The Black Opal

The Governess

They had not brought her home on a stretcher, which was what had happened when Mr. Carteret of Letch Manor had broken his leg in the hunting field. They had taken her to the hospital, and that seemed significant.

The doctor was away a long time. The news spread through the house.

The mistress had had an accident in the hunting field. It must be bad because they had not brought her home but had taken her to the hospital. It is only natural that people’s first thoughts are of how such events will affect them. Was she going to die? To the servants this might present a threat of losing their jobs. Everyone knew that she had the money. Nobody in the house liked her. The servants avoided her whenever possible.

However, there was no talk of Mrs. Marline’s being a ‘holy terror’. In fact, she was rapidly turning into a saint, which, I had long realized, was what death did for people. So they had decided that Mrs. Marline was going to die.

The doctor returned at last. He talked to the servants and then sent for Estella, Henry and me.

When we were assembled, he said to us: “I have to tell you that your mother has been badly hurt. Her horse tripped over an exposed tree root just as she was about to jump over a fence. As a result, the horse was so badly hurt that it has already been destroyed. Your mother is in the hospital and will be there for a few days. There are fears that she may not be able to walk. We must pray that something can be done and that she will be restored to full health. In the meantime, we can only wait … and hope.”

We were all very solemn. Nanny was closeted with Mrs. Barton and they discussed the future. Estella and I did not know what to say. We were shocked and expectant. As for myself, she had never played a big part in my life, and her presence or absence made very little difference to me. But I knew, even then, that nothing was going to be quite the same again.

And how right I was.

Just as it had ever been, the house was dominated by Mrs. Marline. Two rooms on the ground floor had been prepared for her. They both had french windows opening on to the garden-one was her bedroom, the other her sitting-room. There was a wheelchair in which she could propel herself from room to room, but she needed help to get through the trench windows to the garden. She had bells, by which she could summon the servants to her, and their imperious clanging was often heard throughout the house.

Each morning Annie Logan called to help her wash and dress. Annie Logan was the district nurse. She would arrive promptly on her bicycle at nine o’clock and spend an hour or so with Mrs. Marline. Then she would go to the kitchen and drink a cup of tea with Nanny Gilroy and Mrs. Barton. They would chat and after a while Annie would cycle off to the next poor creature who needed her attention.

It was obvious that Mrs. Marline was in intermittent pain. Dr. Everest, from the next village, called on her. That seemed to me rather odd since we had a doctor in the house. I said so.

“Silly!” retorted Henry.

“A doctor can’t attend his own wife.”

“Why not?” I demanded.

“Because they think he might finish her off.”

“Finish her off? What do you mean?”

“Murder her, stupid!”

“Murder her!”

“Husbands do murder wives.”

I thought then that it was a reasonable arrangement, for Dr. Marline might well want to do that.

She was more vociferous than ever. She continually raged against everything and everyone. Nothing was right for her. We often heard her haranguing the poor doctor. We would hear her loud voice and his meek replies.

“Yes, my love. Of course, my love.”

“My love’ seemed incongruous. How could Mrs. Marline be anyone’s ‘love’?

The poor doctor was looking gaunt and haggard. I understood very well then why it was necessary for Dr. Everest to look after her.

It was a very unhappy household. I was one of the more fortunate ones, because I could keep out of her way.

When Uncle Toby came life brightened. Even Mrs. Marline seemed a little happier, for she was clearly pleased to see him. He sat with her, talking to her and making her smile now and then.

I had a long talk with him. It was in the garden.

“Nice to get out of the house,” he said.

“Poor old doc. Things not too bright for him. And you have to be sorry for Grace. She’s always wanted her own way. She ought to have married someone more like herself, someone who could put a curb on her. Doc’s all for a comfortable life.” He raised his eyes to the sky.

“And he married Grace! Some people do have bad luck. Their own fault, I suppose.

“Not in our stars but in ourselves,” and all that. And what about you, little Carmel? How does all this affect you? “

“She doesn’t take much notice of me … she never did … so I’m lucky.”

“Ah, there’s good in everything, eh? You’re growing up now. How old is it? Eight?”

“Eight in March,” I told him.

He patted my hand.

“Not much fun, is it? I wish it could be better.”

“It’s nice when you come.”

He put his arm round me and held me tightly.

“One day,” he went on, ‘perhaps I’ll take you to sea with me. We’ll sail round the world. How would you like that? “

I clasped my hands together in ecstasy. There was no need for words.

“We’ll sit on the deck in the moonlight,” he said, ‘and we’ll look up at the Southern Cross. “

“What’s that?” I asked.

“It’s the stars you see on the other side of the world. On hot days we’ll watch for the whales and we’ll see the dolphins jumping out of the sea. We’ll watch the flying fishes skimming across the water ..”

“And mermaids?” I asked.

“Who knows? We might even produce one of those for you.”

“They sing songs and lure sailors to destruction.”

“We won’t be lured. We’ll go on sailing.”

“When?” I asked.

“One day … perhaps.”

“I’ll pray every night.”

“You do. I believe those up there occasionally answer prayers.”

I thought about those words for a long time afterwards, and I dreamed of the day when Uncle Toby would keep his promise and take me away with him.

Uncle Toby left soon after that and uneasiness settled on the house.

Dr. Marline looked lost and exhausted. Nanny Gilroy and Mrs. Barton had long conversations in the kitchen with the district nurse.

I overheard some of them.

“Nothing pleases Madam,” complained Nanny Gilroy.

“She’s in pain,” said Annie Logan.

“Not all the time … but it’s there, threatening. That’s why she’s got those rather strong pills, for when it’s specially bad. Morphine in them.

It helps her. She wouldn’t be as well as she is without them. “

“She was bad enough before,” said Mrs. Barton.

“Nothing pleased her then, but it’s ten times worse now. There’s no pleasing her.”

The weeks began to pass. My eighth birthday came. It was set on the first of March, though nobody knew the exact day. Tom Yardley had found me on the sixteenth, and they reckoned I was a few weeks old at that time, so the first seemed about right. Everyone else had a birthday, so mine was set for that date. Uncle Toby had given orders that I was to have a fine dress. Sally had bought the material and had given Mrs. Grey, the local seamstress, one of my old dresses to copy for size. It was the finest dress Mrs. Grey had ever made and I was not to see it until the morning of the first. Sally had given me a book of children’s rhymes which I had seen in the bookshop and coveted:

Estella’s gift was a blue sash which she no longer liked, and Adeline’s a bar of chocolate. No one else remembered it, but I did not care because I had my wonderful dress.

