Seven for a Secret

A Ghost from the Past

We were in late September and there was to be a dinner party at St. Aubyn’s at which Crispin and I would announce our engagement.

“It is what my mother will want,” said Crispin.

“There has always been a certain amount of formality in the family.”

People were still talking of the murder. Far from stemming interest in that morbid subject, the inquest had increased it.

“Some person or persons unknown.” There was something sinister about the very phrase.

In the shops and every household the question was: “Who killed Gaston Marchmont?”

Suspicion rested on one or two people: Crispin was one of those, so were Tamarisk and Harry Gentry, though more than one clung to the belief that it was someone from Gaston’s past. After all, why should not someone have got into the house, taken the gun and not had an opportunity of putting it back? There was a certain plausibility in the theory.

Meanwhile there was the dinner-party and there would be another piece of news to startle the community.

Mrs. St. Aubyn joined us for dinner. Her health had improved so much since the arrival of Gaston that she had ceased to be the invalid she had been before. He had flattered her so blatantly, telling her she had the appearance of a young girl, that she had begun to behave like one. She had made a habit of dining at table with the family and she could not slip back into invalidism so soon after his departure. I thought to myself: He has done some good, then. She must have been the only person who mourned him, for there was no doubt that she was genuinely saddened by his death.

Guests at the party were the Hetheringtons and friends in the neighbourhood, including the doctor and his wife, and from Devizes a lawyer who represented the family. Aunt Sophie, of course, was present.

Crispin sat at the head of the table and I was on his right hand. Mrs. St. Aubyn sat at the other end and, although she looked very sad, she was very different from the invalid who had taken most of her meals in her own room. Tamarisk, also, was present. She had changed a great deal; she had lost that careless manner of the past and was no longer the light-hearted girl.

The ghost of Gaston Marchmont seemed to hover over us all, and although a great effort was made not to refer to past events and to be as we all had been before, that was not possible.

The meal was over when Crispin rose and, taking my hand, said simply:

“I have an announcement to make. Frederica Miss Hammond-and I have decided to marry.”

Congratulations ensued, and we drank the champagne which the butler had brought up from the cellars.

I could have been very happy but for that hovering ghost. I wondered if it would ever leave us in peace.

Later in the drawing-room I found Tamarisk beside me.

“I did not need the formal announcement,” she said.

“I knew, of course, what was in the air.”

“Was it so obvious?”

“Quite. Particularly since you went to the office. He arranged that, of course.”

“It was good of him.”

“Good! He was thinking of himself,” she said.

“Tamarisk, how are you?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes I’m miserable. Sometimes I’m ashamed. Then I’m afraid. Then I’m glad glad that he’s gone and yet in a way he is still here. He always will be until they find out who killed him. I wish oh, how I wish I had never seen him.”

I put my hand over hers.

“We’re like sisters in a way,” she said.

“That’s something I find cheering.”

“I’m glad.”

“Rachel, you and I. The three of us. We were always together, weren’t we? It seems that you have done better than any of us. You and Crispin. Who would have believed Crispin would be in love, and with you?”

“Rachel has a very happy marriage.”

“Poor Rachel.”

“She’s all right. She’s happy now. But, Tamarisk, what about you?”

“I shall be all right too when this is all over. If only it had been someone we didn’t know who had killed him so that we could forget.

They will be hovering till they find out. The police, I mean. They don’t just forget it after an inquest. “

“We have to go on as if it hadn’t happened.”

“Some people think I did it. They always will. You see what I meant about its being there always.”

“It won’t be. There’ll be an answer.”

“But what if the answer is something we don’t want it to be?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. We’re going to try to be happy. Or pretend we are. Perhaps we might even succeed for a time. And then it will be there. It will pop up, Fred. They’ve got to find out who did it. It will never be finished until they do.”

Aunt Sophie was coming over to us. She was smiling brightly. She was very pleased, but behind her smiles I could detect a certain anxiety.

Oh yes indeed, the ghost of Gaston Marchmont was with us on that night.

It amazed me to realize the interest there was in our proposed marriage; and I did not only mean among the inhabitants of Harper’s Green. That, of course, I fully expected.

It was a few days after the dinner-party. When I went down to breakfast Aunt Sophie was already seated at the table. She was reading the morning newspaper and when she greeted me I detected the dismay in her face immediately.

“Good morning. Aunt Sophie.” I went to her and kissed her.

“Anything wrong?”

She shrugged her shoulders.

“I suppose it’s nothing, really.”

“You look upset.”

“It’s just this.”

She pushed the newspaper over to me as I sat down beside her. There was a picture of Crispin on the front page.

“What is this?” I cried.

“They must have taken it some time during the investigations. The Press is usually lurking somewhere. That’s! Inspector Burrows with him. The one who was here, remember?”

I read: To marry. The engagement is announced of Mr. Crispin St. Aubyn to Miss Frederica Hammond who has been a neighbour of his for some years. Mr. St. Aubyn is the Wiltshire landowner on whose estate the body of Gaston Marchmont was recently found. The gun from which the fatal shot was fired was taken from the St. Aubyn’s gunroom. This will be Mr. St. Aubyn’s second marriage. His first wife was Kate Carvel, the actress, who was killed in a railway accident soon after the wedding.

Aunt Sophie was watching me. Why do they want to bring all this up? ”

“I suppose they think people want to read it,” said Aunt Sophie.

“But that first marriage …”

“Oh, I suppose it adds a further touch of drama.”

“Why should people want to hear all that?”

“The case was publicized nationally, of course.” Yes, I thought, this paper was not the local one. It would be circulated all over the country. I thought of the thousands who would be reading that item.

It will be forgotten in time, I told myself. But there would always be some to remember. There really was no escape.

