Menfreya in the Morning

2

Three years had passed since I had run away, and they had been happier years than I had known up to that time, although I was not as popular at school as Gwennan was. I was more studious, and although not brilliantly clever, my desire to shine at something helped me considerably. My diligence pleased my teachers, and because of this I was moderately happy.

Friendship between my family and the Menfreys had grown. My father was particularly interested in Bevil, for A’Lee had been right when he said that the Menfreys always went into politics. Bevil had decided to do just that, and I supposed that one day he hoped to bring back the family tradition of representing Lansella. In the meantime he had come down from the university, had traveled through Europe on a sort of Grand Tour, and was helping my father in his work with a prospect of gaining an opportunity of standing for Parliament when it arose.

When I had seen them together I was astonished, for my father was quite charming with Bevil, who, I was sure, had no idea how different he could be with his own daughter.

Summer holidays were spent at Chough Towers, and that was as good as staying at Menfreya. My father had decided that London air was not good for me, so I was not an encumbrance there, but put into the care of the A’Lees, which suited me, particularly as I spent the greater part of my time at Menfreya, where I was regarded as one of the family.

I was growing more restrained; I was still resentful against the world but able to control my feelings more easily. Sometimes I dreamed that my father was trying to throw me out of the house or was chasing me with a whip. I recall vividly the cold terror in which I always awoke from these nightmares.

I told no one of these dreams—certainly not Gwennan. But Fanny knew. Often I would wake up and find her at my bedside, because I had shouted in my sleep. Sometimes she would just get into my bed and hold me in her arms until I slipped into peaceful sleep; at other times she would talk to me about the orphanage. I rarely had these dreams when I was away at school.

Because for a short time I had feared I might lose Fanny, I realized how important she was to me. She it was who sewed the name tabs on my school garments, who insisted that I change my clothes if I were caught in the rain. Gwennan envied me Fanny.

“You’re lucky to have a maid of your own,” she told me. “She’ll be with you to the death.”

I enjoyed being envied by Gwennan, so that was something else for which I had to be grateful to Fanny.

Gwennan was the most attractive girl in the school and the most outrageously outspoken. She charmed her way out of trouble, and I believe that had she not been able to do so, she might well have been expelled. She had been right when she said the the Menfreys were fatally attractive to the opposite sex. There were one or two affairs when we were at school which were undetected, but of which she liked to boast. How far they went I was not sure; I could not always believe what she told me. I was constantly afraid of what she would do next, but what I was most afraid of was being left out of her confidence.

It was she who told me that Bevil was going into Parliament and that my father was helping him. He was waiting until there was a constituency for him, and then he would nurse it and hope for a seat at a by-election or the next General Election.

“Your father can do so much for him, so Papa and Mamma are anxious that we shall all be friends. That, my dear Harriet, is why we go to school together and you're so welcome at Menfreya.”

“It seems a horrid reason.”

“Reasons often are.”

“So that’s why you’re my friend?”

“No. I could not be bribed.”

“I don’t see how I could bribe you.”

“Not you. But all that money could. Mamma and Papa want us to be friends, you know, because of Bev. But I have my own reasons.”

“What?”

“You’re such a foil to my beauty.” She laughed. “Ha! Now you look sick. Silly. As if I need a foil. I never did believe in them anyway. No, I like you because you’re so angry about everything, and ran away and all that. You stayed that night, too, on No Man’s and didn’t bring me in. I’m glad you’re going to marry Bevil.”

“Marry Bevil!”

“Well, you are in love with him, aren’t you? ‘My dear and precious life!’ as Mrs. Pengelly would say. You are blushing. You look better red than sallow. So it’s not a bad idea. I should cultivate that, Harriet”

“I don’t know what you mean about … marrying.”

“Then you’re blinder than a dozen bats. You know how they work things in families like ours. They choose our husbands for us … like royalty. Bevil is for you, and Harry Leveret for me. Poor Harry has red hair and you can’t see his eyelashes. I don’t believe he’s got many; but I tell you what he has a lot of, and that is pounds, shillings and pence; and my family happen to think that is a great deal more important than eyelashes. And you have the same. That is why we are so happy to invite the Leverets and the Delvaneys to Menfreya Manor. It stands to reason, doesn’t it?”

‘They are very ... mercenary.”

“Have a heart, Harriet. They’re poor. They have the grandest house in South Cornwall, and it’s an old monster that eats up the pounds, shillings and pence. You’ve no idea, We’re feckless. We always have been. Monsters demand the blood of rich, young virgins like you and Harry—for you are, I know, and I’m sure Harry is. So we need you.”

“Does Bevil know this?”

“Of course, he knows it.”

“And he doesn’t mind?”

“Mind? Why should he? He’s delighted.”

“You mean he likes me a little?”

“Don’t be silly, Harriet. You’re an heiress. Your father’s got all that money, and who else has he got to leave it to?”

“I don’t think he’ll leave anything to me.”

“Of course, he will. People always leave their money to their heirs … however much they hate them. It’s pride or something.”

“But it’s beastly … for you and Bevil, I mean.”

“Bless you. We don’t mind.” She stood up and folded her hands together, trying to look like a saint “It’s for the sake of Menfreya,” she added.

It was soon after that when she showed me the table in the hall. “Once,” she said, “it was set with precious stones. Rubies, I think. See, they’ve all been taken out They were used up one by one by my ancestors … to save Menfreya. Well, now there are no rubies left, so it has to be wives and husbands.”

“I shall be a wife more precious than rubies,” I said. We giggled together. That was how it was with Gwennan; however much she hurt me, we would always laugh together; and however much she scorned me or criticized me, I was always her closest friend.

When my father decided to give a fancy-dress ball at Chough Towers, Gwennan determined to go. We were sixteen and neither of us officially “out,” but Gwennan badgered Lady Menfrey until she agreed that we might watch from the gallery if my father gave his permission for us to do this; and since Lady Menfrey asked it, it was graciously given.

“We need clothes,” said Gwennan, but even Lady Menfrey, who could usually be persuaded by her family, did not take that seriously.

Gwennan glowered; she raged and stormed; and for days she talked of nothing but costumes and how we could get them. Then one day when I went to Menfreya I found her in a state of excitement.

She greeted me with the words: “I’ve something to show you. Come on. It’s where you’ve never been before,”

Menfreya always seemed mysterious to me because there was so much of it which I had never explored, and the thought of seeing a new part excited me, so I eagerly followed Gwennan, who led me through the house to the east wing, which was never used and was the oldest part of Menfreya.

“This wing needs so many repairs that until they can be done we can’t live in it Who’d want to anyway? I came here yesterday but I didn’t like to stay, because it was getting dark.” We had climbed a short staircase and reached a door which she pushed but could not open.

“It was hard to open yesterday, but I managed it Before that it hadn’t been opened for years, I expect—not since Bevil and I came here ages ago. Don’t stand there. Give a hand.”

I put my shoulder to the door and pushed with all my might It moved slowly at first and then flew open to disclose a gloomy passage which smelt of age and damp. We walked down this.

“We must be near the east buttress,” I whispered.

“There’s no need to murmur,” Gwennan shouted. “No one can hear us. We’re shut right away. Buttress is right. That’s where I’m taking you.”

My teeth were chattering—with excitement, not cold, although there was a chill hi the air.

“Fancy having all this and never coming here,” I said.

“Somebody went over it once and gave such an estimate for what had to be done that we forgot all about it That was the time when I came here exploring with Bevil.”

“When you were children?”

She didn’t answer. “Mind these stairs. Hold the rope.” We had come to a small spiral staircase; each step was steep and worn in the middle; the rope acted as a banister and a means of pulling oneself up the stairs. Gwennan stood at the top and grinned at me. She held up her hands. “Look at the dust.”

“What made you come here?”

“You’ll see. Look at this door. It was put in a long time after this place was built. Once there was just a panel which you could slide and let yourself into the room.”

“What room?”

“This leads to a sort of passage and then … into the haunted room. This door’s hard to open, too.”

It was; it gave a whine of protest which sounded like a human voice warning us not to go in—at least, that was what I suggested, and it made Gwennan shriek with laughter.

‘Trust you to think up that! Now.… through here. It leads to the buttress.”

The air was really chill now; the passage was narrow, the wall of stone. We were almost in the dark, and I reached for ‘Gwennan and clutched her skirt.

The passage opened out into what was scarcely a room— more like a circular aperture. There was no window but a slit in the deep wall open to the air, and through this came a little daylight.

“What a strange place!” I cried.

“Of course, it is. They used to keep prisoners here in the old days. Then, of course, he kept her here … and then it became haunted.”

“You are incoherent, Gwennan.”

