Seven for a Secret

In Barrow Wood

My fellow pupils had been to tea at The Rowans and at St. Aubyn’s. Then we were invited to the Bell House. Tamarisk found an excuse for being unable to go and consequently I was the only guest.

When I entered the front garden I felt a twinge of uneasiness. I passed the wooden seat where I had sat that day when I was waiting for Rachel, and her uncle had talked to me. I hoped he would not be there today.

I rang the bell and a maid opened the door.

“You’re the young lady for Miss Rachel,” she said.

“Come in.”

I was taken through the hall to a room with mullioned windows which looked out on a lawn. The curtains were thick and dark, shutting out much of the light. I immediately noticed the picture of the Crucifixion on the wall. It shocked me because it was so realistic. I could distinctly see the nails in the hands and feet and the red blood which dripped from them. It horrified me and I could not bear to look at it. There was another picture, of a saint, I presumed, because there was a halo above his head: he was pierced with arrows. There was yet another of a man tied to a stake. He was standing in water and I realized that his fate would be to drown slowly as the tide rose. The cruelty of men seemed to be the theme of all these pictures. They made me shudder. It occurred to me that this room had been made dark and sombre by Mr. Dorian.

Rachel came in. Her face lit up at the sight of me.

“I’m glad Tamarisk didn’t come,” she said.

“She makes fun of everything.”

“You don’t want to take any notice of her,” I said.

“I don’t want to but I do,” replied Rachel.

“We’re going to have tea here. My aunt is coming to meet you.”

Not the uncle, I hoped.

Rachel’s Aunt Hilda came in then. She was tall and rather angular. Her hair was drawn back tightly from her face which ought to have made her look severe, but it did not. She looked apprehensive, vulnerable. She was very different from the uncle who looked so sure that he was always right and so good.

“Aunt Hilda,” said Rachel, ‘this is Frederica. “

“How are you?” said Aunt Hilda, taking my hand in her cold one.

“Rachel tells me you and she have become good friends. It is good of you to come and visit us. We’ll have tea now.”

It was brought by the maid who had let me in. There was bread and butter, scones and seed cake.

“We always say grace before any meal in this house,” Aunt Hilda told me. She spoke as though she were repeating a lesson.

The grace was long, expressing the gratitude of miserable sinners for benefits received.

When she had served tea. Aunt Hilda asked me questions about my mother and how I was fitting into life in Harper’s Green.

It was rather dull compared with tea at St. Aubyn’s. I wished that Tamarisk had been with us, for, although she could be quite rude at times, at least she was lively.

To my dismay, just as we were finishing tea, Mr. Dorian came in.

He surveyed us with interest and I was aware that his eyes rested on me.

“Ah,” he said.

“A tea-party.”

I thought Aunt Hilda looked a little guilty, as though she were caught indulging in some bacchanalian feast; but he was not angry. He stood rubbing his hands together. They must have been very dry because they made a faint rasping noise which I found repulsive. He continued to look at me.

“I suppose you are just about the same age as my niece,” he said.

“I am thirteen.”

“A child still. On the threshold of life. You will find that life is full of pitfalls, my dear. You will have to be on guard against the Devil and all his wiles.”

We had left the table and I was seated on a sofa. He took a place beside me and moved close to me.

“Do you say your prayers every night, my dear?” he asked.

“Weller …”

He wagged a finger at me and lightly touched my cheek. I shrank away from him, but he did not seem to be aware of this. His eyes were very bright.

He went on: “You kneel by your bed … in your nightgown.” The tip of his tongue protruded slightly and touched his upper lip before it disappeared.

“And you pray to God to forgive you for the sins you have committed during the day. You are young, but the young can be sinful.

Remember that you could be carried off to face your Maker at any moment.

“In the midst of life we are in death.” You yes, even you, my child could be carried off with all your sins upon you to face your Maker.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” I said, trying to move away from him without appearing to do so.

“No, indeed no. So … every night, you must kneel by your bed in your nightgown, and pray that all the naughty things you have done during the day or even thought may be forgiven.”

I shivered. Tamarisk would have been able to laugh at all this. I would have caught her eye and she would have made one of her grimaces. She would say the man was ‘batty’ as batty as poor Flora Lane, but in a different way. He just went on about sins and Flora thought a doll was a baby, that was all.

But I had a great desire to get out of this house and I hoped I would never come into it again. I did not under stand why this man frightened me so much but there was no doubt that he did.

I said to Aunt Hilda: “Thank you so much for asking me. My aunt will be expecting me back and I think I should go now.”

It sounded feeble. Aunt Sophie knew where I was and she would not be expecting me yet. But I had to get out of this house.

Aunt Hilda, who had looked uncomfortable while her husband was talking, seemed almost relieved.

“Well then, we mustn’t detain you, dear,” she said.

“It was so nice of you to come. Rachel, will you take your guest to the gate?”

Rachel rose with alacrity.

“Goodbye,” I said, trying not to look at Mr. Dorian.

It was a relief to escape. I wanted to run. I had a sudden fear that Mr. Dorian might follow me and go on talking about my sins, while he kept looking at me in that odd way.

Rachel came to the gate with me.

“I hope it was all right,” she said.

“Oh yes … yes,” I lied.

“It was a pity …” She did not continue but I knew what she meant.

If Mr. Dorian had not come in it would have been an ordinary tea-party.

I did say: “Does he always talk like that … about sin and everything?”

“Well, he’s very good, you see. He goes to church three times on Sunday, though he does not like the Reverend Hetherington very much. He says he leans towards Popery.”

“I think he believes everyone is full of sin.”

“That is how good people are.”

“I’d rather have someone not so good. It must be uncomfortable.” I paused. I was saying too much. After all, Rachel had to live in the house with him.

At the gate I looked back at the house. I had the uncanny feeling that he might be watching me from one of the windows and I just wanted to run as fast as I could to put a great distance between that house and myself.

“Goodbye, Rachel,” I said and started off.

