Seven for a Secret

Casker’s Island

At last, to our relief, it was Friday morning and the ferry boat was seen approaching. People hurried to the shore. Our guide of the first day came to us with his barrow and when the ferry came in we were ready waiting for it.

There were no special quarters on the ferry. We were told it would leave in the afternoon of that day and would arrive at Casker’s the following afternoon-providing all went well.

There was a great deal of noise on the shore as we prepared to leave.

We had been delayed because everything depended on how long it took to get the cargo on board. We were the only passengers who were to sail to Casker’s Island.

I could see that the arrival and the departure of a boat was a great event in the lives of the islanders, something which relieved the monotony of the days and of course they never knew what strangers would arrive with it. People like ourselves, who by their very difference made a diversion.

In due course we set sail and that night I sat on deck with Tamarisk and Luke, hoping that we might get a little sleep. The sea was calm, benign, and murmured softly as it washed against the side of the ferry. The night air was balmy and very pleasant. Every now and then I caught a phosphorescent gleam as a shoal of fish swam by.

Almost on the other side of the world was all that I cared for most.

There were times when I told myself I had been a fool. I should have been one of those who lived boldly. I had lost Crispin because I was afraid to stay. And what now? I could never forget. What a fool I had been to think I might.

The other two were dozing and I could only gaze on the quiet waters and everywhere I looked I seemed to see Crispin’s face.

It was mid-afternoon of the next day. I was sitting on deck when there was a shout from one of the ferrymen. He was waving his hands excitedly and indicating land on the horizon.

“Casker’s Island,” he cried.

And there it was a brown and green hump in a calm blue sea.

Several of the sailors were on deck to prepare for our approach. Luke and Tamarisk, with me, were beside them. I was filled with emotion.

After all these years, I was about to see my father.

Luke understood my feelings and laid his hand on my arm.

“This will be an important day for you,” he said.

I nodded.

“It is good that you will be together.”

“This island looks remarkably like Cato Cato to me,” said Tamarisk.

And as we grew nearer it certainly did. A number of brown-skinned people had gathered on the shore. They wore brightly coloured robes and beads about their necks and ankles. There came the sound of a musical instrument similar to that which I had heard on Cato Cato.

Naked children were running in and out of the sea, shouting with delight. Women with babies strapped to their backs and some with them simply clinging to them were waiting at the water’s edge. They screamed with delight as the ferry drew near.

“We have to see to the luggage,” said Luke.

“Aren’t we lucky to have the Saint to look after us?” said Tamarisk.

“We are indeed,” I replied.

The luggage was found; we were ready and as we stepped off the ferry a big man with a somewhat officious manner came towards us. He wore white cotton trousers and a blue shirt.

“Missie Hammond. Missie Hammond,” he was chanting.

“Yes, yes,” I cried.

“I am here.”

His big dark face broadened in a dazzling grin. He put his hands together and made a little bow.

“Missie Karla. She say come. I take.”

“Oh, thank you. This is wonderful!” I cried.

“There is some luggage and I have two friends here.”

He was grinning and nodded.

“Leave Macala. He do all.”

I turned to Tamarisk and Luke.

“I think my father must have sent him to meet us.”

I had expected him to be there himself. There was prob ably some reason why he was not, I told myself, and he had sent this man.

“Karla?” Tamarisk was saying.

“Who is Karla?”

The man Macala snapped his fingers in an imperious manner.

“Mandel!” he called.

“Mandel!” and a boy of about ten years came running up.

Macala reverted to his own tongue and the boy listened eagerly and nodded. Then he turned to us.

“You come. Follow.”

He led us to a cart which was drawn by two donkeys.

“I take,” said Macala.

“To Mr. Hammond?” I asked.

He nodded.

“I take.”

He indicated that we get into the cart.

“We won’t go without our luggage,” said Tamarisk.

At that moment the boy appeared. He was carrying one of our bags. He set it down and pointed backwards.

Macala nodded and, turning to us, grinned reassuringly.

“I get,” he said.

“Shouldn’t we help?” asked Luke.

“If you go with them you will leave us,” pointed out Tamarisk.

“This is all very strange and, after all, we are more important even than our luggage. I should have thought your father would have been here, Fred. He can’t live far away.”

I did not answer.

We need not have worried about the luggage. Macala returned in a short time with the boy and another tall man. Between them they carried all our bags.

We had a little of the currency we had used in Cato Cato and the man and the boy were overcome with joy when we gave this to them.

Then we set off, the cart trundled along through lush vegetation and in less than ten minutes we saw the house. It was raised a foot or so from the ground on props and there was only one floor. It was long and squat, made of white wood; and brightly coloured flowering shrubs grew profusely round it.

As we approached, a door on the porch opened and a woman stood there.

She was strikingly handsome, tall, statuesque. Her black hair was coiled loosely about her head, her face was less dark than most we had seen since our arrival on the island; it was very smooth and she had large luminous eyes and her smile, showing those perfect white teeth, was welcoming.

“You are Frederica,” she said, looking not at me but at Tamarisk.

“No,” I said.

“I am.”

She spoke English with a light lilting accent which was attractive.

“You have come at last. Ronald is so eager to have you here.”

She spoke my father’s name with a drawn-out emphasis on the first syllable. I was wondering who she was.

This is my friend, Mrs. Marchmont, who travelled with me. “

“Mrs. Marchmont,” she said.

“We’re happy that you have come.”

“And Mr. Armour who has helped us along the way. He is going to the mission.”

Her brows knitted together for a moment, then she was smiling again.

“I am Karia,” she said.

“We heard that the man Macala was sent by you.”

“Yes.”

“My father is here?”

“He is so happy that you are come.”

I looked round expectantly and she went on: “But come in. We do not want to stand here.”

She led the way into a room which was cool after the heat outside.

There were several windows. They were open but there was a mesh over them which I presumed was to prevent the insects coming in. The furniture appeared to be made of light-coloured wood which I supposed was bamboo.

“You must see your father first,” she said.

She looked at Tamarisk and Luke in a rather puzzled way. Her face was very expressive. One could almost read her thoughts. She was thinking that I should be alone when I met him.

Luke said in that quiet, understanding way which was typical of him:

“We can wait here. He’ll be eager to see you. Perhaps we could meet him later.”

I thought it was all rather mysterious and there must be some explanation for it.

Karia looked relieved and smiled gratefully at Luke while Tamarisk sat down in one of the bamboo chairs. Karia turned to me and said: “Come.”

She took me through a passage and, stopping before a door, opened it. She said in a very gentle voice: “She is here.”

He was sitting in a chair before the window. He did not even turn his head, which seemed very strange.

I followed Karia into the room and I stood beside his chair. Although he remained seated it was obvious that he was very tall. His whitish hair had a tinge of gold left in it; his features were classically regular. He had been-and still was a very handsome man. He said, in one of the most musical voices I have ever heard: “Frederica, my daughter, so you have come to see me. At last you are here.”

He put out a hand and went on: “I can’t see you, my dear. I am blind.”

My lips trembled as he went on: “Come close.” He stood up then and reached for me. He put his hands on my shoulders first, then lifted them to feel my face. He explored it with his fingers and then kissed me tenderly on the forehead.

“My dear child,” he said, ‘for so long I have waited for this meeting. ”

He recovered from that emotional scene more quickly than I did, and said he must meet Tamarisk and the young man who had been so helpful.

I went to them and told them my father was eager to meet them. I explained that he was blind.

They were astounded, but when he met them he seemed light-hearted and lively very much the man I had expected him to be from Aunt Sophie’s description of him.

He welcomed Tamarisk warmly and said how glad he had been when he had heard she was to accompany me; and most courteously he thanked Luke for his care of us during the voyage.

We sat and talked and Karia brought in a fruit drink.

She joined us and I noticed how watchful she was of my father, making sure the table for his glass was near him.

There was so much I had to discover about his household and I could see that Tamarisk was full of curiosity.

Luke eventually said he must get on to the mission where they would be expecting him.

“Macala will take you if you don’t mind the old cart,” said Karla.

“It is the best we have. The poor old donkeys are a trifle ancient but they will have to do until we replace them. They’ve done good service.”

“The mission house is about half a mile along the road from here,” said my father.

“So we shall be close neighbours. Whatever made you decide to come here?”

“It was offered me and I accepted,” said Luke.

My father nodded.

“You will be welcome here if you want a meal at any time, won’t he, Karla?”

“He will,” she answered.

When Luke had gone, my father said: “Poor young man. But he seems earnest. I hope things don’t go too badly for him.”

“You don’t seem to think very highly of the mission house,” I said.

“I suppose it’s all right as such places go. Converting the heathen is a very demanding occupation … unless, of course, the heathen are desirous of conversion.”

“And these are not?”

He lifted his shoulders.

“I dare say they like things the way they are. It’s easy if the spirits are in their favour and they can always placate them with some little offering. They don’t understand all that ” love your neighbour as yourself”. They are concerned with looking after themselves. They can’t spare much time for their neighbours.”

“Luke is a very good man,” I said.

“We call him St. Luke,” added Tamarisk.

My father smiled.

“Yes,” he said.