Crispin himself was not very disturbed by the newspaper notice.

He said: “Until this thing is settled they will keep their eyes on us.

We have to forget it. Let’s think about pleasant things. I don’t see any reason for delay. Let’s make it soon. My mother is already making plans. She says it must be a wedding in the St. Aubyn’s tradition. I mustn’t forget that I’m the head of the family and all that.

Personally, I’d go for the quickest way. I just want to be with you to make sure we are together . always. “

“I want that too,” I said.

“But I suppose the wedding is going to attract more attention from the Press.”

“I’m afraid we shall have to accept that.”

“Perhaps we should wait a little … not too long. But in case there is some development.”

He looked aghast.

“Some discovery,” I went on.

“Some revelation.”

“Oh no!” he cried vehemently. He was frowning deeply, and I put my arms round him and held him close to me. He clung, almost as though he were asking for protection.

“Never leave me. Do not talk of delays.”

I was deeply touched. I felt as though I were trying to reach out to him and could not quite do so. I was deeply aware of some barrier between us, and I said: “Crispin, there is something ..”

“What do you mean?” Did I fancy I detected a note of fear in his voice?

“There should not be any secrets between us,” I said on impulse.

He drew back. He was himself again the man in command of any situation.

“What do you mean, Frederica?” he repeated.

“I just thought that there might be something important that I did not know.”

He laughed and kissed me.

“This is the important matter … the most important matter in the world to me. When are we going to get married?”

“We should talk to your mother and Aunt Sophie.”

“I think Aunt Sophie will be amenable.”

“She will go along with anything we decide, of course, but she did say that in view of… everything… we should not have the grand ceremony your mother wants. It is too soon after that trouble.”

He was silent.

“She is right,” I persisted.

“Your brother-in-law is dead. It’s a death in the family. It is usual to wait a year after that.”

“Impossible! It was no great bereavement.”

“It was murder. I think we should offend a lot of sensibilities if we celebrated what should be a joyous occasion too soon after that. What construction would people put upon it?”

“Do we care?”

“I think we have to remember it is a delicate situation. Crispin, we have to remember that until the case is solved some may be thinking all sorts of things about people.”

He was thoughtful.

“You don’t mean you think we should wait a year?”

“Not as long as that, no. But shouldn’t we see how things go?”

“I long to get away,” he said.

“Darling, where shall we go?”

“Anywhere will do.”

“Away from this place … all the speculations … all the memories of it. I want to think of us and nothing else.”

“It sounds blissful.”

Again I had that idea that he was trying to reach out to me, to tell me what was on his mind. A terrible fear came to me and it would not go away. What part had he played in this murder? I kept asking myself.

Why did he not tell me what was on his mind? Could it be that he dared not?

I thought how happy I could be if we could be together and there was nothing between us and our happiness, if I could think of the future with hope and confidence. But I could not rid myself of images of that body in the shrubbery and the gun which had been taken from the gunroom at St. Aubyn’s.

Crispin continued to talk of our honeymoon. Italy was always a favourite place. Was it not one of the most beautiful countries in the world? So much of the past still survived there. Florence, Venice, Rome. Austria was inviting. We could go to Salzburg, Mozart’s birthplace. France? The chateaux of the Loire. He had always wanted to see Chateau Gaillard with its memories of Richard Coeur-de-Lion.

But while we discussed them all I could not stop thinking: There is something. He cannot entirely hide it. I can see it in his eyes.

Why will he not tell me? I can’t ask him because he does not admit to its being there. But, knowing him, loving him, I am aware of it.

Lily was proud of me.

The big house, eh? Mistress of all that! My word, you’ll be too grand to come and see us at The Rowans. “

We laughed at her.

“You don’t think that. Lily, you know very well,” I retorted.

“Well, of course not. You’ll always be our little Miss Freddie, won’t she. Miss Sophie?”

“Yes, she will. When we are doddering old ladies and she herself a mature matron, she will always be our little Miss Freddie.”

Aunt Sophie often talked about the past.

“I remember Crispin as a boy,” she said.

“A nice lad. And the way he looks after those Lanes … that’s a credit to him. I used to see him now and then. His parents were hardly ever here. They were always gadding up to London or the Continent, letting the place go to rack and ruin. It was a mercy they had a good manager. And when Crispin took over, that was the best thing that could have happened to the place. That was when he was married. That brought him out of the university and got him into the estate. It was time, too. It’s a funny thing, but there is always good in something. That marriage of his brought him home and the estate has prospered ever since.”

“You must have seen his wife often.”

“Oh yes, I saw her. My goodness, what a shock it was! Disaster from the start. I just wondered how he could have done it. Folly of youth, I suppose. She seemed a lot older than he was … more than she’d admit to, I reckon.”

“Was she very beautiful?”

“Not to my mind. All rouge and powder and hair too gold to be natural.

As soon as I set eyes on her I knew it wouldn’t last long. “

“I want to know about it, Aunt Sophie.”

“You’ve nothing to fear from her, my dear. Sometimes in these second marriages the second wife gets fancies about the first. Thinks the husband is hankering after the past. That’s something you’ll be spared. He was glad to be rid of her. Everyone knows that.”

“What was it like at St. Aubyn’s when she was there?”

“She wanted parties and that sort of thing.”

“Like Crispin’s parents.”

“They were abroad most of the time and it wasn’t like that with her at all. The parents’ kind were elegant affairs. These were noisy, rowdy.

Lots of musical-hall people, I think. People in the neighbourhood didn’t like it much. There was quarrelling too. Poor Crispin. He soon saw what he’d let himself in for. Then she got bored with it all and went off. Soon after that there was the crash and she was killed.

Happy release, people said, for Crispin. “

“I think all that had a great effect on him.”

