The India Fan

The Big House

I had always been fascinated by the big house of Framling. Perhaps it had begun when I was two years old and Fabian Framling had kidnapped me and kept me there for two weeks. It was a house full of shadows and mystery, I discovered, when I went in search of the peacock-feather fan. In the long corridors, in the gallery, in the silent rooms, the past seemed to be leering at one from all corners, insidiously imposing itself on the present and almost—though never quite—obliterating it.

For as long as I could remember Lady Harriet Framling had reigned supreme over our village. Farm labourers standing respectfully at the side of the road while the carriage, emblazoned with the majestic Framling arms, drove past, touched their forelocks and the women bobbed their deferential curtsies. She was spoken of in hushed whispers as though those who mentioned her feared they might be taking her name in vain; in my youthful mind she ranked with the Queen and was second only to God. It was small wonder that when her son, Fabian, commanded me to be his slave, I—being only six years old at that time—made no protest. It seemed only natural that we humble folk should serve the Big House in any way that was demanded of us.

The Big House—known to the community as "The House" as though those dwellings which the rest of us occupied were something different—was Framling. Not Framling Hall or Framling Manor but simply Framling, with the accent on the first syllable which made it sound more impressive. It had been in the possession of the Framlings for four hundred years. Lady Harriet had married into the family most condescendingly, for she was the daughter of an Earl, which, my father told me, meant that she was Lady Harriet instead of simple Lady Framling. One must never forget that, for the fact was that she had married beneath her when she became the wife of a simple baronet. He was dead now, poor man. But I had heard that she never allowed him to forget her higher rank; and although she had come to the village only when she was a bride, ever since she had considered it her duty to rule over us.

The marriage had been unproductive for years—a source of great annoyance to Lady Harriet. I guessed she constantly complained bitterly to the Almighty for such an oversight; but even Heaven could not ignore Lady Harriet forever, and when she was forty years old, fifteen years after her wedding day, she gave birth to Fabian.

Her joy was boundless. She doted on the boy. It was simple logic that her son must be perfect. His slightest whim must be obeyed by all underlings; and the Framling servants admitted that Lady Harriet herself would smile indulgently at his infant misdemeanours.

Four years after the birth of Fabian, Lavinia was born. Although, being a girl, she was slightly inferior to her brother, she was Lady Harriet's daughter and therefore far above the rest of the community.

I was always amused to see them come into church and walk down the aisle—Lady Harriet followed by Fabian, followed by Lavinia. They would be watched with awe while they took their places and knelt on the red and black prayer mats embroidered with the letter F; and those behind were able to witness the amazing spectacle of Lady Harriet's kneeling to a Higher Authority—an experience which made up for everything else the service lacked.

I would stare in wonder as I knelt, forgetting that I was in church, until a nudge from Polly Green reminded me and re­called me to my duty.

Framling—the House—dominated the village. It had been built at the top of a slight incline which made one feel that it was on the alert, watching for any sins we might commit. Although there had been a house there in the days of the Conqueror, it had been rebuilt over the centuries and there was hardly anything left of the pre-Tudor building. One passed under a gatehouse with its battlemented towers into a lower courtyard where plants grew out of the walls, and in iron-banded tubs shrubs hung over in artistic profusion. There were seats in the courtyard onto which leaded windows looked down—dark and mysterious. I always fancied someone was watching behind those windows—reporting everything to Lady Harriet.

One went through a heavily studded door into a banqueting hall where several long-dead Framlings hung on the walls —some fierce, some benign. The ceiling was high and vaulted; the long polished table smelt of beeswax and turpentine; and over the great fireplace the family tree stretched out in all directions; at one end of the hall was a staircase leading to the chapel and at the other end the door to the screens.

During my tender years it seemed to me that all of us in the village rotated like planets round the glorious blazing sun that was Framling.

Our own house, right next to the church, was rambling and draughty. I had often heard it said that it cost a fortune to heat it. Compared with Framling, of course, it was minute, but it was true that although there might be a big fire in the drawing room, and the kitchen was warm enough, to ascend to the upper regions in winter was like going to the arctic circle, I imagined. My father did not notice. He noticed very little of practical matters. His heart was in ancient Greece and he was more familiar with Alexander the Great and Homer than with his parishioners.

I knew little of my mother because she had died when I was two months old. Polly Green had come as a substitute; but that was not until I was just past two years old and had had my first introduction to the ways of the Framlings. Polly must have been about twenty-eight when she came. She was a widow who had always wanted a child, so that just as she took the place of a mother to me, I was to her the child she never had. It worked very well. I loved Polly and there was no doubt whatever that Polly loved me. It was to her loving arms that I went in my moments of crisis. When the hot rice pudding dropped into my lap, when I fell and grazed my knees, when I awoke in the night dreaming of goblins and fierce giants, it was to Polly I turned for solace. I could not imagine life without Polly Green.

She came from London—a place in her opinion superior to any other. "Buried myself in the country, all for you," she used to say. When I pointed out to her that to be buried one had to be under the earth in the graveyard, she grimaced and said: "Well, you might as well be." She had contempt for the country. "A lot of fields and nothing to do in them. Give me London." Then she would talk of the streets of the city where something was always "going on," of the markets, lighted by night with naphtha flares, stalls piled high with fruit and vegetables, old clothes and "anything you could think of," and all the costers shouting in their inimitable way. "One of these days I'll take you there and you can see for yourself."

Polly was the only one among us who had little respect for Lady Harriet.

"Who's she when she's out?" she would demand. "No different from the rest of us. All she's got is a handle to her name."

She was fearless. No meek curtsey from Polly. She would not cower against the hedge while the carriage drove past. She would grasp my hand firmly and march on resolutely, looking neither to the right nor the left.

Polly had a sister, who lived in London with her husband. "Poor Eff," Polly would say. "He's not much cop." I never heard Polly refer to him as anything but He or Him. It seemed that he was unworthy of a name. He was lazy and left everything for Eff to do. "I said to her the day she got engaged to him: 'You'll sup sorrow with a long spoon if you take that one, Eff.' But did she take a bit of notice of me?"

I would shake my head solemnly, because I had heard it before and knew the answer.

So in the early days Polly was the centre of my life. Her urban attitudes set her aside from us rural folk. Polly had a way of folding her arms and taking a bellicose stance if anyone showed signs of attacking her. It made her a formidable adversary. She used to say she would "take nothing from nobody" and when I pointed out, having been initiated into the intricacies of English grammar by my governess, Miss York, that two negatives made an affirmative, she merely said: "Here, are you getting at me?"

I loved Polly dearly. She was my ally, mine entirely; she and I stood together against Lady Harriet and the world.

We occupied the top rooms of the rectory. My room was next to hers; it had been from the day she had come and we never wanted to change it. It gave me a nice cosy feeling to have her so close. There was one other room on the attic floor. Here Polly would build up a nice cosy fire and in the winter we would make toast and bake chestnuts. I would stare into the flames while Polly told me stories from London life. I could see the market stalls and Eff and Him, and the little place where Polly had lived with her sailor husband. I saw Polly waiting for him to come home on leave with his baggy trousers and little white hat with H.M.S. Triumphant on it and his white bundle on his shoulder. Her voice would quaver a little when she told me of how he had gone down with his ship.

"Nothing left," she said. "No little 'un to remind me of him." I pointed out to her that if she had had a little 'un she wouldn't have wanted me, so I was glad.

There would be tears in her eyes which made her say briskly: "Here. Look at me. You trying to make me soft in me old age?"

But she hugged me just the same.

From our windows we looked down on the churchyard ... tottery old gravestones, some of them, under which lay those who had long since died. I used to read the inscriptions and wondered what the people who lay there were like. Some of the writing on the stones was almost obliterated, so old were they.

Our rooms were big and wide with windows on either side. Opposite the graveyard, we looked on the village green with its pond and the seats where the old men liked to congregate, sometimes talking, sometimes sitting in silence staring at the water before they shuffled off into the inn to drink a pint of ale. "Death on one side," I pointed out to Polly, "and life on the other."

"You're a funny bit of baggage are you," Polly would often reply, for any fanciful remark produced that comment.

Our household consisted of my father, myself, my governess Miss York, Polly, Mrs. Janson the cook-housekeeper, and Daisy and Holly, two lively sisters who shared the housework. I learned later that the governess was there because my mother had brought a little money into the family which had been set aside for my education and I was to have the best possible, no matter what hardship had to be endured to attain this.

I loved my father but he was not as important in my life as Polly was. When I saw him walking across the graveyard from the church to the rectory in his white surplice, prayerbook in hand, fine white hair made untidy by the wind, I felt a great desire to protect him. He seemed so vulnerable, unable to take care of himself, so it was odd to think of him as the guardian of his spiritual flock—particularly when it contained Lady Harriet. He had to be reminded of mealtimes, of when to put on clean clothes, and his spectacles were constantly being lost and found in unexpected places. He would come into a room for something and forget what it was. He was eloquent in the pulpit, but I was sure the villagers at least did not understand his allusions to the classics and the ancient Greeks.

"He'd forget his head if it wasn't fixed on his shoulders," was Polly's comment in the half-affectionate, half-contemptuous tone I knew so well. But she was fond of him and would have defended him with all the rhetoric of her colourful language—sometimes quite different from ours—if the need arose.

It was when I was two years old that I had the adventure of which I could remember so little. I had had the story by hearsay, yet it made me feel I had some connection with the Big House. If Polly had been with me at the time, it would never have happened; and I believe it was due to this that my father realized I must have a nurse who could be trusted.

What happened is an indication of the nature of Fabian Framling and his mother's obsession with him.

Fabian would have been about seven at the time. Lavinia was four years younger and I had been born a year after she was. I had heard details of the story because of the friendship between our servants and those of Framling.

Mrs. Janson, our cook-housekeeper, who worked so well for us and instilled discipline into the house and kept us all in some order, told me the story.

"It was the strangest thing I ever heard," she said. "It was young Master Fabian. His lordship leads them all a fine dance up at the House ... always has done. Lady Harriet thinks the sun, moon and stars shine out of his eyes. She won't have him crossed. A little Caesar, that's what he is. He'll have his own way or there'll be ructions. Heaven knows what he'll be like when he's a bit older. Well, his little majesty is tired of playing the old games. He wants something new, so he thinks he'll be a father. If he wants it ... it's going to be. They tell me up there that he expects everything he wants to be his. And that's no good for anyone, mark my words, Miss Drusilla."

I looked suitably impressed, for I was eager for her to get on with the story.

"You were put in the rectory garden. You could toddle round and that was what you liked to do. They shouldn't have left you. It was that May Higgs, flighty piece, she was. Mind you, she loved little ones ... but she was courting that Jim Fellings at the time ... and he came along. Well, there she is giggling with him ... and didn't see what was happening. Master Fabian was determined to be a father and a father had to have a child. He saw you and thought you would do. So he picked you up and took you to the House. You were his baby and he was going to be your father."

Mrs. Janson put her hands on her hips and looked at me. I laughed. It seemed very funny to me and I liked it. "Go on, Mrs. Janson. What happened then?"

"My goodness, there was a fine how-do-you-do when they found you'd disappeared. They couldn't think where you'd got to. Then Lady Harriet sent for your father. Poor man, he was in a rare flummox. He took May Higgs with him. She was in tears, blaming herself, which was only right that she should do. Do you know, I think that was the start of the rift between her and Jim Fellings. She blamed him. And you know she married Charlie Clay the next year."

"Tell me about when my father went to the House to fetch me."

"Well, talk about a storm! This was one of them tornados. Master Fabian raged and he fumed. He wouldn't give you up.

You were his baby. He had found you. He was going to be your father. You could have knocked us all down with feathers when the rector came back without you. I said to him, 'Where's the baby?' and he said, 'She's staying at the Big House, only for a day or so.' I said, shocked-like, 'She's only a baby.' 'Lady Harriet has assured me that she will be well looked after. Miss Lavinia's nurse will take care of her. She will come to no harm. Fabian flew into such a rage when he thought he was going to lose her that Lady Harriet thought he would do himself some harm.' 'You mark my words,' I said, 'that boy—Lady Harriet's son though he may be—will come to a bad end.' I didn't care if it got back to Lady Harriet. I had to say it."

"And so for two weeks I lived in the Big House."

"You surely did. They said it was real comical to see Master Fabian looking after you. He used to wheel you round the gardens in the push chair which had been Miss Lavinia's. He used to feed you and dress you. They said it was really funny to see him. He's always been such a one for rough games ... and there he was playing the mother. He would have overfed you if it hadn't been for Nancy Cuffley. She put her foot down, took a firm hand for once and he listened. He must have been really fond of you. Goodness knows how long it would have gone on if Lady Milbanke hadn't come to stay with her young Ralph who was a year older than Master Fabian. He laughed at him and told him it was like playing with dolls. It didn't make any difference that this was a live one. It was a girl's game. Nancy Cuffley said Master Fabian was really upset about it. He didn't want you to go away ... but I suppose he thought it was a slur on his manhood to look after a baby."

I loved the story and asked to have it repeated many times.

It was almost immediately after that incident that Polly came.

Whenever I saw Fabian—usually in the distance—I would look at him furtively, and in my mind's eye see him tenderly caring for me. It was so amusing; it always made me laugh.

I fancied, too, that he looked at me in a rather special way, although he always pretended he did not see me.

Because of our standing in the village—the rector was on a level with the doctor and the solicitor, though of course chasms separated us from the heights on which the Framlings dwelt—as I began to grow older I was invited to have tea now and then with Miss Lavinia.

Although I did not exactly enjoy these occasions, I was always excited to go into the house. Before those little tea parties I knew very little of it. I had only seen the hall because it had rained once or twice when the garden fete was in progress and we were allowed to shelter from the rain in the House. I shall always remember the thrill of leaving the hall and mounting the stairs, past the suit of armour, which I imagined would be quite terrifying after dark. I was sure it was alive and that when our backs were turned it was laughing at us.

Lavinia was haughty, overbearing, and very beautiful. She reminded me of a tigress. She had tawny hair and golden lights in her green eyes; her upper lip was short and her beautiful white teeth slightly prominent; her nose was small and very slightly turned up at the tip, which gave a piquancy to her face. But her glory was in her wonderful, abundant curly hair. Yes, she was very attractive.

The first time I went to have tea with her stands out in my mind. Miss York accompanied me. Miss Etherton, Lavinia's governess, greeted us and there was an immediate rapport between her and Miss York.

We were taken to tea in the schoolroom, which was large with panelled walls and latticed windows. There were big cupboards there, which I guessed contained slates and pencils and perhaps books. There was a long table at which generations of Framlings must have learned their lessons.

Lavinia and I regarded each other with a certain amount of hostility. Polly had primed me before I left. "Don't forget, you're as good as she is. Better, I reckon." So with Polly's words ringing in my ears, I faced her more as an adversary than as a friend.

"We'll have tea in the schoolroom," said Miss Etherton, "and then you two can get to know each other." She smiled at Miss York in an almost conspiratorial manner. It was clear that those two would like a little respite from their charges.

Lavinia took me to a window seat and we sat down.

"You live in that awful old rectory," she said. "Ugh."

"It's very nice," I told her.

"It's not like this."

"It doesn't have to be nice."

Lavinia looked shocked that I had contradicted her and I felt that ours was not going to be the easy relationship which that between Miss York and Miss Etherton showed signs of becoming.

"What games do you play?" she asked.

"Oh ... guessing games, with Polly, my nurse, and with Miss York we sometimes imagine we are taking a journey through the world and mention all the places we should pass through."

"What a dull game!"

"It's not."

"Oh yes it is," she affirmed as though that were the last word to be said on the matter.

The tea arrived, brought in by a maid in starched cap and apron. Lavinia dashed to the table.

"Don't forget your guest," said Miss Etherton. "Drusilla, will you sit here?"

There was bread and butter with strawberry jam and little cakes with coloured icing on them.

Miss York was watching me. Bread and butter first. It was impolite to have cakes before that. But Lavinia did not observe the rules. She took one of the cakes. Miss Etherton looked apologetically at Miss York, who pretended not to notice. When I had eaten my piece of bread and butter I was offered one of the cakes. I took one with blue icing on it.

"It's the last of the blue ones," announced Lavinia. "I wanted that."

"Lavinia!" said Miss Etherton.

Lavinia took no notice. She regarded me, expecting me, I knew, to give the cake to her. Remembering Polly, I did not. I deliberated, picked it up from my plate and bit into it.

Miss Etherton lifted her shoulders and looked at Miss York.

It was an uncomfortable teatime.

I believe both Miss York and Miss Etherton were greatly relieved when it was over and we were despatched to play, leaving the two governesses together.

I followed Lavinia, who told me we were going to play hide and seek. She took a penny from her pocket and said: "We'll toss." I had no idea what she meant. "Choose heads or tails," she said.

I chose heads.

