedding clothes.

He looked straight at me. "No good'ull come of such indecent haste," he said. "It's ungodly."

Then he nodded and walked past the porch with the self-righteous air of one determined to do his duty however unpleasant.

"Who on earth is that old fool?" said Tybalt.

"It's Mr. Pegger, the gravedigger."

"He's impertinent."

"Well, you see he knew me as a child and no doubt thinks I'm still one."

"He objects to your marriage."

I heard Theodosia whisper: "Oh, Evan, how unpleasant. It's like an ... omen."

I did not answer. I felt suddenly angry with all these people who for some ridiculous reason had decided that there was something strange about my marriage to Tybalt.

I looked up at the lowering sky and I seemed to hear Sarah Sloper's reedy voice: "Happy be the bride the sun shines on."

After a few minutes the rain stopped and we were able to pick our way across the grass to the vicarage.

There was the familiar drawing room decked out with chrysanthemums of all shades and starry Michaelmas daisies. A table had been set up at one end of the room and on this was a wedding cake and champagne.

I cut the cake with Tybalt's help; everyone applauded and the unpleasant incident in the porch was temporarily forgotten.

Hadrian made a witty speech and Tybalt responded very briefly. I kept saying to myself: "This is the supreme moment of my life." Perhaps I said it a little too vehemently. I could not forget Mr. Pegger's eyes peering at us in that fanatical way from under that absurd sack. The rain had started again in a heavy downpour which made itself heard.

Theodosia was beside me. "Oh, Judith," she said, "I'm so glad we're sisters. Here you are marrying Tybalt and this is what they wanted for me. So Father got his wish that his daughter marry Tybalt. Hasn't it turned out wonderfully?" She was gazing across the room at Evan who was talking to Tabitha. "I'm so grateful to you . . ."

"Grateful . . . ?"

She floundered a little. Theodosia had never been able to express her thoughts gracefully and often landed in a conversational morass from which she found it difficult to extricate herself.

"Well, for marrying Tybalt and making it all come right so that I need not have any conscience about not pleasing Father ... and all that."

She made it sound as though by marrying Tybalt I had conferred some blessing on all those who had been saved from him!

"I'm sure you'll be very happy," she said comfortingly. "You always knew so much about archaeology. It's a struggle for me to keep up with Evan, but he says don't worry. He's perfectly satisfied with me as I am."

"You're very happy, Theodosia?"

"Oh . . . blissfully. That's why I'm so . . ." She stopped.

"Grateful to me for marrying Tybalt and making it all work out smoothly. I can assure you I didn't marry him for that reason."

Sabina joined us.

"Isn't this fun. The three of us together. And now we're all married. Judith, do you like the flowers? Miss Crewe arranged them. Most of them came from her garden. Green fingers, you know. And she always makes such a success of the decorations in the church. And here we all are together. Do you remember how we used to talk in the schoolroom? Of course dramatic things would happen to Judith. They always did, didn't they? Or perhaps you made it sound dramatic and then you did turn out to be Sir Ralph's daughter ... Wrong side of the blanket of course . . . but that makes it more exciting. And now you've got Tybalt. Doesn't he look wonderful? Like a Roman god or something . . . He was always different from everybody else . . . and so are you, Judith . . . in a way. But we're sisters now, Judith. And you're Theodosia's sister. As I say it is wonderful!"

She gazed at Tybalt with that adoration I had seen so many times before.

"Fancy Tybalt's being a bridegroom! We always thought he would never marry! He's married to all that nonsense, Nanny Tester says. 'Like your father ought to have been.' I used to point out to her that if Papa had married all that nonsense I wouldn't have been here nor would Tybalt because archaeology, wonderful as Papa and Tybalt seem to find it, does not produce people, living ones anyway. Only mummies perhaps. Oh, do you remember the day when you dressed up as a mummy? What a day that was! We thought you'd killed Theodosia."

They were all laughing. I knew that Sabina would restore my spirits.

"And you said Tybalt stooped and wore spectacles and when you saw him you were struck dumb. You adored him from that moment. Oh yes you did, you can't deny it."

"I'm making no attempt to," I said.

"And now you're married to him. Your dreams have come true. Isn't that a wonderful fairy tale ending?"

"It's not an ending," said Theodosia soberly. "It's really a beginning. Evan is so pleased because he's been invited to join the expedition."

"Has he really?" cried Sabina. "That's a great honor. When he's away you must come and stay."

"I'm going with him," declared Theodosia fiercely. "You don't think I'd let Evan go without me."

"Has Tybalt said you may? Papa never liked wives around. He said they cluttered and distracted, unless they were workers themselves and quite a lot of them are . . . but you're not, Theodosia. So Tybalt has said you may! I daresay that as he's now a married man himself he has sympathy for others. You'll be company for Judith. Tabitha's going. Of course she's very knowledgeable. There she is talking to Tybalt now. I'll bet you anything you like they're talking about Egypt. Tabitha's beautiful, don't you think? She always seems to wear the right things. Elegance I suppose. Different from me. That silver grey now . . . It's just right! You'll have to be careful, Judith," she added playfully. "I was surprised that you allowed Tybalt to go off with her to Dorset. Oh I know you had to stay behind, but she's young really. About a year, possibly two years older than Tybalt, that's all. Of course she is always so quiet, so restrained, but it's the quiet ones you have to be wary of, so they say. Oh, Judith, what a way to talk to a bride on her wedding day.

