Secret for a Nightingale

Honeymoon in Venice

So Aubrey and I were married.

As soon as the ceremony was over I changed into my green gaberdine travelling suit and we set out on our honeymoon.

‘ What a marvelous experience it was! My doubts and fears vanished.

All my qualms disappeared. Aubrey was wonderful. He was such a man of the world and he understood that I was completely innocent which of course means ignorant.

He was so much aware of my inexperience and he treated me with such gentleness and loving tenderness that, whatever happened afterwards, I would always remember it.

Gently he initiated me into the art of love-making and I have to admit that I took to it with relish, discovering in my nature traits which I had not before known existed.

This was love and it was wonderful. I saw a new Aubrey. He was a man who understood women their feelings and their needs. He seemed to have forgotten the disappointment of the lost inheritance; he made me feel that the only thing that mattered was our love for each other and that everything around us should be perfect. And there was I indulging in the delights of married love in surely the most romantic setting in the world.

The Palazzo Tonaletti looked out on to the canal and we could sit on the veranda and watch the gondolas go past. How beautiful they were and especially so in the evenings when the gondoliers sang to their passengers as their craft shot under the bridges.

The Palazzo itself was splendid, with its tower at either end and its arches and long veranda. I was impressed by the mosaic patterns on the marble-paved floors. Servants had been donated with the house and we were looked after in very grand style. There was a solemn major-domo in charge of the household who told us we might call him Benedetto; there were numerous maids who giggled a great deal because, I think, they knew we were on our honeymoon. Our bedroom was a lovely apartment with walls and floor of mottled marble in an attractive shade of purple. There were lamps of alabaster; and the bed was large with a canopy of lavender and green silk.

In the mornings one of the maids would bring in our breakfast murmuring: “Colazione, Signore, Signora.” And then she would hurry away as though she could no longer suppress her mirth, I presumed, at the sight of us in bed together.

We walked through the streets lapped by the waters of the canals; we drank coffee and the occasional aperitif in St. Mark’s Square. We stood on the Rialto Bridge and watched the gondoliers on the Grand Canal. I had never seen such a beautiful city. I was completely fascinated.

Aubrey knew Venice well and took a great delight in explaining everything to me. It all comes back to me in flashes Aubrey standing beside me, pointing out the wonders of the Campanile which the people of Venice had begun to build as early as the year 902, although it had been completed much later. I marvelled at the Clock Tower and the two bronze figures on the dial of the clock which struck the hours. There was so much that was beautiful and yet even in those cloudless days I was aware of the contrasts. The beautiful palazzos with red porphyry, alabaster and coloured marble looking like coconut ice or some such confectionery; the Doges’ Palace with all its grandeur, and close by, the Bridge of Sighs which conveyed the despair and hopelessness of those who passed over it knowing they would never set eyes on Venice again.

There was a gaiety in the streets near the canals, but there were narrow alleys, too, which could be dark and sinister. When I pointed this out to Aubrey, he said: “That is life. Wouldn’t it be dull if everything was good and sweet?”

“Why should it be?”

“Because you would never know how good it was if you did not have evil with which to compare it.”

“I think I should.”

“But the rest of the world is not as wise as my Susanna.”

Together we saw beautiful pictures Titian, Tintoretto and the Bellinis. He was knowledgeable about art and he revealed so much to me. I was learning not only about love but the world.

They were strange dreamlike days; they cast a spell over me and I believed then that now I was married to Aubrey, life would go on like this always.

I was young; I was innocent; and all around me was evidence of life.

One morning, when we strolled along, we saw a crowd at the side of the canal; and when we investigated we discovered that a man’s body had been brought out of the water that morning. I saw him lying there, his eyes open, staring in horror; his face was the colour of a grubby sheet and there was blood on his clothes from the knife wound in his back.

Aubrey drew me quickly away.

That incident coloured the whole morning. Aubrey said: “It happens now and then. These are a hot-blooded people.”

But I knew I could never pass the spot without thinking of that man.

That was Venice. Dark, sinister alleyways where people met their enemies and knives flashed . and then the sound of a body falling into the water; the beautiful sunlit city with its confectionery palazzos and its singing gondoliers; the Doges’ Palace and the Bridge of Sighs and the indescribable tortures which had been carried out in the prison adjoining them.

But this was my honeymoon. I would not think gloomy thoughts. This was being married to the man I loved. This was happiness.

I was fascinated by the little shops and would spend hours browsing in them. Sometimes I would leave Aubrey in the square where he might be sipping an aperitif while I lingered in the shops. He laughed at the fascination they had for me. They certainly did not appeal to him in the same way.

I loved the cleverly wrought bracelets and necklaces in semi-precious stones, the embroidered handkerchiefs and slippers, the silk scarves and fichus.

I said I must take some gifts home for my father, for Amelia and for Stephen.

“I shall leave all that to you,” said Aubrey.

“You are the shopper.”

I was going to enjoy searching for what I believed would please them.

The days were rushing past. We had only another week, I realized to my dismay.

We had taken our morning walk and come back to the square where we would sit in the sunshine and drink a cup of coffee which we had made a habit of doing in the midmorning. We were making our way to a table under a blue-striped sunshade where we could watch the passers-by and the pigeons fluttering down, waiting for people to throw crumbs to them.

While we were drinking our coffee, a man and woman came by. I thought they looked vaguely familiar and then I recognized them.

The woman had stopped.

“Why, it’s Aubrey,” she said.

“And … Miss Pleydell.”

Aubrey stood up.

“Phyllis. Willie …”

Phyllis and Willie! I had not heard their Christian names before as far as I remembered, but I knew them as Captain and Mrs. Freeling.

Mrs. Freeling talked breathlessly.

“What on earth … Well, fancy .. and here of all places … and what are you doing in Venice?”

“We’re having a honeymoon.”

“Oh Willie, isn’t that just sweet! And Miss Pleydell… Oh, I’m sorry. You’ll be Mrs. St. Clare now. What a lovely surprise.”

“You must have some coffee,” said Aubrey.

“I’d like something …”

There were two seats at the table and they sat down; Mrs. Freeling had changed; she looked much older than I remembered; her eyes were sunken and she seemed very thin. I had seen very little of her husband and could hardly remember what he had looked like before.

“What are you doing?” asked Aubrey.

“Having a holiday?”

“My dear, life is a constant holiday.”

“I suppose you are on leave. Captain Freeling,” I said.

Mrs. Freeling leaned towards me and laid a hand on my arm.

“No more leaves. No more duties. No more regiment. We’re free of all that, aren’t we, Willie?”

Captain Freeling looked a little rueful.

“I’ve resigned my commission,” he said to me.

“Oh …”

He did not offer any explanation and I sensed that it would be tactless to pursue the matter.

“We’re home now,” said Mrs. Freeling, ‘with Willie’s people until we decide how things are going. It’s so good for the children. We’re having a holiday before we settle down to life at home, aren’t we, Willie dear? “

“A very pleasant holiday, I imagine,” said Aubrey.

“How long have you been in Venice?”

“For three days.”

“Not long, which explains why we haven’t run into you before. But Venice is not really big enough to lose oneself for ” i long. “

“I’m glad of that. Wouldn’t it have been a tragedy, Willie, if we had never found each other? And now we’ve done it… just in the nick of time. We’re leaving in three days’ time.”

“We’re going at the end of the week,” said Aubrey.

“I could stay here for months,” said Mrs. Freeling. She smiled at me.

“I dare say you could, too. And how are you liking life at home? An unnecessary question. You’re revelling.”

“You must miss India,” I said.

“Not a bit of it. Glad to get away. Sometimes I used to get the shivers in the night. Those natives … They looked so. sinister sometimes. You could never be quite sure what they were thinking … or what they would do next.”

“What happened to the children’s ayah?”

“Oh … she was yours, wasn’t she? She went off to one of the other families the Laymon-Joneses, I believe. The children were fond of her. They made a fearful fuss about leaving her. “

“She was a very good ayah.”

“We’ve been to Florence and Rome, haven’t we, Willie?”

Willie said they had.

“Marvellous! Those palaces! Those pictures! That lovely, lovely bridge . what was it called, Willie? Ponte Vecchio? The shops. Fascinating! “

Captain Freeling talked to me and Aubrey was occupied with Mrs. Freeling. I heard scraps of their conversation as the Captain asked after my father and how he was liking being at the War Office after India. He said that he missed the army but he thought he would settle comfortably at home and the children had always been a worry. They would have had to be sent home to school sooner or later and that was always an anxiety and a disturbing experience for the children as I probably remembered.

While the Captain was talking I heard Mrs. Freeling say to Aubrey:

“Damien is in Venice.”

“My people live in Worcestershire,” the Captain was saying.

“We’re at the family home for the present. It’s a fine part of the country, really.”

I said I did not know it and he asked questions about the Palazzo Tonaletti and while I was describing that Mrs. Freeling looked at her watch and said they must go.

They shook hands and we parted.

As we walked back to the palazzo, Aubrey said: “It’s a small world.

Imagine meeting them. “

“I wonder why he resigned from the army.”

“Fancied some other way of life, no doubt.”

“People don’t usually.”

“There speaks the soldier’s daughter. There are some who might not find it such a glorious way of life.”

“I mean, I don’t think it is easy to resign. I’ll ask my father. I suppose we shall see them again.”

“Have to, I suppose. But they are going in a day or so.”

He sounded unenthusiastic, which pleased me.

“And so are we going very soon,” I said.

“Oh Aubrey, it has been so wonderful. Do you think anyone else ever had such a honeymoon?”

“Of course not,” he replied.

And we laughed and walked into the marble hall of our palazzo.

We did not speak of the Freelings after that. I fancied that Aubrey felt as I did, and that was that we could have done without the intrusion. The remark that we must meet before we left Venice was, I suspected, one of those vague statements which people make out of politeness rather than intention.

Two days after the encounter Aubrey asked me when I was going shopping for the gifts I intended to buy and why did I not do it that afternoon.

“I know you don’t really care to have me around while you’re doing it,” he said.

“So why don’t you go and spend as much time as you like in those little shops and I’ll wait for you. Oh … I know what I could do. I could look in at the Freelings’ place and perhaps spend an hour or so with them. I know you are not very keen on seeing them. And I suppose it is only common politeness … having met them here.”

I said I thought it was a good idea.

I spent several hours in the shops making my decision. There was so much to choose from. I bought a bracelet for. Amelia. It was gold, studded with lapis lazuli; and just as I was about to settle for a marble paperweight for my father, I saw some beautiful wall plates which I felt I had to buy. So I bought one with a picture of Raphael for Stephen and of Dante for my father. I was sure they would like them and they would remind me for ever of those magical days in Venice.

When I returned to the palazzo it was about six o’clock. Benedetto informed me that Aubrey was not yet home. I had a leisurely bath and lay on the bed reading for half an hour expecting Aubrey to return at any moment.

As time passed, and he still had not come, I began to be’ alarmed.

Benedetto came to ask me if I would have dinner served, and I said I would wait.

He smiled sympathetically. I knew he was thinking that we had had a lovers’ quarrel.

I began to be afraid. I thought of those dark alleys; memories came back to me of the man I had seen lying with blood on his clothes . dragged out of the canal. I had not heard the end of that story. Who had he been? A tourist who had been set upon by robbers or was his death the result of some long-standing vendetta?

I sat on the veranda. I went back to my room and paced up and down.

Aubrey had gone to the Freelings. I had not heard the name of their hotel. Mrs. Freeling must have told him but he had not mentioned it to me.

I felt inadequate. Here I was in a foreign country, not speaking the language, and I could not think how I should act. Surely Aubrey would not stay away so long unless something awful had happened. Suppose the Freelings had invited him to dine with them. Surely they would have asked me to join them or perhaps sent word to me that he was with them. No. It could not be that. Something must have happened to him.

What should I do? Go round the hotels? Go to the British Consul? Where was that? Call a gondola and ask to be taken to the Embassy? Was I making a fuss? There had been times when Aubrey had made me feel a little naive. Was I? Would he come in and say: “The Freelings asked me to stay. I knew you’d be safe here.” Was that the way in which worldly husbands and wives behaved?

He would know how I was feeling. He would never worry me like this.

I must do something.

I went down to the servants’ quarters. I could hear their voices. They were chattering as they normally did. They apparently did not think Aubrey’s absence was unusual. I went back to my bedroom and stood on the veranda looking out at the darkening water.

He must come back. There must be news of him. How could I go through the night like this? I could hear the bronze figures striking on the bell in the Clock Tower. I must go and get help. I would find Benedetto and ask him to accompany me. We must find the Embassy and report Aubrey’s disappearance.

But I remained standing on the veranda. Gondolas slipped by. I prayed for one of them to stop and for Aubrey to get out and come running to tell me what had happened.

Just as I was feeling I could endure it no longer and that I must go out in search of him without delay a gondola stopped at the palazzo. A man got out. He was very tall. He stood with his back to me; he was wearing a black cloak and a black hat.

Then both he and the gondolier were helping someone to alight.

I stared. It was Aubrey.

I gripped the rail of the veranda. I could not see the stranger’s face because his hat hid it; and as I stood there as though petrified, for a moment floods of relief swept over me. Aubrey was safe.

I turned and ran out of the room to the stairs. He was coming up and he was alone. The man in black was no longer there.

“Aubrey,” I cried.

“Susanna … Oh, my dearest Susanna.”

I ran to him and was caught in his arms. He looked strange; his cravat was twisted, there was an almost wild look in his eyes and his hands were shaking.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Let me get in … I’ll explain.”

I put my arm through his and unsteadily we went upstairs.

“Did someone attack you?” I asked.

He nodded, but he was clearly too weak to talk. He wanted to get to our room. When we reached it he sank into a chair, i “I’ll get you some brandy,” I said.

“Or whatever you would’ like.” ‘s He shook his head.

“Oh, Susanna, I’m sorry … so sorry this happened.

Were you worried? ”

“Desperately^ I did not know what to do.” j “Oh my dear. That was my great anxiety. What would yo be thinking .. what would you be doing?”

“Are you hurt?” I asked.

“Dazed. Shaken a bit. No bones broken.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

He nodded.

“I went to the Freelings. I left about six. I wanted to be home before you returned. I took a short cut through one of those alleys. It was a silly thing to do.”

“Oh no! I could not get the thought of that man lying by the canal out of my mind … the blood on his clothes …”

“Two men approached me. I did not like the look of them. I turned to retrace my steps, but there were two more behind me. I was hit on the head and I just passed out.”

“Oh my dear Aubrey, how terrible! I should have made enquiries. I should have gone to the Embassy.”

“It -wouldn’t have done any good. When I came to … I don’t know how long after, I was alone … in some sort of hut. It was dark and I could see very little. But when my eyes grew accustomed to the darkness I explored a bit. I found a door. It was locked on the outside. I felt weak. I could scarcely stand. I shouted. But it seemed as if no one came that way.”

“They had robbed you, I suppose.”

“They took my purse. That was what they wanted.”

“But why did they lock you up?”

“Perhaps they didn’t want the alarm given too soon.”

“Oh … the wickedness!”

He nodded and, taking my hand, kissed it.

“There was a man with you … in the gondola,” I said.

“Yes. He brought me home. What I should have done without him I can’t imagine. I should still be in that hut.”

“I didn’t know what to do. I felt so foolish … so inadequate … so helpless. I should have made Benedetto go with me to find someone to help.”

“You did the best thing by waiting. I don’t know what I should have felt like if I had come back and found you gone.”

“What about this man?”

“While I was trying to find a means of getting out I heard footsteps.

I called out. Someone answered. Fortunately it was an Englishman and I was able to explain. He said he would go and get help. But he found a window in the place. He broke it and came in. Then he got me out. “

“And brought you back. He should have stayed so that I could have thanked him.”

“He didn’t want thanks. He was glad to help a fellow countryman in difficulties.”

“I have been afraid something like this would happen ever since I saw that man they brought out of the canal.”

“Some of the people here are so poor they would murder for a few lire.”

“Oh, Aubrey, I want to go home. I don’t want to be here any more.”

“You’re forgetting what a wonderful time we have had.”

“But this … this has spoilt everything.”

“No, my dearest, nothing can spoil what we have already had.”

He put his arm round me and I said: “I am going to get you some brandy. I am sure you need it.”

“All right. Then we’ll drink together.”

We sat talking of the night’s events and the ordeal through which we had both passed. I had never felt so frustrated, so ashamed of myself for my ignorance and inability to cope with a situation. I kept saying, “But I did not know what to do.”

He soothed me. I could see that he was very tired.

I said: “I should like you to see a doctor in the morning. You don’t know what harm has been done.”

He shook his head.

“No, no. I’m just a little shaken. I shall be all right after a night’s sleep.”

“You are going to have that at once,” I said.

I helped him undress. I tucked him in as though he were a child. He shut his eyes and was asleep almost immediately.

I lay beside him going over the events of the evening: but finally I slept.

I was awakened suddenly. It was not yet light. One of the lamps had been lighted and it threw a dim glow over the room. A man was standing by the bed.

I sat up, startled.

It was Aubrey. But it was not the Aubrey I knew. There was something different about him. He advanced towards me.

“Aubrey … what’s happened?” I cried.

“Wake up, Susanna. It’s time you woke up.”

“But…”

He stripped back the bedclothes. He put his hands to my throat and at my nightdress. It was flimsy silk and I heard the sound of ripping cloth.

“What…” I cried.

“What… are you doing …?”

He laughed a horrible jeering sort of laugh which I had never heard from him before. His hands were bruising me. I thought I was dreaming but I knew I was not. The nightmare of the eve of my wedding had become a reality.

I caught at the remains of my nightdress and tried to cover my nakedness.

“No,” he said.

“No, Susanna.” His hand shook as he seized me.

“You’re growing up tonight. You have to learn … you have to learn all sorts of things. You’re a big girl now. You always were, of course .. but you are going to be especially big from now on … It’s goodbye to innocent Susanna.” His speech was so strange and there was an odd glazed look in his eyes. I struggled but he held me down. I thought he was drunk or he was mad. Something had happened to him.

I felt sickened. I did not know this man he had become. He was a stranger to me. I wanted to run away. Where to? Could I lock myself in one of the rooms . run to the servants for protection?

I was helpless . as I had been early in the evening. It was as though I was being dragged into another world, a strange mad world where everything was different from what I had believed it to be.

But this was Aubrey my husband, the man I had sworn to love and cherish for better, for worse . in sickness and in health. He was ill. I must remember that.

He laughed at me. He laughed at my innocence and I knew that he wanted to destroy it.

He did that night. I was shattered. I was limp with exhaustion, with fear and disgust.

The ordeal must have lasted for nearly two hours. I should never forget it. I should never be the same again. My body seemed unclean. I would never have that wide-eyed innocence, that belief in the world again. I who had been naturally passionate, with a delight in loving, had experienced the corruption of that loving.

Suddenly he seemed to be exhausted.

I thanked God for that. He lay down on the bed and was asleep almost immediately.

I sat by the window looking out into the veranda and beyond to the canal. I felt bewildered, lost. I did not know what I should do. Could I leave him? How could I explain even to my father what had happened? And why had it happened? What had turned the gentle, tender lover into a depraved monster? He had made me hate him and hate myself. I felt so frustrated, so young, so inexperienced. This day had been a revelation to me. I had always thought I had been self sufficient capable, but obviously I was not, for when I was faced with a situation which I could not understand, I was helpless, unimaginative, useless.

Something had happened to Aubrey that night. What? How could he have behaved as he did? Never before had I had an inkling of that side of his nature . sensual, determined that I should be a victim and a despised victim. I was certain now that he did not love me. How could anyone behave as he had done towards a loved one? And yet how tender he had been, how considerate during the weeks of our honeymoon! How happy he had made me! And then that dreadful night! It was uncanny, supernatural, almost as though some wicked devil had come and transformed him overnight.

I wanted to get away. I wanted to hide myself. At dawn I bathed. I wanted to wash away all the impurities of that dreadful experience as though soap and water could ever do that! It was marked indelibly on my mind. I dressed and left the palazzo. I walked along by the canal. The city was just coming to life. I was faced with a dilemma once more. What should I do?

I returned to the palazzo.

Aubrey was up. He smiled at me just like the man I had known during the first weeks of our honeymoon.

“Did you feel like an early morning walk?”

I nodded. I could not go on looking at him.

He said: “I feel quite well this morning. I must have slept for hours.”

“You … you were awake in the night,” I said.

“Was I? I don’t remember. What shall we do today? I forgot to ask you if you bought the gifts.”

I was astounded. I thought to myself: He doesn’t remember! What can this mean?

“Aubrey,” I said, “I think you should see a doctor.”

“Not on your life,” he replied.

“I feel perfectly all right this morning.” He smiled at me, the open, charming smile I knew so well.

“Now don’t fuss. There’s a good girl. Don’t spoil the last days.”

I said: “Aubrey, don’t you remember? In the night… you behaved rather strangely.”

He looked bewildered and touched the back of his head.

“Did I? What did I say?”

“I didn’t understand you. You were … different.”

“Did I have a nightmare?”

“Perhaps I did.”

“Poor Susanna. It was too bad you had to be worried. That’s what I was so anxious about. My little adventure was nothing compared with what you had to put up with. Just my purse.

“Who steals my purse, steals trash.

“Twas mine, ‘tis his, and has been slave to thousands …”

I’ll tell you what, we’ll go and have a last look at our favourite spots. “

I thought: He doesn’t remember! What had happened to him? Some injury to his brain? He now looked so like the Aubrey I had always known . until last night.

Had I imagined it? How could I imagine things which I had never dreamed of? Besides the evidence was in my shamed and bruised body. He had been harmed in some way. The blow on his head? That could do strange things to people.

I must try not to shrink from him. I must remember what I had promised.

“In sickness and in health …”

There was a knock on the door. It was one of the little maids.

“Signore, Signora, colazione.”

I don’t know how I got through the day without betraying my feelings but I tried to behave as though nothing unusual had happened. Aubrey was just as he had been throughout our honeymoon until those hours of that night.

But I could not forget. Memories kept coming back to my mind. I never wanted to think of them again. He did not seem to notice my preoccupation. I dreaded the night. But when it came he was as gentle and solicitous as ever. It was just as though that nightmare experience had never happened.

I was beginning to feel a little better. I was even wondering whether I possibly could have imagined the whole thing. I had heard of some of the terrible tortures which had been inflicted on those who crossed the Bridge of Sighs and had been heard of no more. I had become obsessed by the memory of the dead man who had been brought out of the canal. Was it possible I had exaggerated what had happened? I was in a disturbed state. I had passed through an ordeal of terrible apprehension. But how could I invent practices which I had never known existed? Venice had had a strange effect on me. So much beauty with so much which was sinister lurking behind it.

When I was home I should be able to assess this more easily. I would go and stay with my father for a while. I knew I should never bring myself to tell him of that night’s experiences, but I could draw on his practical view of life, his common sense.

In the meantime there seemed nothing to be done but behave as though it had never happened.

Aubrey refused to see a doctor, but he promised that when we returned to the Minster he would do so; but he was sure no harm had been done.

I was glad when the last day came.

I declined Benedetto’s suggestion to send one of the maids to help me pack. I said there was not a great deal and I would do it myself.

I took Aubrey’s coat the one he had been wearing when he had been attacked. It was dirty and he had not worn it since. As I folded it I felt something in the pocket. I put in my hand and drew it out.

I could not believe it. It was the purse for which he had been attacked. It was one of those leather ones, rather like a dolly-bag which are clipped and held together by a gold ring. It jingled as I drew it out. There was money in it.

I counted it. A fair sum just about what one took out for a day’s needs.

I could not understand it.

I went out to the veranda where Aubrey was sitting waiting for me to finish the packing. I held out the purse.

“What is it?” he said.

“Your purse. Those people didn’t take it after all.”

“Where did you find it?”

“In the pocket of the coat you were wearing.”

“It couldn’t be.”

“It was. Why should they have knocked you down and then not taken your purse?”

“I don’t understand it.”

“Nor do I. Didn’t you look to see if they had your purse?”

He wrinkled his brow.

“When I regained my senses … I don’t know what I did. Perhaps I just presumed they had taken it. I felt very strange, Susanna … I have felt a little odd since.”

“Then you should see a doctor.”

“As soon as we get home.”

I gave him the purse.

“Why do you think they attacked you, if it was not robbery?” I asked.

“It must have been robbery.”

“Then why take nothing?”

“Perhaps they were surprised.”

“Then why take you to a hut and lock you in?”

“Who knows the motives of these villains? In any case I’m glad to have my purse back. I’m rather fond of this one.”

He took it from me and threw it into the chair. The coins inside jingled and he laughed.

“So I’m richer than I thought,” he said.

“I am just going to finish the packing,” I told him. As I did so I thought: This is all very mysterious. How glad I shall be to be home.

As we crossed the Channel and I caught a glimpse of the white cliffs, a feeling of reality seemed to return to me. What had happened that night had been due to a blow on the head which Aubrey had received. It had temporarily changed his character. I believed such things could happen. And the purse? The purse had worried me a little. The robbers must have been surprised and perhaps fearing they might have killed Aubrey dragged him away to that place, locked him in and made off.

Wild conjectures, of course. But I had to try and find some solution if I was going to behave normally, if I was to delude myself into believing that nothing had changed between us. It had, of course. But I must consider my position calmly. I was married to Aubrey, bound to him; whatever he had done, I had to try to do my duty. I must not allow myself to despise him because of one incident which might have been an aberration on his part. Strange things did happen in people’s minds in strange circumstances.

I had to go very carefully.

We stayed a night with my father before going on to the Minster. He was very pleased to see us and I would not worry him by letting him know that everything was less than perfect.

He was very contented. Polly and Jane had turned out to be treasures, and the house was conveniently near the War Office where everything was going smoothly, and it was clear that he was happier in London than he had been in India even though he worked in an office instead of being on active service.

He was delighted with the plaque of Dante and we fixed it on the wall of his study where he could see it every day.

Then Aubrey and I went down to the Minster. Amelia was delighted with her bracelet and looked well. She was sure everything was going well with her pregnancy and to crown her pleasure, Stephen was a little better. The news of the coming child, so said the doctors, had worked wonders.

I asked Amelia if they thought he might recover.

She became grave and shook her head.

“It is still there. It will grow and then suddenly that will be the end. But at least he is in no pain and I want to make his last months as happy as I can. I pray he will live long enough to see his child.”

“I’ll pray for that, too,” I said.

Stephen was pleased that we had thought of him during our honeymoon.

He professed himself delighted with the Raphael.

“How did you know I always had a special admiration for his work?” he asked.

“Inspiration,” I told him.

I was getting very fond of him and I believed he was of me. I used to look in for a brief visit every day, and Amelia said it did him good to see me. I discovered he had a great love of music, art, and literature. He was more serious-minded than Aubrey and it came out quite clearly that he had always regarded his young brother as the wayward one on whom he must keep an eye.

He implied that he had done this in the past and that now he was handing on that duty to me, in whom he had great confidence.

“I am glad you will live here,” he said.

“Take care of Amelia.”

“I think Amelia can look after herself.”

“I am glad you will live here. There is something strong about you.”

Strong! I thought of myself helplessly trying to decide what I should do when Aubrey had been missing, of that terrible ordeal through which he had forced me and with which I had no idea how to contend. I was weak . accepting life . shelving what I knew I should look more closely into and I could not bring myself to do so for fear of what I should find.

And he called me strong! If he only knew. But how could I tell him?

How could I ever tell anyone?

“And when the child comes,” he was saying, ‘you will love him. Perhaps you will have children of your own. I want you to regard ours mine and Amelia’s as one of them. “

“Of course I will.”

We did talk about the attack on Aubrey. It was hardly likely that such an incident should not be discussed at length. Aubrey had been seen by the doctor as I insisted he should, and the verdict was that the blow on his head had done no harm.

One day Stephen told me how in his youth he had longed to travel.

“I never had the time,” he said.

“The Minster took it all. So I travelled … vicariously. I used to read at night when I could not sleep. Books were my magic carpet. India … Arabia … I was there. I have some fine books. A friend of mine has written one or two. You should read them. You know something of India.”

“Well, I spent my early years there … up to the time that I was ten.

When I went back, it seemed different. “

“That’s natural. Have you heard of the great Richard Burton?”

“Is he the explorer?”

“That’s so. He has written a number of books about his adventures in India and Arabia. They are fascinating. He has lived among the people as one of them. I suppose that is the only way to get to know them.

Imagine me, in my armchair, sharing such adventures. He writes so vividly one can imagine one is there. He disguised himself in various ways and wandered among the tribes. His studies are brilliant. You must read them. Go to the shelves and you’ll see his books. “

I went across the room.

“I keep my favourites up here,” he went on, ‘now that I am incapacitated. “

I saw several of Richard Burton’s books but there was one which caught my attention. It was the name on the spine. Dr. Damien. I had heard that name before.

“Dr. Damien,” I said, picking up the book.

“Oh yes. An old friend of mine. He is a great admirer and friend of Burton. They’ve travelled together. Burton was a diplomat, Damien a doctor. His great interest is in methods of healing. He’s an expert on drugs. They’ve had some adventures, those two. Their books make fascinating reading. Of course, one has to forget certain standards which are the accepted ones here in Victorian England. Burton lived as an Arab. He actually became a Moslem. He is dark . both men are . and that has helped them disguise themselves. It wouldn’t have been so easy for golden-haired, blue-eyed fellows to go wandering through India or the deserts of Arabia! Burton started out as a soldier. That was one way of getting to India. There he took a native wife . a bubu they called them, as compared with a bibi, a white wife. But of course, not every wife found it convenient to go out with her husband, so a bubu was permissible. Burton went entirely native. Well, you read his book. “

“And what of this … Damien?”

“Read him too. He has travelled widely… disguised himself as a pedlar … his motive being that he could wander about unquestioned . or as a street vendor so that he could sit in market-places and listen. His great aim was to discover new drugs, new folk remedies, some of those which have never been heard of in this country … so that he can use them in his treatment of the sick.”

“That seems a very worthwhile project.”

“He is a man of purpose. I see very little of him now. He is hardly ever in this country. But when we meet we are the same old friends.”

“I seem to have heard the name somewhere. I can’t remember where. I’ll take the Burton and your Dr. Damien.”

“Do. And when you’ve read them we’ll talk about them. I’ll look forward to that.”

I went off with the books and was completely fascinated by them. Both these men appeared to stop at nothing. They lived like natives; they practised customs of nomadic tribes and in some instances they were rather indelicately explicit. I read of the effects of certain drugs, of the sensual desires they aroused; and because of my experiences on that night with Aubrey, I could imagine much more than I should have done before.

I had grown up. I had been shaken out of a certain complacency. I had discovered there are things in the world of which I had been totally ignorant. I could read between the lines in these books. These men had had extraordinary adventures.

I was never able to discuss those books with Stephen, for soon after the day he had given them to me he took a turn for the worse.

It was as the doctor had said. There was no possibility of his recovery; and the best we could hope for was that his end, when it was in sight, should be swift and painless.

He had been more than usually unwell one day and during the night he died.

Amelia was very sad, but resigned. I think the prospect of having a child kept up her spirits and gave her courage to face the future.

There were several people staying in the house among them Jack St. Clare and his sister Dorothy. They were Stephen’s first cousins, Amelia told me. Jack was a widower of some years standing and his sister Dorothy a spinster who kept house for him. They were clearly very fond of Amelia and she of them. I found them very pleasant and liked them immediately, but I fancied they were faintly critical of Aubrey.

Funerals are depressing occasions. The tolling of the bells is so dismal. The gathering of the mourners in the great hall afterwards seemed to go on far too long, and I was glad when they departed.

I stood at the door with Amelia bidding them goodbye. It was the first time many of them had met me and I am sure Amelia’s obvious affection for me made them warm towards me.

Jack St. Clare and his sister embraced Amelia tenderly and said that later she must go and stay with them for a while. She said she would.

Afterwards Aubrey discussed them with me.

“Both Jack and Dorothy spent a good deal of their childhood at the Minster,” he said.

“They have a proprietary feeling towards it and a little chagrin, I think. Jack would have liked it.

And the fact that he had a chance of getting it, rankles. “

“I thought he seemed very fond of Amelia.”

“He always was. Well, she’s a widow now … and he’s a widower.”

“It is rather soon for matchmaking.”

“Of course, you are always so proper.”

I was startled. It was like an echo from that night.

But he was smiling at me tenderly and he put an arm round me and kissed my forehead.

I had to forget. It had been a momentary aberration due to a blow on the head.

It was not long after that when I discovered that I was pregnant. It must have happened during our honeymoon in Venice. I was overjoyed.

More than anything, this could wipe from my memory the horror of what had happened on that night. I could become so absorbed that I would have no time for brooding on frightening possibilities. A child of my own! I was thrilled and delighted.

Shortly afterwards my expectations were confirmed.

Aubrey was delighted. But almost immediately he said:

“Ours won’t be the heir to the Minster because of this child Amelia’s carrying.”

“Two babies in the household. Won’t that be wonderful!”

Amelia agreed with me and we became closer than ever. We spent long hours together talking constantly of babies. She was taking special care of herself, determined that this pregnancy was not going to end in miscarriage. The doctor told her she must take a little exercise but not too much. She must rest every afternoon.

She used to lie on her bed and I would sit with her and we would talk about the time when our babies came.

The nurseries were being refurbished. We discussed layettes and trimmings for the cots two of them now.

This was just what Amelia needed to carry her over the loss of Stephen.

I was so happy for her and for myself. She liked to be with me more than anyone, for naturally I could understand and share her exhilaration.

I shall never forget that day.

In the morning we had all breakfasted together Aubrey, Amelia and myself. I was beginning to feel a little queasy in the mornings.

Amelia was very sympathetic. She said she had passed out of that stage.

She said the doctor wished to see her and she was going in to his surgery that morning. She was going to walk in and tell them at the stables to send the carriage to bring her back.

“I’ll take you in,” said Aubrey.

“Thank you,” said Amelia, ‘but I want the exercise. I’ll be just right for the walk in as long as they bring me back. Are you feeling all right, Susanna? “

“I feel a little sick.”

“Go and lie down. It will pass.”

Aubrey came up to our room with me. He looked anxious.

“Don’t fuss,” I said.

“It’s normal.”

I lay down and felt better immediately. I read one of the fascinating books which Stephen had given me and the morning slipped away. It must have been about midday when they brought Amelia home.

I heard the commotion and going to the window saw the doctor’s carriage and Amelia being brought into the house on a stretcher.

I dashed downstairs.

“There’s been an accident,” said the doctor.

“Let’s get Mrs. St. Clare into the house at once.”

“An accident …”

“Your husband’s all right. He’s bringing his carriage back, so you see there is not much damage there.”

I was bewildered. I wanted to ask what had happened but the first thing to do was attend to Amelia.

