Daughter of Deceit

Return to Leverson

We went back to London, and I felt saddened rather than elated by the success of our venture. Marie-Christine was a great comfort. She seemed much older than her years and, understanding my feelings, tried to comfort me. She did to a great extent, and I kept telling myself how fortunate I was to have won her affections.

The future looked blank. I wondered what it held. During that time I often thought I might have made a good life in Parisian bohemian circles. It would have been a substitute; but knowing Gerard, and caring for him in a way, had brought home to me the truth that there would never be anyone for me but Roderick.

Oh, why had we not found those letters at the time of my mother’s death? Why had I not told her of my growing friendship with Roderick? How different my life might have been. Marie-Christine threw herself into the project of changing my mother’s room which had been abandoned when we left for Cornwall. But nothing could expunge her memory. It had all been brought back as vividly as ever by my encounter with my father. I was constantly recalling the words she had written. How her love for me came over in those letters! She had not so much defied conventions as ignored them. How often had Dolly cried in exasperation: “You are mad, mad, mad!” But she had blithely pursued some course which might seem wildly preposterous to some, but which was completely logical to her.

It had worked out as she had planned. Charlie had regarded me as his daughter. How could she have foreseen the consequences that would bring?

For several weeks life went on uneventfully, and then Charlie called.

I was delighted to see him. I had been pondering whether I should tell him what I had discovered. I thought it was only right that he, being so involved, should know. I had wondered what he knew about Robert’s death. That was another matter which I should tell him, but I had shrunk from writing to him. And now here he was.

He came into the drawing room and took my hands into his.

“I have just heard what happened,” he said. “Someone in the City told me. How dreadful to think of Robert … dead. I have been wondering for a long time how you were getting on. I did not know you were in London, and called to see If there was any news here. I was planning to go to Paris to see you, but travel is not easy, as things are still in turmoil in France. How glad I am that you are home and safe.”

“Robert was killed with his sister and her son. It was in the Paris house. I, with Robert’s great-niece, was in the country at the time.”

“Thank God for that! Poor Robert! Such a good fellow. All these years I have known him. But you, Noelle …”

I said: “Robert’s great-niece is with me. Marie-Christine … she lost her family, you see … all of them.”

“Poor child.”

“Charlie,” I said. “I have something of great importance to say to you. I have been asking myself whether I ought to write to you … but I wasn’t sure. It has only just happened. I’ve found my father … my real father. It is not you, Charlie.”

“My dear child, what are you saying? What can you know?”

I told him about the discovery of the letters and my visit to Cornwall.

“I have proof,” I told him. “Ennis Masterman has given me letters she wrote, and in them she sets out quite clearly that he is my father.”

“Then why … ?”

“She did it for me. She was afraid she might die and I should not have all she wanted for me. Ennis Masterman was poor. He lives almost like a hermit in a little cottage on the moors, not far from the village where she used to live, and where she had a miserable childhood. She did not want me to be poor … as she had been. It was an obsession with her. She did get obsessions, you know, Charlie. Her determination to succeed … her plans for me. She was very fond of you. She trusted you more than anyone. I think I should show you her letters. They are written to another man … and I daresay you will find reading them harrowing … but you should know the truth. She had so much love to give—to you, to Robert, to my father … and for me the greatest love of all. For me she would lie, cheat if need be … but it was all for me.”

My voice broke and he said: “My dear Noelle, I always knew that. She never disguised it. Those of us who loved her knew it. We were grateful for what she could give to us. There was never anyone like her.”

“Can you bear to read those letters?” I said. “They will prove to you without a doubt.”

He said he would read them, so I brought them to him. His emotion was obvious as he read.

When he had finished, he composed his features. “It is all clear now then. If only we had known …”

“How is Roderick?” I asked.

“He has changed … he lives behind a mask. I see little of him … as we all do. He is out a great deal … round the estate. He throws himself into work.”

“And Lisa?”

He frowned. “Poor girl. She grows worse. The injury to her spine is permanent, you know. She will never get better. She is in her room most of the time now. Sometimes they carry her down and she lies on the sofa. She is in some pain quite often. The doctors give her something to ease it, but it is not always effective.”

“How terrible for her.”

“They thought it was just a slight injury in the first place, but she soon discovered that was not the case. Putting a stop to her career was a great tragedy for her. She was so despondent … desperate, really. The future must have looked hopeless to her. But he should never have married her, Noelle. She could have been looked after. It was pity, you know. He was always like that … from a child. Easily touched by other people’s misery and ready to go to great lengths to help. This time he went far … very far indeed. He was shattered when he lost you. I think he must have acted on the spur of the moment. There was this girl, with her dreams of fame and fortune gone forever, facing pain and penury. He had lost you … I suppose he thought he would look after her … at least save her. It was a great mistake. We could have seen that she was cared for. But marriage …”

I could imagine it all so clearly—the silent melancholy of that household.

“And Lady Constance?”

“She is bitterly disappointed, and she cannot hide her feelings. She avoids Lisa, but there are occasions when they cannot help coming into contact. She wanted what she considered to be the right marriage for Roderick. She is devoted to him and always has been. And to me, too … though I don’t deserve such devotion. She deplores Roderick’s marriage … first to a girl whose background she considered unsuitable and, more important, she wants grandchildren. It is strange, Noelle, but I believe she wanted you to marry Roderick. I know when you first came to us she was far from welcoming, but she grew fond of you. It was a blow to her when you had to part.”

“It had something to do with that time when we were in great danger together. I think we revealed ourselves to each other.”

“Yes, it was after that. It certainly had an effect on her. She has talked of you once or twice. She had an admiration for you. It was a terrible shock to her when she believed you were my daughter … in more ways than the obvious one. She had known for a long time of my attachment to your mother.”

I thought of the scrapbook I had seen in her room. How her jealousy must have tormented her over the years! And it seemed more miraculous than ever that there could have been that friendship between us.

“Yes,” mused Charlie. “She would have been very happy for you to marry Roderick.”

What did it matter now? All our feelings went for nothing, all our discoveries were too late.

“You have not thought of marrying?” said Charlie.

I told him about Gerard du Carron.

“The one who was killed?”

“Yes.”

“And if he had not been?”

“I don’t know. I could not forget Roderick.”

“As he cannot forget you. What a tragedy!”

“For others, too. Poor Lisa! I am sorry for her. She was so ambitious, and I knew she loved Roderick.”

“We are an unhappy household. One feels it as soon as one enters the place. Roderick is thinking of going away for a time.”

“Where?”

“There’s a family estate in Scotland. He would not be away all the time, but periodically. I can’t help thinking he regards it as an escape … an excuse to get out of the house for periods.”

“And Lisa?”

“She could not leave Leverson. She is not well enough to travel. I shall have to tell them the news. Roderick must know, and I must tell my wife.”

“Do you think it will help?”

He lifted his shoulders. “And you and I, Noelle … this makes no difference to my feelings for you. I have always been so fond of you. We must keep in touch. If there is anything you need, I shall always be at hand. Remember that. This makes no difference to my feelings for you.”

“Nor mine for you.”

“If you need money …”

“I don’t. Robert has left me this house … and money, too. Marie-Christine, his great-niece, lives with me. I think it will be permanently. When she lost her family, I was the only one she could turn to. She, too, is comfortably off. It was fortunate that we were already good friends.”

“I am glad she is with you. As I was saying … if there is anything you need … at any time …”

“We do not need that sort of help, Charlie. But thank you. You have been wonderful … as always.”

“It is so good to see you again, Noelle … and here in this house …”

“So full of memories,” I said.

“Is it good for you to be here?”

“I really don’t know what is good for me. I am hoping that I may discover what I should do.”

“I wish … how I wish …”

“And I, too, Charlie.”

Marie-Christine came in and I introduced them. She knew who he was and I guessed she was speculating what the outcome of his visit would be.

She had a youthful belief that miracles could happen and, as ever, I was touched by her determination not to accept the present state of affairs.

She believed that something wonderful was going to happen, and to a certain extent for a time she carried me along with her.

It was three days later. I was in my room when Jane came to tell me that Mr. Claverham had called and was in the drawing room.

I wondered what had brought Charlie back so soon and hurried down. Roderick was there.

“Noelle!” he cried.

I ran to him. He put his arms round me and held me tightly.

“I had to come,” he said. “My father told me.”

“Yes.”

“It was cruel. What on earth … ?”

“Don’t blame her, Roderick. She did it out of love and care for me. We discovered by accident. Sometimes I think it would have been better if we had not. It seems so much worse.”

“I have missed you,” he said.

I could not bear the sadness in his eyes and I turned away.

“What shall we do?” he asked desperately.

“What can we do? You married …”

“It is no real marriage. Why did I do it? She was so wretchedly unhappy. Her career gone, her life broken. I feared for her … and on impulse … I knew as soon as I had spoken that I had made a terrible mistake. I might have helped … I could have looked after her, but …”

“I understand, Roderick. We had parted. We both saw we had to do that. And all the time those letters were in the bureau. I can’t bear to think of what might have been.”

He said: “There must be some way.”

“We should not see each other,” I said.

“I want to be with you. I want to talk to you. It is no longer there … that insurmountable barrier. It gives me a sense of freedom. I can’t help feeling that, now that is no longer there, there must be hope.”

“Lisa,” I said. “She is there.”

“We might come to some agreement.”

“She is very ill. She must be suffering a great deal.”

He did not answer for a few moments.

Then he said: “Noelle, we must talk.”

“Let us go out,” I answered. “Let us sit in the park as we used to. I want to be out, Roderick. At any moment we shall be interrupted. Marie-Christine, who lives here with me, will come in. She will want to meet you. I want to be somewhere where we can be alone.”

“I just want to talk … anywhere.”

“Wait. I will get a coat.”

I felt it was safe out of doors. In the drawing room the temptation to be close to each other was too great to be resisted. I had to remember all the time that he was Lisa’s husband.

We walked to Green Park, where we had often sat together. I kept thinking of those occasions when Lisa joined us. We sat on the seat where we had been in happier times.

“Tell me what has happened to you, Noelle,” he said. “You know what happened to me. I married. If only I had waited. Why did I do such a thing?”

I said: “I went to France with Robert Bouchere. I met his nephew. Marie-Christine is his daughter. Her father, grandmother and Robert were all blown up in their Paris house during the siege. That left Marie-Christine with me, and she has been with me ever since.”