Then there occurred that event which was to shape the future for us all at Commonwood House. Mrs. Harley, the vicar’s wife, had a slight stroke and Miss Harley was unable to continue teaching us because she had to look after her mother. Estella was now ten years old and a new governess had to be engaged.

Uncle Toby would expect me to be educated with her and so I should share the new governess.

I often wondered what would have happened to me with out Uncle Toby. I knew it was solely due to his champion ship that I was allowed to partake of the crumbs which fell from the table of the rich.

As a consequence, the governess was engaged to teach us, and so Miss Kitty Carson came to Commonwood House.

When we heard that we were to have a governess, Estella and I shared mixed feelings. There was excitement and apprehension. We discussed her constantly between the time of her appointment and her arrival at Commonwood House.

What would she be like? She would be old and ugly, declared Estella.

She would have hairs on her chin like old Mrs. Cram in the village who, some people said, was a witch.

“She can’t be very old,” I protested.

“If she were, she’d be too old to teach.”

“She’ll give us hard sums and make us sit at the table until we finish them.”

“She might be all right.”

“Governesses never are. Nanny says they’re neither one thing nor the other. They don’t belong anywhere. Think they’re above the servants and they are not good enough for the others. They give themselves airs downstairs and crawl to the family. I’m going to hate her anyway. I shall be so horrid to her that she’ll go away.”

“You might wait and see what she’s like first.”

“I know,” said Estella. She had made up her mind.

On the day of the governess’s arrival, we were at an upstairs window, watching as the station fly brought her to the house. We gazed intently as she stepped out and made her way to the gate and up the path with Tom Fellows, who drove the fly, carrying her bags.

She was tall and slender. I noticed with relief that she was not in the least like old Mrs. Cram. In fact, she looked very pleasant-not exactly handsome, but with such a gentle and attractive expression that I thought she would be easy to get on with. She might have been in her late twenties. In fact, just what I thought a governess ought to be.

As soon as she entered the house, Estella and I left the window and crept to the top of the stairs. We saw that she was taken into Mrs. Marline’s room. The door was shut, so we could not hear what was said. Then Mrs. Marline’s bell rang and Nanny, who was hovering, went into the room.

She came out with the governess. Nanny was rather tight-lipped. She did not like the idea of a governess in the house. She might have felt she threatened her authority in some way, and I knew that she was preparing to find fault with Miss Kitty Carson.

We dodged back as they came upstairs and we hid in one of the rooms, leaving the door slightly open, so that we could hear.

“It’s this way,” said Nanny coldly; and then suddenly Dr. Marline appeared.

I peeped round the door and saw them as they were just passing.

The doctor smiled very pleasantly and said: “You must be Miss Carson?”

“Yes,” said the governess.

“Welcome to Commonwood House.”

“Thank you.”

“I hope you will be happy here. You haven’t met the girls yet, I suppose?”

“No,” she said.

“Nanny will send for them,” he told her.

Suppressing our giggles, Estella and I remained very quiet until they had passed on to the room which had been prepared for Miss Carson on the second floor. Then we came into the corridor and walked sedately up the stairs.

“Oh, here they are,” said Nanny Gilroy.

“And Adeline?” said the doctor.

“She will be in her room,” replied Nanny.

“Carmel, run up and bring her down.”

“But first. Miss Carson,” put in the doctor, ‘here are your two pupils, Estella and Carmel. “

She had a lovely smile which lighted her face into some thing like beauty.

“Hello,” she said easily.

“I do hope we shall get on well together. I feel sure we shall.” Her eyes rested on me. Estella might have been scowling slightly. I had taken an immediate liking to Miss Carson and I felt sure she had to me.

I went off to get Adeline. She was in her room, looking rather bewildered and frightened. I guessed she had heard Estella giving her version of what the new governess would be like.

I said: “You are to come and meet Miss Carson, Adeline. I think she is very nice. There is nothing frightening about her. I feel sure you are going to like her.”

Adeline was easily influenced one way or another. She brightened and looked relieved.

I was so pleased by the way in which Miss Carson greeted Adeline. She had obviously heard of her disabilities. She took both her hands and smiled warmly.

“I am sure you and I are going to get along very well, Adeline,” she said.

Adeline nodded cheerfully, and I noticed how pleased the doctor was looking.

“Well, we’ll leave you to unpack. Miss Carson,” said Nanny briskly.

“Then, as the doctor says, the girls can show you the schoolroom.”

“Say in half an hour?” said Miss Carson.

“Yes, they can come to you then. Would, you like a cup of tea? I will get Mrs. Barton to send one up to your room.”

“That would be very welcome, thank you,” said Miss Carson, and we left her then.

“I think she’s all right,” I said.

Estella’s eyes narrowed.

“There are such things as wolves in sheep’s clothing,” she said.

“She’s not a wolf,” cried Adeline.

“I like her.”

Estella put on a look of worldly impatience.

“It means she might not be what she seems,” she said darkly.

Estella was determined to resent her. She had not wanted a governess.

She would have liked to go away to school, where girls could have lots of fun. They slept in dormitories and had midnight feasts, and here we were with a silly old governess.

Adeline and I felt differently. Miss Carson knew exactly how to treat Adeline: she was very patient with her and instead of dreading lessons, Adeline looked forward to them. She was developing a slavish devotion to Miss Carson: she constantly contrived to be where the governess was, and when we went for walks, she insisted on holding Miss Carson’s hand and was happiest when she was near her.

Moreover, Miss Carson was high on my list of favourite people. She was warm-hearted and showed a particular kindness to those who most needed it. Adeline had quite blossomed since her arrival.

I knew the doctor was aware of this and it made him very happy. He now made a habit of coming in to listen to lessons and took far more interest in them than he had when Miss Harley was in control.

On one occasion, when I was in the garden. Miss Carson was there too and we sat together and talked. Miss Carson always seemed so interested in other people that it was easy to talk to her. I was able to explain how I had never felt like a member of the family except when Uncle Toby was there and the reason why was that I did not really belong. I explained how Tom Yardley had found me under the azalea bush.

“You see,” I said, ‘my mother didn’t want me, so she left me there.

Most mothers love their babies. “

“I am sure your mother loved you,” she said.

“I think she probably left you there because she loved you so much and wanted you to have a better life than she could give you. In Commonwood House, there would be people to look after you, to feed you well, to care for you. And there was a doctor in the house too.”

