The Black Swan

Gray Stone House

A fly had brought me from the station and as soon as I entered Gray Stone House a feeling of chill descended on me. I did not know why I should feel this, for it was much as I had expected. Built of gray stone, as its name indicated, rather ugly and somewhat isolated. It was that isolation which struck me at once. The country was of the moorland type-flattish and craggy. I could see for miles around and there was only one sign of habitation on the horizon. It looked as though it might be a farmhouse.

Phillida was watching me anxiously.

“We’re not very far from Bradford,” she told me. “And we shan’t be here long.”

“No, I suppose not.”

“Come and see the house.”

I stepped into a hall and my sense of despondency deepened. I told myself that it was because I was thinking of Joel ... of never seeing him again... turning my back on true love and accepting that for which I had once been grateful, before I was absolutely sure of the depth of my feeling for Joel.

The hall was darkish, for the windows of Gray Stone House were small and leaded, but fairly large and there were several doors leading out of it.

“The first thing is for Lucie to inspect the property,” declared Phillida, “always remembering, Lucie dear, that it is not for long.”

Roland put his arm through mine. “The house we shall have will be quite different,” he said. “But it seemed a good idea to take this for a short period.”

“Other people’s furniture never seems right,” commented Phillida. “I suppose it is because it is not what one would have chosen oneself.”

She threw open one of the doors and disclosed what I supposed was a drawing room. It was heavily curtained and again I was aware of the darkness. There was a fireplace with a mantelshelf on which were two vases, decorated with flowers, and an ormolu clock. The room was conventionally furnished with a couch and several chairs. The dining room, laundry room and kitchen were all close together. As soon as Phillida opened the kitchen door I saw Kitty.

“Hello, Kitty,” I said.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Fitzgerald,” said Kitty.

“Of course, we had to bring Kitty with us,” explained Phillida. “She looks after us very well, don’t you, Kitty?”

“I do my best,” mumbled Kitty. “I expect you’re ready for dinner.”

“How right you are!” cried Phillida.

She shut the door and cried, “Oh, while you’re here, I must show you. There’s another room down here. It’s quite small but it suits me. I hope you don’t mind but I’ve claimed it as mine. It’s my little herbary.”

“This will be where you keep your remedies,” I said.

“Exactly.”

There was a trunk in one corner and, seeing my eyes stray to it, Phillida went on, “There was no room for that upstairs. It’s rather weighty too. It’s got some books and clothes in it. I said they needn’t bother to take it up. After all, we’re not going to be here long.”

“You know what Phillida is with her herbs,” said Roland.

“Oh, yes. I’ve been missing the nightcap while I’ve been away.”

“And obviously you are in need of it. You don’t look so good as when we last saw you - but you are going to be better now.”

“Of course... when she is with us, I hope,” said Roland, smiling fondly at me.

And I thought, how could I ever hurt them? But what of Joel? Wasn’t I hurting him? “You are very pensive, Lucie dear,” said Phillida breezily. “I don’t think you are exactly enamoured of the house.”

“Well, as you say, it is only a starting-off point.”

“Exactly. That’s just it. Come on. Let’s show you upstairs. There are four rooms ... a largish bedroom which has been designated to you and Roland. The next m size shall be mine. And there are two other smaller bedrooms.” We inspected the bedrooms and I saw the short spiral staircase which led to the attics.

“Kitty’s quarters,” said Phillida.

“Will she be able to manage the house?”

“Yes ... for the time we are here. As we keep saying, it isn’t going to be very long.”

“I’m sure it is not,” added Roland.

Phillida looked at him and laughed. “It really is so exciting,” she said.

I wished I could agree with her.

Darkness fell. Kitty filled lamps with paraffin oil and lighted the wicks. The place looked dismal in the shrouded glow they gave. I felt an impulse to run out of the house.

In the dining room we partook of the stew which Kitty had made. It was hot, quite appetizing and I felt better. Roland was watching me anxiously. “You’ll get used to it,” he said quietly. “Remember it isn’t going to be for long.

We’ll soon find something, then you’ll laugh at all this.”

“I think it’s fine,” said Phillida.

Kitty had made an apple pie which she brought in proudly.

“The oven’s quite good,” she said.

“You’ve done wonders, Kitty,” Phillida told her. “Don’t you think so, Lucie?”

“Oh, yes, I do.”

When the meal was over I said I would finish my unpacking.

Roland said he wanted to go out to look at the stables and see about horses for us.

He had wanted to consult me and tomorrow would go and see what he could find. I went up to the bedroom which had been allotted to Roland and me. There was a large walk-in cupboard which would be useful. I tried to lift my spirits by repeating what Roland and Phillida were constantly saying: it will not be for long. Yes, it will, I thought, it will be for ever.

I toyed with the thought of telling Roland. I knew he would be sympathetic and understanding. It would be better than letting him think I had turned from him. I could not bear to contemplate his caresses. I knew now that I could not be happy with any man but Joel.

There was a knock on the door. It was Phillida, bright and breezy as ever.

“How are you getting on?” she asked.

“Oh, quite well.”

She came into the room. “I’m afraid you are a little disappointed in this place.”

“Oh... it’s all right. It is rather lonely.”

“You feel shut off from everything, do you? But there are the three of us. We’ll be all right together. Roland and I are getting used to it. It was just that we couldn’t find anything else and we thought... just for a short time ...”

“It will look a lot brighter when the sun shines.”

“We’ll start in earnest tomorrow. I just love looking at houses... particularly with the prospect of buying one. Houses are fascinating, I always think. Ugh ... it’s a bit chilly in here, don’t you think?”

“Yes, it is a little.”

“The window’s open. Shall we shut it?”

“Yes,” I said and went over to it. I froze with horror. Standing below, looking up at the window, was a figure in a cloak and opera hat.

I gave a little cry.

“So chilly,” Phillida was saying. “I think we shall need some fires in the bedrooms.” I was not listening. I was just standing there, staring down. And as I did so, he lifted his hat. Clearly I saw the widow’s peak.

I heard Phillida’s voice, “What is it, Lucie?”

She rose and came to stand beside me. I turned to her almost triumphantly because he was still there. Phillida was staring blankly out of the window. “What is it?” she said. “What are you looking at?”

“Look-look! He’s there.”

“What? Where””

“Down there.” I turned to her. “Surely you can see ...”

She was looking at me incredulously. I saw fear in her face. “Oh ... my God!” I heard her murmur. She sat down on the bed.

I went to her. “You saw, Phillida. No one can say I imagined it now.”

She looked at me pityingly. “Oh, Lucie... Lucie ... I don’t know what to say.”

I dragged her back to the window.

He was gone.

“You saw him... you can confirm ...”

She shook her head and avoided looking at me.

“Lucie... I’m sorry ... I saw nothing. There was nothing there.”

“You can’t mean that. You’re lying ...”

“Oh, Lucie, I wish I were.”

I was astounded and angry.

I cried, “You did see him. You must have. He was standing there. He took off his hat and bowed. You must have seen his hair.”

“Lucie, my dear, dear Lucie, there was no one there.”

“I saw him, I tell you, I saw him.”

“Lucie dear, you have had a terrible shock... sometimes it takes a long time to get over these things.”

“You are not telling the truth. Why do you lie?”

“How I wish I were! How I wish I could say I saw him. I’d give anything to say I did. But I didn’t. I just didn’t. Truly... there was no one there.” I covered my face with my hands. She was lying, I was telling myself. She must be.

But why?

Roland had come into the room. “What on earth is the matter?” he asked.

“Oh, Roland ...” said Phillida. “It was terrible ...”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Lucie saw ... or thought she saw ...”

“I saw! I saw!” I shouted.

“It was the ghost again.”

“Where?”

“Down there. Outside, the one Lucie thought she saw before.”

“Oh, Lucie,” said Roland. “My dear Lucie.”

“I was there with her, Roland. There wasn’t anybody there.”

“She saw him,” I said. “She must have seen him. She’s not telling the truth. Why?

Why?”

“I think you should get to bed, Lucie. Phillida...” He looked toward the door. He was telling her to go. She disturbed me. “Come, Lucie,” he went on. “Tell me about it. Was it ... the same?”

Phillida was at the door. “I’ll get something to drink,” she said. “It will do her a lot of good.”

Roland sat beside me.

“Tell me all about it,” he said soothingly.

“I went to the window and I saw him there. I called to Phillida. She came. She was right beside me. She said she couldn’t see anything. She must have seen him. He was there... right there.”

He stroked my hair. “Lucie,” he said. “Why don’t you get to bed. You’re tired out.”

“Please don’t treat me like an imbecile, Roland,” I said sharply.

“It’s the last thing I want to do. But you are tired out.”

“I don’t like this place.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not for long, you’re going to say. I don’t like it for one night, let alone a month.”

“Look, Lucie. You’re here with us ... with me. I’ll make everything all right. We’ll find something soon. There’ll be all the fun of getting it how we want it.” I wanted to shout at him, I don’t want a new house. I want to go to Joel. “Look. Why don’t you get undressed and slip into bed? You’ll find everything different in the morning.”

“Why did Phillida say she saw nothing when she so obviously did?”

“It could have been a trick of the light.”

“That’s nonsense. He was down there. I saw the opera hat and his awful unmistakable hair.”

“Perhaps Phillida couldn’t see as well. The light ...”

It was no use. Mechanically, I undressed and lay down. I wanted to shut out everything ... I longed to be back before that tragic day when my father was killed. I felt an overwhelming need to leave this house which I had begun to dread. I wanted to go back to Celeste tomorrow. I wanted to meet Joel at the Round Pond and talk and talk until we found some solution. I wanted to say: I am coming to you. I cannot live any other life.

There was a knock on the door. It was Phillida. She was carrying a tray on which were two mugs filled with a steaming beverage.

“One for each of you,” she said. “It has been a tiring day.” She set the tray down.

“Sleep well,” she went on; and left us.

I did sleep well. I awoke to find myself alone. I saw that it was nine o’clock and I was amazed, for I usually awoke at seven.

I got out of bed and went to the leaded window. I looked down. I saw nothing but the moor stretching out before me. It undulated slightly. I saw the boulders and the sun glinted on little rivulets, making them shine like silver. It was beautiful in a wild way.