“There is an aura of gentleness about him. I hope you see a good deal of him.”

We were shown our rooms. They were side by side. Everything was in light wood. There were a few rugs on the wooden floors and the windows were screened by the mesh. Washbasins and ewers were in each bedroom and I discovered later that water had to be drawn from the well near the house. It was no less primitive than conditions had been in Cato Cato. Two families lived in hut-like dwellings in the grounds and they acted as servants. Considering the circumstances, I could see that everything had been done to provide the utmost comfort.

What I wanted most was to talk to my father alone. Tamarisk seemed to realize this and after we had had a meal, which was served under Karla’s supervision, she said she felt very tired and would like to go to her room. That gave me the opportunity I needed.

He took me to the room where I had first met him.

“This is my sanctum,” he said.

“I am here a great deal. Karia says you are a little puzzled and I should explain everything to you.”

“Who exactly is Karia?”

“This is her house. She is the daughter of an Englishman and a native woman. Her father came here and set up a large coconut plantation. He did not marry her mother but he thought a lot of Karia. She is a very clever woman … and attractive. In fact, she is a very wonderful person. I knew you two would like each other from the start. Don Marling, her father, left her this house, the plantation and a fortune when he died. She is a power in this place.”

“And you share this house with her?”

He smiled.

“We are very great friends. She brought me here when’ he touched his eyes ‘when this was happening to me.”

“Aunt Sophie used to tell me about you. She did not mention that you were blind.”

“She did not know. I did not tell her.”

“But you were writing to her. And I thought you were in Egypt until I was coming here to see you.”

“I was in Egypt. In the Army at one time, you know! And then … I left. I did all sorts of business deals out there … and in other places. It’s in the past. No sense in dwelling on a misspent youth.”

“Was it misspent, then?”

“I enjoyed it, so how could it have been? I was stating the general view rather than my own.”

“I want to know so much about you. All these years I knew I had a father and I had never seen you. I knew very little about you until Aunt Sophie told me.”

“You mustn’t trust her. She would be too lenient with me.”

“She always spoke of you with great affection. She was always fond of you.”

“I was fond of her, too. She kept me informed of your progress. I was very glad when you went to live with her.”

“It was wonderful for me.”

“I liked to think of the two of you together, comforting each other.

Sophie was adept at the art of comforting . always. “

There was a deep regret in his voice, and I wanted to ask him more about their relationship. I knew that she had loved him: I fancied he had loved her too. There was so much I had to learn. I could not expect to know it all at once.

“I want to hear more about Karia,” I said.

“So this is her house and we are her guests.”

“I live here too.”

“As her guest?”

“Not exactly.” There was a brief silence and then he went on: “You have probably heard about my rather cheque red career. Your mother and I, we parted. You know why.”

“You were not happy together.”

“She was well rid of me. We could never have been happy together. I was by no means a saint … not in the least like your Luke. I am afraid I am rather different, and with a man like me there must be … relationships.”

“You and Karia?” I asked.

He nodded.

“We share the household.”

“You could have married … or couldn’t you?”

“Well, yes. I am free now. She was married once … married for her money, I suppose. Perhaps not entirely, but it would have been an incentive, I dare say. He might have robbed her but he didn’t because she is a shrewd businesswoman. He died. Yes, we could marry, but here it is not the same as an English village where the neighbours keep a sharp look-out to make sure society’s laws are observed. Karia does not think of marriage. Nor I. But that does not prevent our enjoyment of each other’s society. Now, you are not shocked, daughter?”

“I don’t think so. I guessed that was how it might be. She is a very kindly person.”

“She is interesting half-native, half-Anglo-Saxon. It makes an interesting combination. I met her in Egypt. She has travelled somewhat. I liked her freshness, her frankness, and her happy disposition. Live for the day, that is her doctrine, and I suppose it is mine. We were friends in Egypt and then when my affliction began to descend, she looked after me. I was in a low state. I feared blindness, my dear Frederica, as I had never feared anything in my life. I even went so far as to pray.

“Dear God, leave me my eyes, and take everything else.” And the Lord ignored my request, but He gave me Karia. ” He gripped my hand tightly for a moment. Then he went on:

“Karia was wonderful. She is the eternal mother. Why do such women not have children? She was with me through my despair. She was very important to me. And she brought me here to this house left to her by her doting father. She is rich by island standards; she owns thousands of highly productive coconuts. She is a businesswoman and looks after the plantation as well as any man could, and she looks after me like a mother. Besides her coconuts she has my eternal gratitude. Frederica, I could never have come through to accept my blindness without her. “

I said: “Aunt Sophie would have cared for you. You could have come back to us.”

He shook his head.

“No,” he said.

“I know she would, but I could not go back to her. There were times when I thought of it … before the blindness began to come on. You see, in the first place …”

“I know. She told me. She thought you would marry her, and you married my mother instead.”

“So you see …”

“She would have understood.”

“It wouldn’t have worked. I really was not worthy of Sophie. I could never have lived up to what she would expect.”

“She wanted you for what you are.”

“But she had my daughter a much better bargain.”

“And it is Karia who looks after you. You share her house … her life.”

“It is what she wants.”

“And you are happy here?”

He was silent for a few seconds.

“Well,” he said at length, “I have a good life. And now I have come to terms with this. There are compensations in all things. I am overjoyed when I recognize a footstep. I say, ” That is Macala coming or young Mandel. ” I know Karla’s footsteps. I am acutely aware of the inflection in people’s voices. And so I get through my days. I think of the pleasures of the past, and there were many of them. The unpleasant things I try to dismiss. I am often able to do that. It is quite an art, you know.

Sometimes I say to myself, “You are blind. Perhaps your most precious possession has been taken from you, but there are these compensations.”

Then I count them. I have the love of Karia and now my daughter has come all the way across the world to see me. “

A week had passed and I felt that I had been a long time on the island.

At night I would lie awake and wonder about Crispin and Aunt Sophie and I would ask myself if I had been right to come. It had been a wonderful experience to meet my father, and to be aware of an immediate rapport between us which made me feel that I had known him all my life. That was because of Aunt Sophie. I could see that he must always have had a way of winning people’s affection. He already had mine.

I had many conversations with him. He would sit under the trees listening to the gentle rise and fall of the waves and he would talk about his life. It was very clear that he was happy to have me there.

It was at night when the great longing for home would come to me and I could not shut out the memory of Crispin’s face when he had pleaded with me not to go. I could hear his voice saying, “I will find a way.

There must be a way. ” I would try in vain to shut out the memory of the shrubbery at St. Aubyn’s and the thought of Gaston Marchmont lying there.

The island was a beautiful place but, I supposed, it was like most tropical islands waving palm trees, lush foliage, heavy rain showers and burning sunshine, carefree people, lazy, seeking no other way of life.

I was amused by Tamarisk’s interest in the place. I think this was largely due to the deep desire she had to get away from home. I did not believe that she was guilty of her husband’s murder but, as she said, the wife in such cases generally came in for a certain amount of suspicion.

She would laugh a great deal at the antics of the children; and there was no doubt that they were particularly interested in her. There were usually one or two following her wherever she went. Some were bold enough to come up and touch her white arm and her hair, which she often wore loose about her shoulders.

She had always enjoyed being noticed, and she showed her appreciation and quickly became the children’s favourite.

We would explore the island. We would pause to look at the potter squatting near the shore as he made clay pots, platters and drinking vessels. To his delight, we bought some. A group of children -Tamarisk’s admirers-watched the transaction in glee.

There were other salesmen squatting on mats made from coconut fibre.

There might be passengers when the ferries came in and they wanted to be ready for these prospective customers. What they had to offer were mostly carved images, paper knives and beads.

We were warned to be careful of snakes and not to go through the thick undergrowth without a guide.

We had, of course, visited the mission house-a bleak place like a barn with a thatched roof. There was little to make it inviting. The walls were plain and the only adornment was a crucifix hanging there.

“What a dreary place!” said Tamarisk to Luke who was showing it to us.

There was a cupboard at one end of the room and a blackboard on an easel.

“It is meant to be a schoolroom,” said Luke.

“Where are the pupils?” asked Tamarisk.

“They have yet to come.”

Luke had introduced us to John Havers and his sister Muriel. They had been on Casker’s Island for two years and they admitted that they had made little progress and had been mainly ignored by the islanders. I “It was different in our previous place,” said John Havers. I “That was bigger and not so far away from everywhere.

Here one has to start right from the beginning and the people do seem rather indifferent. “

That is why Mr. Armour has come,” went on Muriel.

“And you don’t have any pupils yet,” I said.

“Some come but they don’t stay. I used to give them cakes at eleven o’clock if they came in the morning. I tried to teach them, but I am sure they were only waiting for the cakes. They would eat them, smile and then run off.”

“Bribery,” commented Tamarisk lightly.

“I fear that is what it amounts to,” said Muriel Havers.

“Poor little things,” said Tamarisk afterwards.

“But I don’t think they would want to be taught by Miss Havers, however good those cakes were.”

Meals at Karla’s were always merry affairs. Karla’s and my father’s personalities made that inevitable. The food was lavish and we were waited on by numerous servants who pattered in and out soundlessly on bare feet.

