Midsummer's Eve

Discoveries

I SHALL NEVER FORGET those months. I think they were some of the worst I have ever passed through. My common sense told me that her story was true, but every emotion I possessed assured me that it could not be. My father would never have deserted her and her mother in that way. I could well understand that if he had in fact married that woman he would realize he had made a vital mistake and that the prospect of returning to England with her would fill him with dismay. She would certainly not fit in with the life at Cador. He might have wanted to desert her, but he would never have done so in the way it was suggested.

The matter was brought to court. Mr. Tamblin said it was imperative that this should be. I could not simply hand over the estates to a woman who had come along and asked for them. It was a court of law that would decide the merits of the case and legal documents would have to be drawn up.

Rolf was with me in those days. He was completely astounded by the turn of events. I should have liked to turn to him then, to tell him of my desolation and explain how I longed to be with him; and at this time I did not seem to care if he had been there on that Midsummer’s Eve. But he was aloof. I suppose he could not forget the humiliation I had inflicted on him by waiting until the morning we were to be married to tell him that I could not go on with it.

There was a barrier between us. He was there helping me, advising me; he gave me his knowledge, his sympathy, his time—but the closeness which had once been between us was there no longer.

He agreed with Mr. Tamblin that the matter would have to go to court.

I dreaded it.

The woman told her story well. It seemed to fit in with everything. Her mother had met my father—so the story ran—in a hotel in Sydney where she worked as a barmaid. They had become friendly. He had finished his term of seven years and had bought a bit of property. It was called Cadorsons and was some miles north of Sydney. A daughter had been born to them—Maria herself. Then it appeared news of my father’s inheritance had come to him. He had kept it from his wife. He had told her that he was selling the property to a man named Thomas Donnelly; and then went back to Sydney where she thought they were to remain until he bought a bigger property. But he had left her in Sydney and that was the last she saw of him. He had left her nothing and she was penniless. All she could do was go back to her father on his property at Stillman’s Creek. There Maria was brought up. If anyone tried to pretend she was a bastard she had the means to prove that she was not.

When there was all the fuss in the newspapers about Sir Jake Cadorson with the story of his past, she realized that this was the father who had deserted her and her mother all those years ago. She learned about the property in Cornwall and had spoken to a few of her friends about it. They had told her that she ought to claim what was hers by right; and this was what she was doing.

The marriage certificate was scrutinized, and the verdict was given that it was authentic.

Her Counsel reminded the court that Sir Jake Cadorson was a man who was a little cavalier in his relationships with women. He had been known to have one illegitimate daughter who had been born in Kent the same year as he had been sent to Australia for seven years. That child had been looked after by others and he had not been in the least concerned about her welfare.

Our Counsel pointed out that he had been unaware of her existence until he returned to England and in any case was in no position to do anything about it as he was sent out of England for seven years.

It soon became clear to me in which way the case was going. Everything seemed weighted heavily against my father. The marriage certificate was declared to be valid; Maria’s story fitted exactly with what had been known to have happened. It was remembered that my father’s crime had been to kill a man who, according to him, was assaulting a young gypsy girl, presumably, was the sly comment, a protégé of his during this madcap sojourn with the tribe.

They were vilifying him. That was what I could not bear. To prove the woman’s case they had to make my father into a callous philanderer.

I could see from the first that we were going to lose. Her story fitted so neatly; I had to admit that if I had not known my father, if I had been looking in on the case from the outside, I should probably have believed her.

And the verdict. She was telling the truth. She had proved that she was my father’s daughter, that his marriage to my mother was no true marriage, and that she was the rightful heiress to Cador.

After the verdict she came to me outside the court.

She said: “I don’t want to hustle you. I know how it must be for you. You’ll want to take some of your personal things. You’re welcome to stay until you find somewhere else.”

“I shall go to London for a while,” I told her. “I want to get right away.”

Everyone seemed to understand that.

A gloom hung over the house. The servants were very uneasy. They did not like the idea of a new mistress in the house. I had not realized before how fond they were of me.

Uncle Peter and Aunt Amaryllis arrived. They had come to take me to London and in a few days I left with them.

I did not know what I was going to do. At times I felt a burning anger; at others a listlessness.

I was angry at the reputation they had given my father. I knew that he had been wild in his youth. I knew that he was the father of Tamarisk and it was true that she was the result of a casual encounter, but he would never have deserted a wife and child. He would never have gone through a mockery of marriage with my mother. All the evidence might be against him but in my heart I just knew.

Aunt Amaryllis was very sad. For once she could not think that everything was going right.

Uncle Peter was thoughtful. I knew he was wondering what chance there might be of overthrowing the verdict. He would never accept defeat, of course. But I guessed from his demeanour that, like most, he believed my father guilty of all that had been said against him.

“God help me,” I prayed. “If we had never gone to Australia, none of this would have happened.”

Helena greeted me warmly and so did Peterkin and Frances. Since their marriage they were more absorbed in their work than ever. Helena had changed, too. She was a practiced hostess now and had lost a great deal of her reserve. She was pregnant once more and very happy about that. Matthew’s book had been published and had attracted the notice that Uncle Peter decided it should. He was going to stand for the election which would shortly take place.

“It makes us all very busy,” said Helena. “There is quite a big campaign. Father is putting up the money. He thinks it is certain that Matthew will win the seat. People know how good he is … after his book.”

She was very sympathetic towards me.

“We followed the case every day,” she said. “My mother wanted to bring you here but you had to be there, of course. Father thought it should have been tried in London instead of some little country court. He is wondering whether there could be another hearing.”

She looked at me anxiously and I shook my head. “They’ve given their verdict. They wouldn’t change it. I couldn’t bear to go through all that again.”

“But, Annora, do you believe it’s true?”

“I would never believe that of my father,” I said with conviction.

“No,” she said soothingly, but I guessed she believed, as all the others did, that he had deserted his wife and child.

“What are you going to do?” asked Helena.

I said with truth: “I don’t know.”

“Something will work itself out. You’d always have a home here. I expect Tamarisk and Jonathan would like to see you at Eversleigh … my parents, too.”

“I have to think, Helena. I don’t know what I shall do yet.”

Uncle Peter discussed my future with me. He was crisp and realistic as I expected him to be.

He thought it was a terrible calamity to lose Cador. That was what concerned him so deeply.

When I spoke about the damage they had done to my father’s reputation he shrugged that aside.

“That won’t hurt him now.”

“But, Uncle Peter, you can’t believe …”

He frowned. “I can believe he would have realized he had made a big mistake in marrying that woman and that he wanted to get away from her. But from what I know of him I am sure he would have made some provision for her. It was not his way to steal off and hope to lose himself. That he married the woman … yes, that’s possible. He thought he was out there for the term of his natural life. He adjusted himself. He always liked women. I can see how it happened. But, my dear Annora, how can we be sure? We’re wasting time in conjecture. Let’s look at the practical side. We have to think about you. Have you any plans?”

I shook my head.

“Of course, I should like to probe into this more fully. I think they have skimmed the surface and come to an easy conclusion too quickly. I should like to get a man out to Australia to look into a few things.”

“She had the certificate. The dates and everything fitted. That was what turned things in her favour.”

“It’s cleverly worked out … if worked out it is. But often there is a loophole.” He looked at me through narrowed eyes. “The mistake was to have it tried down in Cornwall. It should have been in London with the very best people working for you. There was a great property at stake.”

“Uncle Peter, I want to forget it.”

“All right. Now what are you going to do? You’re not without means. The family is comfortably off. You have some money from your mother. She can’t touch that. It’s Cador and your father’s property that she is claiming; but I should have thought that a sophisticated lawyer would have brought forward more the fact that you had lived there all your life as his daughter with expectations. You should have been entitled to something. The whole thing was too blithely handed over to her … lock, stock and barrel.”

“I have selected my very own possessions … a few pieces of furniture, ornaments, that sort of thing. Mr. Tamblin is arranging for them to be stored. Then there is Croft Cottage. That belonged to my mother. I suppose that will remain mine.”

“A little property then.”

“Yes, in need of repair.”

“You should get Tamblin to arrange to have it put in order.”

“I don’t want to think …”

“I’ll think for you. It may be small but it’s a property. You might want to use it, or it could be let.”

“You are so practical, Uncle Peter.”

“It pays to be. I think you ought to do something, Annora. Have some purpose in life. You’ve seen the change in Helena.”

“Yes. It’s miraculous.”

“And you know what you’ve got to do. You’ve got to pick yourself up. You’ve got to start all over again. Dear child, you have had a very bad time … blow after blow …”

“One leading to the other, of course.”

“That is how life works. It’s a pity you didn’t marry that young man.”

I was silent.

“If you had,” he went on, “it would have cushioned the blow. I gather his Manor estate is growing and prospering. I remember your father’s saying some time ago that it would rival Cador in a few years’ time.”

“You always think of the material side of everything, Uncle Peter.”

“My dear, it is always a side to consider. All your creature comforts depend on it, and they are not called comforts for nothing. They soften the impact of the slings and arrows. If you had married him you would have a home.” His eyes gleamed. “You could have found a soothing balm in rivalling your neighbour. What does this woman know about great estates?”

“She’ll have Bob Carter to look after it for her.”

“A lot depends on the one at the top. It would have been just what you need. It would have added a zest to life. Zest. That’s what you want, Annora.”

I said: “You would have enjoyed it. I know you would have found means of getting the better of her.”

“And, you are thinking, in a none too scrupulous way.”

“Perhaps.”

“You don’t trust me, do you? You have a long memory. You are thinking of what I did to Joseph Cresswell. It was fair enough to my mind. He wouldn’t have been any good in that post. What did he know about the vice of underground London? I do know of it. I thought I was right in what I was doing. Oh, you are not going to agree with me, of course. It is amazing, Annora, how you have become involved in my affairs. Look at the good I am doing now. They are working wonders at the Mission—all due to my support. That can’t be bad, can it? Does it matter how the money is come by if it does good in the end?”

“That is a question which has often been discussed.”

“And have you found a satisfactory answer?”

I shook my head. “You have been good to me, Uncle Peter,” I said.

“I’ve told you I always had a soft spot for your mother … and now for you. Listen to me. What you will do now is go with Helena and Matthew down to Mobury. There is a lot to do. We must get him in, you understand. You’ll work for him. It’s hard work. You’ll persuade people why they’ve got to vote for Matthew Hume … the reformer. Read his book. It’s illuminating. He’s done a good job. He somehow gets right into the minds of those convicts and some of the stories are pretty grim. It’ll carry you along for a while. Stop your brooding. I’ve told you before that you have to pick yourself up when life knocks you down. You’ve got to think about those poor devils who have been sent into bondage for some petty crime or perhaps for some political attitude. Then you’ll realize how much you have to be thankful for.”

“I’m thankful for you, Uncle Peter. You do me so much good. Talking to you, listening to you, has always helped me.”

“Odd, isn’t it, an old villain like myself?”

I said: “You are a very lovable villain and you almost make me feel your villainies are virtues.”

“That, my dear Annora, is the very essence of villainy.”

I supposed I felt happier in London than I could anywhere else. It was an interesting suggestion that I should travel down to Mobury with Helen and Matthew. My reunion with Jonnie had been rapturous. At first he had not known me but after a while he seemed to, and it soothed me considerably to play with him.

A great deal had been happening in the world. The Queen had married most happily.

“It’s rather put Lord Melbourne’s nose out of joint,” said Uncle Peter. “But he doesn’t seem to mind and I think all of us are glad to see the Queen happily settled.”

She had regained the popularity she had lost over the Flora Hastings and Bedchamber affairs.

“There is nothing the people like better than a wedding,” said Uncle Peter. “A royal wedding makes the people forget the intrigues of the boudoir.”

There had been a hint of my having a season. I would have vehemently declined if the hint had been pursued. I think it was feared that the scandal which Uncle Peter had skillfully managed to divert might be resuscitated and it was well known that the Queen’s husband was, as Uncle Peter said, most definitely prudish.

I was sure Prince Albert would not have agreed with Uncle Peter’s views about directing dubiously acquired money into good causes.

I heard of the alarming incident when an attempt had been made to assassinate the Queen. True, it was only a brainless potboy and he had been declared insane, but it was sobering. The Queen behaved magnificently, of course, as most of her ancestors had in similar circumstances. But it was an indication that life could never be smooth for anyone.

In Mobury I got caught up in the excitement of electioneering, and it became to me a matter of the utmost importance that Matthew should win the seat.