It was good to feel the wind on my face. I thought: He’d never be able to run as fast as I can. He’d never catch me if he tried.

I did not take the straight path home. That man had made such an impression on me, I wanted to wash it completely out of my mind but I could not. The memory of him remained. His dry hands that rasped when he rubbed them together, his intent eyes with the light lashes that were hardly perceptible, the way in which he moistened his lips when he looked at me. They aroused alarm in me.

How could Rachel live in the same house with such a man? But he was her uncle. She had to. I thought, as I had a hundred times before, how lucky I was to have come to Aunt Sophie.

Running into the wind seemed to wash away the vague unpleasantness.

This was a strange place . fascinating in a way. One had the impression that weird things could happen here. There was Flora Lane with her doll, and Mr. Dorian with . what was it? I could not say.

It was just an odd feeling of dread I experienced when he came near me and made me feel a special longing for Aunt Sophie’s down-to-earth conversation and her protective love.

Lucky me, to have come to Aunt Sophie, and poor, poor Rachel! I would be particularly kind to her in future to make up to her for having an uncle like Mr. Dorian.

I had come round a long way and I could see the Lanes’ cottage, not as I had previously approached it, but from the back instead.

I made my way towards it. There was a wall round the garden. I could see over it, to the mulberry bush which Tamarisk had mentioned, and seated near it was Flora. Beside her was a doll’s pram and I guessed that the doll was in it.

I leaned over the wall to look more closely. She saw me and said, “Hello.”

“Hello,” I replied.

“Have you come to see Lucy?” she asked.

“Oh no. I was just passing.”

“The gate is there … the back gate.”

It sounded like an invitation and, spurred on by my ever-present curiosity, I went through the gate to where she was sitting.

“Shh,” she said.

“He’s sleeping now. He can be a little cross if anyone wakes him.”

“I see,” I said.

She was sitting on ‘a wooden bench and she made room for me to sit beside her.

“He’s one for his own way,” she went on.

“I can believe that.”

“He won’t go to anyone but me.”

“His mother …” I began.

“Ought not to have had children. People like that … going off to London … to my mind they shouldn’t have them.”

“No,” I said.

She was nodding and staring at the mulberry bush.

“There’s nothing there,” she said.

“Where?” I asked.

She nodded towards the bush.

“Whatever they say … mustn’t disturb, though.”

“Why not?” I asked, because I was doing my best to find out what she was talking about.

It was the wrong thing to have said. She turned to me and her eyes had lost a certain calmness which had been there when I arrived.

“No,” she said.

“There isn’t. You mustn’t… it would be wrong. You shouldn’t.”

“All right,” I said.

“I won’t. Do you sit here often?”

She turned her troubled eyes to me. Suspicion remained there.

“He’s all right … my little baby. He’s sleeping like an angel.

Butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, you’d think. ” She gave a little laugh.

“You should hear him in one of his paddies. He’s going to be a tartar, that one. He’s going to get what he wants in life.”

Lucy must have seen me from a window of the cottage. She came out and I sensed at once that she was not pleased to see me sitting there talking to her sister.

She said: “It’s Miss Cardingham’s niece, isn’t it?”

I told her I was and that I had been passing, seen Flora in the garden and had been invited in.

“Oh, that was nice. Were you going for a walk?”

“I have been to the Bell House and was on my way home.”

“That was nice.”

Everything seemed nice to her, but I sensed this was due to a certain nervousness and that she wanted me to be gone. So I said: “My aunt will be expecting me.”

“Then you mustn’t keep her waiting, dear,” she said with relief.

“No. Goodbye,” I said, looking at Flora, who smiled at me.

Then she said: “There’s nothing there, is there … Lucy?” Lucy wrinkled her brows as though she were not sure what Flora was talking about. I supposed she often said things which had no reasonable meaning. Lucy walked with me to the gate.

The Rowans isn’t far. You know your way? “

“Oh yes. I know my way around very well now.”

“Give my kind regards to Miss Cardingham.”

“I will.”

I was off running again, feeling the wind in my hair.

A strange afternoon, I was thinking. There are some very mysterious people here and this afternoon I had encountered two of the strangest, and I now felt the need to get back quickly to dear sane Aunt Sophie.

She was waiting for me.

“I expected you back before now,” she said.

“I saw Flora Lane in the garden and stopped to talk to her.”

“Poor Flora! How was the party?”

I hesitated.

“I thought so,” she went on.

“I know what they’re like at the Bell House. I feel sorry for poor Hilda. These good people who have their places booked in Heaven can be a bit of a trial on Earth.”

“He asked me if I say my prayers every night. I have to ask for forgiveness in case I die in the night.”

Aunt Sophie burst out laughing.

“Did you ask if he did the same?”

“I suppose he does. They have prayers all the time. Oh, Aunt Sophie, how glad I am I came to you!”

She looked pleased.

“Well, I do my best to give you a happy time and, if we’re a bit short on prayers, I hope some fun will be there. What about Flora? As crazy as usual?”

“She had a doll’s pram and a doll in it. She thinks it is Crispin St. Aubyn.”

“That’s because she’s back in the past when she was his nurse. She still thinks she’s there. Poor Lucy has a lot to put up with. But Crispin St. Aubyn is very good to her. He calls on her now and then, I believe. Well, she was his nanny, and he didn’t get much love from his parents.”

“She talked about the mulberry bush and there being nothing there.”

“She’s full of fancies. Now, if I don’t get down to the shops there’ll be nothing for supper. Lily’s left it to me today. What about coming with me?”

“Oh yes, please.”

I held her arm as we walked down to the village shop.

I was filled with joy because I was realizing what sad things can happen to children who lose their parents. There was Rachel who had had to go to the Bell House and live with her Uncle Dorian; Crispin and Tamarisk, who had had parents but they might have been orphans for all they had cared. Of course, I had had a father who went away and a mother who was more concerned with what she had missed than with the child she had. But I was the lucky one. Fortune had sent me to Aunt Sophie.