She spun the coin and it landed on the palm of her hands. She held it where I could not see it and said, "I've won. That means I choose. You'll hide and I'll seek. Go on. I'll count to ten ..."

"Where ..." I began.

"Anywhere ..."

"But this house is so big ... I don't know."

"Course it's big. It's not that silly little rectory." She gave me a push. "You'd better go on. I'm starting to count now."

Of course she was Miss Lavinia of the Big House. She was a year older than I. She seemed very knowledgeable and sophisticated; and I was a guest. Miss York had told me that guests often had to be uncomfortable and do things they would rather not. It was all part of the duty of being a guest.

I went out of the room leaving Lavinia counting ominously. Three, four, five ... It sounded like the tolling of the funeral bell.

I hurried on. The house seemed to be laughing at me. How could I possibly hide in a house of whose geography I was ignorant?

For a few moments I went blindly on. I came to a door and opened it. I was in a small room. There were some chairs, the seatbacks of which had been worked in blue and yellow needlepoint. It was the ceiling that attracted my attention; it was painted and there were little fat cupids up there seated on clouds. There was another door in this room. I went through it and I was in a passage.

There was no place to hide there. What should I do? I wondered. Perhaps make my way to the schoolroom, find Miss York and tell her I wanted to go home. I wished Polly had come with me. She would never have left me to the mercy of Miss Lavinia.

I must try to retrace my steps. I turned and went, as I thought, back. I came to a door, expecting to see the fat cupids on the ceiling, but this was not so. I was in a long gallery, the walls of which were lined with pictures. There was a dais at one end on which stood a harpsichord and gilded chairs.

I looked fearfully at the portraits. They seemed like real people regarding me severely for having trespassed into their domain.

I felt the house was jeering at me and I wanted Polly. I was getting near to panic. I had the uneasy notion that I was caught and never going to get away. I was going to spend the rest of my life wandering about the house trying to find my way out.

There was a door at one end of the gallery. I went through this and was in another long passage. I was facing a flight of stairs. It was either a matter of going on or going back to the gallery. I mounted the stairs; there was another passage and then ... a door.

Recklessly I opened this. I was in a small dark room. In spite of mounting fears I was fascinated. There was something foreign about it. The curtains were of heavy brocade and there was a strange smell. I learned afterwards that it was sandalwood. There were brass ornaments on carved wooden tables. It was an exciting room and for a moment I forgot my fears. There was a fireplace and on the mantel shelf a fan. It was very beautiful, in a lovely shade of blue with big black spots. I knew what it was, because I had seen pictures of peacocks. It was a fan made of peacock feathers. I felt an urge to touch it. I could just reach it by standing on tiptoe. The feathers were very soft.

Then I looked about me. There was a door. I went to it. Perhaps I could find someone who would show me the way back to the schoolroom and Miss York.

I opened the door and looked cautiously in.

A voice said, "Who is there?"

I advanced into the room. I said, "It is Drusilla Delany. I came to tea and I am lost."

I went forward. I saw a high-backed chair and in it an old lady. There was a rug over her knees, which I felt showed she was an invalid. Beside her was a table strewn with papers. They looked like letters.

She peered at me and I looked back boldly. It was not my fault that I was lost. I had not been treated as a guest should be.

"Why do you come to see me, little girl?" she asked in a high-pitched voice. She was very pale and her hands shook. For a moment I thought that she was a ghost.

"I didn't. I'm playing hide and seek and I am lost."

"Come here, child."

I went.

She said, "I have not seen you before."

"I live in the rectory. I came to tea with Lavinia and this is supposed to be a game of hide and seek."

"People don't come to see me."

"I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "I am reading his letters," she said.

"Why do you look at them if they make you cry?" I asked.

"He was so wonderful. It was ill fortune. I destroyed him. It was my fault. I should have known. I was warned ..."

I thought she was the strangest person I had ever met. I had always sensed that extraordinary things could happen in this house.

I said I should have to go back to the schoolroom. "They will wonder where I am. And it is not very polite for guests to wander about houses, is it?"

She put out a hand which reminded me of a claw and gripped my wrist. I was about to call for help when the door opened and a woman came into the room. Her appearance startled me. She was not English. Her hair was very dark; her eyes deep set and black; she was wearing what I learned later was a sari. It was a deep shade of blue, rather like the fan, and I thought it beautiful. She moved very gracefully, and said in a pleasant sing-song voice: "Oh dearie me. Miss Lucille, what is this? And who are you, little girl?"

I explained who I was and how I came to be here.

"Oh, Miss Lavinia ... but she is a naughty, naughty girl to treat you so. Hide and seek." She lifted her hands. "And in this house ... and you find Miss Lucille. People do not come here. Missie Lucille likes to be alone."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to."

She patted my shoulder. "Oh no ... no ... it is naughty Miss Lavinia. One of these days ..." She pursed her lips, and putting the palms of her hands together, gazed up at the ceiling for a moment. "But you must go back. I will show you. Come with me."

She took my hand and pressed it reassuringly.

I looked at Miss Lucille. The tears were slowly running down her cheeks.

"This part of the house is for Miss Lucille," I was told. "I live here with her. We are here ... and not here ... You understand?"

I didn't, but I nodded.

We went back by way of the gallery and then through parts which I had not seen before and it seemed to me some little time before we reached the schoolroom.

The woman opened the door. Miss York and Miss Etherton were deep in conversation. There was no sign of Lavinia.

They looked startled to see me.

"What happened?" asked Miss Etherton.

"They play hide and seek. This little one ... in a house she does not know. She was lost and came to Miss Lucille."

"Oh, I am sorry," said Miss Etherton. "Miss Lavinia should have taken better care of her guest. Thank you, Ayesha."

I turned to smile at her. I liked her gentle voice and kind black eyes. She returned my smile and went gracefully away.

"I hope Drusilla didn't, er ..." began Miss York.

"Oh no. Miss Lucille lives apart with her servants. There is another ... both Indian. She was out there, you know. The family has connections with the East India Company. She is a little ... strange now."

Both governesses looked at me and I guessed the matter would be discussed further when they were alone.

I turned to Miss York and said, "I want to go home."

She looked uneasy, but Miss Etherton gave her an understanding smile.

"Well," went on Miss York, "I suppose it is about time."

"If you must ..." replied Miss Etherton. "I wonder where Miss Lavinia is. She should come and say goodbye to her guest."

Lavinia was found before we left.

I said, "Thank you," in a cold voice.

She said, "It was silly of you to get lost. But then you are not used to houses like this, are you?"

Miss Etherton said, "I doubt there is another house like this, Lavinia. Well ... you must come again."

Miss York and I left. Miss York's lips were pursed together, but she did say to me, "I should not care to be in Miss Etherton's shoes from what she told me ... and the boy is worse." Then she remembered to whom she was talking and said it had been really quite a pleasant visit.

I could hardly call it that, but at least it had held elements of excitement which I should not easily forget.

Although I was not eager to visit the house again, its fascination for me had increased. Whenever I passed it I used to wonder about the strange old lady and her companion. I was consumed with curiosity, for I was by nature inquisitive; it was a trait I shared with Polly.

I used to go down to my father's study on some days when he was not busy. It was always just after tea. I almost felt I was one of those things like his spectacles which he forgot about from time to time; it was when he needed his spectacles that he looked for them and when a sense of duty came over him he remembered me.

There was something lovable about his forgetfulness. He was always gentle with me and I was sure that if he had not been so concerned about the Trojan Wars he would have remembered me more often.

It was quite a little game talking with him, the object being for him to get onto some classical subject and for me to steer him away from it.

He always asked how I was getting on with my lessons and whether I was happy with Miss York. I thought I was doing quite well and told him that Miss York seemed satisfied.

He would nod, smiling.

"She thinks you are a little impulsive," he said. "Otherwise she has a good opinion of you."

"Perhaps she thinks I am impulsive because she is not."

"That could be so. But you must learn not to be rash. Remember Phaeton."

I was not quite sure who Phaeton was, but if I asked he would take possession of the conversation, and Phaeton could lead to some other character from those old days when people were turned into laurels and all sorts of plants, and gods became swans and bulls to go courting mortals. It seemed to me such an odd way of going on and in any case I did not believe it.

"Father," I said, "do you know anything about Miss Lucille Framling?"

A vague look came into his eyes. He reached for his spectacles as though they might help him to see the lady.

"I did hear Lady Harriet say something once ... Someone in India, I think."

"There was an Indian servant with her. I saw her. I got lost playing hide and seek and I found her. The Indian took me back to Miss York. It was rather exciting."

"I did know that the Framlings were somehow connected with India. The East India Company, I suppose."

"I wonder why she is shut off like that in a wing of the house."

"She lost her lover, I think I heard. That can be very sad. Remember Orpheus who went down to the underworld to search for Eurydice."

I was so preoccupied with the mystery of Miss Lucille Framling that I allowed my father to win that session and the rest of the time was taken up by Orpheus and his trip to the underworld to find the wife who had been snatched from him on their wedding day.

In spite of that unfortunate beginning, my acquaintance with Lavinia progressed and, though there was always a certain antipathy between us, I was attracted by her and perhaps most of all by the house, in which anything might happen; and I never entered it without that feeling that I was embarking on an adventure.

I had told Polly about the game of hide and seek and how I had met the old lady.

"Tut tut," she said. "There's a nice little madam for you. Don't know how to treat her guests, that's for certain. Calls herself a lady."

"She said the rectory was small."

"I'd like to get her carrying coal up them stairs."

I laughed at the thought.

Polly was good for me. She said: "You're a sight more of a little lady than she is. That's for sure. So you just stand up to her. Tell her a thing or two and if she don't like it, well, there's no harm done, is there? I reckon you could enjoy yourself somewhere nice with me ... more than that old house. Time for it to go to the knacker's yard if you was to ask me."

"Oh, Polly, it's the most marvellous house!"

"Pity it's got them living in it that don't know their manners."

I used to think of Polly when I went into the house. I was as good as they were, I reminded myself. I was better at my lessons. That had slipped out. I had heard Mrs. Janson say that that Miss Lavinia led Miss Etherton a nice dance and refused to learn when she didn't feel like it, so that that young lady was at least a couple of years behind some people. I knew who "some people" implied and I felt rather proud. It was a useful piece of knowledge to be remembered when I was in the presence of Lavinia. Moreover I knew how to behave better than she did, but perhaps she knew and refused to act as she had been taught. I had been in Lavinia's company long enough to know that she was a rebel.

Then there was Polly's admonition to give her as good as I got, so I did not feel quite so vulnerable as I had on that first occasion.

My father constantly said that all knowledge was good and one could not have too much of it. Miss York agreed with him. But there was one piece of knowledge that I could have been happier without.

Lady Harriet had smiled on my friendship with Lavinia and therefore it must persist. Lavinia was learning to ride and Lady Harriet had said that I might share her lessons. My father was delighted, and so I went riding with Lavinia. We used to go round and round the paddock under the watchful eyes of Joe Cricks, the head groom.

Lavinia enjoyed riding and therefore she did it well. She took a great delight in showing how much more proficient she was than I. She was reckless and did not obey orders as I did. Poor Joe Cricks used to get really scared when she disregarded his instructions and she was very soon ordering him to take her off the leading rein.

"If you want to feel good on your mount," said Joe Cricks, "don't be afraid of him. Let him see that you are the master. On the other hand ... there's dangers."

Lavinia tossed her tawny hair. She was fond of the gesture. Her hair was really magnificent and this called attention to it.

"I know what I am doing, Cricks," she said.

"I didn't say as how you didn't, Miss Lavinia. All I says is ... you have to consider the horse as well as yourself. You may know what you're doing but horses is nervous creatures. They get it into their heads to do something you might not be expecting."

Lavinia continued to go her own way; and her very boldness and assurance that she knew better than anyone else carried her through.

"She's going to be a good horsewoman," was Joe Cricks's comment. "That's if she don't take too many risks. Now, Miss Drusilla, she's a more steady party. She'll come to it in time ... then she'll be real good."

I loved the lessons, trotting round the paddock, the excitement of the first canter, the thrill of the first gallop.

It was one afternoon. We had had our lessons and had taken the horses back to the stables. Lavinia dismounted and threw her reins to the groom. I always liked to stay behind for a few minutes to pat the horse and talk to him, which was what Joe had taught us to do. "Never forget," he said. "Treat your horse well and the chances are he'll treat you well. Horses is like people. You have to remember that."

I came out of the stables and started across the lawn to the house. There I was to join Lavinia in the schoolroom for tea. Miss York was already there enjoying a tete-a-tete with Miss Etherton.

There were visitors in the house. There often were, but they did not concern us. We hardly ever saw Lady Harriet—a fact for which I was extremely grateful.

I had to pass the drawing-room, which was open, and I caught a glimpse of a parlourmaid serving tea to several people. I went hurriedly past, averting my eyes. Then I paused to look up at that part of the house which I thought must be Miss Lucille's quarters.

As I did so I heard a voice from the drawing room. "Who is that plain child, Harriet?"

"Oh ... you mean the rector's daughter. She is here quite frequently. She comes to keep Lavinia company."

"Such a contrast to Lavinia! But then Lavinia is so beautiful."

"Oh yes ... You see, there are so few people. I gather she is quite a pleasant child. The governess thinks so ... and it is good for Lavinia to have the occasional companion. There aren't so many people here, you know. We have to make do with what we can get."

I stared ahead of me. / was the plain child. / was here because they couldn't get anyone else. I was stunned. I knew that my hair was a nondescript brown, that it was straight and unmanageable ... so different from Lavinia's tawny locks; my eyes were no colour at all. They were like water, and if I wore blue they were blueish, green, greenish ... and brown ... just no colour at all. I knew I had a big mouth and an ordinary sort of nose. So that was plain.

And of course Lavinia was beautiful.

My first thought was to go into the schoolroom and demand to be taken home at once. I was very upset. There was a hard lump in my throat. I did not cry. Crying for me was for lighter emotions. Something within me was deeply hurt and I believed that the wound would be with me forever.

"You're late," Lavinia greeted me.

I did not explain. I knew what her reaction would be.

I looked at her afresh. No wonder she could behave badly. She was so beautiful that people did not mind.

Polly, of course, noticed my preoccupation.

"Here, don't you think you'd better tell me?"

"Tell you what, Polly?"

"Why you look about as happy as if you've lost a sovereign and found a farthing."

I could not hold out against Polly, so I told her. "I'm plain, Polly. That means ugly. And I go to the House only because there is no one better here."

"I never heard such a load of nonsense. You're not plain. You're what they call interesting, and that's a lot better in the long run. And if you don't want to go to that house, I'll see you don't. I'll go to the rector and tell him it's got to stop. From what I hear you'd be no worse without them."

"How plain am I, Polly?"

"About as plain as Dundee cake and Christmas pudding."

That made me smile.

"You've got what they call one of them faces that make people stop and take a second look. As for that Lavinia ... or whatever she calls herself ... I don't call her all that pretty when she scowls ... and my goodness, she does a good bit of that. I'll tell you what. She'll have crows' feet round her eyes and railway lines all over her face the way she goes on. And I'll tell you something else. When you smile your face all lights up. Well, then you're a real beauty, you are."

Polly raised my spirits and after a while I began to forget about being plain, and as the House always fascinated me, I tried not to remember that I was only chosen because there was no one better available.

I had caught glimpses of Fabian, though not often. Whenever I did see him I thought of the time when he had made me his baby. He must remember, surely, because he would have been seven when it happened.

He was away at school most of the time and often he did not come home for holidays, but spent them with some school friend. His school friends came to the House sometimes, but they took little notice of us.

On this occasion—it was Easter time, I think—Fabian was home for the holidays. Soon after Miss York and I arrived at the House it began to rain. We had tea and Lavinia and I left the governesses together for their usual chat. We were wondering what to do when the door opened and Fabian came in.

He was rather like Lavinia, only much taller and very grown up. He was four years older than Lavinia and that seemed a great deal, particularly to me, who was a year younger than Lavinia. He must therefore have been twelve, and as I was not yet seven, he seemed very mature.

Lavinia went to him and hung on his arm as though to say, this is my brother. You can go back to Miss York. I shan't need you now.

He was looking at me oddly—remembering, I knew. I was the child whom he had thought was his. Surely such an episode must have left an impression, even on someone as worldly as Fabian.

"Will you stay with me?" pleaded Lavinia. "Will you tell me what we can do? Drusilla has such silly ideas. She likes what she thinks are clever games. Miss Etherton says she knows more than I do ... about history and things like that."

"She wouldn't have to know much to know more than you do," said Fabian—a remark which, coming from anyone else, would have thrown Lavinia into a temper, but because Fabian had said it, she giggled happily. It was quite a revelation to me that there was one person of whom Lavinia stood in awe—not counting Lady Harriet, of course, of whom everyone was in awe.

He said, "History ... I like history, Romans and all that. They had slaves. We'll have a game."