“Bound to. He seemed to shut himself away. Thought of nothing but the estate. One or two people had their eyes on him.”

“You mean like Lady Fiona?”

“Perhaps. There were others. He didn’t seem to want any of them. Not until he fell in love with you. Oh, Freddie, I believe everything is going to be wonderful for you. He’s changed a lot. He’s losing that haunted look. That proud sort of arrogance. It’s a defiance against fate. He seemed to have come to the conclusion that he was a fool to have got caught as he did. He despised himself and all that self-assurance was a shield to hide behind.”

“Yes,” I said.

“I am sure you are right, but I think there is something between us, though something which prevents my getting as close to him as I should like.”

“That’s it, dear. It will take some time for him to break completely from the past. But he’s on the way and I am so happy about this. I am sure it’s right for you and your happiness is more important to me than anything.”

“Dearest Aunt Sophie, I don’t know how to begin to thank you for all you have done for me. Ever since I came to you here you have been wonderful to me.”

I saw the brightness of tears glistening in her eyes.

“Dearest child, you are my own niece and …”

“And my father’s daughter? Tell me, have you written to him?”

“I have told him of your engagement.”

“Will he be interested? After all, he doesn’t know anything about Crispin. He doesn’t really know me.”

“He knows you well from my letters. He is always anxious to know about you. He has now gone right away to an island on the other side of the world.”

“I thought he was in Egypt.”

“He left some time ago. It’s a remote sort of place called Casker’s Island. It seems to have been discovered by a man called Casker some years ago. Few people have ever heard of it. I searched the map in vain. But I did find it in one atlas. Just a little black dot on the sea. I suppose it is too insignificant to be mentioned in most.”

“What is he doing there?”

“He’s with someone called Karla. Polynesian, I think. He mentions her now and then. I can’t think why he left Egypt. I suppose there is some reason but he hasn’t told me.”

“I think it is wonderful that you have kept in touch all these years.”

“We were great friends. Still are, and I suppose always will be,” she replied.

Crispin and I were together almost every day. He took me round the estate and we were greeted with congratulations. everywhere we went.

He was anxious for me to learn more about it. My spell in the office had taught me a good deal and I was already quite knowledgeable. It was his life and he was eager for me to share it. And I fervently wanted to.

We were very happy during those days. Crispin had changed subtly. I was discovering new facets in his characj ter and they delighted me.

He had a great capacity for? enjoyment which had previously been suppressed, Life seemed now to be full of amusement; we were constantly laughing and it was the laughter of happiness.

I thought: Everything will be all right now.

We called at Grindle’s Farm. Rachel was delighted to see us and Danielle was produced to be admired. I had a few moments alone with Rachel and she told me how happy she was for me.

“And you are not worried any more?” I asked.

“Only occasionally it comes back. I suppose that is inevitable. I wish they could find out who killed Gaston and settle it once and for all.

I don’t think we shall be entirely at ease until they do. The police don’t seem to be so interested any more. “

“I expect they will call it one of those unsolved crimes. There are many of them, I am sure.”

“Yes. They just fade out of people’s memories in spite of the fact that they were so interested in them at the time. That’s how it will be. But how I wish it could all be settled.”

“So do we all.”

Crispin and I rode off together.

They were such happy days until I noticed the change in him. I knew him so well now and it was hard for him to deceive me. I fancied there was a false note in his laughter and I caught an anxious expression in his eyes now and then. He was preoccupied with some problem, though making an effort to pretend all was well.

“Is anything wrong?” I asked.

“No. Nothing. What should be?”

How I wished he would tell me everything! That vague uneasy feeling was back with me. I thought it had gone for ever.

I wanted to say: There must be complete trust between us. Tell me what it is that is bothering you. Let us share it.

There were times when he cast off this anxiety. Then I asked myself if I had imagined it.

It was some days later when he said he had to go to Salisbury on business and would be away for the day. I wished that I could go with him but he said he would be engaged with various people during the day and I should be left alone.

“It’s only for a day,” he added.

But when we said goodbye that evening he held me tightly to him as though he were very reluctant to let me go.

“I shall see you the day after tomorrow,” I said.

“Yes,” he said, still holding me tightly.

“You don’t seem to want to let me go,” I said lightly. He replied fervently: “I shall never let you go.”

That morning Aunt Sophie said to me: “I am going into Devizes this afternoon. Why don’t you come with me?”

“I think I ought to go and look in at the office,” I replied. She nodded.

“Oh well, never mind. I shall take the trap. There are one or two things I want to get. I’ll be back before evening.”

I went to the office. James Perrin was there. He had changed towards me since my engagement to Crispin had been announced. He was quieter, more reserved. I knew that in his rather sober way he had contemplated marrying me. I should never have done so even if there had not been Crispin, but I liked him very much all the same.

He talked about the tenants and how concerned he was’ about the north-facing walls of some of the cottages. :

“I think they will have to be carefully looked at,” he said. He was going to do this now and I was glad that he did not suggest I accompany him.

I asked him about the place he was considering renting.

“I’m giving that one a miss,” he told me.

“There’ll be something else when the time comes. As a matter of fact, someone has already taken the place I was thinking of.”

I was glad when it was time to go home. I realized afresh how empty the days were without Crispin.

When I arrived home Aunt Sophie was not back. Well, she had said before evening. I supposed something had delayed her.

It was nearly seven o’clock when she returned and I was beginning to get anxious about her. She looked tired and rather strained.

“Are you all right?” I asked anxiously.

“I’m exhausted. It’s a long journey. I’m going straight to my room.”

“Shall I get Lily to bring something up?”

“No. I don’t really want anything to eat. I had something in Devizes. Really, I’m worn out.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing … nothing. I’ll tell you about it some time.