“My father has told me something of this. We knew you were in France, and were all terribly worried about you.”

“I could have been in the Paris house. Marie-Christine and I happened to be in the country.”

He took my hand and pressed it. “I can’t bear to think that you could have been in such danger.”

“I was thinking of you all the time,” I told him.

“You must understand about Lisa.”

“I do. You were filled with pity for her. You thought we had lost each other … and that you could put things right for her by marrying her.”

“I had lost you. I thought it would be the best for her … and it would be someone for me to look after … to care for.”

“We were both trying to make a new life for ourselves. Marie-Christine’s father asked me to marry him.”

“And you would have done so if he had not been killed?”

“I don’t know. I always held back. I couldn’t make up my mind. He was an artist … a good one. I think if I could have forgotten you, I could have been tolerably happy with Gerard.”

“But you could not forget me?”

“No, Roderick, I couldn’t … and I never shall.”

“We must do something.”

“What?”

“I shall ask Lisa to release me.”

“You married her out of pity. Can you leave her now?”

“She must understand.”

“Roderick, I don’t think you can ask her.”

“She should be made comfortable for the rest of her life.”

“She wouldn’t do it. She wants you with her.”

“But I am rarely with her now. I keep away as much as I can. Before I came up here, I was planning to go to Scotland. At least I should be away for a time.”

“How long would you stay there?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I just have to get away from Leverson now and then. That is what I planned to do. A cousin runs the estate up there. He is in some difficulties. I thought I would go up there to help sort things out. It was an excuse. I had to get away. You cannot imagine what it is like.”

“I think I can.”

“My mother dislikes Lisa, and makes no secret of it. I think they hate each other. She is convinced that Lisa is an opportunist and schemed to marry me. She knows, of course, that your mother helped her and Lisa acted as her understudy. She thinks she brings disaster, and there is something evil about her. I can tell you, ours is a household of despair. Sometimes I feel the urge to get away, which was what I was planning to do. Now this has come to light, I felt there must be something we can do.”

“She will not let you go, Roderick.”

“I shall talk to her … and to my parents. I will tell her that there is a way out. If only she will let me go. We can divorce. Lisa must see it is best for us all. She can’t be happy. In fact, I know she is not. She will see that this is the best way.”

I was not sure.

We sat talking for a long time. We could not help looking to a future which would be ours. There would be difficulties to overcome but we would overcome them.

So we sat and planned. We thrust aside our uncertainties. We needed some comfort, and talking gave that to us. We made ourselves see a future which we had believed was lost to us forever.

It was impossible to keep Roderick’s return a secret from Marie-Christine. She had heard that Mr. Claverham had visited us …young Mr. Claverham … and she was waiting for me on my return.

She pounced on me. “You look different,” she cried. “Something’s happened. What? What? Roderick! He’s back.”

“Yes,” I said. “He came here.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s gone.”

“Gone? But why? What did he say? He knows he is not your brother now. Isn’t it wonderful? Meningarth and all that. If / hadn’t found the letters …”

“Yes, you were wonderful, Marie-Christine,” I said.

“Well, what is going to happen now?”

“He is married, Marie-Christine.”

“Well, what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“You do. I can see you do. Tell me. I have been in this, haven’t I? / found the letters.”

“You did. And you have been a good friend to me. But you know that we cannot marry now. He is married to Lisa.”

“The one who fell down in front of your mother’s carriage?”

“Yes.”

“She stands in the way. Well, what is he going to do? I can see there are plans.”

“He is going to ask her to give him his freedom.”

“You mean divorce him? Oh, Noelle, how exciting!”

“I think it will be rather distressing.”

“What a pity he did not wait until we had found the letters. Did he say he loved you and will forever? She will say yes, I suppose, and then it will all come right.”

“I don’t know, Marie-Christine. I don’t think it will be as easy as that.”

I thought about it over the days which followed. In fact, I thought of little else.

It was then that Roderick returned. I could not guess in those first moments what he had to tell, but I was all impatience to hear.

“She was deeply shocked when I explained everything to her,” he said. “She was lying on her bed, as she often does, in a certain amount of discomfort. I told her how sorry I was. I explained about us and how it had always been and always would be. She knew of course, and that at the time when I had asked her to marry me, I had thought marriage was impossible between us two. I told her about the discovery and who your father was, and how you had proof of this.

“She said: ‘So now you could marry Noelle if you were not already married to me.’ I told her that if she would release me, she would never have to worry about the future again. She should be well looked after. She could have the best possible nursing. She should have complete comfort and lack nothing. She smiled very sadly then and said: ‘Except you.’ I said perhaps we could all be friends. It could all be easily managed. The formalities could be taken care of. There would be nothing for her to worry about. She listened, and closed her eyes, as though she were in pain.

“After a while she said: ‘You have taken me by surprise. I have to think. I need time. Please give me time. You are going to Scotland. Go there … and when you come back I will give you an answer. I shall know then whether I can go through with what you suggest.”

“So she has not refused.”

“No. I realize this was a shock to her. It is natural, I suppose, that she cannot bring herself to decide at once. So it is a matter of waiting. We have to have Lisa’s agreement. If we do, it can be done without too much difficulty. I feel sure she will see it is the best way for us all.”

“Roderick, you seem so sure.”

“I am. Lisa is fond of you. She used to talk of you, always with affection. Many times she has said she will never forget what your mother did for her. She knows she is never going to walk properly again. She knows that she can only get worse. Our marriage has never been a real one. I am sure she will see that there is only one thing for her to do. She won’t stand in. our way. She is not the evil woman my mother makes her out to be.”

“And your parents … do they know of this?”

“I have told them. My father thinks it is a solution. All we need is for Lisa to agree.”

“And your mother?”

“She is very pleased. You know, when you and I thought we were going to marry, we had her approval … in spite of her original attitude towards you. I was amazed, and so was my father. But she had such respect for you. She was eager to welcome you into the family.”

“You seem full of hope.”

“I must be. Anything else would be unendurable … particularly now that we know it need never have happened.”

“Then all we can do is wait.”

He took my hand and kissed it.

“It is going to be all right, Noelle. I know it. It has to be,” he said.

I could think of nothing but what was happening at Leverson Manor. Roderick would have left for Scotland. Lisa would be grappling with herself, wondering whether she could do what Roderick asked of her. Lady Constance would be hoping to be rid of her son’s wife, whom she hated for a number of reasons. She would perhaps be thinking of me and the time when we were together in Neptune’s temple. If Lisa agreed to what Roderick asked, if the divorce could be discreetly arranged, we could settle down to a new life.

To my amazement, I received a letter from Lisa.

My dear Noelle [she wrote],

/ do want to see you. I want to talk to you. Roderick has told me everything. It came as a shock to learn that you are not Charlie’s daughter and have proof of this, and that there was no impediment to your marriage with Roderick.

I am in a poor state of health. There is perpetual discomfort. I can’t stay in one position for long. Roderick has done everything to make me comfortable here, but it is not easy. It is a wonderful place to be. I have found great interest in the Roman remains and Fiona and her husband have been good friends to me. One of them often comes to see me. I should have to give up all that if I went away.

Well, there is so much I want to say to you. I want you to understand. Could you come, not just for a brief weekend, but to stay a little while? I want to talk … and talk. I remember so much of the old days and everything that led up to this. I am in difficulties, Noelle. Do please come.

I was deeply moved when I read the letter. I wondered what she could have to say to me. She had to make her decision. I could understand how she had formed an attachment to Leverson Manor. It was a fine old place, and she had the friendship of Fiona. I knew she would have compassion for her and, as she had acquired an interest in Fiona’s own passion for archaeology, there would have been a bond between them. Lisa must be considering going away, to some remote place … away from Roderick, whom I believed she had always loved. It was asking a great deal of her.

But to go to Leverson Manor! The idea both excited and alarmed me.

I wrote back to her:

Dear Lisa,

Thank you for your letter. I am sorry to hear of your suffering. I know what Roderick is asking you, and I do realize you find it hard to make a quick decision.

I should like to talk to you, but hesitate to come to Leverson Manor without an invitation from Lady Constance. Moreover, I have a young girl living with me, Marie-Christine du Carron. I was with her in France. She is Robert’s great-niece and she lost her family in the siege of Paris. I could not leave her.

My love and sympathy,

Noelle

The response was another letter. This was from Lady Constance.

My dear Noelle,

We have thought of you a good deal since you left us. I was very sad to see you go in such circumstances.

Lisa has told me that she wants to talk to you, and that it is important to her that she does so. I think it might be helpful if she did. She says that you need an invitation from me.

My dear, I should be delighted to see you. Neither my husband nor I can see that any harm could come to the position at the moment by your coming here.

It may well be that you can persuade Lisa as to what she should do for all our sakes.

So please come, and bring Marie-Christine with you. You will both be welcome.

Affectionately,

Constance Claverham

The carriage was waiting for us at the station.

I had never thought to see Leverson again, and how strange it was to be riding through those Kentish lanes.

We had turned into the drive, and went under the gatehouse into the courtyard.

Marie-Christine’s eyes were round with amazement.

“What a splendid place!” she cried. “It is like a castle.”

I was pleased that she liked it. I felt as though I were part of it. Such had been Roderick’s optimism that I could convince myself that it might well be my home one day.

As we passed through the hall, with its pistols and blunderbusses, I remembered the apprehension I had felt when Charlie had first brought me here.

“Lady Constance says that you are to be taken to the drawing room as soon as you arrive,” I was told.

We followed the maid, though I knew the way.

In the drawing room she was waiting. Charlie was with her.

“My dear Noelle,” he murmured and, taking my hand, kissed my cheek.

Lady Constance came forward. She kissed me, too.

“My dear,” she said. “I am glad to see you. And this is Marie-Christine?”

Marie-Christine was a little overawed, which was rare with her, but such was the personality of Lady Constance.

“You will have your old room,” said Lady Constance to me. “And Marie-Christine will be next to you. I thought you would like to be close.” She turned to Marie-Christine. “This is rather a large house, and people are apt to get lost just at first.”

“It is beautiful!” cried Marie-Christine. “And very grand.”

Lady Constance smiled graciously.

“I am looking forward to hearing all your news,” she said to me. “But now I am sure you are tired after your journey. It is a pity the train arrives so late. But you can change before dinner. Would you like to go to your rooms now?”

I said I thought that would be best.

“I hope you will be comfortable,” said Lady Constance.

