Midsummer's Eve

A Visitor from Australia

AND SO WE WERE sailing for England.

We should be well into the new year before we reached home, for there had been some delay in getting a passage for us all and we had had to stay in Sydney for several weeks.

Helena had written to Matthew and had left the letter at the Grand Hotel to be collected when he came there. In this she told him she was going home with me.

I knew that Rolf was puzzled by the marriage which in a short time had produced not only a baby but a husband who had gone off leaving his newly wedded wife who was not sure of his whereabouts.

But finally we were on board.

I realized that everything I did was going to bring back memories; and as soon as I stepped on to the ship I remembered the journey out and the fun Jacco and I had had, and how excited we had been at the prospect of seeing new places; but most of all I remembered that deep abiding security I had had—and which I had not realized until I had lost it—in the heart of a devoted and loving family.

But Rolf had come right to the other side of the world, leaving his beloved estates, to come to me because as much as anyone else I knew, he would understand my grief.

I must be thankful that I had such a friend.

At first I could not feel any interest in the ship. I did not care whether the sun shone or we were in stormy waters. I was hardly aware of the rough seas. Although I was glad to be on my way I dreaded getting home. I tried to imagine Cador without them.

Jonnie comforted me a great deal. I was with him as often as possible. I was sure he knew me; he was beginning to take an interest in the world about him now, and he grew more adorable every day. Helena understood and when she thought I was particularly depressed she would talk of him or bring him to me and put him into my arms.

Rolf noticed and remarked on my fondness for the child.

“He’s always been with me,” I said, “really as much as he is with Helena.”

I realized my feelings towards Rolf were getting back to what they had been before that terrible Midsummer’s Eve.

When I looked at him dispassionately it was brought home to me what a very attractive man he was. He was greatly respected throughout the ship. He was gracious; he had an easy manner; he did not thrust himself forward as Gregory Donnelly had done. In fact my acquaintance with Gregory Donnelly had made me realize how very much I admired Rolf.

I was taken back to those days of my childhood when I had set him up as a god, when my heart leaped with pleasure when I heard his arrival. How I used to fly down to meet him and he would lift me in his arms and give me a piggyback-ride when I wanted to show him something in the nursery.

Then had come that Midsummer’s Eve when I believed that my god had feet of clay.

What had shocked me almost as much as the cruelty inflicted on Mother Ginny was Rolf’s part in it. That had destroyed my feelings for him. I had continued to love him in a way, but my affection had been tainted by what I had seen and the awful realization that I did not really know him at all.

One grows very close to people during a sea voyage; one sees them every day at meals as well as about the ship. A few days of such intimacy is equivalent to months of an ordinary relationship.

Rolf was so tender, so tactful. Now and then he talked of home and when he saw that I was getting too emotional, he would steer the conversation away from that evocative subject.

It was such a comfort to know that he understood, even more than Helena did, what I was feeling.

And somehow I knew he was waiting. The fact that he had come out to Australia to bring me home, showed that he cared for me in a very special way. He had always been a good friend but this was more than friendship.

It was during these peaceful balmy nights when we were crossing the Indian Ocean that we sat on the deck together looking out on the darkening water, listening to the gentle swishing of the sea against the side of the ship as we talked.

He said: “I often think of you when you were a little girl. You used to rush to me when I arrived at Cador with my father. If you had something new, you always wanted to show it to me.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“You were very fond of me then.”

“I thought you were the most wonderful person in the world. At least, you shared that honour with …”

The tell-tale break in my voice made him reach for my hand.

“I know,” he said. “It was a gratifying feeling to be so regarded. When things weren’t going well, I used to say to myself, ‘I’ll go to Cador and get a boost to my ego from Annora.’ And then suddenly … it changed.”

I was silent.

“Yes,” he went on, “suddenly it changed. I thought sadly, She’s growing up. She’s not a child any more. She’s more discerning. And I didn’t like it at all. I did not come so much to Cador because I could not bear the change in your attitude towards me. I told myself that children were fickle and I was hurt.”

“It was after that Midsummer’s Eve,” I said.

“That Midsummer’s Eve,” he repeated. “Ah, I remember. There was an awful tragedy. The house in the woods was burned down.”

“Yes. With Mother Ginny in it. They were very cruel to her on that night. I was there … with Jacco. It was intolerable.”

“You saw it! It must have been horrific.”

“They set fire to her house. They dragged her to the river. I can never forget it. I didn’t believe in anything after that. People I had known … doing that. I felt I could not trust people any more.”

“I understand,” he said slowly. “My father was greatly shocked. He told me about it when I came back.”

“When you came back?”

“I had gone away on the afternoon of Midsummer’s Eve. I went to a friend who was in my college. He lived near Bodmin. You remember how interested I used to be … well, I still am … in old customs and superstitions. He had found some old papers in his family’s attics and he wanted me to look at them. I was going to miss the bonfires but old papers interested me more, so I went off. I was rather glad that I wasn’t there in view of what happened.”

“You weren’t there?” I stammered.

I could see it all so clearly; the figure in the grey robe leaping over the bonfire; leading the mob on to harass the poor old woman.

Floods of relief were sweeping over me. It must have been someone else in the robe. Could the truth be that which I had always tried to convince myself was so?

Why had I not spoken before? How foolish I had been. I could have learned this long ago.

“Oh, Rolf,” I cried. “I’m so glad you were not there. It was horrible …”

“You shouldn’t have been there.”

“My parents were away. Jacco and I went on our own.”

“My dear child …”

“We thought it was adventurous … at first. But I am glad we were there. I think we saved Digory.”

I told him then how we had gone out, witnessed the horror of that night and hidden Digory so that his fate should not be that of his grandmother.

“I learned something that night,” I said. “I learned about people. I suppose those are the sorts of things one ought to know.”

He put his arm round me and kissed me. Then he said: “I’ve always loved you, Annora.”

I did not answer. I felt almost happy—as I had never thought to feel again, sitting there with his arm about me and the wonderful knowledge that he had not been there on that terrible night. It had been someone else in that robe. Why had I not thought that there could be more than one robe? I had come to a hasty conclusion which had embittered me for years and had changed my life in a way. Who would have believed that such a thing could have happened in one night? But I had already been made aware of how suddenly tragedy could strike and how quickly life could change.

He kissed me gently.

“I have been thinking a great deal about us, Annora. What is going to happen when you return?”

“I am dreading it. I can’t imagine the place without them.”

“It is something you will have to face. It will be hard at first.”

“I know.”

“I shall be near,” he said. “I’ll be there to help you. You’ll need help in many ways. You have inherited Cador. Do you realize what that means?”

“I haven’t thought much about that side of it.”

“I guessed not. In a way it will help you. You’ll have so much to think about. You’ve got to forget the past. You have to realize that everything is going to be different now. Your father cared a great deal about the estate once he came into it, and Jacco was being trained for when his time came. Now you have to take that responsibility.”

“I was always interested in it … at one time more than Jacco was. I used to go round with my father …”

“It will not be easy for you, but I am there … close. I want to be even nearer. Annora, we could be married.”

I was silent. I was still thinking: he was not there. All these years I have misjudged him. I ought to have known he couldn’t have been there. I wanted to make up to him for all the years of mistrust.

I thought of all the loneliness of returning to Cador without my family, and I saw at once that I had to stop brooding. I had to go on. And here was the way. I had lost my dear ones but I should not be alone.

I turned to Rolf and said: “Yes, we could be married.”

Now that I had made the decision I felt better. I had a new life opening before me. Everything would be different but I should have someone to love me.

I used to say to myself, It was what they wanted. They had always been fond of Rolf. Rolf would know what should be done about the estate. His own lands bordered on Cador. We should join up. We should be as one.

Helena was delighted. She liked Rolf very much. I think she was perhaps a little envious comparing her own marriage with my prospects. But her great comfort was Jonnie. At least he had come out of all that had happened to her.

Slowly we made our way towards England.

We were docking at Southampton and were rather glad of this. It meant that we should go straight to Cador without calling in at London which would have been the natural thing to do if we had landed at Tilbury.

Helena was not really prepared to see her parents yet and I felt I did not want to talk of my loss to them. I knew how upset Amaryllis would be at my mother’s death, for the ties between them which had been made in the days of their childhood had never been broken.

How moving it was to see Cador again and as I gazed at those ancient towers I had to suppress my unhappiness. I had to keep reminding myself that I had to make a new start. This great house and everything that went with it was mine. I had a great responsibility towards a good many people therefore. I had to stop mourning. There would be so much to learn but, I reminded myself, I should have Rolf to help me.

There was a warm but subdued welcome from the household. Mrs. Penlock burst into tears. I gripped her hands and told her we had to go on. Several of the others wiped their eyes and Isaacs said in a shaken voice: “We are glad you are home, Miss Cadorson.”

I thanked them as best I could and I know my voice shook. I had schooled myself for this for I knew how emotional it would be.

I said: “I intend that everything shall go on as before.” They cast down their heads and I went on: “I will talk to you all in the morning.”

Jonnie was a great help. Faces brightened as they looked at him. He studied them all with curiosity and through her tears Mrs. Penlock exclaimed: “The little duck!”

So there I was back home, longing to be alone in my room and yet dreading it, for during that first night, memories would be as vividly with me as ever.

I have to put it all behind me, I kept telling myself. I have Rolf now. He will help me. Perhaps in time I can be happy again.

I rode round the estate the very next morning and called at several of the farms. Mrs. Cherry had nine children now; she was larger than ever and still laughed at every sentence she uttered. Even when she referred to my loss, her laughter was not far off. It was a habit. And the Tregorrans were as mournful as I remembered.

“These be bad days, Miss Cadorson,” said Jim Tregorran. Miss Cadorson, I noticed, not Miss Annora.

They seemed bewildered. I supposed it was difficult for them to think of me as their landlord.

The first days were difficult. People were embarrassed. They wanted to tell me, I knew, that they mourned the loss of my parents and brother deeply, but they did not know how to do so.

Perhaps if I could have spoken of the tragedy it would have been easier. But I could not bring myself to do it at first. Perhaps later, I thought.

I went down to town. I rode along the quay. They touched their caps to me. Jack Gort was weighing fish from his tubs; he said, “Good day to ’ee, Miss Cadorson. Glad to see ’ee back.” He did not mention my family, but I saw the sympathy in his eyes. Old Harry Gentle lifted his bleary eyes from the nets he was mending and said: “Welcome home, Miss Cadorson. Nice to see ’ee back.”

Jim Poldean who was cleaning his boat sprang on to the quay to take my hand and shake it. He did not say anything but his expression told me how sorry he was.

They all felt they wanted to convey their sympathy; they had respected my father; they had been fond of my mother and Jacco. But they did not know how to express their feelings in words and I was afraid to talk in case I broke down. Being home seemed to bring them so much nearer, to make me so much more aware of all I had lost.

And as I rode back I thought: These were the people who drove Mother Ginny to her death.

Which one among them had been wearing a grey robe?

And there it was back again and with it a fearful apprehension.

But he wasn’t there, I kept telling myself. He was in Bodmin.

