The Black Opal

The Warning

“The house in Brier Road doesn’t please Aunt Bee,” said Gertie.

“I think it is because the nursery is too small. It will only accommodate two infants and she is looking for at least ten. How was your visit?

Was it a success? “

I hesitated.

“So it wasn’t,” she said.

“It’s often a mistake to expect to find old acquaintances just as you left them. I know you vow eternal friendship when you part, but naturally you forget … and there’s nothing left really. Dear old Aunt Bee is going house-hunting with a vengeance.”

I could not stop thinking of that visit. Would it have been better if I had not gone? I was not sure. The revelation had been upsetting, but I should not have wanted to remain in ignorance, and it had certainly been exciting meeting Lucian.

I had been very fond of him in the past; he had been one of my heroes.

But I had always had an exaggerated fondness in those days for people who showed me any kindness. That was because Nanny Gilroy had always and Estella sometimes-impressed on me that I was of no importance.

I wondered if I should see him again. He had taken my address and seemed eager to, but when one was no longer at hand, people forgot such lightly given invitations.

When I thought back to the time when we had been together, I could not get out of my mind that, though in a way he had been pleased to see me, my visit had upset him in some way. I guessed it was something to do with what had happened at Commonwood. It had recalled things which were best forgotten.

Lawrence Emmerson was asked to dinner. Aunt Beatrice was a little transparent. Her delight in Gertie’s engagement was so obvious and it was clear too that she would like to see me happily settled. Dr. Emmerson was a good friend and, as she saw it, interested in me. He was perhaps a little old, but in every other way he was highly suitable and everyone could not be expected to do as well as Gertie had.

I hoped Dr. Emmerson was not aware of her thoughts.

We did not have much chance to talk together at the dinner-party, but he did ask me to lunch with him a few days later, and, as soon as we were seated, he said: “Some thing has upset you.”

I realized, of course, that he was referring to what I had discovered at Easentree and I was surprised that the effect on me was noticeable.

I told him about my visit.

He knew of the murder, although he had been abroad when it had taken place.

“The Captain’s sister was the victim,” he said, ‘and I had known your father for some years, often working on the same ship. I was naturally interested because of the family connection. It seemed a straightforward case. “

“I can’t think it was. Dr. Marline could never have committed murder.”

“You knew him well, of course. It is always difficult to believe these things of people we know. According to the evidence, there did not seem to be a doubt.”

“No … there must have been something … Miss Carson too.”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“It seems to have disturbed you. It’s a long time ago and …”

“The thought of his being hanged … nice, kind, Dr. Marline. It upset me.”

“Try to stop thinking of it. It’s over.”

“But I knew these people so well. My life was with them … in that house.”

“I think it was very wise of your father to act as he did. If you had heard the evidence, you would understand that there could be no doubt, however hard it is to accept it now. There was really no shadow of doubt.”

“It made a great impression on me. I was there in the house in those last months before … before … And I knew something was happening, but I wasn’t sure what. I was groping in the dark.”

“There are emotions and passions which a child could not possibly understand. It is all over. You must not be upset about it.”

“I have never really been able to forget Commonwood. It has always come back to me in flashes … and I would be back there. It was vivid and disturbing.”

“It was a disturbing situation and you were an innocent child right in the midst of it. It was not such an unusual situation, really. Unhappy marriage … invalid wife becoming more and more difficult to live with attractive governess. It was the classic setting for this sort of thing. My sister calls it the stock situation. She is interested in criminology. She has written a book about criminals and what makes the most ordinary people commit murder. You must meet her.

In fact, I have been meaning to ask you to dinner one evening. I shall ask your friend Gertie and the Hysons too. I have been their guest and owe them hospitality. “

“I am sure they will be delighted.”

“Dorothy was asking me only yesterday when I was going to invite you.

She’s looking forward to meeting you. “

The outcome was dinner at Lawrence’s house in Chelsea. It was one of those terrace houses on four floors, not far from the river.

Dorothy greeted me with interest.

“I’ve heard such a lot about you from Lawrence,” she said.

“That surely included the dramatic rescue at Suez,” I replied.

“Oh yes. What excitement!”

She was small and rather frail-looking, which was mis leading. I discovered her to be one of the most energetic people I had ever known. She was very interested in every thing that was going on, and it soon became clear that her brother was at the centre of that interest. She was very talkative and in a short time I knew that she had looked after their invalid mother for several years. There had been just the three of them the father having died when she was sixteen. She herself was some eight years older than Lawrence.

They had lived in the country and Lawrence had had a small place in London because of his profession, but when their mother died they had settled in London and Dorothy had given all her attention to her brother.

“I was a country girl,” she said.

“I do love the country.” She lifted her shoulders.

“It is necessary for Lawrence to be in London, so here we are, but we do have a little place in Surrey. I call it the cottage. It is not very far out, which makes it convenient for Lawrence to be there and within call of London. It is only a short journey on the train. Sometimes we get down for weekends. We have friends to stay. It’s a respite from Town and Lawrence works so hard.

I’ve got Tess here. She’s a marvel. She was with us in my mother’s day. We’ve got a couple down there. There’s a cottage in the grounds.

Well, grounds is a bit grand. Better say at the end of the garden. It works out very well. “

“You seem to have everything very cleverly arranged,” I said.

“It’s my job. You see, Lawrence’s work occupies him completely. His sort of work is so demanding. He needs relaxation. I just see that he gets it.”

“He’s lucky.”

She looked a little wistful.

“One day I expect he’ll settle down.

He’ll make a good husband. “

“He told me you are very interested in criminology.”

“Oh yes. In an amateur’s way, of course.”

“He said you had written a book.”

“About criminals through the ages. I’m particularly interested in those who have led quite normal lives and suddenly commit murder.”

“He may have told you about my connection with the Marline family.”

“Oh yes, Lawrence tells me most things. That case created a lot of attention at the time, but the outcome was clear right from the start.”

“Lawrence said you called it a stock situation.”

“It was. That dreadful woman. Well, by all accounts she was dreadful.

No one seemed to have a good word to say for her even the nurse, who was so much against the governess. More against her than against the doctor. It was absorbing while it was going on, but, as I say, there have been many others like it. “

“Which made it ” stock”,” I said.

“Yes. Then I knew that Lawrence’s friend Captain Sin clair was connected with the Marlines. He and Lawrence were often on the same ship, and I suppose that gave an added interest. What a charming man he was! I met him once.” She put her hand over mine.

“It was terrible for you. The connection, of course, made it doubly interesting to me.

I shouldn’t have taken so much notice otherwise, I suppose, for it was really a case of the classic murder. “

“I was brought up there and I just cannot believe that Dr. Marline was a murderer.”

She smiled at me.

“People often feel like that. Murderers are not necessarily the ordinary criminal. Something happens … and it is more than they can endure. If you saw the evidence you would realize …” She hesitated.

“I’ve just remembered.

I kept cuttings from the papers to show Lawrence when he came home.

I’ll find them for you sometime. “

She looked guiltily in the direction of the Hysons, her other guests.

I could see that she was wondering if she had neglected them.

After dinner, when we were drinking coffee in the drawing-room, Lawrence said to me: “You seem to get on well with Dorothy.”

“I like her very much.”

“I’m glad. She’s always looked after me.”

“Yes, she has been telling me about it. You two seem to have everything satisfactorily planned.”

“That’s Dorothy. She’s a great manager. It makes life comfortable. I can see she likes you. She takes strong likes and dislikes.”

She came over to us and Lawrence went to talk to the Hysons and Gertie. I heard them speaking of Australia.

Dorothy said to me: “Now that we have met, you must come again. It would be rather nice if you could have a weekend with us at the cottage.”

“I should very much enjoy that.”

“Do you think your friends would mind?”

“Oh no, no. As a matter of fact, I sometimes feel that I’m encroaching on their hospitality. You see, I’m there because I’m Gertie’s friend.

I sometimes think I ought to be making other arrangements. “

“You are not planning to go back to Australia yet?”