She half smiled at me and I was thankful that she was alive.

I turned fearfully to the doctor.

“She’s not badly hurt,” he said.

Amelia’s expression was full of fear and I knew why. She was thinking of her baby.

“She should rest now,” said the doctor.

“I’ll wait and see your husband. He insisted on bringing the carriage back himself.”

“I don’t understand …” I began.

Aubrey was driving his mulberry-coloured carriage up the drive. I ran out to him.

“I’m all right,” he said.

“Nothing to worry about. We had a spill, that’s all. The greys suddenly took fright and ran amok. I could handle them, though.”

“Amelia …”

“She’ll be all right. It was nothing, really …”

“But… in her condition.”

“This sort of thing’s happened before. It could have been a nasty accident, but I prevented that. They’ll have to do some work on the carriage. We went right over. The side is badly scraped and the paint is scratched.”

“The carriage is not important,” I said sharply.

“It is Amelia.” Again I was reminded of that night. It was the expression in his eyes.

“I thought one of the grooms was going to take the trap to meet her after she had seen the doctor.”

“Yes, that was arranged. Then I said I would take the carriage and pick her up.”

“Oh!” I said blankly.

“Don’t look so worried. It’s all right. It was nothing, really. Just a little spill. We soon got the carriage up again, and I calmed down the greys.”

He was wrong.

Amelia lost her baby.

I sat beside her. There was little I could do to console her. She just lay there not caring whether she lived or died.

She said: “I expected one of them to bring the pony trap. I should never have got into that carriage.”

“Aubrey is a very skilful driver. I think he prevented a worse accident.”

“There could not have been a worse accident. I have lost my baby.”

“Oh Amelia … my dear Amelia … how can I comfort you?”

“There is no comfort.”

“Except that I feel for you, that I understand completely. No one could understand more.”

“I know. But nothing can help. It is the end of all my hopes. I have lost Stephen. I have lost my baby. There is nothing left for me.”

I just sat beside her in silence.

When I was alone with Aubrey he could not conceal his feelings.

“Think what this means to us.”

I looked at him in horror.

“How can you talk like that? Do you realize what Amelia is suffering?”

“She’ll get over it.”

“Aubrey, she has lost her child. The child meant everything to her.”

“She always lost children. It was to be expected.”

“But for that accident …”

“There would have been something else. The child is dead. It is no longer a menace.”

“A menace?”

“Dearest, don’t be such an innocent. That child was standing between my and your child’s inheritance. Well, that obstacle is removed.”

“I don’t want to think about it like that.”

“There are times when you can be very unworldly, darling.”

“I expect there are, and if this is one of them, then I am glad. I wish with all my heart that this had not happened.”

He took me by the shoulders and shook me, half playfully, but I saw something else in his eyes.

“Of course I’m sorry for Amelia. It’s a blow for the poor girl. But that doesn’t alter the fact that it has made it easier for us. You must see that. Now I can make plans. I don’t think you realize what this place entails. I can no longer be displaced by someone who has not yet been born. This is what was intended, what I came home for. “

“All the same, when you think of what it means to poor Amelia …”

“She’ll get over it. She’ll probably marry again and have a brood of children, then the loss of this one won’t be so important to her. I know she won’t get over it easily. She wanted this place. Of course she did. But it does seem wrong that when it was St. Clare property for so long, it should go to someone outside the family. After all, she is not a St. Clare … except by marriage. And the child … Well, it is hard to grieve because an unborn child has lost an inheritance simply because it is never going to be in a position to claim it.”

“You seem jubilant.”

Again he shook me with a kind of tender exasperation, and again I felt that shiver of fear. Would this go on? Would I always be watchful, waiting for the man I had seen emerge on that night?

“I am not jubilant, but I am not a hypocrite, and I should be if I told you that I hardly enjoyed seeing my inheritance snatched from under my nose. I would not be telling the truth if I said I was not glad it is coming back to me. I am sorry it had to happen this way, that’s all.”

He was smiling at me gently, but the glitter in his eyes continued to alarm me. And a suspicion had come into my mind. He had gone to pick her up in the town. Why had he not let one of the men go with the trap? He was not all that eager for Amelia’s company. But he had gone himself, and there had been an accident. I remembered how proud he was of his skilful handling of his horses and yet. there had been an accident . when Amelia was driving with him; and he knew, as we all did, that Amelia carried her children precariously and that the doctor had warned her of exerting herself in the slightest way.

No, I thought. I must not allow my thoughts to take that line . just because that night I had seen another side of him. He had had a blow on his head and he was not himself. on that night. I must not think the worst . if only for my own sake. But how can one prevent thoughts from coming into one’s head?

In less than two weeks Amelia decided to pay a visit to Jack and Dorothy St. Clare in Somerset. She told me that she felt the need to get away and I told her that I understood.

Sometimes I saw her looking rather oddly at Aubrey and I wondered whether the same thought which had come into my mind had occurred to her.

She was glad to get away and I think Aubrey was relieved to see her go. Perhaps I was, too. Her presence was a constant reminder of my suspicions, and I was trying hard to thrust them from my mind, to live normally, even to convince myself that I had imagined a good deal of what had happened on that night.

I did not want anything to intrude on my thoughts of the child I was carrying.

I went up to London to stay for a week with my father. He was delighted to see me and thrilled at the prospect of becoming a grandfather.

I thought he looked a little tired. Polly told me that he worked too hard. He brought papers home and long after she and Jane had retired he was shut up in his study.

I remonstrated with him about this and he replied that his reports and his work had become of great importance to him since he could no longer be active in the field, and a surfeit never hurt those who enjoyed it.

He wanted detailed accounts of everything that was happening. I told him of the pleasant part, but of course I had to mention the loss of Amelia’s baby; and he referred again to the attack on Aubrey in Venice.

“It’s an uneasy city,” he said.

“I don’t think the Austrians will hold on to it much longer. In such conditions violence invariably simmers under the surface. You should have chosen somewhere else for your honeymoon although I’ll admit you would have been hard pressed to find a more romantic spot.”

“By the way,” I said, ‘when I went shopping . “

“To good effect,” he said, glancing at the plaque on the wall, for we were in his study.

“Aubrey had called to see the Freelings - I was not eager to go and it was when he was leaving that he was attacked.”

“The Freelings …” said my father slowly.

“Yes. They happened to be on holiday in Venice. Apparently Captain Freeling had resigned from the army. I thought that was rather strange.”

My father was silent for a few moments, then he said: “Yes, I did hear something. There was some trouble.”

As he continued to hesitate I said impatiently: “Yes? What?”

“Well, it was rather secret, it seems. They didn’t want a fuss and scandal. Bad for the regiment and all that. He was forced to resign.”

“What had he done?”

“There was something about wild parties … taking native drugs and so on. Apparently there was a little community of participants. There was one other officer involved and some residents… not army personnel. So they couldn’t be touched. In any case it was decided it should not be given any publicity … because of the army, you see.

You know how these things get blown up in the press. We should have been hearing that the entire British army was taking drugs and indulging in orgies. “

“What a dreadful thing for Captain Freeling.”

“Secretly I think he was under the influence of his wife, a frivolous and rather silly woman, I always thought. Don’t mention this to anyone. Keep it in the family. These things have a way of seeping out.

Shouldn’t have mentioned it to you, even. But I know I can trust you to keep quiet. “

“Of course you can. What drugs were they? And you say some people were involved … not in the army.”

“Oh yes. There was a little gang of them. It was largely opium, I think. There’s some mysterious fellow, said to be writing a book about drugs or something. Interested in it all for research. He wasn’t there at the time but his name was mentioned.”

“What was his name?”

“Oh … I forget.”

My thoughts had gone back to that conversation with my ayah. What had she said about a man? A devil, she had called him.

“It’s dangerous to dabble in these things,” said my father.

“We couldn’t have one of our men … and someone in a responsible position … not that they are not all in responsible positions .. but these drugs it appears can make people act oddly and when they are under the influence of them they are capable of … just anything.”

I felt very uneasy and was almost on the point of telling my father of that nightmare experience when Aubrey had come home after the attack.

He had been to see the Freelings. I had found the purse in his pocket that purse for which the robbers were supposed to have attacked him.

Strange thoughts came into my mind vague, disturbing.

Perhaps if I had not been pregnant I should have considered them more closely; but a pregnant woman can be obsessed by only one thing: her coming baby. And I was certainly obsessed.

I made many purchases. My father insisted that I take either Jane or Polly with me when I went shopping. They were Londoners, he reminded me; and they had the Londoner’s shrewdness and knowledge of the dangers which could befall newcomers to the big city.

I quite enjoyed the company of both the girls and I had a good time getting together my layette.

I returned to Minster St. Clare refreshed. Only occasionally did I remember what I had heard of the Freelings and reminded myself of that terrible night. I suppose I did not want to probe, which was unlike me. Normally I should not have rested until I had unravelled the strange coincidence of Aubrey’s behaving so oddly after he had seen the Freelings who had been forced to leave India. But my thoughts were continually with the coming baby; and as Aubrey behaved impeccably as the devoted husband and the delighted faiher-to-be, it was easy to send all unpleasant thoughts to the back of my mind.

Aubrey was away from the Minster for most of the day and I really saw little of him. I had taken to retiring early, for I was very tired at the end of the day and was often asleep by the time he came to bed.

Amelia came back from her visit to her cousins the St. Clares, looking a great deal better.

“They were so kind to me,” she said.

“I always liked them. They used to visit us quite a lot. Stephen was fond of them.”

Later she said: “Susanna, I think I shall move from here. After all, there is no real place for me at the Minster now.”

“My dear Amelia, this is your home. What do you mean?”

“Only when I married Stephen did it become my home. Now he is dead and there is a new master and mistress of the house. You see what I mean.”

“No,” I said firmly.

“This is your home and always will be as long as you want it.”

“I know you say that sincerely, and when I go away I shall miss you.

We got on well from the beginning, didn’t we? It is just that I feel I could be happier . right away. There are too many memories here.

Stephen . all the children I’ve lost. I feel I should be wise to start afresh. “

“But where would you go?”

“I’m coming to that. There’s a little cottage in Somerset… very close to Jack and Dorothy. I had a look at it. The lady who owns it is joining her son and his wife in a few months’ time. She is going to live somewhere in the North, and she wants to sell it. Well, Susanna, I have offered to buy it.”

“Oh, Amelia, how I shall miss you!”

“You can come and stay. You and the child …”

A feeling of apprehension descended on me. I had not realized until that moment how very much I had missed her and had been looking forward to her return.

“Oh Susanna … I didn’t think you would mind so much!”

“I look on you as my friend.”

“I am and shall still be. It’s not so very far. We’ll write and visit.

Anyone would think I was going to the ends of the earth. “

“I liked to think of you … in the house.”

She smiled at me.

“I shall be here until the baby is born,” she said.

“I’ve promised myself that.”

“You shall be godmother.” She nodded. I think she was too moved to speak.

The months passed serenely. The first three were the most uncomfortable, I think. I felt queasy so often and spent much of those days in my bedroom.

Aubrey was self-effacing and I saw little of him, which pleased me. I fancied he found illness rather distasteful and I was glad to be left alone. I did not want to think of that vague connection between him and the Freelings. I believed that unpleasant thoughts might harm the baby.

Amelia was often with me. We sewed together and talked; we went for little walks in the gardens and she was always watchful that I should not be overtired. She was wonderful, taking a great delight in my condition, which was very noble of her, considering her own bitter disappointment.

By Christmas-time I was getting bulky and very easily tired.

Amelia took over what little entertaining we did. There was not a great deal as we were still in mourning for Stephen; but with a house such as the Minster there were certain obligations to the neighbourhood. It was a useful experience for me to see what must be done and to have an excuse for not taking a too active part in it.

Amelia had made another trip to Somerset and how I missed her!

I was hoping she would return and say that something had happened to prevent her taking the cottage, which was wrong of me, for I knew she wanted to get away and make a new life for herself.

However, everything seemed to be going according to her plans; the owner of the house was making arrangements for her departure and by May of the new year Amelia believed she would be gone.

When we were alone Aubrey said it was for the best. He knew that Amelia and I were good friends but it was not wise to have two mistresses in the same house. I accepted it now because I was hors de combat.

“But wait until you are fighting fit,” he said.

“There could be little disagreements.

“I am the j mistress here,” type of thing. I know you women. “

“It would not have been like that at all. If you think so, you don’t know me and you don’t know Amelia.”

“I know you very well, my love,” he said, smiling.

The thought came to me then: But how much do I know you, Aubrey?

The long-awaited time was coming nearer.

March blustered its way through the days in traditional fashion, coming in like a lion and going out like a lamb. April was the month of showers and flowers, so it was said. If was the month I had been waiting for ever since I knew how blessed I was to be.

Aubrey said: “I’m going to send for Nanny Benson.”

“Is that your old nanny?”

“Yes.”

“She must be very old.”

“Old … but not too old.”

“I think perhaps we should choose someone younger.”

“Good Lord no! The heavens would fall if there was a baby at the Minster and Nanny Benson not in charge.”

“I will see her, then.”

He laughed.

“You’ll not only see her, my darling, you’ll engage her.

She looked after Stephen and me and she always said she would come back and look after our children. “

“How old was she when she looked after you?”

“Quite young … as nannies go. Thirty-five perhaps … when she left us.”

“Well, she must be at least sixty now.”

“She’s perennially young.”

“How long is it since you’ve seen her?”

“About a year or so. She comes to see us now and then. She was very upset about Stephen, although I believe I was always her favourite.”

I was not very pleased at the idea, but I thought that as Aubrey was so fond of his old nanny, it might be a good idea to have her. She had evidently been devoted to the family.

I talked to Amelia about her.

“Oh yes, Nanny Benson,” she said.

“She used to visit us now and then. Stephen thought that I should have her when …”

I said quickly: “She is an old retainer. I know how important they are in families like this.”

And I left it at that.

Nanny Benson arrived a week before the birth. My fears receded, for she was so much the typical nanny. If she was sixty she did not look so old.

She was garrulous and immediately looked on me as one of her charges.

She told me, in detail, anecdotes from the childhood of her boys, Aubrey and Stephen.

I thought her methods might be a little old-fashioned, but as Aubrey was so insistent that she should be in the nursery, I thought we might have a younger woman as well who should be of my choosing. But I did not want to be too much encumbered by a nursery staff. I intended to do a great deal of the looking after of my baby myself.

Th-n the day came. My pains started in the early morning and before nightfall I was delivered of a fine healthy boy.

I had never been so happy as when I lay back exhausted in my bed and they put my son in my arms.

He might look like an old gentleman of ninety with a red and wrinkled face, but to me he was the most beautiful thing on Earth.

From that moment he was my life.

The weeks which followed were completely given to him. I could not bear him to be out of my sight. I wanted to do everything for him. I knew now what it was to love another person wholeheartedly. When he cried I was in an agony of fear that something might be wrong with him; when he crowed to show he was content, I was blissfully happy. As soon as I awoke in the morning I would go to his cradle to assure myself that he was still alive. When I fancied he knew me, I was ecstatically happy.

He was to be called Julian. It was a name which had been used quite frequently in the St. Clare family.

Aubrey said: “One day, all this will be his. So it is as well to make a proper St. Clare of him. ” Aubrey was proud to have a son and heir, but apart from that, he did not show any particular interest in the boy. When I put him into his arms, he held him gingerly and Julian expressed his disapproval by screaming lustily until I took him, when he gurgled with contentment at the change.

Amelia planned to leave after the christening. I felt very sad about that, but I could not think about anything very much which did not concern my child.

The christening took place at the end of May. Little Julian behaved well and looked splendid in the St. Clare christening robes which Nanny Benson knew all about and which had been laundered under her eyes.

She had settled in very cosily.

“Into my old room,” she said. There she had a spirit lamp on which she constantly made cups of tea. She had quite an addiction to tea; and I knew that on occasions she laced it with whisky.

“Just a little bit of old Scotland,” she called it.

“Nothing like it to put a bit of life into you.”

She was quite easy to get along with because she did not interfere too much. I think she liked her comforts and no doubt was too old to want to take on the entire charge of a new baby, but she was so delighted to be back in the St. Clare nursery that I had not the heart to say her presence was not necessary besides, I really did not want anyone else to be with my baby. I wanted him all to myself!

I hardly noticed how little I saw of Aubrey. Often he went visiting friends and spent a few days away from the Minster. I did not miss him. My life was tuned to that of my son.

The time came for Amelia’s departure.

The night before she went she came to my room to say her last farewell, for neither of us wanted an emotional leave-taking in the morning.

It was late afternoon. Julian was asleep and so, I suspected, was Nanny Benson. She often dozed in the afternoon after partaking of tea augmented by ‘a little bit of old Scotland’.

“I shall be off fairly early in the morning,” said Amelia.

“I am going to miss you so much.”

“You’ll be all right. You have the boy … and Aubrey.”

“Yes.”

There was a silence and then she said: “I have been wanting to say something for a long time. I don’t know whether I should. It’s been worrying me quite a bit. Perhaps I shouldn’t … but somehow I think I ought.”

“What is it, Amelia?”

“It’s about… Aubrey.”

“Yes?”

She bit her lips.

“At times … Stephen was very worried about him.

There had been . trouble. “

My heart began to beat fast.

“Trouble? What trouble?”

“He was sometimes difficult. Well, not on the surface. He was very charming, really. It was just … Well, he became involved with some odd people. They did strange things.”

“What strange things?”

“I believe they lived rather wildly. He was sent down from the university. It may have been that he got into the habit there, Stephen had difficulty in hushing it up. Then he went abroad. I just think you ought to know. But perhaps you shouldn’t. That is how it has been going on in my mind. I’ve been turning it over and over, asking myself whether I should tell you or not. But I think it is better to be prepared.”

“Yes,” I said, ‘it is better to be prepared. Do you mean that he experimented in taking drugs? “

She looked at me in surprise. She did not reply for a moment but I knew that was what she did mean.

She avoided my eyes.

“People who do, can act very strangely when they are under the influence of them. Of course it was all long ago.

Perhaps it is over now. There was that man. I always thought he was to blame in some way. He was here once or twice. Stephen thought the world of him. He was a doctor . an authority on drugs. He had done all sorts of odd things . going native and all that. He has written about it . so frankly. I always felt a little afraid of him.

I suppose it in was because of what I had read. I wondered if it was through him that Aubrey had begun to experiment. Stephen always insisted that the doctor’s interest in drugs was to be able to use them for the good of mankind and that it was small-minded to regard other civilizations as backward because they differed from our own. In some ways they could be more advanced. Stephen and I almost quarrelled about the man.

“Damien sounds like Demon,” I said. And I thought of him as the Demon Doctor. Stephen said I was ridiculously prejudiced. Oh dear, perhaps I should not have spoken. Something just made me. I thought you ought to know. I - er think you should be watchful of Aubrey . and if ever that Dr. Damien should come here . be on your guard. “

She was looking at me fearfully and I said: “You did right to tell me.

I will be watchful. I hope I never have to see this man. Stephen gave me his book to read. It is mysterious and er sensual. and really rather disturbing. It has qualities like those I found in Sir Richard Burton’s books. They both fascinate and repel. “

“Stephen admired both men so much. I read only one. I had no desire to read more. Stephen used to say that when he read them it was like taking a trip into those far-off countries. The writing was so vivid.”

“It’s true,” I said.

“But I believe with you that the writers are dangerous men, even if remarkable. I believe they would stop at nothing to get what they wanted.”

“I always thought that it was because of this man that Aubrey began to experiment. He may have wanted to see what effect drugs would have on a man like Aubrey. I don’t know. I’m only guessing. I don’t suppose Aubrey would do such a thing now …”

She looked at me anxiously. I understood perfectly what she was trying to tell me. I was beginning to fit together a picture of what very likely happened on that never-to be-forgotten night.

I almost told Amelia of it, but I could not bring myself to talk of it even to her. Of one thing I was sure: I would never endure that degradation again.

I thanked her for what she had told me, assuring her that she had been right to do so.

We did not say much more after that. We took a fond farewell and promised ourselves that we should meet again soon.

I suppose most unsatisfactory marriages break up gradually. The disintegration of mine certainly began on the night in Venice. True, I had made excuses for Aubrey, but I had always known that those impulses must have been in him somewhere, otherwise they would not have come out in any circumstances. I sensed that he was equally discontent with the marriage. I had failed him just as he had failed me. I was ready to believe that in these situations the blame cannot be all on one side.

I can say that when I married him it was with the intention of being a good wife. Perhaps he also first intended to be a good husband; but as his character was being revealed to me, I was realizing that I had made just about the biggest mistake a woman can make.

And yet . out of it had come Julian. And how could I regret anything that had brought me my child.

For the first two months after Julian’s birth I was too absorbed in him to think about much else.

Aubrey did say: “Aren’t you getting rather absurd, darling? After all, old Nanny Benson is there. Must you always be dashing off to the nursery?”

“Nanny Benson is rather old.”

“She has looked after children all her life. She’s more experienced than you are. You’re so nervous about that child, you’ll be upsetting him if you are not careful.”

There might be some truth in what he said; but I could not help it. I sensed the criticism in Aubrey’s words and manner. I was so overwhelmed by motherhood that I was not bothering to be a good wife.

Through Julian I formed a relationship with Mrs. Pollack, the housekeeper. Before, she had seemed to me a very formal woman, deeply conscious of her position in the household, humourless and something of a martinet. But since the coming of Julian she had changed. She looked completely different when she saw the baby; her face would be forced into a smile, which appeared to be most reluctant and was all the more genuine for that.

“I have to tell you. Madam,” she said as though admitting to something sinful, “I do like to see little babies.”

When I walked with him in the gardens, she would contrive to be there.

When she thought he smiled at her, she was filled with delight. When he grabbed her finger, she marvelled at his intelligence; and Mrs. Pollack’s adoration of my baby brought us closer together.

I sometimes had a cup of tea with her in her sitting-room, and took Julian with me. I felt a certain pleasure in having a friend in the house and such a stalwart, honest woman. She knew a little about babies too. She had had three of her own.

“All married and gone away now. Madam. But that’s how it is.” She shook her head slowly.

“You remember them as little ones when they depended on you … and then they’ve gone to live lives of their own. Oh, mine are good enough to me. I could go and live with my Annie, but I don’t think that’s right for the young somehow. I wish they could stay little babies.”

I was so pleased to find that Mrs. Pollack was quite human after all. I believed that she would have been a better nurse than Nanny Benson.

I asked her once why she had not found a post looking after children rather than keeping a household of servants in order.

She pondered that awhile and then she said that she thought madness lay that way.

“I should get too fond of them … and then they’re too old to need you. It’s like having a family all over again. I must say though. Madam, it’s good to have a little one in the house.”

If I were going out, I used to tell Mrs. Pollack. There was an unspoken agreement between us that I wanted her to keep an eye on Julian, for I did not want to leave him entirely in the care of Nanny Benson who might nod off at a moment when she should be looking after the child.

Mrs. Pollack was the soul of tact. She understood and took pride in the trust I placed in her. She was well repaid by Julian’s obvious appreciation of her, when he grew old enough to express it.

One night, when Julian was only a few months old, I was worried about him as he had developed a cold. It was only a slight one but the smallest thing wrong with him sent me into a panic.

I awoke in the night. It must have been soon after three and I felt I must make sure that he was all right. I went into the nursery. He was restless, flushed and breathing heavily.

I could hear Nanny Benson’s rhythmic snoring in the next room.

The door was open but she was in such a deep sleep that I was sure it would take a great deal to wake her.

I seized the baby and, wrapping him in a blanket, I sat cradling him in my arms. I stroked his hair back from his forehead and as I did so he ceased to whimper. I went on stroking his head for he seemed to derive much comfort from my touch, and from the back of my mind came memories of those other occasions when my hands had seemed to have a healing effect. I could see my old ayah’s face clearly. What had she said?

“There is power in those hands.”

I had not believed her. Now I thought of what I had read in the books which Stephen had given me. It was true that in a society like ours we were apt to dismiss that which was not what we could call logical. But there could be other ways than ours, other cultures. Sir Richard Burton and the strange Dr. Damien had hinted at that. It was to discover these things that they had set out on their wild journeys.

Now my thoughts were all for soothing my child, and I did so so satisfactorily that soon he was sleeping peacefully, his breathing normal, his face less flushed.

I sat with him through the night. I should not be able to sleep if I left him. So I just sat there happily holding him in my arms and becoming a little more certain that there was some power in my hands.

My ayah had said that it was a gift from the gods and such gifts should be used.

It would be a wonderful thing to save life. I could understand in a way why men like Dr. Damien were ready to do anything in their thirst for knowledge. In his case, I read, it was to discover how certain substances could be used for the benefit of the sick. That sounded noble. But there was an arrogance about him which came through in his books, and I believed that he took an immense delight in the adventures which came his way savouring a hundred sensual mysteries in the name of furthering medical science, which made me suspicious of the man especially since Amelia had more or less warned me against him.

I wanted to learn more about this strange healing power which might be mine.

The next morning, when I returned to our bedroom, Aubrey said: “You look worn out. What on earth happened?”

“Julian wasn’t well in the night.”

“Couldn’t Nanny B. look after him?”

“She was snoring all night. The child could be in convulsions and she would know nothing about it.”

“Well, I hope you are not going to make a habit of these nocturnal wanderings.”

“No. I am going to have the cradle moved into this room so that I can be near him.”

“That’s absurd.”

“Indeed it is not. And I am going to do it.”

He shrugged his shoulders and it was done.

Julian was fretful in the night and Aubrey said it was an impossible situation, and either I moved out of the room with the cradle or he would.

I thought it was only fair that I should. There were plenty of rooms in the Minster.

So I had the cradle moved to one of them and there I slept.

I don’t think either Aubrey or I was greatly disturbed by the fact that we now occupied separate rooms. I know I slept in peace knowing that my mother’s instinct would wake me immediately if Julian needed me.

A year sped by. It was entirely taken up with Julian. Julian’s first smile; Julian’s first tooth; his first word, which I was delighted was Mama. There were cosy chats with Mrs. Pollack when we discussed Julian at great length and he crawled about the floor playing with the empty cotton reels she found for him, rolling over the floor, clapping his hands when we clapped ours to show approval for his little achievements. He took his first tottering steps across the short space from her knees to mine, smiling up at us with triumph when he fell against us. They were wonderful moments which I would treasure for ever.

I was now and then aware of a certain exasperation in Aubrey’s manner.

Now that mourning for Stephen was officially over, he wanted to entertain his friends. I naturally had to take part in this; but I did so without much enthusiasm. They were not the sort of people who greatly appealed to me. Their main topic of conversation concerned hunting, fishing and outdoor sports with which I was not very well acquainted.

After those dinner-parties Aubrey now and then expressed his disappointment in my performance.

“You were scarcely the sparkling hostess.”

“They talk about such trivial things.”

“Trivial to you, perhaps.”

“They never talk politics for one thing … the change in the government, the coup d’etat in France with Louis Napoleon making himself absolute head of the French government…”

“My dear girl, what has this to do with us?”

“Everything that happens in this country and those close to us must affect us.”

“You are a regular bluestocking, my dear. Do you know that is one of the less popular brands of woman?”

“I wasn’t thinking of attractiveness, just a little interesting conversation.”

He looked at me with cool distaste.

“Of course,” he said, ‘you have grown accustomed all your life to looking down on people. “

This was a reference to my height which he did not seem to like, for if I wore high heels I would stand above him. It was a symptom of his growing feelings against me, for when you dislike people you pick on certain points which normally would not be noticed.

He thought my devotion to our child was unworthy of our class. We had servants to do what I insisted on doing myself. I believe he thought it showed a lack of breeding in taking so much on myself. Then there was my inability or refusal to form friendships with his friends; and now even my height.

I took Julian to see my father and we stayed with him for a week. That was a happy time. He delighted in the child and Jane and Polly revelled in having him to look after.

“Wouldn’t it be nice if you came and lived here, Mrs. St. Clare,” they said.

And I knew my father agreed with them.

I heard from Amelia. She was happier in Somerset.

“Making a new life,” she said. It was pleasant to be near Jack and Dorothy. She obviously spent a great deal of time with them for they figured often in her letters and perhaps particularly Jack.

On Julian’s first birthday the cook made a cake with one candle on it.

The servants came in to wish him a happy birthday and he thoroughly enjoyed that.

It was soon afterwards that Louie Lee arrived.

I had taken Julian for his outing in the gardens in his push chair and when we came in I went up to the nursery. A young woman was there. She was opening the cupboard doors and looking into them as I came in.

I stared at her.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded.

She said: “Oh, you’re the mistress, are you? Thought so.”

“What are you doing here?” I repeated.

“Will you please explain?”

“I’m Louie. I’ve been took on for the nursery … to help Aunt Em.”

Aunt Em! That was, of course. Nanny Benson. I had discovered that her name was Emily.

“I have not engaged you.”

She shrugged her shoulders.

Nanny Benson came in.

“Oh, this is Louie,” she said.

“She’s come to give a hand. It’s a bit much for me, as I was telling Mr. Aubrey. I said there’s our Louie and he said bring her.”

So Aubrey had engaged this young woman without consulting me! I looked at her intently. Her hair was bright gold a little too bright for nature; her big blue eyes were bold too bold for modesty; her nose was small and her long upper lip gave her a kittenish look. She did not appear to be the kind who would be an efficient nurse.

“My brother’s son’s girl,” said Nanny Benson.

“Well, there’s too much for me in the nursery now our little man is growing up so fast… and there was Louie looking for something.”

I was dumbfounded. I wanted to tell the girl to pack her bags and go taking Nanny Benson with her. I wanted to arrange my own nursery. It was for me the most vital part of the house and it was more than I could endure that it should be in the hands of a woman who was more often than not in a state of somnambulance brought on by lashings of whisky, taken in tea though it was and now she had brought in this brazen-looking girl.

I waited for Aubrey to come in.

I said: “What is this about engaging a nursery maid Louie someone?”

“Oh, she’s Nanny Benson’s niece or grand niece or something.”

“She is unnecessary.”

He looked at me ironically.

“I thought it would relieve you a little.”

“Relieve me! I don’t want to be relieved.”

“No. You enjoy playing nursemaid, I know. But as mistress of a house like this, you should realize your position. There are other duties.”

“My child is more important to me than anything else.”

He looked bitter.

“You make that abundantly clear.”

“He is your child as well.”

“One would hardly think so. You monopolize him. You hate anyone else to go near him.”

Was that true? I wondered. Julian was of paramount importance to me and I saw everything as it related to him.

“You are free to be with him when you want to,” I said.

“I imagine you do not like young children very much.”

“Well, I have engaged this girl.”

“But I won’t have her.”

“And if I will … what then?”

“You can’t …”

“My dear, I can do what I like in my own house. You have to change.

What do you think my friends feel when they come here? You are not interested in them and you show it. “

“That girl must go,” I said.

“No,” he replied firmly.

“She stays.”

“What use do you think she will be in the nursery?”

“She will relieve you of the child.”

“I don’t want to be relieved. Nothing is going to take my child from me.”

“Please dispense with the histrionics. What’s the matter with you, Susanna? You married me, you know.”

“I am aware of that. But I thought I had a right to choose my own nursery maid.”

“You have no rights which do not come through me. Perhaps it would be as well for you to remember that. This is my house. I am the master here. Your authority comes through me and I say the girl stays.”

We regarded each other with cold dislike.

I knew that I was witnessing the disintegration of my marriage.

Very soon the last shreds of hope that we could ever be happy together were dispersed.

There was a truculence about the girl Louie Lee which gave me a clue as to what was going on. She had that air of insolence which can come from people who think they have a rather special place in the household. And how could Louie Lee be in such a position? Surely because she had found favour with the master of the house.

Her nursery duties were negligible; and I did not quarrel with that.

If I must tolerate her in the household, I did not want her near my child. In fact Julian was hardly ever in the nursery and rarely if I were not there. I certainly would not have him left alone either with Nanny Benson or her distant relative.

I supposed Nanny Benson had been adequate enough when she had been Stephen’s and Aubrey’s nanny, but the years’ growing addiction to whisky faintly camouflaged by very little tea, I imagined had scarcely improved her efficiency. As for Louie Lee, she had no talent for the post whatsoever.

I saw her once from my window. She was in the garden. Aubrey came into view and they were both laughing. Suddenly she gave him a little push and started to run off in the direction of the little wood; he followed her. It did not need much imagination to draw conclusions from that encounter.

The man whom I had seen once and so distressingly that night was never really far from the surface, I was sure. I wondered what he remembered of that night. I did not believe that he had been entirely unaware of it. He had tested me and found me unresponsive to bestiality, not love. Our relationship had changed from that night. I had shown him that I should never be the partner who would join in his depravities.

At this time I toyed with the idea of leaving the Minster. I could live with my father. In fact I did pay him another and more lengthy visit. Then I went to stay with Amelia for a while. My suspicions regarding her and Jack St. Clare seemed to have some foundation. They were neither of them in their first youth; both had been married before; but if ever I saw a steady, though leisurely courtship, I believed I saw it there.

I was happy for Amelia. She was still young enough to bear children, and there was a glow about her which I had not noticed before.

When I returned to the Minster, the peace I had enjoyed in London and in Somerset seemed very desirable. I thought I must go to my father.

He would welcome Julian and me. He loved his grandson and either Jane or Polly would be better nursery maids than Nanny Benson or Louie Lee.

I could leave Aubrey to his nursery girl.

But one did not walk out of marriage lightly. There was too much to consider. I wanted nothing from Aubrey, but there was Julian.

He was heir to this fine estate; for it followed that in due course the Minster must be his. I owed it to him that he should be brought up there. I could not lightly take him away from his home and his inheritance.

After my visits I would feel more than ever withdrawn from Aubrey.

There was no love between us now. I would lock myself in my bedroom with my baby; but there was no need to; he made no attempt to come to me.

I had suspected for some time that he had several mistresses and was rather glad of it. I did not want him with me.

Then one day I made a discovery.

I had long been aware of strange happenings in the house. Aubrey had taken to giving house parties which lasted from Friday afternoon until Sunday or Monday. I would receive the guests and arrange the meals. We used to dine at eight and by ten they would all have retired to their rooms, which seemed rather strange for they were by no means old people.

I was glad they did. I had no desire to sit up with them. I would retire to my room where Julian would be sleeping in his little bed; and on these occasions during the short time I was with Aubrey’s guests, I always asked Mrs. Pollack to look in at the child at intervals, so that we could be assured that he was all right a duty which she was very happy to perform.

They were almost always the same set of people who came, although occasionally there were newcomers. I had grown accustomed to them and they did not bother me very much. They would make polite conversation about the house or the weather and ask perfunctory questions about Julian; but they gave me the impression that their thoughts were far away from the subjects of which they spoke.