Soon he would be with me always. He would help me. I had been right about him when I was a little girl. I had thought he was wonderful then. Of course he was wonderful. He was good and kind, clever and resourceful, the sort of man who was born to be a leader.

When the news broke that I was to be married to Rolf there was general approval.

“This be very right and proper,” said Mrs. Penlock. “’Tain’t natural for a woman to be the squire. If God had intended it He would have made women men.”

I thought that an odd sort of reasoning and I was glad that I could smile at it.

“Well then,” said Isaacs, “I reckon Cador and Manor ’ull be one. That be spreading it a bit. Looks like nearly all the Duchy ’ull be Cador-Manor land.”

That amused everyone very much.

I wished I could go quietly into the kitchen as I used to and listen to their talk when they forgot I was there.

I did hear one of the maids say: “If they wasn’t to wait the year ’twouldn’t do no harm. After all, this be special with her having known him so long and being all alone like.”

“Mind you,” said one of the others, “’twould have to be a quiet wedding.”

They were all very interested, which was not surprising because their livelihoods were tied up in Cador land. That made me feel a great responsibility, which was good for me and brought me out of my brooding.

I went through the books with Bob Carter, our manager, who had looked after everything during my father’s absence. I told him that everything appeared to be in excellent shape. He was gratified and said he hoped there would be no changes on the estate.

“I don’t see any need to change anything, Bob,” I said. “I have a lot to learn, but you can explain to me what I ought to know.”

“That I will, Miss Cadorson.”

And after the first shock of homecoming with its inevitable memories, I began to feel better.

Rolf took me round his estate. I was amazed at the size of it.

“It’s flourishing,” he said. “Luke Tregern looked after it well while I was away.”

He told me that when the manager had retired Luke Tregern had taken over his post.

“Luke has done marvels,” he went on. “I felt I could leave him in charge while I was away and I was not wrong.”

I saw Luke in the office seated at a table working on some papers. He looked very smart in a velveteen jacket and gaiters, with a cream-coloured cravat. He stood up and bowed as I entered.

“Good morning, Luke,” I said.

“Good morning, Miss Cadorson, and welcome home. My deepest sympathy for your loss.”

“Thank you, Luke. Mr. Hanson tells me you are doing a very good job here.”

“I trust so, Miss Cadorson. It is what I strive for.”

He was handsome in a way and his clothes and manner rather indicated that he was aware of it. That was nothing to complain of, of course. In fact it was pleasant to meet someone who obviously cared about his appearance.

We chatted a little about the estate and then Rolf and I left.

“He’s different,” I said.

“Yes. I saw it at once when he came looking for a job. He’s got drive, he’s ambitious, Luke is. I think he’ll get on.”

“I should think so. He already has. From gamekeeper to manager is quite a step.”

“You’ve got your good Bob Carter. Don’t grudge me my Luke.”

“I don’t. I’m glad for you.”

“It will be fine when we run the two together, Annora.”

“Yes. I believe I am looking forward to that.”

I was. It was gratifying that the people on the estate thought my coming marriage to Rolf was a good thing—which meant good for the estate as well as for Rolf and me. They believed and so did I that in the circumstances it was the best thing that could have happened.

When Aunt Amaryllis heard that we were home she wrote that she must come to see us; and in due course she arrived accompanied by her lady’s maid.

My pleasure in seeing her was mixed with great sadness. She was very emotional; and I kept remembering stories my mother had told me of their childhood.

Her reunion with Helena was very moving. She had been so anxious about her daughter, I knew, and she told me how grateful she was to me for looking after her.

I replied that Helena had, at times, looked after me.

And we cried together.

But she was delighted with her grandchild. She could not keep away from him.

“You must come home,” she said to Helena.

“I want to stay with Annora … just for a little while,” Helena told her. “We have been through so much together. She has helped me through.”

“I should have been with you, my dearest child. Bless you, Annora my dear. Such dreadful things to happen … and all at once.”

How right she was! One thing had followed on another. It had been a disastrous chain of events.

“Your father would want you home,” said Aunt Amaryllis.

“Would he?” cried Helena. “It’s going to be difficult to explain.”

“And your husband, Matthew. What of him?”

“He’s in Australia. He will come home when he has collected the material he needs.”

“Doesn’t he want to see you … and the baby?”

“Mama,” said Helena, “it is no use pretending. Matthew married me to help me. That was all. It is difficult to understand if you don’t know him. He’s that sort of person. He wants to do good for people. That’s why he is going to write this book. He is a man who has to have a cause. I was in a difficult position and he saw a way of helping me out. He’s a very rare person. But he is not Jonnie’s father.”

“Was it … John Milward?”

Helena nodded.

“Oh dear, what a terrible muddle. Your father could have sorted something out for you, you know.”

“He wouldn’t want me home. It would only add to the scandal about us.”

“Oh, he’d deal with that. There are so many malicious people in the world. He’s just been driven out of political life, that’s all. It’s a great loss to the country. He says it is very unprofitable in any case.”

“But what about his business … all those clubs?”

“It’s still as it always was.”

“My mother told me that you were involved in Uncle Peter’s business, Aunt Amaryllis,” I said.

“Oh, just money and all that. He always insisted that I had my own income. He invested it for me. He says he has made me much richer than I was when I married him.”

“But the money comes from …”

“He explained all that to me. His clubs are very necessary, you know.”

“Necessary?”

“Well, it is not very nice to talk about, but there are aspects of human nature which young girls wouldn’t know about. These baser sides to men’s natures have to be satisfied or there could be real trouble. People get frustrated. In that way they do terrible things … run amok. There is rape and other things too terrible to talk about. Your uncle, Annora, is doing a real service.”

I looked at her in amazement. My mother always said she was besotted about her husband and if he told her black was white she would believe him. She saw him as perfect and nothing could ever change that. How right my mother had been. I could imagine Uncle Peter’s explanations to her, telling her of his nobility in running profitable clubs which kept just on the right side of the law and which were really a benefit to humanity—profligate humanity, it was true—but they had to be considered for the good of the community at large.

“People just love something sensational,” went on Aunt Amaryllis. “Even the Queen is not immune. There is all this terrible scandal about Lady Flora Hastings.”

I said that being away we had heard nothing of this.

“Oh well, there is a feud going on between the Queen and her mother. They say the Duchess interferes too much and the Queen and she are not on the best of terms. Lady Flora is one of the Duchess’s household and when her body became swollen the Queen’s women put a rumour about that she was pregnant and it turned out that she wasn’t. There was a great outcry about it. People are saying the Queen is responsible. Lady Flora’s family are making a great fuss. I can tell you the story is all over London. So you see, even the Queen is not immune from what Peter calls the gutter press. She is not as popular as she was, but Peter says it will come back. It is just a temporary set-back … and that is how it usually is.”

“We haven’t had much chance to see the papers yet.”

“Oh, they are full of these little scandals. Headline news today and forgotten tomorrow.”

“And all that was said about Joseph Cresswell and Uncle Peter …”

“A nine days’ wonder. Your Uncle Peter is doing so much good. He always did, but more so lately. And you haven’t heard about Peterkin. He’s engaged to Frances Cresswell. She is a little older than he is, but your uncle is pleased. He said it’s a good thing. Peterkin is completely devoted to Frances and what a lot of good she is doing! Your father, Helena, has given them a great deal of money. It has been in the papers. They call him the Philanthropist of the Underworld. I would prefer just the Philanthropist, but he says it creates more interest to mention the Underworld. People notice and rather like it. Someone wrote an article saying that although he had made his fortune through the clubs of the Underworld he gave so much back to charity that he has to be admired. The clubs were for the amusement of people who were not of the highest moral standard, but if so much was done for a worthy cause, credit must be given where it was due.”

So that was what Uncle Peter was doing now. He had been exposed so he turned about and became a philanthropist. He had given his wholehearted support to Peterkin. Frances must be very pleased. She would not care how the money had been come by, as long as it was there.

Should she have done? I was not sure. Immorality and morality had become oddly mixed.

Aunt Amaryllis was very pleased to have—as she thought—made us understand about Uncle Peter’s business and to make us realize that, in spite of all the harsh things which had been written about him in the newspapers, he was really very noble.

She was very affectionate towards Rolf and delighted that I was engaged to marry him.

“Mama,” said Helena, “I want to stay for a while. At least for Annora’s wedding.”

“Of course,” she replied. “And you must come, Annora, with your husband to stay with us. Your Uncle Peter will be so pleased to see you.”

Dear Aunt Amaryllis, she wanted the best for everyone and what was so comforting about her was that she believed so earnestly that it would come about that one began to share that belief.

Aunt Amaryllis returned to London having extracted a promise from Helena that she would go home after the wedding and that Rolf and I would visit them on the way to our honeymoon.

Rolf was making arrangements.

“We’ll go abroad,” he said. “I was impressed by Italy when I did the Grand Tour of Europe in my student days. I shall show you Florence. You will love it. And all the antiquities of Rome … and then Venice. What a country! Surely one of the most beautiful in the world.”

I began to feel a little enthusiasm.

“You’ll feel better when we are right away,” he assured me, for he had always understood my moods. “Then we’ll come back to our new life. We will be so busy there will be no time for brooding. We can go away when we feel like it. Between them Bob Carter and Luke Tregern can take care of things.”

I was to be married in the chapel at Cador and it would be a white wedding as it was to take place in June.

Jennie Tregore, wife of one of the farmers, had been a dressmaker by profession before her marriage and she carried on with it when anyone wanted anything made. I decided I wanted something simple and that she should make it.

I often thought when Jennie was busy with the fittings, what an occasion my mother would have made of this. She would have wanted to go to London for my wedding dress. What excitement there would have been! How she would have loved it!

I must stop thinking along those lines. I told myself so a hundred times a day, but I still went on doing it.

I was thinking now about my honeymoon. I had always wanted to see Italy. My father had often talked about our going. Once more I was back in the past. I could see them all so clearly, sitting at the dinner table, Jacco arguing fiercely that it would be more fun to go to the mountains of Switzerland than the art galleries of Florence.

I must stop.

Yes, I thought. In London I will buy some clothes for my honeymoon. There! I was growing away from it if I could think about clothes.

I noticed that Helena was becoming more and more uneasy about returning to London. She was afraid she would have to face a barrage of questions.

“But your mother knows,” I told her, “and she will explain everything to your father. As for him, he has a way of making things right even if they aren’t. Peterkin and Frances will love to see you. They’ll understand.”

“I wasn’t thinking so much about the family as people I shall have to meet—all those mothers who used to pity me because no one wanted to marry me, and when John did, looked on me with a sort of envy. They’ll crow now. Besides, what are people really thinking about my father and his business?”

“They are thinking what he intends they should. He is a man of the world and now he is contributing in a very public way to charity. Your father is the sort of man who will be unperturbed by anything that happens to him. You must try to be like him, Helena.”

“As if I ever could be! I’m not looking forward to it and you’ll miss Jonnie.”

“Very much … and you, too. But we have to go on, Helena. We can’t just stand still. We have been through a lot and we have learned to grow away from it.”

“You have that chance now … with Rolf.”

“And so have you a chance … with Jonnie. Your mother will help. I think she is one of the kindest people I ever knew. You’re lucky to have her.”