“No, not yet. But I think perhaps I have been letting things drift. I feel rather uncertain. When my father died …”

She patted my hand.

“We must talk,” she said.

“Let’s have this weekend. That will give us more time. I tell you what I’ll do. I’ll look out those cuttings about the Marline case, you know. But you’ll find the case was more or less ” shut” as soon as it was ” open”. You’ll see what I mean.”

“I shall look forward to that.”

“Good. I’ll check with Lawrence.” She gave a little roguish smile.

“I think it will fit in with his plans if we make it fairly soon. “

The invitation came next day. Gertie was amused.

“I say, you have made a hit. Lawrence is a darling. What you had to do was conquer Sister Dorothy. A hard nut to crack, that one as the saying goes. But you managed it … first go. I’d say Lawrence will have her approval. So, it is full steam ahead.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Why ask when you know? Lawrence is no longer young, and Sister Dorothy has come to the conclusion that it might be a good idea for him to settle down, providing he can find the ” right girl” and that means one of whom Sister Dorothy approves. Well, it seems she approves of you. And I do not think there is any doubt that Lawrence does too.

How could he resist Sister Dorothy’s choice? “

“How ridiculous!” I said.

“I must write and tell James that he must do something quickly. He has a rival.”

“Please do nothing of the sort.”

She burst out laughing.

“I was just joking. But you are beginning to see the daylight … coming out of the dark tunnel. I think he’s too old for you and you don’t want Sister Dorothy managing you for ever after, so don’t rush it. But it’s nice that there’s someone.”

“I wish you’d concern yourself with your own matrimonial affairs.”

She opened her eyes wide.

“Don’t you think I do? I had the idea that you thought I was concerned with nothing else.”

She flung her arms round me.

“Only teasing. I’m glad you’ve got your Lawrence, even with ” Big Sister” in control. He’s nice. I like him. In fact, I wouldn’t be averse to the match. It would keep you here, and I am rather fond of you. I’d hate you to go back down under, even if you would in time be my sister-in-law. I’d rather have you as a friend here than a sister-in-law on the other side of the world.”

“You are ridiculous,” I said.

And she gave me another hug.

But she did make me think about Lawrence. I believed that he was fond of me and it was true what she had said about Dorothy. It was all very interesting, and I suppose everyone likes to feel wanted.

However, it was with pleasurable anticipation that I set out for that weekend at the Emmersons’ cottage.

The cottage was something of a misnomer. It was a house in grounds -not exactly large, but with spacious airy rooms and the gardens were a delight. There was a small cottage more or less adjoining the house and in this lived Tom and Mary Burke, who looked after the house. It was of two storeys and I guessed it had been built at the beginning of the century, for it had a certain Georgian elegance and charm.

I thought it was very pleasant and I was not surprised by Dorothy’s fondness for it. It was run with the efficiency I expected from Dorothy, and I thought once more how fortunate Lawrence was to be in her care, for, even if she were perhaps a little forceful at times, everything was done for his good.

I was sure Lawrence appreciated her.

The house was just outside the small town of Cranston. Dorothy had gone on ahead to make sure everything was in order for my visit. I was given a charming bedroom overlooking the garden, and I prepared to enjoy a very pleasant weekend, telling myself how fortunate I was to have renewed my friendship with Lawrence Emmerson.

I was shown round the house and garden with great pride by the brother and sister, and we spent a pleasant evening gossiping in the garden after dinner. The following morning, I was taken into the village by Dorothy and introduced to some of her acquaintances in the little shops where she was well known. It had all been very friendly, very homely, a glimpse into the ideal country life.

Lawrence had an engagement with a friend nearby which had been arranged before my weekend had been settled upon, and Dorothy whispered to me that it would be a good time for her to show me the cuttings she had told me about.

We found a shady spot in the garden, well away from the little stream which ran through it.

“The insects can be a little troublesome,” she told me.

She settled me in a comfortable chair under an oak tree on the lawn with the newspaper cuttings.

Tea at four, my dear,” she said.

“We’ll have it just here on the lawn.

Plenty of shade there. I shall disappear until then. “

The cuttings had been pasted into a scrapbook and were easy to read, and, as I did so, the past came back to me so vividly that I was there in that house and I felt again the atmosphere of mounting tension and impending danger. Only now I understood it and what it was leading to.

There was an account of the inquest. How vividly I remembered the whispering about that. I could hear Nanny Gilroy’s voice: “I shall hold nothing back. You can’t at times like this.”

And it had been after that inquest that Dr. Marline and Miss Carson had been arrested.

Three weeks after the inquest, the trial had begun.

There were extracts from the opening speech of a Mr. Lamson, QC, in which he outlined what had happened, a great deal of which I was familiar with. Mrs. Marline had suffered a bad accident in the hunting field, through which she had become an invalid confined to a wheelchair. Miss Kitty Carson had come to the house to act as governess to the three girls of the household.

A relationship had begun between the doctor and the governess. This had been discovered by Mrs. Marline when it was revealed that the governess was pregnant. Almost immediately after that had become known, Mrs. Marline had died of an overdose of a pain-killing pill which had been prescribed for her by Dr. Everest.

It all seemed, as Dorothy had said, ‘a clear case of murder’.

I studied the evidence. Nanny Gilroy’s was the most damning, as I had guessed it would be.

Yes, she was aware that there was ‘carrying on’ between the doctor and Miss Carson. So were others; Mrs. Barton and Annie Logan knew it.

“Thank you. Nurse Gilroy. They will give their evidence themselves.”

I pictured her nodding her head, self-righteously, glad because wickedness had been exposed and justice was being done.

“Let us go back to that day. Nurse Gilroy. Tell the court exactly what happened.”

And Nanny Gilroy told her story, how there had been the scene because Miss Adeline had been caught in Mrs. Marline’s bedroom and Mrs. Marline was scolding the girl when Miss Carson came in and said she shouldn’t, and Mrs. Marline was angry and was going to dismiss her. Then Miss Carson had fainted clean away. Annie Logan had examined her and it was clear what was wrong with her. That was, of course, no surprise. They all knew what was going on.

Annie Logan was called.

Yes, she had examined Miss Carson. There was no doubt that she was pregnant.

Then it was the turn of Mrs. Barton, the cook. She confirmed everything that Nanny Gilroy had said, though less venomously.

There was no doubt that Dr. Marline had been involved with Miss Carson and the whole household knew it.

Tom Yardley was called. He had found Mrs. Marline dead.

Shaken all of a heap, he was. Yes, he had known how things were.

Because of what he had seen or what he had heard from Nanny Gilroy or Mrs. Barton?

Tom Yardley looked surprised, the paper commented. I could imagine his scratching his head, as though it would help him find the answer.

“I knew her,” he told them.

“She was a bit of a tartar and led him a life …”

He was stopped and told to answer the question.

I could see that Nanny Gilroy and the others had helped Dr. Marline on the way to execution; but I had to admit what they had said had truth in it, even if it were reported in the most damning way.

Medical evidence at the post mortem revealed without doubt that Mrs. Marline had died through an overdose of the drug which was being supplied to her by Dr. Everest.

There it was . all the evidence needed to convict the doctor and, even if Nanny Gilroy had given the impression that Dr. Marline was a hypocritical seducer. Miss Carson a scarlet woman and Mrs. Marline a poor betrayed wife, nothing she had said could be proved to be an actual untruth. It was merely Nanny Gilroy’s version of what had happened.

Then there were the letters.

Miss Carson had left Commonwood House and was away for a week.

She had said ‘visiting friends’, but it appeared that she had gone to a hotel in the town of Manley, some twenty miles away, and had stayed there for five days at the Bunch of Grapes.

While there, she had visited a doctor and pregnancy was confirmed.

During her stay there, she had received two letters from Dr. Marline, and she had kept those letters. They had been discovered when she was arrested and her belongings searched.

If any confirmation of Dr. Marline’s guilt had been needed, it could be found in those letters.

They were read in court.