One night when I could not sleep, I thought I heard people prowling about below and I went to my window and looked out. There were several people emerging from the little wood and coming towards the house. I drew back hastily. They were our guests.

I looked at the time. It was four o’clock.

I was very puzzled. Then I saw Aubrey among them. I could not imagine what they had been doing. I went to my door and listened.

I heard footsteps on the stairs then silence. They were all sleeping in a different wing of the house and they had all gone to their rooms.

There was no moon that night and as it was cloudy it had been difficult to see them clearly.

I went to Julian’s cot and looked at him; he was sleeping soundly. So I got into my own bed and lay there for a long time thinking about what I had seen.

It must have been five o’clock before I slept and then fitfully. I awoke just after six and the first thing I thought of was what I had seen the previous night.

Then Julian was clamouring to come into my bed, which he did every morning. I sang to him, as I did at the beginning of every day old songs and ballads and hymns which he loved with a repeat performance of his favourite Cherry Ripe. But that morning my heart was not in the singing.

Then I remembered that they had emerged from the little wood and there had been a day when I had gone through that wood and had come upon a mysterious door. I don’t know what made me think of that except that I had to find an explanation of where they had all been.

They slept late those weekends and often did not rise till luncheon-time. I had heard from the kitchen that they did not want to have breakfast.

The morning seemed a good time to test the notion that the mysterious door might have something to do with Aubrey’s guests’ nocturnal wanderings.

I told Mrs. Pollack that I was going for a little walk. Julian was having a short nap which he took in the mornings. I asked her if she would look in and make sure he was all right while I was out.

Then I left the house. I went through the wood and came to the slight incline. I scrambled down, dislodging the creeper as I went.

There was the door.

Something like a warning came to me. I just had the feeling that I was in an evil place. I pushed the door and my heart leaped, because it was open. I stepped inside.

The thought immediately occurred to me that the door could swing back, shutting me in, and that I should be unable to escape. I came out at once into the open air. I looked for a large stone; I found one and propped it against the door so that it could not shut. Then, my heart beating violently, I stepped into what appeared to be a cave.

The floor was stone-flagged and as I advanced I was aware of an odour which I did not recognize. It pervaded the air and sickened me a little.

I saw that there were candles everywhere some of them had burned out. I knew that they had been recently lighted and that confirmed my suspicions that it was to this place that those people had come.

The cave opened into a square room. There was a table which looked like an altar and I almost cried out in terror, for on it was a large figure life-sized, and for one horrified moment I had thought that someone was sitting there.

The figure on the altar seemed to leer at me. It was evil. I saw then that it was meant to represent the Devil the horns, the cloven feet were evidence of that; the red eyes seemed to be fixed on me.

There were drawings on the walls. I looked at them. At first they were incomprehensible men and women in coupling groups in strange positions and then the significance of this was brought home to me.

Now I had one desire and that was to get out of this place as quickly as I could. I ran. I kicked the stone away from the door and shut it behind me. I ran through the wood as though pursued by the Devil and I really felt that I had come face to face with him.

My thoughts were in a turmoil. What had I stumbled on?

Mrs. Pollack greeted me.

“He’s still sleeping. I’ve looked in on him twice. Are you all right, Mrs. St. Clare?”

“Yes … thank you, Mrs. Pollack. I’ll just go up. I don’t want him to sleep too long, or he won’t get his rest tonight. “

I went up to my room.

What did it mean? I had to know.

I don’t know how I got through that day, but I was aware of what I had to do. I had to find out exactly what happened in that cave. This was my home . the home of my child. If what I feared was going on was true, I should have to take some action.

That evening I settled Julian in his bed and sat by the window. How silent the house was!

It was about fifteen minutes to midnight when I heard the first sound.

I thought: This is why Aubrey gave orders that the guests were to be in the east wing. That is well away from the rest of the house and their comings and goings would not be heard.

I watched them emerge from the house. It was a dark night but I could make out the figures as they moved towards the wood. I sat there after they had disappeared, bracing myself. I was trembling, but I knew I had to be sure. I had to do this.

Images crept into my mind; I had heard whispers of strange sects when I was in India. There were rituals and secret meetings . there was worshipping of strange gods.

I thought of that figure of Satan on what could only have been a mock altar.

Don’t go, said a voice within me. Go to London tomorrow. Take Julian with you. Say that you cannot live another day under this roof.

I could not do that. But I must have evidence of what was going on. I must see with my own eyes.

I put on my boots and a big cloak over my night things and crept downstairs. Out through the woods I went to what I had begun to think of as the unholy temple.

The door was shut.

I pushed it open and went in.

The sight which met my eyes was so shocking that although I had been half prepared, I almost turned and fled. Candles were burning, many of them. There was a haze in the air. I saw people reclining on mats on the floor surrounding the hideous figure on the altar. Most of them were semi-nude or completely so. They were in groups of threes and fours and I turned my eyes from them because I did not want to see what was happening.

I saw Aubrey then and he saw me. He looked strange, wild-eyed, sneering at me. He lunged towards me and said in a slurred voice: “I believe it is my little wife … no, no, no, my big wife … Come to join us, Susanna?”

I turned and fled.

Although I knew he had not followed me, I ran through the woods, scratching my hands on the tree-trunks, panic-stricken because the bracken caught at my clothes and I had a terrible fear it was attempting to hold me until someone came to catch me and carry me back to that scene of depravity.

I stumbled into the house and went up to my room, locking myself in. I threw myself on the bed, feeling sick; and for some minutes I lay there.

Then I rose and went to look at Julian. He was sleeping peacefully.

I thought: I will go to my father. I will tell him everything. I must take Julian away. He must not live here, where all this is going on.

I was making plans feverishly to get away . quickly.

That was the only thought which could give me any peace.

My father would help me. I thanked God for him. I was not alone. I would make my home with him. I could never see Aubrey again without thinking of him in that evil place.

Perhaps I had suspected something of this. Perhaps deep down in my mind I had, ever since that night. Yet he had been such a charming lover . in the beginning. I could not forget those weeks in Venice.

His was indeed a dual personality. Something told me that the charming man was there . but being stifled by the man whose mind and body was being poisoned by the drugs he took.

So many thoughts turned themselves over in my mind. I had a conviction that the mysterious Dr. Damien had started him on this terrible road, that wicked man wanted to see the effect drugs could have on people, so that he could learn about them. He pursued knowledge with ruthlessness and did not care how many people he ruined on the way . as he had ruined Aubrey.

Amelia had hinted that I must be wary of him. I would, if ever he came here. But I should not be here . I should be with my father.

The night was over at last. There was Julian demanding his songs, including Cherry Ripe. I must have given a very poor performance on that morning.

I started getting a few things together. I would tell Aubrey what I intended to do and ask him not to attempt to get into touch with me.

Not that I feared he would. I had seen contempt and hatred in his eyes when I confronted him. He must feel ashamed as I was sure he did in his sane moments.

It was late in the morning when he came to me. I had packed a few necessities and planned to leave on the afternoon train. That was at four o’clock.

For a moment we just stood looking at each other. Then I saw his lips curl and my heart sank. He was in a truculent mood and that cold dislike in his eyes which always alarmed me, was apparent.

“Well,” he said, ‘what have you to say? “

“I am leaving.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Is that all?”

“It is enough.”

“You were not very polite. Bursting in like that… uninvited … and then making off without a word.”

“What words did you expect me to say?”

“Being you … so calm, so restrained … none, of course. Why don’t you throw aside your inhibitions? Why don’t you join us? I can promise you excitement … such as you have never dreamed of.”

“You must be mad.”

“It’s the most thrilling thing I ever knew.”

“You are under the influence of drugs. You are not normal. I would rather not discuss that. I am leaving this afternoon.”

“But want to discuss it. Do you know, when I married you I thought you were a woman of spirit … I didn’t think you would be so afraid of life.”p>

“I am not afraid.”

“Oh yes you are. You are conventional, straitlaced, a prude. I knew my mistake very soon after I married you. I was going to make you enjoy what I enjoyed. I thought it would be interesting to watch you change. But I soon discovered that you could never throw off all the shibboleths of your upbringing.” He laughed wildly.

“There were times during those few weeks in Venice when I thought I might join you … become what you believed I was. I must have been crazy. I suppose I was really in love with you … then. But I need excitement. I couldn’t live … conventionally … not since I knew what could be had …”

I said: “Well, now we understand each other perfectly. We have both made the worst mistake two people can make. Still, even that is not irrevocable. You take opium … smoke it or take it in some other form. What does it matter how? Perhaps there are other pernicious drugs too. I know of your affair with the nursery maid. I know of what goes on in that appalling place and I want to put myself as far from all that as I possibly can.”

“If you were the virtuous woman you make yourself out to be, you would obey your husband. That is a wife’s first duty.”

“In such circumstances? I do not think so. My duty is to get away from this place and take my child with me.”

He looked at me sardonically.

“Oh Susanna,” he said, “I admire you in a way. So confident… so big. If you had only been prepared to make a little experiment …”

“Experiment? Do you mean become like you and your depraved friends?”

He said: “I wonder …” His face softened a little and I think he was recalling those first weeks in Venice. I realize now that he had not been pretending then; he had genuinely shared my delight in them. I have grown older now and I understand what I did not at that time, that one cannot divide people neatly into categories the good and the bad. The worst have good impulses sometimes; and the better ones act unworthily. But I was young; I was headstrong; and I was frightened. I was a mother whose first thought was for her child; and I saw Aubrey as a weak man who had formed dangerous, degrading habits and was ruining his life as well as ours because he had not the strength to fight against his obsession. I despised him.

Any love I had had for him had died. It had begun to on that night in Venice. Perhaps it had always been a frail thing. Perhaps that is how young people often are. They fall in love or think they are in love with the first attractive man who is interested in them. They want to be loved; it is a delightful adventure: marriage, children, they are the foundation of the ideal existence. I was seeing it all clearly now. My love for Aubrey had been superficial; if it had been stronger I should have wanted to stay and help him fight this terrible affliction.

No, I did not love Aubrey; but at least I had learned the true meaning of one kind of love when my child was born.

The moment passed.

“At least,” said Aubrey, ‘there is no longer need for secrecy. “

“That night,” I said, ‘that terrible night in Venice . “

He laughed.

“The night of revelation … when I realized I had married a prude a woman with fixed ideas, a woman steeped in conventionality, who would never come with me where I wanted to go. And you knew you had married a monster.”

“You were aware of everything,” I accused him.

“You pretended it was due to a blow on the head, that you had been attacked. You had been with the Freelings.”

“You are beginning to see a little daylight, aren’t you? Of course I wasn’t attacked. Seeing that man brought out of the canal gave me the idea. You found my purse, didn’t you? That was careless of me. It was imperceptive of you not to realize then.”

“You met the Freelings. You went into one of your sessions with them.

I understand all that clearly. You didn’t care about my anxiety, waiting at the palazzo imagining all sorts of horrors which might have befallen you. “

“One doesn’t think about anything at such times. You really should cast aside your inhibitions, you should try …”

I shook my head fiercely.

“And your devilish Dr. Damien was present most likely. He brought you home, didn’t he? That story about being in the hut and his rescuing you … False! All false! The Freelings had to leave India because of all this. My ayah tried to warn me. How I wish that she had never gone to the Freelings … and I had never met you.”

“I wonder how many disappointed wives have said that to their husbands, or vice versa come to that. You should have stayed last night. We would have initiated you into the mysteries and excitement of my Hell-Fire Club. What did you think of it? You stumbled across it before, didn’t you? You found the door but it was locked. Do you remember that day in the gallery when I told you about Harry St. Clare?

I sometimes think I’m Harry born again. I’m just like him. You like stories of the past, don’t you? You like to know the history of the house. Well, that temple under the hillock was built by Harry. I discovered it when I was a boy. There was a reference to it in some old document. I forced open the door. I had a new lock made for it when I was at the university. There was a circle of us there. Well, Sir Francis Dashwood built his temple at Medmenham. Harry saw no reason why he shouldn’t build his here. Just imagine . a hundred years ago Harry and his circle were doing more or less what we are doing here now. History repeating itself. Always interesting, don’t you think? You see, there is nothing new about all this. Perhaps we have advanced a little on the drugs. Harry had his, though. It’s exciting. When you are under the influence, there is nothing, simply nothing, you cannot do. I could tell you . “

“Please don’t. I have no desire to hear.” I looked at him intently. I said: “And what of Amelia’s baby?”

He stared at me.

“You said you met her in the town. Why? So that you could drive her back … and have a little upset… nothing to hurt the carriage much but to destroy her baby … or try to.”

He was silent. I saw a glimpse then of the Aubrey I had known in the beginning. There was a look of contrition in his eyes.

“I might have known,” I said.

“It happened,” he said quickly.

“These things happen. I had no intention …”

“Why did you go to meet her? They were to take the trap. You must have arranged it.”

“She lost her babies .. all of them… the least little thing.”

“So you decided to arrange … this little thing.”

“It happened, I tell you. It happened. Why bring it up? It’s over.”

“There is only one thing more for me to say,” I went on.

“I am leaving here this afternoon.”

“Where will you go?”

“To my father, of course.”

“I see. You, who adhere so fondly to convention, should not take such a daring action.”

“It is not convention but decency which I want to adhere to. I will not have my child brought up in a house like this.”

“So you propose to take my son away from his home?”

“Of course he will come with me.”

He shook his head slowly. All trace of his old self had disappeared. A smile played about his lips and it was not a pleasant one, and a terrible fear struck me. His next words confirmed that fear.

“You are inclined to think that I have played no part in producing that boy.

But that is not the case. Any court of law would tell you that. “

I stared at him in horror. He understood my feelings perfectly. He went on: “You could leave here, of course. But you could not take my son with you.”

My mouth was suddenly parched. The air was full of menace.

“Yes,” he went on.

“You may leave. Of course, the world does not look too kindly on the married woman who deserts her husband, though there arc some who take this unwise action. But you cannot take my son away with you.”

I cried out: “Why do you keep calling him your son? He is mine, too.”

“Ours,” he said.

“But I am his father. This is a man’s world, my dear Susanna. I am sure that fact has occurred to a strong-minded woman like you. If you went and took our son with you, I would soon have him back in his rightful place. The law would see to that.”

“You do not love him.”

“He is my son. This is his home. All this will be his one day. The house … the estate … even the temple. All his. He must be brought up in his own home. That is something I shall insist on.”

“You would not be so cruel as to take my child from me.”

I do not propose to separate you. All you have to do is to remain. I shall not ask you to leave, but if you do, the child stays here. “

I was stunned. I could see that he had defeated me.

He went on: “You have monopolized the child. You have taken him out of my care. He hardly knows his father.”

“Because his father has not had the time to spare for him, being so occupied with his drug-inspired orgies.”

“Who would believe that?”

“I do. I know it.”

“Your opinion would not count. If you want to go, if you want to create a scandal, if you want to bring disgrace on your father’s grey hairs, and on the father of your son, then you must do so. I cannot make you a prisoner here. But let me tell you this: if you attempt to take my son from his rightful home, I shall see that he is brought back here. The law would demand it and you would have to obey the law.”

“You forget what I know of you. Surely no court of law would want a child brought up in a home where these evil practices are carried on, where the father indulges in intrigues with the servants …”

“That is no uncommon practice, my dear. And it would have to be proved. I could make sure that it was not. If you are prepared to lose your son … then go ahead and do so. I shall put no obstacle in the way of your going. But a court might well commit you as insane, a poor woman who has fantasies. I would see to it.”

He turned and left me.

I knew that I was a prisoner in this house. I was held here by the one thing which could prevent my escape.

What he had said about the law was true. If I went away I should lose my son; and that was the one thing I could never do.

I was in a state of wretched uncertainty. I knew that Aubrey meant he would not let me take Julian away with me. It was not that he wanted the boy himself; but he did want a son and heir to be brought up on the estate. I also thought that he wanted his revenge on me.

I knew now that his feelings towards me were mixed, and in the force of his hatred for me were the grains of love. He had been in love with me; there had been something very special about those days in Venice; it was just that the drug habit was too strong for him; he wanted me to share everything with him, and because I would not, because I despised him for what he was doing, he hated me.

My great desire was to get away. I had thought it would be so simple just to walk out of the place with Julian. How I had miscalculated!

It was hard to live through the days. Julian seemed more precious to me than ever if that were possible. If we were separated he would be heartbroken, no less than I. There was one thing which was clear to me: I would endure anything rather than be separated from my child.

I should have liked to go and stay with my father, but I knew that after that scene between us, Aubrey would not allow me to take Julian with me. If I wanted to stay with Amelia who had frequently asked me to visit her I should have to leave Julian behind. It was clear to me that Aubrey would never allow me to take the boy from the Minster for fear I might not return with him.

Mrs. Pollack was a little worried about my health.

“You’re not looking yourself, if I may say so, Madam,” she said.

I assured her that I was all right. I tried to behave as though nothing had happened. I saw as little of Aubrey as I possibly could; but when I did he regarded me with a sardonic look, the triumphant look of a conqueror.

Two weeks passed, two of the most wretched weeks I had ever known till then. I would lie awake at night devising wild plans which seemed plausible then, but which I knew to be impossible in the light of the next day.

I could think of nothing else. When Mrs. Pollack told me I should avoid going into the town I hardly listened.

“It’s the linen-draper’s daughter. They say it’s cholera. That’s frightened the life out of everyone. They all remember the epidemic two years ago.”

“Oh yes,” I said.

“I remember, of course. It was terrible.”

“They say that more than fifty-three thousand people died of it in England and Wales,” said Mrs. Pollack.

“It’s brought in by foreigners, that’s what.”

I said I supposed so; and I wondered once more whether, if I gave Aubrey a solemn promise that I would return with Julian, he would allow me to go and see my father.

I could not go on like this. Yet what could I do? I longed to get away but I could not go without Julian. If necessary I should stay here until he was of age. I would never leave him.

It must have been about four weeks after that scene with Aubrey when I received a letter. I did not know the writing on the envelope and when I opened and read it my anxieties increased.

Dear Mrs. St. Clare [I read], I am taking the liberty of writing to you because I am concerned about Colonel Pleydell’s health. I think you should know that he had a mild stroke yesterday. It has impaired his speech a little and he is slightly paralysed. I am afraid that he could have another stroke and perhaps a major one at any time.

I thought you should know this. Yours truly, Edgar Corinth.

I read and re-read the letter. The words danced in front of my eyes.

It was as though I felt that by staring at them hard enough I could change them.

I could not believe this. Not now . when I needed his help. I felt the need to lean on someone, to have someone to talk with me, plan with me, advise me. And when I thought of someone I meant my father.

He was the one who cared most of all; he would make my troubles his own.

I must go to him at once and I must take Julian. Surely I could do that in these circumstances. I decided to talk to Aubrey.

He had come in from the estate and I watched him approach the house.

It struck me afresh how he was changing. He looked considerably older than the Aubrey of our honeymoon; his eyes were sunken and his skin was an unhealthy colour.

I met him in the hall.

“I have to talk to you,” I said.

He raised his eyebrows and we went into one of the little rooms which led from the hall. I gave him the doctor’s letter and he read it.

“I have to go to him,” I said.

“Of course.”

“I shall take Julian with me.”

“Take the child into a house of sickness?”

“It is certainly not communicable. It is a stroke. There are servants there. They love to look after him. I can be with my father and Julian will be all right.”

He smiled at me slowly.

“No,” he said.

“You shall not take the child out of this house.”

“Why not?”

“Because you may decide not to bring him back.”

“I would give my solemn oath.”

“You are a very determined woman. Solemn oaths are not always kept by the ruthless and you could be ruthless where the boy is concerned.”

“You see how ill my father is.”

“How do I know that this is not a forgery … this doctor’s letter?

It’s come at a rather opportune moment, hasn’t it? “

“Aubrey, I am very worried about my father.”

“Go to him. Nurse him. You’re good at that, I believe. Then when you have brought him back to health, come back. But you shall not take the boy.”

“How can I go without him?”

“Easily. You will go to the station, board a train and very soon you will be in London at your father’s bedside.”

“Aubrey, will you try to understand.”

“I understand perfectly. You have told me of your intentions and, as I said, I know how resolute you can be. Go to your father. The boy remains here.”

He smiled at me as he turned and left me.

I went to Mrs. Pollack’s room. She was lying down.

“Just a bit off colour,” she said.

“Nothing that a little rest and a nice cup of tea won’t put right. I’ll make one now.”

“Not for me, Mrs. Pollack. I am very worried.”

“Oh, what’s wrong. Madam?”

“It’s my father. He is very ill. I must go to him and I have to leave Julian behind.”

“He won’t like that. Madam, will he? You’ve never been apart since he was born.”

“No, I don’t like it… but his father points out that I can’t travel with a child when there is sickness about. I … er … suppose there is something in that. I’ll make a quick visit… just to see what I can do. I can go down often and just stay one night. I want to talk to you about Julian.”

“Yes, Madam?”

“You’re so fond of him.”

“Who wouldn’t be fond of the little darling?”

“I hardly like to say this … but Nanny Benson is rather old.”

“Past it if you were to ask me. Madam.”

“Of course, she is an old retainer. My husband’s nanny. People feel sentimental about their old nannies. It’s understandable.”

Mrs. Pollack nodded.

“That girl,” she said, her lips curling, ‘she’s just about as good as a wooden leg would be to a soldier on the march. “

“That’s why I’m anxious. I rely on you, Mrs. Pollack.”

She bridled with pleasure.

“And you can, Madam. That little one will be as well looked after as if you were here, I promise you.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Pollack, that means a lot to me.”

I set off for London early next morning.

When I arrived at the house I was met by a solemn-faced Polly.

“Oh, Mrs. St. Clare,” she said.

“The poor Colonel, he’s so poorly.”

I went straight to see him and my heart sank. He gave me a one-sided smile and opened his lips but he could not speak. I bent over and kissed him. He closed his eyes and I knew what my coming meant to him.

He could not speak so I just sat by his bed holding his hand.

When he slept I talked with Polly and Jane. They told me that he had been working very hard at the War Office and bringing work home.

“He was in his study until early morning,” said Jane.

“We were worried about him,” added Polly.

“I said to Jane, ” He can’t go on like this. ” Then it happened. One morning when I took in his hot water he was lying there in the bed and he couldn’t move. Then we got the doctor. He asked us for your address and said he’d write to you.

Yesterday the Colonel was worse again. “

Afterwards I saw the doctor. He was very grave.

“It sometimes happens like this,” he said.

“The first stroke was relatively minor. He would have been only slightly incapacitated, but he would have had to give up the War Office. But as I feared, a major attack followed.” He looked at me helplessly.

“I understand. Is he … dying?”

“If he survives he will be a complete invalid.”

“It is the worst thing that could happen to him.”

“I thought you should be prepared.”

“Thank you. I could arrange to take him home with me.”

“I believe you have a large estate in the country. That would be best. You would be able to have him well looked after. The two maids here are excellent but not trained nurses, of course. “

“No.”

“Well, leave it for a day or so to see how things go. I must tell you that I think his chances of survival are not very good.”

I bowed my head.

I was with my father when he died.

I had nursed him for three days, and although he took great comfort from my presence, I was well aware that there was little that could be done for him. In my heart I knew he would prefer to die. I could not imagine a man such as he was being inactive, not even able to speak.

I was numbed. Coming so soon after the revelations at the Minster and my need to get away, that I should lose my beloved father was so staggering a blow that I could not at first accept it.

Through the last weeks I had been thinking of him as my refuge. Now there would be no father to go to. I wrote a short note to Aubrey telling him what had happened and that I should stay in London for the funeral and then come straight back to the Minster.

There was so much to do that I got through the days somehow. I was very glad of Jane’s and Polly’s help. I sensed that they were a little anxious about their future although they were much too tactful to mention it to me. I was trying to come to some conclusion. The house had always been a symbol to me . of escape. If ever I got away from the Minster I should have somewhere to run to.

Now, of course, that had changed. I decided that, if I could afford to, I would keep it on . for at least a while. When I knew what my position was I would be able to assess the matter further. I knew that my father was not poor and that all he had apart from a legacy or two would come to me. I should be to some degree independent. Even if I could not live here, the house could be a refuge.

Uncle James and Aunt Grace with Ellen and her husband came for the funeral. They invited me to go back with them for a few days but I told them I was anxious to get home to my little boy. They understood perfectly and said that later I must bring him and my husband to see them.

The idea of Aubrey at the rectory almost made me smile, it was so incongruous; but I thanked them for their kindness and said I would remember it.

It was heartrending to see my father’s coffin lowered into the grave and to listen to the clods falling on the polished wood and to face the awful reality that I should never see him again. I felt lost and alone.

Back at the house, the will was read. As I had guessed, the bulk of his money came to me. I was by no means rich, but independent. I could live not extravagantly, but comfortably.

I decided, there and then, to keep on the house. That would allay Jane’s and Polly’s anxieties and those of Joe Tugg; and would provide a home for me when I was able to make my escape, for I did not entirely despair of doing so.

When I told them they were immensely relieved.

“We’ll keep the place beautiful,” said Jane.

“And then you’ll be coming on visits with the little boy,” added Polly.

“That’ll be lovely.”

Joe said he would keep the carriage looking a treat and I’d be proud to ride in it.

So that was settled.

The day after the funeral, I left for the Minster.

As soon as I arrived at the station I sensed something unusual.

The station-master saluted me gravely, which was strange for he was generally rather garrulous. Jim, the porter, looked the other way.

There was no conveyance to meet me as I had not told them the time of my arrival; but there was a station fly which took me to the house.

There was silence everywhere. No one was about. The door of the hall was never locked during the day so I went in.

There was silence everywhere.

I ran up the stairs to the nursery.

“Julian!” I cried.

“I’m back.”

Silence.

The blinds were drawn in the nursery. The cot was empty, but standing on trestles in one corner of the room was something which sent shivers down my spine.

It was a little coffin.

I went to it and looked inside.

I felt as though I were going to collapse, for lying there, an expression of serenity on his cold white face, was my son.

The door had opened and Nanny Benson stood there.

“Oh …” she said.

“We didn’t know you was coming today.”

I just stared at her. Then I looked at the coffin.

“Two days ago,” she said.

I felt that the whole world was collapsing about me. I was dreaming.

This was a nightmare.

Nanny Benson began to cry.

“Oh, the poor little mite. It happened so quick.”

“Mrs. Pollack …” I cried.

“Where is Mrs. Pollack?”

The old woman looked at me, her lips trembling. Louie appeared in the doorway. I had never seen her look so solemn.

“Terrible things has happened,” she said.

“Mrs. Pollack went to the town and we never saw her again.”

“It’s crazy …” I said.

“Everyone’s gone crazy … the whole world … For God’s sake tell me.”

“Mrs. Pollack caught the cholera. There’s been two cases in the town besides her. She went in to see to some shopping the day after you left, and she didn’t come back. She collapsed in a shop there and they took her into the hospital. She died. It was the cholera.”

“I … can’t believe it.”

“It’s true. They’re scared of the cholera. You have to be separated when you gets it. They’re scared of another epidemic. They put her away in the hospital and she never come out.”

So she hadn’t been here to look after him! That was my first thought.

Good Mrs. Pollack on whom I had relied had not been there. And he had died . my boy had died. They had let him die.

My anger was battling with my grief, which was too great to be borne.

I knew that I was as yet too shocked to feel the enormity of it.

I could only stand there staring at those two who, I was sure, had failed to look after my precious child. He had been alone . without Mrs. Pollack in this evil house . and they had let him die.

“And … my child …” I heard myself saying.

“Pneumonia. It was quick. Right as rain one day and fighting for his life the next.”

Why had I not taken him with me! I knew why. Yet why had fate played such a cruel trick as to call me away and then take Mrs. Pollack when I most needed her!

“Was he in pain?”

“Fighting for his breath at the end,” Louie said.

“I want to see the doctor.”

“Dr. Calliber didn’t come till it was all over.”

“Why not? Why didn’t you call the doctor?”

“There was a doctor here. One of Mr. Aubrey’s guests. He saw him and gave him something, didn’t he. Aunt Em? But it was too late.”

“One of his guests!”

“Yes … one of them.”

“Was anyone with him when he died?”

Louie said: “Yes … I was.”

I could have struck her. Oh no! I thought. Not Louie. No doubt she was thinking about assignations with her lovers while my child was dying!

“Mr. Aubrey came up when he heard. He was here at the end.”

I could not bear the sight of them.

I cried: “Leave me. Leave me alone with him. Get out.”

They crept away.

I stood over the coffin looking down at the dear face.

“Julian,” I whispered.

“Don’t go away. Come back to me. I’m here now.

My blessed boy. Come back and we’ll never, never be parted again. “

I prayed for a miracle.

“Oh God, raise him from the dead.

You know what this child means to me. I do not want to live without him. Please . please . God. “

I pictured him, feverish, perhaps calling for me. Mrs. Pollack was not there to soothe him. Cruel, malevolent fate had taken her. Death was implacable. Life was unbearable. Mrs. Pollack, who had been so alive, to be stricken by the cholera which had claimed so many victims such a short time ago and might claim more. My dear father, that rock to which I had believed I could always cling, had been taken from me; and while I was making arrangements for his burial, my own child was dying.

It was too much to bear. I could not yet realize all that I had lost.

I felt bewildered and alone. I was desolate.

I do not know how long I stood there by the coffin.

Aubrey came in.

“Susanna,” he said gently.

“I heard you were back. My dear, this is terrible. And your father. I am so sorry. You can’t stay here. Come away. Let me take you to your room.”

He would have taken my arm but I moved away. I could not bear that he should touch me.

I went to my bedroom. Julian’s cot had been taken away. It looked so empty.

Aubrey followed me into the room.

“This is a terrible shock to you,” he said, ‘and to happen while you were arranging your father’s funeral. “

“I should have taken him with me,” I murmured, more to myself than to him. ” If I had, this would never have happened.”

“It couldn’t be avoided. It came so swiftly. A cold one day … the next pneumonia.”

“When did Mrs. Pollack go?”

“Poor woman, that was dreadful. It was the day after you left.”

“You should have told me. I would have come back and taken my baby had I known … no matter what you did. There was no one to look after him.”

“There was Nanny … and Louie.”

“A whisky-sodden old woman and a flighty girl whose thoughts are with her next meeting with the master of the house.”

“Oh come, Susanna, that doesn’t help.”

“But there was no one looking after him. You didn’t call in Dr. Calliber.”

“There was no need. It was so sudden. There was a doctor in the house.”

I stared at him, fresh horror beginning to dawn on me.

“It was Damien,” I said.

“Yes, he was here for the night.”

“And my child was left to him ” In your temples of sin, no doubt. “

“You are not being reasonable.”

“I am trying to understand why a perfectly healthy child should die so suddenly.”

“You talk as though children never die. They are dying all the time . from this ailment or that. It is not easy to rear children. In fact, child mortality is commonplace.”

“Among those who are not cared for, perhaps. My child has been neglected. I was not here. Mrs. Pollack who cared for him wasn’t here.

I can see it all so clearly. His fever . his difficulty in breathing and Nanny Benson snoring in the next room and the delectable Louie cavorting in the Devil’s Cave. “

“I was anxious about the child.”

“When have you ever cared for him?”

“I did care for him. I just didn’t fuss over him and spoil him as you did.”

“Spoil him! He was not spoilt. He was perfect…” My voice broke.

“All right. He was a good child. He was my heir. I wanted the best for him. That was why ” That was why you took Amelia out in your carriage and arranged for a little spill . oh, not to do any damage to yourself or the carriage . but to be rid of Amelia’s child who had blighted your hopes. “

He had turned very pale and I thought: He did it.

“I’m sorry you think I should be guilty of such a thing,” he said.

“I do think it,” I replied.

“Then you have a very poor opinion of me.”

“The lowest.”

He shook his head wearily.

“Susanna, I am trying to be gentle with you. I know what a shock you have had.”

“You do not. You are incapable of loving anyone as I loved my child . and my father. I have lost them both. I have no one now.”

“Suppose we tried … you and I… We could have another child. You would feel better then. Susanna, let’s start again … Let’s put all this behind us.”

I looked at him with loathing.

I know now that in his way he was stretching out a hand for help. This tragedy had sobered him, but I was too griefstricken to see that then. I could only see my own tragedy and it soothed my grief a little to blame someone entirely and he was the obvious culprit.

He was aware where his addiction was leading him. I know now that by then he wanted me to help him fight that obsession; he wanted to try to get back to that time when we had been happy in the first weeks after our marriage. But I could only think of him as he had been on that terrible night in Venice and the sight of him when I had stumbled into that cave and had seen him with his friends.

I said: “You killed my baby because you didn’t take care of him. If I had taken him with me, he would have been well today. Do you think I would ever have allowed him to die?”

“You have no power over life and death, Susanna. None of us has.”

“We can fight against disaster. I left a healthy child and came back to a dead one. You were revelling with your friends while he was dying. You did not notice that he was ill. You ignored him. You hadn’t time to look after your son. Why did you not send for Dr. Calliber?”

“I tell you I had the best of all doctors on the spot.”

That pornographer . that drug addict! He is a murderer. He murdered my child. “

“You are talking nonsense.”

“He gave him his drugs, didn’t he?”

“He knew what he was doing.”

“I know that what he did resulted in Julian’s death.”

“It was too late to do anything. He said it was too late.”

“Too late! And you did not call Dr. Calliber. Oh, how I hate you and your precious friend. I shall never forget what you have done to my child … and to me.”

“Listen, Susanna. This has been too much of a shock. I understand that. I wanted to meet you at the station, to break it gently.”

“Do you think how it was broken would have made any difference to me!”

“No, of course not. But to come home and find him like that … must have been terrible.”

“How I found him is not relevant. I found him … dead … and that is what I hate you all for. Murderers, all of you! Your drunken nanny, your loose-living friends, you, with your hateful practices and your low living … and most of all that doctor, that so-called doctor. I have read his books. I know him through them. He wants sensation all the time. He is worse than you, for you are weak and he is strong. He hides his wickedness under a guise of benevolence. I hate you all … all your friends … everything to do with you .. but most of all you and him.”

“I’m going to have them send up something for you, and I am going to ask Dr. Calliber to come and see you.”

I laughed bitterly.

“What a pity you were not as careful with your son. Then you might have called Dr. Calliber to see him. Then he could have had the attention of a real doctor.”

I flung myself on my bed while abject misery descended on me.

I cannot remember the passing of the hours. Day slipped into night and it was day again; and there was no relief from my bitterness.

The day they buried my child I moved about as though in a trance. I stared in disbelief at the little coffin which carried the remains of the being who was all the world to me. I could have borne anything if he had been left to me.

The tolling of the bell proclaimed my grief; I did not listen to the words of the parson.

Julian was laid to rest in the St. Clare mausoleum among his ancestors Stephen who had so recently died, and that Harry St. Clare who had made the temple, the cave, and there practised unholy rites.