I was surprised that my mother should have left me because she loved me. It was an idea which hadn’t occurred to me before.

“But I always felt they didn’t really want me,” I explained.

“Nanny thought I should have been sent to an orphanage or the workhouse. They might have sent me there, but for the doctor.”

“The doctor is a very good and understanding man.”

“Nanny thought I should go.”

“But the doctor kept you, so it is not important what Nanny thinks.

The point is that he wanted you to stay. “

“Sally told me all about it. She remembers it well. She had just come at that time. She said she was afraid they would send me away, for the doctor didn’t have much say in what was to be done. Mrs. Marline didn’t want me either, and she is the one who counts.”

“Well, the doctor had his way. He wanted you and that was what mattered. Your mother made a great sacrifice because she wanted the best for you, and you must not feel inferior in any way. You are going to show them all that you may have been found under that azalea bush, but you can do as well as any of them.”

“I will, I will,” I said. And I felt as I did when Uncle Toby was there.

And, like Adeline, I loved her.

Nanny did not like the governess, of course. She was prejudiced against her from the start. She did not like governesses in households interfering with the children, and she was not going to change her mind. They gave themselves airs; they had too high an opinion of them selves; they thought themselves ‘a cut above’ the servants. So even the gentle-mannered Miss Carson could do nothing right for her.

And, of course, Mrs. Barton was her staunch ally in this. Governesses were a nuisance. They had to have meals sent up to their rooms.

Couldn’t eat with the servants, and, of course, they were not acceptable in the family. In any case, what was the family now, with Her in her room, demanding this and that, and Him sitting there alone and not a man to take much notice of what was put before him, in any case. It was a funny set-up, if you asked Mrs. Barton and not helped by having a governess in the house.

Then there was always the overpowering presence of Mrs. Marline. The constant clanging of bells and the maids run off their feet.

“Grumble, grumble,” said Mrs. Barton.

“Morning, noon and night.”

“She’d find fault with the Angel Gabriel himself,” declared Nanny.

We used to hear the rumble of Mrs. Marline’s voice behind the closed doors when the doctor was with her. She was, of course, complaining.

On and on it went, and then there would be a brief pause. We knew then that the doctor was trying to placate her, speaking in his soft, gentle voice.

“Poor man,” said Sally.

“Worn out, that’s what he is. Nag, nag, nag, and between you and me and the gate post, he’d be better off without her. She’s going to be an invalid all her life … and her going on like that, well, he’ll be the first in the grave, if you ask me. And don’t you dare mention what I’ve said.”

I was sorry for the doctor. He was so gentle, and he looked very tired when he emerged from that room. He stayed in his own as much as he could, I was sure; and he seemed eager to get off to his surgery, and he stayed there longer than he did before, which I guessed was because he hated coming home to Mrs. Marline. As soon as he did come in, she would call out for him; and then the rumbling of the voices would begin.

Annie Logan continued to come in the mornings and evenings, and she always stayed for a chat and tea; then there would be a lot of whispering in the kitchen with Nanny and Mrs. Barton. I tried to listen when I could, and it all seemed to be about Her and Him.

I felt or perhaps I imagined I did afterwards that there was an uneasy tension in the house. Sometimes when Mrs. Marline had taken her pills because the pain was worse than usual, a stillness would descend on the house as though it were waiting for something to happen.

Then it would change again, and we would hear the wheelchair going from one room to another, or Tom Yardley or the doctor wheeling it into the garden. We would all avoid going there when the chair was there.

It was easy for me, because she had always ignored me. Not so for Estella, Henry and Adeline. She found continual fault with them, and particularly Adeline. She could not hide her contempt for the poor girl. She could not forget that she had borne a child who was not normal and, I imagined, she had always seen herself as a woman who achieved perfection in all she did.

Poor Adeline would invariably resort to tears as soon as she escaped from those sessions with her mother, for she dared not let her mother see them. It was pathetic to realize how she had to hold back her misery. But Miss Carson was always there when she emerged from that dreaded room. She knew exactly how to comfort her; and soon Adeline would forget her mother and accept Miss Carson’s assurances that all was well because she had her dear Miss Carson, who said she was quite clever after all.

In the summer, the gipsies came to the woods again.

One morning I awoke to find them there. They often came late at night and settled in the woods.

Their presence was always a source of excitement to me, I suppose because of my connection with them; and I should never forget my encounter with Rosie Perrin and Jake.

Soon we were seeing them around with their baskets of clothes pegs and sprays of dried heather and lavender.

“Buy a little posy for luck,” they said. They went round the houses in the neighbourhood and some of the girls went to Rosie Perrin and had their fortunes told.

She would look at their hands and tell them what the future held for them. It did not cost a great deal and Sally told me that, if you wanted to have a really big glimpse into the future, you could pay more and go into Rosie’s caravan where she had a crystal ball. That, said Sally, was the ‘re al thing’.

I could not resist watching them from the shelter of the trees, just as I had on that occasion when I had hurt my ankle. And one day, when I crouched there, looking at the bare-footed children and, among them, Rosie Perrin on the steps of her caravan, I heard footsteps behind me and I turned and saw Jake grinning at me.

“Hello, little girl,” he said.

“Taking a look at the gipsies?”

I didn’t know how to reply, so I said: “Weller yes.”

“You’ve got a fancy for us, I’d say. Not like the folk you’re accustomed to, are we?”

“No,” I replied frankly.

“Well, change is a fine thing. Don’t you agree?”

“Oh yes.”

“You remember me, don’t you?”

“Oh yes. You carried me back.”

“Ankle all right now?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Rosie took quite a shine to you.”

I was pleased.

“She was very nice to me,” I said.

“So you liked her, did you? Didn’t take against her because she was a gipsy and all that?”

“I liked her very much.”

“I’ll tell you something. She’d like it if you went to see her.”

“Would she?”

“You can bet on that.”

“She might not remember me. It was a long time ago.”

“Rosie remembers everything, so she’d remember you all right. Come along and say hello to her.”

He started towards the encampment and I followed. The children stopped in their play to stare at me, and Rosie Perrin cried out in pleasure when she saw me.

“Why! It’s little Miss Carmel! Come up, dearie. Well, who’d ‘a thought it!”

I mounted the steps of the caravan, followed by Jake, and stepped inside.