My dearest Kitty, How I long for your return. It is so dismal here without you. Don’t fret, my darling, I’ll work something out. Whatever happens, we shall be together and, if there is indeed a child, how blessed we shall be.

You must not blame yourself. You say you should never have come here.

Well, my dearest, that would have been the worst of calamities, for, since you came, I have known such happiness as I had never thought would come my way. I am determined not to give up. Whatever has to be done, we will do it. Trust me, my darling. Yours for ever, Edward.

There was another letter on the same lines, vowing his eternal devotion, stressing the happiness she had brought him and his determination that nothing, nothing should stand in their way of keeping it.

I thought of what their feelings must have been when the letters were read in court, and the agony they must have suffered when they were on trial for their lives.

They were damning, those letters, and I was deeply moved. Oh, poor Dr. Marline. Oh, poor, poor Miss Carson. He had died ignobly in his misery, but she had had to live with hers.

I looked at my watch. It was half past three. I sat for a while, thinking of it all. There was a brief account of what happened afterwards. There had not been enough evidence to condemn Kitty Carson, and the fact that she was to have a child, as the press implied, meant that she could not be sent to the gallows.

What had happened to her, I wondered?

Dorothy came out and joined me.

“Well,” she said.

“You’ve read it?”

“Yes.”

“Obvious, isn’t it?”

“I suppose people would say so.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“It would seem it must be. But you see, I knew him.”

“I know how you feel: you can’t bring yourself to believe he’s a murderer. Jefferson Craig wrote about that. His book is fascinating. I wrote to him when I read it. I told him how much I had enjoyed it. I had a nice letter back.”

“What happened to Miss Carson?”

“I think he looked after her. He did that with some people he was interested in. Rehabilitated them. That’s what they call it. I did hear that he had helped her.”

“I wonder so much about her.”

“Well, we shall never know, but you see, don’t you, that there really couldn’t have been any doubt.”

“I suppose most people would say so.”

She laughed and patted my hand.

“You don’t like that verdict, do you? It was a pity that woman couldn’t have died by natural causes and then the lovers could have married and lived happily ever after. They would have been an ordinary couple then. Oh yes, it’s a pity life didn’t work out like that. It does sometimes.

“Look, Lawrence is coming in. I expect he wants his tea.”

There were stables nearby where horses could be hired and later Lawrence and I went riding together. I had improved my riding considerably and he commented on my skill.

“One rode everywhere in Australia,” I told him.

“You are not thinking of returning, are you?”

“Not immediately.”

“Sometime?”

“Who is to say? Everything is so uncertain just now.”

“I can’t help thinking what a piece of luck it was that we both happened to be on that ship. If we hadn’t been there at precisely that time, we might never have met again.”

That’s true. But that is the way of life, isn’t it? So much is based on chance. “

He showed me the local beauty spots the vale, for which the place was famous, and the ancient ruined castle. We tethered our horses and climbed to the ramparts. We leaned over them, admiring the countryside.

“It would be difficult to find a more pleasant spot,” said Lawrence.

“Dorothy discovered it, of course. She thought we must have this country retreat. She was right, of course.”

I thought how right Dorothy always was.

“You and she get on very well together,” he said, smiling.

“She doesn’t usually take to people quite so quickly.”

“I’m glad,” I said.

“So am I,” replied Lawrence, smiling happily. And then:

“You’ll come again soon, won’t you?”

“If you and Dorothy ask me,” I replied.

Lawrence brought me back to Kensington on Sunday evening.

Gertie was waiting for me in some excitement.

“How was it? Successful, I am sure.”

“Yes, very.”

“And you passed all Dorothy’s tests?”

“There weren’t any. I expect I passed them before I went.”

“Of course. You wouldn’t have been asked otherwise. Now, listen. You are in demand. I think you must have been a femme fatale all these years and kept it hidden.”

“Just because I was invited for the weekend.”

“Oh no. You’re rushing on too fast. Since you have been away, there have been new developments.”

“What do you mean?”

“Others have been seeking you,” she said mysteriously.

“Others?”

“Well, one. Isn’t that enough? Tall, handsome. One of those strong, forceful men. He left his card. Title as well. My word, Carmel, you are a dark horse.”

“What is all this about?”

“Well, what should happen on Saturday morning, while you were far off, charming the gallant Lawrence and his sister? There was a ring at the doorbell and there stood the most intriguing man. Annie was all of a fluster, and you should have seen Aunt Bee! You can imagine how her mind started working.

“I believe Miss Carmel Sinclair is staying here.”

“Well, yes,” replied Aunt Bee, falling immediate victim to his charm.

“I’m a friend of hers,” says the gentleman.

“I wonder if I might see her?”

“I’m sure you could, if she were here,” responds Aunt Bee.

“But she happens to have gone off for the weekend with friends.”

Aunt Bee said he looked very disappointed. She was really taken with him. She said there was something really romantic about this one, and when she saw the name on the card, she almost fainted in ecstasy. Now, you must tell me, who is this Sir Lucian Crompton? I can see recognition dawning on your face, so don’t deny all knowledge of the fascinating stranger. “

“I wasn’t going to. Of course I know him. I’d forgotten he’d got the title when his father died.”

“You’ve never mentioned him.”

“Why should I? I knew him long ago, before I went to Australia. And, as a matter of fact, I saw him recently.”

“Was he the one you looked up on the way to Maidstone?”

“Not exactly, but I did happen to meet him.”

“You didn’t tell me!” cried Gertie, outraged.

“There wasn’t anything to tell.”

“But you implied the visit was not successful. Then, only a little while after, he turns up. I call that very successful.”

“Well,” I said, ‘perhaps it was. “

“The outcome is that he’s left a note for you. He wrote it here. It’s waiting for you. I’ll get it now.”

Gertie brought the note and I took it to my room to read. She was laughing secretly and did not attempt to follow me.

Dear Carmel [I read], It was so interesting meeting you again. I am in Town today and I was wondering whether we could have lunch together, but your friends told me that you were away for the weekend. I was very disappointed not to be able to see you.

I shall be coming up again on Wednesday. There is a pleasant little place I go to now and then. It’s Logan’s in Talbrook Street, off Piccadilly. If you could meet me there at one o’clock I should be delighted. I shall be there in any case and do hope you will be able to join me. Lucian.

I was smiling as I folded the letter. I felt excited. It was wonderful to be able to feel interested again.

I sat opposite him in Logan’s Restaurant. I could see why Aunt Beatrice had been so impressed. Although he might not be as handsome as Gertie had said, he was certainly distinguished-looking, and looked more like the boy I had known long ago than the man I had met recently in | Easentree. He was obviously pleased to see me.

“I should have been very disappointed if you hadn’t come,” he told me.

“It’s fun to renew old acquaintances.”

“There is so much to catch up with. Now, what are you going to eat?”

When that had been decided and the food brought, he said once more how lucky it was that we had met when about to cross the road at Easentree.

“It was much the same with the friend with whom I have been staying.

He happened to be coming back from Egypt on our ship. I had met him on the first voyage, when I went out with my father. Life is full of such incidents. “

“The consolation is that, if they didn’t happen, we shouldn’t know what we had missed. Tell me about your weekend.”

I told him.

“It is a very pleasant spot. Lawrence Emmerson has a wonderfully efficient sister who looks after everything.”

He showed a great interest in the Emmersons and the story of the Suez rescue came out.

“It still seems extraordinary to me,” I finished.

“Do you believe in miracles? In simple faith, I mean.”

He looked puzzled and I told him how Gertie and I had stood in the middle of the road and prayed, and almost immediately, it seemed, Dr. Emmerson had appeared and got us to the ship in time, although we had had to climb the rope-ladder.

“Well,” he said, “I have heard that faith can move mountains and, compared with that, the doctor’s gallant rescue seems rather a minor feat.”

“It was miraculous to us. There are moments in one’s life which I suppose one never forgets. That is one of them for me.”

He looked serious for a moment. Then he said: “Yes, I am sure that will be so.”

