Seven for a Secret

St. Aubyn’s

I was very fortunate after such a tragic upheaval, not on! ) to have Aunt Sophie as my guardian but to be taken b-her to what must be one of the most fascinating count if in England.

There is a strange ambience about that part of th country of which I was immediately aware. When I mentioned it to Aunt Sophie she said:

“It’s the ancient relics You can’t help thinking of those people who lived here years and years ago, before history was recorded, and they’ve left their mark.”

There was the White Horse on the hillside. One had to be some distance from it to see it clearly and it was mysterious; but chiefly there were the stones which nobody could explain, though they guessed they had been put there long before the birth of Christ to make some place of worship.

The village of Harper’s Green itself was very similar to many other English villages. There was the old Norman church, which was constantly in need of restoration, the green, the duck pond the row of Tudor cottages facing it, and the manor house -in this case St. Aubyn’s Park, which had been erected round about the sixteenth century.

Aunt Sophie’s house was by no means large, but extremely comfortable.

There were always fires in the rooms during the cold weather. Lily, who came from Cornwall, told me she could not ‘abide the cold’. She and Aunt Sophie collected as much wood as they could throughout’ the year and there was always a store in the woodshed.

Lily had been at Cedar Hall. She had left her native Cornwall to go there, just as Meg had lett London; she was of course, well acquainted with Meg and it was a pleasure to talk of her to someone who knew my old friend.

“She went with Miss Caroline,” said Lily.

“I was the lucky one. I stayed with Miss Sophie.”

I had written to Meg but her efforts with the pen were somewhat laborious and so far I had heard little from her except that she hoped I was well as it found her at present and the house in Somerset was a bit of all right. That was comforting and I was glad I was able to write to her glowingly of my own circumstances; and if she found difficulty in reading it herself, I was sure there would be someone who could read it to her.

There were two houses of distinction in the neighbourhood. One was St. Aubyn’s Park and the other the red brick and gracious Bell House.

“It’s called that,” said Aunt Sophie, ‘because there’s a bell over the porch. It’s high up, nearly in the roof, and it has always been there.

Must have been a meeting house at some time. The Dorians live there.

There’s a girl about your age . orphan. Lost both parents. She’s Mrs. Dorian’s sister’s girl, I believe. Then, of course, there’s the family at St. Aubyn’s. “

“What are they like?”

“Oh, they’re the St. Aubyns … same name as the house. Been there ever since it was built. You can work it out. The house was built at the end of the sixteenth century and the Bell House was just over a hundred years later.”

“What about the St. Aubyn family?”

“There are two children … well, children! Master Crispin wouldn’t like to be called that! He’ll be twenty at least. Very haughty gentleman. Then there’s the girl, Tamarisk. Unusual name. It’s a tree.

Pretty feathery sort. Tamarisk is about your age. So you might get asked to tea. “

“We never had tea with the people who bought Cedar Hall.”

“That might have been due to your mother, dear.”

“She despised them because they had shops.”

“Poor Caroline. She always made a rod for her own back. Nobody cared that she hadn’t got what she once had … except herself. Well, the St. Aubyns are the important family. I suppose the Bell House people come next. Never worried me that I was brought up in Cedar Hall and now live in The Rowans.”

The Rowans was the name of our house, so called because it had two rowan trees in the front one on either! side of the porch. I loved to hear Aunt Sophie talk about the village. There was the Reverend Hetherington who was ‘past it’, and I whose sermons rambled on interminably, and Miss Maud’ Hetherington, who kept the household in order, and the rest of us as well. “Very forceful lady,” commented Aunt Sophie, ‘and essential to the poor Rev. ” i I was fascinated by the group of stones which were a few miles from The Rowans. I first saw them when I rode by in Joe Jobbings’s dogcart with Aunt Sophie on the way to Salisbury to do some shopping which was unavailable in Harper’s Green.

“Could we stop here for a moment, Joe?” asked Aunt Sophie, and Joe obligingly did so.

When I stood among those ancient boulders I felt the past close in about me. I was excited and exhilarated, yet I was aware of a sense of dread.

Aunt Sophie told me a little about them.

“Nobody’s quite sure,” she told me.

“Some think they were put there by the Druids about seventeen hundred years before Christ lived. I don’t know much else, except that it was a sort of temple. They worshipped the heavens in those days. The stones are laid out to catch the rising and the setting of the sun, they say.”

I took her arm and held it tightly. I was glad to be there with her, and I was very thoughtful as we got back into the dogcart and Joe Jobbings drove us home.

I was so happy to be in this place, particularly when I looked back to the Middlemore days in the shadow of Cedar Hall.

We went regularly to see my mother. She seemed comfortable but not quite sure what had happened to her or where she was.

I felt sad when I left her; and, watching Aunt Sophie, I could not help feeling that, if my mother had been like her, how much happier we might have been.

And Aunt Sophie was becoming dearer to me every day.

There were many practical details to be arranged my education foremost among them.

Aunt Sophie took a prominent part in the affairs of Harper’s Green.

She had unbounded energy, and liked to direct. She kept the church choir together, organized the annual fete and bazaar and, although she and Miss Hetherington were not always in agreement, they were both too wise not to recognize the talents of the other.

True, Aunt Sophie lived in a small house which could not be compared with St. Aubyn’s or the Bell House, but she had been brought up in a great house and knew the obligations of such and was well versed in the management of village life. I quickly realized that, though less affluent, we were in the same bracket as the gentry.