I sat on platforms listening to his speeches. He was turning out to be quite an effective orator. He burned with zeal when he spoke of the necessity of prison reform. He harrowed his audience with stories of what he had seen firsthand. He wanted the laws drastically changed; he wanted better conditions for the poor. He had visited the Mission run by his brother-in-law and his wife, and he knew what he was talking about. People listened to him and were moved.

Helena would sit on the platform smiling and admiring. She reminded me of Aunt Amaryllis; and when I thought of how their marriage had come about I was truly amazed.

She had grown into marriage—and if ever there had been a marriage of convenience that had been one. But now she was contented, reminding me so much of her mother.

To see her thus set me longing for Rolf. What a fool I had been! I had allowed myself to turn away from happiness because of a dream … and something which had happened long ago. He had said he was not there and I had chosen not to believe him. Then I had convinced myself that he wanted to marry me to get Cador.

Perhaps I should go back to Cornwall. I could go to Croft Cottage. I should see Rolf often. Perhaps we could talk about Midsummer’s Eve and perhaps I could explain how deeply it had affected me, how I had lost my illusions, for I had seen ordinary people turn into monsters of cruelty. It had had a great effect on me. It had changed me from a trusting girl into a doubting woman.

If I could see Rolf … if I could break through this barrier between us … if we could be together … if I could forget Midsummer’s Eve … if I could believe him … if he again asked me to marry him now I no longer owned Cador … how happy I should be.

I would go back. But not yet.

Helena sat there, her hands on her lap, obviously pregnant. Uncle Peter had said: “That’s a good thing. It shows a nice family life.”

I thought of Joe Cresswell and wondered what he was doing now. This was where he would like to be. He had been very ambitious to follow in his father’s footsteps and get into Parliament.

Uncle Peter had prevented that. I wondered afresh why I was so fond of Uncle Peter. He was such a ruthless, amoral man. Yet he always had answers to explain his wickedness, and he never failed to show me another side which differed from the obvious one.

Election day came. There was an air of excitement in the town. I drove round in a carriage with Helena waving banners. “Vote for Matthew Hume. Your Member who cares for the Unfortunate.”

Uncle Peter came down in the afternoon. He expressed his pleasure with the manner in which the campaign had gone.

It was late that night when the results were declared. Matthew Hume was the elected Member of Parliament for Mobury.

What a celebration there was! Uncle Peter presided. We drank champagne to the success of the new Member, and he stood with Helena on one side and Uncle Peter on the other receiving congratulations. I felt quite carried away by the excitement, and for a while forgot my difficulties.

Back in London, the question arose: What was I going to do? It had to be answered.

I went down to Frances’s Mission. I was surprised at the difference in her premises. She had a large house with many rooms in it. She told me that the old one was turned into a dormitory for the homeless.

Peterkin and she worked in harmony. They had the same ideals; they knew exactly what they wanted to do. Peterkin’s gentle manner was a contrast to Frances’s brisk one. Each seemed to supply what the other lacked.

“Ours,” Peterkin told me, “is a marriage of two minds in complete harmony with each other.”

I felt a touch of envy. Both Helena and Peterkin had found happiness. I was the only one to whom that desired state would not come.

When I suggested staying with them for a few weeks they welcomed the idea warmly.

Frances said: “We have people who come down now and then to help … society girls often who feel like a change and have the urge to do good. Some of them are good but they like to say they’ve been. My father has made the place fashionable.”

I came in contact with poverty such as I had never dreamed existed. I went into attics where women sat sewing all day, often in poor light; some had children to feed. I noticed these women’s eyes which looked as though they had sunk into their heads and I knew it was due to their working at their sewing half into the night—all for a pittance barely enough to keep them alive.

Frances said: “We’re trying to get them to pay more for the work. I have some of them here sewing for us and I see that they get good food.”

What I found most pathetic was the children. There was one little fellow—he couldn’t have been more than five years old—who had been a chimney sweep since the age of three. He was terrified of the dark, sooty chimneys and had run away from his master. Peterkin had found him wandering in the streets. Frances dealt with him in her usual brisk, unsentimental way. When I was there he was doing little jobs in the kitchen. The little one was in the seventh heaven bliss and his attitude towards Frances was one of idolatry.

“It makes you humble,” said Peterkin.

There was the crossing sweeper who had been run over and crippled—a boy of some eight years. Frances took him in and found him some light job he could do about the house.

There were women whose husbands or paramours had ill-treated them. Their wounds horrified me. I learned a little first aid; I did some of the cooking; I turned my hands to several jobs; and like Peterkin, I felt humble, and so much better.

There was one young woman to whom I took quite a fancy. Her name was Kitty. She came to the house one day when both Frances and Peterkin were out and I was the first one who saw her.

She was in a pitiful state—unkempt and near starvation.

She stammered something about someone’s telling her they’d help her if she came to this house.

I gave her some soup—there was always a cauldron of soup simmering in the kitchen. I spoke to her soothingly and told her we would look after her.

She looked lost and lonely and frightened. She was, I could see, really a pretty girl.

Frances came in and took charge and in a few days there was a great change in Kitty. She was bright and meant to enjoy life but she had had a bad time. She told us she had come up from the country to work in London. She had had a job as tweeny in a big house but the master had taken notice of her. The mistress found out and sent her packing with no money, no reference.

“It’s an old story,” said Frances.

I took a special interest in her; she seemed to like me too. She was very capable and almost took over the management of the kitchen.

The house was sparsely furnished.

“We don’t waste money on fancy stuff,” said Frances. “As much as my father-in-law has given us we still need more money.”

There was a big room with a wooden table in it; this table was kept scrupulously clean and we used to eat there in the evenings. Dinner was usually between eight and nine o’clock and was generally a stew of some sort which was kept simmering on the fire so that it was ready at whatever time we sat down. After we had eaten we would sit there, with the candles guttering, tired after an exhausting day, and we would talk about the work we were doing and life in general.

The memories of those evenings would stay with me all my life. I can still recall Peterkin’s hot anger about something particularly shocking he had seen that day, and Frances’s almost clinical approach; and the views of the other young people who had come to help. We talked far into the night, sometimes absorbed by the conversations, at others too tired to move even when the clock struck midnight.

One day I had been out shopping and when I came in Frances was in the hall.

“Oh hello,” she said. “Someone you know is coming to see me this evening.”

“Someone I know?”

“Brother Joe.”

“Joe? How is he?”

She lifted her shoulder. “He comes to London now and then and he always looks in on his little sister. Sometimes he stays for a few days and gives a hand.”

“Is he here now?”

“No. He’s been in and gone off somewhere on business. He’ll be back this evening. I didn’t tell him you were here. I wondered whether you wanted to see him.”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“I didn’t know.” I realized that she, like some others, thought that at one time there had been a rather special friendship between Joe and me which had petered out when the scandal about Joe’s father and Uncle Peter had been revealed.

I wondered what it would be like meeting Joe again.

He was there at the scrubbed wood table that evening. He had changed a little. He looked older and more solemn.

He took my hand and shook it warmly.

“How nice to see you, Annora.”

“And for me to see you, Joe. How are you?”

“Oh, quite well. It seems a long time …”

“It is.”

“You’ve been to Australia since.”

“Yes.”

“I’m very sorry. I heard, of course.”

I nodded.

“Are you staying here long?”

“I haven’t many plans. I am just spending a little time with Frances and Peterkin.”

“They are doing a wonderful job here.”

It was obviously trivial conversation. I thought, We are both a little nervous of each other. He is remembering how I caught him coming out of Uncle Peter’s study, putting those papers in his pocket. He is embarrassed about that and because I have lost my family and my home.

How different life was for both of us since our first meeting in the Park!

In the candle-lit atmosphere, amongst all the talk, the tension seemed to lessen. Once or twice Joe smiled at me at something which was being said, and I felt pleased to see him again.

One of the helpers—an earnest young woman from a county family—was saying: “I met Reverend Goodson this afternoon. He is a little displeased with us. He says no good can come of what we are doing because so much of the money we are using comes from a tainted source. Those, my dears, were his very words.”

I saw Joe flinch and then his mouth hardened. I knew he was thinking of the manner in which Uncle Peter was attempting to rehabilitate himself by giving so generously to charity.

She went on: “I told him how you had rescued Maggie Trent from that savage she was living with and that you had saved her life, for he would surely have killed her. I told him about little Tom, bruised and terrified, who is too big for chimneys now and was still being forced up them. He would have gone mad, poor mite. He was scared out of his wits of being burned to death. And there are others like that, I said to the reverend gentleman. I said, ‘If they can save people like that, they are not going to look twice at where the money comes from.’”

“You gave him something to think about perhaps,” said Peterkin.

“The trouble with people like him,” said Frances, “is that they are not given to thinking. Their minds run in channels laid out for them. It saves a lot of energy to follow the set rules. Happily his opinions are of no importance to us. Joe, you’ll see a lot of difference in the houses since you were last here. We’ve extended, started new projects. We’ve had luck.”

“Thanks,” said Joe rather bitterly, “to your generous father-in-law.”

Frances looked steadily at her brother. She knew that he hated my Uncle Peter and that he could not forgive him for ruining his father; but she, in her calm commonsensical manner, wanted old hatchets buried. She took the long view. Whatever had happened had brought great prosperity to her world and she had to welcome that. She was doing more good, she reckoned, than any commission for the suppression of vice could have done. Frances believed in action, not talk.

But she was fond of her brother and she did not want to spoil his visits by getting involved in arguments about which they could not agree.

She changed the subject.

“Annora has been working hard since she came here. I was going to suggest she take a day off. Why don’t you two take a trip up the river? There’s a lovely old-fashioned little inn I’ve heard a good deal about. They serve whitebait. It really is good, I’m told. I imagine you two have a lot to talk about.”

Joe was looking at me expectantly.

I said: “I should like that.”

He smiled. “Then let’s do it.”

Frances seemed satisfied. She then went on to talk about an extension to the kitchen which she was planning.

It was pleasant on the river. We rowed down towards Richmond and found the inn near the grassy bank just past Kew. It was called the Sailor’s Rest. It looked charming. There was a garden in front facing the river; tables and chairs were set out.

Joe tied up the boat and we went ashore.

Over the food, which was served by a maid in a mopcap and a Regency-style dress, I asked Joe questions about what he was doing. He was living in the North with his parents, he told me. His father owned a cotton mill up there and that was their main interest now.

“You are finding it satisfying?” I asked.

“Oh, it’s quite absorbing … in a way. I’m learning a lot about cotton and trade is good. It has increased tremendously in the last years. Hargreaves’ spinning jenny and Crompton’s mule have speeded up production and kept prices down. We export a great deal to Europe. Oh yes, it is interesting, but …”

“I know, Joe, what you really wanted was to go into politics.”

He was silent. Then he said: “It’s the reason why I don’t come to London very much. Every time I pass the Houses of Parliament I feel a terrible longing …”

“Why don’t you try to get in?”

He looked at me in amazement. “How could I … now?”

“That is all in the past.”

He shook his head. “As soon as one of us came into prominence it would all be remembered. Annora, I cannot understand Frances taking his money.”

“Frances has a very good reason, and she makes the best possible use of it.”

“To take money from the man who ruined our father!”

“I wish you could talk to Uncle Peter. I wish you knew him.”

“I’d rather know the devil.”

“Joe, you have to try to look at this coldly, calmly, without bias. You have to try to understand.”

“I understand perfectly. There was an important post almost certainly about to be bestowed on my father—a chance to do good, to wipe the town free of vice. Your uncle looked on it as a stepping-stone to his ambitions. Moreover he himself was trading in vice. How ironical it would have been to have had him on the Commission! But as I say, he saw it as a stepping-stone to his ambitions. And trying to get it … he destroyed my father.”

“And you tried to destroy him. But it seems he was indestructible.”

“I cannot understand you, Annora. I think you are on his side.”

“No. That’s not true.”

“And Frances … there she is taking his money and saying, Thank you very much, dear Papa-in-law. I can’t understand my sister.”

“I can. She takes it because she can make good use of it. And what is she doing with it but bringing help to those who so sorely need it? If she did not take it, think of how those people would suffer. She is saving lives, Joe.”

“It is a question of morality.”

“What is morality? Uncle Peter takes from those people who spend their money in an immoral way, you would say. But suppose they did not spend this money, it would not be going into the Mission. It might be spent on fine clothes, houses, horses. It’s a difficult question to answer, and I think Frances and Peterkin are right to take the money. In fact I think they are wonderful people.”