I thought for a moment that he was going to tell me in of some memorable moment in his life, but he did not.

“I suppose,” he went on, ‘he seemed a hero to you. St. George slaying your particular dragon. Galahad, Parsifal . someone like that. “

“Gertie and I spoke of him with reverence for a long time after.”

“And still do?”

“Gertie wouldn’t feel reverent towards anyone not even Bernard, her fiance.”

“What about you?”

“I shall always be grateful for what he did on that day.”

“Tell me more about that visit to the country and the clever sister.”

I talked of them with enthusiasm and he listened intently.

He said: “You must come to the Grange and stay a week end with us.

We’ll see if we can rival the Emmersons. “

I thought of the visits to tea with Estella, Adeline and Henry, and the idea of going to the Grange was rather disconcerting.

“You must come. My mother would like to meet you. She remembers you. I told her about our meeting in Easentree. Camilla would be interested too. Perhaps I could get her to come for the weekend. What about that?”

“It would be most interesting.”

He said quickly: “” I promise you, we won’t go near Commonwood.

Actually, you can ride by without seeing the house. Everything’s so overgrown. “

“I wasn’t thinking of that. I was just wondering if your family would er … want to see me.”

He looked puzzled.

“After what happened at Commonwood House.”

“What happened there had nothing to do with you. And what if it had?”

“The doctor was my uncle. It might be considered better to avoid people connected with such unsavoury happenings

“My dear Carmel, as if we should feel like that! In any case, the whole business is over. It’s years back.”

“Do you think people would know me? People living around, I mean?”

“I shouldn’t think so. You were only a child when it happened. Oh, we are back to this miserable subject again. Listen. It’s over. It’s best forgotten. You’re letting this affair obsess you. It’s all over. It’s in the past.” He spoke vehemently.

“There is nothing anyone can do to change what happened.”

“Of course you are right, Lucian. I should love to come. It would be so nice to see Camilla again, and if your mother is agreeable.”

“My mother will be very pleased to see you. Actually, she said so.”

“Then, thank you, Lucian.”

“What about the week after next?”

“That would suit me very well.”

“We’ll say yes then. I’ll write to you and confirm.”

And so it was settled.

I went back in a state of pleasurable excitement. I remembered how I had lost my pendant and Lucian had had it repaired. I still had the pendant. When I arrived back at the house I took it from its box and held it in my hands while my thoughts went back over the years to that day which was really when I had first met Lucian.

I was smiling as I put it back into the box which was playing “God Save the Queen’.

The Grange looked less formidable than it had in my childhood. It was very impressive, none the less, with its grey stone towers and battlemented gateway.

Lucian, who had been at the station with a pony and trap, greeted me warmly.

“I have been ridiculously scared that something would happen to prevent your coming.”

“Oh no. I was determined to.”

“It’s good to see you. Camilla was delighted when she heard you were coming.”

It was certainly a warm welcome. We went under the gateway. I could see the lawn where we had had tea on that first occasion; and there was Camilla, hardly recognizable as the girl I had known. She was rather plump and obviously pleased with the way life had gone for her.

She gripped both my hands.

“I couldn’t believe it when Lucian said he’d found you. Isn’t it exciting that you’ve come back!”

I was taken into the hall. I remembered it so well arriving for tea, feeling rather nervous, the outsider until Lucian appeared and made me feel I wasn’t. How I had adored him in those days!

“Better come straight up to my mother,” said Lucian.

“She is so eager to see you.”

I could scarcely believe it. Lady Crompton had shown no interest in me in the old days.

I was taken into a room which they called the solarium because it had numerous windows which caught all the available sun. Lady Crompton was seated in a chair near the windows and, with Lucian on one side and Camilla on the other, I was taken over to her.

She held out a hand and I took it.

“How nice to see you, my dear,” she said.

“I have heard about your meeting with Lucian. I was most interested. I hear you have come from Australia. You must tell us all about it. Camilla, bring a chair so that Carmel can sit near me. My hearing is not very good nowadays and my rheumatism is crippling. And how are you? You look well.”

I noticed that she had aged more than the years warranted. She had lost her husband and then there had been the death of her daughter-in-law, Lucian’s wife. That must have been a sorrow to her.

“Shall I ring for tea now. Mother?” asked Camilla.

“Please do, dear.” She turned to me.

“And you are on a visit from Australia?”

We talked about Australia and how, coming over on the ship, the friend with whom I had been travelling had met her fiance and was shortly to be married.

Then the tea came and was served.

“There have been so many changes,” said Lady Crompton.

“I was so sorry to hear about your father. Lucian told me. Your father was a charming man. He came here on one occasion. I remember him well. So sad. I suppose Camilla has told you that she has now left us, and of her adorable little Jeremy?”

“We’ve hardly had time yet. Mother,” said Camilla.

“Lucian said you were so eager to meet Carmel that we brought her straight up to you.”

Lady Crompton talked dotingly of her grandson Jeremy and expressed her regrets that Camilla had not brought him with her.

“It’s only for the weekend. Mother,” said Camilla.

“And Nanny is so capable and she doesn’t like Jeremy travelling too much. She says it’s upsetting, and it is only for the weekend. I just came to see Carmel.”

I was expecting Lady Crompton to mention her granddaughter at this stage but, to my surprise, nothing was said of the child. I supposed that I should make her acquaintance during the weekend.

After tea, Camilla showed me to my room.

“It’s on the second floor,” she said.

“Quite a nice view.”

She opened a door and I saw a large room in which was a four-poster bed with heavy drapes matching the bed coverings.

“It’s charming,” I said.

“A touch of other times,” said Camilla.

“I’m afraid that’s how things are at the Grange.”

“Well, it’s an ancient house with all its traditions,” I said.

“I think this is delightful. “

“As long as the past doesn’t intrude too much. My house is modern.

It’s in the Midlands. Geoff is in pottery . rather a sore point with my mother. She would have liked a duke, of course. But she adores Jeremy and as soon as he put in an appearance, my mother was reconciled. “

“It must be a great joy to her to have grandchildren. And you both have given her one.”

“Oh yes,” she said.

“My Jeremy is quite adorable.”

“And the little girl?” I asked.

“Bridget… of course. She will be more than two now.”

“It must have been terrible when …”

“You mean her mother? Well, yes, of course.” She glanced out of the window.

“Look. That’s where we used to have tea on the lawn. You were there sometimes. Do you ever hear of Estella and Henry … and the other one the one who was rather simple?”

“Adeline. No, I have never heard of them since.”

She looked at me gravely.

“It was an awful business,” she said.

“They just disappeared … you with the others. Oh well, it’s all so long ago. I’ll leave you to hang up your things. What would you like to do before dinner? We dine at eight. I expect Lucian has something in view for you. He’s ever so pleased that you agreed to come.”

It was an unforgettable weekend I spent at the Grange. I was very gratified to be accepted so hospitably by Lady Crompton. Camilla was very friendly, and I could not have had a more attentive host than Lucian.

He and I rode a good deal together and I saw more of the country than I ever had when I lived there.

On Saturday we lunched at a quaint old inn he had discovered. We laughed a great deal and I began to feel that I had imagined that melancholy I thought I had detected in him when we met at Easentree.

He was the Lucian I would have expected him to be. He talked about the Grange estate and some of the people who worked on it, and I had stories of my own to tell of Australia, Elsie and the Formans.

This was catching up with the past.

I had not yet seen his daughter, although I had heard a great deal about Camilla’s son who was not even here. I began to think there was something odd about this reticence, but I did learn something during my stay.

It was late in the afternoon. I had returned to the Grange after a very pleasant time with Lucian. I was looking out of my window when I saw Camilla coming across the lawn. She saw me and waved.

“It’s pleasant out here,” she called.

“Why don’t you come down, if you’re not doing anything special?”

I went down and we sat on one of the seats which had been placed under a tree.

“Did you have a good day?” she asked.

“Very pleasant. We went to the Bluff King Hal. Do you know it?”