Kitty looked in. She asked if I wanted hot water now and I told her I did. She brought it and I washed. I had slept so well that I felt a little better. I could not stop thinking of last night’s apparition, but it was strange how different everything seemed by daylight.

I was sure I had seen him there, but Phillida had not. Could it really be that it was my imagination? He had seemed so clear. How could Phillida not have seen him, unless it was a ghost who appeared to me and not to others? Why should she lie? There didn’t seem to be any point in her doing so. On that other occasion when I had seen him, he had gone before I could get Roland to see him. I wondered if he would have been invisible to Roland as well as Phillida. It did seem as though I might be suffering from hallucinations.

I was trying to look at this clearly. It had been a terrible strain. It was mainly my evidence which had sent that man to the gallows. Had that preyed on my mind? I had hated Phillida last night. But that was not fair, for somehow I had felt that she had desperately wanted to say she had seen the man. But of course she had to tell the truth.

I must not blame her because I was becoming a little... what was it? ... mentally disturbed through all that had happened.

I was mentally disturbed. Terrible things had happened to me. It is mentally disturbing to see someone whom you love dearly shot dead at your feet and then to be called on to identify his murderer. This man had died violently. It was said that people who died in such circumstances did sometimes return to this world. Rebecca had thought so. She firmly believed that our mother had come back to beg her to take care of me. She referred to it now and then and always with conviction. If my mother returned, why not a man who had been hanged? And to whom should he return but to the one who had helped to bring about his end? He was a murderer, I kept telling myself. He deserved to die. He had killed my father and, if he had lived, others might have died in the same way; no doubt others had. My father would not have been the first. He was a terrorist and anarchist. He was no less a murderer because he had killed for a cause.

I must be reasonable. If I had seen him and Phillida had not, he must be a ghost. If that were so, there was a modicum of comfort for me, for I had had the fear that I had helped to convict the wrong man, and it was the murderer himself who visited me in the flesh to mock me and disturb my conscience.

This was how I had felt in the days following my father’s death. In the last year or so I had grown a little away from the nightmare and for long periods had ceased to think about it.

Now I wondered if I ever should.

Temporarily last night’s events had taken my mind from the great problem of how I was going to continue my life with Roland when I wanted to be only with Joel. I went downstairs. Phillida was in the dining room.

“Oh hello, Lucie,” she said brightly, as though last night had not happened. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you,” I replied.

“It never fails. It’s a herbal tea. Thoroughly recommended by that wonderful health shop in London. Remember? The one I promised to take you to?”

“Yes. I ... I’m sorry about last night. I ... said you were ? lying.”

“Oh!” She laughed. “Forget it. You were overwrought. I quite understand it. I should have been the same. These things happen, you know. I’m sorry I had to say what I did. But you understand. I couldn’t do anything else. You’ll see. It’s only a temporary thing. I’ve known it happen to people before. The best thing is to ignore it and it’ll be forgotten in no time. Roland’s gone off to see about horses. He said that is the first priority. We’ve got to be able to get about. And he is going to find out if there are any houses for sale at the same time. What do you want to do?”

“I thought I’d like to walk a little.”

“You don’t mind if I don’t come with you? There are one or two things I want to see to in the house. I can’t leave it all to Kitty. Have some coffee and I’ll get Kitty to make you some toast. We’ll have to think about food, I suppose. Don’t worry. You go alone... but don’t go far. Don’t get lost. It’s pretty open here, isn’t it? So you can see where you are.”

She went to the kitchen and I heard her talking to Kitty.

When she came back she said, “Kitty’s getting it right away. She won’t be long. She’s a treasure really... and I think she is rather glad to get down here. She was very much aware of Mrs. Emery’s disapproval. It shouldn’t have been directed against Kitty. It wasn’t her fault I brought her in. It was mine, of course. But I will say that most of the disapproval came my way.”

“You mustn’t take that too seriously. Mrs. Emery’s a good sort, but she is rather a stickler for conventions.”

“And I, alas, offended them.”

“It is very easy to do that.”

She laughed and I joined in. She looked very pleased.

“A nice little walk will do you good,” she said. “I was thinking ... if we had a little dog cart... we’d be able to get into Bradford to shop comfortably.”

“That sounds as if we are going to be here for a long time.”

“Oh, good heavens no! I reckon we’ll be out of here in a few weeks. The dog cart would be useful, though, wherever we were.”

“Yes, I suppose it would.”

“I’ll talk to Roland about it. We both will.”

I was silent and Kitty brought in toast and coffee.

I came out into the fresh air. It was wonderfully invigorating. I stood outside the house and asked myself which way. I gazed toward the dwelling on the horizon and decided to make my way in that direction.

The keen air revived my spirits to some extent and I picked my way carefully over the springy turf. I was wondering whether I might tell Roland that I had met Joel again. He was so kind and understanding. I felt at moments that it might be helpful to talk to him; but at others I realized how difficult it would be.

I could see the farmhouse now. It appeared to be in a little hollow-to give it shelter perhaps. I imagined how the wind would come sweeping across the open space. The land was cultivated here. I could see sheep grazing and as I came near to the house, some cowsheds. The people who lived here would be our closest neighbors. Not for long, I could hear Phillida saying.

Somewhere at the back of my mind I thought that it would be comforting to have neighbors... even though they must be almost a mile away.

I was close to the house now. I could see its gray stone clearly... similar to ours. I saw the courtyard with a few fowls roaming around, pecking at the earth. There was what appeared to be an orchard at the side of the house. I walked toward this and a childish voice called, “Hello!”

A girl was seated on a swing fixed between two trees and a boy was pushing her. They looked about eight or nine years old.

“Hello,” I replied. “Do you live here?”

They nodded and the boy pointed in the direction of the farmhouse. The girl stretched out her legs and moved them so that the swing rose higher. I stood for a moment, watching.

Then the boy said, “You from Gray Stone?”

“Yes. And you must be our nearest neighbors.”

“Reckon.”

The girl scraped her feet along the ground and brought the swing to a standstill.

“Happen you won’t stay long,” she said. “People don’t.”

I stood watching them for a second or so, and as I was preparing to walk away, I heard a voice calling: “Daisy, you in that orchard?”

“Yes, Mam.”

A woman came into sight. She wore a print apron over a dark brown skirt and cotton blouse. Her hair was pulled into a knot at the nape of her neck and several strands had escaped from it.

“Oh,” she said, stopping short when she saw me. “You must be one of them from Gray Stone.”

“Yes,” I told her. “We’ve only just moved in.”

“How long will you be staying there? People don’t stay long at Gray Stone.”

“No. I gather it is let out for short periods.”

“Well... seeing as we’re neighbors ... if only for a short while... come in and have a glass of cider.”

The invitation was given spontaneously and I felt it would be churlish to refuse.

So I said I should be delighted to.

She took me through an orchard to the house. We crossed the yard where the chickens were rooting about for food, and she led the way into a large kitchen It was warm, for there was a huge fire with an oven beside it. I could smell something savory cooking.

“I’m Mrs. Hellman,” she said, “the farmer’s wife. Them out there swinging is our two... Jim and Daisy.”

“It is nice to meet you and so kind of you to invite me in. I’m Mrs. Fitzgerald.”

“Don’t come from these parts, I see.”

“Oh, no.”

“From the South, reckon.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re at Gray Stone with your husband?”

“My husband and my sister-in-law.”

“Oh, the three of you. Got any help up there?”

“We brought a maid with us.”

“That’s good for you. There’s not much to be had round here... not unless you have them living in.”

“Yes. We are a little isolated here.”

She moved to a barrel. There was a tap at the side and she poured the cider into two pewter mugs.

She set them on the table and smiled at me.

“We like to be neighborly up here, you know,” she explained. “We’re blunt... and honest... none of that waltzing around what you’re trying to say to cover it up and make it sound nice. We say what we mean... and if them that hears it don’t like it ... well, they must take it as it comes.”

“Perhaps it’s the best way.”

“So you’re only staying for a short while?”

“We’re looking for a house.”

“So you’re settling up here?”

“If we can find the right house.”

“In Bradford, I suppose. That’s a fine town.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing it.”

“What sort of house are you looking for?”

“Something not too new. I rather like old houses.”

“Plenty of them round here. I came here when I married and reckon I wouldn’t want to move till they carry me out in my coffin. Hellman’s family have farmed here for years. It’s hard land to farm. Too much of the moor. Hellman often says we ought to sell up and go somewhere where the land’s more fertile. But there’s some good sheep country around here.”

“Yes, I know. My husband is in wool.”

“Oh, that explains it ... you being here and all that. How’s the cider?”

“Delicious.”

“See that old barrel? My husband’s grandmother and her grandmother before her made cider in that. There’s something about the flavor. It’s all our own.”

“You must have a great deal to do.”

She laughed at me. “On the go most of the time. That’s why it’s so nice to sit down and chat with a neighbor over a mug of cider. My husband knows a lot of what goes on round here. He would, of course, living here all his life. He rides into Bradford quite often. He knows most of the wool people there. Fitzgerald, you say? I can’t say I’ve heard of them but I reckon Hellman will know them.”

“My husband has not been up here very often. He has an office in London, but he thinks he should be here more. That’s why we are going to look for a house.”

“Well, I’m pleased. Gray Stone’s been empty for over a year. I don’t like houses to stand empty... and as I’m saying it’s nice to have neighbors. If you want anything at any time, you just pop over.”

“That’s kind of you. Alas, it is rather far.”

“You’re in the country now. We don’t live on top of each other. You’re from London, I reckon. You’ve got the look of it.”

She smiled, faintly amused, admiring me with a hint of contempt for one who was a stranger to the fresh winds of open spaces.

I said, “I have lived a long time in London... and in the country, too.”

“The country ... not Yorkshire.”

“No. Quite near London. A place called Manorleigh.”

“Manorleigh... that rings a bell.”

I thought, I shouldn’t have mentioned it. She will be remembering. Headlines flashed into my mind: THE MEMBER FOR MANORLEIGH WAS SHOT DEAD OUTSIDE HIS HOUSE IN LONDON TODAY. And up to that moment, from the time I had seen the children, I had not thought of it and my dilemma.

“Yes,” she said. “I seem to have heard of that place.”

I said quickly, “So ... we are coming to Yorkshire ... if we can find something.”