Before I met the people who were to play an important part in my life, I learned something of them through Aunt Sophie’s descriptions. I knew that old Thomas, who spent his days on the seat looking over the duck pond had been a gardener up at St. Aubyn’s until the rheumatics ‘got to his legs’ and put an end to that. He still had his little cottage on the St. Aubyn estate which he used to tell anyone who was sitting beside him he had ‘for the term of his natural life’, which made it sound more like a prison sentence than the boon of which he was so proud. I was warned that I must say a quick good-day to Thomas when passing if I did not want to be drawn into reminiscences of the old days.

Then there was poor old Charlie, who had long ago said goodbye to any wits he might have had; and Major Cummings, who had served in India at the time of the Mutiny and spent his days recalling that important event.

Aunt Sophie referred to them as the “Old Men of the Green’. They assembled there each day when the weather permitted it and, said Aunt Sophie, their conversation was a mixed grill of Thomas’s cottage and rheumatism and the Indian Mutiny while poor Charlie sat there, nodding and listening with rapt attention as if it were all new to him.

They were the background figures the chorus, as it were. The people who interested me were those of my own age in particular the two girls from St. Aubyn’s Park and the Bell House.

Aunt Sophie explained: “There’s Tamarisk St. Aubyn. She’s a bit of a wild one. No wonder. The St. Aubyns mere and pere were wrapped up in themselves. Never much time for the youngsters. Of course, there were nurses and nannies … but a child needs special care from the right quarter.”

She looked at me almost wistfully. She knew that my mother would have been too obsessed by those lost ‘better days’ to have had time to try to give me some good ones.

“Merry pair, they were,” she went on.

“Parties … dancing. They had a riotous time. Up to London. Off to the Continent. You might say, what of it? They always had the nursemaids and governesses. Lily says it was unnatural.”

Tell me about the children. “

“There are Crispin and Tamarisk. Tamarisk is about your age.

Crispin’s quite a bit older ten years, I think. They had their son and I don’t think they wanted any more although as soon as the little mites appeared they could be handed over to someone to be looked after. But there would be that period before they arrived. Very restricting. Very inconvenient for the sort of life Mrs. St. Aubyn liked to live For a long time it seemed there would only be Crispin. He did not interfere with the merry life at St. Aubyn’s. I think they hardly knew him. You can imagine the sort of thing brought down to be inspected now and then. He had a nurse who thought the world of him. He doesn’t forget her. I will say that for him. He’s always looked after them. There are two of them, sisters. Gone a bit odd, one of them. Poor Flora. They’ve always been together. Never married, either of them. They’ve got a little cottage on the estate. Crispin sees they’re all right. He remembers his nanny.

But you were asking about the young ones. Well, the father died. Too much riotous living, people say. But they do say things like that, don’t they? Late nights, too much gadding up to Town and abroad . too much alcohol. In any case, it was all too much for Jonathan St. Aubyn. She went to pieces after that. They say she’s still too fond of the bottle . but people will say anything. It was a mercy that Crispin was of a responsible age when his father died. He took over. I believe he’s a great one for taking over. “

“And he looks after the place very well, doesn’t he?”

“Very much the squire ” and don’t you forget it” kind. Most admit it is just what the old place needed, but there are some who haven’t got a good word to say for him. He’s got a fine opinion of himself to make up for that, though. That’s the son of the house now the Lord of the Manor.”

“Is there a Lady of the Manor?”

“I suppose you’d say there was Mrs. St. Aubyn, the mother. But she’s hardly ever out of the house. Gave up when her husband died and took to invalidism. They were devoted to each other. And she didn’t care for anything but living the wild life with him. Crispin was married. “

Was? ” I asked.

“She ran away and left him. People said they weren’t surprised.”

“So he still has a wife?”

“No. She went to London and soon after there was an accident on the railway. She was killed.”

“How dreadful!”

“Some said it was just retribution for her sins. Pious old Josiah Dorian at the Bell House was sure of this. The more charitable said they could understand the poor girl wanted to get away from her husband.”

“It sounds very dramatic.”

“Well, dear, that depends on the way you look at it. We’ve got a mixed brew here, but you get that in any village. It all looks so peaceful and calm, but probe below the surface and you’re bound to find something you didn’t expect. It’s like turning over a stone to see what’s beneath. Ever done that? Try it one day and you’ll see what I mean.”

“So this Crispin, he’s married … and yet not.”

“It’s called being a widower. He’s rather young for that, but I suppose the poor girl couldn’t stand living with him. Perhaps it will warn others not to attempt it. Although, I must say that, with a grand place like St. Aubyn’s and he being master of it, it might be a temptation to some.”

“Tell me about Tamarisk.”

“That was what I was coming to. She must be a month or so older than you … or perhaps younger. I’m not sure. She was what they call an afterthought. I don’t think for a moment that merry couple wanted another child. Think of the jolly life Madam would have to give up for a few months. Well, Tamarisk arrived. It must have been at least ten years after the birth of Crispin.”

“They must have been very annoyed with her for being born.”

“Oh, it was all right once she was born. Then she was handed over to nurses. She wouldn’t be allowed to intrude. No wonder she’s said to be wilful and wayward. Like her brother. I expect the nurses gave in to them. It would be a nice easy job without interference from above. They wouldn’t want to upset that. Poor little things. Their parents must have been almost strangers to them. But perhaps I should say poor Mrs. St. Aubyn. Her life had been with her husband and she lost him. Maud Hetherington and I take it in turns to visit her. She doesn’t want to see us and I am sure we don’t want to see her. But Maud says it must be done, and there is no gainsaying Maud.”

“Shall I know them?”