Miss Lloyd and I were getting on very well together. I was far more interested in lessons than either of my fellow pupils. Miss Lloyd used to say: “We have history on our doorstep, girls, and how foolish we should be if we did not take advantage of it. Just think, more than two thousand years ago there were people here … in this very place which we now inhabit.”

My responses delighted her and perhaps it was because of this that one day she decided that, instead of sitting at our lessons every morning, we should take what she called occasional educational rambles.

One morning she took the trap and we drove across Salisbury Plain to Stonehenge. I was excited to stand there among those ancient stones while Miss Lloyd smiled at me approvingly.

“Now, girls,” she said, ‘can you sense the mystery . the wonder of this link with the past? “

“Oh yes,” I said.

Rachel looked somewhat bewildered. Tamarisk contemptuous. What was all this fuss about a lot of stones just because they had been standing there for a long time? I could see that was what she was thinking.

“Their age is assessed somewhere between 1800 and 1400 b.c. Think of that, girls! It was before Christ came that these stones were here.

The arrangement of the stones, which are set in accordance with the rising and the setting of the sun, suggests that this was a place for the worship of the heavens. Just stand still and contemplate that.”

Miss Lloyd was smiling at me. She knew that I shared her feeling of wonder.

After that I became very interested in the relics of ancient history which surrounded us. Miss Lloyd gave me some books to read. Aunt Sophie listened with approval when I told her of the fascination of Stonehenge, and that it was believed that the Druids had worshipped there.

“They were learned people, you know. Aunt Sophie, those Druids,” I told her.

“But they did offer up human sacrifices. They thought the soul never died but was passed from one person to another.”

“I don’t much like the thought of that,” said Aunt Sophie.

“And human sacrifices I like still less.”

“Savages, I reckon,” said Lily, who had overheard.

“They used to put people in cages which looked like images of their gods and they’d burn them alive,” I told them.

“My patience me!” cried Lily.

“I thought you went to school to learn reading, writing and arithmetic, not about a lot of hooligans.”

I laughed.

“It’s all history. Lily.”

“Well, it’s a good thing to know what those people were like,” added Aunt Sophie.

“It makes you glad you didn’t, live in those days.”

After that visit to Stonehenge I began to look about me for evidence of those who had lived here thousands of years before. Miss Lloyd encouraged me and one day she took us to Barrow Wood. This was quite close to The Rowans and I was delighted to have it so near.

“It is called Barrow Wood,” Miss Lloyd explained, ‘because of the barrows. Do you know what a barrow is girls? No? It is a grave. These in Barrow Wood were probably made in the Bronze Age. Doesn’t that excite you? “

“Yes,” I said, but a glazed look had come into Tamarisk’s eyes and Rachel was frowning in an attempt to concentrate.

“You see,” went on Miss Lloyd, ‘the earth and the stones have been piled up to make a mound. Beneath those mounds would be burial chambers. By the arrangement of the graves I imagine these must have been important people. And then, of course, the trees were allowed to grow round them. Yes, it must have been a special place . a shrine.

The people buried here were probably High Priests, leading Druids and the like. “

I was thrilled because I could see Barrow Wood from my bedroom window.

“Barrow is the name which was given these tombs. Tumulus is another word for barrow. So this is Barrow Wood.”

I went there often after that. It was so near. I would sit, contemplating the graves and marvelling that the people lying beneath had been there since before the birth of Jesus Christ. In summer the trees shut in the burial ground. In the winter one realized how close it was to the road.

One day when I was there I heard the sound of horse’s hoofs on the road. I went to the edge of the copse and looked out. Crispin St. Aubyn was riding by.

There was another occasion when I encountered Mr. Dorian there. He came walking towards me and I felt numb with horror at the sight of him.

When he saw me, a strange look came into his face and he hurried towards me. I had an immediate urge to get away from him as soon as possible. In this strange place he seemed more menacing than he had in the Bell House.

“Good day,” he said, smiling.

“Good day, Mr. Dorian.”

“Admiring the barrow?”

He was getting very close.

“Yes.”

“Pagan relics.”

“Yes, I have to run. My aunt is waiting for me.”

And I ran, my heart beating wildly with incomprehensible fear. J I reached the road and looked back. He was standing at the edge of the wood looking after me, watching me. f I ran back to The Rowans, triumphant because I had escaped.

I was thinking a great deal about Flora Lane. Perhaps one of the reasons was that I believed the doll she cherished was Crispin St. Aubyn, though it was hard to imagine he was ever a baby.

He was often in my thoughts. He was arrogant and rude and I did not like him, but I found myself making excuses for him. His parents had not loved him. Well, they hadn’t loved Tamarisk either. I supposed there was a strong resemblance between brother and sister. They both thought:! everyone should do as they wanted, i Mr. Dorian also forced his way into my thoughts. There had been occasions when I had dreamed of him. Vague dreams they had been, with no real meaning to them, bu I would wake up thankful to have left the dream, for wit! them came an indefinable feeling of fear.

Then I was by nature curious and interested in the life of Harper’s Green. I often found my footsteps taking m< in the direction of the Lanes’ cottage. I had the impression that Flora liked to see me. Her face always lit up with pleasure when I called good-afternoon. I made a point of passing the cottage whenever I could not after lessons, of course, because I had to go home to the luncheon Lily would have prepared, but when I walked in the afternoon I often did.

I would approach the cottage from the back and look over the wall. If Flora were sitting there in her usual place I would say good-afternoon; she would always answer me, and only on one occasion had she looked away, as though she did not want to see me. Then I went on, but usually she would imply that she wanted me to come in.

I soon discovered that when I was not welcome was when Lucy was at home. I had quickly gathered that Lucy did not want me to talk to her sister. Flora knew this too. There was a certain cunning about her.

She wanted to talk to me but she did not want to offend Lucy; so therefore my calling must be done when Lucy was out.

On this particular afternoon when I passed, I was invited to come in.