She watched my amazement with gratification as I looked round the place. Strangely enough, there was a mirror propped against the wall; its glass was mottled, its frame tarnished, and there was a trunk, green with mildew. I noticed another passage like that we had come through and pointed this out to Gwennan.

“Come on, then. I'll show you.” She led the way into the passage, where, facing us, was another spiral staircase like the one we had just mounted. She began to climb it, counting the steep steps as she did so. There were forty, and at the top we were out in the open air on a narrow circular walk which took us around the buttress.

“This is where she used to come up for air,” Gwennan announced.

“Who?”

“Her, of course. If she really does walk, I reckon she comes up here.”

The sides of the buttress were battlemented. We knelt on a ledge and leaned over to look down from the very top of the house to the sea below. Gwennan pointed out the corbels on which, she said, they used to stand the pots of boiling oil they threw down on anyone who came attacking them. “Imagine them,” she said, “climbing up the cliffs and getting out their battering rams. That was years and years ago … long before she was here.”

I filled my lungs with the fresh air and clung to the hard stone of the battlement I thought then: How I love this house where so many exciting things have happened, and so many people have lived and died. I wanted wholeheartedly to belong to it, to be one of them.

Gwennan had started to tell me the story. “She was employed here as a governess to the children, and this Menfrey —my ancestor—fell in love with her. When Lady Menfrey found out, she dismissed her and told her to get out of the house. She thought she had gone, but she hadn’t. You see, he couldn’t bear her to go away, so he brought her to this place because no one knew it was here then. He used to visit her in that room down there. Can’t you picture him, Harriet, creeping into the disused wing and sliding the panel. I bet it was a panel then, and he’d have a candle or perhaps a lantern … and they’d be together. He had to go away for a while. To London, I expect … to Parliament … and the clock in the tower stopped. You know, the tower clock, which is supposed to stop when a Menfrey is going to die.”

“I didn’t…”

“You don’t know anything. Well, the clock hi the tower is supposed to stop when one of us is going to die an unnatural death. That’s why Dawney has to be careful to keep it going. We don’t believe these old stories—or we say we don’t … but other people do. That’s what Papa says, and we have to remember that. Goodness knows why.”

“Well, what happened? Why did the clock stop?”

“Because she died. She died up here … in that room down there … and so did the baby.”

“Whose baby?”

“Hers, of course. You see, it came before it should … and no one knew. They both died. That’s why the clock stopped.”

“She wasn’t a Menfrey.”

“No, but the baby was. It stopped for the baby. Then Sir Bevil came back.”

“Who?”

“I expect he was Sir Bevil … or Endelion or something … he came back and found her dead. They sealed off the room and never thought about it for years and years … until someone found it again and put the door in instead of the panel. But nobody would come here. The servants wouldn’t. They say it’s haunted. Do you think it is?”

“It feels cold and melancholy,” I said. She hung over the battlements with her feet off the ground so that I was terrified that she was going to fall. She did it purposely, I knew, to show how reckless she was. “Let’s go down,” I said.

“Yes, rather. There’s that trunk. I looked inside. That’s why I brought you. But I wanted to show you this first” We made our way back to the circular room, and Gwennan lifted the lid of the trunk. The green growth came off on her hands, which made her grimace, but the contents of the trunk caused her to smile.

She was tugging at what looked like a piece of topaz-colored velvet, but I wasn’t interested; I was thinking of the woman who had been loved by a Menfrey. “I thought you could have this brown thing,” she said. She dropped it onto the floor and brought a roll of blue velvet, which she began draping about her. I picked up the topaz-colored velvet. It was a dress, with a tight, square-cut bodice and wide sleeves that were slashed to show golden satin beneath. The skirt must have contained yards and yards of velvet I held it up against me, and when I looked at my reflection in that mottled mirror I could not believe I was looking at myself.

“It suits you,” said Gwennan, her attention momentarily distracted from herself. “Put it on. Yes, put it on.”

“Here?”

“Yes. Over your clothes.”

“It’s so cold I’m sure it’s damp,”

“It won’t hurt you for a minute. It’s just the thing for the ball.”

I caught her excitement as I slipped the dress over my head. She was beside me, pulling it, fastening it, and in a few seconds there I was … transformed.

It was cut low, and my gray merino showed at neck and sleeves, but that did not seem to matter. It became me in a way nothing else ever had. And as I lifted the skirt, something fell from it and, picking it up, I found it to be a snood, made of ribbon and lace and decorated with stones which might have been topaz.

“It goes on your hair,” said Gwennan, “Go on. Put it on.”

Now the change was complete. That was not poor, lame Harriet Delvaney who looked back at me from the mottled mirror. Her eyes were greener and much larger, her face animated.

“It’s a miracle,” said Gwennan. She pointed at the reflection. “It’s not like you at all. You’ve turned into someone else.” She laughed. “Well, I’ll tell you something, Harriet Delvaney. You’ve got yourself a dress for the ball.”

She came and stood beside me, wrapping the blue velvet about her, and I was glad she was with me. If she had not been, I should have felt something very strange was happening to me. But then, of course, I was the fanciful one.

She took my hand. “Come, be my partner in the dance, dear Madam.”

She skipped round the room, her hand in mine. I went with her, and we had been round the room before I realized that I was dancing … I … who had told myself I would never dance.

She too had noticed it. “You’re a fraud, Harriet Delvaney,” she shouted, and her voice echoed oddly in this strange place. “I don’t believe there’s anything wrong with that foot of yours, after all.”

I stopped and looked down at it; then I caught the reflection of the girl in the mirror. It was an extraordinary moment, like that in the garden when I was a child and had suddenly got up and walked.

I was exhilarated, I couldn’t understand why; I felt it had something to do with the dress I was wearing.

“Well, that settles it,” said Gwennan. “We’re going to the ball. And now get that off and we’ll take these things and we’ll see what we can do with them.”

We went back to Gwennan’s room together; I felt then as though I had begun to live in a dream.

My father came down to Chough Towers the day before the ball, and gloom descended on the house. Meals were always an ordeal when he was there. Fortunately for me—but not for him—William Lister joined us, and we would sit at the long table in the dining room—which overlooked one of the lawns—for what seemed like interminable periods of time. My father led the conversation, which was usually about politics, and William made discreet replies; if I spoke, my father would listen with obvious patience and usually ignore what I had said; if William tried to reply to me, my father often changed the subject. So I decided that it was better to say nothing and hope that the meal would soon be over. A’Lee would be at the sideboard directing the parlormaids—there were two of them; and it always seemed incongruous that we three should need so many people to wait on us—particularly as I knew how much bustle would be going on in the kitchen. I would rise when they reached the port stage and leave them to talk. How glad I was when it was time for that!

Once my father said to me: “Have you no conversation?” and I merely flushed and said nothing, when I wanted to shout: When I do speak you ignore me.

At least my mind was so occupied with thoughts of the dress which now hung in my wardrobe side by side with the one Gwennan would wear, and wondering if Bevil would see me in it and be charmed with what he saw, that I ceased to think very much about my father. Gwennan had said we must tell no one about our discovery because there might be attempts to stop us using the dresses. However, I could not keep Fanny out of the secret, and she had helped to make up the blue for Gwennan and altered the topaz velvet for me. She saw no harm in it, she said; and afterwards we could put them back where we found them. She hung them out on the balcony to air them, she said, and get rid of the musty smell. So, after we had smuggled them over to Chough Towers, there had been long sessions in my bedroom, which Fanny had seemed to enjoy as much as we did.

On the night of the ball, Fanny brushed my untidy hair until it lay flat about my shoulders; then she helped me into the dress and sat me down before the mirror so that I could watch while she finished my hair and put on the jeweled snood. My face looked back at me—my green eyes greener because they were so brilliant, a faint color beneath my skin; I could almost believe I was attractive in that dress.

“Well, there you are, my lady,” said Fanny, “all ready to go to the ball.”

The house seemed to have come alive. Everywhere were the sounds of voices; the musicians had arrived, and those guests who were staying in the house were already with my father in the ballroom. Aunt Clarissa was not here on this occasion—it was too far from London—and my father was going to receive the guests alone.

I sat on the window seat in my bedroom with Fanny while we watched the carriages arrive.

It was a fascinating sight to see the guests, in their costumes and masks, alight and step across the path to the porch. The Leverets’ arrival caused some excitement because they had come in their horseless carriage. They were the only family in the neighborhood who possessed one, and when they drove out in it people would run out of their cottages to see it go by; and when it broke down and horses had to pull it along, there was a lot of talk about the folly of modern inventions. But during the last year in London the contraption had been treated with more respect since the law enforcing a man to walk before it with a red flag had been abolished and the speed limit raised to fourteen miles an hour. Here in remote Cornwall, however, the horseless carriage was still regarded with contemptuous suspicion, and I had to agree that to see the Leverets in fancy dress riding in the thing was incongruous.