You're quite disturbed, I believe. As if I meant it. Tybalt will be the most faithful husband in the world! He's too busy anyway to be anything else. The wonder is that he married at all. I'm sure you're going to be wonderfully happy. Your being interested in his world and all that and quite rich so there won't be money problems and Sir Ralph leaving all that money to archaeological research. Wasn't that wonderful! You've married the most wonderful man in the world with one exception of course. But even darling Oliver isn't grand and distinguished like Tybalt . . . although he's more comfortable and I wouldn't change him for anyone in the world . . ."

"Oh doesn't she run on," I said to Theodosia. "No one else gets a chance."

"It's revenge for your domineering attitude in the schoolroom and you're only so silent because it's your wedding day. If you weren't thinking of Tybalt, you would never have allowed me to have the floor for so long."

"Trust you to make the most of your opportunities. Look, here's Hadrian."

"Hello," said Hadrian. "A family gathering. I must join it."

"We were talking about the expedition," said Sabina. "Among other things."

"Who isn't?"

"Did you know Evan and Theodosia are coming?" I asked.

"I had heard there was a possibility. We shall all be together ... all except you, Sabina, and your Oliver."

"Oliver has the church and parish . . . besides, he's a parson not an archaeologist."

"So you're going too, Hadrian."

"It's a great concession. Gives me a chance to escape my creditors."

"You are always talking about money."

"I've told you before I'm not rich enough to ignore it."

"Nonsense," I said.

"And now, Judith, you've joined the band of plutocrats. Well, it will be good experience for us, Tybalt tells me. We'll have to keep together in case this irate god rises from his lair to strike us."

"Do gods have lairs?" asked Sabina. "I thought that was foxes. There's a big red one raiding Brent's Farm. Farmer Brent lies in wait with a shot gun."

"Stop her someone," said Hadrian, "before she flies off at a tangent."

"Yes," I said, "we don't want to hear about foxes. The expedition is of much greater interest. I'm so looking forward to it. It'll soon be time to leave for Egypt."

"Which is the reason for the hasty wedding," said Hadrian. "What did you think of the weird character in the porch?"

"It was only old Pegger."

"Talk about a prophet of doom. He couldn't have appeared at a less appropriate moment ... or from his point of view I suppose a more appropriate one. He seemed so delighted to be the harbinger of misfortune."

"I wish everyone would stop hinting at misfortune," I complained. "It's most unsuitable."

"Of course it is," agreed Hadrian, "and here comes your reverend husband, Sabina. He'll probably say a blessing or exorcise the evil spirits conjured up by that old ghoul in the porch."

"He'll do no such thing," said Sabina, slipping her arm through Oliver's as he came up.

"Just in time," said Hadrian, "to prevent this inconsequential wife of yours from giving a dissertation on the duties of a parish priest and where that might lead to Heaven— and Sabina—only knows. I'm going to take the bride away from you for a cozy tete-a-tete."

We stood alone in a corner and he looked at me shaking his head. "Well, well, Judith, this is so sudden."

"Not you too," I protested.

"Oh I don't mean it as old Pegger did. I mean coming into a fortune and marrying at the batting of an eyelid or the twinkling of an eye—to keep the metaphors facial."

I laughed at him. Hadrian always restored my spirits.

"Had I known that you had inherited a fortune I would have married you myself."

"What a lost opportunity!" I mocked.

"My life is full of them. Seriously, who would have thought that the old man would have left you half his fortune. My pittance was a bit of a blow."

"Why, Hadrian, it's a pleasant income, and is in addition to what you will earn in your profession."

"Affluence!" he murmured. "Tybalt is a lucky devil. You and all that money. And there's what my uncle left to the Cause."

"How I wish I could stop people talking about money for a few moments."

"It's money that makes the world go round ... or is that love? And lucky Judith to have both!"

"I can see my aunts making frantic signs."

"I suppose it's time for you to depart."

"Why yes, the carriage will be taking us to the station in less than an hour. And I have to change."

Dorcas came hurrying up. "Judith, do you realize what the time is?"

"I was just mentioning it to Hadrian."

"I think it is time you changed."

I slipped away with Dorcas and Alison and we went to the room which Sabina had set aside for me. There hung my silver grey grosgrain coat and the skirt of the same material and the white blouse with many frills and the little grey velvet bow at the neck.

Silver grey. So elegant. Yes, when worn by a woman like Tabitha.

"You look lovely," cooed Dorcas.

"That's because you see me through the eyes of love," I said.

"There'll be someone else who will be looking at you in the same way," said Alison quickly. There was an almost imperceptible pause before she added: "We hope."

I went out to the porch. The carriage was there and Tybalt was waiting for me.

Everyone crowded round; the horse was whipped up. Tybalt and I had started on our honeymoon.

What shall I say of my honeymoon? That it fell short of my expectations? At first it was wonderful and the wonder lasted for two nights and a day. Then Tybalt was all mine. We were very close during that time. We had broken our journey to Dorset and spent the night, the following day and the next night at a little inn in the heart of the Moor.

"Before we join the Dig," he told me, "I thought we should have this little respite."

