Snare of Serpents

At the Vicarage

I LAY IN MY OWN BED. The house seemed wrapped in an obtrusive silence—a silence broken only by whispering voices.

“They have let her go? But is she guilty? Her innocence was not proven.”

Those words seemed to go on and on in my mind. I could hear the foreman of the jury. I had so desperately wanted him to say “Not Guilty” and he had said “Not Proven.”

“The case is over. You are free.” That was Zillah, exultant.

But I knew I should never be free. Not Proven. Those words would come back again and again over the years. People would remember.

“Davina Glentyre,” they would say. “Haven’t I heard that name somewhere? Oh yes … she was the girl who murdered her father. Or did she? It was Not Proven.”

What a cruel verdict! A stigma to carry through one’s life.

Zillah had said: “I am going to put you straight to bed and you are going to stay there for a while. You’ve been through a terrible ordeal. It’s been a great shock. More than you realise. But you are going to be all right. I’m going to look after you.”

I was not really listening. I was still in the courtroom. I could not escape from those pictures which kept crowding into my mind. I could hear Ninian Grainger’s voice—vehement, tender, angry, sentimental, pleading to the jury’s good sense and humanity. He had been magnificent and I believed I owed my life to him … to him and Zillah, of course. When it was over he had held my hand briefly while the triumph shone in his eyes.

Of course, I represented success to him, for if he had not gained the verdict he wanted, he was halfway there. The case had been black against me and at one stage a conviction of murder seemed almost certain, but he had averted that—with Zillah’s help, and we must think ourselves fortunate that the verdict was Not Proven. I was a feather in his cap, a big step towards promotion; a case which had seemed hopeless and if it had not exactly been won, had been as successful as it possibly could have been in the circumstances.

I was glad to be alone. I did not want to have to face the rest of the household. They would be tactful, but I should read their thoughts.

“Did she do it?” they would be asking. “Who could be sure? But they let her go because it was Not Proven.”

Not Proven! Not Proven! It was like the tolling of a funeral bell.

ZILLAH HAD BROUGHT ME HOME. She had had the carriage, with Hamish Vosper, waiting for us.

“I knew it was going to be all right,” she said. “And I wanted to hustle you away from that place as soon as I could.”

We sat side by side, close. She held my hand, every now and then pressing it reassuringly and murmuring soothing words. “It’ll be all right. I’m here to look after you, dear.”

Everything seemed strange and unreal. Even the street seemed different.

“Don’t take the carriage to the front, Hamish,” I heard Zillah say. “Go straight to the mews. There might be people hanging about in the street.”

Yes, I thought. Come to see the peep show, to take a look at the young woman who might have been condemned to a murderer’s death. Who was to say whether she deserved it? Her innocence was not proved; it was a murder which was Not Proven.

There would be people like that always. They would be there to stare at me. They would remember. It was not proved against me but …

“Right you are,” said Hamish jauntily. “Mews it is.”

Then I was getting out of the carriage and entering the house by the back door. Mr. and Mrs. Kirkwell were embarrassed. How do people greet a member of the household who has just been on trial for murder and has come home because the case was Not Proven?

Mrs. Kirkwell managed: “Nice to see you back, Miss Davina.”

Mr. Kirkwell nodded and Jenny and Bess just stared at me. I was a different person to them all.

Zillah took charge.

“Now, dear, we’re going to get you to your room right away. I’ll get something sent up. You need to eat a bit … and you need rest. You’ve got to get your strength back. I’m going to see you’re all right.”

In my room she shut the door and faced me.

“It’s hard at first,” she said and repeated once more: “but it will be all right.”

“They don’t know what to say to me. They think I did it, Zillah.”

“Of course they don’t. They just don’t know how to express their feelings. They’re as pleased as dogs with two tails, because you’re back and the miserable business is over.”

How long those days seemed! I did not want to emerge from my room. I could not face the ordeal of seeing people and reading their thoughts. Zillah was often with me. She brought my food and sat and chatted while I ate it.

“Talk about it if you like,” she said. “It might help. I always knew you were innocent. I wish they’d given the proper verdict. Ought to have been clear to that pompous old judge and the stupid jury that you couldn’t have hurt a fly.”

Zillah had changed subtly. I fancied she was not keeping such a curb on herself. Her conversation was a little more racy, the red of her lips was brighter, her cheeks more coral-tinted. There was an air of something like triumph about her.

Occasionally she spoke of my father and when she did a mask of melancholy would slip over her face.

“He was such an old darling … always so good to me. He used to say he had never been so happy in his life as he was with me.”

I could not help myself saying rather sharply: “He was very happy with my mother. He loved her.”

“Of course he did, dear. That was different. And she’d gone and he was just reaching for a bit of comfort. He found me … and at his time of life. Oh well, I know men. It’s just that he never expected to find all that again … and that something extra … if you know what I mean. It’s a consolation to me that I was able to do so much for him. Not that he didn’t do a lot for me.”

“He seemed to change so much. He was quite different from what he had ever been before.”

“He used to say I’d made him young again. That was nice. But it was wanting to be young that made him take that horrible stuff.”

I shivered.

“We won’t talk of it, dear,” she said. “But when I think of how I found that bit of screwed-up paper, I can’t help saying ‘What luck!’ That did the trick. Got you off. Put you in the clear.”

“Not Proven,” I murmured.

“Never mind that. You’re here. You’re free. The case is over. They can’t bring it up again.”

But I thought: I shall never be free because the verdict was Not Proven.

I WENT SHOPPING with Zillah. Hamish Vosper drove us. I found him looking at me almost conspiratorially. He was jaunty and I fancied a little more familiar. I preferred the embarrassment of the other servants.

I wrote to Lilias. I could tell her more easily than anyone else how I was feeling. She had suffered a similar tragedy—not so serious, of course; but it had been momentous to her, and the case against her had been hastily judged and she had been branded Guilty.

I was comforted by a letter in reply to mine.

My dear, dear Davina,

I feel so much for you. I have read about the case in the papers, of course, and have been with you in spirit all through the trial. How I wish I could have been there in fact. When I heard the verdict I was overcome by relief. I wish it could have been more certain, but at least you are free now.

I have tried to picture what it must have been like in the house with your father’s second wife. The papers imply that her evidence changed the course of the case. She seemed to be a kind person and very attractive—according to the press.

It is so long since we met. I can guess what a turmoil you must be in, and it has occurred to me that you might like to get away. You could come to stay here for a while … if that appealed to you. We should be able to talk and be together. The vicarage is roomy, so there would be no trouble on that score. But don’t expect the same degree of comfort that you get at home. What I can offer you is the comfort of my love and sympathy … and belief in your innocence. Think about it. There’s no hurry. Just when you are ready, write and tell me you will be coming.

You are always in my thoughts.

My love to you,

LILIAS

What a lovely letter! I wept a little over it and read it again and again.

I did think about her suggestion. To get away from this house where it had happened would be good for me. In the secluded atmosphere of the vicarage I could talk to Lilias of the future, for I was realising that I could not go on in this state forever. I had to go forward. I needed to talk with someone who knew me well. I wanted advice, and who better than Lilias to give me that?

I mentioned the invitation to Zillah.

“I think it is a good idea,” she said. “You like Lilias, don’t you? You get on well with her. Typical governess, your father said she was … until she was overcome by temptation.”

“She never was tempted,” I cried indignantly. “It was all a terrible mistake. She was innocent.”

“I was just telling you what your father said. Poor girl. She might have been worried about money. They have a hard time of it, governesses. I can understand the temptation. After all, I’ve been a governess myself.”

“Zillah, Lilias did not steal. She had nothing to do with the wretched pearls. I’m sure of it.”

“Oh well, you’d know. You were here with her. But your father seemed to think …”

I felt exasperated and was about to make a further protestation, but Zillah held up her hand.

“All right. I’m sure you’d know best. After all, she was special for you, wasn’t she? You’re sweet and I love you—honest I do. There are some stepmothers who’d say you oughtn’t to go to someone who’s under suspicion …”

“I’m under suspicion, Zillah.”

“Well then, there you are. I think it would be good for you to go.” She put her arm round me. “I can see you really want to … and therefore I think you should. That’s settled then. You write to her and tell her you’ll go. I agree it would do you a world of good to get away from here for a bit.”

“Zillah, I do assure you that Lilias is quite incapable of stealing anything.”

“Of course. I don’t doubt it for a moment. You go. It’ll be nice for you and that’s what concerns me. By the way, there’s something I’ve got to tell you. I’ve been trying to say it for some days. It’s about your father and … er … money. He was most anxious to provide for me and … he’s left me everything … almost. This house … bonds … and things like that. Poor darling, he said he was so grateful to me. He was going to cut you right out. He said if you’d married Alastair McCrae you would have been well taken care of, and if you went to Jamie, well then … he would certainly have cut you right out. I told him that wasn’t right. I said if he didn’t leave something to you I couldn’t take it. I worked on him and, well, I made him see my point. He has left you something. The solicitor reckons it would bring you in about four hundred pounds a year. I feel awful about it. All the rest comes to me.”

“I … I see.”

She pressed my hand. “This is your home, dear. Always will be as long as you want it. I told him it would be like that. He said I was too good. I said I was not. I said, ‘I just love the girl. I look on her as my daughter.’ He was ever so pleased really. Of course, -I never thought he’d go off like that. How was I to know he was taking that stuff?”

I was silent and she went on: “Four hundred a year! It’s quite nice. It’s not as though you will be penniless. And I’m always here. I want to share it all with you.”

I don’t think I was surprised. Of course, he had left everything to her. He had doted on her. I was not concerned with money just now and I had a little of my own that would suffice.

My thoughts were with the possibility of a visit to Lilias. There was one thing which made me hesitate. They would naturally have heard of the case in Lakemere. What would Lilias’ father’s parishioners think of their vicar’s harbouring someone who might be a murderess? I knew he was a good man for he had taken Kitty in and found a post for her, but I must not allow him and his family to be made uncomfortable because of me.

“What is it?” asked Zillah anxiously.

“I can’t go,” I said. “People will have heard of me in Lakemere. It will be most uncomfortable for my hosts.”

“Well,” said Zillah, “why not change your name?”

“What?”

“You can’t very well do that here where people know you. But you could when you went away.”

“I … I suppose I could.”

“No suppose about it. Why shouldn’t you? Choose a name they won’t connect with the case. It’s simple.” She warmed to the subject, her eyes glistening. “It’s advisable to keep to your initials. You never know when they might turn up on something … and then there would be a bit of explaining to do. D.G. That’s what we’ve got to look for.”

“What a good idea!”

“It’s being on the boards, dear. Lots of people there change their names. Have to sometimes for show business … if not for anything else. Now let’s think. Davina. Well, that is the sort of name people would remember. What about Diana?”

“Oh yes. That starts with a D.”

“Diana. Now we want a G.”

“What about Grey? Diana Grey?”

“You’re taking my name. I was Miss Grey before I became Mrs. Glentyre.”

“It’s short and it begins with a G.”

“I think it goes well. Diana Grey. Well, that’s what you’re going to be while you’re with the parson’s family. It’s better for them and you.”

“I’ll write to Lilias at once.”

I went straight to my room to begin the letter.

My very dear Lilias,

I want so much to come to you, but it would be unfair to come as I am. I hope your father won’t think this deceitful, but I want to escape from myself. I want to be a different person … and I do not want to bring gossip to you. I am sure people in your neighbourhood would know of the case, so I have decided I shall come as Diana Grey. I’ll keep my own initials, which Zillah says is very wise. I will come if you agree to this deception. I don’t think I could face coming if there was a danger of people’s suddenly remembering.

I just want you to write and tell me that you approve of this, and then I shall pack my bag and come right away.

I hope to hear from you soon. With my love,

DIANA

I sealed the letter and was surprised to find my spirits had lifted considerably.

I would take it down to the hall and put it on the silver salver where letters which were to be posted were laid until, at a certain time, Kirkwell would collect them and take them to the post.

I laid it on the salver and as I stood in the hall I was suddenly startled by the sound of a door being loudly shut. It was followed by an immediate clatter of footsteps. I was not anxious to come face-to-face with any of the servants, so I slipped into the sitting room and half closed the door.

The footsteps were coming down the stairs. I looked out and to my amazement saw Hamish Vosper. His face was scarlet and distorted with rage. He rushed through the hall and out by the back door.