She rang a bell and a maid appeared.

“Take our guests to their rooms, please, and make sure they have everything they need,” said Lady Constance. “And, Noelle, my dear … say half an hour? That will give us a little time before dinner is served.”

“Thank you very much.”

It was all very conventional and normal. No one would have guessed of the drama behind my visit. This was typical of Lady Constance. I felt my spirits rising. Her welcome had been warm in the extreme … for her. I was reminded of the reception I had received when I first came to this house.

Marie-Christine was in a state of high excitement. She loved what she called adventure and this was certainly in that category … as exciting to her as our trip to Cornwall.

The room looked just as it was when I was last in it. I went to see Marie-Christine in hers. She was delighted with it and all eager anticipation, waiting for what would happen next.

I washed and changed and, with Marie-Christine, went downstairs. Lady Constance was waiting for us. Marie-Christine’s presence prevented any intimate conversation, and it was not until after dinner, when Charlie took Marie-Christine off to see the house, that I was alone with Lady Constance.

She said: “I am very happy to have you here. I was sad when you went away. It was a great pity Roderick married. I was very much against it.”

“And what about Lisa?” I asked. “Is her trouble incurable? Is there no hope for her?”

“None. She has permanently injured her spine. Roderick has brought in all the leading men in the country. The verdict is always the same. She will remain an invalid, and it is very likely that the condition will grow worse.”

“What a terrible prospect for her!”

“And for Roderick. But let us hope there may be a way out.”

“It is so tragic for her,” I said. “She was so ambitious, and she was getting on well in her profession.”

“I do not know about that, but she is here … as Roderick’s wife. I had hoped … you and I could have got along very well together, Noelle.”

“I am sure we should.”

“I hope I may say I am sure we shall. We’ve got to make her see reason, Noelle.”

“But what is reason for us might not be for her. She is being asked for a great deal.”

“She must agree. We are going to use all our efforts to persuade her.”

“When can I see her?”

“Tomorrow. She has had a bad day today. She does have them. The pain is great then. The doctor has prescribed pills for her. They are quite effective. They are always at hand, but she can’t take too many at a time, of course. I think six is the maximum for the whole day. She has to be careful to use them only when she really needs them. When the pain is very bad, she will take two. She had four yesterday, they tell me.”

“It sounds dreadful.”

“One can be sorry for her.”

Charlie returned with Marie-Christine. Her eyes were round with wonder. “It is the most exciting house!” she cried. “It’s very ancient, isn’t it, Mr. Claverham?”

“There are older ones in England,” said Charlie.

“I don’t believe there is one as exciting as this.”

Lady Constance’s lips twitched with amusement and pleasure. She was always pleased, I remembered, when people appreciated the house. I was glad Marie-Christine was making a good impression.

When it was time for us to retire, I went to Marie-Christine’s room to see that she was all right.

“It’s nice to be next door to you,” she said. “I reckon there are ghosts in this old place.”

“Well, if one visits you, all you have to do is knock on the wall and I’ll come in to share the company.”

She giggled with pleasure. I was so pleased to see her happy and contented.

I went to my room, and it was not very long before there was a gentle tap on my door. I called: “Come in,” and, to my pleasure, there was Gertie, the maid who had looked after me when I was last here.

“I’ve come to see you’ve got everything you want, miss,” she said.

“Gertie! I’m so glad to see you. How are you?”

“Not so bad, miss. How’s yourself? And you’ve brought this young lady with you.”

“Yes.” I told her: “Marie-Christine lost her family during the war in France and is now living with me.”

She looked shocked. “I was ever so sad when you went, miss,” she said. “Everybody here was.”

“Yes, it was very sad. Do you see much of Mrs. Claverham?”

“Oh yes, miss. I look after her in a way. She … er … don’t seem to fit here … her being an actress nobody’s ever heard of … not like Desiree … and being a cripple. Well, she can be a bit touchy at times. It’s nothing like it was here.”

“And Lady Constance—she is … all right with you now?”

“She don’t take much notice of me. She don’t pick on me. I’ll never forget that bust. I reckon I’d have been out of this place in no time if you hadn’t took the blame for it. I often think of that and what you done for me.”

“It was nothing, Gertie.”

“It was to me. We’ve got a new girl here now. Mabel … a sort of tweeny … learning and doing all the jobs nobody wants to do. I’d say she was a ha’p’orth short, if you ask me.”

“Do you mean she’s a little simple?”

“I’d say. And not a little. I’m the one that’s got to keep an eye on her. Will you be staying here long, miss?”

“I don’t think so. It’s just a short visit. I’ve really come to see Mrs. Claverham.”

“She’s ill most of the time. You never know how she’s going to be. Well … her being crippled like that. Perhaps you’ll be able to cheer her up.”

“I hope so,” I said.

“Well, if there’s anything you want, just ring. I’ll say good night. Have a good sleep.”

I doubted I should. My mind was in too much of a turmoil.

The next day I saw Lisa. She was lying in bed, propped up by pillows. She had changed a good deal, and I was shocked by her appearance.

“Oh, Noelle,” she said. “I am so glad you have come. What a lot has happened since we last met. You have not changed much. I know I have.”

“Poor Lisa! I was horrified when I heard of your accident.”

“All my hopes … all my dreams of greatness … gone, and because of a faulty trapdoor. I fell seven feet onto a concrete floor. I could have broken my neck. It could have finished me altogether … instead of finishing my career.” Her voice broke. “Perhaps it would have been better if it had.”

I had taken a seat by her bed, and put my hand over hers. I said: “You wanted to see me.”

“Oh yes. I did. I have for a long time … and now this. You are involved in it. In fact, our lives seem to have been involved ever since we met. It’s fate. Roderick has told me he always loved you. It was terrible, the way it had to end … and all the time it wasn’t true. Why did she do that to you?”

“It was all clear in her letters. She wanted to make sure that I was well looked after if anything happened to her. She had suffered during her own childhood, and she was determined that I should not be with people who did not want me. Charlie was rich. My real father was a poor man. She thought he could not give me all she wanted me to have.”

“I understand that. She was splendid. She would never let life lead her. She would guide it the way she wanted it to go. But that time it went wrong.”

“It was because she died so suddenly. If she had known that Roderick and I were seeing each other … if she had seen the possibility … she would have explained everything. But she died … so suddenly …”

“I thought she was the most wonderful person I had ever met.”

“You were not the only one who thought that.”

“And when she died … so unexpectedly …” Her face twisted, and her voice shook with emotion. “When I heard what had happened, it was the most horrifying moment of my life. She had done everything for me. No one had ever been so kind to me before.”

We were silent for a few moments.

“And now,” she went on, “I am asked to give up my husband and my home. Oh, Noelle, I have been happier here than I could be anywhere else. Roderick was so kind to me. I felt safe and secure, for the first time in my life.”

“He wanted to help you.”

“When it happened, I was completely desolate … without hope. I did not know which way to turn. I had saved a little money, but it would not last long. I had no idea what would happen to me. I was finished. I was desperate. I felt there was nothing left for me but to die. I thought of taking my life. He knew this. He is very sensitive. He is a good, kind man. He cares about people. He tried to cheer me up … and then suddenly he asked me to marry him. I could not believe it at first. But he meant it.”

“He understood what you were going through.”

“As no one else did. I could not believe it. It seemed like the greatest good fortune. It was a sudden change from despair to happiness. I think I was a little light-headed. I knew that he was still in love with you. But I thought: They can’t marry. Noelle will in time marry someone else. They have to forget each other. I will make him love me. I kept saying to myself: Brother and sister can’t marry. It’s against the law. It’s against nature. There is no reason why I shouldn’t marry him. I wouldn’t have hurt you for the world, Noelle. I shall never forget what you and your mother did for me. But it made no difference. You couldn’t marry him, could you? Or then you couldn’t.”

“Don’t reproach yourself, please.”

She lay back on her pillows, her eyes closed.

I said: “You are distressing yourself, Lisa. You must not do that.”

“I feel so tired sometimes. Worn out with the pain and not knowing what I must do. You are not leaving yet, are you?”

“No. I shall be here for a little while.”

“Come and see me again … when I feel better. We’ll be able to talk more then. I had a bad day yesterday. It takes me time to recover. I am so tired.”

“Rest now,” I said. “I will come and see you soon … and when you feel better, we’ll talk.”

Marie-Christine was eager to see the site, and in the afternoon I took her there. There was a certain amount of activity in progress. Some excavations were still going on and there were a few visitors.

Fiona greeted us warmly. She introduced us to the young man who was working with her, Jack Blackstock, her husband. He was very pleasant and, I immediately perceived, as earnest about the work they were doing as she was.

“There have been some changes here lately,” said Fiona. “The discovery of the temple attracted a great deal of attention.”

Marie-Christine asked several questions and there was nothing that delighted Fiona more, as I knew from the past, than other people’s interest in the work she was doing. This was a trait she shared with her husband.

Enthusiastically they showed Marie-Christine some of the artifacts, explaining how they were attempting to restore them. And after a while Fiona said we must see the temple.

My memories were stirred as we descended a slight incline. A few steps had been dug out of the earth to make the descent easy, and there we were standing on the stone floor on which I had once sat with Lady Constance, wondering whether our last moments were at hand.

The floor was tessellated in places, and some of the colours were quite beautiful. Fiona said they were in the process of being cleaned and she thought the result would be fantastic. We were confronted by a large figure with enough remaining to indicate that it was Neptune. The distinguishing trident was almost intact, and the bearded face was very little damaged. One of the legs was broken, but Fiona said one could imagine it as it had undoubtedly been.

Marie-Christine was eager to see the baths, and Fiona suggested that Jack take her right away to see them while she and I returned to the cottage to chat over old times while we waited for their return.

I was delighted at the prospect, for I thought Fiona might be able to tell me something about the situation at Leverson Manor.

“I’ll give you some coffee when you come back,” Fiona promised Jack and Marie-Christine.

Marie-Christine was enjoying this, and I was delighted by her interest in everything.

On the way back to the cottage, I explained to Fiona why Marie-Christine was with me, and I told her a little about my stay in France.

She listened with great interest and expressed her deep sorrow, which I knew was sincere.

I said: “And you, Fiona, how have you been since I left?”

“Well, I married, of course.”

“And you are happy?”

“Sublimely so. We are both so wrapped up in all this … and for years my grandmother was a great anxiety to me.”

“She is still in that nursing home?”