I was still stunned; a numbing apathy had come to me; and I could think of nothing but that I had lost my child.

We came back to the house. I shut myself in my room and wanted to see no one.

Aubrey sent Dr. Calliber to me. I came alive a little talking to him.

He said he understood my grief, but I must rouse myself or I should be ill.

“You will have more children, Mrs. St. Clare,” he said.

“And, believe me, in time the loss will be less painful.”

I did not want to hear about myself. I wanted to know about Julian.

“It was a virulent attack,” said Dr. Calliber.

“There was little anyone could have done for him.”

“But had you come in time … had it been noticed …”

“Who can say? Mortality among young children is great. It amazes me how so many survive.”

“And when you came, Dr. Calliber?”

“He was already dead.”

Already dead! The words echoed in my mind.

“There was another doctor who saw him… someone staying in the house.”

“Yes, so I heard. I did not see him.”

“If you had been called in time …” I insisted.

“Who knows? And now I am concerned with you. I am going to send you a tonic. I want you to take it regularly, Mrs. St. Clare; and do try to eat. Remember this is not such an infrequent happening.

You will have many more children, I’ll predict, and then the loss of this one will not seem so great. “

When he had gone I sat at my window looking out on the wood, and fierce anger burned in my heart.

They had left him to die. That doctor was the one who saw him, not reasonable Dr. Calliber but the Devil Doctor. I was sure he had given my precious child one of his experimental drugs and it had killed him.

One day I would have my revenge on him.

The thought of revenge was, in an odd way, soothing. It took my mind away from that pale quiet face in the coffin, from the memory of my merry little boy, from the tolling bell: and there seemed to be a purpose in living.

What if I confronted the wicked doctor? What if I told him what I thought of him, what if I accused him of murdering my baby with his poisonous drugs . and of ruining my husband?

I do not think I had very much feeling for Aubrey now, except revulsion; but in a strange way I was sorry for him. There were occasions when he seemed to look out from his sophisticated exterior and ask for help. It was perhaps just a fancy. He had gone too far along the road to destruction to turn back. But he did know it and there might have been occasions when he looked back to what he might have been.

The doctor who had killed my child had made Aubrey what he was.

Why was it that he appeared at times of disaster? He was an omen of evil. He had been there in Venice. He had been at the Minster when Julian died.

He was like an evil spirit. I saw him with horns and cloven feet like the image in that sinister cave. He was a mysterious figure, a figure of ill omen.

There was born in me then an urgent desire to see this man. I think I was trying to assuage my misery and to brood on something other than my heartrending loss.

I would seek him out. I would confront him with what he had done. I might be able to prevent his ruining other lives as he had Aubrey’s . and mine. I was being melodramatic and absurd perhaps, but I had to have something to give me an interest in living; and the thought of revenge did that. It was all that assuaged my utter despair. It seemed that I had something to live for now: my quest for the Demon Doctor . the man who, I insisted, had killed my child.

I could speak to no one of this. It should be my secret. People would think I was crazy to suggest that the doctor had killed my child.

Julian had been seriously ill when this doctor had seen him. That was true. But then I believed he had experimented on him with his dangerous drugs.

My fury against him was intense. I pictured myself coming face to face with him. I would tell him that I read between the lines in his books those adventures in far places . India, Arabia. I would say:

“You indulged in native customs. You became a native. You spoke Urdu and Hindi and Arabic … like a native, you tell us. You are dark.”

I pictured his flashing eyes deepset and mysterious in a dark-skinned face.

“It was easy for you to disguise yourself.” I could imagine his following their customs, behaving as one of them, keeping a harem possibly. That would be much to his taste all in the name of scientific research, of course.

And all this he did as the great doctor. He had made discoveries which no one else had; he had added to his knowledge of medicine. So much so that he had ruined my husband and murdered my son with his horrible drugs.

Hating had become part of my day. I re-read his books and saw more in them than I had before. I pictured his dark, satanic face, for although I had never seen it, it was vivid in my imagination. I brooded on him, nursing my fury, clinging to it as one drowning would cling to a raft, for I discovered that when I thought of this man I no longer wanted to die. I wanted to live and take my revenge on him.

Some weeks passed. I had become thin and my height made me look gaunt; my cheekbones, always inclined to be prominent, were now more so; my eyes looked large and mournful, and my lips as though they had forgotten how to smile.

Aubrey had given up trying to remonstrate with me. He shrugged his shoulders as though washing his hands of me. People began to come for weekends. I guessed what happened and I did not care.

There came a time when I awoke in the middle of the night. I sat up in bed and said to myself: You have to do something.

And suddenly in a flash of inspiration I knew what.

I was going to leave the Minster not just for a visit to Amelia which she had suggested; not to Uncle James and Aunt Grace; but I was going away, never to come back.

I should not move away from my grief while I was here. There was too much to remind me. The Minster was, to me, a place of horror. I was haunted by memories of what I had seen in the cave; and I knew that Aubrey would grow worse, never better. Everywhere I went there were memories of Julian. They would come upon me suddenly. I had to go on living if I was to avenge his death, and I could not do so while I was here.

Moreover, I did not want to see Aubrey again. Every time I did my anger rose and threatened to choke me. I blamed him, for I believed his carelessness had caused Julian’s death. I could not forgive him for that. And I must get away.

Then in the middle of the night, it seemed simple. I had the house in London. I had Polly and Jane and Joe to look after me.

I was not sure what I should do but I would do something. I would make a clean break. I would take nothing with me. I would call myself Miss Pleydell just as I had been before I married Aubrey.

When I arose next morning I was surprised that the plan was not merely a fantasy of the night. It was plausible. Moreover, I felt so much better.

I would pack my things and arrange to have them sent to London. And I myself would go at the earliest possible moment.

I told Aubrey what I intended to do.

“You mean you are leaving me?”

“I do.”

“Is that wise?”

“I think it will be one of the wisest things I ever did.”

“Are you sure of that?”

“I am more sure than I have ever been of anything.”

“Then it is no use my trying to persuade you. I must tell you, though, that you place yourself in a very difficult position. A woman who has left her husband …”

“I know women are not supposed to leave husbands. Hus bands may behave as they will. They can have a hundred mistresses and that is acceptable … because they are men.”

“There is one condition,” he said.

“They must not be found out. So it is not so easy … even for them. But you have made up your mind and I know you are a very determined woman.”

“I have not been determined enough in the past.”

“And now you will make up for that.”

“I shall be better on my own. Nothing could be worse for me than staying here. There is nothing to hold me here now. You cannot blackmail me into staying as you could when Julian was alive.”

“You have taken all this too hardly,” he said.

“Goodbye, Aubrey.”

“I will say au revoir.”

“Whatever you say will make no difference.”

Determinedly I left him. I finished packing my last case. I slipped in the books Stephen had given me to read.

And then I returned to London.

My decision had been so sudden that I had not had time to warn them of my coming. I thought, with a sudden glow of comfort, that in future I should have Joe to meet me and to take me in my own carriage wherever I wanted to go. I felt a sense of freedom which I had never known before and which could not be anything else but agreeable.

I left the luggage at the station to be called for and took a jar vie to the house.

The door was opened by Polly who stared at me in wonderment. The smile of pleasure on her face warmed my heart.

“Well, if it ain’t the mistress,” she cried.

“Jane … come here quick. The mistress has come.”

I found myself hugging them both and was faintly amused thinking what Aunt Grace would have said to see me behaving in such an unrestrained way with my servants. It was clear that mine was going to be a very unconventional household.

“I’ve come home to stay,” I said.

“I have left the Minster … forever.”

There was a stunned silence. Then Polly said: “I know what you want and that’s a nice cup of tea.”

I did not believe I wanted anything, but when the tea came I made them bring two more cups and sit with me and it was amazing what comfort they brought me.

I found myself telling them what had happened, of Julian’s death and my decision to leave my husband. They listened in awed silence but their sympathy was great. I did not, of course, tell them of the temple.

“Jane, Polly,” I said.

“I shall have to make a new life. You will have to help me.”

“There ain’t nothing we wouldn’t do ain’t that right. Poll?”

Polly said emphatically that it was.

“I want a complete break with the old life. I want to try to forget. I shall never forget my boy … but there are other things.”

I was amazed at their tact. They did not ask questions but waited for me to speak.

“I want to be an entirely different person. I am not Mrs. St. Clare any more. I want to forget I ever was.”

They nodded. I had made it clear to them in that brief statement that my marriage was no longer tolerable to me.

“I am going back to the name I had before I was married. I shall be known as Miss Pleydell.”

There were more nods.

“I am not even calling myself Susanna. I shall be Anna.”

That had occurred to me on the train. My ayah’s voice had come back to me over the years. Once she had said: “There are two of you; Susan and Anna. Susan … she is the gentle one who wants to live at peace, who will accept what is. But there is Anna. She will be the strong one. She will go and get what she wants and take nothing less.”

She was right. I had a dual personality; and now I needed all my strength, all my resilience, all the resolution which was in the stronger side of my nature.

Already Anna Pleydell seemed a different person from Susanna St. Clare.

“So you will call me Miss Pleydell. You can do that easily.”

“Well, we looked after Colonel Pleydell so now it will be natural to look after his daughter. Miss Pleydell,” commented Jane.

“You two know how I loved my father … and my son.”

Jane bit her lip and Polly turned her head away to hide the tears in her eyes.

“I shall never forget them …” My voice faltered and suddenly the tears started to flow. It was the first time I had wept since the beginning of my sorrow. And then I was sobbing broken-heartedly and Jane and Polly with me.

Jane was the first to recover. She poured out a cup of tea and brought it to me.

“There,” she said.

“This won’t drive the pigs to market, will it, as the farmer said when the wheel came off his cart and the horses run away.”

Polly looked at me and smiled through her tears.

“No,” I said, ‘it won’t. We’ve got to be practical. I have to work out what I am going to do. I don’t know yet. Plans won’t come. I just know that I’ll be better here than anywhere else even though there is so much to remind me of my father. “

“He was a dear good man and so kind to us,” said Jane.

“He was one in a million,” added Polly.

“We’ll look after you, Mrs. I mean Miss Pleydell. It takes a bit of getting used to, calling you that, but we’ll manage it.”

“I’ll put the warming pan in your bed. Miss Pleydell,” said Polly.

“You’d better,” added Jane.

“We’ve had some nasty damp days lately.

Damp gets in everywhere. “

I felt I was right to come.

Later I went out to the stables and saw Joe. He had already heard the news.

“It’s good to see you back. Miss Pleydell,” he said, with a wink to remind me that he had remembered the instructions which had already been passed on by Jane and Polly.

“Carriages is meant to be driven not left standing. They don’t like it. They’ve got wills of their own, carriages have. Don’t I know it doing the London to Bath run all them years.”

I could see the sympathy in his eyes; Jane and Polly would have told him all I had told them; they had all loved my father and Julian. They shared my grief as I felt no one at the Minster had.

Yes, I thought, I believe I can make a fresh start.

It wasn’t easy. When I awoke in the morning the depression descended upon me. I had had vague dreams of Julian. I thought: What am I doing here? What hope is there of starting a new life? What does it matter where I live? Whether I am here or at the Minster, the loss is the same.

Jane came in with a cup of hot chocolate. And what would I like for breakfast? she asked.

“Nothing, thank you, Jane.”

She shook her head at me.

“Was the bed comfortable? Did you have a good night?”

“The bed was comfortable. When I sleep, I dream.”

“Well, drink up that chocolate. It’s nourishing.”

She stood there, implying that she would not move until I had drunk it. She reminded me of my ayah in a way. I was thinking a good deal about her lately. She had known something about that Devil Doctor. I wished she had told me.

I drank the chocolate to please Jane, and then lay there asking myself what I should do when I got up. I should have to take a ride to please Joe.

“Carriages are not meant to stand idle.”

He could go and collect my luggage from the station and I should then unpack. The day would pass somehow. Why had I thought it would all be so different in London?

Slowly the days passed. I took a ride now and then through the streets of London to please Joe. I did a little desultory shopping. Jane and Polly devised meals for me at which I pecked like a bird, said Jane disgustedly.

“You’re getting like a skelington,” Joe told me.

“I reckon you want to put on a bit of flesh. Miss Pleydell. Bones ain’t much good without it.”

“I’m all right, Joe,” I said.

“Begging your pardon, Miss Pleydell, you ain’t,” he retorted sharply.

I guessed he discussed me with Polly and Jane. They were really getting quite anxious about me.

I don’t know how long I should have gone on in that state of lethargy but for the accident in Oxford Street which brought Lily Craddock into my life.

Now and then I went out shopping. I would buy little things for the house, and I liked to find small presents for Jane and Polly to whom I was very grateful. Our relationship was not that of mistress and maids. There was a feeling of belonging to a family in that house.

It had been so with my father; and it was doubly so with me, I think, because of the circumstances. They felt for me; they made my grief theirs; and I knew that they were all worried about my health. Aubrey would have said that it was their own future which concerned them, not mine, for if I were ill and died what would become of their comfortable jobs? But I was sure they really felt for me Jane, Polly, Joe, all three of them.

Joe had taken me out on one of those little shopping expeditions, and as we were leaving the shop where I had bought some gloves and were trotting along Oxford Street in the midst of a certain amount of traffic, all of a sudden Joe pulled up with a jerk. I looked out of the window. We were stationary and people began to gather. Joe had alighted and I got out of the carriage. I stared in consternation, for lying in the road, with blood on her face, was a girl.

Joe looked at me.

“She dashed right off the pavement … right under the horses’ feet and before I could say Jack Robinson she’d gone down.

There wasn’t time to pull up. “

I knelt down by the girl.

She was pretty with masses of fair curly hair; her blue eyes looked at me appealingly.

I said: “It’s all right. We’ll take care of you.” I put my hand on her forehead. She closed her eyes at once and seemed comforted.

The driver of a passing carriage leaned out and shouted:

“Whatcher been up to, Joe? Better get her to the hospital… quick.”

I said that was a good idea.

A policeman was making his way through the crowd which had gathered. I told him that the girl had run out into the road right under our horses.

“I’d like to take her to the hospital,” I said.

The policeman thought that would be the best thing to do.

Some instinct made me take charge.

“We must be careful that she hasn’t broken any bones,” I said.

“If she has, we shall need a stretcher.”

The policeman said: “Can you stand up. Miss?”

I said: “Let me.” I knelt beside her. She turned her eyes to my face and I was aware that she trusted me, which sent a warm glow through me. I suddenly felt capable and glad that I was there to do what I could for her.

I said: “You have been knocked down. We want to know if you have broken anything. May I just see what I can do?”

I touched her legs. She did not wince so it occurred to me that if she could stand up there could be no fracture. I helped her up r’r. I she stood without pain. Obviously there were no bones broken.

“We’ll take you to the hospital,” I said.

She looked alarmed but I whispered to her soothingly, “It’ll be all right. We’ll see what they have to say.”

The policeman nodded his approval and we helped the girl into the carriage.

“St. David’s is not far off,” said the policeman and added that he would accompany us.

The girl sat between us. I noticed she shrank from him. I put my arm around her and she lay against me. I was very relieved because I did not think she was badly hurt.

I asked her her name, which was Lily Craddock. I gave her mine and my address, but I doubted she was in a state to take it in.

We arrived at a tall grey building.

“I think I’d better take her in. Miss,” said the policeman.

The girl looked at me appealingly and I said: “I’ll come this afternoon and see how you are.”

She gave me a piteous half-smile which seemed far too grateful for the little I had done. Joe talked about the incident all the way home.

“They just don’t look where they’re going. Out she darts … Tilburies, gigs, carts … and whiskies everywhere. I don’t know what gets into ‘em. They’re going to cross that road if it costs them their lives. Different from the open road, Miss Pleydell… going along at a spanking pace … and the horses’ hoofs ringing on the road.”

“Yes, it must be. I think she will be all right. I don’t think she was badly injured.”

“I thank me stars for that. I wouldn’t want a corpse on me conscience.

After all them years of good driving that wouldn’t be nice. But it would have been the young person’s own fault, though. “

“Poor girl! Perhaps she had something on her mind. She had a pleasant face.”

“You never know with them girls. Miss Pleydell. The pleasant-looking ones is often the worst.”

I found myself laughing at him and pulled myself up with a jerk. I did not laugh nowadays. There was no laughter left in life for me.

But I had to face the truth. It must be over an hour since the girl had fallen under the carriage and during that time I had not thought of Julian or my father. That poor girl’s misfortune had bought me an hour of forgetfulness.

I arrived at the house and let myself in. Polly came out and told me that it was almost lunchtime.

“I know,” I said.

“I’m later than I thought. We knocked a girl down in Oxford Street and took her to the hospital.”

“My sainted aunt!” cried Polly.

“Was she hurt bad?”

“I don’t think so. Very shocked, of course. They’ll find out in the hospital. I’m going to see her this afternoon.”

Both girls looked at me in dismay.

“You’re not going into one of them places, Miss?”

“The hospital, you mean? Yes, of course. I want to know about this girl. After all, it was my carriage which knocked her down.”

“She must have been where she shouldn’t have. Joe would never have run her down if she hadn’t been.”

“It was probably her fault, but that makes no difference. I shall go and see her. I feel a responsibility for her.”

“Oh Miss, you can’t go into a hospital.”

“Why not?”

“They’re not for the likes of you.”

I looked at them questioningly and they assumed the look which I was beginning to know well and which always amused me. It meant that I was an innocent and really did not know much about the ways of the wicked big city. They had been born and bred here; they were wiser than I they knew.

“Hospitals is terrible places, Miss,” said Jane.

“Of course. People there are sick or dying.”

“I’d rather be dead than go into one of them. Don’t you ever let me be took in, Poll… not if I’m at my last gasp.”

“I must go to visit this girl to see if she is all right.”

“Miss, only the lowest of the low is there,” said Polly.

“There was a time when Jane and me thought of taking it up … nursing, you know a profession, like. We’d looked after Ma for years and reckoned we was good at it. But them nurses … They’re drunk half the time .. lowest of the low, they are.”

“I am going to see this girl. Her name is Lily Craddock. I am going this afternoon and nothing is going to stop me.”

Jane lifted her shoulders.

“There’s some fish for lunch,” she said.

“It’s that fresh it’ll melt in your mouth.”

I sat down and they hovered over me serving me.

I was surprised that I could eat a little.

I shall never forget my visit to that hospital. As soon as I entered the place I was aware of the smell. I could not think what produced it. I only knew that it was nauseating. Later I knew it came from dirt and lack of sanitation.

I walked into a room where a large blowsy woman was sitting at a table. She looked half asleep.

I roused her and said: “I’ve come to visit Lily Craddock who was brought in this morning.”

She looked at me in surprise as though there was something very unusual about me.

She jerked her thumb over her shoulder towards a door. I walked to it, pushed it open and went into a room.

How right Jane and Polly were! It was a horrible sight. The room was with several windows, half of which were boarded up. That obnoxious smell was more apparent here than outside.

There were rows of beds about fifty or sixty of them, I calculated and so close together that there was hardly room to pass between them.

It was the people in the beds who shocked me most. They looked like corpses, some of them; at the best they were in stages of decay yellow-white faces, dirty, straggling hair, the bed linen discoloured, ingrained with grime and excrement. One or two of them raised themselves on their elbows to look at me; most of them were too close to death, I imagined, to take notice of anything.

I advanced into the room and said in a loud voice: “Is there a Miss Lily Craddock here?”

I had found her. She was at the far end of the room. I passed along the line of beds and went to her.

“Miss … it’s you!” I saw the joy in her face and I was glad.

“I never thought you’d come. “

“I said I would.” I looked at her and noticed that she was different from the others. Her face looked almost healthy in comparison.

I went on: “You can’t stay in this place. I’m going to take you away.”

She shook her head.

“Yes,” I said firmly.

“I am taking you home with me. I’m going to look after you until you have quite recovered.”

A kind of wonderment spread across her face.

A woman was approaching us. She appeared to be a person with some authority.

I said to her: “I have come to take this young woman away.”

“Oh?” she said, eyeing me rather insolently from head to foot.

“There can be no objection, I am sure. It was my carriage which ran her over. My carriage is now waiting outside for us. Bring her clothes, will you, please?”

“Who are you. Madam?” asked the woman, and I saw with delight and amusement that I had somehow managed to overawe her.

“I am Miss Pleydell, daughter of Colonel Pleydell of the War Office.

Now, let us get this girl’s clothes. If she is unfit to walk, she can be carried to the carriage. My coachman will help if necessary. “

“I … I can walk,” said Lily eagerly.

The woman called to another. She said: “This young woman’s leaving. We want all the beds we can get. It’s something to do with the War Office.”

I was laughing to myself as, when Lily was dressed she had been wearing her underclothes in the bed. I took her arm arid helped her to the door.

Joe was waiting to get us into the carriage.

I looked at the girl anxiously as we drove along.

“How are you feeling?” I asked.

“Better, thank you. Miss.”

“You wouldn’t have been better long if you had stayed in that place,” I said grimly.

And that was how Lily Craddock came into my life and it started to change from then on.

I had something to do. Every morning when I awoke the first thing I thought of was my patient. She had looked fairly healthy in that hospital but that was when she was compared with people on the point of death, and as soon as I had her under my care, I discovered that she was frail, undernourished, rather fearful of the world, desperately trying to earn enough money to keep herself alive.

The care other filled my days. I planned her meals; I tended her; I nursed her; and my pleasure in seeing her change under my eyes was worth all my efforts.

Once she said to me: “I reckon my good angel sent me under that carriage. I didn’t know there was people like you in the world. When I think of what you’ve done for me …”

I was deeply moved and I said to myself then: I don’t think it is anything much compared with what you are doing for me.

I was moving away from despair, from melancholy. I would never cease to mourn my dead, but I had been shown almost by a miracle that life was not entirely barren for me. There was something worthwhile that I could do.

Lily once said: “I feel better when you stroke my roreneau. It’s something about your hands, Miss Pleydell.”

I looked at them. Long, tapering fingers ‘artist’s fingers,” someone had once said. I had no skill in the arts unless one could call nursing an art.

I was haunted by those people in the hospital and the memory of the few nurses I had seen. They were unclean, blowsy and unkempt; they smelled of gin, and I was sure they neglected the sick and vulnerable.

That seemed terrible to me and I rejoiced that I had been able to take Lily away.

As for myself, I was eating more; tending Lily made me hungry. Special dishes were prepared for her, for Jane and Polly had thrown themselves wholeheartedly into the task of, as they said, ‘getting her on her feet’. I would sometimes be tempted yes, actually tempted to share those dishes and nothing could have pleased Jane and Polly more. They were nursing me back to health as well as Lily Craddock.

Sometimes the gloom would descend on me and I would think of my baby crying for me when I was not there, unable to breathe and no one there to care for him . and finally that doctor . that wicked doctor who had come to experiment on him. Perhaps he knew what he gave him would not save his life but he wanted to see the effect.

Somehow the neglect of those hospital patients became linked in my thoughts with that doctor. Those nurses cared only for themselves.

They were unemployable in most things so they came to the hospital.

What a way to choose people for this most important of professions.

Those who entered it should have dedication; they should feel they had a duty to succour the sick. They should be properly trained. Yet what those women wanted was a lazy life, food for themselves and shelter.

And that doctor . in his way he cared nothing for life either. He wanted to prove the effect his drugs had on people and he had no compunction in using them to further his evil experiments.

I remembered hearing of the infamous Madame de Brinvilliers who had lived in the seventeenth century. She had wanted to murder people who stood in her way, and before poisoning them, she had tested her poisons on hospital patients to see the effect, and whether she could administer them without detection.

The hospitals must have been something like the one I had seen. I could imagine that woman visiting, as an angel of mercy, ministering to the sick, bringing them food laced with poison. That doctor was a similar case, only being a doctor he had more opportunity of carrying out his murderous methods than she had.

I was filled with a burning desire to do something. I had changed. I no longer felt that I had finished with life. It was like being born again. I could see a purpose in my life. It was as though I had had a divine revelation. I was being told something about myself, and it was only now that Lily Craddock had brought it home to me so clearly that I realized what it was. My ayah had said, “You have healing hands. It is a gift and the gods do not look kindly on those who do not use the gifts they bestow on them.”

Had I a gift? Yes, I had. It was to save lives. I had seen the suffering in those beds of pain and it had affected me deeply. I felt inadequate. What could I do about it? My own child, I believed, had been neglected. Murdered! That was a wild statement; but if they had called Dr. Calliber in time he might have saved his life. Instead, Aubrey had brought his devilish familiar to my child’s bedside and that man had given him a drug and killed him.

Because he had been my beloved son I might be passionately unreasonable in this case, but I believed that they might have saved his life and had failed to do so. I was going to find that doctor. I was going to confront him; I was going to prevent him from causing the death of someone else with his diabolical experiments.

I had taken a gigantic step forward.

I had a purpose in life. I would grow strong and well and in due course it would be revealed to me which road I should take.

In the meantime I was finding solace and indeed exhilaration in nursing Lily Craddock back to health.

She had been with us for two weeks and was greatly improved, then a melancholy seemed to come over her and progress slackened.

Jane and Polly discovered the reason.

“You know what, Miss Pleydell, that girl’s worried.”

“She has no need to be.”

“Well, she’s getting better. I reckon she’s enjoyed being the invalid.

What she is thinking now is: What am I going back to? “

“You think she’s anxious about the future?”

“She’s that all right.”

“I see,” I said. I had been thinking about Lily’s future for some time.

She was a seamstress, we knew, and finding it hard to make a living.

She had been a country girl until two years ago. She belonged to a big family and rimes were hard; she had had to leave the family circle and earn her own living. She had been in service and had not liked it. She had come to London where she thought the rich lived and that she might therefore earn a good living with her needle.

It was clear to us all that she was not going to do that with any great success.

I explained my feelings to Jane and Polly.

“I am not a rich woman,” I told them, ‘but my father has left me adequately provided for if I am not extravagant. I could offer Lily a job here. She could help you . perhaps sew for us and do the shopping. “

“Not the shopping,” said Jane.

“She’s too soft, with her country ways.

She’d get done all the way round. To put her loose in the market-place with the mistress’s money would be like putting one of them martyrs into the lion’s den. And she’s no Daniel. “

I laughed.

“You had better carry on with the shopping, then; but I could manage to pay Lily a little salary and at least she would be well fed and housed.”

“You’re your father all over again. Miss,” said Polly.

“Don’t worry.

We were wondering about asking you if we could keep her. “

When I put the suggestion to Lily her joy was overwhelming and from that moment there was a change in her. That perpetual nervousness and apprehension slipped away from her.

I thought: I am almost happy.

I used to sit with them in the evenings and gradually learned about their lives before they came into mine. Jane and Polly had had a hard childhood, with a drunken bully of a father whose entrance into the house was a signal for terror.

“He’d knock Ma about something shocking,” said Jane.

“He’d come rolling in, and then he’d roar and it would start. Me and Poll used to hide under the stairs as long as we could … and once we went out and tried to stop him lamming into Ma. He turned on us. He broke your wrist once, didn’t he, Poll?”

“Never been quite right since,” said Polly.

“Give us a bit of rain and it hurts like billyo.”

“I reckon we’d have done for him one day if he hadn’t fallen down the stairs and done for himself before we got old enough ( to do it.”

“What a terrible story,” I said.

“I’m glad that the drink and the stairs killed him so that you didn’t have to.”

“I would have done,” said Jane, her eyes blazing.

“There’s some as ain’t fit to live in this world.”

I closed my eyes and saw the Devil Doctor, mysterious with horns and cloven feet. She was right. Such people should not be allowed to live.

“We had a right old time when he was gone,” said Polly.

“Ma used to go out cleaning steps, and when we was old enough we did all sorts of things, didn’t we running errands, doing cleaning. Sometimes we went hungry, but we didn’t mind that so much because we’d got rid of him.

Then Ma died and we was on our own. We nursed her, didn’t we, Jane? I reckon he had done for her. She was never well. He spoilt everything for us when we was little, didn’t he, Jane? “

Jane agreed that he did.

“You see,” she went on, ‘you marry ‘em . as Ma did him. He must have been all right then or she would never have been such a fool as to let herself in for that . and then, after the wedding, out they come in their true colours, some of them. “

Polly threw a warning look at her sister, which I intercepted. I knew what she meant. I, too, had had a disastrous marriage from which I had just escaped.

Listening to all this. Lily, feeling herself to be one of us, opened out and talked of herself.

“There was ten of us,” she said.

“I was the sixth. I used to look after the little ‘uns. We used to go gleaning, harvest time. And sometimes we’d go picking fruit and lifting potatoes. We had to get out and earn and when I was twelve I went into service.”

“You didn’t like it?” I asked.

“It was all right at first. And then there was this son … he come home, you see. He used to talk to me on the stairs, and come in the kitchen sometimes when no one was there but me. I thought he was nice at first. Then he used to ring the bell in his bedroom. And then ... and then . Oh, it didn’t half frighten me something shocking. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to run away but I didn’t know where to run to. Then one day the mistress came in and saw us and I was sent home. Oh, it was awful. I was put out of the house with my tin box.

Nobody believed it wasn’t my fault. “

Then!’ said Jane.

“The bad ones causes grief all right.”

“Ought to be boiled in oil and cut into collops and served to donkeys,” added Polly.

“And then I come to London. There was a girl in our village who was mad to go. She said the streets were paved with gold and you only had to pick it up and be rich. So we ran away together. We got a lift in on a cart which was going to London. We went to an inn and they gave us a bed if we worked for them. We stayed there for three days. There was a lady there who’d torn her dress and I mended it for her and she said that was very neat. She paid me well and said I should be doing sewing for a living. So I thought I would. I found a room, which was more like a cupboard, and I went round to the tailors’ shops for work.

They’d give you shirts to make and men’s coats and waistcoats to make the buttonholes and sew the buttons on. I liked it better than scrubbing, but you had to work all hours to get enough to live on. And the clothes was heavy. You had to take them away and bring them back. My friend . she’d gone off.

I don’t know what happened to her. She said there were easier ways of earning a living. She was very lively. Men noticed her. I think I know what she meant. “

“And what were you doing when we found you?” I asked.

“I wasn’t looking where I was going. I was that upset. I’d just come from the tailor’s. I’d taken in a pile of waistcoats. I’d been doing the buttonholes and buttons and I’d been up half the night because I had to get the money that day. It was a horrid little shop … dark and dingy. I’d seen the man before but he hadn’t been the one to pay me then. I didn’t like the look of him; his face was greasy and hairy and he was so fat. He said, ” Hello, Goldilocks, I suppose you want some money. ” There was a dozen waistcoats and that’s quite a lot. I said, ” Yes, sir. There’s a dozen there. ” He said, ” Well, first give us a kiss. ” I was frightened of him. It reminded me of my first job in service. I screamed, ” No,” and he was very angry. He threw the waistcoats on the counter and put his thumb under the buttons and half pulled them off.

“Don’t,” I cried. He said, “Get out. We don’t pay for work like that.”

“But you did it,” I said.

“It was you.”

“Get out of here, you slut,” he said, “or I’ll have the police on you.” I was so frightened, I just ran out. I was in such a state I didn’t know where I was and then . suddenly I was under the horses. “

I felt angry as I listened. Poor child! To be treated so. No wonder she was afraid of life. I looked at Jane and Polly who shared my emotion. I said quietly: “Nothing like that is ever going to happen to you again. Lily.”

She took my hand and kissed it, looking at me in a wondering kind of way. I thought then: I have to do something. I wish I knew what. But I should discover. Fate had brought her to me and through her I had regained my will to live. And I knew somehow that I had a duty to perform. It was to help people like Lily Craddock.

There were wicked people in the world. Men and women exploiting people, but mostly men exploiting women, for their own ends. I could clearly picture the young man who had attempted to seduce Lily and the evil man in the tailoring establishment. And the embodiment of them all was that doctor . the Devil Doctor . who had helped to ruin my husband and who had allowed my son to die.

My mind was made up. I was going to find that doctor. I was going to expose him to the world for what he was.

The prospect gave me a zest for living. I needed that so much.

Lily settled in with the utmost ease. She went through our wardrobes and mended everything that needed mending. She found some sheets which were going to be thrown away and she indignantly declared they could be turned. She found work for herself, being determined to make a worthwhile contribution to the household. She could not know how much she had done for me. Jane and Polly knew it, though; and they were indulgent towards her, protective, seeing her as the helpless little country girl who had not had the advantage of being brought up in the great metropolis.

She was making a dress for me of emerald green velvet. She had seen the material in a shop and prevailed upon me to buy it.

“With your reddish hair and those green eyes. Miss Pleydell, don’t you see … it is just the thing for you. And the dress I will make …” She sighed in ecstasy.

So I bought it to please her. I had not yet reached the stage when I could be the least interested in clothes.

One day when I returned to the house after a brief trip to the shops, I was told that a lady and gentleman were in the drawing-room. They had come ten minutes before and Jane had told them I should not be long, so they had said they would wait.

“They said they was Mr. and Mrs. St. Clare,” said Jane.

I was puzzled.

I went into the drawing-room and there was Amelia with a man whom I immediately recognized. She ran to me and embraced me. She looked younger than I remembered her.

She said: “Oh, Susanna, it is lovely to see you. I have some news for you.”

She held out her hand and Jack St. Clare took it.

“You’re … married?”

Amelia nodded.

“Oh, I am so pleased for you.”

“We have been friends for so long. It seemed foolish to wait.”

“I saw it all coming,” I told her.

“And your letters betrayed it.”

I congratulated them both and I was genuinely pleased. I was so fond of Amelia and she was the sort of woman who needed a husband. I hoped she would have children, successfully this time. But I could not bear to think of children. When I saw them in the Park my misery would overwhelm me . either that or my anger.

I asked if they would care for some refreshment. What about coffee, tea or some wine?

“Not now, thank you,” said Amelia.

“I just called to tell you we were in London.”

“For how long?”

“Only a week. We are staying with my parents.”

“Are they pleased about your marriage?”

“Delighted. I want to come and see you and talk. There’s so much to tell you. Could I come tomorrow? Jack has some business to do.”

“But of course.”

And so it was arranged; and the next day Amelia called and took tea with me.

When we had settled down and v ere alone she said: “I hope you didn’t mind my coming without warning. I know you wanted to get right away entirely but I hoped you didn’t include me in the things you wanted to get away from.”

“I certainly did not.”

“I know you have reverted to your maiden name. I have told Jack about that and he understands perfectly. I shall make sure I call you Miss Pleydell.”

“And Anna … the second part of my name. I want to be quite different.”

“I’ll remember. Sometimes I blame myself for not warning you before you married him. Stephen had an idea that you would save him. He was really very fond of his brother. Stephen wanted the marriage very much after he had met you. He said he knew you’d be strong and stable. But I knew you would have to find out before long.”