“Oh yes. It’s one of Lucian’s favourites. I guessed he’d want to show you that.”

“Camilla,” I said, ‘what about little Bridget? That is her name, isn’t it? “

“Oh, she’s up in the nursery with Jemima Cray.”

“Is that the nurse?”

“Well, yes. She looks after her.”

“I haven’t seen her. I wondered …”

“Do you want to see her?”

“I’d like to.”

“We didn’t think … you see, Jemima Cray … she’s a bit of a martinet.”

“Oh?”

“It’s rather difficult to explain. Lucian’s marriage … it wasn’t very successful. I think it might have been better without Jemima Cray.”

“Who is Jemima Cray?”

“She was a maid … one-time nurse to Laura. Laura was Lucian’s wife.

It was a hasty marriage. I was already married myself at that time, so I wasn’t here much. It was about three years ago. I never got to know Laura very well. And almost immediately she was going to have Bridget. She was often ailing, I think. I always had the impression that Lucian had rushed into it. And then she died.

Jemima seems to blame Lucian for that. Anyway, if you would like to see Bridget, I’ll take you up. I think Jemima often goes out at this time. There’s a nursery maid, a girl from the village. She will be there. “

Camilla’s rather casual treatment of the matter somehow made me feel that it was more mysterious than ever.

We climbed to the top of the house and entered what was a very traditional nursery. There was the usual big cupboard and a rocking-horse in one corner and a board and easel in another. The young nursery maid was seated in a chair and, on the floor, surrounded by bricks which were a sort of jigsaw puzzle, was a little girl.

“Oh, you’re here,” said Camilla.

“I thought you would be. Miss Cray not back yet?”

“No, Miss Camilla, not yet.”

“How is Miss Bridget?”

The child looked up at the sound of her name.

The,” she said, smiling. The, me!”

“Hello, Bridget,” said Camilla.

“I’ve brought someone to see you.”

Camilla picked her up and sat down with the child on her knee.

“Getting a big girl now, aren’t you, Bridget?” said Camilla.

Bridget nodded.

“What time does Miss Cray return?” asked Camilla.

“Oh, I reckon she’ll be another half-hour. Miss. She usually is.”

Camilla relaxed visibly. She glanced down at the floor.

“You haven’t finished your picture yet, Bridget,” she said.

The picture when completed, I saw, would be one of a horse. The head and the tail at the moment had yet to be placed in position. Bridget slipped from Camilla’s lap and knelt down by the bricks. She picked up the one with the tail and tried to fix it where the head should be.

I knelt down beside her and took up the brick with the head and put it in.

Bridget crowed with delight when she saw it fitted and she put the tail in the proper place. She then surveyed the finished picture with delight and, turning to me, smiled. She rocked on her heels and clapped her hands. I did the same and she hunched her shoulders, laughing.

Then she stood up and, taking my hand, led me over to the rocking-horse, indicating that she wanted to mount. I lifted her up and settled her there. Then I gave the horse a little push. She laughed with delight as it began to rock.

“More, more!” she cried. So I stood there, pushing the rocking-horse, looking at her fine silky hair and thinking:

This is Lucian’s child. She is delightful. Why does he never speak of her?

And, as I stood there, pushing the horse, I sensed that something had happened, and, turning, I saw that a woman had come into the room.

She was regarding me with intense disapproval. She was tall and thin, with small, closely set eyes. There was something repellent about her which was not only due to the annoyance which was directed against me.

The nursery maid seemed to have shrunk. She looked as though she had been caught in an act of treachery.

Then Bridget called out: “Look, Mima, look. More, more.”

The woman strode to the rocking-horse.

Too high, pet,” she said.

“You must only go high when Jemima is here.”

“It was all right,” I said, rather piqued.

“I was watching her.”

Camilla said to me: “This is Jemima Cray. She looks after Bridget.”

“How do you do?” I said coolly.

“Jemima,” said Camilla, “Miss Sinclair wanted to meet Bridget. They seemed to get on very well together.”

“It’s just that I don’t like her excited before bedtime. There’ll be nightmares.”

“I don’t think there’ll be any trouble,” I could not help saying.

“I think she enjoyed the ride. “

“And I think we should be going,” said Camilla.

When we were downstairs, I said to Camilla: “What an extraordinary woman! She was very unpleasant.”

“That’s Jemima Cray. She is like that where Bridget is concerned.”

“She seemed to take a lot on herself. What sort of position does she have here?”

“She’s a sort of nanny, I suppose.”

“She behaves as though she is mistress of the house.”

“She would reckon she is of the nursery quarters.”

“But surely Lady Crompton doesn’t allow that?”

“My mother doesn’t have anything to do with the nursery.”

“But Bridget is her grandchild!”

Camilla was silent for a moment or two. Then she said:

“It is all rather unusual… the whole set-up. It was a great pity. I cannot understand Lucian. It was so unlike him. || He’s usually so well … in command of everything.”

“It certainly seems strange,” I said.

“Bridget is a lovely little girl, and yet it seems as though she is shut away … with that rather disagreeable woman.”

“She is not disagreeable to Bridget. She dotes on her and the child loves Jemima.” She hesitated again.

“The fact is, it was not a very satisfactory marriage. No one was more aware of that than Lucian it changed him. You know how full of life he used to be when he was young. And then … this happened. It was so sudden. He married her and she was going to have a child. She didn’t want it. Actually, I think she was badly scared. She brought Jemima Cray with her when she came. She was one of those nannies who, when they are too old to nanny, become a sort of confidante maid They make themselves into guardian angels. They’re jealous and they hate anyone who comes near their little darling. When Laura died, she transferred her fixation to Bridget. She hates us all, particularly Lucian. She behaves as though she thinks we murdered the girl.”

“Why on earth do you keep her?”

“That’s what I’ve said to my mother a hundred times. She said that Laura promised Jemima that she should look after the child and be to her what she had been to her mother. Deathbed scene, that sort of dramatic stuff. She was a rather hysterical person, Laura. One of those weak, clinging people who have to be obeyed because if they are not they faint or die and come back to haunt you for the rest of your life.”

“But surely Lucian … ?”

“There’s nothing Lucian wants so much as to forget what a fool he was to marry the woman. I suppose Bridget reminds him of that. So Jemima is up there, and we don’t see very much of them.”

“How very odd!”

“Lots of people are odd, you know. Sometimes it seems to me that it is natural to be so. But this works. Jemima is very efficient and no one could look after Bridget more carefully. She’s a dragon breathing fire if anyone tries to harm her little one. I expect it will all sort itself out in due course.”

I lay sleepless in my four-poster that night, wondering about the marriage of Lucian and Laura. Camilla had implied that she had been a poor creature in the hands of the fire-breathing Jemima. Then why had he married her? One could not imagine Lucian’s being a weakling, drawn into a situation against his will.

That woman Jemima had given me an uneasy feeling. What had Camilla said?

“She acts as though she thinks we murdered the girl.” Who?

Lucian?

There was something mysterious about the whole affair. I may have been right when, on our first meeting at the roadside, I had sensed that there was something which disturbed him. He had changed. Well, a marriage like that was enough to change anyone. I longed to know his true feelings about his marriage, about the child. This engendered a certain tenderness in me. In the past, he had seemed so strong and, in my childish mind, invincible. Now he was vulnerable and I had been right when I thought something had happened to change him.

I longed to know his true feelings.

Perhaps that was why I kept him constantly in my thoughts.

The weeks were passing and I was still with the Hysons. I could not help feeling guilty for staying so long, but when I suggested leaving, there were protests from Gertie in which Aunt Beatrice and Uncle Harold joined.

“It wouldn’t be the same without you, dear,” said Aunt Beatrice, and Gertie added: “I need you. There is the house to think of and then there’ll be all the preparations for the wedding. Of course you can’t go into some hateful little hotel.”

I had no wish to go. I found I was feeling much better than I had ever thought possible. However great one’s grief, it must fade with time, and what was happening in the present must impress itself over the past. And a great deal was happening. Life was becoming interesting.