“Yes. She is happy enough there. She lives in a dream world. She is very popular with the others there … telling their fortunes, predicting the future. I daresay it makes their lives a little more interesting.”

“Does she mind being there?”

“I think she is only just aware of reality. She likes to be surrounded by people whom she can dominate in a way … which she has done through what she calls her ‘powers.’ “

“Does she remember about the warning notice she took away?”

“Oh, what a terrible thing that was! You might have been killed … both you and Lady Constance. She forgets all that. She is now immersed in the lives of her fellow companions. Sometimes she seems to have forgotten who I am. It has lifted a great strain from me. And now that Jack and I are together, everything is quite different. I am so lucky. Of course, removing the warning sign was the last straw. That was when I knew she had to be put away. It is strange how something really frightful like that can result in something good.”

I thought of Lady Constance and myself down there, and how barriers had been swept away, and we had come to an understanding of each other.

“Discovering the temple,” Fiona was saying. “What a wonderful thing that was! And that brought Jack down here and, well … it just went on from there.”

“I am glad some good came out of it.”

“And when I think of what the result might have been!”

“But it disclosed the temple,” I said with a smile. “And it brought Jack down here. It also brought home the fact that your grandmother should be under supervision. Fiona, what is it like at Leverson Manor? You go there, don’t you?”

“Yes, occasionally I go to see poor Lisa. What a terrible tragedy that is!”

“The accident ruined her career, but because of it she married Roderick.”

Fiona shook her head. She looked at me intently and said: “It is a sad household.”

“It seems so.”

“You went so suddenly. I thought that Roderick and you …”

“Have you heard nothing, then?”

“One hears rumours. One never is sure what to believe. Lady Constance never liked me, but she is mildly friendly now. She thought I was after Roderick because he was interested in the site. She did not like that.” She smiled. “Well, that little matter is settled now. I go to see Lisa. She came here once or twice before she became so incapacitated. She was always so interested. I take things over to show her sometimes. I think she looks forward to the visits.”

“Do you know why I went away so suddenly?”

“Well, I did hear that you were the result of an indiscretion of Charlie Claverham’s; you were going to marry Roderick and you found you were brother and sister.”

“That was why I went, Fiona.”

“So it was true?”

“No. We thought so … and that was why I went. But now I have proof that I am not Charlie’s daughter.”

“And so … you have come back …”

“Lisa asked me to. I don’t know what will happen.”

“I see. I know Roderick is not happy. Nor is Lisa. She does not tell me a great deal, but she has mentioned how wonderful Roderick is … how sympathetic and how she did not know which way to turn, and it was like the ending to a fairy tale when Roderick asked her to marry him and brought her to the luxury of Leverson Manor.”

“I shall not stay here long,” I said. “I only came because Lisa asked me to. I was given a very warm welcome.”

“Lady Constance has taken to you. That’s rare. She likes so few.”

“We had that adventure together.”

“What is going to happen now, Noelle?”

“I don’t know.”

“Poor Lisa. She suffers great pain. I often think of her lying there. She has told me she had dreams … of greatness. She talks a lot about your mother. She seems to have an obsession about her. She has said more than once that her ambition was to be another Desiree. She said she could have done it if fate had not been so cruel to her. But at least now she does not have to worry about the future. It is secure, and that means a lot to her.”

“Poor … poor Lisa.”

“And you and Roderick, too.”

“I shall have to go away,” I said.

“What shall you do?”

“So far I have made no plans.”

“You should throw yourself into some work.”

“As you do,” I said.

“It’s the best thing, Noelle. Sometimes we need crutches in our lives.”

I heard steps outside the cottage. Jack and Marie-Christine were coming back.

Marie-Christine’s interest had been captured by the Roman relics, which produced that irrepressible enthusiasm so typical of her.

At the same time, she was anxious about my future.

She needed something to happen all the time. I supposed it took her mind off her loss. It was not that she had been especially close to any of her family, but they had been part of the life from which she had been roughly torn.

I understood and wondered if I had been wise to let her into so many secrets; but at the time it had seemed essential to tell her these things, as she was indeed sharing my life. Young as she was, she had a certain worldliness which was combined with the innocence of the inexperienced, and this showed itself now and then.

She wanted events to move and expected them to. She marvelled that we had solved what we had set out to do in Cornwall.

She had been exhilarated by the adventure. Now she was expecting further action.

She said to me: “Is Lisa going to divorce him? I do hope she does. Then we shall come and live here. I love this house. It is so exciting. A bit scary at times, when you think of all those ghosts. But I like that. It makes it interesting. Then there are the Roman bits, and Fiona and Jack. I’d love to live here.”

I could see that, characteristically, she was sweeping away all obstacles. She saw Lisa quietly retiring and ourselves coming to live here in this fascinating place which had intrigued her active imagination.

“You are going too fast, Marie-Christine,” I said. “We don’t know what is going to happen.”

“But you’ve seen her. You’ve talked to her. You’ve told her that we found the letters and you can marry Roderick now.”

“It’s not as easy as that. You’ve got to …”

“I know,” she said roguishly, “wait and see.”

“Yes. Please remember that.”

“But it is going to be all right. This is such a lovely place. I like Roderick. I like Fiona. I like Jack.”

“I’m glad you do,” I replied. “But that does not affect the problem.”

“So it is back to the old ‘wait and see.’ Jack has promised to show me an old spoon that was dug up. It is a spoon at one end and a spike at the other. The Romans used it for getting fish out of their shells, which shows they liked this sort of fish which were found off the shore of ancient Britain.”

“You are becoming very knowledgeable.”

“I think it is all … fascinating. I’m going over there now. They said I could. Are you coming?”

“I’ll join you later.”

Marie-Christine had only just gone when a maid came to my room to tell me that Lady Constance would like to see me.

I went at once to her room.

“Oh, do come in, Noelle,” she said. “I did want to have a chat in private. I see the girl has gone off. She is a bright creature, but a very inquisitive one.”

“Yes, that is so.”

“It is like you to look after her.”

“She would not like to hear you say that. She thinks she is looking after me.”

“Noelle … this state of affairs … it cannot go on. You know that I should like to see you here … permanently.”

“Lady Constance …”

“I know, I know. You cannot stay here in the present circumstances. It would be too much. I understand. But you must not go yet.”

“As you say, I cannot see how I could stay here …”

“Do you remember when we were in that place together?”

“I could never forget it.”

“I wasn’t thinking so much of the fear of death, but of what we said to each other.”

“I think of that, too.”

“We became friends. It was rather miraculous. In such a short space of time, we came to know each other.”

“It was the circumstances. When people are facing death they may discard barriers.”

“That was what I did. I discarded barriers which I had built up over the years. It was good for my soul. It showed me myself … my foolish mistakes.”

“We all make foolish mistakes.”

“I have made so many. I think in a way they cost me my husband. He turned to others.”

“You mean my mother. I think you should remember that she was an exceptional woman. Many people were in love with her.”

“She could have spoiled your life.”

“Unwittingly. How unhappy she would be if she could know what she had done … how angry with herself! She wanted everything that was good for me.”

“She was a strong woman. To deceive Charlie like that! Of course, he was in a position to be deceived. You know how I was tormented over the years about that.”

“I know, and I am sorry.”

“It was foolish of me. He is a good man at heart. He wanted to be a good husband, and he was in other respects. When you and I were down there talking … things became so clear to me, and I saw that often what happens to us is our own fault. ‘Not in our stars, but in ourselves,’ as Shakespeare says.”

“I think there is truth in that. I hope you will be happier now.”

“I could be … if I thought Roderick was happy. But he is far from that … at this time,” she added. “If she were no longer here. If you came back … you and I together, Noelle, we could make this into a more contented household than it has ever been.”

“If …” I said. “A great deal would have to happen before that could be.”

“You love him, don’t you? You love Roderick?”

“Yes.”

“I knew you did … before … I was putting other things before love, but now I know how stupid I was. As your mother wanted the best for you, I want the best for my son.”

“I know you wanted a grand marriage for him. Don’t reproach yourself. It was natural.”

“Now I want him to have a happy marriage, and because you love him and he loves you, only you can give him that.”

“Yes … but .. .”

“She will have to go, Noelle. She must. She cannot remain here ruining so many people’s lives.” It was the indomitable Lady Constance speaking. The softness I had glimpsed was gone. She went on: “There is something evil about her. She manipulates. How did she get her chance on the stage? Charlie told me. It was by falling under your mother’s carriage. How did she get into this household? By appealing to Roderick’s pity.”

I said: “She did fall under the carriage. I was there when it happened.”

“She must have arranged it, as she arranged to trap Roderick. I am determined that she shall go. She has asked to see you. She said she wanted to talk to you. I thought that was a hopeful sign. Noelle, she must give Roderick up. She will be looked after. A sum of money will be settled on her. She need have no more fear … if only she will get out of this house.”

“She may refuse.”

“She must not be allowed to. Talk to her, Noelle. You talked to me once, did you not? And look what a difference that made!”

“Roderick has talked to her and she has said she will decide soon. It is not a matter about which she can be expected to make a hasty judgement.”

“Talk to her. I feel you can make her understand. She must agree.”

“I will talk to her. In fact, she asked me to come here because she wanted to talk to me.”

“I have every confidence in you, Noelle. Oh, how pleased I shall be when this is settled. I cannot tell you how I look forward to the future. I want you to be here. I want a chance to see my son happy. I want grandchildren and I should like you to be their mother. That is what I want more than anything. I want to be happy and at peace in my old age. Noelle, my dear, I shall always be grateful to you for showing me the folly of my ways.”

“You endow me with virtues I don’t possess.”

“My dear, I am fond of you. Nothing will satisfy me but that I see you here … where you belong.”

I was moved. Even now, it was surprising to hear her talk in such a way.

There were tears in her eyes when she kissed me.

Three days had passed. Marie-Christine went to the cottage often. I asked them if she was intruding.

“Far from it,” said Fiona. “Jack is most amused. We’re giving her little jobs to do and she seems to enjoy that.”

Lady Constance and I were often together. We would take walks in the gardens. She took pleasure in showing me what she had done and what she planned there for the future—as though it were already my home. But on all these occasions, the subject of Lisa was never far from our minds. Lady Constance was convinced that Lisa would, as she called it, be sensible.