“You won’t find a finer place to live in the whole of England.”

“It’s certainly beautiful,” I said. The dangerous moment was past. She had forgotten Manorleigh.

“By the way,” she said. “If you want fresh eggs at any time, one of the children would bring them to you ... or I would myself. Hellman says the eggs are my affair. Well, it gives me a bit of pocket money and they’re not much trouble really.”

“Perhaps I could take some back with me,” I said.

“Well, if you’d like to.” She went to the door and shouted, “Patty!” I heard an answering voice from some way off. She came back to the table. “Patty’s the dairy maid. I’ll tell her to get some eggs for you. How many would you like? A dozen?”

“I should think that would be good.”

The door opened and Patty came in-plump like her mistress, with rosy cheeks and fair curly hair.

“This is Mrs. Fitzgerald, Patty,” said Mrs. Hellman. “Just moved into Gray Stone.”

“Oh,” said Patty. “That’s nice.”

“She’s taking a dozen eggs. Pick some of the big brown ones for her. Show her what a good country egg is like. She comes from London.”

Patty said, “I’ll get some of the nice big brown ones, Mrs. Hellman.”

“You do that,” said my hostess.

While we finished our cider she told me about the difficulties of farming... the droughts, the high winds and the unpredictable weather generally. She said she hoped we’d be comfortable at Gray Stone. We were not far from Bracken. “It’s only a little village, but there are a few shops there. About a mile or so away. Hellman goes in every three or four days to pick up the post. Well, you can’t expect them to deliver it out here. The only places are us and Gray Stone. You couldn’t expect it, could you? So in he goes every few days or so to collect it. There’s a little post office place in Bracken. It works all right. You’ll be comfortable in Gray Stone, I reckon. It’s a bit higher than the farm and the winds whistle round the place something shocking at times. People say the place is haunted, but you don’t want to listen to them. You don’t look the sort who’d believe that kind of nonsense... coming from London. We don’t hold with it much up here. But some people get silly ideas in their heads and when a place is empty... you know what it is.”

“I didn’t know it had that reputation.”

“Well, it’s no more than any old house gets... particularly if it is left standing empty.”

“Has it always been let out?”

“Since old Hargreaves died. That would be eight or nine years ago. He lived there with his old housekeeper. His family didn’t bother much. They were after his bit of money. Then his son and son’s wife came down to look after him. It wasn’t long after that he was in his coffin. Of course, there were rumors. Did the old man die naturally or did they give him a little push? They got the house. We all thought they’d sell... but they didn’t. They did this letting and you get people there ... for a while. Then they’re off.”

The door opened and Patty came in with the eggs.

“There,” said Mrs. Hellman. “A dozen of the best.”

I paid her what she asked and she put the money in a box on a shelf with an air of satisfaction.

I was grateful for the cider and her friendliness. I felt remarkably pleased that we had a near and affable neighbor.

I said, “I am sure we shall want more eggs. Although it’s my sister-in-law who does the housekeeping. Could you send us another dozen in a week’s time?” She beamed her pleasure. “Either I or one of the children will bring them over.” Her eyes sparkled at the prospect. I could see that she was full of curiosity to see what the new neighbors were like; and as I rose to go she said how pleased she was that I had called.

“If there’s one thing I like, it’s being neighborly,” she said. “After all, we’re only here once, aren’t we? We might as well make the most of it. And here we are... out here... away from things, you might say. It’s only good sense that we know each other.”

I agreed with her, said good-bye and carefully carried the eggs back to Gray Stone House.

Roland had returned and he and Phillida greeted me as I came in.

“How are you?” asked Roland anxiously.

“A lot better, thanks. I have been for a long walk and it has been quite interesting. I have met our nearest neighbors and I’ve brought back some eggs. I have ordered a dozen to be sent in a week’s time. Is that all right?”

Phillida seized on the eggs. “Marvelous. Oh, they’re beauties. So we shall have eggs in constant supply.”

“We shan’t need to bring them back from Bracken in the dog cart,” I said.

“What’s this about a dog cart?” asked Roland.

We told him and he thought it was a good idea.

“I was invited in and given some cider,” I told them.

“My goodness,” said Roland with a smile. “You do move fast.”

“The people are very friendly here. They may seem a bit gruff and they are impatient with our more diplomatic Southern ways. Here a spade is called a spade, I gather. That’s what was implied. However, beneath the rough exteriors ...”

“I know,” put in Phillida, “beat hearts of gold. It’s wonderful about the eggs.”

“Their name is Hellman,” I said. “There are two children, Jim and Daisy.”

“You have discovered a lot.”

“I did learn that Mr. Hellman’s grandfather and his father before him farmed on the same land. They’ve got sheep, too, so they know about wool. Mrs. Hellman reckons her husband is on good terms with all the wool people in Bradford.”

“Oh?” said Roland rather quietly.

“Did you tell her we were concerned in the wool trade?” asked Phillida. “Of course. It couldn’t have been all one-sided. She said she had never heard of the Fitzgeralds.”

“I expect she enjoyed your visit,” said Phillida. “It must be lonely for her out here. Visitors would be welcome.”

“I am sure that is so. I’m glad you are pleased about the eggs.”

“Now listen to Roland’s news,” said Phillida.

“I’ve got the horses,” he said. “They are being brought over this afternoon. There will be a nice little chestnut mare for you, Lucie.”

“That’s lovely. And they are coming this afternoon?”

“I asked them to be quick. I want you and Phillida to be satisfied with what you are having.”

“Of course we shall be!” cried Phillida. “Go on, Roland.”

“There is the possibility of a house. It’s just outside the city. It sounds delightful.”

“How old?”

“This will please you. Eighteenth century. It sounds elegant and is quite spacious. As far as I could gather, it has a lot of interesting features.” . “When can we go and see it?”

“The owners are living there. They haven’t moved out yet.”

“That means that it would be a long time before we could move in.”

“No. They are ready to move out as soon as the sale is completed. They are away for a few days, but as soon as they come back we can view it.”

“Isn’t that wonderful!” cried Phillida. “I confess to feeling as impatient as you do.”

“So,” said Roland, “we shall have to wait for a few days till they return, and then... well, let’s hope it is all the agent says it is.”

“So it was a successful morning,” I said.

“Very,” replied Roland. “And the best thing about it all is that you are feeling better.”

“Lunch will be served very soon,” said Phillida. “What about an omelette with Mrs. Hellman’s eggs?”

“That sounds good,” I replied. “I’ll just go up to change my riding boots.”

“Don’t be long. I’ll take the eggs to Kitty.”

I went up to the room I shared with Roland. I don’t want this house, I thought. I shall have to explain to Roland. It isn’t fair to him not to. He’s so kind and thoughtful, and he will notice the difference in me. I must tell him.

I took off my boots and put on a pair of shoes. There was water in the ewer so I washed my hands.

When I went down Phillida and Roland were in the dining room. They were talking very quietly, but with some heat, which was unusual with them. I caught a few snatches of what Phillida was saying. “It’ll have to be soon. It should have been over by now. It’s your fault. You were the one who wanted to wait.” As I entered she stopped abruptly and I fancied she looked a little startled. Then she said lightly, “I was scolding Roland.

I was telling him that if he had gone to see about the horses earlier we should have had them by now.” She laughed. “I was really cross with him which was very wrong of me. Well, you can’t keep an omelette waiting.”

Kitty brought in the food and we all agreed that it was delicious. “The eggs are so fresh,” said Phillida. “Possibly laid this morning. Good for you, Lucie, making such good use of exploring our local color.” A few days passed. Several times I had been on the point of telling Roland that I was in love with Joel and for that reason the relationship could not be the same as it had previously been between us. I reminded myself that I had thought I had loved him, that I had been very eager that we should have a normal and happy marriage. But now that I had seen Joel, talked with him, I realized what I had lost and I could never really be reconciled.

Roland knew I was disturbed and thought it was due to the vision I had seen ... or as he would say, “thought I saw.” He knew I was in a disturbed state. I was indeed-both because of what I had seen and my loss of Joel.

He was not a passionate man. There had been no intensity in his lovemaking. Ignorant as I was of such matters, that thought had only just occurred to me. He was a kind, gentle, sensitive person. His great purpose really did seem to be to comfort me. Sometimes I felt he understood more than anyone else what I had suffered through the loss of my father. I could not have had a more gentle, more kind husband. When we retired and I was alone with him he somehow made me understand that he would make no demands on me. I was upset, he implied. I was going through a bad time. I would get better soon, but in the meantime I needed to be quiet. I needed sleep.

I was grateful to him and at the same time I was grappling with myself as to whether or not I should tell him. The thought came to me that I could become free of him, dissolve my marriage as Belinda had done; and then marry Joel.

If Belinda had achieved it without too much trouble, why should not I? I knew what Belinda’s reaction would be. She would say I was a fool not to try. But it was different in her case. She and Henry Farrell had parted; they had quarreled violently; whereas from Roland I had had nothing but love and understanding and I knew that he cared for me deeply.

How could I hurt him? And yet... what of Joel?

If I went to Joel I should never be able to forget Roland; and if I stayed with Roland I could not get Joel out of my thoughts; it seemed that I should be beset either by deep disturbing regrets or a perpetual longing for what I had missed. Each day I woke to this uncertainty. Should I? Could I? How could I go on like this?

So ... how grateful I was to Roland for leaving me in peace. We had our horses now. It was a relief to be able to ride. The three of us went out together to explore; but mostly Roland and I were on our own. How many times, during those rides, was I on the verge of telling him everything; but I never managed it. I could not help being pleased that he had to spend a certain amount of time in Bradford on business. That left Phillida and me on our own.

Phillida was very kind and gentle. She was interested in maintaining good health and thought herself something of an authority on the subject. I remarked that she must miss her health shop in London.

“Oh, who knows?” she said blithely. “I may find one in Bradford. They are springing up all over the country. They are such a boon. I’ll guarantee I’ll cure you, Lucie. It’s taken a little time.”

“Cure me?”

“Well ... all this nervousness.”

I was silent and she put her hand over mine. “You must take more exercise. I’m so glad Roland had the horses sent. You looked in such good health when you came in from your gallop.

I thought, this is the way. A healthy body means a healthy mind. I believe some sage said that once, and how right he is! All the same, you need these little pick-me-ups from time to time.”