Even Gertie, absorbed as she was in her exciting prospects, had time to consider mine. She was very amused and talked about two strings to my bow-no, three, when you considered poor old James digging for opals in the Outback.

She had wanted to hear all about the visit to the Grange.

I told her something, omitting the existence of Bridget and the strange Jemima Cray. That would have titillated her imagination too far, and I could imagine the wild melodrama she would have indulged in.

She was particularly interested in Lucian who, to her, represented the romantic hero. The noble doctor Lawrence Emmerson, though, was not forgotten. He would make a good though unexciting husband, she decided, and I should be well looked after by Miss Dorothy; everything would be done for my own good whether I liked it or not, but it would be the ‘right thing’ for me.

There was another alternative. I could go back to Australia and marry James, with the choice of being an opal millionairess or spending the rest of my life in a tent in the opal fields, which Gertie feared might be the more likely.

“Look what could be yours!” she cried.

“Take your pick.”

I laughed at her.

“The only one which could be open to me is the opal fields. And it would not surprise me if James had found himself a wife by now.”

She sighed and put on one of her worldly-wise expressions the experienced woman advising the innocent.

Whatever happened, I should hate to lose Gertie. We had been friends for so long.

I paid several visits to the Emmerson cottage. I was becoming more and more friendly with Dorothy. She was a lively companion, interested in most subjects and especially in art and music. Now and then she had tickets for some concert or art exhibition and, if Lawrence was working, she and I would go together.

Then there were visits to the Grange, and I was finding my time fully occupied.

Gertie and Aunt Beatrice had found the house, and furnishings and wedding plans had to be discussed. Gertie had written to her parents, telling them that she and Her nard would try to get out to Australia in two years’ time.

“Perhaps you would come with us,” she said to me.

With so much innuendo in the Kensington house, it would be impossible for me not to wonder what were the intentions of my two men friends towards me.

Dorothy’s conversation rather led me to believe that she thought it was time Lawrence married and, if that were so, I was sure that she considered me as likely tp be worthy of him as anyone she could find.

And if she thought it was right, Lawrence would be made to think so, too.

Perhaps that was not fair to Lawrence. Lawrence was absorbed in his work and he naturally left certain decisions to Dorothy. But marriage would be too important for that and he himself would be the one to decide. His sister might choose his food and the material for a suit, but his wife was a different matter.

He was always rather tender to me. I think he still saw me as the little girl lost in an alien city. He did enjoy my company and he liked to talk to me about his work and his aspirations. He was entirely dedicated. Life with him would be predictable, although, of course, one could never be sure what would happen to anyone. Marriage to Lawrence Emmerson and a menage a trois including my very good friend his sister, could be as comfortable a life as one could hope for.

Perhaps I should have been ready to accept it if it were not for Lucian.

I was almost certain of Lucian’s feelings towards me and I believed that one day, at the appropriate moment, when he had had a little more time to consider the matter, he would ask me to marry him. I knew he was fond of me. Sometimes his hand would linger on my shoulder with a certain longing. Yes, he was attracted to me. But I could not understand him as I did Lawrence. He could be very lighthearted.

During those weekends at the Grange I grew to know him very well. He could be witty, amusing and fun to be with.

I liked to ride round the estate with him and see the respect shown to him by the tenants. I could not imagine Lucian’s being dependent upon a sister. Camilla, of course, was not the type to domineer. For one thing, she was too busy with her own life.

So I thought often of Lawrence, but Lucian was constantly in my mind.

I had received two letters from Australia one from Elsie, the other from James.

My dear Carmel [wrote Elsie], How are you getting on over there ? You should have seen the excitement here when we heard of Gertie’s engagement! Her mother says she sounds very happy in her letters. I read yours to them and all round it seems as though Gertie has done very well.

Poor Mr. and Mrs. Forman! Happy as they are for Gertie, they’re a little sad. Well, naturally. This was supposed to be a holiday, and it looks as though she has gone for good. She does say that she and her husband will make a trip over to see the family and that’s a bit of a comfort to them. And now James has gone off prospecting, or whatever they call it. Well, that’s how life goes and thank goodness they’ve got over that terrible disaster.

Fancy that Dr. Emmerson being on the ship! He sounds very nice and it’s good that his sister and you have become such good friends. Well, I must say, it all seems to have turned out very well for you two girls.

You sound so much better, dear. No sense in being down-hearted. I knew a complete change was what you wanted. Gertie says that you are really having a good time.

Things here are much the same. It is grand having Joe around. He fits in here so well. He’s sitting out in the garden now, waiting for me to join him. The harbour looks just the same as it did the day you came in . that very first time. I shall always remember that day. You can picture it all. The kookaburras have been noisy today. You always liked them, didn’t you? You wondered whatever they were laughing about when you first heard them.

Well, dear, go on enjoying yourself. It’s what you need. We miss you, and when you come back, there’ll be a big welcome for you. You must decide, and remember first of all, be happy! It’s what Toby would have wanted and it’s what I want too.

With lots and lots of love from Joe and me, Elsie.

I sat for a few minutes, thinking of her and how fortunate I was when Toby took me to her. Then I opened James’s letter.

My dear Carmel, How are you getting on? There’s a lot of excitement here about Gertie’s wedding. Too bad the family won’t be there. This fellow she is marrying seems to me a gift from heaven, according to her. Hope it’s true.

Well, I went off as I said I would. We got things in order on the property and my father knew I would never be satisfied until I’d had my try, and he said it would be all right for me to go.

So here I am. I can’t tell you how exciting it is! You would like it.

There’s something in the air. All these men, some with their families.

They talk of nothing but opals. That’s on the rare occasions when they are not working, which they are doing most of the time.

It can be pretty hot here. It’s low gullies and bush and the mosquitoes can be a pest-and as for the flies! Well, you can imagine. There’s lots of fossicking going on but that’s the amateurs.

It’s fascinating and can be cruelly disappointing. Sometimes you think you’ve found something really fine and it turns out to be pure potch.

That means rubbish.

It’s jolly hard work. We live in a sort of shanty town. Tents, huts, and water is hard to come by. Some say it’s as precious as opals.

That’ll give you an idea. Saturday nights are fun. That’s when we dance, sing and swap yarns . the stories of our lives, all highly dramatized, as you can imagine. Last Saturday we roasted a pig and made dampers to go with it. It’s a hard life but worth it, especially for those moments when you hit on the real stuff.

I’ve had two reasonably good finds, and I’m a beginner as yet, so it is not bad.

By the way, you’ll be interested to hear this. Do you remember that old sundowner? He turned up again. Not to work. That’s not his line.

But just to do a bit of fossicking and prowl round and see if there was anything he could lay his hands on. He was found dead outside the camp, looking as if he’d been in a fight.

It was a bit awkward for a time. You see, some of them had heard what he had done to our property, and they all looked to me. That seemed natural enough. They reckoned I wouldn’t have let him get away with what he did to my family.

It’s a bit of a mystery. I reckon one of the men found him stealing and finished him off. We’ve got some here, as you can imagine, who wouldn’t think twice about it. However, there he was, just outside the camp . dead.

A lot of questions were asked, and of course, I knew they were looking at me. But the fellow had made himself unpopular in other quarters. They haven’t found out who did it, but they’ve dropped inquiries now. They found something on him little bits of opal, but nobody’s claimed them. It was obvious that the rogue had stolen them. Well, he got what was coming to him. Rough justice, really.

Well, that’s life out here. In the raw, you might say. But just imagine the joy of finding that stone tucked away in some crack or cavity. Isn’t it a marvel that a mixture of sand and water and a few other elements-can crystallize into a thing of such beauty? Forgive me. I’m apt to run on when I get on to this subject.

Now to the serious business. Carmel, I am waiting for you to come back. I’m going to find that precious stone and it’s going to make our future-yours and mine. We’ll have a wonderful life. I shall expiate my sin of leaving you forlorn in wicked Suez and expunge myself of guilt for ever more. How’s that for a dramatic declaration?