“She’s an angel but not a very practical one.”

“You’ll be all right. Helena, suppose Matthew comes back.”

“I suppose he will in time.”

“How do you feel abut him?”

“Very grateful. He’s a good man, isn’t he?”

“He is dedicated to his purpose.”

“Yes. He’s like Frances Cresswell in a way. Those sort of people want to do good. They are wonderful people … but they don’t always care so much for just one person.”

“Do you think … if he came back, you would be together … that you could love him?”

“I don’t think I shall ever love anyone like that but John.”

“He should have gone on with the marriage, defied his family.”

“He just couldn’t. He had to do what seemed right to him.”

“If he had known about Jonnie …”

“I didn’t want marriage on those terms … because he had to. I wanted him to marry me because he wanted to.”

“He did want to …”

“But not enough. You’re lucky, Annora. Rolf loves you … completely. There was a time when I thought you might marry Gregory Donnelly.”

“Surely not. I loathed the man.”

“He was so sure of himself. I thought he might find some way of forcing you to marry him.”

“I can’t see how he could have done that in any circumstances.”

“Well, you’re lucky. Rolf is our sort. You’ll be very good together. You’ve got all this. Just fancy. It’s yours. Oh, Annora, I hope you are going to be very happy.”

“I’ll try to be,” I said. “And, Helena, you must, too. Don’t forget. You have Jonnie.”

“The dearest treasure in the world.”

We laughed; and then she wanted to see how my wedding dress was progressing, so I took her to the room where Jennie was working and we had a discussion about pleats and tucks and Honiton lace versus that of Brussels.

Helena was getting ready to leave. The day after the wedding we should set out, Rolf and I, for our honeymoon, Helena and Jonnie for her father’s London home. Rolf and I were to spend a few nights there before going to the coast.

Jonnie was almost walking now. He was just over a year old. He crawled along at great speed, then he would stand and after a few tottering steps sit down on the floor. There was no nanny. Helena had not wanted that. Most of the women in the house were only too glad to lend a hand looking after him if for any reason his mother or I could not.

I was going to miss Jonnie very much.

As my wedding day approached I began to grow apprehensive. It had seemed such a heaven-sent solution at first, for I knew that it would take me a long time to learn all that would be expected of the owner of Cador. Rolf was to teach me. He loved the place; he always had; and I needed someone to love me deeply. I wanted to be cherished. I had lost so much love. It was natural that I should turn to Rolf, the idol of my childhood who, knowing me so well, could understand the enormity of my loss. I often thought that if it had not been for that Midsummer’s Eve Rolf and I might well have been married long ago. Perhaps before I had gone to Australia. But that night could not be forgotten; and it was brought back more vividly one day about a week before the day fixed for the wedding.

Rolf was still fascinated by the old customs of Cornwall. In his library at the Manor he had collections of books about them. He liked to take me there and he would get quite carried away talking of them. I was reminded of those times when he had visited us with his father and how he had held us all spellbound.

On this occasion he was talking about old cures which the Cornish had believed in years ago.

“There were white witches who did good with their cures,” he was saying, “and there were the kind who practised the evil eye and put spells on people so that disaster followed. Just listen to some of the things they did.” He opened a book. “Look at this. Whooping cough cured by filling a bag full of spiders and tying it round the neck of the poor child who had to wear it night and day. Here’s another. For asthma. ‘Collect webs, roll them into a ball and swallow.’”

“Spiders seemed to have had a beneficial effect.”

“Styes on eyes treated by touching the eyes with a cat’s tail.”

“I believe they still do that.”

“I’ve no doubt. Some old letters were found in the attics at Bray’s place. Tom Bray showed them to me. They are amazing. I must get him to show them to you.”

We were standing at the bookshelves below which was a row of drawers. He pulled one out. “No,” he said, “not here.” Then he opened the next and I saw it. It was lying there and there was no mistaking it.

I stared at it.

“It’s that old habit,” he said. “I went to a ceremony once …”

“I remember hearing about it.”

“This is what we wore.”

“You showed it to me once before … long ago.”

“Oh yes, I did.” He had taken it out and slipped it on. I felt my heart racing. As he stood before me he slipped the hood over his head. His face was almost hidden.

“It’s horrible,” I cried.

He took it off and laughed at me.

“I must admit it is rather gruesome. I’ll tell you why. It is very like the sort the executioners used to wear in the Inquisition. In this I looked as if I might have stepped out of an auto-da-fé.”

“Yes,” I said. “And you wore it …”

“At that ceremony. I thought it was going a bit far to dress up like that. I never went again.”

He rolled up the habit and put it into a drawer.

“Why,” he said, “I believe I frightened you. You look quite shaken.”

He came to me and put his arms round me. “The time seems to drag,” he went on. “It seems as though our wedding day will never come.”

With his arm about me I felt better. It was true I had been shaken to see him in that robe. It had taken me right back to that fateful Midsummer’s Eve.

After that it kept intruding into my thoughts.

The day before the wedding, I rode alone in the woods. On impulse I went to the clearing by the river. The remains of the burned-out house were still there. Nothing had ever been done about it.

It was on our land and I remembered my father had gone to look at it one day and he had come back and said that another cottage should be built there. He had set one of the builders to investigate.

But no one was anxious to work there. A rumour went round that to do so would bring bad luck to anyone who had anything to do with it. The place was bewitched.

I remembered my father’s saying: “Better leave it till they’ve forgotten. They’ll be working up all sorts of superstitions about the place. God knows who would want to live there. These things magnify and they thrive on them. No. No one would want the cottage. We’d better leave it alone.”

A few years later he had made another attempt but he had met with all kinds of excuses.

After that nothing had happened.

I paused there, remembering. It all came back to me so clearly. The lighted thatch … the figure in the robe. Had he been the first one to throw the torch? I believed so. I remembered the cottage as it had been. Digory standing at the door with the cat; I could hear the final scream as the poor animal was consumed by the flames. I felt sick, physically and mentally. That people could do such things! They were savage, and yet by the next morning they had returned to their normal guises. One could never know the hidden depth of people’s characters nor how they would act when confronted with certain situations.

I wanted so much to forget that night, but I could not. It had stamped itself indelibly on my mind.

The wind sighed mournfully through the trees; I felt cold though the sun was hot. Memories of those faces in the light of the torches kept coming back to me. The hooded figure which I had believed concealed someone I knew.

I rode home thoughtfully. I felt melancholy. Was it because I was going to be married in the morning? Surely a matter for rejoicing. It was a solemn occasion. Perhaps many girls felt as I did the day before they were taking the great step.

I thought: Maybe it is too soon. I should have waited. But on the moonlit night on the ship when Rolf had told me that he had not been in the woods on that Midsummer’s Eve, it had seemed so right.

He had been to Bodmin. Of course he had. Why had he not said he was going? Why had he not mentioned it until now? How strange that we could go on under a misapprehension for so many years!

I wished I could disperse the memories of that night, but they kept coming back to me: the shouts of the people, Mother Ginny with her grey hair straggling about her ashen face. I could not forget it. Digory cowering in the grass, robbed of his bravado … just a terrified child.

Then I was thinking of Jacco, all the fun we had together, and how that night we had saved Digory. And my misery was back as heartrending as it had ever been.

I wished I could have found Digory. Would that have helped? Digory would be all right, my father had said. He would land on his feet. Heaven knew he had had enough experience of fending for himself.

Why had I gone to the woods on the eve of my wedding? It was a foolish thing to have done.

I must forget that night. I must forget my doubts. They were natural enough. They came to all girls who were on the point of taking such a momentous step.

It was afternoon. I was in my room getting together a few things which I should take on my honeymoon. The house was quiet and I suspected Isaacs was taking a nap, which I believed he did at that hour. Mrs. Penlock too, I supposed.

Suddenly I heard her voice. She was talking to one of the maids. They must be coming in from the kitchen garden for I heard Mrs. Penlock say: “I think that will be enough. Miss Helena pecks like a bird. I don’t think she wants to leave us.”

One of the maids—I think her name was Fanny—said: “You’d have thought she’d have wanted to, wouldn’t ’ee, Mrs. Penlock? It must be wonderful to go up to London.”

Mrs. Penlock gave her familiar snort. “Full of thieves and vagabonds up there, if you was to ask me.”

“’ee don’t say, Mrs. Penlock!”

“I could tell ’ee a few things. Never mind now. We’ve got a wedding on our hands.”

“Miss Annora don’t look like a bride somehow.”

“Be careful of that basket. She’s all right. Best thing that could have happened. She needs someone to look after her. ’Tain’t natural women being left with places like this. It needs a man.”

“He’s lovely, don’t ’ee think so, Mrs. Penlock?”

“He’s all right. Better than one of them smart lahdidahs from London what she might have got hold of.”

I had to listen. I found their views amusing. I guessed they would soon pass out of earshot, but the basket must have been heavy and they were walking slowly: every now and then they paused.

“Soon be part of the Manor,” said Fanny.

“Don’t ’ee say such a thing. Manor’ll be part of us, I reckon. Well, ’tas always been a dream of Mr. Hanson to get his hands on this place.”

“But it’ll be Cador still. ’Twon’t be Hansons.”

“’Course it’ll be Cador, but she’ll be his wife, won’t she? And what’s hers’ is his and I’m not so sure that what’s his is hers. That’s the way of the world. I reckon he be pleased with himself. I remember him coming here years ago … Heard him say to his father, ‘I’d like to have this place.’ I reckon he always meant to own it somehow.”

“But he be sweet on Miss Annora.”

“He is and all. Sweet on her and sweet on Cador, I reckon,” affirmed Mrs. Penlock. “So it’s sweet all round. Come on, Fan. Get a move on. We’ll never get these done in time if you don’t.”

“Don’t ’ee think this wedding’s a good thing then, Mrs. Penlock?”

“I reckon it’s about the best thing that could have happened to him. He’ll have Cador, won’t he, which is what he’s always wanted.”

Their voices were lost to me.

I sat very still. They were right. He had always cared deeply about Cador. He had been fascinated by it. It was the reason why he had restored the decrepit old Manor House. It was the reason why he had acquired land.

And in marrying me he would share it … perhaps own it.

I wished that I had not listened to that conversation.

Helena and I dined quietly that evening. I said I should like to retire early as there was so much to do tomorrow. So we said good night and went to our respective rooms.

My uneasiness was deepening, and try as I might I could not dispel it.

It was a long time before I slept; then I was haunted by dreams from which I kept waking, startled and alarmed. They were jumbled and seemed meaningless when I tried to recall them. My parents were in them with Jacco, Digory and Gregory Donnelly. It seemed to me that they were all warning me, that some great danger was threatening me.

Then I dreamed the most frightening dream of all.

I was in the woods and I saw torches through the trees. I went forward and there was the cottage with the roof aflame and holding the torch which had lighted it was a tall figure in a grey robe. The hood covered his face. I crept up to it. I could feel the heat from the torch and I put out my hand and touched the rough serge of the robe. The figure turned towards me and the hood fell back. Rolf was looking at me. He seized me. “Too late,” he whispered. “Too late. I was there … I am here … now.” He held the torch above my head and I screamed: “Let me go.”