“You and Roland have been so good to me.”

“Of course we have. We have good reason to be.” . “Just that meeting on the ferry... and all this.... Life is strange, isn’t it?”

“Very strange... and wonderful. I believe it is what we make it.”

“Oh, you believe in giving fate a little jog, do you?”

She threw back her head and laughed. She had very hearty laughter. “Well, why not? Who’s going to help you if you don’t help yourself? Aren’t you thrilled because this afternoon we are going to see the house?”

“Oh yes ... it will be interesting.”

“You don’t sound wildly enthusiastic.”

“Well, Phillida, I’m not sure. We seem to be so far away....”

“Nonsense. Once we are settled you’ll be able to go and stay at Manorleigh... and go to London. Don’t forget Roland has business there, too.”

“Yes, of course.”

“So cheer up. I thought we’d have an early lunch. Then we’ll go and see this wonderful house. Roland should be back soon. Listen ... I think I can hear him.” It was Roland. He looked anxiously at me as soon as he came in.

“Looking forward to seeing the house, Lucie?” he asked almost pleadingly.

“Yes, of course,” I lied.

We set out after lunch and rode in the direction of the big town-through the little village of Bracken which seemed to consist of one long street and an inn and a church. I caught a glimpse of the shop which seemed to sell a variety of goods; it had a sign over it indicating that it was a post office. I remembered what Mrs. Hellman had told me about collecting letters.

There would be none to collect. I had not given anyone the address. I must write to Celeste and Rebecca and to Belinda perhaps. It would be comforting to hear from them and would make me feel less remote.

In due course we found the house. It stood back from the road in pleasant grounds. We rode up the drive and when we arrived at the house a groom came out to take our horses.

A man and woman came out; they were obviously expecting us.

“You are of course Mr. and Mrs. and Miss Fitzgerald,” said the man. “Do come in.

We are delighted that you have come to see the house.”

“It is very charming,” said Phillida. “What lovely gardens! I do like this type of architecture.”

“I always think it is one of the most interesting periods,” said the man. “By the way, I am George Glenning and this is my wife.”

We shook hands and then went up the stone steps to the front door with its spider web fanlight and highly polished brass knocker. Then we were in the hall which was lofty and spacious. There was a staircase at the end of the hall; it curved gracefully upward.

“The main rooms are on the first floor,” said Mrs. Glenning. “There is a rather fine drawing room. In fact, it can make a ballroom, can’t it, George?” He replied, “Well, at times we have put it to that use. But let our visitors decide for themselves. Shall we start on the ground floor?”

We went through several rooms. I was thinking, I can’t live here. I have to get away. Of course, it is a charming house, and of course Roland wants his own home. But I shall have to explain.

We went into the drawing room. It was quite magnificent, but I could not concentrate. Mrs. Glenning was looking at me expectantly. Phillida was so enthusiastic, declaring her delight in the house.

“Mrs. Fitzgerald,” began Mrs. Glenning. “Are you feeling ... ?”

I tried to pull myself together, to feign an interest in the house.

Phillida said in a soothing voice, “My sister-in-law has not been very well lately.”

She was looking at Mrs. Glenning as though trying to convey something to her. Phillida went on. “She is really loving it all, aren’t you, Lucie?” She spoke to me almost chidingly, yet indulgently, as one might speak to a child. “Yes, yes,” I said quickly. “It’s very charming.”

“Do you like this window?” asked Mrs. Glenning. “It’s typical of the period, isn’t it, George? George looked up a few details when we came here. He was very taken with everything.”

“I can imagine most people would be,” said Roland.

Phillida had put her arm round me protectively. “It’s lovely, isn’t it, Lucie?” And so on ... through the house. It certainly was delightful and I thought that if Joel were with me and it was for us how thrilled I should be. We reached the nursery-two light, airy rooms at the top of the house. There were bars across the windows.

“They were put up for the safety of the children,” Mrs. Glenning explained. “But they could easily be removed.”

Phillida said quickly. “Oh no. They might become very useful.”

“You mean when the children come?” said Mrs. Glenning almost archly.

“Well ... I was thinking of that,” said Phillida with a faint air of embarrassment.

When we had seen everything we were invited to take tea in the drawing room.

“How kind!” said Phillida. “Oh, I do like this house. I hope it is going to be ours.” Roland was looking at me anxiously. “I ... I think we shall have to talk it over together,” he said.

The Glennings were looking at me rather curiously.

“But of course,” said Mr. Glenning. “You cannot make a hasty decision. We have some more people coming to see it tomorrow though ... so remember, if you should decide you want it, you should get into touch with us immediately.”

“It’s the sort of house that won’t stay long on the market,” said Phillida. She looked at me almost pleadingly. “You do like it, Lucie?”

“I think it is a very beautiful house,” I said.

“That’s wonderful.” She was now looking expectantly at Roland.

“Lucie and I will want to consider a few things,” he said. Phillida sighed and looked faintly... but indulgently... exasperated. It was typical of her that she would have liked Roland to have come to a decision right away.

“If you would like to look over it again...” said Mrs. Glenning. “That wouldn’t be necessary for me,” said Phillida. “Roland, you too. You love it, don’t you? I can see you do. It’s just what we had in mind. And it’s in the right spot. It’s even near the town, and of course there’s the station nearby so that we could easily get the train to London.”

“It certainly seems to fulfill our requirements.” Roland was looking at me, too, but I said nothing.

We had had tea and were preparing to leave. I was in the hall with Roland, and Phillida had gone back into the kitchen. There was something she wanted to look at again. Roland was talking to Mr. Glenning about the Adam doorway and I had moved a little apart. I heard Phillida’s voice. “I think it is almost certain. We love it ... my brother and I. My sister-in-law... she has been rather unwell. We feel we have to be careful.” There was a pause. A whisper.

Then Mrs. Glenning said, “Poor lady. I do hope she will soon be well.”

“We are going to make sure that she is,” said Phillida. “It is just a matter of a little care, I am sure.”

They came out and joined us, smiling brightly.

I thought Mrs. Glenning looked at me oddly, almost pityingly.

We said good-bye and Roland promised them that he would be in touch very soon. When we reached Gray Stone House, it looked even more grim than ever in comparison with the house we had just seen.

“What a difference!” said Phillida. “I do hope we don’t have to stay here much longer. I thought the house was lovely. Just what we wanted. What didn’t you like about it, Lucie?”

“I ... I thought it was a fine house, too,” I said. “It’s just that I am uncertain about being here.”

“Still hankering after London and Manorleigh? Oh well, that’s understandable, isn’t it, Roland? You’ve always been there. Naturally you feel a little strange at first. But it will pass. When you are feeling better, you’ll see what a wonderful place it is.”

“Phillida,” I said firmly. “I am not ill.”

“Oh no, of course not. You’re just a little upset. You’re going to be perfectly well.

You’re going to love it here. Roland and I are going to look after you.”

I smiled faintly at her. It was ungrateful of me but I felt irritated.

That night I did talk to Roland.

We were alone in our room. Phillida had brought our nightcap and said good night.

I burst out suddenly, “Roland, I’ve got to talk to you. I’ve got to explain.”

“Yes?” he said. “Tell me what it is. I know something is on your mind. It’s not only the ...” He hesitated. He knew I hated it to be referred to as the vision or the ghost.

“It’s Joel Greenham.”

He looked at me in astonishment and I went on quickly, “Joel and I were engaged to be married. It was not official but it was understood between us. Then he went away and was reported dead. You see, that was why.... Every thing seemed hopeless. My father dead... Joel, too. I shouldn’t have done it, Roland. I should never have married you.”

“Lucie!”

“Wait,” I went on. “Listen to what I have to say. You see, Roland, I love Joel. I always have, ever since I was a little girl. It was only because I was so young that we were not already married. But we were going to announce our engagement on his return.”

“And now he has come back,” Roland said sadly. “I think I understand. You were convinced that you would never see him again and you were very unhappy. And you liked us ... you liked Phillida... and me. We got on so well together. We were happy together, weren’t we?”

I nodded.

“And,” he went on, “you would have been happier-if he had not come back.” It was true, I supposed. I had begun to be reconciled. I could picture quite a happy life ahead with Roland. I thought we should have children and they would have made up for a good deal. Phillida was my good friend.

“Perhaps,” I said. “But he has come back.”

“You have seen him?”

“Yes. When I was in London.”

“And he has talked to you... about us?”

“Yes.”

“What does he want?”

I did not answer and Roland went on. “I know what he wants. He wants you to leave me and go to him.”

There was silence. I looked at him miserably and felt I could never be happy, whatever happened.

“And you?” he went on.

“I ... I ...” I stammered.

He smiled rather wanly. “What do you want, Lucie? Don’t be afraid to tell me.”

I could not bear to answer.

“I love you very much,” he said.

“Yes. I know.”

“I can’t imagine my life without you.”

“You have always been so good to me. I can never forget that.”

“But you love him.”

“I am fond of you, Roland... and I should hate to hurt you.”

“The time we have been together has been wonderful for me. I don’t know whether I could let you go. But it is what you want. It is what you are asking me.” For a few seconds there was silence.

Then he went on, “I knew there was something. Ever since you have been back from London... before that even ... I thought everything was not well.” He stood up and went to the window and looked out. It was as though he could not bear to look at me.

I went and stood beside him. I looked down, half-expecting to see that dreaded figure. There was nothing... only the empty moorland. The wind had risen and it moaned like someone in pain as it ruffled the grass.

He turned to me and gripped my hand. “Lucie, don’t do anything rash, please.”

“Rash?” I repeated.

“Wait awhile. Think about this. Promise me you won’t do anything without telling me first. I do deserve that, don’t I?”

“Oh, Roland, you deserve the best... the best of everything. I wish ...”

“You wish things were different. Oh, so do I, Lucie. So do I. I think you could be happy here... with me. You couldn’t just walk out and leave me.”

“Not like that, Roland,” I said. “And I should always remember you... whatever happened.”

“It may not be the right thing for you, Lucie. I want you to be happy. That’s what I want most of all. But you must be sure that it is right for you.”

“Do you mean that if you thought it was right for me... you would agree ... ?”