“That’s what I’m coming to. But first the Dorians at the Bell House.

Nice place. Stands back from the road. Red brick. Mullioned windows.

Pity. “

“Why a pity?”

“Pity the Dorians are there. That could be a happy house. I’d like to live there. Rather large for me, I suppose, but we could use it. I think old Josiah Dorian can’t forget it was once a meeting house.

Quakers, most likely. It’s not exactly a church, but as near as makes no difference. A meeting place for people . the sort, I imagine, who think to laugh means a ticket to hell. It’s in that house still.

Hangs on, I suppose, and Josiah Dorian is not the man to change it.”

“There’s a girl there, isn’t there? You said a girl of about my age .. like Tamarisk St. Aubyn.”

“Yes, you’d be much of a much ness Poor girl! Lost her parents some time ago. Pity for her she came to her uncle and aunt.”

I came to my aunt. “

She laughed.

“Well, dear, I’m no Josiah Dorian.”

“I think I was very lucky.”

“Bless you, child. We both were. We’ll bring luck to each other. I’m sorry for poor Rachel in a place like that. It’s all very Sunday-go-to-meeting, if you know what I mean.

They can’t get servants to stay long. Mary Dorian weighs out the sugar and locks up the tea . at her husband’s command, they say. Josiah Dorian is a mean man. Rachel’s mother was Mary Dorian’s sister. Well, what I’m getting at is this. I’ve taken my time getting round to it because I wanted you to know the people you’d be with. That’s if I can fix it. It’s your education I’ve got in mind. I want you to go to school. a good school. “

“Wouldn’t that be costly?”

“We’ll manage when it’s necessary. But not yet. In another year, say.

In the meantime. Tamarisk has a governess up at the house Miss Lloyd. Rachel shares the governess. She goes along each day to St. Aubyn’s and has lessons with Tamarisk. You see what I’m driving at? “

“You think that I… ?”

Aunt Sophie nodded vigorously.

“I haven’t quite fixed it yet, but I’m going to. I can’t see why you shouldn’t join them. I don’t think there’ll be any difficulty. I’ll have to get Mrs. St. Aubyn to agree, but she doesn’t care much what goes on, and I don’t expect opposition there. Then there is old Josiah Dorian. I suppose I’ll have to get him to agree, too. However, we’ll see. It would certainly solve our problem for a time.”

I felt excited by the prospect.

“It would mean your going to St. Aubyn’s every morning. It will be nice to be with people of your own age.”

While we were talking Lily put her head round the door.

“That Miss Hetherington’s here,” she said.

“Bring her in,” cried Aunt Sophie. She turned to me.

“We’re going to meet our vicar’s daughter his right hand and good counsellor in whose capable hands lies the fate of Harper’s Green.”

When she came into the room I saw that she was all Aunt Sophie had said she was. I recognized her power at once. Tall, large, hair drawn severely back from a face under a small hat which was perched on the top of her head and decorated with forget-me-nots, she wore a blouse, the neck of which was held almost up to her chin with supports and which gave her a look of severity; her eyes, behind her spectacles, were brown and alert; her teeth were slightly prominent; and about her was that unmistakable air of authority.

Her eyes immediately fell on me. I went forward.

“So this is the niece,” she said.

“She is indeed,” said Aunt Sophie, with a smile.

“Welcome, child,” said Miss Hetherington.

“You’ll be one of us. You will be happy here.” It was a command rather than a prophecy.

“Yes, I know,” I said.

She looked satisfied and regarded me steadily for a few seconds. I think she was trying to assess what useful tasks could be assigned to me.

Aunt Sophie told her that she was hoping I might join the girls for lessons at St. Aubyn’s.

“Of course,” said Miss Hetherington.

“It’s only sensible. Miss Lloyd can teach three as easily as two.”

“I shall have to get the agreement of Mrs. St. Aubyn and the Dorians.”

“Of course they must agree.”

I wondered what steps she would take if they did not, but I hardly thought they would dare to disobey her.

“Now, Sophie, there are matters to be dealt with …”

I slipped out of the room and left them together.

A few days later Aunt Sophie told me that the matter of the governess had been settled. I was to join Tamarisk and Rachel in the schoolroom at St. Aubyn’s.

Ever thoughtful, and realizing that it would be good for me to know something of my companions before joining them for lessons. Aunt Sophie invited both girls to tea at The Rowans.

I was very excited at the prospect of meeting them and went down to the sitting-room filled with curiosity and some apprehension.

Rachel Grey arrived first. She was a slight, dark-haired girl with big brown eyes. We regarded each other with some hauteur and shook hands gravely while Aunt Sophie looked on smiling.

“You and Rachel will get on well,” she said.

“My niece is new to Harper’s Green, Rachel. You’ll show her the ropes, dear, won’t you?”

Rachel smiled wanly and replied: “As far as I am able, I will.”

“Well, now you know each other, sit down and let’s have a chat.”

“You live in the Bell House,” I began.

“I think it looks charming.”

“The house is nice,” said Rachel, and then stopped.

“A real period piece,” said Aunt Sophie.

“Nearly as old as St. Aubyn’s.”

“Oh, not as grand as that,” said Rachel.

“It has great charm,” insisted Aunt Sophie.

“Tamarisk is late.”

“Tamarisk is always late,” said Rachel.

“Hm,” grunted Aunt Sophie.

“She’s ever so keen to meet you,” said Rachel to me.

“She’ll be here soon.”

She was right.

“Oh, here you are, my dear,” said Aunt Sophie.

“Delayed, were you?”