"It's a wonderful idea," I told him.

"I thought you were so eager to see this mosaic pavement they've discovered?"

"I'm more eager to be alone with you."

My frank admission of my devotion amused him and at the same time I fancied made him rather uneasy. Again he stressed that he lacked my powers of expression.

"You must not think, Judith," he said, "that because I do not constantly profess my love for you that it isn't there. I find it difficult to speak easily of what I feel most deeply."

That satisfied me.

I shall never forget the inn in the little moorland village. The sign creaking just outside our window—a gabled one, for the inn was three hundred years old; the sound of the waterfall less than half a mile away sending its sparkling water over the craggy boulders and the big feather bed in which we lay together.

There was a fire burning in the grate and as I watched the flickering shadows on the wallpaper—great red roses— and Tybalt's arms were about me, I was completely happy.

Breakfast was served to us in the old inn parlor with the brass and pewter on the shelves and hams hanging from the rafters. Hot coffee, bread fresh from the oven, ham and eggs from the nearby farm, scones and homemade strawberry jam with a basin of Devonshire cream the color of buttercups. And Tybalt sitting opposite me, watching me with that look almost of wonder in his eyes. If ever I was beautiful in my life I was beautiful on that morning.

After breakfast we went out onto the moors and walked for miles over the short spring turf. The innkeeper's wife had packed a little hamper for us and we picknicked by a tiny trickling stream. We saw the wild moorland ponies, too scared to come near us; and the only human beings we encountered on that day were a man driving a cartload of apples and pears who raised his whip to us and called a greeting, and another on horseback who did the same. A happy idyllic day and then back to the delicious duckling and green peas and afterwards the cozy bedroom and the flickering fire.

The next day we caught the train to Dorset.

Of course I was fascinated by the Roman site, but I wanted only one thing in my life at that time and that was to love and be loved by Tybalt. The hotel at which we stayed was full of people who were with the working party, which made it rather different from our Dartmoor haven. I was proud of the respect with which Tybalt was greeted and, although it was brought home to me that I was an amateur among professionals and I was constantly bewildered by technicalities, I was as eager as ever to learn —a fact which delighted my husband.

The day after we reached the hotel, Terence Gelding, Tybalt's best man, arrived. He was tall and rather lean with the same serious and dedicated expression I had noticed among so many of Tybalt's associates. Rather aloof, he seemed a little nervous of me, and I imagined he was not altogether pleased about Tybalt's marriage. When I mentioned this to Tybalt he laughed.

"You have such odd fancies, Judith," he said; and I remembered how often Alison and Dorcas had said the same of me. "Terence Gelding is a first-class worker, trustworthy too, reliable. Just the kind of man I like to work with me."

He and Terence Gelding would talk animatedly for long periods, and try as I might to follow their conversation it was not always easy.

When there was a possibility that an amphitheatre may have existed close to the site the excitement was great and a party went out to examine certain finds which might have proved an indication that this was correct. I was not invited to go.

Tybalt was apologetic.

"You see, Judith," he explained, "this is a professional affair. If I took you, others would expect to take people."

I understood and I determined that in a very short time I should have learned so much that I would be considered worthy to join in on such occasions.

Tybalt kissed me tenderly before leaving. "I'll be back in a few hours. What will you do while I'm away?"

"Read a book I've seen here dealing with Roman remains. Very soon I'm going to be as knowledgeable as you are."

That made him laugh.

I spent the day alone. I would have to be prepared for this sort of occasion, I reminded myself. But, interested as I was in this absorbing subject, I was a bride on her honeymoon, and an early Roman floor, even if it was a geometric mosaic, could not really compare with the springs and boulders of Dartmoor.

After that he was often at the site with the workers. Sometimes I went with him. I talked to the more humble members of the party; I studied maps; I even did a little digging as I had in Carter's Meadow. I watched first-aid methods in the restoration of a plaque on which was engraved the head of a Caesar. I was fascinated—but I longed to be alone with Tybalt.

We were two weeks on the Roman site. I believe Tybalt was reluctant to leave. On our last evening he spent several hours closeted with the director of the expedition. I was in bed when he came in. It was just after midnight.

He sat on the bed, his eyes shining.

"It's almost certain that there's an amphitheatre," he said. "What a discovery! I think this is going to be one of the most exciting sites in England. Professor Brownlea can't stop talking of his luck. Do you know they've found a plaque with a head engraved. If they can discover whose, it will be a great find."

"I know," I said, "I've seen it being pieced together."

"Unfortunately there is quite a bit missing. But, of course, the floor mosaics are most exciting. I would place the date of the black and white at round about 74 a.d."

"I'm sure you'd be right, Tybalt."

"Oh, but one can't be sure . . . not unless there is absolute proof. Why are you smiling?"

"Was I?" I held out my arms to him. "Perhaps because I was thinking that there are exciting things in life other than Roman remains."

He came to me at once and for a few moments we embraced. I was laughing softly. "I know what you're thinking. Yes, there are more exciting things. But I imagine the tombs of the Pharaohs win by a head."

"Oh, Judith," he said, "this is wonderful to be together. I want to have you there with me when we leave."

"Of course. It was for that reason you married me."

"That and others," he said.

"Well, we have discussed that . . . now let us consider the others."