“I don’t know. I can’t think clearly. It has been too much of a shock. It’s not your fault, of course. It’s circumstances. I want time... time to think. That’s it, Lucie. Give ourselves time. Let’s think about it ... talk about it. I don’t know whether could give you up. I know that it would be the good and noble thing to do and that I should... because it is what you want. I don’t know whether I am strong enough. I like to think that if I were sure it was the right thing for you, I would do it. But I am not sure, Lucie. I’m terribly unsure.”

“I know ... I know.”

“And, Lucie. I believe you are unsure, too.” He took my face in his hands and kissed my forehead gently. “Let’s think about it,” he said. “Let’s not make hasty decisions.”

I nodded. “Oh, Roland,” I cried. “I’m so glad I told you.”

“Yes,” he said. “So am I. Even in something like this it is better to know the truth.”

Roland went off next morning before I was up. I felt a certain relief because I had spoken to him. He, himself, had said it was better to know, and he was right. I wondered what he would do. He was a very unselfish man and I was sure that he meant it when he said that if he could convince himself that it was best for me, he would let me go. He would release me; he would give me the sort of divorce which Henry Farrell was giving Belinda - and that would leave me free to marry Joel. The thought did not fill me with the joy it might have done, since going to Joel would mean hurting Roland. I had grown to care for him and he dearly loved me. But perhaps he would find someone in due course, marry and have children. Phillida would make an excellent aunt. Perhaps she herself would marry. I wondered why she had not. She was attractive with her vivacity and her moderately good looks; she was always graceful and elegant. I had never seen her otherwise.

She was a year or so younger than Roland and that was not very old.

I went down to breakfast. Phillida looked at me with some anxiety. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m all right, thanks. And you?”

“Very well,” she replied. “Roland didn’t look so good this morning. I made a special porridge for him. It’s full of goodness. Poor lamb, he didn’t want to eat it, but I made him. If I didn’t know he was as strong as a horse, I’d be worried and think he was sickening for something. He said he didn’t sleep so well. That was all.”

“Did he say when he would be back?”

“No. He wasn’t sure. It’s going to be a busy day. He’s neglected business up here so much in the past months.”

After lunch, I rode into the village of Bracken. I saw the post office-cum-store again and reminded myself that I must write to Rebecca. There was so much that I could have said to her if I had been with her. It would not be so easy to write it. I wished she were at hand to advise me.

I arrived back in the late afternoon. Phillida was in the drawing room, reading.

She asked if I had had a good ride.

“Yes,” I said. “I went as far as Bracken. I saw that post office Mrs. Hellman told me about. You have to collect your letters there, you know.”

“Well, nobody knows our address, do they?”

“No. They should though. I’ve been meaning to write to Celeste and to my sister.

But I’ve put it off so far.”

“Plenty of time. Have you thought any more about the house?” I had completely forgotten the house. How could I be interested in the purchase while such a decision hung over me? And that would apply to Roland, too. “We ought to decide soon,” Phillida was saying. “There seemed to be others going to look at it.”

“They might have said that to urge us on,” I pointed out.

“Possibly. But it is a beautiful house. I loved it.”

I said I was going up to change.

I did so and sat down to write a letter to Rebecca.

Dear Rebecca,

I am very unhappy. I wish you were here so that I could tell you about it. Joel is back. I should never have married Roland.

Joel wants me to leave Roland and go to him. I want it too, Rebecca. I know there can never be anyone else for me but Joel. Yet what can I do? I have married Roland. It seems as though I used him when I needed someone-and that is really the truth.

It seemed right at the time. He has been so good to me. I have told him about Joel. He is very sad but he wants to do what is best for me. I don’t know whether it means that he will let me go. He wants time to think. But just suppose he did let me go. Suppose he divorced me. It is the only possible way. I suppose a divorced woman would not be too good for a rising politician. What can I do, Rebecca? It seems that whichever way I turn someone is going to be badly hurt ...

I tore up the letter.

I could not possibly write to her in that way. It sounded almost incoherent. If only I could talk to her. Suppose I went down to Cornwall? I could explain to Roland how close we had always been, how she had always helped me over my difficulties. Ideas whirled round and round in my head.

No, I must write to her.

Dear Rebecca,

I am at the above address. It is a house we have rented while we look round. Roland wants to buy a house in this neighborhood. There is so much I want to tell you. I do wish you were here. Perhaps I could come down and see you. It must be soon. Belinda is having a little difficulty, too, but her affairs are sorting themselves out. I’ll tell you all about it when we meet. It may be that she will have everything settled by then.

Dear Rebecca, I must see you. It is difficult to write and explain. I shall be arriving at High Tor very soon. You said it would be all right for me to come at any time. So please expect me. I need to talk to you.

Love to Pedrek and the children and to you as ever, dear sister,

Lucie

I read it through. It was a strange letter. It sounded mysterious so she would know something was very wrong. I would tell Roland that I must go as soon as possible.

Rebecca was level headed and wise. Moreover she had my interests at heart. I must go to her. I sealed the letter and put it into a drawer. Tomorrow I would ride into Bracken and post it. I would talk to Roland tonight and tell him I was going to Cornwall. Roland did not return until it was almost time for dinner, and there was not time for conversation until after we had retired for the night.

He looked pale and very unhappy. He regarded me sadly when I said, “Roland, I want to go and see Rebecca.”

“To Cornwall!” he cried.

“Yes. You know she and I mean a lot to each other ... as well as being half sisters.

I want to talk to her.”

He nodded.

“You do understand,” I went on. “I feel if I talked to her... someone sympathetic... someone who understands me ... it would help a lot.”

“Can’t you talk to me? Can’t we sort out our own affairs?”

“We become... too emotional. I feel so wretched ... I hate to hurt you... and I can’t hurt Joel... Rebecca is calm and understanding.”

“If you go away,” he said, “you will never come back. Wait a little, Lucie. Don’t make hasty decisions.”

There was a knock on the door. Phillida stood there with a tray. She stood beaming at us.

“This will give you a good night’s sleep,” she said. “You look as if you need it, Roland.”

She set the tray down on the table, and as she did so I heard a sound below ... as though someone was walking under the window.

I went over and looked out. I cried out in horror. He was there. He took off his hat and lifted his face to me, smiling that evil smile.

I cried out and Roland was at my side. Phillida had come to the other side of me. The figure below stood there, hat in hand, revealing his hair. Once again he gave that ironic bow. I watched, the familiar terror gripping me.

Roland had put an arm round me.

I cried out, “There! Down there! You’ve seen it. You’ve both seen it now ...”

Roland was shaking his head.

“Dear Lucie,” said Phillida. “There’s no one there.”

“What?” I cried. “Look! Look! How can you say ...?”

Roland drew me forcibly from the window. He took my head in his hands and held it against his chest. I wriggled free.

“I am going down there to meet him,” I said.

“Lucie... Lucie ...” Roland was talking soothingly. “There is no one there.”

“I’m going down to see. I don’t believe you didn’t see him. I saw him. You must have seen him.”

“Oh dear,” said Phillida. She was looking at Roland. “What are we going to do ... about her?”

I felt a sudden rush of anger against them. “There is something down there,” I said.

“I am going to see.”

“There is no one there.” Roland drew me to the window. The figure had disappeared.

“Who is it?” I cried.

“It’s nothing, Lucie. It’s just something you’ve got on your mind.”

“I wasn’t thinking of it then.”

“But it was on your mind,” cried Phillida. “It’s not uncommon for this sort of thing to happen. People have hallucinations. You have suffered a terrible shock.” I made an impatient gesture. I had heard all this before.

“You saw it,” I reiterated. “I saw it clearly. You must have seen it. You were looking straight at it ... both of you.”

“There was nothing there,” repeated Phillida firmly. “If there had been we should have seen it. You must believe us, Lucie.”

I sat on the bed helplessly. Roland sat beside me, and, putting his arms round me, stroked my hair.

“I think the best thing is a good night’s sleep,” he said.

“Just the thing,” said Phillida. “Here, drink your nightcaps before they are cold.”

Obediently we did so.

“You both need a good night’s sleep,” said Phillida. “You’ll feel better when you’ve had that.” She laid a hand on my arm. “Don’t worry, Lucie. These things happen sometimes. The thing is to forget them. We’ll have all the fun and excitement of getting into the new house. That’ll take your mind off it. It’s what you need. You’ve been brooding. It isn’t unusual, you know. It happens to people after terrible shocks. Sometimes it takes quite a long time to recover. I’ll leave you now. Good night. Sleep well.” She kissed me lightly and then did the same to Roland.

“See you in the morning.”

And then she went out.

When she had gone, Roland said, “We won’t talk anymore tonight. You must get straight to bed and to sleep. Phillida’s right Sleep is what you need. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

To sleep? To rest? Phillida’s nightcap was not exactly efficacious. I lay still through the night. What did it mean? I asked myself. Why was I haunted by this vision? And both Roland and Phillida had been unable to see it. If it had been a real person they must have seen him. So he must be a ghost... the ghost of Fergus O’Neill, the man I had sent to the gallows.

I saw the dawn come and only then did I sleep.

I was awakened by the sound of wheels. I was startled. It was very late. I saw by the clock that it was ten o’clock.

Roland had gone and I guessed that Phillida had given instructions that I should not be disturbed.

I wondered who was below. I went to the window. I could never approach it without a shudder, wondering what I should see below.

It was a dog cart and Mrs. Hellman was alighting. The little girl Daisy was with her.

I heard Mrs. Hellman’s penetrating voice: “Good morning, Miss Fitzgerald. Your sister-in-law said you would like some eggs.”

Phillida, charming and gracious as ever, was standing there.

“How good of you! The eggs were delicious. We’d love some more.”

“Is young Mrs. Fitzgerald around?” asked Mrs. Hellman.

“She’s sleeping. She’s not very well.”

“Oh dear. I hope it’s nothing serious.”

“Well, we’re worried, my brother and I. Yes... very worried.”

“Oh deary me!”

“Well,” said Phillida. “She’s ... er ... a little strange.”

“Oh?”

“She sees things... visions. It’s rather frightening, but we’re hoping she’ll get better.”

I felt sick. How dared she tell this ... to a woman whom she had never met before! Mrs. Hellman had come close to Phillida. “Well, I would have said she was just a nice normal young woman ...just like everyone else.”

“It’s only at times,” said Phillida.