I laughed, and Fanny said: “Well, if this ain’t a regular circus!”

“I was thinking it was like being in the past … until that came.”

“You’re getting too excited, Miss.”

“Am I?”

“Why, yes. I've never seen you like this before. Don’t forget you’re only going to look on from the gallery.”

“I wish Gwennan were here.”

“Miss Mischief will be here soon, don’t you fret.”

She was right. The carriage from Menfreya arrived soon after she had spoken. The first to alight was the eighteenth-century gentleman, who was Bevil; he helped his mother and Gwennan out, and then came Sir Endelion. I did not notice what Sir Endelion and Lady Menfrey were wearing, for I had eyes only for Bevil.

Gwennan, in her everyday cloak over a simple party dress, looked quite insignificant among those brilliant costumes, and I could imagine how impatient she was to get into her blue-velvet gown.

One of the servants brought Gwennan to my room. I hid myself so that I should not be seen in my topaz, and Fanny spoke to the servant while Gwennan came into the room. When the servants had gone, Fanny said, “You can come out now, Miss.” Then she helped Gwennan into her gown and left us together.

“Yours is not brown,” said Gwennan. “It’s a sort of gold.” She smoothed down the folds of her blue velvet complacently. Then she frowned. “Yours is more unusual,” she went on. “Really, Harriet, I’ve never seen you look like that I know what it is. You’re not thinking people are hating you, that’s what. But why are we waiting? I want to go to the ball, if you don’t.”

I had been told where I was to take her. It was to the gallery—the imitation minstrels' gallery—which looked down on the ballroom. We had decided that we would wait there until the ballroom was crowded before we slipped on our masks and went down, “Then,” Gwennan had said, “we shall not be noticed.”

We reached the gallery. Heavy purple-velvet curtains were fixed across it and drawn back by gold bands to give us a peephole, and two chairs had been set some way back from the rails, so that although we need not be completely invisible, we should certainly not be obtrusive.

Gwennan immediately went to the balustrade and looked down. I stood a little way back; but what a magnificent sight h was! We were almost level with the gas-candled chandeliers, and the scene below was made fantastic by the color of the costumes and the different centuries represented.

We had been watching for five or six minutes when we heard voices at the gallery door, one of which was Fanny’s.

“Well, sir,” she was saying. “I don’t lightly think I should, but if you insist…”

“Of course, I insist. Now, be a sport.”

Gwennan looked at me. “It’s Harry,” she said. “Harry Leveret”

The door opened, and Fanny, flushed and anxious, said: “I don’t rightly know ...”

“What is it?” I asked.

“The gentleman said ...”

And there was Harry. He was dressed as Drake, and his false beard did not match the reddish hair that showed beneath his feathered cap. He brushed Fanny aside and she disappeared; then he came into the gallery.

“Harry, what are you doing?” asked Gwennan, her voice rising on a high-pitched note of excitement.

“You didn’t expect me to stay down there when you were up here, did you?”

He didn’t seem at all surprised to see us in our costumes, so I guessed she must have told him that we had found them. His eyes shone as he looked at her.

“We have masks too, haven’t we, Harriet?” said Gwennan. “Come on. Put them on and we’ll go down.”

I could see that Harry wasn’t very pleased at the prospect of having me with them.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I shan't be a nuisance.”

“You’ll find a partner,” Gwennan said, with that conviction she always gave to things she wanted to believe.

“Of course,” I replied proudly, although I didn’t believe it for a moment, and now that the time had come to join the dancers, I was alarmed. What would happen if my father discovered me! I had allowed Gwennan to pull me into this adventure without giving full consideration to the coo-sequences. She would be all right; she would have Harry Leveret to look after her; besides, her family were not like my father.

“Of course, she will,” agreed Harry.

We left the gallery and went down to the ballroom. I promised myself that I could always hurry back to the gallery if I felt too lonely among all those people, and the thought gave me courage. And what comfort it was to cower behind the mask. I caught a glimpse of myself as we passed a mirror. I didn’t recognize myself. Then if I didn’t, why should anyone else? And suddenly I was excited—by the color, the music, the brilliance of everything and the strange feeling that, with the dress, I had put on a different personality.

Harry could scarcely wait to get Gwennan to himself, and as we entered the ballroom he put his arm about her and they went into the waltz. I stood watching. The Beautiful Blue Danube! How dreamy, how romantic! How I should love to be one of those dancers!

I hid myself behind the potted ferns, watching, caught up by the music, imagining myself dancing there … with Bevil, of course.

And then I saw him. He was dancing with a beautiful girl dressed as Cleopatra—laughing, looking down at her, saying amusing things … affectionately, I was sure. I thought of the way be had talked to me when he had brought me back from the island; he had kissed me then. It had been a joke, of course.

He was dancing past my alcove again, and as he did so he looked straight at me, I was sure, although it was not easy to see, because of his mask. He had come very close to the ferns; it was almost as though be had wanted to take a closer look at the figure cowering there. Then he was gone, and I told myself I had imagined it. I knew him because I had seen him arrive with his family; besides, I should know him anywhere. He wouldn’t know me in the same way. The dress, the snood and mask made an entirely different person of me.

The waltz was over, and there followed an interval when the dangers of exposure were trebled. Suppose I were seen hiding myself in the alcove! What should a young woman be doing at a ball without a watchful mamma or a chaperone of some sort to look after her?

The music started again. Now was the time to escape to the gallery; to sit there watching the dancers, as I had been told to do. But the temptation to stay was too strong. I could not bear not to be here. Gwennan would despise me for running away, I told myself. But it was more than that I was different hi this dress. I could not forget that in the room—that strange, circular opening in the buttress—I had danced.

“Are you alone?"

My heart began to beat uncomfortably. I stammered: “Not at this moment.”

Bevil laughed. I was dreaming it all. It couldn’t be Bevil.

“I noticed you,” he said. “I came back, scarcely hoping that I should find you here. You must have just arrived, or I should have seen you before.”

“Among so many?”

“I should have been aware of you.”

This was the way he talked to women. This was flirtation, and with Bevil I found it extremely enjoyable.

The orchestra started to play. “A cotillion,” he said, and grimaced. “Let us stay here and talk—unless you would prefer to dance.”

“I should prefer not to dance.”

He sat down next to me and kept his eyes on my face. “We’ve met before,” he said.

“Do you think so?” I replied, trying to disguise my voice.

He laid his hand over mine. “I am certain of it.”

I withdrew my hand and let it fall onto the folds of topaz velvet.

“I wonder where?” I said.

“We can easily discover.”

“I think we’re supposed to keep our identities secret Isn’t It more fun that way?”

“As long as we know curiosity win eventually be satisfied, perhaps. But I am very impatient” He had leaned towards me and touched my mask.

I drew back indignantly.

“I am sorry,” he said. “But I was so certain that I knew you, and it seems incredible that I shouldn’t be sure who you are.”

“Then I am a mysterious woman.”

“But I’m sure you know me.”

“Yes … I do know you.”

He sat back in his chair. “You give up?” I asked.

“You can’t know me very well, or you’d know I never give up. But in any case, I have the whole evening before me. First, let me tell you that you are enchanting. Your dress is wonderful.”

“You like it?” I smiled, thinking of the shaking and hanging out in the sunshine to take off the smell of damp; and the lavender sachets which Gwennan had produced to put in the folds.

“I’ve seen it before.”

“Where?” I asked.

“I’m trying to remember.”

I was entranced. I heard myself laughing at his conversation—light, frothy, frivolous conversation; and yet, there seemed to be depth in it. He was interested in me; he had seen me in my alcove, and as soon as possible he had left the partner with whom he had been dancing and had come to me. Who would have believed that possible?

There I sat, gay as anyone at the ball, returning his quips, finding that I too had a gift of repartee that might be mistaken for wit. He was certainly not bored, but he was puzzled. He did not guess who I was. Perhaps had he known I was to be at the ball he might have done so; but he had always thought of me as a child, and still did, and it would not occur to him that I could possibly be there; he had been with Gwennan in her simple party dress when they arrived and had heard that she and I were to sit in the gallery to watch; he knew nothing about the discovery of the dresses. No, it would not occur to him that it could possibly be young Harriet with whom he was enjoying such an intriguing interlude.

The cotillion was over; they were playing a waltz.

“Shall we dance?” he said.