Both Karia and my father talked of the life they had led in Egypt; there always seemed some amusing anecdote to relate and we would sit on long after the meal was over.

“Poor Luke,” said Tamarisk one day.

“Think how different it must be at the mission with the Havers.”

“They are good people,” said Karla.

“But they are some times too good to know how to laugh. Life is too serious for them. I pity them.”

“Could we ask them here to dinner?” asked Tamarisk.

“Oh my!” cried Karla.

“I am sorry. I should have thought to ask them.”

“As a matter of fact,” said my father, “I was thinking that we should have asked your friend Luke immediately. He was so good to you on the journey out.”

“Of course we must,” replied Karla.

“And I will ask Tom Holloway to come too.”

“Tom Holloway,” my father explained, ‘is the manager of the plantation. He’s a good sort, don’t you agree, Karla? “

“He is a very good sort. But he is a little sad and lite is not meant to be sad.”

“We should like to meet him, shouldn’t we. Tamarisk?” I said.

“But of course,” was her response.

“We will do it tomorrow,” said Karla.

“Would they be able to come on such short notice?” I asked.

Karla gave one of her frequent loud bursts of laughter.

“They don’t get many invitations to dine out, I can tell you. They’ll come.”

“Social life on Casker’s Island is a little restricted,” added my father.

“They’ll come.”

Before they did my father told me a little about Tom Holloway.

“He had been in England, importing the mats which were made from one of the products of the coconuts. What uses that old coconut can be put to! Well, one of the products is the fibre to make mats and rugs and suchlike. Tom Holloway sold them all over England. Then his wife died in childbirth and the child with her. He can’t get over it. Karla met him now and then on business and she was appalled by the change in him. You know her nature by now. She sees someone in trouble and she has to help. Well, she had this idea that Tom needed a complete break with the past, so she offered him the job of managing her plantation.

And to her surprise he accepted. “

“And did it help?”

“I think perhaps a little. It’s two years now or nearly that-and he’s the faithful sort. I think he forgets for a time and he is very keen on the plantation. He’s learned how to handle these people. He enjoys the work. Karla would like to see him settled which isn’t easy over here.”

“What a fine woman Karla is!”

He nodded, looking pleased.

The dinner was a success, though Luke was a little dejected, I noticed. The happy optimism he had shown on the ship was slightly less bright. John and Muriel Havers talked earnestly of the mission, but I could not help feeling that they had very little understanding of the people among whom they were living.

I remarked to my father afterwards that they seemed to regard the people as savages rather than ordinary simple folk who might not care to have other people’s ideas thrust upon them. I fancied too that Muriel did not approve of my father’s relationship with Karla.

Tamarisk was very amused and when they had gone and we had retired, she came to my room to discuss the evening.

“What did you think of it?” she asked.

“That it went very well. I think Luke was glad to get a good meal.”

“Poor dear,” said Tamarisk lightly.

“He’s a disappointed young man, I fear. I am not surprised living in close contact with that dreary pair.”

“They are not exactly dreary. Just out of their depth, I think.”

“Out of their depth! They’re missionaries, aren’t they? They ought to be in their depth. An island right away from everywhere and the population in need of conversion! Poor Luke! We’ll have to see him more often and cheer him up.”

“I think we should.”

“I wonder what your father thought of it all?”

“I shall hear in due course. And how do you feel now, Tamarisk? About everything?”

“I don’t think about it all the time now.”

“That’s good.”

“Do you?”

“I think a lot.”

“There was no need for you to go away like that.”

“My father wanted to see me.”

“You were just engaged to Crispin. Oh, I know you don’t want to talk about it. had to get away. Gaston was my husband and he had been murdered.”p>

“I understand. Of course I understand. I felt I had to get away, too.”

“Because of this thing that happened? You don’t know anything about Gaston, do you?”

“No. No. It wasn’t about that.”

“You’re cagey,” she said.

I did not answer but left it at that.

At the same time I did feel that, whatever this adventure was doing for Tamarisk, it was not much help to me.

The next morning Tamarisk and I went out together. We had not gone far when we were seen by three or four children who were squatting on the ground playing some game. As soon as we approached they rose and ran towards us, their eyes on Tamarisk. They went into fits of uncontrollable giggling.

“I am glad,” said Tamarisk, smiling, ‘that I amuse you so much. “

That made them giggle the more. They watched her expectantly, as though waiting for her to say something more.

We walked on and they followed. We went down to the shore past the men squatting on the ground with the mats on which their goods were displayed.

We paused before the potter. There were two tall vases on his mat.

They were simple but in a way beautiful. Tamarisk admired them while the owner surveyed us through amused eyes. What was it about us that they found so funny? I wondered. The way we looked, the way we spoke, our general behaviour, which was different from theirs?

Tamarisk picked up the tall vases and the children closed in round her, watching excitedly.

She held the vases out to the man inquiringly and he named a price.

“I’ll have that one,” said Tamarisk.

“What are you going to do with it?” I asked.

“You’ll see. I want the other one, too.”

There was great excitement. Several of the women and more children came up to watch. The man on a nearby rug with his carved images looked hopeful and envious.

“You carry this one, Fred,” she said.

“I’ll take the other. I want the pair.”

“I don’t see what you are going to do with them.”

“I do,” said Tamarisk.

One of the children jumped into the air with glee. The others pressed round while money was exchanged.

“Come on,” said Tamarisk.

“This way.” The children followed us in procession. Several more had now joined us, as she led the way to the mission house.

She pushed open the door and stepped into the hall.

There! ” she said triumphantly.

“This is where they are going to be. We shall fill them with water from the stream, then stand one by the door, and the other …” She looked round the room.

“Yes, over there between the two windows. Now I want some beautiful flowers. The red ones. Red’s a lovely colour. It’s warm and friendly. Come on, we will fill them with water.”

The children came with us to the stream. They were jumping up and down with an excitement they could not restrain.

“And now the flowers.” She turned to the children.

“Come on. You’re going to help me instead of laughing at me. We’re going to pick flowers. Red … like this one … and mauve like this for the other.

There are plenty of them here. “

She was right about that. The flowers grew in abundance. She picked some and made the children understand that they must do the same. She had one group picking red and the other mauve.

Then we all went back to the hall. Tamarisk knelt before the vase into which she put the red flowers. The children watched her in wonder and kept running up to her with flowers.

That’s lovely,” she cried.

“Here, that’s a good one.”

She took a flower from a little girl who hunched her shoulders and laughed with glee as it was put into the vase.

Finally Tamarisk stood up and exclaimed: “What a beautiful vase of flowers!” She clapped her hands and all the children began to clap too.

“Come on,” said Tamarisk.

“Now we will do the mauve flowers.”

The children were delighted. They fought together to be the ones who took the flowers to her. She arranged them with some skill in the vase and they looked beautiful, but no more so than those laughing happy children.

When she had finished the children clapped their hands, and at that moment Muriel Havers came in.

“What on earth!” she began, staring about her. I doubted she had ever seen so many children in the hall. They all turned to look at her and smiled, but they could not let their eyes stray long from Tamarisk.

“I thought the flowers would liven it up a bit,” said Tamarisk.

“They do, they do,” said Muriel Havers.

“But the children!”

“They just came in to help,” said Tamarisk.

There was a certain triumph in her voice. I thought: She has changed.

Something has happened to change her.

We had now spent three weeks on the island. The days seemed long and yet time flew by. Often I said to myself:

What am I doing here? I should go back. I kept thinking of what would have happened if Aunt Sophie had not seen Kate Carvel in Devizes that day. How different my life would have been then. I should be with Crispin, in blissful ignorance. No, it would not have done.

She would appear again. It would be a life of fear, of blackmail and pretence. Crispin’s words kept echoing in my ears.

“Something will be done.” He would have kept it secret. He was a man of secrets. Had I not always felt that? But I loved him; with all my heart I loved him, yet there were times when I would say to myself: But you do not know him. There is much that he keeps hidden.

Then I would say: I must go back. I cannot bear to stay away.

Tamarisk seemed to adapt more easily than I could. But she was escaping; leaving nothing that was essential to her happiness. Her father had never been close to her. Her mother had neglected her in her youth and there was no great love between them. She was proud of Crispin and liked him in a sisterly way. But that was all. There were no firm ties pulling her away. I could well imagine that in time she would tire of the island and its people . but now it was an amusing novelty and what she needed.

She had been mildly interested in Tom Holloway at first, but he was too serious to hold that attention. He was still grieving too much for a dead wife to be interested in Tamarisk. She was amused by Luke.

“That good man’, as she often called him with a note of mockery in her voice. I think she felt faintly protective towards him, which was unexpected in her. Usually she looked to men to protect her.

However, she did go often to the mission house. The children all gathered there as soon as she appeared and, of course, that endeared them to her. They fought to get near her and giggled at everything she did or said.

“They seem to expect me to entertain them,” she said.

“I must say they are very appreciative. Luke is amused … and as for Muriel and John, they say it is good to get the children into the mission house, no matter what the reason.

She bought some more pots from the potter.