What had he been doing in the upper part of the house? I wondered. Had Zillah sent for him because she wanted the carriage? Surely not at this time.

It was very strange.

My thoughts however were centered on Lilias. I wondered what she would have to say about my changing my name.

It would only be for the visit, of course; but the idea had occurred to me that I should get right away … start a new life with a different name. It would mean leaving Edinburgh. Where could I go? It was a wild dream really. But it would be something to discuss with Lilias.

I WAS IMPATIENTLY WAITING for a reply, but had started to pack for I was sure she would tell me to come soon. Then I had a caller.

Bess came to my room. “There’s a gentleman to see you, Miss Davina.”

“A gentleman!”

“Yes, Miss. I’ve put him in the drawing room.”

Who was it? I asked myself. Jamie … come to tell me he loved me after all; he was ready to face anything with me? Alastair McCrae?

“Who is it?” I asked.

“A Mr. Grainger, Miss.”

I felt a tremor of excitement. Could it really be? What could he want? The case was over as far as he was concerned.

Hastily I went down to the drawing room. He rose to greet me and took my hand, looking searchingly into my face as he did so.

“Miss Glentyre, how are you?”

“I’m all right, thank you. And you?”

“Well, thanks. It’s … just a little difficult, is it?”

“Yes, but I’m thinking of going away for a while.”

“Ah, that would be the best thing.”

“I’m going to stay with my governess.”

He looked surprised.

“Oh,” I said. “I mean the governess I had years ago before …”

“I see there have been several governesses in your life.”

“Only two.”

“And both important to you. Tell me, where?”

“In England. Devonshire actually. A place called Lakemere.”

“Devonshire is, I believe, a very attractive county.”

“I’m going to stay at a vicarage. Miss Milne was a vicar’s daughter.”

“That sounds ideal.”

The habit of confiding in him was still with me. When we had been fighting for my life he had let me know that I must hold nothing back, that every seemingly trivial detail might prove to be of the utmost importance. So now I found myself saying: “I’m … thinking of changing my name because it might be uncomfortable for my hosts.”

“It’s often done in such circumstances.”

“So you think it’s a good idea?”

“I do really. You see, there was a great deal of press coverage. It could be uncomfortable, as you say.”

“Yes, I was thinking mainly of my hosts.”

“Well, they apparently invited you.”

“I know, but I imagine Lilias’ father is a little unworldly.”

“Oh?”

“He’s such a good man … a saint almost.”

“Do you think the saintly are unworldly?”

“Not exactly, but if he thought someone needed help he would give it without considering whether it would be inconvenient to him.”

“He sounds like a most unusual person.”

“He is. Lilias—that’s Miss Milne—says he is a true Christian. So many talk like them and are not. He was wonderful about Kitty whereas others …”

I paused.

“Kitty?” he prompted.

“She was one of the maids. She was caught in a compromising situation with one of the grooms. She was promptly dismissed whereas the man … because he was a good coachman … was allowed to stay.”

“That was in this household?”

“Yes. What I was saying was that Lilias’ father took Kitty in when she had nowhere to go and he found a job for her. And, of course, he was wonderfully understanding when Lilias went.”

“What happened about Lilias?”

I felt I was going too far. I was forgetting that he was no longer my legal adviser who had to learn everything about me. His profession made it second nature for him to extract information. Nonetheless I found myself telling him the story of Lilias and the necklace, to which he listened earnestly.

“So she was dismissed,” he mused. “The parson’s daughter.”

“Yes, it was terrible. I can’t think how it could have happened. There is only one thing I am certain about and that is that Lilias could not have stolen the necklace.”

“It seems hardly likely. Did anyone have access to the house from outside?”

“No. There were only the servants. Why should any of them take and put it in her room? If they had taken it surely they would have wanted it for themselves? It’s worth a considerable amount of money.”

“It looks as though someone might have had a grudge against her.”

“I can’t think who. They did not have much to do with her, but none of them disliked her.”

“Someone wanted her dismissed.”

“Why should they?”

“That’s the mystery.”

“Well, it happened long ago and I don’t suppose we shall ever know.”

“And meanwhile poor Lilias has been unable to prove her innocence.”

“Like …”

He touched my hand gently. “It seems clear that your father took the arsenic himself. The jury thought that.”

“Then why?”

“Because there was a shadow of a doubt.”

“And for the rest of my life, I …”

“You must not let it hurt you more than you can help. You must grow away from it. Go to this parsonage. Try it for a while. Your new name will help you to forget. Leave me your address. Perhaps we could keep in touch.”

“But the case is over for you.”

“A case such as this would never be over for me. I don’t like the verdict. In my heart I know it should have been Not Guilty. I shall always hope that someday the truth will come to light.”

“You do not think my father really killed himself?”

“It’s the most likely possibility, but there remains that shadow of a doubt.” He lifted his shoulders. “However, let me have that address.”

I gave it to him and he put it into his wallet.

“So the governess was dismissed,” he went on, “and the new one came: the beautiful Miss Zillah Grey whose surname you are going to use.”

“Yes.”

“And in a very short time she was married to your father. That’s very interesting.”

“I suppose it is. I believe governesses occasionally do marry the widowed fathers of their charges.”

“It comes about in … a natural kind of way,” he said slowly.

Then Zillah came into the room.

He rose and I said: “You remember my stepmother.”

“But of course.” He had taken her hand and was smiling warmly at her. “We met in court.”

She returned the smile dazzlingly, and in spite of the fact that I was accustomed to her beauty it struck me forcibly. She seemed to blossom in the society of men—like a flower in the rain.

“You were wonderful,” she said. “I can’t thank you enough for what you did for …”

“I was grateful to you. Your evidence was vital to our case.”

She sat opposite him, rather carefully, I thought, placing her back to the light as though she did not want to be seen too clearly. She was deferential, as though displaying admiration for him. He liked it obviously and did not appear to question the fact that it might be a little false.

She immediately engaged him in conversation.

“Has my stepdaughter been telling you her plans to go away for a while? Do tell me. Do you think it’s a good idea?”

“I think it’s an excellent idea. I was just saying so to Miss Glentyre.”

“And did she tell you … ?” she began anxiously.

“About changing her name? Yes. I think that might be a good idea, too.”

“I am so glad. It was my suggestion. I was a little worried. I do so want …”

“To do the best for Miss Glentyre, of course. Yes, I am sure it is a good idea, both to get away and to ensure a little anonymity.”

“Then I shall feel happier about it now. Davina, my dear, did you offer our guest refreshment?”

“No, we were talking and …”

She looked at me with indulgent reproof.

“It’s very kind of you,” said Ninian quickly. “But I must be on my way. I just called in to see how Miss Glentyre was faring.”

“How very good of you! So sympathetic and understanding. I often think how lucky Davina was to have you to defend her.”

“I don’t really deserve so much praise.”

“You do!” She added almost archly: “And I shall insist on giving it to you.”

I smiled. I felt he was very pleased that she had joined us. There was a little more chat—mostly between him and Zillah —then he rose to go.

I felt disappointed in him. He had been so obviously impressed by Zillah’s charms. Of course, I had always known they were considerable, but I would not have thought that he would succumb to them so easily.

Zillah’s mood changed abruptly when he had gone.

“Why on earth did he want to come here like that?” she demanded.

“He said he just wanted to know how I was getting on.”

“Does he go round visiting all his ex-clients?”

“I think he regards this as a rather special case.”

“/ think he is rather inquisitive. He got you off … and that is where the case ends for him.”

“He very much wanted a verdict of Not Guilty.”

“Didn’t we all?”

“Well, he seemed to get on well with you.”

She allowed a self-satisfied smile to cross her face.

“Oh well, it’s all over now, and what we have to do, dear, is forget about it.”

As if I ever could!

LILIAS’ ANSWER had arrived.

I am expecting you. We understand about the name. So from the moment you arrive you will be Diana Grey. Don’t worry. No one will know except my father, my sister Jane and myself. We all want to do what we can to help. Dear Davina—but I suppose I must start thinking of you as Diana —rest assured that I have convinced my family that you have been as wrongly suspected as I had. We are a closely knit family and trust one another absolutely.

It has occurred to me that it is a rather strange coincidence that we have both been wrongly accused. It is almost as though there is some malignant spirit in the house. That’s nonsense, of course, but it does seem odd. Oh, what a lot we shall have to talk about! I am so looking forward to seeing you.

It’s going to be a long journey for you. You’ll have to come to London first and then take the train to the west country. We’re about three miles from Tinton Crawley, but I’ll be at the station with a dogcart to meet you.

I can’t wait. With love,

LlLIAS

P.S. I am enclosing instructions about the journey, together with the address of the London hotel where I spent the night. It’s small, quiet and near the station.

I started at once to make my preparations.

IT WAS WITH GREAT RELIEF that I set out and even as the train steamed out of the Edinburgh station I felt as though a great burden had dropped from me. I believed that I had, to some extent, made a gap between the present and the nightmarish past.

As we speeded to the Border I looked anxiously at my fellow passengers, for I had the sudden fear that one of them at least might know me. My picture had been in the papers; and there had been one in particular, an “artist’s impression,” which had horrified me. The sketch had been sufficiently like me to be recognisable, but the artist had managed to twist my features into a mask of cunning. At that time the world had made up its mind that I had murdered my father and the artist was fitting the face to what he believed were the facts.

There was a young couple opposite me, perhaps going on their honeymoon; they seemed entirely absorbed in each other and gave me no qualms; nor did the man intent on his newspaper. But there was a rather garrulous woman in the far corner who was determined to talk to someone, and as the others were obviously engrossed, she turned to me. She was going south to visit her married daughter and was longing for the reunion with her grandchildren. She asked me a few questions about my destination, but rather perfunctorily, I realised. Her thoughts were clearly for her coming visit, and I breathed more freely.

I need not have worried. My confidence returned. I was just nervous. I must stop imagining that people would recognise me. I was escaping to Lilias, that refuge to which she had returned, confident of love and understanding.

I spent a night in the London hotel near the station, just as Lilias had explained. It was not a very restful night, but I did not mind. I was on my way.

The following morning when I caught the train from Paddington Station the sense of relief was growing with every minute. Settling in a corner of the railway carriage, I looked out on the green countryside, noticing that the plants and trees were a little more advanced here than they were in the harsher north. My fellow passengers were agreeable, and there was a little general conversation. I knew that none of them had the faintest idea who I was, and that I had been oversensitive on that score.

The train steamed westwards; the country had grown even more verdantly lush. I caught a glimpse of the sea. I had seen little villages clustering round churches such as Lilias had often described to me in the old days; I saw the rich red soil of which she had talked, and I knew that we were in the county of Devonshire.

At last I had arrived. As we came into the station I saw Lilias on the platform and I was happier than I had ever been since the nightmare began.

We ran together and clung for some seconds. Then she held me at arm’s length. “It’s wonderful to see you. And you are looking better than I expected to see you. Oh, my dear, what a time! But it is over now. Come on. The dogcart is waiting. We’ll get the luggage out.”

The stationmaster was standing by, smiling at us.

“Oh, Jack,” she said. “Could you get Jim to put the luggage into the dogcart?”

“Right you be, Miss Lilias. Jim, Jim! Hi, Jim! Luggage for Miss Lilias.” He smiled at me. “And you be come to Lakemere, Miss. You be staying long?”

“I … er …”

“We’re hoping Miss Grey will stay for a long time. There it is, Jim.”

She took my arm.

“They are waiting impatiently at home,” she said. “Longing to meet you.”

Then we were gambolling along lanes so narrow that the hedges almost brushed against us as we passed.

“I’m so glad you came,” she said.

“I feel so much better since I left Edinburgh.”

“Of course. You wanted to get away. It’s the right thing. It’s the only thing. And we can talk. It will be just like the old days.”

I was overwhelmed by emotion as I sat beside her. She talked animatedly, stressing every now and then how delighted she was that I had decided to come. It was a wonderful welcome.

“We shall soon be there,” she said. “Oh, look down there! You can see the church tower. Our church is just about one of the oldest in the west country. More than seven hundred years old—a perfect example of Norman architecture, as it says in the guide books. Oh yes, we get visitors. There’s some lovely stained glass, too. My father is very proud of it. I must make sure he doesn’t bore you about it. Jane and I tell him he gets obsessions, and one of them is his dear old church.”