I was surprised at myself. If I had not been intoxicated by the evening, by the presence of Bevil, by my new personality, in spite of having danced with Gwennan, I should have murmured that I couldn’t dance. But I was bemused; I allowed myself to be led onto the floor; I may have limped but I was unaware of it; my voluminous skirts would perhaps hide my infirmity; at least, so it seemed to me. And there I was, dancing with Bevil. I do not mean that I danced well or expertly. Bevil was no born dancer anyway, but I danced, and the floor was so crowded that one’s steps did not matter—and I was so happy that I felt life was wonderful and everything had changed for me.

Before the dance was over, Bevil suggested that we go to the supper room, and there he seated me at a table while he went to forage for food. He came back with a tray and glasses of champagne. It was the first time I had drunk champagne, and it made me more dizzily happy than ever. I caught a glimpse of Gwennan with Harry Leveret, but they were so absorbed in each other that I don’t think they saw me.

After supper we went into the garden. Bevil took my hand and we walked across the moonlit lawn to a seat under one of the trees from which we watched the dancers filtering on to the lawn; through the open French windows came the strains of music.

“I know,” cried Bevil suddenly. “The dress! I know where I’ve seen it before.”

“Please tell me.”

“At Menfreya.”

“Oh,” I said blankly, remembering that Gwennan had said he and she had found the trunk years ago. But it was surprising that Bevil should remember a dress.

“Why,” he cried, “it’s exactly so. The hair filet … the gown. It might be you, but she is not masked, of course.”

“Who?”

“It’s a portrait at Menfreya. Ill show it to you … soon. When shall it be? You must come to Menfreya and let me show it to you. Will you?”

“Yes,” I said.

“I’m relieved. I had a terrible fear that you were going to disappear after tonight and I shouldn’t see you again. It’s a promise, is it?”

“Yes. A promise.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow,” I said. “Tomorrow I will call on you and ask to be shown the portrait”

He pressed my hand. “I know you’re the kind to keep a promise.”

‘Tell me about the portrait”

“It’s an ancestress of mine. A long-ago Lady Menfrey. My great-great-great-grandmother—or there may be a few more greats. But your dress is an absolute replica of the one she’s wearing. It’s as though you’ve stepped down from the canvas.”

“I should so enjoy seeing it.”

“Tomorrow,” be said. “It’s a promise.”

I wanted to catch at time and prevent its moving, but even now people were making their way to the ballroom for the dance which would precede the unmasking at midnight. I had to get away before that. I did not want to stand beside Bevil, to take off my mask and see the surprise in his face, to hear him say “Harriet!” in shocked surprise. Moreover, what if my father saw me!

For tonight I wanted to be the attractive mystery behind the mask.

We were caught up in the crowd going into the ballroom. Lady Menfrey was near us; she spoke to Bevil, and as he turned to her I seized my opportunity. I slipped into a passage, knowing the house as few of the others did, and reaching (he main staircase hurried up it to the gallery. It was then twenty minutes to twelve.

Later, from the gallery, I saw him enter the ballroom; he was looking about him searchingly, eagerly. Looking for me!

Gwennan came running into the room at five minutes to twelve. I had thought she would be caught down there, but it was like her to leave it until the last moment.

She was flushed and radiant.

“What a wonderful, wonderful ball!” she cried. “It’s the best ball I’ve ever attended.”

I laughed at her and reminded her that it was the only one so it bad to be the best.

Then we were laughing together. I was different that night. I had had my adventure, and it was no less wonderful than Gwennan’s.

I slept very little that night but lay awake, going over everything that had happened at the ball. I got up once during the night, lighted my candle and took the dress from my cupboard, held it against me and looked at my reflection in the mirror. The dress did do something to me. Even in the middle of the night I looked different … fey … even attractive. Yes, I was sure of it, the sort of person people would look at twice. I wasn’t beautiful; even the candlelight could not fool me as much as that, but there was a certain medieval charm about my face which needed the muted color of the dress, the period style of it, to bring it out.

It was dawn before I slept at all, and then only for an hour or so. The next morning the house was in that after-the-ball chaos, which I knew so well; everyone was tired and touchy, except myself. I was exalted.

In the afternoon I walked to Menfreya, where I knew Bevil would be waiting for me—only, of course, he wouldn’t know he was expecting me. What a shock, I thought, to find instead of the mysterious woman this little-more-than-a-schoolgirl in a gray merino dress, sedate cape, untidy hair unprotected by a glittering filet. If only I could have worn the dress, how different I should have felt.

The house was quiet but Bevil was there, and I went straight in to the library unannounced.

“Why . , . it’s Harriet,” he said. Bevil’s social manners were perfect. If he was disappointed, he didn’t show it.

“You were expecting someone, I see,” I said. “Well, I’m sorry it’s only Harriet”

“I happen to be delighted.” His face creased up into a smile I knew and loved.

“But you were expecting some charming woman and wondering how she would look in modern clothes. You were picturing her perhaps in a mulberry-velvet riding habit with a black riding hat, her face delicately veiled to protect hex dazzling complexion.”

“Who is this phantom of delight and how do you come to know so much of what I’m hoping for?”

“Because you were with her last night at the ball. Prepare for a shock, Bevil. Your partner last night wasn’t all that you thought she was. I’m going to confess right away. I was disguised last night… unrecognizably.”

“So you say! Do you think I wouldn’t recognize you anywhere?”

“You knew!”

He took me by the shoulders and laughed at me. Then he leaned forward and kissed me as he had in the boat.

“So you knew all the time!”

“My dear Harriet, why should you know me and I not know you? My powers of perception are as well developed as yours.”

“But I saw you arrive and I … should know you anywhere.”

“And I, too. Now look, what was the game last night? Gwennan was there too. It was a plot between you two girls. Where did you find the dresses?”

“Here in Menfreya.”

“I guessed it”

“Promise you won’t tell. Gwennan would be furious.”

“And I’m terrified of her fury, naturally.”

“Well, you see, we wanted to go to the ball, and we found these dresses in a trunk, and so …”

“Two little Cinderellas came to the ball, not forgetting to disappear before midnight, leaving two desolate Prince Charmings wondering what had become of them. Well, Harriet, I must thank you for an enjoyable evening. Your secret is safe with me. I said I would show you something if you came here this afternoon, didn’t I? Well, come on. Let’s.

I followed him into the great hall, and we went up the staircase towards the wing protected by the buttress in which we had found the dresses.

“Not scared of ghosts, Harriet?” he asked over his shoulder. “This wing isn’t used much. It’s said to be the haunted one. There has to be a ghost in all houses like this. You knew that, didn’t you? Well, this is it If you’re scared, give me your hand.”

“I’m not,” I said.

“I always knew it wouldn’t be easy to scare you.” He exclaimed in disgust: “It’s musty in here. We’ve always intended to open it up, but somehow we never get round to it. The servants wouldn’t like it They won’t come here even in daytime.”

“This is where Gwennan and I found the trunk,” I said.

“Really. So you have been here before! Did she tell you the story of the ghost? A woman with a child hi her arms, Harriet, who walks these musty passages … and a man who walks too, but they don’t walk together, because they’re looking for each other.”

I shivered, and he noticed.

“I am scaring you,” he said. “Don’t take any notice of what I say, Harriet It’s nonsense. Just one of the old legends.”

“It’s the cold,” I said. “I’m not scared.”

He put his arm round me then and held me against him for a moment; it was nothing; merely the gesture he would use to comfort a child. He was different from the man he had been last night, and I had a suspicion that he had not recognized me and that today I had ceased to be a glamorous masked woman and I had reverted to myself, familiar, plain Harriet.

“Gwennan told me some story,” I said, quickly to hide my emotion, “about a governess who was kept in a room unknown to anyone hi the house except Sir Somebody Men"

“Sir Bevil, if you please. One of the many Bevils of the family.”

“And she died having a child, and no one knew till after she was dead.”

“That’s it.” He opened a door whose hinges gave the same protesting whine which I noticed before. “This part of the house will have to be gone over soon,” he commented. “We’re a lazy lot, we Menfreys. We’re not energetic like you Delvaneys. We let things drift along. How many years do you think it is since these rooms have been lived in?” I started back, for something touched my face. It was a tangle of cobwebs, slimy and cold. I felt as though the whole place was calling to me: Keep out. But Bevil felt none of this. There was nothing fanciful about Bevil. An unlived-in room was nothing to him but an unlived-in room. There were no such things as ghosts; there were only legends.

“Here she is,” said Bevil.

And there was the picture—a woman in the dress which must surely be the one I had worn the previous night. It was beautifully painted; the folds of velvet were so real that I felt had I stroked them they would have been as soft as the actual material. Her dark hair was held back in the snood of gold-colored net set with stones of topaz.