She said: “He greets me like a queen every time he sees me. The children keep bringing flowers to me. I told them a story the other day. They didn’t understand a word of it but they all listened as though it were the most breath taking tale that ever was told. You should have seen them! It was Little Red Riding Hood, actually. Miming mostly. You should have seen the excitement when the big bad wolf arrived on the scene. They laughed and cheered and kept stroking me and pulling my hair. I can tell you, it was a riotous success. Muriel says it should have been Bible stories. Well, I might try that, but for the moment it is Little Red Riding Hood and they will have no other. They know when the wolf is coming and pretend to be frightened They go round on all fours shouting ” Wolf! Wolf! Big Bad Wolf” . and the native equivalent, too. I can tell you, it is all great fun.”

I was very pleased to see her so interested and I know it delighted Luke.

A ship came in to the island. It was much bigger than the ferry, and there was great excitement. Tamarisk and I went down to the shore.

There was noise and bustle everywhere. Little boats went to and from the ship and a few passengers came ashore. They came over to talk to us, and told us they were doing a trip round the islands from Sydney.

They had been to Cato Cato and some others but one island, they said, was very like any other.

They were amazed to hear that we were staying here for a visit.

The children hung around and watched us talking together. The potter sold more cups and platters that after noon than he had in a month carvings, straw mats and baskets were also sold.

There was an air of sadness among the watchers on the shore when the ship departed.

The ship had brought some mail to Casker’s and there was a letter from Crispin and one from Aunt Sophie.

I took them to my room because I guessed that reading them would be something I must do when I was alone.

Crispin first:

My dearest, How I miss you! Will you come home? Leave everything and come now. I know I am going to settle this matter one way or another. I am going to make her agree to a divorce. I can divorce her. She deserted me to go off with a lover. I have all the evidence I need. I have set a lawyer working on it.

I cannot tell you how dreary it is here without you. There doesn’t seem to be any point in anything. What I want is for you to take the next ship home. Even then, think how long it would take. But if only I knew you were on the way.

It is going to be all right, though: I am going to find a way out of this mess. If only she had stayed away . for ever. But never doubt that I shall find a way. And when I have, if you haven’t returned, I shall come out there to get you.

I know you are unhappy as I am. In a way I am glad you are. I couldn’t bear it if you ceased to care for me. I would never have left you, you know, whatever had happened. I beg of you, come home soon.

Your aunt is missing you very much. I know she is very unhappy. I think she agrees with me that you should never have left us.

My love for ever, Crispin.

I knew from Aunt Sophie’s letter that she too was questioning the wisdom of my departure.

We miss you very much [she wrote]. Poor Crispin is most unhappy. He really loves you, Freddie. This separation is breaking his heart, I can see. He is not one to love lightly. When he does his feelings go deep. I fancy he is a little cross with me because I told you I had seen Kate Carvel. He has to blame someone, poor dear. He says he will find some way of getting rid of her. He speaks with such conviction that I believe he will. After all, she left him. I don’t know what the position is exactly, but I pray that all will come right.

He needs you, Freddie. You would think that he was in complete command, able to look after himself. On the surface he is, but I know how he is suffering. It seems to me so cruel that one action taken impetuously in youth can spoil a life. But he won’t let it, and I fancy he is a man who gets his own way.

Dearest child, I hope you and your father are getting along happily together. I have no doubt of it knowing you both so well. He is delightful, isn’t he? Do let me know.

And, Freddie, I believe you should think of coming back. Your father wanted to see you. Is he ill? I should like to have news of him. Don’t keep anything from me. I sense something is wrong in his letters. It was one reason why I urged you to go, although I did think it would be better for you to be away until Crispin had sorted this thing out.

But now you should think about coming home. I know you have only just got there, but if you could write and tell me when, I think that would help Crispin a great deal.

Take care of yourself, my love.

God be with you, and much love to you, AS.

I read the letters several times. I thought of the many miles which separated us and that I must go back soon.

My father said to me: “You have heard from home?”

“Yes.”

“It’s saddened you. You are homesick, aren’t you?”

“I suppose I am.”

He put his hand over mine and held it for a moment.

“Should you tell me?” he said.

So I told him. I told him everything from the beginning: my first meeting with Crispin, when he had made that unfortunate remark; of Barrow Wood, my work in the estate office and the love which had grown up between us. I told of the return of Crispin’s wife and our shattered plans; and I explained that Crispin had wanted to go ahead and had planned not to tell me.

“Yes, and that shocked you,” said my father.

“I think that is the root of the uncertainty. You love him very much, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do.”

“And at the same time you are not entirely sure of him.”

“I am sure that he loves me. But…”

“But… ?” he prompted.

“There is something. I can’t explain it. It’s there. Even before this it was there.”

“Some secret?”

“I suppose that is what it is. It sometimes seems like a barrier. It is because we are so very close, because I know him so well that I am aware of it. But at times I feel I just can’t get beyond it.”

“Why did you not ask him?”

“It seems strange, but there has never been any mention of it. It is something which is on his mind, something he does not want me to know.

And then this happened and he admitted that he would have gone on with our marriage without telling me that he was not in a position to marry me. This other thing seemed more real to me then. “

“You have explained,” he said.

“I think you love him without completely trusting him. Is that it?”

“I feel there is some secret he will not tell me … something important.”

“About his first marriage?”

“No. He believed, as everyone else did, that his wife was dead. That was why it was such a shock when she returned … as much of a shock to him as to any of us.”

“So it is something of longer standing. Some dark and shameful secret.

You think this of him, and yet you love him? “

“Yes. It must be so.”

“Love is more important than anything else on earth, you know.

“Faith, Hope and Charity, and the greatest of these is Charity.” And charity is love. It’s true. If you have love you need very little more. “

“I want to know what this thing is.”

“It was there when you promised to marry him. Yet you were happy and thought of spending your life with him.”

“Yes. When I was with him I could forget these misgivings. They seemed vague, fanciful and silly.”

“Some people are afraid of happiness. They regard it with suspicion.

It is too wonderful to be real, they think, and they look for flaws.

Have you done that, do you think? “

“Perhaps. But I am not sure. There ;s something there, and it haunts him.”

“He will tell you. When you are married to him and he has lost his fear of losing you. He will tell you.”

“Why should he be afraid to tell me now?”

“For the same reason that he was not going to tell you his wife had returned. Because he fears above all things to lose you.”

“It is dishonest.”

My father smiled shrewdly and said: “It is love, and did we not agree that there is nothing in life so wonderful as true love?”

I wrote to both Crispin and Aunt Sophie. I had not told Aunt Sophie that my father was blind. I sensed that he would have done so himself had he wanted her to know. The letters would be ready next time a boat called to take them back to Sydney where they would have to make the long journey to England. It would be a long time before they reached their destination.

I was convincing myself that I must go home. They were both asking me to, and whatever the outcome, I must be there.

Tom Holloway was a frequent visitor. Karia welcomed visitors. Luke and the Havers often came now. Karia was sure they did not get enough to eat at the mission house. They employed only two servants and Karia feared that Muriel was too concerned with the spirit to think much of bodily needs.

Luke was always overjoyed to come. The optimism he had shown on the ship had faded considerably. There were many alterations he wanted to make to the mission house and this presented a difficulty as he did not want to override the Havers, and although they were not the most forceful of people, they had firm ideas.

Tamarisk had already lured the children into the mission house and many of them were regular visitors now. But they came to see Tamarisk and, although she tried them with the story of the Good Samaritan, they still demanded Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf.

Poor Luke! He was so dedicated, so anxious to do the work he felt needed to be done.

One afternoon Tom took us over to see the plantation. There were Tamarisk, Luke and myself. As we walked through the tall trees we saw kernels of the nuts exposed to the sun, and Tom took us into the shed where they were making the coconut matting which formed a large part of the business, and to the office where his assistant sat working.

We saw his living quarters. They were quite spacious and well-furnished. I guessed Karia would have arranged that. He had one servant, who brought us a fruit drink as we sat on a verandah looking out over the plantation.

Tom asked about the mission and Luke explained the indifference of the people and the difficulty of getting through to them.

“Language is a problem,” said Tom.

“It’s easier for me. I show them what to do and they do it. These people who work for me are the aristocrats of the island. They earn money but it is not all of them who want to. Some prefer to lie in the sun. It is the heat which forms their characters. It makes them light-hearted and easy-going unless they are roused to anger. They can be dangerous.”

“That’s true enough,” said Luke.

“There were two of them quarrelling the other day. It was over some trivial matter about a piece of land.

One said it was his and the other laid claim to it. There were curses and knives flying. It looked like a fight to the death until someone called in the big chief. “

“Oh yes,” said Tom.

“I know who you mean. Olam. A little old man with very fierce eyes. They are very strange eyes. There are white rings round the pupils. Some disease, most likely, but it is because of this that he has his power.”

“It was settled at once,” went on Luke.

“I was amazed at his power.”

“He is the wise man. I have qualms about him. His judgement in your case evidently solved the matter satisfactorily. It’s not always so.

He can be quite . terrifying. He is reckoned to have special powers. If he tells a man he will die, generally he does. “

“I have heard of that,” said Luke.

“It’s dangerous.”

“I have to be wary of him. Keep on good terms with him. I send him little presents from time to time. That keeps him my good friend.”