I know that you and I were meant for each other. I only have to find that stone, the one which will astonish the world and make our fortune. Then I shall wait no longer. I shall pack up my tools and board the first ship for home. Write to me soon.

Your loving millionaire-to-be, James.

I let the letter fall from my hands. It brought him back so vividly.

Dear James! I wondered if he would find his dream. And if he came back . ? There was something about James which suggested that, once he had made up his mind, he would not lightly relinquish his desire. He was obviously enduring a life of hardship now.

Then I thought of the sundowner, of James’s anger when he discovered that the man had returned to the property, and with what rage he had ordered him off. And then the outcome.

Suppose when that man came to the camp James had discovered him there?

And the man had died. He had an evil reputation. I knew how great James’s wrath would have been.

Could it be possible? Could he have fought with the man?

Had James told me all?

And, for some reason, I found I was thinking of Lucian.

I was spending the weekend at the Emmersons’ cottage. Dorothy and I had travelled down together on the Friday afternoon.

“How I look forward to these weekends,” she said.

“Sometimes I think I enjoy the place more because I don’t see it as often as I should like.”

“You couldn’t possibly be here all the time, I suppose?”

“There’s Lawrence’s work.”

“He’d be well looked after in Town. I suppose you could spend a little more time here.”

“I know that he’s well looked after, but I like to be there to make sure.”

I smiled at her affectionately.

“And Lawrence certainly appreciates that.”

She was a little thoughtful.

“He is the best man in the world. Well, there is no need for me to tell you that.”

Sometimes I wondered what she would have felt if Lawrence married. It would change her position considerably. On the other hand, if she considered it was for his good, she would waive all other considerations, I was sure. But I did believe that she had considered me for the role and I fancied I detected an expectancy in her that weekend. I wondered whether there was a certain telepathy between the brother and sister, or even whether they had discussed the matter though I thought that hardly likely.

We had said we would go for a ride and have lunch out.

“I expect he wants to show you another of his pet inns,” said Dorothy.

She was asked to accompany us but said she had not the time. She had promised to look out some jumble for the church sale, and she wanted to take it over to Mrs. Want age and with her put a price on some of the goods they already had.

So Lawrence and I set out. We went to our favourite spot, the ruined castle, and there we tethered our horses and climbed the slope to the battlements.

Lawrence did not hesitate and when we had seated our selves, came straight to the point.

“Carmel, I know I am some years older than you, but I think you are quite fond of me and Dorothy as well, of course.”

He pulled up a blade of grass and, studying it, went on: “Well, we get along, don’t we, the three of us? These weekends have been very happy for me. I don’t think I H have ever been so happy before. I love you.

I know that it is not very long since we caught up with each other, but there was that incident. “

I was not surprised, of course, but I was a little at a loss.

I should have been prepared, but I hesitated, and he continued: “We could be married soon … just as soon as you are ready. We have the London place and this to step into.”

“Lawrence,” I said quickly, “I don’t think I want to be married … not just yet. Everything seems to have happened so quickly since I came home.”

“Of course. I understand that. You need time. Of course you do. Well, there is no great hurry. I don’t want you to go back to Australia and forget all about us.”

“I shan’t do that, I assure you. It is just that I should like to go on as we are … for a time.”

“Then we shall. Why not? It’s very pleasant. Then the idea is not too absurd to you? My age … ?”

“Oh, Lawrence,” I cried.

“That would not matter in the least. It’s not so much, after all. It is just that I am … unready.”

“I understand. I feel that I have known you for a long time. Your father and I were good friends … long before I met you. He talked about you a great deal. He was very proud of his daughter. Then we met and we had our little adventure. You see, it doesn’t seem such a short acquaintance to me.”

“You and Dorothy have been so good to me. I can’t tell you how much you have both done for me. I was very wretched and you were a comfort on the ship … Then, having me here so often and being my very good friends.”

He took my hand and pressed it.

“You are getting over it gradually. I know you never will-quite- but it has faded a little, hasn’t it?

The grief is not quite so intense. “

“I have been so fortunate in my friends. Elsie, Gertie, the Hysons, you and Dorothy.”

“It is a great joy to us that we have been able to help. We both love you dearly, Carmel.”

“Thank you, Lawrence,” I said.

“And I love you both. But you see, marriage … it’s such an undertaking. It is something I should have to think about. I am so unsure…”

“Of course, of course. Let us put it aside for the moment. I shall ask you again when you have had time to discover how you really feel.”

He took my hand and helped me to rise and, as I stood beside him, he kissed my cheek.

“Oh Lawrence,” I said.

“Thank you. You are so good and kind. I know I could be happy with you … and Dorothy … but…”

“Of course, I understand.”

He took my arm and we went to the horses.

We lunched in a quaint old inn, the origins of which he described enthusiastically, and then we rode back.

Dorothy was home, waiting for us, and I was sure she knew that he had asked me. I had the impression that she was waiting for an announcement and was disappointed when it was not made.

Genie’s wedding preparations were going on apace.

Between them, she and Aunt Beatrice had found the house and were now in the process of furnishing it. It was about ten minutes’ walk from the Hyson establishment, situated in a tree-lined street, had a small but pleasant garden and that essential nursery.

I was often called upon to help choose some piece of furniture or to give my opinion on some new plan; and I must say, I was caught up in the general excitement.

I had thought a great deal about Lawrence’s proposal. I smiled to recall it. I could remember every word. It was just what I would have expected it to be-dignified, gallant not exactly what one would call passionate. It was characteristic of Lawrence.

I did think about it very seriously. I was sure that I did not want to go back to Australia. My life was not there among the opal fields of Lightning Ridge or some such place. Much as I loved Elsie, I had always subconsciously felt that England was home. If Toby had been there, it would not have mattered where I was. That would have been where I wanted to be. Perhaps that was an indication. I wanted to be where the people I loved most were. If I had loved James enough to marry him, it would not have mattered where I lived.

There came an invitation to the Grange and I felt that excitement which this never failed to bring.

Lucian continued to puzzle me, although I saw less of that strange, brooding mood which came to him very briefly from time to time. There was an added interest now. I had made a habit of going to see Bridget when I was there. She always seemed pleased to see me.

Jemima Cray did not, however, share the child’s enthusiasm; but sometimes I would find Bridget in the garden, alone with Mary the nursery maid, then I would spend some time with her. Mary seemed almost conspiratorial at such times, which bothered me a little. It seemed such an odd situation. Why had I not met the child, as I surely should have done in normal circumstances? Bridget herself was normal enough. Mary was always watchful during these sessions in the grounds, and I knew it was because she was afraid that Jemima Cray would suddenly descend upon us.

So I happily packed my bag and set forth, full of that expectation which I always felt at the prospect of a visit to the Grange.

Lucian met me at the station as usual, and we set off in high spirits.

Lady Crompton now greeted me with even more friendliness than she had shown when I first appeared. I think she was rather pleased to have a visitor whom she did not have to treat with too much ceremony. She told me at great length about her rheumatism and how it prevented her from doing as much as she had in the past. She enjoyed that topic and I was a good listener. Then she liked to hear about Australia and the various places round the world which I had visited.

Lucian was pleased and amused by her pleasure in my company.

“My mother does not get on so well with everybody,” he commented with a grin.

Camilla had been there once or twice, and she and I had become friends. She told me how life at the Grange had changed in the last years.

“There used to be a great deal of entertaining when my father was alive,” she said.

“Lucian doesn’t seem to have the same taste for it. In fact, everything seemed to change when he married.”

On the Saturday, Lucian and I went riding. He had several calls to make round the estate and I fancied he liked me to go with him. I was beginning to know some of the workers and tenants, which I found interesting.

I was not sure whether I imagined it or whether I really did intercept some significant looks. People often began speculating when they saw a man and a woman together enjoying each other’s company. Did some of these people wonder whether I should be the next Lady Crompton, or was I thinking that, because of James and Lawrence, every man who showed me friendship was thinking of asking me to marry him? People are inclined to imagine that when a young man is unmarried, he must be in need of a wife. That was by no means a certainty and when one has had an unsatisfactory experience, there would be a certain wariness at the prospect of repeating it, I had a notion that that was how Lucian felt, and I must confess that I found those sly looks a little disconcerting.