“It’s the same!” I said. “Did I wear her dress, then?”

“It might be so.”

I went near to the picture. She had a sad, almost furtive expression.

“She doesn’t look very happy,” I said.

“Well, she was married to this Bevil—who was involved with the governess.”

“Oh,” I said, “I see.”

He came to stand behind me, putting his hands on my shoulders. “What, Harriet, do you see?”

“Why she looks so unhappy. But the dress is lovely. What a wonderful artist who painted it!”

“I see that you are fascinated by that dress. Where is it now?”

“In my cupboard at Chough Towers.”

“You’ll never be able to part with it, will you?”

“I am going to pack it up and bring it back to Gwennan.”

“Don’t,” he said. “Keep it. You might want to disguise yourself again one of these days.”

“Keep it!”

“A present from me,” he said.

“Oh, Bevil!”

“Come on. It’s cold in here. Let’s go back to the inhabited regions.”

That night at the ball changed Gwennan as well as myself. She was more restless, more dissatisfied with her life. She was in one of her restless moods when we went riding together.

“Life,” she told me, as we rode into the woods, ducking our heads when we passed under the trees, at this time of the year laden with heavy foliage, “is very unsatisfactory with us.”

Always eager to hear of the Menfreys, I asked why particularly now.

“Money! It’s always money. It’s fortunate that Papa is not the Member now, because being a Member is a costly business. I’m so bored with having no money that I’ve almost decided to remedy it.”

“How?”

“By marrying Harry, of course.”

“Gwennan, do you think he would?”

“Do I think he would! Are you crazy? Of course, he would. He’s madly in love with me. That’s one of the reasons why it’s so hateful to be sixteen. I’ll have to wait at least a year before I marry.”

We had come to a clearing, and she whipped up Sugar Loaf and broke into a gallop. I went forward and rode beside her. She was laughing, and I think some devilish mischief was in her that morning.

“I don’t want to go back to that ridiculous school of ours,” she called over her shoulder.

“Well, we aren’t yet. There’s another week or so.”

“I mean … ever. Academy for Young Ladies! If there’s anything I hate more than being sixteen, it’s being a young lady.”

“I’m not so certain of the second, although the first is indisputable.”

“Harriet Delvaney, don’t try to talk cleverly like some frightful… politician.”

“Was I? I didn’t know.”

“Some people say that if you want something to happen or not to happen … tremendously … you know, if you concentrate, it might make it work.”

“Like not going back to school? Like leaping from sixteen to eighteen in a day instead of two years?”

“You’re developing that acid asperity in your nature, Harriet. You’re going to be one of those bluestocking women with the serpent’s tongue if you don’t look out”

“And why shouldn’t I?”

“Because they’re fatally unattractive to men.”

“I don’t have to develop any new tendencies to be that I’m it already.”

“Stop it, Harriet It’s your own fault.”

“What is?”

“I haven’t time to solve your problems this morning. I have too many of my own. I’m determined not to go back to school next term.”

I was silent, wondering what it would be like to go without her. But, of course, she would go back.

We rashly galloped across the moor. She was certainly in a wild mood.

“Like this,” she called, “I feel free. That’s what I want, Harriet, to be free. Free to do exactly what I like. Not when I’m grown up, but now I am grown up, I tell you. I’m as grown up as I’ll ever be.”

I galloped with her, calling out to her to have a care; there were some ugly-looking boulders on the moor, and if she didn’t care for herself she ought to for Sugar Loaf.

“We know where we’re going,” she retorted.

I was thankful when we left the moor behind us. Gwennan was the most reckless person I had ever known in my life.

We came into a village I had never visited before. It was delightful with its gray-towered church, surrounded by its graveyard and its cottages bordering the green.

“It’s Grendengarth,” Gwennan told me. “We’re six miles from home.”

It was close to the village that it happened; we had turned off the road into a clearing, and there was a bank ahead of us which should not have been difficult to take; but, as I said, Gwennan was in a reckless mood that morning. I don’t know what happened, exactly—one never does on these occasions. She was a little ahead of me when she took the bank. I heard her cry out as she shot over Sugar Loafs head. It seemed as though time slowed down. I seemed poised in midair over the bank for minutes before I was on the other side. I saw Sugar Loaf running on, bewildered, and then my attention was focused on Gwennan lying still on the grass.

“Gwennan,” I cried stupidly. “Gwennan, what’s happened?”

I slipped from my horse and knelt beside her. She was white and still, but she was breathing. For a few seconds I remained there; then I mounted and rode back to the village for help.

I was fortunate, for as I reached the road a boy was riding past on a pony. I stammered out that there had been an accident.

“I'll go straightways to Dr. Trelarken,” he said.

I returned to Gwennan, and as I knelt beside her, waiting for what seemed like hours, I was terrified that she might be dead; I remembered her words, a short time before, that she was determined not to go back to school, and wondered whether some terrible recording angel had noted the words and this was the punishment.

“If you die, Gwennan,” I whispered, “you won’t go back to school, and your wish will be granted.”

I shivered. Then I noticed that her left leg was in a strange position, and I realized what had happened.

Dr. Trelarken arrived on the scene with two men who carried a stretcher. The doctor set the leg before Gwennan was moved, and then the men carried her back to his house in Grendengarth. The doctor walked with me and asked me questions.

He knew who we were because everyone in the district knew the Menfreys and Sir Edward Delvaney. He pointed out his house, which was a white one on the pretty green I had noticed when we rode through. My horse was taken from me by a groom, and as we went into the house he called: “Jess! Jessie. Where are you?”

“Coming, Father,” said a voice; and a young woman appeared in the hall. That was my first glimpse of Jessica Trelarken, who has always seemed to me one of the most beautiful women I have ever known.

She was tall and slender; her hair was dark, almost black, and her eyes a startling blue accentuated by the blue gown she wore. She must have been about nineteen then.

The stretcher was carried into a bedroom on the first floor, and the doctor attended to Gwennan. Jess helped him, and I was asked to remain downstairs. I was taken by a maid into a light and any room, pleasantly furnished in a conventional way, except for the painting over the fireplace of a very pretty woman who was like Jess but did not possess the same outstanding beauty. The air was scented by the flowers in a huge earthenware pot on the polished table by the window— purple buddleia and lavender, and pink cabbage roses.

I sat down and listened to the tick-tock of the grandfather clock, wondering how long it would be before I heard how badly Gwennan was hurt and gazing distractedly at my distorted reflection in the gleaming brass oil lamp which stood on the table beside the bowl of flowers.

It was about twenty minutes before the doctor appeared. Jessica was with him.

“I expect Miss Delvaney would like some refreshment,” he said.

“I am sure she would,” added Jessica, giving me that serene smile which I was to come to know so well.

“Gwennan?” I asked.

“Broken leg. I don’t want to move her just yet Nothing much. She took the bank too fast, I reckon, I’ve seen it happen at that spot before.”

“I should go to Menfreya at once,” I said. “Sugar Loaf will go back there. They’ll be frightened.”

“We’ve already sent to explain,” said Jessica. “I shouldn’t be surprised if someone doesn’t come over very soon.”

“And you, young lady,” went on the doctor, “have had a bit of a shock. Jess, ring for that wine and some of your wine biscuits to go with it. Well all have something.”

Jessica went to the bell; she moved with the grace of a jungle creature, which accorded oddly with her air of gentleness.

“And after that,” said the doctor, “you’ll be able to have a word with Miss Menfrey, I daresay.”

So I sat there in that scented room drinking wine with the Trelarkens, and all the time I was thinking: It’s a judgment. She decided she wouldn’t go back to school with me— and she won’t.

I missed her very much, but life went more smoothly without her. I worked harder than I ever had, and my teachers were pleased with me; I didn’t make friends with other girls; I had never found that easy, and as I was no use at games, I spent the time in study. This began to show results.

But when I received a letter from Gwennan I was conscious of a yearning to be with her. It was an exuberant letter.

She was pleased with life. She was getting her own way, which was what she always must have.

“My poor, poor Harriet, to think of you in that dreadful genteel Academy for Young Indies! What do you think? I am engaged to Harry. Of course there’s opposition. ‘Too young! Too young!’ they keep screaming at me. Mind you, the family want it—both families do—and so does Harry … madly. So it doesn’t make much sense waiting, does it?”