As we drew nearer I saw the grey stone walls of the church, the graveyard with the old stones leaning a little askew in some places among the yews and the cypresses.

“Some of those trees have been here for centuries,” Lilias told me. “They have seen many vicars come and go. Aren’t the cypresses lovely? Someone told me they represent eternity and that is why they are so often planted in graveyards. Country lore! I’m preparing you. You’ll get plenty of that from my father. And here we are … the vicarage.”

It was a largish house, grey stone like the church; before it was a well-kept lawn with flower beds surrounding it. And there at the door was a man whom I knew at once was Lilias’ father—and with him a woman, clearly sister Jane.

They came towards us as Lilias brought the dogcart to a halt.

“Here we are,” cried Lilias. “The train was on time, for once. This is … Diana.”

My hands were clasped in a firm grip and I was looking into the smiling, benign face of the Reverend George Milne.

“Welcome, welcome, my dear,” he said. “We are so pleased that you have come. Lilias has been so happy since you said you would.”

“And this is Jane,” said Lilias.

Jane was rather like Lilias and I knew I was going to like her for that reason alone.

Her greeting was as warm as that of her father had been. I said how glad I was to meet them and what a peaceful spot it was. The flowers were lovely.

“You’ve won Jane’s heart,” said Lilias. “She has an obsession with the garden.”

“It’s a good thing that I have,” retorted Jane. “Someone has to do it. It would be like a wilderness left to you. Come along in. I expect you’re hungry. Dinner’s almost ready. We hoped the train wasn’t going to be late and took a chance on that. So … in half an hour? Lilias can show you to your room and Daisy will bring up some hot water.”

“Thank you. That would be lovely,” I said. “One gets grimy travelling.”

I felt at home immediately. I had slipped into a new role. I must get accustomed to my new name, and when I had I should be able to believe I really had stepped away from the past.

We went into a hall. I noticed the highly polished furniture; on a hall table was a large bowl of flowers, colours exquisitely blended and beautifully arranged.

Lilias noticed my glance. “That’s Jane,” she said. “She fills the house with flowers.”

“They are so lovely,” I said. “Oh, Lilias … I am going to be happy here.”

“We are going to do our best to make you,” replied Lilias.

I followed her up the staircase to a landing.

“We’ve put you on the first floor,” said Lilias. “You have to mind your head when you enter some of these rooms. I think people must have been smaller at the time places like this were built.” She opened the door of a room and I followed her in. It was large but rather dark and there was only one window and that was leaded. There was a bed in one corner, and a dressing table and a mirror and a wash hand stand. A large cupboard almost filled one wall.

“There you are,” she said. “I’m afraid it’s not like your home in Edinburgh, but …”

“It’s lovely,” I said, “and I can’t tell you how happy I am to be here with you … and your family.”

I went to the window. I was looking over the graveyard. I had a view of the tottering gravestones, the ancient yews and cypress trees. It was fascinating.

Lilias came and stood beside me. “I hope you don’t think it’s a little morbid? I chose this room for you because it is a little bigger than the other spares and the graveyard has a kind of friendly feeling when you get to know it. At least, that’s what my sister Emma used to say. She’s married now, you know. I have a niece and nephew through her and two nephews through Grace who married a clergyman. Emma used to say that if there were ghosts they were nice ones.”

At that point the door was opened by a middle-aged woman who came in carrying a can of hot water. Lilias introduced her as Daisy.

“It’s nice to see ‘ee, Miss,” she said to me. “I hope you’ll enjoy your stay.”

“We’re going to make sure of that, Daisy,” Lilias told her.

“That we be,” said Daisy.

“Thank you,” I murmured.

When she had gone Lilias said: “Daisy has been with us all our lives. She came when my father and mother were married and this is her home as it is ours. We just have a girl coming in some mornings to help with the cleaning. Jane is an excellent housekeeper though. Otherwise I don’t know how we’d manage. I’m rather a poor replacement for Alice.”

I remembered that Alice was the sister who had left the household to become a governess when Lilias had been forced to return home.

“No,” went on Lilias, “I’m not much of a help in the house. My father calls Jane and me his Mary and Martha.”

“I daresay you have your uses.”

“I shop and help with the local good works … bazaars and so on … everything that goes with the routine of a country vicarage.”

“Which is very important, I’ve no doubt.”

“Well, I suppose I could say I am of some use.”

“What strikes me so forcibly about the place is the peace of it.”

“I’m glad you find it so. It’s what you need.”

“Oh, how I wish that I had come in different circumstances! But it’s no use wishing you can change what’s gone before.”

“No good at all. But it is going to get better. We’re going to put the past behind us. We both have to do that. We’re just going to forget it all happened. It’s the only way.”

“But can we?”

“We can try. Now, I am going to leave you to wash and change if you want to. Can you find your way down?”

“I’m sure I can.”

She was gone and I was alone. I washed and changed. I felt elated. I knew I had been right to come here.

As THE DAYS PASSED I became more sure of this. I had slipped into a new identity and was no longer startled when I heard myself addressed as Diana. I was caught up in a new way of life. I was becoming very friendly with Jane who was quite different from Lilias. Jane was no dreamer; she was practical in the extreme which was very necessary in running the vicarage household on what I imagined was by no means a large stipend.

I wanted to contribute to the household expenses, but my hints that I should do so were so firmly brushed aside that it was difficult to pursue the matter. Jane and Daisy put their heads together so skillfully that there was no sign of any deprivation. Meals were simple but wholesome. Daisy had taught Jane to cook long ago and she had taken to it, as Daisy said, like a fish to water.

Lilias lacked an interest in domestic affairs. She and Alice had been “the clever ones.” Alice was now making use of her skills while alas Lilias, because of that unfortunate incident, was unable to do so.

The vicar was very much as I had expected him to be, due to Lilias’ description. He was one of the most contented people I had ever met. He was completely unselfish and his life seemed to have been given over to the service of others. He was a little absent-minded, but between his daughters and Daisy he was taken good care of. He was greatly loved by all with whom he came into contact and his little foibles were looked upon with the greatest indulgence. He was indeed a very happy man. I thought how lucky Lilias was to be his daughter, which sent my thoughts back to my own father; I recalled his anger over my friendship with Jamie and his outraged dismissal of Kitty and how Zillah had crept into his bedroom at night.

But I must not think of my father—nor of Jamie. Jamie had failed me. His love had not been strong enough to stand up to trouble and at the first sign of it he had crept away.

That had hurt me deeply. But I supposed it was the terrible nature of what had followed which had helped to subdue the bitterness of that particular blow.

On my first day I heard that Major Jennings, who ran the riding stables, was a great friend of the vicarage family. He knew that Lilias liked to ride and could not afford to, so he had asked her if, as a favour to him, she would help with the exercising of his horses. Lilias had accepted the offer with the greatest alacrity. Therefore she rode a good deal.

“I go over to help with the grooming and clean out the stables,” she said. “I enjoy being with horses. Sometimes, if they are hard-pressed I give people lessons. It’s a wonderful opportunity. How would you like to ride?”

“I’m not a rider, but I did have a few lessons in Scotland, so I’m not exactly a novice.”

“Well, here’s your opportunity.”

“What a good idea! I could pay for my lessons and you, Lilias, could teach me.”

Lilias looked disturbed, so I explained hastily: “It’s all right. My father left me some money. I have a small income so I am not exactly poor. The house and the bulk of his fortune went to Zillah.”

Lilias was thoughtful: “It all happened so quickly. It seems odd. It’s not so very long since I was there. She came … and almost immediately she married your father. It’s almost as though it were arranged.” She hesitated, staring into space. “I’m talking nonsense,” she went on. “Let’s go to the Jennings’ this morning and see what can be arranged about the riding. You’ll like them. Besides the major there are Mrs. Jennings and Florence, their daughter. They all work with the horses.”

“Tell me about the other neighbours.”

“Well, there’s the manor.”

“I remember your telling me about that. It’s where the squire lives … and the young man you were going to marry.”

“Yes. Charles … Charles Merrimen.”

“Is he still there?”

“Oh yes, he’s there. I go and see him quite often. He’s in a wheelchair most of the time. He’s such a fine man.”

“Shall I meet him?”

“Of course. And then there are the Ellingtons at Lakemere House. They are the important family here. They are the rich ones, the benefactors of the village. It was to them that Kitty went. Oh! I’d forgotten Kitty. Just in case you meet her she’ll have to be prepared, won’t she? We don’t want her blurting out …”

It was as though a cloud had settled about us. The euphoria was slipping away. Was it always going to be like that? Should I constantly be wondering whether someone was going to recognise me?

Nanny Grant’s voice came back to me over the years:

Oh, what a tangled web we weave When first we practise to deceive.

NEVERTHELESS the harmony of the vicarage was bringing back to me a sense of security. I would wake with a feeling of anticipation, wondering what the day would bring.

I would stand by the window looking out over the graveyard. Those ancient tombstones might have looked eerie in moonlight, but somehow they conveyed a sense of peace; the troubles of those who lay beneath them were over. Friendly ghosts indeed.

Lilias’ company had a further healing effect. I could open my heart to her; and how good it was to share my troubled thoughts! I could tell her how hurt I had been by Jamie’s desertion.

“It was just as well,” was her verdict. “If he failed you when you most needed him, he would not have been the partner with whom you could have gone happily through life. He might have cared for you … a little; but he cared more for himself. Better not to marry than marry the wrong one. You were young, inexperienced and lonely; you had lost your mother; you and I had parted; your father had remarried and you were not sure of your stepmother. I believe you were ready to fall in love. In love with love, as they say. And that’s not so hard to get over as the real thing.”

Yes, she was indeed comforting.

Then there was the riding. Major Jennings was a hearty middle-aged man, bronzed through service in India; when he came home he had settled down to run his stables with the help of his wife and daughter. Both Mrs. and Miss Jennings were brisk and jolly people; they were surrounded by dogs—four at least, but they were large and intrusive and made their presence felt.

The first time I met the family we were taken into a comfortable but rather shabby room, on the walls of which hung several pictures of horses, and given tea by Mrs. Jennings. Miss Florence Jennings came in while we were having it. She was a tall young woman of about thirty, I imagine, with abundant reddish hair and a crop of freckles. She was in a riding habit. I was to discover that she spent most of her days garbed thus.

“This is Florence, my daughter,” said Mrs. Jennings. “Horses are a passion with us, and Florence, if anything, is more besotted than the rest of us over the four-legged darlings, aren’t you, Flo?”

Florence admitted that she was.

There were a great many brass and carved wooden ornaments in the room as well as two Benares tables—all obviously from India. They seemed to have brought a flavour of that country into their home.

The dogs came in to inspect us, one fawning, one curious and the other two inclined to be suspicious.

“That’s enough, Tiffin. You, too, Rajah. These are good friends.”

The dogs immediately drew back at the sound of the voice of authority.

Both Mrs. Jennings and Florence were interested to hear that I intended to ride and so far had only had a few lessons.

“You’ll soon be a rider,” Florence assured me. “I sense it. Long practise, you know. Don’t let your mount know you’re nervous. That’s when they play up. Let them know you’re in charge … right from the start. Pet them a little, and they are yours.”

Lilias said she thought it would be a good idea if she gave the lessons, at which Mrs. Jennings slapped her thigh and said that would be just the ticket.

The outcome was that I was instructed by Lilias and after three or four days of discomfort, I was well on the way to becoming a horsewoman.

Lilias took me to the manor and there I met Charles Merrimen. I liked him from the beginning. There was something almost saintly in his acceptance of his disability and there was clearly a bond of deep affection between him and Lilias. His father, the squire, was a rather taciturn and dignified man and the family had lived in the manor for centuries. There were Charles’ elder brother David, his wife and two sons, but it was Charles who was of special interest to me for he might so easily have married Lilias and then she and I would never have met. That made me ponder on the strangeness of chance.

I accompanied her on one or two occasions when she visited him, but I quickly began to feel that those meetings should be for the two of them alone. She told me that she was reading Gibbon’s Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire aloud to him and he enjoyed it so much. So I excused myself and, as Lilias and I had always understood each other, she accepted my decision not to go with her.

Then came the invitation from Lakemere House.