I amused him. My frank enjoyment of our love was something which I am sure would have completely shocked Dorcas and Alison. But then so many people would have considered me bold and brazen.

I wondered if Tybalt did. I asked him. "You see," I explained, "it has always been almost impossible for me to pretend."

He said: "I don't deserve you, Judith."

I laughed, completely happy. "You can always try to be worthy," I suggested.

And I was happy. So was he. As happy as he was on his mosaic pavement or with his broken plaque or ruins of his amphitheatre? Was he? I wondered.

It was foolish of me to have these niggling doubts. I wished that I could forget the Cassandra-like faces of Dorcas and Alison, the hints and innuendos, the fanatical eyes of old Pegger in the porch. I wished that Sir Ralph had not left me a fortune; then I could indeed have been sure that I had been married for myself.

But these matters could be forgotten . . . temporarily. And I promised myself that in time I would banish them altogether.

Then we returned to Giza House.

It was the first week of November when we arrived in the late afternoon, and a dark and gloomy one. The October gales had stripped the trees of most of their leaves; but as the carriage brought us from the station the countryside seemed unusually silent for the wind had then dropped. It was typical Cornish November weather—warm and damp. As we pulled up at the wrought-iron gates of Giza and descended from the carriage, Tabitha came out to greet us.

"Not a very pleasant day," she said. "You must be chilled. Come in quickly and we'll have tea at once."

She was looking at us searchingly, as though she suspected the honeymoon had not been a success. Why did I get the impression that everyone seemed to have come to the conclusion that Tybalt and I were unsuited?

Imagination! I told myself. I looked up at the house. Haunted! I thought; and remembered teasing Theodosia and frightening her by making her run up the path. I thought of Nanny Tester probably peering out from a top window.

"Giza House always intrigued me," I said as I stepped into the hall.

"It's your home now," Tabitha reminded me.

"When we get back from Egypt, Judith may want to make some changes in the house," said Tybalt slipping his arm through mine. He smiled at me. "For the time being we must concentrate on our plans."

Tabitha showed us our room. It was on the first floor next to that room in which I had seen the sarcophagus. Tabitha had had it redecorated while we were away.

"You're very good," said Tybalt.

In the shadows I saw Mustapha and Absalam. I noticed their dark eyes fixed intently on me. They would be remembering me of course as the rowdy child and afterwards the "companion" from Keverall Court who came to borrow books. Now I was the new mistress. Or did Tabitha retain that title?

How I wished people had not sown these misgivings in my mind with their sly allusions.

Tabitha conducted me first to our room and left me there to freshen up while she returned to the drawing room with Tybalt. One of the maids brought hot water and when I had washed I went to the window and looked out. The garden had always been chock-a-block with shrubs and the trees made it dark. I could see the spiders' webs on the bushes, glistening where the light caught the globules of moisture as so often I had seen them before at this time of year. The curtains were deep blue edged with gold braid in a Greek key pattern. The bed was large, a fourposter canopied and curtained. The carpet was thick. Bookshelves lined one side of the wall. I looked at these. Some of them I had borrowed and read. They all referred to one subject. It occurred to me that this had been Sir Edward's bedroom before he had left for that fatal journey, and it seemed then that the past was enveloping me. I wished that a different room had been chosen for us. Then I remembered that I was the mistress of the house and if I did not like a room I could say so.

I changed my traveling clothes and went down to the drawing room. Tybalt and Tabitha were sitting side by side on the sofa examining some plans.

As soon as I entered Tabitha jumped up. "Tea will arrive immediately," she said. "I daresay you are ready for it. Traveling is so tiring."

Ellen wheeled the tea wagon in and stood by while Tabitha poured.

Tabitha wanted to know how we had enjoyed the honeymoon and then Tybalt began a long explanation of the Roman site.

"You must have had a very interesting time, Tybalt," said Tabitha smiling. "I trust Judith found it equally so."

She looked at me slightly apprehensively and I assured her that I had enjoyed our stay in Dorset very much.

"And now," said Tybalt, "we must begin to work out our plans in earnest. It's astonishing how the time flies when there is so much to do. I want to leave in February."

So we talked of the trip and it was pleasant sitting there in the firelight while the dark afternoon faded into twilight. I could not help thinking of those occasions when I had dreamed of sharing Tybalt's Life.

"I'm happy," I assured myself. "I've achieved my dream."

My first night in Giza House! One of the maids had lighted a fire in the bedroom and the flickering flames threw their shadows over the walls. How different from those of the Dartmoor cottage; these seemed like sinister shapes which would assume life at any moment. How silent the house was! There was a door behind a blue velvet curtain. I opened this and saw that it led into the room where the sarcophagus had been.

I had entered in advance of Tybalt; and the room in firelight with only two candles burning in their tall candlesticks on the dressing table seemed alive with shadows.

I started to wonder about Sir Edward and his wife who had never lived in this house, for she had died before they came here. And in the attic apartments of this house was Nanny Tester, who would be aware that Tybalt and I had returned from our honeymoon. I wondered what she was doing now and why Tybalt was so long. Was he talking to Tabitha, telling her things which he did not want me to know? What an idea! I must not be jealous of the time he spent with Tabitha.

It's the house, I said to myself. There's something about this house. Something . . . evil. I felt it right from the first before they came here when I used to frighten Theodosia.