I smiled as I read that and thought: But if you don’t want to wait, Gwennan, then there’ll be no waiting. I read on:

“I did think of an elopement. That would have been fun, with Harry climbing the walls of Menfreya—the steepest part, you know where the walls and the cliff edge meet. One slip and down to certain death! But then I thought, no. A young woman—not a young lady, mind you; I have done with those repulsive things—must have a little time to look round. Well, they came up with this suggestion: One year in a finishing school during the engagement, and then wedding bells to ring in Menfrey stow. It appeals to me. I expect I shall be one of the few people who have ever gone away to school already engaged. So that is to be it I’m off to France— somewhere in the middle. Near Tours, where they speak the best French, so they tell me, because I have to come back speaking like a native. Part of the requirements of a woman of education, you understand.

“My bones have set perfectly, so Dr. Trelarken says. He was very pleased with my progress, and Bevil is very pleased with Jessica, his daughter. A pity he always chooses the most unsuitable people. Dr. Trelarken doesn’t seem to be one of the clever doctors who choose their patients with care. Hard work and gratitude seem to be this man’s reward. Very noble, but it seems the only dowry poor Jess will bring to her husband is her beauty.

“Then, of course, the war. Bevil was determined to go and fight the wicked Boer for Queen and country. You see, when he stands for Parliament he’d do so much better as a hero returned from the wars. Besides, Menfreys always rally to the cause. He was determined to go, but now I think he’s not so eager. It’s because of Jess. Perhaps he’ll many her before he goes off with Kitchener. There’s nothing like a war for making hasty marriages.

“Harry won’t go. He’s needed at home, he says; and so does his father. Business must go on.

“What a long letter this is. And I hardly ever write letters. It’s because my heart bleeds for my poor Harriet, who is not engaged to be married, who is not going to a finishing school in France, who is not in dear Menfreya but sitting at her study window, I’ll swear, looking out over neat lawns, her books before her, being such a good little girl now that she is not distracted by her wicked Gwennan.”

As usual, she had disturbed me; I could not recapture the peace I had been enjoying. I pictured it all; something exciting always seemed to be happening at Menfreya. I saw Bevil riding over to the Trelarkens, and Jessica coming out to stand on the porch. She would be wearing the blue dress I had first seen her in, with the white lace collar; she had been lovely then; now, being in love, she must be breathtakingly beautiful.

And Bevil was in love with her, and be would soon be leaving her to go to South Africa. Yes, be would want to many her before he went.

I thought of Bevil and the girl he had brought to the island. There must have been others in between her and Jessica. Many others. But Jessica was different. Young and inexperienced as I was, I sensed that, and I was depressed.

There was one more letter from Gwennan before she left for the finishing school:

“Harry’s people are taking over Chough Towers. He knows I’d never really feel happy away from Menfreya, so he says that Chough will be our home. I must say I like the idea. I am already planning balls I'll have in that perfectly magnificent ballroom. Your father’s lease was running out, so Chough won’t be your Cornish residence much longer—it’ll be mine. Of course, I shall invite you to stay. I’ll give you the room you now have. It will be fun, won’t it? But I’ll bet you’re wondering what your father is going to do. Hell have to have a place near Lansella, won’t he? We’re very pleased with your stern parent, Harriet. Do you know what he’s done? You’ll never guess. He’s taken the house on No Man’s Island. More than that, he’s bought the island from Papa. This is a marvelous stroke of luck for us. You know what a white elephant of an island it is. It’s just there, and what use is it— except for runaway heiresses to hide in, and dissolute young men to effect seductions! What dreadful company I keep! The point is, I had to be the first to tell you. No Man’s Island will soon be yours. You can imagine the improvements your father will make. It’ll be a palace on an island, I expect, before he’s done with it. Papa is absolutely delighted. He goes around rubbing his hands with glee. At last we have something to tide us over."

“You see, Harriet, nothing remains the same. I am leaving at the end of the week for my finishing school. I wish you were coming. You probably will. Here’s another secret. Your father is talking about it, and Mamma has given him all sorts of details about the place. Well, it seems our fate is not to be parted for long. I shall hope that you too will soon be acquiring an impeccable French accent But don’t become engaged, will you? I want the distinction of being not merely the first but the only engaged woman to arrive at the school.

Q.

“P.S. Bevil is no longer with us. He’s become a soldier. He won’t be leaving for South Africa just yet, but when he does the war will soon be over, you can be sure. Poor Jess is sad, but they’re not engaged. Great relief displayed by the parents. They’ve been absolutely terrified—although, of course, it wouldn’t have been such a calamity, as I am obliging with Harry. See you soon, Harriet, at our finishing school. G.”

Change was in the air, but when I arrived home for the holidays I was faced with the greatest of them all—so far.

It was the end of the spring term and, to my disappointment, I had a letter from my father telling me that instead of spending the holiday as usual at Chough Towers I was to come to London. I should be met at Paddington.

I was disappointed, although neither Gwennan nor Bevil would have been there, but even so I had been looking forward to going to Cornwall, to hear from A’Lee—that infallible source of information—what exactly was happening about Chough Towers, which my father would shortly be vacating, and what improvements had been made to the island house. But most of all I wanted to know more about Bevil and Jessica Trelarken, for I could not believe that Jessica would allow herself to be the partner in one of Devil’s casual affairs.

I could not understand, either, why my father wanted me to be in London. Surely since he disliked seeing me so decidedly, he would want my holidays to be spent where he was not.

As soon as I alighted from the train I saw Fanny, who had come to meet me. She looked just the same as usual in her plain serge cloak with the cotton dress showing beneath; her black bonnet, tied under the chin with gray ribbon, did little for her face except accentuate its pallor and hide the gray-brown hair which was always scraped back unbecomingly. Her expression was anxious. I felt emotional as I watched her. She looked so insignificant—but to me she had tried to be the mother I had never known.

Her face relaxed when she saw me.

“Miss Harriet My! How you’ve grown!”

“You look the same as ever, Fanny.”

“My growing days are over. This is a change … coming to London for this holiday.” She looked at me anxiously. “What do you make of that?’

“Something’s happened?” I asked.

She nodded grimly.

“Oh, Fanny ... what?”

“Your father’s married again. You could have knocked me down with a feather.”

“But, Fanny, whom has he married?”

“You wait, my lady, and you’ll see for yourself.”

“She’s there now … at home?’

“Oh yes. Your father can’t wait to introduce you to your stepmother. He thinks everyone must be as delighted with her as he is.”

“He … delighted!”

“I’d say.”

“But … he couldn’t be delighted about anything.”

“Well, he is about this little bundle of nonsense, I can tell you.”

“Fanny, I never thought of anything like this.”

“That’s what I guessed. So I’m warning you. You had to be prepared … to my way of thinking.”

She had taken my bag and we made our way to where the carriage was waiting. When we were settled in and moving out into the streets, I said: “Fanny, when did it happen?”

“Three weeks ago.”

“He didn’t say anything about it”

“He wasn’t in the habit of sending you long explanations of what he was doing, ducky, was he?”

“But did it happen suddenly … like that?”

“Well, there was a bit of courting, I believe. He changed. One of the maids beard him singing one morning. We thought she was going up the pole when she told us. But it was true. Love’s a funny thing, Miss Harriet”

“It must be if it came to him.”

She laid her hand over mine.

“You’ll find him changed,” she warned.

“It must be for the better then,” I retorted, “because it couldn’t very well be for the worse, could it?”

I did find him changed. But when I met my stepmother I was so astonished that I could only gasp at the incongruity of this match.

As soon as we arrived at the house, Mrs. Trant came into the hall to tell me that I was to go at once to the library, where my father and Lady Delvaney were waiting for me.

As I stood on the threshold of that room, I could sense the change creeping over the house. Nothing, I thought, is going to be the same again. We have come to the end of an epoch. Lady Delvaney was sitting in an armchair by the fireplace. She was a young woman, petite, with fair, fluffy hair, a strikingly fresh complexion, round babyish face and pale blue eyes so large that they looked as though she were startled. Perhaps she was, at the sight of me. She was dressed in pink and white, and my first impression was that she was like a piece of confectionery the cook had made for one of Papa’s parties. There was a pink ribbon in her hair, and her gown was trimmed with pink and white; her face was delicately powdered; her waist was the tiniest I had ever seen, and never had the term “hourglass” been more aptly applied than to her.

But the most startling sight in that room was not this woman. It was my father. I would not have believed he could ever have looked like that. His eyes had become more blue and they were brilliant as they were when he was being witty with his political friends.

“Harriet,” he said, rising and craning towards me, he took my hand in one of his and laid the other on my shoulder— a gesture of affection which he had never before used towards me. “I want you to meet your … stepmother.”

The pretty creature covered her face with her hands and murmured: “Oh, but it sounds so dreadful.”

“Nonsense, my love,” said Father. “Harriet and you win be friends.”