Rosie said: “Sit down, dearie. Well, well, it’s some time since you were here. How’s that ankle and the leg? All nice and healthy now? I knew it would be. Tell me all about it. How is it at the house now?

Still treat you all right, do they? “

“Oh yes. We have a governess now.”

“That’s grand, that is. Is she good to you?”

“She is very nice and I like her a lot.”

She nodded.

“And what about the lady and the gentleman … doctor I beg his pardon?”

“She had a riding accident. She can’t walk. There’s a wheelchair and she’s in pain a lot of the time.”

“Poor soul. That little nurse goes there, don’t she … morning and evening. One of our little ‘uns fell over in the road. She came by on her bike and looked after the child. Did a good job and brought her back to us. She had a little chat with me.”

“That was Annie Logan. Yes, she comes in to help Mrs. Marline.”

“A bit of a tartar, that lady, eh?”

“Yes … I suppose so.”

“All right with you, is she?”

“She doesn’t notice me much. She never did. I think she doesn’t like to be reminded I’m there.”

“Well, that’s not such a bad thing, eh?” She nudged me and laughed. I laughed with her.

“As long as they treat you right.”

Jake slipped away and left us, and she went on to ask questions about the house and its inhabitants. I found myself telling her about Mrs. Marline’s rooms on the ground floor, the wheelchair, the bells that rang all the time, and how the servants grumbled and said there was no pleasing her.

Then I heard someone singing. It was a beautiful clear voice with a lilt in it.

“Three gipsies stood at the castle gate They sang so high, they sang so low, The lady sate in her chamber late Her heart it melted away like snow.”

I had stopped talking to listen.

“That’s Zingara,” said Rosie, and at that moment the door of the caravan opened and the most beautiful woman I had ever seen came in.

Creole earrings dangled from her ears and her thick, shining black hair was piled high on her head; her dark eyes sparkled and Rosie looked at her with great pride.

“Zingara!” she cried.

“Who else!” said the woman. Then she smiled at me and said: “This is ?”

“Little Carmel March, who comes from Commonwood House.”

“I know about you,” said Zingara, looking at me as though she was very pleased to see me.

“And how you came to visit the raggle-taggle gipsies.”

I did not know what to say, so I gave a little giggle. She came close to me and put her hands on my shoulders, studying me intently and giving me the impression that she liked me very much. Then she put a hand under my chin and turned my face up to hers.

“Little Carmel March,” she said slowly.

“I’d like to talk to you.”

“Sit beside her, then,” said Rosie.

“I tell you what. I’ll make you some herb tea. Then you two can have a little chat.”

She rose and went to the back of the caravan where there was a small alcove. I was more or less alone with Zingara. She kept looking at me; she touched my cheek lightly with her finger.

“Tell me,” she said earnestly.

“Are they kind to you at that house?”

“Well, yes … I think so. The doctor always smiles, and Mrs. Marline doesn’t notice me, and Miss Carson is very nice.”

She wanted to hear about Miss Carson and listened intently while I talked. I thought it was very kind of her to seem to care so much. I repeated what I had told Rosie a short time before.

“You’re being educated, and there’s a great deal to be said for education,” said Zingara.

“I wouldn’t mind a bit more of it myself.

Still, I get along. “

“Do you live here with the gipsies?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“No, this is a visit. I was brought up with them.

I used to run about like those little boys and girls you saw down there. I’d sing and dance a lot. I couldn’t stop myself, and then, one day, one of those gentlemen who write books was going to write one about gipsies and he came and stayed with us in the camp. He heard me sing and saw me dance and he said I ought to do something about it. He was the one who did it. I was sent away to a school where they trained people for the stage-and that’s what I did. I sing and dance and travel round the country. Zingara, the singing gipsy dancer. “

“But you’ve come back.”

“Now and then I do. I can’t tear myself away, you see.

It’s all in the song about the raggle-taggle gipsies. Oh, you can never forget where you belong. “

“But you like being Zingara the dancing, singing gipsy.”

“Yes, I like it. But every now and then I am drawn back.”

Rosie arrived from the alcove with three mugs.

“You’ll like this,” she said to me.

“It’s my own special brew. And how are you two getting on together? Like a house on fire, I see.”

“Just like that,” said Zingara.

“Lucky you were here when Miss Carmel came visiting,” said Rosie with a pronounced wink.

“It was the luckiest thing,” Zingara agreed.

“Now, what do you think of my tea?” asked Rosie.

“Is it as good as that served by the doctor’s servants?”

“It’s different,” I replied.

“Well, we are different, aren’t we?” said Rosie.

“Well, we can’t all be alike. Did Carmel tell you about the governess?”

“Yes,” answered Zingara.

“She seems to be a very good governess.”

I nodded vigorously.

“I reckon,” said Zingara, ‘that one day they’ll send you away to school. “

“Henry is going with Lucian Crompton,” I told them.

“Well,” said Rosie, ‘that’s good. You’ll be going with the young man’s sister. That’ll make a real lady of you. “

How I enjoyed sitting in the caravan, talking to them. Zingara fascinated me. She had been a gipsy child, running about the encampment and had been taken away by the man who liked her singing and dancing to go on the stage. It was a wonderful story. I should have loved to see her dance. We talked and talked and then I suddenly realized how long I had stayed and that Estella and Miss Carson would be wondering what had happened to me.

I said: “I must go. I ought to be back by now.”

“They’ll miss you, will they?” said Zingara.

They will begin to,” I answered.

They’ll think you’ve been stolen by the gipsies,” put in Rosie with a laugh.

They wouldn’t think that,” I protested.

“You never know,” said Rosie.

“I shall see you again,” Zingara told me.

“Oh, I do hope so,” I said.

She took my hands and gripped them firmly.

“It has been lovely to be with you.” She gave me her dazzling smile and Rosie’s expression was tender and loving. I felt a glow of happiness and wished I need not leave them.

Then I thanked Rosie for the drink and told them how much I had enjoyed being with them.

Zingara suddenly put her arms round me and held me tightly. She kissed me and Rosie sat very still, smiling.

“She must go,” she said at last. They’ll be waiting for her. “

“Yes,” Zingara said, and came to the door of the caravan with me.

“Better not go with her,” said Rosie.

“Better to let her go on her own.”

Zingara nodded.

I came down the steps and looked back. They were both standing, watching me.

I waved and then sped across the clearing and into the trees.

I had not gone far when I heard the sound of voices. I pulled up sharply and listened. That sounded like the doctor. It could not be.