"Oh, Fabian ... really?"

"Yes. I am a Roman, Caesar, I think."

"Which one?" I asked.

He considered. "Julius ... or perhaps Tiberius."

"He was very cruel to the Christians."

"You need not be a Christian slave. I shall be Caesar. You are my slaves and I shall test you."

"I'll be your queen ... or whatever Caesars have," announced Lavinia. "Drusilla can be our slave."

"You'll be a slave, too," said Fabian, to my delight and Lavinia's dismay.

"I shall give you tasks ... which seem to you impossible. It is to prove you and see whether you are worthy to be my slaves. I shall say, 'Bring me the golden apples of Hesperides' ... or something like that."

"How could we get them?" I asked. "They are in the Greek legends. My father is always talking about them. They are not real."

Lavinia was getting impatient, as I, the plain outsider, was talking too much.

"I shall give you the tasks to perform and you must carry them out or suffer my anger."

"Not if it means going down to the underworld and bringing out people who are dead and that sort of thing," I said.

"I shall not command you to do that. The tasks will be difficult ... but possible."

He folded his arms across his chest and shut his eyes as though deep in thought. Then he spoke, as though he were the Oracle of whom my father talked now and then. "Lavinia, you will bring me the silver chalice. It must be a certain chalice. It has acanthus leaves engraved on it."

"I can't," said Lavinia. "It's in the haunted room."

I had never seen Lavinia so stricken, and what astonished me was that her brother had the power to drive the rebellion out of her.

He turned to me. "You will bring me a fan of peacock feathers. And when my slaves return to me, the chalice shall be filled with wine and while I drink it my slave shall fan me with the peacock-feather fan."

My task did not seem so difficult. I knew where there was a peacock-feather fan. I was better acquainted with the house than I had once been and I could find my way easily to Miss Lucille's apartments. I could slip into the room where I knew the fan to be, take it and bring it to Fabian. I should do it so quickly that he would commend me for my speed, while poor Lavinia was screwing up courage to go to the haunted room.

I sped on my way. A feeling of intense excitement gripped me. The presence of Fabian thrilled me because I kept thinking of the way in which he had kidnapped me, and there I had been, living in the house for two weeks just as though I were a member of the family. I wanted to astonish him with the speed with which I carried out my task.

I reached the room. What if the Indian were there? What would I say to her? "Please may I have the fan? We are playing a game and I am a slave."

She would smile, I guessed, and say "Dearie dearie me," in that sing-song voice of hers. I was sure she would be amused and amenable, though I wondered about the old lady. But she would be in the adjoining room, sitting in the chair with the rug over her knees, crying because of the past which came back to her with the letters.

I had opened the door cautiously. I smelt the pungent sandalwood. All was quiet. And there on the mantel shelf was the fan.

I stood on tiptoe and reached it. I took it down and then ran out of the room back to Fabian.

He stared at me in amazement.

"You've found it already?" He laughed. "I never thought you would. How did you know where it was?"

"I'd seen it before. It was when I was playing hide and seek with Lavinia. I went into that room by accident. I was lost."

"Did you see my great-aunt Lucille?"

I nodded. He continued to stare at me.

"Well done, slave," he said. "Now you may fan me while I await my chalice of wine."

"Do you want to be fanned? It's rather cold in here."

He looked towards the window from which came a faint draught. Raindrops trickled down the panes.

"Are you questioning my orders, slave?" he asked.

As it was a game I replied, "No, my lord."

"Then do my bidding."

It was soon after that when Lavinia returned with the chalice. She gave me a venomous look because I had succeeded in my task before she had. I found I was enjoying the game.

Wine had to be found and the chalice filled. Fabian stretched himself out on a sofa. I stood behind him wielding the peacock-feather fan. Lavinia was kneeling proffering the chalice.

It was not long before trouble started. We heard raised voices and running footsteps. I recognized that of Ayesha.

Miss Etherton, followed by Miss York, burst into the room.

There was a dramatic moment. Others whom I had not seen before were there and they were all staring at me. There was a moment's deep silence and then Miss York rushed at me.

"What have you done?" she cried.

Ayesha saw me and gave a little cry. "You have it," she said. "It is you. Dearie dearie me ... so it is you."

I realized then that they were referring to the fan.

"How could you?" said Miss York. I looked bewildered and she went on, "You took the fan. Why?"

"It ... it was a game," I stammered.

"A game!" said Miss Etherton. "The fan ..." Her voice was shaking with emotion.

"I'm sorry," I began.

Then Lady Harriet came in. She looked like an avenging goddess and my knees suddenly felt as though they would not hold me.

Fabian had risen from the sofa. "What a fuss!" he said. "She was my slave. I commanded her to bring me the fan."

I saw the relief in Miss Etherton's face and I felt a spurt of laughter bubbling up. It might have been mildly hysterical, but it was laughter all the same.

Lady Harriet's face had softened. "Oh, Fabian!" she murmured.

Ayesha said, "But the fan ... Miss Lucille's fan ..."

"I commanded her," repeated Fabian. "She had no alternative but to obey. She is my slave."

Lady Harriet began to laugh. "Well, now you understand, Ayesha. Take the fan back to Miss Lucille. No harm has been done to it and that is an end to the matter." She turned to Fabian. "Lady Goodman has written asking if you would care to visit Adrian for part of the summer holiday. How do you feel?"

Fabian shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly.

"Shall we talk about it? Come along, dear boy. I think we should give a prompt reply."

Fabian, casting a rather scornful look at the company which had been so concerned over such a trivial matter as the borrowing of a fan, left with his mother.

The incident was, I thought, over. They had been so concerned and it seemed to me that there was something important about the fan, but Lady Harriet and Fabian between them had reduced it to a matter of no importance.

Ayesha had gone, carrying the fan as though it were very precious, and the two governesses had followed her. Lavinia and I were alone.

"I have to take the chalice back before they find we had that, too. I wonder they didn't notice, but there was such a fuss over the fan. You'll have to come with me."

I was still feeling shocked, because I had been the one to take the fan, which was clearly a very important article since it had caused such a disturbance. I wondered what would have happened if Fabian had not been there to exonerate me from blame. I should probably have been banned from the house forevermore. I should have hated that, although I never felt welcome there. Still, the fascination was strong. All the people in it interested me ... even Lavinia, who was frequently rude and certainly never hospitable.

I thought how noble Fabian had looked pouring scorn on them all and taking the responsibility. Of course, it was his responsibility, and it was only right that he should take the blame. But he had made it seem that there was no blame, and that they were all rather foolish to make such a fuss.

Meekly I followed Lavinia to another part of the house, which I had never seen before.

"Great-Aunt Lucille is in the west wing. This is the east," she told me. "We are going to the Nun's room. You had better watch out. The Nun doesn't like strangers. I'm all right. I'm one of the family."

"Well, why are you frightened to go alone?"

"I'm not frightened. I just thought you'd like to see it. You haven't got any ghosts in that old rectory, have you?"

"Who wants ghosts anyway? What good do they do?"

"A great house always has them. They warn people."

"Then if the Nun wouldn't want me, I'll leave you to go on your own."

"No, no. You've got to come, too."

"Suppose I won't."

"Then I'll never let you come to this house again."

"I wouldn't mind. You're not very nice ... any of you."

"Oh, how dare you! You are only the rector's daughter and he owes the living to us."

I was afraid there might be something in that. Perhaps Lady Harriet could turn us out if she were displeased with me. I understood Lavinia. She wanted me with her because she was afraid to go to the Nun's room alone.

We went along a corridor. She turned and took my hand. "Come on," she whispered. "It's just along here."

She opened a door. We were in a small room that looked like a nun's cell. Its walls were bare and there was a crucifix hanging over a narrow bed. There was just one table and chair. The atmosphere was one of austerity.

She put the chalice on the table and in great haste ran out of the room, followed by me. We sped along the corridors and then she turned to regard me with satisfaction. Her natural arrogance and composure had returned. She led the way back to the room where, a short time before, Fabian had sprawled on a sofa and I had fanned him with the peacock-feather fan.

"You see," said Lavinia, "we have a lot of history in our family. We came over with the Conqueror. I reckon your family were serfs."

"Oh no, we were not."

"Yes, you were. Well, the Nun was one of our ancestresses. She fell in love with an unsuitable man ... I believe he was a curate or a rector. Those sort of people do not marry into families like ours."

"They would have been better educated than your people, I dare say."

"We don't have to worry about education. It is only people like you who have to do that. Miss Etherton says you know more than I do, though you're a year younger. I don't care. I don't have to be educated."

"Education is the greatest boon you can have," I said, quoting my father. "Tell me about the Nun."

"He was so far below her that she couldn't marry him. Her father forbade it and she went into a convent. But she couldn't live without him, so she escaped and went to him. Her brother went after them and killed the lover. She was brought home and put in that room, which was like a cell. It has never been changed. She drank poison from the chalice and she is supposed to come back to that room and haunt it."

"Do you believe that?"

"Of course I do."

"You must have been very frightened when you came in for the chalice."

"It's what you have to do when you're playing Fabian's games. I thought that since Fabian had sent me the ghost wouldn't hurt me."

"You seem to think your brother is some sort of god."

"He is," she replied.

It did seem that he was regarded as such in that household.

When we walked home, Miss York said, "My goodness, what a to-do about a fan. There would have been real trouble if Mr. Fabian hadn't been behind it."

I was more and more fascinated by the House. I often thought of the nun who had drunk from the chalice and killed herself for love. I talked of this to Miss York, who had discovered from Miss Etherton that Miss Lucille had become quite ill when she discovered that the peacock-feather fan had been taken away.

"No wonder," she said, "that there was all that fuss about it. Mr. Fabian should never have told you to take it. There was no way that you could know. Sheer mischief, I call it."

"Why should a fan be so important?"

"Oh, there is something about peacocks' feathers. I have heard they are unlucky."

I wondered whether this theory might have something to do with Greek mythology and if it did my father would certainly know about it. I decided to risk a lecture session with him and ask.

"Father," I said, "Miss Lucille at the House had a fan made of peacock's feathers. There is something special about it. Is there any reason why there should be anything important about peacocks' feathers?"

"Well, Hera put the eyes of Argus into the peacock's tail. Of course, you know the story."

Of course I did not, but I asked to hear it.

It turned out to be another of those about Zeus courting someone. This time it was the daughter of the King of Argos and Zeus's wife, Hera, discovered this.

"She shouldn't have been surprised," I said. "He was always courting someone he shouldn't."

"That's true. He turned the fair maiden into a white cow."

"That was a change. He usually transformed himself."

"On this occasion it was otherwise. Hera was jealous."

"I'm not surprised ... with such a husband. But she should have grown used to his ways."

"She set the monster Argus who had one hundred eyes to watch. Knowing this, Zeus sent Hermes to lull him to sleep with his lyre and when he was asleep to kill him. Hera was angry when she learned what had happened and placed the eyes of the dead monster in the tails of the peacocks."

"Is that why the feathers are unlucky?"

"Are they? When I come to think of it, I fancy I have heard something of that nature."

So he could not tell me more than that. I thought to myself: It is because of the eyes. They are watching all the time ... as Argus failed to do. Why should Miss Lucille worry so much because the eyes are not there to watch for her?

The mystery deepened. What an amazing house it was, having a ghost in the form of a long-dead nun as well as a magic fan with eyes to watch out for its owner. Did it, I wondered, warn of impending disaster?

I felt that anything could happen in that house; there was so much to discover and, in spite of the fact that I was plain and only asked because there was no one else to be a companion to Lavinia, I wanted to go on visiting the house.

It was a week or so after the incident of the fan that I discovered I was being watched. When I rode in the paddock I was aware of an irresistible urge to look up at a certain window high in the wall and it was from this one that I felt I was being observed. A shadow at the window was there for a moment and then disappeared. Several times I thought I saw someone there. It was quite uncanny.

I said to Miss Etherton, "Which part of the house is it that looks over the paddock?"

"That is the west wing. It is not used very much. Miss Lucille is there. They always think of it as her part of the house."

I had guessed that might be so and now I was sure.

One day when I took my horse to the stable, Lavinia ran on ahead and, as I was about to return to the house, I saw Ayesha. She came swiftly towards me and, taking my hand, looked into my face.

She said, "Miss Drusilla, I have waited to find you alone. Miss Lucille wants very much to speak to you."

"What?" I cried. "Now?"

"Yes," she answered. "This moment."

"Lavinia will be waiting for me."

"Never mind that one now."

I followed her into the house and up the staircase, along corridors to the room in the west wing where Miss Lucille was waiting for me.

She was seated in a chair near the window that looked down on the paddock and from which she had watched me.

"Come here, child," she said.

I went to her. She took my hand and looked searchingly into my face. "Bring a chair, Ayesha," she said.

Ayesha brought one and it was placed very near Miss Lucille.

Ayesha then withdrew and I was alone with the old lady.

"Tell me what made you do it," she said. "What made you steal the fan?"

I explained that Fabian was a great Roman and that Lavinia and I were his slaves. He was testing us and giving us difficult tasks. Mine was to bring a peacock fan to him, and I knew there was one in that room, so I came and took it.

"So Fabian is involved in this. There are two of you. But you were the one who took it and that means that for a while it was in your possession ... yours. That will be remembered."

"Who will remember?"

"Fate, my dear child. I am sorry you took the fan. Anything else you might have taken for your game and no harm done, but there is something about a peacock's feathers ... something mystic ... and menacing."

I shivered and looked around me. "Are they unlucky?" I asked.

She looked mournful. "You are a nice little girl and I am sorry you touched it. You will have to be on your guard now."

"Why?" I asked excitedly.

"Because that fan brings tragedy."

"How can it?"

"I do not know how. I only know it does."

"If you think that, why do you keep it?"

"Because I have paid for my possession."

"How do you pay?"

"I paid with my life's happiness."

"Shouldn't you throw the fan away?"

She shook her head. "No. One must never do that. To do so is to pass on the curse."

"The curse!" This was getting more and more fantastic. It seemed even wilder than my father's version of the maiden being turned into a white cow.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because it is written."

"Who wrote it?"

She shook her head and I went on, "How can a feather fan be unlucky? It is, after all, only a fan, and who could harm the one who had it? The peacock whose feathers it was must be dead a long time ago."

"You have not been in India, my child. Strange things happen there. I have seen men in bazaars charm poisonous snakes and make them docile. I have seen what is called the Rope Trick when a seer will make a rope stand on end without support and a little boy climb it. If you were in India you would believe these things. Here people are too materialistic; they are not in tune with the mystic. If I had never had that fan I should be a happy wife and mother."

"Why do you watch me? Why do you send for me and tell me all this?"

"Because you have had the fan in your possession. You have been its owner. The ill luck could touch you. I want you to take care."

"I never thought for an instant that it was mine. I just took it for a while because Fabian commanded me to take it. That was all. It was just a game."

I thought: She is mad. How can a fan be evil? How could someone turn a woman into a white cow? My father seemed to believe this though, which was extraordinary. At least he talked as though he believed it. But then the Greeks were more real to him than his own household.

"How can you be sure that the fan is unlucky?" I asked.

"Because of what happened to me." She turned to me and fixed her tragic eyes on me, but they seemed to be staring past me as though she were seeing something which was not in this room.

"I was so happy," she said. "Perhaps it is a mistake to be so happy. It is tempting the fates. Gerald was wonderful. I met him in Delhi. Our families have interests there. They thought it would be good for me to go out for a while. There is a good social life among the English and the members of the Company ... that is, the East India Company, and we were involved in that. So were Gerald and his family. That was why he was out there. He was so handsome and so charming ... there could never have been anyone like him. We were in love with each other from the first day we met."

She turned to smile at me. "You are too young to understand, my child. It was ... perfect. His family were pleased ... so were mine. There was no reason why we should not be married. Everyone was delighted when we announced our engagement. My family gave a ball to celebrate the occasion. It was really glittering. I wish I could describe India to you, my dear. It was a wonderful life we had. Who would have guessed that there was a tragedy waiting to spring up on us? It came suddenly ... like a thief in the night, as it says in the Bible, I believe. So it came to me."

"Was it because of the fan?" I asked tremulously.