Tybalt came into the room, and the sinister shadows receded; the firelight was comforting; the candlelight, I remembered, was becoming.

"What," he asked, "are you doing in that room?"

"I found this door. It's the room where the sarcophagus was."

He laughed. "You weren't thinking of dressing up as a mummy were you ... to frighten me?"

"You . . . frightened of a mummy! I know you love them dearly."

"Not," he replied, "as dearly as I love you."

On the rare occasions when Tybalt said things like that, my happiness was complete.

"Do you like the room I had prepared for you?" asked Tabitha next morning. Tybalt had gone to his study; he had a great deal of correspondence to deal with concerning the expedition.

"It's a bit ghostly," I said.

Tabitha laughed. "My dear Judith, what do you mean?"

"I always thought there was something rather haunted about Giza House."

"It's all those trees and shrubs in the garden, I daresay. That room is the best in the house. That's why I had it made ready for you. It used to be Sir Edward's."

"I guessed it. And the room which leads from it is where the sarcophagus used to be."

"He always used that room for whatever he was working on. He often worked late at night when the fancy took him. Would you like to change the room?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Judith, anything you want you must do, you know. You're mistress of the house now."

"I can't get used to being the mistress of anything."

"You will in time. You're happy, aren't you?"

"I have what I've always wanted."

"Not many of us can say that," she replied with a sigh.

"And you, Tabitha?"

I wished that she would confide in me. I was sure there were secrets in her life. She was youngish—a widow I supposed. Life was by no means over for her and yet there was about her a resignation, a subtle secrecy which was perhaps one of the reasons why she was so attractive.

She said: "I have had my moments. Perhaps one should not ask for more than that."

Yes, there was something decidedly mysterious about Tabitha.

Christmas was not far off. Sabina said we must celebrate Christmas Day at the rectory, and she would insist on my aunts joining us.

I fancied Dorcas and Alison were a little reproachful. They were so conventional. I think they believed I should have gone to them at Rainbow Cottage or they come to me at Giza House.

I swept all that away by pointing out the convenience of Sabina's suggestion and what fun it would be to be back in the old drawing room where so many of our Christmases had been celebrated.

The days were passing swiftly. There was Christmas to think of and always, of course, the expedition. Tabitha and I decorated the house with holly and mistletoe.

"It was something we never did before," said Tabitha.

The maids were delighted. Ellen told me that it was more like a house since I'd come home. That was a compliment indeed.

They liked me, those maids; they seemed to take a pleasure in addressing me as "my lady." It invariably startled me, and sometimes I had to assure myself: Yes, it's true. You're not dreaming this time. This is the greatest dream of all come true.

It was at the beginning of December when the first uneasy situation occurred.

I had never quite understood Mustapha and Absalam. In fact they made me uncomfortable. I would be in a room and suddenly find them standing close behind me—for they seemed to move about together—having been completely unaware of their approach. I often looked up suddenly to find their dark eyes fixed upon me. Sometimes I would think they were about to speak to me; but then they seemed to change their minds. I was never quite sure which one was which and I believe I often addressed them wrongly. Tabitha could easily tell the difference but then she had known them for a very long time.

It was afternoon—that hour when dusk was beginning to fall. I had gone to our bedroom and on my way saw that the door which led from the corridor into that room which I called the Sarcophagus Room was ajar. I thought perhaps Tybalt was there, so I looked in. Mustapha, or was it Absalam, was standing silhouetted against the window.

I went in and as I did so, the other Egyptian was standing behind me . . . between me and the door.

I felt the goosepimples rise on my skin. I was unsure why.

I said: "Mustapha . . . Absalam, is anything wrong?"

There was a brief silence. The one by the window nodded to the other and said: "Absalam, you say."

I turned and faced Absalam.

"My lady," he said, "we are your most humble slaves."

"You mustn't say that, Absalam. We don't have slaves here."

They bowed their heads.

Mustapha spoke then. "We serve you well, my lady."

"But of course," I replied lightly.

I saw that the door was shut. I looked at that which led into our bedroom. It was half closed. But I knew Tybalt would not be there at this hour of the day.

"We have tried to tell you many times."

"Please tell me now then," I said.

"It must not be," said Mustapha shaking his head gravely.

Absalam began to shake his.

"What?" I asked.

"Stay here, my lady. You tell Sir Tybalt. You tell. He must not go."

I began to grasp their meaning. They were afraid to go back to Egypt, the scene of the tragedy which had overtaken their master.

"I'm afraid that's impossible," I said. "Plans are going ahead. They couldn't be altered now."

"Must be," said Mustapha.

"I am sure Sir Tybalt would not agree with you."

"It is death, there. There is a curse . . ."

Of course, I thought, they would be very superstitious.

I said: "Have you spoken to Sir Tybalt?"

They shook their heads in unison. "No use. No use to speak to his great father. No use. So he die. The Curse comes to him and it will come to others."

"It's a legend," I said, "nothing more. All will be well. Sir Tybalt will make sure of that."

Absalam came to me and stood before me. The palms of his hands were together, his eyes raised. "My lady, must speak. My lady is the new wife. A husband listens to his beloved."

"It would be impossible," I said.

"It is death . . . death."

"It is good of you to be so concerned," I said, "but there is nothing I can do."

