Road to Paradise Island

ANN ALICE'S JOURNAL

May 30th 1790

On my sixteenth birthday, among the gifts which were presented to me was this journal. I had never before thought of keeping a journal and when the idea first came to me I dismissed it. I should never be persistent enough. I should write in it enthusiastically for a week or so and then I would forget all about it. That is no way to keep a journal. But why not? If I write in it only the important things that would be the best way. Whoever would want to remember that it had been a fine day yesterday or I had worn my blue or my lavender gown. Such trivialities were of no importance even when they occurred.

Well, I have promised myself that I will write in it when the mood takes me or when there is something so momentous that I feel I must put it down when it happened so that if I want to refer to it later I shall have it here ... exactly as it was, for I have noticed that events change in people's minds and when they look back they believe that what they might have wished to happen actually did. I want none of that. I shall strive for the truth.

Life here in the Manor goes on very much the same from one day to the next. Sometimes I think it always will. So what shall I write about? This morning I was with Miss Bray, my governess, as usual. She is gentle and pretty and in her early twenties and I have been very happy with her for the last six years. She is the daughter of a vicar and at first my father thought she was too young for the post, but I am glad he decided she might come in spite of that for ours has been a very happy relationship.

When I look at the date I am reminded that it is two years since my mother died. I don't want to write about that. It is too painful and everything changed then. I long for the days when I used to sit beside her and read to her. That used to be one of the happiest times of the day. Now she is dead I turn to Miss Bray for comfort. We read books together but it is not the same.

I wish I were not so much younger than my brother Charles. It makes me feel so much alone. I have heard the servants say I was "an afterthought," which is not a very significant thing to be. I do not think Papa is very interested in me. He does his duty by me, of course, which has always meant delegating the care of me to others.

I walk a little, I ride a little; I visit people in the village and take what are called "comforts" to them. And that is my life. So what sense is there in keeping a journal?

June 20th

How strange that I should have decided to write in this book. Something has happened at last. It is nearly a month since I wrote that first bit and I thought I never would write in this book again. And now this has happened and I believe there is some comfort in writing down what one feels when one is distraught.

It is my dearest Miss Bray. This morning she came to me looking prettier than ever. I should be happy, of course, for she undoubtedly is. It seems ironical that the same event should have such a diverse effect on two people who are so fond of each other.

She said to me as we were grappling with a rather turgid paragraph in the Sterne novel we were reading, "I have some news, Ann Alice. And I want you to be the first to know."

I was eager to stop and ready for a cosy chat.

"James has asked me to marry him."

James Eggerton, the vicar's son, was on one of his periodical visits to his father. He had a living of his own in a parish some fifty miles away and was therefore in a position to marry.

"But you will go away, Miss Bray!" I cried.

"I'm afraid so," she said, dimpling. "Never mind, you'll have another governess... much cleverer than I. You'll enjoy it."

"Of course I shan't." I felt my face set into apprehensive lines.

Miss Bray put her arms about me and cuddled me in that endearing way she has.

"I have thought for some time that he was going to ask me," she explained, "and when he didn't I thought I was mistaken. And all the time he was trying to pluck up courage."

"You'll go right away."

"I'll ask your father if you can come and stay."

"It won't be the same."

"When there is change, nothing is ever the same. Life would be rather dull if it went on in the same old way forever, wouldn't it?"

I said: "I want it to be dull. I don't want you to go."

"Oh come," said Miss Bray. "This is really a very happy event."

I looked into her face and saw how truly happy she was, and I thought how selfish it was of me not to rejoice with her.

July 4th

How the days fly! I have tried to be pleased for Miss Bray because she is undoubtedly happy and James Eggerton goes about looking as though life is a perpetual joke and he is living in some seventh heaven.

I saw my father on the stairs that morning. He patted my head in his rather awkward way and said: "We shall have to find another Miss Bray, shan't we?"

"Papa," I said, "I am sixteen. Perhaps ..."

He shook his head. "Oh no... you need a governess for another year at least. Well find someone as nice as Miss Bray. Never fear."

Miss Bray is busy getting her trousseau together. She is a little absent-minded. I fancy she does not always see me when I'm there because she is looking into a blissful future with the Reverend James Eggerton.

I feel a little lost and lonely. I walk a great deal on my own and I ride, but I am always supposed to take someone with me and one of the grooms can't take the place of Miss Bray.

August 1st

Miss Bray is leaving at the end of the month. She is going to her home in the Midlands and will be married from there. I am thinking about her less now because I am concerned for my own future. The new governess is arriving tomorrow. Papa called me into his study to tell me about her. He has met her. He went up to London to see her. I was a little resentful because I felt he should have taken me. After all, I am the one who will have to spend so much time with her. I do not hope for another Miss Bray but I do want someone like her.

"Miss Lois Gilmour will be arriving tomorrow," said Papa. "She will come before Miss Bray goes so that Miss Bray can initiate her into her duties. I am sure you will like Miss Gilmour. She seems to be a very efficient young woman."

I do not want an efficient young woman. I want Miss Bray or someone exactly like her; and I do not think Miss Bray could have ever been called efficient. She has always been a little absent-minded and is especially so now and her learning has been inclined to lean in one direction. Books, music and the like, which has always suited me. She is hopeless at mathematics.

Miss Gilmour sounds formidable.

I am full of apprehension.

August 2nd

Today was the great day. That is, the arrival of Miss Lois Gilmour.

I was watching from an upper window when she arrived. Miss

Bray was with me. From the carriage stepped a tall slim young woman, quietly but very elegantly dressed.

"She does not look much like a governess," I said, and then I wondered whether I had hurt Miss Bray who for all her prettiness was scarcely elegant, being a little on the plump side and what is called "a little woman.' 1 She is cuddly, sweet and feminine—but never elegant.

The summons came very soon. I was wanted in the drawing room.

I went down in trepidation. Papa was there and with him the elegant young woman who I had seen alight from the carriage.

"This is Ann Alice," said Papa.

"How do you do, Ann Alice?"

As she took my hand I looked into her eyes which were large and deep blue. She was beautiful in a way. Her features were clear-cut, on classical lines; her nose was rather long but very straight; her lips inclined to be full. Warm lips and cold eyes, I thought.

But I am prejudiced against her for the unreasonable reason that she is not Miss Bray.

"And Ann Alice, this is Miss Gilmour who is so looking forward to teaching you."

"I am sure," said Miss Gilmour, "that you and I are going to get along very well."

I am not quite so sure.

"Miss Bray, as you know, has been with Ann Alice for ... for... " began Papa.

"Six years," I said.

"And now she is leaving to get married."

Miss Gilmour smiled.

"I think you might take Miss Gilmour to her room," said my father. "And when you are ready perhaps you will take tea with my daughter and me, Miss Gilmour. And after that Ann Alice can introduce you to Miss Bray."

"That seems to me very satisfactory," said Miss Gilmour.

It has been a strange afternoon. I snowed her her room. I felt she was assessing everything, the house, the furnishings and me. She has been too friendly too suddenly. She has said more than once that she is sure we are going to get along very well.

I fancied she was more at home taking tea with my father than with me alone. I wish I could rid myself of this uneasy feeling. I am sure it will be all right, for she seems eager to make it so, and if I am, too, how can we fail to be happy together?

Miss Gilmour talked a great deal over tea and I have been thinking how strange it was that my father, who was rarely at home at this hour, had gone to the trouble, not only of being here to receive her but of taking tea with her as well. In a way they had seemed to ignore me. Anyone would have thought she was coming to be governess to him instead of me, I remarked afterward to Miss Bray.

Miss Gilmour talked a great deal about herself. She came from Devonshire where her father had owned a small estate. He had been robbed by an unscrupulous agent who had escaped with the family's priceless possessions. Her father had never recovered from the shock and had had a stroke. She herself had been left almost penniless and forced to earn her living, and must do so in the only way open to a gentlewoman of some education.

My father was most sympathetic.

"But I must not burden you with my troubles," said Miss Gilmour. "In fact, I am sure they are now at an end. I feel I am going to be happy here with Ann Alice."

"We shall do our best to make you so," said my father, as though she were an honoured guest rather than someone in his employ.

Miss Gilmour might not be exactly beautiful but she has what I can only describe as an allure. My father seems to have recognized that.

I introduced her to Miss Bray as we had arranged. I was very eager to know what Miss Bray thought of her. But my dear governess is already living in the future and I can see that she is ready to accept Miss Gilmour's own view of herself ... just as my father appears to be.

I wish that I did not feel uneasy and I am glad I started writing in my journal because I can now capture what I actually feel at the time when it is happening. Perhaps I shall be laughing at my foolishness in a little while. I hope so. But I want to put on record that I felt it.

October 10th

It is some time since I wrote in my journal. That is because I have felt disinclined to do so. I have been very sad since Miss Bray's wedding. Why is it that one only appreciates people when one has lost them. I went to her wedding. It was a very happy affair and everyone—except myself—thinks it is an ideal outcome—so it may be for Miss Bray and her Reverend gentleman, but I can hardly say it is for me.

This is an entirely selfish point of view, I know, and I must be happy for Miss Bray—Mrs. Eggerton now. But how difficult it is to be happy for others when their happiness means one's own despair. Well, perhaps despair is too strong a word. I do write the most extraordinary things in this journal. It seems to have an odd effect on me. It is almost as though I am talking to myself. Perhaps that is the purpose of journals. That is why they are such a private matter and so useful in recording life as it is really lived and not suffused with a rosy glow or abject gloom—however one would want to represent the event after it has faded a little from the mind.

And Miss Gilmour? What is it about her? I do not know. She does not insist that I work hard. She is interesting. She is clever, knowledgeable. But she is not like a governess.

What makes me feel rather wistful is that there is no one in whom I can confide. My brother Charles was always at what they call the "Shop" in Great Stanton and was deeply involved in the business there. He went away some months ago on an expedition to some of the uncharted places of the Earth. I sometimes wish I were a man so that I could share in such adventures.

But I want to think about Miss Gilmour so I must write about her. I want to know about her and now that I am writing more in my journal I feel I am getting to know more about myself as well as other people. I have always been interested in people, always wanted to know about them. Usually one can draw them out. I can at any rate. I believe I have a special gift for it. But not with Miss Gilmour. I always feel that she has secrets. I imagine I can see secrets in her eyes. They are such strange eyes. They glitter. They are a deep shade of blue and her eyebrows and lashes are very black—so is her hair. I fancy she blackens her brows and lashes because sometimes they seem darker than others.

My father asked her to take a glass of sherry with him yesterday.

"He wants to hear of your progress," Miss Gilmour told me. "What am I going to say?" She looked at me rather archly. It did not fit her very well and I felt another of those odd twinges of uneasiness.

I said: "You must say what you think."

"I shall tell him what a wonderful pupil you are and that you make my task easy and me happy. How is that?"

"I don't believe it is true," I said.

"I want to make him happy. I want to make you happy. You wouldn't want me to say you were an idle pupil, would you?"

"No, because that wouldn't be true. But I do not believe for one moment that you think I am wonderful."

"You really are quite a clever little thing," she said. "There is no mistake about that."

Her face hardened a little. She was always a trifle cross when I did not respond to her offers of friendship.

October 14th

What is making me write in my journal tonight is something that happened this afternoon.

I am supposed to take someone with me when I go riding, but it is a rule which I am beginning to ignore more and more. Really! I am past sixteen. I shall be seventeen soon, well, in about seven months' time, and I really do think that a girl of my age should have a little freedom.

The stable people never mention it when I go alone and I always saddle my own horse in case there should be a fuss; so they are not involved.

Miss Gilmour rides with me now and then, but she is not one of those people who ride for pleasure. When she rides it is to get somewhere. She never notices the scenery as Miss Bray used to; and Miss Bray had a lot of funny stories to tell about animals and plants and people. Miss Gilmour has none of those. She is never interested in travelling—only in arriving. She is no fun to be with.

This afternoon I rode out alone and I had gone rather farther than usual, and as I came past the Royal Oak I saw one of our horses—the one Miss Gilmour usually rides—close to the block outside the inn.

There was another horse there. I wondered if I had been mistaken and was overcome with curiosity and eager to prove whether or not I had been.

I alighted and tethered my horse with the others and went into the inn.

No, I had not been mistaken. There was Miss Gilmour, sitting at one of the tables, a tankard before her, talking to a man. He was rather good-looking and his dark eyes were very noticeable because of his white wig—well powdered and fashionable. His long-tailed coat and broad hat were equally stylish.

Miss Gilmour looked strikingly handsome, wearing a dress which could be suitable either for riding or walking. It was very full skirted with a plain tightly fitted bodice and a frothy white cravat. On her head was a black top hat with a feather in it of the same shade of dark blue as her dress. I had never seen anyone look less like a governess. Nor had I seen anyone so overcome by surprise as when she lifted her eyes and saw me.

In fact I would say it was a great shock to her.

She half rose and said in a voice I have never heard her use before: "Ann Alice."

"Hello," I replied. "I was passing and I saw your horse outside. I thought I recognized him, and I came to see if I was right."

She recovered her calm very quickly. "Well, what a pleasant surprise! I came into the inn for refreshment and who should I find but an old friend of my family."

The man had risen. He was about Miss Gilmour's age—late twenties, I imagined. He bowed low.

"Oh yes," said Miss Gilmour. "I'm forgetting my manners. This is

Mr. Desmond Featherstone. Mr. Featherstone, Miss Ann Alice Mallory, my dear little pupil." She turned to me. "Are you alone?" she asked quickly.

"Yes." I replied rather defiantly. "I saw no reason why I shouldn't ..."

"No reason at all," she said in a most ungoverness-like manner.

It was as though we were all conspirators.

"Now Miss Mallory is here she might like a little refreshment." suggested Mr. Featherstone.

'Would you?" asked Miss Gilmour.

"Cider would be very welcome."

Mr. Featherstone called to one of the serving maids, a rather pretty girl in a cross-over laced bodice and a white mob cap.

Mr. Featherstone said. "Cider for the young lady, please."

The girl smiled at Mr. Featherstone in a rather special way as though she was delighted to serve him. I was beginning to notice those little signs which passed between members of opposite sexes.

Mr. Featherstone turned his attention to me. His glittering dark eyes seemed to be trying to penetrate my thoughts.

After the first few seconds Miss Gilmour had recovered her equilibrium. She said again: "This is a surprise. First Mr. Featherstone, and then Ann Alice . .. quite a little party."

She seemed so strongly to be stressing the fact that she had met Mr. Featherstone by chance that I wondered whether it was not so, and they had met by arrangement. She made the mistake a lot of people make of regarding me as a simple child when I was fast growing up and thinking like an adult quite often. And something was telling me that the attraction which I sometimes noticed between men and women was present between Mr. Featherstone and Miss Gilmour.

The cider came.

"I trust it is to your liking. Miss Mallory." said Mr. Featherstone.

"It is very good." I replied. "And I really was thirsty."

He leaned towards me. "I am so glad you decided to come in," he said. "I should have been quite desolate if you had not done so."

"If I had not done so you would not have known that the possibility of my coming in had arisen so how could you have been desolate'.'" I asked.

Miss Gilmour laughed. "M\ pupil is not a simple little girl," she said. "You will find it hard to fault her reasoning. I can assure you. Remember, she is taught by me."

"1 must remember that." he said with mock seriousness.

He asked about the map-making shop and I told him that one of

my ancestors had sailed with Drake and that ever since those days there had been great interest in maps in our family.

"Map making is not only interesting, it is profitable," added Miss Gilmour.

He asked me about the country and the Manor which had been my home since my birth. I told him that my mother was dead and that I still missed her very much.

He patted my hand in sympathy. He said: "But you have your father. I'll swear you are the apple of his eye."

"He is hardly aware of me."

"Oh come," protested Miss Gilmour, "he is the best of fathers. He talks a great deal about you to me."

"He did not talk much to Miss Bray."

Miss Gilmour smiled secretly.

"I think he is very eager that you should be well cared for," she said.

Mr. Featherstone had moved his chair nearer to mine. Every now and then he would reach out and touch my arm as though to emphasize a point. It made me feel uneasy and I wished he would not do it. Miss Gilmour did not seem to like his doing it either.

I said: "Are you staying in the neighbourhood, Mr. Featherstone?"

His eyes smiled into mine and he tried to hold my gaze but I looked away.

"I should like to think that was a matter of concern to you, Miss Ann Alice," he said.

"I should hope, of course, that you had comfortable lodgings."

"/ hope I may meet you again when you take one of your country rides."

"Ann Alice is always breaking rules," said Miss Gilmour. "She is not supposed to ride alone. It is a good thing that we met. We can go back together and then it will be thought that we set out in each other's company."

"Do you often break the rules, Miss Ann Alice?" he asked.

"Some rules are really meant to be broken ... if they don't make much sense. I shall soon be seventeen. That is quite old enough to ride alone."

"Indeed it is. Seventeen! A delectable age. I fancy you are something of a rebel."

"And I fancy," said Miss Gilmour, "that we should be returning to the Manor."

I rose. I felt that I wanted to get away from them both. I wanted to be in my room and write down every detail of that encounter in my journal before I forgot.

We came out of the inn and mounted our horses. Mr. Featherstone rode with us a little way and then with one of his exaggerated bows, he left us.