"Oh, the fan. How young we were! How innocent of life! We went to the bazaar together, for when we were officially engaged that was allowed. It was wonderful. Bazaars are so fascinating, though I was always a little afraid of them, though not with Gerald, of course. It was thrilling ... the snake charmers ... the streets ... the strange music ... the pungent smell that is India. Goods to sell ... beautiful silks and ivory ... and strange things to eat. It was exciting. And as we went along we saw the man selling fans. I was instantly struck by them. 'How lovely they are!' I cried. Gerald said, 'They are very pretty. You must have one.' I remember the man who sold them. He was badly crippled. He could not stand up. He sat on a mat. I remember the way he smiled at us. I did not notice it then, but afterwards it came back to me. It was ... evil. Gerald unfurled the fan and I took it. It was doubly precious to me because he had given it to me. Gerald laughed at my delight in it. He held my arm tightly. People looked at us as we passed along. I suppose it was because we looked happy. Back in my room I opened the fan. I put it on a table so that I could see it all the time. When my Indian servant came in, she stared at it in horror. She said, 'Peacock-feather fan ... Oh no, no, Missie Lucille ... they bring evil ... You must not keep it here.' I answered, 'Don't be silly. My fiance gave it to me and I shall always treasure it for that reason. It is his first gift to me.' She shook her head and covered her face with her hands as though to shut out the sight of it. Then she said, 'I will take it back to the man who sold it to you . . though now it has been yours ... the evil is there ... but perhaps a small evil.' I thought she was crazy and I wouldn't let her touch it."

She stopped speaking and the tears began to run down her cheeks.

"I loved the fan," she went on after a while. "It was the first thing he gave me after our engagement. When I awoke in the morning it was the first thing I saw. Always, I told myself, I will remember that moment in the bazaar when he bought it for me. He laughed at my obsession with it. I did not know it then, but I do now. It had already cast its spell on me. 'It is only a fan,' said Gerald. 'Why do you care so much for it?' I told him why and he went on, 'Then I will make it more worthy of your regard. I shall have something precious put in it, and every time you see it you will be reminded of how much I care for you.'

"He said he would take it to a jeweller he knew in Delhi. The man was a craftsman. When I received the fan back it would indeed be something to be proud of. I was delighted and so happy. I ought to have known happiness like that does not last. He took the fan and went into the centre of the town. I have never forgotten that day. Every second of it it is engraved on my memory forever. He went into the jeweller's shop. He was there quite a long time. And when he came out ... they were waiting for him. There was often trouble. The Company kept it under control, but there were always the mad ones. They didn't see what good we were bringing to their country. They wanted us out. Gerald's family was important in the country ... as my family was. He was well known among them. When he came out of the jeweller's they shot him. He died there in the street."

"What a sad story. I am so sorry, Miss Lucille," I said.

"My dear child, I see you are. You are a good child. I am sorry you took the fan."

"You believe all that was due to the fan?"

"It was because of the fan that he was in that spot. I shall never forget the look in my servant's eyes. Somehow those people have a wisdom we lack. How I wish I had never seen that fan ... never gone into the bazaar that morning. How blithe and gay I had been ... and my foolish impulse had taken his life and ruined mine."

"It could have happened somewhere else."

"No, it was the fan. You see, he had taken it into the jeweller's shop. They must have followed him and waited for him outside."

"I think it could have happened without the fan."

She shook her head. "In time it came back to me. I will show you what was done." She sat there for a few moments with the tears coursing down her cheeks. Ayesha came in.

"There, there," she said. "You shouldn't have brought it all back to yourself. Dearie me, dearie me, it is not good, little mistress ... not good."

"Ayesha," she said. "Bring the fan to me."

Ayesha said, "No ... forget it ... Do not distress yourself."

"Bring it, please, Ayesha."

So she brought it.

"See, child, this is what he did for me. One has to know how to move this panel. You see. There is a little catch here. The jeweller was a great craftsman." She pulled back the panel on the mount of the fan to disclose a brilliant emerald surrounded by smaller diamonds. I caught my breath. It was so beautiful.

"It is worth a small fortune, they tell me, as if to console me. As if anything could. But it was his gift to me. That is why the fan is precious."

"But if it is going to bring you bad luck ..."

"It has done that. It can bring me no more. Ayesha, put it back. There. I have told you because, briefly, the fan was yours. You must walk more carefully than most. You are a good child. There. Go and rejoin Lavinia now. I have done my duty. Be on your guard ... with Fabian. You see, he will take some of the blame. Perhaps because you were in possession of it for such a short time it will pass over you. And he, too, would not be considered free of blame ..."

Ayesha said, "It is time to leave now."

She took me to the door and walked with me along the corridors.

"You must not take too much notice of what she says," she told me. "She is very sad and her mind wanders. It was the terrible shock, you understand. Do not worry about what you have heard. Perhaps I should not have brought you to her, but she wanted it. She could not rest until she had talked to you. It is off her mind now. You understand?"

"Yes, I understand."

And I said to myself: What happened made her mad.

And the thought of the ghostly nun in the east wing and the mad woman in the west made the house seem more and more fascinating to me.

As time passed I ceased to think about the peacock-feather fan and to wonder what terrible things might befall me because it had once been in my possession. I still visited the House; the governesses remained friendly; and my relationship with Lavinia had changed a little. I might still be plain and invited because I was the only girl in the neighbourhood of Lavinia's age and my station in life was not too lowly for me to be dismissed entirely, but I was gaining a little superiority over Lavinia because, while she was exceptionally pretty, I was more clever. Miss York boasted a little to Miss Etherton and on one occasion when Miss Etherton was ill, Miss York went over to the House to take her place until she recovered; and then the gap between myself and Lavinia was exposed. That did a lot for me and was not without its effect on Lavinia.

I was growing up. I was no longer to be put upon. I even threatened not to go to the House if Lavinia did not mend her ways; and it was obvious that that was something she did not want. We had become closer—even allies, when the occasion warranted it. I might be plain, but I was clever. She might be beautiful, but she could not think and invent as I could; and she relied on me—though she would not admit it—to take the lead.

Occasionally I saw Fabian. He came home for holidays and sometimes brought friends with him. They always ignored us, but I began to notice that Fabian was not so oblivious of my presence as he would have us believe. Sometimes I caught his furtive glance on me. I supposed it was due to that adventure long ago when I was a baby and he had kidnapped me.

It was whispered now that Miss Lucille was mad. Mrs. Janson was very friendly with the cook at the House, so, as she said, she had it "straight from the horse's mouth." Polly was like a jackdaw. She seized on every bit of dazzling gossip and stored it up so that she could, as she said, "piece things together a treat."

We used to talk about the House often, for Polly seemed as fascinated about it as I was.

"The old lady's mad," she said. "Not a doubt of it. Never been right in her head since she lost her lover out in India. People must expect trouble if they go to these outlandish places. It turned Miss Lucille's head, all right. Mrs. Bright says she's taken to wandering about the House now ... ordering them around like they was black servants. It all comes of going to India. Why people can't stay at home, I don't know. She thinks she's still in India. It's all that Ayesha can do to look after her. And she's got another black servant there."

"That's Imam. He comes from India too. I think she brought him with her when she came home ... with Ayesha, of course."

"Gives me the creeps. Them outlandish clothes and black eyes and talking a sort of gibberish."

"It's not gibberish, Polly. It's their own language."

"Why didn't she have a nice British couple to look after her? Then there's that haunted room and something about a nun. Love trouble there, too. I don't know. I think love's something to keep away from, if you ask me."

"You didn't feel like that when you had Tom."

"You can't find men like my Tom two a penny, I can tell you."

"But everyone hopes you can. That's why they fall in love."

"You're getting too clever, my girl. Look at our Eff."

"Is he still as bad?"

Polly just clicked her tongue.

Oddly enough, after that conversation, there was news of Him. Apparently he had been suffering, as Polly said, from "Chest" for some time. I remember the day when news came that he was dead.

Polly was deeply shocked. She wasn't sure what this was going to mean to Eff.

"I'll have to go up for the funeral," she said. "After all, you've got to show a bit of respect."

"You didn't have much for him when he was alive," I pointed out.

"It's different when people are dead."

"Why?"

"Oh, you and your 'whys' and 'whats.' It just is ... that's all."

"Polly," I said. "Why can't I come to the funeral with you.”

She stared at me in amazement.

"You! Eff wouldn't expect that."

"Well, let's surprise her."

Polly was silent. I could see she was turning the idea over in her mind.

"Well," she said at length, "it would show respect."

I learned that respect was a very necessary part of funerals.

"We'd have to ask your father," she announced at length.

"He wouldn't notice whether I had gone or not."

"Now that's not the way to speak about your father."

"Why not, if it's the truth? And I like it that way. I wouldn't want him taking a real interest. I'll tell him."

He did look a little startled when I mentioned it.

He put his hands up to his spectacles, which he expected to have on his head. They weren't there, and he looked helpless, as though he couldn't possibly deal with the matter until he found them. They were, fortunately, on his desk, and I promptly brought them to him.

"It's Polly's sister and it shows respect," I told him.

"I hope this does not mean she will want to leave us."

"Leave us!" The idea had not occurred to me. "Of course she won't want to leave us."

"She might want to live with her sister."

"Oh no," I cried. "But I think I ought to go to this funeral."

"It could be a morbid affair. The working classes make a great deal of them ... spending money they can ill afford."

"I want to go, Father. I want to see her sister. She's always talking about her."

He nodded. "Well, then you should go."

"We shall be there for a few days."

"I daresay that will be all right. You will have Polly with you."

Polly was delighted that I was going with her. She said Eff would be pleased.

So I shared in the funeral rites, and very illuminating I found it.

I was surprised by the size of Eff's house. It faced a common, round which the four-storied houses stood like sentinels. "Eff always liked a bit of green," Polly told me. "And she's got it there. A little bit of the country and the horses clopping by to let her know she's not right out in the wilds."

"It's what you call the best of both worlds," I said.

"Well, I won't quarrel with that," agreed Polly.

Eff was about four years older than Polly but looked more. When I mentioned this Polly replied, "It's the life she's led." She did not mention Him because he was dead, and when people died, I realized, their sins were washed away by the all-important respect; but I knew it was life with Him that had aged Eff beyond her years. I was surprised, for she did not seem to be the sort of woman who could be easily cowed, even by Him. She was like Polly in many ways; she had the same shrewd outlook on life and the sort of confidence that declared that none was going to get the better of her before anyone had attempted to do so. During my brief stay I recognized the same outlook in others. It was what is referred to as the cockney spirit; and it certainly seemed to be a product of the streets of London.

That visit was a great revelation to me. I felt I had entered a different world. It excited me. Polly was part of it and I wanted to know more of it.

Eff was a little nervous of me at first. She kept apologizing for things. "Not what you're used to, I'm sure," until Polly said, "Don't you worry about Drusilla, Eff. Me and her get. on like a house afire, don't we?" I assured Eff that we did.

Every now and then Polly and Eff would laugh and then remember Him lying in state in the front parlour.

"He makes a lovely corpse," said Eff. "Mrs. Brown came in to lay him out and she's done a good job on him."

We sat in the kitchen and talked about him. I did not recognize him as the monster of the past; I was about to remind Polly of this, but when I attempted to, she gave me a little kick under the table to remind me in time of the respect owed to the dead.

I shared a room with Polly. We lay in bed that first night and talked about funerals and how they hadn't known how ill He had been until He had been "took sudden." I was comforted in this strange house to be close to Polly, because below us in the parlour lay "the corpse."

The great day came. Vaguely I remember now those solemn undertakers in their top hats and black coats, the plumed horses, the coffin, "genuine oak with real brass fittings," as Eff proudly explained.

It was piled with flowers. Eff had given him "The Gates of Heaven Ajar," which I thought a little optimistic for one of his reputation—before death, that was. Polly and I had hurried to the flower shop and bought a wreath in the shape of a harp which seemed hardly suitable either. But I was learning that death changed everything.

There was a solemn service, with Eff being supported on one side by Polly and on the other by Mr. Branley, to whom she let rooms in the house. She drooped and kept touching her eyes with a black-bordered handkerchief. I began to think that Polly had not told me the truth about Him.

There were ham sandwiches and sherry, which were taken in the parlour—blinds now drawn up and looking quite different without the coffin—a little prim and unlived-in, but without the funereal gloom.

I learned that there was a great bond between Polly and Eff, though they might be a little critical of each other—Polly of Eff for marrying Him and Eff of Polly because she had "gone into service." Father, Eff hinted, would never have approved of that. Mind you, Eff conceded, it was a special sort of service and Polly was almost one of the family, with that rector who never seemed to know whether he was standing on his head or his heels, and Eff admitted that I was "a nice little thing."

I gathered that Eff was in no financial difficulties. Polly told me that it was Eff who had kept things going in the house on the common. He hadn't worked for years because of his Chest. Eff had taken lodgers. The Branleys had been with her for two years and they were more like friends than tenants. One day, of course, when the little nipper grew up they would have to consider getting a place of their own with a garden, but just now the Branleys were safe.

I realized that Eff's fondness for the Branleys was largely due to "the nipper." The nipper was six months old and he dribbled and bawled without reason. Eff allowed them to keep his perambulator in the hall—a great concession of which Father would never have approved—and Mrs. Branley would bring him down so that he could have his airing in the garden. Eff liked that; and I gathered so did Polly. When he lay in his pram Eff would find some excuse to go into the garden and gaze at him. If he were crying—which was often—they would babble nonsense at him: "Didums want his Mumums then?" or something like that, which sounded so strange on their lips, as they were both what Mrs. Janson would have called "sharp tongued." They were completely changed by this baby.

It occurred to me that the great lack in the lives of both Polly and Eff was a baby of their own. Babies seemed to be very desirable creatures—even Fabian had wanted one.

I remember very well an occasion two days after the funeral. Polly and I were going back to the rectory the next day. Polly had been making the most of our last day and she had taken me "up West," which meant the west end of London.

We were in the kitchen. I was seated by the fire and I was so sleepy that I dozed off.

Vaguely I heard Polly say, "Look at Drusilla. She's half asleep already. Well, we did a bit of traipsing about, I can tell you." Then I really did doze.

I awoke suddenly. Eff and Polly were at the table, a big brown earthenware teapot between them.

Eff was saying, "I reckon I could take two more people in here."

"I don't know what Father would have said, you taking in lodgers."

"They call them paying guests ... in the sort of place I'll have. Did you know, Poll, the Martins next door are going and I reckon I could take on that place."

"Whatever for?"

"More paying guests, of course. I reckon I could make a real business out of this, Poll."

"I reckon you could."

"Mind you—I'd need help."

"What'll you do ... get someone to come in with you?"

"I'd want somebody I know. Somebody I could trust."

"Nice business."

"What about you, Poll?"

There was a long silence. I was quite wide awake now.

"The two of us would make a regular go of this," said Eff. "It would be a nice little venture. You in service ... well, you know Father would never have liked that."

"I wouldn't leave Drusilla. She means a lot to me, that child."

"Nice little thing. No beauty ... but she's sharp and I reckon she's got a way with her."

"Sh!" said Polly.

She looked in my direction and I immediately closed my eyes.

"Well, that won't go on forever, Poll. I reckon sisters ought to stick together."

"Well, if it wasn't for her I'd be with you like a shot, Eff."

"You like the sound of it, do you?"

"I'd like to be here. The country's dead dull. I like a bit of life."

"Don't I know that. Always did, always will. That's you, Poll."

"While she wants me I'll be there."

"You think about it, that's all. You don't want to be at the beck and call of others all your life. You was never one for that."

"Oh, there's not much of the beck and call there, Eff. He's soft ... and she's like my own."

"Well, it would be a good life. The two of us working together."

"It's nice to know you're there, Eff."

So a new fear had come into my life. There would come a day when I would lose Polly.

"Polly," I said to her that night when we had retired. "You won't go away from me, will you?"

"What you talking about?"

"You might go in with Eff."

"Here! Who's been listening to what she wasn't meant to? Pretending to be asleep. I know. I rumbled you."

"But you won't, will you, Polly?"

"No. I'll be there as long as I'm wanted."

I hugged her, holding her tightly for fear she would escape from me.

It would be a long time before I forgot Eff's holding out the bait of freedom to Polly.

The French Affair

The years passed and I was fourteen years old, doing much the same as I had always done. Miss York was still with me and Polly was my guide, comforter and mentor. I still paid my periodic visits to the House, but I was no longer so subservient to Lavinia. I only had to hint that I would refuse to come and she changed her hectoring ways. She had a faint respect for me—though she would never admit it. I had helped her through one or two scrapes and that gave me an advantage.

Polly and I were closer together. We had paid several visits to Eff, who now had the house next door and was doing well with her paying guests. She seemed to have grown in importance and presided over her two houses in a very gracious and genteel manner. Polly had to admit that Father would have had very little to complain of. The Branleys had gone and been replaced by the Paxtons. "Much better," commented Eff. "Mrs. Paxton always wraps her rubbish before putting it in the dustbin. Mrs. Branley never did. Though I must say I miss the nipper." So, apart from the loss of the baby, the change really was for the better.

"Eff'll do well," said Polly. "All this is right up her street."

I knew that, but for me, Polly would have been with Eff, keeping all those paying guests in order and secretly laughing with Eff over their little foibles. But Polly had sworn never to leave me while I wanted her, and I trusted Polly.