“Do you think I could have done anything, as Stephen seems to have thought I could?”

She shook her head.

“Perhaps there was a remote possibility. But I see that after the child’s death you couldn’t stay there.”

I hesitated for a moment too emotional to speak because she had brought back memories of my beautiful child.

“You see,” I stammered, “I left a healthy child and came back and found him … gone.”

“I know. I know.” And she did because she had lost children of her own.

“You see, he started this drug-taking when he was quite a young man. He read those books … and he was fascinated by that man.”

“Dr. Damien?”

“I told Stephen that was what started it, but Stephen wouldn’t have it. The man was a friend of his and Stephen thought the world of him.

He believed in all that working for mankind and so on. I never did.

The nature of the man came out in his books. All that erotica . hinted at. You could realize that he revelled in it. Aubrey met him at the Minster. He was completely bowled over. There is a hypnotic quality about him. It was soon after that meeting that Aubrey was experimenting with drugs. “

“I am sure that man has played a diabolical role in our lives,” I said.

“But one day he will be brought to justice. Believe me.”

There was a pause and then she said: “Susanna … oh no, Anna … I must remember that … what are you going to dor ” Live here until some plan comes to me. “

“It must be difficult, living as an unmarried woman when you have a husband from whom you are living apart.”

“There is no reason why that should affect me. I have taken on this house. My father rented it and now I do. Almost everything he had I have inherited. I am quite comfortable here.”

“You have a pleasant staff… sisters, isn’t it?”

“Yes. They were with my father and they are staying with me. Then there is the coachman and we have another girl now, a seamstress.”

“A seamstress! Do you mean you employ a seamstress permanently?”

“She does other things besides. She came to me in a rather special way.” I told her the story and she was most interested.

“I went into a hospital when I brought her here,” I concluded.

“It was a horrible experience and one I cannot forget. I am just haunted by the memory of all those beds close together and those poor creatures on the point of death … dirty … uncared for. I can’t bear to think of it.” She nodded, and I went on vehemently: “Something has to be done.”

“Well, at least you took the girl away and she has a good home now. By the way, my parents are having a family dinner-party … there will only be us. They want you to come.”

I hesitated.

“They know all about this and they sympathize. There’ll be no need to say anything. You’ll just be Miss Pleydell. You ought to get out now and then. I don’t suppose you do often, do you?”

I shook my head.

“It is the last thing I have wanted to do. I want to be here alone. I am well looked after. Jane and Polly would do anything for me and so would Lily Craddock and Joe the coachman.”

“It will be different coming to us. Do come.”

I still hesitated, but as she was persistent I said I would.

There was great pleasure in the household when they heard I was going to a dinner-party. I was sure that in the kitchen they had decided it would be good for me.

Lily said it would be an occasion for me to wear the green velvet dress she had made. She had added the post of lady’s maid to her duties and I had to admit that she filled it well. She had natural good taste and her attitude to me was one of almost adoration which I found a little embarrassing and not really deserved.

Joe, too, was delighted as he drove me in the carriage to the residence of Sir Harry and Lady Carberry close to the Park.

“That’s what carriages is for,” he commented complacently.

I was far less eager than the rest of them, even though my host and hostess would know my story and there was no fear of an embarrassing exposure; but all the same it did bring back to my memory times which I was trying to forget.

I was greeted warmly by Amelia and her husband and parents.

“We are not quite alone,” said Lady Carberry.

“Henrietta and her fiance called this morning and Mama asked them to dinner,” said Amelia apologetically.

“I believe you have met Henrietta.”

She was coming towards me. I remembered her well. She was the vividly attractive girl I had met at the Minster before my marriage.

“The Honourable Henrietta Marlington and her fiance. Lord Cariton,” said Lady Carberry.

I was surprised by the fiance. He was not quite as tall as Henrietta, who was almost as tall as I was, and he must have been about twenty years older than she was. There were pouches under his eyes. I was disappointed in the vibrant Henrietta’s choice.

“Miss Anna Pleydell,” said Amelia, introducing me.

“Oh … we’ve met before.” Henrietta was opening her sparkling eyes very wide.

“I thought…”

“Miss Pleydell lives in London now,” said Amelia firmly.

“She is in the house her father took when he came back from India. It is very convenient.”

The Honourable Henrietta looked as though she were about to pursue the subject of our meeting before and I guessed she was remembering me as Aubrey’s fiancee and was wondering what had happened. It struck me that she was an impulsive person who did not pause to consider before she spoke. But somehow Amelia had managed to convey that questions were not to be asked. I knew she was thinking how unfortunate it was that Henrietta was a fellow guest.

We went into dinner and I found myself opposite Henrietta. We talked about India. Lord Carlton knew it well and he had at some time met my father there. Conversation was lively and I found myself joining in and enjoying it. There was talk of the Great Exhibition which had been opened to the public from May to October of the previous year and what a great achievement it was and what a credit to Prince Albert.

“The Queen is delighted that people appear to appreciate him at last,” said Lord Carlton.

“But not for long,” added Sir Henry.

“They will soon find something in him to complain of.”

“There is a great deal wrong with the country, I believe,” said Lady Carberry.

“It looks as though Lord Derby will resign.”

I said on impulse: “One thing that’s very wrong is the state of our hospitals.”

Everyone was looking at me and Lord Carlton said: “Surely a young lady like you has not had experience of such places?”

“Tell them, Anna, about your little adventure,” said Amelia.

So I told them about the carriage incident and how I had taken Lily to the hospital and therefore I could speak with some authority.

“I could never have imagined such a place,” I told them.

“The smell was overpowering, sickening, and those people unwashed … uncared for. And they call that a hospital! It’s a disgrace. How can people allow it!”

There was a silence round the table. Then Lord Carlton said: “My dear young lady, you are vehement. You remind me of the Nightingales’ daughter.”

“Oh, how is Fanny?” asked Lady Carberry.

“It’s such a long time since I’ve seen her.”

“She worries a lot about Florence. So does poor old WEN.” I think. As for her sister, Parthenope . she is almost frantic about what they call Florence’s obsession. “

It was the first time I heard that name which was to become so important to me.

“Tell me why I remind you of Miss Nightingale, Lord Carlton,” I asked.

“She’s got some notion that she has a mission … being called by God. And what do you think it is? She wants to be a nurse! You know the family. Henry. It’s most unsuitable. No lady can become a nurse.”

“She would be turned thirty now, I suppose,” said Sir Henry.

“Time she grew out of her fancies.”

“Florence should have grown out of them years ago. It’s sheer obstinacy. WEN. thinks the world of her, however.”

“Who is WEN.?” I asked.

“William Edward Nightingale, who has the misfortune to be the father of this headstrong young lady. I don’t think they will ever succeed in getting her away from all this. Do you know, she has been to some place in Germany. Kaiserswerth, I think is the name.”

“I have heard of that,” said Lady Carberry.

“It’s some sort of institution … charity, I think. They have a school for orphans, I believe … run by nuns or deaconesses. They have a hospital there.

Flo actually went there to work. Apparently she enjoyed it. “

“Yes, and they treated her like a servant. Then she came back and declared she had enjoyed it more than anything she had ever done.”

“And when you think what WEN. and Fanny have done for that girl! She could have made a brilliant marriage.”

“Perhaps she did not think that a brilliant marriage was the best thing that could happen to a woman,” said Henrietta.

I was listening avidly and excitement was gripping me.

“In Germany, did you say?” I asked.

“I’m sure it was Germany.”

“I’d like to know more about it.”

“Just one of those institutions. Here today, gone tomorrow,

I should imagine. People like to do good for a while but they soon get tired of it. “

“Poor WEN.,” said Sir Henry, ‘all he wants to do is live in peace.

And all Fanny wants to do is get her girls well married. Good-looking girls too, both of them . and particularly Florence. “

“So she felt she had a mission,” I said slowly, and I noticed Henrietta was studying me closely.

She said: “It must be exciting to be called … like the infant Samuel, wasn’t it? Didn’t it happen to him?”

“Well, you’ve been called,” said Sir Henry.

“You’ve been called to marriage almost as soon as you came out.”

There was general laughter and I could see that Lady Carberry thought we had had enough of Miss Nightingale’s obsession, and determinedly she led the conversation to other subjects.

But a seed had been planted. I felt very excited and it seemed to me that I was being guided in some strange way. First my encounter with Lily Craddock and my introduction to the horrors of those institutions they called hospitals; then my awakening from the lethargy into which my melancholy had plunged me and facing the fact that whatever had happened to one, one must go on; and now tonight.

Ideas were forming in my mind.

Joe was talkative as he drove me back, telling me stories of his adventures on the road from London to Bath. I listened half-heartedly.

My thoughts were far away. He was in a contented mood. I had no doubt that he had consulted with Jane and Polly and that they had all decided that this was a sign that I was coming out of myself.

The next day I had a visitor. I was astonished when I went into the drawing-room to receive her and was confronted by the Honourable Henrietta Marlington.

She held out her hands to me.

“I hope you don’t mind my calling so soon. I had to come. I had to talk to you. I couldn’t last night. It’s all so secret.”

I looked at her in surprise and she went on: “Oh, I know it seems inquisitive, but it is not really … or not all that. I do want you to help me, and I think you might. I believe you’d understand.”

“Of course, I’ll help if I can.”

“I liked what you did for that girl, and you cared so much about the hospitals.”

“Anyone would care if they could be made to see them.”

“Oh, I don’t think everybody would. First of all, you did marry Aubrey St. Clare, didn’t you? Oh, don’t worry. I’ll not breathe a word. Only I must know. It is important to me.”

“Why?”

“It’s like an example, you see.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Well, that’s what I’m going to explain. May I sit down?”

“Of course. I’m sorry. I was taken by surprise. Would you like some tea?”

“That would be cosy, wouldn’t it?”

I rang the bell and Jane appeared.

“We’d like some tea, please, Jane,” I said.

“Very good, Madam,” replied Jane. The manner in which she slipped into being the model parlour maid when the occasion demanded it always amused me, for when we were alone the relationship was hardly that of mistress and maid.

“This is a pleasant house,” said Henrietta, after Jane had gone.

“Yes, my father and I found it when we returned from India.”

“I heard of your father’s death. It was very sad.”

“And unexpected,” I said.

“That’s always harder to bear.”

She nodded.

“The house is just about the right size for you, I imagine,” she said.

I smiled. I knew she was making trivial conversation until the tea arrived and we could be undisturbed.

After tea was brought and Jane had discreetly retired, Henrietta said:

“You must be wondering why I have burst in on you like this. It’s unconventional, isn’t it? But then I am unconventional and, I believe, so are you. That is why I had the courage to come.”

“What is worrying you?”

“Quite a lot.”

“And you think I can help?”

“I don’t know of anyone else who can or would.”

“Tell me what it is.”

“It’s getting married. You see, now I come to think of it, I don’t want to.”

“But how do you think I can help … about that?”

“I thought you could tell me what to do.”

“I can’t think what I could say except break it off, and you would know how to do that much better than I.”

“Well, let me explain. They are all so eager for this marriage.”

“I imagine Lord Carlton is.”

“Oh, not only him. It’s my mother and father and the whole family.

There’s a big clan of Marlingtons. They are everywhere and they are all terribly poor and they all have the family name and estates and things to keep going. All my life I have heard nothing but fears about dry rot in the woodwork and death watch beetle in the roof. I just accepted that it would always be like that until I discovered they were all relying on me.

“Henrietta will make a good marriage,” they used to say. Really, I was brought up with that purpose in mind. Money hard to find was invested in me. The finest finishing school in the world, trained in all the arts of allurement. I dance, I sing, I play the pianoforte; but most important of all, I have had to learn the art of conversation . not serious conversation, the light-hearted, rather frivolous kind how to coax and wheedle and assume complete adoration of the men around me, providing of course they are influential enough and I believe that means rich enough to warrant my attention. “

I smiled.

“I think a lot of young ladies are brought up with such aims and so-called ideals.”

“You weren’t?”

“Mine was not a normal upbringing. I was in India, you see, and that made a difference; and when I was in England I went to school and spent my holidays with some relations in a country rectory very humble compared with the society in which you obviously move.”

“Lucky Miss Pleydell! They were just waiting for me to come out. I don’t know why they should leave it to me to work the miracle.”

“You are very attractive.”

She grimaced.

“I’m not really pretty, if you take a close look.”

“It’s all that vitality, that gaiety. I suppose attractiveness is not so much a matter of features as of personality. They did a good job at your charm school or perhaps they didn’t have to because it was there already.”

“I’m beginning to wish I had been born with a squint and spots.”

“Please don’t despise the gifts the good fairies bestowed on you. They are bound to come in useful although sometimes they lead to difficulties. But go on.”

“Well, I came out most expensively. They invested in me, sure that they would get good dividends. There was a rather nice young man. I liked him very much. Good family … but no money … so I was steered away from him. And then Tom Carlton came on the scene. He was the answer to their prayers. He is one of the richest men in the country. Made a fortune and acquired a peerage, and what should he be looking for but a wife who could supply the background. The Marlingtons could do that all right. We could trace it right back to the Conqueror, or almost. It was to be the most convenient of marriages. They say it is the perfect union of the Carlton millions and the blue blood of the Marlingtons.”

“And the one person in the family who does not see it as ideal is the prospective bride.”

She looked at me and nodded.

“At first I thought it was wonderful. You see, Tom was so pleased with me. He is so generous and it was bliss not to hear all that growling about damp and dry rot. For a week or so I really was radiantly happy. We were saved and I had saved us all.”

“And then you realized that there is more to marriage than family pride.”

“Exactly. And I have been wondering ever since what I could do about it.”

“Why do you think I can help you to make up your mind? I am a stranger. This is only the third time we have met. I know nothing except what you have told me.”

“I have been frank with you. Will you be with me? I swear that not a word of what you tell me shall be passed on by me.”

She was dramatic in her moods, changing in seconds; a little while ago she had seemed almost tragic, the sacrificial lamb on the altar of family pride; now her eyes were flashing with excitement. She was the conspirator.

I found her charming. I could understand why the astute Lord Carlton, who must have known it was his fortune which made him so desirable to the Marlingtons, had become a victim to her charm.

I said: “I do not want my affairs talked about.”

“I will keep silent. I swear I will.”

“All right. I did marry Aubrey St. Clare. The marriage wasn’t successful. I had a little boy. I stayed with my husband because of him. When he died, I left.”

“You left? That was a brave thing to do.”

“There was nothing brave about it. I could not stay there, so I came away. I was fortunate. I had enough money from my father to live on not extravagantly but with a degree of comfort and that is what I am doing.”

“I have an income, too. The family think it is a pittance, but I dare say it is not all that small… only if you want to support a big house with a retinue of servants and prop up leaking roofs and fight the death watch beetle. If you were in my place, what would you do?”

I lifted my shoulders.

“How can I say? I don’t know all the details.

There must be a great deal more to this than you have told me. “

I think that was a fateful evening . last night. “

“Oh?”

“Yes, meeting you … and all that talk about Florence Nightingale.

I’ve met the Nightingales. Not Florence, but her mother and father. I didn’t take much notice of them. It would have been different if Florence had been there. I am sure that would have been most exciting.

Well, anyway, the talk last night made me feel that I could break out of the trap if I had the courage of people like you and Miss Nightingale. “

“Do you mean you want to break off your engagement?”

She nodded.

“If you feel like that, you should.”

“You see, at first I thought of all the rejoicing in the family and how pleased Tom was, and how nice it was to stop everyone worrying about what this and that cost… but then I thought of the things I should have to endure. Well, he’s very nice, but sometimes the way he looks at me to tell you frankly, Miss Pleydell, I feel a little scared, no, not a little bit, a lot. And then … and then …”

Memories were coming back; awakening in that bedroom in Venice and seeing Aubrey standing by the bed. How did one know what secret desires could take possession of people? I looked at this girl fresh, young and so vitally attractive. What had happened to me could scar one for a lifetime . perhaps for ever; it could colour one’s outlook on life; it could warp one’s healthy and natural instincts.

I knew that Henrietta should break off her engagement because when I looked into her lovely face I could see the terror peeping out.

She was looking at me earnestly, almost pleadingly.

I said: “It seems strange that you should come to me with your problem. You hardly know me. There must be someone else … someone near you.”

“Who? My parents? My parents’ friends? They think it is the catch of the season. They say there is not a debutante who isn’t green with envy because I have captured the prize. You know how people are. He’s highly respected. He’s a lord a title he earned for himself, which should be applauded, but as you know, people think more of those who have had their titles handed down. He’s a friend of important people like Lord Derby and Lord Aberdeen and Lord Palmerston. Prince Albert approves of him because he brings a lot of business to the country. I ought to be honoured and nattered, and I am. But I am scared, more scared than flattered.”

“It is a matter for you to decide.”

“I know what you’d do. You’d break it off. You’re strong. I admire you. You left your husband and they would all say that was social suicide. But you don’t care about that, do you?”

“I don’t seek to go into society.”

“Prince Albert wouldn’t receive you. He’s very straitlaced.”

“I can well do without Prince Albert’s company. I do not want to be received by anyone. I am comfortable here. I am quite ready to leave everything as it is until I find out what I can do.”

She looked at me with sparkling eyes.

“I thought it was wonderful the way you went into that hospital.”

“Wonderful! It was horrible.”

“I know. But to go in and get that girl out. It was magnificent. So I thought you were the one whom I should ask.”

“My dear Miss Marlington, you are the only one who can decide on that.”

“But if it were you, would you go ahead and marry him?”

I closed my eyes. Those memories persisted. This man who was so much older than herself, how did she know what he would expect other? She was not in love with him. That much was clear; and fears had come to her. I remembered the dream I had had on the night before my wedding.

Had that been a warning? I had not recognized it as such. But this girl was being more clearly warned.

I said: “You are not in love with him. If you were, you would want to marry him.”

“So you think I should break it off’ ” How can I advise you? It is for you to decide. “

“But if you were in my place, what would you do?”

I did not answer.

“I know,” she said triumphantly.

“Thank you, Miss Pleydell.”

Her mood changed. She became very merry. She told me amusing incidents about coming out in society; how the importance of making one’s mark was astonishing. Her first ball had been a nightmare before it started and turned out to be a triumph.

“I was so scared that I should be a failure and no one would ask me to dance. To be a wallflower is the haunting fear of every debutante.

And if you are a success, all the mamas are a-titter and terribly jealous except your own, of course, who is triumphant. It is an ordeal.”

“Which I am sure you came through with flying colours.”

“I had lots of partners and it was fun, and it went on being fun for a long time. Then Tom appeared, and there was all the excitement which grew and grew. I was petted and pampered, their darling, their ewe lamb, their saviour. It is a terrible responsibility.”

We had come round to the subject again.

When she left me, she took my hand and held it.

“May I call you Anna?” she asked.

“Of course.”

“And you will call me Henrietta.”

I agreed. I expected I should not see her again, but I should probably hear whether or not she had broken her engagement. It would be in the society columns of the newspapers.

I was unprepared for the sequel. Two days later a jar vie arrived at the house. I looked through the window and, to my amazement, saw Henrietta stepping out. The driver was carrying two travelling bags to the door.

Jane answered the knock.

I heard Henrietta’s voice.

“Is Miss Pleydell at home?” And then to the driver.

“Just bring those bags in, will you, please? Thank you very much.”

I waited.

Jane came into the drawing-room where I had been sitting reading.

“That young lady is back, Madam,” she said in her parlour maid voice.

“And it looks like she’s come to stay.”

Henrietta, flushed and triumphant, was ushered into the drawing-room.

“I’ve done it,” she said.

“I couldn’t face the family so I ran away.”

“But …” I began.

“I thought you’d let me stay … just for a little while … just till they get used to it. There’ll be such a storm.”

“Wouldn’t it have been better to stay and face it?”

“Well, to tell the truth, I think they would try to persuade.”

“But if you have made up your mind …”

“You don’t know my family. There’ll be weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth. I couldn’t have stood it. I’m not strong like you.

Mama would have wept and I hate to see that. I might have given way and I know I must not give way. The only thing to do was to leave. So I thought, as you’d been so kind to that girl who had gone to the hospital, you’d be kind to me, too. You won’t send me away, will you?”

“Of course I wouldn’t do that. But I do wonder if you have been wise.”

“I feel loads better. I really was scared of Tom Carlton. It was the way he looked at me .. as though there were all sorts of things in his mind. He’s old and he has had lots of mistresses … all sorts, I believe. I didn’t feel I would come up to his expectations. So it is better for him really that I get out now, before we both realize what a big mistake we’ve made. I thought I’d stay here till the storm blows over. Tom can find someone else and my family will get over the disappointment in time. After all, those death watch beetles have been at it for hundreds of years, a few more won’t make much difference, and then perhaps we’ll have someone in the family who knows how to retrieve the fortune, and perhaps one of them will be able to find a benefactor and marry him. I’m babbling on, aren’t I? I do, you know.

But if you could understand how relieved I feel. “

I said: “You may certainly stay the night. Perhaps in the morning you will have changed your mind. Have you told your parents where you are going?”

“In my note, I said to a friend. I have a number of acquaintances where I could go. And I’ve written to Tom trying to explain that I don’t think I’m ready for marriage.”

“I will ask them to prepare a room. We have just one spare room. This is not a big house, you know.”

“I know. That’s what I like about it. I’m heartily sick of baronial halls and magnificent linenfold panelling which has to be preserved at the cost of one’s self-respect.”

“I think you should consider your future. You see, I am a woman who has left her husband. Society is not very kind to people like me.”

“Who cares for society?”

“I don’t. But are you sure you don’t?”

“Absolutely. I’m going to love talking to you.”

“I think you make rather hasty judgements.”

“Well, perhaps, but I’m right in some, and I’m right about us. You and I are going to be friends.” And that was how Henrietta Marlington came to live with me.

It was not to be expected that Henrietta’s family would allow her to escape lightly. For weeks there were comings and goings, entreaties and threats. I was amazed at Henrietta’s resolve. I had thought her rather frivolous, and so she appeared to be in many ways, but the frivolity hid an iron resolve. I was rather disturbed to find myself in the centre of a storm, which was the last thing I wanted; and there were occasions when I wished I had not allowed myself to accept the invitation to Amelia’s parents’ dinner-party. Yet on the other hand I was growing increasingly fond of Henrietta. She was an enchanting creature and her presence in the house was a joy to us all. Jane, Polly and Lily were her fervent admirers; they were ready to take up arms against the whole Marlington clan and Lord Carlton himself if they persisted in their attempts to force Henrietta into taking action which was repulsive to her.

Henrietta’s mother came to see me to beg me to try to persuade Henrietta to think of her future.

I said I believed that that was what so concerned her.

She replied that Henrietta was young and had always been headstrong, and she did not realize what an opportunity she was throwing away. I had great influence with her.

I explained that I had met her on only two occasions when she had come to my house. I had known nothing about her feelings. She had just asked that she might stay in my house while she made up her mind. I could not persuade her one way or another.

And then, finally, they seemed to have decided that all hope of bringing Henrietta to her senses, as they called it, was futile, and they must accept the inevitable. They wished Henrietta to return to them. Henrietta declined; and by that time she had become part of our household and we were all very pleased about it.

For more than two months Henrietta’s affairs dominated our lives; and when the storm finally died down, I found I was another step away from my overwhelming grief and was beginning to take a greater interest in life.

Lily Craddock’s affairs were next to demand our attention. I had noticed a change in her. She went out more frequently; she had always been an outstandingly pretty girl, but now she was radiantly so.

It was not long before Jane and Polly prised the secret from her.

Lily often called at her favourite haberdasher’s where she said she found the best lace trimmings and coloured silks in London, and she was on fairly good terms with the owners a Mr. and Mrs. Clift. A few weeks previously she had been in the shop when a handsome soldier had come from the parlour while Mrs. Clift was serving Lily. She had said:

“Oh, William, you must meet Miss Craddock. She’s one of our best customers.”

“It seemed,” said Jane, recounting this to me, ‘they took to each other and that was it. What you might call love at first sight. “

“So,” I said, ‘this is the reason for the change in Lily. “

“Lily is, in a manner of speaking, courting,” added Polly.

We were all very excited about this turn in Lily’s fortunes, particularly when it seemed that William Clift was serious in his intentions.

Lily was asked to tea in the Clift establishment and she came back in a daze of happiness. I said she must ask William to tea with her, and there was a good deal of preparation and bustle in the kitchen. Jane made a cake and Lily made new collar and cuffs for her best gown.

Henrietta thought that we should all be present and that the tea-party should take place in the drawing-room. But Jane firmly put her foot down. What sort of place would the Clifts think this was with servants taking tea with the mistress in the drawing-room?

No! Jane knew how these things should be done. There should be tea in the kitchen which was the right place for it and then Henrietta and I should come down after they had all eaten and we should be introduced to William in the proper manner.

Everything went according to plan. Henrietta and I went down at the appropriate time and were formally introduced.

William was a good-looking young man and his manly bearing was enhanced by his uniform. He told me that he hoped to leave the army when he married and settle down in the shop, which was now becoming more prosperous than it had been when he enlisted. He thought he and Lily would live there with his parents when they were married.

It sounded ideal and I was delighted for Lily.

After William had left she came to me and told me rather tearfully how much she appreciated what I had done for her.

She said: “The luckiest day of my life was when I walked under your carriage. When I think it might have been someone else’s carriage I go cold with fear.”

That was one of the nicest compliments I could receive but I felt I didn’t deserve it. I had really done very little. I was so much better than I had been. Involvement in the affairs of those around me had taken me away from my troubles.

Henrietta was now settled in. She was part of the household and she told me that she felt so different, so happy and alive.

“Compared with what you have been used to, this must be a very humble existence,” I said.

She did not deny it. She said thoughtfully: “But here I have something I never had before. Freedom! Do you know, I am beginning to believe that that is the most desirable thing in the world. Here I think my own thoughts. I don’t believe what has been put into my mind is gospel truth. I make my own decisions. How glad I am that I did not marry Tom Carlton. I should now be his wife. Think of that.”

“So rich. So highly cherished in society,” I reminded her.

“My birthright sold for a mess of pottage.”

I laughed at her. I understood what she meant. She talked a great deal about her childhood, her coming out, her mission in life, as she called it: “To find a rich husband and save the family fortunes. Now I am free. I shall marry whom I like or no one at all … if that is what I want. I go where I want to. I do what I want to. Glorious freedom.”

I found I was confiding in her. I told her a little of my married life, which culminated in the death of my son.

“I want more than anything to forget. I want to make something else so important in my life that I do not constantly look back. I want to put the past behind me. I want to forget disappointment disillusion and grief.

Henrietta, I want to nurse the sick, bringing them back to health. “

She looked at me in horror.

“Do you mean become a nurse?”

“Yes, I think I do.” I spread my hands and looked at them.

“I think I have a talent for it. My hands have a healing touch. It’s almost mystic, but it has been apparent once or twice.”

She took them and looked at them.

“They are beautifully shaped. They should be adorned with fine emeralds, diamonds and such gems.”

“No,” I said, withdrawing them, ‘they should be doing useful things.”

“Anna, seriously, you could not be a nurse. You saw what they were like when you went to get Lily.”

“But I want to change all that. I want to make it different.”

“Miss Nightingale is trying to do just that. I was always hearing about her before I ran away. She, like you, is appalled by all that misery in the hospitals. Of course, they all think it is very unfeminine of her. Her people don’t like it at all. They’ve done everything they can to stop her.” She smiled.

“But no one can stop a woman like her from doing what she has really made up her mind to.”

“I am making up my mind, Henrietta. Oh, my thoughts are jumbled and I dream a lot. And there is one figure which haunts my dreams. It is a man … an evil man. His name is Damien. He has lived a strange life.

He has gone native in remote places of the world. “

“Did he write a book?”

“Yes.”

“The one I am thinking of is a great doctor … some sort of pioneer.”

“Posing as one, I believe. I want to find him. There is much I want to know about him. I believe he is responsible for my husband’s deterioration … for my son’s death.”

“How?”

“He is interested in drugs … opium … laudanum … and strange ones which are to be found in the East. He experiments with them. Perhaps even on himself in moderation … but he gets other people to take them so that he can see the effect. He ruins lives so that he can make great discoveries and enhance his reputation. Have you ever heard of Madame de Brinvilliers, the poisoner?”

“Vaguely. Didn’t she try out her poisons on people in hospitals?”

“Yes. Well, I class him with her. They are of a kind.”

“But she was a wicked woman. She poisoned people for their money, I believe.”

“He is a wicked man. He poisons people in the name of science so that he can tell the world of his great discoveries. He is even worse because he is a hypocrite.”

“I should have thought she was that going round the hospitals as a benefactress to the poor patients and testing out her poisons on them.”

“Well, they are both in the same class. Henrietta, I want to find that man. I want to come face to face with him. I want to work in secret and expose him. I want to catch him … red handed at his evil work.”

She looked at me in astonishment.

“That doesn’t sound like you,” she said.

“You’re usually so calm … so reasonable.”

“And you don’t think I’m being calm and reasonable now?”

“No. You’re vehement. You hate this man whom you’ve never seen.”

“I have seen him once … in Venice. He brought Aubrey back to the palazzo … drugged.”

“Do you think he was responsible?”

“I am sure of it.”

“How exciting! How do you propose to find this man?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s where it becomes so wild.”

“Plans come into my mind and they seem so impossible that I reject them. But my determination continues. I can never be at peace with myself until I find this man. There are questions I want to ask him.

Only by knowing him can I discover his methods. “

“I thought you knew his methods.”

“I know in my heart that he is evil. He is doing a great deal of harm and I am going to find him, Henrietta.”

“All right, then. But how?”

“It’s like fate in a way. He is a doctor.” I looked down at my hands.

“I have this desire to nurse the sick, to do something about those appalling hospitals. It seems as if it is ordained. As a nurse, I should have a chance of finding him. It is something I have a feeling for. I know I should be a good one. My first step will be to become a nurse.”

“How?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“You couldn’t go into one of those hospitals. They wouldn’t have you.

You wouldn’t fit in among those sordid people. “

“I have heard certain things about Miss Nightingale. She is trying to change the way in which we care about our sick. I am sure she would want people like me to study nursing … people who are dedicated to helping the sick. Those so-called nurses in the hospital did not care in the least about the old, the sick and the poor. That must change.

They are themselves derelicts of society. Miss Nightingale is going to change all that, and when she does she will want her dedicated nurses beside her. Henrietta, I want to find out how to train to be a nurse!”

She nodded.

“I think I should rather like that, too.”

“You?”

“Why not? I like to be doing something. I don’t want to spend my life idling away. I have decided. I’m going to train to be a nurse with you.”

“Do you remember that dinner-party at the Carberrys’?”

“As if I would forget! It was when I knew you’d help me.”

“There was talk of Miss Nightingale’s going to some place in Germany. Kaiserswerth, I think. “

“I remember.”

“I want to find out about it. You knew the family, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And you do see some of your old friends occasionally?”

She nodded again.

“Perhaps you could make a few enquiries.”

“About Kaiserswerth and whether it is possible for two aspiring nurses to go there?”

“Exactly.”

Henrietta’s eyes sparkled. She looked intrigued; and I wondered whether it was the idea of tracking down the Devil Doctor which appealed to her, rather than entering into the profession of nursing.

The enthusiasms had taken root. The excitement of Lily’s engagement had died down. She was now a sober young woman collecting for her bottom drawer. That was very pleasant, but Henrietta liked excitement.

The great project, as she called it, was now her main concern. She set about her mission with a skill worthy of a secret agent.

A few days later I was startled to receive a letter from Minster St. Clare. My fingers trembled as I opened it. It was from Amelia. She wrote:

My dear Anna, You will be surprised to see me writing from the above address. As a matter of fact. Jack and I are here. We were advised to come. Aubrey is very ill indeed. It was inevitable. His condition deteriorated considerably after you left apparently, and we are informed that in such cases decline is rapid.

The doctor believes that he cannot long survive. He is allowed regular doses of laudanam which of course contains opium and it is his addiction to that drug which has brought him to this state. He cannot be deprived of it absolutely, say the doctors, for if he were he would probably become violent.

It gives me great pain to write to you in this way, for in spite of all that happened I know you feel something for him. He is lucid for periods and he talks continually of you. If you could come and be with him for a little while, the doctors think it would soothe him.

My dear Anna, this is a very sad letter for me to write, and if you say you cannot come, I will understand. I am writing this because the doctor suggests I should. I believe Aubrey has not long to live.

Perhaps you could reassure him in some way. I think he has a deep sense of guilt and would like to make his peace with you.

My love as always, and I hope that I shall see you. Amelia.

I was stunned. I had not thought to see Aubrey and the Minster again.

My first thoughts were: No, no, I cannot go. I cannot revive old memories. It is asking far too much.

For a whole day I did not reply to the letter.

When Henrietta noticed my preoccupation she wanted to know what was wrong. I showed her the letter.

“I can’t go,” I said vehemently.

“It will revive all that I am trying to put behind me. There will be memories of my little boy everywhere.

With everything that has been happening, I have managed to forget a little. It would open it all up again. “

“Anna Pleydell,” said Henrietta solemnly, ‘if you don’t go, you will have it on your conscience all your life. I know you well, and that is how it will be. Your husband failed you. You needed to get away. You wanted freedom. I know what that meant to you. Yes, old wounds will be opened. You will suffer, but you will suffer more in all the years to come if you don’t go. “

I pondered what she had said. For all her outward frivolity she was capable of flashes of wisdom; and after more consideration, I decided to go.

I was met at the station by Jack St. Clare.

As we were driving to the Minster he said: “You will see a great change in Aubrey.”

“I expected to. But it is rather sudden, isn’t it?”

“It would be about a year since you last saw him, I think.”

“Yes,” I answered.

“The doctor said that when the final stages set in they would advance rapidly.”

“He is dying, isn’t he?”

“I don’t think he can live very long in the state in which he is. He is becoming very thin. He is nervous, irritable and scarcely eats anything. I think he suffers pain when he attempts to. The doctor says that to deprive him of the drug entirely now can produce disturbances and collapse.”

“Do you mean he could become violent?”

“If deprived altogether he would do anything to get the drug.”

“Should he be kept at home?”

“There is nowhere he could go. He has a small dose of laudanum every day. He craves for it. Really it is pitiful to see him and think what he was, and what he might still be. The doctor thought you should know of his state, and although he believes that nothing will bring about an improvement, he does think that your presence might soothe him.”

I was silent, dreading what lay before me.

Amelia greeted me very warmly.

“Somehow I knew you would come,” she said.

They took me to Aubrey’s room. He was sleeping. I hardly recognized him. He looked years older than when I had last seen him. He lay on his back breathing heavily.

“Come to your room,” said Amelia.

“When he wakes he will be told that you are here. I haven’t given you your old room. I thought you would rather not.”

How well she understood!