“That money is given by your uncle, not because he wants to do good but because he wishes to be seen as a philanthropist, whose good works will wash away his past.”

“That is true. Oh, Joe, we’ll never agree about this. But … why don’t you try to get into Parliament?”

“And face all that scandal being revived?”

“If it were … by your opponents … it would only be for a short while. After all, it was not even you who were involved. At least, that is what people would think.”

“I see that your uncle is setting up Helena’s husband now. I suppose he will decide which way the young man is to vote.”

“I think Matthew will judge for himself. Uncle Peter spoke for him during the election. Everyone knows he was supporting his son-in-law. That did not spoil Matthew’s chances. So why should what happened to your father spoil yours?”

“I couldn’t risk it.”

“If you don’t take risks now and then you can’t hope to succeed.”

“Annora, I want to be there. It’s the life I want. I know I could do it. I could have got in at the last election.”

“You should have tried.”

“I couldn’t face it. All that stuff in the papers. I was afraid it would be revived. I shall never forget it.”

“It’s past.”

“And you and I,” he went on. “We were getting on very well, weren’t we? And that stopped it. That day you saw me in that room …”

“I know.”

“You seemed to despise me.”

“No. Joe. I understood.”

“It was for my father.”

“You didn’t do him any good by your attempt to ruin Uncle Peter.”

“And I lost your friendship, I know. You were different afterwards. You couldn’t forgive me for using you to get into the house. I was desperate. If it had been your father, wouldn’t you?”

I thought of the accusation that woman had made against my father. Yes, I would do a great deal to prove her wrong … not only for the sake of Cador, but for my father’s memory.

I said: “I understand how you felt about your father.”

“He is a good man, a man of high morality. Think of that sleazy scandal involving such a man. Think of my mother, the family. I could have killed him when I knew he had set it all up.”

“He is ruthless. He brushed people aside to get what he wants. But that is not all of him. People are strange. They are not all bad … not all good.”

“I think any goodness he may have is lost beneath the weight of evil.”

“He is a manipulator, a man who must have power, who must …”

“Use people to his own ends.”

“Yes, that’s true. But, Joe, it’s past. Let’s forget it. Let’s think of you … and your future.”

“I shall be in the mills. I shall force myself to stop dreaming of what might have been.”

“That is no way to live really. Not when there is a way open to you.”

“I see no way.”

“I do. Pull yourself together. How long will this government last, do you think? Be ready for the next election.”

“And face all that slanderous mud?”

“Yes, face it, Joe. They’ll soon get tired of throwing it.”

“I couldn’t do it, Annora.”

“Then you must content yourself with the cotton mill. Oh, Joe, forgive me. I sound sententious. Who am I to talk? I am undecided, floundering hopelessly.”

“Life has been hard to us both, Annora.”

“Uncle Peter says that you cannot help yourself lying down and letting events get the better of you. You have to stand up and fight.”

“And ruin other people’s lives as you do so?”

“That is not necessary. But don’t you see, Joe, you tried to ruin him just as surely as he tried to ruin your father. But he wouldn’t have it. He’s fighting his way back.”

“I can’t bear to hear you talk of him as though he is some sort of glorious warrior. Attila the Hun possibly.”

I smiled. “Try to rid yourself of your bitterness. Frances has.”

“Frances has taken advantage of the situation.”

“Frances knows what she wants and she is not going to let anything stand in her way.”

“Frances is doing good to the community. Your uncle is doing good to himself.”

“The method is the same.”

“We shall never agree on that.”

“But, Joe, do get up and fight. You will never be content if you don’t try to get into Parliament. All your life you will bear a grudge against fate which robbed you of your chance, and when you are very old and have become mellow you will ask the question: Was it fate which robbed me of my chance, or was it myself?”

“You make it sound easy.”

“It certainly isn’t that. I know how you feel. But you ought to try. You ought to face up to it. Forgive me, Joe. I’m preaching. It’s the last thing I want to do. I know you hate me to mention it but I can’t help thinking of Uncle Peter and the way he is overcoming all that scandal. I think there was just as much about him as about your father in the papers. He planned your father’s fall and carried it out. You planned his. You were both equally successful. You’ve had an eye for an eye. Your father gave up. Uncle Peter didn’t. So … fight on, Joe.”

He looked at me steadily. “I don’t think I could do it.”

“Be bold and see. Oh dear, I’m upsetting you. It was to have been a pleasant trip up the river.”

He said: “It has been good to see you again, to talk to you frankly.”

“I’m afraid I’ve said too much. It is not for me to advise you. You have to make up your own mind. I am the last person who should try to tell you what to do.”

“You are very unhappy, Annora.”

I did not answer.

“The shock must have been terrible and then that dreadful woman from Australia.”

“That’s over, Joe. I’m trying not to think of it. But there is so much to remind me of them.”

“It makes my affairs seem almost trivial. They do to you, don’t they?”

“You have your family, Joe.”

“I know. I’m going to think about what you’ve said. Don’t let’s lose touch again.”

I nodded. Then I said: “Frances was right. This is a very pleasant spot.”

Helena’s baby was due in a few weeks.

Aunt Amaryllis came down to the Mission and her purpose was to persuade me to come back to be with Helena until her baby was born.

She said: “You were with her at Jonnie’s birth and she says what a comfort you were to her. Moreover, Jonnie does miss you. Do come back and be with her, Annora.”

So I went.

How different this was from Jonnie’s birth. Helena had come a long way since then. This was her husband’s child and an astonishing relationship had grown up between them. Helena was proud of Matthew. He had scored a hit with his maiden speech; it was clear that he was going to do well in politics. He was going to be one of those who would be responsible for the abolition of transportation in due course. He was working for it with such enthusiasm and it was inconceivable that he could fail.

Uncle Peter was satisfied with his son-in-law and nothing was going to be spared in sending him forward. I wondered how long it would be before Uncle Peter himself was back in Parliament.

Helena hovered between bliss and apprehension. She was longing for the baby. With great pride she showed me its layette and I wondered whether, like myself, she was comparing this with Jonnie’s birth.

Jonnie himself was now at a delightful age. I drew for him with coloured crayons and he showed me what he could do. He was interested in the new arrival and confided to me that he wanted a brother.

Every morning he would come to my room and ask: “Has he come yet? He’s very lazy. He ought to be here by now.”

There was great rejoicing when the baby was born, and Jonnie’s wishes were granted. It was a boy.

Helena was very proud to see the notices in the paper. “Son for Matthew Hume.”

Uncle Peter was delighted. “There is nothing people like better than babies,” he said.

The baby flourished. The christening was to be a grand affair and was to be celebrated in Uncle Peter’s house—the baby’s home was not large enough to accommodate all the guests. Uncle Peter had seen that several important people were invited—many of them politicians.

It was during this celebration that I learned something which made me feel I had touched the very nadir of despair.

It came out quite naturally. The drawing room was crowded. I stood there with a glass of champagne in my hands when a middle-aged man came up and spoke to me.

I had not heard his name, nor had he heard mine.

He just said: “What a crowd. Well, Matthew’s baby would attract attention, wouldn’t he? Amazing what Matthew has done … such a short time he’s been in the House.”

“You are a Member of Parliament, are you?”

“I hope to be. I’m taking over a constituency in the south west. I have just been making a tour, talking to my prospective supporters, trying to clock up the votes.”

“What part of the south west?”

“It’s a big constituency. Rather remote and scattered. In Cornwall actually. The people take a bit of knowing. Farmers, fishermen, miners. I’ve had chats with them on the quays and in their cottages.”

He was garrulous which one would expect of a man who hoped to become a Member of Parliament. He was entirely interested in himself and I was glad of that for I did not want him asking me questions.

“They’re a superstitious community. One has to get to know about them, how their minds work, how best one can impress them. Have to make their interests yours. You get to know what is happening in these little places and then you talk of little else … and slip in the propaganda so that they won’t notice. For instance, there was some place where there had recently been quite a big case … well, big for them … about some property …”

“Oh?” I said faintly. “Where was that?”

“Somewhere down there. Somebody had come out from Australia and claimed this estate … rather a large one. But that it seems was old news. What they were all talking about was her marriage …”

“You mean the marriage of the one who claimed the estate?”

“Yes, that’s it. Apparently it was a nice little bit of gossip, and when they’ve got something like that on their minds they just won’t talk about anything else. You have to listen and seem as interested to hear as they are to tell you. It’s the only way of winning their votes. So I stand there saying ‘Really? Did she then? Well, I never did.’ Apparently this woman who’d just got hold of the mansion was marrying some chap from the Manor which was a sort of rival estate. Could have knocked them down with feathers, they kept saying. I didn’t get to see the married pair. But that’s what I’m telling you. You have to listen and hope to get in what you’re really there to … I just listened and told them how amazing it was. Well, that’s an example of what you have to do.”

“Was the name of the place … Cador, do you remember?”

“Why, that’s it. Do you know it?”

“Yes,” I said flatly. “I did.”

“Grand sort of place. So was the other one, this Manor. I reckon that was what they were all so excited about … linking up the two …”

I felt rather dizzy with the shock. I heard myself say, “So you’ll be standing at the next election?”

He went on talking but I was not listening.

I was thinking: So Rolf has married that woman. “The chap from the Manor.” How could he? But everything was clear now. I had been right. He would do a great deal for Cador.

It had taken this to tell me how much I loved Rolf. In spite of everything, more than anything I wanted to be with him. I might have married him, but fate had conspired to take him from me. No, that was not true. I was the one who had broken it off.

How I wished now that I had married him! Even if he had been in the woods that Midsummer’s Eve; even if he wanted Cador. I had made excuses for Uncle Peter and I had seen the good amongst what was deplorable in his character. But I had made no allowances for Rolf from whom I had expected perfection.

I could talk to no one of this. I felt wretchedly empty. I could never be happy again.

For some days Helena did not notice that there was anything wrong with me. Then at last she said: “You look pale, Annora, and very unhappy. Is it because of the children?”

I looked at her in astonishment and she went on: “Oh, I know how you love them, how you’ve always loved Jonnie. I felt that you often wished he was yours. Now I have two and you have none.”

“Oh, Helena,” I cried. “What an idea! I am so glad for you. I think all turned out beautifully. And now you have little Geoffrey. You are lucky, Helena.”

“I know. I feel it isn’t fair. Everything came out so well for me, didn’t it? I never told you, but I saw John Milward some time ago. He talked to me. I was never sure how I should feel if I saw him again, and I felt nothing … nothing at all. I had to keep reminding myself that he was Jonnie’s father. He said how sorry he was that it had turned out the way it had. But I couldn’t be sorry. He was very weak really … and now it has all worked out with Matthew. Matthew is wonderful. My father says he can be a great politician. It is what he really wants to do. I don’t think John Milward would ever have been anything without his family. Matthew is thinking of writing a book about chimney sweeps. He feels very strongly about that and my father thinks it is a good idea.”

“I’m so glad it has turned out like this for you.”

“I wish it could for you. Perhaps it will. Joe Cresswell is a very nice young man.”

“I know.”

“And he is very fond of you.”

I wanted to shout at her: But I want Rolf. I’ve always wanted Rolf. I was too stupid to see how important he was to me.

The idea of his living at Cador, which he had always wanted, with that woman, was more than I could bear. It made me angry and then desperately unhappy.

I saw Joe before he went back to the North.

We went again to the Sailor’s Rest.

He said: “I’m going back tomorrow, Annora. But I shall come up again. I was thinking you might like to pay us a visit. My parents would like to see you.”

“Perhaps I will, Joe.”

“It’s a different life up there, you know.”

“I’m sure of it.”

“I’ve thought a lot about you. I believe you think I am rather weak.”

I was silent for a moment, then I said: “What I think is, Joe, that if you want something, you have to take some action; you have to get it. You can’t let it slip through your fingers. If you do, you’re going to regret it all your life.”

I was speaking for myself really. Joe still had a chance. I had lost mine.

He said: “I shall come back, Annora. Think of me … and then we’ll meet again.”

I knew what he was suggesting. There was a bond of friendship between us. We had always had a fondness for each other. Could it grow to something stronger?

I was thinking: Is this a way of escape? Could I go to the North of England among more hardy, down-to-earth folk? It would be a complete breakaway.

I liked Joe. I was not in love with him by any means. Helena had not been in love with Matthew when she married him. But I was not Helena … and I loved Rolf.