"What an extraordinary thing," said Miss Gilmour. "To run across an old friend of my family like that... quite by chance."

Yes, I thought, you are stressing that fact just a little too much, Miss Gilmour.

I do not trust Miss Gilmour.

I have come straight to my room to write it all down in my journal.

January 1st 1791

The first day of the New Year.

What a long time since I have last written in my journal. I seem to have developed a distaste for writing in it and I have only just thought of it because this is the first day of the year and of course because of Papa.

The journal has been lying at the back of the drawer where I keep it so that it is out of sight. I would not want anyone to read my innermost thoughts, which is how I like to think of what I write in my journal.

I have seen Mr. Featherstone on one or two occasions. He seems to make a habit of coming... "On business" he says. I wonder what his business is and where. If it is in London—as I suppose it is—he is rather far away. I know one can get there in not too long a time, but why not lodge up there?

Sometimes I wonder whether he is—as they say in the kitchen— "sweet on" Miss Gilmour. She is the sort of person men do seem to get "sweet on" rather easily.

I hope he is. Then perhaps he will marry her and carry her off as the Reverend James Eggerton did Miss Bray. Then I should be rid of them both and surely my father would say there is no need of another governess for such a mature person as his daughter has become.

It is Mr. Featherstone's attitude towards me that I find a little worrying. He always seems to try to get close to me; and his hands stray. That is the only way I can think of describing them. He gesticulates when he talks and his hands shoot out to rest on my shoulder, on my arm or sometimes on my hair. And they linger. His eyes glitter and they stare at me. I feel uncomfortable under the scrutiny.

I think he is a little sinister.

But I suppose as he is a friend of Miss Gilmour's family he would want to see her now and then. It is really quite natural and I suppose, as Miss Bray used to say, I am too imaginative.

Christmas was unlike last Christmas ... or any other Christmas.

We had a few guests as we always do, and my father suggested that Miss Gilmour join the party.

"Christmas is Christmas," he said to me—unusually communicative. "And Miss Gilmour is here now. We can't leave her out. Perhaps you should suggest, Ann Alice, that she joins us like a member of the family. Coming from you that would show thoughtfulness and fine feeling."

Miss Gilmour started having her meals with us some time ago. My father had said it was time I gave up eating in the nursery. I was coming up to seventeen. So, with Miss Gilmour, I should join him. Miss Gilmour said she thought it was an excellent idea. In her opinion young people should not be kept too long in the nursery.

So now we sit at the table together. My father has changed quite a lot and this is due to the company of Miss Gilmour. She sparkles and he laughs a good deal at what she has to say. She displays a rather wonderful mixture of decorum and sophistication. She is modest yet bold. What is it? I cannot say except that it is Miss Gilmour and people of the opposite sex seem to find it very attractive.

Miss Gilmour looked embarrassed when the question of Christmas was raised. She was dubious when I asked her to join us and I did not press the point. She brought up the subject at dinner.

"I was so touched," she said. "But I thought it better not. You will have your friends... your special friends."

"But Ann Alice would very much like you to join us. Would you not, my dear?"

Why is it when people want something they like others to pretend they are really the ones who want it?

I hesitated for a moment and as I saw the look of horror begin to dawn in my father's face I said: "Oh.. .of course." And despised myself for lying. Why didn't I tell the truth and say, No, I don't want Miss Gilmour to be there at Christmas. Christmas will be quite different with her.

And I was right about that. Miss Gilmour took over Christmas.

One day, she said to my father: "I have a friend ... a friend of my family ... he is staying at an inn and can't get to his home for Christmas. I feel quite wretched thinking of him all alone for Christmas."

My father immediately said that she must invite him to the house.

I was not really surprised when the guest turned out to be Mr. Featherstone.

So he was there with her and if she had not spoilt our Christmas he would have done so.

He danced with me. His hands, his straying hands... how 1

loathed them! They came to me in vague dreams from which I always awoke in a state of apprehension, though I was never quite sure why.

January 3rd

I am finding it very difficult to write this down because I really can't believe that it has happened. I want to write about other things because I know that when I see it written down in my journal I shall have to accept it. But what is the use of pretending.

My father called me into his study and said: "I want you to be the first to know."

I must have guessed for the impulse came to me to shout: "No. Don't say it. It can't be."

But I just stood there looking at him steadily and he had no notion of my longing to hear him say something other than what I feared he would.

"It has been a long time since your mother died, Ann Alice. A man gets lonely. You understand that?"

"Of course I understand," I said. "I wish people wouldn't keep hinting that I don't."

He looked surprised at my peevish retort but he went on: "I am going to be married again. Lois and I decided that you should be told right away ... before we make a formal announcement."

"Lois! Miss Gilmour."

"It has all worked out very happily. I was surprised when Lois agreed. She is considerably younger than I and very attractive."

I was staring at him wretchedly, trying to beg him to say it was all a joke.

"Tell me," he said, "isn't it a happy solution to everything?"

I stammered: "I... don't know."

"It's a surprise to you. Ever since Lois came here as your governess the house has changed."

Yes, it has changed for me as well as for him.

"It seems brighter just as it used to when—"

"You mean when my mother was here."

"These tragedies come to us, Ann Alice. We have to accept them. They are God's will. But we should not nurse our grief. That is not what God intends. We should put sorrow behind us. We should try to reach for happiness."

I nodded and turned away.

"I am so pleased that you understand," he said. "I am doing this for you as well as for myself."

I wanted to shout at him: Don't think of me. It is not what I want. I want her to go right away ... and take Mr. Featherstone with her.

"We shall give a dinner party on Twelfth Night," he was saying, "and then we shall announce it."

There was nothing I could say without betraying my feelings. I just nodded and escaped as soon as I could.

And now I sit here staring at the words in my journal. My father is going to marry Miss Gilmour.

Somewhere at the back of my mind I know that this is what I have been fearing for a long time.

March 1st

They were married today. The house is quiet now. It reminds me of a tiger... sleeping. But it will awaken and then it will pounce. It will destroy everything that was and make a new house of this.

I love my little room. I pull the blue curtains about my bed and shut myself in. This is my little sanctum. Here I can be private ... all alone.

They left this afternoon for their honeymoon. They have gone to Italy.

"I always wanted to go," said Miss Gilmour.

They will do a grand tour. They can't go to France because of the troubles there. Terrible things are happening in France now. They say that the King and Queen are in great danger. Nobody in their right senses would want to visit France now, said Papa. So it is to be Italy— land of lakes, mountains and the finest art treasures in the world. Papa is very interested in these and Miss Gilmour—only she is not Miss Gilmour any more; she is my stepmother—is interested in everything that Papa is interested in.

She is the perfect companion.

It is such a short time ago that I was saying goodbye to dear Miss Bray. Oh, why did she have to go? She is now expecting a baby and she writes that she is the happiest woman in the world. It is selfish to wish that she had never gone to her Reverend James.

But how can I help it?

Just think, I say to myself, if Miss Bray had not left I should not now have a stepmother. Everything would be as it used to be. Dull perhaps, but cosy.

And now... it is so different. A new atmosphere is permeating the house. I wonder if anyone else feels it besides myself. I don't really think they do, so perhaps I am imagining it.

It is as though something evil has come into the house ... silent, watchful, waiting to pounce.

March 2nd

I rode out alone today and I had not gone far when I met Mr. Featherstone.

It was quite a shock. A shiver went through me as he came up beside me. We were close to the woods and it was rather lonely. I could not help wondering whether he had followed me and waited for this moment to catch me up.

"What a delightful surprise!"

"Oh ... good afternoon, Mr. Featherstone."

"I am going to be bold and ride with you."

"I hope your business is going satisfactorily."

"Couldn't be better."

"You must find it tiresome living in an inn. I expect you are longing for your business to be completed so that you can return to your home."

"I find the life here very diverting. After all, I have made some delightful acquaintances."

He brought his horse close to mine and I turned to look at him. He was gazing at me implying that I of course was among those delightful acquaintances. I was glad he could not reach me, for if he had been able to, his hand would be on my arm or my shoulder.

I said: "I like to gallop at this point." And I shot away. But of course he was pounding along beside me.

I was forced to slow down because we had come to the road.

"You must have a quiet house now that your father is on his honeymoon with his new wife," he said.

"I don't notice it."

"I thought you might be lonely."

"Not in the least."

"You have many friends, I don't doubt."

"I have enough to occupy me."

"No more lessons... not now you have lost a governess and gained a stepmother."

"I am getting a little old for lessons."

"Quite the young lady. I can see that."

"I turn off here, Mr. Featherstone."

"I was going that way."

"I am returning to the house."

"That was a short ride."

I did not answer. I was resisting the impulse to tell him I was going back to escape from him.

"Now that you are—alone—perhaps we could meet?"

"Oh, I have a great deal to do."

"Too busy to see friends?"

"Oh no. I have time for my friends"

"Oh, Miss Ann Alice, I was hoping you would count me among them:'

"You are Miss Gilmour's friend."

"Miss Gilmour? Oh ... Mrs. Mallory, of course. It was so good of your father to invite me to his house. I expect now that the family friend has become his wife, I shall have more invitations."

"I daresay my father's wife will decide who is invited now."

"Then I should be assured of a welcome."

We had reached the Green. The house stood on the south side of it. I felt annoyed to have had to cut short my ride, but I was determined not to be with him.

"Well, goodbye, Mr. Featherstone."

I started to canter across the Green, but he was still beside me.

"Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"I am afraid I can't do that... now."

He looked rueful.

"Never mind. I shall call when you have more time."

He took off his hat and gave that ridiculously exaggerated bow which he must have learned in the set of the Prince of Wales of which he implied he was an associate.

I wish he would go back to London or Brighton or wherever they were and practice his fancy manners on them.

I came into the house—hot and angry.

Miss Gilmour—I refuse to call her anything else—had ruined my pleasant existence in every way.

March 6th

Is there no way of escaping that man? He called at the house yesterday. I was out and when I came in he was in the hall. If I had been told I could have sent the maid down to say that I was not at home. But I was caught.

He said he was thirsty in the hearing of the maid and she glanced questioningly at me so that all I could do was offer him some wine. Then I had to drink with him.

I took him into the small parlour which leads from the hall and where we entertain casual callers. I wondered how soon I could escape.

"This is most pleasant," he said.

I was silent, not being able to utter the blatant lie which even implied agreement would have been.

"I am so happy I came here," he went on. "It is such a delightful part of the world and London is within easy access."

"Wouldn't it be more convenient to be nearer?"

"Perhaps, but not so congenial. I can't tell you what a happy day

that was for me when I discovered your stepmother, and she introduced me to your household."

Again I was silent. I was a most ungracious hostess but then I was a most unwilling one.

"When do you expect the happy couple to return?" he asked.

"I gather they will be away for a month. It is hardly worth travelling so far for a shorter stay."

"And a honeymoon!" His dark eyes tried to hold mine and strangely enough I found it hard to draw mine away. He had a certain effect on me. I wished I could be indifferent but he had a sort of horrible fascination for me. I suppose that is how a rabbit feels when face to face with a stoat. "Can you imagine it? Florence ... Venice ... Rome ... I suppose they will visit all those places. How would you like to do that, Miss Ann Alice?"

"I am sure it would be most interesting."

"A great deal would depend on one's companion."

I looked at him pointedly. "That is always the case," I said, "whether one is in Venice or Venezuela."

"How do you know?" he asked laughing. "Have you ever visited Venezuela?"

"No. Nor Venice either."

"But you will one day, and when you do I hope it will be in the right company. I must confess never having been to Venezuela, but Venice ... well, that beautiful city is not unknown to me. I should like to show you Venice. You would enjoy that... drifting along the canals in a gondola ... or perhaps in Florence ... shopping on the Ponte Vecchio."

"I suppose we all have our dreams of seeing the world."

"The great thing is to put those plans into action. Don't you agree?"

"Let me give you some more wine." I was sorry I had spoken for it meant going near to him. His fingers touched mine as I gave him the glass.

"This is a very happy morning for me," he said.

I did not answer and he went on: "Will you ride with me tomorrow? I know of a very pleasant inn not far away. They serve the most delicious roast beef."

"It is out of the question," I replied. "I have commitments tomorrow."

"There is the next day."

"My time is fully occupied."

"What a busy young lady you are! I am determined to find some

time when you are free. I should like to see that establishment about which I have heard so much."

"Oh, are you interested in maps?"

"Fascinated by them. There is so much I want explained to me."

"Then you have come to the wrong person," I replied triumphantly. "I know little about them. You will have to go to the shop and ask them there. If my brother were here he would talk to you about that."

"Oh, so you have a brother?" Did I imagine it, or was he a little dismayed?

"Oh yes. He is away on some expedition. Exploring new territories. That's an essential part of map making."

"I see."

"He could have told you all you want to know. He was always very enthusiastic on the subject."

"He must be older than you."

"He is and he has never had much time to spare for his sister."

"Poor little lonely one!"

"Not lonely at all. I have so much to interest me. I don't really need anyone."

"So self-sufficient. That's a very good thing to be."

"I think so."

"Well, what about our outing?"

He was so persistent that it was difficult to give him a definite refusal without telling him the truth, which was that I did not like his company and that he faintly alarmed me in a way which I did not fully understand. It was instinct, I suppose. So I prevaricated.

"This week is out of the question. I am not sure about the next."

He understood, of course. He regarded me sardonically.

"I am determined to catch you one day," he said.

And his words sounded ominous.

How glad I was when he left.

March 10th

He has proved himself right. He has caught me at last. I wish I had the courage to tell him that I want him to leave me alone. One has been brought up with such a respect for good manners—one might say a reverence—that one is never able to be absolutely sincere.

So I have gone on eluding him, escaping as gracefully as I could. I guess he is the sort of man who enjoys a challenge and the more I am determined to escape, the more determined he is to catch me.

Yesterday was a lovely day. The fields were white and gold with daisies, buttercups and dandelions; and the horse chestnuts and sycamores were showing their green leaves.

There was a fresh wind and that delicious tang in the air which is

a herald of the spring. I love this time of the year when the birds seem to be going wild with joy.

Lovely springtime! And how good it is to gallop across the meadows and then slow down and trundle through the lanes and to look for wild flowers in the hedgerows and on the banks and try to remember the names Miss Bray had for them all.

It is ten days since my father and his new wife left for Italy. They will be back on the first of April. Then everything is going to be different. I am dreading their return. Sometimes I think I should be making plans. What will it be like when they come back? I should be prepared. But what can I do? There is no one whose advice I can ask. Unless it is Miss Bray... Mrs. Eggerton, mother-to-be. She will be absorbed in preparation for her baby and be quite unable to think of anything else. No, I cannot intrude on her blissful contentment. I must wait and see. Perhaps it will not be so bad. Perhaps I am exaggerating. After all, what harm has Miss Gilmour done to me? She has always been accommodating. She has never pressed me to study hard. She has been ready to be friendly. What is it? Why do I have this feeling of apprehension? It is the same with Mr. Featherstone.

I was not far from the inn where I had first seen him with Miss Gilmour when he came up to me.

"Hello," he said. "This is an unexpected pleasure."

"I am just on my way home."

"It seems to be your usual destination when we meet. In any case there is no hurry, is there?"

"I did not want to be late."

"I know you have many pressing engagements, but just once, eh? What about a little refreshment? It was in this very inn that we first met. So it is rather an occasion, is it not?"

I hesitated. Perhaps I was being rather foolish. I had been so curt with him and that was rather bad manners. And what harm could we do drinking a goblet of cider. Perhaps I could manage to convey to him subtly that I preferred to ride alone.

So I agreed; we dismounted and went into the inn.

We sat at the table where I had found him sitting with Miss Gilmour.

"Our honeymooners will soon be back," he said, when the cider was brought. "Your continued health and happiness, Miss Ann Alice."

"Thank you. And yours."

"I am glad you wish me well. For my future contentment, I have a feeling, will depend on you."

"You surprise me, Mr. Featherstone."

"You are surprised only because you are so adorably innocent. You are on the threshold of life."

"I find it rather irritating when people stress my youth. I am not so very young."

"Indeed not. You are, as I know, verging on seventeen. When is it? The glorious twenty-first of May?"

"How did you know?"

"What is it they say? A little bird ..."

"The bird, I imagine, was not so little. It must have been Miss Gilmour."

"Miss Gilmour no longer. The happy Mrs. Mallory. And you should not be irritated by appreciation of your youth. Youth is the most precious gift the gods bestow. Unfortunately it does not last. Very sad, is it not?"

"I should not mind being a little older, I do assure you."

"We all want to be older when we are young and younger when we are old. It is the perversity of human nature. But why talk in generalizations. It is of you I want to talk."

"A not very interesting subject, I am afraid."

"An absorbing subject." His question startled me. "What do you think of me?"

I flushed. I could not tell him what I really thought of him. I sought the right words. "I think you are probably very ... shrewd."

"Oh, thank you. What else?"

"Well, I suppose a man of the world."

"A shrewd man of the world. It does not sound too bad for a start. Anything else?"

"I cannot understand why you bother to pursue me."

He laughed. "Shall I tell you what I think of you?"

"I am not really interested."

"You are growing up, and you don't always tell the truth. Everybody wants to know what others think of them. I am going to tell you in any case. I think you are adorable."

I blushed to the roots of my hair I am sure.