“A little...” Mrs. Hellman tapped her forehead.

“Would you like to come in?” asked Phillida.

“Well, that’ll be nice. Daisy, come on.”

“I’m just on my way to Bracken,” Mrs. Hellman was saying as they went in. “I just thought I’d drop the eggs in on my way.”

I sat down. So that was what they thought of me! And Phillida had told Mrs. Hellman... almost as though she were warning her. I was horrified. I must be reasonable, I told myself. I had been hysterical last night. I had seen him so clearly, and they had been standing beside me and had not... both of them. I stayed in my room all the morning.

At midday Phillida came in. She smiled at me tenderly.

“That’s right,” she said. “Roland and I both agreed that you needed a rest. How are you feeling now?”

“Better, thank you.”

“Good. I’ll send Kitty up with a little light lunch on a tray. How’s that?”

“Thank you. Then I think I’ll get up.”

“Why not? If you feel like it. Kitty can bring up hot water.”

“Yes, I’ll wash and then have the food.”

“That’s a good idea. Have it quietly in your room and then, if you feel like it ... perhaps a little walk would do you good.”

“Thank you, Phillida,” I said.

“It’s our pleasure to look after you ... to get you well.”

She stood smiling at me and I thought, how could you have said what you did about me... and to a stranger? But what had she said? Nothing but the truth. It was what she had implied. But then ... I had seen visions.... “How would you fancy an omelette? I have some very fresh eggs. Your Mrs. Hellman called this morning to bring some. A pity you weren’t up. She asked after you. What a talker she is! I suppose she doesn’t get much opportunity to talk in that farmhouse.”

“I heard her,” I said.

“Oh? So you were awake. Well, I’ll see about things. Hot water first. Kitty will bring it up at once.”

She smiled at me benignly and went out.

I was glad to be in my room for a time. I did not want to talk to Phillida. I might mention that I had heard what she said to Mrs. Hellman. I wanted desperately to see Rebecca, and I had an impulse to ride into Bradford and get a train to London. I could go to Celeste for a night and then on to Cornwall. How could I do anything so melodramatic? I must talk to Roland tonight. I could tell him that I had made up my mind that I must go at once to see Rebecca. He would understand. He always did.

I thought then of the letter I had written to Rebecca. I went to the drawer. There it was. I could at least send it off. I would ride into Bracken this afternoon to the little post office.

I felt better now that I had decided to take some action.

The hot water came. I washed and Kitty arrived with the omelette. I was surprised that I felt hungry and was able to eat with relish.

I put on my riding habit and went downstairs.

Phillida was in her herbary. She came out, looking surprised when she saw me dressed for riding.

“Do you feel well enough?” she asked anxiously.

“Yes. I think it will do me good.”

“Not too far then. Just a little amble round.”

I nodded as though in agreement. She came to the door and waved as I rode away. I felt better. Why did I see these visions? It was because others could stand beside me and see nothing that I was alarmed.

I longed to see Joel. Suppose I went to him... ? No, that was not the way. He would persuade me to stay and I could not hurt Roland... that way. It was Rebecca I needed to see first. I needed my half sister’s cool common sense. I touched the letter in my pocket and wondered how long it would take to reach her. But I did not have to wait for a reply. I only had to appear at High Tor. They had always made me feel as though it were my home. If only she were near now. But I was feeling better because I was taking some action. I would speak to Roland tonight and tell him I would leave tomorrow because I must see Rebecca. I arrived in Bracken and went straight to the post office. I tethered my horse outside while I went in.

The shop was a typical village store. It sold most things necessary to ordinary household requirements. It catered for a small community but it had to be able to supply all necessities. There were cakes, biscuits, sugar, tea ... all that a grocer would sell; there were clothes, boots, shoes, fruit, cough mixtures and such remedies... and in a corner of the shop-the post office.

A thin, middle-aged woman was seated behind a kind of wire with a gap at the bottom. I bought a stamp for my letter. The shop was deserted and it was clear to me that she was inquisitive and wondering who I was. I supposed she was fully acquainted with most of the people who came in, and here was someone whom she had never seen before.

She said it was a fine day and asked if I had come far.

“Well, from Gray Stone House,” I said. “Do you know it?”

“Reckon,” she said brightly.

I was not sure what that meant, but it soon became clear that she was not only aware of it, but knew that there were new people there and that they were looking round hoping to buy a house in the neighborhood.

My thoughts immediately went to Mrs. Hellman who, having the news, would have quickly imparted it to anyone she encountered. In a community like this where very little happened, newcomers were of the greatest interest.

“Well,” she said. “It’s a mercy you’ve come this morning. You’re Mrs. Fitzgerald ... or are you Miss?”

“I’m Mrs. Fitzgerald.”

“Well then, I was just on sending a message out to you. We don’t deliver. Letters come here to the post office for people in outlying districts and they call in and collect.”

“I heard that from a neighbor... and you have something for me?”

“That would be Mrs. Hellman from Hellman’s Farm. I was going to give it to her but she hasn’t been in this morning.”

“What is it?” I asked urgently.

“Half a minute.” She opened a drawer. “Here is it. Came yesterday. A letter for you.”

“Oh ... thank you.” I glanced at the envelope. It was Belinda’s handwriting. “I ...

I’m so pleased.”

“Come in once or twice a week. We keep the mail for you. Happen you ought to have a number. Box they call it. Box 22. That could be yours. Tell them to send to Box 22, Post Office, Bracken, near Bradford. Got it? Then you come in as often as you like to collect.”

“I am so pleased I called.”

She smiled. I was longing to read Belinda’s letter, but she went on, “You see that one’s sent to Mrs. Fitzgerald, Gray Stone House, Bracken, Bradford. Well, that’s all right because we know who you are. I knew you had come to Gray Stone... but if you remember Box 22 it’s best... though it wouldn’t matter all that much.”

“You’ve been very helpful.”

“How are you getting on at Gray Stone?”

“Very well.”

“That’s the ticket. It’s a bit lonely up there.”

“Well, we don’t expect to be there long. Thank you so much. I am so glad I called in.”

She was reluctant to let me go and I am sure she would have made a greater attempt to detain me if someone else had not come in at that moment. “Oh, Mrs. Copland,” she cried. “There you are ... and how’s that daughter-in-law of yours getting on?”

I did not stay to hear the condition of Mrs. Copland’s daughter-in-law but came out onto the street clutching Belinda’s letter.

Desperately I wanted to read it, but I could not do so there. I mounted my horse and rode out of Bracken. I found a field bordered by a few trees, so I alighted, tethered my horse to a fence and sat down under one of the trees to read.

Dear Lucie,

I am sending this in the hope that it will reach you. I hope I’ve got the address right. You did mention Gray Stone was the name of the house... remember? And I’m sure it was near a place called Bracken. So here goes.

Things are working out very well here. All is going smoothly, and as Henry is not raising any objection and it is a clear case of my being the sinner... we’re hoping all will go well.

We are a bit afraid of the press, but Bobby’s family has influence and they are working hard for us. It is this dear little infant who is making them all so eager... Bobby’s family, I mean. They are all desperately anxious that he shall be born in wedlock. Then of course if we do just miss, it will all be suitably covered up, and Bobby and I will go through the ceremony-very quietly-as soon as it is over. So I am not worrying. I wish you could come here and stay. It would be great fun. It’s really rather pleasant. I quite like being the lady of the manor. None of the people on the estate know that I have no right to the title and we are hoping to keep that little matter dark.

However, it is all rather thrilling... and quite amusing ... or it will be when it is all over.

Why do these people have to take so long?

Well, that’s all about me. What of you? How are you getting on in Gray Stone? It sounds dreary. And how is dear Roland and his sister?

By the way, Joel came down to see us. He stayed a night. He wanted to talk to me ... about you, of course. He asked if I knew where you were? I gave him the address I’m putting on this letter. He asked if I was writing to you and he wanted me to tell you something specially. That’s why I’m writing to you now. He said, “Could you write and tell Lucie that I’m working on things?” He said something about it’s being wrapped up in mystery and he was going to get to the bottom of it.

One thing I have to make sure to tell you is the message: Fergus O’Neill had a brother...

I stopped reading. A brother! Did that mean that the brother was pretending to be him? Were they alike? Did they both have that widow’s peak? Then could it possibly be that the brother had decided to haunt me? How could that be? Both Roland and Phillida had been standing beside me and had not seen him.

And Joel had discovered this. I felt suddenly much happier. He was working for me.

It was a wonderful feeling of relief.

If I could only see Joel!

I turned back to the letter.

Joel said that the brother was as deeply involved as Fergus. He said they were all working for what they called “the cause.” Joel is delving into things and there are one or two points he can’t be quite clear about as yet. As soon as he has found what he wants he is coming to you. In the meantime he said-and he stressed this-you must take the utmost care. He would like you to get back to London. He was very serious. He is a most attractive man. If I weren’t so devoted to Bobby ...

Well, enough of that.

Dear Lucie, do come and see me. I don’t like to think of you all those miles away.

I do hope this reaches you. Anyway why haven’t you written to me? Then you could give me the proper address. When you do, I shall pass it on to Joel! I can’t understand why you haven’t written.

Love from Belinda... and Bobby and that one who will soon be making his august entry into the world.

I smiled and read the letter again. Joel was thinking of me. Probing, he said. How I longed to be with him!

I was glad I had posted my letter. I was feeling considerably better. What a good impulse it was that had led me into Bracken this afternoon. The letter would of course have come into my hands eventually; but it was just what I needed this day.

I settled my horse in the stable and went into the house. I called to tell Phillida that I was back, but there was no answer. Apparently she had gone out, and I thought I would ask Kitty to make me a cup of tea.

I went into the kitchen. Kitty was sitting on a chair dozing. I did not wake her. I was not sure that I wanted to tell Roland and Phillida that I had received a letter from Belinda and discovered that Fergus O’Neill had a brother. It would bring up the subject of the vision. Nor did I want to mention that the information had come through Joel by way of Belinda. But I usually had a cup of tea with Phillida at this time, and the thought suddenly occurred to me that she might be in the herbary, for she spent a lot of time there preparing her herbs.

I went to it and knocked at the door. There was no answer so I opened it and looked in.

I had been in this room very rarely. Roland referred to it as Phillida’s sanctum.