They looked at me with great sorrowing eyes and shook their heads mournfully.

I slipped through to the bedroom. Naturally, I told myself again, they would be superstitious.

That night as we lay in bed I said to Tybalt: "The Egyptians spoke to me today. They are very frightened."

"Frightened of what?"

"What they call the Curse. They believe that if we go to Egypt there will be disaster."

"If they feel that they must stay behind."

"They asked me to speak to you. They said a husband loves his beloved and would listen."

He laughed.

"I told them it was futile."

"They are very superstitious."

"Sometimes I'm a little frightened."

"You, Judith?"

I clung to him.

"Only because of you," I assured him. "What if what happened to your father should happen to you?"

"Why should it?"

"What if there is something in this Curse?"

"My dear Judith you don't believe that."

"If anyone else was leading this expedition I would laugh the idea to scorn. But this is you."

He laughed in the darkness.

"My dear Judith," he said.

And that was all.

I was longing for the days to pass. What dark ones they were before Christmas. There was a great deal of rain and the fir trees glistened and dripped; the soft-scented southwest wind blew through the trees and moaned outside the windows. Whenever I saw the Egyptians their eyes seemed to be fixed on me, half sorrowfully, half hopefully. I saw Nanny Tester but only in the presence of Tabitha for she kept mainly to her own apartments and only rarely emerged.

Theodosia and Evan came to stay at Keverall Court for Christmas, and Tybalt and I and Sabina and Oliver were invited for Christmas Eve. Hadrian was there too; he was going to stay until we left for Egypt.

It had long been a custom to sing carols in the Keverall Court ballroom on Christmas Eve and many of the people from the neighborhood joined the company. Oliver officiated as the Reverend James Osmond used to and it was a very impressive occasion for there was a torchlight procession from the church to Keverall.

After the singing Lady Bodrean's chosen guests went to the hall where we had a supper consisting of the various pies which had been popular for centuries—squab, mutton, beef; and, of course, hot Cornish pasties. These were all eaten with mead and a beverage known as Keverall punch which was made in an enormous pewter bowl—the recipe, known only to the steward of Keverall, had been handed down through the last four hundred years. It was rather potent.

I was amused by Lady Bodrean's attitude towards me. When she did not think herself observed she regarded me with a sort of suspicious wonder, but she was all charm when we stood face to face.

"It is a pleasure to see you, Lady Travers," she said. I felt myself giggling inwardly as I graciously acknowledged her greeting.

After we had partaken of the pies and punch we went to the church for the midnight service and strolled home in the early hours of Christmas Day. It was all as we had done it many times before; and I felt it was good that all the friends of my childhood were gathered together at such a time.

Christmas Day at the rectory was pleasant too. It was amusing to see Sabina presiding at the table where once Alison had sat. There was the turkey with the chestnut stuffing and brandy butter which I remembered used to cause Dorcas and Alison such concern. Sabina showed no such anxiety. She chattered away making us all laugh as we teased her. The plum pudding was ceremoniously carried in with its flaming brandy jacket and followed by mince pies shining with their coating of castor sugar.

Theodosia and Evan with Hadrian were not with us, of course, they being at Keverall Court; so the conversation for once was not of the coming expedition; for this I was grateful because I was sure that Dorcas and Alison would not have enjoyed it.

Afterwards we played charades, miming scenes and childish guessing games at which I excelled and Tybalt did not. Dorcas and Alison looked on and applauded my success, which exasperated while it touched me.

In the early hours of the morning as Tabitha, Tybalt, and I walked the short distance from the rectory to Giza House, I found myself wondering whether there would always be the three of us together. I was fond of Tabitha, but there were times when the old saying seemed very apt: Two's company; three's a crowd. Was it because when Tabitha was with us Tybalt's attitude towards me seemed to change? Sometimes he seemed almost formal as though he were afraid to betray to her that affection which more and more he was beginning to show when we were alone.

January was with us. There was a cold snap, and the hoar frost glistening on the shrubbery trees gave them a look of fairyland.

Tybalt at the breakfast table going through the mail, frowned and made an exclamation of disgust.

"These lawyers!" he complained.

"What's happened?"

"Sir Ralph's will is taking a long while to settle. It's a clear example of procrastination. It seems as though it's going to be months before everything is clear."

"Does it matter so much?" I asked.

"You know he has left this trust. We were relying on it. It will make a great deal of difference to the expedition. We shall be less restricted for funds with this additional income. You'll discover, Judith, how money is swallowed up in expeditions like this. We have to employ possibly a hundred workmen. Then of course there are all the other workers. They have to be paid; they have to have living quarters. That's why one cannot begin such an undertaking until all these tiresome financial matters are taken care of. We're almost always frustrated by a question of expense."

"And you can't touch this money or the interest, or whatever it is, until the will is proved?"

"Oh, it will be all right. With such a sum made over to us we shall be able to anticipate. But there will be formalities. I daresay I shall have to go to London. I should have to in any case, but later."

"So it is only a minor irritation."

He smiled at me. "That's true, but minor irritations can mean delays."

He then began to talk to me in the way I loved and he told me that he believed his father had discovered the way into an unbroken tomb.