We sat on the seat, side by side, and she smiled at me in an almost conspiratorial way.

She talked for a while. It was a conversation I did not entirely understand but she was very pleased to have me there.

It was mainly about the doll, but more than once she referred to the mulberry bush and kept insisting that there was nothing there.

Then suddenly she said that the baby was fretful that afternoon. It could be wind. He was sniffling a little too and there was a chill in the air.

“I’d better take him in,” she said.

She stood up. I did the same and was preparing to say goodbye when she shook her head.

“No … you come.”

She pointed towards the cottage.

I hesitated. I wondered whether I ought to go in. Lucy was certainly not at home or she would have been out by now.

I could not resist. After all, I had had an invitation to enter.

I walked beside her as she pushed the pram to the back door and we stepped into the kitchen.

Gently she took the doll out of the pram murmuring, “There, there.

It’s a nasty little cold, that’s what it is. He wants his cot. Yes, he’ll be more comfortable there. Nanny Flora will see to that. “

It was more uncanny in the cottage than it seemed out of doors, and I felt excited as I followed her up the stairs.

There were a nursery and two bedrooms. The cottage was large as such cottages go. One of the bedrooms was for Lucy, I presumed, the other for Flora and the nursery of course for the doll.

We went into this nursery and she laid the doll tenderly in the cot.

Then she turned to me.

“He’ll be better there, little angel. They get fratchety when they’ve got a cold hanging about.”

I was always embarrassed when she talked about the doll as though it were living.

I said: “It’s a nice nursery.”

Her face lighted up with pleasure and then a puzzled expression crossed it.

“It’s not like the one we used to have.” Now she was looking a little frightened. I guessed I must have reminded her of the one at St. Aubyn’s, where she had nursed the real Crispin.

I tried to think of something to say. Then I noticed the picture.

There were seven birds and they were sitting on a stone wall. It looked as though it had been taken from a book and framed.

I took a step closer and read the inscription beneath it.

“Seven for a Secret,” I read. Then I cried: “Why! It’s the seven magpies!” ‘:

She was nodding enthusiastically. She had forgotten that this nursery was not like the old one at St. Aubyn’s.

You like it? ” she asked.

“It must mean the seven magpies in the verse. I learned it once. What is it now? I think I can remember:

“One for sorrow, Two for joy.

Three for a girl, Four for a boy.

Five for silver, Six for gold, And seven for a secret. “

She watched my mouth as I quoted the verse, and finished with me: ‘. never to be told. “

“That’s it,” I said.

“I remember now.”

“Lucy made it,” she said and touched the frame lovingly.

“She framed it, did she?”

She nodded.

“Seven for a secret never to be told,” she said.

“It must never be told.” She shook her head.

“Never … never … never.

That’s what the birds are saying. “

I examined it closely.

“The birds look rather evil,” I said.

“That’s because it’s the secret. Oh dear, he’s waking up.” She went to the cot and picked up the doll.

The room seemed to assume an un canniness I was filled with an eagerness to know more of her and to probe what was behind this strange delusion. I wondered whether, if she could be made to realize the doll was only a doll and that the baby she believed it to be was now a grown man, she might return to normality.

Then I was overcome by a desire to get away and I heard myself say: “I think I should be going now. I’ll let myself out.”

As I was about to descend the stairs I heard the sound of voices below. I was dismayed. I had not heard anyone come in.

“Flora!” It was Lucy’s voice. She came out and was clearly astonished to see me descending the staircase.

“I’ve been with Miss Flora upstairs,” I stammered.

“Oh … she invited you up here, did she?”

I hesitated.

“She has been … er … showing me the nursery.”

Lucy looked rather angry. Then a man came into the hall. It was Crispin St. Aubyn.

“This is Miss Cardingham’s niece,” Lucy said.

“Flora asked her in.”

He nodded in my direction.

“I’ll be going,” I said.

Lucy took me to the front door and I went out.

I sped away.

What a strange afternoon that had been! I could not stop thinking of the seven magpies. They were rather sinister-looking birds. Lucy had evidently cut out the picture from a book and framed it for Flora.

Could it be to remind her that there was some secret which had to be kept? Flora’s mind was like that of a child. She might have to be reminded often of certain things. Perhaps the picture was just from a book she had loved in her childhood and Lucy had framed the picture for her.

In any case, it was very interesting, I was thinking, as I sped home to Aunt Sophie.

It was a few days later when I discovered a side to Aunt Sophie’s nature which I had not suspected before. At The Rowans there was a small room which led from her bedroom. It must have been a dressing-room, but she used it as a little study.

I wanted to speak to her about some trivial matter and Lily told me she thought she was in her study tidying a drawer, so I went up. I knocked on the bedroom door and, as there was no answer, I opened it and looked in.

The study door was open.

“Aunt Sophie,” I called.

She came out and stood in the doorway.

There was something different about her. She looked sad, as I had never seen her before, and a tear was glistening on her eyelashes.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

She hesitated for a moment and then said: “Oh no … nothing. I’m just a silly old fool. I’ve been writing to some one I knew in the past.”

“I’m sorry I interrupted. Lily said she thought you were tidying a drawer.”

“Yes, I did say I was going to do that. Well, come in, dear. It’s time you knew.”

I went into the study.

“Sit down. I was writing to your father,” she said.

“To my father?”

“I do write to him now and then. I knew him very well, you see … when I was younger.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s in Egypt. He used to be in the Army, but he left all that. I’ve been writing to him over the years. It goes a long way back.” She looked at me as though she were not quite sure of something. Then she seemed to come to a decision.

She went on: “I met your father first … before your mother did. It was at someone’s house party. We were very friendly from the start. He was asked to Cedar Hall. That was when your mother came home from school. She was eighteen then and really beautiful. Well, he fell in love with her.”

“But he left her!”

“That was some time after. It didn’t work. He wasn’t fitted to settling down. He was a very merry person. He liked the social life.

He drank a little . not too much, but perhaps verging on it. He gambled. He liked the ladies.