I was immediately aware of the overpowering aroma of herbs. I advanced a few paces.

Bunches of herbs were hanging from a hook on the wall. She was dedicated to the study of them. I suppose it was an interesting subject. There was a desk with a blotter on it and lying close to the blotter was a bunch of what looked like dried sunflowers. My attention was immediately caught by the markings on the blotter because they reminded me of my own name... but looking rather odd because it was backwards. I looked closer. Of course that was how it would come out if blotted. It was as though someone had written my name and blotted it while it was very wet.

Could Phillida have been writing something about me?

My curiosity was aroused. I examined the blotter more closely. There was other writing which I could not decipher, and my own name was below this as it would be had I signed a letter. I was amazed really because what I was looking at was remarkably like my own handwriting.

I felt an urgency to discover what this meant. My senses were suddenly alert. Was it due to the fact that I had heard this afternoon that Fergus O’Neill had a brother and there was a possibility that he might look rather like him and it was he who was playing tricks on me? I had had to abandon that theory because neither Roland nor Phillida had seen him when I had thought he stood below. But what was Phillida writing about me? I had felt afraid since I had heard her speaking to Mrs. Hellman about me. It had shocked me deeply. I knew that she and Roland thought I was hysterical and I understood why, but I had been disagreeably surprised that she should betray this to Mrs. Hellman who was a stranger. I had an irresistible curiosity to discover more, and that forced me to act in a way which I should previously have hesitated to do.

I opened a drawer and looked in it. There were some papers, a pen and a bottle of ink. I looked at the papers on top. They were all blank, I opened another drawer and saw a book about good health and the cultivation of herbs.

Underneath the book were other papers with some wording on them. They were written in that handwriting rather similar to my own. The dreadful thought occurred to me that Phillida had copied my handwriting. There it was... the manner in which I made a sort of curly start to a capital letter and left the tail of my g’s unfinished. I seized on one piece of paper. Horrified I read:

Dear Roland,

Forgive me. I know I am going mad. I have tried to fight against it, but it is no use. Thank you for everything. You have been a good husband to me and Phillida a good friend. But I cannot bear it anymore. You know, as I do, that it is getting worse. I am sure this is the best way out for us all.

Lucie

It was the note of someone contemplating suicide. It was growing alarmingly clear what was happening. Phillida was planning to kill me and make it appear that I had taken my own life.

Terrible suspicions were crowding into my mind. I looked about me. What other secrets were in this room?

I went to the door and locked it from the inside. I was going to find out. It was imperative that I did.

Feverishly I opened all the drawers. There was nothing. There was a chest in one corner of the room. It was locked. I hunted for a key and found one in a drawer of the desk. I had noticed it when I was searching for the papers. It fitted. I opened the chest and looked inside. There were clothes in there ... Phillida’s clothes. I turned them over and then I saw what I had been subconsciously looking for: it was an opera hat and a cloak and with it a dark wig, the hair of which came to a widow’s peak.

Phillida! I thought. Phillida!

And Roland? What did he know of this? It was mysterious and very frightening. There had been times when Phillida had been with me when I saw the vision. Could Roland have done this? There had been another time when they were both with me ... together... who then?

I could not believe this of Roland, who had always been so loving and tender.

While I stood there I heard someone arriving at the house. Phillida was coming back. She must not find me in this room. I took the garments, the wig and the suicide note, unlocked the door and ran up the stairs. I reached the top just as Phillida, with Roland, was coming into the house.

I had to get away ... at once. I would take the horse and ride into Bradford and get the next train to London.

I must tell neither of them. It was imperative that I get out of this house immediately. I hid the incriminating garments with the wig in the walk-in cupboard. The suicide note I put into my pocket.

I listened for sounds from below, but I could only hear the beating of my heart.

How was I going to get away? If only they would go out again. Then I heard their voices. I must try to behave as though nothing had happened and be ready at the earliest moment to get away.

I could not believe that Roland knew of this. Yet he had stood beside me and looked down at whoever was wearing those clothes and he had said he could see nothing. The only other person in the house was Kitty.

Could it possibly be that Kitty was the one? It must be Kitty. Could it be that Roland and Phillida did not know? Would Kitty have written that note? Would she have put it in Phillida’s drawer? Perhaps she had been disturbed suddenly. But the fact remained that both Roland and Phillida had declared they had seen nothing of the figure in the cloak and wig. Both had treated me as though I were a little deranged.

It was all too mysterious. Whatever I thought, one thing was clear. I must leave this place without delay.

Roland and Phillida were still downstairs. I could hear their voices.

Then... Roland came into the room.

“Lucie... my dearest... what is it?”

“I’m going to see Rebecca,” I told him.

“Not today surely?”

“I think it best.”

“What’s happened. You look shaken.”

I said, “I am shaken. Something has happened,”

“What is it? Lucie dear, please tell me.”

“I have heard from Belinda.”

“How did she know where to reach you?”

“I had mentioned the place. The letter was at the post office. It was given to me when I went in there.”

“From Belinda ...” he said.

“Yes.” I blurted out, “Fergus O’Neill has a brother.”

I could not interpret the expression on his face. He said quietly, “How did you find out?”

“Joel discovered it. He would be able to, you know. In his position ... he would have special means of doing so. There is something else ...”I could not stop once I had started, and try as I might, I could not believe evil of Roland. I went to the cupboard and brought out the hat, cloak and wig. I laid them on the bed. “There,” I said. “What do you think of that?”

He stared at them in horror and for some seconds was speechless. Then he stammered, “Where?”

“In Phillida’s herbary. In a chest. And I found this too. It is a note to you supposed to have been written by me. It tells why I killed myself.”

“Oh, my God!” he said. Then he turned to me, “Lucie, we’ve got to get out of this house. There’s not a moment to lose. We must go at once... quietly. We’ll take the horses ... go to the station... take the first train. Let’s hope it’s to London. But we must get away... quickly.”

I have never seen such misery in any face as I saw then in his. I thought, it is Phillida... and he knows.

“Come,” he said. “Don’t waste time. Oh, my God, what can I do?”

He was looking for money. He found some in a drawer and stuffed it into his pocket.

“There’s not a minute to lose,” he murmured.

He opened the door and looked out. Then he turned to me. “Come,” he said urgently, and quietly we went down the stairs. We reached the door which he opened quietly and we were speeding to the stables. We were breathless as we saddled the horses but as we did so I heard a sound. The stable door opened and Phillida stood there. She glanced toward us; I saw the venom in her face. She was a different person from the Phillida I had hitherto known. A fleeting image of which I had encountered on Jean Pascal’s estate flashed into my mind. So elegant ... so graceful... and then the sudden change to hatred.

Jean Pascal had said, “There are people like that. You must beware of them.” I saw with horror that she held a gun. Roland had seen it too. I heard his gasp of fear and horror.

She was looking at him. “You coward!” she cried. “You traitor! You should have done it months ago.” The invective flowed from her; she could not contain her contempt. I listened in dismay. “Your fancy ideas. They were going to be the best way. It is just because you wanted to keep her alive. Roland, how could you! You have betrayed us all.”

Roland did not speak. He put an arm round me... protectively.

“Well, the plans have changed, brother,” Phillida went on. “We’ll do it differently. We have to think of another solution. She did it here ... in the stables... that’ll do. In the stables. Why not?”

She came closer.

I knew she was going to kill me. She was going to leave the note in my bedroom. I had it in the pocket of my coat jacket. Perhaps she would not think to look there.

She would think it was still in the drawer in her room. That would not matter. She would write another. The note would explain my growing fear of insanity. I had had visions. I had told Rebecca of this. Joel, Rebecca... you will believe it. It sounds so plausible. They will destroy the wig and the clothes; they will produce the note. The people in that house and Mrs. Hellman... they will say they were warned of my obsessions. Phillida had planned every detail. I wondered why. And Roland ... he was my husband whatever else he was. I would never know because I was going to die.

She was coming closer, holding the gun. It had to be near, as my death must pass as suicide. I believed there were means of testing these things. Now ... at any moment. Her hand was on the trigger. Then Roland made a sudden movement and thrust himself in front of me. I heard the two shots. Roland and I fell to the ground. I was aware of warm blood on my face... and then of nothing more. I seemed to be emerging from waves of mist. I heard a voice say, “The lady’s not seriously hurt. It’s in the shoulder, I think.”

I was in the stable. I saw the light from lanterns.

“Better get them to the hospital... both of them.”

“I heard the shots and came straight over ... me and my cowman,” said a man’s voice.

“Hellman’s Farm... that’s me. Thought it was thieves or something.” I did not remember any more until I woke up in the hospital and learned that it was next morning.

A nurse came into my room. I said, “Roland... Mr. Fitzgerald?”

“He’s here. He’s having attention.”

“He’s not ...?”

She hesitated. “He’s having great care.”

What did it all mean? Why did Phillida want to kill him? I was beginning to realize that I had been in the center of a conspiracy... completely unaware of all the dangers around me. And Roland had been involved.

During the morning a doctor came to see me.

“You were lucky,” he said, looking at me benignly. “The bullet glanced off. It’s just grazed you really. You’ll be all right in a week or so.” I said, “And Mr. Fitzgerald?”

He said, “We’re looking after him.”

“You think... ?”

“We’ll do our best,” he added vaguely yet meaningfully. Then I knew that Roland was very badly hurt. He had taken the bullet which had been meant for me. They came in later and asked me whom they could notify.

I gave them Celeste’s address, Rebecca’s and Belinda’s... then I added Joel’s.

I thought, they will come to me. And I felt a certain peace.

In the late afternoon the sister came and sat by my bedside.

She said, “It’s your husband. He’s asking for you.”

I tried to get out of bed, but she restrained me. “No... no. Don’t try to stand.

We’ll take you to him. He ... er ... is very ill.”

“Is he dying?” I asked.

“He’s not really in a state to see you. But he is very agitated and the doctor thinks that in the circumstances ... it might be best.”

“Then please take me to him at once.”

They wheeled me into the small room where he lay. He looked quite unlike himself.

“Roland ...” I said.

He opened his eyes and I saw the joy in them.

I looked appealingly at the nurse and she said, “I’ll leave you. Only a few minutes, mind.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Lucie...” Roland was smiling at me. “Dear Lucie... you came.”