We had returned to the Grange. Lucian leaped down from his horse to assist me to dismount. He looked up at me and smiled as he took both my hands.

There was a decided pause and I could not quite interpret the expression in his eyes, but it was very warm.

He said: “I can’t tell you how glad I am that you came back, Carmel.”

“So am I,” I answered.

I heard a footstep close at hand and, looking beyond Lucian, I saw Jemima Cray walking close to the stable on her way to the house.

Just before I went to dinner that evening, I paid a visit to the nursery to see Bridget. When I entered the room she ran to me and clasped my knees. It was an endearing habit she had. Then she wanted me to sit on the floor with her and form the bricks to make a picture. There were pigs and oxen, sheep and cows; she was very fond of these picture puzzles. She was an enchanting child. I wondered afresh why Lucian never mentioned her. Well, she had the enigmatic Jemima Cray, whom she obviously loved, and there was no doubt of Jemima’s devotion to her.

While we sat there, Jemima appeared. I knew she would find some excuse to separate me from Bridget. She definitely did not like my friendship with the child.

To my surprise, she said quite affably: “Good afternoon, Miss Sinclair. I wonder if I could have a word with you?”

“But of course,” I replied.

“Mary, take Miss Bridget into her bedroom. She can have her milk there. You can get it for her. Not too hot, mind.”

Mary looked at the clock on the wall. Like her, I knew the nursery ritual. It was too soon for Bridget’s milk.

“Do as you are told,” said Jemima in a voice which must be obeyed; and Mary prepared to carry out the order.

Bridget protested.

“No,” she said.

“No, no.”

“Now, pet,” said Jemima in gentler tones.

“You go with Mary. You’re going to have some nice milk.”

Bridget was taken out, still protesting, and I was flattered by her reluctance to leave, but all the same eager to hear what Jemima had to say.

“Well, Miss Sinclair,” she said as soon as we were alone.

“I’d like a word in your ear. I only speak because I think it’s right and proper that you should not be in the dark.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“Things are not always what they seem, you know.”

“Indeed, I know that.”

She put her face close to mine, assuming an air of wisdom. Her eyes were small and too closely set together. I thought she looked like a witch.

“I think you are a good, respectable young lady and you should not be deceived.”

“It is the last thing I want,” I said.

“I should like to be enlightened in whatever way you think.”

She nodded.

“There is one who should be here now, and would be … but for what others did to her. If anyone was thinking of taking her place, I reckon they ought to think twice before they took that step.”

I felt myself flushing, and I said: “I don’t understand what you are implying, Miss Cray.”

“I think you do,” she said severely.

“All I am trying to do is drop a word in your ear. It’s for your good. She married into this place and, before a year was out, she was dead and before she came here she was a merry, lighthearted little thing.”

“You are referring to … ?”

“My Miss Laura, that’s who.”

“I understood she died giving birth to Bridget.”

“Poor mite. She never ought to have been put through it. He knew that and yet he made her. There had to be a child … a son, I suppose.

The family and all that nonsense. She knew it was dangerous. I knew.

But it had to be. It was pitiful to see her. Frightened, she was. She said to me: “Jemima, you’ll always stay and look after my baby when I’m gone, won’t you? You’ll look after my baby, just as you’ve looked after me.” And I swore I would. Oh, it was wicked. It was cruel.”

I said: “It was very sad that she died, but it does happen sometimes.”

Her face hardened.

“There’s some as would say it was murder,” she said.

“Miss Cray!” I said.

“You must not make such insinuations. It’s quite wrong. It is natural for people to have children when they marry.”

“He knew, just as she knew. But it had to be. Oh, he knew well enough and I reckon that’s the same sort of thing as murder. And nothing will make me change my mind. That’s the sort he is. And people should know it.” She rose and in a matter-of-fact voice went on: “Well, I must go and see to Bridget. You can’t trust that Mary with much.”

She turned away. I called after her.

“Come back. Miss Cray. I want to talk to you.”

She was at the door. She turned and said: “I’ve said my piece. I know what happened. I saw it all. I know just how it was.” Her face was distorted with venom and hatred, and I knew it was directed against Lucian.

I said to myself: She’s mad. But I was very shaken.

The memory of Jemima stayed with me. I found it hard to stop thinking of what she had said and the expression on her face when she had talked of murder.

She was warning me. She had seen me with Lucian in the stables.

Murder, she had said. She was accusing Lucian of that because his wife had died in childbirth. She meant:

Do not become involved with him. He knew Laura was unfit to bear a child and yet he insisted. Such a man is capable of anything . murder of any kind . to achieve his ends.

I thought again: The woman must be mad. Indeed, there was a hint of fanaticism in her eyes when she talked of Laura’s death.

Why did she stay? Because of this vow she had made to Laura, the wife who had known she faced death? It all seemed very melodramatic, and I did not believe a word of it. Jemima was a highly emotional woman. She had given all her devotion to the girl whom she had looked after; and when that girl had died she had to blame someone, so she blamed Lucian. I was almost a stranger to her, but she thought that Lucian might ask me to marry him; and she was warning me, or pretending to. When Laura had died, she must have been heart-broken and she had to blame someone for her death, so she blamed Lucian. And now she was jealous of my friendship with her charge. She did not want me here.

I suppose there was a certain amount of reason in that.

Murder, she had said. It was pure nonsense. But she had used the word and that was very upsetting.

I decided to take the first opportunity of talking to Lucian. It came next morning when he was showing me something in the garden.

I said: “Lucian. You never talk much about Bridget. She’s such a dear little girl. I have made her acquaintance and we get on quite well.”

“I don’t know much about children.”

“She seems to spend most of her time with that nurse.”

“Most children spend a lot of time with their nurses.”

“But it seems as though you and Lady Crompton are hardly aware of her existence.”

“Does it?” he said.

“I expect I have been remiss. One doesn’t talk about one’s failures. It was all rather hasty. That marriage, I mean.

A mistake from the first. The child was born and Laura died. That’s really all there is to it. It wouldn’t have been very satisfactory, even if that hadn’t happened. “

“If Bridget had been a boy …” I began.

His face darkened slightly.

“Perhaps it is as well. But it’s all over now. It was a mistake. I have made a few in my life, but that was the greatest. I meant to tell you about it, but somehow I could not bring myself to. It’s a depressing subject.”

“She was very young to die.”

“She was eighteen. It all happened so quickly. She did not like the Grange. She said it was old and full of ghosts and shadows and the ghosts didn’t want her. It was so different from everything she was used to. Her father made a great deal of money out of coal. She couldn’t understand the customs of a family like mine. And then there was the child. She was terrified of having it. She seemed to know she was going to die.

She lived in fear of death, and that woman never left her. “

“You mean Jemima Cray?”

He nodded.

“She was the only one who could calm her. It was a wretched time for us all.”

“The little girl is charming. I should have thought she would be a comfort to you and Lady Crompton.”

“That woman was always there.”

“She is certainly rather odd.”

“She is good with the child. She would do anything for her.”

“Have you ever thought of replacing her?”

He lifted his shoulders.

“We’ve wanted to, of course. But there’s some promise. In the circumstances, the easiest thing is to let her remain here. So it seems Jemima Cray is a fixture. Oh, let’s talk about something pleasant! You must come down again soon.”

I said: “This visit is not yet over.”

“No, but I can’t tell you how much I enjoy them. My mother is saying that we must entertain more. She is not well enough to do a great deal, but she did enjoy it in the old days. We have some interesting characters round about-the usual mixture of traditional country types and the occasional eccentric. I can’t tell you how we look forward to your coming-my mother as well as myself.”

“And you will come up to Town for the wedding, won’t you?”

“I must, of course.”

And I went on thinking of Jemima Cray.