I went through the gallery so well-remembered, with the wicked Harry looking down at me with sardonic amusement, to my room in the front of the house which overlooked the drive. As I looked out I pictured Julian running about in the grass down there. I steeled myself against all the memories which came flooding back.

Later when I saw Aubrey, I could not help being sorry for him. He was as feeble as an old man.

“Susanna,” he murmured.

“You came, then.”

I sat by his bed and he held out a hand to me. I took it and grasped it firmly.

“That,” he said, ‘is pleasant. I always loved your hands, Susanna.

They soothed me. God knows, I need soothing how. I’m glad you came. It is good of you. I want to say I’m sorry. “

“It’s all over. It’s finished. Don’t let’s blame anyone.”

“It could have been different.”

“I suppose everything could.”

“So easily .. he said.

“Remember …”

“I remember a great deal.”

“I meant it to be … the turning-point. I meant to give up the old ways.”

“I know that now.”

If only . “

“Don’t let’s grieve over what can’t be changed.”

“Forgive me, Susanna.”

“Forgive me, too.”

“Not you,” he said.

“Not you, Susanna. I’ve thought so much lately how different it could have been.”

“I know.”

“Stay here with me.”

“That is what I have come to do.”

“It won’t be long now, you know.”

“Perhaps you will recover.”

“From what is wrong with me? No, Susanna. I saw a man once … just like me. The craving … it is terrible. You’d do anything for it… even kill. It’s terrible.”

“I understand.”

“People should know before they start.”

“They do,” I said.

“But they go on.”

“Talk to me about Venice … the first weeks in Venice before I gave way. If only … I might have started then. I might have found my way back.”

So I talked of Venice, of my delight in the gondoliers, the palazzo, the Doges’ Palace, the lovely bridges, and I brought back to us both some of the magic of that honeymoon.

He kept a hold on my hand. He said it soothed him; and afterwards he fell into a deep and peaceful sleep.

If only he could have remained like that.

It was later the same day when I heard him screaming and shouting in the agony of withdrawal from the drug-and need. He had a male nurse who was more like a jailer, I thought. He was a strong man, as he had to be to control Aubrey in his dangerous moods, brought on by the craving.

Jack explained to me: “It has been a typical day with him. He has times when he is lucid and gentle, and then when it is time for his dose, this violence comes upon him. The dose is never enough, you see.

He has become so addicted. Jasper knows how to handle him. We don’t go near him when he is in one of his violent moods. “

After one of these seizures Aubrey would be exhausted and sleep for hours, which was a good thing, said the doctor, for he could not be given opiates as most of them contained opium, which was the enemy we were fighting against, and it would be unwise to increase the daily allowance of the drug.

I talked a great deal with Amelia and Jack. On Aubrey’s death. Jack would inherit Minster St. Clare, and on the advice of the lawyers had already taken over some of the work of the estate so Minster St. Clare would still be in the hands of a St. Clare. I was glad for him and for Amelia.

But those were sad days for me. I was plunged right back into that period of suffering. Once I went up to the nurseries and sat there while dusk was falling and my heart cried out for my lost child.

Longing for him, my anger at his death was as fierce as it had ever been. I remembered so many things: his first tottering steps; his first smile; his first teeth; the manner in which his chubby fingers had curled round mine; the way in which his eyes lighted up when I appeared.

I mourned afresh my beloved boy.

And I said to myself: I will do it. I will find the man under whose influence Aubrey has been reduced to that wreck who is now living out the last days of his miserable life upstairs, the man whose experiments could have robbed me of my child.

Amelia found me there. She chided me.

“You must not sit here brooding,” she said.

“It is unwise. I felt that you were making a new life for yourself. And now you have Henrietta with you. Perhaps I should not have asked you to come back.”

“I’m glad I came,” I said.

“But it has changed things … I feel differently about Aubrey. Perhaps I could have helped him once. But I am glad I came back even though it has been painful. It had to be. I realize I have not forgotten one little part. It has just been there all the time …”

“My dear, you have to go on with the new life you are making.”

“Yes, I am going to. I think coming back has strengthened my resolve.”

Another day had passed. Aubrey seemed weaker. I sat by his bed and again we talked of the past, of our meeting in India, of those days on the ship journeying home, which had seemed magical to me. It seemed they had to him, too. I had not realized that in a way he had been reaching out to me then. He had seemed so worldly, so sophisticated, and I so inexperienced and innocent. Had I been older and wiser, I might have had an inkling. But I had not; and I felt I had failed him in some way. I had been unable to beguile him sufficiently to lure him away from the old habits, and my love had not been strong enough to keep me with him.

I held his hand. He liked that. He talked about my soothing hands.

When I saw that he was getting restive, I left. The change in him was frightening. I did not want to see him in those moods, restrained by the man I thought of as his keeper.

I had risen early that morning. I sat at the window looking out over the drive and thought of how I had planned to give Julian his first pony when he was a little older. I must escape from memories which could do me no good.

I had been so helped by all those in the London house. I tried to think of them the volatile Henrietta, my practical Jane and Polly; dear old Joe with his memories of the London to Bath run; and Lily with her romance. They had helped me through the difficult months and now that I was away from them I was slipping back into melancholy.

While I sat at the window contemplating these matters, there was a knock on my door.

Amelia came in and immediately I knew that something was very wrong.

“It’s Aubrey,” she said.

“He’s gone. Disappeared.”

“But where?”

She shook her head.

“He’s not in the house. Jack and I have looked everywhere.”

“But where could he have gone?”

“Jasper has no idea. He took his dose last evening and appeared to go to sleep. This morning his bed was empty.”

“What can have happened to him?”

“We’ve no idea. He can’t-have gone far. His clothes are there.”

“Do you think he has done himself some harm?”

“We did think of that.”

“Do you think he found the laudanum?”

“Jasper says no. He has it locked away in his room. The cupboard had not been tampered with and the bottle had certainly not been touched since he put it away.”

“What are we going to do?”

“He can’t have gone far in his night things … he only had on his slippers and dressing-gown. He must be somewhere in the house.”

“Has everywhere been searched?”

“Yes. They’re going over it again. I thought I ought to come and tell you.”

I went downstairs with her. I saw Jack. He shook his head.

“He is simply not to be found.”

“Do you think he has left the house … gone into the grounds?” asked Amelia.

“We’re searching them. He can’t have gone far.”

I followed them out of doors and went towards the wood.

“We’ve searched it,” called Jack.

“I wonder …” I murmured, for a thought had occurred to me. I started to run through the wood. I came out on the other side. I climbed up the hillock and slid down the other side and as I did so I saw that the door of the temple was open. Some instinct told me that that was where I should find him.

I went in. A chill pervaded the atmosphere. I could smell the same smell which I knew now came from the drugs which had been smoked here.

I felt a great desire to turn back, not to penetrate that evil place.

I had an uncanny feeling that if the door shut me in I should not be able to escape.

I remembered the first time I had come here. I found a stone and propped it against the door. I took a deep breath of fresh air before advancing through the passage to that open space which I now knew to be a shrine to the Devil.

Then I saw the idol and Aubrey. The great statue with the yellow eyes, the horns and the cloven feet was lying on the floor and there was something beneath it.

I knew.

It was Aubrey.

To me it was symbolic. The statue represented the man who had destroyed him. In one of his frenzies he had gone to the temple and attacked it, with the result that it had toppled over and killed him.

The great fear, ever since his obsession had resulted in those violent moments, was that he would do some harm either to himself or some other. At last it had happened.

Poor doomed Aubrey.

I stayed at the Minster for the funeral. There were few people at the ceremony. In the circumstances, Amelia and Jack had thought that it should be as quiet as possible. Afterwards the will was read. It was very much as we had expected. Jack was now the master of Minster. I had been left an amount of money which would bring me in a small income, and that, added to what I had already from my father, made my future free from financial anxiety.

Amelia and Jack took an affectionate farewell, extracting a promise that I would visit them again soon.

I had let them know in London the time of my arrival so Joe was waiting at the station. When I stepped into the house Henrietta dashed out to embrace me and Jane and Polly stood at a respectful distance, waiting for their turn to greet me.

There were flowers everywhere and laurels had been hung over the pictures.

“We missed you so much!” said Henrietta.

And I felt I had really come home.

Henrietta wanted to hear all that happened; and she listened, wide-eyed, when I told her how Aubrey had met his end.

I said: “I am sure he was trying to pull down that hideous statue. Of course, the thing was a hundred years old. It must have given way and fallen on top of him. I believe he thought it was Damien … the man who had destroyed him.”

“We’ll find him one day,” said Henrietta, smiling secretly.

“You think it is a wild thing to attempt.”

“Most things worthwhile are. You’re very sad,” she added.

“I feel remorseful about Aubrey. Perhaps I should have stayed and looked after him.”

“You did what seemed best at the time. You mustn’t get a conscience about it all. How could you have lived with a man who was drugged half the time. You did what seemed right then. It’s no use looking back.

You have to go forward. “

“You’re right. I feel I have come to the end of a phase. I’m a widow now, Henrietta.”

“Which is a more respectable thing to be than a woman who has left her husband!”

“I suppose you are right. I’m a little richer, too.”

“That’s a good thing. Finances were a bit stretched, weren’t they?

You’ve taken on a seamstress. If ever you feel remorseful about Aubrey, remember what you’ve done for Lily. You can’t save all the world at the same time. “

“You’re a comfort to me, Henrietta. I’m glad you came.”

“There, you see, you are glad, so that is a mark in my favour. But think of all the black marks I get for jilting Tom Carlton.”

“Are you sure you have no regrets about that?”

“Completely and utterly sure. Life has become exciting, full of possibilities. I have not been idle while you have been away.”

“What have you been doing?”

“For the moment it’s a secret.”

“I hate secrets which I don’t share.”

“So do I. But you will know this … in time. I don’t want to spoil it by telling you half before it’s ready.”

“I am very curious. Is it a lover?”

“How people’s minds run along one track. If a girl has a secret, everyone presumes it must be a man. Even you, Anna.”

“Isn’t it, then?”

“You look relieved. Is that because you thought I might be going away?”

I nodded.

“Well, that’s the nicest thing. I’ve wondered sometimes whether I’ve been something of a burden. I did drag you into my affairs and didn’t give you much chance to refuse involvement. It was because I knew there was something special about you. I knew we were meant to be friends. I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for me.

Whatever happens, we shall always be friends. My secret is something we’ll be in together. “

“You’ve told me so much, why not tell me all?”

“In good time. Just be patient a little longer.” She turned the conversation to other things. Lily’s projects for marriage were going along at great speed.

“My only regret is that he is a soldier,” I said.

“Soldiers go away and leave their wives.”

She chatted on and I listened, so happy to be home; and knowing that a painful chapter of my life was closed forever.

It was two days later when I heard of Henrietta’s activities. She had been waiting for a letter and when it arrived she ran to her room with it.

A few minutes later she burst into mine. She was triumphant.

“It’s happened,” she said.

“I’ve done it.”

“I’m longing to hear.”

“I told you that while you were away I was not idle. You knew that we were acquainted with the Nightingale family. I thought I would make good use of the connection. First of all I learned through a friend what Miss Nightingale was trying to do. Like you, she was deeply concerned about the state of the hospitals and the standards of nursing. She had been to that place in Germany Kaiserswerth to learn something about it. She wants to make our hospitals places where the sick can be properly attended to, and the first thing she is looking into is the nursing profession. It is no use having those drunken sluts, who call themselves nurses, sitting around in the hospitals because it seems an easy way of getting a living. She wants the nursing profession to be an honourable and respected one. She wants nurses to be trained. She is making a great stir about it in high places.”

I did not know that was her aim. “

“I wanted to see her, to tell her about us. Of course I couldn’t get to her. She has so much to do and is in constant demand. She is passionately dedicated and on friendly terms with the Palmerstons, the Herberts … and several influential people. But I did get an address to which I could write and I told her about us … you mostly, how you had that feeling for nursing and wanted to learn something about it and that I had heard there was a place called Kaiserswerth. ” Her eyes were sparkling.

“I had a letter back. She did not think we could be taken into Kaiserswerth. That was an institution of which the hospital was only a small part and it was staffed by Deaconesses who had been consecrated by the Church. But some of these Deaconesses had been sent to form institutions in various parts of Germany. There is one of them which is given over almost entirely to a hospital and where young women who wished to train as nurses might be accepted. Miss Nightingale would find out if we were acceptable and let us know. ” She waved the letter at me triumphantly.

“I was waiting for this. Of course I didn’t know whether I should hear anything. But it came this morning. Miss Anna Pleydell’s and Miss Henrietta Marlington’s application to train at Kaiserwald is accepted.”

“Henrietta!” I cried.

“Say I’ve been clever.”

“You have been magnificent, and so secretive.”

“I wanted to burst on you with the whole of the good news. It’s never so effective piecemeal.”

“It’s wonderful.”

“When do we go?”

“Next month?”

“So long to wait?”

“We have to get ready. Besides, we must be here for Lily’s wedding.”

“There’ll be a lot to do. How long shall we be away?”

“Three months, I believe.”

“Does it take that long to train?”

“I can learn a lot in three months. So can you.”

I smiled. It was just what I needed. I wanted to get right away from my thoughts of Aubrey, and having been at the Minster my yearnings for my child had become more intense again.

On a brisk October day Lily was married.

I was pleased to see such a happy sequel to her story. She was radiant and William seemed a very pleasant young man.

Mr. and Mrs. Clift were obviously delighted by the marriage and already fond of Lily; so everything seemed perfect.

The bridal pair were to have a week’s honeymoon in Brighton and then Lily would take up her abode in the Clift household.

Jane and Polly were a little subdued. They were going to lose not only Lily but us. It would be as it had been before I came home, they said.

“Not quite,” I replied, ‘because you’ll be visiting Lily and she will be coming here. She is only going to live round the corner and we shall only be away for a few months. “

“It won’t be quite the same,” said Jane.

“Life never is,” added Polly lugubriously.

Joe was downcast, too.

“Carriages wasn’t meant to sit in mews stables, and horses was meant to be exercised,” he commented.

I told him he must take the carriage out regularly.

“Carriages without passengers is like stew without dumplings,” said Jane.

“It’s not forever. We shall be back.”

Nothing could stem our excitement and we went ahead with our preparations.

At the end of that October Jane and Polly stood at the door waving us off. Polly wiped an eye and I realized afresh how fond I was of them.

Joe drove us to the station.

“I’ll be there to pick you up when you come back,” he said.

“And I’m hoping that will be sooner than later.”

“We shall look for you, Joe,” I said.

“What is it that the newsboys are calling out?”

Joe cocked an ear.

“Something about Russia. There’s always something about Russia.”

“Listen,” I said.

“Russia and Turkey at war,” said Henrietta.

“Well, someone is always at war.”

“War!” I said.

“I hate it. I think of William Clift. It would be awful if he had to go overseas.”

“Russia … Turkey …” said Henrietta.

“That’s a long way off.”

It was true; and we forgot about the war and gave our minds to what lay before us.

When I saw Kaiserwald, I felt as though I had stepped into an enchanted land which belonged in a fairy tale. The house had been a small schloss, with towers and turrets, which had belonged to a nobleman who had given it to the Deaconesses to be used as a hospital.

It was situated among mountains wooded hills and forest. It was a perfect setting, for the bracing air of the mountains was said to be good for patients suffering from respiratory diseases; indeed, such air would be good for us all. A carriage had been waiting to bring us up to the house, and as it climbed the steep road I had felt more and more exhilarated; and when I glanced at Henrietta, I could see that she shared my feelings.

I could smell the redolent odour of pine; I could hear the water of the falls which tumbled down the mountains. Now and then we heard the tinkle of a bell which, our driver told us, meant that cows were nearby. There was a faint haziness in the air which touched everything with a misty blue. Even before I saw Kaiserwald I was entranced.

We came to a clearing in the forest and the carriage pulled up abruptly. A girl was crossing our path. Her long fair hair streamed down her back and she carried a stick; before her waddled six geese, who refused to be hurried.

Our driver called out something to her, to which she responded with a shrug of the shoulders. My German was far from perfect. I had forgotten most of what I had learned at school but I did gather that she was Gerda the Goosegirl who lived with her grandmother in a cottage nearby. He tapped his forehead.

“A little short up there,” he said, which with the help of the gesture I was able to translate.

I replied haltingly that she made a very pretty picture with her geese.

Now we were at the schloss. In front of it was a small lake little more than a pond. Willows trailed in the water and with the mountains in the background it was a sight of breathtaking beauty.

“It’s wonderful,” said Henrietta; and I agreed wholeheartedly.

We drove into a courtyard and then alighted. A young woman came out to greet us. She wore a light blue gown with a white apron over it. She was fair-skinned and fair-haired; and she spoke English. She regarded us with some curiosity, and I fancied I detected a hint of scepticism. She told us afterwards that she had heard we were two English ladies of good family who were interested in nursing, and she did not think we would stay at Kaiserwald more than a week.

We were taken to our bedroom. It was a long dormitory with whitewashed walls and divided into cubicles. In each was a bed. These were our sleeping quarters, she told us, and we should wear white aprons over our gowns and be prepared to perform any tasks which were asked of us.

There were two hundred patients in the hospital, most of them seriously ill.

“We do not take them unless they are,” we were told.

“This place is for the truly sick; and those who come here have to work. It is not often that we have visiting ladies. The Head Deaconess has accepted you to please Miss Nightingale.”

We said we understood and I explained that we were eager to be trained nurses.

“It is only years of work among the sick which can make you that,” was the answer.

“We’re going to make a start,” said Henrietta with a dazzling smile.

Our guide gave her a look of disbelief; and I could understand that.

Henrietta gave the impression that she was made more for gaiety. As for myself, sorrow and experience had no doubt etched a few lines on my face. My manner was more serious, so perhaps I made a better impression.

We were introduced to our fellow workers. Very few of them spoke any English. They were religious people who had come to nursing because they had an aptitude for it. Most of them came from poor homes and it was a livelihood for them, but the atmosphere here was quite different from that which I hadi briefly glimpsed when I had gone to Lily in the London-hospital. We were taken to the Head Deaconess, a lady of great character. She was middle-aged with iron grey hair and cool grey eyes.

She told us: “Most of the patients here are suffering from J respiratory diseases. Some will never recover. They are sent here from other places throughout Germany because the air is I said to be beneficial. We have two resident doctors Dr. Bruckner and Dr. Kratz.”

Her English was quite good and she went on to tell us about the aims of the hospital.

“I share the views of your own Miss Nightingale,” she said.

“Too little is done to cure the sick. We are pioneers here. Our aim is to arouse people’s consciences to the need to look after the sick and heal them if possible. We I have had some approval for what we are doing and are visited I now and then by doctors from other countries. We have had them from your own country. They are interested in our “I methods. I think we are making a little progress. We are all overworked here and you will find living far from luxurious. “

“We did not expect anything else,” I said.

“Our patients demand a great deal of time. There is little leisure, and when there is we are far from towns.”

“You have the beautiful forests and the mountains.”

She nodded.

“We shall see,” she said, and I knew that she, like the Deaconess who had brought us in, did not expect us to stay.

It was not easy. I was amazed that Henrietta accepted it. With me, it was different. I wanted hard work; I wanted forgetfulness; and to find myself in unusual circumstances was of great benefit to me.

We lived like Spartans. We had expected to work hard but not quite so persistently. We were required to do whatever was needed. I was struck by the cleanliness of the ward. The bed linen had to be washed by us and we must scrub the floors. We arose at five in the morning and were often working hard until seven in the evening, until, said Henrietta, the patients were tucked up in their beds. It was a religious order and when we had finished our work we assembled for a reading from the Bible, prayers and the singing of hymns. During the first week I was so exhausted at the end of the day that I went to bed, where I sank into delicious sleep and did not wake until the rising bell. In a way it reminded me of school.

Meals were taken in a long hall with whitewashed walls and we sat at a long table where we all had our places to which we were expected to keep.

Breakfast was just before six o’clock and usually consisted of rye bread and a drink which I believed was made of ground rye. It was peasant food. We served the patients’ food at eleven o’clock and assembled in the hall at twelve to have ours. There was broth, vegetables, and a little meat or fish.

We had a few hours off duty now and then, and after the first week when we were too tired to do anything but lie on our beds and talk desultorily we would walk down to the edge of the lake and sit there listening to the sound of the breeze in the pines; even though we were accustomed to the hard work by that time, all we wanted to do was sit and rest. I felt extraordinarily at peace.

Sometimes, as we sat there, people would pass on the way to the village which was only about a quarter of a mile away from the hospital. Most of the people had a few animals cows mostly and many of them did embroidery on dresses and blouses which were sold in the shops in the towns. The woodcutter would walk by with his axe over his shoulder and call a greeting to us. They all knew who we were and respected us as the nurses of Kaiserwald and they showed us the utmost courtesy.

It was a long time since I had felt so happy.

Best of all I loved the work in the ward. It was a long room with bare whitewashed walls and at each end there was a large crucifix. The beds were close together and there was a curtain across the room dividing the men’s section from that of the women. The doctors worked constantly and I think they had a mild contempt for the nurses and particularly Henrietta and myself, for they knew that we were not working for a e of nursing. No doubt they thought we were ladies indulging in a light-hearted adventure to relieve the boredom of our useless lives.

This attitude irritated me far more than it did Henrietta. I was determined to show them that I was not playing at being a nurse. I knew that I had a special flair for this kind of work and I was gratified when one of the patients had an attack of hysterics and no one could calm her not even the doctors but myself. I think their feelings towards me changed after that and even the Head Deaconess became interested in me.

“Some are born nurses,” she told us.

“Some acquire the necessary skills. You are in the former class.” It was the biggest accolade she could bestow, and if she were anxious about a patient she would often put me in charge of that particular one. I was greatly encouraged and threw myself into the work and was happy to be there.

I often wondered about Henrietta. I think at times she felt less enchanted. But she could see I was in my element and she was glad of that.

“I feel half dead,” she said to me one day when we sat stretched out before the lake.

“But I remind myself that it is all in a good cause.

It has to be endured because it is all part of the great goal. It is going to lead us to the Demon King. “

That was what she called the man I had determined to find. She would invent stories of his wickedness; she sketched how he would look. A picture emerged dark, heavy-udded, brooding eyes, black hair and a wicked, satanic expression.

One afternoon, when we both had a free hour, as we sat by the lake’s edge, a slim figure emerged from the trees. It was Gerda the Goosegirl.

My German had improved considerably since my coming to Kaiserwald, for that language was spoken all the time apart from the occasional remarks addressed to us by the Head Deaconess and the one who had met us when we arrived; and even Henrietta, who had less than I, was able to converse, albeit rather haltingly.

I said “Hello’ to Gerda and then: ” Where are your geese? “

“All taken care of,” she replied.

“So I can be by myself now.”

She came and stood close to us, smiling to herself as though she found us rather amusing.

“You’re English ladies,” she said.

“And you’re a little German girl.”

“I am a lady, too.”

“I am sure you are.”

“I walk in the forest. Do you walk in the forest?”

“We don’t have a great deal of time for walking. But it must be lovely in the forest, to walk under the trees.”

She stepped near to us.

“The trees come alive at night,” she said. She had a strong faraway look in her eyes as though she saw something which was hidden from us.

“There are trolls … They live on the hills.”

“Have you seen them?” asked Henrietta.

She nodded.

“They pull at your dress. They try to catch you. You must never look into their eyes. If you do, they will catch you.”

“You have never looked into a troll’s eyes, then?” I said.

She lifted her shoulders and giggled.

“Have you seen the Devil?” she asked. She called him Der Teufel.

“No. Have you?”

She started to laugh and shrugged her shoulders.

I said: “You live with your grandmother, don’t you?”

She nodded.

“In a little house on the edge of the woods?”

She nodded again.

“And you look after the geese and the chickens … and what else have you?”

“A cow. Two goats.”

“They must keep you busy.”

She nodded.

“It was in the forest. It was the Devil.”

“Oh … did you meet him?”

“He liked me.”

She started to giggle again.

Henrietta yawned but I was interested in this strange girl and I wondered what went on in her hazy mind.

Henrietta had risen.

“Look at the time. We’ll be late.”

I said: “Goodbye, Gerda.”

“Goodbye,” she said and stood staring after us as we went.

“Strange girl,” I said.

“Certainly something missing in the upper storey,” said Henrietta.

“I wonder what she meant about the Devil?”

“About the trolls?”

“I suppose she hears these things and fancies a good deal. She is really very pretty so dainty, and that beautiful hair. What a pity she is mentally deficient. Well, she can look after the geese. She’s capable of that. And she seemed happy enough … quite proud of her encounter with the Devil. I’d like to know more about her. I’d like to meet the grandmother. Perhaps we could call on her … but one is never quite sure whether one is doing the right thing.”

“There is hardly time for social calls in this life here.”

“Henrietta,” I said, ‘are you finding it too difficult? Would you like to go home? “

“Of course not. If you can endure it, so can I.”

“But it is different for me. I want something important to devote myself to utterly, and I fancy I’ve always wanted to do this without really knowing I did.”

“I’m sticking it out until the three months is up. I haven’t forgotten what it’s all about, you know. Gerda enjoys her encounters with the Devil. I’m determined to do the same.”

Whenever I had an hour to spare I would wander out. Once or twice I saw Gerda with her geese; she gave me that faraway smile when she saw me and when she had her charges with her she did not speak much. It was as though she could not do two things at once.

The geese would hiss at us and she would calm them. They were very unfriendly creatures.

The weather was getting wintry and it was too cold to sit about. We had to take brisk walks. There was to be a fair in the town, which was about a mile and a half away, and there was a small increase in the number of people we saw on our walks. It was a misty afternoon when we first saw Klaus the Pedlar. He had a can and a donkey; and the cart was laden with all sorts of wares.

He called out a cheery Guten Tag, to which we replied in friendly fashion.

“Ladies from the Kaiserwald,” he said.

“English ladies. Them as we’ve heard so much about. Now I wouldn’t have guessed, seeing you.” His eyes were on Henrietta.

“You don’t look the part. Meet Klaus the Pedlar. Anyone will tell you who I am. Pay regular calls, I do … and this is Fair time. A time for good business. What have I got in my pack? Something to interest you ladies … combs and fairings and rings for your ears … lovely silks to make you a gown … neck lets and powders to make the men love you. You want it ask Pedlar Klaus for it. If he don’t have it this time, he’ll bring it to you next.”

He talked at a great rate and there were some of his words which I could not catch, but it was easy to get the gist of his conversation.

He was quite handsome in a gipsy way. He was very dark, with flashing eyes, and he wore rings in his ears. He had a jaunty manner and gave the impression that he was proud and independent and cared for no one.

He regarded us with some amusement, wondering, no doubt, what had made us come to Kaiserwald. I think it was probably our youth as much as our foreignness which made us outstanding.

“Anything you want, ladies,” he went on.

“You ask old Klaus the Pedlar, and he’ll bring it to you. A nice piece of silk … a length of velvet and some beads to match your eyes … blue for the one and green for the other. I can match up both of them.”

“Thank you,” said Henrietta.

“But we don’t get much chance of wearing such things here.”

He wagged a finger at us.

“Always make time for your fun, ladies.

Don’t work all the time. It’s not natural. There’s fun to be had in life and them that don’t take it when it’s there for ‘em will find it flies away and don’t come back. Now a nice piece of silk for a flighty gown . green to show off that tawny hair of yours. That don’t grow on the head of every maiden you know. You want to do the best for it. “

I said: “We’ll think about it.”

“Don’t take too long thinking or Klaus the Pedlar will be gone.”

“But he’ll be back I don’t doubt.”

“He’ll be back. But don’t forget, the sun rises, the sun sets, and that’s another day gone … and each day brings even beautiful ladies that much nearer to old age.”

“You have reminded us of the flight of time, and we have little to spare. We must go back.”

“Quite a fascinating man,” said Henrietta as we walked away.

“He is certainly not at a loss for words,” I replied.

It was a chilly day for we were at the end of November. A blustering wind was chasing clouds across a grey sky. Henrietta and I had an hour off duty in the afternoon and on such days we liked to walk in the forest. I loved the smell of the pines and suddenly to hear the tinkle of cow bells carried to us on the wind. I had always felt that there was an enchantment about the forest. I was not surprised that Gerda had her fancies.

We passed her cottage; she was in the garden crooning to herself. We called a greeting but she did not seem to be aware of us. It was often like that with Gerda. We went on and after some ten minutes it started to rain. Through the trees I could see the black clouds. Instead of welcoming us, the forest had become dark and menacing. The trees seemed to take on odd shapes; and the wind was like moaning human voices. When I mentioned this to Henrietta she laughed at me.

“For such a sensible, practical person you have some odd fancies sometimes,” she said.

“Hurry,” I warned her.

“The rain will be pelting down in a minute. I doubt we shall get back before it does.”

We ran through the pines and by the time we came to the clearing in which was Gerda’s home the rain was teeming down.

The door of the cottage opened and a woman appeared. I had seen her once before and knew that she was Gerda’s grandmother.

She called out: “You young ladies will be soaked to the skin. Come along in. It will pass soon. It is only a shower.”

I was pleased to be invited into the cottage, for I was very interested in its occupants. Frau Leiben was, I guessed, in her late fifties, yet she was sprightly and her cottage was very clean.

“It is good of you to offer us shelter,” I said.

“It’s the least I can do. Do please sit down.” We did so and she went on: “We’re all very grateful to you ladies of Kaiserwald. You do great good. And you are English … come to study our ways?”

I told her that we had come for three or four months and then we should go home.

She said: “People come from time to time.”

“Where is Gerda?” I asked.

“Can she be out in the rain?”

“She’ll stand up somewhere. She’s got that much sense.” She shook her head sadly.

“She is a beautiful girl,” I commented.

“She looks so picturesque with her geese. If I were an artist I would paint a picture of her.”

Frau Leiben sighed.

“I worry about her. What will become of her when I am gone? I ask myself. Who will care for her? If she were like others she would marry and have a husband to look after her. Perhaps her mother will come for her.”

We were silent for a few moments, then she went on: “She was five when my daughter and her husband left her with me. I thought they would come back but they never have. They are far away in Australia.” She looked very sad.

“Herman, my husband, was here with me when they went away. And now Herman is gone. The blessed Deaconesses did what they could for him but they could not save his life and now I am alone. For three years I am alone.”

“The people here are friendly with each other,” said Henrietta.

“It must be comforting to live in a place like this.”

She nodded.

“It’s true. They were good to me when Herman died. I didn’t feel the burden so much when he was here. There were two of us to share it.”

She looked at us as though she wondered whether she v talking too much. After all, we were comparative strangers had always had an insatiable curiosity about other people lives; they seemed to sense this and confide in me. A suddenly the story came out. She and Herman had had a daughter, Clara. They had doted on her. She had looked like Gerda except that she was bright and intelligent. They I wanted the best for her. She had gone to stay with a cousin Hamburg and when she was there met Fritz and married him.

“She never really came back,” said Frau Leiben.

“Just to us . that was all. It wasn’t her home any more. And could see that she was happy that way. Of course, we rejoice for her but suffered for ourselves. When Gerda was born were so happy . and she turned out as she is. They did want her really . at least Fritz didn’t. She wasn’t a non child and she was an encumbrance. They brought her he They used to come now and then to see her and us. Then Fi came out of the Navy and they went to Australia. They did want Gerda with them.

Herman was alive then. He Im Gerda dearly. They used to go into the forest together. ” had more cows then. He used to tell her stories, all the i legends about the gods and heroes… all the stories of drag and trolls in the mountains. Herman had them all at fingertips and a way of telling them. She’d listen for hou entranced. It was easy when Herman was there, and then died. It was his lungs. He coughed and coughed and it bn your heart to hear him. They took him into Kaiserwald, a then he died and I was alone.”

“How very sad,” said Henrietta.

“Gerda is a very happy girl,” I added.

“Oh, she lives in her dream world, living all the std Herman used to tell her. I remember our last Christmas w Herman. We brought in the tree and dressed it with all i little bits and pieces, candles to make it bright. It will soon time for the tree. Old Wilhelm, the woodcutter, brings on me. I dress it. Gerda likes that. But it is a sad rime with Herman.” S I noticed that the rain had stopped and that we should have to hurry back if we were not to be late.

I said: “It has been very interesting talking to you’ Frau Leiben. I hope your daughter will come to see you soon; Australia is a long way to come. “

As we hurried back, I said to Henrietta: “What a sad story! Poor Gerda.

Poor Frau Leiben. “

“I don’t think Gerda feels the sadness,” said Henrietta, “It’s one of the compensations of being as she is. I don’t think she feels things at all. She doesn’t miss her mother. She doesn’t fret about being abandoned.”

“We don’t know what goes on in Gerda’s mind. I hope they get a nice fir tree. That’s a German custom, to have a tree and dress it up.

We’re doing it more and more at home since Prince Albert married the Queen. “

“The Queen’s mother started it before that,” said Henrietta.

“I wonder what is done at Kaiserwald?”

“Nothing, I should imagine. Just a few more hymns and prayers.”

“Something ought to be done. I think it would do the patients a lot of good. My criticism of Kaiserwald is that there is not enough jollity.”

“You’d better try telling that to H.D.,” said Henrietta.

H. D. was the Head Deaconess.

“I might well do that.”

“Have a care. You’ll be sent off with a flea in your ear,”

I asked for a meeting with the Head Deaconess an audience, Henrietta called it. It was granted to me with a show of graciousness. I did detect in the lady’s manner a certain respect for me which Henrietta had failed to arouse in her.

I was told to sit, which I did. She herself was seated at a desk with papers before her which from time to time she touched, as though to remind me that the time she could give me was limited.

I came straight to the point.

“It will soon be Christmas. I was wondering what arrangements there were for Christmas Day.”

“We shall sing Christmas hymns and have special prayers.”

“Will there be no celebrations?”

“I don’t understand you. Miss Pleydell.”

“Well, a Christmas tree, for instance.”

She stared at me disbelievingly and I went on: “I thought we might have two … one at each end of the ward, and the curtain which divides the men from the women could be drawn back so that we are all together in one big room. I thought we should have a little gift for everyone. It wouldn’t be much, of course … just a trifle. They could be on the trees and we could distribute them.”

She had let me go on for so long because she was stunned into silence.

I realized that my temerity was unheard of. No one talked like that to the Head Deaconess. No one dared to attempt to introduce new methods into the Kaiserwald.

She lifted her finger to stop me.

“Miss Pleydell, I think you have not been here long enough to know our ways. These people are sick … some of them very sick …”

“I think it would do those good who are well enough to have a little light entertainment, a little relief. Their days must seem long and they are bored, which makes them listless without any great desire to live. If they could be amused, entertained, their spirits would rise.”

“We are not here to deal with their spirits. Miss Pleydell. We are here to heal their bodies.”

“Sometimes one is dependent on the other.”