I was uncertain. I saw Lisa each day. She was in a nervous state. I wondered why she had been so insistent on seeing me when it seemed that she had nothing special to say. But that was not quite so, for there were occasions when she seemed to be bracing herself, when she would begin to talk earnestly, and then suddenly come to a halt. I tried to urge her to continue, but it was no use. However, this did confirm my opinion that she had wanted to see me for a purpose which I should discover in time.

She talked of the place to which she would go if she gave Roderick his freedom. She brought this up several times.

I was with her one afternoon when Lady Constance was resting and Marie-Christine had gone off to the cottage. The house was quiet at this time of the day.

She said suddenly: “I love this house. It is the sort of house I always admired. When I was a child, I would dream of living in such a house. The Big House! I used to stand and stare at the Big House in our village. You could only see the walls and the bell tower, I remember. There was a clock up there. You could hear its chimes all over the village. I used to say: ‘When I’m grown up I’ll live in a house like that.’ And here I am … in an even grander one. Who would believe it? And now they all want me to go away. Roderick wants me to go away; Lady Constance always has. She hates me and has from the moment I appeared.” She laughed hysterically. “Her son … to marry an out-of-work actress!”

“You are distressing yourself, Lisa,” I said.

“I’m saying the truth. Why should I leave here so that you can come in my place? You have had everything … a wonderful childhood … Desiree for a mother. Life isn’t fair!”

“It never has been.”

“Why do some have all the luck? Why do some of us have to stand aside and grab what we can get? Catching the crumbs which fall from the rich man’s table!”

“I don’t know, Lisa.”

“Oh, dear. I suppose I should live in the sort of place they want to send me to … with a lot of people like myself … in various stages of decay.”

“Don’t say that, Lisa. I know you have suffered … that you still suffer. But there are times when you feel better.”

“What do you know about it? How would you like to be …unwanted? To have a chance and, just when you happen to be on the way … this has to happen? I could have been another Desiree. I know it. And then this happens.”

“I understand, Lisa. It was cruel.”

“But I was slapped down … cut off … just when I had a chance.” She was staring ahead of her, and I saw the tears on her cheeks. I longed to comfort her.

“Then your mother …” she went on. “Fame and fortune were hers, and then … her life was cut off … without any warning.”

She lay back and closed her eyes.

“Noelle,” she whispered. “Pills.”

There was a small cupboard by her bed, the top of which was used as a table. On this was a glass and a jug of water.

“Pills in cupboard,” she said in a low voice. “Two. They dissolve in water.”

I hastily poured out a tumbler of water and took the bottle of pills from the cupboard. I dropped two of them into the water.

She watched me. “They don’t take long,” she said.

In a few more seconds the pills were invisible. I gave the glass to her and she drank eagerly. Then I took the glass from her and placed it beside the jug.

She smiled at me wanly. “They work … fairly quickly,” she said. “Very effective. I’ll be better soon.”

I took her hand and pressed it.

“Shouldn’t have said that,” she said. “You deserved what you had. She was so wonderful. What a tragedy! I never got over it.”

“Don’t talk,” I said. “Rest.”

“Come again soon. I have to talk to you.”

“Is the pain better?”

“Getting better. Those pills are very strong.”

I saw her features relax a little. She still clung to my hand.

“Sorry, Noelle.”

“I understand. I do … really.”

She smiled.

I stayed with her until she was asleep. Then I crept quietly from the room.

At the end of the week Roderick and Charlie returned.

I shall never forget that Friday. It was the beginning of the nightmare weekend.

They did not come back until the evening, and in the afternoon I went to sit with Lisa.

As soon as I saw her I noticed that there was something different about her. There was a spot of colour in her cheeks and her eyes were unnaturally bright. I wondered if she had a fever.

She said: “I’m glad you’ve come, Noelle. I want to tell you what I have been trying to for a long time. Even now, I am wavering. I don’t know whether it’s right to tell you. Sometimes I think I should … at others that I should be a fool to do so.”

“What is it, Lisa, you want to tell me? I know you have been on the point of doing so many times.”

“It’s your mother. I want to explain something. Take your mind back to that day we met.”

“I remember it well.”

“I contrived it. I arranged for your carriage to knock me down. I knew how to make it look like an accident. I knew how to fall. I was a dancer. I was agile … and I planned it carefully. I wanted to get your mother’s attention. You don’t seem very surprised.”

“Well, I must admit that at times … I wondered. I wasn’t sure. It could have been an accident … or arranged.”

“You don’t know what it is like … never getting a chance … seeing others shooting up ahead of you … not because they have more talent, but because they have the right friends. I had to get a chance. I knew your mother was generous. I knew she would be understanding. I knew she had a reputation for helping unlucky people. She was wonderful. All that I hoped for … and more.”

“So it worked,” I said. “You got your chance.”

“I knew I could do it … if only I had the opportunity.”

I looked at her steadily and said: “Caper spurge?”

“I … I knew something about herbs. You do, in the country … if you are interested in that sort of thing. Laburnum, Christmas rose, hellebore … there are lots of them. Caper spurge wouldn’t cause much harm. There is a milky juice in the fruit … well, in all parts. It irritates your skin if it touches you, and it is a drastic purge. People recover quickly from it.”

She must have seen the horror in my face, for she turned away and said quickly: “I was sitting in the garden one day … on that wicker seat, and I was thinking that I should never get a chance to lift myself out of the chorus. And I saw it there, near me. I remembered it. And I thought: I want my chance now … while I’m young and able to take advantage of it. I thought: It will be now or never.”

“You made her ill, so that you could go on in her place and have your chance! She had given you your chance … and you used her like that!”

“I know. I’m so worried. If only I had known what would happen. The opportunity was there. I thought I’d have it and there would be no harm done. It wouldn’t make any difference to her to be off for a night or two. I didn’t mean to harm her. I would never have touched it if I had known. It was so easy. I knew how to deal with the juice. When we came in after the show, either Martha or I would get her a drink. I got it that night. It was hot milk. She was always lively after a show. She wouldn’t stop talking. She did not notice what she was drinking. She wasn’t there. She was on the stage. She and Martha would go on and on about it. Noelle, it was only to make her indisposed … just for a night … so that I could go on in her place.”

“It killed her,” I said.

“I didn’t kill her. I wouldn’t have hurt her for anything. I loved her. I did, really. Nobody had ever been so good to me as she was. It was only just to give me a chance …”

“She died!”

“How did I know she was going to get out of bed and feel dizzy? It was the fall that killed her … not what I had given her.”

“It was because of what you had given her that she fell.”

“I thought you would help to comfort me. I’ve suffered terribly. I dream about her. I never meant to hurt her.”

“I heartily wish you had never come near us,” I said.

“You are blaming me for her death.”

“Of course I’m blaming you! If she had not brought you into the house, if she had not put you into the chorus, if she had not let you be her understudy … she would be alive today.”

“I’m sorry I told you. I couldn’t keep it to myself any longer. It’s a great weight on my mind. I hoped that you would understand and help me.”

“I understand you and your wretched ambition.” “She was ambitious, too. She lied about Charlie.”

I wanted to get away from her. I stood up.

She said: “Wait. I have been through so much. You don’t know how I blame myself. She was good to me … no one had been so good before … no one ever did for me what she did. I didn’t kill her. It has been on my conscience. I dream about it. It’s horrible. I thought you’d help me. I thought you would understand.”

I could not speak. I could only think of Desiree, and my longing to be with her was so intense that I hated this woman whose action—if indirectly—had taken my mother from me.

I should have tried to understand. I should have realized how desperately she wanted to succeed, and she thought that by merely causing a little discomfort to my mother, she could do so. My mother might have done the same, she would reason with herself. She would understand, and perhaps think it rather a joke. I could see Lisa’s anguish, and I knew she was telling me the truth when she said how much she had suffered at the tragic turn of events.

Her face hardened. She was trying to suppress her feelings. She said: “I have been through a great deal, and I will no longer. I’ve paid for what I did to your mother. I was given my chance and I was unable to take advantage of it. It is dangerous to meddle with fate, to try to make life go the way you want it to to succeed. I meddled. It might seem that I had my chance … and now, look at me. Your mother did the same … and because of that, you lost Roderick. Life is laughing at us. You can understand that, Noelle. I have suffered too much, and I will no more. I shall not leave this house. I shall stay here. I will never, as long as I live, step aside for you. Roderick married me. He chose to do so. He was not forced into it. I shall not give him up. I shall not go and live in some nursing home like poor Mrs. Carling … just because I am in the way. This is my home, and I shall stay here.”

I could bear no more.

I left her and went to my room.

I was terribly shaken by Lisa’s revelation, and scarcely slept that night.

The next morning Dr. Doughty paid his periodic visit to Lisa. Lady Constance asked me if I would go up with him, as he liked someone to be there.

Lisa was lying in bed, propped up with pillows. She averted her eyes from me when I entered.

I said: “Dr. Doughty is here.”

“Just the usual checkup, Mrs. Claverham,” said the doctor. “How are you this morning?”

“Not very good.”

“The same old pain in the same old place?”

She nodded, and he spent some time examining her back.

He grunted. “I have some good news,” he said, when she was lying back in her pillows, “and I am optimistic … very optimistic. There has been a breakthrough in spinal problems. It’s an operation, followed by special treatment. I reckon it will be perfected in a few months’ time. And then, my dear Mrs. Claverham, I think we could look forward to a change in your condition.”

“What would it mean?” asked Lisa eagerly.

“Well, I can’t promise you that you will be doing the high kick, or whatever you call it, but you would be able to walk with ease, and there would be a lessening of the accursed pain.”

“It sounds wonderful.”

“It could be. We’ll soldier on, eh? And perhaps in six months’ time …”

“I can’t take it in! I thought this was forever.”

“Nil desperandum, dear lady. I think you have a very good chance.”

Lisa looked at me; her eyes were shining. “Isn’t that wonderful news, Noelle?”

“It is indeed.”

In that moment she reminded me of the girl I had seen in bed immediately after the carriage accident.

“Perhaps I should have a word with Lady Constance,” said Dr. Doughty.

He took Lisa’s hand. “Rest assured,” he said, “that I shall get more details of what this entails, and when I have them, I shall be along. I am sure this news will be as good as a tonic to you. By the way, have you plenty of painkillers?”

She looked towards the cupboard, and he opened the door and took out the bottle, opening it. “You’re all right for a few days. Remember, never more than two at a time. I’ll send some along next week. You’ll be all right till then. Effective, aren’t they? Well, let’s hope before long you won’t be needing them.”