She rose and lifted those big blue eyes to my face—she was considerably shorter than L “Do you think so?” she asked tremulously.

I realized that the creature was—or pretended to be—afraid of me!

“I am sure we can,” I said.

Never had I found it so easy to please my father, who was now smiling at me benignly.

“I’m so gad.”

“Hal” said my father. ”I told you you need have nothing to fear, did I not?”

“You did, Teddy, you did.”

Teddy? That was new to me. Teddy! How absolutely incongruous! But more so that he should actually like it! What miracle had this woman been able to work?

“And was I not right?”

“Teddy dear, you know you are always right”

She was dimpling, and he was smiling at her as though she were one of the wonders of the world. I felt I had stepped into one of my dreams; they appeared to be so content with each other that they were allowing some of that contentment to lap over onto me.

“You’re looking puzzled … Harriet” She spoke my name shyly.

“I had no idea… It was a surprise.”

“You didn’t warn her! Oh, Teddy, how naughty of you! And I’m really a stepmother. Fancy that Stepmothers are supposed to be such horrid creatures.”

“I am sure you will be a kind stepmother,” I said.

My father looked emotional. Could it be, I wondered, that I had never know him before?

“Thank you … Harriet.” Always the little pause before she spoke my name, as though she were frightened of using it.

“Stepmother indeed!” said my father. “You are not six years older than Harriet”

She gave one of her little pouts and said: “Well, I shall try to do my best to be a good stepmother.”

“In fact” I said, “I am too old to need a stepmother, so perhaps we could be friends instead.”

She clasped her hands ecstatically, and my father looked pleased.

“You will have time to get to know each other during Harriet’s holidays,” said my father.

“That,” she announced, “will be the greatest fun.”

When I was in my room I shut the door and looked about ft, expecting it to have changed. Here were the same four walls which had seen so much of my childhood misery; here I had come after hearing those cruel words of Aunt Clarissa and made my plans for escape; here I had often cried myself to sleep because I had believed myself to be ugly and unloved. There was the picture of the Christian Martyr, which for some reason had always frightened me when I was young. It portrayed a young woman waist high in water, bound to a stake; her hands were tied with the palms together so that she could pray, and her eyes were raised to heaven. It used to give me nightmares until Fanny explained that she was happy to die because she was dying for her faith, and it would soon be over when the tide rose, for then she would be completely submerged. There was the little bookcase with my old books which had delighted my childhood. There was the moneybox from which I had extracted the shillings and sixpences to pay my fare to Cornwall. The same room where I had been kept on a diet of bread and water as a punishment for some misdemeanor, where I had struggled to learn the collect of the day or lines from Shakespeare as penance.

The same room—but the house was different. My father’s resentment, the unhappiness of years had dropped from him —or rather it had been removed like a cloak by the delicate fingers of this frivolous-looking piece of confectionery who was my stepmother.

I studied my reflection in the dressing-table looking glass. Yes, I had changed. That little kindness my father had shown me had lifted the scowl from my brow. I promised myself that I was growing better-looking. Gwennan was right when she said I reminded people that I was unattractive because of my own attitude.

I was excited because getting to know oneself was exciting. I was beginning to believe that I had the power to influence my own personality. I saw how happiness with bis Jenny was changing him. It was a wonderful discovery.

My astonishment grew as the days passed. My father did not exactly allow me to penetrate their magic circle, but at the same tune he did not want me shut out entirely. It seemed that my acceptance of Jenny, and hers of me, was needed to make his happiness complete. I suppose the child I had been —bitter, resentful—would have refused to give him what he wanted how. But I had changed when I had put on the topaz-colored dress, when Bevil had shown clearly that he had been attracted by me. I had softened in some way; and the new Harriet had lost her vindictiveness—she wanted to please.

So I became Jenny’s friend.

Meals were different now, with William Lister and myself, Papa and his new wife. Conversation flowed more easily; neither William nor I had to worry now about making aimless remarks. Jenny did that to perfection, and all her inanities were greeted by smiles from her husband.

They often went to the theater—which was something new to my father, who had never had time for it before; but the theater had been Jenny’s life, and she loved it. Jenny would prattle through dinner about the show they had seen or were going to see and the stage personalities whom she obviously admired. Papa listened and quickly learned what she had to tell him about the different actors and actresses, so that he could aspire to her kind of conversation.

One day my father said: “I want a word with you, Harriet. Pray come into the library.”

I followed him there. He sat down and signed to me to be seated, looking at me with the cold distaste which had wounded me so deeply before Jenny’s coming. So it was only when he was with her that he felt more kindly towards me! The assurance which had grown about me like a shell was only a brittle covering and ready to crack at the least ill-usage, and the sullen expression, I knew, was creeping over my face; I felt ugly, for I was sure that he was comparing me with his exquisite little Jenny.

“I have been thinking of your education,” he said.

I nodded, and he looked at me with exasperation. “For heaven’s sake, show some enthusiasm.”

“I’m … interested,” I said.

“I should hope so. I have been thinking that it is time you left that school. You certainly need some grooming to fit you for society. Your Aunt Clarissa will see you launched eventually, but you are by no means ready for that How old are you now?”

So he didn’t remember! He remembered that Jenny liked her bonbons tied with pink ribbon, but he couldn’t remember his daughter’s age. But perhaps he was pretending to forget, for surely be must remember the day which had been the most tragic in his life, until he had met his Jenny, who had made a new man of him.

“Sixteen and a half.”

“It is a little early. I had thought you should wait until you were at least seventeen, and then have a year or two abroad. But I see no reason why you should not go now. Your reports from school are not bad. They could, of course, be better, but they are adequate. The place to which Gwennan Menfrey has been sent seems to satisfy her parents. I do not see why it should not be equally good for you. So you will not be returning to Cheltenham.”

I was excited. Soon to be with Gwennan again! It was the next best thing to being at Menfrey.

“The school is near Tours,” he said. As if I didn’t know! “We will see what it has done for you in, say … six months, and if it gives satisfaction you will stay for a year, perhaps two.”

“Yes, Papa,” I said.

He nodded a sign of dismissal, and I went to the door very conscious of my limp.

On such occasions I could see how we needed Jenny. If she went away, the old relationship between my father and myself would soon return. That realization made me very sad, but I was excited at the prospect of joining Gwennan.

They were going to the theater that night. William Lister told me that he had had difficulty in procuring the tickets, but he had to get them somehow because Lady Delvaney was so eager to go. It was a new departure from his duties of the past—this securing of theater tickets.

At dinner that evening, which was served half an hour earlier on account of the theater jaunt, Jenny looked prettier than ever. She was in mauve chiffon over a green satin, and I had to admit to myself that the effect was enchanting; she wore her fair hair piled high on her bead, which had the effect of making her seem more childish than ever. My farther, I thought, was drinking more than usual, and Jenny was affecting a pretty concern.

“But, Teddy, I am really serious. If your poor head is not better, I shall insist that we do not go.”

“It is nothing, my love, nothing at all,” he assured her.

She turned to me. “But, Harriet, his poor head was so bad this afternoon. I made him rest and I put some of my Eau de Cologne on his forehead. It is wonderful. It always makes me feel better when I’m fatigued. If you ever need it, Harriet…”

“I don’t have headaches, thank you.”

“Oh no, you are so young … But, Teddy, you must take greater care. And if your head is not completely cured, it shall be no play for you.”

My father smiled at her fondly and declared that she had charmed away his headache.

I glanced at William, wondering what he thought of all this lovers' talk, and I saw that he was embarrassed, as I was.

Just before midnight I went to my window and saw my top-hatted, black-coated father, and my glittering stepmother returning from the theater. She was chattering. I could hear her high-pitched, excited voice as they came up to their room. I sat for some time at the window, wondering whether it had been like that with my mother and whether they had been delighted when they knew they were going to be parents. I tried to assure myself that he had been as excited then at the prospect of becoming a father as he was now to be the husband of a pretty young girl.

Perhaps under Jenny’s influence he would grow more and more mellow and tell me.

I undressed, went to bed and was soon asleep—to be startled by the sound of knocking on my door, which was flung open even as I opened my eyes.

My stepmother in a negligee all frills of lace and satin, her fair hair in confusion about her shoulders, her blue eyes wider than I had ever seen them, and fear written all over her pale face, was shouting incoherently at me.

“Harriet … for God sake … come. Your father … Teddy … something’s happened. Oh, Harriet Come quickly.”

My father died early next morning. Never had I felt so blank, such a sense of unreality. I could only think: Now I shall never be able to win his approval … never … never… never!