“Mrs. Ellington regards herself as lady of the manor,” Lilias explained. “I think she feels that the Merrimens are rather lax in carrying out their duties. Well, the squire is getting on, David is quite absorbed in his family and Charles, of course, can do nothing. Mrs. Ellington is very efficient, of course. She is one of those women who thinks she knows what is good for people better than they do themselves. The maddening thing is that she often does. We are invited to tea. If she approves of you you will be invited again. By the way, we shall have to do something about Kitty before we go there … just in case we run into her. I wonder if I could get her over here for some reason? Let’s see. I’ll ask Jane. She might have some ideas.”

Jane did.

“I heard Father say that she has never been confirmed. She wants to be and, of course, Mrs. Ellington is all for it. Get her over here on the pretext of discussing that.”

The message was sent and on the day before we were due to visit Lakemere House Kitty arrived. We arranged that I should keep out of sight until Lilias had talked to her.

I had a glimpse of her from my window as she arrived. She looked plumper and more contented. I thought: the life here suits her.

She had not been in the house long when Daisy came to my room and told me that Lilias thought I should now go down to the drawing room.

When I arrived Kitty ran to me and threw her arms about me. Then she withdrew—a little shocked, I think, at her temerity.

I kissed her cheek and said: “It’s good to see you, Kitty.”

“Oh, Miss D … er, Miss er … It was terrible … the things they said …”

“It’s over,” I said. “We try to forget it.”

She nodded. “But I’ll never forget what you done for me, Miss … you and Miss Milne. I just don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“So you’re happy at Lakemere House?”

“Oh yes. It’s nice. I really like it there.”

“I hope it will stay like that.”

“You mustn’t forget that it is Miss Diana now,” said Lilias. “Miss Diana Grey. It is important, Kitty, that you should not forget.”

“Oh, I won’t, Miss.”

She told us how different from Edinburgh it was living in Lakemere House. She had made friends and Mrs. Ellington took an interest. She knew she had done wrong, but she couldn’t think what had come over her. It was just that … She blushed and we changed the subject.

Lilias hustled her off to the vicar that the subject of her confirmation might be broached. Lilias was a stickler for the truth and she wanted to adhere to it as much as possible.

I could not help feeling a little apprehensive when we drove over to Lakemere House in the dogcart, even though I tried to repress my fear and assure myself that I must not feel so nervous every time I was going to meet someone new.

Lilias was saying: “As she regards herself as the guardian of the village, Mrs. Ellington likes to know everything that is going on. She is especially interested in the church. I think she believes it is her duty to watch over my father. She respects his goodness, but deplores his unpractical way of going about life. She regards him with a mixture of affection and exasperation. She admires his Christian virtues and despairs of his unworldliness. I daresay she will try to get you to give a hand in village affairs while you are here.”

“I shan’t mind that. Is there a Mr. Ellington?”

“Oh yes. He’s very rich. He goes back and forth to Exeter and is often in London. He never interferes with Mrs. Ellington’s affairs—he just supplies the comforts which enable her to continue with her good works. He is said to be a lion in business and a lamb in the domestic circle.”

“So Mrs. Ellington is the resident lioness.”

“That’s about it. Then, of course, there is Miss Myra Ellington—the fruit of the marriage. She must be approaching thirty. She is unmarried.”

“I’m surprised at that. I should have thought Mrs. Ellington would have found a suitable match for her daughter.”

“There are some who say that Miss Myra is not the marrying kind. She is pleasant … but rather quiet, self-effacing almost, which seems strange in Mrs. Ellington’s daughter. I believe that she is rather well off in her own right. Rumour says her grandfather left her money … the bulk of his fortune, they say. That would give her a certain independence, I suppose.”

“I see. I suppose a great many people marry for security.”

“A great many, I fear. Well, Miss Ellington doesn’t have to think of that. Though I did hear through Kitty that she seems to be rather interested in a man who is visiting the house.”

“I suppose in a village it is difficult to keep secrets, however much one tries …”

Lilias was looking at me severely. “You’ve got to stop thinking that everyone is obsessed by your case. It was just a nine days’ wonder. People quickly forget what doesn’t affect them.”

She was right. But so many conversations seemed to lead back to the subject.

Lakemere House was an impressive building of eighteenth century elegance. Marble steps led up to a portico. On the lawn, which was bordered by flower beds, was a large pond, in the centre of which was a statue which could have been Aphrodite.

A maid took us up to the drawing room where Mrs. and Miss Ellington were waiting to receive us.

Mrs. Ellington, seated in an armchair which resembled a throne, held out a hand. “Oh, Lilias … how nice to see you.”

Miss Ellington had risen and hovered beside her mother.

“This is Miss Diana Grey,” said Lilias.

The hand was extended. I took it, feeling I should curtsy, for there was something decisively regal about Mrs. Ellington.

“So nice. Welcome to Lakemere, Miss Grey. This is my daughter.”

We shook hands.

“So pleased you could come,” murmured Miss Ellington to which I replied that it was kind of Mrs. Ellington to invite me.

I studied the rich Miss Ellington. She was tallish and rather angular. There was an awkwardness about her and she had no real claim to beauty whereas her mother must have been a very pretty woman in her youth. But there was something appealing about Miss Ellington. It was due to a certain gentleness in her big brown rather spaniel-like eyes.

“I hear you have come to stay at the vicarage, Miss Grey,” said Mrs. Ellington. “What do you think of our little village?”

“I haven’t seen a great deal of it yet, but what I have seen I find charming.”

“We’re rather fond of it. So much is going on. It keeps us busy.”

A maid came in, wheeling a trolly on which everything needed for tea was laid out, including thinly cut sandwiches and a fruitcake.

“Thank you, Emma,” said Mrs. Ellington. “You may go. We’ll manage. Miss Grey, cream? Sugar?”

Miss Ellington took the cup and brought it to me.

A few minutes later the door opened and a man looked in. He stood in the doorway conveying surprise and penitence.

“Oh, I am so sorry. I had no idea you had guests. I’m interrupting.”

“Come along in, Roger,” said Mrs. Ellington warmly. “And indeed you are not interrupting. Mr. Lestrange is staying with us,” she said to me. “Come in and meet our guests.”

He was tall and powerfully built. I imagined he was in his late thirties. He was a very striking looking man—probably because of his physique. But it was something more than that. His complexion suggested he had been in a country with a warmer climate than ours; and he had intensely blue eyes which contrasted vividly with his almost black hair.

He advanced into the room, looking at me with interest.

“We have met,” said Lilias.

“Of course, but … er …” He was smiling at me.

Miss Ellington said: “This is Miss Grey who is staying at the vicarage.”

“How interesting!”

“Do sit down, Roger,” said Mrs. Ellington. “Myra, my dear, take Roger his tea.”

While the tea was being served Mrs. Ellington said to me: “Mr. Lestrange comes from South Africa. He is in England for only a short while, and he is spending a little time with us. He and my husband have business interests in common.”

“I’ve been riding,” he said, smiling at us all. “I find the countryside fascinating.”

“A little different from where you’ve come from, I daresay,” said Mrs. Ellington.

“Delightfully so. You are visiting, too, Miss Grey? From what part do you come?”

“From Scotland.”

“A beautiful country. What part?”

“From … er … Edinburgh.” I felt myself flush a little. I must control my fears. Since my ordeal I had felt so uneasy when anyone asked questions about myself.

“And what part of South Africa do you come from, Mr. Lestrange?” I asked quickly.

“A place called Kimberley. You may have heard of it.”

“Who has not heard of Kimberley?” said Mrs. Ellington. “Your diamonds have made you famous.”

“Perhaps notorious,” he replied, smiling at her. “Oh yes. There is no doubt that diamonds have put us in the news.”

“Mr. Lestrange is attached to one of the biggest diamond companies in the world,” said Mrs. Ellington proudly.

“Oh come,” he said with a laugh. “There are others.”

“You are a very modest man, Roger,” said Mrs. Ellington almost fondly.

“It must be very exciting when diamonds are discovered,” I said.

“Yes, and it can create chaos. Diamonds … gold … we’ve had our share of both. People begin to think they are lying in the ground just waiting to be picked up.”

“Once they are found there is a great deal of work to be done on them, I suppose,” said Lilias. “When people talk of diamond discoveries I do believe they think of bracelets and rings just waiting to be worn.”

“That’s true. And for every find there are hundreds of disappointments. I’m glad to say I have been one of the lucky ones.”

“Do you actually live in the town of Kimberley?” I asked.

“Yes. I have quite a large house … well, it’s adequate. I must say that since my wife died I have thought of moving. But … well … I have had to travel a great deal and have just not got round to it.”

There was a brief silence of respect for the death of his wife which he had spoken of with some feeling. He bit his lips and smiled brightly at us, and Miss Ellington said quickly: “It must be very interesting to be in a new country. Here, everything is so ancient.”

“Well, I would hardly call Africa new,” said Mr. Lestrange. “But here you have so much to remind you of a not-so-distant past. For instance your Norman churches and some of the houses.”

“The climate must be very different from here,” said Lilias.

“It is. But ours in Kimberley is healthy … so we are told.”

“One only has to look at you to see that,” said Mrs. Ellington.

“Are you staying long in England?” I asked.

“Until my business is completed. I am tempted to make it last a long time. You’ve no idea how they spoil me here.”

“We enjoy having you,” said Mrs. Ellington, “don’t we, Myra?”

Miss Ellington agreed, with real feeling, I thought.

“It makes a change in our simple life,” went on Mrs. Ellington. “My husband’s friends stay from time to time.” She raised her eyes to the ceiling. “But on this occasion Myra and I are finding it most enjoyable and we shall do our best to make you extend your visit, Roger.”

I could not help noticing Myra Ellington. She had changed since he came in. Her spaniel’s eyes strayed often to him. She is attracted by him, I thought.

As for him, he was different from anyone I had ever known. I wondered about him. He came from South Africa. Had he been born there or was he one of the men who had gone out from home in search of diamonds? He was not what I would imagine an Afrikaner … which would mean that he was of Dutch origin. His name suggested he might be French. I believed that when the Dutch agriculturists who were Boers settled in South Africa, they were joined by some Huguenots who were in flight from France. But he did not look French either.

However, since his arrival the tea party was turning out to be more interesting than I had thought it would be. Instead of the expected conversation of village affairs, we were given an interesting insight into a world of which hitherto I had known nothing.

Mrs. Ellington allowed Roger Lestrange to dominate the conversation, which surprised me; but she, like her daughter, was clearly very attracted by him.

He was a vivid talker and obviously enjoyed his attentive audience. He touched briefly on the beauty of the scenery, often rugged, majestic, awe-inspiring; he talked of the animals —lions, leopards, panthers, giraffes, buffalo, rhinoceros and hyenas; and as I listened I felt I was there in a new world, far away from all the fears and nightmares which seemed to be constantly with me.

“It sounds like paradise,” said Myra Ellington.

“There is another side to it,” he said ruefully. “You can see a lion descending on a beautiful deer—the poor creature’s terror when it realises its fate. That is nature. Every animal must fend for itself. They go in fear of their lives. One moment they are running along, exulting in the joys of being alive and free. They do not see the powerful enemy waiting for the moment to spring. Suddenly they are powerless. Death is facing them.”

“It sounds awful,” said Myra, shivering.

“It’s nature.”

“Thank goodness we are not like the animals in the jungle,” said Lilias.

“People find themselves facing dangers sometimes,” I could not help saying.

Roger Lestrange was looking intently at me. “How right you are, Miss Grey. We are all in a jungle of sorts. Ours is different, of course … but the dangers are there.”

“What a morbid conversation!” cried Mrs. Ellington. “Mr. Ellington will be returning home tomorrow. I am sure you will be pleased, Roger. Then you won’t have to see so much of us tiresome females.”

“They are far from tiresome! I promise I shall try to see more and more of their delightful company.”

It was not long before the conversation turned back to Africa and I learned more about that country during that tea party than I had known before.

Roger Lestrange said he could see trouble coming. The Boers resented British rule in South Africa. There had been discontent since the British came in as far back as 1814. They were far too eager to give privileges to the black races since they had brought in emancipation of slavery. This had crippled the farmers for it deprived them of free labour.