“Oh yes,” said the newcomer. She was quite attractive, with very fair curly hair, sparkling blue eyes, and a short retrousse nose which gave her a jaunty look. She looked at me with undisguised curiosity.

“So you’re the niece.”

“And you are Tamarisk St. Aubyn.”

“From St. Aubyn’s Park,” she said, her eyes sweeping round Aunt Sophie’s tastefully furnished but not very large drawing-room and somehow belittling it.

“How do you do?” I asked coolly.

“Well, thank you, and you?”

“Well,” I replied.

“You’re going to have lessons with Rachel and me.”

“Yes. I’m looking forward to it.”

She screwed up her face and made a pouting expression with which I was to become familiar, implying that I might change my mind when I met the governess.

She said: “Old Lallie is a slave-driver, isn’t she, Rachel?”

Rachel did not answer. She seemed timid and perhaps in awe of Tamarisk.

“Old Lallie?” I asked.

“Lallie Lloyd. Her name is Alice. I call her Lallie.”

“Not to her face,” put in Rachel quietly.

“I would,” retorted Tamarisk.

“I am starting on Monday,” I told them.

“You three can get to know each other,” said Aunt Sophie.

“I’ll see about tea.”

And I was alone with them.

“You’ve come to live here now, I suppose,” said Tamarisk.

“My mother is ill. She’s in a nursing home near here. That’s why I’m here.”

“Rachel’s mother and father died. That’s why she’s here with her uncle and aunt.”

“Yes, I know. She’s at the Bell House.”

“It’s not as good as our place,” Tamarisk told me.

“It’s not bad, though.” Again she gave Aunt Sophie’s drawing-room that look of pity and contempt.

“We’re going to school later on,” Rachel told me.

“Tamarisk and I shall go together.”

“I think I probably shall too.”

“Then there’ll be three of us.” Tamarisk giggled.

“I shall be glad to go to school. It’s a pity we’re all so young. “

That will change, of course,” I said, a little primly perhaps, and Tamarisk burst out laughing.

“You sound like old Lallie already,” she said.

“Tell us about your old home.”

I told them and they listened intently and while they were talking Lily came in with the tea.

Aunt Sophie followed.

“You’ll look after our guests, Freddie,” she said.

“I’ll leave you to it. Then you can all get to know each other without the help of the grownups.”

I felt important pouring out the tea and handing round the cakes.

“What a funny name,” said Tamarisk.

“Isn’t it, Rachel? Freddie! It’s like a boy.”

“It’s Frederica really.”

“Frederica!” Her expression was disdainful.

“Mine’s more unusual. Poor old Rachel, yours is ordinary. Didn’t Rachel do something in the Bible?”

“Yes,” said Rachel.

“She did.”

“I like Tamarisk best. I shouldn’t like to be called by a boy’s name.”

“Nobody would mistake you for one,” I replied, which sent Tamarisk into gusts of laughter.

Then we talked together freely and I felt they had accepted me. They told me about the vagaries of old Lallie, how easily she could be hoodwinked, though one had to take care when attempting this; how she had had a lover who had died when he was young of some mysterious illness and that was why she had remained unmarried and had to go on being a governess to people like Tamarisk, Rachel and me instead of having her own home, with a loving husband and a family.

By the time tea was over I had lost my apprehension and felt I could deal adequately with Tamarisk and had no fear of Rachel.

On the following Monday I set out for St. Aubyn’s Park, full of cautious optimism, to face Miss Alice Lloyd.

St. Aubyn’s Park was a large Tudor mansion with a winding drive bordered on each side by flowering shrubs. There was an impressive gatehouse under which Aunt Sophie and I passed and went into a cobbled courtyard. Aunt Sophie had come along with me, as she said, ‘to introduce you to the place’.

“Don’t let Tamarisk overawe you,” she said.

“She will if she has half a chance. Remember, you’re as good as she is.”

I promised I would not.

We were let in by a maid who said: “Miss Lloyd is waiting for the young lady. Miss Cardingham.”

Thank you. We’ll go up, shall we? “

“If you would be so good,” was the answer.

The hall was lofty. There was a long refectory table with several chairs round it and on the wall a full-length portrait of Queen Elizabeth looking severe in a ruff and a jewel-spattered gown.

“She stayed here once,” whispered Aunt Sophie.

“The family is very proud of it.”

She led the way up a staircase; we came to a landing and, after more stairs, passed through a gallery in which were several sofas, chairs, a spinet and a harp. I wondered if Tamarisk could play them. Then there were more stairs.

“Schoolrooms always seem to be at the top of the house,” commented Aunt Sophie.

“They were at Cedars.”

At last we arrived. Aunt Sophie knocked at a door and went in.

This was the schoolroom which was to become very familiar to me. It was large with a high ceiling. In the centre of the room was a long table at which Tamarisk and Rachel were sitting. I noticed the big cupboard, the door of which was half-open to show books and slates. At one end of the room was a blackboard. It was the typical schoolroom.

A woman came towards us. She was, of course, Miss Alice Lloyd. She was tall and thin and I imagined in her early forties. I noticed the faintly long-suffering expression in her face which must have come from trying to teach people like Tamarisk St. Aubyn. This was mingled with a wistfulness and reminded me that Tamarisk had said she looked back to a past which had held a lover and dreams of what might have been.

“This is my niece. Miss Lloyd, Freddie … that is, Frederica.”

Miss Lloyd smiled at me and her smile transformed her. I liked her from that moment.

“Welcome, Frederica,” she said.

“You must tell me all about yourself.