The strange night was over. The doctor had told us that my father had had a stroke and that there was just a possibility that he might recover; but before morning that possibility vanished. Jenny could only tremble and murmur: “It can’t be true. It can’t be true.” The doctor talked to me instead of her.

“Had he recovered,” he said, “he would have been an invalid. I do not think he would have enjoyed living in such a condition.”

We were all grateful to William Lister who took charge of the household in his calm, efficient way.

The doctor gave Jenny and me mild sedatives because, he said, we needed to sleep. She kept close to my side. “Can I be with you, Harriet? I can’t go back to our room.” I felt fond of her in that moment “Of course,” I said. So she slept in my bed until the morning. I awoke with a feeling that I had had a nightmare. Nothing would ever be the same again. My father, of whom I had seen very little, had in spite of that been at the very center of my existence. A burden had been lifted, but something vital to me had been taken away. I could not explain my feelings.

Jenny’s were less complicated. She had lost the great provider—the fairy godfather who had found her in rags and taken her to the ball. She was frankly distressed, and although anxiety for her future may have been at the root of this, she had, I believe, been fond of him.

In due course Aunt Clarissa arrived and immediately manifested her dislike of Jenny. I found myself hoping that Jenny did not notice.

She came to my room and looked at me with a criticism which even at such a time made me wonder whether she was picturing the difficulty of finding a husband for me. “Such a shocking thing!” She shut the door. ”I never did approve of this marriage. I have never known Edward to act foolishly before. But that … creature. Most unsuitable! What ever possessed him?”

“Love,” I answered.

“Harriet, are you trying to be clever? It’s not very becoming—and at such a time.”

“It is not in the least clever to see the obvious. Papa was very much in love with her, so he married her and gave her all the things which she had never had before.”

“H’m, and she took them with the utmost eagerness.”

“Her eagerness to take could not compare with his to give.”

“What nonsense is this! I am deeply shocked and filled with grief, but that will not prevent my making sure that we really get to the bottom of this mystery.”

“Mystery? Papa died of a stroke. The doctor said so.”

“Well, we shall see at the autopsy, shall we not?”

“An autopsy!”

“My dear child, there is always an autopsy after sudden death, and your father’s was very sudden.”

“Aunt Clarissa, what are you suggesting?”

“Merely that an aging man, a very rich man, decides to marry a young adventuress. He does so, and very shortly he dies.”

“But what has she to gain?”

“Doubtless we shall hear when the will is read after the funeral. But the autopsy, I am thankful to say, comes first”

“I am sure you are quite wrong.”

“And you, Harriet, are far too self-opinionated. I can see your manners are as atrocious as ever.” She turned and was about to leave me, but at the door she paused. “Not a word of this,” she said, “to her. If she thinks she has deceived us all, let her go on thinking it for a little while.”

She left me alone and thoughtful.

Poor Jenny! I thought She is going to miss my father’s care and protection.

Later, when I went down to the servants' quarters I could not help overhearing their comments.

“That’s what comes of an old man trying to be a young one.”

“You don’t think that she…”

“Get away with you! But … I don’t know. I reckon he’s left her pretty comfortable. Well, if she wanted to be rid of him … and go off with some young man …”

I didn’t want to hear any more. It was so unkind, so unfair. My father had had a stroke, doubtless because he was trying to keep pace with Jenny’s youth, but that was his fault, not hers.

Suspicion crept into the house like a November fog.

The next day I saw the papers. “Sir Edward Delvaney dies from heart attack. Two months after his marriage to chorus girl, Miss Jenny Jay, Sir Edward Delvaney collapsed in his London residence. This will mean a by-election in the Lansella district of Cornwall, for which Sir Edward has been Member for the last ten years.”

Bevil, who had not yet left for South Africa, came to London for the funeral—to represent his family, he said. When Mrs, Trant told me that Mr. Menfrey had asked to see me, I ran down eagerly to the library. His face lit up when he saw me. I stood before him and he laid his hands on my shoulders and looked at me sadly.

“Poor Harriet,” he said. “It was so sudden.”

He was looking searchingly into my face; he knew, of course, what the relationship had been between my father and myself.

“It’s … bewildering,” I told him.

“Of course. We were horrified when we heard, and they all send their love to you. They want you to go to Menfreya if you would care to.”

I smiled rather wanly. “It’s good of them,” I replied.

“Gwennan is away at her French school of course.”

“Only the other day … he was saying I should join her there.”

“It’s a good idea. A complete break. Then come back and start afresh. That’s the best possible plan.”

The door opened and Jenny came into the room. She was startled to see that I was not alone.

“Oh, Harriet …” she began; then she stood still, looking at Bevil.

“My … stepmother,” I said.

Bevil came forward and shook her hands. “I am sorry we must meet for the first time in such sad circumstances.”

His eyes were shining. I had seen that look before, and I was filled with dismay.

The funeral was almost a public occasion. My father had been a well-known politician and recently had been in the news when he had married a girl young enough to be his daughter—and a chorus girl at that; now he had died suddenly, a few weeks after that marriage.

Whenever I smell lilies I remember that day. The odor of the oak coffin, the scent of the flowers and an air of foreboding filled the house. Every room was dark because the blinds were all drawn and everyone went about speaking in whispers and looking solemn, and when my father’s name was mentioned they spoke of him as though he were a saint.

I remember the slow and solemn cortege of which I was a part and the faces of curious people peering in at us— particularly at Jenny. “That’s the one … Some people know a good thing when they see it. Back row of the chorus and then ‘my lady' … and still my lady and a fortune, I reckon, without encumbrances. Oh yes, some people are lucky.”

Poor Jenny! She seemed oblivious of the whispers. I wished I could have been. Aunt Clarissa sat up straight and prim, looking hideous, I thought, in her black bonnet on which the beads glistened and the jet drops dangled. She was disappointed that the autopsy had proved my father had died solely from a heart attack.

The church seemed stifling hot; I was glad of Bevil, who stood between Jenny and me as though he was determined to protect us.

The sun was warm as we stood round the grave; I kept seeing scenes from the past between my father and myself, and in vain I sought for one which had been happy. It was only when Jenny was present that he had shown any friendliness towards me; and as I listened to the sound of earth falling on the coffin I felt a great desolation in my heart because I should never see him again. I saw the tears on Jenny’s face and took her hand; she clung to mine gratefully.

Back at the house we drank wine and ate the food which had been prepared for us, and Mr. Greville of Greville, Baker and Greville came to read the will.

In the library, where this was to take place, there was an atmosphere of tension. Mr. Greville sat at the table, his spectacles on his nose, his air solemn and unhurried, as though he was going to tease those anxious people by making them wait as long as possible.

I felt wearied by the legal jargon; there was one thing which interested me more than anything else, and that was Bevil’s awareness of the young widow, and I was not yet sure whether hers for him was not growing.

I gathered that there were legacies for the servants who were in my father’s employ when he died, that William Lister had received a small one, and that Aunt Clarissa had been remembered. I could not understand what had been arranged for myself, but I believed that I should be adequately provided for, and it seemed to me that Jenny had inherited the bulk of my father’s considerable fortune.

I looked at her face, but she did not seem to be taking it in; she was tying her handkerchief in knots very studiously, then untying them. She was crying quietly.

Poor little Jenny. I refused to believe she was a fortune hunter.

A great many plans were made and unmade; but it was decided that, as it was my father’s wish, I should be sent off to the finishing school as soon as possible.

This was perhaps the best thing that could happen, as far as I was concerned; I ceased to brood on my father’s death and instead wondered what the future would hold for me.

Bevil was leaving almost immediately for South Africa.

One day I went riding with him in the Row, and that was a happy occasion. Jenny could not ride so she did not accompany us, and I was glad of this for when Bevil called at the house either she or Aunt Clarissa were present and I never had an opportunity of being with him alone.

As we walked our horses through the park, he said: “You'll feel better when you’re with Gwennan. She’s delighted you’re joining her. Harriet, this has been a shock to you. You always hoped to make him fatherly towards you, didn’t you?”

“How did you know?”

“I know a great deal about you, Harriet.” He laughed. “You look alarmed. Are you afraid that I’m in possession of your darkest secrets?”

“I have no dark ones.”

“I should hope not at your age. Harriet, I’m very probably going to take over your father’s constituency.”

“I’m glad. It’s what you wanted.”

“Odd. This happens, and then …”

“You get what you’ve always wanted.”

“I have to be elected first, you know.”

“If you are, you’ll need a secretary.”

“And why?"

“William Lister is a very good one,”

“And you would recommend him?”

“Anyone who could give my father satisfaction must be good.”

“I’ll remember that.”

He smiled at me, and we touched our horses lightly and broke into a canter.

Shortly afterwards I joined Gwennan in France.