Just now I want my bed more than anything. I’m getting too old for this sort of thing. “

“Can I do anything?”

“No … no.

I’ll be better in bed. “

“You’re sure Lily can’t bring you something?

Some hot milk? “

“No, no.” She was frowning. That was so unlike her.

She went to her room and I went to see Lily.

“She’s back, then,” said Lily.

“I’ll see about dinner.”

“She doesn’t want anything. She’s gone straight to bed.”

“She must have had something in Devizes.”

“She looks worn out and she just wants to go to bed.”

“Doesn’t want anything! I’ll take up some milk.”

“She firmly said she doesn’t want anything. All she wants is bed and sleep.”

It was a gloomy evening. It started to rain and there was thunder in the air. I had expected Aunt Sophie to come back and tell me with her usual vivacity all about the visit to Devizes. This was most extraordinary and I was worried about her.

I could not resist going to her room. She was lying in her bed, her eyes tightly closed, but even so she looked unlike herself. I was afraid she was going to be ill.

I went to Lily. I said: “I hope she’s all right. I just crept in to look at her.”

“So did I,” said Lily.

“She is just worn out. Exhausted, that’s what.

It’ll teach her a lesson. She’s always doing too much. “

I had to be satisfied with that.

I went to my room. It was about half past nine. How different everything seemed without Aunt Sophie. I could not bear anything to happen to her.

I sat by my window looking out. The clouds were lour ing. I could see Barrow Wood. It looked particularly menacing in this light, but it always did to me . even in sunshine. From the distance came the rumble of thunder. It had been a very unsatisfactory day. I kept saying to myself I should have gone to Devizes with her.

I undressed and got into bed. I could not sleep. Then suddenly I thought I heard a footstep. It was nothing, I told myself. The Rowans was an old house and the boards creaked at times. One frequently heard them in the quiet of the night. But was that the sound of a door being quietly opened?

I put on my dressing-gown and slippers, went to the door, opened it and listened.

Yes, someone was downstairs. Could it be Lily? She had said she would have an early night, but perhaps she had gone down to the kitchen for something.

I decided to go and see. So I went downstairs to the kitchen and quietly opened the door. On the table was a lighted candle on a stick and sitting there was Aunt Sophie.

There was a look of abject misery in her very attitude; She was leaning forward, her face cupped in her hands, staring ahead of her.

“Aunt Sophie,” I said.

She stared at me in alarm.

“What has happened?” I asked.

“Oh,” she said.

“I couldn’t sleep. I thought I’d come down and make a cup of tea. It might help.”

“There’s something wrong, isn’t there?”

She was silent.

“You must tell me. What is it?”

Still she did not speak.

“We can’t go on like this,” I said.

“I know something is very wrong.

You have to tell me. “

“I don’t know what to do. Perhaps I was mistaken. No, I wasn’t. But perhaps.”

“Mistaken about what? Where was it? What was it you saw? Was it in Devizes?”

She nodded. Then she turned to me and put her arms about me. I knew she had decided she must tell me.

She said: “I saw them. They came out of the hotel together.”

“Who, Aunt Sophie?”

“I keep telling myself it couldn’t be. But I know it was.”

“You must tell me everything.”

“It was Crispin. He was with Kate Carvel.”

“His wife? She’s dead.”

“It gave me a terrible shock. I thought I must be dreaming. But it was her. She’s not the sort you forget. There couldn’t be any doubt.”

“But you couldn’t have seen her. Aunt Sophie. She’s dead. She died in a railway accident a long time ago.”

Aunt Sophie looked at me steadily.

“I didn’t know whether to tell you or not. I’ve been trying to make up my mind ever since. I couldn’t face you. I had to be by myself.”

“You must have imagined it.”

“No. I couldn’t be mistaken. She had the same gold hair. She’s not changed. She’s just as she was … and they came out of the hotel together. They stood there and then they got into a cab.”

“It simply can’t be true.”

“Well, I saw it. What can you make of that?”

“It must have been someone else.”

“There couldn’t be two like her in the world. It was Kate Carvel, Freddie. It means … she’s alive.”

“I can’t believe that.”

“She’s his wife. He married her. Oh, Freddie, how can he marry you?”

I sat at the table, limp with horror and fear, trying to grasp the implication of all this. I could only keep repeating to myself: It isn’t true.

A great clap of thunder startled me. I was bewildered, uncertain. The night lay ahead of me. The clock on the mantelpiece told me it was only half past eleven. Tomorrow I would see him, but how could I live through the night? I must see him now. I must hear from his own lips that Aunt Sophie had made a terrible mistake.

I stood up and said: “I am going to see him.”

“Tonight?”

“Aunt Sophie, I can’t go through the night not knowing. I have to find out now if you were right.”

“I shouldn’t have told you. I knew I shouldn’t.”

“You should. It is better for me to know. I am going now.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No. No, I must go alone. I must see him. I must know.”

I went to my room and put on boots and a heavy coat. Then I ran downstairs and out into the night, through the rain to St. Aubyn’s. I rang the bell and, late though it was, a manservant opened the door.

“I want to see Mr. St. Aubyn,” I said.

He looked amazed.

“Come in. Miss Hammond,” he said, as Crispin came into the hall.

“Frederica!” he cried.

“I had to come,” I said.

“I had to see you.”

It’s all right. Groves,” said Crispin to the servant, and to me: ” Come in here. “

He took me into a small room leading from the hall and attempted to take off my coat, but I kept it on. I had not waited to dress properly.

“I had to come,” I burst out.

“I had to know if this is true. I could not wait.”

He was looking at me in alarm.

“Tell me what it is,” he said.

“Aunt Sophie was in Devizes today. She is very upset. She said she saw you there with Kate Carvel.”

He turned pale and I knew in that moment that Aunt Sophie had not been mistaken.