“What a lot one has to learn about these people,” said Tamarisk.

“A pity they are not all like the children. They are sweet. “

“Tamarisk gets along well with them,” commented Luke.

“It’s the colour of my hair which attracts them,” said Tamarisk.

“It’s so different from theirs.”

“Most of them just want a pleasant life,” Tom explained.

“They’ll work for a while but you mustn’t expect too much from them. They enjoy their work here. They take a certain pride in it. Olam doesn’t object because I show due respect to him, so all is well at the moment. Last year, some special season which is important to them went off very well. It will soon be here again. I am prepared for it. But my first year was rather tricky.”

“What happened?” asked Tamarisk.

“While it’s going on, they don’t come to work. I didn’t know this at first and was annoyed, for I had had no warning. There are all sorts of rituals. There was chanting through the days and nights and they danced with long spears. Where they keep them, I don’t know. One doesn’t see them from one season to the next. Old Olam is much in evidence. In fact, he organizes the whole show. They dance round, stamp their feet and look fierce. I was on the point of going to look where they were when Karia arrived. She explained to me that it would be wise for me to keep out of the way during the two days it was going on. We couldn’t help hearing the chanting all through the night, which was disturbing. When it’s over they all settle down and everything is as it was.”

“What are they supposed to be doing?”

“It’s like a preparation for some battle a sort of practice perhaps to keep them in trim in case they are attacked by people from another island.”

“That’s not likely,” said Luke.

“Not now, with all these ships plying back and forth and some of the bigger islands belonging to Britain and France. But they keep up the ceremony. It is invoking the spirits to come and fight for them. And, of course, it is the wise old Olam who remembers these things and keeps the tradition going.”

“Isn’t it fascinating?” said Tamarisk.

“Do you feel scared, Mr. Holloway, living right in the midst of it?”

“We are all in the midst of it,” said Tom.

“Yes, but you more so. You are surrounded by them.”

Tom shrugged his shoulders.

“No,” he said.

“They are gentle people. It is only when they are provoked that they might be dangerous, and I am not likely to provoke them.”

“What we have to do is show them a different way of life,” said Luke.

“Teach them that they must love their neighbours. I think, with God’s help, we shall do that.”

“I am sure you will,” I said.

Then Tom asked about the mission. He had heard some children were going every morning.

Tamarisk laughed.

“To hear Red Riding Hood and pull my hair.”

“It’s a good start,” said Luke, smiling at her affectionately.

“It’s fun,” replied Tamarisk.

“I’d like to meet old what’s-his-name.

Olam, is it? “

“Rest assured, he will be aware of you,” said Tom.

I said: “I think it is wonderful the way in which those children have taken to you. Tamarisk.”

“As I told you, it is Red Riding Hood they appreciate, or perhaps more likely the wolf.”

“Not entirely. They liked you before that.”

She laughed, flashing her eyes from Luke to Tom.

“Oh, I am a very popular person, you must know.”

Just at that moment one of the men came running up to the balcony.

“What has happened?” cried Tom rising.

“Master. He fall. Jaco … he fall from tree. He lie.” The man lifted his shoulders and shook his head backwards and forwards mournfully.

“Show me said Tom, and we all followed him out to the plantation.

A boy of about twelve years was lying on the ground, crying out in pain. His leg was twisted under him.

Tom held his breath in dismay, and Luke said: “It looks as though he has broken his leg.”

He knelt beside the boy.

“Poor little chap,” he said.

“Painful, is it?”

I don’t think the boy understood the words, but the sympathy in Luke’s voice soothed him a little. He lifted wide frightened eyes to Luke’s face.

“It’ll be all right,” went on Luke.

“I can see to this. I want a stout stick and some bandages.”

“I’ll get those,” replied Tom.

“Stay here with him.”

Luke turned to the boy.

“I’m going to try to move this. It’ll hurt.

I’m going to put it back in place. Tamarisk, put your arm round his shoulders. That’s right. “

I stood there helplessly watching them. Several of the men had gathered around. They were all gabbling together.

Luke had the boy lying flat on his back, and it was obvious that the bone was broken.

“I wish I had something to give him,” said Luke.

“Where’s Tom?”

“He’ll be back soon, I’m sure,” I said.

“Here he is. He’s got the things you wanted.”

I watched Luke as, with deft fingers, he set the leg. I remembered his saying some time before that his training included lessons in first aid. He said at the time that at least he could do something in an emergency.

The boy was obviously in less pain now. He was gazing at Luke with touching gratitude.

“I want to get him back to the mission,” said Luke.

“We’ll get one of the carts to take him,” said Tom.

He stood up and shouted something to the watchers in their native tongue. Several of them immediately ran off and in a short time returned with a cart.

“We’ll have to be very careful not to jolt him,” said Luke.

“We want pillows and something for him to lie on. We must get him safely to the mission. Muriel has had some training in nursing, and she can make a proper job of it.”

“It’s wonderful!” cried Tamarisk.

“I do hope he’ll be all right.”

“If we get it properly set, he will be,” Luke assured her.

The boy was carefully carried to the cart, where he lay stretched out.

Tamarisk sat at his head, I at his feet. She stroked his forehead and murmured comforting words. The boy looked at her in a sort of wonder.

She looked very beautiful with the compassion in her face.

Tom led the donkey, making sure that the passage was as smooth as it possibly could be, and when we reached the mission house, Muriel and John were there to help.

Muriel said the boy should go into her room. She would make herself up a bed in one of the others in the building. She knew exactly what to do and took charge. He had broken his fibula, she said. It was a simple fracture. He was young, his bones would soon heal.

She seemed happy to have something to do and showed an efficiency which I had never seen in her before.

Afterwards Tamarisk and I went home and told my father and Karia what had happened.

“And you think it will be back to normal in time?” asked Karla.

“There should not be any difficulty.”

“That will be wonderful,” said Karla, her eyes shining.

“There was one man who had a fall like that and he’s been a cripple ever since.”

It was that night when the drums started. They were faint at first and then grew louder. The sound of musical instruments came floating over the air.

As we sat at dinner, Karia said: “This will go on all night and tomorrow and the next night.”

“Tom was telling us about it,” I said.

“I think he feels a little uneasy.”

“It’s one of the old customs, isn’t it, Karia?” asked my father.

“Yes. It goes back many years. It’s a sort of war cry, a preparation for attack.”

“But what are they going to attack?” I asked.

“Nothing … now. But at one time there was always fighting tribe against tribe. It’s different now. The islands are at peace. They have been taken over and some sort of order brought in. But in the past they had always to be ready. This is an exercise in readiness … letting the spirits know that they are waiting if attacked.”

“And what about old Olam?” asked Tamarisk.

“He fascinates me.”

“He’s very old. He would remember those days. They all revere him.

He’s rather like the old witch doctor. He has that sort of power. They are all in awe of him and everyone must show due respect. “

“I’d like to see him,” said Tamarisk.

“I doubt you will,” Karia told her.

“His hut is in the centre of the settlement close to the plantation. He doesn’t emerge very often except at times like these. People consult him from time to time if they are in difficulties and he gives them directions which must be obeyed. No one dares cross him.”

“I believe he can be a rather terrifying sight in all his war paint,” said my father.

“Have you seen him?” I asked Karia.

“Oh yes. For ceremonies he has two blue stripes painted across his forehead and feathers on his head.”

“Will he be there tonight?” asked Tamarisk, her eyes speculative.

“You must not try to see him,” said Karia quickly.

“There would be trouble if you were detected. We live here. We must respect these people.”

“Of course,” said Tamarisk demurely.

All through the night I could hear the strains of the instruments and beneath them the intermittent beating of the drums.

There was something hypnotic about them.

I thought longingly of home. I will go, I promised myself. I will talk to my father in the morning. He will understand. He said that love was all-important and he was right. Of course, my father had not led an exactly moral life; but then it was not always easy to know what was right and what wrong.

I could not sleep. I would doze for a few minutes and then wake to the distant murmur of the sea and the throbbing of the drums.

Suddenly I was wide awake. Something was happening outside the house.

I looked out of my windows and saw people there. I hastily put on a dressing-gown and slippers and at that moment Tamarisk came into my room.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I’ve just woken up.”

We went out together. Karia was by this time at the door. As the men saw her they began to shout. I did not know what they were saying, but Karia answered them.

She turned to me.

Trouble at the mission,” she said.

“I must go.”

Tamarisk looked disturbed. She took a proprietorial interest in the mission.

Karia started off and we followed her. We ran all the way to the mission and there was an amazing sight. The torches gave out an eerie light. There was a crowd of men and at the head of them the man who, I knew, was Olam.

He seemed enormous, but that was due to his tall feather head-dress, which gave him the appearance of some fierce predatory bird. I looked at his face which was like nothing so much as a distorted image from a nightmare, for painted across his forehead were the two blue stripes which Karia had mentioned, and there were red lines down his cheeks.

Two tall men stood beside him, their faces painted, though less luridly than that of Olam himself. They were carrying spears and I felt a great fear grip me, for their anger appeared to be directed against the mission.

Luke had come out. He was standing on the balcony in front of the door. On one side of him stood John and on the other Muriel.