He is not a very serious person. Well, they parted about a year after you were born. There was a divorce, as you know. There was another woman. He married her, but that didn’t turn out very well either. “

“He doesn’t seem to be a very reliable sort of person.”

“He had lots of charm to make up for it.”

“I see. And you write to him.”

“Yes. We were always good friends.”

“Do you mean he might have married you instead of my mother?”

She smiled rather ruefully.

“He clearly preferred to marry your mother.”

“You might have been my mother,” I said.

“I suppose if I had been you wouldn’t be who you are. We wouldn’t want to change that, would we?”

She was laughing at me . her old self again.

“I don’t know. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so plain.”

“Oh nonsense! Your mother was a very beautiful woman. I was the plain sister.”

“I don’t believe you were.”

“Let’s forget about this plainness. I just want you to know that your father writes to me and he always wants news of you. He knows that you are here with me and he is very pleased about that. He is going to help with your education, which may be a little expensive if you go to that school with Tamarisk and Rachel, which I hope you will be doing in a few months.”

“I’m glad he’s doing that,” I said.

“I would have managed somehow, but it is a help and it’s good of him to offer.”

“Well, he is my father.”

“He hasn’t seen you since he left, but, Freddie, he would have done so if your mother had let him. Perhaps now …”

“If he were to come home, you mean?”

“I don’t think there is any sign of that just yet. But of course, he may.”

Does it make you sad to write to him? “

“People get sentimental sometimes. I remember the days of my youth.”

“You must have been very unhappy when he married my mother instead of you.”

She did not answer and I put my arms round her.

“I’m sorry,” I cried.

“I wish he had married you! Then we should all have been together. He would have been here with us.”

She shook her head.

“He was not the sort to settle. He would have been off.” Her lips curled into a rather tender smile as she went on: “And you are mine now, aren’t you … just as though I were your mother.

My niece . his daughter. That’s what I like to think. “

“Do you feel better now that I know?” I asked.

“Much,” she assured me.

“I’m glad you know. Now let’s start counting our blessings.”

I knew I had plenty to count, especially when I compared my fate with that of Rachel. I often did that, because what had happened to us was similar. I was with my aunt and she was with an aunt and uncle. I had always been aware of my good fortune, but I did not realize the extent of it until I discovered something from Rachel.

I had always known she was afraid. She never actually said she was, for she rarely talked about her life at the Bell House, but I sensed there was a great deal to tell.

She and I were far more friendly than either of us was with Tamarisk.

I felt protective towards her and I think she regarded me as a true friend.

She often came to The Rowans and we would sit in the garden and talk.

I had for some time had the feeling that she wanted to tell me something and was finding it difficult to do so. I noticed that when we were laughing together and there was some reference to the Bell House a change would come over her, and I could not help being aware of her reluctance to leave me when we drew near the place and it was time for her to go home.

One day, when we were in the garden, I said to her:

“What is it like at the Bell House? I mean really like?”

She stiffened and there was a long pause. Then she burst out: “Oh, Freddie, it frightens me.”

“What?” I asked.

“I don’t know … quite. It just does.”

“Is it your uncle?”

“He’s such a good man, you see. He is always talking about God … and to Him … like Abraham or one of those people in the Bible. How sinful a lot of things are … things that people wouldn’t think of.

I suppose that is because he is so good. “

“It’s supposed to be good to care about other people, not frighten them.”

“When Aunt Hilda bought a comb for her hair he thought that was sinful. It was a nice comb and it made a difference when she put it in her hair. It was dinnertime and we were at the table. I thought it looked very nice. He was angry. He said, “Vanity, vanity, all is vanity. You look like the whore of Babylon!” Poor Aunt Hilda, she was quite white. She was so upset. He took the comb out of her hair and it fell round her shoulders. He was like an angry prophet in the Bible . like Moses when the people made the golden calf. He isn’t like a person . not like one of us. “

“My Aunt Sophie is kind and loving. I think that’s better than quoting the Bible and behaving like Abraham. After all, he was ready to kill his son as a sacrifice when God told him to. Aunt Sophie would never have done that to make herself look good in God’s eyes.”

“You are lucky. Your Aunt Sophie is a darling. I wish she’d been mine.

But, of course, my uncle is a very good man. We have prayers every day and they go on for a long time. My knees get sore. We have to pray for forgiveness and because he is so good, he thinks we are all very bad and will go to Hell in any case, so it all seems so pointless. “

“And he’ll go to Heaven, of course.”

“Well, he’s always talking to God. But it’s not that…”

“What is it?”

“It’s the way he looks at me. The way he touches me. He said once that I was a temptress. I don’t know what he meant. Do you?”

I shook my head.

“I try not to be there with him … alone.”

“I know what you mean.”

“Sometimes … well, once he came into my room at night when I was in bed. I woke up and he was standing there looking at me.”

I felt cold suddenly and shivered. I knew exactly how she had felt.

“He said to me: ” Have you said your prayers? ” I said, ” Yes, Uncle. ”

“Are you telling me the truth?” he went on.

“Get out of bed and say them again.” He made me kneel down and he was watching me all the time. Then he started to pray in a funny sort of way. He was asking God to save him from the Devil’s temptation.

“I fight, O Lord,” he said.

“Thou know est how I fight to overcome this sin which the Devil plants in me,” or something like that. Then he put out his hand and touched me. I thought he was going to pull my nightdress off. I was terribly frightened and pulled myself away. I ran out and Aunt Hilda was just outside the door. I clung to her and she kept saying it was all right. ”

“And what did he do?”

“I didn’t see, I just hid my face. He must have come out of the room and gone away. When I looked up he was gone.”

“What happened then?”

“Aunt Hilda kept on saying it was all right. She took me back to my room, but I didn’t want to stay there. She got into my bed with me and said she would not leave me. She was there all night. In the morning she said it was just a nightmare. My uncle had walked in his sleep.

“Better not mention it,” she said.