I said: “It was true, then?”

He seemed to be grappling with himself.

I went on: “Please, Crispin, I must have the truth.”

He said: “It’s all right. Everything is going to be all right. We’re going to be married. I tell you, it will be all right.”

I knew he was not telling the truth. I thought: He tells me what he wants me to believe. A great fear came to me then.

“Everything is settled,” he went on.

“I have arranged everything. It is all going to be just as we planned.”

“You said you were going to Salisbury,” I reminded him.

“Yet Aunt Sophie saw you in Devizes.”

He was silent and I knew that he had been to Devizes to meet Kate Carvel and there was no doubt now that Aunt Sophie had seen them together there.

He laid his hands tenderly on my shoulders.

“Look,” he said.

“There is no need for you to worry about any of this. I have arranged it all.

You and I are going on as we planned. I could not endure it otherwise.

Nor will I. I am determined on that. “

“If you are going to have secrets from me, Crispin, if I am not to be told what I know affects you deeply, there can never be true closeness between us. I must know the truth. Aunt Sophie saw you coming out of the hotel with the woman whom you married. She is supposed to be dead. How can she be if she were with you in Devizes? “

His arms slipped round me and he held me tightly.

“I will tell you what happened, but it isn’t going to make any difference. She is silenced. I could arrange that, and I did.”

“Silenced!” I cried in horror.

“I see I must tell you everything. A few days ago I had a letter from her.”

“I knew something had happened,” I cried.

“Oh, Crispin … why didn’t you tell me?”

“I couldn’t. I feared what this would mean. I am determined that at all costs I will not lose you. Frederica, you must not leave me. She wanted money. She always wanted money. That is why it is an easy way out … to silence her, to keep her quiet … to stop her preventing us”

“But she is there. She is your wife.”

“She read the announcement of our engagement. That is what started it.

But for that she would never have known. I would have gone on believing her dead. None of this would have happened. When I received the letter I did not know what to do. “

“Why did you not tell me? I want to know everything.”

“I couldn’t tell you. I had to make sure that everything could go ahead as we planned. It was a mistake on my part to see her in Devizes. It was too near here. I ought to have thought of that. I arranged to meet her in that hotel. It was terrible. I hated her. I hated myself for ever being involved with her. I was so thankful when she left me, and when I heard she was killed I naturally thought I would never see her again. It was the end of the most idiotic mistake a man ever made.”

“But she was not dead.”

“No. She explained all that.”

“But you had identified her after the accident.”

“There was a ring and a fur stole which I had given her.

The girl I saw was badly injured facially. I could not have said she was really Kate, but the ring and the stole seemed to clinch the matter. They were considered adequate identification. “

“Crispin, was it because you wanted to be sure?”

“I felt certain. The ring and the stole … they were enough. She told me she had sold the ring and the stole to a fellow actress. A girl who had left home a year or so before to try her luck in the theatre. It seemed that either she had no family or they lost touch.

Her death was unnoticed. Kate had seen the account of the death of my wife in the newspaper and had decided to do nothing about it. No doubt she thought she might make profitable use of it at some time. That was the way her mind worked. So when she saw the announcement of our engagement in the paper she decided to use the situation to her advantage. “

“And you, Crispin?”

“One thing I was certain of. I was not going to let her spoil my life again. I arranged to meet her at the hotel in Devizes. She was there.

God, how I hated her! She laughed at my dismay. She had a way of laughing which made me want to kill her. She thought she had caught me. She said she would never agree to a divorce and that if I tried that line, she would fight with all her might against me. I saw that there was only one way to deal with her. I would give her money to go away and never come near me again. “

“You believed she would do that!”

“I told her that if she ever came back I would call the police and she would be charged with blackmail.”

“And you really thought that would stop her?”

“I think it might.”

“But if you are ready to submit to blackmail once, why should you not be again?”

“I know how to deal with her.”

“Crispin, don’t you see, this is wrong?”

“What else is there to do?”

“To accept the truth, I suppose.”

“You know what that would mean?”

“Yes, I do. But it is here. It is no use pretending it isn’t. She is not dead. You have actually seen her.”

“She has gone away. She assures me she is going to Australia She says I shall never hear from her again.”

“You believe that!”

“I want to.”

“But you can’t believe it because you want to. She’s a blackmailer and you have given way to blackmail. Don’t you see, if you went through a form of marriage with me it could be no true marriage. She would know it. She would be back … with an even greater reason for black mail.”

“I’ll deal with her if she does. I have found you. For the first time in my life I have been happy. I know what I want for the rest of my life. I love you, Frederica, and I will do anything just anything to keep you.”

I was shaken by the violence of his emotion. I was bemused by what I had heard. I rejoiced in the power of his love for me but I felt more strongly than ever that I did not know him. He was revealing a side of his character which I had not known. I felt now, as I had before, that much was hidden from me.

I said: “You were going through with our marriage in spite of this?”

“Yes,” he said.

“And you were not going to tell me?”

“I could not risk telling you. I could not be sure what you would do.

I love you. I want you and I did not think beyond that. You will be my wife in every way . no matter what ceremony. That is words. My feelings for you go deeper than any words. “

I could only say: “You would have kept it from me.”

“Only because I was afraid you might not agree.”

“I think,” I said slowly, ‘that is what shocks me more than any of this. I feel there are secrets which I do not know. “

“Secrets?” he said with alarm in his voice, which made my heart leap in fear.

“Crispin,” I said, ‘why don’t you tell me everything? Just as you have told me this? “

He said: There is nothing more to tell. “

I did not speak, but I thought: You have told me this because you could do nothing else. Aunt Sophie saw you and if she had not I should not have known. I should have gone through a form of marriage with you. And you would have let me do that. You would have deceived me as far as that.