He said goodbye and I took him to Lady Constance and left them together.

When he had gone, I went to Lady Constance.

“The doctor has told me,” she said. “He thinks she can be cured, if only partially.”

“Yes, he told us so.”

“I wonder what this will mean.”

“I think it will make her more determined not to give in. She told me yesterday that she would never do so.”

“We must persuade her.”

“I don’t think anyone can do that.”

“One person should not be allowed to ruin so many lives.”

“She clings to Roderick. She clings to this place. She cannot visualize a life without them.”

“So much is at stake.”

“For her, as well as for us.”

“My dear Noelle, think what this means.”

“I think of little else.”

“She must understand.”

“She has suffered a great deal,” I said. And from that moment, my hatred of her, for what she had done to my mother, began to evaporate. It was swamped by my pity for this unloved, bewildered girl-

Later that day, when Roderick returned with Charlie, he immediately went to Lisa. It was clear when he emerged that he was plunged in melancholy. I guessed why. She had given him his answer.

I was with Lady Constance and Charlie when he joined us.

“She insists that she is going to get better,” he said. “The doctor has told her that he has every hope of this.”

“That is true,” said Lady Constance. “He told us that it may be possible in quite a short time … perhaps not a complete cure, but it could improve her condition considerably.”

“That is good news for Lisa,” said Roderick. “I only hope it is true. It would help her a lot. She is naturally elated by the prospect. But at the same time, she is determined not to release me— and I know her well enough to understand that she means what she says. I don’t know whether this has made a difference to her decision.”

I said: “She told me before the doctor came that she had made up her mind.”

“She must be persuaded to change it,” said Lady Constance.

“I am not sure that that is possible,” said Roderick.

“I think I should go back to London,” I put in.

“Oh no!” cried Roderick.

“I must. I can’t stay here. I should not have come.”

Yet I had come because she asked me. She had had a compulsion to confess. Poor Lisa! She was as unhappy as the rest of us. And now she was determined to cling to what she had. She was not going to stand aside. She had shown that. I knew in my heart that nothing I could say would deter her.

“What a disaster we have made of things,” murmured Charlie. “Is there no way out?”

“We have to see it from her point of view,” I said, surprising myself, when I remembered the waves of hatred which had come over me when she had confessed that she was responsible for my mother’s death. I understood so well her obsession with her career. Had I not had an example with my mother? She had thought she could pick something out of the ruins and be happy. And then … this. I believed she would never relinquish what she had salvaged.

“I must go,” I said. “It will be best for everyone.”

“Where will you go, Noelle?” asked Charlie.

“Back to London … for a while. I shall see what I can do. I have Marie-Christine. We will try to do something together.”

“I can’t give up hope,” said Roderick.

“Nor I,” added Lady Constance.

That night Marie-Christine came to my room.

She said: “Why is there all this gloom?”

“We are going back to London.”

“When?”

“On Monday. We can’t go tomorrow because the trains don’t run on Sundays, otherwise …”

“Go back to London! In such a hurry and all! I can’t. Jack is going to show me how to clean some pottery.”

“Marie-Christine, we have to go.”

“Why?”

“Never mind why. We have to go.”

“When are we coming back?”

“I think we shall not come back.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know something is going on.”

“You mean about you and Roderick and Lisa?”

“Lisa is going to stay here.”

“Stay married to Roderick?”

“You are too young to understand these things.”

“You know nothing maddens me more than to be told that. Particularly when I understand perfectly.”

“But it is true, Marie-Christine. Lisa is Roderick’s wife and marriage is binding.”

“Not always. Some people part.”

“Well, in this case, Lisa is going to stay, and Roderick with her. That means that we must go away. There is no place for us here.”

“It can’t be! You are going to marry Roderick. We’re going to live here. That is what we want.”

“People don’t always get what they want, Marie-Christine.”

“I can’t bear to go away. I love it here. I love Jack and Fiona … and it’s so exciting. I love the Roman things. I want to learn about them. It has been wonderful. I don’t want to go away, Noelle.”

“I am sorry, Marie-Christine. It isn’t going to work out. It may well be that Lisa is going to be cured. She and Roderick are married.”

Marie-Christine’s face was distorted with misery.

“It mustn’t happen,” she said vehemently. “It can’t. There must be a way to make it come right.”

“We can’t always make things go the way we want them to in life. That’s what you learn as you get older.”

“I don’t believe it. We’ve got to do something.”

Poor Marie-Christine! She had a great deal to learn.

It was afternoon, just after luncheon—a gloomy meal. I was ready to leave the next day, and Marie-Christine and I were preparing to visit Fiona and Jack to tell them of our imminent departure.

I was in my room, putting on my riding jacket, when Lady Constance came in.

She looked bewildered and distraught.

“A terrible thing has happened,” she said. “Lisa is dead.”

The Verdict

The days that followed had taken on a certain unreality. There were comings and goings, whispering voices everywhere. Dr. Doughty had no doubt what had killed her. It was an overdose of the pills which he had prescribed. He had frequently cautioned Lisa as to the strength of those pills. She had needed such an antidote because the pain she had suffered could be very fierce, but he had told her that she was never to take more than two at a time. She could in dire circumstances take as many as six a day—but he preferred her not to do that often—and if she did, they must be spaced out over a period of twenty-four hours.

The autopsy proved Dr. Doughty right. According to the amount of the drug found in her body, she must have taken at least six at one time—a fatal dose.

We were a silent household. The servants went about as though they were in some conspiracy. How much did they know? I wondered. They would be aware that I had once been engaged to Roderick and that I had gone away suddenly, the engagement broken off. Did they know that Roderick had asked for his freedom so that he might marry me? Did they know that Lisa had refused to give it?

Had anyone asked the question: had Lisa been murdered? When there was sudden death which might be murder, people looked for a motive.

Without doubt the motive was there. Roderick wanted to be rid of his wife. It was one of the commonest motives for murder. He had been in the house at the time of Lisa’s death. So had I. And I was as deeply involved as he was.

Those were nightmare days with endless possibilities. I could only try to shut out the terrible thoughts which kept chasing themselves round and round in my mind.

I could not leave the house now. I had been there at the time of Lisa’s death and should have to attend the inquest. I don’t know how I lived through that waiting period. I dreaded the inevitable inquest, while I longed for it to be over that I might know the worst. I remembered what had followed my mother’s death. There would be no peace until it was over … and what would the verdict be?

Marie-Christine had become very aloof. I could not read her thoughts. Lady Constance shut herself in her room and did not want to talk to anyone. Charlie seemed bewildered. I think Roderick felt as I did. We wanted to be alone together, to talk of what was uppermost in our minds. But we were restrained. I sensed that we were being closely watched.

One day the impulse came to me to ride out. I felt I could get everything into a better perspective away from the house.

Roderick must have seen me leave and followed me.

I was sure he was as eager to get away from the house as I was.

I was about a mile away from the house when he caught up with me.

“Noelle,” he said. “We have to talk. We’ve got to say what’s in our minds. How did it happen?”

“She must have taken it herself.”

“But she thought she was going to get better.”

“I know, but she was not happy.”

“You don’t think that I … ?”

“Roderick! Oh … no, no!”

“I had asked her to release me and she had refused.”

“I know we wanted it to happen, Roderick. But not that way.”

“If it were known … it would seem …”

“It is true that we wanted her to give you your freedom so that we could marry and be together, but not like that.”

“What is most important to me is that you do not for a moment think that I …”

“I would never believe that. Remember, I wanted this as much as you did. I could have been in her room. You wouldn’t think that I . ?”

“Never.”

“We know each other too well, and that we could never be happy with that between us.”

“That is what I think. But the doubt …”

“There is no doubt.”

“That is what I had to know.”

“Then … whatever happens … that can never be between us.”

I sat in the courtroom with Roderick and Charlie; and Lady Constance and Marie-Christine were on either side of me.

The first witnesses were the experts and a great many questions were asked of them. The analyst explained that there was no doubt that Mrs. Lisa Claverham had died through a massive overdose of the pills prescribed by her doctor.

Dr. Doughty himself gave evidence in detail. He explained that Mrs. Claverham had injured her spine before she came under his care. He gave details of the injury in medical terms and added that it was of a nature to give the sufferer a great deal of pain. For this reason he had provided a powerful painkiller, and had frequently stressed the point that great caution should be taken.

On the afternoon of the first he had arrived at the house to find Mrs. Claverham dead. He had surmised her death had been caused by an overdose of the pills he had prescribed.

Had Mrs. Claverham suffered from depression? he was asked. He replied that there had been times when he had found her depressed. It was when she had suffered a great deal of discomfort and pain. He had thought it natural in the circumstances.

“How was she when you last saw her?”

“She was in good spirits. I had been able to tell her that new facts had come to light about her condition, and there was hope of a partial cure.”

There was a deep silence throughout the court.

“And Mrs. Claverham was naturally pleased to hear this?”

“She was delighted.”

“And she gave you the impression that she was looking forward to this cure?”

“She did indeed.”

At the end of Dr. Doughty’s evidence, it seemed unlikely that Lisa could have died by her own hand. The question was, then: how did she die?

Several of the servants were then called to give evidence. Gertie was one of them, because it was she who had gone into Lisa’s room and found her dead.

She used to look in at that time, she said, to see if there was anything Mrs. Claverham wanted.

“Did your mistress ever talk to you about herself?” she was asked.

“Oh yes, sir. She was always talking about how she ought to have been a great actress, and would have been but for her accident.”

“Did you think she was unhappy?”

“Oh yes, sir.”

“Why do you say this?”

“She was always talking about not being a great actress, and if she hadn’t hurt her back she would have been as great as Desiree … only better … if she’d had a chance, sir.”

“Thank you. You may step down.”

Roderick was called.

Had his wife ever threatened suicide?

“Never.”

Had he noticed a change in her during the last week?

Roderick said he had been away from home for the last weeks and had returned only the day before his wife’s death.

How had she been on his return?

She was elated because she had heard of a possible cure.

“Can you suggest how six tablets came to be dissolved in a glass of water taken by your wife?”

“No.”

“Unless someone put them there.”

“Obviously someone must have put them there.”

“And if your wife put them there and drank the solution, the inference must be that she intended to take her own life?”

“She may have taken a dose and forgotten, and then taken another.”

“You mean she put two tablets into the water, took them, and a few moments later took two more, and another two after that?”