"And," he went on, "/ am speaking the truth."

I struggled for my composure.

"Now I will speak the truth," I said, "and I will say that I am sure you find many people of my sex ... adorable."

"You are discerning. I will not deny it."

"It would be useless to."

"And quite out of the question, if this is to be an exchange of truths. But," he went on, "you are the most adorable of them all."

I looked at him cynically. "Well, the cider was good," I said. "Thank you for it. And I really must be going."

"We have only just come."

"It does not take very long to drink a goblet of cider."

"But look, I have not finished mine."

"I could leave you to finish it."

"I could not allow you to go back alone."

"I came out alone."

"I wonder what your father will have to say about your solitary wanderings when he returns."

"He will be too much engrossed with his new wife to think much about me."

His hand came out across the table and I was too late to elude it. He held mine tightly, fondling it.

"So you are a little—jealous?"

"Indeed I am not."

"Stepmothers have a reputation for being unacceptable."

"I would not judge beforehand. I have only had a stepmother for ten days and during those she has been absent."

"Marriages are in the air," he said. "They say they are catching."

I shrugged my shoulders and managed to free my hand. I stood up.

"Do you insist?" he asked.

"I do."

"Just as the conversation is getting interesting."

"Is it so interesting to you?"

"Enormously so. I am telling you how much I admire you. You are more than pretty. You are beautiful."

I looked at him scornfully. "I do have an excellent mirror, Mr. Featherstone. And even if it does not tell me what I would like to know, it tells me the truth."

I thought of dear Miss Bray comforting me. "You may not be exactly pretty, Ann Alice, but you have an interesting face. Yes, on the whole I think you may turn out to be quite attractive."

And now he was telling me I was beautiful!

"Your hair is a lovely shade of brown and your eyes... they show many colours. Which are they? Brown? Green? Grey?"

"Generally known as hazel," I said, "and really quite undistinguished."

"You have a pretty mouth."

"Thank you. That is a nice point on which to close this assessment of my appearance."

"I could go on talking of them endlessly."

"Then I am afraid I should have to leave you to talk to yourself. I find the subject rather boring."

He drained his goblet.

"Are you determined to cut short this pleasant tete-a-tete?"

He was standing beside me and taking my arm held it firmly. His face was very close to mine and for a moment I thought he was going to kiss me. I recoiled in horror.

"Do you not like me a little?" he asked almost pathetically.

I released my arm and started for the door.

"I hardly know you, Mr. Featherstone," I said over my shoulder. "I never make hasty judgements of people."

"I think when you really allow yourself to know me you might become rather fond of me."

He insisted on helping me into the saddle.

"Thank you," I said. He stood for a few moments looking up at me. Then he took my hand and kissed it. I felt as though I had been touched by a snake.

He looked at me pleadingly. "Give yourself a chance to know me," he said.

I turned my horse away and did not answer. Did I imagine it or did I detect an angry glint in his eyes. I was not sure but it sent a little shiver of alarm through me.

I walked my horse away from the inn and he was beside me.

We rode home in silence.

But my uneasiness is growing.

March 23 rd

In a week they will return. I am almost eager for them to do so. This month has been a strange one for me and it seems to have been haunted by Mr. Featherstone.

I have not been riding so much because he is sure to be lying in wait for me. He is always trying to tell me that he is in love with me.

I don't believe him for one instant. As a matter of fact sometimes I think he dislikes me. I have caught an expression flitting across his face and he looks really angry. I think he has probably made easy conquests in the past and my aloofness does not please him at all.

There were times when I thought he was in love with Miss Gilmour. Oh, how I wish he had been and they had gone away together!

How different everything would have been then!

If Miss Bray were not in the process of having a baby I would go to her. I could never have explained my feelings to her though. It was better to do nothing but to continue with the cat-and-mouse game in which Mr. Featherstone seemed determined to indulge, I keep thinking of that analogy. What does the cat do when it catches the mouse? It teases it, pretending it is going to allow it to escape and catches it before it can do so, testing it, torturing it... until it finally kills it.

I am really working myself into a state of nervousness over Mr. Featherstone.

I sometimes wake in the night in a state of terror because I believe he is in the house. I have even risen from my bed, opened the door and looked into the corridor really expecting to see him lurking there. Sometimes, I stand at my window which is at the back of the house and does not look over the Green but onto the fields and the woods. I look for a figure hiding there.

Then I laugh at myself. "Silly dreams. Foolish imaginings," I say.

But it is the fear in my mind which produces these thoughts.

Why do I feel so intense about him? It is almost as though it is a premonition, a warning.

It will be better when they come home, I keep telling myself.

Just another week.

May 3rd

Today I remembered my journal. I could not find it at first and I had a horrible fear that I had lost it. I started to wonder what I had written in it and what my stepmother would think if it fell into her hands. I was sure I had written something unflattering about her.

Perhaps I should be careful what I write in it but what is the sense of having a journal if one does not write exactly what one feels at the time?

To my great joy I found it. It was where I had put it at the back of the drawer which seems to be a good place for it, behind the gloves and scarves, well hidden away.

It is some time now since they came back. I was there to greet them. I studied Papa carefully. He looked very happy. Miss Gilmour— I must remember to call her my stepmother—looked radiant. She had new clothes, very smart, "Continental" they call them in the kitchen. 'That Frenchy touch." Though they hadn't been to France, of course.

I have begun to think that I may be mistaken about my stepmother. Everyone says what a good match it is and how pleased they are for Papa to have "found happiness again." He had been a widower too long, they all agree, and people have to learn not to mourn forever.

The same cliches are brought out over and over again and I have been thinking what a boon they are for they roll off the tongue in such an easy manner and people can always feel they have said the "right thing."

My stepmother has set about changing the house. There are new

furnishings in several of the rooms. She does not interfere much with the servants and that makes her quite popular although there are certain members of the domestic staff who think it is not quite proper that one who had been more or less a servant in the house should now be elevated to the role of mistress.

However, they seem to be forgetting that and it is clear that my stepmother is enjoying her new position.

It has been decided that I could very well do without a new governess, though my stepmother has suggested that I do a certain amount of reading every day which she will supervise. My father listened to all this with approval and I have to admit that he seems more like a father than he has done since the death of my mother.

The supervising of my reading is dwindling and I believe that in due course it will cease. I am pleased about that.

There has been a little controversy about what I should call her. There have been one or two occasions when I have forgotten and the name Miss Gilmour has slipped out. That did not please her... nor my father.

It is amazing how one can manage for a long time without calling people anything—and that was what I did. One day, just as we were leaving the dining room, she put her arm round me and said in that cosy little voice which she uses now and then: "Wouldn't it be nice if you could call me Mother... or Mama... or something like that?"

"Oh ... I couldn't," I blurted out.

"Why not?" Her voice was sharp and I could see that my father looked pained.

"Well," I stammered. "I remember my mother so well. There couldn't be anyone..."

My father looked impatient but she said, soothing now, "Of course ... of course ..." She sighed a little and then smiled sweetly. "Perhaps, Stepmamma. Could you manage that?"

"Yes, I suppose so," I said.

So I am to call her Stepmamma.

But I know that for quite a lot of the time I shall succeed in calling her nothing at all.

June 1st

Mr. Featherstone is still here. He waylays me just the same as ever, and I still avoid him when I can. I have decided not to be polite any more, and there are certain verbal battles between us which I find easier to handle than all that forced politeness.

When he said: "You were hoping to dodge me, weren't you?" I replied: "Yes, I was."

"Why?" he demanded.

"Because I want to be alone."

"A clash of wills! I want to be with you."

"I can't think why."

"I find you beautiful and stimulating. How do you find me?"

"Neither beautiful nor stimulating."

"I asked for that, did I not?"

"Indeed you did."

"What a forthright young lady you are!"

"I hope so."

"Very truthful."

"I try to be."

"Unkind."

"No, I don't agree."

"You cut me to the quick."

"You should not lay yourself open to cutting."

"What can a lovelorn fellow do?"

"Take himself off to more fruitful ground."

"But where would I find such beauty and wit?"

"Almost anywhere on Earth," I retorted.

"You are wrong. It is here ... only here ... and this is where my heart is."

I could laugh at him now. I was losing my fear of him. Everything seemed a little better since the return of my father and his wife. The pursuit of me was not quite so intense. I could ride out some days and never see him.

I wondered sometimes about the future. I was now seventeen. My stepmother said we should entertain more. "Don't forget," she told my father, "you have a marriageable daughter."

"I was lax in my duties until you came to look after me, my dear," he said.

"We have to think of Ann Alice," she insisted. "I'll invite people."

Desmond Featherstone came to the house to dine this evening. I was dreading it. I always hate to think of his being in the house. It is an odd creepy feeling, which is quite unaccountable, for what harm could he do? I wondered if I could plead a headache and not appear for dinner. I supposed that would be too obvious. Moreover it would not be so bad with others present.

I was right. It was not. I was aware when he looked at me across the table that it was different. He was now indulgent ... as he would be to a very young person. He carefully addressed me as Miss Ann Alice, and he made it sound as though he thought I was just out of the schoolroom. I could hardly believe that this was the same man who

had been trying to convince me that I was the young woman with whom he was in love. I could easily have convinced myself that he had been playing a game all the time.

I had the feeling that it was something to do with my stepmother and a strange quirk of fate enabled me to confirm this.

After the meal when they went into the drawing room, I said I would go up to bed. I often did this because they would drink port wine and usually stay up until very late, and although I dined with them as an adult, this part of the evening was considered to be a little unsuitable for my years.

I was very glad to escape so I came up to my room to write in my journal and to think about the strange behaviour of Desmond Featherstone and how different he seemed at some times when compared with others.

As I sat writing I heard sounds from below—the clopping of a horse's hoofs coming from the stables.

I went to my window and looked out. It was Desmond Featherstone coming from the stables on his way to his lodging. I dodged back quickly. I did not want him to see me.

Then I heard a voice and I recognized my stepmother's.

She spoke sharply and her voice was quite distinct.

"It has to stop," she said. "I won't have it."

Then his: "It is nothing ... Only a game."

"I won't have it. You shall go straight back."

"I tell you it's a game. She is only a child."

"Sharper than you'd think. In any case, it is going to stop."

"Jealous?"

"You had better not forget ..."

Their voices faded. I turned swiftly to the window. He was riding away and my stepmother was looking after him. He turned to wave and she waved back.

What did it mean? I knew they had been talking about me. So she was aware of his attempts at flirtation and she did not approve of them. She was warning him that it had to stop.

She had sounded angry.

I was glad.

But I think it is very strange that she should know and be so vehement.

When I have finished writing I shall put my journal away very carefully in future. I am glad I started it. It is so interesting to look back and remember.

June 5th

I have taken out my journal today because something astonishing has happened. Desmond Featherstone has gone away. It is so strange. He did not say goodbye. He just went.

I had seen him only once since that night when I overheard the conversation between him and my stepmother and then he seemed somewhat subdued. I think he really must have taken heed of her warning.

I have been thinking lately that perhaps I have misjudged her. I have disliked her without reason. One should always have a reason for liking or disliking people. Now I come to look back, I ask myself did I dislike Lois Gilmour simply because she was not Miss Bray to whom I had grown accustomed? People do unreasoning, illogical things like that.

She has been very pleasant to me always. She has gone out of her way to be kind and she really does seem concerned about getting eligible young men to the house as possible husbands for me. My father is delighted with his marriage so I suppose he has good reasons for being so.

A few days ago he was not very well. I did not hear about it until the afternoon because I do not normally see a great deal of him. He does not always come to breakfast, but then we take it at odd times and always help ourselves from the chafing dishes on the sideboard, so that if anyone is absent it can easily pass unnoticed.

But at lunch time my stepmother told me that he was spending the day in bed. She had insisted that he stay there because he was a little unwell. It was nothing to worry about she said. We must remember that he was not as young as he sometimes believed himself to be and she had insisted on his staying in bed.

She nurses him most assiduously. When I went to see him in the afternoon he was sitting up in bed looking, I thought, rather pleased with himself because my stepmother was fussing over him, wondering whether he was in a draught from an open window and whether he should have his dressing gown round his shoulders.

"You spoil me, my dear," he said.

"Get along with you. You're unspoilable."

"But you do fuss, you know, Lois."

"I worry about you, of course."

I watched them. He seemed so happy—and so did she.

Yes, perhaps I have misjudged her.

I will try to like her. I have promised myself to do so. It has been rather silly to dislike her just because I was so upset at losing Miss Bray and then again because she has taken the place of my mother.

I must be sensible. And really she has made my father very happy and everyone says what a wonderful solution it is for him.

September 2nd

I feel so ashamed because I have neglected my journal for so long. I really forgot about it. Then a little while ago I was searching for a pair of grey gloves to go with my new gown. I knew I had a pair and could not find them. And there they were caught in the back of the drawer and when I was trying to get them out I found my journal. I felt so ashamed—after all my resolutions to write in it more or less regularly. But I think this is a fairly common way people have with journals. They have—as I had—such good resolutions—and then they forget.

This is a good time to start again. I have read through what I wrote before. How it brings it all back! And how young I seemed when I wrote some of it.

I have come to live fairly peacefully under my stepmother's rule. I have tried very hard to like her but I can't really although I often think it is unfair of me not to. She is so good and kind to my father. She has looked after him so well when he has his turns. He has had about three in all and she insists on nursing him and he says she makes much more of them than they really are.

I have heard the servants talking about men who marry women so much younger than themselves. They whisper together mysteriously. "It's too much for them. They can't keep it up."

My stepmother insisted on his seeing the doctor. Dr. Brownless could find nothing really wrong. He merely said he must take life more slowly. My father is following his advice and does not go every day into Great Stanton as he used to. My stepmother is not very interested in the Shop, as we call it. I believe it is a very profitable business and highly respected throughout the country. Quite a number of people in the business of cartography come to Great Stanton to see my father and his manager. They are often entertained at the house and as far as that is concerned my stepmother is proving an excellent hostess.

I heard my father say to her: "It was the luckiest day of my life when you came to teach Ann Alice."

And she replied fervently: "And of mine."

So it is a very contented household and I am sure my father is quite happy to stay at home more so that he can be with my stepmother; and in any case there is an efficient manager at the Shop to deal with everything there.

We went to Bath during the season. My stepmother thought the baths might be good for my father; and he said that to humour her, he would try them.

My stepmother hinted that among the company there might be a suitable husband for me. It seemed hardly likely that I should find

anyone among the gouty old gentlemen—mostly accompanied by their gossipy wives; and those exquisite young gentlemen, the beaux of Bath, could hardly be expected to notice me. More than once I had heard them declare in loud voices that they found the place devilish dull and that they felt inclined to desert the place and join H.R.H. without further delay. There were the fortune hunters, quizzing young women through their monocles, and doubtless comparing their charms with their alleged fortunes; there were simpering young girls and not-so-young ladies presumably looking for husbands.

I felt rather homesick for the fields and meadows and a life of freedom. I suffered emersion, which everyone seemed obliged to endure, and felt very ridiculous in my jacket and petticoat and most unattractive bonnet.

How long the days seemed! Drinking the water, taking the baths, going to the Abbey for the religious services, to concerts and the occasional ball at the Assembly Rooms.

My stepmother fitted perfectly into the life. Most people thought her charming. I noticed that quite a number of beaux ogled her, but although she was obviously aware of this and I thought I detected a secret satisfaction, she never strayed from my father's side.

She appeared to be interested in putting me forward, but I sometimes wondered whether she really was. That was how I constandy felt about her. I was never quite sure.

I did ride a little but always in the company of my father and stepmother and as she was not very keen on the exercise we did not do it often. But I could walk in the meadows and I did so every morning. There were people there so I was able to go alone and it was there that I encountered Desmond Featherstone. I was completely taken by surprise, not having seen him for so long.

He gave that exaggerated bow which always irritated me. "If it is not Miss Ann Alice herself! Well, who would have thought of meeting you here... and what a joy... alone! I am surprised that it is allowed."

"It is early morning, and I am older now, you know."

"And as beautiful as ever."

"Are you staying in Bath, Mr. Featherstone?"

"How formal! I had hoped I would be Desmond to you. Yes, a brief visit. And what do you think of Bath?"

"Very beautiful. I like the rocky wooded hills and the architecture is most elegant."

"And you like to mingle with the beau monde?"

"Not particularly."

"I wish I could see you alone. There is so much I want to say to you."

"I see nothing to prevent your saying it now."

"There is so much to prevent me. You for one thing."

"I have asked you to speak."

"If only you would like me a little!"

"Why should my likes or dislikes interfere with your powers of speech?"

"It is such fun to be with you."

"I daresay if you are staying here you will meet my family sooner or later. People here seem to get to know each other quickly and many know each other before they arrive."

"Ann Alice."

He had come close to me and gripped my arm. I shrank from his touch as I always do.

"Better not tell your stepmother... that we met like this, eh?"

"Why not?"

"She er... she might not approve."

"I don't have to get her approval before I speak to people, you know."

"I am sure of that, but on the other hand ... just don't mention it."

"It wouldn't have occurred to me to. I shall probably have forgotten it by the time I see them again."

He looked at me reproachfully and then laughed.

"I don't think you forget me quite as easily as you pretend," he said.