“Frederica,” he was saying, ‘my darling, I love you. You know how much. It sounds so inadequate. I want you with me night and day . for ever. There is nothing nothing on earth which can hurt me if I am with you. “

“I feel stunned,” I murmured, ‘bewildered. “

“It is the shock, but you will not have to worry. I shall look after everything. We’ll tell no one about this. It’s no one’s affair but ours. It concerns only us. She will go away and if she ever comes back I shall know how to deal with her.”

I could only think: His mind is full of secrets. He would have kept this from me. If we are to be close, how could this be?

I did not know what to say. I must get away, I must think. Nothing was as I had believed it to be.

One thought kept hammering in my brain: he would have married me and said nothing . knowing this. It would have been another secret in our lives.

Another secret? What was the other?

I thought of Gaston Marchmont walking into the shrubbery, lying dead there, killed by a gun from the St. Aubyn gunroom.

He would talk to me of his love. It was love which had made him act as he did. I wanted that love. I rejoiced in the depth of it. I wanted to believe that it would be there for ever. I dared not.

I must get away. I must think ration ally. There were many questions I must ask myself.

“Crispin,” I said, trying to speak calmly, “I have to think about this. It has been a great shock. I must go home.”

“Of course, my darling,” he said.

“You must not worry. You are going to leave everything to me.” He held me fast and kissed me tenderly.

“I’ll take you home.”

“No, no … I’ll go back alone.”

“It’s late. I shall come with you. The rain is teeming down. I’ll get the carriage. I’ll drive you back.”

I let him go. From the porch I watched him and as soon as he disappeared, I ran out.

He was right. The rain was falling heavily. There was thunder overhead: lightning streaked across the sky. And I ran. My hair was falling about my face a damp cloud; my clothes were soaked. I had not stopped to put much on under my coat. I was unaware of my condition. I could only think that a chance happening in Devizes had revealed something of which I should have been kept in ignorance though it concerned me deeply.

He would not have told me, I kept saying to myself.

I reached The Rowans where Aunt Sophie was waiting for me. She looked very frightened.

“You’re soaked to the skin,” she cried.

“Come along in quickly. You shouldn’t have gone.”

She was hustling me to my room, getting off my wet clothes, running off and coming back with towels and blankets.

She roused Lily.

“A fire,” she commanded.

“God help us!” said Lily.

“What is all this in aid of?”

“She’s been out in the rain.”

“God give me strength!” prayed Lily.

I was shivering. I was not sure whether it was due to the cold. I suppose I had never in my life faced such a shock.

They brought me hot-water bottles. A fire was soon blazing in the grate. Blankets were piled on my bed and Lily was trying to force hot milk down my throat.

I pushed it away. I could only lie there shivering.

They were up with me all night, hovering about me and in the morning they sent for the doctor.

I was quite ill, he said. I had caught a bad chill. We must be careful that it did not turn into congestion of the lungs.

My illness was, in a way, not without its advantages. My mind was in a turmoil. I was often delirious. I thought I was married to Crispin but I could not be happy. I had seen the shadow of a woman whom I had never met but who was clear to me; she hovered continually in the background. I might be married to Crispin but I was not his wife. She was his wife an ever-menacing figure. I longed to be with him. I wanted to say, as he did, let’s forget she came back. If Aunt Sophie had not been in Devizes on that day it would have happened differently. I should not have known anything about it.

Sometimes I wanted to lie in my bed, feeling limp and tired, too weak to think of anything. There was a certain comfort in that. I was lying in limbo. I could take no action. I was too ill to do anything.

Aunt Sophie was constantly there. So was Lily. There were flowers in the room. I believe I knew who had sent them. I did not see him.

Though I know he came for once or twice I heard his voice.

There was a time when I thought I heard Aunt Sophie say: “It’s better not. It might upset her.” Then I heard his voice pleading.

I wondered if he would come in spite of Aunt Sophie, but he did not.

He would be remembering that scene which had taken place before I had run off through the storm.

I was getting better. They were trying to make me eat.

I had grown very thin, said Lily. That was no way to be, but if anyone knew how to tempt an appetite, she did.

She would bring some tasty dish to my bedside.

“Now eat this up or you’ll worry your poor Aunt Sophie into her grave.” So I would eat it.

As I grew better I went on asking myself what I must do. I was very uncertain. I could not imagine life without Crispin. Sometimes I felt weakly acquiescent. I wanted to let him take care of everything. Then I thought of what he was prepared to do and keep secret from me, and I said to myself: I feel as if I shall never truly know him. There are things he is holding back. It is like a screen which comes down between us. It was not only this. There was something else.

Aunt Sophie was sitting by my bed.

She said: “You’re getting better. My word, you have given us a fright.”

“I’m sorry.”

“My dear, I wish I could have borne it for you.”

I knew she meant more than my illness.

“What am I going to do, Aunt Sophie?” I said.

“Only you can decide. You can go the way he wants, or…”

“I shouldn’t be truly married to him.”

That’s so. “

“If there were children … We should never be sure when she was coming back.”

“That is a point.”

“And yet, I can never be happy without him.”

“Life changes, my dear. If you have doubts, you should hesitate.

That’s why I think you should get away from here. When you are close you can’t see things clearly. This is something you can’t hurry into.

You need time. It’s wonderful what time can do. “

“I feel so tired,” I said.

“Aunt Sophie, I want to listen to him. No one will know. We could go through with this.”

“It is not lawful. If you had been in ignorance of the fact that he had a wife living, you could not be blamed. But you would go to the altar knowing that he has a wife living.”

“I must not do it.”

“What you must do is get away and think. You would not be well enough yet. We’ll have to talk about it … again and again. I know you can’t face losing him. I understand well how you feel, my dear. Perhaps we shall find some way.”