Then I shall know where you stand in relation to my two other pupils. ”

Tm sure you’ll get on well,” said Aunt Sophie.

“I’ll see you later, dear.”

She said goodbye to Miss Lloyd and left.

I was told to sit down and Miss Lloyd asked me a few questions. She seemed not dissatisfied with my achievements and the lessons began.

I had always been interested in acquiring knowledge; I had read a great deal and I soon realized that I by no means lagged behind my companions.

At eleven o’clock a maid came in with a tray on which were three glasses of milk and three plain biscuits.

“I’ve put yours in your room. Miss Lloyd,” she said.

“Thank you,” said Miss Lloyd.

“Now, girls, fifteen minutes only.”

Tamarisk grimaced at her back as she left.

The hot milk tasted delicious. We all took a biscuit.

“Free for a while,” commented Tamarisk.

“Do you do this every day?” I asked.

Tamarisk nodded.

“Milk at eleven. Eleven-fifteen, lessons, and they go on till twelve. Then you and Rachel go home.”

Rachel nodded in agreement.

“I expect you think this house is very grand,” said Tamarisk to me.

“It isn’t as grand as the house where my mother was brought up,” I said, feeling a little exaggeration was not amiss.

“It was Cedar Hall.

You may have heard of it. “

Tamarisk shook her head dismissively.

But I was not going to have that. I went into a description imaginary, of course, for I had never been inside Cedar Hall. But I could describe its gracious interior on what I had seen at St. Aubyn’s, making sure to make it more grand, more impressive.

Rachel sat back, listening intently, seeming to sink further and further into her chair.

“Of course,” said Tamarisk, eyeing Rachel, “Rachel doesn’t know what we are talking about.”

“I do,” said Rachel.

“Oh no you don’t. You only live in the old Bell House, and before that, where did you come from? You couldn’t know anything about houses like this, could she, Fred?”

I said: “You can know things. You don’t necessarily have to live in them. Besides, Rachel’s here, isn’t she?”

Rachel looked grateful and from that moment I decided to protect her.

She was small and pretty in a fragile way. I liked Rachel. I was not sure of Tamarisk.

We went on boasting about our houses until Miss Lloyd came in with the maid. The latter took away the tray and we settled down to the lesson.

On that first morning I remember we did geography and English grammar: and I became quite absorbed, to the pleasure of Miss Lloyd, which was apparent.

It was quite a satisfactory morning until we started to leave for home.

I was to walk back to The Rowans in the company of Rachel, for the Bell House and The Rowans were not very far from each other.

Miss Lloyd smiled benignly on me and said that she was pleased that I had joined them and she was sure I was going to be a satisfactory pupil.

Then she left us and went to the little room which she called her ‘sanctum’ and which was next to the schoolroom.

Tamarisk came down the stairs with us.

“Huh!” she said, giving me a little push.

“I can see you are going to be old Lallie’s pet. Sucking up, that’s what I call it, Fred Hammond.

“I am sure you are going to be a satisfactory pupil.”

” She mimicked Miss Lloyd.

“I don’t like suckers-up,” she added ominously.

“I was only being natural,” I said.

“I like Miss Lloyd and I shall be a satisfactory pupil if I want to. She needs at least one.” Then I looked at Rachel whom I had promised myself to protect, and went on:

“Or two of us.”

“Swot!” said Tamarisk.

“I do hate swots.”

“I’ve come here to learn and that is what we are all supposed to do.

What would be the use of coming otherwise? “

“Just hark at her,” said Tamarisk to Rachel.

Rachel lowered her eyes. No doubt she was used to Tamarisk bullying and felt she had had to accept it as payment for being able to share the lessons. But this sharing was no business of Tamarisk’s. It had been arranged by the grownups, and I was not going to pander to it.

Tamarisk decided to abandon the matter. I was to learn that her moods were short-lived. She could insult one moment and profess friendship the next. I knew in my heart that she was rather pleased that I had come to share the lessons; and the fact that I stood up to her amused her. It broke the monotony of Rachel’s meek acceptance.

As we came down the wide staircase a man was at the bottom waiting to come up.

“Hello, Crispin,” said Tamarisk.

Crispin! I thought. The brother! The Lord of the Manor who didn’t want people to forget it.

He was just as I had expected from Aunt Sophie’s description. Tall, lean, with dark hair and light greyish eyes cool eyes rather contemptuous of the world. He was in riding clothes and appeared just to have come in.

He nodded in acknowledgement of his sister’s greeting and his eyes momentarily swept over Rachel and me. Then he ran past us up the stairs.

Tamarisk said: “That’s my brother, Crispin.”

“I know. You said his name.”

“All this is his,” she said proudly, throwing out her arms.

“He didn’t take much notice of you!”

“That was because you were here.”

Then I heard his voice. It was one of those clear voices which carry a long way.

He said: “Who is the plain child with the others?” He was talking to someone up there.

“New, I imagine,” he added.

Tamarisk was suppressing her laughter. I felt the blood rushing to my face. I knew I was not handsome like Tamarisk or pretty like Rachel, but ‘the plain child’! I felt bitterly hurt and humiliated.

“Well,” said Tamarisk, who had little respect for the feelings of others, ‘he did want to know who you were. After all, it’s his house, isn’t it, and you are plain. “

I said: “I don’t care. Miss Lloyd likes me. My aunt likes me. I don’t care what your rude brother thinks.”

“That wasn’t rude. It was just truth.

“Trust must stand when all is failing” or something like that. You’d know that. You’re clever.