I flushed, for he was right. Even now I have those odd dreams about him and they could easily fill me with disquiet. Now there, even in the open meadows, he could make me feel uneasy.

"I must go," I said. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye. I wish..."

But I did not give him time to say what he wished for I hurried off.

I think about him a great deal. He had been very earnest when he asked me not to tell my stepmother I had seen him.

I thought then: She does not want him to pester me. She really is trying to protect me.

That was another reason why I should try to like her.

I was glad when the visit to Bath was over.

Almost immediately after we returned my father had one of his attacks—a little worse than before. My stepmother wanted to call in the doctor, but my father said it was not necessary. He had been told it was due to overdoing things and it was obvious that the visit to Bath had been too strenuous for him.

However she did call the doctor, but that was after my father had recovered slightly. She said she was anxious and wanted him to see a physician. So to please her he agreed.

Apart from the visit to Bath and my encounter with Mr. Featherstone there seems to have been nothing worth recording, and I suppose that is why I did not think of my journal until today.

So now I sit here biting my pen and thinking back. Have I missed something important? Events should be recorded at the time they happen. That is the only way of getting the real truth. But looking back, I cannot see that there is anything of any great significance that I should remember.

February 1st 1792

Another long lapse. I am clearly not meant to be a diarist. I suppose my life is really so uneventful and it is only when something unusual happens that I remember my journal.

Something has happened. Today my stepmother told us about Freddy.

I have noticed that she has been preoccupied for some little time. My father noticed too because he said to me: "Do you think your stepmother is well?"

He was quite anxious.

"Why do you ask?" I said.

"She seems... a little worried."

I admitted I had noticed it.

"I have asked her and she says all is well."

"Perhaps we have imagined it."

Apparently we hadn't because today it came out.

I was having tea with them which my father liked me to do. He wanted continual confirmation that I was fond of my stepmother. I have heard him tell people that we get along splendidly. "It was the best thing for Ann Alice as well as for me," he says.

He deludes himself and as I don't want to disillusion him when he mentions this in my presence I just smile and say nothing.

I wonder why she decided to speak of it in front of me. After all this time I am still suspicious of her and at times I think I look for motives which don't exist.

Then suddenly when she had poured out the tea and I had taken my father's to him and accepted my own, she burst out: "There is something I want to tell you."

"Ah," said my father, "so there is something."

"It has been on my mind ... for some time."

"My dear, you should have told me."

"I didn't want to worry you with my personal troubles."

"Lois! How can you say such a thing! You should know that I am here to share your troubles. When I think of how you have looked after me."

"Oh that," she said. "That was different. That was my duty and what I wanted to do more than anything."

We waited. She bit her lip and then she rushed on: "It's my sister-in-law ... she died... a month ago."

"Your sister-in-law! You didn't say ... I didn't know you had a family."

"Her death was rather sudden. I didn't hear until after the funeral."

"My dear, I am so sorry."

She was silent for a little while frowning slightly. My father looked at her tenderly, eager to give her time to explain as she wanted to.

"My brother quarrelled with my father and went off. He never came back and it was only when he died that we knew he had a wife. Now she is dead and she has left ... a child."

"That's sad," said my father.

"You see this little boy is an orphan and... well, he is my nephew."

"You are going to see the child?"

"That is what I wanted to talk to you about. I'll have to go up there, you see. I'll have to do something about my nephew. I can't just leave him. Heavens knows what will happen."

My father was looking relieved. I don't know what he had been imagining was wrong.

"Why don't we both go. Where is it?"

"It's in Scotland. I think I should go alone."

"Very well, my dear. As you wish."

"I've got to find some solution for the boy." She lowered her head and crumbled the cake on her plate. "I have wanted to talk to you for some time ... and I haven't really been able to bring myself to do it. It's worried me a great deal."

"I knew there was something," said my father triumphantly. "Well, what is it, Lois? You know I'll do everything possible to help."

"I—er—want to bring the boy here. You see, there is nowhere else. It might mean an orphanage ... and I just can't bear the thought of that. He is, after all, my nephew."

"My dear Lois, is that all! You should have told me before. This is your home. Of course your nephew will be very welcome here."

She went over to my father and knelt at his side; then she took his hands and kissed them.

He was very moved. I saw the tears in his eyes.

I suppose I should have been moved too. It was a very touching scene. But all I could think of was: How theatrical!

I had the notion that I was watching a play.

March 1st

Little Freddy Gilmour arrived a week ago. He is a small pale boy, rather nervous and very much in awe of my stepmother. He looks at her with a kind of wonderment as though she is some sort of goddess. She has two worshippers in the household now.

I liked Freddy from the moment I saw him. He is eight years old but looks younger. I said I would teach him and my stepmother is very pleased. She has grown quite warm towards me and it is due, of course, to Freddy.

I feel I have another brother—although he is so much younger than I. Charles was never a real brother to me. He always looked down on me because I was so much younger. I don't feel in the least like that towards Freddy. I am beginning to love him even though he has been here such a short time.

He seems to be very grateful to be in our house, so I imagine life was not very pleasant where he was before. When I speak to him about his mother he is noncommittal and clearly does not want to talk of the past. Perhaps it is because she is so recently dead. But when he mentions Aunt Lois he is really reverent.

Even morning when I awake I think of what I am going to teach him and it gives a zest to the day. He is very bright but I can see that few attempts have been made to educate him. He wants to learn and is always asking questions.

My father is absolutely delighted—with me, with Freddy, and of course, he is besotted about my stepmother.

He is glad Freddy has come because it has pleased Lois so much.

It seems we are a very happy family.

April 3rd

I have been too busy to think about my journal and it is only now that something really important has happened that I remember it.

This is the most exciting thing that has ever happened to me.

I have met Magnus Perrensen.

It all came about in a most casual way. Papa announced at dinner a little while ago that a fellow cartographer of Scandinavia had written to him about his son.

"A very enthusiastic young man according to his father. He has just returned from an expedition in the Pacific. It seems he is interested in the practical side of map making."

"I have always thought that must be the most interesting part," I said. "To discover new places and actually work out the distances between this and that point."

"You take the romantic view, my dear," said my father indulgently. He turned to my stepmother. "We shall have to entertain him. I

daresay he will be a little lonely. Masters can find him a decent lodging in Great Stanton for his father would like him to stay for a while to study our methods. I have already spoken to Masters and he said that he has an extra room in his house and he thought Mrs. Masters might be glad of the extra money, in which case he could stay at their house. He may be with us for some little time."

Masters was the manager of the Shop—a very efficient person who always seemed to think there was nothing in the world to compare with the importance of making maps.

"Masters is quite excited at the prospect," went on my father. "Perrensens have quite a reputation. They are specialists in sea charts. He is very eager to meet the young man—particularly as he has just returned from this journey. We want to make sure that we give him every opportunity to study what we are doing here—and no doubt he will put us wise to the progress which is being made in his country."

"That is what is so pleasant about map makers," I said. "They all help each other. There does not seem to be the same rivalry that there is in other professions."

My father laughed at me.

"I wish your brother were here," he said.

I nodded. It was a long time since Charles had gone away. We knew, of course, that on voyages of discovery such as he was undertaking men could be away for years. But it did seem a very long time since he had gone.

"I daresay he will come home unexpectedly," said my stepmother. "I wonder what he will say to find me installed here."

"He'll be delighted I'm sure," my father assured her. "He has plenty of good sense."

"I hope he makes lots of new discoveries," I put in. "Places hitherto unknown ... great tracts of land on which no human foot has ever trod before."

"Ann Alice is very romantic," said my father smiling from me to my stepmother. "Let us hope that Charles will soon be with us."

"I hope so," I said. "Freddy is enormously interested in the maps. I took him into the Shop when we were in Great Stanton yesterday. Masters was quite impressed with him. He kept saying, 'Good lad. Good lad.' I have never seen Freddy so excited."

My father looked blissful.

"He is rather bright," murmured my stepmother with pride.

"He is indeed," I added.

"Ann Alice is very happy because she has a little brother," said my father.

I looked up. My stepmother's eyes were on me. They were very bright. There might have been tears there. And on the other hand one could not be sure.

I felt a little embarrassed and I said quickly: "Well, now we have to concern ourselves with ... what is his name? This er—Magnus."

"Magnus Perrensen. Yes, we must give him a good welcome."

It is because I have seen him that I have to write in my journal. I want to recapture that moment when he bowed formally over my hand and his brilliantly blue eyes met mine and held them. I was immediately aware of a tremendous excitement and it has not left me since.

I cannot believe that I met him for the first time this night. I feel I have known him for a long time. I wish I had learned more about maps so that I could have taken a greater part in the conversation. No matter. I have decided to learn while he is here, for it is clear that he has a great interest in them. He glows when he speaks of them; and he has just returned from this map-making expedition to the Pacific Ocean. He talks knowledgeably about charts and islands and he makes me feel a great desire to see those places.

There is an intensity about him, a vitality; and I am sure that whatever he undertakes he will succeed in accomplishing.

He is very tall—very plainly dressed according to our standards, but then we have become a little dandified under the influence of the Prince of Wales and his cronies who I believe debate for hours on the cut of their coats and the manner in which a cravat should be worn.

Magnus Perrensen was in sober grey, his coat a slightly lighter shade than his knee breeches; his stockings were of the same grey as his coat, and his black shoes were buckled but the buckles were by no means elaborate. He was bewigged as all men are, but his wig was plain and tied at the back with a narrow black ribbon.

But it would not have mattered how he was dressed; it was his vibrant personality which one noticed.

He spoke English fluently but with the faintest of accents which I found most attractive.

My father asked him many questions about the expedition, and Magnus told us that he had been shipwrecked and thought he would never see his homeland again.

"How exciting!" I said. "You might have been drowned."

"I floated for a long time on a raft," he told me, "looking out for sharks and wondering how long I was going to last."

"And what happened?"

"I sighted land and came to an island." I don't know whether it was my imagination but I fancied there was something thrilling in his voice when he said that. As though the island meant something to him.

I said: "An island? What island was that? I'll look for it on the map."

"Sometime I'll tell you about it," he said. I was very happy because he was implying that we were going to spend time together.

"And eventually you were picked up and found your way home?"

"Yes."

"You must have lost your charts when you were shipwrecked," said my father. "What a terrible blow."

"Yes. But I shall go again."

"There are so many hazards," commented my father sadly and I guessed he was thinking of Charles. He went on: "I trust you will be comfortable with the Masters."

"I am sure I shall. Mr. Masters has so much knowledge. It is a pleasure and an honour to talk with him."

"I am sure you and he will have a great deal in common."

"And Mrs. Masters... she is so good. She tells me I am thin and she threatens to 'feed me up.'"

"She's a good soul," said my father. "I think her husband exasperates her at times because he is more interested in maps than in her cooking."

"She is a very good cook."

"And we hope to see you here ... often."

He was smiling across the table at me. "That is an invitation which I shall delight in accepting."

When he took his leave I was so excited. I wanted to go straight to my room and write in my journal. Writing it down is like reliving it all again and I have a feeling that this night is important to me. I shall want to go over and over it again and again.

May 3rd

It has been a wonderful month. During it I have spent a great deal of time in the company of Magnus Perrensen. He is at the Shop all through the day but often I take the gig into Great Stanton— Freddy with me—and we visit the Shop. Sometimes I take a luncheon basket and we all go into the country and picnic. At others I sit with him in the Shop and we eat sandwiches and drink cider while we talk. It is what I call helping Magnus Perrensen to feel at home.

He is a fascinating talker and Freddy and I listen entranced. He will take one of our maps and point out the exotic places as he talks of them. He will trace a journey over continents; but it is the sea which attracts him most.

The other day I said to him: "Show us the island on which you were shipwrecked."

He was silent for a moment and then suddenly he took my hand and pressed it. "One day," he said, "I'll tell you about it."

I was thrilled as I had been before when he mentioned the island. I knew there was something special about it and that he wanted to tell me... alone.

Freddy was there at the time. He was in a corner of the room with Masters, who was showing him one of the tools he used.

I heard Masters say: "This is a burin. Look at that sharp blade. It's made of steel. That's for cutting. Look at the handle. What does it remind you of? A mushroom? That's right. Now you hold this in the palm of your hand with your fingers curled round the mushroom. Now you press the blade into the copper. Like this. You must have even pressure."

I smiled. "He's initiating Freddy into the mysteries of map making."

"Freddy is an apt pupil."

I knew instinctively that it was impossible for him to tell me about his island here. He wanted us to be alone. Oddly enough, although I saw him frequently, we were never really alone. If I saw him at the Shop others were there. There was always Freddy to act as chaperon. And when he visited us at the house there were always several people there.

But his presence has made a great deal of difference to me. I arise every morning with a feeling of expectation. I think of him a great deal. I love the way his eyebrows turn up at the corners. There is a faint foreignness about him which I find immensely attractive. I like that very slight accent, the arrangement of words that is just a little quaint.

The fact is I am in love with Magnus Perrensen.

How does he feel about me?

He is interested, very interested. I have an idea that he is as exasperated as I am about this inability to be alone. But we shall overcome that one day.

My stepmother said a few days ago: "We must not forget your birthday. I think we should have a rather special celebration. You will be eighteen years old. I am going to speak to your father."

"I think he must know I am eighteen."

"He is a little unworldly about such matters. We should entertain more for you now."

I shrugged my shoulders. The purpose of entertaining would be to find me a husband. I did not want to search for one. In any case that, to my mind, would have been most undignified. But there is another point now. I have found the only one I could ever love and I have reason to believe that he is not indifferent to me.

However, this is to be a birthday party. My stepmother is getting out a list of guests. She is making arrangements in the kitchen.

"It is a good thing you have a May birthday," she said. "Such a lovely month! If the weather is good we can be in the garden—a sort of fete champetre."

"You will enjoy arranging that, my dear," said my father indulgently. "What a good thing you are here to do what is right for Ann Alice."

I am having a special dress for the party. The village seamstress has been called in and my stepmother has been poring over patterns. We have decided on rose-coloured silk which she says will be most becoming for me. It is off the shoulders with short sleeves which are ruched and edged with lace. There is a wide lace collar; the bodice is tight-fitting, and the skirt very full with flounces, each one edged with lace. It is most elaborate. I am delighted because when I try it on and stand very still while our little seamstress kneels at my feet and gets to work with pins and tacking thread, I am imagining I am standing before Magnus. I believe he will think me beautiful in this dress.

I am grateful to my stepmother who has done so much to create it. It is almost as though she is grateful for my interest in Freddy.

Am I growing to like her? I am not sure. When one is in love the whole world looks different, and perhaps one is inclined to like everyone.

No... not everyone.

I had a shock today and I suppose that is the reason why I am writing my diary.

I was in the garden this afternoon. The house was quiet. My father was resting as he does most afternoons since he has had what we have come to call "his turns." I am sure they have weakened him considerably although he tries to pretend they have not.

My stepmother had taken the gig into Great Stanton to do some shopping she said; and she had taken Freddy with her. She was buying some clothes for him. He had been very short of them when he had come to us.

I liked to sit in the garden. From the front of the house we look out on the Green. A pleasant view it was true with the grass before us and the old church with its spire reaching to the sky and the row of six ancient cottages. In the centre of the Green was the duck pond with the wooden seat beside it. But I liked better the view from the back. I liked our lawn beyond which was the little copse of fir trees. When I sit in the garden I usually go to the small walled-in rose garden and sit on one of the wicker seats there.

That was where I was, pretending to read but in fact thinking of

when I should next see Magnus Perrensen. I mean alone. He was dining with us tonight and that made me very happy. One always hoped there would be an opportunity to talk about the things which really mattered.

"Oh, Miss Ann Alice ... " It was one of the maids. "A gentleman has called."

I sprang up.

Magnus was in my thoughts and foolishly I thought it was he, so I did not ask his name and it was a shock when I went into the hall and saw Desmond Featherstone.

I felt that sudden shiver of apprehension which he had so often inspired in me in the past.

"Miss Ann Alice. What a pleasure."

"Oh ... Mr. Featherstone ... It is a long time since we have seen you here."

"I have missed all this ... sorely."

"So you are back again."

"For a brief visit, alas."

"You must er—come into the parlour... Perhaps you would like some refreshment."

"I have come to see you ... nothing else is important."

"Come in." I took him to the small room which led from the hall and was used as a reception room for callers. "Pray sit down."

He had put his hat on the table.

"I will go and tell them to bring something. Would you like a dish of tea?"

"It sounds ideally refreshing."

"I will go and tell them."

"Oh..." He was protesting. He no doubt wondered why I did not pull the bell rope and summon a servant. I had a good reason for not doing so and I hurried out as quickly as I could.

I sped to my father's room. By good fortune he was up and sitting in his chair half-dozing.

I said: "Papa, we have a visitor. That friend of my stepmother. I do think you should come down."

"Certainly. Certainly." A friend of my stepmother must of course be treated with respect. "Who is it?"

"It's Mr. Featherstone."

"Why yes. Of course I remember."

"He's in the parlour. Will you go down to him. I'll see about getting some tea."

He followed me down and went to the parlour. When I returned Desmond Featherstone was chatting easily with my father.

I fancied the look he gave me was reproachful.

Tea was brought. They talked of the weather and Desmond Featherstone enquired solicitously about my father's health. My father said he never felt better. I don't think that was quite true but since his marriage he had always maintained that he was very well indeed.