“When she took a dose she quickly became drowsy. It may be that she forgot she had taken them.”

That was the end of Roderick’s evidence.

The butler and housekeeper were called. They had very little to add and then, to my surprise, Mabel was being questioned.

I had seen her about the house and spoken to her briefly. She was a nervous girl who could not have been more than thirteen years old. She always seemed to me to be half scared. I wondered how she could do the work required of her, and remembered that Gertie said she was simple.

What could she have to tell?

I soon discovered.

“Don’t be afraid,” she was told. “All you have to do is answer the questions.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You know that Mrs. Claverham has died?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You have told your friend in the house that you know why she died. Would you tell us?”

“He murdered her!”

There was a hushed silence throughout the court.

“Would you please tell us who murdered her?”

“Mr. Roderick.”

“How do you know this?”

“I know,” she said.

“Did you see him murder her?”

She looked puzzled.

“You must answer the question, you know.”

She shook her head.

“Is the answer no, you did not see him?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then how do you know?”

“He wanted to get rid of her.”

“How did you know that?”

“I heard … didn’t I?”

“You heard what?”

“She was shouting. She said: ‘I’m not going. This is my home and I’m going to stay here. You can’t get rid of me.’ “

“When did you hear this?”

“When he came back.”

“The day before she died?”

“Yes.”

“Did you tell anyone?”

She nodded.

“Whom did you tell?”

“Gertie … and some of them.”

“That will be all.”

I felt sick with fear. It had seemed miraculous that so far nobody had mentioned that Roderick had been engaged to me and now I had returned to Leverson. I should never have come back, I told myself. But what was the use of saying that now? They would discover what had happened, and they would say Roderick had killed her.

Gertie was recalled.

“The last witness has told us she discussed the death of Mrs. Claverham with you. Is that so?”

“She said something about Mr. Claverham. I didn’t take much notice of what Mabel said.”

“Not when she accused one of the members of the household of murder?”

“No, sir.”

“Did it not seem a serious charge to make?”

“With anyone else … but not with Mabel. Nothing was serious with Mabel, sir.”

“Will you explain?”

“Well, she was a ha’p’orth short.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Gertie looked faintly superior at such a profession of ignorance.

“She wasn’t all there,” she explained patiently. “She fancied this and that.”

“You mean that what she said was not to be trusted?”

“Well, you wouldn’t believe her, would you? She’d say the maddest things. Nobody took any notice of what she said.”

“So when you were told that your master had murdered your mistress, what was your reaction?”

“I think I said: ‘Oh, did he?’ “

“And you left it at that?”

“Well, you went along with Mabel, didn’t you? You didn’t take any notice of what she said. She told us she was a lady … her father was some lord or other. Next day he was some king who’d been turned off his throne. None of it made sense.”

“I see. So you did not believe she had heard Mrs. Claverham say those words?”

“No, sir. I knew she didn’t. I’m not barmy. It was only because there was all this chat about Mrs. Claverham taking that dose … and she starts dreaming.”

“You may go.”

I sat there in trepidation. The court was tense. I glanced at Roderick. He was very pale. Lady Constance was clenching and unclenching her hands in great agitation.

Mabel was brought back.

“Mabel. When did you hear Mrs. Claverham say she would not go?’

Mabel wrinkled her brows.

“Try to think. Was it the day she died … the day before … or sometime during the week?”

Mabel was clearly distressed.

“Was it one day … two days … three days … five days before she died?”

Mabel hesitated and stammered: “It was five days that she said …”

“What? Five days?”

“Yes,” said Mabel. “That’s it.”

“She was talking to Mr. Claverham, was she?”

“Yes, he wanted to get rid of her so that …”

“But Mr. Claverham was in Scotland five days before she died. So she could not have been talking to him, could she?”

“She was. I heard her.”

“Tell us … who is your father?”

A smile crossed her face. “He is a prince,” she said.

“So you are a princess?”

“Oh yes, sir.”

“Your name is Mabel.”

“It was given to me when they took me away.”

“Who took you away?”

“It was robbers. They kidnapped me.”

“And you were a princess … from Buckingham Palace?”

There was a faint titter throughout the court. I was breathing more freely. Mabel was proving herself to be deranged.

“Yes,” she said. “That’s right.”

“Would you be Princess Victoria … Marie Louise … Beatrice?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

Poor Mabel! And but for Gertie, she might have been taken seriously. Now no one could doubt that Mabel’s evidence was worthless.

Lady Constance came next.

Had she noticed any suicidal tendencies in her daughter-in-law?

“When she was in acute pain, I think she might have been tempted to kill herself,” said Lady Constance. “I don’t think there was anything unusual about that. She suffered intense pain.”

“Had she ever talked to you of taking her life?”

“Oh no. She would not talk to me of that.”

“She was feeling better at the time. There was hope of a cure.”

“Yes. She was feeling hopeful.”

“It seems hardly likely that she would have taken her life at such a time.”

“Hardly likely,” agreed Lady Constance.

“But before she heard this, you think she might have been tempted to do so?”

“She might … with years of pain stretching out before her. Anyone might have considered it.”

“But in the more hopeful circumstances, most people would be prepared to go on enduring it for a little while longer.”

“I think that is so.”

“You lived under the same roof. She was your daughter-in-law. You must have known her well.”

“I knew her.”

“Do you think she was the sort of person to take her own life?”

“Not unless …”

“Please go on.”

“There was a mistake.”

“What sort of mistake?”

“There was an occasion when I was with her. It must have been about three months ago. She was in pain and had taken two pills. She drank the water containing two dissolved pills and put the glass back on the top of the cabinet. Then she lay back. I thought I should stay with her until the pain subsided and she slept, which she usually did after taking the pills. The pain seemed to be particularly acute and the pills took a few minutes to work. She turned to the cabinet and poured out water and had dropped two pills into the glass before I realized she intended to take them. I cried out: ‘You have just had two!’ If I had not been there she would have taken the others and killed herself then. I think this may have been what she did on the day she died.”

It was clear that Lady Constance’s evidence was making a profound impression on the court.

“Did you mention this incident to anyone?”

“No. I thought it would worry my son and my husband.”

“Did you think it was unsafe to leave the pills there where Mrs. Claverham could reach them so easily?”

“I did consider that, but since she needed the pills immediately and might not be able to ring the bell for a servant to get them for her … and there might not be a servant in the kitchen at that time to hear the bell, I thought it better to leave things as they were.”

“So you decided not to do anything about it, and the pills were left in the cabinet, and there was always a glass and jug of water ready for use?”

“I was wrong perhaps. But I understood that it was very necessary for her to take the pills immediately the pain started. I knew that if they were not available, my daughter-in-law would be thrown into a panic … which could, of course, bring on the pain.”

“Thank you, Lady Constance.”

Dr. Doughty was recalled.

“How long did it take for the pills to dissolve?” they wanted to know.

“A matter of seconds.”

“How long did it take before they had an effect?”

“It could vary.”

“On the pain?”

“On that and other things. The state of the patient’s health at the time. The mental state …”

“And the effect of the pills could have produced drowsiness … forgetfulness?”

“Indeed it could.”

“So Mrs. Claverham could possible have taken two pills, and then another two in, say, five minutes?”

“That is possible.”

“And perhaps in her agitation let fall more than two into the water?”

“That is also possible.”

“Thank you, Dr. Doughty.”

We waited in trepidation. Marie-Christine had taken my hand and was holding it firmly. I knew what was in our minds. What would the verdict be? Murder against some person or persons unknown? Roderick? Myself?

How much attention had been paid to Mabel’s account?

She had been discredited, but what impression had her words left behind? Lady Constance’s words had had a great effect, and she had spoken in such a precise, authoritative manner—in great contrast to Mabel. I had felt the mood of the court changing as she spoke. I was sickened by the thought of what might be awaiting us. I thought of all the probing questions … the answers which could seem damaging. I thought of the danger to Roderick … and us all.

I could not help remembering that day when Lisa Fennell had fallen under my mother’s carriage, when she had forced her way into our lives. And now she was dead, and still threatening, from the grave.

When the relief came it was overpowering. Lady Constance’s evidence had carried great weight. Mabel’s had been dismissed.

The verdict of the coroner’s court was Accidental Death.

Confession

It is six years since that day in the courtroom, but it still comes back to me, and I will find myself shuddering with fear. There has been so much happiness in these last years, but it has not been completely unclouded.

Over us all at Leverson has hung the shadow of doubt. There have been times in the night when I have awakened suddenly to find myself back in the past. I will cry out. Roderick comforts me. He does not need to ask what haunts me. He will say: “It is over, my darling. It is finished. We have to forget.”

How did it happen? I ask myself. How did she die? Who put those pills into the glass? Was it Lisa herself? I cannot accept that, however much I try.

I cling to Roderick. He is there … safe … beside me. I am comforted, but I cannot stop my thoughts.

I say to myself: It must have been Lisa … not wittingly, of course. It must have been as Lady Constance had suggested in her evidence, which had been a turning point. She had spoken with such conviction.

The verdict had been a blessing to us all, who had been under the cloud of suspicion. It was an end to the matter … no, not an end, as we learned. But there would be no more probing, no more awkward questions asked. It was a kind of peace, punctured by our consciences. We had wanted her to go … and she had.

We had come out of that courtroom intoxicated with relief. But the doubts remained, and they had been with us these six years.

One year after that verdict, Roderick and I had married. What had happened had had its effect on us all. Marie-Christine had been overjoyed, but she seemed to brood now and then, and there were secrets in her eyes. She could no longer be called a child. There was a shadow over her as with us all.

Roderick and I have a son and a daughter. Roger is four years old, Catherine nearly three. They are beautiful children, and when I watch them playing in the gardens or riding round the paddock on their ponies, I am almost content.

Then I go into the house and pass that room which had been Lisa’s. There is no visible trace of her there … but somehow she remains.

My father visits us now and then. He is very proud of his grandchildren, and he has often told me what a happy day it was for him when I came looking for him. He gets on very well with Charlie, and I think they often talk of my mother.

I was deeply touched when he gave me the statue of the Dancing Maiden. He wanted me to have it, he told me. It was his dearest possession. I was loth to take it from him, but he insisted. “I used to feel that she was there when I looked at it,” he told me. “It has been a great comfort to me. But now I have my daughter … and grandchildren. And it is fitting that you should have it.”