You’re old Lallie’s pet. “

We walked to the door and Tamarisk said, without rancour: “Goodbye, see you tomorrow.”

As I walked down the drive with Rachel, I was thinking:

I’m plain.

I had never considered it before and now I was faced with the bald truth.

Rachel slipped her arm through mine. She had suffered humiliation herself and knew how I felt. She did not say anything, for which I was grateful, and I walked along in silence, thinking: I’m plain.

We reached the Bell House. It looked attractive in sun shine. As we approached it, a man came out of the gate. He was middle-aged with wiry ginger hair which was beginning to turn grey at the temples, and he had a short spiky beard.

He had his hand on the gate and I noticed it was covered with ginger hairs. His mouth was straight and tight and he had small light eyes.

“Good day to you,” he said, and he was looking at me.

“You’ll be the newcomer from The Rowans. You have been having lessons at St. Aubyn’s.”

“This is my uncle,” said Rachel quietly.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Dorian,” I said.

He nodded, moistening his lips with his tongue. I had a sudden feeling of revulsion, which I could not quite under stand, so definite was it.

Rachel had changed too. She seemed a little fearful. But then I supposed she always was.

“The Lord’s blessing on you,” said Mr. Dorian, and he continued to look at me.

I said goodbye and walked on to The Rowans.

Aunt Sophie was waiting there for me with Lily. Lunch was already on the table.

“Well,” said Aunt Sophie, ‘how did it go? “

“Very well.”

“That’s good. I said it would, didn’t I, Lily? I reckon you put the other two in the shade.”

“I reckon you did and all,” said Lily.

“Miss Lloyd seemed to think I was all right. She said she was glad I was coming to her to be taught.”

They exchanged glances. Then Lily said: “I haven’t sweated over the fire all the morning cooking food that’s let get cold.”

We sat at the table and she served us. I could not eat very much.

“So,” said Aunt Sophie, ‘it was an exciting morning. “

I was glad when I could escape to my room. I looked in the mirror.

Plain! I thought. Well, I was. My hair was dark and, although thick, straight. Tamarisk’s was curly and a lovely colour, Rachel’s waved prettily. My cheeks were smooth but palish, my eyes light brown with long, though pale, brown lashes: I had rather a large nose and a wide mouth.

I was looking at my face when Aunt Sophie came into the room. She sat on the bed.

“Better tell me,” she said.

“What happened? Didn’t it go well?”

“You mean the lessons?”

“I mean everything. Has Tamarisk been getting at you in some way? It wouldn’t surprise me.”

“I can deal with her.”

“I thought you would be able to. She’s a puffed-up balloon. Let out the air and she’s deflated. Poor Tamarisk. She can’t have had the best possible of childhoods. Well, what was it?”

“It was … the brother.”

“Tamarisk’s brother Crispin! Where does he come into this?”

“He was there in the hall when we came out.”

“What did he say to you?”

“He didn’t say anything to me … but about me.”

She was looking at me incredulously. I explained about the brief encounter and how I had heard him say “Who is that plain child?”

“The cad!” she said.

“You don’t want to take any notice of him.”

“But it’s true. He said I was plain.”

“You’re not. You don’t want to listen to such nonsense.”

“It is true, though. I’m not pretty like Tamarisk and Rachel.”

“You’ve got something more than mere prettiness, my child. There is something special about you. You’re interesting. That’s what’s important. I’m glad you are the one who’s my niece. I shouldn’t have wanted the others.”

“Really?”

“Most certainly.”

“My nose is big.”

“I like a nose to be a nose … not like a bit of putty that’s just been stuck on.”

I couldn’t help laughing and she went on: “Big noses have character.

Give me a big nose any day! “

I said: “Yours isn’t very big. Aunt Sophie.”

“You take after your father. He had a good nose. He was one of the most handsome men I ever saw. You’ve got good eyes. Expressive.

Bright. They show your feelings. That’s what eyes are for-and to see through, of course. Now, don’t you fret. People say things like that when they’re not thinking much. He was in a hurry, that was what it was, and he didn’t look properly. “

“He just glanced at me and that was all.”

“There you are. He’d say that about anyone. If you’re plain, then I’m Napoleon Bonaparte. So there!”

I could not help laughing. Dear Aunt Sophie! She had rescued me once more.

So from Monday to Friday I went regularly to St. Aubyn’s. I used to meet Rachel at the gate of the Bell House and we would walk to the house and go up the drive together. We formed an alliance against Tamarisk and I became a kind of champion to Rachel.

But I never forgot Crispin St. Aubyn’s comment. It had made a difference to me. I was not plain. Aunt Sophie had made that clear. I had good hair, she insisted. It was fine but abundant. I brushed it until it shone. I often wore it loose about my shoulders instead of in the severe-looking plaits. I made sure my clothes were never crumpled. Tamarisk was aware of this. She did not comment, but she smiled secretively.

She was friendly towards me. Sometimes I think she tried to woo me from my alliance with Rachel. I was pleased and rather flattered.

I saw Crispin St. Aubyn only rarely and usually from a distance. He was clearly not interested in his young sister and her companions.

Aunt Sophie had said he was ‘a cad’, and he was, I assured myself. He was trying to impress everybody with his importance. He was not going to impress Aunt Sophie or me.

One day when I went to meet Rachel, she was not there. I was a little early. The gate to the Bell House was open so I went into the front garden. There was a seat there and I sat down to wait for her.