"It is some time since I saw you. Miss Ann Alice has grown taller I swear."

"It's her eighteenth birthday soon, you know."

"Indeed! What a matter for celebration!"

I felt irritated. I hated their talking of me as though I were not there, as though I were some infant whose growth was to be commented on.

"Yes," said my father. "We are celebrating, of course. My wife is as excited as though it were her birthday."

"And when is the great day?"

"In a few days' time. The twenty-first to be precise. I don't know how many are coming. The list is continually being added to."

"I am going to be rather bold. As an old friend of Mrs. Mallory's family ... I am going to ask for an invitation."

"Any friend of Mrs. Mallory is welcome, don't you agree, Ann Alice?"

I was glad he did not wait for an answer, although Desmond Featherstone was looking at me expectantly.

My father went on: "We are hoping that the gods will be kind and give us a warm evening. I am afraid we shall be rather crowded if we are forced to be indoors."

"I am sure the gods will be kind on such an auspicious occasion," said Desmond Featherstone.

I was sitting there exasperated. So he would be at the birthday party. I had an uneasy feeling that he was going to spoil it.

It had been so long since I had thought of him and now he is back again.

When my stepmother returned I could see she was as taken aback by the sight of him as I had been and I thought her greeting was distinctly cool.

"I am in the neighbourhood again," he said, "and I knew you would never forgive me if I did not call."

"For how long?" asked my stepmother, rather tactlessly for her, I thought.

"That depends on business."

My father said: "Mr. Featherstone has promised to come to the party."

"Oh," replied my stepmother quietly.

I was glad when he went.

But somehow I do not feel quite the same.

May 21st

My birthday and the most exciting day I have lived through! How wonderful that it should have happened on my birthday!

The day began rather cloudy and we were in a state of great anxiety lest it should rain. The servants kept running out to gaze at the sky.

I have looked at my dress hanging in the wardrobe at least twenty times during the day. It is the most beautiful dress I have ever had. I had pleaded with my stepmother to let Freddy stay up just for an hour or so and she has agreed, I think with assumed reluctance. She is really fond of Freddy and our affection has made a bond between us— in spite of my resistance.

During the afternoon the skies cleared and everyone was saying that it was going to be fine after all. The wind has dropped and as long as the rain keeps off, they kept saying, it will be perfect for our alfresco party.

My stepmother was in her element, organizing everything. My father looked on with amusement. How he has changed since his marriage! At least my stepmother has made him happy. I am sure he was never quite like this... even when my mother was alive.

The guests arrived. I, my father, my stepmother and Freddy, standing there like a small son of the house, received them.

And what a delight when Magnus arrived in the company of the Masters! He looked so elegant, I thought. How becoming was the more simple mode of dress. I heartily disliked all the affectations which had been introduced by the dandified fops.

The weather was perfect. There was even a moon to make the scene more enchanting and the company soon spilled out onto the lawns and gardens. The food would be served in the hall and dining room and people could take their food out to sit in the garden if they wished.

There was one thing which spoilt it: the presence of Desmond Featherstone. And it seemed to me that he was determined to seek me out.

How happy I was that Magnus was equally determined to stay at my side, and, for my fervent co-operation, we succeeded in foiling Desmond Featherstone's efforts and keeping together.

Freddy went off to bed when he was told to do so. He was a very meek little boy and I guessed was accustomed to doing what he was told without question. I found his gratitude rather pathetic and often wondered what sort of life he had had with my stepmother's sister-in-law.

I never asked because I sensed a certain unhappiness in the boy when I did, and I guessed it was something he wanted to leave behind him.

Of course, as it was my birthday, I had certain duties to the other guests. I had to dance with one or two of my father's friends. Some of them were cartographers of good reputation who had come from some distance to be at the party.

I was able to talk to them about maps in a more knowledgeable way than I ever would have been before—and that was all due to Magnus.

Perhaps I was a little absent-minded, thinking all the time of how I could escape and get back to Magnus; and when I did, there he was waiting for me, as eager to be with me as I was with him.

Then came those magic moments in the rose garden. The scent of the roses was exquisite. I shall always think of that walled garden on the night of the twenty-first of May in the year 1792, for there was enchantment on that night. All through my life I shall remember.

We sat side by side on two of the wicker seats which were against the wall facing the wrought-iron gates into the garden, so that we could immediately be aware of intruders.

In the distance we could hear the sound of violins coming from the house and every now and then we would hear a burst of laughter. The air was soft and balmy.

He took my hands and kissed them.

He said: "As soon as I saw you, I knew."

"So did I."

"It was as though something passed between us ... an understanding. Yes? You for me ... and me for you?"

"That is exactly how it was."

"Life is good. It is rare I believe that there is such harmony."

"It's very precious."

"We will keep it so."

"Magnus," I said, "what is going to happen? It is not your home here."

"No," he answered. "I am here for a year... perhaps longer. Then I go home."

"A year," I said happily. "A year for us to be together."

"And then," he went on, "you will come home with me. We shall marry."

"And live happily ever after... It's like a fairy story."

"We shall have many children. They will work with us. They will explore the world. It is a good life."

"I am so happy," I said. "I don't think anyone could ever have had a happier eighteenth birthday."

He was silent for a while. Then he said: "We will go together to find my island."

"Oh yes. The island. I have often felt you wanted to tell me about that."

"Let me tell you now. This beautiful garden seems the place for it. I have wanted to talk to you about it for so long. It is like a dream sometimes. I could believe I had imagined it."

"Tell me. I long to know."

He hesitated for a moment and then began: "I had been with the expedition, charting the seas. We were sure there were many more islands than those known to us and we wanted to find them. I believe I found one. I am sure of it. But let me tell you. We were cruising in the Pacific ... coming from the Sandwich Islands where Captain Cook had been clubbed to death by the natives just ten years or so before. How can I describe to you what it is like to be at sea, perhaps sailing where men have never sailed before? Captain Cook had discovered so much that I used to be afraid that there was nothing more for me to find."

"Tell me about the island you discovered."

"Yes, I want you to know. I want us both to go in search of it. I shall never be completely content until T have found it again ... and I want you to be with me when I do."

I put my hand out to touch his cheek and he caught it and kissed it again and again.

"You will feel as I do," he went on. "You will feel the call of the sea. It is here for mankind to explore ... to tame, to use for himself. How fortunate we are to be born on this Earth. But I want to tell you about my island."

"Please do. Sometimes I think you are holding back ... that you are reluctant to tell me. You say you will and then... you hesitate. What is it about this island?"

He was silent for a few seconds, then he said, "The sea was calm ... so calm ... you scarcely would think you were sailing. And then suddenly the storm blows up... storms such as you have never dreamed of, Ann Alice. You cannot imagine the fury of a hurricane. The wind is like a thousand demons, screeching, whipping up the waves so that the sea becomes a seething cauldron. The rain, caught in the wind, beats down horizontally. It seems as though the storm is intent on destroying everything in its path. What chance has a ship on such a sea, in such a storm. I knew it was going to happen. We prayed for a miracle but none thought one would come. We knew she could not stand up to all that fury—nor could she. I thought my last moment had come. Oddly enough, I felt calm and my great regret was that I was never going to discover all those tracts of land which yet were unknown. My name would die with me. My life was insignificant. Yet I had had grandiose dreams. Magellan, Henry the Navigator, Drake, Cook, Ptolemy, Mercator, Hondius ... I had dreamed of being one of them. A man needs time to prove himself. I have often since then thought of all the men who were taken in their youth and never had a chance of doing what they dreamed of doing. I thought then, I shall be one of those.

"The sea took us up as though we were a cardboard box. It tossed us this way and that. The wind shrieked as though with demonical laughter at our plight and the rain, thunder and lightning did what they could to discomfort us. Right out there in that violent sea we broke up. The deck seemed to roll from under us... parts of our ship were flung out into the sea like debris. All hope was gone. We were a wreck.

"I found myself clinging to a spar of wood. Part of the deck, I imagine. 1 felt half-dead and believed the end was not far off. No one could survive in such a sea.

"I knew roughly where we were before the storm hit us, but could not calculate how far we had come and where the sea had thrown us. I could think of nothing but clinging to my piece of wood. The sea tossed it hither and thither. I was submerged... and then I was afloat again. I closed my eyes and waited for death.

"They say that when you are drowning your whole life comes back to you. You remember the details... childhood ... schooldays. I don't know whether I was too numb to do so. I don't know how I clung to my raft. But I must have done and I remembered nothing of the past. There was only the need to cling to that piece of wood which was all I had to help me against that raging sea. I was exhausted by the battering I was receiving and I felt consciousness slipping away.

"When I opened my eyes everything had changed. I could hear the gentle swishing of waves against the sand. There was a scented breeze, very faint. I opened my eyes to a brilliant blue sky and a sea that was as gentle as a lake. How soft it was... translucent blue. Later I was to discover it could be a pellucid green. It was a sea which seemed different from any other sea I had known. But I had reached the island and everything was different there."

"So that is how you came to the island?"

"Yes, that is how I came to it. When I opened my eyes the first thing I noticed was... people. They were squatting some little distance from me—tall men and women and naked children watching me with great wondering dark eyes. Their skin was light brown colour, their hair dark and abundant. I noticed that they all wore ornaments which looked as though they had been made from gold and the women wore flowers round their necks and ankles.

"The biggest of the men—whom I took to be the chief—came to me and said something which I could not understand. I tried to explain ... but little explanation was needed. My condition, the spar of wood which had carried me to those shores was enough.

"All the time I was there we communicated mainly by signs, gesticulation and mime. They brought pieces of wood held together by fibres and they laid me on this for I was too exhausted to walk. Two of the men carried me ... it was a sort of stretcher... into one of their houses. I realized later that it was the house of the chief. It was round, with a roof of straw; the floor was earth and there were rough benches there. I was laid down gently and several of them came round to examine me. They brought me food... fruit such as I had never tasted before ... mangoes and papaya, sweet bananas and nuts. They gave me something to drink which was fiery hot and made my head swim; and when I turned from it they brought me the milk of a coconut in its shell.

"I wondered what they would do with me. I had heard stories of the fierceness of the natives of some far-off lands. Captain Cook had been clubbed to death when he went to the Sandwich Islands to recover a stolen boat. I might have thought of a hideous fate which they were preparing for me—but I did not. Strangely enough I sensed the goodness of these people. They were tall and strong; they could have been warlike, but there was a gentleness about them and in spite of my position and the strangeness of it all, I felt no fear.

"I was completely exhausted and slept for a long time. When I awoke there was always at least one pair of dark eyes watching me. They gave me food—fruit milk and something which I had never tasted before but which I believe is known as breadfruit.

"I think I must have been at least four days and nights in their care before I was fully conscious.

"When I stood up they clapped their hands. They began to shout and one of the men ran out of the house and began beating with his hands on a drum which I learned later was the way in which they summoned the company. I shall never forget the hour or so which followed. They came in to look at me. They walked round me. They touched me, marvelling, I guessed, at my white skin. They looked with wonder into my light eyes; but it was my fair hair which intrigued them most.

"I had no fear of them. That was what was so wonderful. They stood around me, those tall men and women with their shining golden ornaments and their flowers. They could have tortured me, killed me in the most horrible manner... and that did not occur to me. It was only after I left the island that I thought of it.

"They were happy people. They laughed continually. They squatted round me, touching my hair again and again, offering me fruit and coconut shells full of liquor.

"I sat beside the chief. I guessed he was the chief because he wore more gold ornaments than the others. Moreover he had an air of authority.

"Well... that was my island."

"And how long were you there?"

"I don't know. I lost count of time." He turned to me. "I have to find it. It was all so strange. I could at times believe that there is no such place ... that I imagined it."

"How could you have done so?"

"No. It is impossible. I went there."

"Tell me more. Tell me everything. I want to share all your adventures."

"We talked to each other by signs. I learned one or two of their words. Go; Come. Words like that. It was a thriving community because they had all they wanted on the island. They had fish and fruit in abundance. They grew certain crops, the like of which I have never seen elsewhere. They cooked in earth ovens with pots made of gold buried in the ground with the sun's rays beating down on them... and sometimes in an apparatus like a haybox. They lived mainly on fish which abounded in the seas and could be caught with little effort. Any clothes they wore were woven from leaves and fibres of plants. They lived simply and I have never known harmony such as I found on that island. They had a simple faith in goodness... they worked together... one for all and all for each ... It was paradise, Ann Alice.

"There was gold there—the metal which we call precious was as plentiful as the fish in the sea and the fruit on the trees. One could see it in the streams... on the surface of the earth. One picked up handfuls of earth and there was gold. They had learned how to weld it into necklaces and bangles. They polished it and held it up to the sun. I fancy they thought the gold had captured something of the sun itself and that was why they used it to such an extent. They worshipped the sun. The life giver. They watched it rise every morning and welcomed it with joy; and they were always very solemn when they watched it disappear at night. I remember standing there on the shore with them watching the great red ball drop below the horizon. It seemed to disappear suddenly. There is no twilight. Sunset is different there from how we know it. It is hard to believe that it is the same sun. But I shall go on talking for ever about my island."

"I love to hear of it."

"I lived with them ... for how long? I really have no idea. I became almost one of them."

"Did you not want to come home ... back to your family?"

"Oddly enough I did not think of them. I seemed to be in a different world. I had forgotten my ambition to sail the seas and discover new worlds. I was contented to live their life. I fished with them; with their help I built a house for myself. I lived as they lived; and I was aware of a great contentment. It is difficult to explain. I think it had something to do with the inborn goodness of these people. I would not have believed there could be such a place in the world."

"Why did you leave it? How did you leave it?"

"At times I think there is something mystic about my experience. That is why I am reluctant to talk of it. They lived on fish and as I told you, it abounded in the seas. We spent a great deal of the days in the boats. They were primitive craft... rather like canoes. I remember the day well. The canoes held two people and we used to fish in twos. I often went with one of them whose name sounded like Wamgum. He and I were special friends. He had taught me a few words of his language and I was able to make myself understood now and then. I taught him some of my words too.

"Well Wamgum and I went out. The sun was high in the sky, blazing down on us. We had a covering of straw on our heads for protection. We did not start to fish immediately. We just paddled along and after a while allowed ourselves to drift. I remember looking back at the island, lush, green and beautiful. I sang a song of my country which always delighted them. Wamgum closed his eyes as he listened. I dozed too.

"When I awoke heavy clouds obscured the sun. It was almost dark. I awoke Wamgum in some alarm. He looked about him in dismay. The island was no longer visible. A gust of wind suddenly shook the canoe.

"Storms spring up suddenly in tropical seas. The rain started to teem down, the wind to roar. It was happening again—and this time I was in a frail canoe. We could not fight against the elements. We were overboard, clinging to the canoe. Suddenly Wamgum was no longer there. A great wave seized the canoe and broke it in half flinging it high into the air. I found myself clinging to a piece of wood. It was as it had been before. Death was close to me. I thought, This must be the end. I clung to the wood. I was able to hoist myself onto it so that I was above the water. I hung on. I was tossed and shaken and it seemed like a miracle that I was able to keep my hold on the wood.

"It could not happen again, I thought, unless I was being saved for some special purpose. This time it must be the end.

"I do not know how long I clung there. It was all happening again ... the numbness ... the consciousness slipping away ... the waiting for the sea to swallow me. I lost count of time. I did not know whether it was day or night. I could only cling to my spar and wonder whether the next gigantic wave would carry me off.

"The wind dropped suddenly. The sea was still rough but my broken piece of wood was riding the waves. The sky was bright; the sun so pitiless that I almost wished for the storm. I floated on these calm seas limp, exhausted for ... I did not know how long.

"I was picked up by a passing ship but by that time I was not sure where I was or even who I was. I remember lying in the darkness of that ship, cool drinks passing my lips. I was delirious, I think. I talked of the island.

"Gradually I began to emerge from that state. The ship's doctor came to me. He said they were bound for Rotterdam and he told me that I had come through my ordeal miraculously. Rarely could anyone have come so near to death and escaped. I was suffering from acute sunstroke, starvation and exhaustion. But I was young and strong and before the journey was completed I had completely recovered."

"What an extraordinary adventure. Suppose it hadn't happened the way it did, you would not be here now."

I looked so forlorn that he laughed. "You would never have known me so you would not have grieved for me."

"I shall never let you go on voyages without me."

"We'll go together."

"Do you still want to go, after all that happened?"

"I must go. It is my life... I feel I must go and discover new lands. Besides, I have to go back to the island."

"Could you find it?"

"It won't be easy. I talked of it to the sailors. They thought I was delirious. An island where the savages are gentle, where love and amity reign, where the fish and fruit abound to supply all their needs; where one picks up gold and uses it for cooking pots. I was indeed in delirium. And do you know, Ann Alice, there were times when I believed I might have been, that I might have imagined the whole thing. You see, I had been shipwrecked. There was no doubt of that. I was picked up by the ship and brought home. Did I live in that fantasy world when I was half-conscious in my raft? Did it exist outside my imagination?"

"But you wouldn't have been all that time on the raft?"

"The time was short. I couldn't have been more than a couple of weeks on the island. It seemed a very long time... looking back. Sunrise merging into sunset. The days seemed long. I can't be sure. Sometimes I think they are right. That is why I must go back to find that island."