He answered: “No. It is too late.”

“What do you want with me?” I cried.

“Cador,” he said. “I want Cador.”

I awoke. I think I must have cried out. I sat up in bed. I heard the creaking sound of a door opening. It was my cupboard. I caught my breath. It was Rolf, I thought, in the grey robe. He was there, menacing me, ready to step out and seize me as he had in the dream.

But I was not dreaming now.

I sat there, cowering back, my heart feeling as though it would burst out of my body.

“No,” I whispered. “No, no. Go away.”

Nothing happened. But it was there. The robe.

My eyes were growing accustomed to the darkness of the room. Now I could see clearly. I got out of bed. I was almost sobbing in terror. It was not the robe that I saw. The cupboard door had swung open and it was the dress which Jennie had made for me which was hanging there.

It was part of my nightmare but it seemed to have a frightening significance.

I shut the cupboard door firmly and set a chair against it. The catch was weak and a gust of wind would now and then blow it open, which was what had happened now.

That was all. It was just that coming after my dream it was like a symbol; and I thought suddenly: I cannot marry Rolf.

In my heart I did not believe him. He had been there that night. He was not the man I believed him to be. People are not always what one thinks them. I had thought Joe Cresswell was an honourable man and he had made me an accomplice in stealing documents to incriminate Uncle Peter. Uncle Peter had deceived people for years. I felt lost and alone. I had no experience of men. Gregory Donnelly had frightened me with his crude and meaningful glances, but at least I knew him for what he was.

And Rolf? He would not have lied. Or would he? He knew that I had changed after that Midsummer’s Eve. He knew now why. He wanted Cador. He would have lied … for Cador.

And if he were indeed there that night, if it was he who had led on the mob to do that cruel thing, he was not the man I had loved so slavishly in my childhood. But he was kind and gentle, I knew. Part of him was; but people were made up of many parts.

He was obsessed by Cador. He loved the place. I saw the excitement in his eyes when he talked of it. Of course he wanted to marry me. I represented Cador in his eyes.

If I spoke to him, if I tried to explain, he would soothe me. I would believe him for a while … and then the doubts would come.

I could not marry him while I doubted him.

I had promised to marry him when I was not in a fit state to think clearly. I was stunned by the loss of the three people I loved unquestioningly. I had needed loving care and he had been there to offer it. He had given it ardently, it seemed; but was it for Cador?

The servants thought so. He had always wanted it. I remembered those eager conversations when my father was alive and Rolf and his father came to dine with us. He had wanted an estate of his own—and he had acquired one. But it was Cador that he really wanted.

I realized I had acted rashly. I needed time to think.

It was already morning and I could not marry Rolf this day.

It was no use trying to sleep. I got up and lighting four candles I sat down and wrote. I had torn up several sheets before I had completed the letter.

Dear Rolf,

This is a terrible thing I have to do, but I know now that I must. I cannot marry you yet. I hope you will not be too hurt. I think you will come to see that it is perhaps for the best. I have been foolish and rash, and the last thing I want to do is to hurt you, but marriage is such a big step and once the words have been said people are united forever.

I am behaving badly and you will despise me for this. I am trying to find excuses for myself and I can only say that what happened so shattered me that I have felt lost and bewildered ever since. On the ship when we were together it seemed the right thing to do, a kind of way out for me. But marriage is more important than just that. Now that I am home, I am trying to think clearly, to be practical; and I am filled with misgiving.

I have been wondering for some weeks whether I have been rash. To me it seems such a short time since the tragedy.

Rolf, do please try to understand.

As you know I have always been very fond of you, but marriage is so binding, and I do not feel ready to take the step yet.

Forgive me, Rolf.

Annora

I sealed the letter. I must be sure that he received it at once. I did not want him to come to the chapel expecting the ceremony to go ahead.

As soon as it was light I dressed and went downstairs. I saddled my horse and rode over to the Manor.

As I arrived at the Manor stables I saw Luke Tregern on the point of going in. He looked amazed to see me, as well he might.

“Good morning, Miss Cadorson,” he said, his eyebrows slightly raised, his teeth gleaming and his shrewd eyes alight with curiosity.

“Good morning, Luke. I have a letter here. Would you see that it gets to Mr. Hanson immediately?”

“I will indeed, Miss Cadorson. Are you well? Would you care to come into the house? I am sure Mr. Hanson will be up.”

“No thanks. I just want him to get this note … as soon as possible.”

“I will see to it.”

I watched him as he hurried into the house; then I rode away.

I went back to my room. I sat there looking out of the window. My heart was still beating wildly and I was saying to myself: “What have you done?”

I went into Helena’s room. She was surprised to see me.

“Good morning, Annora. Why, what’s the matter?”

“There is to be no wedding, Helena.”

She stared at me. “But …”

“I can’t explain. I just can’t go through with it.”

“But … Rolf …”

“I’ve told him. I wrote a note explaining. I’ve just taken it over myself. Luke Tregern is giving it to him.”

“Annora!”

“I know it is a terrible thing I have done. But I had to. I knew I had to. Helena, I want you to explain to them all. Stop all the preparation …”

“Do you want to talk …?”

I shook my head.

“Just do that for me. Will you, Helena?”

She nodded and went away.

There was a stunned silence throughout the house. It was like a place of mourning. The servants talked in whispers. I could imagine the conversation in the kitchen.

Rolf came over. Helena came to tell me that he was there.

I did not want to see him, but I could not refuse. I had already done him a great injury. I could not add to that.

He was waiting for me in the small room which led from the hall.

He just stood there looking at me in silence.

I began to stammer: “Oh … Rolf … I’m so sorry. I just could not go through with it.”

“Why, Annora? Why?”

“It’s difficult to explain. I just know I can’t. Oh, Rolf, what can I say?”

“To have come so near … !”

“I know. But I had to stop it … before it was too late. Please try to understand.”

“I’m afraid I can’t.” His voice sounded cold, remote. I wanted to go to him, to fling my arms round him, to tell him that no matter what the consequences were I would marry him today in the chapel.

But he was looking at me with cold distrust. He had changed. I had never seen him look like that. He was controlling his emotions. The thought came to me, He is seeing Cador slipping out of his grasp.

I felt vindicated suddenly.

I had done the right thing.

I heard myself say almost coolly: “I’m sorry, Rolf, but I had to do it.”

I thought he might plead with me and if he had done so, I might have given way. I loved Rolf. I had always loved him, but between us was that image of the man in the grey robe. I could not rid myself of the fear that he was the one who had worn it on that night; and I imagined that I would always go on believing it. It would be there always, a shadow between us.

“This is definite then,” he said.

I did not answer. I wanted to say: “Wait. It might change.” I might come to terms with this. I loved Rolf. I wanted to be with him. If only I could be sure that he had not been there that night. But he had already said that he was not there. The fact was that I did not believe him.

“There is no need for me to remain,” said Rolf. “You have made it very clear to me. I can do nothing but accept your decision.”

This cold, precise man was not like the Rolf I knew. He was deeply wounded I knew yet it hurt me that he could seem so aloof, almost indifferent. If he had raged at me I could have answered him, perhaps explained. Perhaps we could have made some plans. Perhaps we could wait awhile. Time … that was what I wanted.

But he had gone.

A terrible sense of loneliness swept over me. I knew then that I wanted him back. Even if he had been there on that night, I loved him enough to be able to understand that he was carried away by his desire to watch the behaviour of people and compare it with what had happened long ago.

But he had gone and I had wounded him so deeply that he would never forgive me for what I had done. It was the cruellest blow one partner of a prospective marriage could deal another. If I had broken it off even a week ago the blow would have been less acute. But to leave it until the very day of the wedding, that seemed heartless. I knew that was what he was thinking. He must despise me.

No wonder I was unhappy. I felt I was losing everything I cared for.

That day which was to have been my wedding day seemed as though it would never end. There was no one I could talk to, not even Helena. I could not tell her of my fears, that I did not trust Rolf. Why did I doubt him? He had said he was not there. Until recently I should have believed him—but what had happened in London had made me doubt human nature … and Rolf was human.

How bitter he must be feeling! I tried to tell myself that he would be in mourning for Cador, not for me, but I could not entirely believe that.

If only my parents had not died our marriage would have been a joyous occasion. I should have known that he was not marrying me for my possessions. But would memories of that Midsummer’s Eve be as fresh in my mind even then?

I was afraid it was something I should never forget.

Helena had written to her mother to tell her that the wedding was not taking place for she would be expecting us to arrive in London.

“I haven’t given her any reason,” she said. “I have just written to say that the wedding is off and that we shall be here for a while.”

She did not attempt to probe. Gentleness was one of her greatest qualities which went with a certain acceptance that things did not always go right. That was something she herself had learned through bitter experience.

The days dragged on. When I rode along the quay I was aware of furtive looks. They were all wondering why I had almost reached the altar before I decided to run back.

I did not see Rolf, but I heard he had left Luke Tregern in charge and gone away. No one was quite sure where.

That was a wise thing to do. Trust Rolf to be wise.

Helena said to me one day: “Annora, I think you ought to get away. Bob Carter can look after everything. He does now so what difference does it make? My mother is urging us to come to London.”

I knew that she was right.

It was a relief to leave Cador.

Aunt Amaryllis was so kind and no one asked embarrassing questions. They just took it for granted that I had changed my mind.

Helena was welcomed back and Jonnie became everyone’s favourite.

Peterkin said: “You’ve come just at the right time. You’ll be able to come to our wedding.”

Then he looked a little shamefaced as though it was tactless of him to refer to weddings. I hastily assured him that I should be delighted to come.

He had changed a good deal. He was wildly enthusiastic about his work and he and Frances were obviously very pleased with each other. Frances had been able to extend her activities considerably and it was all due to the support she had received from Uncle Peter. It was true that in the press there were constant references to the mission work which Miss Cresswell and Mr. Lansdon were doing. It was a piquant story for they were the daughter and son of those two men who not long ago had been in the news, suspected of questionable behaviour.

Uncle Peter amazed me. He was more ebullient than ever. He was full of energy, always engaged in some project, and I believed his business was flourishing. No one could shut down his clubs because he kept within the law. He maintained that worldly insouciance implying that they were a necessity in a less than perfect world and he almost succeeded in giving the impression that he was a benefactor to society.

In spite of my sorrow in my loss which still persisted and my guilt in having treated Rolf so badly, I began to feel a little better in London.

I remembered that there had been talk, when my parents were alive, of having a season. Had things gone differently this would have come about. But there was no question of it now.

Aunt Amaryllis could have launched me, I suppose, but the recent scandal might have made it a little awkward even if my parents’ death had not made it quite undesirable.

Aunt Amaryllis had referred to it vaguely, but I had hastily brushed it aside.

“Perhaps later …” said Aunt Amaryllis.

But I did not feel like a young debutante. I certainly did not want to join that band of girls who were led forth to display their charms, both physical and financial, in the hope of acquiring a husband. I felt old by comparison; if not in years, in experience.

But there were moments in London when I could forget these matters which weighed so heavily on me. Aunt Amaryllis was determined to lighten my spirits. There were visits to the opera; there were rides in the Park and visits to the Mission in the East End. I was beginning to feel alive again.