Then life started to change. An architect came to the House because there was something wrong with the structure of the east wing and it had to be put right by an expert who would know how to restore it in a suitable manner. This was Mr. Rimmel, and he and Miss Etherton became very friendly. Lady Harriet was unaware of this until it had gone too far and Miss Etherton announced her engagement to Mr. Rimmel and gave notice to Lady Harriet that she would be leaving in a month to prepare for her wedding.

Lady Harriet was incensed. Apparently there had been a succession of governesses before Miss Etherton's arrival and she had been the only one who had stayed. "People are so inconsiderate," said Lady Harriet. "Where is their gratitude? All these years she has had a good home here."

But Miss Etherton, secure in the love of Mr. Rimmel, was by no means dismayed. She was beyond Lady Harriet's disapproval now.

In due course she went. Two governesses came, but neither of them stayed more than two months.

Lady Harriet then declared that it was rather absurd to employ two governesses when there were two girls virtually of the same age living so close. She had been impressed by Miss York's efficiency and she saw no reason why the young woman should not teach Lavinia and me at the same time.

My father hesitated and said he would have to consult Miss York, which in due course he did. Miss York, like the two governesses whose stay at the House was brief, was not eager to undertake the education of Lavinia; but in due course, attracted by the offer of a larger salary and no doubt overwhelmed by the dominating personality of Lady Harriet, she agreed; and as a result Lavinia sometimes came to the rectory and I sometimes went to the House, where we took lessons together. Miss York, buoyed up by the knowledge that she could to some extent make her own terms, refused to take up residence at the House and insisted on regarding the rector as her employer.

So Lavinia and I did our lessons together.

I was not displeased, for the schoolroom was the scene of my triumphs. Miss York was constantly shocked by Lavinia's ignorance, and though Lavinia often copied my work, and I helped her on many occasions, she was very much my inferior in the schoolroom.

I was at heart quite fond of Lavinia, though I could not understand why. Perhaps it was a feeling of familiarity, for we had known each other for so many years. She was arrogant, selfish and domineering; but I took that as a sort of challenge. I was rather flattered to find that she secretly relied on me. I think I knew her better than anyone else did; thus I became aware of a trait in her character which, without doubt, was the reason why certain things happened to her.

She was governed by a deep sensuality and she had matured early. She was a woman at fifteen, whereas I, in spite of my superior knowledge, was physically a child. She had a small waist and was always at great pains to accentuate her figure, which was showing signs of nubility. She had always been excessively proud of her gorgeous hair. She had perfect white teeth and was fond of displaying them; she would bestow her smiles right and left so that people might see and admire them, which gave a false impression of affability.

Because she had failed academically she had decided that learning was for those who lacked physical charms.

It dawned on me that Lavinia had a perpetual love affair with the opposite sex. She blossomed when men were near. She smiled and sparkled—showing her teeth and tossing her hair— and was an entirely different person.

I saw Fabian now and then. He had been away, first at school, then at the university. Sometimes he came home, almost always bringing a friend with him. I would see him riding out or perhaps in the house when I was having a lesson there.

When Lavinia talked of the young men who came to the House with her brother her eyes would sparkle and she would giggle a good deal. Fabian took no notice of me, and I supposed he had forgotten that time when he had looked after me and made such a fuss when they wanted to take me away. Although it was just a child's game, I had liked to think it had made a special bond between us.

A few days after my fifteenth birthday I met Dougal Carruthers. I was taking the shortcut across the churchyard to the rectory when I noticed the door of the church was open, and as I came nearer I heard the sound of footsteps on the flagstones. I thought perhaps my father was there and that he should be making his way home, as Mrs. Janson would be displeased if he were not at the table punctually for lunch. One had constantly to remind him of such matters.

I stepped into the church and saw a young man standing there gazing up at the roof.

He turned as I entered and smiled at me.

"Hello," he said. "I was just admiring the church. It's very attractive, isn't it?"

"I believe it is one of the oldest in the country."

"Norman obviously. And excellently preserved. It is wonderful how these old places stand up to time. Do you know the history of the place?"

"No. But my father does. He is the rector."

"Oh ... I see."

"He would be only too delighted to tell you anything you wanted to know."

"How kind!"

I was debating with myself. If I took him home to meet my father we would have to invite him for lunch, and Mrs. Janson did not welcome unexpected guests at mealtimes. On the other hand, if we did not ask him to lunch my father would keep him talking and miss his. In either case we would invoke Mrs. Jan-son's displeasure.

I said, "Why don't you come and see my father sometime? He will be free this afternoon. Are you staying near here?"

"Yes," he said, waving his arm, "here." I thought he was indicating the local inn, where I believed they occasionally put up paying guests.

I left him in the church and went home. Over lunch I told my father that I had met a man in the church, and he was interested in the architecture and history of the place.

My father brightened, sensing an encounter with someone who shared his enthusiasm.

"He's coming this afternoon. I said you'd see him."

I waited for the young man to arrive, for I feared that if I did not my father would have forgotten he was to see him and I felt I was needed to make the introduction.

In due course he arrived and my father received him delightedly. To my surprise, he told us that he was staying at Framling. I left my father with him and went over to ride.

Lavinia and I were good horsewomen, but we were not allowed to ride without a groom in attendance. Reuben Curry, who had succeeded Joe Cricks as head groom, usually accompanied us. He was a taciturn man, quite immune from Lavinia's wiles, and he kept a firm hand on us. He was an interesting man, very religious. His wife, I had heard from Polly or Mrs. Janson, had "gone astray" when a gypsy encampment rested nearby. Apparently there was one among the gypsies who was "a fascinating fellow. All white teeth and gold earrings and he could play the fiddle a treat. All the maids were in a twitter about him and as he was up to no good a certain amount of harm was done. Goodness knew what went on." Mrs. Janson wouldn't have put anything past him. And Reuben's wife ... well, she got carried away by the fellow and the truth was he took advantage of her; and when the gypsies went off at the end of the summer, they left a little something behind. The "little something" was Joshua Curry—a bundle of mischief from the day he was born. Another such as his father, it was reckoned, and one for the maids to beware of.

Having heard of Joshua's colourful beginnings, I was interested in him. He had black curly hair and sparkling dark eyes which were always smiling and alert—for what, I could only guess. He was so dark—brown-skinned, lithe and unlike anyone else I knew.

On this occasion, when Lavinia and I arrived at the stables Joshua was there alone. He grinned at us as we entered. I noticed the change in Lavinia at once, for, though he was only a servant, he was a member of the opposite sex. She dimpled and her eyes shone.

Joshua touched his forelock, but not in the way most of them did. He gave the impression that he was doing it as a kind of joke and it did not really mean respect.

"Are our horses saddled?" asked Lavinia haughtily.

Joshua bowed. "Oh yes, my lady. All waiting for you."

"And where is Reuben?"

"He's working. I'm here, though. I reckon I could be your escort today."

"It is usually Reuben or one of the older men," said Lavinia, but I could see that she was secretly pleased.

"Well, today it's yours truly ... that's if you young ladies will have me."

"I suppose we must," said Lavinia languidly.

We went to the horses. I mounted, using the mounting block. I looked back at Lavinia. Joshua was helping her into the saddle. It seemed to take quite a little time. I saw his face close to hers and noticed how his hand rested on her thigh. I thought she might be angry at the familiarity, but she was by no means so. The colour had heightened in her cheeks and her eyes were sparkling.

"Thank you, Joshua," she said.

"I answer to the name of Jos," he told her. "More friendly, don't you think?"

"I hadn't thought about it," said Lavinia, "but I suppose it is."

I saw his hand on her arm.

"Well then, Jos it is."

"All right," she said. "Jos."

We rode out of the stables and soon we were cantering along. Lavinia let me go ahead so that she was behind with Jos. I heard her laughing, and I thought how strange that was. She was usually so haughty with the servants.

She was more inattentive than ever at her lessons. She was continually studying her face in a looking glass, combing her hair, pulling out little tendrils and letting them spring back, smiling to herself as though she were hoarding some secret.

"I despair of teaching that girl anything," sighed Miss York. "For two pins I would go to Lady Harriet and tell her it's a hopeless task. Really she gets worse than ever." Lavinia did not care. A smugness had settled on her. She was content with life. Something had happened. I was sorry I was the one to discover what.

Dougal Carruthers had formed a firm friendship with my father and during his stay at Framling he came several times to see us and once to lunch.

He told us he was staying for three weeks at the House and that his father had been a great friend of Sir William Framling; they were connected with the East India Company and he would shortly be leaving the country. He confessed to my father that he would rather have studied medieval art and architecture. He shrugged his shoulders, adding that it was a tradition that sons of the family should go into the Company, just as Fabian Framling would eventually do.

Mrs. Janson was not displeased. She reckoned she could put on as good a lunch as Mrs. Bright of the House. All she wanted was notice, and this time she had it.

I liked Dougal. He was very charming to me and did not treat me as Fabian and his friends had—not unkindly or rudely, but simply as though I did not exist.

Dougal had a pleasant habit of glancing my way when he was talking, thus giving the impression that he included me in the conversation, and when, occasionally, I offered a comment, he would listen with attention.

I wished that I had paid more attention when my father talked of the antiquity of our Norman church, so that I could have contributed more.

Once Fabian came to the rectory with him. They sat in the garden and took wine with my father. Dougal and my father were soon deep in conversation and that left me to talk to Fabian.

I saw that he was studying me with a certain interest and I said, "Do you remember when you kidnapped me?"

He smiled. "Yes, I remember. I thought if I wanted a baby all I had to do was find one."

We laughed.

"And you found me," I said.

"I think you must have been a very tolerant baby," he went on.

"I don't remember anything of it. I was rather flattered when I heard of it. Flattered to have been chosen, I mean. But I suppose any baby would have done."

"You seemed to me a suitable subject for adoption."

"I believe there was a great fuss."

"People always make fusses if something unconventional happens."

"Well, you wouldn't have expected my family to let me go without a word, would you?"

"No. But I kept you for two weeks."

"I have heard the story often. I wish I had been aware at the time."

"You would probably have protested if you had known what it was all about. As it was you took it very calmly."

I was very pleased, because it seemed that in talking of the matter, we had broken through some barrier. I imagined that he felt the same and that our relationship would be easier from now on.

We suddenly became involved in the general conversation and after a while Dougal and he left. Dougal was leaving Framling the next day and at the end of the week Fabian would be gone, too.

I could not resist telling Lavinia that they had called.

"Well, they didn't come to see you, " was her comment.

"I know that, but they came and I was there to talk to them both."

"Dougal is lovely, but he's only interested in old things." She grimaced. I imagined she had flaunted her flaming hair before him and had expected him to be overcome by admiration. I was rather pleased that, presumably, he had not been.

I said, "Fabian talked about that time he abducted me."

"Oh, that," she said. "That's all rather boring."

But I could see that my meeting with Dougal rankled. She was quite annoyed when we rode out that afternoon.

Jos was with us. I think he contrived to be our guardian whenever he could; and the fact that he accompanied us rather than Reuben usually put Lavinia in a good mood.

She was very wayward that afternoon. She was both haughty and familiar with Jos; he said little and just smirked at her.

We came to a field across which we always galloped, and it was a competition between Lavinia and me to see who reached the other side first.

I set off and was well ahead. When I came to the edge of the field I pulled up and looked round. I was alone.

Amazed, I called out, "Lavinia, where are you?"

There was no answer. I cantered back to the other side of the field. When I had started off on my gallop they could not have accompanied me.

I rode around looking for them, but after half an hour I went back to the stables. There was no sign of them. I did not want to go back to the House alone, for there might be a fuss. We were not supposed to ride without a groom. It was at least half an hour before they returned.

Lavinia looked flushed and excited. She assumed an annoyed expression.

"Wherever did you get to?" she demanded. "We've been looking for you everywhere."

"I thought you were galloping across the field after me."

"What field?"

"You know, where we always gallop."

"I can't think what happened," said Lavinia. She smirked and I was quick enough to see the exchanged glances between her and Jos.

I suppose, had I been wiser and more experienced in the ways of the world, I should have guessed what was going on. It would have been obvious to an older person. But I really believed there had been a misunderstanding and that they had not realized I had broken into a gallop.

Polly was in close conversation with Mrs. Janson and Mrs. Janson was saying, "I've warned her time and time again. But does she take any notice? That Holly was always a flighty piece ... and now I believe she's taken leave of her senses."

"You know what girls are," soothed Polly.

"Well, that girl's courting trouble, that's what. And a nice thing that'll be."

When I was alone with Polly I said, "What's Holly doing?"

"Oh ... just being silly."

"It sounded as if it was rather dangerous."

"Oh, it's dangerous all right ... with one like that."

"Who ... like Holly?"

"No ... him."

"Tell me about it."

"You've been listening again. Little pitchers have long ears."

"Polly. I'm quite a sizeable pitcher and my ears are normal size, but they work as well as anyone else's. Stop treating me like a child."

Polly folded her arms and looked at me intently.

"Growing up fast," she said, with a hint of sadness.

"I'm not going to be a child forever, Polly. It's time I learned something about the world."

She regarded me shrewdly. "There might be some truth in that," she said. "Young girls have to watch out. Not that I'm worried about you. You're sensible. Been brought up right, you have. I've seen to that. It's that Jos ... He's one of that kind ..."

"What kind?"

"He's got a way with him. He'll always have girls after him, and it seems to me that's about all he thinks of. Perhaps that's why he gets what he wants."

I was thinking of the way he looked at Lavinia and how she accepted familiarities from him which, I am sure, as Lady Harriet's daughter, she should not have done.

"And Holly?" I asked.

"She's being silly over him."

"Do you mean he's courting Holly?"

"Courting her! Courting her for one thing ... and that won't involve a wedding ring. I reckon the silly girl has given what he's after already ... and that's no clever thing for any girl to do, I can tell you."

"What are you going to do about it?"

Polly shrugged her shoulders. "Me! What can I do? I could speak to the rector. Might just as well speak to a brick wall as speak to him. Mrs. Janson's done her best. Well, we shall see. Perhaps she'll find him out before it's too late."

Ignorant as I was, I did not realize the implications of the situation. Holly might dally with Jos as Jos's mother had with the gypsy and there could be a similar result.

But Jos was not a wandering gypsy; he could hardly wander off and shirk his responsibilities.

I wished I had not been the one to find them.

The grounds surrounding the House were large and in some places wild and uncultivated. Beyond the shrubbery was a part that was somewhat isolated. There was an old summer house there, which I had discovered by accident. When I asked Lavinia about it she had said, "Nobody goes there nowadays. It's locked. There's a key somewhere. One day I'll find it." But that was a long time ago and she had never done anything about it.

On this particular day I went over to join Lavinia. It was early afternoon—a rest period for Miss York—and I knew that Mrs. Janson "put her feet up for an hour" at that time; I suspect Mrs. Bright of the House did the same.

A somnolent atmosphere hung over the house. It was very quiet. Lavinia was nowhere about. She should have met me at the stables, but she was not there. Her horse was, so I knew she had not gone without me.

I thought she must be somewhere in the gardens, so I decided to look round before going into the House.

I could not find her and my steps eventually led me to the shrubbery. Thus it was that I came on the old summer house. The place had always attracted me in a morbid way. I believe it was said to be haunted and that was why people did not go there often.

I paused at the door and thought I heard a sound within. It was a long, low chuckle which made me shiver. It sounded ghostly. I turned the handle of the door and to my surprise it opened. Then I saw who was there. It was no ghost. It was Jos and Lavinia. They were laying on the floor together.

I did not want to notice details. I felt myself get very hot. I shut the door and ran and did not stop running until I reached the rectory. I felt sick. I glanced at my face in a mirror. It was scarlet.

I could not believe what I had seen. Lavinia ... proud, haughty Lavinia ... doing that with a servant!

I sat down on my bed. What should I do? Lavinia may have seen me. She would have heard the door open. What ought I to do? How could I tell anyone—and yet how could I not?

The door opened and Polly came in.

"Heard you running up ..." She stopped and stared at me. "Why, what is it? What's the matter?"

She came and sat on the bed beside me and put an arm round me.

"You're upset," she said. "You'd better tell old Polly about it."

"I don't know, Polly. I can't believe it. I don't know whether she saw me or not. It was awful."

"Come on. Tell me."

"I think I ought not to tell anyone ... ever."

"You can tell me, as it's as good as if you'd kept it to yourself ... only better because I know what's best to do. Don't I always?"

"Yes, you do. Only swear you won't do anything ... without telling me."

"Cross my heart."

"Swear it, Polly."

"Here." She licked her finger and rubbed it dry. "See me finger's wet, see me finger's dry, Cross my heart and never tell a lie," she finished with a dramatic gesture.

I had heard Polly swear that before and I knew she would keep her word.

"I couldn't find Lavinia," I said. "I went to look for her. You know that old summer house ... the haunted one ... someone killed herself in it years ago ..."

Polly nodded.

"She was in there ... with Jos. They were ... on the floor together ... and ..."