“Are you telling me that you know how to run a hospital better than I?”

“No. I am not. But I am saying that outsiders can sometimes put up useful suggestions.”

“There is no sense in this idea. We need all the money we can get.

There are many sensible things we could do with it. “

“This is sensible. I believe that to lighten the spirits helps to heal the body.”

“And suppose I agreed to your preposterous suggestion?

Where should we find the money to buy these er trifles. There are about a hundred patients, you know. “

“I do know it. I am sure that we should be presented with the trees.

The people here think highly of the hospital. “

“And how do you know that?”

“Because I have talked to them. I know some of them well enough to be sure that they would do what they could for a cause like this.”

“And the trifles?”

“I shall buy those. Miss Marlington will want to help. There is a pedlar here who could get them for us. Little things … handkerchiefs ornaments … something for them to have to make it a special day.”

“It is a special day. It celebrates the birth of Christ. We shall sing the Christmas hymns. I shall make sure that they are reminded of the significance of Christmas.”

“But the birth of Christ should be a matter for rejoicing. It should be a happy day. I believe we should see an improvement in our patients. There would be the anticipation … and the day itself. I think that making people happy, making them laugh, making them enjoy life is also good for their health.”

“And I think. Miss Pleydell, that you are wasting my time and yours.”

That was dismissal.

There was nothing I could do but retire.

A few days later the Head Deaconess sent for me.

“Sit down. Miss Pleydell,” she said.

I did so, wondering whether she was going to ask me to leave. I believed my suggestion had shocked her. She was a deeply religious woman of strong and noble character but entirely without humour. I was well aware that often such people are lacking in human understanding.

I think she believed that everyone should accept her own high moral code, and that did not include the sort of frivolity which I had proposed to introduce into her hospital.

Her next words astonished me.

“I have been thinking about your ideas, Miss Pleydell. You have a certain talent for nursing. I have noticed this. But you do not always adhere to our methods.”

Oh dear, I thought. It is coming.

“You have the making of a good nurse. You believe, of course, that your proposed entertainment will be good for the patients. You would be ready to uphold this with financial support. You are fortunate to be in a position to be able to do that.” A faint smile turned up the corners other mouth. I was amazed. It was the first time I had seen her face contorted into anything like a smile.

“Your friend Miss Marlington does not have your skills in this profession, I’m afraid.

But she is cheerful, and willing. I believe the patients like her. I have spoken to Dr. Bruckner and Dr. Kratz and they think that your proposed action would have no ill effects on the patients. Miss Pleydell, I am going to allow you to try your experiment. We shall see how many of the patients are better for your Christmas Day arrangements; and also we shall see if it affects any of them adversely. “

“I cannot believe it will do that.”

“We shall see. I shall have nothing to do with this. It will be entirely your affair. You will get the trees … and the trifles from your own pocket. You will set it all up and you may recruit help from the other nurses if they agree. It is entirely in your hands. It will be to your credit or blame.”

“Oh, thank you,” I cried.

She waved her hand and again I saw that contortion of her features. I fancied she looked at me with something near affection. I was elated.

I went to find Henrietta who was wildly excited by the scheme. We planned how we would do it. We would seek out the pedlar. The fair was still in progress and he had a stall there. We would go and see him the next day, and we would tell the woodcutter to get us two trees the biggest and best he could find. He could cut them a week before Christmas so that they would be fine and fresh.

“Now,” I said, ‘we have to find Klaus the Pedlar. Tomorrow we will go to the fair. “

We were amazed at the response from our fellow nurses. Most of them wanted to help and it was only a few of the older ones who thought there was something sinful about enjoyment. There were always some ready to take over our dudes so that we could have a little time now and then to throw ourselves into preparations.

The patients had been told that there was to be a Christmas tree on the great day and I was elated to see that many of them were excited by the prospect and there was no doubt that they were looking forward to Christmas Day. Those who were well enough talked to each other about it; it was only the very sick who were indifferent.

I was sure that we should find the pedlar at the fair. It was to be over on November 30th so we had to find him quickly.

The fair was held in a field close to the little town. As Henrietta and I walked over there we heard the sound of fiddles. The booths with their garish blues and reds made a splash of colour against the green of the trees. As we approached we saw young girls in local costume with pointed caps and a great many petticoats under skirts which flared out and showed the frothy whiteness underneath. The men had leather breeches and three-cornered hats decorated with feathers. I thought they looked very merry. In the square a group of young people were dancing to the tune of two fiddles. I wished I could have taken them to the hospital to amuse the patients. We stood and watched for a while and threw some coins into the box which had been put on the paving stones that passers-by might express their appreciation.

We wended our way through the stalls which were laden with goods for sale; there were saddlery, articles of clothing shoes, boots, dresses vegetables, eggs and cheese, fairings, cloth and jewellery of all kinds.

I asked if Klaus the pedlar was here and we were directed to his stall.

There he was, perched on a wooden box, haranguing passers-by, flattering the women one moment and the next telling them how foolish they were not to recognize the out standing value of the goods he was offering for sale.

“Chances of a lifetime!” he was shouting.

“Come on, ladies. What are you thinking of? Are you going to let an opportunity like this slip by?

Now you, my pretty, a nice piece of velvet for a gown . soft and clinging. With a figure like yours, you owe it to it. Yes, you do, lady. “

The woman was beguiled. She was fingering the velvet. Then he caught sight of us.

“Welcome, ladies. Come a-buying! English ladies. They know a good thing when they see it.”

“See to that lady, Klaus,” I said.

“Then we want to talk.”

He sold the dress length and then he turned to us.

“I want your advice about items with which to dress Christmas trees,” I said.

“You’ve come to the right man, my lovely. Everything you want Klaus has got. All you have to do is take a look. Now what would you like?

You whisper to me, and I’ll tell you this. If Klaus hasn’t got it, he’ll get it. “

“It’s for the hospital,” I said.

He looked at me suspiciously.

“You wanting for free?” he asked.

“No, no. We’re going to pay for it. We shall want about a hundred modest little gifts.”

“A hundred!” he cried.

“That’s big business. We’ll talk but not in the street here. No, this is done over a table. That’s how big business is done.”

He put his fingers to his nose, I presume to denote under standing between two shrewd business associates.

“Here, Jacob,” he cried. A young man, little more than a boy, came running up.

“Take charge. I’m going to talk business.”

He led us across the square to a patch of green before the inn. During the warm weather there would be tables here, but the Biergarten was not used in the winter. We went inside and Klaus called for beer. It was brought in tankards and he leaned his arms on the table regarding us.

I told him briefly what we planned. He suggested fancy handkerchiefs for the women, all different colours, embroidered and not all the same; strings of beads, ornaments, little bowls in pretty colours, pictures of the forest in summer and in winter with snow; little figures, jugglers with bells on their ankles, fans. For the men plain handkerchiefs . big ones, puzzles . He’d think of other things.

I said: “I can see you have the idea. We must have them a good two weeks before Christmas.”

There’s no hardship about that,” said Klaus.

“I’ll bring them next visit. I’ll have them all ready for you.”

“Can we trust you to do that?” asked Henrietta.

He looked at her with the utmost reproach.

“Of course you can trust Klaus. If I say I’ll bring something it’s as good as there. How would I do business otherwise? I’m in this place often twice a month. I never fail. If I say I’ll bring something, that something’s brought.”

“I am sure we can trust you, Klaus. Particularly as you know those poor sick people in the hospital are relying on you. If you did not come with the gifts it would be a terrible disappointment. We have the trees coming. You see how important it is.”

‘you have my word on it, ladies. Now, well do a few calculations. How many men? How many women? Let’s work it out, shall we? “

So we sat there drinking our beer and laughing at Klaus, who was clearly delighted with such a large order but a little fearful about the payment, until I told him that Henrietta and I would pay.

“You ladies must forgive me mentioning such a vulgar thing as payment, but I’m a poor man with his way to make.”

“Of course we must discuss payment,” I said.

“Would you like something on account?”

“Mein Gott!” he cried.

“It’s a pleasure to do business with such ladies. Rest assured you shall have your fairings on the dot, and if it wasn’t for the fact that you’re so far above me, I’d be head over heels in love with the both of you.”

We began to realize that we had spent far too long at the fair, but we had achieved our aim; and we knew that having left a deposit with Klaus we could be sure that he would deliver the goods we needed.

When we returned to the hospital we were told that the Head Deaconess was asking for us and that we were to go to her at once.

Henrietta grimaced.

“We shall be told that we are spending too much time on this. You’ll see. I am sure H.D. doesn’t really like the idea and is hoping it will be a failure.”

“I don’t think so. I think if she finds it really does the patients good she will be pleased.”

“Well, I wonder what she wants now.”

“We had better go and see without delay.”

She was seated behind her desk. She nodded to us as we entered and begged us to be seated.

“From time to time we have visitors to the hospital,” she began.

“They are important people, mostly doctors. Next week we shall have such a visitor very highly thought of, as are all our visitors. It is a doctor from England. Few of us here have a command of the English language and often that has proved a barrier. I wish you two to talk with our visitor, to tell him what he wants to know, if it is in your power to do so. My English, as you know, is not without its imperfections. I shall expect you to be as helpful as you can to Dr. Fenwick.”

“We shall be delighted,” I said.

Henrietta added: “It will be a pleasure.”

“I think he will be here for a few weeks. That is usually what happens. We will have a room prepared for him. Perhaps you will supervise that. You may know what he will expect; and when he arrives perhaps you would be here to greet him.”

We repeated that we should be delighted.

We were dismissed and when we were out of hearing Henrietta looked at me.

“Well, there’s a surprise,” she said. There was mischief in her eyes.

“What excitement! We are going to see an Englishman. And a highly thought of one! Fancy! A little masculine society will not be unwelcome.”

“But you have Dr. Bruckner and Dr. Kratz.”

Henrietta shrugged her shoulders.

“You may keep them.”

Thanks, but I’d rather not. You are very frivolous, Henrietta. But wait and see what this Dr. Fenwick is like before you start seeing him as the hero of your dreams. “

“I have a feeling that he is going to be handsome, charming and just what I need to enliven my days.”

“We shall see,” I said.

True to his word, Klaus produced what he called ‘the fairings’ in good time and we were delighted by the transaction.

We were busy with our tickets and numbers, and a week before Christmas the trees were put into the ward and we decorated them with candles.

The gifts were laid out and there was a good deal of enthusiasm in the ward. I was sure the idea was going to be a success.

And then Dr. Charles Fenwick arrived.

Henrietta’s premonition proved to be correct. If he was not exactly handsome, he was good-looking and certainly charming; he must have been about thirty and there was an earnestness about him which implied that he was dedicated to his work. When Henrietta and I received him, he was delighted to find two Englishwomen installed in the place, and our common nationality meant that friendship sprang up immediately.

Henrietta said it was blissful to have someone to talk to in English, and when I raised my eyebrows she added: “I mean of the masculine gender.”

He asked a great many questions about everything and he thought our Christmas plan was an excellent one. He spent a lot of time with Dr. Bruckner and Dr. Kratz, and each day went round the ward with them. He wanted to know the details of every case and the doctors compared notes; it was clear that Dr. Fenwick had a great respect for the methods employed at Kaiserwald.

He did walk with us once or twice in the forest. He thought the scenery enchanting and said he was sorry his visit would not be of long duration. He might stay six weeks at the most.

He smiled at us both as though to imply that we should be one of the reasons perhaps the main one for his regrets.

But I told him that we ourselves would be leaving in a month or so. We had been allowed to come for three months and that time was drawing to a close. It was only due to Henrietta’s connection with Miss Nightingale that we had been given permission to come at all.

“I see,” said Dr. Fenwick, ‘that they would not have expected ladies like you two to be of much use. How wrong they were! But I suppose neither of you had had any experience of nursing before. “

“None at all,” I told him.

“But Anna has a feel for the work,” said Henrietta.

“Even H.D. has noticed it and given grudging approval.”

“I realized that at once.”

He talked about the appalling conditions of hospitals throughout the world and to our shame our own country was no exception but fortunately there were places like Kaiserswerth and its subsidiaries and attempts were being made there to improve matters. He spoke of the patients, discussing their symptoms with us as Dr. Bruckner and Dr. Kratz never had, and when he went on to speak of home, I could see that he was anxious about the way events were moving.

“Is Russia still at war with Turkey?” I asked.

“We heard of it just before we left England.”

“It is rather alarming,” he said.

“When that sort of thing starts, one never knows where it will spread to. For a long time Russia has coveted the riches of Constantinople and the Sultan.”

“Thank Heaven it is all happening far from home,” said Henrietta.

Dr. Fenwick looked at her seriously.

“Wars have a habit of involving those who are far away.”

“You don’t think we shall be involved in all this nonsense?”

“I wish I could say no with conviction, but we cannot allow Russia to become too powerful. Besides, we are under obligation to the Turks.

The Prime Minister is against war. “

“Do you mean that we … in England … could be at war?”

“If the situation develops, yes. Palmerston is all for war, and the people are behind him. I don’t really like the look of things. People glorify war. To the man in the street, safely at home, it is all flag-waving and patriotic songs. It is a little different for the poor soldier. The sights I have seen … wounded … dead …”

“This is a very sombre conversation with Christmas just round the corner,” said Henrietta.

“Forgive me. I get carried away.”

He laughed, and we talked about the Christmas revelries and whether I was going to make H. D. agree that I was right.

But I felt uneasy.

However, that was all far away and here we were . Christmas time in the heart of the forest and mountains. It would be a Christmas quite different from anything we had known before.

I woke on the day with a tingling sense of excitement. There was no time to luxuriate in bed. It was five o’clock time to rise.

I looked across at Henrietta; she was fast asleep. I got out of bed and went to her. She looked very pretty with her curling hair in disarray so innocent, childlike almost. A wave of tenderness swept over me when I thought of all the hardships she had endured and how different her life was now from what it would have been had she married Lord Carlton. Yet she appeared to have no regrets. She talked a great deal about freedom. I understood, of course. I myself had the same respect for it.

“Wake up,” I said.

“And happy Christmas.”

She opened her eyes slowly and looked at me.

“Oh, leave me alone,” she wailed.

“I was having such a beautiful dream. I was in the forest and a wicked old troll came running after me. A handsome knight came riding by and was just about to rescue me. Guess who?”

“Could it possibly have been Dr. Charles Fenwick?”

She shook her head.

“Nothing so predictable … and really far more exciting. He wore a mask over his face and when he took it off, there he was black-haired, black-eyed, entirely wicked . our Demon Doctor. It was so maddening to be awakened just at that moment. I wanted to know what was going to happen next. You know, Anna, we have been rather forgetful of The Project all these weeks. I don’t think you have given any thought to anything but that Christmas tree. “

“It has taken a certain amount of planning, and then we have our other more arduous duties.”

“Oh, why didn’t you let me stay there in the forest with our Demon?”

“Come on. We’ll be late for breakfast.”

What a day it was! It stands out in my memory for ever. I was amazed what a transformation those Christmas trees made to the ward. Those who were well enough talked excitedly to each other and for days there had been a buzz of anticipation.

And now . Christmas Day! I thought of the festive season in India when the English community there were so anxious to make what they called an English Christmas. But how could they do that? It never seemed to be right somehow. The traditional Christmases I had known had been at the rectory, with the children’s party in the church hall and the carol singers coming round, standing at the gates, bearing lanterns, singing the carols we knew, out of tune perhaps, but that did not matter; and the services in church with the choir boys proclaiming in innocent, impersonal voices the glory of Christ’s birth, but in a way which betrayed that their thoughts were far away, and they were all the more moving because of that. Goose . and Christmas pudding brought to the table in a coating of brandy flames.

And Grace’s homemade wine and the services in church. These were the Christmases I remembered; the Christmases at the Minster, with the knowledge that Aubrey and I were growing farther and farther apart; Christmases with Julian the crib I had put in the nursery and the little baby Jesus who was to be slipped into it on Christmas Day, as I told myself that the next year he would understand what it was all about. But there was not to be a next year for him.

Christmas was a time for remembrance, and I had a feeling that this was going to be one which I should remember forever.

The excitement of the present-giving was all I had anticipated. Dr. Fenwick picked the numbers; Henrietta picked the names; and I found the present and took it to the patient for whom it was intended.

It was amazing how much pleasure these little gifts gave. It was not so much the handkerchief or the fan or the little jars and boxes; it was the spirit of Christmas; the fact that there was a day set apart from the others.

The presentation had taken place after the midday meal, and we gave a little concert if that was not too grand a name to put to it. One of the nurses played the recorder, and Dr. Kratz gave a performance on the violin. Henrietta, who had quite a pretty voice, sang.

I was deeply moved to watch her. She sang a variety of songs the old English ones which the patients could not have understood, but they loved them. It was all spontaneous and her choice was wide. We had The Vicar of Bray followed by Annie Laurie, Come, Lasses and Lads, followed by Early One Morning. She conveyed the exuberance of the country people so vividly that although they could not understand the words, they were aware of the sentiments expressed. With her fair curly hair looser about her face than she normally wore it for working the wards, she looked beautiful.

I noticed Dr. Fenwick watching her as she sang and I thought:

I believe he is falling in love with her.

It seemed to me so very natural that a man should fall in love with Henrietta.

The Christmas venture was as no one could deny an outstanding success, and with the honesty of the strong, the Head Deaconess did not attempt to do so. Others might have carped a little. It could have been said that some of the patients were overtired or that it had been disturbing for those who were very ill; but it was not. The advantages had far outweighed the disadvantages.

The Head Deaconess called Henrietta and me to her study and said: “It was very commendable. The doctors have nothing but praise. You both worked very hard, and did not neglect your other duties. “

“Who could believe it!” said Henrietta as we left her.

“Do you know, I think she almost smiled. She could not quite achieve such a tremendous undertaking, but I could see it was beginning to break out.”

“At least, she did admit it was a success.”

“She had to. It was obvious, wasn’t it?”

We lived in the glow of that success for several days and then it was the New Year.

“In a short time,” I reminded Henrietta, ‘we shall be leaving. “

“Shall you be sorry?”

“I don’t think so. It has been interesting. I feel I have learned a lot. I feel experienced … and it has been wonderful, but I should not want to spend my life here, would you?”

“It would be rather dull without Dr. Fenwick.”

I looked at her sharply.

“Well,” she said, ‘wouldn’t it be? “

“Of course.”

“He’s like a breath of home. It’s nice to have someone who sees our jokes … someone one can talk to naturally. You know what I mean.”

“I do.”

“He has a great admiration for you.”

“And for you, I think.”

She shrugged her shoulders.

“He really thinks there is some thing special about you. He says you should not be doing the humble tasks in nursing. You should be in charge, organizing … Oh yes, you have impressed him very much.”

“I think you have, too.”

“Two Englishwomen, obviously used to a little comfort coming out to a place like this. Of course, I didn’t tell him it was all part of a grand scheme and that in the guise of nurses we are sleuths on the track of a monster.”

“I’m glad you didn’t. He would have thought we were mad.”

She laughed and I wondered if she reciprocated the doctor’s feelings for her.

It was cold and there was snow on the mountains. We were told later that it could be heavy. Preparations were made in Kaiserwald as though for a siege. One of the nurses told me that we could wake up one morning to find the snow piled high, shutting us in. Last year, for three weeks, they had been unable to get out of the hospital. We had to be prepared for such things.

Henrietta and I were to leave in February. I knew that I should miss the place, but I did want to move on. There was no doubt in my mind that the change of scene, the sense of achieving a few steps towards my goal, had soothed my sorrow. But it was still there, ready to envelope me at any moment.

Charles Fenwick said that, if we agreed, he would arrange to travel back to England with us. Henrietta was delighted at the idea.

“Does that mean you will have to extend your stay here?” I asked.

“A little, perhaps, but I have spoken to the Head Deaconess and she is quite agreeable. She thinks you two ladies should have an escort and it would be unseemly for you to travel across Europe unattended.”

“We did come out alone.”

“Yes, but that rather shocked her. She will be pleased to allow me to remain until your departure which, I believe, is to take place at the beginning of February.”

So it was agreed.

The days took on a new quality because they were numbered. We savoured each one. I had proved without doubt that I had a talent for nursing; even the Head Deaconess recognized this and treated me with a respect she did not show to Henrietta or even to her trained nurses.

I had several talks with Dr. Fenwick in fact he seemed to talk with me more than with Henrietta. With me he discussed the patients’ illnesses, how best to treat them; he told me how frustrated he felt, how ignorant of causes; and how alarming it was to have to work in the dark, so often experimenting, as it were.

“But we have to find out,” he said.

“What can we do?

We believe a certain method may be the cure, but how can we tell until we have tried it? “

He talked to me, also, about the political situation.

“I can only hope that this does not involve us in war. People do not realize the horrors of war … of soldiers in some foreign battlefield without hospitals, without medical attention, doctors … nurses ..”

I said: “I have had a glimpse into one of those hospitals in London.

It was a horrifying experience. “

“Then you can imagine something a thousand times worse.”

“People everywhere must find a way of changing that.”

He looked at me with something like the admiration I had seen in his eyes when he had watched Henrietta singing Early One Morning.

“Something will be done. It is comforting to know that there are people like you in the world.”

“You overestimate me.”

“I don’t think so,” he said.

I could not help feeling a glow of pleasure; and we were joined by Henrietta and were soon laughing.

It was the end of January; the weather was a little warmer and the snow had thawed. I put on strong boots and went for a walk in the forest. Henrietta was on duty at that time and I was alone.

I came to Frau Leiben’s cottage. I wondered whether Gerda would be out on such a day. As I walked past the door opened and my name was called. I recognized Frau Leiben’s voice.

“Fraulein … Fraulein Pleydell. Come … come here … quickly.”

Hastily I went into the cottage. She took me through to a room in which was a bed. On it lay Gerda, writhing in pain.

“Please … help …” stammered’ Frau Leiben.

I went to Gerda.

“Gerda,” I said, ‘what is it? Where is the pain? “

She did not answer, but went on moaning.

I turned to Frau Leiben.

“Go at once to the hospital. Tell one of the doctors he must come here at once.”

She hastily put on boots and cape and was off. She was a frightened woman and so was I when I turned to the girl, for I could see that she was very ill indeed.

I put my hand on her forehead; it was very hot.

“Gerda,” I said.

“You know me. I am here with you. I’m going to take care of you.”

That seemed to soothe her a little. I kept my hand on her forehead.

But after a few minutes she was screaming with pain.

Never had time passed so slowly. It seemed hours before Dr. Fenwick arrived. He took one look at Gerda and said to me:

“Go back to the hospital, arrange some transport. I want her in the hospital quickly.”

I ran off.

And so we brought Gerda to Kaiserwald. She was given a small room little more than a cell but she could not have gone with the others.

Dr. Bruckner was with Charles Fenwick and they sent for one of the nurses. I was a little hurt, because I was not the one. I had felt I could soothe Gerda. She knew me and I believe she trusted me. I found it difficult to go back to my work without knowing what was happening.

It was late. I could not sleep. I decided to do what I could to find out. I crept along to the room in which Gerda lay. It was very quiet and a terrible fear came to me.

The door of her room opened and Charles Fenwick came out. He stared at me.

“Miss Pleydell!” he said.

“I was anxious about Gerda,” I said.

“She’s a little better.”

“Thank God.”

“She will live, though it is touch and go.”

“May I see her?”

“Better not. Wait until tomorrow. She has been very ill.”

“What was it?”

He looked at me steadily but did not answer.

“You should go to bed,” he said at length.

“You’ll have to be up early in the morning. ” He laid his hand on my arm.

“She will recover. She is strong and healthy. I’ll talk to you in the morning. Good night. Miss Pleydell.” There was nothing I could do but return to my bed.

The next morning I went to her room. I opened the door and looked in.

She was lying in bed with her yellow hair loose about her face. She was very pale and looked as though she were dead.

One of the nurses was sitting by her bed.

I said a Guten Morgen and asked after the patient.

“She has had a quiet night,” was the answer.

In the afternoon Charles Fenwick came to me and asked if Henrietta and I would be going for a walk in the forest. When I said we should, he asked if he might accompany us.

As we walked under the trees I asked about Gerda.

“Has she really recovered?”

“I think it will be some weeks before she does so completely. She almost killed herself.”

“Killed herself!” I cried.

“She had an accomplice, of course.”

“What do you mean?” demanded Henrietta.

“Gerda was pregnant. She has just had an abortion.”

“What?” I cried. That’s impossible! “

“She’s too young,” said Henrietta.

“She was old enough,” said Charles.

“Gerda! No. I won’t believe it.”

“That girl knows more than you would give her credit for. In the first place she becomes pregnant and then she attempts to do away with the child.”

“Which she has done, presumably,” said Henrietta.

“And nearly killed herself in the process.”

“I still can’t believe it.”

“The evidence makes it clear.”

“But who …?”

“There must be people who would take advantage of a girl like that.”

Vague scraps of conversation came to me. What had she said about meeting the Devil in the forest? What could she have been implying?

Whom could she have meant?

The poor innocent child,” I said.

“Not so innocent,” corrected Charles.

“She knew what it was all about when she decided to be rid of the child.”

“But how could a girl like that get the means …?”

“No doubt she took something given to her by her lover.”

“This is terrible. Do you know who it could possibly be?”

He shook his head.

“Someone with a little knowledge of these things.”

“A little knowledge can be dangerous. Have you spoken to her?”

“No. She is too ill. I am only thankful that we brought her here in time. But for you. Miss Pleydell, calling us in so that we were able to bring her to the hospital … well, it could have been the end of Gerda.”

“I’m so glad I passed the cottage that day. Why didn’t Frau Leiben call for help?”

“She probably knew what was wrong and thought she could manage to look after the girl.”

“You mean the grandmother may have procured that stuff?’

”One never knows. All I can tell you is that Gerda was pregnant and took something calculated to get rid of the baby . and it did . though in the process it nearly got rid of Gerda herself. “

“It’s a terrible thing …”

“I shall warn her about taking such things. She must never do it again.”

Henrietta was thoughtful.

“Well, it worked,” she said.

“That’s what Gerda will say.”

“We must impress on her that she must never do it again.”

“Her own suffering will do that more forcefully than any talking could do,” I said.

“That’s true,” agreed Charles Fenwick.

“But she should never have done what she did.”

“Never have been carried away by the blandishments of a lover,” added Henrietta.

“But people are human.”

“I’d like to know how she got hold of that stuff. Some old woman, most likely. That should be discovered and stopped.”

“Well,” said Henrietta thoughtlessly, ‘perhaps it has turned out for the best. “

“I should not like to have to make a decision on that,” said Charles.

“And I should very much like to know more about the case. First, who was the scoundrel who took advantage of her innocence, and who was the one who gave her that destructive potion. I want her watched for a day or so until she is back to normal.”

“You think she isn’t normal now?”

“I do not. She is in a sort of daze.”

“One is never sure what Gerda knows.”

“She is sure to be in a highly emotional state. I am going to suggest that you. Miss Pleydell, are put in charge of her. I could not ask you earlier as we needed a nurse experienced in midwifery. Now I think you will be the best for her.”

“Shall I go to her right away?”

“First I will see the Head Deaconess. She has agreed that you shall look after the girl, but I will see her first… as soon as we return.”

I sat by her bed. How frail she was! I stroked the unruly curls back from her narrow brow, and she opened her eyes and smiled at me.

“I’m in Kaiserwald,” she said.

“That’s right. You’ve been ill and you are getting better.”

She nodded and closed her eyes.

I continued to stroke her brow.

“That’s nice,” she murmured.

“It makes me feel better.”

She slept a while and I did not wake her until I took some gruel to her.

“Am I going to stay here?” she asked.

“Until you are better.”

“I was ill, wasn’t I?” Her face crumbled.

“It hurt. It hurt so much.”

“It was because of what you took, Gerda. Where did you get that medicine?”

She smiled secretively.

“Did you know what it would do?”

“It was to make me better.”

“It gave you a lot of pain.”

“It made me better.”

I said: “You told me about the Devil. You met him in the forest. Was it the Devil who gave it to you?”

She wrinkled her brow.

“Who was it you met in the forest, Gerda?”

She was silent.

“You told me it was the Devil.”

She nodded. Her face changed and she was smiling. I could see that in her mind she was back there with whoever it was who had seduced her.

“Who?” I whispered.

She whispered back: “It was the Devil.”

“And who gave you the medicine?”

She closed her eyes. She looked very ill and I thought I should not be questioning her. I am bringing it all back to her, I thought. I am worrying her when what she needs is peace. I must wait until she is better.

But something told me I was not going to find my answer from Gerda.

Gerda grew stronger every day. After two weeks she left Kaiserwald and went back to her grandmother. She looked very frail, daintier than ever; and she seemed quite guileless and unaware of what had happened.

I did talk to her grandmother once. The poor old lady was griefstricken. I tried to comfort her.

She said: “That it should happen to one of mine! I never thought to see that.”

“Frau Leiben,” I said, ‘have you any idea who . “

She shook her head.

“There aren’t many young men about here. They go to the towns when they’re old enough. There’s little for them here . and those who are here are decent young men. They wouldn’t take advantage of Gerda. “

“I suppose one can never be sure what people will do on impulse. She talked about the Devil.”

“One of her fancies. She was always one for fancies. She talks sometimes of seeing the trolls. It’s due to all those tales Herman used to tell her.”

“And that stuff she took. Did you see anything of that?”

“Nothing. I thought she was a little changed. I had no idea that she was three months gone.”

“It must have been a great shock. What has upset the doctors is that she might have killed herself. They would like to know who gave her whatever she took. If you should ever find out, I think you should let the doctors know. They are very anxious that such a thing should not occur again.”

She looked startled.

“Oh,” I said quickly, ‘they weren’t thinking of Gerda, but of some other girl who might find herself in a similar position. “

“If I knew I would tell,” she said.

And I believed her.

February was almost upon us. It was the month of our departure. Our minds had been so taken up with Gerda’s affair that we had not realized how speedily the time was passing.

Our walks through the forest took on a new significance for me. Often I thought: I shall soon say goodbye to all this. I wonder if I shall ever see it again.

It had been a very worthwhile experiment. It had in a way put a bridge between me and my grief. There had been quite long periods when I had been so involved in what was going on around me that I had forgotten my loss. Now I could believe that I was on the way to making a new life for myself.

Charles Fenwick contrived to be free when we were and the three of us walked together in the forest. Talk now was about plans for going home.

Charles said that it was good to see what was happening in Germany, and it was very commendable, but of course there was plenty of room for improvement even here, in diagnoses if not in nursing care.

“They will miss you two,” he said.

“You must have been a most useful acquisition to the nursing staff.”

“They’ll miss you, too,” I replied.

“Well, Kratz and Bruckner are very efficient … very methodical, very conscientious.”

“Very German,” added Henrietta.

“You could say that. They have made this into an excellent establishment. I had heard good reports about it from a friend of mine who was here not long ago.”

“Another doctor, I suppose?”

“Yes, a very eminent man. Dr. Adair.”

“And he was favourably impressed?”

“Very. And he would be hyper-critical. He did say there could be improvements. But he is appalled by conditions in hospitals throughout the world.”

“Perhaps he will do something about it?”

“I feel sure he will. He is the sort of man who takes up something and very soon it is done. His energy is prodigious.”

“He sounds something of a paragon,” said Henrietta.

“I don’t know about that.” He laughed.

“There have been some scandals about him.”

“I am becoming more and more interested,” cried Henrietta.

“Well, there always would be about such a man. He has been out East.. travelled very widely … lived among the natives as one of them.

He has written books about his adventures. He believes that we should not shut our eyes to the methods of other races simply because they are alien to us. He believes that people may have drugs or methods of healing that we might well learn from. “

My heart was beating furiously. I heard myself say: “What did you say this doctor’s name was?”

“Adair.”

“I read a book once by a doctor who did just that. But it was not Adair.”

“Was it Damien?”

“Yes.”

Charles laughed.

“That is his name … his Christian name. He writes under the name of Damien. Apparently it would be inconvenient to use his full name. He needs some anonymity.”

I was looking at Henrietta. She opened her mouth to speak, but I silenced her with a look.

I said slowly: “And he was here recently?”

“Oh yes. It must have been only a short time before you arrived.”

I felt dizzy. We might have met him. I pictured myself coming face to face with him.

“Do you see him … often?” I asked.

“Good Heavens, no! He’s here, there and everywhere. He’s always busy on some project. An eminent man, as I said. But I did happen to see him when he came back this time. He told me about this place and said it was well worth a visit. As a matter of fact, he arranged it for me.”

“That’s very interesting,” I said.

“After having read his books …”

“Perhaps you will meet him one day.”

“I hope to,” I replied.

When he left us to see a patient, Henrietta said: “At last we are on the trail.”

“Just think. We might have met him.”

“Fate must have brought us here. I wonder about him. Charles seems to think highly of him. Do you detect a little hero-worship?”

“Yes,” I said.

“It’s the effect he seems to have on some people. My brother-in-law Stephen was the same.”

“He must be a fascinating man.”

“He’s devilish,” I said.

“Well, that doesn’t mean he isn’t fascinating. That sort of person can be … very. What are we going to do?”

“I’m not sure. But at least we have discovered who he is. We know his name. That’s a great step forward.”

“And now we are qualified nurses. But would you say we were qualified?”

“Hardly, after a few months making beds and washing linen.”

“Still, Kaiserwald has a name, and now we are in the profession, who knows, we might come across him somewhere. We’ve got to do all we can to make sure we do … and do you think Charles is going to say ” Goodbye and it was nice to have met you” when we get home? Because I don’t. I think we have a friend there. And don’t forget he is a friend of our Demon Doctor. We will invite him to the house. That will please Jane and Polly. And we will say or I will, because that sort of thing comes more naturally from me ” And do bring that fascinating friend of yours. We are so interested in the East and as you know, Anna was once in India. “

I felt an immense excitement at the prospect.

“Which one of us will slip the hemlock into his glass?” went on Henrietta.

“It had better be your task. You have the stronger feelings. I have just a terrible fear that I might fall in love with him.”

“You are quite repulsive.”

“Yes, I know I am. But it is all rather exciting.”

“There is something which has occurred to me, Henrietta.”

“Please tell.”

“He was here. Remember he is devilish. Perhaps he saw Gerda in the forest. She said it was the Devil, didn’t she? Perhaps …”

She stared at me aghast.

“Oh no, not our much travelled, worldly, brilliant Devil Doctor and simple little Gerda.”

“Why not? I could imagine her being very attractive to a man like that. He would experiment. Isn’t he always experimenting? And where did she get the potion or whatever it was that almost killed her?

Charles said it was something very effective. Somebody who knew about such things would have given it to her. “

Henrietta continued to stare at me in disbelief.

“It fits,” she said.