But she had loved John Milward. But had she really? What was it she had said recently: “I don’t think I really loved John so much as what he stood for. He was the only one who had taken notice of me and I loved him for that. He was a symbol to me that I could be attractive too. Perhaps that was what I felt for him and when he deserted me because of his family I thought I was heartbroken because of him … but it wasn’t really so. It was because of what he stood for. Then there was Matthew. I didn’t love him at all but he was so good to me … he’s such a good man. I can help him. I’m happy with him … happier than I ever thought I could be after John had gone.”

That might be how it was with her. It was different with me. I wanted Rolf. I always had. I had thought of him constantly. I had compared everyone with Rolf and they had all seemed wanting.

How greatly he had desired Cador … always. He loved the place. I could see how much he had wanted Cador, just as Uncle Peter wanted power.

They were the sort of men who set out to get what they wanted, letting nothing stand in their way.

John Milward … Joe Cresswell … they were different.

Now I had to stop brooding. Rolf was lost to me forever and I had to go on.

How?

Joe? I could be very fond of Joe. I had liked his parents. I was very fond of his sister Frances. I could picture quite a happy life with Joe … if I could forget Rolf. I had to forget Rolf.

I could devote myself to work in Frances’s Mission. That would be satisfying.

I wanted to start afresh. I had to, because all the time I had been really waiting for Rolf. What I had in my heart been hoping he would do was come to London to woo me, to insist on my returning to Cornwall.

I must have been foolish. I had deserted him on the day I was to have married him and I could not have dealt him a more humiliating blow. It was more than a man could endure.

Besides, it had been Cador he wanted; and he had that now.

Let me be sensible, I prayed. I have been telling Joe that he should be. Now let me tell myself.

I had an income from my mother. I was not rich but on the other hand I was not poor. I was in a position to make a decision. I could not go on drifting.

I must sever all links with Cornwall, I told myself. I will sell Croft Cottage, and then there will be no more temptation to return to it.

When I told Uncle Peter and Aunt Amaryllis of my plans, Uncle Peter said: “You should write to Tamblin. He can see to everything.”

“No,” I said. “I want to arrange the sale myself.”

“My dear girl, you’d have to stay there. You wouldn’t want to do that … not in that little cottage.”

“But I should, Uncle Peter.”

“Wouldn’t you feel unhappy being so close to Cador?” suggested Aunt Amaryllis. “All those memories.”

“I do want to do this my way. I don’t want to leave it to Mr. Tamblin. I want to be there once more … just to say my final farewell to the old place.”

“Well, if you want to do it your way, you must,” said Uncle Peter. “But remember it might not be easy to find a buyer.”

“I expect you want to go through the things you have stored up there,” said Aunt Amaryllis. “And I daresay you’ll want to keep some of them.”

“Yes, that is so.”

“You can’t go alone,” said Uncle Peter, frowning.

“I’ve thought of that. There is a young woman at the Mission. Her name is Kitty. I took quite a fancy to her. I thought I would employ her as a maid and take her with me.”

“A girl from the Mission!” cried Uncle Peter. “What sort of girl?”

“She’s had a hard life. She came up to London from the country. She had a job as maid or something. The master of the house was offensive and the mistress turned her out. Frances is looking for a good situation for her.”

“You want to be careful whom you employ,” said Uncle Peter.

“I am being very careful. I like Kitty. Frances says she is a good girl.”

“Frances is apt to have a rose-coloured view of her inmates.”

“I think Frances is very shrewd,” said Aunt Amaryllis.

“In any case, I’ve made up my mind,” I told them. “I shall go down to the Mission and put this proposition to Kitty and Frances. And if they are agreeable I shall employ her. I’ll get some clothes for her. I think she would like to go to the country for a while.”

Aunt Amaryllis nodded, with tears in her eyes.

I went that very day to the Mission and put my proposition first to Frances.

She was delighted with it. “Just what Kitty needs,” she said. “She took a great fancy to you from the day she saw you. I’ll send for her. She’s peeling potatoes in the kitchen.”

Kitty arrived and when I told her what I had in mind, her delight was a joy to see.

“It will be very quiet where I’m going,” I warned her. “Just a little cottage on the edge of an estate which was once mine. There won’t be any other servants.”

“When do we leave, Miss Cadorson?” asked Kitty.

Frances embraced us both—a rare demonstration for her.

“You’ve made a good choice,” she said.

And in spite of what lay before me my spirits lifted a little.

Kitty and I travelled part of the way on the railway, which was a novelty to us both. It seemed so wonderful to travel in such an exciting fashion, but of course the railways were encroaching all over the countryside at this time. It was a great innovation, but nothing could be wholly good, it seemed, and many stagecoach drivers were being deprived of their livelihoods. I had heard many a sad story of their fates from Frances and Peterkin.

We stayed at night at an inn at Exeter and there heard from the landlord that the railways would in time be the end of the old coaching inns.

We travelled the rest of the way by coach which dropped us in the town. Mr. and Mrs. Tamblin were there to meet us for they had been warned of my coming. They both greeted me warmly and I introduced Kitty as my maid. She was very demure and I could see how excited she was. She had told me on the night before that she had never had such an exciting adventure in her life and had never thought to travel in a real train. She stood at the window of the inn and inhaled the fresh country air.

I felt very pleased that I had been able to do something to make her so happy. Mrs. Tamblin told me that she had had certain things taken out of store and put into Croft Cottage, so it could be lived in right away. Then I could decide what other things I wanted. She herself would come along with me to the storage warehouse and explain everything to me. But first we were going to spend a night with them. We could start sorting everything out in the morning. She knew how tired and hungry we must be after that long journey.

“And you travelled on the train!” she cried, looking at us with wonder. I think she thought we had taken our lives in our hands to travel in such a strange contraption.

The Tamblins’ carriage had been waiting for us and in a short time we arrived at their house. I was ushered into my bedroom and Kitty was to sleep in a little dressing room attached to it.

“Now you wash the journey off you and then come down to eat. I’ll go and see that they get it on the table.”

So I did.

Kitty was given a meal in the kitchen and I sat down with the Tamblins.

“It is good to see you back,” said Mrs. Tamblin. “I was hoping you might come when orders were sent to see about the repairs to Croft Cottage.”

“Is it now in good order?”

“In perfect order. It’s a pleasant little place,” said Mrs. Tamblin.

“Your mother did well to buy it,” added her husband.

“Do you think I shall find a buyer quickly?”

“Property is not going all that quickly now and it is rather remote. A lot depends on luck.”

“Perhaps you will like it so much you’ll change your mind about selling,” said Mrs. Tamblin.

I was silent.

“I was wondering,” she went on, “how you’d feel about being so close to Cador.”

“I don’t know … yet.”

“What a change in that place! Isaacs is very worried about the way things are going. I saw Mrs. Penlock the other day. She was near to tears.”

“It’s going downhill fast, I think,” said Mr. Tamblin. “Even a big estate can’t stand up to that sort of thing.”

“What sort of thing?”

“I don’t exactly know. There are rumours. Mortgages and so on … changing things. They’re spending money like water. And there’s nothing done to the farms nor to the house itself. You have to keep your eye on those sorts of places. People forget how old they are. A little crack … and in no time it’s a big crack … and my goodness, then there’s trouble. You’ve got to be on the watch all the time.”

“I should have thought Bob Carter would have seen to things.” I wanted to ask what Rolf was doing about it, but could not bring myself to mention his name.

“Bob Carter? Oh, he’s not there now.”

“Not there? Where is he then?”

“He went over to the Manor.”

“Why?”

“After the marriage, of course.”

“But I should have thought …”

“Apparently he never got on with Luke Tregern.”

“Did he have to? Luke was at the Manor, Bob at Cador.”

They looked at me in astonishment.

“Oh, I suppose you haven’t heard about the marriage.”

“I heard something in London.”

“So you know then,” said Mrs. Tamblin. “You could have knocked me down with a feather. Of course, being as she is, perhaps it fits. My goodness, it was a bad day for Cador when she took over.”

“You just can’t do it,” said Mr. Tamblin. “You have to be brought up to that sort of thing … managing a place like that. You can’t take everything out and put nothing back.”

“But I should have thought Mr. Hanson …”

“He’s sitting pretty, of course. The difference in those two estates! We used to say that Cador was the giant and the Manor the dwarf. It’s a bit different now.”

I repeated: “But I should have thought …”

Mr. Tamblin said: “It is clear you haven’t heard. That woman, Maria Cadorson, as she claims to be, married Luke Tregern.”

Understanding dawned in me in a blinding flash. I felt suddenly deliriously happy.

“I thought … that it was Mr. Hanson who had married her,” I stammered.

“Mr. Hanson! Marry that woman! You must be joking,” said Mrs. Tamblin.

“I heard it in London. Someone said it was ‘the chap from the Manor’ and I immediately thought …”

Mrs. Tamblin laughed. “Not in a month of Sundays could I see that coming about. No, it was Luke Tregern for her, from the moment she got here. She just went for him. He knew which side his bread was buttered.”

“He was always sly,” said Mr. Tamblin. “He always had an eye for the main chance.”

“Mr. Hanson always said he was a good manager.”

“That was when he was managing someone else’s estate. Now he’s gone wild. He’s mortgaged the place up to the hilt, so I heard. He doesn’t work through me. I suppose he doesn’t want me to know too much. I’m too near. But these things get round. Oh, it was a sad day when that woman came to Cornwall.”

I was not listening. I was savouring the fact that Rolf had not married her.

I lay in bed that night unable to sleep. I was here, where I had begun to feel I belonged. And I had misjudged Rolf. I had thought he would do anything to get possession of Cador.

And all the time it was Luke Tregern!

How happy I was that I had come back.

I longed to see Rolf.

The next day we went to the cottage. It looked charming. The workmen had done a good job and Mrs. Tamblin had arranged some things as she thought I should like them.

There were two bedrooms and she had bought beds and put those in because she had thought I would not come alone. She had selected a few items of furniture from those stored and had put curtains up at the windows.

I thanked her warmly for all she had done.

“At least,” she said, “it’s habitable. I don’t know how long you’ll stay, but if you’re going to sell the place you want to have it looking like a home. And you can sell the bits and pieces with the place if you want to.”

“You think of everything, Mrs. Tamblin.”

I felt as though I were walking on air. I thought: I shall see him again and if he really cares for me … this time I shall not be foolish.

Kitty worked hard to get the house as I wanted it. Mrs. Tamblin hovered dispensing little scraps of gossip, little realizing how important they were to me.

Mr. Hanson was away, she told me. He was often nowadays. Mrs. Tamblin had an idea that he deplored the changes. There were conflicts between Luke Tregern and Bob Carter about the land, and it made for an uneasy situation. Mr. Hanson left all the haggling to Bob; it was as though he could not bear to deal with his ex-manager.

During the first afternoon Mrs. Penlock called. It was good to see her and she was quite emotional at our meeting.

“Well there you are, Miss Cadorson. My patience me, it is good to see ’ee. What we’m been putting up with since you left. I can’t tell ’ee all of it. It’s ’ud take a book. I’ve never been in such a place. There be nothing a body can do. I had all them maids under control, I did. I had everything as it should be. The polish on that dining room table … well, it would have done for a mirror. But there’s no heart in anything now. They’re drinking and gambling to past midnight … and in the morning there’s all the mess to clear up. Mr. Isaacs he’d be gone in a flash if he had another place to go to. But he won’t leave the Duchy. Can’t say I blame him. Nor would I. Who wants to go off to foreign parts? Well, you have, Miss Cadorson, but I reckon that’s different. Neither Isaacs nor me would wish to work for foreigners.”

“Oh, Mrs. Penlock,” I cried, “it is good to talk to you again.”

“Never should have been,” she grumbled. “I know in me bones as she’s no right to this place. I reckon it’s all a put-up job, I do. And that Luke Tregern … what right ’as he … lording it over us all? King of the castle. Squire of the house. It’s ain’t right, Miss Cadorson. It don’t work.”

“You say there is gambling and drinking. Who joins them in this?”

“All the riffraff of the countryside. Come from miles they do. Where they find them I don’t know. Villains, all of them. And they quarrel something shocking … him and her. You can hear them shouting. Cador quarrels always took place behind closed doors … in the way of the gentry. I don’t know what we’re coming to. Bob Carter comes in to the kitchen now and then. He’s always been a friend of Mr. Isaacs. Mind you, he don’t want to be seen at Cador. Luke Tregern wouldn’t want him around. He sees too much. But Bob reckons it can’t go on. There’ll be a climax of some sort, he says. That’s what worries us all at Cador, for what’ll become of us? Oh, it was a sad day when you went, Miss Cadorson … and none of us here believe her tale. There’s a bit of trickery somewhere.”