“He wouldn’t like that.”

So I didn’t . not till now. Then she said, “You could always lock your door in case he should sleepwalk again. Then you would sleep better,” she said.

“Nobody could come in then.” She took a key out of her pocket and showed me. I always have it with me. I make sure every night that I lock my door. “

“I wish you could come and live with us.”

“Oh, I should like that. Once … he was there … outside the door.

He turned the handle. I jumped out of bed and stood there listening.

He started to pray. He kept cursing the devils who tormented him just as the saints were tormented. He said he knew God did it to tempt him.

Imps came in the form of young girls. He was half crying. He would chastise himself, he said. He would purge himself of evil. He went away but I couldn’t sleep, even though my door was locked. “

“Oh, Rachel,” I said.

“I’m glad you told me. I knew there was something.”

“I feel better now I’ve told you.” She looked at the key and put it into her pocket.

“I have this,” she said.

We sat for some time in silence, and I knew exactly how she had felt when he came into her room.

There was a great deal of discussion about our going away to school.

Aunt Sophie went to see Mrs. St. Aubyn and Rachel’s Aunt Hilda went with her.

They were all so different. Aunt Hilda was meek and eager to please Mrs. St. Aubyn made a play of showing an interest which she clearly did not feel; but Aunt Sophie was energetic and had already investigated several schools, and her choice had fallen on St. Stephen’s. It was not too far away and she had seen the headmistress, whom she judged to be a sensible woman. She liked the tone of the school and felt it was the right one. There was no opposition.

It was May and we had to move quickly to start the term in September.

It was Aunt Sophie who took us all into Salisbury to buy our uniforms and by the end of June everything was satisfactorily arranged.

We were very excited about it all even Tamarisk and we spent hours imagining what it would be like. We were a little apprehensive though, and we were all very pleased that the three of us were going together.

Then came that day which I am sure I shall never forget as long as I live.

It was July and the weather had been warm and sultry. Rachel and I had been to St. Aubyn’s for afternoon tea. We had talked incessantly of school and it had been a very pleasant hour or so. Rachel was considerably happier at the prospect of leaving the Bell House and, of course, Tamarisk was always ready for a new adventure.

I had said goodbye to Rachel at the Bell House and did not want to go home immediately. Aunt Sophie would be shopping, so I decided to go the long way round by Barrow Wood.

I could not resist the temptation to go in and made my way to the barrows. I stood for a few moments, contemplating them. I loved the smell of the earth and the trees. It was very quiet except for the faint murmur of the light wind in the leaves.

I thought I should miss Barrow Wood when I went to school. I must not stay too long though. Aunt Sophie would probably be almost home by now.

I turned sharply and as I did so I tripped over a stone which was protruding a few inches from the ground. I tried to save myself from falling but I could not do so in time and crashed to the ground. My right foot was twisted under me and a pain was shooting through me. I scrambled to my feet, but I could not stand and sank back to the ground. I was dismayed. I should have been more careful. I knew there were odd stones jutting up in Barrow Wood. But what was the use of reproaching myself now? The important thing was how was I going to get home?

I touched my ankle and winced. It was swelling rapidly and was very painful.

I sat there, wondering what I was going to do.

And then it happened. He was there. He was coming towards me. He was staring at me and the look in his eyes terrified me.

“Poor little flower,” he murmured.

“You are hurt, little one.”

“I fell down, Mr. Dorian. I’ve hurt my ankle. Perhaps you would go and tell my aunt.”

He just stood there, staring at me. Then he said: “I have been led to this. It was meant…”

He was standing very close to me and I knew fear as I never had before. Some instinct told me that he was going to harm me in some way which I did not altogether understand.

“Go away! Go away!” I screamed.

“Get my aunt. Don’t come near me!”

He was laughing softly.

“Poor little broken flower. She can’t run away this time. Oh, it was meant. It was meant.”

I screamed louder.

“Don’t touch me! I don’t want you near me. Just go away and tell my aunt. Please … please … go away.”

But he did not go away. His lips went on moving. He was talking to God, I knew, though I could not hear what he said. I was numb with terror.

“Help me, help me,” I sobbed, and I let out a piercing scream.

But he was coming nearer. He was on the ground beside me and there was a terrible look on his face. He seized me.

“No … no … no!” I screamed.

“Go away. Help me!

Help me! “

Then I was alert. I heard the sound of horse’s hoofs on the road. I shouted with all my might.

“Help me! Help me! I’m in the woods. Please … please … help!”

I had a terrible fear that whoever was riding by would not hear me or perhaps would take no heed. There was no sound from the road now and I was here alone in Barrow Wood with this evil man.

Then I heard the footsteps.

“My God!”

It was Crispin St. Aubyn.

He came towards me.

He shouted: “You swine!” and he picked up Mr. Dorian as though he were a puppet figure and he brought up his fist and gave him a blow in the face. I heard the crack of bone as he threw Mr. Dorian from him on to the ground.

Mr. Dorian sprawled there. He was quite still.

Crispin’s eyes were blazing with anger. He ignored Mr. Dorian and turned to me.

“Hurt yourself, have you?”

I was sobbing and could only nod.

“Stop crying,” he said.

“It’s all right now.”

He stooped down and picked me up.

“He …” I began, looking towards Mr. Dorian who had not moved.

“He got what he deserved.”

“You … you’ve killed him.”

“No great loss. Hurt your foot, have you?”

“My ankle.”

He did not speak. I looked over my shoulder at Mr. Dorian, who was still lying on the ground. I shuddered to see the blood on his face. But Crispin was carrying me off. He put me on his horse and mounted behind me.

He took me to The Rowans. Aunt Sophie had just arrived back with the shopping.

“She’s hurt her ankle,” Crispin explained.

Aunt Sophie exclaimed in horror, and Crispin carried me upstairs and put me on my bed.

“We’d better get the doctor,” said Aunt Sophie.

They left me and I heard Crispin talking to her downstairs. He had said when they were on the stairs: “I have to tell you …” and then there was no more.