What would he be doing in the woods at this time?

Quietly I went forward. I did not want to be seen by anyone, for I did not want to talk of my visit to the gipsy encampment. I was not sure why, except that I thought there might be objections, and I did not want to be told I must not go there. I wanted to think about it.

Zingara had made a deep impression on me, as Rosie Perrin had before her. But this was different. I wanted to think about our meeting just by myself. I did not want Estella’s scornful comments. She would say that they had flattered me because they wanted to tell my fortune or something like that.

I wanted to remember every moment clearly, from that one when Jake had stood beside me and said Rosie Perrin would like to see me, to the time when I had left.

So, I must not be seen.

But yes . that was the doctor’s voice, and then . Miss Carson’s.

Then I saw them. They were sitting together on the trunk of a fallen tree. I knew the spot well. I had often sat on that tree-trunk myself.

I had approached them from behind. Otherwise I should have been seen.

I stood for a few moments watching them. They were talking earnestly.

I could not hear what was said, but every now and then one of them laughed, so it must have been amusing. The doctor’s manner was quite different from usual. I had never seen him like that before. As for Miss Carson, she seemed very merry. It struck me how happy she appeared to be.

It was rather strange, because they both seemed like two different people.

I congratulated myself on hearing them before they could have seen me.

I should have had to explain that I had been visiting the gipsies and I did not want to do that, even to Miss Carson.

I turned away and silently made my way back to the house through the trees.

I did go again to the gipsies after that. Rosie Perrin was sitting on the steps of her caravan weaving a basket as she had been when I had first seen her.

She told me Zingara had gone away. She had to fulfill a contract.

People thought highly of her in the theatres, she said, and she danced and sang a lot in the big towns, even London.

We talked a while. She asked me how I had liked Zingara.

I told her, “Very much,” and she pressed my hand and said: “She liked you, too.”

There was a subtle change in Commonwood House. Not in Mrs. Marline so much. She was just as demanding as ever, though Mrs. Barton said she grew worse every day. She never bothered to wait until the door was closed before she started criticizing Dr. Marline again and again, and we heard her reminding him that it was her money which had bought the house, and how he owed everything to her. She seemed to want to hurt everybody, and, perhaps because Adeline was most easily hurt, she seemed to single her out for especially harsh treatment.

She would send for her and ply her with questions to test her progress with the new governess and, as Adeline was reduced to a state of terror, she seemed to lose what wits she had. Mrs. Marline would bewail the fact that she had given birth to such a poor creature, and implied it was all due to some inadequacy in the doctor, and the blame could not be laid at her door.

Miss Carson would be waiting for Adeline to emerge, shaking and demoralized. She would take her upstairs to the schoolroom where she would put her arms around her, hold her tightly, wipe away her tears and murmur words of comfort. She would assure Adeline that she was not a poor creature by any means, she was doing very well with her lessons, and she must take no notice of anything anyone said to the contrary. Nobody was going to hurt her while Miss Carson was there.

They would have to face Miss Carson first.

I would follow them up and join in the comforting. Adeline would smile and listen. She would put her arms round Miss Carson’s neck and cling to her.

Fortunately, Adeline’s moods were transient and Miss Carson could soon convince her that all was well until the next dreaded summons came.

When it did, instead of Adeline, it was Miss Carson who faced Mrs. Marline. Estella, Adeline and I knew that she had gone to Mrs. Marline, and we were all hanging about round the door to discover what would happen.

We heard Mrs. Marline’s raised voice and the low murmur which was Miss Carson’s: and after a while Miss Carson came out, her face red, her eyes blazing. She looked frustrated and angry. I was afraid then that she had been given notice to leave, and the thought of her going filled me with dismay. Adeline and I loved her, and even Estella admitted that she was ‘not bad’.

Miss Carson went to her room and shut herself in. Over come with fearful suspense, I could not stop myself going to her.

She was sitting on her bed, staring ahead of her. I threw myself into her arms and she held me tightly.

“You are not going to leave us?” I cried fearfully.

She did not answer. She just looked miserable, and I feared that she had been ordered to leave.

Then she said sadly: “I could be happy here … so happy,” as though she were speaking to herself.

“Don’t go,” I said.

“Don’t leave us. Adeline couldn’t bear it … nor could I. We love you.”

“You dear child,” she said.

“I love you, too. I love this house. I love …”

Her lips were trembling, and she went on: “She said I am to go away.

She is wicked. She cares for no one but herself. The poor doctor .

what, what am I saying? There is nothing . nothing to be done, but accept what is . “

I thought: If Mrs. Marline has given her notice to leave, there is nothing to be done. Mrs. Marline always gets what she wants.

I thought of how dreary it would be here without Miss Carson. There would be nothing to look forward to except Uncle Toby’s visits, and they were so infrequent. There would perhaps be Zingara the gipsy, but she had contracts. She would come very rarely.

When the doctor came home, we were all waiting for what would happen when he went to his wife’s room, as he did every day on his return.

There was a great deal of shouting on Mrs. Marline’s part. There was no doubt that she was very angry. The doctor came out of the room. His face was white. He went straight to Miss Carson’s room and was there a long time.

I never learned exactly what happened, but Miss Carson did not go. The doctor had his way, by some means, as he had had before when Mrs. Marline would have sent me to an orphanage and he had wanted me to stay.

There was a mood of uncertainty in the house. No one was sure what would happen next, and there was a lot of talk behind closed doors. It seemed that Miss Carson had a reprieve. In any event, she stayed.

She did not go to Mrs. Marline’s room after that. Nor did Adeline. The poor girl was spared those terrifying interludes and she knew that Miss Carson had saved her from them.

Adeline was of a loving nature, and, more than anyone she had ever known, she adored Miss Carson. Her face would light up with joy when she set eyes on her; and she would watch her all the time, smiling to herself. I had the notion that Adeline only felt safe and happy when Miss Carson was there.

The doctor was intruding more on my notice. I saw him more frequently.

He had changed so much. He had become more and more interested in our work, which had never seemed to interest him until Miss Carson came.

He used to come to the schoolroom often and ask how we were getting on.

His visits were not in the least alarming. He was always smiling. Miss Carson was proud of Adeline’s progress, for she could read a little now, which she had not been able to do before Miss Carson came.

Adeline would flush with pleasure when Miss Carson said she must read to her papa to show him how clever she had become. And Adeline, a frown of concentration on her face, would open the book and run her finger along the line as she read:

“Three idle ducklings They played beside the pool. The naughty little idle things They ought to have been at school.”