He talked of Cecil Rhodes who had founded the state of Rhodesia and had wanted British rule all over Africa; of how he had shared that dream with a man called Leander Starr Jameson who, two years before, had been engaged in the famous raid which had ended in disaster for him.

We all remembered hearing of the Jameson Raid, but had either forgotten or never really known what it was all about.

“Jameson was a hothead,” said Roger Lestrange. “That was surprising because he was a doctor. He was born in your city. You did say you came from Edinburgh? He studied medicine there and came out to practise in Kimberley where he became friendly with Cecil Rhodes. There was a good deal of trouble between the Uitlander party (those are the people settled there who are not Boers—mostly English) and the Boer government.

The President was Stephanus Johannes Paulus Kruger, usually known as Paul Kruger. You must have heard of him.”

“We have heard of him most certainly,” said Mrs. Ellington grimly. “There was all that trouble about the letter sent by the German Kaiser congratulating him.”

“Ah, yes, that was about the Jameson Raid. Rhodes and Jameson had planned together to surprise the Boers west of Johannesburg. Rhodes then decided that the plan could not succeed and called the whole thing off. But, as I said, Jameson was a hothead; he thought he could act alone and win—so he decided to carry on. When he arrived at Krugersdorp just west of Johannesburg he was surprised by a strong force of Boers, was overwhelmed and taken captive. The Jameson Raid was therefore a failure and responsibility for it was disowned by Rhodes and the British government. It was a complete disaster.”

“And nearly resulted in war between us and Germany,” said Mrs. Ellington. “Mr. Ellington was horrified at the prospect. It was a near thing. We felt we had to put that horrid Kaiser in his place.”

“However,” went on Roger Lestrange, “the British government decided that what was happening in South Africa was not worth a war with Germany and so allowed the trouble to blow over.”

“I should have liked to teach those arrogant Germans a lesson,” said Mrs. Ellington.

“The situation is explosive,” went on Roger Lestrange. “Rhodes and Kruger are very watchful of each other. The Jameson Raid may not have succeeded in what it was meant to do, but it is not forgotten.”

“I should like to see South Africa,” said Myra Ellington.

Roger Lestrange smiled at her. “Perhaps one day you will.”

Mrs. Ellington evidently felt that for too long the conversation had been out of her control and I could see she was determined to change it.

She talked about the village and the fete which was some weeks off but needed a lot of planning.

“I wonder if you will be with us then, Miss Grey,” she said.

“Diana’s plans are a little uncertain just now,” Lilias told her.

“But of course. Well, if you are … I wondered if you would take over one of the stalls?”

“I am sure I should like that,” I told her.

“And you will help, too, Roger?”

“I don’t think I should make a very good stall holder.”

“Oh, we’d find something for you to do.”

“Is there a possibility of your being here?” asked Myra.

“I am not sure how long my business will take. But I must not continue to encroach on the hospitality I have received in this house.”

“Oh, nonsense,” cried Mrs. Ellington. “It’s a pleasure to have you.”

“So kind … but I am afraid sometimes that I am imposing.”

“Nonsense. I would not hear of your leaving and going to some hotel. My husband would be most displeased … and so would I.”

He smiled at Lilias and me. “You see what a wonderful hostess I have. I consider myself most fortunate to be here.” He included us all in his smile.

Lilias was glancing at her watch. It was five-thirty, I saw from my own. I knew that visits with Mrs. Ellington were usually on village business and given a limited time.

And now it was clearly the time for us to depart.

We thanked Mrs. Ellington and said goodbye.

Mr. Lestrange, with Myra Ellington, accompanied us out to the dogcart.

As we turned out of the drive, Lilias said to me: “Well, what did you think of that?”

“Very interesting. I enjoyed hearing about South Africa. I think Myra Ellington is quite fond of him.”

“Exactly my impression. It would be nice for her if he married her. I think she would like a husband.”

“I wonder how she would feel about leaving home?”

“She was very eager to hear about Africa.”

“Well, we shall see.”

THE NEXT DAY I had a letter from Zillah. She had written once before. She really seemed to care and to understand my feelings.

My dear, dear Davina,

I hesitated whether I should call you Diana, but somehow it seemed going a bit too far. But perhaps I should have, in case this falls into someone else’s hands. You will have to destroy it as soon as you have read it—which sounds rather dramatic.

How are you getting on? I think a great deal about you. But I’m sure you did right to go and become Diana. You’re going to feel better … calmer and all that.

It seems very strange here without you. People are different. Well, I fancied those round here never much approved of me—so I don’t miss them. I keep saying “I must tell Davina that” and then … you’re not there.

Do let me know how things are.

By the way, your Ninian Grainger has called twice. Really, it is most extraordinary! And, I think, a little indiscreet!

I hinted this but he shrugged it off. He gets me to talk about myself. He’s very inquisitive. I suppose he gets so used to asking questions that it’s a habit with him. He’s attentive. Perhaps I ought to ask him what his intentions are! Pretty obvious, I suppose. But I am rather surprised.

Well, it makes a diversion.

He took me out to dinner one evening. I am sure he thought I was going to ask him in when he brought me home. There’s men for you! I suppose I ought to send him about his business. Then I remember that he did get you off and I’m tremendously grateful to him for that.

I thought I might go to London for a little spell. I feel I want to get away.

Do write. I am thinking such a lot about you.

Lots and lots of love,

ZILLAH

I sat back, the letter in my hand. I was thinking of Ninian Grainger, and I was disappointed in him. I had thought he had some regard for me, but from the moment he had seen Zillah he had become bemused by her. I thought of those sessions together when we had talked so earnestly and the most important thing in the world to him seemed to be to prove me Not Guilty. I remembered that when the verdict had been given, he had held my hands and I had seen with emotion the joy in his face; and, smarting as I was from Jamie’s desertion, I had felt uplifted by it. At that moment I had seen so clearly what Jamie’s affection for me had really been. It had simply grown out of the meeting between two lonely people in the streets of Edinburgh; and so we had believed ourselves to be in love—but it was a love which had wafted away on the first harsh wind.

I had seen it then for what it was and I had allowed myself to believe that Ninian’s care for me—I might say his dedication— was of a very different calibre.

I must remember, of course, that I had been in a hysterical state of mind. I had just stood on trial for my life. I should have realised that my relationship with Ninian was that between an advocate and his client in a case which, if he won, could greatly enhance his reputation.

He had not had a clear win, but still he had triumphed to some extent.

That was all it was; and I had seen in it the beginnings of a deep friendship which might lead to something deeper. That was because I was naive, completely unworldly. As soon as my attractive stepmother had appeared he had lost interest in me.

And now he was actually pursuing her! I felt dismayed and bitterly disappointed.

I could not get the thought of him and Zillah out of my mind. It had affected me more deeply than I had thought possible.

Lilias was aware of my depression and tried hard to interest me in village affairs. I could now ride reasonably well and that provided a diversion. We went out often and I began to know some of the villagers quite well.

As the daughter of the vicarage, Lilias was expected to call on the inhabitants from time to time—especially those who were infirm. She explained to me that Jane was well occupied in the house and this task naturally fell to her, Lilias. She had developed quite an aptitude for it and took the burden off her father’s shoulders.

“They’re all interested to see you. Some of them are confined to their houses and a new face in the village creates a lot of interest.”

That was how I came to be with her when she paid her periodical call on Mrs. Dalton.

She always explained to me a little about these people on the way to them so that I had some idea of what I was going to find.

As we rode along she said: “Mrs. Dalton is an interesting old lady. She must be all of eighty and has lived in this village all her life. She had six children—four girls and two boys. Two of them went abroad—one to America, one to New Zealand—and it is a sore point with her that she doesn’t see those grandchildren as well as their parents. They keep in touch and it’s a great day when she hears from them. The whole village soon learns the contents of the letter. She’s an inveterate gossip and a purveyor of scandal. It’s all she has to do. She can only just move about and she’s in her chair most of the day … just sitting … looking out of the window. Two of the daughters and a daughter-in-law live nearby, and take it in turns to come in and look after her—so there is no worrying on that score. But she loves to have visitors and there is usually a stream of them going in and out. One of the grandchildren goes in to read the paper to her every day; then she relates what she has heard to her visitors. She’s bright and uncomplaining as long as she can get plenty of people to talk to her.”

“I’ll be interested to see her. I like meeting them all. It’s a different way of life here from what I have ever known before.”

“Oh, you’ll be amused by Eliza Dalton.”

We walked across the green to the cottage. The door was on the latch, so Lilias knocked then opened it and walked in.

“Good morning, Mrs. Dalton. Is it all right if we come in?”

“Oh, it’s you, Miss Lilias? Yes … yes … come in. I’m all alone.”

“I’ve brought Miss Grey to see you. Remember, she is staying with us.”

“So you’re Miss Grey.” She peered at me intently. “Nice to meet you. A friend of Miss Lilias. I’ve heard all about you.”

I felt that uneasy qualm and immediately suppressed it.

“Bring up your chair close, so that I can see you.”

“And how are you, Mrs. Dalton?” asked Lilias.

“Well, it’s my rheumatics … come and go, they do. Some days worse than others. The weather don’t help, I can tell you.”

“No. I suppose not. Tell me about the family.”

“Charley’s doing well. Got his own bit of land. He had to go all the way to New Zealand to get it. He says he’s got on quicker out there than he could here. And his daughter’s getting married. My granddaughter and me not there to see her wed. What do ‘ee think of that?”

“A great pity,” said Lilias. “Still, you’ve got plenty of your family close and that’s a good thing.”

“I think of them that’s far away.”

“Well, you’ve got good daughters and a daughter-in-law to see to your comforts.”

“I’ve nothing to complain of in them. Only Olive …” She turned to me. “That’s my daughter-in-law … she’s in and out like a flash. A good cleaner. But do you know what she says? ‘There b’aint time to sit and chat, Ma. I’ve got things to see to at home.’ “

“One can understand that,” said Lilias soothingly. “But you do have lots of visitors.”

“Oh yes … yes … they come and see me.” She turned to me, her eyes in her wrinkled old face alight with curiosity. “It’s nice of you to come and see me. Tell me, what do you think of our village, eh?”

“I’m finding it most interesting.”

“Seen many of us?”

“Quite a number.”

“And what part of the world do you come from? I can see you’re not a Devon girl.”

“No. I come from Scotland.”

“Oh.” She looked at me with some suspicion. “That’s a long way.”

“Well, it is not really so far by train.”

“I’ve never been in one of them newfangled things.”

Lilias laughed. “Oh, they have been going for a good many years, Mrs. Dalton.”

“All these years … it’s been the chair for me. You can’t go about when the rheumatics strike. And before that there was the family to bring up.”

“Well, you see the world … the world of Lakemere … from your cottage window.”

“There was that murder case up in Edinburgh. Edinburgh, wasn’t it?”

“Edinburgh … yes, that’s the capital,” said Lilias. “How is young Clare doing at school?”

“She’s all right. There was a lot about it in the papers.”

My heart had begun to beat so loudly that I thought they might hear. Lilias was looking at me anxiously. She said: “It was a good year for fruit, Mrs. Dalton.”

“Do ye say? There was this terrible murder in Scotland. Edinburgh … that’s where it was. The place you come from. They let her off.”

“Has the doctor been today?” asked Lilias.

“Oh, he says there’s not much he can do for me. Just got to live with it, he says. People of my age is bound to get something. He calls in when he feels like it … takes a look at me and says, ‘Just rest. Do what you can.’ It was as plain as the nose on your face. She had her reasons, didn’t she? Going off buying that stuff. And her own father! That woman … beautiful, wasn’t she? I reckon she was making it all up. Him taking arsenic to make himself more of a man! I never heard the like. What’s the world coming to?”

“Well,” said Lilias who was becoming quite agitated. “I really think we should be going. We have some more calls to make.”

“You’ve not been here much more than five minutes. I wanted to tell you about Mrs. Mellish’s lodger and that daughter of hers. Oh, and I’m forgetting the great news. It’s not out yet. It will soon be all over the village. What do you think?”

“I’ve no idea,” said Lilias coolly.

“It’s them at the House. He’s a very upstanding sort, don’t ‘ee think? It’s all very nice and proper and I reckon Mrs. Ellington be pleased. As for Miss Myra, well, it’s about time, I must say. She’s getting a bit long in the tooth. Must have been thinking she was right and truly on the shelf. Then he comes … this rich and good-looking widower. Well, no wonder they’re pleased up at the House. ‘Tis going to be announced tonight.”