Aunt Sophie came back to me very soon, looking pale and disturbed, and I knew that Crispin had told her how he had found me.

She sat on my bed and said: “How are you feeling now? Does the ankle hurt?”

“Yes.”

“We’ll keep it up. I expect it’s a sprain. I hope you haven’t broken anything. Who would have believed … ?”

“Oh, Aunt Sophie,” I said.

“It was terrible.”

“I’d kill him if I had him here,” she said.

“He’s not worthy to live.”

I grew up in that moment. I understood what might have happened to me but for Crispin St. Aubyn. It was strange that he was the one to whom I had to be thankful. I could not stop thinking of the way he had picked up Mr. Dorian and shaken him. I would never forget the way Mr. Dorian had looked; his expression had been one of stricken horror and despair. I thought I had never seen such anguish on any face before.

Crispin had been furiously angry; the manner in which he had flung Mr. Dorian from him made it seem as though he were throwing away some obnoxious rubbish. He had not cared if he had killed him. I wondered in horror if he had.

It would be murder, I thought. Then Rachel would not have to be frightened any more.

The doctor had come.

“Well, young lady,” he said.

“What have you been doing to yourself?”

He prodded my ankle and I was asked to see if I could stand. His verdict was that I had had a bad twist of the ankle . a nasty sprain.

“It will be a little time before you’ll be able to put it to the ground with comfort. How did you do it?”

“I was in Barrow Wood.”

He shook his head at me.

“You’ll have to watch where you’re going next time.”

He talked to Aunt Sophie about hot and cold compresses and, as soon as he was gone, she got to work on me.

She watched me anxiously. I knew she was thinking that what had happened to me was more than a sprained ankle and that, by great good fortune, I had been saved from greater harm.

Aunt Sophie was the sort of person one could talk to about anything, and she decided that it was better to talk than make a secret of my misadventure.

So I told her all about it: my fall, the sudden appearance of Mr. Dorian. I mentioned that I had been uneasy about him for a long time, and how he had talked of my saying my prayers in my nightdress.

“You should have told me,” she said.

“I didn’t know that it was important,” I replied. Then I told her about Rachel.

“He’s mad, that one,” she said.

“He’s repressed. He sees sin everywhere he goes. It’s what they call religious mania. I’m sorry for his poor wife.”

“I think Crispin St. Aubyn has killed him. I think he’s murdered him.”

“I don’t think that. Just a beating. I reckon it was what he needed.

It might have taught him a lesson. ” Then suddenly she hugged me.

“I’m glad you’re safe and well and unharmed. I’d never have forgiven myself if anything happened to you.”

“It wouldn’t have been your fault.”

“I’d have blamed myself for failing to look after you. I ought to have known the sort he was.”

“How could you?”

“I don’t know, but I should.”

She had my bed moved into her room.

“Just till you’ve settled down a bit,” she said.

“You could wake in the night … and then I’d like to be near you.”

And I did wake in the night, sweating from a nightmare. I was lying in Barrow Wood and he was coming towards me. He was there on the ground beside me. I was calling for Crispin. I felt arms about me . and they were Aunt Sophie’s.

“It’s all right. You’re here in your bed. Old Aunt Sophie is here.”

Then I found myself crying weakly. I could not think why. I was happy because I was safe and my dearest Aunt Sophie was here to look after me.

Silence born of shock lay over Harper’s Green. Then everyone was talking about the horrific events at the Bell House. We were a close community and that such a thing could have happened to one of its members sent a thrill of horror through the place. It was the sort of thing that happened to other people; one read about it in the newspaper, but to take place here in Harper’s Green was difficult to believe.

The news first came to The Rowans through Tom Wilson, the postman, when he delivered the midday mail. I was in bed, for I was to be confined there for the next few days, but Aunt Sophie happened to be in the garden when Tom came.

When she came up to me her face was very solemn and she stood for a few moments regarding me.

Then she said: “A terrible thing has happened.” My thoughts were still in the wood, reliving my nightmare.

“Is it Mr. Dorian?” I asked.

“Is he … dead?” She nodded slowly and I immediately thought: Crispin has killed him. It is murder. Murderers are hanged. He did that . for me.

I believe Aunt Sophie guessed what was in my mind. She said quickly:

“Poor Mrs. Dorian found him in the stables early this morning. He had killed himself.”

“In the stables …?” I stammered.

“He was hanging from one of the rafters that is, according to Tom Wilson. He said Mr. Dorian came back to the Bell House yesterday and his face was bleeding. He had had a fall in the wood, he said. He was very upset.

He went to his room and stayed there. She went up to him but he was at prayer and didn’t want to be disturbed. She said he went on praying for hours in his room. She didn’t see him that night and in the morning she realized he was not in the house. She happened to see that the stable door was unlocked. She went in . and found him. ” She came to the bed and put her arms round me. She said: ” I didn’t know whether to tell you . or what to do for the best. But you’d soon be hearing it in any case. You are so young, my darling, and you were concerned in this unpleasantness. It is all that I wanted to protect you from, but it is best that you should know because of your involvement. You see . this man . he wanted to be good. He wanted to be a saint, but he had certain instincts. He tried to suppress them and they came out in this way. Oh, I am making a mess of explaining.”

I said: “It’s all right. Aunt Sophie. I think I understand.”

“Well, he failed and he was caught, he was exposed. Thank God Crispin St. Aubyn came along at the right moment. But this sad man could not face the fact that he had been discovered … so he killed himself.”

She was silent for a moment. I was reliving it all. I believed it would always be there in my mind. I should never forget those moments of fear and horror.

“There is that poor woman, Mrs. Dorian … and Rachel. It will be terrible for them. And you were there … oh, it doesn’t bear thinking of! So young …”

“I don’t feel young any more. Aunt Sophie.”

“No. It is the sort of thing that makes you grow up. I don’t know what will come out of this, but I don’t want you to be involved in it. I am going to talk to Crispin St. Aubyn. I think I shall go along and see him.”