Miss Carson clapped her hands when Adeline lifted her eyes, full of pride in her achievement, and waited to see the wonder on the faces of the onlookers. The doctor joined in the applause; and Adeline was very pleased with herself, and so happy.

I wondered whether the doctor was thinking what I was, which was how different Miss Carson was from Mrs. Marline.

Then he would ask how Estella and I were getting on, and Miss Carson would show him our work.

“Good. Good. This is excellent,” he would say, looking at Miss Carson.

“I thought of starting them in French,” she said one day.

“What a capital idea!”

“I could do my best…”

“Which I am sure would be very good indeed,” said the doctor; and he smiled benignly at us all, including Miss Carson.

There was no doubt that he at least approved of her, and I often thought how happy the household would be if it were not for Mrs. Marline.

Henry came home from school. He had become very friendly with Lucian Crompton and often went to the Grange. Camilla was at school, too, and when she came home, we were invited to tea. She told us hair-raising stories of school life which made Estella envious, but I would not have changed Miss Carson for any excitement and reckless adventure.

A new year had come, and the atmosphere at Commonwood House seemed to be changing further. I could not exactly say what it was. The doctor was different. I often heard him laughing. Even when he emerged from Mrs. Marline’s room, and she had been upbraiding him fiercely, he did not have that depressed and frustrated look which I remembered from the past. Often I heard him humming a tune from one of the Gilbert and Sullivan operas which lots of people were singing at that time. That was something he would never have done in the past.

Then Mrs. Marline was having more bad days. We could not help welcoming these, because Dr. Everest came and gave her a sedative which made her drowsy and silence reigned on the ground floor and the servants did not have to listen for those perpetually clanging bells.

Miss Carson seemed happy. Her pleasant face was radiant and she looked quite beautiful. Not as Zingara was, but with what I can only say was some inner light.

Adeline was happy. She went round singing to herself:

“Twinkle, twinkle, little star, How I wonder what you are.”

Whenever I hear that, I am transported back to those days, and I realize, of course, that they were the prelude to the storm which was about to break and submerge us all.

But we were all very happy during that time. Even Estella did not sigh for school.

I noticed that the servants were constantly whispering together, and that the whispering stopped abruptly when any of us children appeared.

Something was happening. Vaguely I wondered what.

The top floor of Commonwood House consisted of attics odd-shaped rooms with sloping ceilings. That was where the servants slept. The nursery was just below on the third floor. Here was the schoolroom and our bedrooms mine, Adeline’s, Estella’s, Henry’s, and Nanny’s and Sally’s, of course. Miss Carson’s was on (he second floor, and on the first floor was the master bedroom which had once been occupied by Dr. and Mrs. Marline and which was now the doctor’s alone.

I don’t know why I should have awakened on that night, but I did.

Perhaps it was due to the gibbous moon which was shining right through my window on to my bed. I opened my eyes and looked at it. It seemed very near.

Then suddenly I heard something. It was like a door being shut. I immediately thought of Adeline. Her room was close to mine. Miss Carson had said we must be watchful of Adeline and always make her feel she was just like we were . never imply that she was different in any way.

I got out of bed and quietly opened my door. All was silent, and there was no sign of Adeline. I saw that her door was shut. I told myself I had imagined that I had heard something. Perhaps I had been dreaming.

Then I heard a sound from below. I looked over the banisters and saw Miss Carson. She was walking stealthily along the corridor towards the stairs, as though she were eager to make as little noise as possible.

She descended to the next floor and walked along the corridor until she came to the master bedroom.

Then, quietly, she turned the handle and went in.

I was amazed. Why did she want to see the doctor at such a time? Could there be something wrong with Adeline? But she must have come out of her bedroom and gone straight down to him. I could not think she had been to Adeline’s room.

I waited a while. Nothing happened. Minutes went by and the door of the master bedroom remained shut.

I was very young and I did not fully understand what this must mean.

Of course, later, so much became clear to me.

There was something different about Miss Carson. At times she would sit staring into space as though she could see something which was invisible to the rest of us. Her face would be gentle and beautiful and touched with a kind of wonder. Then one of us would say something which would bring her out of her dream. She was as kind to us as ever.

Moreover, there was something secretive going on in the house. It seemed to please and amuse Nanny Gilroy, although it was something she disapproved of. But then, I had discovered that she was often pleased about certain things, particularly if they were what she called shocking, as when the baker’s wife ran off with a travelling salesman, which she declared was downright wicked as she sat and smirked and said the baker’s wife would come to a bad end, which was no more than she deserved. She seemed highly gratified about that. I had never been the least bit fond of her, but now I disliked her more than ever.

One day Miss Carson told us that she had to go away to see someone and she would be away for a few days. When she left, Adeline was in a panic. She was terribly afraid that her mother would send for her and whenever we were on the ground floor she would keep close to me and hold my hand.

When Miss Carson returned after a week’s absence, Adeline clung to her more than ever.

“Don’t go away,” she kept saying.

Miss Carson looked as though she were going to cry.

She hugged Adeline tightly, and said: “I never want to go away, darling. I want to stay here for ever with you and Carmel, Estella and For ever and ever I want to stay.”

It was September. Lucian and Camilla, who had been home for the holidays, would soon be going back to their schools. Lucian was still kind to me, although he was so much older. He always took notice of me and would chat with me. Estella was not very pleased about that, which made me doubly appreciative of his attention. She was fond of Lucian and always trying to get him to talk to her.

The weather had turned hot and sultry. Tom Yardley said there was thunder in the air. In fact, we heard the occasional rumble of it now and then. Looking back, I think of that as being symbolic of what was about to happen in Commonwood House.

Mrs. Marline had been a little better, and for the last few days Tom Yardley had wheeled her chair out through the trench windows to a shady spot in the garden where she would sit reading or dozing.

On that particular day, Lucian and Camilla came to Commonwood and we all had tea in the drawing-room on the ground floor. As Mrs. Marline was in the garden, we did not have to worry about making too much noise.

Lucian always led the conversation; he was older than Henry, and seemed mature to all of us, so we respected him and when he talked we listened without interrupting.

He had been reading a book about opal mining in Australia, which had clearly fascinated him, and he was telling us about the stone. Adeline was present. She always wanted to take part in whatever was going on, and Lucian always included her.