When Karia appeared there was a momentary silence. She made her way to the balcony steps, Tamarisk and I following. She stood there beside Luke.

“What is it?” she asked.

“It’s something to do with Jaco, it seems,” said Luke.

“I gather they want him. He can’t stand on his feet. I can’t understand what it is they are asking.”

Karia held up a hand. It was amazing what dignity and authority she maintained.

She addressed the crowd, and we guessed she was asking them what they wanted of the mission. They began shouting but Olam held up his hand and they were immediately silenced.

He spoke to Karia and she replied. Then she turned to Luke and the Havers.

She said: “They want Jaco. He has some special duties in tonight’s celebration. He has trained for it and he has to be there.”

“He can’t stand on that leg,” said Muriel.

“It’s imperative that he rests it. How can the bone set otherwise? He can’t ” They want him,” said Karla.

“They shall not have him,” replied Luke.

Karla was frowning.

“They won’t understand,” she said. Then she addressed the crowd. I knew she was explaining to them that Jaco had broken his leg and that the people at the mission were mending it but it was not ready yet.

There was silence and the crowd began to talk together excitedly.

“They want him brought out,” said Karla.

“He is sleeping peacefully,” said Muriel firmly, ‘and he cannot be brought out here. He has to keep that leg in position and still. “

Karla tried again. She talked for a long time. Then she turned to Luke.

“They say you claim you can make him well. You have special powers.

They want to see him. “

Luke replied: “We will not allow him to be brought out. To stand on the leg at this time would be disastrous. Can you make them understand that?”

“They believe in magic certainly. I can see that they are not sure whether you have greater powers than their spirits. When old Mahe fell he was crippled for life and you say you can save Jaco from that. They are wavering. They have doubts of you and yet they know the white men have powers which they do not possess. Olam is pondering as to what he should do. This is a matter of great importance to him. He is the one with the power and you are promising them a miracle. We must go very carefully. Olam might bring his men in and take Jaco away with them.”

“We shall not allow him to do that,” said Luke.

Karla lifted her shoulders.

“The three of you … myself … these young ladies? Look at those people out there, armed with spears. What do you think will happen? We have to bargain. But it may be that they will insist on taking the boy.”

“No, no, no,” said Luke.

Karia turned to the crowd. She told us afterwards what she said. She made a bargain. The mission people said they could cure Jaco. They could make his leg as new but they must have time. Their spell would not work in a day or two. Olam and the rest, in time, would see what they could do. But if they insisted now, if they did not leave Jaco in the hands of the white men, he would be crippled all his life. He would hate those who had spoiled his life and there would be bitter resentment throughout the island. They should go away. They should find someone who could be at the ceremony and perform those duties which would have been Jaco’s. Jaco must be given a chance to see if the white man’s cure was a good one.

There was a great deal of whispering among the crowd.

Then Karia turned to Luke.

“He wants you to swear to cure Jaco.”

“Of course, we’ll swear to do everything we can to cure him.”

“It’s only a simple fracture,” added Muriel.

“I can’t see that anything can go wrong. The boy is young, his bones are strong. It is almost certain that he will make a complete recovery.”

“They want you to swear,” said Karia, looking intently at Luke, ‘to swear on your blood. You know what that means? “

“What?” asked Luke.

“If he is not completely cured you will die yourself.”

“I die?”

“You will fall on your spear if you have one, or you will walk into the sea and not come back. It’s an oath they want. If your gods fail you, as you did not hand over Jaco to take his part in the sacred ceremony, you will have failed to honour your oath. The only thing you can do then is die.”

“I’ve never heard such nonsense,” said Muriel.

“It’s either that or they take Jaco now.”

“They are not going to take Jaco,” said Luke firmly.

“All right. Tell them, I swear on my blood.”

Karia told them and turned back to Luke. He was asked to hold up his right hand while they chanted what sounded like a dirge.

Then Olam inclined his head and, turning, led his followers away.

We were left standing on the balcony, bemused, but relieved because the torch-led gathering was disappearing into the trees and all we could see was the flickering of the flames as it gradually receded.

Luke spoke first.

“What a show!” he said.

“It was horrible,” replied Tamarisk.

“We certainly saw a bit of local colour,” commented Luke.

Tamarisk said: There isn’t any doubt, is there? Jaco’s leg will get better. “

“It will be all right as far as I can see,” answered Muriel.

“So long as he doesn’t get up and do some damage.”

“I wish it were over,” said Tamarisk.

“Do you think they’ll come back?” asked Muriel.

“No,” said Karia firmly.

“The matter is ended for tonight. You have made your pact. Olam is satisfied. He does not want to quarrel with the mission. At the same time he does not want his authority undermined. This is a challenge. If the boy recovers completely, you will have done good work. Such a thing would bring people to you more quickly than anything else. I hope the boy did not hear all that was going on.”

“He had some pain last night and I gave him a little laudanum to help him sleep,” Muriel told us.

“That’s good,” said Karia.

“He shouldn’t know there was all this fuss.

It might upset him. ” She looked from me to Tamarisk and went on: ” I think we should try to get a little sleep before morning. “

Tamarisk laid her hand on Luke’s arm.

“It’s all right,” he said.

“I’ll defeat the witch doctor.”

“That boy’s leg must be all right,” said Tamarisk earnestly.

“There is no earthly reason why it should not,” insisted Muriel.

“Come,” said Karla.

“Your father will be anxious.”

“He will know something is happening,” I said.

We made our way back to the house where he was waiting up for us.

“What happened?” he asked.

“It was old Olam.”

“The ceremony?”

“He wanted to take the boy Jaco there.”

My father grimaced.

“Sit down awhile,” he said.

“I don’t think any of us is going to get much sleep tonight. What about a spot of brandy? You all seem as if you could use it … all of you.”

Karla said: “You’re right when you say if we go to bed we shan’t sleep.”

We went to my father’s study and Karla poured out the brandy while she told my father what had happened.

“Old Olam in all his war paint. I don’t like that.”

“The spears were terrifying,” said Tamarisk.

“And they held them as though they were ready to charge. Karla was wonderful.”

My father turned in her direction and smiled.

“You calmed them down, did you?”

Karla sipped her brandy.

“I’d like to see that boy on his feet again,” she said.

“He’s going to be all right,” said Tamarisk.

“I do hope so,” my father murmured.

“It was rash of Luke-‘ I began.

“What else could he do?” demanded Tamarisk.

“It was the only way.”

“It was all very dramatic,” I put in.

“It was as though they were playacting . all that paint on their faces and the spears and the torches. “

“In a way they were,” agreed Karla.

“But you must understand them.

This is the important part of the year for them. They go back into their past. They became as they used to be. Great warriors who spent most of their time fighting each other. Olam is a sort of chief and holy man combined. They look up to him and fear to offend him. They believe him to be in touch with spirits. He is an old man. He is revered. They bring him gifts of food and the products of their work.

He lives out his life in comfort. He would not want that to change.

There is no doubt that he is clever. He has set himself apart from the rest. It is possible that now he is hoping that Jaco’s leg will not set. He could not perform such a miracle himself. Therefore, you will understand, he would prefer others not to be able to either. “

“Do you mean he will try to prevent it?” asked Tamarisk.

“He has certain powers over these people,” said Karla.

“Some time ago he told a man he would die, and that night the man did die.”

“How could that be?” asked Tamarisk.

Karla lifted her shoulders.

“I do not know how only that it happened. It may be that the man died because he had absolute faith in Olam.”

“But now,” said my father, ‘these natives are growing away from the superstitions of the past. Now the ferries and ships come here, the new world is encroaching and the old shibboleths are fading away.

These people have changed a great deal in the last few years. “

“That is so,” said Karla.

“But it would not take a great deal to send them back into the past. Nothing must happen to Jaco. His leg must be cured, otherwise …”

“You mean Luke would be in danger?” cried Tamarisk.

“We should not allow him to die,” said Karla.

“But they would expect it. Oaths are sacred in their eyes.”

I felt sick with horror.

Tamarisk said: “Jaco must be watched all through the night as well as the day.”

“Most certainly he shall be,” said Karla.

“You must make sure no subversive suggestions are put before him,” insisted my father.

“Everything will be all right,” said Karla.

“I feel sure of it.”

She lifted her glass and we drank.

There was no point in going to bed, so we sat on, talking desultorily for a while, but I could not get out of my mind the memory of that scene, and it was useless to pretend to do so.

So we sat on. The dawn was not far away and all the time we could hear the beat of the drums.

The next morning Karla, Tamarisk and I went to the mission. As with us, the three of them had not gone to bed that last night. The Havers looked a little tired but Luke was as normal.

“What a night!” he cried.

“That old man in his war paint! What a sight! I thought at first the Ancient Britons had come to Casker’s in their woad.”

“Thank goodness they went away,” said John.

“At one time I thought they were going to force their way in and carry Jaco off.”

“Does he know about it?” asked Karla.

“Nothing,” said Muriel firmly.

“We thought it better that he should not.”

“I am sure you agree with that, Karla,” I said.

“We were saying that we did not want him to have contact with anyone till his leg is right.”

“That might be difficult,” said John.