“How do you know about this?” asked Lilias.

“Mrs. Eddy told me and her being housekeeper up there, she’d know. We’re mates. I went to school with her oldest sister so if she couldn’t give me a bit of news, who could? She popped in this morning. Hadn’t gone more than a minute or two when you arrived. There’s a dinner party tonight … so it’s all cut and dried. It won’t be long before there’s a wedding up there. That Mr. Lestrange will be wanting to go back to Africa and taking his bride with him.”

“I see,” said Lilias.

“So, Miss Myra will be off to Africa.” Mrs. Dalton grimaced. “Rather her than me. Wild horses wouldn’t drag me to an outlandish place like that.”

“Let us be thankful that those wild horses will not be needed,” said Lilias. She had been deeply put out by Mrs. Dalton’s references to my father’s death and wishing, I knew, that we had not paid this call.

As we untied our horses, Lilias said: “That old gossip!”

“It’s always going to be like that, Lilias,” I reminded her. “I’ve got to face it. At least she didn’t know who I was.”

“No. What a good idea it was to change your name.”

We did not speak much as we rode back. I thought it was just another incident … another warning that I should never be able to escape from the past.

Overseas Assignment

WHEN I RETURNED HOME there was a letter awaiting me. It was addressed to Miss Diana Grey. Eagerly I took it to my room and impatiently opened it. It was from Ninian Grainger.

Dear D,

Forgive me for addressing you thus, but you will know the reason. I have been thinking a great deal about you and wondering how you are getting on. I think you were very wise to get away and I do hope you are recovering from your ordeal. I have seen your stepmother on one or two occasions. She seems to have put all behind her remarkably well.

Do write to me and tell me how you are feeling. I assure you I am most concerned.

Sincerely,

NINIAN GRAINGER

It was a letter an advocate might send to a client whose case had been of especial interest to him. How foolish I had been to imagine that, because he had meant so much to me during that trying time, he held deeper feelings for me.

I was still so shocked by the encounter with Mrs. Dalton when I sat down to write to him.

Dear Mr. Grainger,

Thank you for your letter. It is kind of you to be concerned. I have heard from my stepmother that you have been meeting.

Everyone here is very kind to me and they are all trying to make me comfortable. But it would not be true to say that all is well.

I have to face the fact that taking a new name is not enough. I am uneasy every time anything leads to some disclosure from my past life, however trivial. When people ask me where I live and I tell them Edinburgh I am afraid they may connect me with the case. Miss Milne and I have just visited one of her father’s parishioners who actually talked about it when she learned that I came from Edinburgh.

Do forgive my writing thus. It happened only today and I feel rather shaken.

The terrible truth is that it is always going to be so.

Thank you for your kind concern, but it is something I have to live with and it fills me with dread.

However, you did what you could for me and I shall always be grateful for that.

Sincerely,

D.G.

When I had posted the letter I wished that I had not. What would he think of such an hysterical outburst? I should not have been so outspoken. Nor should I if I had not so recently been shaken by Mrs. Dalton’s comments.

I WAS SURPRISED by the promptness of his reply. It came within a few days.

Dear D,

I was distressed to read your letter. I do so understand your dilemma. It is no use telling you this sort of thing will not happen again, though, of course, it will become less likely as the years pass.

My father remembers a case in his youth. There was a young lady in a similar position. She went abroad. She married there and has had a very good life ever since. She has been able to put the past right behind her.

That is a way you might decide to take. Let us face the fact that the case did attract a great deal of attention; there was a wide coverage, but it is hardly likely that there would have been much interest outside the British Isles.

You might want to consider this—I mean to make a new life somewhere outside this country … as my father’s client did, most successfully.

A friend of the family, a Mrs. Crown, works with a society which was formed some twenty-odd years ago. It is called the Female Middle Class Emigration Society. The object of the Society is to find posts abroad for those who are seeking them. This would be mainly in the Colonies … Australia, New Zealand, South Africa … and even in America. This is for ladies who, for some reason, wish to leave the country. It may be that they cannot find employment at home, or they wish to leave for some other reason.

This client of my father’s went to America through this Society. My father still has the occasional letter from her. She said it was a great opportunity and gave her new interest in life. She took a post as a governess, which is the usual practise, although other occupations are dealt with.

The Society will lend money to an applicant who will pay it back by degrees when she is working, thus paying travel and living expenses until the applicant is settled in.

I am just sending you this idea for you to ponder on. It is not something you would be able to decide in a hurry.

If, however, you feel it would be a way out of your difficulties, and that it could release you from the perpetual fear that someone might know what happened, I could arrange for an interview with Mrs. Crown. The offices of the Society are in London and if you think there is something in this suggestion, just let me know.

In the meantime, my very best wishes to you.

Sincerely,

NINIAN GRAINGER

I read that letter several times. I was not sure what I thought about it. Leaving the country was something which had not occurred to me. It was running away, of course. And to a foreign country. Many women became governesses. It was a fate which had befallen Lilias and Zillah. True, they had stayed in their own country … or near enough. They had both come from England, not Scotland, but that was not like going overseas.

Lilias saw how preoccupied I was and asked if something had happened.

I told her I had had a letter from Ninian Grainger.

She looked at me steadily and I guessed I had betrayed something of my resentment because he was so taken with Zillah.

“And it has given you food for thought,” she said.

“He suggests I must go abroad.”

“What?”

“I wrote to him. I was probably rather hysterical. I felt so awful after what Mrs. Dalton had said. I knew it was what people were saying everywhere and that it was going to happen again … perhaps as long as I live. I hate hearing people talk about it … and they are saying it all over the country, that I should not have been freed … I shall have to be on guard against it all my life.”

“Oh no … it won’t go on. People forget. After all, it is really rather recent as yet. What is all this about going abroad?”

“Apparently there is some society he knows of which arranges it. He could put me in touch with it … if I thought about leaving.”

She was speechless.

“I … I have never thought of that,” she said slowly.

“To go right away, Lilias … just think of it. One might never come back.”

She said nothing for a few seconds. Then: “It would take a lot of thinking about.”

“That’s what Ninian Grainger says.”

Lilias was silent, obviously deep in thought.

LOOKING BACK afterwards, I felt that Fate was leading me to make my decision, and that all around me events were falling into place to make me go the way I did. It was like a jigsaw puzzle when all the pieces fit into place and the picture is complete.

The main topic of conversation was the coming wedding of Myra Ellington and Roger Lestrange. It would be a grand affair—none the less so because preparations would have to be hurried, in view of the bridegroom’s need to return to South Africa.

Mrs. Ellington could be trusted to overcome difficulties.

Tradespeople were arriving at Lakemere House every day. Excitement prevailed. It was a nine days’ wonder. Most people had decided that Miss Myra would never make her journey to the altar, and now that she was about to achieve it, it was a matter of wonder and perhaps hope to those who felt themselves to be in a similar position to that of the bride-to-be.

Moreover the bridegroom was eminently suitable. He was good-looking and rich; and if he were a widower, which might just tarnish the romance a little, there was the fact that Miss Ellington was not so young herself and a mature man was just what she needed, even though it was rumoured that he had a child in South Africa. Well, Miss Myra could be a mother to him.

It was all very agreeable.

Kitty came over to see me one morning. She was as excited as everyone else about the wedding. She thought Mr. Lestrange was ever so nice. “There is no side about him, Miss, if you know what I mean. He’s nice to us servants … just as though we were of importance. The family like him … from the mistress to the stable boys. I reckon Miss Myra’s lucky.”

Lilias and I often talked about Ninian Grainger’s suggestion. There were times when I thought it would suit me to follow the example of those young governesses; and there were others when I would swerve away from the notion. A terrible uncertainty would sweep over me. As Lilias had said, it was a step that should not be taken lightly.

While we were at breakfast one morning a message came from Lakemere House. Mrs. Ellington wished to see Lilias and me at eleven-thirty that morning. She could only spare a short time, but it was important and could we please be as punctual as possible?

Lilias grimaced at me. “The royal command. It’s a nuisance. I promised old Mrs. Edge that I’d take her some of the wine that Jane makes. She says it puts new life into her.”

“Couldn’t we take it another day?”

“Well, she’s so lonely. She’ll be watching for us. There’s time to take it and we can go straight from her to Lakemere.”

That was agreed.

We delivered the wine and chattered for a while, Lilias keeping her eye on her watch.

Mrs. Edge was disappointed, but Lilias explained that Mrs. Ellington wished to see her and me as well—and we all knew how busy Mrs. Ellington was at this time.

Mrs. Edge wanted to talk about the wedding so we indulged her for another five minutes, telling her all we knew, and then we departed.

We put our horses in the Ellington stables and were taken to Mrs. Ellington’s private sitting room. She was seated at her bureau with papers before her.

“Oh, Lilias,” she said, “and you, Miss Grey. So good of you to come. I’m so frightfully busy … guests and so on. Some will have to stay in the house. I shall see you both at the reception, of course. But you’ve no idea. It’s all so sudden. If only we had more time. But needs must.”

“I am sure you are very happy about it, Mrs. Ellington,” said Lilias.

“I should be if I could be sure everything will go well on the day.”

“You couldn’t fail to make it so,” said Lilias perfunctorily.

“No, of course not. I did want to speak to you both about the stalls at the fete. That’s why I asked you both to come. My big concern is the village drama meeting. As you know, they usually have it here, but I simply cannot have them. It’s tomorrow … short notice, I know, but could you possibly have it at the vicarage? You’ve plenty of room there and …”

“But, of course, we can,” said Lilias.

Mrs. Ellington beamed on her. “I knew you would, but I wanted you to call personally because there is the list of the cast for the Nativity play. It’s early yet, but they need lots of rehearsal … and they’ll be discussing it tomorrow. I wanted them to see my suggestions. They do need guidance; otherwise they select the most incongruous people … and then once it’s done … it’s awkward to change.”

“I’ll see that everyone knows it will be at the vicarage and I’ll give Miss Crew the list. She’s in charge of all that, isn’t she?”

“Thank you so much. I hope I have not dragged you away from something, Miss Grey.”

“Oh no, not at all.”

“We’ll talk about the fete later. Thank you so much for coming. Now … I have to get on.”

“We should be going anyway,” said Lilias.

“Thank you. Thank you for coming.”

We were graciously ushered out and made our way to the stables.

“There was no need to summon us to the presence,” said Lilias. “She could have sent a note with her cast of players.”

“I think she enjoys being frantically busy.”

Kitty was standing outside the stables chatting with one of the men. I was reminded of Hamish then and how she had fallen victim to his lust. I supposed some people never changed. Kitty had also reminded me of Zillah. They both seemed to sparkle in the admiration of men.

The man went into the stables when he saw us and brought out the horses. Just at that moment Roger Lestrange rode up.

“Oh, good morning, Miss Milne, Miss Grey. How nice to see you! Are you just coming to the house?”

“No,” said Lilias. “We are just leaving. We’ve been to see Mrs. Ellington.”

“Oh … what a pity!” He smiled at us warmly. He was a very attractive man. I could understand why people thought Myra lucky. Soon she would be going to a new country with this charming husband. I might be going away. But how different my departure would be.

“We must be getting on,” said Lilias, mounting her horse.

I was not sure what happened next. I had my foot in the stirrup and was about to mount when suddenly my horse turned abruptly. The next thing I knew was that I was on the ground, my foot caught in the stirrup. The horse began to move away, fortunately at only a slow pace. Nevertheless I was dragged along the ground.

“Miss Davina!” It was Kitty’s voice—shrill, loud, audible to all.

The incident was over in a few seconds. Roger Lestrange had seized my horse and brought it to a standstill. My foot was released and I stood up, unhurt.

He put an arm around me and looked at me steadily. “All right?”

I could not answer. All I could hear was that shattering cry of “Miss Davina!”

Lilias looked shaken. She was standing beside me and she took my arm.

“How are you feeling?” she asked. “What a nasty shock! What happened?”

“He just moved in the wrong direction, that’s all,” said Roger Lestrange. “You shouldn’t have let him do that, you know.”

“Miss Grey has only just learned to ride,” said Lilias.