I found the papers interesting. There was a great deal going on. The Flora Hastings affair was still being widely discussed and the Queen was decidedly out of favour on this account. Moreover there was another matter over which she was being severely criticized.

Her relationship with Lord Melbourne was the subject for sly jokes; his government had been defeated and she, being so devoted to him, had developed a great antipathy to Sir Robert Peel.

Uncle Peter discussed these matters at length when he dined with us. They were not frequent, those occasions, because he was usually busy somewhere else but, oddly enough, I found myself looking forward to them. I knew that he was amoral and my mother had hated him because he had blackmailed her—or rather they had blackmailed each other—before she married my father, and, of course, I knew the nature of his business; yet there he was, setting aside his misdemeanours, snapping his fingers at scandal and giving the impression that he had outwitted all his critics. I should not have admired him, but I could not help it; and his conversation was always lighthearted and amusing.

He told us wittily about the Queen versus Sir Robert Peel; how she called him the “music master,” because of the nervous way he pranced on the carpet when he was talking to her, for she would not ask him to sit down and etiquette prevented his doing so without that invitation.

“Of course he is nervous in her presence. No cosy têtes-à-têtes as with dear Lord Melbourne. Odd, to think of a great statesman being nervous of a young girl … for that is all she is. But it is the crown, of course. Peel wants the Whig ladies dismissed from the Bedchamber and Tory ladies to replace them. The Queen says No; and Peel says, No Tory Bedchamber Ladies and no Peel for P.M. It is an impasse. And the result, the return of Melbourne to totter along in power for a few more months. An early election is inevitable and even Her Majesty cannot stop that. Then it will be the retirement of Lord M and the Whig Bedchamber Ladies, I fear.”

“And what do you think will happen at the election, Uncle?” I asked.

“No doubt about it. A majority for Peel and the Tories.”

I looked at him intently. It was the election he had been waiting for. But for the scandal he would have been standing and I had no doubt that he would have been elected. Then, of course, with his power and his money and his adroit cleverness it would have been a ministerial post for him. Being Uncle Peter he would most certainly have had his eyes on the Premiership. Yet there he was smiling nonchalantly, discussing it all amusingly with no sign of any deep regret. Yet he had wanted advancement in that direction so fervently that he had sought to disqualify Joseph Cresswell.

It was a wicked thing to have done. How could I admire him for anything after that? It seemed that I was becoming tainted with that worldliness myself, or was I beginning to understand that people are complicated with good and bad closely entwined?

The days slipped by. I was sleeping better and was a little more interested in food and what I should wear. Helena and I went shopping. We bought clothes for ourselves and Jonnie. The streets were full of activity and there was always something new to see. I was fascinated by the Flying Pieman, who did not sell pies but hot puddings, running through the streets with his tray on which his puddings steamed. He hardly stopped to serve his customers for he had deposited his wares early in the morning at various public houses where the food could be kept hot; then he sped through the streets from one to another so that the puddings could be served steaming hot. The ballad singers also interested me. They did a big trade if there was an execution. They would have accounts of the murder or verses reputed to have been written by the condemned on the eve of execution. It was all rather grim and for that reason attracted many buyers. There were ballad singers and groups singing madrigals. Those streets were so lively, and it was impossible not to get caught up in the excitement.

News came that Flora Hastings had died and that her death was due to a malignant growth. This had made her body so swollen that the false impression had been given that she was pregnant. The indignation of the people was great.

So easily swayed, they sanctified Flora Hastings and vilified the Queen—for they had to have a scapegoat. The papers were full of the affair. People walked about the streets displaying placards on which were written: “Murder at Buckingham Palace.” The Queen was hissed when she rode out in her carriage.

“We shall see sparks flying at the funeral,” said Uncle Peter. “The Queen and Melbourne must be uneasy. It’s bad for them that she died at Buckingham Palace and the cortège will start from there. I’d be ready to swear that they will leave earlier than stated because they’ll be hoping to get well away before the crowds become unmanageable. Anything could happen. It’s to be hoped the Queen’s advisers won’t let her attend. I don’t think it would be safe for her little Majesty.”

She did not attend but she sent her carriage. A stone was thrown at it.

I said to Uncle Peter: “Why do they blame her? I suppose she only listened to her advisers.”

“A monarch cannot afford to take the wrong side. No, Her Majesty is not to blame. She has the kindest of hearts and is most sentimental. This has been worked up between the Queen’s household and that of her mother. Things are never quite as they seem, Annora my dear. There are intrigues and feuds where you would least expect them. Don’t fret. Her Majesty is quite safe on the throne.”

“But when she was crowned they cheered her so madly. They really loved her then.”

“They’ll love her again. The crowd’s love is very fickle. It’s like the weather. You can never rely on it. It is well to remember that it changes quickly. But everything blows over eventually.”

It seemed to me that he was quite fond of me. He often talked to me which I thought was rather strange, as I must have seemed very young and inexperienced to such a worldly man.

One late afternoon when Helena and I returned from a visit to the shops, we were told by one of the maids that a gentleman was in the drawing room with Mrs. Lansdon and we were to go there as soon as we came in.

Giving our parcels to the maid to be taken to our rooms we went into the drawing room.

To our amazement Matthew was there.

Helena gave a little cry. He came to her, and putting his hands on her shoulders, kissed her.

Then he turned to me.

“I am so pleased to see you, Annora,” he said, taking my hands. “I … heard. I was so sorry I was not there to help.”

I shook my head and tried to fight back the emotion which reference to the tragedy always aroused. I said: “Matthew, how are you? How long have you been back?”

“Some little time,” he said. “I went to Cornwall. Your letter said you would be there. They gave me hospitality for a night and then I started on the journey here.”

Aunt Amaryllis said: “Isn’t it wonderful? You must be very happy, Helena. You have been so long apart.”

“How is Jonnie?” asked Matthew.

“He is well. You’ll want to see him, of course.”

I thought: Helena is keeping up the pretence that this is an ordinary marriage—and Matthew is helping her.

“He’s in the nursery,” went on Helena. “Come up.”

They went. Aunt Amaryllis looked at me and said: “He seems a very pleasant young man. And so earnest. Before you came he was telling me about his research and his book. I do hope it is soon published. I think he is a very good young man.”

I was amazed at the impact Matthew made on the family. He had always seemed to me rather insignificant apart from his ambition to do good. He had never shown great interest in anything but prison reform.

It was Uncle Peter, of course, who was behind it all.

When he had heard that Matthew had collected his material and had already written it in the form of a book he wanted to see the book and Matthew willingly showed him. Having read it Uncle Peter was enthusiastic.

“It must be published without delay,” he said. “Leave it to me. It is a matter of making sure it receives notice. I know people, I know how these things are done. People should know of these evils.”

He gave me a broad smile for he saw the amazement on my face; he knew that I was thinking of the work that he had kept secret for so long.

There was some motive behind Uncle Peter’s interest. With Uncle Peter there would always be a motive.

Matthew was delighted. Before he had been in the house a few days he was Uncle Peter’s devoted disciple. He listened to his views with reverence; he must have known the nature of Uncle Peter’s business but like so many before him he was ready to forget that. It must have seemed to him that anyone who cared so much about prison reform was a good man.

Uncle Peter acted quickly. He found a firm which was eager to publish the book. A few adjustments would have to be made.

“Always the case,” said Uncle Peter lightly, “with people who are not professional writers. The sooner we get the whole thing ready and out, the better.”

Matthew had changed. I could see that he thought this marriage into which he had entered on impulse to help Helena was turning out very well for him. He had acquired the kindest of mothers-in-law who was ready to love everyone and a powerful father-in-law who was well disposed towards him and was welcoming him with open arms into his new family.

Uncle Peter set about getting people working on the book and I was sure a great deal of interest would be created.

I began to understand Uncle Peter’s motive, for one evening when we were all at dinner he said: “You know, Matthew, it is not enough to write a book. A book is important. People read it and become indignant. This should not be, they say. And then something else catches their attention. The book could be a nine days’ wonder. The battle will not be done by one single book.”

Matthew looked crestfallen. “But, I thought, sir, to arouse people’s consciences.”

“And so you will. But consciences are fickle things and I repeat, it is not enough. You will have to plead your cause to the country … and there is only one way of doing that.”

“I don’t understand. Another book?”

Uncle Peter shook his head. “There is bound to be an election soon. Stand for Parliament, my dear fellow. Get in. Bring this matter up. That’s the only way. It’s Parliament that changes the law.”

“It has always been a dream of mine to get into politics. I see that it is the real way to get these things done.”

“Well, do you want my advice?”

“I’d be grateful for it. You have been so wonderfully good to me.” Uncle Peter smiled at him. “Start thinking about standing for Parliament now.”

“Do you think I would be eligible?”

“We’ll make you eligible. Now this book is going to make a stir.”

“Are you sure of that?”

“We’ll see that it does. That sort of thing is not left to chance. You’ll have a certain amount of fame. Now, you’ll have to have a place of your own … a little house in Westminster … not very far from here. You and Helena will entertain the right people. I know something about these things. Progress in all things is very much a matter of knowing the right people. That’s not all, of course. But it plays a big part. You must have a house … a charming house … not too big. Just what is right for a rising young man whose main interest is doing the right thing for his country. You are shocked by some of our laws and you are going into Parliament to put that right. That is what politicians are supposed to be for. You have written your book. You have travelled to Australia to get first-hand knowledge. You have interviewed convicts. You’d get in easily in the right constituency. People are interested in reform. Think of the Reform Bill and the difference that has made. If you want to bring about Prison Reform there is only one way of doing it. In Parliament.”

Matthew’s eyes were glowing. He could see himself triumphantly reforming the laws of the country. Aunt Amaryllis was looking on with pride. She still grieved for my mother but she had a new son-in-law who had found great favour with Uncle Peter and was already a respected member of the family. Moreover there was Jonnie. Aunt Amaryllis was fast recovering her contentment.

Uncle Peter said: “We have never given Matthew and Helena a present, Amaryllis, have we? I have a suggestion to make. We’re going to give them a house. I have seen a charming one, not a stone’s throw from here. It’s vacant. I passed it today. It’s handy for the House of Commons and a small amount of entertaining. Small dinner parties … nothing very big … we’ll get the right people there. And I am sure your book and your contacts will lessen the difficulties of being selected as a candidate.”

There was a feeling of excitement round the table. I was thinking how clever Uncle Peter was. He was manipulating Matthew. He had already made him his slave. Matthew was a simple young man who really cared about the sufferings of others; he was fundamentally good. He was a perfect tool for Uncle Peter. No one could doubt Matthew’s sincerity and that was going to be very useful to Uncle Peter.

I was wondering what his eventual motives were for there would be motives. He was doing something more than merely helping along the career of his son-in-law. I suspected he was going to use him as his mouthpiece. He himself was barred from Parliament; perhaps he intended Matthew to speak for him.

Uncle Peter was smiling at me. I had a notion that he guessed my thoughts and that they amused him.

About two days later I came face to face with Uncle Peter on the stairs.

He said: “My dear Annora, I want us to have a little talk soon.”