"No!" cried Polly, aghast.

I nodded. "I saw them clearly."

Polly rocked gently back and forth. "This is a nice sort of how-di-do. I can believe anything of them two. A regular pair. I'd like to see her ladyship's face when she hears of this."

"You mustn't tell her, Polly."

"What! Let them go on till he leaves his signature on the family tree! That wouldn't be one for the drawing over the fireplace, I can tell you."

"She'd know that I told. I can't tell tales."

Polly sat quietly thinking. "Nor can you let this go on. And I wonder how far it has gone. She's a little ... er ... madam ... that one. As for him, I reckon he's his father all over again and no girl would be safe from him ... unless she had her head screwed on right, of course. I reckon it's got to be stopped. There could be big trouble ... and I wouldn't like even Lady Harriet to have that foisted on her."

"Perhaps I should speak to Lavinia."

"Not you. You keep out of it. You'd make her worse. I know her kind. We've got to do something, though. You leave it to me."

"Polly, you won't tell I saw them, will you?"

She shook her head. "I've given you my promise, haven't I?"

"Yes, but ..."

"Don't you worry, my love. I'll find some way and you can bet your life I'll see that you are not mixed up in this."

Polly was most inventive. She found the way.

It was a few days later. I went over to the House as usual. Lavinia was not to be found, nor was Jos. I hurried back to the rectory and told Polly, who was waiting to hear.

She told me to go to my room and read because she wanted me out of the way.

I heard what happened later.

Polly let Holly know that her lover was in the Framling haunted summer house with another woman. Holly wouldn't believe her at first, but after a while she went to investigate. Polly's assumption had been right. Holly came upon Jos and Lavinia, as Lavinia told me later, flagrante delicto. Poor Holly, she had been deceived by her lover, and finding him in such a position with another woman—even though she was Miss Lavinia—aroused her unbridled fury.

She shouted at him, cursing him and Miss Lavinia. He could not escape, because he was not fully dressed, and it was the same with Lavinia.

Holly's shouting was heard and several of the servants came hurrying, thinking a burglar had been caught.

It was disastrous, for it became a matter that could not be hidden from Lady Harriet herself.

Lavinia and Jos had been caught in the act.

There was certain to be a big storm.

I did not see Lavinia for some days. Polly told me what had happened and she had it from the horse's mouth via Mrs. Janson, who had had it from Mrs. Bright. Lavinia was confined to her room and something big was about to take place.

Jos could hardly be dismissed, as he was known as Reuben's son although he wasn't—so he would have to stay in the stables, because Reuben was too useful to be dispensed with and it was not fair that the sins of the children should be visited on their elders, even though it was the other way round in the Bible. If he had been caught with any of the servants it would have been a venial sin—but Miss Lavinia!

"I always knew what she was," commented Polly. "Plain as the nose on your face. You can be sure your sins will find you out ... and Madam Lavinia's have surely done that."

We waited to see what would happen and we did not have to wait long.

Lady Harriet sent for my father and they were in conference for a long time before he returned home. As soon as he came back he asked me to go to him.

"As you know," he said, "you were always intended to go away to school. Your mother and I used to plan for you before you were born. It mattered not whether you turned out to be a boy or a girl, we both believed absolutely in the necessity of education and your mother wanted the best for our child. As you have heard, there is some money—not a great deal, but perhaps adequate—and that has been set aside for your schooling. Miss York is a very good governess and Lady Harriet will do all in her power to find her another place, and with such a recommendation it should not be difficult. Polly ... well, she has always known that she could not be with you permanently and I believe she has a sister whom she can join ..."

I stared at him. It was not the thought of school that appalled me. I could only think of the loss of Polly.

"Lavinia will accompany you. Lady Harriet approves of the school and the two of you will be together."

Then I understood. Lady Harriet had decreed that Lavinia must go away. There must be an end to this disastrous affair with Jos. Separation was the only answer—and I was to go with her. Lady Harriet ruled our lives.

I said, "I don't want to go away to school, Father. I am sure Miss York is a wonderful teacher and I can do just as well with her."

"It is what your mother wanted for you," he said sadly. I thought: And it is what Lady Harriet wants!

I went straight to Polly. I flung my arms round her and clung to her.

"Polly, I can't leave you."

"Better tell me," she said.

"I'm going to school. Lavinia and I are going."

"I see. I see. This is because of madam's little prank, eh? I shouldn't think school is going to stop that one. So you are going away to school, eh?"

"I won't go, Polly."

"It might be good for you."

"What about you?"

"Well, I've always known this would come to an end one day or another. That was certain sure. I'll go to Eff. She's always on at me to come. There's nothing to fret about, lovey. You and me ... we'll always be friends. You'll know where I'll be and I'll know where you'll be. Don't be so downhearted. School will suit you, and then when you have your holidays you can come and stay with me and Eff. Eff would be so proud. So ... look on the bright side, there's a love. Life goes on, you know. It never stands still and you can't be Polly's baby forever."

It was getting better already.

Miss York took the news philosophically. She had been expecting it, she said. The rector had always told her that one day I should have to go away to school. She would find another post and the rector had said she must stay at the rectory until she did. Lady Harriet had promised to help her find another situation, so she was as good as fixed up.

It was about a week after Lavinia's exposure that I saw her.

She was smoulderingly resentful. She looked more like a tigress than a spoiled kitten. Her eyes were slightly red, so I knew she had been crying.

"What a fuss!" she said. "It was that awful girl Holly."

"Holly wasn't any different from you. Jos had made fools of you both."

"Don't you dare call me a fool, Drusilla Delany."

"I shall call you what I like. And you are a fool to do what you did, with a groom at that."

"You don't understand."

"Well, everybody else does, and it is why you are being sent away."

"You are being sent as well."

"That is only because you are going. I have to be with you."

She snorted. "I don't want you."

"I daresay my father could send me to another school."

"My mother would not allow that."

"We are not your mother's slaves, you know. We have freedom to do what we want to. If you are going to be objectionable I shall ask my father to send me away without you."

She looked a little alarmed at that.

"They treat me like a child," she said.

"Jos didn't."

She began to laugh. "He is a rogue," she said.

"That's what they all say."

"Oh ... but it was so exciting."

"You should be careful."

"I was ... if that woman hadn't come and found us in the summer house ..."

I turned away. I wondered what she would say if she knew what had led up to her discovery.

"He said I was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen."

"I think they all say that. They think it will get them what they want more quickly."

"They don't. And what do you know about it?"

"I've heard ..."

"Shut up," said Lavinia, and seemed near to tears.

We made a sort of truce. We were both going into a strange place and the only familiar things there would be each other. We were both a little pleased that we should not be alone.

We talked a good deal about school.

We spent two years at Meridian House. I fitted in quite well. I was immediately noticed as a bright child, and as such attracted the attention of the teachers. Lavinia was backward for her age, and showed no inclination to change that state. Moreover, she was arrogant and moody, which did not make her popular, and the fact of her exalted parentage—which she was apt to stress at first—was a deterrent rather than an asset. She had always expected those about her to fit in with her ways and it never occurred to her that she must adapt to others.

There was a boys' school close by and occasionally we saw the boys playing games on the green near the school. This caused a certain amount of excitement among a section of the girls, particularly on Sundays when we went to the village church for the morning service and the boys occupied the pews immediately opposite us. Of course, Lavinia was to the fore among these girls who had a marked interest in the boys. Notes were smuggled across the aisle, and Sunday morning church was the high spot of the week for some girls, for a reason which would not have pleased the vicar or our formidable headmistress, Miss Gentian.

It was during our second year at Meridian House that Lavinia experienced her second disaster, and it was inevitable that it was of a nature similar to the first.

She ignored me for a good deal of the time, remembering me only when she needed help with her work. She had her own little community and they were known as "the fast set." They regarded themselves as adult and worldly; they were very daring and knowledgeable of the facts of life. Lavinia was queen of this little band, for though most of them could only theorize on the topic nearest their hearts, Lavinia had had practical experience.

When she was very angry with me she would sometimes refer to me in a tone of complete contempt as "You ... virgin!"

I often thought that if Lavinia had been one of that despised sect I might be at home cosily doing my lessons with Miss York and with dear Polly to run to when an emergency arose.

Polly wrote to me in a rather laborious hand. She had learned to write when Tom had gone away to sea so that she could keep in close touch with him. Her words were often misspelt, but the warmth of her feeling came through to comfort me.

I often thought of her and Eff during that time, and in the summer holidays I did go to see them. I stayed a week and it was wonderful to be with Polly. She and Eff were doing well. Both had an aptitude for business. Polly was soon on friendly terms with the paying guests and Eff supplied the essential dignity which was part of keeping everyone in order.

"We're what Father would have called a good team," Eff told me. She was particularly pleased at that time, for "Downstairs No. 32" (which was what she called the tenants of the lower floor in the most recently acquired house) had brought a nipper with them. They were very content and had the garden for the pram, which was a very comfortable arrangement, and Eff and Polly could pop in at any time and gurgle over the child. Eff always referred to her tenants as "Top Floor 30," "First Floor 32" and so on.

They were wonderful days while Polly listened to my news about school and I learned the backgrounds and idiosyncrasies of Top Floor to Basement Room.

For instance, Top Floor left the tap running and First Floor wouldn't do her part of the stairs properly; even Downstairs No. 32 hadn't really come out of the top drawer, but of course they were forgiven a great deal because they had brought the nipper.

"He's a regular little fellow, he is. You should see the smile I get from him when I go out there." So I gathered that, as previously in the case of the Branleys, the nipper made up for his parents' shortcomings.

Going "up West" with Polly, looking at the big shops, walking through the market on a Saturday night when the flares were lighted and the faces of the costers gleamed scarlet in their light, looking at the rosy apples piled onto the stalls, listening to the cries of "fresh herring, cockles and mussels," past the old quack who swore his remedies would cure falling hair, rheumatic pains and all the ailments that the flesh was heir to ... it was the greatest excitement and I loved it.

Polly made me feel that I was the most important person in the world to her and it was comforting, even when we parted, that I felt I had not lost her forever.

She loved me to talk about my life. I told her about Miss Gentian, the absolute ruler of us all. "A real tartar that one," commented Polly, chuckling, and when I imitated Mademoiselle the French mistress, she rolled about with glee and murmured, "Them foreigners. They're real cautions. I reckon you have a real lark with her." It all seemed incredibly amusing— much more funny than it was in reality.

When I left Eff said, "Mind you come again."

"Think of it as your home, love," said Polly. "I'll tell you this: Where I am ... that will always be your home."

What a comfort that was! I should remember it always.

During the last term I spent at Meridian House, Lavinia and two other girls were caught coming in late at night. They had bribed one of the maids to let them in and were caught in the act by a mistress who, having a toothache, had come down to the medical stores to get something to soothe it. Her arrival in the hall had coincided with the surreptitious opening of the door and the conspirators were caught red-handed.

There was a terrible scene. Lavinia crept up to the bedroom she shared with me and another girl. We had to be in the secret, of course, for it was not the first time it had happened.

Lavinia was shaken. "There'll be trouble over this," she said. "That sly Miss Spence. She caught us coming in."

"Did Annie let you in?" I asked. Annie was the maid.

Lavinia nodded.

"She'll be dismissed," I said.

"Yes, I suppose so," said Lavinia carelessly. "I reckon we'll be for it tomorrow. You wait until old Gentian hears."

"You shouldn't have involved Annie."

"How would we have got in otherwise?"

"You should not have used her."

"Don't be idiotic," snapped Lavinia; but she was very worried.

And with good reason. The reverberations were greater than we had feared. Poor Annie was dismissed immediately. Miss Gentian had the girls involved brought to her and, according to Lavinia, had gone on and on about how ashamed she was that girls from her school should have behaved in such a cheap and common manner. They were finally sent to their rooms after being told that this was not the end of the matter.

The term was almost over, and the day before we returned Lady Harriet received a letter stating that Miss Gentian was of the opinion that Lavinia would be happier at another school and she regretted there would be no place for her at Meridian House next term or in the foreseeable future.

Lady Harriet was furious that a school should have refused to take her daughter. She would not allow that to pass. Lady Harriet and Miss Gentian were like two commanders going into battle. Lady Harriet began by writing to Miss Gentian suggesting that perhaps her letter had been a little unconsidered. She, Lady Harriet, was not without influence and she had wished her daughter to remain at Meridian House for at least another year. Miss Gentian replied that she was sure Lavinia would be happier elsewhere in such a manner that she implied that she herself would also be happier in that event.

Lady Harriet suggested that Miss Gentian come and see her that they might talk the matter over in a friendly fashion. Miss Gentian replied that she had many commitments, but if Lady Harriet cared to come to see her that might be arranged. However, she thought she ought to point out that she had given much thought to the problem and in her mind Lavinia was not suited to Meridian House and the matter was settled.

Lady Harriet came to the rectory to see what report Miss Gentian had given me.

"Drusilla has worked well. Her mathematics leave much to be desired, but she is improving in this field. She is making good progress generally." It was clear that I was not included in the edict of excommunication. I had enjoyed the school. I was interested in my studies, and the feeling of competition, which I had missed at home, spurred me on to do better. True, I was not very much interested in sport, but Miss Gentian herself was not either. I fancied I had now and then caught a gleam of approval in her eyes when they rested on me. Moreover, I had not been caught illegally consorting with members of the boys' school. Lady Harriet was more concerned than ever to find that I was making a success of my scholastic career.

She took the unprecedented step of going to see Miss Gentian, but she came back defeated. I think she must have learned about the escapade and this made her feel deflated. Her fears that her daughter might be turning into a nymphomaniac were being confirmed. If it had been possible for me to feel sorry for such an exalted being, I should have done so.

But she did not hesitate long before taking action. She sent for my father. I was not present at the interview, but I heard of it later.

She told my father that what girls needed was a finishing school. She had been enquiring among her friends and she knew of a good one in France. The Duchess of Mentover had sent her daughter there and, knowing the Duchess, one knew also that she would never send her daughter to a school which was not everything it should be.

Meridian House had been a bad choice. That Miss Gentian was far too domineering. What girls wanted to learn if they were to do well in later life was social grace.

My father feebly protested that it was a good education that he and his late wife had wanted for me and he believed that I was getting that at Meridian House. I had, according to my reports, been doing very well. Miss Gentian had written to him personally.

"Foolish woman!" said Lady Harriet. "She is evidently eager to keep one of the girls I sent to her."

"I thought that if Drusilla stayed on another two years, say ..."

"Quite wrong, rector. Girls need a good finishing school. They must go to this one in France recommended by the Duchess."

"I fear it will be beyond my means, Lady Harriet."

"Nonsense. I will pay the extra. I would like Drusilla to be with Lavinia. They have been such friends over many years. It will be a good thing for them both to go together."

After a good deal of hesitation, my father gave in. My mother had been concerned solely with education. "Polish" was not something which had come into her mind. Erudition was one thing; social graces another. Presumably Lavinia would have a season in London when she emerged with a sufficiently high gloss upon her; then she would be presented at Court. No such future was envisaged for me.

I see now that my father wanted me to be prepared to look after myself when he died. There would be a little money—a very little—just enough for me perhaps to live in a very modest fashion. I wondered whether he was aware that I was plain and might never marry. Lady Harriet had evidently assured him that, though my circumstances were very different from those of Lavinia, I should be better equipped to face the world with that veneer which could only be obtained at one of the schools to which she was suggesting I should go; and as she was prepared to pay what would be extra to the cost of Meridian House, it was finally decided that I should accompany Lavinia.

The chosen establishment was the Chateau Lamason, the very name of which excited me, and in spite of the fact that I should be beholden to Lady Harriet, I could not help being thrilled at the prospect of being there.

Jos had been spirited away. He had gone, Lavinia told me with a grimace, to the stables of a friend of Lady Harriet. But Lavinia and I could talk of little but the prospect before us. For the first time we were going abroad.

"It is not like an ordinary school," she explained. "It's for people who will be coming out. There won't be stupid lessons and that sort of thing."

"No, I know. We are going to be polished."

"Prepared to go into society. That won't be for you, of course. They will all be aristocracy over there."

"Perhaps I should be better at Meridian House."

I only had to suggest that I might not accompany her for Lavinia to become placating. I knew how to deal with her now and she was so easy to read that I often had the upper hand.

The last thing I wanted was to miss this tremendous adventure. I was as excited about Chateau Lamason as Lavinia was.

I went to stay a few days with Polly before I left. We laughed about the polish. Eff thought it was "ever so nice" and told everyone that I was staying with them before I went off to my finishing school. She particularly enjoyed talking of me to Second Floor No. 32, who "fancied herself" and was always explaining that she had "known better days."

The summer holidays were coming to an end and we were leaving in September. A day before our departure I was summoned to Lady Harriet's presence. She received me in her sitting room. She was seated in a high chair rather like a throne and I felt I ought to curtsey.