It was a few days later when the letter came.

Aunt Sophie sat by my bed.

She said: “It’s from your father.”

I started up, staring at her. I saw the hope in her eyes.

“I wrote to him right at the start of all this. I guessed how it would go.. It takes a long time for letters to get here. He must have sat down and written right away. He wants you to go to him.”

To go to him? Where? “

“I’ll tell you what he says.

“This place is right on its own. The rest of the world seems far away. There’ll be sunshine and everything will be different. A new way of life, something you have never dreamed of before. Here she can think and perhaps see which way she has to go.

It’s time I met my daughter. It must be nearly twenty years since I last saw her. I am sure it is right for her. Persuade her, Sophie . ”

I was aghast. I had wanted so much to see my father, and now he was suggesting that I go to this remote island.

She dropped the letter and looked at me steadily.

“You must go,” she said.

“How?”

“You take a ship at Tilbury or Southampton, somewhere like that, and you just sail away.”

“Where is this island?”

“Casker’s Island? Almost on the other side of the world.”

“This sounds preposterous.”

“It’s not impossible, Freddie. You have to think about it. I see it as an answer. You should know your father.”

“If he had wanted to see me he could have done so before this.”

“He wouldn’t while your mother was alive, and after that … well, he has been far away. But now you need help and he is there to give it.”

“But suddenly to be presented with a proposition like this …”

“It’s what you need. You want something to come between you and all this uncertainty. You have to come to a decision and you’ll do it better away from it all.”

“So far!”

“The farther the better.”

“Aunt Sophie … suppose I do go … you’d come with me?”

She hesitated. Then she said firmly: “No, there is too much for me to do here; He didn’t suggest that I should go.”

“You mean I should go alone? I thought you liked my father.”

“I did. I do. But I know this is not the time.”

She had turned her head away because she did not want me to read her thoughts.

As for myself, I felt bewildered. This was such a sudden proposition.

The idea of leaving England, of going off to some remote island, and, as Aunt Sophie said, on the other side of the world, in those first moments seemed too wild to be taken seriously.

Casker’s Island. Where was it? It was just a name. And to see my father, whom I could not remember, but who over the years had kept up what I supposed was a desultory correspondence with Aunt Sophie, in which she gave him news of his daughter!

They had been good friends in the past and the friendship had never really died. She had always insisted that he was interested in me, but he had never made any effort to see me. Was that due to the animosity between him and my mother? But now my mother was dead and he was on some remote island. I had thought I should never meet him. And now he was inviting me to Casker’s Island to get right away to consider which way I could turn.

Aunt Sophie brought maps to my bedside.

“Here it is,” she said.

“This is Australia. See this little speck in the ocean? That’s Casker’s Island. Too small and insignificant to be marked on some maps. Look, there are several other little dots. That would mean other islands. Just imagine being there, with all that sea around you!”

“It would be a very strange experience.”

“That is what you need just now. You need to get right away to something entirely new.”

“Alone?” I said.

“You’ll be with your father.”

“I shall have to think of getting there. It’s so far away.”

“These things can be arranged. People say that a sea change does you all the good in the world.”

“I am so unsure.”

“Of course you are. It takes some thinking of. He so much wants you to go, Freddie.”

“After all this time? How can he?”

“I’ve read it in his letters. He has been waiting for so long. I know it is best for you.”

“If you came too …”

“That would be a reminder. You want a complete change. I think you are beginning to think about it seriously.”

Crispin came. I held out my hands to him.

He took them and kissed them fervently. I made up my mind then. If I stayed I should do as he wanted. I thought of our life together, living under the shadow. When would she come again asking for money? It was inevitable that she would. It would always be there that threat, that fear. It would spoil our chances of happiness.

Passionately lilt” I wanted children; I believed he did too. What of them? And yet, how could I let him go? He looked so sad, so bewildered. That pleading look in his eyes unnerved me.

“I have been so worried,” he said.

“I know.”

“You ran out in the rain. You left me. And then they wouldn’t let me come to see you.”

“I am better now, Crispin, and I am going away.”

He looked stricken.

“Going away?”

“I’ve thought a lot about it and I think it’s best. I’ve got to get away for a time. I’ve got to think about this.”

“No,” he said, ‘you must not go. “

“I have to, Crispin. I don’t know what to do.”

“If you love me ” I do. But I have to think about this. I have to know what is for the best. “

“You’ll come back.”

“I am going to my father.”

He looked astonished.

“He lives far away, doesn’t he?”

“Yes. I shall be able to think there.”

“Don’t go! What shall I do? Think of me.”

“I am thinking of us both. I’m thinking of the future.”

I do not want to dwell on that scene. It hurts too much even now. He pleaded with me. I almost gave way. But the conviction was strong in me. I had to go.

Aunt Sophie wrote to my father and I enclosed a letter to him in with hers. I wanted to see him. After all these years he would become a real person to me not just a fantasy.

Aunt Sophie threw herself wholeheartedly into preparations though I knew how sad she was that I was going away. I caught her with tears in her eyes and there were times when we wept together. She said: “But it’s right. I know it’s right.”

Tamarisk came to see me.

She said: “So you are going away?”

“Yes.”

“To the other side of the world?”

“More or less.”

“I know something has gone wrong with you and Crispin. It’s because of that, I suppose.”

I was silent and she went on: “That’s obvious. You were going to marry him, and now you are going away. How can you disguise the fact? I suppose you don’t want to talk about it.”

That’s right,” I said.

“I don’t.”

She shrugged her shoulders.

“So you are going off alone. Isn’t that rather a daring thing to do?”

“You, Tamarisk, to talk of daring!”

She smiled faintly.

“Fred, I want to come with you.”