I looked startled.

He went on: “I feel like a sort of guardian. I am your uncle and you are a young woman of property and that means responsibilities … heavy I fear for those young shoulders. It will be a private talk. I tell you what we’ll do. You and I will have luncheon together at my club. Shall we say tomorrow?”

“Thank you, Uncle,” I said. “I should like that.”

It was true. I should. I found him very interesting. I wondered so much about him and I was fascinated by the manner in which he was directing Matthew. Perhaps I could ask him about it if we were alone. I had a feeling that he might be very frank for he knew I understood certain things about him.

At dinner that night he told Aunt Amaryllis he was going to take me to luncheon at his club.

Aunt Amaryllis beamed. “That will be lovely for you, Annora,” she said and she sent one of those adoring looks in her husband’s direction. I knew she was thinking what a wonderful man he was. He was making Matthew and Helena so happy. He was such a good father as well as a perfect husband.

His dignified carriage took us to the club. There he introduced me to several members as his niece who was on a visit to London from Cornwall.

A secluded table was found for us and he ordered what he thought I should like.

He smiled at me across the table and said: “This is pleasant. I feel there are certain things we have to say to each other. My dear child, I know you are very sad at this moment. You have lost those who were very dear to you and you thought you would rush into marriage … and then you decided against it. You are rather bewildered, are you not? You don’t know quite what comes next. Moreover, you have inherited a big estate which will have to be administered. You have a good man there, I believe?”

I nodded.

“But, of course, you will have to return in due course. I was very fond of your mother, very fond indeed. At one point, I might have married her.”

“She was always in love with my father.”

“This was before your father’s return. He was in Australia serving his sentence. He had been sent away for seven years and your mother was only a child when he went. Moreover she had married …”

“I know the story. Her first husband was an invalid and he died.”

“And your father came back.”

I looked at him steadily. “She did tell me about the blackmail.”

“An interesting situation. There have been many cases of blackmail. I don’t know how many there have been of double blackmail.”

“Not so many, I suppose.”

“And I suppose you think me something of a villain. That’s what I want to talk to you about. I want to explain a good many things. You see, I admired your mother more than any woman I know. She was strong and passionate about life. She knew how to live.” He must have guessed my thoughts again for he went on quickly: “Oh, don’t think I am disparaging your Aunt Amaryllis in any way. I knew at once that she was the one for me. She has been the perfect wife. I love her dearly. Yes, Amaryllis was the one for me. I chose her because she was the sort of wife I needed. I saw that immediately.”

“You seem to see everything. There was one thing though. You didn’t see that Joe Cresswell would expose you.”

“No. I did not see that.”

“You should have … after what you had done to his father. People don’t just allow others to treat them like that.”

“I misjudged Joe. I thought he was spineless like his father. But he had something. Not enough though. Did you know they have moved to the North … the whole family? They have some business up there. Well, they chose the way they have gone … as we all do.”

“They were ruined.”

“They ruined themselves. It would have blown over. They lacked the good sense and courage to stay and fight it out.”

“As you did.”

“Yes, as I did. That is what I want to talk to you about, Annora. I want to help you get out of this slough of despondency into which you have fallen. You are so young, dear girl. Your whole life is before you. I do fully understand your feelings. To lose them all at one blow … It was shattering. And then all that it entailed. You found the estate was yours and you thought you would marry. He would have been a good husband, I think. What little I have seen of him would indicate that. But right at the eleventh hour you decided against it. Well, you know your own mind. But I think you hanker after him. Do you?”

“I don’t know.”

“I think, in your circumstances, a strong man to stand beside you would not come amiss. I think perhaps you will change your mind and marry Rolf Hanson after all.”

I was silent.

“My dearest Annora, you cannot go on mourning forever. That is not the way to live. You must look for happiness. That is the real success in life … to be happy.”

“It is strange to hear you say that. I should have thought for you it was money and power.”

“You’re right. But power and money … that is my happiness. Some people look in other directions. To get what you want. That is success, and you won’t achieve it by giving way.”

“I know you like to manipulate people. Are you thinking of doing that with me?”

He shook his head. “What I want to do for you is put you on the right road. I have seen you looking at me in a questioning manner. You are wondering about me, aren’t you? You think I am a wicked man, worldly, cynical, power-seeking, ruthless. Perhaps you are right, but I do fancy that you have a sneaking liking for me which will not be suppressed.”

I could not help smiling. He had described exactly what I felt.

“True?” he asked.

“Well … perhaps.”

He nodded. “I knew. And you are nearly right. I don’t like to see you drooping, fading away, suppressing your personality, drowning in your sorrows. Stand up and face them, Annora. You see how I’ve done it. I want you to take a lesson from me. You would have thought, wouldn’t you, that when the news broke about my business, I should have been finished. A great many men would have been. Look at Joseph Cresswell slinking away with his tail between his legs. No. I saw I had to stand my ground and I did … and I got by.”

“Circumstances worked in your favour. Peterkin and Frances with the Mission was one thing.”

“Cresswell had the same advantage. After all, Frances is his daughter. I took advantage of what was offered.”

“It must have been a god-send.”

“It was good. I have made it beneficial.”

“The money you gave to the Mission was accompanied by blazing publicity, I noticed.”

“Exactly.”

“And now Matthew?”

“Matthew is going into Parliament. I shall support him.”

“Another gift from Heaven?”

“He is married to my daughter. It will be seen that I am a supporter of good causes.”

“And when he is in Parliament?”

“I shall advise him, of course. He is a very amenable young man.”

“He will be your slave.”

“Oh come. Slavery is abolished now, you know. Let us say I may become his mentor. In five years’ time … seven at most … I shall not be so very old. Perhaps then I can do what I’ve always wanted to. Be in Parliament myself. That is the ultimate power. To make the laws of the land, to build one’s country into the greatest in the world.”

“I see you are building the foundation of your future-career which has been disturbed. You have had to start building again. But you are still determined to succeed.”

“I am being very frank with you, Annora.”

“I wonder why.”

“Because you have been astute enough to see the way I am going. I am telling you this because I want you to see what can be done. I daresay you have had moments when you thought you would never be happy again. But you can and you will. But you won’t do it if you sit nursing your sorrows. Get rid of them. Start again. Those who succeed in life are the ones who can pick themselves up and start again when they fall down. The longer you remain on the ground the harder it will be to get up. That’s what I’m telling you, Annora.”

“It is very kind of you to take so much trouble over me.”

“I am expiating my sins towards your mother. She would agree that I owed it to her. She was a very courageous woman. Oh, I was very fond of Jessica. And here you are … her daughter. Remember what I have told you. Think of how far I have come since those days when the papers blared forth evidence of my villainies. I’m living it down, just as Lord Melbourne lived down his past. Did you know that man figured in two divorce cases? He had a mad wife who blatantly flaunted her relationship with the poet Lord Byron. Their story was one of the scandals of the age. Yet what happened to Lord Melbourne? He became Prime Minister and is now the Queen’s most devoted and dearest friend. What Melbourne did, what I can do, you can do, Annora.”

He stretched his hand across the table and took mine.

I said: “Thank you, Uncle Peter. You have helped me a lot. Should I go back to Cornwall?”

“I like your being here, of course, but you have to go back, don’t you? You have to see that man again. I think you’re hankering after him. I should find out. Then if he’ll still have you, marry him. Do you still want him?”

“I think of him … often.”

“You can’t get him out of your thoughts. I’ve seen you look at Helena and Matthew … wistfully.”

“It seems as if it might work out for them now.”

“It does indeed. Helena is not of an adventurous nature. She takes after her mother. She wants a cosy life. She is ready to step in line. This rather stresses what I have been telling you. I know the story. I know that John Milward is the baby’s father; but Matthew came along and he did his good deed. He married Helena to make life easier for her. He is a very agreeable young man. And now you see everything is going to turn out well for him … for them both. When he gets into Parliament, when he plays his part in bringing about Prison Reform he will have justified himself. His confidence will rise. I see a life of good works ahead of him for, mark my words, when he has done with Prison Reform, there will be something else. Helena will stand beside him, helped by her mother and me. She will provide the right setting for the rising politician. There will be little ones joining Jonnie in the nursery and Helena will realize that the best thing that happened to her was being jilted by John Milward and marrying Matthew purely for convenience in the first place.”

I couldn’t help laughing. “I don’t think it is going to be quite as simple as that.”

He looked at me earnestly. “But it will … if they make it so. You see what I’m getting at. Now this young man in Cornwall—you’ve known him all your life. I remember hearing that as a child you were his devoted slave. And then you grew up and were in love with him. Yes, you are. Don’t think you can deceive me. And you turn him down on some whim … just because, my dear, you are immersed in your tragedy and not making the effort to grow away from it. You allow yourself to suspect he is marrying you for your possessions. He wants Cador. So? He would be a foolish young man if he did not. Of course, he wants Cador; and for that very reason he will make a good thing of it. If he didn’t want Cador I should have a very poor opinion of him. How could he help you manage it satisfactorily if he didn’t feel delighted in having a share in it?”

“You have a certain way of reasoning …”

“I have a realistic way of reasoning. You want to feel that he would marry you if you were a little match seller. But you are not a match seller and if you were it is hardly likely that you would have met this young man. No. He wants to marry you. He loves you but that need not stop his loving Cador as well. Get rid of those romantic notions. Look at life as it really is … as I always have. And you see me as I am. I have ridden the storms, haven’t I? That is what you have to do in life, believe me.”

If it were only Cador that stood between us he might be right. But my thoughts went back to that Midsummer’s Eve.

I said: “When I was a child, I thought Rolf the most wonderful person on earth … at least one of them. He shared that honour with my father. Red-letter days were when he came to Cador which he did often with his father. Then something happened. It was Midsummer’s Eve in Cornwall. They celebrate it there with old customs going back to pre-Christian days. There was a woman who lived in the woods. People said she was a witch. On Midsummer’s Eve they burned down her house. There was one there … the leader in a kind of Druid’s robe. I believe it was Rolf because I had seen that robe in his house. It changed everything between us. It occurred to me that I did not know him at all. I felt I could not trust anyone any more, not even Rolf. And early in the morning of the day which was to have been our wedding day, I realized that it was Cador he wanted … and I just could not marry him.”

“Did you talk to him about it?”

“On the ship when we were coming home we had talked. He said he wasn’t there. He was in Bodmin.”

“Well?”

“I couldn’t quite believe him. Oh, I did at the time … but later I had so many doubts. And then I thought that he was marrying me for Cador.”

“And all because of that escapade.”

“Escapade! It was such cruelty as I had never seen before. If my father had been there he would have put a stop to it.”

“Let’s suppose the worst: that he lied about this. He was young. Young men have high spirits. Perhaps they drink a little too much. They do foolish things. They do things they regret afterwards. You must understand this. You have to forgive the sins of youth.”

“This was no ordinary little peccadillo. You should have seen that woman’s face … the terrible things they did to her.”