“The court believed it, Mrs. Penlock.”

“Courts is crazy sometimes. Some of them people couldn’t see the noses before their own faces.”

“It is wonderful to be back.”

I introduced Kitty. “Kitty has come with me from London. I shall need only one maid and Kitty takes good care of me.”

Mrs. Penlock studied Kitty with the calculating eyes she bestowed on the maids she employed, and I was pleased to see that they took to each other.

“You must come up to the house,” she said to Kitty. “Some of the maids will like to meet you … so will we all.”

“Is that wise, do you think?” I asked. “My maid to come to the house?”

“If I didn’t have control over me own kitchen I’d walk out tomorrow, that I would,” said Mrs. Penlock severely.

“I’d like to come,” said Kitty.

“Then that’s it. I’ll send one of them over to fetch you.”

“I hear Mr. Hanson is away,” I said.

“Oh yes … so we’re told. He’s away quite a lot. Mind you, he knows what’s going on but he does give Bob Carter a free hand. Bob says how lucky he was to have stepped into the Manor estate. There wouldn’t have been room for him at Cador with Luke Tregern.” She gave me a sly look and went on: “Bob says Mr. Hanson is not a very contented man lately. I reckon it’s time he settled down.”

I had been at Croft Cottage a week when Rolf returned.

I had been living in a state of euphoria which meant that I was a good deal happier than I had been for a long time. I had thought that being here, where there were so many memories of my family, I should have been desolate; but this was not the case. They were constantly in my thoughts; I felt their presence here; and it was as though they were urging me to make something of my life—which I knew was what they would do if they were here.

I took pride in the cottage. I had not yet put it up for sale and hesitated to do this. I kept telling myself that there was plenty of time. Kitty and I went into the town to buy a few things which we needed. I was greeted almost ecstatically by the people whom I had known. Jack Gort scratched his head and said that things weren’t what they used to be; and he was not referring to his catch. Mrs. Pendart shook her head and said that it wasn’t natural for some to step into shoes that didn’t fit … not by a long chalk.

I guessed that they all deplored the change at Cador and, of course, they would all be very much aware of it. My father and his family before him had exerted a benevolent influence over the community; local troubles were brought to them; their role was that of caring parents.

“Things are different now,” was the general comment.

Many of them were uneasy. They knew the great estate was in decline. Farmers were complaining at the lack of repairs to their homes; the place was going to rack and ruin, it was said.

Kitty was often in the Cador kitchen, but I supposed the new owners did not concern themselves much with what went on below stairs; and Isaacs and Mrs. Penlock, much as they disliked the lowering of standards, were still despotic rulers in their own domain.

Kitty had made a friendship with Mabel Tucker whom I remembered as a kitchen maid. She used to come to the cottage on a return visit. I was very pleased to see Kitty so contented.

Then Rolf came over to see me.

He looked older, I thought. There were a few lines on his forehead which had not been there before, and he looked rather solemn. But his face lit up with pleasure when he saw me. He took both my hands and held them firmly.

“I heard you were back,” he said. “I’m so pleased to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too, Rolf.”

“I hear you have come back to sell the cottage.”

“That was my intention.”

“That mean you’ll be going away … permanently.”

“I really don’t know what I’m going to do. It’s hard to say … so much depends.”

He nodded.

“All this …” He waved his hand. “Such changes. Sometimes it seems quite unbelievable.”

“Yes, I know. One goes on for years expecting nothing to change and then suddenly it does … drastically. Come into the cottage. We’re making it quite a pleasant place, Kitty and I. I brought her with me from London. She is out at the moment. I expect she is at Cador. She gets on very well with the maids there and Mrs. Penlock graciously allows her to visit the kitchen.”

Rolf looked round the little sitting room.

“Very pleasant,” he said and looked at me sadly. “My dear Annora, what you have gone through! I wish …”

I looked at him appealingly. I wanted him to hold me tightly. I wanted to say: This time, Rolf, I would not run away. I want to say I’m sorry. I was so foolish. I just couldn’t believe you weren’t there that night … and now I simply don’t care if you were.

He said: “It was brave of you to come back.”

“One has to go on living. The people here … they talk all the time about the change at Cador.”

“It’s a tragedy. They are ruining the place. I can’t understand it. Tregern knows a good deal about management. He always worked well for me. I never quite trusted him, but he was a shrewd manager.”

“Why didn’t you trust him?”

“I imagined he was not strictly honest. I think certain sums may have found their way into his pocket.”

“Didn’t you tax him with it?”

“I had to have something I could prove first. And he really did a very good job. It was just vague suspicions.”

“What do you think he is doing now?”

“I’m not sure. I know he is raising mortgages on Cador. It seems as though he is short of money. Yet he is doing nothing in repairs. The place is running down at an alarming rate. I can only think it is due to his gambling.”

“I can’t bear to think of it. My father was always so meticulous. Any sign of decay anywhere and he had it seen to at once.”

“It is the only way. There is something odd going on there.”

“And what of her … Maria?”

“She is besotted by him, I hear. She was from the time they met. In a way they suit each other.”

“I was surprised when I heard she was married. For some time I thought it was to you.”

He stared at me incredulously.

“Well, I was told by a prospective Member of Parliament who had been here sounding out the population. He said she had married ‘the chap from the Manor.’ Naturally I thought of you.”

“Unaturally,” he said. “What were you thinking of, Annora?”

“I, er … just thought you might have found her attractive … and I always knew you had a special feeling for Cador.”

He looked at me in such puzzlement that I wanted to tell him that I loved him. I wanted to tell him about my doubts and misgivings which had started on that Midsummer’s Eve. I wanted to say: Let’s forget it forever. It doesn’t matter. Whatever happened then I would put aside, because I knew my only chance of being happy again was with him.

He was looking into the past too, I believed. Was he remembering that morning when I had ridden over to the Manor with a note for him? I could see now what a terrible hurt I had inflicted on him. I wondered whether he could ever forget or forgive it.

It was not for me to say, I am ready to take you, Rolf. It was for him to decide whether he wanted me after what I had done to him.

“Cador, yes,” he was saying. “It always seemed to me the most wonderful place on Earth. When, as a boy, I rode over with my father, I always gasped at the first glimpse of those towers. I used to wish that I had been born there. I certainly wished it could be mine. But not in that way. Good Heavens, Annora, what an idea!”

“Are you still interested in antiquities?”

“Yes, as enthusiastic as ever. Old customs and that sort of thing. But I couldn’t have married that woman for all the castles and stately homes in England.”

We laughed and I said: “Would you like some tea? Some coffee?”

“Some coffee, please.”

“I shall have to make it myself. But don’t worry. I know how. I did quite a lot of cooking in the Mission which is run by Peterkin and his wife.”

“Oh yes. I’ve read about that place in the papers. Your uncle has given a great deal of support to it.” He looked at me searchingly. “Such a lot of things happened in a short space of time. I feel I’ve been living in a backwater while you’ve been out in the world.”

He watched me while I made the coffee.

I said: “Most of what happened was not very pleasant, Rolf.”

He nodded.

“All that scandal with my uncle and the Cresswells. But it seemed nothing compared with what happened after.”

There was silence while I set out the cups on the tray.

“You have become domesticated,” he said with a smile.

He carried the tray into the sitting room and I poured out the coffee.

“I learned from the newspapers about what was happening to you. It seemed strange that it should be that way after … Well, we had been pretty close, hadn’t we?”

“Always … until …”

“Things change.”

“Rolf, I’m very sorry for what I did to you.”

“You did the right thing.”

I was aghast.

“Yes,” he said. “It would have been wrong for you. It was better to make the break while there was time, even if it was at the last moment … rather than go and make a mistake.”

“But …”

“Don’t worry about it, Annora.”

“Have you … forgiven me?”

“My dear Annora, there is nothing to forgive really. It seemed right for us then, didn’t it? It seemed natural. I think we were carried away by childhood memories. And that, of course, is not a good reason. It wasn’t the past we had to think about but the future. It’s over now. Let’s forget it.”

Those words were like a tolling bell telling me of the love which was dead.

“After all,” he went on, “we’re still good friends … the best of friends.”

How often had those words been spoken, I wondered, to end a broken love affair. “We’re good friends … the best of friends.”

Friends are good to have, but when one has been hoping for more, how sad those words are!

“What about those Cresswells?” he asked. “There was a big scandal about Joseph, wasn’t there? It ruined his career.”

“Yes. And then of course there was my uncle.”

“That shady business of his. He seems to have shrugged all that aside.”

“He would. He knows how to make life go the way he wants it to, and when he comes to obstacles he just treats them as though they are not there. He’s very interested in Helena’s husband and is giving him his support.”

“Oh, yes, Matthew Hume. That was a good book he wrote.”

“He was collecting the material when he was with us in Australia. Matthew and Helena are very happy now. They have another child.”

“You were very fond of the first one.”

“Jonnie is adorable. He did a great deal for me when I was so desolate.”

He nodded. “There seems to be quite a friendship between your family and these Cresswells.”

“Well, Peterkin married Frances. She is the one who opened the Mission, and of course my Uncle Peter gave a lot of money to that.”

“And there was the son.”

“Joe Cresswell, yes.”

“I gather he is a great friend of yours.”

“Yes. He gave up his ambitions to become a Member of Parliament at the time of the scandal. I told him he was wrong to give up. He ought to have been like Uncle Peter. Just shrug it off. After all, it was not his affair. It was his father who was involved. I don’t see why it should affect him.”

“The sins of the fathers …”

“Very unfair. However, I’m trying to persuade Joe to make an effort to get into Parliament. I don’t think he will be happy until he does.”

“You found parliamentary circles interesting?”

“Oh yes, very. I helped Helena and Matthew during the election.”

“It must have been fascinating.”

“It was really … an entirely new way of life.”

“Yes, of course.” He looked at his watch. “You make a very good cup of coffee. I must be going. It has been so pleasant to see you, Annora. I hope you are not going to run away too soon. You must come over to the Manor. I have some curios to show you … some instruments we have dug up. Bronze Age, I guess. Someone from the Museum is coming to see them.”

“I’d love to look at them, Rolf. And I’d love to see you again.” He took my hands and held them for a long time.

A few weeks passed. Mr. Tamblin asked me if I was ready to put the cottage up for sale. I said: “Not yet. I should like to stay here in peace for a little while.”

“Sales take a long time to go through,” he pointed out.

“I know. But just at the moment I don’t want to think about selling.”

I saw Rolf now and then. Knowing how fond I was of riding, he told me to use his stables when I wanted to. I took advantage of the offer and often when I was riding, I met him, and we rode as we used to, galloping our horses along the shore. I looked up and saw the towers of Cador and remembered how I used to stand there, looking out through the battlements at the sea. I was overcome with sadness. There were too many memories here. Sometimes I thought I ought to go back. Rolf was fond of me, but it seemed that he had given up all thought of our marrying. I had deceived myself into thinking that we might come together again. Why is it that one thinks if one repents, everything can go on as before? Of course he would never trust me again. If we decided to marry how did he know that I should not reject him again?

He invited me to dine at the Manor. Expectantly I went. But there were other guests and although he was the perfect host, it was just a pleasant evening.

He called at the cottage and I gave him coffee. Usually Kitty made it. She delighted in playing the maid and looking after me. I had rarely seen such a change in a girl. She loved the country; she had her friend Mabel; she was a welcome visitor to the Cador kitchen; her life had changed miraculously. I made up my mind that whatever happened I must keep her with me.

I looked forward to the morning rides. I always hoped that I would meet Rolf. I invariably did, and the thought came to me that he looked for me as I did for him.

We talked a great deal about the old days, and I noticed how often the Cresswells came into the conversation. He was also very interested in Jonnie.

I talked very enthusiastically about the child and about the Cresswells. The weeks I had spent at the Mission, I told him, had done a great deal for me.

I tried to make him realize what a wonderful woman Frances was—so strong, so determined, and so unsentimental for all her desire to do good.

“Like her brother Joe?” asked Rolf.

“Not in the least. Frances is herself and no one is quite like her. She changed Peterkin completely. I used to think he would never do anything, and when we met her and went to the Mission, he found a purpose in life and he fell in love with her.”