“They are fantastic,” he was saying with that enthusiasm which he always showed for something which interested him and which made one share his pleasure in it.

“Just imagine searching for them and then coming across some wonderful specimen. The colours are magnificent.

They glow in reds and blues and greens. That’s why they call them black opals. There are the milky sort, too. They are found somewhere else. My mother has a black opal. She doesn’t wear it much. She keeps it with other jewellery in the bank. “

“People say they are unlucky,” said Camilla.

“That’s why our mother keeps hers in the bank. She thinks the bank will get the bad luck instead of her.”

“She does not!” laughed Lucian.

“She keeps it there for safety. It’s very valuable.”

“My mother has an opal,” said Henry.

“It’s in a ring. She wears it sometimes.”

“Perhaps that’s why she had an accident,” said Camilla, determined to pursue her bad luck theory.

“Nonsense,” said Lucian lightly.

“How could a stone be unlucky? People just say they are unlucky because they chip easily. You know how these stories start. People exaggerate and then you get superstitions. I’d like to see your mother’s ring.”

“It’s been in the family for a long time,” said Henry.

“It’s in her jewel case.”

“She doesn’t wear it very often,” said Estella.

“Of course, it will be mine one day. The opal has little diamonds round it.”

Lucian went on to tell us how they mined for opals, sorting them out and cutting them to the shapes they wanted. He said how strange it was that they were only found in certain places.

When we had finished tea. Henry said he wanted to go into the village to get something for his bicycle and Lucian was going with him.

Adeline said: “Will you come back here?”

“I expect so,” said Lucian.

We took Camilla up to the schoolroom and played guessing games which Camilla said the girls played in the dormitory after lights out.

Just before the boys had left, Mrs. Marline had come in from the garden. But after a while she had apparently decided that, as it was such a fine day and she was feeling better, she would like to go out there again, so Tom Yardley wheeled her out and the house was peaceful again.

Lucian and Henry had not returned. I expected they had gone off somewhere. We all walked back to the Grange with Camilla. Mrs. Marline was still in the garden.

I went up to my room and soon after the trouble started.

It was on the ground floor and I went down to see what it was all about.

Adeline was in great distress. She was seated on the floor in her mother’s bedroom with the drawer of the bureau upside down beside her and its contents scattered around. Apparently she had opened it and it had come right out. She had dropped it and it now lay upturned on the carpet. Finding herself in such a position, Adeline could think of nothing to do but cry for help, hoping that one of us, preferably Miss Carson, would come in and help her emerge from this situation before her mother discovered she had been in her bedroom and meddled with her bureau.

Unfortunately, her cries were heard by Mrs. Marline. Tom Yardley happened to be nearby and Mrs. Marline ordered him to wheel in her chair, and in her bedroom she found Adeline seated on the floor with the contents of the drawer around her. By this time Nanny Gilroy had arrived. There followed a heart-rending scene which, being in the hall, I was able to observe through the open door. Mrs. Marline was looking at the sobbing Adeline with disgust.

“I only wanted to show Lucian,” cried Adeline between her sobs.

“Just a look. I didn’t mean … it all came out when I pulled …”

“Stop snivelling, child,” said Mrs. Marline.

“You look ridiculous

Yardley, pick up those things and put them back. “

Tom Yardley did as he was bidden.

“Come here,” snapped Mrs. Marline to the cowering Adeline.

“You stupid child, when will you learn a little sense?”

“I only wanted Lucian to see the opal ring. I only wanted …”

“Be silent! How dare you go into my bedroom and open drawers?”

“I only wanted …”

Miss Carson had come down.

“What has happened?” she asked me.

“I think Adeline went in and opened a drawer which came right out,” I said.

“Lucian was talking about opals and Adeline wanted to show him her mother’s ring.”

“Poor child. That’s not the way to treat her. It won’t help at all.”

“You shall be punished,” said Mrs. Marline.

“You shall go to your room and stay there without a light when it is dark.”

Adeline let out a wail of terror. Then Miss Catson went into the room.

Adeline gave a cry of joy and ran to her, clinging to her.

“It’s all right,” said Miss Carson to Adeline.

“Nobody’s going to hurt you.”

Adeline went on sobbing and clinging to Miss Carson.

“How dare you interfere?” cried Mrs. Marline, “What impertinence! This is really too much. You are to leave this house at once.”

“No, no, no,” screamed Adeline.

“I can’t believe my ears,” said Mrs. Marline.

“Has everyone taken leave of their senses? Miss Carson, how dare you come in here!”

“Adeline meant no harm and has done none,” said Miss Carson firmly.

“Come along, Adeline.”

Adeline gripped Miss Carson’s hand while Mrs. Marline stared at them in amazement. Miss Carson walked to the door with Adeline and into the hall. Then suddenly she gave a little cry. She stumbled and would have fallen if Nanny Gilroy had not stepped forward and caught her. As it was, she slipped to the floor and lay on the carpet. Her eyes were shut and she looked very pale.

“She’s fainted,” said Nanny, with a look of grim satisfaction on her face.

“She’s fainted clean away.”

“What on earth is happening?” demanded Mrs. Marline from her bedroom.

“The governess has fainted. Madam,” said Nanny Gilroy.

“I’ll see to her.”

Adeline was staring in dismay at Miss Carson. I was horrified. It seemed so unreal.

Mrs. Barton ran out and said: “What’s up?”

“The governess has fainted clean away,” said Nanny, and there was something significant in her manner of which I was faintly aware. It was almost as though she were saying to Mrs. Barton: “I told you so.”

The next minutes were like something from a nightmare, touched with unreality. I heard Adeline sobbing and crying “Wake up! Wake up! And don’t let her hurt me.”

Nanny was whispering to Mrs. Barton.

“Annie will be here soon. Might be a good idea to let her have a look at her.” She nudged Mrs. Barton, who smirked. It was as though they shared some secret joke.

Then to my relief and Adeline’s Miss Carson opened her eyes.

“What … what… ?” she began.

“You fainted, dear,” said Mrs. Barton.

Miss Carson looked about her in a bewildered, frightened way. Adeline was kneeling beside her, clinging to her hand.

“Don’t faint,” she pleaded.

“Stay here … with me.”

“I’ll help you up, dear,” said Mrs. Barton.

“Best go and have a lie down.”

“That’s it,” said Nanny.

“You go and lie down. You’ve had a nasty turn.”

Miss Carson went to her room. Nanny and Mrs. Barton went with her, and Adeline and I followed in their wake.