“People get carried away. He is a man now … and you are in love with him. The best thing you can do is marry him. I am sure the man who is looking after the place is good. He must be for your father was prepared to leave him in charge while he was away. But I daresay he had means of knowing what was going on and he would have been advised from afar and gone home if it had been necessary. The best manager in the country needs a guiding hand. You have to give that. It’s a great responsibility … all those tenants, people who depend on Cador. You’ve got to do your duty by the land; you have to make sure that all goes well with what your father and his forebears have built up. And Rolf is the man to help you. Go back and marry him if he’ll have you after what you did to him. He will … for Cador’s sake.”

“Uncle Peter,” I said, “you are the most amazing of men. I never thought I should be talking to you like this.”

“Sinners are far more lenient than saints. That’s another lesson you’ll have to learn. I know all the temptations, good people don’t. Therefore I understand how easy it is to fall into them. Take my advice. Go back. Talk to him. Tell him of your feelings … as you’ve talked to me. I’d like to see you settled. I tell you, I feel a responsibility towards you because I was fond of your mother. I’m fond of you, too.”

He smiled and lifted his glass.

“To the success of Annora. May everything that is good come to her. And let me tell you that if she makes up her mind to get it, she will. That’s a law of nature. Think about what we’ve said. And now I am going to take you back because I have a meeting to attend.”

I said: “Thank you, Uncle Peter. You have helped me quite a lot.”

He had. I felt my spirits rise. Had I attached too much importance to that Midsummer’s Eve? I tried to shut out the memory of the stricken face of that old woman and the flames rioting among the thatch of her cottage.

A youthful escapade? No, I could not think of it as that. It had been a cruel and vicious act and only a man who had cruelty in him could have taken part in such a deed. But he had not been there. I must believe him.

And Cador? Uncle Peter was right. Of course he loved Cador. He always had.

I was in love with Rolf. I always had been. Hadn’t I compared others with him? Joe. Gregory Donnelly. And always I had thought, But they are not Rolf. Yet I had turned my back on him. I thought of the last time I had seen him—cool, detached, almost as though he disliked me. It was natural that he should after what I had done.

Suppose I went back. Suppose I told him how I had felt. Suppose we talked—not just lightly but in detail about that Midsummer’s Eve and his love for Cador—talked frankly as, surprisingly, I had been able to talk to Uncle Peter.

Helena was growing towards some sort of contentment. I had gone with her and Aunt Amaryllis to see the little house in Westminster. It was charming and I could see that Helena liked it. There were plans in her mind as she talked quite animatedly for her about the aspect of the dining room and the drawing room, and how her eyes shone as she planned what should be the nursery.

“Jonnie would love to play in that,” said Aunt Amaryllis, beaming. It was all turning out as she would have wished, and her magnificent husband was going to buy this house for Helena and her husband. Moreover Uncle Peter was interested in Matthew’s prospects and that meant he was going to make a great career for his son-in-law.

It was only when she turned to me that Aunt Amaryllis’s eyes were clouded. She would be remembering my mother, my tragic loss, my desertion of my bridegroom almost at the altar.

And again I thought: Uncle Peter is right. I have allowed myself to brood, to become cynical, to look for a mercenary motive behind people’s actions. I remembered my mother’s saying that good things would always come to Amaryllis because she just simply failed to see what was not good.

I think there must have been some truth in that.

Now Aunt Amaryllis had both her children happily settled. The irritations which had beset them a short while ago when people who were jealous of Peter had tried to pull him down, were over. Nobody could ruin Peter however virulently they attacked him. Everyone must see what a magnificent man he was.

I thought of Peter choosing Amaryllis. He had said he might have married my mother. I doubted she would have had him, but if she had, Peter’s marriage would have been stormy. He had chosen Amaryllis because she was just the wife he needed. What husband wouldn’t want a wife who thought him perfect in every way? How rare such women would be. It was typical of Uncle Peter that he had one.

What he had said to me was true. Rolf and I belonged together. And Cador belonged to us.

While I was looking over the house with Helena and Aunt Amaryllis I said to myself: Go back. See Rolf. Ask his forgiveness for what I have done and talk … talk frankly. Tell him exactly what I feel.

The thought lifted my spirits considerably.

When I mentioned to Helena that I had decided to go back to Cornwall very soon, she was regretful, but she did not cling to me and beg me to stay as once she would have done. That was an indication of the change in her life. She was getting closer to Matthew. She was eager to get to the new house. She discussed how she would entertain there with her mother and was even drawing up lists of people who should be invited.

One morning, a few days after my luncheon with Uncle Peter I went downstairs and found two letters waiting for me. Both came from Cornwall. One was from Rolf; the other from Yorke, Tamblin and Company, the lawyers who had taken over the practice when Rolf’s father had given up.

I hesitated over them and deliberately picked up the lawyers’ letter first.

Dear Miss Cadorson,

A most extraordinary and alarming matter has arisen. It is difficult to explain by letter, but I think you should return to Cador immediately.

I assure you that it is of the utmost importance that you come without delay.

Your obedient servant,

James Tamblin

I was puzzled. To what could he be referring and why so mysterious.

I took up Rolf’s letter.

“My dear Annora.” I felt floods of relief sweep over me. At least he called me his dear Annora, so he could not hate and despise me as much as I had feared.

This is a most extraordinary matter. I really cannot believe it is true. James Tamblin, I know, is writing to you. I do think it is imperative that you should be here. It is a matter which will have to have thorough investigation, as you will agree …

How can I, I thought, when I don’t know what it is?

I am afraid I was a little bewildered at our last meeting and you did not find me very sympathetic. Annora, we have to forget that. It’s over. I still don’t understand it, but I am trying to put it behind me.

I want you to know that if you need my help over this I am here to be of assistance. Remember, I did study law to a certain extent. So you must call on me at any time you think I might be of use.

Don’t worry. We will go on as though nothing has happened. I am sure this ridiculous claim will be proved to be false.

I hope we can be, as we always were, good friends.

Yours,

Rolf

I read both letters again. They were maddeningly obscure. What could have happened? I must know. I would return to Cornwall without delay.

There was consternation throughout the household when I produced the solicitors’ letter. Everyone was mystified.

“You see,” I said, “that I must leave immediately.”

They all realized that. Uncle Peter said I should not travel alone. He would have come with me but for important business which he could not possibly fail to attend to. He was going to send Mrs. Eggham to travel with Eggham and me. Eggham was one of the grooms.

“It’s a pity they haven’t done better with the railways,” he said. “It’s about fifteen years since there was all that fuss about a train that went from Stockton to Darlington. Of course we were all sceptical then, and after that we began to expect wonders. And now if you go from London to Birmingham you have to break your journey and take the coach. The carriage will be comfortable and Mrs. Eggham is a pleasant woman. When do you propose to leave?”

“Tomorrow.”

So I said goodbye to them and this time, although Helena expressed her sorrow at my departure she did not beg to come with me.

I set out with the Egghams who were to stay a night or two at Cador and then return to London.

The journey was uneventful and in due course I arrived at Cador. It was always an emotional moment to catch sight of those towers—and perhaps particularly so now that they belonged to me.

It was early evening when we arrived. They had all been expecting me. Isaacs was in the hall with Mrs. Penlock and a number of the servants. Bob Carter was there also.

I was conscious of the suppressed excitement and I knew the cause. They were all aware that something momentous was happening.

“Mr. Tamblin told us you’d be coming,” said Mrs. Penlock. “We wasn’t quite sure which day but your bed is aired and everything’s ready.”

“I had a rather disturbing letter from Mr. Tamblin,” I said, looking from Isaacs to Mrs. Penlock. “Have you any idea what is wrong?”

They shook their heads. “We just know the lawyer wanted to see you, Miss Cadorson,” said Isaacs.

“I thought something was wrong with the house. The roof … or something like that.”

“The roof is in good order,” said Bob Carter. “I’d have seen to that.”

“So’s everything else as far as we do know,” added Mrs. Penlock.

“By the way, Mr. and Mrs. Eggham will want a room. They’ll want to eat, too.”

“We reckoned as you’d have someone with you, Miss Cadorson,” said Isaacs.

“And we’m prepared,” added Mrs. Penlock.

“They will probably stay for two nights.”

“I’ll have something on the table within the hour,” said Mrs. Penlock.

I retired early. Travelling was so exhausting. I decided to go along to the lawyer first thing in the morning.

I rose early, breakfasted and prepared to leave the house. I rode down to the town. I knew the Yorke, Tamblin offices well for they had once been Rolf’s father’s.

Mr. Tamblin was obviously relieved to see me.

“Come into the office, Miss Cadorson,” he said. “How glad I am that you are here. This is a most disturbing matter. Would you care for a glass of Madeira wine … or sherry?”

“No, thank you. I’d rather hear what is wrong.”

“Mind you, nothing is certain, but this woman could prove that she is right and that could mean you would be dispossessed of everything … or almost everything.”

“Please tell me the worst.”

“A woman has arrived here. She is now staying at the Anglers’ Inn. She is laying claim to Cador.”

“Laying claim? What do you mean? How can she do that?”

“Her story is that your father married her mother in Australia in 1814, and that she is his legitimate daughter and therefore heiress to his estates.”

“But that is ridiculous.”

“So I thought. But your father was in Australia at that time and she says she has proof.”

“Proof? What proof?”

“A certificate of marriage.”

“It’s nonsense. My father married my mother …”

“Her story is that he went through a form of marriage with your mother when he came back to England, but of course if as she says, he was already married to her mother, the ceremony he went through with your mother was no true marriage.”

“That is quite impossible. All those years ago! Where has she been until now? Why didn’t she come forward? Why does she wait until he is dead before she does so? What has she been doing all these years?”

“She said she did not know where he was. It was only when she read of him in the papers at the time of his death by drowning in Australia that she understood who he was. She knew nothing of his wealth and title. She says that when he was drowned with the woman who thought she was his wife and his illegitimate son, and she read about it in the Sydney Gazette, there was no doubt in her mind. She knew she was reading about her father because it gave his history, how he went out there for seven years because he had killed a man for attempting to rape a gypsy girl, how when his term was served he had heard of vast estates and a title awaiting him in England. How he had left Australia and returned to England. She was only a child when he went away and never knew him very well, but her deserted mother used to tell her about him. She says that when he came into his fortune he wanted to forget his life in Australia, so he just walked out and went to England … and there he married. But she insists that marriage was no true one.”

“She read of it in the papers. Do you think …?”

“I understand what you mean, Miss Cadorson. She read of what had happened and thought she would perpetrate this fraud. Your father had been in Australia; he had returned to England. She knew that. She had the facts. That’s what you mean. But her story is just possible.”

“I don’t believe a word of it.”

“I do not want to. But she says there is a certificate of marriage, which states clearly that there was a marriage with Jake Cadorson. It is an unusual name and this allegedly took place while your father was there.”

“Is this a real marriage certificate?”

“We shall have it examined of course. But I find this very disturbing.”

“What sort of woman is she?”

“Young. A little older than yourself. That fits of course. Her story undoubtedly has a certain plausibility.”

“And just suppose it is decided that she is telling the truth?”

“I am afraid she could claim the estate.”

“You mean … Cador would be hers.”

He looked grim. “There might be some arrangement.”

“What sort of arrangement?”