“Well, she is one of the Cresswells.”

“She reminds me of Uncle Peter in a way. She kept her head up when all that was going on. She didn’t let it affect her work.”

“And now your uncle is climbing out of the slime of scandal with the help of the Cresswell Mission.”

“They are such a charming family. I spent a week-end there once … long ago, it seems, before all that happened. Mr. and Mrs. Cresswell are so delightful. It was good to be in the heart of such a family.”

“Which contained Frances and Joe.”

“Yes and all the others. Oh, I do wish Joe would try to get back.”

“I’ve no doubt you will persuade him.”

We had come to a field and he broke into a gallop.

They were happy mornings. I did not want to give this up, for always in my heart was the hope that something would happen … some little word, some little action, and I would be confessing how I felt and he would tell me that he had never changed.

Then the rumors started.

Kitty had been out with Mabel and she told me that one of the boys from the stables had been in the woods when he had seen a fire.

“It was where the old witch’s cottage used to be,” said Kitty. “It wasn’t an ordinary fire. There was something funny about it.”

“Funny?” I asked. “How can a fire be funny?”

“Ghostly. Like it wasn’t there … and yet it was.”

“Do you mean it kept disappearing?”

“I don’t know, but young James was so scared he just ran, and he didn’t stop running until he was back in the stables. He said it was like having the Devil at his heels.”

I told her that there had always been a certain feeling about that particular part of the woods since one Midsummer’s Eve when a mob had set fire to the cottage.

“I expect it was just a tramp making a fire,” I said. “What else could it have been?”

“Mrs. Penlock thought it might be Mother Ginny come back to haunt the place. Mr. Isaacs even said he wouldn’t go near it for a gold watch … not even for a farm.”

I did not take much notice. But the rumours intensified. Someone saw a figure there. It just appeared among the trees. It wasn’t possible to see who it was but it looked like an old woman.

Few people went to the woods and certainly no one did after dark. There was a certain tension everywhere. It reminded me of those days just after that Midsummer’s Eve. People looked a little furtive and I wondered how many of them were remembering that night.

I went down to the quay one morning with Kitty to buy some fish. Jack Gort was there with his creels and his tubs.

I said: “Hello, Jack. Had a good catch?”

“So-so, Miss Cadorson,” he answered. “Could have been better. Wind’s a bit strong. Couldn’t stay out as long as I’d have liked to. I dunno. These winds do blow up sudden, like something’s behind it all.”

“Oh?” I said.

“Well … all this going on in the woods. Fires and figures like … It don’t be healthy if you’m asking me.”

“You don’t believe Mother Ginny’s come back to haunt all those people who sent her to her death?”

“Oh, ’twas her own doing. Her should know that. But they say as some don’t rest and I reckon she be one of them.”

“Poor Mother Ginny! It was a terrible thing that happened to her, and those who had a hand in it might be conscience-stricken.”

“Oh, ’twas her own doing,” he insisted. “Her ran right into the fire.”

“You were there, Jack …?”

“Aye.”

“With half the people in this place.”

He nodded. “You be right there, Miss Cadorson.”

I thought: They should feel uneasy. Let them remember. That way it may never happen again.

I went back with Kitty.

Mrs. Penlock called to see me.

“Oh, ’tis nice to see ’ee settled in,” she said. “I reckon you won’t want to be leaving.”

“I’m quite comfortable here.”

“But for all that, ’tis not the place for you. Up at the big house, that’s where you belong to be.”

“That’s all over, Mrs. Penlock.”

“’Tis a strange life. A bit topsy-turvy it do seem. But you’ve got that nice girl Kitty to do for you … couldn’t be a nicer girl. She and Mabel get along like a house on fire. She’s got such tales. I reckon that London be a terrible place, and wasn’t it wonderful the way she went to that Mrs. Frances? I reckon she’s a bit of a saint, that one. Could do with more like her in the world. Kitty just about idolizes her. It’s Mrs. Frances this and Mrs. Frances that … and she’s got a good word to say for you, too. Then she talks about that nice brother … a fine, upstanding fellow … just the sort of brother she’d expect Mrs. Frances to have.”

“I can see she is keeping you well-informed.”

“I like to hear about what’s going on up there. And I’d like to see you nice and happy. I always had a soft spot for you … even more than your brother and I’ll say it even though he’s gone. I can see you now, sitting on that high stool at the table watching me kneading the dough … and every now and then when you thought I wasn’t looking that little hand would shoot out and take a raisin or a nut. I saw you. ‘I’ve got eyes in the back of me head,’ I used to tell you; and you said, bright as a button, ‘Your hair’s covering them so you can’t see out of them.’ Sharp little thing you was. You were the favourite in the kitchen, I can tell you now, and there was a few tears shed when you was pushed out and Madam came to take your place. Nothing will make me believe she has a right and that goes for Mr. Isaacs and the rest of us.”

“You’ve all made me feel so welcome back here,” I said.

“Welcome! Why shouldn’t ’ee be in your own cottage … and what should be your home, too. And would be if I had any say in it. We like to see you about and we like your Kitty, but I suppose you’ve got to think of the future and what we all want at Cador … from our side of the house, that is … is your happiness. We was all upset when you turned down Mr. Rolf. But you know what’s best, I reckon. We’d like to see you married to someone nice … and with babies … even if we do have to read about them in the newspapers.”

“Why should you read about them in the papers?”

“Well … Parliament and all that, you know. If you was to marry one of them … they put it in the papers when there’s a baby.”

I realized that Kitty had talked a great deal. She was devoted to Frances and that meant Frances’s brother; and I expected she had already decided that I was going to marry Joe and was glorifying my relationship with him to such an extent that the Cador staff had decided he was the man for me.

It was no use trying to stop gossip. It had always been and always would be.

I found myself becoming obsessed by that presence in the woods. Very few people went there nowadays and when they did it was usually in twos and threes. They saw nothing. It was only if you were caught alone, they said.

I was overcome by a desire to discover.

I went there one morning. I sat by the river where Digory and I used to throw stones into the water, straining my ears for the sound of a footstep, the crackle of bracken which would tell me that someone was close.

There was nothing but the sounds of the woods, the faint breeze ruffling the leaves on the trees, the gentle murmur of the water.

After a while I rose and went to the clearing. There was the burned-out cottage and beyond it the broken-down shed and the overgrown garden where Mother Ginny used to grow her magical herbs.

And as I stood there thinking of that terrible night, the half-broken door of the old shed creaked and started to open. I felt a shiver of alarm. They were right. There was a presence here. What I expected, I was not sure. The ghost of Mother Ginny as I had last seen her, mud-bespattered, her grey hair wet from the river …?

A man stood there.

I gasped and we stared at each other. Then it struck me that there was something vaguely familiar about him. He seemed to feel the same about me. Then a wild idea came to me. I said: “You … you are Digory.”

“I know you now you speak,” he said. “Miss Cadorson.”

“Digory! So you have come back.”

“I served me term,” he said. “I always intended to come back. There’s something I have to do.”

“How are you living?”

“Here.”

“In that old shed?”

“I’m used to roughing it.”

“But what do you live on?”

“There’s fish … hares … rabbits … I’ve got these woods to myself.”

“I’ve thought a lot about you, Digory. I’ve wondered where you were. We were in Australia …”

He nodded. “It was in the papers. Everyone was talking. I’m sorry for you, Miss Cadorson.”

“Thank you, Digory. I can’t let you stay here like this.”

“I be all right.”

“What is it you’ve got to do?”

“I’ve got to make it up to me granny.”

“Make it up to her?”

“Him that killed her,” he said.

“It wasn’t one. It was the mob.”

“It was one who egged ’em on like. They’d have sport with her per’aps. But her could take that. She wasn’t afraid of ’em. It was him. I saw him clear. I’m going to kill him or make it so’s he won’t be as ’andsome as he was.”

“This is madness, Digory. I’m going to take you back with me. I’m at Croft Cottage now. I’m not at Cador. It turned out it didn’t belong to me after all. It’s a long story. Perhaps you’ve heard.”

“I ain’t heard nothing,” he said. “They’m all frightened of me. Makes me laugh it does. Anyone comes through these woods and I only have to make a little noise and they run for their lives. I’m frightening them, you see, like they frightened me granny … and me too. All this time it’s been with me. I used to say to myself, I’ll go back and frighten ’em all … all them that was there that night and none of them doing a hand’s turn to save her. But him … I’m going to get him because he was the one. He had a covering-up … a grey thing he was wearing that come right over his head, so he thought you couldn’t see his face. But I did. I saw. It was when they was dragging her to the river. The hood moved and I saw him as clear as I see you now. And he said, ‘Come on. She bain’t fit to live.’ And I said to myself, ‘And you bain’t fit to live and one day I’ll get you.’”

I was trembling. I was not the only one whose life had been dominated by that terrifying night.

I saw murder in Digory’s face and I thought, He plans to kill Rolf. He had never forgotten … never forgiven.

I said: “Listen to me, Digory. If you carry out this plan you know what it will mean. The hangman’s noose at worst. At the best sent back for the rest of your life.”

“I be past caring.”

“It’s murder.”

“It’s what they call justice and since the law won’t do it someone must.”

“Don’t act rashly.”

“I’ve planned this for years.”

“Listen to me. You must be half starved.”

“No. I have money. I bought things on my way here. I’ve got a little store. I’ve got tea and flour. I make a fire. I make dampers. Then I catch fish and rabbits, as I said. I know how to live in the outdoors. I can look after meself. I’ve planned this … for years. When I’ve done it, I’m going back. I worked me way over on a ship and I’ll work me way back. No one will know I’ve been here but …” He looked at me fearfully. “I shouldn’t be talking to you. You’ve made me tell you …”

“There was always a special friendship between us, Digory. You remember that night. My brother and I looked after you, and my father did too. He gave you work.

Everything would have been all right if you hadn’t stolen the pheasant.”

“That wasn’t ordinary stealing. ’Tweren’t meant to be.”

“It was stealing whichever way you look at it. I am not going to leave you here. I am going to take you back to my cottage. There’s a shed in my garden. You can sleep there. Remember how you used to sleep in the Dogs’ Home? I have a maid … just one … Kitty. She’ll know and no one else will, I promise you.”

“You’re spoiling my plans.”

He put his hands in his pocket and drew out a gun.

“Digory! Put that away. Do you want to be caught with that in your possession? Do you want to be sent back to Australia?”

He looked at me through narrowed eyes. “You’re spoiling my plans,” he repeated. “I don’t want nobody to know I’m here. I could do what I’ve got to do and be away. Nobody would know I’d been here … ’cept you.”

“I see. So you think you can shoot me, bury my body and nothing will be said?”

“You was always a bold one. I don’t think I could shoot you. You was good to me, you was … you and your brother … so was your father. But if you tell I’m here, it will spoil everything. And what am I doing, telling you what I plan?”

“You are telling me because you are not sure that your plan will work. In fact you know it is very risky. Moreover I’m an old friend. I saved you once … and I’ll save you again.”

“She was me granny,” he said. “I hadn’t got no one else.”

“You stole, Digory. You were a thief. The first time I noticed you you were stealing fish on the quay.”

“I wouldn’t have gone on being a thief. I didn’t mean to steal. The first time was the meat for your Devil Spot.” He looked at me sharply. “You’ve still got it.”

I nodded.

“And the second time was the pheasant. It was because of him. I wanted to take something from him because of what he had done to me granny.”

“It was a foolish thing to do.”

“I didn’t know then what I wanted. I’m not a boy any more. I’m a man and life ’as been cruel to me. But there’s one or two who ’as been kind and you be one of them.”

“Then trust me again. Come to the shed. I promise I won’t say anything to anyone about this without telling you first. That place must be draughty at night. My shed has a proper roof. You’ll be comfortable there. I’ll give you some blankets and hot food. And, Digory, I want to talk to you. You must give up this plan. It can only lead to disaster for you.”

“And for him. That’s what matters. For me … I don’t care. But I won’t get caught. I’ve had all those years to plan and I’ve worked it all out. I’m not a silly boy any more, you know. This is what I’ve planned for. I’m going to that Manor and I’m going there to wait for him. I’ve been there at night but he doesn’t come out. I’ve seen Bob Carter there. I don’t yet know what he be doing there. But I’ll get him one night, that I will, and then I’ll rest for I will ’ave avenged me granny.”

“Digory,” I said, “do you remember how we used to sit on the bank and throw stones into the river?”