"He was so excited. I remember his coming to the house. He had rented a house from one of the most influential men in Egypt who was interested in our operation and allowed us to have his palace, which was a great concession. It's a very grand and beautiful residence with magnificent gardens and a band of servants to look after us. It's called the Chephro Palace. We pay a nominal rent—a concession to independence; but the Pasha is really very interested in what we are doing and eager to help. We shall use this palace again."

"You were telling me of your father?"

"He came in from the hills. It was night. There was a moon and it was almost as light as day. It's impossible, of course, to work in the heat of the afternoon and those moonlit nights were made full use of. He was riding a mule and as he came into the courtyard, I saw him from my window, and I guessed something had happened. He was a man who rarely showed his feelings, but he showed something then. He seemed exuberant. I thought I would wait until he had washed and changed and had had a light meal which Mustapha and Absalam always prepared for him. Then I would go down and wait for him to tell me. I knew I would be the one he would tell first. I said nothing to anyone for it might have been something he wished kept secret. I knew that a few days before we had been in despair. It was several months earlier that we had discovered the door in the rock; we had penetrated through a corridor only to be led to a tomb which had been rifled probably two thousand years earlier. It had seemed then as though we had come to the end of our quest and all the work and expense would lead to nothing. But my father had had this strange feeling. He would not give up. He was certain we had not discovered all. I was of the opinion that only some tremendous discovery could have made him excited on that day."

Tabitha had joined us.

"I am telling Judith about my father's death," he said.

Tabitha nodded gravely; she sat down at the table and propping her elbows on the table leaned her chin on her hands. Her eyes were misty as Tybalt went on:

"I went down when I thought he would be refreshed and then I found him ill. I did not believe it was serious. He was a man of immense physical as well as mental vitality. He complained of pains and I saw that his limbs trembled. I suggested to Absalam and Mustapha, who were very upset, that we get him to bed. This we did. I thought: In the morning he will tell me. That night he died. Before he did I was sent for. As I knelt by his bed I could see that he was trying to tell me something. His lips moved. I was certain he was saying 'Go on.' That is why I am determined."

"But why did he die at precisely that moment?"

"There was talk of the Curse which was absurd. Why should he be cursed for doing what many had done before him? He had merely been to the site on which we were working. It was not as though he had violated one of the tombs. It was ridiculous."

"But he died."

"The climate is hot; he may have eaten tainted food. That, I can assure you, has happened more than once."

"But to die so suddenly."

"It was the greatest tragedy of my life. But I intend to carry out my father's wishes."

I put out my hand and pressed his. I had forgotten Tabitha. Then I saw that there were tears in her beautiful eyes; and I thought peevishly I must admit, why are there always the three of us!

During the cold spell Nanny Tester caught a chill which turned to bronchitis, as in the case of Dorcas. I was quite useful nursing her, having had experience with Dorcas. The old woman would lie in bed watching me with her bright beady eyes; I think she liked to have me there which was fortunate, for she had what seemed to me an unreasoning dislike for Tabitha. It was really most unfair because Tabitha was considerate in the extreme, but sometimes she would become really restless when Tabitha was in her room.

In February Tybalt went to London to make further arrangements about supplies and to see the lawyers; I had hoped to go with him but he had said that he would have so much to do that he would be able to spend little time with me.

I waved him off at Plymouth station and I couldn't help thinking of Lavinia's going on that same journey with her baby in her arms and Dorcas and Alison seeing her off. And then an hour later she was dead.

To love intensely was a mixed blessing I decided. There are moments of ecstasy but it seems that these have to be paid for with anxiety. One was completely happy only when one had the loved one safe beside one. When he was absent one's imagination seemed to take a malicious delight in presenting all kinds of horrors which could befall him. Now I must visualize the piled-up carriages, the cries of the injured, the silence of the dead.

Foolish! I admonished myself. How many people travel on the railways? Thousands! How many accidents are there? Very few!

I went back and threw myself into the nursing of Nanny Tester.

That evening as I sat with Tabitha I told her of my fears.

She smiled at me gently. "Sometimes it is painful to love too well."

She spoke as though she knew and I wondered afresh what her life had been. I wondered why she never spoke of it. Perhaps she will one day, I thought, when she gets to know me better.

Nanny Tester was recovering.

"But," said Tabitha, "these attacks always leave their mark. After she's been ill she always seems to emerge a little more feeble. Her mind wanders quite a bit."

I had noticed that. I noticed too that my presence seemed to soothe her, so I used to take up her food and sometimes I sat with her. I would take a book and read or do odd bits of needlework. Sabina used to call often. I would hear her chattering away to Nanny Tester and her visits were always a success.

One day I was sitting by her bed when she said: "Watch her. Be careful."

I guessed she was wandering in her mind and said: "There's no one here, Nanny." She had asked me to call her this. "People in the family do," she explained.

"I could tell you some things," she murmured. "I was always one to keep my eyes open."

"Try to rest," I said.

"Rest! When I see what's going on in this house. It's him and it's her. She eggs him on. Housekeeper! Friend of the family! What is she? Tell me that."

I knew then that she was talking about Tabitha, and I had to hear what it was she wanted to tell me.

"Him and her . . . ?" I prompted.

"You don't see. That's how it often is. Those it concerns most don't see what's under their very eyes. It's the one who looks on, who sees."

"What do you see, Nanny?"