It stands in my room. I can see my mother when I look at it. He has caught some likeness … something which is indefinably her. I fancy when I look at it that she is near, smiling, well pleased because I have come through my troubles to the husband I love … and my children.

Lady Constance and I are the best of friends. Her great joy is in her grandchildren. Her nature is not naturally a warm one but occasionally the deep affection she has for me overflows and is apparent; and there is no doubt of her love for the children.

When at length Leverson Manor became our home, Marie-Christine was very contented.

Her interest in archaeology became a passion. At this time she is very friendly with a young archaeologist whom she met through Fiona and Jack. I believe they may soon become engaged.

But the memory of Lisa lingers on, even with Marie-Christine. I wonder if it will always be so. Everyone in the house is aware of it. I know this through Gertie.

A little while ago I had a revealing talk with her. She said: “I was worried when silly Mabel started talking in front of all those people.”

Her words sent a tremor of fear through me, but I said calmly: “She was soon proved to be unreliable.”

“Well, she could have gone too far. She nearly did.”

“Your evidence showed how unbalanced she was, and when she was called back she proved it.”

“She must have heard the servants talking.”

“Talking about … ?”

“Well, they all knew that you was engaged to Mr. Roderick at one time and it was broken off because you thought he was your brother. Then he got married and you found out he wasn’t your brother after all, and you ought to have got married.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Servants always know everything. They pick up bits here and bits there. Then they put it all together and it adds up. They like you. They was looking forward to you and Mr. Roderick getting married. They couldn’t really think much of her. They’d had to put up with Lady Constance all those years, and when I told them you took the blame for that bust, they thought that was really nice. Well, Lady Constance is a great lady … but you can have enough of that. But that Mrs. Claverham … well, she wasn’t enough of a lady. We wanted something in between.”

“You mean … they knew all that, and they didn’t betray it?”

“Well, they answered the questions. They weren’t going to say more than they was asked for.”

“Except Mabel.”

“Well, she wouldn’t know much. She’d picked up bits in her batty way, and she’d got it all muddled.”

“Gertie,” I said, “your evidence made such a difference.”

“I meant it to. I didn’t want trouble no more than any of them did. We didn’t want anything going wrong in the house. Perhaps new people coming … and then what would have become of everyone? And … I never forgot what you did about that bust. I would have been out then … but for you.”

I said: “And what did they really think about Mrs. Claverham’s death?”

“Oh, they reckon she took it herself. It was a mistake, they think. She’d forgotten she had already had it. That’s what they all thought, didn’t they?”

I understood. That was how they wanted it to be. What did they really think was the truth? And did they often think about it?

The shadow of doubt lay across the whole household.

It was a beautiful spring day. I was sitting in the garden with Lady Constance, as I often did. The children were playing on the lawn and I noticed how her eyes followed them.

“They are beautiful children,” she said. “I can see both you and Roderick in them.”

“Can you? I have searched for a resemblance in vain.”

“It’s there. Thank you, my dear. I am so glad you came. I often think back to that time we spent together in our deep dark hole. Now all these people are marvelling at the antiquity as they cross that floor where once we sat, wondering if it was the end for us. It was a turning point in my life, I think.”

“It was the beginning of our friendship, and I was grateful for that.”

“For me it was a revelation.”

Catherine came toddling up to us to show us a daisy she had picked.

“Is that for me?” asked Lady Constance.

Catherine shook her head and held it out to me.

“I have found one, Grandmama.” That was from Roger, who had run up to us. “This is for you.”

I was touched to see her pleasure.

I thought then how completely happy we should be. I glanced over my shoulder at the window of that room which had been Lisa’s. I could almost imagine I saw her there. It was often so. It is six years since it happened, I said to myself. Will it always be like this?

The children had run off.

“It is good that everything turned out as it did,” said Lady Constance.

“We have been happy,” I replied.

“As we never could have been if … We have to forget that time, Noelle. It grows farther and farther from us. But I know you can’t forget … entirely.”

“Can you?”

She shook her head. “I remember at times. It comes back and there it stays. I say: Go away. You have caused enough trouble in your lifetime. I am glad … glad that she died, Noelle. It was best for her … and best for us all.”

“She might have been cured.”

“She would never have been completely well. I could not bear to have been without these grandchildren. There will be Claverhams here for generations to come. It is the future that is important, but I remember, and shall go on remembering.”

She lay back in her chair and did not speak. For some time there was silence, and when I looked, her eyes were closed.

I thought she was sleeping, but after a while I began to grow alarmed.

I spoke to her gently. There was no answer. I laid a hand on her arm. She did not move.

I summoned help. We got her to bed and called the doctor.

She had had a heart attack, but she recovered after a few days. She was still very weak and Dr. Doughty said she must rest.

He talked rather seriously to us. “She’ll have to go carefully,” he said. “She’s doing too much. Make her rest. I know it is not easy to make Lady Constance do anything she doesn’t want to, but I think it is necessary, and you will have to be firm.”

“Do you think she is going to get well?”

“The heart is a vital organ, you know. She had a big shock at the time of the first Mrs. Claverham’s death. I know she appeared to weather the storm, but I noticed it had an effect on her. Make sure she goes very slowly, and let me know at once if there is any sign of trouble.”

She had certainly grown frail. She stayed in her room a great deal. I used to take the children to see her each afternoon. That was the highlight of her day.

It was evening. The children had come to say good night to her before their nurse took them off to bed.

She said: “Stay with me, Noelle.”

She was lying back in her pillows. The children had exhausted her, though she would not admit it. She looked vulnerable … a word I should not have thought to apply to her.

“I want to talk to you,” she said. “I want Roderick, too. I want to talk to you both.”

“He should be home very soon,” I told her.

She smiled and nodded.

I was waiting for Roderick when he came home. We embraced and clung together, as we always do, even after a brief parting. We have not ceased to be grateful for being together. The uncertainty of the past still lingers.

I said: “Something must have happened. Your mother is very anxious to talk to us.”

“Is she worse?” he asked in alarm.

“She’s different. I think we ought to go to her at once.”

Her face lit up as we entered. I sat on one side of the bed, Roderick on the other.

She said: “I want to talk to you both. I have a feeling that there is not much time left and there is something I wish to say.”

“Don’t tire yourself, Mother,” said Roderick.

She smiled at him with faint exasperation. “I am always tired now, Roderick. Now you two are married and are very happy. I knew it was the right thing. I knew it had to be. It is quite a long time now since that happened … but everything is not as it should be … not quite, is it? Sometimes it is as though she is actually here. I can’t forget her. Nor can you. She would never have gone. She was determined to stay. She was a schemer by nature. She was going to ruin life for you … for me … for everyone … as long as she had what she wanted.”

I said: “She had a hard time. She had to fight her way. The stage was her life.”

” ‘All the world’s a stage,’ ” quoted Lady Constance dreamily, ‘ ‘And all the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts.’ Ah, we have all played our parts. I have. I wanted the best for you, my son. You were of the greatest importance to me. It was never easy for me to show the depth of my feelings. I could not bring myself to it, although at times I tried. I think I have been a little better since Noelle and I faced death in that dark hole. When I knew that everything was not right between your father and myself, you became everything … I would have died for you. I wanted you to make the right marriage. I wanted to see your children growing up. I have been given that blessing and I have you, my dear Noelle, as my daughter. So … there is nothing else I could wish for, you might think. All my dreams have come true. But that woman haunts me. Roderick, I said I would have died for you. I would have killed for you.”

There was a brief silence. I could see that Roderick was horrified.

She went on: “Yes, I killed her. I went to her on that day. I talked to her. I begged her to let Roderick go. I tried to reason with her. She told me she would never, never release him. She was going to stay here. She shouted. Perhaps that was what the servant girl heard and thought it was you, Roderick, at whom she was shouting. She knew I hated her. Well, she said she hated me, too. Then suddenly, in her anger, she moved sharply. I saw her face distorted with pain. I could see that she was in acute agony. ‘Give me … my pills,’ she gasped. Something within me said: Now is the moment. It’s the opportunity. You can change everything. There might never be another chance. I poured the water into the glass. I took out the bottle of pills. I tipped them into the water … five … six … it might have been seven. They took a little time to dissolve. She was moaning. I gave them to her … and she drank. Then I took the glass and put it back on the top of the cabinet. I watched her for a few seconds. She lay back gasping. I could see she was growing a little quieter. I left her. Then … Gertie went in and found her dead.”

I could see that Roderick was as shocked as I was.

We were both speechless while Lady Constance stared ahead, her eyes fixed in space. I knew she was living it all again.

She gripped our hands.

“I’ve told you. It is as though a great weight has been lifted from my mind.”

“You did it for us,” said Roderick.

“And for myself. Oh, how happy these last years could have been if I had not had to kill to reach them.”

She lay back in her pillows. The emotion and effort of talking had exhausted her and she was breathing with difficulty.

“It is all over now,” said Roderick. “Nothing can change it. Try to rest.” He turned to me. “I think we had better call Dr. Doughty.”

“No,” she said. “I feel better … relieved. I haven’t told you everything yet. I have written to the coroner’s court. I didn’t know if that is the right people to tell, but it will no doubt suffice. It will go to the right hands. It is a long time since it happened. Do you think they will remember? You see, it’s here in this house. I have to rid the house of it … suspicion … uncertainty … doubt. There may be some who suspect you, Roderick … and you, Noelle. That has worried me a lot. When we left that courtroom I was exultant. I did not think beyond that at the time. We were free. It was over. I had triumphed. And I did … to a certain extent. But it was not as simple as I had thought it would be. And then, when I had that attack, I thought I could go at any minute. I knew I had to tell, otherwise the secret would go with me to the grave, and for the rest of your lives this doubt would hang over you. It has to be told. You know the truth. And so must others. It is not good enough to tell just you. In a way I am not sorry for what I did. There was something evil about her. She would never have gone. I could see that in her face. She cared only for her own advantage. I had to do it. Sometimes I say to myself: I have committed murder, but good came out of it.”

She died three days later. We were very sad. She had been so much a part of our lives.

Roderick said: “We must put the past behind us. We must forget.”

“Yes,” I answered. “Perhaps we shall, in time.” It was true that Lisa had had an evil effect on our lives. She had been responsible for my mother’s death, yet I could not help finding excuses for her. I suppose there are excuses for us all. But she is dead now, and we must obey the command of Lady Constance. We have come to happiness and we must forget by what dark road we had to travel to reach it.