“Not if we make it a rule, a part of the miraculous cure,” replied Luke.

“I fear Olam might do something to prevent the cure,” said Karla.

“Why?” asked John.

“Because he doesn’t want someone to be able to do what he can’t. “

“If all goes well, we can show them what we can do for Jaco and this will be a great boon to the mission,” declared Luke, his eyes shining.

“Yes,” agreed Karla.

“That would make a lot of difference. You will have proved to have something to offer, and you will win their respect.”

“But,” murmured Tamarisk, ‘suppose something went wrong? ” She was looking at Luke with frightened eyes.

“Then,” said Luke, “I shall go to old Olam and ask him which of his spears I should take into the jungte.”

“Don’t joke!” said Tamarisk almost angrily.

“Everything will be all right.” Muriel spoke with conviction.

“It’s a simple fracture and I shall ban visitors until I know all is well.”

During the week we had news from the mission every day. Karla cooked special dishes for Jaco, and the boy was having a most enjoyable time.

He could never have been so cosseted in his life. I was sure he was telling himself it was not such a bad thing, to break a leg. Regular meals at the mission and delicacies sent to him by Karla had an effect on him. His body filled out; his eyes were bright; he was clearly in a good state of health and enjoying the attention he received.

Tamarisk and I were there when the splints were removed. He was perfectly healed and there was no sign of a break. His limbs were stiff and he needed a few exercises which Muriel made him do-and there he was, none the worse for his fall.

On Karla’s advice we made an occasion of this. It was the way to fix it in everyone’s memory. A courteous message was sent to Olam. That evening at sundown, if he would be gracious enough to come to the mission house, the boy Jaco would be handed over to his people.

What a scene that was! Olam came, painted and be-feathered, and with him his followers. They carried spears and torches, as they had before.

First, on the advice of Karia, a gift was presented to Olam. It was a china figure of a tiger which Karia had produced. Olam accepted it graciously and presented Luke with a bone necklace on which was a carved pendant. This he placed round Luke’s neck.

Karia, Tamarisk and I, with the Havers, stood on the balcony and watched the presentation ceremony. Then, wearing the necklace, Luke came up the steps to the balcony, went into the house and came out, holding Jaco by the hand. Jaco, a little more plump than when they had last seen him, in radiantly good health and delighted to be at the centre of such attention, stood before them. Suddenly he leaped into the air, turned a somersault and ran out into the crowd.

There was a gasp of wonderment. Then there was silence as the men bowed their heads, lifting them after a few seconds to look at Luke, whom they believed to be the creator of the miracle. Poor Muriel, who had set the leg so expertly, was not considered by them.

She did not mind. I knew she had been very perturbed that Luke should have entered into such an agreement with one whom she thought of as a savage.

However, it had all worked out very well and we were deeply gratified.

We all went back to the mission hall, changed now by the vases of flowers which seemed to fill every possible space.

We sat down at the table and Luke began to laugh.

“It worked out wonderfully,” he said.

“Everyone played their parts so well, including young Jaco.”

“This is the best thing that could have happened for the mission,” I said.

Luke was smiling at Tamarisk.

“There are other good things,” he said.

Then we were all laughing, perhaps a little too heartily, because we had suffered some frightening moments since this affair had begun. It was in fact the laughter of relief.

I could not help wondering what would have happened if something had gone wrong and Jaco’s leg had not healed. The same thought must have occurred to Tamarisk, for she said very sternly to Luke: “You must not in future swear rash oaths to medicine men, witch doctors or whatever they call themselves.”

The drama of Jaco’s leg had temporarily dominated everything about us and when it was over the days seemed empty. I realized I had been away from home a long time. When the ferry called I would hope for mail, but it took so long to reach us that any news letters contained would be very much out of date.

I was with my father a great deal. He liked to sit outside the house where I could see the sea and the men with their goods squatting on their mats, their eyes on the horizon, watching for the ferries.

My father told me that when he had first come here he had not completely lost his sight. He had had a blurred view of the sea and shore, so it was easy for him to picture the scene.

One day he said: “You are not happy here, daughter.” He usually called me daughter. It was as though he were revelling in the relationship.

I replied: “You and Karia have been so good to me. You have done everything …”

“But we have not been able to do enough. Nor shall we ever be able to. Your heart is back in Harper’s Green. You know that as well as I do.”

I was silent.

“You must go back,” he went on.

“Nothing is ever resolved by running away.”

“You knew of this before I came,” I said.

“Aunt Sophie told you much about me.”

“Yes, I know. She never told me about the Barrow Wood incident. She no doubt thought that would have disturbed me too much. Sophie was always protective.”

“You should have gone back to her.”

He shook his head.

“No … not because I needed to be cared for. How could I have done that?”

“There is no need to ask yourself for reasons. She would have cared for you.”

“I know. But I could not do it.”

“She does not even know that you are blind.”

“No.”

“When I go back, do you mind if I tell her?”

“You must tell her. Tell her I am happy enough. Tell her that, although I cannot see, I have found much in life to live for. There are compensations from these afflictions. I can hear better than I ever did, I can distinguish footsteps, the inflections in voices. It amuses me to do that. Don’t let her pity me.”

“I won’t. I shall tell her that, in spite of being blind, you are not unhappy.”

“That is true. I could not ask for better care. Tell her about Karla.

She’ll understand. She knows me well. She knows in her heart that it would never have been right for us. I would never have conformed. I think you understand that now. “

“I think I do.”

“I have been a wandering rogue. I would never have settled until forced to as I am now. You have seen my life here. It is not bad, is it? The old man of the island.

No, that is Olam. But I am lord of all I survey, for I survey nothing.

That is life. Karia is right for me. She understands me. She is fond of me. We are alike in our ways. The moralist would say it is all wrong, but I have had a happy life. It isn’t fair, is it? Your poor mother! Such a good woman and such an unhappy one. “

“She settled her heart on the unimportant things in life. She mourned for the grandeur of the old days. That was what made her unhappy. It killed her in the end.”

My mind went back to that day when she was so angry because she was not to arrange the flowers. It was not even that she greatly wanted to; she needed to be acknowledged as the lady of the manor although she was not.

“Ah, you see,” he said.

“That is life, I suppose. We make our own way through it. What is right for one is not for another. Perhaps there is a lot of luck in it and I have been lucky. But here I am, blind, my careless youth behind me, and yet I have someone to care for me. Would you not say I am a lucky man?”

“Yes, I would, but perhaps you deserve your luck.”

He laughed aloud.

“That seems an odd sort of justice to me. I am as contented as I could be in the circumstances, spending the rest of my life in contemplation and living through the lives of those around me.

Perhaps it is not such a bad idea. Which brings me to you and your affairs. What are you going to do? “

“I have been thinking of little else.”

“I know.”

“I shall have to go back.”

He nodded.

“You must go. You love this man and you are capable of that true love, the faithful, everlasting sort. It’s the best, really. The other well, it is light, amusing, gratifying, exciting, but the lucky ones are those who find the true variety. I think you and your Crispin have it. Should you let all that slip through your fingers? I know I would not. But perhaps I am not a good example for you to follow. You love Crispin. You should be with him. You should not allow obstacles to stand in the way of true love.”

“Crispin is determined to find a way.”

“He will, and you are afraid of some side of his character which bothers you that secretive bit. Perhaps that is what makes him fascinating. After all, it is exciting to discover new depths in those around one. That is what makes new acquaintances so amusing. Perhaps some people grow tired of each other’s society because there are not enough surprises. You are still worried about the mysterious affair of the man in the shrubbery. You think Crispin holds some thing back from you. You suspect him of certain actions, perhaps, but whatever you think he might have done, you still love him, do you not? You have come here and learned that, whatever he has done, you cannot be happy without him. My dear daughter, that is enough. You love him.”

“So … you think that is enough?”

“We are talking of love … true love. It must prevail. It is the most important thing in the world.”

“So I must go home.”

“Go to your room now,” he said.

“Write those letters. Write to Crispin and Sophie and tell them that you are coming home.” His face saddened a little.

“I shall miss you. It will be dull without you. Karia will miss you. It has delighted her to have you here partly because of the pleasure it has given me, but she is fond of you and the merry Tamarisk too. Go and tell them that you are going home and will be with them as soon as possible.”

I put my arms about him and he held me very close to him.

“Tell Sophie that I am a blind old man,” he said.

“My adventuring days are over. Tell her about Casker’s. Tell her it suits me to be here away from all the old haunts.

Tell her I think of her every day and that she is the best I friend I ever had. ” I I left him then. I went to my room and I wrote the letters. They would be ready when the ferry called.

When I had written the letters I went to Tamarisk’s room, for I heard her come in as I was completing them.

I knew she had been to the mission.

“Tamarisk,” I said, “I am going home.”

She stared at me.

“When?” she demanded.

“As soon as it can be arranged. I’ve just written to them to tell them.”

This is sudden, isn’t it? “

“Not really. It’s been in my mind for a long time.”

“Why? What has happened?”

“I just don’t want to stay here any more. I want to be home. I’ve told my father. He understands.”

She looked at me steadily.

“I’m not going.”

“You mean … ?”