I stood uncertainly on the threshold of the room.

"Come in, Drusilla," she said. "You may sit down." Graciously she indicated a chair and I took it.

She said, "You will shortly be leaving us for the Chateau Lamason. It is one of the best finishing schools in Europe. I have chosen it very carefully. You are very fortunate. I hope you realize that."

Now that I was growing up Lady Harriet's divinity had decreased a little. I was seeing her as a woman who created a sense of power which people accepted because she was so determined that they should. My feelings for her would never be the same as they had been before the battle with Miss Gentian. Miss Gentian had clearly shown that Lady Harriet was not the mighty figure she had made herself out to be, and Miss Gentian had won the war between them. It was like the case of Napoleon and Wellington, and it had taught me that Lady Harriet was not invincible.

"Well, Lady Harriet," I said. "I was very happy at Meridian House and Miss Gentian thought I would do well there. I would have liked to stay."

Lady Harriet looked astonished. "That is nonsense, my child. It was an ill choice."

I raised my eyebrows. An admission of failure? It was Lady Harriet who had chosen Meridian.

She was ever so slightly disconcerted, and laughed dismissively. "My dear child, you are going to be so grateful that you had a chance of going to Lamason. That Gentian woman has no sense of the needs of society. Her great ambition was to stuff her pupils' head with facts which would be no use to them after their schooldays." She waved a hand as though to dismiss Miss Gentian. "You and Lavinia will be far from home. You are a sensible girl and er ..." She did not say "plain," but she meant it. "I want you, my dear, to keep an eye on Lavinia."

"I am afraid, Lady Harriet, that she will not take any notice of what I say."

"There you are wrong. She thinks very highly of you." She paused and added: "And so do I. Lavinia, you know, is very beautiful. People flock about her because of that ... and who she is. She is a little ... impulsive. "I shall rely on you, my dear, to"—she gave me a little smile—"to look after her." She laughed lightly. "Your father is delighted that you are to have this opportunity and I know you are very grateful. Girls need polish." I felt myself laughing inwardly. I must remember every word of this interview and store it up so that I could give Polly an accurate account when we met. I pictured myself taking the role of Lady Harriet. I would tell Polly that I expected to feel like the Cromwellian table in the Framling Hall after an application of beeswax and turpentine.

I felt a little triumphant to discover so much about Lady Harriet. She was uneasy about her daughter and she found it humiliating to admit to the rector's plain little daughter that her own daughter was less than perfect. Polly had said that both Lavinia and Fabian Framling would have to pay for all the coddling they had had in their childhood, and all that "Lord God Almighty stuff" would have to be knocked out of them. "Who are they when they're out?" she demanded. "No different from the rest of us. That's not the way to bring up children. They want loving, but brought up sharp now and then. They want cuddles too ... not coddling." Poor Lady Harriet, so sublimely aware of her superiority and making the most fearful mistakes with her offspring!

"You will find a spell at the Chateau Lamason will be a great asset to you in later life. Your father understands and that is why he is so eager to accept my offer for you. I want you to keep an eye on Lavinia. She is too ... warmhearted and inclined to make unsuitable friends. You are more thoughtful, more serious. It is only natural that you should be. Just be a good friend to her. There now, you may go."

I took a ready leave of Lady Harriet and joined Lavinia.

"What did Mama want?" she demanded.

"She was just saying that you were warmhearted and inclined to make the wrong friends."

She grimaced. "Don't tell me she was asking you to be my nursemaid. What nonsense!"

I agreed that it was.

We left England with four other girls who were going to the Chateau Lamason in the charge of Miss Ellmore, one of the mistresses.

Miss Ellmore was middle-aged, very genteel, the daughter of a professor. When she was no longer young she had found herself without means and had been forced to earn her own living. She was employed at the Chateau, not because of her academic qualities, I learned later, but because she was a lady.

She was rather a sad person, and somewhat harassed by her task of looking after six girls in their mid-teens.

For us it was an exciting adventure. We all met at Dover, to which port Lavinia and I had been taken by the Framling coachman and head groom, and we were delivered safely into the custody of Miss Ellmore.

At the Paquet Hotel, the grooms departed and we were introduced by Miss Ellmore to our travelling companions. They were Elfrida Lazenby, Julia Simons, Melanie Summers and Janine Fellows.

I was immediately interested in Janine Fellows, because she was quite unlike the other three. Elfrida, Julia and Melanie resembled so many of the girls I had already met at Meridian House—nice and ordinary, with their separate identities of course, but with a similarity among them. Right from the first, though, I noticed the difference in Janine.

She was of small stature and very slim, with reddish hair and light sandy lashes; her skin was milky white and faintly freckled. I felt I should have to wait, to know whether I was going to like Janine or not.

It was clear from the start that they were all very interested in Lavinia. They could not stop looking at her. I had already noticed that most people turned to have a second glance at her when passing ... particularly men. Lavinia was aware of this and it always put her into a good mood.

We crossed the Channel. Miss Ellmore told us what we must do and what not.

"We must all keep together, girls. It would be disastrous if one of us were lost."

The crossing was smooth and my excitement increased when I saw the coastline of France looming up.

It was a long journey across France and by the time we reached the Chateau Lamason, I felt I knew my travelling companions well ... except Janine.

Chateau Lamason was right in the heart of Dordogne country. We left the station and drove through what seemed like miles of beautiful country to reach it, past forest land, streams and fields.

And there was the chateau. I could hardly believe we were going to live in such a place. It was so impressive and so romantic. Close by were the forest and steep hills down which little waterfalls tumbled. The great stone chateau looked ancient and formidable with its pepper-pot towers at either end and its thick stone bastions.

I caught my breath in amazement. It was like stepping into another age. Miss Ellmore was clearly pleased by my obvious awe, and as we drove under an arch and into a courtyard she said, "The chateau was owned by Madame's family for hundreds of years. They lost a great deal during the Revolution, but this one was left alone, and she decided to turn it into a school for young ladies."

We alighted and were taken into a great hall where numbers of girls were assembling for the opening of the term. Many of them apparently knew each other well. There were several middle-aged ladies, rather like Miss Ellmore. They had an air of doing something not quite natural to them because they had come down in the world.

Mademoiselle Dubreau showed us the rooms that had been alloted to us. There were to be four in a room. Lavinia and I were to share with a French girl whose name was Francoise and a German girl, Gerda.

Miss Ellmore had said, "You two are together as you are friends, but Madame likes to mix nationalities. It is an excellent way of improving your understanding of languages."

Francoise was about seventeen and pretty. I saw Lavinia examining her with some intenseness, which almost immediately turned to complacency. The French girl might be pretty, but she could not compare with Lavinia's flamboyant tawny beauty. The German girl, Gerda, was plump and had no pretensions to good looks.

"Two plain, two purl," I commented inwardly and thought, as I often did: I'll tell that to Polly.

We unpacked and chose our beds. Francoise was not a newcomer to the chateau so she was able to tell us a little about it.

"Madame," she said, "is one fierce lady. The rules ... oh so many ... You wait and see. But we have our fun, yes? You understand?"

I understood and translated for Lavinia. "What sort of fun?" she wanted to know.

Francoise raised her eyes to the ceiling. "Oh ... there is fun. In the town. It is near. We take coffee at the cafe. It is good."

Lavinia's eyes sparkled and the German asked in stilted French what the food was like.

Francoise grimaced, which I suppose was not very flattering to the chef. Gerda was a little dismayed, so I guessed the reason for her somewhat full figure.

I quickly realized that life at the chateau would be far from dull. To be in such surroundings in itself was exciting to me. The chateau dated back to the fourteenth century and many of its old features remained. There were turrets, and winding spiral staircases which led to various dark passages. The hall had obviously once been the centre of life in the chateau, and though there was a huge fireplace, one could see where the original one had been, right in the centre of the hall, with a vent above to let out the smoke. There was even an oubliette, from which, it was said, strange noises could be heard at certain times from the ghosts of those who had been incarcerated there to be forgotten. But it was the people who attracted me most.

Madame du Clos reigned over the chateau like some medieval queen. As soon as I saw her I recognized her as one of those formidable women cast in the same mould as Lady Harriet and Miss Gentian. Known simply as Madame, she was by no means tall but she gave an impression of grandeur. Clad in black—I never saw her in any other colour—her person glittered with jet, which hung from her ears and rose and fell over her impressive bosom. She had small hands and feet and sailed rather than walked, her voluminous skirts making a gentle swishing noise as she moved. Her small dark eyes darted everywhere, and she missed little, as we were to discover. Her dark hair, piled high on her head, was always immaculate; her nose was long and patrician; she bore a striking resemblance to many of the portraits which were in various parts of the chateau. They were undoubtedly members of the great family of du Clos, a certain branch of which had managed to survive the Revolution. Her grandfather, we were soon to discover, had been an intimate friend of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette. They had lost their estates—apart from this chateau—in the debacle, but some of them had contrived to retain their heads. Madame had decided to turn the chateau into an exclusive finishing school, thereby bestowing a great privilege on those who were fortunate enough to gain admission to her establishment, and at the same time restoring her own fortunes sufficiently to enable her to live among the remains of her onetime glory.

On the first day we were all assembled in the great hall, where we were addressed by Madame and reminded of our great good fortune in being here. We should be instructed in the art of social grace; we should be ladies taught by ladies; and by the time we left Chateau Lamason we should be prepared to enter any society with ease. All doors would be open to us. Lamason was synonymous with good breeding. The greatest sin was vulgarity, and Madame du Clos would make aristocrats of us all.

The majority of the girls were French; next came the English, followed by Italian and German. We were to be given certain tuition which would enable us to make light conversation in French, English and Italian. Beside Madame on a dais sat three mistresses: Mademoiselle Le Brun, Signorina Lortoni and our own Miss Ellmore. They would lead the girls in appropriate conversation and, as they were all well bred, their speech would be that which was spoken in the highest circles of society. We were also instructed by Signor Paradetti, who taught us singing and the pianoforte, and Monsieur Dubois, the dancing master.

We learned a great deal from Francoise. She was eighteen years old, almost a year older than Lavinia. This was to be her last term and she was leaving to marry the man of her parent's choice. He was thirty years older than Francoise and very rich. It was for this reason that the marriage had been arranged, and he was eager for it, for in spite of his money he was not of a noble family. Francoise explained that he would become ennobled, and her impoverished aristocratic family would benefit from his wealth.

Gerda said she thought it was a mercenary arrangement.

Francoise shrugged her shoulders. "It makes sense," she said. "He marries into a noble family; I marry into a wealthy one. I am tired of being poor. It is terrible. Always there is talk of money ... money for the roof ... damp coming in the bedrooms ... spoiling the Fragonard and the Boucher in the music room. Alphonse will change all that. I hope never to hear talk of money any more. I only want to spend it."

Francoise was philosophical and realistic. Gerda was different. I supposed there was plenty of money in the iron works and it seemed possible that she would be allied with another giant in industry.

It was interesting listening to it all. We used to talk at night. Those nights remain vividly in my memory ... lying there in the darkness with perhaps only the light of the stars to give our room with its high ceiling and panelled walls an eerie look. I remember the comfort of those four beds in each corner of the room and the knowledge that we were not alone.

I felt very much the odd one. They were all rich. What was the daughter of a country rector doing here? I knew the answer. I was here to look after Lavinia and I owed the experience to her waywardness. I had my duty to do. Yet when I saw her casting interested looks at Monsieur Dubois I wondered how I should be able to protect her from future follies. It was, of course, what I was here to do. I should never have been given the opportunity to be in this exalted place but for the fact that Lady Harriet had selected me for this purpose.

Francoise and Lavinia talked together quite a lot. They discussed men, a subject dear to the hearts of both. I would see them whispering together. I believed that Lavinia had told Francoise about her experiences with Jos. It was the reason why she had been sent away really, although of course she had first gone to Meridian House; but from there she had been expelled for going out with boys.

In the darkness of our dormitory Lavinia would tell of her adventures, stopping short at certain points and saying, "No, I can't go on ... not in front of Drusilla. She is too young yet." She did not mention Gerda, whose deep breathing and occasional snore indicated that she was asleep. It was her way of denigrating me.

Francoise told us all that several girls had grown rather romantic about Monsieur Dubois.

"He's really quite good looking," commented Francoise. "Some of the girls are quite mad about him."

I was quite interested in Monsieur Dubois—not that I felt that fascination which some of the girls seemed to. He was just a rather slight little Frenchman with very smooth dark hair and a jaunty mustachio. He wore very ornate waistcoats and a signet ring on his little finger, which he always looked at with affection when he beat time with his hands.

"One ... two ... three ... the lady turns ... four ... five ... six ... she faces her partner ... Come, ladies, that will not do. Ah, Gerda, you have the feet of lead."

Poor Gerda! She was not very good at it. Perhaps that was not very important, as the iron master might not be all that concerned with dancing. In Francoise's case it was different. In the noble chateaux of France she would be expected to lead the dance.

Some of us had to take the part of men in the dance. Gerda was usually assigned to that role. She disliked the ritual in any case and lumbered round on reluctant feet.

Lavinia had always danced well and had done it with a sensuous abandonment. Monsieur Dubois was quick to notice this and when he was demonstrating he invariably chose Lavinia to partner him.

She would move close to him sinuously and meaningfully. I wondered whether in my role of guardian I should speak to her about it. She was showing too clearly how she felt about Monsieur Dubois.

He was quite tender to her, always implying that he liked her very much. But he was like that with all the girls. He had a way of letting his hand rest on one's shoulders or even round one's waist. Monsieur Dubois seemed to like all girls so much that it was difficult to know whether he liked any one in particular. But it did seem that he paid Lavinia just a little more attention.

Francoise said, "He only comes to school to teach. I expect he's got a wife and six children somewhere."

"I think he is very attractive," said Lavinia. "He told me I was the most beautiful girl in the school."

"He tells others that," said Francoise.

"I don't believe it," retorted Lavinia. "He looked really sincere."

"Don't fall in love with him," warned Francoise. "It is all on the top ... how you say it?"

"On the surface," I supplied. "He doesn't mean anything. He is just being polite to the girls who throw themselves at him."

Lavinia scowled at me.

But the affair did not progress, much to Lavinia's chagrin and my relief.

Francoise was right when she said that Monsieur Dubois would be too much afraid of losing his job to take any of his little flirtations to a logical conclusion.

Because of the distance from home we were only to return once a year. At first the time went very slowly, but then it began to fly past.

I enjoyed the life; so did Lavinia. It was more or less up to ourselves to learn if we wanted too. I was very eager to improve my languages, so I soon became fluent in French and had quite a smattering of Italian. I enjoyed the dancing and singing lessons and I was doing quite well at the piano.

There was a good deal of freedom.

Sometimes in the afternoons we would go into the little town of Perradot. One of the mistresses would take us in the wagon, which would hold about twelve of us, and the wagon would be left in the square while we wandered round. It was a lovely little town with a river running through it, over which was a small but attractive bridge. There were shops, including a cafe where delicious cakes were sold, and in the hot weather we would sit under the gaily coloured sunshades and watch the people pass by. On Fridays there was a market in the square and so there was always a number who wanted to go on that day. One could buy clothes at the stalls, or shoes, sweets, cakes, eggs, vegetables and cheeses. The place always seemed to be permeated by the smell of hot crusty bread, which the boulanger used to rake out of his cave-like oven to sell to the waiting customers.

What we liked best was to go into the patisserie, choose our cake and then bring it out and sit at one of the little tables under the coloured sunshade, and drink a cup of coffee and watch the people go by.

We became acquainted with many of the tradespeople and market-stall holders and we were known throughout the town as les jeunes filles du chateau.

Life formed itself into patterns: language classes, which were more or less optional; dancing and music, which were essential, as were deportment and conversation. There was a the dansant once a week, at which Madame herself presided.

Time was passing. We had arrived at Lamason in September and it was not until the beginning of the following July that we returned to England for the summer holidays, escorted by Miss Ellmore. We were to return in September for another year and then we should be ready to take our place in the highest society.

I was rather shocked by the sight of my father. He looked rather wan and had aged more than a year warranted.

Mrs. Janson told me that he had been ailing during the winter, and there was talk of getting a curate to help him.

"He's had some funny turns," she said. "I haven't liked the look of him at times."

I talked to my father. He assured me that all was well. I said that perhaps I should not go too far away, but he would not hear of that. He was pleased about the languages and music, but he thought some medieval French history might have been included in the curriculum.

Lady Harriet was delighted by the change she saw in Lavinia. I was sent for and took tea with her and Lavinia. Fabian was at home, but he did not join us. Lady Harriet asked me a number of questions about the school and she sat listening with obvious approval. I was glad, for I should have hated it if she had decided that we were not to return.

I learned through Mrs. Janson that Miss Lucille was madder than ever. She was more or less shut up now in her part of her house. Some of the staff had seen her wandering around looking like a ghost. They said she had lost all sense of time and was often heard calling for her lover.