She did not have to do that because he came to The Rowans. Aunt Sophie was with me when Lily came up to tell her that he was downstairs.

She hastily went to him. She had left the door open and I distinctly heard his voice, which was clear and resonant.

He said: “I’ve come to ask about the child. How is she? No worse, I hope?”

The child! I thought indignantly. I was not a child . especially now.

He had a long talk with Aunt Sophie and finally she brought him up to see me.

He looked at me and said: “Feel better now?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Sprain, was it? You’ll be up and about in no time.”

Aunt Sophie said: “Mr. St. Aubyn and I have been talking about what happened, and we have come to the conclusion that it would be better for everyone if nothing was said about what that man tried to do to you. The theory is that he had a bad fall and he came home in a distressed state. He shut himself in his room. Mrs. Dorian was upset because he would not see her all the rest of that day. In the morning’ she must have realized that he had gone out. She noticed the stable door was unlocked and went in. She found him’ there. It’s clear ..”

Crispin broke in: “He couldn’t face up to people’s knowing what he was really like. It shattered his pose as the holy man. He just could not face that, so he took his life.”

“Yes,” said Aunt Sophie.

“There will have to be an inquest, and the verdict will be one of suicide which it was. But Mr. St. Aubyn and I have decided that the wisest thing, for the sake of everyone concerned, is to say nothing of what happened in the wood. You fell over a stone and hurt your ankle. Mr. Dorian had a fall too. Say nothing of meeting him. I hate subterfuge, but there are times when it is necessary.”

“Then,” said Crispin, with an air of finality, ‘that is settled. “

He seemed eager to be gone.

He turned to me.

“You’ll be all right now. No need to fear. He can’t cause any more trouble.”

He nodded to me in farewell and then Aunt Sophie took him down. I lay listening to the clip-clop of his horse’s hoofs as he rode away.

The inquest was brief; the verdict ‘suicide while the balance of his mind was disturbed’. I could see that what Aunt Sophie and Crispin St. Aubyn had decided on was the best way. It would have been unbearably distressing for Mrs. Dorian and Rachel to know the truth and, as Aunt Sophie had said, it was better for me. So it was over quickly.

I wondered what it was like in the Bell House now. I could not imagine it without the overpowering presence of Mr. Dorian. It would be a different place altogether.

Mrs. Dorian’s cousin came to help her and Aunt Sophie suggested that Rachel came to stay with us until, as she said, ‘things settled down’.

Aunt Sophie said: “We shall have to put a bed in your room, and you will have to share. That will get you ready for school when you will be in a dormitory with others.”

Rachel was delighted to come. She had changed. She was no longer afraid. We often talked far into the night until we fell asleep. We had both had frightening experiences with her uncle and we could not at first bear to talk of it. I remembered the warning I had had not to mention what had happened; but I could not get it out of my mind.

One night Rachel said to me: “Freddie … I think I must be very wicked.”

“Why?” I asked.

“I’m glad he’s dead.”

“Well, he did it himself.”

“I thought he was so sure about everything.”

“I suppose he wasn’t after all. He must have realized he wasn’t as good as he thought he was.”

“Do you think that was it?”

“Yes, I do. But it is not wicked to be glad. I am, too.”

There was a shared awareness that we had escaped a danger which had threatened us both.

In September Rachel, Tamarisk and I went off to school just as had been planned.

It was the best thing that could have happened to us. It was a bridge for Rachel and me between an entirely new way of life and a past of haunted fears and shadows.

We gave each other courage in our new surroundings. Tamarisk was always cool and arrogant: she resembled her brother, I told myself.

Rachel was like a different girl: she had lost that haunted look. I understood her feelings absolutely.

We were the three friends; we shared a dormitory and we were in the same classes; and I, as well as Rachel, I was sure, began to grow away from that nightmare which could so easily have become a reality for us both. , During my first year at school my mother died. I went home for a short while in the middle of term to attend the funeral’s Aunt Sophie said: “It was for the best. She could never have recovered and it was no life for her.”

I asked her if my father would come to the funeral. She shook her head.

“Oh no. He’s far away and the divorce was the end. When people like that part, they part for ever.”

“Have you told him?”

“Yes,” she said, and I saw that look of wistfulness come into her face which I had seen when I had come upon her writing to him.

I shed some tears as the clods fell on the coffin. I thought how sad it was that she had been so unhappy, wasting her life in craving for what she could not have.

A few people came back to the house and we gave them wine and sandwiches. I was glad when we were alone.

“Well,” said Aunt Sophie, ‘now you are all mine. ” And I felt contented about that.

Then I went back to school and life continued as before.

When we came home for the holidays, I went to see the Lanes and sat in the garden with Flora while the doll in the pram was beside her. She was just the same as ever; the cottage with its mulberry bush and the picture of the seven magpies had not altered one bit. I wondered if it ever occurred to Flora that the baby might grow up. But I supposed she had had that same doll for years and it would always be the baby Crispin to her.

There was change, though, at the Bell House. I visited Rachel there and at first I thought the difference was due to the fact that one did not have to watch for Mr. Dorian to come creeping up on one at any moment. But it was more than that. There were new curtains of a light and flowery pattern. There were flowers in the hall.

Mrs. Dorian had changed more than anything else.

She wore her hair piled high on her head with a Spanish comb in it, a brightly coloured dress, cut rather low, and a necklace of pearls about her neck. She was another who was not grieving for the death of Mr. Dorian. For such a good man, he had made a lot of people unhappy.

I was no longer afraid of the house, but I did avoid looking at the stables when I went in and out.

So Harper’s Green was back to normal. I was an orphan now or rather, half an orphan. My mother was dead but in the last years she had become a hazy figure and in losing her I had gained Aunt Sophie.

I went back to the school life, where what mattered was who was in the hockey team and what there was for dinner, and who was friendly with whom schoolgirl triumphs and disasters.