“I mean I’m staying here. I’m not going back to Harper’s Green with everyone looking at me and wondering whether I murdered Gaston.”

“They didn’t think that.”

“They seemed to sometimes. I’m not going anyway. I like it here.”

“But, Tamarisk, it’s just a novelty for the moment.”

“It’s no longer a novelty. It’s interesting-the mission, these people, the feather-headed witch doctor.”

“It’s all so remote. It seems far from everything that is real.”

“It’s real to me here, and in any case I’m not going. If you go, you’ll have to go alone.”

“I see.”

“Surely you didn’t think you could decide what you wanted and could just say to me, come on, we’re off.”

It wasn’t like that. “

“It seems like it to me. All right. You go. I’ll stay.”

“Are you sure. Tamarisk?”

“Absolutely.” She paused and then went on: “It might be a little difficult. I can’t stay here, can I? I’m here with you … as a guest.

If you’re not here, why should I be? There’s not much room at the mission. “

“I expect you could stay here.”

“Until I find something.”

“Find something? Where? You talk as though this is somewhere in England where landladies let rooms!”

“Perhaps Karia would let me have a room here. You’d have to travel on your own.”

“I can do that.”

“It’s rather unconventional.”

“I think,” I said, ‘that there are times when it is necessary to be a little unconventional. “

I could see that she was adamant. She would not leave Casker’s Island.

When I told my father, he smiled.

“That,” he said, ‘does not surprise me. “

Karia also took the news calmly. I wondered if she had discussed my situation with my father. I told her that Tamarisk was wondering where she could live when I had gone, and Karia immediately said: “She can stay on here. Why not?”

“She had an idea that she was a guest here because she was accompanying me and naturally would stay where I was. She thinks that if I am no longer here she should not be and she should find other lodgings. And where, she was wondering, could she do that?”

“I like guests,” said Karia, ‘and she is welcome here. “

“Just think,” said my father.

“We shall hear the news of the mission from the horse’s mouth, as it were. She must stay here. I have something to tell you. I have written to a friend in Sydney an old friend whom I once knew very well. She has a son in London whom she visits from time to time. In fact, she is always looking for an excuse to cross the sea to him. I have suggested that she arranges to travel back with you. She will book the passages and you can travel together. Sibyl is amusing. You’ll like her.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“I hope to hear from her by the next ferry. Then we’ll go into action.”

The ferry had arrived. I sat with my father looking down on it as it came in.

“I can picture it down there,” he said.

“All the excitement of arrival. There is sure to be a letter from Sibyl. It would comfort me a great deal to know that you were sailing together. She’s a very experienced traveller and I should like to think she would be with you. If she can’t, well, my dear, I suppose you wouldn’t be the first woman to travel to England alone. We should hear later on in the day, or perhaps tomorrow morning. They take a long time to sort out the mail.”

One or two passengers came ashore. I wondered if they had come for the day and would go back with the ferry. I imagined the salesmen rubbing their hands and placating the spirits in the hope of good business.

I heard the sound of wheels coming up to the house and went out to see what was happening. A woman was sitting in the cart, surrounded by several pieces of luggage. She was incongruously dressed in a blue silk gown which appeared to be in high fashion, and on her head was perched a straw hat dominated by what must be a mythical bird at least, I did not recognize it as belonging to any species I knew.

When she saw me she smiled warmly.

“I’ll guess you’re Frederica. I’m Sibyl Fraser. It’s nice to meet you. We’re going to be travelling companions, so we’d better get to know each other.”

She started to descend from the cart.

“It was simpler just to come,” she said.

“We can get the next ferry.

It comes in three or four days. That’ll give you time for last-minute preparations. I like enough time. Can’t bear to be rushed. “

“Come in,” I said.

“My father will be so pleased to see you.”

Karia came out, and I said: “This is Mrs. Sibyl Fraser, who has come to take me back to England with her.”

“Rather unexpected, I fear,” said Mrs. Fraser.

“I thought it easier to come than write. I’ve booked our passage on the Star of the Seas. She sails at the beginning of next month, so there’s not a lot of time to lose.”

I was grateful for the presence of Sibyl Fraser. She was a light-hearted companion-the best I could have had at that time. She was, as she said, determined to look after me, because her dearest friend Ronald Hammond had asked her to.

“I would do anything for Ronnie,” she declared.

“Just anything. Not that this is an onerous task, dear. Far from it. I love to be with you, and it is nice to have an excuse for going to see my Bertie.”

I had learned her history in a very short time, for she talked continuously, mainly about herself, which suited my mood.

She had been a great success during her London season. Debutante of the Year, they had called her.

“Of course, dear, I was much, much younger then. They had expected me to marry a duke, an earl perhaps, a baronet at least. But it was my Bertram Fraser I fell in love with-a rough diamond, but a 24-carat one. My dear, he was very indeed. It was due to gold-mining in Australia. He owned several mines and I was happy to go out there with him. A disappointment for them at home who had hoped for a coronet, but the money made up for a good deal.”

“It sounds very satisfactory,” I said.

“Oh my dear, it was. But then life’s what you make it, I always said. I had my Bertram and very soon young Bertie put in an appearance. What more could a woman ask for? It was wonderful for me after what I had had in the past. We were of a good family but it was always scrape, scrape, scrape to keep up appearances and then, there I was! I only had to want something and it was mine.”

“A great compensation for the loss of your coronet,” I said.

“Exactly! Particularly as one of them they had in mind for me was a disagreeable old man of fifty. We were happy, Bertram and I, and then he got himself killed. It was in one of his mines. He’d gone down to see something and the thing collapsed on him. He left his fortune to Bertie and me. I was heartbroken, but I wasn’t the sort to go about moping. I’d lost Bertram, but I’d got my little Bertie.”

“And your fortune,” I reminded her.

“That’s so, dear. We had lived in Melbourne to be near the mines, but we had a place in Sydney and I moved there. It suited me better. I travelled a bit. It was on a trip to Egypt when I met your father.

That was about six years after Bertram’s death. We became friends . very good friends, and we’ve kept it up ever since. It was always a pleasure when we met and we did meet through the years . here and there. A good friend is always a good friend. Then I got this letter.

I knew he’d gone blind and that Karia was looking after him. He’d met her in Egypt. She’s a good sort. Does everything for him, doesn’t she?

Even writes his letters for him. Well, he’ll always find someone who wants to look after him. I would have done it myself. “

“He is very fortunate to have such good friends.”

“He’s that sort. I knew he had a daughter. I used to talk to him about Bertie. Bertie went to school in England and made a lot of friends there, went round visiting, met his wife and stayed there. All very natural. He didn’t want to go in for gold-mining. And I didn’t want him to, after what happened to his father. So he’s settled there with his wife and family. Yes, I’m a grandmother, only don’t tell anybody, will you? I go and see them when I can. This is a good excuse. When I’ve taken you to your home I shall go and stay with Bertie and his family.”

“It’s very kind of you to do all this for my father.”

“I’d do a lot more for him. He’s one of the best. We all loved him, so he must be.”

“Yes, I think he must be.”

“And I’m doing this for myself too.”

It was an emotional farewell between my father and myself. We had stayed up late on the night before the ferry which was to take us to Cato Cato came in.

My father grew very sentimental. He told me how happy my visit had made him, how all through the years he had thought of me. Before he had left home, he had stood by my cot.

“You were a most beautiful child. I could scarcely bear to leave you. Sophie dear Sophie she kept in touch all those years. I was so pleased when you went to her.”

“I think you should have gone back to her,” I told him.

“She would have forgiven you for turning from her in the first place.”

“No. I wasn’t good enough for Sophie. It was better as it was.”

“Perhaps I shall come out and see you some time.”

“With your husband. I should so enjoy that. It is my dearest wish now.”

When the ferry carried us away, he stood on the shore. I knew that in his mind’s eye he would have a picture of the scene. He would visualize my standing there, sad to leave him, yet eager to be going to my lover.

Karia was there beside him. I saw her hand on his, a gesture which told me she would take care of him as long as he needed her. She it was who had written those letters to Sophie since he had been unable to, copying his hand writing because she would understand that he did not want Sophie to know of his infirmity. She had taken care of him in every possible way and she would go on doing so.

Tamarisk was there. She was a little reproachful. She had not wanted me to go.

“Wait a while,” she had said.

“We have not been here so very long.”

I pointed out that we had been away from home for a very long time.

“I can’t go yet, Fred,” she said.

“You understand that.”

“I understand you and you must understand why I have to go.”

She pouted in the old familiar way and I did wonder then how long the island would continue to be of interest to her.

There were others on the shore; the Havers were there with Luke and the boy Jaco. Indeed, most of the children on the island were there.

Of course, they came to see the departure of the ferry boat, but I think the crowds were even more than usual on that day.

A sadness crept over me when the island was no longer visible. I felt that a little part of my life had gone for ever, and when I looked back on that strange interlude it seemed like a dream.

The next day we were at Cato Cato where we spent two nights in the hotel in which I had stayed before.

Sibyl Fraser was a knowledgeable traveller and when we arrived in Sydney she had arranged for us to stay there for a day or so while we awaited the arrival of the Star of the Seas.