I gazed at the house. It was indeed gracious, more charming, I decided, than St. Aubyn’s Park. It ought to be a happy house, a cosy house, yet I was sure it was not. Tamarisk might be neglected by her family and have been brought up by nurses, but perhaps there could be something to be said for that after all. Rachel was not carefree as she was. Rachel was timid . afraid of something. I felt it might be something in that house.

Perhaps I was a romancer. Meg said I was a dreamer with my fancies, making up stories about people . and half of them without a trace of truth in them.

I heard a voice behind me.

“Good morning, my dear.”

It was Mr. Dorian, Rachel’s uncle, and I felt that urge to get up and run away from him as fast as I could. Why? His voice was very kind.

“So you are waiting for Rachel?”

“Yes,” I said, getting up, for he was preparing to sit down beside me.

He laid a hand on my arm and drew me back on to the seat.

He was looking at me intently.

“You like your lessons with Miss Lloyd?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“That is good … that is very good.”

He was sitting very close to me.

“We shall have to go,” I said.

“We shall be late.”

Then I saw, with relief, that Rachel was coming out of the house.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” began Rachel. Then she saw her uncle.

“You have kept Frederica waiting,” said her uncle with gentle reproach.

“Yes, I’m sorry.”

“Come on then,” I said, eager to get away.

“Be good girls,” said Mr. Dorian.

“The Lord bless you both.”

As we went I saw him looking after us. I could not think why but he made me shiver.

Rachel did not say anything, but she was often quiet. Yet somehow I believed she knew how I was feeling.

The memory of Mr. Dorian lingered for a while. It was faintly unpleasant so I tried to forget it; but when I next called for Rachel I did not go into the garden but waited outside.

Miss Lloyd and I got on very well together and it was gratifying to be aware that I was her favourite pupil. She said I was responsive. We shared a love of poetry and often we analysed it together while Rachel looked bewildered and Tamarisk bored, as though what we discussed was beneath her notice.

Miss Lloyd said it would be pleasant if Rachel and I were asked to have tea with Tamarisk.

“Don’t you agree. Tamarisk?” she asked.

“I don’t mind,” said Tamarisk ungraciously.

“Very well. We’ll have a little tea-party.”

Aunt Sophie was amused when I told her.

“You ought to see something more of the house than that old schoolroom,” she commented.

“It’s worth a bit of attention. I’m glad you and Miss Lloyd are friends. Sensible woman. She realizes how much cleverer you are than the others.”

“Perhaps I’m not so handsome but I learn more quickly.”

“Nonsense. I mean nonsense to the first and true to the second. Hold your head high, my dear. Think well of yourself and others will too.”

So I went to the tea-party. There were dainty sandwiches and delicious cherry cake; and Miss Lloyd said that, as the hostess, Tamarisk should entertain us.

Tamarisk made a familiar gesture of indifference and behaved just as usual.

Miss Lloyd had apparently asked Mrs. St. Aubyn, who, it transpired.

Tamarisk visited at four-thirty on those days when her mother was well enough to see her, if she would like to meet the girls who shared her daughter’s lessons. To Miss Lloyd’s surprise, she had agreed to do this, providing that, when the time came, she felt well enough and they did not stay too long.

Thus it was that I met the lady of the house the mother of Tamarisk and Crispin.

Miss Lloyd ushered us in and we hovered.

Mrs. St. Aubyn was clad in a negligee of mauve chiffon with lace and ribbons decorating it. She was lying on a sofa with a table beside it on which was a box of fondants. She was rather plump but seemed very beautiful with her golden hair the same colour as Tamarisk’s piled high on her head. There was a diamond pendant about her throat and the same gems glittered on her fingers.

She looked languidly at us and her eyes alighted on me.

“This is Frederica, Mrs. St. Aubyn,” said Miss Lloyd.

“Miss Cardingham’s niece.”

She signed for me to come closer.

“Your mother is an invalid, I heard,” she said.

“Yes.”

She nodded: “I understand … I understand full well. She is in a nursing home, I believe.”

I said she was.

She sighed.

“That is sad, poor child. You must tell me about it.”

I was about to speak when she added: “One day … when I feel stronger.”

Miss Lloyd laid her hand on my shoulder and drew me away, and I realized that Mrs. St. Aubyn’s interest had been in my mother’s illness rather than in me.

I wanted then to get out of the room and so it seemed did Miss Lloyd, for she said: “You must not tire yourself, Mrs. St. Aubyn.”

And Mrs. St. Aubyn nodded with an air of resignation.

“This is Rachel,” said Miss Lloyd, ‘and she and Frederica are very good friends. “

“How nice.”

“They are good girls. Tamarisk, say goodbye to your mother … and you, girls.”

We all did so with some relief.

I thought what a strange family this was. Mrs. St. Aubyn was not in the least like her son or daughter. I remembered Aunt Sophie’s saying that she had lived very merrily and had not really cared about anything except enjoying life. It must be very different for her now. But it occurred to me that she might enjoy being an invalid and lying on a couch dressed in chiffon and lace.

People were very strange.

Tamarisk and I were becoming quite friendly in a somewhat belligerent way. She was always trying to get the better of me, and to tell the truth I rather enjoyed it. She had more respect for me than she had for Rachel and when I contradicted her, which I did frequently, she enjoyed the verbal battles between us. She was faintly contemptuous of Rachel and pretended to be of me, but I think that in a way she admired me.

Sometimes in the afternoons we used to walk together on the St. Aubyn estate which was very extensive. She liked to show her superior knowledge by pointing out the landmarks. It was in this way that I visited Flora and Lucy Lane.

They lived in a cottage not far from St. Aubyn’s and had both been nurses to Crispin, she told me.