“Yes.”

“I used to talk to you a lot. You never listened.”

“Oh yes I did. I remember the day you showed me your house. It was something I shall never forget … all them wonderful things. I used to think a lot about them when I was away. I thought I’d like to go back there. I’d like to work there like I did before.”

“Oh, Digory, if only you hadn’t gone to the Manor woods that night. If only you had lived honestly.”

“He killed me granny,” he said. “I knew him … and when he caught me with the pheasant, I said to him ‘You killed me granny,’ I said. ‘You was wearing a grey thing hiding your face, but it didn’t hide it from me and I saw you, Luke Tregern, and I don’t forget.’”

“Luke Tregern!”

“’Twas he. He couldn’t fool me. There he was urging them on. ‘Finish her off,’ he said. ‘Her sort shouldn’t be allowed to live.’ No more should his sort.”

The realization hit me so forcibly that I could not listen to what Digory was saying.

So it was Luke Tregern who had been there that night.

Everything was becoming clear. He had been in the house often. He would have seen the robe. Rolf might have shown it to him. He was always showing people things he had discovered and he had had a respect for Luke Tregern’s intelligence.

I heard myself say: “So it is Luke Tregern you have come back to kill … to take your revenge … I thought it was someone else.”

“Who else?” he said. I did not answer and he went on: “I took the pheasant because it was his in a manner of speaking. He treated them birds like his own precious pets. So I took one. I was going to make a brew that would be a spell, so that everything would go against him. But he caught me. I said to him, ‘Luke Tregern, you killed me granny!’ He said, ‘Stop that talk or it will be the worse for you. If you as much as mention the old witch I’ll see you hanged from a gibbet.’ And he gave evidence against me. He said I’d made a habit of stealing his pheasants and he’d lain in wait to catch me and he had, redhanded. And they listened to him and when I tried to speak they wouldn’t let me. So he got me sent away for seven years. And then I thought, I’ll come back, and I’ll make him pay for what he’s done to me granny … and to me.”

It was as though a great burden had been lifted from my mind. I had misjudged Rolf. It was true that he had, as he told me, been in Bodmin on that night. I wondered how I could have doubted him. The explanation was simple. Rolf was away. Luke Tregern had gone to the drawer and taken out the robe. After that night was over he simply put it back. I had no doubt that wearing the robe had appealed to his sense of the dramatic. Perhaps he had wanted to appear anonymous. He had been deeply conscious of his position as agent and manager of a big estate and felt it undignified to mingle with the fishing and mining community as one of them.

But there was one thought which was singing in my mind. All these years I had misjudged Rolf. My nature was suspicious and distrustful and I deserved so much of what had happened to me.

My immediate concern was Digory.

I had to stop his carrying out this plan for I could see that it would only bring him further trouble.

“Digory, you are coming with me. I have to talk to you. There is so much to say. Promise me you’ll take no action until you have talked to me.”

“I can’t promise that. Suppose I was to come on him … and we was alone?”

“It isn’t the way. Do you think I don’t understand how you feel? A great deal has happened here since you’ve been away. I told you I was no longer at Cador. I want to talk to you. But first I want you to promise me that you will come after dark to Croft Cottage. I shall tell no one except my maid. She will have to know because she is there. But I will impress on her that she must be discreet and I know she will do as I say. Please listen to me. Remember we saved your life once. What would the mob have done to you if we hadn’t hidden you?”

“They would have killed me most likely … like they did my granny.”

I nodded. “Then trust me, Digory. Let me talk to you. Let us reason this out in comfort. You need care. You need food. You may have been able to live here in the woods for a while but …”

“It won’t be for long. I’ll get him soon.”

“Promise me you’ll come tonight. You’ll have the shed. We’ll keep you there. It’s better than here. Digory, listen to me. My brother and I saved you before. Remember that.”

“I do believe you,” he said, “but I won’t come. I won’t have anyone else know I’m here. That maid ’ud have to know. I don’t trust nobody ’cept you. I’ll find him and when I can get him, I’ll take him. Then I’ll go. But I won’t come to you.”

“You mean you’ll stay here in the woods? Someone might see you. Some say they have.”

“They’ve seen ghosts. That’s good. It keeps them away. I’m safe here. I wouldn’t feel safe anywhere else. This is where I was … where she was. I feel she’s here sometimes … looking after me.”

“Can I bring you anything? Are you warm enough at night? I’ll bring some food.”

“No, don’t. People might see. I couldn’t have anyone knowing.”

“I’ll help you all I can, but I’m going to try to stop you. I’m going to make you see that you’re playing a dangerous game. If you harm him and you’re caught that will be the end for you.”

“I wouldn’t care as long as I got him.”

“I have to go now,” I said. “I don’t want Kitty wondering where I am. People are getting uneasy about what is going on in the woods. Fires have been seen. They know someone is here.”

“Ghosts,” he said again.

“That’s what some think. Others might not. I came to see for myself, remember.”

“I’ll take care. And you’ll tell no one.”

“No. I’ll tell no one.”

“You’ve done a lot for me.”

I looked at him sadly and I thought: You have done a lot for me.

I went back to the cottage thinking of my own folly for doubting Rolf.

I wanted to go to him and tell him that that which I had been unable to get out of my mind for years had now been made clear to me. I wanted to try to make him understand about that night before the day when we were to have been married and how I had imagined the grey robe was my wedding dress. But I should have to tell him how it had been made clear to me and I had promised Digory that on no account would I tell anyone that he was here.

But I must stop him in his mad design. If he attempted to kill Luke Tregern, the result would no doubt be death for him.

I could imagine how he had cherished thoughts of revenge during those years of servitude. I knew from Matthew’s book that they would have been grim, that he would often have been filled with despair. And perhaps what had kept him able to endure his lot was the thought of revenge.

I had to be careful.

I had to save Digory.

I smuggled food out to the woods. It was not easy, as it had been at Cador where there was so much in the larder that a little might not be missed.

“I can’t see the remains of the chicken,” said Kitty, puzzled.

I thought I should have to be careful. I took a blanket down with the chicken and some bread.

He was glad of them.

“I might have to tell Kitty,” I said, “because she is going to miss the food.”

“I won’t have anyone told,” he retorted. “Don’t bring food. I’ll manage.”

“Digory, have you thought any more about what I’ve said?”

“What?” he asked.

“That if you … harmed him … you would suffer just as much.”

“I wouldn’t be caught.”

Two days passed. I had not seen Rolf. I did not go to the stables because if I did I should surely see him and I should find it difficult not to tell him that Digory was in the woods. I longed to tell him that I knew the truth about that night now. But how could I explain without betraying Digory?

I was constantly worried about him. I had seen the purpose in his face and I knew that he was plunging to certain disaster.

I bought some cheese in the town.

“I’ll tell Kitty you’ve taken the Cheddar,” said Mrs. Glenn who ran the shop.

“Oh, that’s all right. I’ll tell her.”

And I thought how difficult it was to do anything in such a place without being detected.

What would Kitty say if she knew I had bought cheese?

I cut a piece off and put it in the larder, so that I should be prepared.

“Cheddar!” she would say. “Why did you buy that? I thought it wasn’t one of your favourites.”

But when Kitty came in she was so full of the news that she did not notice the cheese.

“What do you think? Luke Tregern has disappeared.”

I felt sick. I stammered: “Disappeared?”

“Yes. He left the house yesterday afternoon and he didn’t come back.”

“What do they think has happened to him?”

“That’s what they don’t know. Mrs. Tregern’s in a rare state, they say. They say she’s well nigh crazy. Annie, the maid there, says she thinks there was a big row.”

“And that … he’s left her?”

Kitty nodded. “You see, they both went out riding together yesterday afternoon … and when they come back she heard them shouting. She said … and Annie heard this with her own ears … ‘What are we going to do?’ just as though she was desperate like. Then after a while he went out … and he didn’t come back.”

Oh, God help him I thought. He’s done it. And I thought I was making him see the folly of it and what it would do to him.

“Do they think he has left her?”

“What else? There was all this trouble when they come in. They say she was white as a sheet … half out of her wits. I reckon he’s gone off. Of course they said he married her for Cador … he being only the manager of the Manor then. Well, I don’t know. You do see life in the country, after all.”

“So the general feeling is that he has left her?”

“Where’d he go, that’s what I wonder. They say he hasn’t taken anything with him. Just the clothes he’s standing up in. He just walked out … just like that … and he didn’t come back.”

I wanted to be alone. I went into my bedroom and shut the door. Where was Digory now? He wouldn’t be in the woods surely. He would have gone by how. He wouldn’t hang about. He wouldn’t want to be caught. There would be a search for Luke Tregern. They would not suspect murder at first. They would think he had just walked out of the house, left his wife.

Apparently they had quarrelled now and then, and yesterday there had been this big upset. They had been out together riding and when they had come back she had looked white as a sheet and half crazed; he was clearly disturbed. They had quarrelled and he had walked out. I was going over it as Kitty had told it.

Yes, I thought, he walked out to the woods where Digory was waiting and there he met his death.

I could not rest. I had to go to the woods.

To my amazement Digory was there.

I said: “You’ve done it then, Digory. You didn’t listen to me.”

He looked bewildered and just stared at me.

“I know,” I said. “The whole town knows he has disappeared. Where is he, Digory? What have you done with his body?”

He continued to stare at me. Then he said: “I can’t believe it … There she was, on her horse. He was with her … I couldn’t understand. I didn’t expect to see her … She knew me. She just stared at me. She was so white I thought she was going to fall off her horse. And he was there with her … Him … If I’d had me gun I could have killed him.”

“If you had your gun …” I stammered.

“Then she said my name. She said to me, ‘It’s you … ’ I could see she thought she was dreaming. The last thing she thought was to see me here. She hadn’t seen me for two years. I left when my term was done. I heard someone had been looking for me … and I was sorry. I wanted to know who it was. It was a mate of mine who told me. I run across him in Sydney and he said someone had asked him where I was. He’d told him I was at Stillman’s. He didn’t know I’d gone, he was trying to find me, see how I was. A real gentleman who was going to offer me something back in England. He couldn’t remember the name. Sir Something Somebody he said.”

I said: “Digory. It was my father.”

“It don’t matter now … It’s them … But this fellow gave my address to your father or what he thought was my address. But it wasn’t, see, ’cos I’d left there two years before.”

I was thinking of the entry in the notebook. “Was this address Stillman’s Creek?”

“That’s it. That’s where she was. There was three of us sent there. There was Tom James who gave your father this address and Bill Aske … He was educated. He’d been in a lawyer’s office. Forging, that was what he was picked up for. The three of us landed up at Stillman’s.”

“Tell me all about it please, Digory.”

“She was there. She worked for her father. She was mad about England. She used to make me talk to her … all about it. About the green fields and the rain and the houses, too. She wanted to know all about the big houses … so I used to tell her. I could stop work and talk to her. Talking was easy. Over and over again she’d make me tell her … so I told her all about what you’d showed me in the big house.”

“She was Maria Stillman,” I said.

“That’s her.”

“And did you know her mother?”

“’Course. She was old Stillman’s missus. Stillman came out to settle and Mrs. Stillman came out on one of the ships … a convict. She went to Stillman’s to work and he married her. She was an old tartar she was.”

“Maria Stillman is living at Cador now, Digory,” I said, “because she says she was my father’s daughter and that he wasn’t really married to my mother.”

“She was old Stillman’s daughter. She took after her mother, she did. She got Aske to forge her father’s signature. Something about money. She used to say one day she was going to England. She was going to live in a grand house like Cador.”

I felt dazed. It was much a tangled web of lies and deceit and who would have thought that Digory would be linked to it and should be the one to bring me the truth?

“I’m sorry, Digory,” I said. “I can’t think clearly. This is such a revelation. Oh, Digory, why did you have to do it? Why couldn’t you have seen it was no good? We would have looked after you … given you a start.”

I heard the sound of horse’s hoofs.

I said: “Someone is coming. Perhaps they’re looking for you. You’d better hide.”

I tried to pull him towards the shelter of the shed, but I was too late.

Maria was there. Deliberately she slipped off her horse and tied it to a bush. We stared at each other.

She said: “They’re both here. What luck. It makes it easier.”

She seemed as though she were talking to herself.

“You’ve told her then,” she said to Digory.

“Yes, he has told me,” I answered. “I always knew it was false but now I know the truth and how you were able to do what you did.”

“You’re the only one who knows … well, the two of you … and that’s how it’s going to stay.”