"I shall come with you."

"Oh, Ann Alice, I knew you would feel as I do. I knew it the moment we met... that first day. I have made a map. I want to show you. I have placed the island where I believe it to be. I know where we had sailed. I can roughly estimate where we were when the storm struck us ... so I can't be far wrong."

"Oh yes, please show me the map."

"I will."

He put his arm round me and held me against him. Then he took my face in his hands and kissed me. We stayed thus for some minutes, our arms entwined.

Then vaguely in the distance I heard the sound of footsteps, but I wanted nothing more than to stay close to Magnus.

A voice broke in on the stillness. "I don't understand you. Why don't you do it? It's easy enough. What's happened to you? You've changed. Fallen in love with the easy life, eh? Edging out of the bargain."

It was the voice of Desmond Featherstone. It sounded harsh and angry. I had never heard that tone before. I wondered to whom he was talking. To whom could he be speaking? Only my stepmother. Surely not. I could not imagine anyone's daring to talk to her like that.

"What is it?" asked Magnus.

"I thought someone was coming. Listen."

The footsteps were dying away.

"They evidently changed their minds," said Magnus. "They have left us with this beautiful garden to ourselves."

"I think we ought to go back. I shall be missed." I sighed with reluctance. "I should like to stay here forever."

We kissed again.

"We will make plans," said Magnus. "Tomorrow I will show you the map of the island."

We went back to the house together.

So here I sit in my bedroom with my journal before me. I am so glad I started to write it. I want to capture every moment of this night and hold it forever. It is the happiest night of my life.

While I am thinking of it, though, every now and then I hear Desmond Featherstone's voice intruding. It spoils the perfection of the night. I wonder what he meant. It is there puzzling me, forcing its way into my happiness... bringing a faintly unpleasant whiff into perfection.

June 30th

Mr. James Cardew came this afternoon. It seems that I forget my journal except when something wonderful or disastrous happens. Perhaps that is as well. If I recorded everyday happenings it would become decidedly boring. As it is, when I read back I can relive the highlights—good or evil.

It is more than a month since Magnus and I revealed our love for each other. What a wonderful month! How we have talked! We have made so many plans. It was arranged that he was to stay in England for a year during which time he would study the methods which were used here. His family had thought that my brother might care to go into the Perrensen business to study their methods in exchange. And this would probably have happened if Charles had been here. My father had said that Charles would want to go when he returned home.

Magnus must stay his term here. He wants to. Much as he longs for our marriage he was completely absorbed in the making of maps and very interested in our methods. I wouldn't have wanted to disturb that for I had determined that I should never put anything in the way of his work.

So, we planned. Next year, early next year, we would be married, and I should go home with him.

He talked a great deal about Norway—the beautiful fjords and mountains. He showed me maps of his country and the place where his family had a country house. I was so happy. I was living in the future. I saw before me an idyllic life. I should see the midnight sun. I should lie in a boat in the fjords, I should fish and swim with him. We would ride through the forests; and then we would go in search of his island ... together... always together.

He had shown me the map. There was the island. He had called it Paradise Island.

"It must be here," he said, pointing. "I have studied maps of the area but there is no mention of it. Here are the Solomon Islands, recently rediscovered. It could be miles south or to the north... I don't know. But it is there ... somewhere. Of course the discovery of these islands is so recent and much of the seas are as yet uncharted. Isn't it exciting? To think of what we have to do? The discoveries we have to make? I am going to make another map, and when it is finished I shall give it to you. Then we shall both have a map on which is my Paradise Island. There will be no other such map in the world ... as yet. Treasure yours, Ann Alice. Keep it in a safe place."

I have not yet received the map but when I do I shall certainly

keep it in a safe place. I shall hide it in the drawer with my journal. Magnus does not want anyone to see it. I believe he is afraid that someone else might find the island before he does.

My father and stepmother know how things are between Magnus and me, although I do not think they realize how serious are our intentions. I have an idea that they believe it to be a boy and girl romance. Calf love, they call it. They seem to forget that I am eighteen years old and Magnus is three years my senior. We are not children, but I suppose parents find it hard to realize that their children have grown up. Oddly enough, only a short time ago my stepmother was talking of giving parties for me so that I could meet a prospective husband. I suppose they feel that only a marriage which they have arranged could be a serious one.

My father's health has deteriorated lately. Sometimes he looks very tired. My stepmother takes great care of him. She is always fussing over him—rushing up with a rug for his knees if he is sitting in the garden and a cold wind blows up, making sure that he has a cushion behind his head when he dozes off. He is always chiding her for treating him like an invalid. But how he revels in it!

I was very glad when Desmond Featherstone disappeared soon after my birthday. I had been afraid that he would be hanging about, waylaying me when I went out. It was a great relief to find that he had gone.

I am writing all this in order to put off the moment when I must write of this terrible thing which has happened.

Freddy and I had been into Great Stanton in the gig. We had had a wonderful afternoon, calling at the Shop and being with Magnus. I had driven the gig home in a haze of happiness and as we came out of the stables to walk across to the house, a rider came towards us.

He pulled up and bowed his head in greeting. "Am I right in thinking you are Miss Mallory?" he asked.

I was startled. I knew him vaguely but could not remember who he was. I said: "Yes."

"I thought I recognized you. You were much younger when we met."

"I remember you now. You are a friend of my brother." My voice trailed off. A terrible presentiment had come to me.

"I have to speak to you. May I leave my horse in your stables and come to the house."

"What is it?" I cried. "Tell me quickly. Is it my brother?"

He nodded gravely.

"We have been so anxious," I said. "Is he ... dead?"

He said: "The ship was lost off the coast of Australia. I am, I believe, one of the few survivors."

I felt dizzy. I gripped Freddy's hand. I said: "Freddy, you'd better go and find your Aunt Lois. Tell her ... we have a visitor."

I took James Cardew to the stables and we were silent while the groom took his horse.

We walked slowly to the house together.

"I cannot tell you how it grieves me to be the carrier of such news," he said at length. "But I had to come to see you ... and your father."

"It was good of you," I told him. "He has not been very well lately. Let me break it to him first."

My father was dozing in the garden. I went to him and said: "We have a visitor. It is Mr. Cardew. Do you remember Mr. Cardew? He came to see Charles... just before he sailed. Oh, Papa, it is very sad news. Charles..."

I shall never forget my father's face. It was stricken. He looked old and tired.

My stepmother came down and sat by my father, holding his hand. James Cardew talked of the voyage, of the terrible night of shipwreck. It seemed to me that this was the fate of all who braved the sea. I had heard so much of the hazards from Magnus—and now it was like hearing the tragic story all over again. Only this one ended in death.

James Cardew did not stay long. I think he felt that the sight of him could only add to our sorrow.

Ours is a house of mourning tonight.

August 1st

The sadness persists. We cannot believe that we shall never see Charles again.

My stepmother has done everything she can to cheer my father. He had one of his turns the day after James Cardew left. My stepmother insisted that the doctor come. He said it was no surprise in view of the shock my father had received.

It was a particularly bad turn. He stayed in bed for a week. My stepmother read aloud to him from the Bible, which seemed to give him great comfort.

A few weeks after it happened my father seemed to arouse himself. He went into Great Stanton to see his lawyers.

He talked to me about it afterwards. "You see, Ann Alice, this makes a great difference. It means the end of our Mallory line. For centuries we have had Mallorys living in this house. Now the chain is broken."

"Do names matter?" I asked.

"Families do. People set great store by families. I have to think about this house and everything. If you marry and leave the country, what then? The family is scattered ... the name is lost. Charles would have continued here."

"Yes, I do see," I said. "But when all is told is it so very important. People should be happy. They find happiness with other people, not houses and names."

"You talk like a girl in love. It is Magnus, is it not?"

"Yes, it is Magnus."

"A bright young man. He is much travelled. He is in love with the business of map making ... as I never really was. Masters is like that. It absorbs some people. Masters says Magnus has a special talent for map making. He has adventure in his blood too. Your brother Charles was like that." He was silent for a moment then he went on: "I have had to see old Grampton."

Grampton Sons and Henderson are our solicitors.

"I have been thinking of the house. That should go to you. What would you do with it? I hope you would never sell it."

"No, Papa. I would not."

"I hope there would always be a home for your stepmother here for as long as she lives. I have provided for her. Of course, there is your cousin John. I haven't heard much of him for some time. But he is a Mallory ... so I suppose really the place should go to him... if... by any chance you do not want to live here... That would not be while your stepmother was alive, of course."

"You talk as though you are going to die, Papa."

"I don't intend to for a long time yet. But I want to make sure that everything is in order... and in view of what has happened to Charles..." His voice faltered...

I took his hand and held it. It was rarely that we were demonstrative with each other.

I do not like such talk. It is almost as though my father thinks he is going to die.

It has been a strange month. A terrible gloom hangs over the house and it is only when I escape to Magnus that it recedes a little.

To be so happy and to know tragedy is waiting to strike at any moment makes me pause to think. And in this contemplative mood I turn to my journal.

September 3rd

We are a house of mourning.

My father died in the night. My stepmother discovered him. She came to me, her face very white, her deep blue eyes enormous and her mouth quivering.

"Ann, Ann Alice, come with me... and look at your father."

He was lying on his back, his face white and still. I touched his face. It was very cold.

I looked at my stepmother and said: "He's... dead."

"He can't be," she insisted as though begging me to agree with her. "He's had these turns before."

"He has never had one like this," I said. "We must send for the doctor."

She sank into a chair and covered her face with her hands. "Oh, Ann Alice, it can't be. It can't be."

I felt amazingly calm. It was almost as though I was prepared. "I will send one of them for the doctor at once," I said.

I went out and left her there with him.

The housekeeper came back with me. She started to cry when she saw my father. My stepmother just sat still, her hands covering her face.

I went to her and put an arm about her shoulders. "You must compose yourself," I told her. "I am afraid he is dead."

She looked at me piteously. "He was so good to me," she said tremulously. "He ... he has had these turns before. Perhaps ..."

I shook my head. Somehow I could not stay in that room. I went out, leaving her. I went down to the front door and stood there facing the Green, waiting for the doctor.

It seemed hours before he came.

"What is it, Miss Mallory?" he asked.

"It's my father. He must have died in the night."

I took him to the death chamber. He examined my father but said very little.

As he came out of the room he said to me: "He has never recovered from the shock of your brother's death."

So here I sit with my journal before me, writing down the events of this sad day.

I keep thinking about him and how he had changed when he married my stepmother and through her it seemed we had become more of a family than we had ever been before.

His last years had been happy. She had made them so. I should be grateful to her. I wish I could be.

And now he is dead. I shall never see him dozing in his chair again, sitting at the head of the table, exuding contentment with his family life.

Gloom in the house. And soon we have to face the funeral. We shall be dressed in heavy black; we shall go to the churchyard, listen

to the words of the preacher, watch them lower his coffin into the grave, and the bell will toll.

Then we shall return to the house ... a different house. How can it be the same without him?

What will it be like? I find it hard to imagine.

My stepmother will be here. Freddy will be here. I have lost my father and my brother.

But in the Masters' house in Great Stanton, Magnus has his little room. He will be thinking of me as I am of him. There is nothing to fear because he is there...

Should I be afraid if it were not for Magnus?

I pause to consider that. Yes, I believe I should be. Of what? Of a gloomy house, a house of death? Of a life without my father?

Why should I feel so uneasy about that?

But there is nothing to fear. Magnus is there ... waiting for the day when we shall be together.

September 10th

Today my father was buried. I seem to have lived through a long time since that day, only a week ago, when he died.

Immediately after my father's death my stepmother was prostrate. She was really ill. I had never seen her weep before but she did for my father. She must have really loved him. True, she had always behaved as though she did, but I never really believed her. I had taken such a dislike to her when she first came that nothing she did could eradicate that.

I thought she would be too ill to go to the funeral, but she roused herself and put on her widow's weeds, her black, black clothes. They did not suit her. She is a woman who needs colour.

The mournful sound of the tolling bell seemed to go on forever. The carriage, the black-plumed horses, the undertakers in their solemn tall hats and sombre coats, the cortege of death... they all accentuated our loss.

Why do people have to glorify death like this? I wonder. Would it not have been better if we had just laid him quietly in his grave?

I was on one side of my stepmother, Freddy on the other, holding her hand. She leaned on me a little, now and then putting her hand to her eyes.

A little group of the village people gathered to watch us leave. I heard one of them say: "Poor soul. She was so happy with him. It did you good to see them together. And now he's gone ... gone forever."

My stepmother heard and seemed to be grappling with her emotion.

The service in the church had been brief and I was thankful for that. We walked out of the church following the pallbearers. I listened to the clods of earth falling on the coffin. My stepmother threw down a bunch of asters. She gripped my hand and pressed it.

Then I lifted my eyes. Standing a little apart from the group round the grave was Desmond Featherstone.

My heart started to beat faster. I felt a sudden fear. His eyes were fixed on my stepmother.

As we turned away from the grave, he joined us.

"My dear, dear ladies," he said. "I heard of this sad happening. I have come to offer my condolences... to you both."

I said nothing. Nor did my stepmother.

She had quickened her pace and I fancied she wanted him to fall behind.

He did not and when we reached the carriage which would take us back to the house he was still beside us. He helped us in and stood back, his expression solemn; but I noticed the glitter in his eyes as he bowed to us.

This dismal day is over and I cannot forget the sight of Desmond Featherstone standing there near the grave. For some reason, even now, the memory sends shivers down my spine.

November 1st How everything has changed. I knew it would but not to this extent. I think I should be very much afraid if it were not for Magnus.

Magnus is my lifeline. He restores my spirits. He makes me happy, he makes me forget my fears. I go to him every day. We make plans. It won't be long now before we are married, he says. Then we shall go away together.

I sometimes have a strange feeling that forces are at work to destroy my happiness with Magnus and that something else... something terrible ... is being planned for me.

When my father's will was read I discovered that he had been a comparatively wealthy man. The map-making business in itself was a flourishing concern. That could be run satisfactorily by Masters and his men. It was to remain in the family and would belong to me. I need have nothing to do with it, but my father did wish that it should continue. In the event of my marrying or wishing to be rid of it, it would go to that distant cousin John Mallory, to whom the house would also go on my death.

It was all very complicated. My stepmother had a very adequate income but the bulk of the wealth was in the business and the house and the land—and that was mine.

The clause which I found most hard to bear was my father's passing over my guardianship to my stepmother. He had stated in his will that he trusted his wife's judgement utterly so he was placing the care of his daughter in her hands until that daughter was twenty-one years of age or in the event of her marriage. He believed that was the best thing he could possibly do in the circumstances. His daughter had been without a mother's guidance until his second marriage. He therefore left her in the charge of one in whom he had complete trust—his dear wife, Lois.

I thought: He certainly was besotted about tier—from the moment he set eyes on her to the end.

I was really annoyed by that injunction, but I did not think at first that it would make any difference to me.

Now things are starting to happen. It no longer seems like my home. There is something sinister about it... And I know what it is.

It was about three or four weeks after the funeral when Desmond Featherstone reappeared.

I was in the garden with Freddy when he walked in.

When I looked up and saw him my heart gave that little leap of apprehension which it always does at the sight of him.

"Hello," he said. "I have come to visit the bereaved."

"Oh. My stepmother is in. I will tell her you have called to see her."

"I have called to see you too, Miss Ann Alice."

"Thank you," I said. "But I am sure my stepmother will want to know that you have called."

I turned away and he caught my arm. "You are not still determined to be unfriendly, are you?"

I said: "Oh, Freddy, let us go and tell Aunt Lois that she has a visitor, shall we?"

Freddy was very quick and he had developed a rather touching way of looking after me. He must have sensed the appeal in my voice.

"Oh yes, come on."

He took my hand and pulled me away. We left Desmond Featherstone looking after us rather disconsolately.

That was the beginning.

He stayed to luncheon and then to dinner.

Then he said it was too late to leave that night.

And there he was. He stayed with us the next day and he is still with us.

I am not sure what my stepmother feels about his being in the house. Sometimes I think she wishes he would go. I wonder why she does not ask him to.

But what frightens me is his attitude to me. He has come here to pursue me.

If I am alone in a room it will not be long before he is there too.

Being in the house he can follow my movements. If I go out to ride he will be there beside me. I take Freddy with me a great deal. He acts as a miniature chaperon. He is very good at it and I believe has some inkling that he is there to protect me.

I often go to the Shop to see Magnus. Sometimes we ride out together to eat the picnic lunch which I have brought. Once Desmond Featherstone had the temerity to join us.

He has brought a new atmosphere into the house ... an uneasiness ... more than that... a kind of terror... for me. The truth is that I am afraid of him. Yes, I am really frightened of Desmond Featherstone.

November 6th

I have an urge to write more in my journal now. I feel it is like a friend in whom I can confide. I still have this uneasy feeling that I cannot trust my stepmother, although she is gentle with me and so pathetic in her grief. I often wonder why she does not tell Desmond Featherstone to go, for I have a feeling that she does not want him here any more than I do. Yesterday I saw them together. I looked from my window and they were in the garden. She had a basket on her arm and was rather listlessly picking the last of the chrysanthemums. He was talking to her and she was replying with some vehemence. I wish I could have heard what they were saying.