“People always love their old nannies,” she went on, ‘particularly if their mothers and fathers don’t take much notice of them. I like old Nanny Compton quite a bit, though she fusses and is always saying “Don’t do that.” Crispin thinks a lot of Lucy Lane. What a funny name!

Sounds like a street. I suppose he doesn’t remember Flora. He had her first, you see, and she went all funny. Then Lucy took over. He looks after them both. Makes sure they’re all right. You wouldn’t expect Crispin to bother, would you? “

“I don’t know,” I said.

“I’ve never really met him.”

There was a cold note in my voice which was there whenever I said his name, which was not often, of course. I would recall his voice when I thought of him asking who was the plain child.

“Well, they live in this cottage. I might have had Lucy for my nurse, but she had left us when I was born to look after her sister because their mother had died. Flora had to be looked after. She does odd things.”

“What sort of things?”

“She carries a doll round with her and thinks it’s a baby. She sings to it. I’ve heard her. She sits in the garden at the back of the cottage near the old mulberry bush and talks to it. Lucy doesn’t like people talking to her. She says it upsets her. We could call on them and you could see her. “

“Would they want us to?”

“What does that matter? They’re on the estate, aren’t they?”

“It’s their home and, as your brother nobly gave it to them, perhaps they should have their privacy respected.”

“Ho, ho, ho,” mocked Tamarisk.

“I’m going anyway.”

And I could not resist going with her.

The cottage stood alone. There was a small garden in the front.

Tamarisk opened the gate and went up the path. I followed.

“Anyone at home?” she shouted.

A woman came to the door. I knew at once that she was Miss Lucy Lane.

Her hair was going grey and she had an anxious expression which looked as though it might be perpetual. She was neatly dressed in a grey blouse and skirt.

“I’ve brought Frederica Hammond to see you,” said Tamarisk.

“Oh, that’s nice,” said Lucy Lane.

“Come in.”

We went into a small hall and through to a small, neat, highly polished sitting-room.

“So you’re the new pupil up at the House,” said Miss Lucy Lane to me.

“Miss Cardingham’s niece.”

“Yes,” I replied.

“And taking lessons with Miss Tamarisk. That’s nice.”

We sat down.

“And how is Flora today?” asked Tamarisk, who was disappointed because she wasn’t there for me to see.

“She’s in her room. I won’t disturb her. And how are you liking Harper’s Green, miss?”

“It’s very pleasant,” I told her.

“And your poor mama … she’s ill, I understand.”

I said that was so and half-expected her to say “That’s nice.” But she said unexpectedly: “Oh … life can be hard.” Tamarisk was getting bored.

“I was wondering if we could say hello to Flora,” she said.

Lucy Lane looked dismayed. I was sure she was preparing to say this was not possible when, to her dismay, and Tamarisk’s delight, the door opened and a woman stood on the threshold of the room.

There was a faint resemblance to Lucy and I knew this must be Flora; but where Lucy had a look of extreme alertness. Flora’s large bewildered eyes gave the impression she was trying to see something which was beyond her vision. In her arms she carried a doll. There was something very disturbing about a middle-aged woman carrying a doll in such a way.

“Hello, Flora,” said Tamarisk.

“I’ve come to see you and this is Fred Hammond. She’s a girl but with a name like that you might not think so.” She giggled a little.

I said: “My name is Frederica. Frederica Hammond.”

Flora nodded, looking from Tamarisk to me.

“Fred has lessons with us,” went on Tamarisk.

“Would you like to go back to your room. Flora?” asked Lucy anxiously.

Flora shook her head. She looked down at the doll.

“He’s fretful today,” she said.

“Teething.”

“It’s a little boy, is it?” said Tamarisk.

Flora sat down, laying the doll on her lap. She gazed down at it tenderly.

“Isn’t it time he had his nap?” asked Lucy.

“Come. Let’s go up. Excuse me,” she said to us.

And laying her hand firmly on Flora’s arm, she led her away.

Tamarisk looked at me and tapped the side of her head.

“I told you so,” she whispered.

“She’s batty. Lucy tries to make out she’s not so bad … but she really is off her head.”

“Poor woman!” I said.

“It must be sad for them both. I think we ought to go. They don’t want us here. We shouldn’t have come.”

“All right,” said Tamarisk.

“I just wanted you to see Flora.”

“We’ll have to wait until Lucy comes back and then we’ll leave.”

Which was what we did.

As we walked away. Tamarisk said: “What did you think?”

“It’s very sad. The elder sister she is the elder, isn’t she Lucy, I mean?” Tamarisk nodded.

“She is really worried about the mad one.

How awful really, to believe that doll is a baby. “

“She thinks it is Crispin … only Crispin when he was a baby!”

“I wonder what made her go like that?”

“I never thought of that. It’s years and years since Crispin was a baby, and after Flora went funny, Lucy took him over he was still only a baby then. Then he went away to school when he was about nine.

He always liked old Lucy. Her father used to be one of the gardeners and they had the cottage because of that. He died before Lucy came back here. First of all she was working somewhere in the North. Their mother stayed in the cottage when the father died and Lucy came back.

Well, that’s what I’ve heard and soon after that Flora went batty and Lucy became Crispin’s nurse. “

“It is good of Crispin to let them stay in the cottage now neither of them work for St. Aubyn’s.”

“He likes Lucy. I told you, she was his nanny and most j people are like that about their nannies.”

As we walked back I could not stop thinking about the strange woman and her doll which she thought was the baby Crispin.

It was hard to think of that arrogant man as a baby.