“It’s too much of a coincidence. He was here. You can imagine him .. probing into methods … harrying poor old Bruckner and Kratz, bearding H.D. in her den, demanding to know this and that. His supercilious smile, his condemnation of everything. I expect his German is fluent.

It would be, wouldn’t it? And then . for a little light relaxation he strolls in the woods and there he comes upon the pretty little goose girl. Simple, desirable, experimental material.

“Come with me, child. I will show you the delights of nature.” Perhaps he thought it would be a good idea to see what sort of child this simplest of girls could produce after mating with the most brilliant of men. On the other hand, he gave her the dosage. Better perhaps to eliminate all evidence of that frolic in the woods. Perhaps after all, that was all it was . a little light recreation for the god on Earth. “

“All this has occurred to me. I am becoming more and more convinced that he is responsible. Who else could it be? Frau Leiben’s neighbours would respect her granddaughter too much to do such a thing. They are kind people … neighbourly friendly. Oh, how I wish Gerda would tell us.”

“At least,” said Henrietta, ‘we now know who our quarry is. Never fear, we shall track him down in time. I feel it in my bones. “

“Yes,” I said.

“We shall.”

It was a mild February day when we arrived back in England. We had stood on the deck and watched the white cliffs getting nearer Henrietta on one side of Charles, I on the other. We all admitted to a certain emotion at being in sight of home.

Charles insisted on taking us right to the house. From there he would go to his home in the Midlands. He was a little uncertain about what he would do. His father was in practice and he might join him. He had, however, thought of going into the army, for he believed there was a dearth of doctors in that sphere and they were greatly needed.

At the moment he was wavering between prospects. It was for that reason he had wanted to go to Kaiserwald to, as he said, ‘sort the thing out’.

Joe was waiting with the carriage at the station and his pleasure at seeing us was evident.

“Them girls of yours, Miss Pleydell, have been counting the days,” he said. “You’re a fine pair,” I said to them.

“Living like ladies you are, and pining to have ‘em back.” They said it wasn’t natural just being there without you two ladies to look after. “

“It’s a nice welcome home,” I said.

And when we arrived Jane’s and Polly’s delight was obvious. They were a little shy so unlike them and I was deeply touched.

Then there was all the bustle. Lamb chops done with sauce, “Miss Marlington being so fond Of them. And there’s some of that there cheese for you. Miss Pleydell. Jane went all over the place to find it. Ain’t it a mystery how they’ve never got what you want when you want it.”

“A little like life,” I commented.

“This is Dr. Fenwick who was with us at Kaiserwald.”

Jane and Polly dropped little curtsies.

“And he’ll be here for lunch. Miss? “

“Yes.”

“Lay another place. Poll.”

It was good to be home.

I wanted to hear about Lily and they exchanged looks which were revealing.

“And she’s delighted?”

“My goodness. Miss, you should see them Clifts. You’d think nobody had ever had a baby before.”

My thoughts went back to poor little Gerda who must have been very frightened to take that evil medicine. How different was Lily.

Luncheon was served with great ceremony. Charles was impressed by the devotion of our servants. He kept saying how glad he was that we had met at Kaiserwald.

“It was quite the nicest thing that happened there.”

When he left in the afternoon Joe took him to the station.

“We shall meet again soon,” he said before he went.

“I shall be in London and I’ll call, if I may.”

“We shall look forward to that.”

He took my hand and that of Henrietta. I thought how good he would be for her, but I did wonder whether she would be for him. I was so fond other; but at times she seemed a little reckless, so eager to grasp at life. Compared with her, I was a sober experienced woman. Perhaps that was what suffering did for one.

In any case I hoped that we should see Charles Fenwick again.

It was difficult settling into the old life. There had been so much to do at Kaiserwald that we had snatched at our few hours of leisure. At first it seemed so luxurious to sleep in a comfortable bed, to have one’s breakfast brought in to one which Jane and Polly insisted on doing to have a varied diet of dishes tastefully prepared. How different from thin broth and the same vegetables over and over again, a real cup of tea instead of that brewed from rye. Jane’s comment was that they had starved us at that place. You could never trust foreigners and Jane and Polly were going to feed us up; they prepared delicacies which we had to eat for fear of offending them.

“You will make us into two fat ladies,” complained Henrietta. She looked wryly at her hands and I glanced at mine no longer beautiful.

Wielding a scrubbing brush and constant immersion in water had made them chapped, and the nails, which had been a problem often, were only just beginning to grow normally.

Henrietta said that our first task would be to bring them back to their pre-Kaiserwald state, for such hands as ours had become would never be accepted in London society.

“Are we going into London society?” I asked.

“We have to be ready to pursue our Devil Doctor whenever the opportunity occurs, and I have a notion that he moves in the highest circles.”

We smothered our hands in goose grease every night and went to bed in cotton gloves.

Often I thought of Gerda, and I felt a great anger against the man who had seduced her. I was sure it was he the man who had ruined Aubrey’s life and had failed to save my son’s. And I hated him as much as I ever had.

On the very day of our arrival, Lily came to see us. She was radiant and already looked a little matronly.

We told her how delighted we were and she talked a great deal about the coming baby; it was clear that she was a very contented young woman.

“And I owe it all to you. Miss,” she said.

“Just think, if I hadn’t been run down by your carriage …”

“Perhaps you owe it to the man who almost ripped off the buttons. You see, Lily, causes and effects are everywhere. They go back and back in time.”

“I suppose you’re right. Miss. But I reckon I owe it all to you.”

“I’m happy to see you happy, Lily.”

“There’s only one thing to worry us.”

“What’s that?”

“That William might have to go away.”

“You mean into foreign service?”

“Well, that wouldn’t be so bad, because I’d go with him, taking the baby. But it’s all this talk of war.”

“War?”

“Oh, you’ve been away. The papers have been full of it. Something about Russia and Turkey and all the people saying we ought to show ‘em, and calling for Lord Palmerston and all that.”

“I see.” Some of the joy had gone out of her face.

“You see. Miss, William is a soldier.”

“Yes, of course. It’s a pity. He might have been working in his father’s shop.”

“That’s what I’d like him to do. Of course, he looks very fine in his uniform.”

“And that’s how you fell in love with him. Don’t worry. Perhaps nothing will come of it. After all, the trouble is between Russia and Turkey.”

“That’s what William’s father says. But there’s been a lot in the papers and there are people as thinks we ought to be out there fighting.”

“Well, let’s hope nothing comes of it.”

But when I saw the papers and read some of the comments, I could understand why Lily was worried. I realized that in Kaiserwald we had been cut off from world affairs and that we were nearer to war than I had imagined. The great powers of Europe had attempted to intervene and bring about a peace between Russia and Turkey but Russia was determined to overcome what she called the “Sick Man of Europe’, meaning Turkey, and would accept nothing but surrender. Negotiations were broken off and war seemed imminent.

There was tension in the streets. Everywhere one went there was talk of war. The headlines in the newspapers demanded intervention; anyone who stood against it was a traitor. We should go in, it was said, and we could settle the Russians in a week.

Battles are so easily fought and won at the dinner table or in the clubs or any place where people congregate; and the war was the main topic. Lord Palmerston should come back. He would show the Russians the might of Britain. Something had to be done. Russia was not only threatening Turkey, but us. Aberdeen’s policy of peace at any price was the reason for Russia’s intransigence, said some. Had Britain stood up and showed her intention to save Turkey, it would never have gone so far.

“Call back Palmerston,” screamed the press.

They blamed the Queen who was known to be against war, but most of all they blamed her husband.

It could not go on.

A few weeks passed. It was March of that memorable year. The paper boys were running through the streets shouting the news and people were dashing out of their houses to buy papers.

“France declares war on Russia.”

Now how could Britain stand aside?

The very next day it came. We were drawn into the conflict.

The disastrous Crimean War had begun.

Poor Lily! Her joy was tempered with anxiety. William had his marching orders. Lily said twenty times a day: “They say it won’t last more than a week or two once our boys get out there.”

And we pretended to agree with her.

On the day William left we were all in the streets. The Queen watched the parade from the balcony at Buckingham Palace, proudly smiling down on all her fine soldiers. It was a splendid and deeply moving sight. The shouts were deafening and the people cheered the magnificent guards with the little drummer boys marching ahead on their way to embarkation at the docks. The triumphant sound of the bands rang out:

Some talk of Alexander, and some of Hercules Of Hector and Lysander, and such great names as these.

But of all the world’s great heroes, there’s none that can compare With a tow row row row row row for the British Grenadier.

I watched with the music ringing in my ears and looked at Lily who was soon to be a mother, and I prayed that William would come safely home to her.

Polly and Jane thought the soldiers were lovely and they were determined, as they said, ‘to jolly Lily out of herself, so we all went back to the house and talked about the baby and we showed Lily the clothes we had collected for the layette; and Lily’s spirits were lifted to some degree.

The next day we had a visitor. It was Charles Fenwick.

“I am in London for two days,” he said, ‘so I had to come and see you.

I am going to the Crimea. “

“When?” I asked.

“Immediately. The war has made up my mind. They are going to need doctors badly at the front. I applied to go and was accepted at once and I am on my way.”

“I wish you all the luck.”

He smiled at me and then at Henrietta.

“When I come back,” he said, ‘we must all meet again. May I call? “

“We shall be most put out if you do not,” said Henrietta.

Our leave taking was a little brusque. I think we were all trying to hide our emotions.

People could talk of hardly anything but war. I think they had expected miracles of the army and they were impatient because there was no news of victory.

Promptly on time Lily’s baby appeared and there was great rejoicing in both the Clift household and our own. Little Willie made even the war recede a little. He was a healthy, lusty boy and the pride of Lily’s heart. We discussed him endlessly; as for Jane and Polly, they were overcome with delight in the child.

The diversion was welcome, for the euphoria of the people was beginning to evaporate.

What was happening out there? The summer was almost over when we heard of the victory of the British and French at the Alma. The war would soon be over now, everyone was saying. Our soldiers were out there and that spoke for itself. But disturbing accounts were appearing in The Times, whose war correspondent, William Howard Russell, was sending home some very alarming despatches.

There was a cholera epidemic which had smitten the army and men were dying, not of battle wounds but of disease. The hospital equipment was pitiful. The organization was non-existent and it was the lack of medical supplies and attention which was defeating our men. The enemy was disease and mismanagement not the Russians.

The people were restive, looking for scapegoats; in vain did the army attempt to suppress these despatches; the hideous stories kept coming through.

Something had to be done.

One day there was a paragraph in the papers which startled us.

ad air for the Crimea, it announced.

I read it aloud to Henrietta.

Dr. Damien Adair is to go to the Crimea. He says that he is deeply shocked by what is happening out there. He wants to look into what is going on. He says it seems like an example of crass mismanagement. Dr. Adair is that doctor whose Eastern travels have interested so many. He is an expert on the use of drugs in medicine. He left today and should shortly be on the spot.

I dropped the paper and looked at Henrietta.

“How I wish,” I said, ‘that I could be there. “

“What harm do you think he will do?”

I shook my head.

“Wherever he is, disaster follows.”

“It seems it has come to the Crimea without him.”

“I wonder …”

“So do I.”

“Wouldn’t it be exciting … if we could go?”

“We should never be allowed to.”

“I’ve always told myself that nothing is impossible.”

Henrietta shrugged her shoulders.

“He’ll soon be back. Perhaps he’ll be in London with Charles. Then we can ask them both to dinner.”

I kept thinking of him with his demon face and those poor men lying at his mercy in some ill-equipped hospital.

The Russell articles could not be ignored. Something had to be done and it was.

The next item of news was that Miss Florence Nightingale had been asked to get together a group of nurses to take out to the Crimea.

That was all we needed.

Henrietta, through her connections, had soon acquired the information as to how the nurses would be selected. We were to present ourselves at the home of the Herberts, who had lent it to Miss Nightingale for this purpose. It was in Belgrave Square and when we arrived we had to face four ladies, one of whom was known to Henrietta. I was not sure that this was an advantage, for she would have known of Henrietta’s breaking off her engagement to Lord Cariton, which would be considered a feckless action, particularly as she had gone off and escaped from her social circle, disappearing into near obscurity.

We were studied with some amazement.

“Do you realize that this is going to be very hard work?” we were asked.

“It is not for young ladies like you.”

I retorted rather warmly: “We have been for just over three months at Kaiserwald. There we worked very hard indeed and learned something about tending the sick. I think that I have an aptitude for the work and indeed this could be confirmed by the Head Deaconess of Kaiserwald. It is my firm desire to join the party of nurses. I hope you will consider us.”

“We have no doubt,” was the answer, ‘that you are the sort of person Miss Nightingale would want, but I am warning you. The majority whom we have seen have been working girls without employment. girls who have to earn a living. “

“We want to come,” I said earnestly.

“Miss Marlington?” said our inquisitor, looking at Henrietta.

“I was at Kaiserwald. I worked hard and I want to go very much.”

“I will put your names before Miss Nightingale and I will tell her what impression you have made.”

We left not exactly elated.

“I think,” said Henrietta sombrely, ‘that I may have spoilt it for us both. They know of me and they regard me as feckless and frivolous.

I’m sorry, Anna. You should have gone alone. They would have seized you, but I fancy you are a little contaminated by your proximity to one who has proved herself no asset to society. “

“Nonsense,” I said.

“We’ll go and we’ll go together.”

A little to my amazement, I was proved right.

A few days later we both had a note to say that we were accepted.

During the weeks which followed there was no time to think of anything but our impending departure. The journey to Kaiserwald had seemed an exciting adventure but it was nothing to this.

Jane and Polly were wide-eyed with amazement when they heard what we were going to do.

“Lord ‘a mercy,” said Polly, “I never heard the likes of what you two ladies get up to. I should have thought young men was what Miss Henrietta ought to be thinking of … As for you. Miss Pleydell, a little of that wouldn’t do you a bucketful of harm.”

“We have made up our minds that we are going out to nurse the wounded soldiers.”

Lily said: “If it wasn’t for young Willie, I’d come with you. Look out for William, won’t you, Miss.”

I said I would.

Joe shook his head in disbelief.

“And who’s going to be riding in the carriage when you’re out there?” he demanded.

“Carriages isn’t meant to stand in Mews. They want to be out and about, rolling along the road.”

“It can wait until we come back.”

“You be careful,” said Joe.

“Wars is dangerous things.”

When we brought home our uniforms Jane and Polly were too shocked for speech. We had been told that the nurses would be dressed all alike.

There were no concessions for ladies. We would all eat together, share duties and wear the same uniform. Miss Nightingale planned it so to create a new professionalism.

I must admit to a certain horror when I saw what we were to wear.

“Why,” demanded Henrietta, ‘do we have to be ugly to be efficient? “

“Perhaps they are meant to imply: ” Keep off, you gallant gentlemen. We are bent on duty. “

“I don’t think any gentleman will feel very gallant when he sees us in these. Yours is too small. Mine is too big.”

It was true. The uniforms were not made to measure. There were sizes and we were given the nearest to what would fit us. We had what was called a wrapper, which was a tweed dress in an ugly shade of grey; a jacket of worsted in the same dull colour; a woollen cloak and a white cap.

When Lily saw them she held up her hands in dismay.

“Wherever did they find such things?” she demanded.

“They are designed especially to show that we are not to be regarded as objects of admiration,” I explained. Then I said to Henrietta: “You don’t look too bad in yours.”

“Which is more than I can say for you. You look as if you’ve robbed a scarecrow.”

Lily commented: “They wouldn’t look quite so awful if they fitted.”

“Perhaps you can shorten Henrietta’s and turn up the sleeves,” I suggested.

Lily examined the garment.

“Yes, I can do that.”

“But I think mine is a hopeless case.”

She was kneeling at my feet.

“There’s a tidy hem here … and as you’re like a beanpole you don’t take up much in the body. I could lengthen the sleeves, too.”

She got to work immediately, eager to do something for us. She was more sombre than the others. I think Jane and Polly thought our going to the Crimea was something of a joke. Lily did not take it quite like that. But I think she was secretly glad we were going. She had such a high opinion of me and believed I could look after William, for it seemed to her that I should be sure to find him, since we were going to the same place.

There was a slight improvement in our uniforms when they fitted better; and Lily, with her needle, was a miracle worker.

Feverishly we prepared for our departure, and on a bright October Saturday morning, we set out for London Bridge on our journey to the Crimea.

All the nurses were travelling together and I had my first glimpse of Miss Nightingale. She was an extremely handsome woman, which surprised me. I had heard, through Henrietta, that she could have made a brilliant marriage and been a star of society; instead she was absorbed by her mission, which was to nurse the sick and to give England hospitals of which she could be proud. She was noble. She was admirable. In fact I thought then and this was confirmed later that she was the most remarkable woman I had ever met. She was aloof, yet at the same time obviously watchful of everything which was going on. She had a rare dignity and distinction; and I thought her wonderful.

We were to go to Boulogne, where we would disembark and travel immediately to Paris, where we would spend one night; from there, we would go down to Marseilles, staying there for four days to enable supplies to be collected before we boarded the ship which was to take us to Scutari.

I was very eager to discover what our fellow nurses would be like.

There were forty of them.

“All sorts and conditions,” said Henrietta to me. And indeed they were so. There were about half a dozen very like ourselves; as for the rest, they baffled me. Some of them had ravaged faces and were not very young. I wondered why they had been chosen, and I learned afterwards that they had been accepted in desperation because it had not been easy to recruit nurses for such an under taking.

On the ship going to Boulogne, I had the opportunity of meeting some of them. Henrietta and I were on deck when one of the nurses, seeing Henrietta, called out: “Henrietta! How wonderful to see you! So you are in this, are you? I think it is going to be interesting.”

She was a tall woman of about thirty with haughty patrician features.

Henrietta introduced her: “Lady Mary Sims. Miss Pleydell.”

We shook hands.

“Dorothy Jarvis-Lee is here, too,” said Lady Mary.

“We came together.

When we heard about it, we were simply wild to come. Isn’t Florence marvelous? Do you know, I don’t think she wanted to take us. She wouldn’t at first. It was only when they found it so hard . She thought we shouldn’t care about mixing with hot pollot. Oh, there is Dot. Dot, I’ve found Henrietta Marlington. “

Mrs. Dorothy Jarvis-Lee came over. She was angular with a rather weather-beaten face, which suggested life in the country.

“Henrietta. So nice to see you.”

“And this is Miss Pleydell.”

We shook hands.

“I know you are a great friend of Henrietta. You went with her, didn’t you, to that place in Germany?”

“Yes, Kaiserwald,” I said.

“It is supposed to be one of those pioneer places. When I heard about this, I felt I had to come. After all, it is a way of serving one’s country.”

While we were talking I had noticed two women watching us. One was large and the other small and very pale. The larger one seemed to be bursting out of her uniform and the small one to hang in hers.

They were watching us intently and I saw a smile curve the lips of the big one. It was not very pleasant.

Then, turning to her companion, she said in a loud drawling voice which was obviously meant to be an imitation of that of Mrs. Jarvis-Lee: “Oh, ‘ello, Ethel, what are you doing ‘ere? Me … I’ve come to serve me country. I told Florence I’d come. I meter the other night at Lord Lummy’s castle and he said to me, “

“Ere, Eliza, why don’t you go and ‘elp Florence with the soldiers? Mind what company you keep ‘cos you’ll get some funny old birds going out with you. I don’t suppose they’ve ever made a bed in their lives. Never mind, it’ll be nice for you to mix in such company.”

There was silence while Mrs. Jarvis-Lee and Eliza looked at each other.

The contempt on one side, and the hostility could be felt.

Eliza said: “Come on, Ethel. I reckon we ought to be careful what company we keep. We don’t want to pick up with the likes of some.”

The smaller woman looked at us nervously, and big Eliza held her firmly by the arm as they walked off, Eliza swaying in a manner which she clearly thought was the affected manner of the rich.

“Well,” said Mrs. Jarvis-Lee, ‘if that is the son we have to live with there is going to be trouble. She was deliberately insolent. I shall refuse to eat at the same table with people like that. I think there should be some way of seeing that ladies are kept separate from them.”

“I believe the rules are that we shall all be together and that there shall be no distinctions,” I said.

“I can see how impossible that will be,” was the response. And I felt that there would indeed be difficulties ahead.

I was amazed by the welcome which was given us when we embarked at Boulogne. Of course, the French were our allies; and I had no doubt that they also heard something of the conditions in Scutari and that we were going out to nurse the sick not only our men but theirs, also.

They took our baggage and carried it to the hotel where we were to eat; there we were given a good meal, free of charge so grateful were these good people, and so much did they admire what we were going to do.

It was about ten o’clock that night when we arrived at the Gare du Nord, to be feted again. We were all very tired and after eating we went to the beds provided for us. Lady Mary Sims and Mrs. Jarvis-Lee had collected three or four women rather like themselves and came with us.

Early next morning we were heading for Marseilles.

Our party kept together and we did a little sightseeing in Marseilles, making a few purchases of things we thought we should need. The resentment between Us and Them as Mrs. Jarvis-Lee put it was growing, and I wondered how much good we were going to do if there was bickering among ourselves. In vain did I look for someone who felt as I did about nursing. I knew Miss Nightingale did, but what of the others? I was certain that Lady Mary and Dorothy Jarvis-Lee looked upon this as an adventure to enliven the monotony of the days and at the same time serve the country in a spectacular way. Several of the ‘ladies’ felt that, I was sure. On the other hand there were those who had worked now and then in hospitals and had some experience, but who were with us not because of a dedication to the nursing profession but because they needed to earn a living, and they thought that this might be an easy way of doing so.

Some of them smuggled bottles of gin into their luggage and it soon became obvious that there were several who indulged in tippling whenever they had the opportunity.

I thought of the strict discipline at Kaiserwald and the Deaconesses who had scarcely gone outside the hospital; and I trembled to think of how we should manage at Scutari.

My first sight of the Vectis was not very inspiring. She was an old ship, very battered, and even to a person who knew so little of such things it was obvious that she was scarcely in mint condition.

We boarded her at Marseilles for the trip to the Bosphorus and as soon as we settled in I knew that my fears were well grounded. Cockroaches scuttled across the decks . quick, silent, horrible. I don’t know why they filled me with such revulsion; they were harmless, I supposed. I think it must have been because they were the outward sign of uncleanliness. It was impossible to walk without treading on them.

There was little comfort on board that ship. Even in calm seas its creaks and shudders alarmed me. We were eight in a cabin, and Dorothy Jarvis-Lee, who was adept in such matters, had marshalled eight of us to share.

“We want none of them near us,” she declared.

“I hope we are not going to spend very long on this dreadful ship.”

We had not been a day at sea when we ran into a violent gale, and our poor unseaworthy vessel was tossed about unmercifully by the cruel waves. Almost everyone was smitten with appalling seasickness and only wanted to stay in their bunks. I was relieved when we reached Malta, but quite a number of the nurses were too ill to go ashore Miss Nightingale herself was laid low; and the ship had sustained some damage in the storm.

Henrietta and I went sightseeing with some of the nurses, in the charge of a soldier who was stationed at Malta headquarters. He herded us all together like sheep and it was not much fun. I was glad to return to the ship and to resume our journey, for I felt that the sooner we arrived at our destination and could leave the rickety Vectis the better.

Then we were on our way. The weather had not improved. The wind was howling round us and it was impossible to stand up.

I could not endure the fetid cabin with so many of my fellow travellers including Henrietta very sick, so I staggered out on to the open deck. The wind was fierce and the ship groaned and creaked so continuously that I felt that at any moment it was going to be torn apart, and I wondered what chances I should have in that turbulent water.

I almost crawled my way to a bench and sat down. I clung to the sides of it for I felt that at any moment I should be picked up and flung against the rail. So violent was the storm, so frail the vessel, that I began to believe that we should all be drowned. How strange that I should have come to such a point only to have reached the end.

I realized then how much I wanted to live. When Julian had died I had at times thought rather longingly of going with him. But now that death seemed very close, I knew how much I wanted to survive. The thought surprised me. Desperately I wanted to live, to do something with my life to save life, to nurse the sick to health. It did not seem a world-shattering ambition. To be a nurse! It was not like being a great scientist or a doctor.

My thoughts switched to Dr. Damien Adair. What was his purpose? I thought I knew. Honour for himself. Kudos. To strut upon the stage with the great, to be Dr. Adair who had made amazing discoveries, who had lived a wildly adventurous life, who used people for his experiments and had not cared what became of them. If they died, it was all in a cause the cause of the aggrandisement of the scientific discoveries of the great Dr. Adair.

He had experimented with Aubrey. A terrible sadness came upon me when I thought of Aubrey. I think it was guilt. I kept remembering those first weeks of our honeymoon when everything had been perfect. And it could have been but for his addiction, which had ruined our marriage.

And it was due to that man. I knew Aubrey was weak and should not have allowed himself to be led. But men like Damien Adair preyed on the weakness of others. They cared nothing for the ruins they left behind.

All that mattered to Damien Adair was the acquisition of knowledge which he would use for his own glory. He had ruined my husband; then he had experimented on my son. He had destroyed them both.

Oh, how much I wanted to live! I wanted to come face to face with him.

I wanted to stop him using other people as he had used my husband and my son.

I clung to the bench on which I sat.

“I am going to find him,” I said, ‘and I am going to nurse the sick. I am going to heal them . and I am going to find him. “

I was then aware of a frail figure stumbling along the deck. It was Ethel, the girl I had noticed before pale, thin, half nourished She was often with the blowsy and bellicose Eliza and incongruous companions they were.

I was sure the forceful Eliza was aware of the divisions between Them and Us which were already building up, and she resented them deeply.

But this was frail Ethel.

I watched her staggering along. At times I thought she would be thrown over. She was so light. She clung to the rail and leaned over; she stood very still for a while, the wind tearing at her hair and shrieking around her like a thousand banshees . looking down into the swirling waters. She moved . lilting herself. I knew instantly what she intended to do.

I dashed from my bench. The wind impeded me and the rolling of the ship made progress difficult, but I struggled towards her with all my strength.

“No!” I shrieked, but my voice was caught on the wind and she must have thought it part of the storm.

I reached her just as she was going over. I seized her and pulled her to safety.

She turned and looked at me. I saw the despair in her little face. I cried: “No .. no. You must not. That’s not the way.”

She continued to stare at me and I took her arm. I dragged her to the bench. She sat beside me, my arm in hers holding her tightly.

“I saw … in time,” I said.

She nodded.

“I wanted to. It was best, really.”

“No. You just feel like that now. You’ll feel differently later. I know.”

“He’s gone,” she said blankly as though talking to herself.

“I won’t never hold him again. He was so pretty. He was all I had, and now he’s gone.”

“Perhaps he’ll come back.”

“He’s dead,” she cried.

“Dead … dead … my little baby’s dead.”

I felt an immediate kinship with this girl.

I heard myself say: “I know … I know.”

“You can’t. Nobody can. My little baby was all I had. He was everything. There was nothing else. If I hadn’t have gone out . I had to, though. I had to get money somehow. He was my little baby and when I came back he was gone. I wanted to get things for him . good broth and milk and it was all for him. And I came in he was lying there . cold . stone cold . and his little face like wax.”

I kept saying: “I know. I understand. Nobody could understand better than I.”

The depth of my emotion seemed to convey itself to her. She turned to me and saw the anguish in my face. Oddly enough, it did not surprise her; and I realized that in that moment, a bond had been forged between us.

“Do you want to talk?” I asked.

“If you don’t, it doesn’t matter. Just sit with me.”

She was silent for a while, then she said: “I knew it was wrong. There wasn’t enough … not in sewing.”

Sewing! So she was in the same profession as Lily had been. I supposed there were many of them in attics stitching away for dear life.

Stitch, stitch, stitch In poverty, hunger and dirt, Sewing at once with a double thread A shroud as well as a shirt.

“I had to earn some money … for him.”

“Yes,” I said, “I understand.”

“I didn’t want him, but when he came … oh, he was all the world to me, my little Billy was. And then to come in like that and find him I should never have left him.”

“You had to. You did your best.”

She nodded.

“You shouldn’t have stopped me.”

“Yes, I should. You’ll see that one day. You’ll be glad.”

“You couldn’t know.”

“I could. I lost a child … a little boy.”

“You!”

“My husband is dead, too. I don’t tell people about it. I prefer to be thought… unmarried. It’s a secret.”

“I won’t tell.”

“Thank you. But you see why I understand. My little boy was everything to me.”

“He wouldn’t have gone hungry.”

“No. But I have lost him, all the same. I’m telling you this so that you know I understand.”

And then I was living it all again. I felt my cheeks wet, and not with spray.

She looked at me in wonderment and I saw that she was weeping too.

I don’t know how long we sat there, buffeted by the wind, not speaking. I was thinking of Julian and she of her child. We were as one two sad, bereaved women, silently sharing grief while the storm raged round us.

Someone had come on deck. It was Eliza. She made her staggering way towards us.

“Gawd a’mighty,” she cried.

“What are you doing here, Ethel?”

She sat down on one side of Ethel and stared at us. She must have thought we were an incongruous sight sitting there representatives of the opposing camps, silently weeping.

Ethel said: “I was going to end it, Liza.”

“You never was.”

“She … she stopped me.”

Eliza regarded me with hostility.

“She told me about herself. She was good … and she stopped me.”

“You should never have come up here on your own.”

“I had to, Liza. I couldn’t stand it no more.”

Eliza shook her head and I noticed how tenderly she spoke.

“What did you tell her?” she asked.

“About the boy.”

I said: “I understand. I lost a boy myself.”

Eliza stared ahead. She said: “We’ll all be overboard if this goes on.

I never knew it was going to be like this or you would never have got me on this lark. ” She turned to me, her expression softening: ” She needs looking after,” she added.

“Yes,” I agreed.

“She’s had bad luck. Cruel bad luck. She ain’t meant for all this.

Wants looking after. How was it? “

“I was sitting here. She came out and I saw her … I saw what she was going to do. I brought her here and we talked. We found we had had a similar experience.”

“You! Not you!”

“Yes. I was married. I lost my husband and my little boy.”

“Thought you was a Miss.”

Ethel spoke for the first time.

“It’s a secret. You mustn’t tell, Eliza. I’ve promised.”

“I prefer to be known as a single woman,” I said.

“It’s a way of forgetting.”

Ethel nodded vigorously as a gigantic wave almost lifted the ship out of the sea. In that moment we all thought we were going to be flung overboard.

“Do you think we are going to get there?” asked Ethel.

“God knows,” said Eliza.

As for myself, I wondered too. The crashing and pounding of the waves and the violent creaking of the timbers were unnerving. I was sure that in that moment we all-thought the ship was about to break up and we should all be flung into that turbulent sea. I felt that it did not really matter if they knew my secret. It helped Ethel to think of me as a bereaved mother, as she herself was. It occurred to me that it was a strange commentary on human nature that sorrow was easier to bear when other people suffered, too.

“Funny … to come all this way for this,” said Eliza.

“It is something I have never considered until now,” I answered.

“Well, there we are.” She paused.

“I worry about her,” she added.

“I know you do, Liza,” said Ethel.

“You shouldn’t. All I done was of my own free will.”

“I dunno. Times like this sets you thinking. You see. Miss er ..”

“Pleydell,” said Ethel.

“You mustn’t never mention she was. a Mrs. Somebody.”

“Do all them stuck-up friends of yours know?”

“Only Miss Marlington.”

“The pretty one? She’s your special friend. She don’t look so bad.”

“She is very nice. You would like her.”

“Can’t stand them others. Noses in the air. They look at you like you was stinking fish.”

“We are all here together and Miss Nightingale said there should be no distinction.”

“Oh, Miss Nightingale’s a real lady, she is.” She added a little hesitantly, “Like yourself.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“I wonder what it feels like to drown.”

“It would be quick in a sea like this,” I said comfortingly.

“The three of us would go down together,” said Ethel.

“I’m not sure it is as bad as that,” I said.

“Perhaps it seems so because we are unused to the sea.”

“Funny,” went on Eliza, “I never thought about dying … not yet anyway. That’s why I’m worried about her. You see, I was the one who started her off. It was all right for me. I thought it would be all right for her.”

“What happened?”

“You don’t mind if I tell her, do you, Eth? I’d like to get it off my chest. She couldn’t make a go of it. She was sewing half the night and still there wasn’t enough to keep her going. I said to her, ” Look here, girl, there’s an easier way. ” So I took her out with me. You get used to it. I did. I thought she would. Then she goes and falls in love with this chap. Silly girl.” She gave Ethel an affectionate push.

“And he’s all loveydovey and things look good for Ethel. He’s going to marry her and settle down. Then she’s going to have this child and he’s off. That’s about all. But you see, if I hadn’t brought her into it she would have been stitching away with just herself to keep and who knows, she might have got by.”

“You did what you could to help,” I said.

“That’s true. But it didn’t, did it? And then she went back to it all for the sake of the kid. And one day while she leaves him there, while she’s out on the game … she comes back and finds him gone.”

“It is so very sad.”

“She’s never got over losing him.”

“I know. One doesn’t.”

“Then I thought: Well, this is it. We’ll go to the war. We’ll be nurses. We both once did a spot of work in the hospitals. Horrible it was … washing dirty floors and not much for it. Anyway, it gave us what they call experience. But you see I’ve always felt I had to look after her.”

“I can see how she relies on you.”

“And then she creeps out and tries to do this. Just think. If you hadn’t been there, she would be down there now.”

“But I was here, and she has promised not to do it again. When she wants to talk about things she’ll come to me. We’ll talk about our little boys together.”

“I’m glad,” said Eliza.

“I’m glad you was there.”

We sat in silence, holding on to each other because of the pitching and tossing of the ship which threatened to dislodge us; and I think we all drew comfort from each other. I know I did from them.

The storm continued, abating for a while and then increasing. We spoke now and then, speculating as to what it would be like when we reached Scutari, speaking of ourselves. I told them about my visit to Kaiserwald, and I described the Deaconess and the magic of the forest.

They listened and sometimes I had almost to shout to make myself heard above the raging of the storm. Then I told them about my childhood in India and how my father had died.

I learned something of them both. Eliza had had a hard life. She had not known her own father but had a stepfather. When she was ten years old he had tried to ‘interfere with her’. She had hated him and left home, so she had learned to fend for herself at an early age. She had a great contempt for the opposite sex, so I guessed she had suffered a good deal at their hands. But she was strong and determined. I doubted anyone would get the better of Eliza nowadays. Ethel like Lily had come from the country to make her fortune in the big city.

Sad stories, both of them and I now felt that I knew them well. The truculence of Eliza was due to the fact that she had had to fight her way in the world; the timidity of Ethel was the manifestation of the knowledge that she was unable to.

We grew very close to each other on that night. We were very self-revealing probably because, in our minds, we thought that the Vectis might not survive the storm; and we found comfort in baring our souls.

It must have been for several hours that we sat, huddled together; and when the storm did abate and we found ourselves alive, a strong bond of friendship had been formed between us.