Roger Lestrange was looking at me intently, his eyes more blue than I remembered them. “You’ll have to look on it as an experience, Miss Grey. It’s lucky we were here and the horse didn’t gallop off. That could have been … well … let’s not think of it. You’re not hurt … that’s the important thing. It was just a bit of mischief on the part of the horse. He knew you weren’t up to all the tricks he could play … so he tried one. They’re like that sometimes, aren’t they, John?”

“Aye, sir, they be that,” said John. “You make sure when you mount him, Miss. Look, like this. He couldn’t have done it then.”

“All’s well that ends well,” said Roger Lestrange. “Do you feel like mounting again, Miss Grey?”

“I must.”

“That’s the spirit. Never give up. At least you won’t do that again. Just give him a pat to show he’s forgiven and he’ll be friends again. That’s so, isn’t it, John?”

“Aye, sir, that be it.”

Rather shakily I mounted the horse; but I was not thinking of the danger I might have been in but of the shrill penetrating cry of “Miss Davina!”

Lilias and I rode back to the vicarage in silence. We had no need for speech. Each of us knew what was in the other’s mind.

I went straight to my room, and sat staring out at the graveyard.

“Davina,” Ninian Grainger had said. “It’s an unusual name.” What if Roger Lestrange had noticed? What if he remembered that I came from Edinburgh?

There was a knock on the door and I knew it was Lilias. She came in and stood for a few seconds looking at me.

“He must have heard,” I said.

“He probably didn’t notice.”

“It was so loud and clear.”

“Only to us because we understood. I am sure Kitty was very upset about it. It came out involuntarily. It’s understandable. She was worried about you. She looked so … penitent. She didn’t mean any harm. That’s the last thing. But she thought you were going to be hurt and it slipped out naturally. I don’t think anyone noticed. We were too concerned about you.”

I said suddenly: “I’m going to write to Ninian Grainger to ask him to put me in touch with Mrs. Crown.”

“Well … I suppose you might go and hear what she has to say. There’s no commitment in that.”

“I think I have made up my mind. It’s what I’m going to do.

I can’t stay here … on edge, as it were … just waiting for something to come up … like this morning.”

“I think you have been more upset by that than by the accident. If that horse had started to gallop you could have been very seriously hurt.”

“I know. But it’s showed me that when Kitty called out my name like that, it’s the sort of thing that could happen at any time. I am going to explore this possibility.”

Lilias said slowly: “I see.”

She left me and I sat down and wrote a letter to Ninian Grainger.

Dear Mr. Grainger,

It has taken me some time to make up my mind, and I cannot be sure that I have done that yet, for this is such a big step I have to take. There was another incident today and this has decided me that at least I must see Mrs. Crown and discuss a few details with her.

It is so kind of you to take so much trouble to help me. I do appreciate that.

With grateful thanks,

Sincerely, D.

The letter was posted. I had taken the first step.

I was preparing for bed that night when there was a knock on my door. Lilias came in wearing a dressing gown and carrying a candle.

“I thought you might have been asleep,” she said.

“I shan’t sleep. I have too many things to think about.”

“This is only the first step.”

“Yes, but it’s an important one.”

“I’ve been thinking …”

“Yes?”

She paused for a moment and then she said quietly: “I might come with you.”

Joy swept over me. This would change everything. That which I had contemplated with fearful apprehension could be planned with excitement. Two people together could face difficulties so much more easily than one alone; and if that person was the best friend one ever had …

“Lilias!” I cried. “Do you really mean that?”

“I have been considering it ever since I heard of it. The Society … it sounds interesting to me. You see, I feel this isn’t what I want to do … visiting people like Mrs. Dalton, being directed by Mrs. Ellington. I suppose I get through … as anybody would, but it’s not what I want. I want to be teaching. I really feel I have a vocation for that. I want to get back to it.”

“Lilias … this is so unexpected. You didn’t tell me …”

“No. Like you, I couldn’t make up my mind … but I have been thinking more and more of it.”

“If we went together … it would be so exciting. If I could believe you were coming with me, it would be so different.”

“We both have something we don’t want revealed.”

“Oh, yours wasn’t like …”

“No. My ordeal was not so horrific. Yours was carried out in the light of publicity. But I have a slur on my character. I’m in a quandary. I don’t know whether it’s the right thing or not … but if you go, I want to go with you.”

“Oh, Lilias, I can’t tell you how much I want that, too. Have you really thought about it … deeply?”

“From every angle. Alice could come back. She is much more useful at what I am trying to do. She doesn’t like teaching in any case, though she pretends all is well. I know her, and I sense this is not entirely the case. If I went, she could come back.”

“There’s Charles Merrimen,” I reminded her. “Have you thought of him?”

“I’ve thought a great deal about him. It’s over really. It seems we were just trying to keep something alive … something which isn’t really there. I go and read to him. Several people could do that for him. We talk about the books I read to him. We could go on like that till one of us dies. I am beginning to realise that if there had been deep love between us we should have married. It’s rather like you and Jamie. There is something for a time … but it’s a fragile plant.”

“You were away from him all those years when you were with me.”

“And when I come to think of it, those were the most rewarding years of my life so far. One has to be realistic. We have our lives to lead. I want to teach. I think I have a vocation for it. I do believe I want that more than anything. Also I want to get away from the past … just as you do. Yes, if you go, I am coming with you.”

“Oh, Lilias, I feel so much better. I know I can face whatever there is to come if you are there.”

We talked far into the night. We both knew that sleep was impossible; and for the next few days impatiently we awaited Ninian’s reply.

At length it came. Mrs. Crown was writing to me and I should be hearing from her very soon.

And in due course the letter arrived. The heading was The Female Middle Class Emigration Society with an address in the City of London. Mrs. Crown would be pleased to see me round about three o’clock in the afternoon of the fifth of June.

This gave us a week to make our plans to go to London and this we did without delay.

WE HAD BOOKED into a small hotel recommended by Ninian which was not very far from the Society’s premises; and at the appointed time were mounting the stairs to Mrs. Crown’s office.

She came to the door to greet us—a fresh-faced middle-aged woman with a kindly smile.

“Miss Grey … Miss Milne … Mr. Grainger has written to me about you. Do sit down.”

When we were seated she went on: “You want to emigrate and take posts as governesses, I understand. This is the usual profession ladies such as yourselves undertake. Our Society deals with all kinds of employment, but governesses are the most usual because so many of our people are ladies of education and small means. Let me tell you something about the Society. It was founded by a lady who believed that women should be given more chances of employment. The lower classes have been engaged in domestic service for centuries, but she felt that the educated woman should be brought more into public life. She discovered that such ladies were badly needed in the Colonies and she believed that women of strong character and high moral sense should take charge of the young. So she formed this Society to help people like yourselves who want to go abroad for some reason. So many people in these circumstances cannot afford the fare and they need something to enable them to support themselves until they get settled. The object of the Society is to help them over this difficult time. It is, you might say, a philanthropic association, kept going by voluntary subscriptions, and the object of our members is to be of assistance in helping the right people to start a new life in another country.”

She then asked us for our qualifications. I could see she was impressed by Lilias’ experience, but, as she said, I was a young lady of obvious education and she thought we should have no difficulty in finding employment.

“So many of our colonists deplore the fact that they cannot get a good education for their children. The Society does what it can to find that employment, but it is difficult being so far away, and many of our people go out and find employment for themselves. The most popular countries are Australia, America and New Zealand. South Africa, too.”

“Mr. Grainger has given me some idea of the Society’s methods,” I said.

“Ah yes. Mr. Grainger, Senior, has a very high opinion of us; and has indeed been very benevolent towards us. I understand, Miss Grey, that you have a small private income.”

“That is true.”

“And you would not be needing financial help from us for your passage?”

“That is so. Does that mean … ?”

“It means that we will help in arranging your passage just the same. Now, Miss Milne …”

“I’m afraid I cannot afford to pay my passage,” said Lilias.

“I want to help Miss Milne,” I said. “But I fear I am not rich enough to pay for her passage as well as my own.”

“That’s perfectly easy. We will advance what is needed, Miss Milne, and you can pay us back gradually, when you are in employment.”

“I don’t care to be in debt,” said Lilias.

“I know how you feel. But you will pay back when you can. We have always found that most of our clients in time meet their obligations. We have no fears … nor need you have. You have to decide to which country you wish to go.”

“We heard that Australia is more like England,” I ventured.

“In the towns maybe. It depends where you are employed. However, would you like to think about it? If you know someone who is connected with Australia … then that would be good. But of course there is the difficulty of finding employment when you arrive.”

“That could be a little daunting,” said Lilias.

“It is an undertaking, of course,” agreed Mrs. Crown. “I will show you some of the letters we have received from people that will give you some idea of the difficulties and the rewards.”

She took us into a small room, the walls of which were lined with files, and she gave us letters to read from people whom they had helped. The letters were from Australia, South Africa, New Zealand and the United States of America.

They were very revealing. The majority of the writers had found posts fairly easily, but some had not been so fortunate. There were very few who regretted their decision to leave England.

We spent more than half an hour reading those letters before Mrs. Crown came back to us.

“It gives you an idea of what you may find,” she said. “How do you feel now?”

Lilias was more practical than I and therefore perhaps less certain. But perhaps she did not feel the same urgent need to escape as I did. I could not stop myself going over Mrs. Dalton’s words and hearing that sudden cry of horror from Kitty when she used my real name. I was sure I had to get away.

There was another point. Lilias was not very happy about borrowing the money, even though it was lent by philanthropists. I wished that I could have afforded to pay her passage; but she would not hear of that. I consoled myself with the fact that my money would be a bulwark against absolute destitution.

It was Lilias who said: “May we have a little longer to think about this?”

“But of course. It is your decision.”

“We shall have to think where we should go. It is very difficult to make up one’s mind when one knows nothing, or very little, about such places.”

“You are right to make absolutely sure that you want to go,” said Mrs. Crown.

“We could make up our minds in say a week,” said Lilias, appealing to me.

I said I thought we could do that and it was a good idea.

So we left the Society’s offices and after another night in our hotel we went back to the vicarage.

WE HAD, of course, made no secret of our intentions. Lilias’ father and sister had been informed right from the first. Jane understood absolutely why Lilias wanted to get away. She knew she had felt frustrated. I believed that Jane thought it was rather a reckless step to leave one’s country, but she understood the need for it. So did the vicar. They were saddened at the thought of Lilias’ departure but made no efforts to persuade her to stay. It was not quite the case with Daisy. She laboured under the assumption that heathens lived in foreign parts and the idea of Lilias’ travelling to such places appalled her. She expressed her disapproval and, as she was something of a gossip, very soon the whole village was aware of our plans.

So there was great excitement in Lakemere that summer with two major events about to take place: the marriage of Myra Ellington to Roger Lestrange and the possible departure to foreign parts of the vicar’s daughter.

The annual fete always took place in June and, since the Manor House was lax in its duties, the gardens of Lakemere House were thrown open for the occasion. This was posing some questions this year as the wedding was to take place about a week later.

Mrs. Ellington, however, was not one to shirk her duties and, awkward as it might be, she decided that the fete must go ahead.

We were all summoned to work for it. I was not sorry, because my thoughts were dominated—not so much as to whether we should go abroad as to where to. Lilias and I talked endlessly when we were alone; but it did seem to me that we covered the same ground again and again. Lilias’ doubts centred on the fact that we should have to find posts when we arrived at whatever place we decided on. She feared we might not do so immediately and she would already be in debt—a state of affairs which she deplored.

In vain did I point out that I had a little money of my own which I would share with her. It was no use. I was afraid that she might decide she had been rash to agree to come with me and would change her mind.

They were uneasy days and that was why it was a help to be caught up with the fete.

I was in charge of what was called bric-a-brac, which mainly consisted of articles which had been given as presents, put away in a drawer and never used, to be brought out and presumably passed on to others who would do the same with them as their previous owners. However, it was all in a good cause; Norman churches needed constant bolstering up.

It was a warm sunny day which was a blessing, for the stalls could be set up on the lawns. Lilias had said it could be a nightmare if the weather was uncertain. At least if it were definitely raining they could be set up in the hall which was quite spacious.

I was presiding over my stall, attending to the occasional customer, when Roger Lestrange strolled up.

“Good afternoon, Miss Grey,” he said. “How is business?”