“As you have lived at Cador as your father’s legitimate daughter for the whole of your life to date, we might be able to preserve something. I cannot say. It will be a matter for the judiciary. I thought of calling in advice. You might decide to contest the case.”

“I cannot believe that my father would marry a woman and then desert her just because he had inherited his family home.”

“It is hard to believe. But people do the strangest things. He was out there. He had been a prisoner. He had lived a hard life. He may have, at some time, thought he would continue to live out there. He did acquire land and was working on it when the news came to him. It might have been that he did not think his wife—if that was what she was—would fit into the ancestral home or to life in England. It may be that he wanted to cut off all ties with the country of his captivity.”

“He would not have left her. He would not have come back and married my mother.”

Mr. Tamblin sighed. “What we shall have to consider is whether this certificate is true or false. I am of the opinion that a great deal will hang on that.”

“Where is it?”

“She guards it carefully. She knows that her case rests on it. When the time comes she will let it go but not, I fear, to me, for she knows I act for you.”

“What sort of woman is she?”

Mr. Tamblin paused. “She … er … is not the sort of person I should expect to be your father’s daughter.”

“What must we do?”

“I want to get a verdict on the marriage certificate.”

“Does anyone know about this?”

“I confess to telling Mr. Hanson. He has some knowledge of the law. Occasionally we exchange views and have done ever since I took over the practice. Very often business concerns the people here, and he knows them quite well. It helps when dealing with people to know something about them personally.”

“He did write to me.”

“Yes, he said he would.”

“But he did not give me any idea of the nature of the trouble.”

“No. He would be discreet.”

“So we must wait now for a verdict on the certificate?”

He nodded. “She is bringing it tomorrow. Her lawyer will be with her. Perhaps you would care to be here then. And would you object if I invited Mr. Hanson to come along, too?”

I said weakly: “No. I should not object.”

“This has been a great shock to you, Miss Cadorson, and coming so soon after the tragedy … but what happened would never have arisen but for that. Oh dear, this is most distressing.”

I said: “I will go now, Mr. Tamblin. I will see you in the morning.”

I came out of the office and mounted my horse. I rode out of the town and up the hill to Cador.

Then I turned away. I could not bear to look at it just now. I had been so proud of it always. My home … and now my very own. But for how long?

Could the story possibly be true? No. My father would never have deserted that woman. He would never have married my mother under false pretences. It was not his way. She was lying. It was clear to me what had happened. There had been full coverage of the story in the Sydney Gazette. She would have read about his coming to Australia to serve his prison term, his acquiring a little land which he was working when news of his inheritance came to him. She would have read all that. It was a romantic story of the kind beloved by newsmen. And how simple for her to fabricate the story. The marriage, the flight of the man who vanished from Australia for years during which he lived his grand life in England where he had married, settled down and had a family. I could see how the idea would come to an unscrupulous schemer, and because of the great distance between Australia and England, it might be possible to make it work.

I wondered what was happening to my life. I had suffered the terrible shock of losing my family and that had been so sudden. They had left me in the best of health that morning and I had never seen them again. I had lost Rolf—due to my own uncertainty; and now, I was in danger of losing my home. It seemed as though fate was preparing to rob me of everything I held dear.

I could not believe that this was really happening. It could not be possible that my mother had not been married to my father all those years and that I was his illegitimate daughter, Jacco his illegitimate son. It was like a bad dream.

And yet Mr. Tamblin thought the story was not impossible.

I had ridden some miles without thinking where I was going. I had come to Croft Cottage, and it was almost as though I had been led there, for it was of sudden interest to me. It was a pleasant little house, just outside the estate, and my mother had bought it ten years ago. One of the maids was going to have a baby, I remembered, and the father was a farm labourer. A quick marriage was necessary and my mother had bought the cottage for them to live in. It was, therefore, my mother’s property, and presumably did not belong to the estate. What a strange thought! If this woman’s story was proved to be true this cottage could be the only home I had in Cornwall.

I rode round the cottage. It was empty because the family had gone up to the north of England just before we left for Australia. The husband’s cousin had offered him a share in his farm as far as I remembered, and no one else had taken up residence in the cottage.

This was absurd. Of course the woman would be proved a fraud.

I slowly made my way back to Cador.

I summoned Isaacs and Mrs. Penlock to the drawing room. They came, their faces expectant. They knew something momentous had happened.

I came to the point at once.

I said: “A woman is now in the neighbourhood who says she is my father’s daughter and that he married her mother before he married mine. She claims that Cador is hers.”

Even Mrs. Penlock was struck dumb.

“She will have to prove her story, of course,” I went on, “and if she succeeds there would be great differences here. The place would not belong to me but to her.”

Isaacs had gone quite white. He looked very shocked.

Mrs. Penlock stammered: “Oh … the wicked woman to say such things. It be a pack of lies, that’s what it be.”

“That’s what I think, Mrs. Penlock,” I said. “It is what I hope. But of course such statements have to be examined, and Mr. Tamblin gives some credence to her story. She says she has proof. I think it could be well if you explained it to the servants. They know that something is happening, and I think it would be better for them to hear the truth rather than to listen to rumour. Particularly as this could affect their future very considerably.”

Isaacs said: “I will make it known to them, Miss Cadorson.”

Mrs. Penlock nodded. “Don’t ’ee take no notice of this wicked woman, Miss Cadorson,” she said.

“Unfortunately, Mrs. Penlock, I have to … until she is proved to be a fraud.”

“She will be. Don’t ’ee make no mistake about that.”

I prayed fervently that she might be right.

I could settle to nothing. As I went about the house, I was thinking: It may be that I have no right here. It may be that I shall have to go.

The next day I went to the lawyers’ office where Mr. Tamblin greeted me solemnly.

“Come in, Miss Cadorson.” He whispered to me: “She is here … and so is Mr. Hanson. I will take you to her immediately.”

Rolf took my hands and holding them firmly looked into my face.

“Good morning, Annora,” he said; and I could see that he was telling me how disturbed and sorry he was.

I felt a little rush of relief because he was here. And then I saw her. Oh no, I thought. She is not my father’s daughter.

She was tall and broad with large features, big china blue eyes and abundant hair with a reddish tinge. There was about her an air of aggression. No, no, no, I thought. He would never have had such a daughter.

“This is Miss … Maria Cadorson,” said Mr. Tamblin. “And er … Miss Annora Cadorson.”

She gave a little sharp laugh. “Well, I suppose we’re sisters … or half-sisters, you might say.”

I did not answer. I could not agree.

Mr. Tamblin went on: “I have already spoken to Miss Annora Cadorson of your claim. She finds it hard to believe, knowing her father so well.”

“I never knew him,” she said to me. “He was off when I was too little. He deserted my mother and left her to bring me up on her own.”

I said: “My father was a man who always shouldered his responsibilities.”

“Well, this was one he wanted to forget had ever been his.”

Mr. Tamblin coughed and said: “Miss Maria Cadorson’s lawyer will be here at any moment. He will bring with him the alleged marriage certificate. Until that has been seen, examined and verified as authentic, there is little to be said.”

The woman looked at me; her expression softened. “Don’t think I don’t know how you’re feeling. This must be terrible news for you. I know about the house and what sort of place it is. My mother used to tell me about it. You see, my father couldn’t stop talking of it, even though he thought it wouldn’t be his then. He had run away from it to be a gypsy. His brother never liked him. They hadn’t got on. Well, it made all the difference when it was his. He’d served his term and he was a free man. He could go back to England and claim his inheritance and he didn’t want to take my mother and me with him … so he just walked out.”

“There must be a mistake. My father would never have behaved like that.”

“Oh, he did all right. There was my mother … left with a child to look after. She went back to her father. It was a blessing she had him to go to. But her place was here, in Cador, that place she’d heard so much about. She used to say to me that she felt she’d been there. He’d talked so much about it, you see. She was fascinated by it. Every day she used to talk about it to me. You’d think she’d been there. According to her my father was a great talker. He used to tell her about the dungeons where the food was stored because it was cool down there; and the kitchens with their roasting spits and the buttery and the laundry rooms. She loved to tell me about the dining room with its tapestries of the Wars of the Roses and the Great Rebellion … I wanted to know all about them after that.”

I listened aghast. She was giving an exact description of Cador.

“What fascinated me most,” she went on, “was what they called the peeps. I can’t wait to see them. In that room called the solarium. I want to look through those peeps down into the chapel and the hall. I want to go out onto the battlements and look at the sea. But I think what’s going to be my favourite are the peeps.”

I thought: She knows the house. She knows it intimately. How could she unless …?

She saw the effect her words were having on me and there was, I fancy, a malicious glint in her eyes.

She went on: “My mother tried to do some tatting. She said it was on the chairs in the dining room. ‘Queen Anne’s Tatting’ she called it.” She smiled. “My mother used to say that my father could make you see the things he was talking about.”

Mr. Tamblin was looking uneasy, and I could see that Rolf was taken aback, for he, too, knew she was giving an exact description of Cador which could only have come from one who knew the house well.

I was relieved when her lawyer arrived.

She introduced him as Mr. Trilling. She had brought him with her from Sydney. He had read of the case in the papers of course. At the time, the whole of Sydney had been talking about it: the man who had been sent out on a seven years’ term, had served it and come back to his death. It was something to catch everyone’s imagination. Mr. Trilling said there was no doubt that Miss Maria Cadorson’s story was true and the marriage certificate would prove that.

The dramatic moment came when he produced the certificate. Mr. Tamblin looked eagerly and he and Rolf studied it. I saw the blank dismay on their faces.

“It … would appear to be authentic,” said Mr. Tamblin.

Rolf looked at me with a deep compassion which confirmed my worst fears.

“Of course,” said Mr. Tamblin, “there will have to be a further inspection.”

“May I see it?” I asked.

The document was put into my hands. I stared at the names: Jake Cadorson and Hilda Stillman.

Stillman … The name had a familiar ring.

“That was your mother,” I heard myself say. “Hilda Stillman.”

“That’s right. My grandfather was Tom Stillman. He had quite a fair property. Stillman’s Creek was the place … Named after him, you see. Because there was nothing there when he settled.”

“Whereabouts is that?” asked Mr. Tamblin.

“South of Brisbane … Just about on the borders of New South Wales and Queensland.”

The room seemed to be spinning round me. I was carried back to that day when I had been in my father’s room sorting out his clothes.

I saw the little notebook which I had given my father. I remembered the words so clearly. “Stillman’s Creek on the borders of New South Wales and Queensland.”

He had the address. He had asked Gregory Donnelly where it was.

Hilda Stillman had gone back to her father when she was deserted. It was there that Maria had been brought up.

I could almost hear his voice … and Gregory Donnelly’s answer. My father had known where she was and he was going there.

What did it mean?

Only one thing, it seemed. He knew of Stillman’s Creek, the home of the girl who said she was his daughter.

What had he intended to do? To recompense her in some way? He would naturally want to see his own daughter.

Was that the real reason why he had wanted to go to Australia?

She had talked of Cador as though she knew it. It was almost as though she had seen it. There could only be one answer. Her story was true. She was my father’s legitimate daughter. I was a bastard. I had no claim to Cador. Not only had I lost my parents and my brother: I was going to lose my home as well.