“Of course I came.”

“There’s not long for me,” he murmured.

I did not answer. I took his hand which was lying limply on the coverlet and pressed it.

He smiled. “You see ... I love you,” he said. “I ... I couldn’t do it.”

“Don’t talk if it’s painful, Roland.”

“I have to. You must know. I’m the brother of Fergus O’Neill.”

“You! Then Phillida is his sister.”

“It was for the cause... freedom for our country. We all believed it was right.

We’d all worked for it ... my father... the whole family.”

“Your father was dead. You told me so. He and your mother died together in the accident.”

“No ...no. He is one of the leaders of our cause. We... his children, have always been brought up to work for it. We intended to kill you when Fergus was hanged. Revenge, you see, and to show the world that our heroes are not to be treated as common criminals. They are the martyrs and must be avenged. Then we thought of this other plan. You were rich. I would marry you and then stage your suicide. The money which I would inherit would come to us ... to the cause. It seemed amusing to them that the money of our enemies should be used to support our cause. It would be used to bring about the extermination of other enemies.”

“It can’t be ...”

“You don’t understand, Lucie. We are dedicated ... all of us. And I was until ... and it will not be the last time... except for me. We wanted the money.” He smiled wryly. “It’s an expensive operation to run. Trips to France... houses in the country. When we found that the money could not come to us ... it was tied up in some trust ... we had to change the plan. We were going to kill you at once. You remember the fire. Phillida was good with her herbs. Her nightcaps were used so that, if she wanted to send you into a deep sleep at any time, she could do so and it would all seem quite natural. At other times they were quite harmless.” My thoughts went back to that night when Belinda had drunk the draught prepared for me. If she had not, of course, I should not have awakened in time to save myself. I murmured, “Belinda saved my life.”

“Yes. If she had not taken the nightcap you would have been in a deep sleep and would not have awakened until it was too late to save yourself... perhaps not at all.

I was not to be in the house. We had arranged that. I think it was then that I began to realize how much I loved you. When I saw you in London... expecting you to be dead ... I was so happy, so overjoyed. I realized then what you meant to me.”

I was living it all again... seeing Belinda... sleeping deeply throughout that night.

I said slowly, “So there was never any connection with the wool trade in Bradford?”

“It was the background we had set up. I was to marry you, make sure that I would be in possession of your fortune... and then we were going to kill you. It could not be a straightforward execution. That would have been too dangerous for us. We had to stage a suicide. With a victim so close it was taking a great risk. We had to plan very carefully. We knew you were going to France through the maid with whom one of our workers had become friendly. It was easy to get the information out of her.”

I remembered then. Amy, I believe was her name. And there was the man who had “delivered documents.” How meticulously they had laid their plans! Roland went on, his voice becoming a little slurred, “The police in England are aware of our family... the O’Neills... not the Fitzgeralds. Phillida did most of the ghosting. She was very good at it. I did it once, Lucie. I am ashamed to tell you. Kitty did the last one. She is one of us, of course. I hated doing it, Lucie. But I had to do it. It was the plan....”

“It is all becoming clear to me, now,” I said.

“We could not have done it that way if it had not been for Joel Greenham’s disappearance and reported death. If you had refused to marry me we should have had to make other plans... but the thought of getting our hands on all the money seemed an opportunity not to be missed.”

“It seems incredible.”

“If you knew more of our organization you would realize that things which seem incredible are a matter of course. Phillida has always been more dedicated than I, and she was very close to Fergus. He was our father’s favorite, too. He was the adventurous one. He loved what he was doing for its own sake as well as the cause. He brought a touch of melodrama into it.

Phillida is like that, too. I was different. In a way they despised me. They will more than ever now.”

“You did this,” I said. “You made all these plans... and yet at the end you saved my life.”

He said simply, “Yes... but you see, I grew to love you, and that was more important to me than anything else.”

I sat very still. My throat was constricted so that for a moment I could not speak.

At length I said, “Roland... what will happen now?”

“To me?” he said. “I am going to die.”

“They are caring for you here, doing everything they can to save you.”

He shook his head. “What could they save me for? It is better so “

He lay back. His eyes were closed and there was a blue tinge about his mouth. I realized then what a great effort he had made to talk to me.

I sat watching him, thinking, he has given his life for me. He, the terrorist, who had planned to murder me in a most devious way, has saved me... with his own life. And all for love.

His lips were moving. His speech was slurred. It had been such a strain for him to talk but he had wanted to explain to me. He had not wanted me to discover through other means. And ... he had wanted me to know how much he had cared for me. What a strange life he must have had! He had given me a glimpse of his forceful family.

His father the stern revolutionary... and Phillida who was made in the same mold. She was a complex creature. She had appeared to be so kind to me, so friendly, always merry, a little insouciant, loving life. But how different she was in truth... setting herself a purpose, never diverging from it. I was to be her victim, and all the time she was professing affection she was planning to murder me. When I thought of her now I remembered on the peaceful lake, and the sudden realization that he was waiting for me to come near to the lake before he attacked me. I had come too close to Phillida and she had marked me down for destruction.

The nurse had come in. She took one look at Roland and I understood that she was aware at once that talking to me had been too much for him. I was hurriedly wheeled away and the doctors were coming in.

Roland died that night.

I spent only a week in the hospital in Bradford and a great deal happened during that time.

My whole life had changed.

It is a sobering experience to come close to death and to know that you owe your life to another person who had lost his own in saving yours. For some time that thought was uppermost in my mind and I knew that there would be incidents in my life with Roland which I should never forget. I had been fond of him; I had been fond of Phillida. She was a magnificent actress.

I was thinking of her now as .

And Roland? It was hard to believe that in those early days he had been in the plot to murder me. How easily deceived I had been!

I lay in my hospital bed and conjured up images of what must have happened that night.

Later I was able to verify that much of what I thought had taken place actually had.

Perhaps it was logical that, being so close to it, I could see clearly what was inevitable.

When Phillida had seen Roland and me lying on the floor of the stable, covered in blood, her story must be that I, verging on insanity, had shot my husband and then myself. She must have been very shaken because she had killed her brother. I do not know if she ever really cared for any person. People who serve causes with such dedication rarely bestow great affection on individuals. This was, however, her brother. They had worked closely together. Perhaps she had some regard for him. But in her eyes he would have seemed a traitor. He had brought their scheme to an ignoble end. He had failed the cause-and all because he had fallen in love with me. I understood how a person such as she was would feel. Roland had failed her, himself and the cause. He had allowed his personal feelings to get the better of his duty.

But to see him lying there dead ... or on the point of death... must have shocked her considerably. Otherwise she would not have been so careless. She put the gun in my hand but did not make sure that I was dead. I must have looked as though I were, with the blood all over me. It would have been unnerving because events had gone so differently from what had been planned.

A new suicide note was needed and that would have been her first concern-for how was she to know that it was in my pocket? It was not easy for her to produce the writing exactly like mine and she would obviously have to make several attempts. It must have been while she was doing this that Mr. Hellman and his cowman arrived. The cowman was immediately sent to get help. Thus a policeman and a doctor arrived from Bracken before Phillida had a chance to set the stage. They discovered Phillida’s notes... several of them... because she had not found it easy to imitate my handwriting. They also found the opera cloak and hat with the wig in my bedroom. Then she learned that I was not dead as she had carelessly thought. In a short time I should be able to give my version; and it would not take long for it to be discovered that Phillida Fitzgerald was in fact Deirdre O’Neill, who in her own name was not unknown to the authorities; and there was the damning link with Fergus, the murderer of my father.

She had failed-after all the elaborate planning of months. She had killed her brother instead of me; and it could only be a matter of hours before she was arrested. Her next action was typical of her. It may well have been that she had always known, in the kind of life she led, it might have been necessary at some time to take such an action.

She did the only thing that would have seemed possible to her. She took the gun and shot herself.

There followed the headlines. Everything was revived and we had to live through it all again. But it was a small price to pay for release. I was not seeing visions. I was not going mad. I was safe and this was the end of the nightmare which had begun when I had sat waiting for my father, and had looked out of the window and seen Fergus O’Neill waiting for the opportunity to kill him.

A week after Roland’s death, I came out of the Bradford hospital and was taken to London with Joel, Rebecca and Celeste.

Rebecca said, “As soon as you are well enough, I am going to take you to Cornwall.

The quiet and peace of High Tor is what you need.”

I wanted to be with her. I wanted to tell her about Roland who had started by planning to murder me and had ended by saving my life.

I thought of him often... of the many kindnesses, the loving care he had given me. I believe he had truly loved me. Poor Roland, he had not been a strong man. He had been born into a family which lived by the gun. He had been brought up to hate; and such a man had made the supreme sacrifice for love. It was wonderful to be in Cornwall. Rebecca took me back with her, and there was a very warm welcome for me from Pedrek and the children. I loved the peace of the place which struck me afresh every morning when I awakened. There were, of course, times when I took a fearful look out of the window; then I would remind myself of the hat, the cloak and the wig as I had seen them lying on the bed in that room at Gray Stone House. The dreams came too... now and then; although even in those dreams the knowledge that that phase of my life was over was becoming more frequent.

Joel came down to Cornwall. We rode together. We went to Branok Pool and there I would think of Jenny Stubbs who-as Roland had-gave her life for mine. How strange that there should have been two people in my life who cared for me enough to do that. Joel knew this spot and of its special significance for me. He said to me as we stood there, looking over that eerie pool, “When I came back from Buganda we were to announce our engagement. Do you remember?” Of course I remembered.

“Hasn’t there been too much delay?”

And I agreed that there had been.

A year after that terrible experience in the stables, Joel and I were married. It was a quiet wedding which was what we both wanted.

Belinda was present-safely married to Bobby now-and both immensely proud of their son and heir, young Robert.

I am deeply happy. I am putting the past right behind me, though there are still times when I dream of gliding so gracefully across the lake. Then he comes toward me and steps ashore-changed into a figure in an opera cloak and hat ... and he takes off the hat and bows.

I awake in fear. But Joel is beside me. He takes me into his arms and says, “It’s all right, my love. I’m here, Lucie. There is nothing to fear anymore.” And I can laugh at my folly, for I know, as time passes, the reality of the present will overcome the nightmare of the past and I shall cease to dream of.