He was smiling at me with that intent expression which made me feel a little uncomfortable. But that was only because I harboured secrets. It was something I had to live with while I stayed here.

“Hardly brisk.”

“What do you suggest I should buy?”

“Here’s a delightful little pig.”

“Not my favourite animal.”

“Look. There’s a little slit in his back where you can save your pennies.”

“How useful!”

“Here’s a pillbox. Such a pretty picture on the lid.”

“Enchanting,” he said, looking at me.

“Here’s a figurine. The Venus de Milo.”

“Certainly more attractive than the pig and I have not much use for pillboxes. Let me have Venus.”

I handed it to him and our hands touched. He was smiling. “I have been hearing news of you. You’re leaving this country.”

“Oh yes.”

“What a decision for a young lady to make!” Again that quizzical look. I was afraid I was going to blush. I took a firm grip of myself. I must overcome this terrible suspicion that everyone knew who I really was. It would be different when I was away, I consoled myself.

“It’s rather an exciting project,” I said.

“Indeed it must be. Miss Milne is going with you, I gather. I don’t remember hearing where.”

“We haven’t decided yet.”

“Oh?” He looked surprised.

“We have been making enquiries. There are several possibilities. Australia … America … somewhere like that.”

“And what did you propose to do when you get there?”

“There is only one thing women in our position can do. Take a post.”

“The ubiquitous governess?” he said. “Well, if that’s the case, why not here?”

“We like the idea of travel.”

He nodded. “It has its appeal … to the adventurous. But you say you haven’t decided. Does that mean you have no posts in view?”

“It’s something we have to arrange when we get there.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Yes,” he said slowly. “I would say you are adventurous. Why don’t you try South Africa? It’s a beautiful country. And I’m sure there is a shortage of the right sort of governesses—which you and Miss Milne would undoubtedly be. As a matter of fact there is a school in Kimberley. Not exactly the sort of thing you had in mind perhaps … but something on the lines.”

Someone had come up to the stall and had picked up a case containing needles and cottons.

“How much is this?”

I turned reluctantly from Roger Lestrange who lifted his eyebrows and smiled. I was afraid he would go away, and I wanted to ask him more about the school. That we might go into a school was a prospect which had not entered our minds.

While I took the money from my customer I was thinking: but wouldn’t they want qualified teachers for a school?

The woman had gone.

“Yes,” went on Roger Lestrange. “This school in Kimberley had to close down. There was no one to run it. I wonder … ?”

“It sounds interesting.”

Someone else had come up to the stall.

“Business is getting brisk now,” said Roger Lestrange.

He lingered. The newcomer fingered a few things, bought a glass ashtray and departed.

“We ought to have a talk,” said Roger Lestrange.

“With Miss Milne,” I replied. “Could you come to the vicarage? It’s impossible here.”

“Tomorrow morning, yes. Ten o’clock?”

“That would be kind of you. Oh dear, someone else is coming. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

I hardly noticed what I was selling. I could not wait to see Lilias and tell her the news.

And when she heard it she shared my excitement.

He arrived at the vicarage precisely on the stroke of ten next morning. We were both eagerly waiting for him and took him into the sitting room which the vicar used for listening to the trials of his parishioners, and we settled down to talk.

“The more I think of it the more suitable it seems,” he said.

“We need a school, but we had to close this one down. The lady who had run it for some years was getting old. She gave up, and up to the time I left they had not found anyone to replace her. One or two did come but did not stay … and then there was no one, so they had to close it. I’ve written to a man I know who is in charge of these things in the town and I posted the letter last night. I hope you don’t think I was precipitous, but I thought there was no harm in finding out what the position was. My opinion is that they’ll be delighted at the prospect of finding someone who’ll open up the school and run it successfully, as I am sure you two will.”

“We’d be working together,” said Lilias, her eyes shining.

“That’s the idea. The head—I presume that would be you, Miss Milne, your being the senior and the experienced one …”

He looked at me apologetically and I said quickly: “But naturally.”

“Of course, if you don’t like the idea you can always try something else, I suppose, but after I had heard … and then our little conversation at the stall yesterday … well, it did occur to me that it was a better proposition than going out there and not knowing what you were going to find.”

“It is so very good of you, Mr. Lestrange,” said Lilias earnestly; and I echoed her words, for it was wonderful to see the anxieties dropping from her and to experience the pleasant feeling that the way was being made easy for us.

“There’ll only be a small salary, I believe … at the moment, that is. There are not all that many young people seeking education. Some of the inhabitants don’t see the need for it alas. So much would depend on how many pupils you could muster. There might be only a few at first, but if you could build it up. There are living quarters, I know, in the schoolhouse, and they would go with the job.”

“It sounds like an … opportunity,” said Lilias.

“Someone will probably be writing to you. I’ve told them to get in touch.”

“We don’t know how to thank you,” we said in unison.

His eyes held mine for a moment and he smiled.

“I only hope it works out well and I deserve your thanks,” he said.

LILIAS was growing enthusiastic. She had naturally been fearful that we might arrive in some foreign place without any hope of employment—and now that fear was gone. And the prospect of a school where we could work together was wonderful.

“It’s ideal!” said Lilias, and I began to believe her.

All the same, to leave one’s country meant a great upheaval in one’s life and now that the time for our departure was growing near I could not contemplate it without some misgivings. I found that I wanted to be alone now and then; I had to practise stopping myself going over that dreadful ordeal; I was trying to instil a peace into my mind, trying to look forward instead of back.

I found a certain peace in sitting in the graveyard which I could see from my bedroom window. It seemed so quiet there.

I was sitting there one day when Roger Lestrange came along.

“Why hello, Miss Grey,” he said. “I was just coming to the vicarage to see you and Miss Milne, and I find you sitting here contemplating the scenery. I thought you should have the address of the schoolhouse. I expect to hear before long how delighted they will be to receive you.”

“It is kind of you to take so much trouble.”

I took the paper he gave me, glanced at the address and put it into my pocket.

“It’s peaceful here,” he said. “Here, among the dead. Do you often come and sit here?”

“Quite often. I can see it from my bedroom window in the vicarage. I thought it might be morbid, but it is far from that. The quietness and peace is … appealing.”

“I hope you will like South Africa.”

“We have to get used to the idea. We had almost settled on Australia and had been reading quite a bit about it.”

“And now you have switched to South Africa. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed. How soon do you plan to leave … when you hear from the school, I mean?”

“As soon as possible.”

“Myra and I will be sailing in the not-too-distant future. After the wedding and the honeymoon and I’ve settled a little business. It may be that we shall sail together.”

“I suppose that is a possibility.”

“Then I can keep an eye on you.”

“That sounds comforting.”

“When you sit here, do you wonder about the dead?”

“Yes. I suppose one would, wouldn’t one?”

“You read the names on the stones … when you can. Many of them are half-obliterated. Just think, some of these people have been lying there for a hundred years!”

“More than that, some of them.”

“Do you wonder what their lives were like … all their troubles … all their joys … how they lived and how they died?”

“Yes, I do.”

“And think of the people you have known and who are gone …”

I was silent. In spite of the fact that he had taken such pains to help us, I was wary of him. I had the feeling that there was an ulterior motive in what he said and did. He knew I came from Edinburgh; he had been present when Kitty had called out my name.

“We have all known people who have died,” he went on. “Died … before their time.”

My heart was beating fast, and I drew away from him, for I had suddenly realised that he was sitting very close to me.

“I suppose it is natural that we should think such thoughts in a place like this,” I said briskly.

“I lost someone … my wife. She was very young to die.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It was tragic … unexpected. That makes it harder to bear.”

“Yes,” I said quietly. “Was it long ago?”

“Two years.”

I suppressed my astonishment that it was so recent and said: “It must have been very sad for you.”

He nodded. “I thought I should never marry again.”

“Well, I hope you will be happy now. I am sure Miss Ellington will make you so.”

“Thank you,” he said. “You see, I have a child …”

“Yes, I did hear that.”

“Paul. He is named after a very distinguished man whom his mother greatly admired. Of course, she couldn’t give the child the name exactly … rather too ponderous, one might say. Stephanus Johannes Paulus … so she was contented with simply Paul. After Kruger … the great man over there. If the child had been a girl I’ve no doubt it would have been Paula. People do that sometimes … turn the male into the female and vice versa.”

Why did he say this? I was Davina; my father had been David. It was almost as though he were hinting at something. He was a disturbing man; I was sorry that he was the one from whom we had to take help.

I said quickly: “How old is the boy?”

“Nine, coming up to ten.”

“You will be pleased to be home with him.”

“I shall be pleased to be back, yes. I shall be starting a new life. It is no use living in the past, is it? We have to realise that.”

He gazed at me intently and I rose.

“I must be going,” I said. “Lilias … Miss Milne … will be so glad to have the address. I can’t tell you how grateful we are. This has made such a difference.”

“It has been my pleasure,” he said. “Don’t forget, either of you: I shall be there … if you need me.”

He took my hand and pressed it.

“Well,” he said. “You’ve saved me a journey to the vicarage, and it was so pleasant to have a little chat with you in the graveyard, Miss Grey.”

I went back to the vicarage, trying hard to shake off that feeling of uneasiness which he aroused in me.

I THOUGHT I OWED a letter of thanks to Ninian Grainger, after all the trouble he had taken, to tell him of the progress we had made. I wrote:

Dear Mr. Grainger,

Miss Milne and I are so grateful for your help. As I told you, we went to see Mrs. Crown and shall be calling on her again shortly, we hope.

It is our great good fortune that a Mr. Roger Lestrange, who is here on business and staying at the big house in the neighbourhood, comes from South Africa and he is helping us considerably. He knows of a school and it seems that Miss Milne and I may be able to work together there. This is a wonderful piece of luck because, as you can imagine, we were somewhat apprehensive as to how long it would be before we were able to find posts in a foreign country. We feel much happier now and are awaiting confirmation from South Africa. When this comes we shall be very relieved.

I hope all goes well with you and thank you once more for all the help you have given us.

D.

I had, of course, written to Zillah.

She wrote back and said how sorry she would be when I had gone, but she quite understood why I wanted to go.

Your Mr. Lestrange sounds an absolute darling and I should love to meet him. Your Mr. Grainger continues to call. I wonder why! South Africa seems a very long way away. I shall come down to see you off. I must do that. I suppose you haven’t any dates yet? Still … let me know when you have.

I’m going to hate it when you’ve gone. True, you’ve been away for some time, but I know you are not far-off.

Keep in touch.

Your loving ZILLAH

The wedding day had arrived. I went to the church and heard Lilias’ father pronounce Myra Ellington and Roger Lestrange man and wife.

Afterwards we went to the reception to which Mrs. Ellington had graciously invited us and in due course the couple left for their honeymoon.

Myra looked very happy and I remarked—with fervour—to Lilias that I hoped she would remain so.

“You sound doubtful,” said Lilias.

“Do I? Well, they do say that marriage is something of a lottery. You have to draw the right number or whatever it is.”

“You’ve become a cynic.”

She was full of hope now, and I understood how frustrating those months at home must have been for her.

The honeymoon was still in progress when we received a letter from South Africa. It was signed by a Jan Van Der Groot. He said he was pleased to hear from Mr. Roger Lestrange that we contemplated coming out to South Africa to teach. There had been only one teacher in the school in the past, for it was very small. But if we liked to come and share the salary, there would be room for us both, for the living quarters which were part of the school would certainly be big enough. The place had been shut up for some months, but it would be made ready for our arrival.

We read it together.

“One salary,” said Lilias.

“It’s yours. I have my own money. I shall be all right.”

“It’s a little disappointing …”

“It’s not, Lilias. We’ll be together. It’s a chance to make a fresh start.”

“But the money … and I have to pay back …”

“There’s nothing to worry about. I don’t need to work. I’ll be all right. We’ll make that school grow, Lilias. It’s a challenge … a way out.”

Her spirits revived. It was not all that we had hoped for, but it was more than we could expect.

Everything moved quickly after that.

We went to see Mrs. Crown once more. We had decided. We were going to South Africa. We already had employment waiting for us.

“Congratulations!” said Mrs. Crown. “You’ve been lucky. We’ll get you a passage as soon as possible.”

And this is what she did.

We were to sail on the Queen of the South to Cape Town and from there make the journey across the country to Kimberley.