Magnus has given me the copy of the map. I keep it at the back of my drawer with my journal. I wish I had a safe of some sort, a box I could lock, somewhere to keep my secret things. But perhaps the back of the drawer is the safest place. People wouldn't think of rummaging through my gloves and scarves, whereas if I locked things away they might think I had something to hide. This obsession with security has only come after my father's death.

I often take out the map and look at it. I dream of sailing in that sea, among those islands. How I should like to visit the Sandwich Islands, Tahiti... and those new discoveries.

Magnus and I will one day find our island. I shall look back on these days and laugh at myself. I am imagining things, building up something which is not there. I am endowing Desmond Featherstone with sinister intentions ... just as I did long ago, my stepmother.

Desmond Featherstone went away for a few days and what a relief that was! I really am building up a case against that man. What has he done but forced himself upon us and made himself especially odious to me? But on the other hand he could not have stayed on at the house if my stepmother had not allowed him to. She could tell

him to go, if she wanted to, and I would second her in that. Sometimes I fancy that she does want to. But then why doesn't she?

Of course he was soon back and is with us again.

He is there at meals. He appreciates the food that is served and particularly the wine from our cellars. I have seen him stretch his legs and look around the room with satisfaction, with an almost proprietorial air. It irritates me. Why does my stepmother not tell him to go?

Today I have been with Magnus, and although I have not mentioned this before, today I blurted it out.

I said: "I hate that man. He frightens me. He moves so silently. You are in a room ... you look up ... and find he is watching you there. Oh, Magnus, the house isn't the same."

Magnus said: "It wouldn't be ... after your father's death. You were fond of him... and it is not as though you have your own mother."

"My brother is lost," I replied. "My father is dead. You see, in a way I am alone."

"How can you evert>e alone while I am here," he answered.

"It's wonderful that you are. That makes me very happy. I just have this horrible feeling that something might happen ... before ... before I can be with you."

"What could happen?"

"I don't know. Just something ... It seems so long to wait."

"Next April," he said, "we'll go to my home. We'll be there for a while and make our plans. We're going to explore together, be together for the rest of our lives."

"And find your island."

"What did you think of the map?"

"It doesn't tell me much. It is just those blue seas and the island ... and the mainland and the other islands. I wish I could see pictures of the island."

He laughed at me. "We're going to find it."

"We shan't live there?"

"Oh no, I don't think we could do that. We'll visit them. We'll catch that contentment. Perhaps we'll help them market their gold."

"Wouldn't that change them? I thought their happiness came from simplicity and the idea of their going without their gold cooking pots so that they can sell to rich merchants somehow spoils the illusion."

"We'll go and discover together what we shall do. As long as we are together, I shall be happy."

"I wish it were next April."

"Perhaps we could make it earlier?"

"Oh ... could we?"

"Ann Alice, you are not really frightened, are you?"

"N ... no. I suppose not really. I expect I'm just so eager to start our new life together."

We laughed; we kissed; we embraced; and the times we spend together are always to me absolute happiness.

While I was writing that I heard footsteps on the stairs. I listened. There was a gentle tap on my door. I hastily thrust my journal into a drawer.

It was my stepmother.

"I knew you wouldn't be in bed yet," she said.

"You look pale," I told her. "Are you not feeling well?"

Even as I spoke I wondered whether she deliberately looked unwell. I knew there were mysterious-looking pots full of lotions and creams with which she treated her skin, and it occurred to me that she might be able to look pale or robust according to the mood she was in.

She touched her head. "I have headaches. It is since your father died. I should have guessed it couldn't have lasted. But he did seem better. I should have been prepared ... but it was a great shock when it came. I sometimes feel I shall never get over it." She smiled at me ruefully. "It is a house of mourning ... no place for a young girl."

"For me, you mean. But it is my home. He was my father."

"My dear Ann Alice, I know that when I first came here you resented me. You were so fond of Miss Bray, weren't you? It is always hard to follow on a favourite."

I was silent and she went on: "I have tried to do what I can. I think you also resented my marriage. It is understandable. Stepmothers are often not the most popular people, are they? How could they be—replacing a dearly loved mother? But I tried. Perhaps I failed."

I did not know what to say. I stammered: "You made my father very happy."

She smiled, looking like her old self. "Yes, I did that. And he has left me a sacred trust."

"Together with an adequate income, I believe."

She looked at me rather reproachfully. "I don't think of that. I think of you. I take this trust... very seriously."

"There is no need. I can't think why my father decided to make it. I am not a child any more."

"You are eighteen. It is not very old and you are a girl who has led a very sheltered life. He thought you were inclined to be impulsive, carried away."

"Oh, did he say that?"

"Oh yes. It was this sudden friendship with Magnus Perrensen which made him a little anxious."

"There was no need for him to be anxious," I said sharply.

"He was afraid that you might rush into something. After all you have met very few young men."

"I have met our neighbours frequently and some of them are young. Men have come to the house ..."

"A young man who has sailed the seven seas... who has even been shipwrecked. That is very romantic. Your father used to talk to me a lot about it. He used to say the Perrensens are a good family ... well-known map makers, known throughout Europe in fact, but Magnus is young... and so are you. Your father always said that if there was an engagement between you, it must be of long duration."

"That is absurd. We are not so young or stupid as not to know our own feelings."

"My dear Ann Alice, I think only of your good. You are so very young ... both of you ..."

"I am going to marry him. When he leaves, I shall go with him."

She was silent for a while, then she said: "Are you absolutely sure?"

"Absolutely."

She sighed. "I would rather see you married to someone more mature. You are high-spirited and need someone who can guide you ... someone with a firm hand."

"I am not a horse, Stepmother."

"My dear, I did not mean that. You must understand that whatever I say, whatever I do, it is only for what I believe to be your good. So you must forgive me for being frank. But... how well do you know Magnus Perrensen?"

"Well enough to tell me all I want to know."

"Do you know that Mrs. Masters' niece is staying at her house?"

"Mrs. Masters' niece? What has she to do with us?"

"A young woman ... living under the same roof. They would see a great deal of each other. And young men... well, they are only young men."

"You are suggesting that Magnus and Mrs. Masters' niece ..."

"My dear Ann Alice, I am merely telling you that you should know what people are saying."

I was stunned. I did not believe her.

She lifted her shoulders. "I hope I haven't said anything to upset you. I was only doing what I thought to be my duty. My dear Ann Alice, you really are very young. I know someone who is devoted to

you, and has been in love with you for a long time. A man who is older... and shall we say ... more steady?"

"I really don't know what you are talking about," I said.

"I was thinking of Mr. Featherstone."

"Mr. Featherstone! You must be joking. I don't like him. I have never liked him."

"Sometimes great affection starts that way."

"Does it? It never would with me ... and that man. I dislike him. And as you are being frank with me I will be equally so with you. What is he doing here? Living here... in this house. It is my house now. Why has he come to live here?"

"He is not living here. He is a guest. Your father was always hospitable and encouraged me to be the same. He said that all my friends would always be welcome in this house."

"Well, as he is a friend of yours, perhaps you can persuade him to confine his attentions to you. He always seems to be where I am and I do not like it."

"He is in love with you, Ann Alice."

"Please do not say that. I do not believe it. Nor do I want to discuss this man any more."

My stepmother put her hand to her eyes and shook her head.

"You must forgive me," she said. "I have spoken too freely. I am only thinking of your good."

"I am eighteen years old," I reminded her. "That is quite old enough to marry and to choose a husband for myself. Understand this, I shall choose whom I wish and no one ... no one ... is going to force me into marrying someone I do not want. I should never have allowed even my father to do that. Certainly no one else shall."

"My dear, forgive me. I see you are distraught. Remember, always remember, I only want to do the best for you."

"Then please do not speak of this matter again. It is distasteful to me..."

"I am forgiven?"

She came to me and put her arms about me. I laid my cheek against hers briefly. It was strange but I could never bring myself to kiss her wholeheartedly.

"Good night, my dear child, good night."

When she had gone I sat down by my bed and the words she had spoken kept ringing in my ears. Mrs. Masters niece!

"It is not true," I said aloud.

I thought: She is trying to stop my marrying Magnus. She is trying to force me into marrying Desmond Featherstone.

That could almost make me laugh and I should have done so if I could have forgotten Mrs. Masters' niece.

Then I took my journal again and am writing this in it.

November 7th

All is well. I am happy again. I knew I should be as soon as I saw Magnus and talked with him.

He laughed at me when I told him what my stepmother had said about Mrs. Masters' niece. Yes, she had a niece and she was staying at the house. I should go with him now and meet her.

So I did. She is a plump and friendly woman. She must be at least thirty-five. She is a widow and has a son who is away at school. She is what is called homely. There is nothing of the femme fatale about her. She is fond of Magnus as all the Masters are. It is clear to me that my stepmother's hints are completely without foundation.

We laughed over it when we were alone. I said: "She talks about long engagements... and I told her that was out of the question as far as we were concerned."

"Perhaps March," he said. "How would that be? That gives you three months in which to prepare yourself."

"I don't need preparations," I told him. "I'm ready."

"I wonder what you'll think of my home."

"I shall love it."

"Do you always make your decisions before you have had time to test them?" he asked.

"Always where you are concerned," I retorted.

How happy we were and when I am with him I feel how foolish I am to entertain doubts.

It was different as soon as I went into the house. I dislike November. It is a gloomy month. I love the spring and the early summer, not so much because of the temperature but because of the light. In November it is almost dark by four o'clock. That is what I hate. It is such a long night.

It was about four-thirty when I came in and already I had to light a candle. They were kept in the hall and we took them as we came in. The servants collected them from wherever they found them and there was always a good supply waiting for use.

As I entered the corridor which led to my room that eerie feeling came over me. I soon knew why. Desmond Featherstone was standing at the end of the corridor.

I lifted up my candle as he came towards me and the light from my candle threw his elongated shadow on the walls. I felt my knees begin to tremble.

"Good evening," I said. I turned to my door but as I touched the handle, he was beside me.

I did not go into the room. The last thing I wanted was for him to come to my bedroom.

He came very close. "How nice to see you alone," he said softly.

"What did you want?" I asked curtly.

"Just the courtesy of a few words."

"Could you make them very few. I have much to do."

"Why are you so unkind to me?"

"I had no idea that I was. You are enjoying hospitality in my house."

"You are so beautiful... and so proud. Ann Alice, why won't you give me a chance?"

"A chance? A chance for what?"

"To make you love me."

"No amount of chances could make me do that."

"Are you determined to hate me?"

"It is not a matter of determination."

"Why are you so hard on me?"

"I did not think I was. I just have other things I must do."

Still I hesitated because I feared he would follow me in if I opened the door.

I said: "I must ask you to leave me now."

"Not until you have listened to me."

"I have asked you to say quickly what it is."

"You are very young."

"Oh, please, no more of that. I know how old I am and it is not so very young."

"And you know little of the world. I will teach you, my dearest child. I will make you very happy."

"I am happy, thank you. I don't need any lessons. Now, if you will go...

He was watching me ironically. He knew that I was afraid to open the door lest he should follow me.

"You are heartless," he said. "Just one little moment... dearest Ann Alice."

He put his arms out to take me in them and I was so horrified that I pushed him back. He was taken off his guard for a moment and fell against the wall. I opened my door quickly and went inside, shutting it behind me.

I stood leaning against it, listening. My heart felt as though it were bursting; my breath was coming in short gasps and I was trembling violently.

How dared he! Here in my house at that! He must go. I would tell my stepmother that I would not allow him to stay under my roof.

I pressed myself against the door. I had a notion that he might try to come in. How vulnerable I was! There was no key to the door. I had never felt the need of one before. There must be a key. I would never sleep in peace while he was in the house and my bedroom door unlocked. I believed he would be capable of anything... just anything. I must be on my guard.

I listened. I could hear nothing. He was silent-footed. I had said to Magnus: "He walks like a cat." And so he did.

No sound at all. All was quiet in the corridor. Still. I stood there. I was afraid that if I opened the door, I should see him standing there.

In time my heart began to beat more normally, though I was still trembling. Cautiously I opened the door and peered out. The corridor was empty.

I came in and put a chair against the door.

It was time to dress for dinner. In a short time one of the maids would bring up my hot water.

I moved the chair away from the door. I did not know what construction the maid would put on that if she found it there, but I could be sure that she would report to the kitchen and there would be conjecture.

How far away April seemed! Perhaps it would be March though. Even so it was a long time to wait.

He seemed quite normal at dinner and made no reference to that scene in the corridor. But then I supposed he wouldn't.

When I retired to my room that night I barricaded myself in. I knew if I did not I should never sleep.

The last thing I said to myself before I went into an uneasy doze was: "Tomorrow I will have a key made."

November 8th

I feel triumphant. I study the key lovingly. It represents security.

The first thing I did this morning was to go down to see Thomas Gow. He has a small cottage on the Green which he uses as a workshop. He ekes out a small living by acting as carpenter and locksmith and doing odd jobs in Little Stanton. There is a firm of carpenters in Great Stanton and I have heard it said that they get the best jobs and poor Thomas Gow the unimportant ones.

I went to him and told him that I wanted a key and asked if he could make one. He said he could, and I told him I wanted it quickly and must have it today.

That could be done, he said.

He came to my room and before the end of the day he called at the house with my precious key. He came up to my room with me and we tried it in the door.

I cried: "Oh, thank you." And I paid him twice what he asked.

He could not know how much that key meant to me.

Now I am about to go to bed and the last thing I am doing is writing in my journal. From my chair I can see my blessed key in the lock. It is turned, shutting me in.

I feel peaceful and secure. I know I shall sleep well tonight to make up for the wakefulness of the last.

December 1st

Christmas will soon be here. Time is passing slowly. I am so relieved that Desmond Featherstone is not here all the time. He goes to London frequently, but when he returns he comes to the house just as though it is his home. I have spoken to my stepmother about it and she always shakes her head and says: "He was a great friend of my family. There is nothing I can do... really." And she invariably added: "Your father always said that any friends of mine were welcome here."

I console myself. It is only three months to March. Magnus says that we should make the wedding the beginning of March. So it is getting closer. The thought is a great comfort to me.

In a way Desmond Featherstone's absences—although it is such a relief to be rid of him—in themselves create a tension. One is never sure when he will return and every time I go upstairs I think of coming across him in the corridor or some unexpected place. It is like being haunted by a ghost; and that is almost as bad as the reality.

Sometimes I wake in the night and fancy my door handle is being slowly turned. How thankful I am for my key! I am very grateful to Thomas Gow and have tried to find one or two jobs for him, and I have decided that when we have something which needs to be done, I will not go to the big firm in Great Stanton but give Thomas Gow the chance to do it.

I believe he is quite ambitious and he certainly is prepared to work hard. Such people should be given a chance to get on.

I had an unpleasant surprise today.

I had thought that Christmas would be celebrated in the usual way. When I suggested to my stepmother that we ought to set about making the usual preparations she looked horrified.

"But, my dear, this is a house of mourning. We shall spend Christmas quietly. I could not agree to anything else."

"I was not suggesting that we should have a riotous feast ... just a few friends."

"There cannot be any guests. It is such a short time since your father died."

I shrugged my shoulders. "Well, perhaps just Magnus Perrensen."

"Oh ... but no guests at all."

"But my father said we must make him feel at home. He won't have any family of his own. We will just ask him."

I smiled to myself. That would be best of all. Just Magnus. We would ride in the morning and have a quiet day together.

"I had thought of that," said my stepmother. "And I have already spoken to Mrs. Masters about it. She said that naturally Mr. Perrensen will have his Christmas with them. He came in while we were discussing it and she suggested it to him there and then, and he was most agreeable."

I was angry. "It seems that plans are made without consulting me.

"Oh, I am sorry. But it was not exactly planned. It seemed just the only thing to do in the circumstances."

There is something about my stepmother. I suppose it is her worldliness. But in a situation like this one she has a gift for making one feel unreasonable, foolish, making a fuss about something quite trivial. She does it so well that she almost makes you believe it yourself.

December 27th

Christmas is over. I am glad. I am glad of everything that brings me nearer to March.

It went off reasonably well, except that we had the odious Desmond Featherstone with us.

He came to church with us in the morning. They stood on either side of me singing "O Come, All Ye Faithful." He has a deep loud bellowing sort of voice which can be heard above the rest of the congregation, and all the time we were standing singing he seemed to edge closer to me.

We walked across the Green home.

My stepmother was a little sad. She told me she could not help thinking of last Christmas when my father was there.

I saw Magnus in church, sitting with the Masters, and when he looked at me I was happy. His eyes were clearly saying: Not long now. This time next year, where shall we be?

I gave myself up to blissful wondering.

And so Christmas passed.

Soon we shall be into the New Year.

January 2nd 1793

What a strange beginning to the New Year.

I had been out with Freddy. He is beginning to ride quite well

although when he came to us he had never sat on a horse. I often take him out with me.

As we came in one of the servants appeared and told me that two gentlemen had called and were asking either for Mrs. or Miss Mallory.

"Who are they?" I asked.

"They did not give a name, Miss Ann Alice. But they said it was important."

"Where is Mrs. Mallory?"

"She is out at the moment."

"I'll see them then. Are they in the parlour?"

She said they were so I told Freddy to go up to his room and I would see him later.