I stared at her in amazement.

“Don’t say I can’t. Nothing is impossible. You make up your mind to do something and you go and do it. Remember Miss Blake at school?

“Girls if you make up your minds that you are going to succeed, if you work hard to achieve that end, you will.” Fred, I must come with you.”

“But this is all-‘

” I know. So sudden, you are going to say. But it is not, really. I’ve wanted to get away for a long time and now this has come along it is exactly what I want. I can’t stay here, Fred, I can’t endure it. Every day is a reminder. There are things here all around me . things I want to forget. I can’t escape them . here. Every time I look at the shrubbery . it’s horrible. If they found out who had done it, it would be different. There is suspicion and of course everyone thinks of the wife. We know he was unfaithful. He was a cheat and a liar. Who would suffer most from that? His wife. Why shouldn’t she have gone into the gunroom, taken that gun and shot him?”

“Stop it. Tamarisk! You’re getting hysterical.”

“I have to get away. I can’t stand it here any more. I’m coming with you. You can’t go alone. You need someone. We’ve always been friends.

Write to your father and tell him you can’t travel alone and you have a friend who desperately needs to get away. “

I was silent, trying to imagine what this would mean. I knew that she needed to get away. That was very clear. She was in the midst of this tragedy. She lived with it as Crispin did. I knew her mood, and I was wondering whether it might not be good to have a companion.

She read my thoughts.

“It’s easily arranged, Fred. It would be good to be together. Oh, I feel so much better. Life has been wretched for a long time … ever since I realized the mistake I had made … and then he was killed.

Please let me come with you. “

“Let’s think about it.”

“I don’t need to think. I know I want to come. When I heard you were going, I wanted to go too. It was like a heavensent opportunity. Oh, Fred, let me have a chance of getting away from all this … to start again. Please, Fred, please’.”

“Let’s talk about it with Aunt Sophie.”

Her face fell.

“She is very understanding,” I said.

“She’ll know exactly how you feel and she’ll want to help.”

“All right.”

I called Aunt Sophie. When she came, I said to Tamarisk:

“You tell her.”

She did so, pleading eloquently, explaining her wretchedness, her inability to come to terms with life at St. Aubyn’s where there were constant reminders and that terrible mystery hanging over her.

Aunt Sophie listened gravely. Then she said: “Tamarisk, I think you and Freddie should go together. I can see you need to get away. I have been worried about Freddie’s going all that way on her own. I think you can help each other.”

In that impulsive way which was typical of Tamarisk, she ran to Aunt Sophie and put her arms round her.

“You’re a dear,” she said.

“Now, what do I do? I shall have to book a passage, shan’t I … at once?”

“The first thing is to write to Freddie’s father and tell him she is bringing a friend. We can’t wait for his reply. There won’t be time. I am sure there will be no objection, for he has already said he wished someone was travelling with her. But perhaps you need a little time.

Tamarisk, before you make up your mind. “

“I have been considering it for so long and I know it is what I want.”

“Then we must see about your passage immediately.”

“This is wonderful. I feel different already.” She kissed us both.

“I shall go now. I have so much to prepare. I love you both dearly. You are the best friends I ever had. Bless you both. When do we leave? ”

“We’ll have to see about that,” said Aunt Sophie.

“In any case, it’s settled that you go together.”

When she had gone. Aunt Sophie said: “I thought it had changed her, but she’s just the same underneath. It’s good to see her recover a little of her old ways. Poor girl, she’s had a bad time. I think they call it a baptism of fire. She was too eager for life. She grasped it with both hands before she was ready and she’s got badly scarred. I’m glad she’s going with you. There’ll be two of you. That’s a weight off my mind.”

So it was arranged. We were to leave England in a month’s time.

Tamarisk chafed against the delay. She was a constant visitor at The Rowans now. There was so much to discuss.

She had changed a great deal and cast off that melancholy which was so alien to her nature. She helped me, too, for she brought such enthusiasm to our preparations that I could not help being affected by it.

It was by this time early January and time for our departure.

Crispin was very downcast. He said that if I went away he feared I would not come back. I tried to explain again. I needed time to think clearly and this was something I had to do. There was so much at stake. I often thought of our being together and the temptation to stay was great, but always I would see those children we both wanted.

Even Crispin must understand that.

It was a very sad parting.

I said: “I have a feeling that I shall come back soon, Crispin, and that we shall know what to do.”

That was small comfort to either of us.

Aunt Sophie and James Perrin were to travel to the ship to see us off.

Crispin did not come. We knew that that would have been too harrowing for both of us.

Dear Aunt Sophie was rather sombre, though trying hard not to show it; and James Perrin was very kind. I realized that he had cared for me, and I believed he was thinking that, as something had gone wrong between Crispin and me, in due course I might turn to him. That was touching, and comforting in a way.

We spent one night in London and the next day we went to Southampton, and there at the dockside I said goodbye to Aunt Sophie and James.

Aunt Sophie was near to tears, and so was I. I was going away from everything I loved, and leaving a future which only a short time before had been opening out to me. But Aunt Sophie’s resolute smile was reassuring me that what I was doing was right. On that remote island with my father I should see the way I must go.

“We have to go on board now,” said Tamarisk with a trace of impatience.

So there was the last farewell, the embrace with Aunt Sophie and the firm handshake with James, who impulsively leaned forward and kissed me.

“Thank you, James,” I said.

“You’ll come back,” he said.

“I know it.”

Once more Aunt Sophie and I clung together.

“How can I ever thank you for all you have done for me, dear Aunt Sophie?” I said.

She shook her head and smiled.

“Just be happy, my love. You will be home one day, I know it.”

So we said goodbye and Tamarisk and I stepped aboard the Queen of the South which was to carry us far away to the other side of the world.