"I see the way things are between them. She's sly. We can do without her. There's nothing she does I couldn't do."

That was hardly true but I let it pass.

"I never knew housekeepers like that one. Sitting down to dinner every night with the family; running the house. You'd think she was the mistress. Then he goes away and what happens. She's called away. Oh it's some family affair. Family! What family? She'll be called away now he's away, I can see it coming."

She was wandering obviously. "You watch out, my lady," she murmured. "You're nursing a viper in your bosom."

The term made me smile; and when I thought of all Tabitha did in the house and how charming and helpful she was I was sure that the old woman had got an obsession, probably because she was jealous.

The house seemed different without Tybalt; the bedroom was full of shadows. A fire was lighted every night and I lay in bed watching the shadows. I often fancied I heard noises in the next room and one night got out of bed to see if anyone was there. How ghostly it looked with the light of the crescent moon faintly illuminating it; the books, the table at which Sir Edward had often worked, the spot where the sarcophagus had stood. I half expected Mustapha and Absalam to materialize. I went back to bed and dreamed that I went into the room and the sarcophagus was there and from it rose a mummy from which the wrapping suddenly disintegrated to show Mustapha and Absalam. They kept their dark eyes on me as they advanced pointing to me; I heard their voices distinctly as they echoed through emptiness. "Stop him. A man listens to his beloved. The Curse of the Kings will come upon you."

I awoke shouting something. I sat up in bed. There was no light but that from the crescent moon, for the fire was nothing but a few embers. I got out of bed; I opened the door expecting to see the sarcophagus there, so vivid had the dream been. The room was empty. I shut the door quickly and got back to bed.

I thought: When we come back I will change this house. I will have the dark shrubs taken away; I will plant beautiful flowering shrubs like the hydrangeas which grow so luxuriantly here—lovely blues and pinks and white blooms and red fuchias dripping their bells from the hedges. We will replace the darkness by the brightest of colors.

In that mood I slept.

Every morning I went hopefully to the breakfast table looking for a note from Tybalt to say that he would be back. None came.

Tabitha had a letter in her hand when I went down.

"Oh, Judith. I'll have to go away for a few days."

"Oh?"

"Yes, a ... a relative of mine is ill. I must go."

"Of course," I said. "I haven't heard you speak before of relatives."

"This one is in Suffolk. It's a long journey. I think I ought to leave at once."

"Today?"

"Yes, I'll get the ten-thirty for London. I shall have to go to London first, of course, and from there to Suffolk. You'll manage without me."

"Yes," I said. "Of course I shall."

She left the table hurriedly. She seemed very embarrassed, I thought. Jenner, the coachman, drove her in the jingle to the station.

I watched her go and I kept thinking of Nanny Tester. What had she said? "He goes away . . . and she's called away." But how could she foresee this? But that was what she had done.

I went upstairs to Nanny's apartment. She was standing by the window, her old-fashioned flannelette dressing gown wrapped about her.

"So she's gone," she said, "eh, my lady, she's gone. Didn't I tell you?"

"How did you know?"

"There's things I know, my lady. I've got a pair of eyes in my head that see far and they see for them I care for."

"So . . . you care for me."

"Did you doubt it? I cared for you the first minute I clapped eyes on you. I said: 'I'll watch over this one all the days of my life.'"

"Thank you," I said.

"It hurts me though to see the way you're treated. It hurts right in here." She struck her hand on where she supposed her heart to be. "He goes away . . . and she goes to join him. He's sent for her. They'll be together tonight . . ."

"Stop it! That's nonsense. It's absolutely untrue."

"Oh," she said. "I've seen it. I knew it was coming. She's the one he wanted. He took you for your money. That's it. And what for? So that they can go and dig up the dead. It's not right."

"Nanny," I said, "you're not yourself."

I looked at her wild eyes, her flushed cheeks. It was not without a certain relief that I saw that she was rambling.

"Let me help you to bed."

"To bed . . . why to bed? It's for me to put you to bed, my precious."

"Do you know who I am, Nanny?"

"Know you. Didn't I have you from three weeks after you were born?"

I said, "You're mistaking me for somebody else. I'm Judith, Lady Travers . . . Tybalt's wife."

"Oh yes, my lady. You're my lady all right. And a lot of good that's done you. I'd have liked to see you wife to some simple gentleman who didn't think more of digging up the dead than his own young wife."

I said: "Now I'm going to bring you a hot drink and you're going to sleep."

"You're good to me," she said.

I went down to the kitchen and told Ellen to prepare some hot milk. I would take it up to Nanny who was not very well.

"You'd think she'd be better now Mrs. Grey's gone," said Ellen. "Goodness, my lady, she does seem to hate Mrs. Grey."

I did not comment. When I took the milk up to Nanny she was half asleep.

Tabitha came back with Tybalt. On her way back she had had to go to London and as Tybalt was ready to return they had come back together.

I was uneasy. There were so many questions I wanted to ask; but it was so wonderful to have Tybalt back and he seemed delighted to be with me.

He was in a very happy and contented state. The financial problems had been straightened out. We should be leaving in March instead of February as he had hoped— but it would only mean delaying our start by two weeks.

"Now," he said, "we shall be very busy. We must prepare to leave in earnest."

He was right. Then there was nothing to think of but the expedition.

And in March we left for Egypt.