Calmly she brought out a small pistol.

“What are you doing?” I cried. “Do you think you’ll get away with this?”

“Yes,” she said, “I do.” And quietly: “I have to.”

I saw that her hand was shaking. She was a very frightened woman, and that knowledge gave me courage. She does not want to kill, I thought. She is a cheat, a liar, fraud, but she does not want to commit murder.

I said: “They will catch you. They will hang you for murder, hang you on a gibbet.”

I saw her lips twitch. “They won’t catch me.”

“Of course they will.”

“No …” She shook her head. “There’s been a prowler in the woods. Everyone’s talking. They’ll think … And I’ve got to.” It was as though she were speaking to herself. “I can’t lose Luke. I can’t lose Cador …”

She had lifted her hand. Digory moved clumsily towards me as the shot rang out. I felt something touch my shoulder and then there was another shot. The grass was rushing up to meet me and Digory was lying on top of me. I saw flashing lights; something was happening to my shoulder … and then there was darkness.

When I regained consciousness I was in an unfamiliar bed. There were people in the room. I could vaguely hear their voices; they moved about me like shadows. Then I slipped once more into darkness.

This was my condition for several days, although I was unaware of the passing of time.

Then I awoke one morning to acute discomfort. I was swathed in bandages and aware of nothing but pain.

A woman came to my bedside. I did not know her.

She touched my forehead. “Go to sleep,” she said.

I shut my eyes obediently. It was what I wanted to do.

They gave me something to drink and I was very, very drowsy.

When I awoke someone was sitting by my bed. A voice: “Annora … dearest Annora.”

“Hello, Rolf,” I said. I felt I was beginning to come back to life.

I was in the Manor. They had brought me there. I had been there for two weeks and I knew now that I had been close to death.

I could not quite remember what had happened. There were times when I thought it was something to do with Midsummer’s Eve. And when I thought of it afterwards, I supposed it was.

I heard the story gradually.

One of the maids had found us in the woods. Greatly daring she had come to the clearing, and she had seen us lying there. She had run screaming and hysterical back to Cador. Isaacs and Mrs. Penlock had thought she was being fanciful, she was so hysterical. But when she said she thought it was Miss Cadorson and there was a man there and a lot of blood, Isaacs came with several of the men.

They were deeply shocked to find us.

Bob Carter was there and he took the news to Rolf, who immediately came hurrying to the woods.

He told me about it afterwards.

“You were lying there, so still, so white, with your blouse scarlet with blood. And he was there … half covering you. The bullet had gone into his back. It got his lung. The doctor said that from his position he would have saved your life.”

I could scarcely bear it. I had meant to do so much for him. Poor Digory, who had never had a chance, and who in the end had given his life to save mine.

Rolf said I should be taken to the Manor and he would get nurses to look after me. He wanted me under his roof. The doctor thought it a good idea, for Croft Cottage was small and lacked certain amenities.

So I was taken there and Rolf told me that he sat beside my bedside every day willing me to live.

It seemed that the first bullet had hit me just below the shoulder and the second had not touched me because Digory had been there to shield me.

I said: “I am remembering. He moved towards me just as she fired.”

“He saved your life. I wish I could show him what I feel about that,” said Rolf. “I wish I had a chance to repay him … not that one ever could, but I could have tried.”

I said I wanted to know what happened.

Rolf said: “The doctors forbid all that sort of talk.”

“But I must know.”

“You will. All you have to do now is rest. But you are out of danger. You are with those who love you.”

“Those who love me …?”

“Your family is here, Annora. Your uncle and aunt, Helena, Matthew, Jonathan and Tamarisk. Claudine and David … all of them.”

“I know then that they were expecting me to die,” I said.

“Don’t speak of it. I could not have borne it.”

“Do you mean that, Rolf?”

“You know, don’t you?”

“You speak as though you care for me.”

“Of course I care for you. I always have. You always knew it.”

“I didn’t. I thought you did not care for me any more. It was not for myself …”

“It was you, remember, who rejected me.”

“Foolish creature that I was. Rolf, kiss me … please.”

He did gently, and very tenderly.

I said: “I have been lying here and yet not here. I was floating off far away from the world … and unhappiness. I seemed to have left all that behind.”

“Don’t … please.”

“Not now you’re here, Rolf. And you look at me as though you love me and you talk to me as though you love me. If that is true I want to get well. I want to be here … with you.”

I was getting better though I was very weak and still suffering from pains in my shoulder. The wound had yet to heal and that, they told me, would take time.

Gradually I learned what had happened.

I could not help feeling sorry for Maria in spite of everything. I kept thinking of the blank despair in her face when she had fired that shot. I could picture her dreaming her dreams. Digory had made me see that home where she had lived and dreamed of England. Her father was a settler, her mother an ex-convict. I daresay they had both yearned for home at some time and had conveyed that yearning to Maria although she had never seen—at that time—the place they called Home. Cador became a sort of Mecca to her. She made Digory talk of it over and over again. And then when the drowning incident occurred she saw her chance. She had the forger who could provide her with a marriage certificate; and she had come to England full of daring, with him as her solicitor, seeing it all as simple.

Then when Digory had come back and recognized her she was caught. She must have thought the chances of his coming back were very slim. If she had considered that seriously for a moment she would have realized what a dangerous position she could be in.

Luke Tregern had married her. He was the calculating villain. He had seen his great chance; he would get his hands on Cador. But he was less simple than Maria. He saw all sorts of pitfalls. He did not believe that my family would let the matter rest. He guessed that my Uncle Peter—that man of great ability and manipulator of his fellow men—would take some action—and how right he was in that. It must have occurred to him that although Maria was in possession at the time, she might not remain so. So he had decided to syphon off money and invest it abroad. He had mortgaged the property as far as he could and had banked the money in Australia under a false name and he intended to escape there when it was necessary.

That scene in the woods when he and Maria had come face to face with Digory, told him that the moment had come, more quickly than he had thought it would. He had been preparing himself for some time for sudden departure. So he was ready. As soon as he knew that Digory was in the neighbourhood and had seen Maria he prepared for flight.

He was picked up in Southampton where he was waiting for a ship to take him to Australia.

It was ironical that when he was brought up for trial he was sentenced to fourteen years’ transportation; and eventually departed for Australia in a very different manner from that which he had planned.

As for Maria, when she learned that I was still alive, before she could be brought to justice, she went down to the shore and walked into the sea.

That was the tragic end of her dreams.

I had visitors every day. Helena brought Jonnie, who looked at me with enquiring eyes and wanted to know why I was all tied up.

I told him I had had an accident and would soon be untied.

He regarded me solemnly and asked me to tell him a story. Rolf came in and found us together.

“This is your house,” announced Jonnie.

“Yes,” replied Rolf. “Do you like it?”

“Yes.”

“Would you like to live here?”

“With you?”

Rolf nodded.

“And Auntie Annora?”

“Ask her.”

He looked at me and said: “And Mama and Papa and Geoffrey … We could all come. Here I’d have a pony.”

Helena came in and took him from the bed. She regarded me with concern. “You mustn’t tire yourself,” she said anxiously.

Uncle Peter came.

He said: “I’ve had things checked.”

I looked at him enquiringly.

“This Maria,” he said. “You didn’t think I was going to let them get away with it, did you? If you had left it to me it wouldn’t have gone so far. Soon as I heard the verdict I sent a man out to Australia … a detective to scent out the truth. It took a bit of time but at last we traced it. She was living on her father’s property. He had had convict labour and one of these was Digory. That was how she came to know about the house. Her mother died a few years ago. This Stillman was Maria’s father. There was never any question of it. The whole thing was a fabrication. And it ought to have been seen as such right from the start. I always said you should have let me deal with it.”

“I know, Uncle Peter.”

“Well, there’ll be no haggling now. Cador will be back … where it belongs.”

“Thank you, Uncle,” I said.

“You get well … quickly.”

“I promise to do my best.”

Rolf sat by my bed.

He said: “You are well enough now to talk.”

“What about?” I asked.

“Us. I think we should try again, Annora. And this time, please don’t decide right at the last moment to stop the ceremony.”

“I won’t, Rolf. I’ll be there.”

“What a lot of time we’ve wasted. Where did it all go wrong?”

“On Midsummer’s Eve … years ago … when I saw that figure in the grey robe urging on that cruel mob to violence.”

“You thought that of me!”

“You had the robe. I couldn’t believe it. It bewildered me. It gave me a jaundiced view of the world. I think I stopped believing in anybody from then on.”

“But I told you. I was in Bodmin on that night.”

“I know you told me. I wanted to believe you, but I couldn’t forget. I know now that even if you had been there I should still love you. I shouldn’t have allowed my doubts to get in the way. I know now that it was Luke Tregern who was there that night in the robe. Digory saw him.”

“He must have taken it from my drawer. I remember showing it to him. He was interested in the old customs. I remember telling him how they went back to pre-historic days. I caught him once wearing a coat and hat of mine. I came in and found him preening before a mirror. I was amused. Tregern was the sort who set great store by bettering himself.”

“It wouldn’t go, Rolf … the memory of that night. It haunted me. On the night before the day when we were to be married I dreamed. I thought I was there and you were in the robe and when I woke up I saw my wedding dress hanging in the cupboard … The door had blown open and I thought for a moment that you were in the room, in the robe. It seemed significant … an uncanny warning. You see I was afraid I was never going to forget. Now that I know it was Luke Tregern I believe I can stop thinking of that Midsummer’s Eve. I don’t think I shall have any more nightmares about it.”

“I see that you had a poor opinion of me if you thought I was there urging on that mob. What else did you think of me?”

“That you wanted Cador.”

He looked at me steadily. “You thought I wanted to marry you because you owned Cador?”

“It was the way I was looking at everything. After that Midsummer’s Eve I ceased to trust anyone. Forgive me, Rolf.”

“I have not been without my doubts. Why do we doubt the one we love? Why do we look for flaws? Why do we distrust perfection? Annora … you and Joe Cresswell …”

“Yes?”

“I heard the talk. I believe it came through Kitty to the Cador kitchens and from theirs to mine … and that seeps through the house. They seemed to think you were going to marry Joe.”

“Oh no, no,” I said. “I liked Joe. I wanted to help him. He suffered so much when his father was in trouble. But I never loved him … not as I love you.”

“I guessed there was something between you. Annora, if you would care for Jonnie to come here … to be brought up here … I could be fond of him … treat him as my own son.”

“Jonnie, come here! His mother would never allow that. Helena dotes on him. He’s her beloved first-born.” I stared at him in astonishment. “Oh no. You couldn’t have thought …”

“Well,” he said. “You went to Australia. He was born there. You were friendly with Joe. There seemed to be some mystery about his birth.”

“You thought he was mine! And you were ready to marry me and have him here. Oh, Rolf, I do love you so much. Jonnie is Helena’s child. John Milward is his father. Matthew, who scarcely knew her then, nobly married her so that as she was to have a child she should have a husband.”

“What a web we wove with our imaginations!”

“You no less than I. I’m glad of that. It makes me feel less guilty. Helena is wonderfully happy. Isn’t it marvellous that all that contentment should have come about in a marriage which was so arranged?”

“How much better one should be when the two people concerned have been in love ever since they knew each other. That’s true, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it’s true.”

“There is one little point which needs clearing up. There is Cador. It will now come back into your possession. How will you know I am not marrying you for Cador?”

“I’ll take the risk,” I said. “And frankly, I can only rejoice that you may want it so much that you are ready to take me with it.”

“That’s a fair offer. Now I have something to tell you. Luke Tregern raised money with Cador as security. It’s mortgaged up to the hilt. Some of the money which Luke Tregern amassed will be retrieved no doubt. But not all. Cador will not be in the sound financial position which it was before all this happened. I’ll tell you something; I secured the greater part of the mortgages. So you could say that instead of your bringing Cador to me I am bringing it to you.”

I was astonished. I had been warned that a great deal of harm had been done to the estate during Maria’s possession. I knew that Bob Carter was going into the accounts with Rolf, but I had not realized to what extent it had suffered.

Rolf took my hands and said: “There is only one thing for you to do now and that is get well … just as quickly as you can.”

We were silent for some time.

Then he said: “Annora, there is nothing else, is there? No other misapprehension, no other misunderstanding?”

“No,” I said. “Nothing.”

“We’ll be married in Midsummer. That will exorcise the ghosts.”

“Then there will be another Midsummer’s Eve to remember,” I said.