I went into the little sitting room which we call the parlour. It is a small room leading off the hall.

One of the men was familiar to me and as soon as he came forward I recognized him.

The last time he had come he had brought bad news.

"It's James Cardew, Miss Mallory," he said.

"Oh yes ... yes ... I remember."

"And this is Mr. Francis Graham."

We exchanged greetings.

"Mr. Graham has just arrived from Australia and in view of what he had to tell me I thought I should come to see you immediately. It concerns your brother, Miss Mallory. I am so sorry that you suffered such a shock on my last visit. It seems that your brother was not lost after all."

"Oh..." My voice sounded faint. I was filled with joy. Charles was alive! This was wonderful news. Mr. Cardew turned to his companion. "Mr. Graham will explain."

"Please sit down," I said faintly.

So we sat and Mr. Graham told me the story.

It appeared that Charles had been picked up after several days in the water. He was more dead than alive. The ship had been on its way to Sydney, and Charles had been in such a state of shock and exhaustion that he had been unaware of who he was.

"His memory had completely gone," said Mr. Graham. "He was in an emaciated state. It was thought he could not live. And even when he recovered a little, his memory was gone, which explains why you have heard nothing of him all this time. I was a passenger on that ship. I do business between England and the new colony. When we picked up your brother, I was very interested in his case and when we arrived in Sydney I said I would keep an eye on him. It was obvious that he was of good family and English, and when we were on the ship I had tried to help him recover his memory. He did remember enough to give me some indication of his background, and when we came to Sydney I took him to some friends of mine and asked if they would keep him there, which they did. When I returned to Sydney I was able to see him. Well, to get down to what really matters, I discovered that his name was Charles... Not an unusual name and we were looking at some maps recently and the name Mallory was mentioned. That set something working in his mind.

"I knew of Mallory's maps. Mr. Cardew was a friend of mine. It was some time before I could get in touch with him but finally I did and we are certain that this man is your brother. I did not want to bring him over until I had checked out a few facts with Mr. Cardew and yourselves—so he is still with my friends. But we are convinced now that this man is your brother. He will be sailing shortly and arriving in England perhaps in March."

I cried: "It's wonderful news. I only wish my father had lived for this:'

"He died, did he?" asked James Cardew.

"Yes. He had been ill on and off for some time, but hearing of my brother's death seemed to undermine him completely ... and he just succumbed to his illness."

"I wish I had never brought that news to you."

"It was good of you to come. We had to know. We were worried about that long silence before you came."

"I thought I must let you know as soon as I could. This is a happier visit than my last."

My stepmother came in then. She had heard we had visitors and that they were in the parlour.

"This is Mr. James Cardew and Mr. Francis Graham. They have brought wonderful news. Charles is alive!" I cried.

"Charles ..."

"My brother whom we thought was lost at sea. He was picked up."

"Picked up ... " She stared. "It can't be! After all this time."

I had an idea that she wanted to prove that the man who was picked up was not my brother.

"Strange things happen at sea," said Francis Graham. "I have heard of cases like this before. It is a fact that Mr. Charles Mallory was shipwrecked but picked up. He suffered from loss of memory among other things and was therefore unable to communicate with his family."

"It is so... incredible."

She was very pale. Of course, she had never known Charles. I could hardly expect her to share my joy.

"Won't it be wonderful when he comes home," I cried. "I can't thank you enough for bringing us this news. Now we are going to drink to the health of my brother, and to all those kind people who have looked after him."

My stepmother has recovered herself. She summoned one of the servants. She instructed them to bring wine and to set two more places at the table.

What a happy day this has been!

I feel so safe now. Charles will soon be home.

I suddenly realize that the house is no longer mine. I am glad. That is how it should be. I should have felt dreadful about going away and leaving it. And of course that is what I shall have to do when I marry Magnus...

Oh, happy day! A lovely beginning to the New Year.

January 4th

Desmond Featherstone arrived today. I came in and there he was coming down the stairs.

I stopped short and stared at him. "So you are back," I said.

"What a nice welcome! You make me feel so much at home."

"It seems," I said, "that you have made this house your home."

"You are all so hospitable."

I began to feel that shivery feeling, as though—as Miss Bray used to say—someone was walking over my grave.

Why should I feel this? It was broad daylight—a bright frosty day. We have turned the corner and the days are getting longer. It is still dark early, but every day there is a little change. And March will soon be here.

What am I afraid of?

He is shocked. I saw that at dinner. He is so angry about something that he cannot conceal it. I know what it is, of course. It is due to Charles. He is angry because Charles is alive!

Of course, he has some plans for me. He thought the house was mine, the business was mine. No wonder he wants to marry me.

All that is changed now. The true heir is alive. Charles will come back and when he does he will be master of this house. I am sure that then there will be no place in it for Mr. Desmond Featherstone.

Come home soon, Charles.

I am feeling happy today. The days have started to get longer. I have my key so that I may lock myself in. Charles is coming home. And very soon March will be here.

February 1st

I cannot believe this story. It is incredible. How could there possibly be plague in Great Stanton? When I think of the plague I am reminded of lessons with Miss Bray. A red cross on the door. The death cart and "Bring out your dead."

That could not happen nowadays.

I went to the Shop today. I love going there. I try always to go at midday when they are stopping work. Mrs. Masters often sends over a tray. She is only across the road, but Mr. Masters says he doesn't always want to leave the Shop. He is always busy on some project or other—so the food is sent over.

And I go in often and join them. It is such a happy hour, that.

The main topic of conversation for the last week has been the execution of the King of France. We were all shocked about that. It seems so terrible and we have long discussions about what effect this is going to have in France ... and on England. Magnus is enormously interested, and coming from the Continent, he has a slightly different approach to every subject. He is a great talker and loves a discussion; and, I am discovering, so do I.

But now all that is forgotten. We have a local event which seems of greater importance.

The fact is that a certain Mr. Grant and his son Silas have just returned from Dalmatia bringing with them bales of cloth. They are tailors. A few days ago Mr. Grant senior developed a strange illness-severe fever, soaring temperature, sickness and delirium. The doctor was nonplussed, and when he was about to call in another opinion Mr. Grant developed dark spots and patches all over his skin. These turned into horrible sores and it seems that all these are the symptoms of bubonic plague, which has not been seen in England since the beginning of this century.

He died within a short time.

Perhaps the matter would have been forgotten but a very short time after the death of his father, Silas Grant began to show the same symptoms.

So now this has been definitely diagnosed as the Plague. There has been consternation everywhere, because when this sort of disease is brought into a country there is no knowing how far it will spread.

So we talked of this strange occurrence while we ate Mrs. Masters' excellent chicken.

Magnus as usual took charge of the conversation. He talked at length about the Great Plague of London in 1665 which quite devastated the country. We had suffered little from it since because, said Magnus, it had taught us a great lesson and that was that one of the main causes was a lack of cleanliness and bad drainage.

"Only twice in this century has it visited Western Europe," he said. "It was in Russia and Hungary and came as far as Prussia and Sweden; and when it arrives it is difficult to eradicate. Later there was an outbreak in Southern France ... rather close, you might say. During the Russo-Turkish war there was another outbreak, and that little more than twenty years ago. Then it appeared again in Dalmatia."

"Well, that is where the Grants came from," I said.

"People are taking this very seriously," said Mr. Masters.

"And so they should," added Magnus.

While we were talking, John Dent, one of our workers, came in and said that he had just heard that Silas Grant had died.

"Two deaths," said Mr. Masters. "This is serious."

"They are saying the bales of cloth they brought back may be infected," said John Dent.

"That," said Mr. Masters, "is very likely."

"They should be burned," added Magnus.

"Nobody wants to touch them," explained John Dent. "They are all together in one room at the top of the shop. They are going to burn all the bedclothes, but nobody will touch the bales of cloth. They are going to board up the room. They think that is the thing to do."

"How strange!" I cried. "I thought it would have been better to burn them."

"The room itself might be infected," said Mr. Masters. "They've got a point."

"Well, if that finishes it, it will be proved they have done the right thing," commented Magnus.

I could not stop thinking of it.

Over dinner I told my stepmother. Desmond Featherstone was there. They did not display a great deal of interest. It seemed to me that they had something on their minds.

February 4th

This is such good news. Today when I went into the shop Magnus was anxious to talk to me alone. I was aware of this as I am of all his moods; there is a very special bond between us. I do believe we know what the other is thinking.

He whispered to me: "Tomorrow I am going to London. Mr. Masters wants to call on one or two people and he thinks it would be a good idea if I went with him. While I am there I shall make enquiries about our journey and get the tickets we shall need, so that everything will be in order."

"Oh Magnus, how wonderful!" I cried.

"Not long to wait now," he said and kissed me.

I could scarcely listen to anything that was said after that.

When I came back to the house I went straight to my room. I must be prepared. I still had the rest of the month to live through. February—mercifully—is the shortest month of the year. Only by a few days, it is true, but every day seems an age.

But very soon now ...

I am so happy, so excited. I am even wondering if I betray my feelings and I realize that I do when Freddy said to me: "You're happy about something, Ann Alice."

"What makes you say that?" I asked.

"Your face says it." he told me.

I just squeezed his arm and he said: "Is it a secret?"

I said: ''Yes. You'll know in time."

He hunched his shoulders and laughed. He loved secrets.

"When shall I know?"

"Oh ... soon."

Then I remembered that I would be leaving him and I was sorry about that.

He did not say any more but during the day I caught him watching me; he smiled when his eyes met mine as though we shared a secret. We did in a way. The knowledge that there was a secret.

I was reckless. I should not have talked to anyone... not even Freddy.

Tomorrow morning, early, Magnus will set out.

After I had written that I put my journal away and prepared for bed. I was not in the least sleepy. I was full of plans, turning over in my mind what I should take with me. It was past midnight and still I could not sleep. Then suddenly I heard a board creak. Someone was walking about on the floor below. It must be my stepmother. Her room was down there.

I listened. Creeping footsteps. I looked at my treasured key. It jutted out from the door, promising security.

I rose, went to the door and listened.

Yes, someone was going stealthily along the corridor down there.

Very quietly I unlocked my door and looked out into the corridor. I tiptoed to the banister. Candlelight flickered on the wall and it came from the candle which Desmond Featherstone was carrying. His feet were bare and he had a bedgown flung loosely round him. I saw him open my stepmother's door and go in.

I stood back. This was significant.

I clutched the banister and thought what it meant. They were lovers.

Was it possible that he had to tell her something suddenly? Nonsense. He had walked in in the most casual fashion, as though it

were a habit. He had not even knocked at the door. Besides, what would he want to talk about at midnight?

I stood there, shivering.

I felt I had to wait and see what happened, for I knew it was of importance.

I stood there until three o'clock. He had not emerged.

So there could be no doubt.

I crept back to my room and locked myself in.

They were indeed lovers. How long had they been? Obviously he had come down here to see her. Had they been lovers when my father was alive?

Those periodical visits... Did he come to make love to my stepmother? And the same time he was trying to court me! She knew about it. She was trying to help him. She had invented lies about Magnus and Mrs. Masters' niece.

What did it mean?

Sleep was impossible. I should have guessed. And yet my stepmother had almost won me over. I had believed in her grief. I had almost been ready to be her friend.

My thoughts are in a whirl.

And my father... what of him? He had loved her so deeply. Perhaps it was only since his death ...

My thoughts alighted on a hundred possibilities.

So I am taking out my journal and writing it all down. It soothes me in a way. It calms me.

My first thoughts were: I shall tell Magnus what I have seen. But then he will not be back for a week. I am thankful that I shall soon be out of this house.

February 5th

I am spending the day in my room. I have pleaded a headache. I could not face either of them. I am not sure how I should act.

Sometimes I feel like confronting them. At others I feel I must keep silent.

The fact is, I am afraid of them. I am afraid of this house. All that uneasiness I felt, that instinct which insisted that I acquire a key and lock myself in, was a warning. Something within me saw more than my conscious self.

Everything had changed since Lois Gilmour came into the house. Before that how open and easy everything had been. She had brought that sinister atmosphere here—and of course she was the reason for it.

At midday she came to see me.

I lay on my bed and closed my eyes when I heard her coming.

"My dear child," she said, "you do look pale."

"It's just a headache. I'll stay in my room today I think."

"Yes, perhaps it is best. I'll have something sent up to you."

"I don't feel much like eating."

"A little soup, I should think."

I nodded and closed my eyes. Silently she went out.

Freddy was there.

"No dear," she said. "You can't go in. Ann Alice is feeling poorly today. Just let her rest."

I looked up and smiled at him as he stood in the doorway. He looked very sorry for me. He is such a nice little boy.

I took the soup and that was all I wanted. I lay on my bed thinking.

What does it mean? They are lovers... lovers since when? I thought of the first time I had seen Desmond Featherstone in the inn with her. Then, I suppose. Yet she had married my father, and my father had died. He had left her a comparatively wealthy woman. She had come merely as a governess and I imagined she had not had much then. And now her friend ... her lover... was trying to marry me. I had been deeply shocked.

I did know that they had been shattered by the news that Charles was safe. Why? Because Charles would inherit. I should be provided for, of course, but I should not be the rich woman I should have been if my brother were dead.

It was all fitting into place.

"Conjecture," I said.

Look at it this way, I admonished myself. My father has been dead for some time. Perhaps she is the sort of woman who needs a lover. Perhaps it has only just started between them. Perhaps he no longer wants to marry me. Perhaps he will marry her now.

How could I be sure that the thoughts I had entertained about them were true? And if they were... ? Those turns of my father? What did they mean? He had never had them before his marriage.

What if she were a murderess? What if they plotted between them? What if they were plotting now. Would it be for him to marry me, and murder me as she had murdered ...

It is helpful to write down my thoughts like this just as they come. They are a little incoherent perhaps, but it helps me to think.

The house has become a very sinister place.

I am afraid. Oh, Magnus, I wish you were here. If you were, I would say, Take me away, take me away tonight. I do not want to spend another in this place.

It frightens me. It is full of menace. What I have been thinking were childish imaginings are now taking on a sinister reality.

I must try to decide what I am going to do.

I have thought of something. I might try it out tonight. I will listen for him to go to her room. I know the house well, of course, and next to their room is another with a door leading into the corridor. Like most Tudor houses, some rooms lead into others. This one leads into hers, although it has that door into the corridor. The door between the two rooms is locked. If I were in that room I could listen to their conversation perhaps. I have decided that this afternoon when they are out, I will go down to that room and examine it to see if it is possible for me to secrete myself there and if I did I should be able to hear what was said.

It is now afternoon and I have found out what I want. I have been down to the floor below. The door between the two rooms is bolted on both sides.

I have made sure that it is locked. The door is ill-fitting. If I stand on a stool I can reach a crack at the top of the door and I am sure I should be able to hear what is being said on the other side.

I am going to try it tonight.

Of course I may hear nothing. I have already proved that he spends his nights with her. But I want to hear what they talk about.

I believe he is very partial to the port and likes to sit drinking after dinner. That would be the time perhaps to listen to what they say. But they might be more careful then. Servants have their ears everywhere.

So ... tonight, I will try.

It is one o'clock. I am shaking so much I can scarcely hold my pen. But I must write it down while it is fresh in my memory. I heard them come up as before. It was past midnight. I fancied he was reeling a little. He must have drunk a great deal. I hoped not too much for that would probably make him sleepy and disinclined to talk.

I crept down very quietly into the room with the door wide open for my escape if necessary and my own door open so that I could run into it quickly.

My handwriting is shaking so much. I am so frightened.

It worked really better than I thought. He was in a quarrelsome mood.

Standing on the stool with my ear to the crack I could hear him distinctly.

"What's the matter with her?" he demanded.

My stepmother said: "She said a headache."

"That she-devil is up to something."

"You should give up. Let her go to her Swede or whatever he is."

"I'm surprised at you, Lo. You go so far and then you lose your nerve. You didn't want to get rid of the old man, did you? Look at the time you took over that! You liked the cosy life. I believe you even liked the old fellow."

She said quietly: "He was a good man. I didn't want to ... "

"I know that. Tried to get out of it, didn't you?"

"Stop arguing and come to bed."

"You would have liked to stop there. Given up the plan. You brought our little bastard in, didn't you? That was a neat little job. Oh, it was nice and cosy. You're small-time, Lo. That's what you are. You come in, make a little nest for yourself and the boy and you want to keep it like that. So, what about me, eh?"

"You're shouting," she said.

"Who's to hear? And now the brother's coming back. What's that going to do to our little plan, eh?"

"Go away, Desmond. Leave things as they are."

"Very nice for you, eh? But what about me? I've got to marry the girl. You had the old man. It's only right. She's not as well padded as we thought... but she'll do very nicely."

"She won't have you."

"She's going to be made to."

"How?"

"That's what we have to fix."

"What do you plan ... to seduce her... rape her. I wouldn't put that past you."

I was so overcome with rage that I moved. The stool jerked from under my feet. I leaped to the floor.

They would have heard the noise.

I dashed from the room to my own ... and here I am.

I am so frightened. Tomorrow I shall leave the house. I will go to Mrs. Masters and tell her what I know. I will wait there for Magnus to come.

My handwriting is so shaky. It is scarcely legible. What was that? I thought I heard a noise. Footsteps...

I can hear voices ... Something is going on down there.

They are coming ...