I was very shaken by the scene which I had witnessed. I even went into Miss Carson’s bedroom. She lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling and there was fear in her eyes.

“Now, you lie there for a bit,” said Mrs. Barton.

“Mustn’t upset yourself, you know.”

I saw Nanny’s lips turn up at the corners in that familiar smirk. Then her eyes fell on me and Adeline.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

“You get along with you.”

I took Adeline’s hand and we went out.

“Miss Carson is not ill, is she?” asked Adeline anxiously.

“She’ll be all right,” I told her.

“They won’t send her away, will they?”

I pressed her hand.

“Oh no, no,” I said, without conviction. I had to soothe Adeline. I could not bear to see her face so distorted by fear.

Nanny Gilroy had come up behind us. She seized Adeline’s hand and drew her away from me.

I went to my room. I knew something dramatic was going to happen. I believed Miss Carson would be told to pack her bags and go. Mrs. Marline would never allow anyone she employed to talk to her as Miss Carson had. She had come near to dismissal once before. She could not escape again. Like Adeline, I was wretched, contemplating what the house would be like without her.

When Annie Logan came at half past six to settle Mrs. Marline, Nanny Gilroy took her up to Miss Carson’s room. I opened my door and peered over the banisters. I saw them in the corridor.

“It would be best for you to have a look at her, Annie. Fainted clean away, she did. I mean, it’s not natural for a young woman to faint like that. There could be something wrong.”

Then they went in and the door shut.

I hung about, waiting, and in due course they came out and went down to the kitchen to have the customary cup of tea. I watched and I waited. They were there for some time with Mrs. Barton. I wished I could hear what they were saying.

Then the door opened and I heard Nanny say: “It’s only right and proper. Madam will have to be told. I ask you! To think of it! Mind you, I’ve had my suspicions all along. And I know you have, too.”

Annie Logan, with Nanny and Mrs. Barton in attendance went into Mrs. Marline’s room. I could not hear what was said. For once, Mrs. Marline was not shouting. Then they came out and Annie Logan went off on her bicycle, and Nanny and Mrs. Barton went back to the kitchen for more talk.

When the doctor came home, Mrs. Barton told him that the mistress wished to see him without delay. I knew there was going to be a discussion about Miss Carson’s future, and, as I had become a skilled eavesdropper, I managed to hear some of it.

Because it was a hot day, the french windows leading from the garden to Mrs. Marline’s room were open. I went as close as I dared and managed to hide myself in some measure behind a bush, and, although I could not hear all, I did hear some, particularly when Mrs. Marline raised her voice, as she did when she was incensed; and she was very angry.

“The insolence of the woman! Telling me how I was to treat my own daughter!”

Then there was a rumble from the doctor which was indecipherable.

“You would stand up for the slut! This is the last straw. She is going now. It would be a disgrace to keep her. You’d dismiss her … or … will you leave it to me? I want her out of this house. Let her stay the night, and then … out.”

The doctor must have left then, for there was silence.

I crept into the house, and, on impulse, went to Miss Carson’s room. I knocked and, when she heard my voice, she said: “Come in.”

I went in. Adeline was lying on the bed with her, her arms round Miss Carson. She was crying, and Miss Carson was comforting her.

I felt such a rush of emotion that I went to Miss Carson and the three of us were lying on the bed, our arms round each other, when the doctor came in.

He looked pale and unhappy.

“Oh, Papa,” sobbed Adeline.

“Don’t let Miss Carson go.”

“We must do our best to make her stay,” he said.

“Yes, yes, yes,” cried Adeline.

“And now, children, I have something important to say to Miss Carson.

Carmel, will you take Adeline away? “

We rose from the bed and Adeline ran to her father. She took his hand.

“Please … please … make her stay.”

“Dear child,” he said, and he stooped and kissed her. It was something I had never seen him do before.

“I shall do all in my power,” he said.

Then he smiled kindly at me, and, taking Adeline’s hand, I led her away.

It was a strange night. I slept little and when I awoke to daylight, it was with a sense of deep foreboding. I knew it was going to be an important day.

Of course, it was the day when Henry was going back to school. He was to leave at ten in the morning, as he had done before. Previously everything else had been forgotten in Henry’s departure and it seemed much the same today.

Henry had spent the evening with Lucian at the Grange, and seemed to know nothing of the events of the night before; but then Henry was rarely interested in anything that was not of immediate concern to himself and, as Miss Carson had played a very small part in his existence, he would not realize or care what a tragedy her departure would be.

The doctor drove him to the station, as he always had, and there he would meet Lucian and the two of them would travel together. Having said goodbye to them, the doctor would go to his surgery and not return until late afternoon. It was strange, after last night’s drama, that everything should seem to have returned to normal. But, of course, things were far from normal, and this quiet was what people called the lull before the storm. Mrs. Marline would insist on Miss Carson’s departure and would the doctor be able to prevent it?

Miss Carson was not feeling well enough to take lessons. Estella was pleased about this. She knew that there had been trouble between Miss Carson and her mother, and she gave me the impression that she knew something which she then refused to tell me. She went over to see Camilla, who was not going back to school for a few more days.

I did not go with her. I did not want to leave the house, for I did not know when the next momentous event might occur.

Mrs. Marline stayed very quietly in her room.

I heard Nanny say to Mrs. Barton: “The mistress is upset. Who wouldn’t be? Wait till he comes back, then the fire works will start.”

There was something ominous about the silence that afternoon. It pervaded the house. It would break when the doctor returned, as that would be time for the ‘fireworks’.

But it happened before his return. It was when Tom Yardley went into Mrs. Marline’s room to see if she would like the chair taken into the garden. Tom Yardley seemed destined to make momentous discoveries.

The trench windows were open, so he rapped on them and called out.

There was no answer and he looked into the room. Mrs. Marline was in bed. He thought she was fast asleep and was about to turn away when he heard a strange gurgling noise, which didn’t sound quite right to Tom Yardley.

He thought he’d better mention it, so he went round to the kitchen.

Mrs. Barton was there and he told her.

Together they went to Mrs. Marline’s room. Mrs. Marline was silent and there was no gurgling sound; but they both thought she looked different somehow, and Mrs. Barton said there was no harm in sending for Dr. Everest.

Tom went off to get him, but Dr. Everest was with a patient and it was a good hour before he arrived at Commonwood House; and when he did come, it was to find that Mrs. Marline was dead.