I also resumed my acquaintance with Dougal Carruthers, who was very affable when he saw me. I was now seventeen years of age—adult, one might say—and I was learning what a difference that made to one's relationships. Dougal's attitude towards me had changed subtly. I quite enjoyed the change.

He came to see my father and talked a great deal about Norman architecture, Norman customs and so on. My father was delighted to have met a kindred spirit and was more animated than he had been for a long time.

Fabian, too, had changed towards me. He took more notice of me and asked questions about the chateau.

The four of us went riding together and I could see that Lavinia was annoyed because Dougal talked more to me than to her. It was the first time any young man had shown interest in me, and that rankled with Lavinia.

"He's only being polite," she said. When we rode out she would endeavour to get beside him, which left me with Fabian. I always felt that he was a little embarrassed with me because of that long-ago time when he kidnapped me—and he was a little ashamed of it.

I was glad to have a week with Polly. She pretended to be blinded by the sight of me, which was because of the old joke about polish.

"My word, someone's been rubbing you up a bit. I can't see nothing for shine."

Everything was going well with the two houses. Polly and Eff were, as Polly told me, quite well-to-do in the neighbourhood—ladies of substance. The houses were full of good payers and Eff had her eyes on another house in the same row.

" 'Expansion,' that's what she calls it. Father always said Eff had a head for business." Downstairs No. 32 had left some months before and it had been a bit of a wrench because of the loss of the nipper. But they had found a good replacement in Mr. and Mrs. Collett, a good steady couple, too old for nippers alas, but you had to count your blessings.

There was the usual round of markets and "up West" and everything we had done before; and it was good to be with Polly, and wonderfully comforting to know that the bond between us was as strong as ever.

I said a sad farewell, knowing that it would be a year before I saw her again.

In September we returned to Lamason.

There were changes. Francoise had left, and must be married to her rich, elderly husband by now. In her place in our dormitory was Janine Fellows.

I did not know whether I was pleased or repelled by this, for I was still not sure whether or not I liked Janine. Francoise had been a good companion; she had been entertaining and her knowledge about the chateau had helped us along in our first days. Her nonchalant acceptance of her fate, her philosophical views of life, her realism and lack of sentiment had intrigued me. I felt I had learned a good deal from Francoise. Gerda, of course, was not the most interesting of roommates. Her preoccupation with food had always bored me a little; she was too phlegmatic and intent on her creature comforts, but she was never malicious and was fundamentally good hearted. Lavinia, of course, was my familiar; and now there was Janine.

Her presence had changed the atmosphere of our dormitory. It had been cosy and rather exciting with Francoise; now I felt there was something malevolent there.

In the first place, she and Lavinia seemed to take an instant dislike to each other, and what made it a little sinister was that Janine rarely showed this. It was only now and then that it came out in certain flashes of temper with Lavinia and sly sarcasm from Janine.

Janine was plain, and that gave her something in common with me. Her reddish hair was fine and straight, hardly ever tidy; her eyes were small, very light blue, and her fine eyebrows made her look perpetually surprised.

She seemed to turn more to me for friendship. Gerda was interested mainly in herself, and her eyes would become glazed and vague when other subjects were raised. She never made trouble; neither did she contribute anything to companionship.

So naturally Janine talked to me more than any of the others, simply because Lavinia, like Gerda, was not interested in anything but her own desires, Gerda's for food and Lavinia's for admiration.

Lavinia had renewed her admiration for Monsieur Dubois, perhaps because there was no other male available. Janine noticed this and her lips always twitched with amusement every time he was mentioned.

Lavinia was an excellent dancer and Monsieur Dubois still chose her when he wished to demonstrate how a step should be danced. Lavinia revelled in this, twirling round, swaying from side to side, pressing closer than was necessary to Monsieur Dubois, raising her beautiful eyes to his face and then allowing the lids to fall over them, showing her long curling lashes, which alone would have made a beauty of her.

"Monsieur Dubois is a born flirt," said Janine. "It's part of his trade. Of course he knows what girls he can flirt with. He wouldn't dare with some. You can't see him trying it on with the Princess, can you?"

The Princess belonged to the ruling house of some obscure middle European country and Madame was especially proud of her title.

"I should hardly think he would want to," said Lavinia.

"My dear, he doesn't want to with any of us. It's just his way of keeping us happy. If he sees a girl wants to flirt, he flirts. It's what he has been paid to do."

Lavinia was not subtle in conversation and Janine was too clever for her. She nearly always lost in these verbal battles. But she continued with her wooing of the dancing master.

She was the best dancer and the most outstanding beauty of the school—or certainly the most flamboyant one. She was now at the zenith of her youth. Eighteen years old, full-hipped, full-bosomed, with the tiniest of waists. Sometimes she wore her hair hanging down her back, caught back by a bow of ribbon; sometimes she piled it high on her head with little tendrils nestling against her white neck. Hardly anyone could stop taking a second glance at Lavinia.

One day Janine came in bursting with excitement. She waited until Lavinia was with us until she spoke of what was amusing her.

She had followed Monsieur Dubois to his home. She had waited for him and kept a safe distance. She saw his home, his wife and four children; she overheard the greeting between him and his wife, for Janine spoke fluent French. They embraced, she said, like lovers who had been separated for months. "How was it today, Henri?" "Oh, not bad ... not bad at all, my cabbage." "How many silly girls were chasing you today?" "Oh ... the usual. It is always so. Such a bore. You must bear with it, my angel. I must keep the little girls happy. It is a nothing ... all in the matter of the work, eh."

"I don't believe it," said Lavinia hotly.

Janine shrugged her shoulders, as though it were immaterial to her whether Lavinia believed her or not.

Janine sought me out.

"You're different from the others," she said. "They are silly frivolous nonentities, most of them. As for your friend Lavinia, I don't know how you endure her."

"I've known her all my life."

"Far too long," commented Janine.

"Her mother pays some of my fees. My father couldn't afford to send me here. You are right in saying I am different from the others. I am, I am not rich and destined for a grand marriage."

"Thank your lucky stars for that."

Janine had a way of ferretting our secrets. I was often amazed at myself for being so frank with her. She was an avid listener—rare among self-centred girls. I was soon giving her a picture of Lady Harriet and our village.

"Spoilt brat," she commented of Lavinia.

"Lady Harriet sees herself and everything connected with her as perfect, and that includes her daughter."

"She must be mentally blind. Lavinia hasn't much above the neck beyond her curly hair and her pretty face."

"I suppose that makes up for a good deal."

"She is too ... physical for her own good. It wouldn't surprise me if she got herself into some mess sooner or later. She's so blatant about men. Look at the way she throws herself at Monsieur Dubois."

"She didn't like what you said about him and his wife. Was it true?"

She looked at me and laughed. "In a way," she said.

"So you made it up!"

"I'm sure it goes something like that. I've seen them in the market together. They are very devoted. He must be bored with silly romantic girls throwing themselves at him; and she must be grateful to have such a desirable husband."

Janine confided to me about herself. I was not sure whether I believed her. The story, according to her, was quite romantic. She was the illegitimate offspring of two people in very high places. She hinted at royalty.

"They couldn't marry, you see. He ... my father ... was to make a very grand marriage for political reasons. That is how it is with the royals. My mother was a lady of the Queen's Bedchamber. She, too, was to marry into high circles. However, I happened. I was born in a clinic run by the woman whom I call Aunt Emily. She is not my aunt at all, but I was brought up there and always called her Aunt Emily. I was to have the best education. It was paid for by my parents, but I was meant to believe that I owed everything to Aunt Emily. Aunt Emily has close connections with the Court. She is known to be discreet. People come to her ... if they don't want it known ..."

I said it was very interesting, while only half believing it. I could not imagine why, but I felt sorry for her. I fancied she was always trying to prove something to herself. She was not very popular with the other girls, and as, after all, she was one of the quartet that shared our room, I seemed to be with her more than anyone else.

It was a week or so after our return to Lamason ... a lovely golden September afternoon. We had gone into the town on the wagon and then dispersed, going our various ways. We were at the patisserie. There were myself, Janine, Lavinia and a girl called Marie Dallon. We had chosen our cakes and had seated ourselves under one of the sunshades. Charles, the garcon, had brought our coffee.

We were laughing together when a man strolled by. He paused to look at us. He half smiled. Lavinia immediately responded, for, a little mature, he was very good looking in a dark, rather Italianate way. I noticed how his eyes rested on Lavinia; but there was nothing unusual in that.

"Good afternoon," he said. "Forgive me. I was so enchanted. I heard your laughter and I saw you all sitting there ... looking so happy. It is unforgivable of me ... but please forgive me."

"You are forgiven," said Lavinia, flashing a smile at him.

"Then I am indeed happy."

I thought he would bow and pass on, but he did not. He was still looking at Lavinia.

"Tell me," he went on, "are you not the young ladies from the chateau?"

"You are right," cried Lavinia.

"I have seen girls from the chateau in the past. Today I have just arrived here ... on my way to Paris. And I see that it is just the same. I rejoice. There are still young ladies from the chateau and ... they grow more enchanting than ever. I would make a request."

We looked at him enquiringly.

"It is that I may be allowed to stay here ... just for a little moment ... so that I may continue to look at you ... and perhaps talk a little."

Janine, Marie and I looked at each other a trifle uneasily. Heaven knew what would be the result if we were discovered in conversation with a strange man. It would be disastrous, quite outside the laws of Lamason; and the mistress who had brought us might appear at any moment.

But Lavinia was saying, "If you can become invisible when our dragon of a mistress comes into sight, do. You will have to stop talking to us if she comes along. Then we can say you are just someone who sat here after we had been served with our coffee, so we could not move away."

"How delightfully devious!" He sat down. The garcon came and he ordered coffee.

"I think we are safe," said Lavinia, leaning her arms on the table and studying him intently. Her very attitude was inviting.

"I shall be watchful and at the first appearance of the dragon I shall summon my magical powers and become invisible."

Lavinia laughed, throwing back her head and displaying perfect teeth.

"Now you must tell me about the Chateau Lamason. Are the rules there very strict?"

"In a way ... but not as bad as school," said Lavinia.

"For which you are very grateful?"

"Oh yes," I said. "It enables us to come into the town like this."

"And meet interesting people," added Lavinia, smiling at him.

We talked. He asked a good many questions about us and the school, and in return he told us that he was the Comte de Borgasson. His chateau was some fifty miles from here. It was one of those which had escaped the Revolution.

"Like Lamason," I put in.

"Yes ... that is so." He gave me a grave smile, but he could not for long keep his eyes from Lavinia.

During that first encounter he established himself as an aristocrat with a castle some fifty miles away, a large estate which included vineyards. He was young, unmarried; his father had just died and he had inherited the title and large estates.

"My student days are over," he said. "I have to be serious now."

It was quite an adventure. I was sure Lavinia had enjoyed it, particularly as he had shown so clearly that she was the one among us who held his attention.

When we saw Mademoiselle coming towards us we all rose innocently, murmured goodbye to our handsome companion and joined the others at the wagon.

I saw Lavinia look around as I clambered in. I saw the Comte lift his hand. Lavinia was smiling secretly as we drove back to the chateau.

We saw the Comte the next time we went into town, and he took coffee with us in the same way as he had before. There was a great deal of lighthearted chatter. This time he sat next to Lavinia.

Perhaps because I knew her so well I guessed she had a secret. She often disappeared and we were not sure where she was. She was very absentminded and seemed no longer aware of the charms of Monsieur Dubois. She danced with a kind of abandon, but she never sought to make him choose her, as she had in the past, by moving a little forward and flicking back the hair from her face.

I did not see the Comte again, and I forgot about him until one day I met him near the chateau. He smiled at me in a rather absentminded way, as though he were trying to remember who I was. I was not surprised, for during our encounters he had had eyes for no one but Lavinia.

She continued in a kind of euphoric mood. She was less querulous, and would often sit twirling a lock of her hair, staring into space and smiling.

I asked her one day what was happening.

She gave me a rather contemptuous look.

"Oh, you wouldn't understand."

"If it is so very profound I wonder you do."

"This isn't silly old schoolwork. This is life."

"Oh ... that," I retorted. "Has Monsieur Dubois discovered that he no longer loves his wife and four children and dreams only of you?"

"Don't be silly. Monsieur Dubois! That little dancing master! Do you think he is a real man? Oh, you might ... knowing so little about them."

"Of course, you know a great deal."

She smiled secretly.

"So it is something to do with men," I said.

"Hush," she replied, quite good temperedly.

I should have been prepared.

One day when we all went to the town she did not come. She said she had a headache. I should not have believed her. She looked quite radiant on that occasion.

When we returned she was not in our room and it was some time before she came in. She was very flushed. I cannot understand now why I was so blind. After all, I had seen it all before with Jos.

Christmas had come. It was celebrated in the traditional manner at Lamason, and most of the girls remained at the chateau, because it was too far to go home, so it was a merry time.

Janine told me that she had seen the Comte again. He was quite near the chateau. He had not seemed to recognize her. Janine said, "He looked a little purposeful."

A few days later I was alone with Lavinia and I told her that Janine had seen him.

She smirked a little and said: "Can you keep a secret?"

"Of course. What is it?"

"I'm going to be married."

"Married? Of course you will be. When Lady Harriet has found a husband for you."

She shook her head. "Did you think I couldn't find one for myself?"

"You certainly give the impression that you are on the lookout."

"I didn't have to wait very long, did I?"

"What do you mean?"

"I am going to marry the Comte."

"The Comte! Do you mean that man who spoke to us in the town?"

She nodded gleefully.

"But what of your mother?"

"She will be delighted."

"Have you told her?"

"No, Jean-Pierre thinks it better not ... just yet. Not until we have decided how to break the news."

"Jean-Pierre?"

"The Comte, of course, silly. Just think of it. I shall be the Comtesse de Borgasson, and I shall live in a wonderful chateau. He is very rich. He will go to England and see Mama. He noticed me at once ... that first afternoon, and he knew that I was for him. Isn't it wonderful?"

"Well, it sounds as if ..."

"As if what? Are you jealous, Drusilla?"

"Of course not."

"You must be. Everyone will be jealous of me."

"Well, you hardly know him."

She looked very wise. "In these matters it is not how long you know people. It is how deeply you know them. Don't tell anyone yet ... especially Janine."

"Why do you have to keep it secret?" I asked.

"It's only for a while. I shouldn't have told you, but you know how I seem to tell you things."

She was certainly ecstatically happy. She was more pleasant to me. She did not come on the wagon in the afternoons and I guessed she was keeping some secret rendezvous with the Comte. I wondered where. Perhaps he had his carriage, which would wait for her in a secret place and carry her off ... to where? I felt a twinge of uneasiness.

Janine said, "What's happened to Lavinia? She's changed."

"Has she?" I asked innocently.

"Don't tell me you haven't noticed."

"Well, you never know what mood she will be in."

"Something has happened," said the all-seeing Janine. There were suspicions in her eyes. Her overweening curiosity had been aroused; and when Lavinia's mood changed once more she was the first to notice.

Lavinia looked a little pale. She was absentminded; sometimes when one spoke to her she did not seem to hear.

I thought something must have gone wrong with the romance and was making up my mind to ask her when she told me she wanted to speak to me ... urgently.

"Come into the garden," she said. "It's easier there."

As it was February, the weather was cold. We had discovered that although the summers here were hotter than in England, the winters could be far colder. In season the gardens were quite glorious, with bougainvillaea and oleander and many coloured plants. But this was, after all, winter. In the gardens during the month of February, we were less likely to be interrupted than anywhere else.

I met her there. "Well, what is it?" I asked.

"It's the Comte," she replied.

"I can see it is not good news. Has he called off the engagement?"

"No. I just haven't seen him."

"He's probably been called away on important business ... that large estate and all that."

"He would have let me know. He was supposed to meet me."

"Where?"

"At that little hut place. You know it ... about half a mile away in the forest."

"That broken-down old shed! That was where your meetings took place, then?"

"Nobody goes there."

I was becoming uneasy. It was getting to look like the Jos affair.

"So he didn't arrive ..."

She shook her head. I could see she was trying to hold back the tears.

"How long is it since you've seen him?"

"It's three weeks."

"That is a long time. I have no doubt someone else will turn up. If not you will have to give your attention to Monsieur Dubois."

"You don't understand." She looked at me steadily and burst out, "I think I am going to have a baby."

I stared at her in horror. My first thoughts were of Lady Harriet. Her shock ... her reproaches. Lavinia had been sent away to escape that sort of thing; and I had been sent with her to protect her.

I said, "You must marry him ... at once."

"I don't know where he is."

"We must get a message to that chateau of his."

"It is three weeks since I saw him. Oh, Drusilla, what am I going to do?"

I was immediately sorry for her. All her arrogance had been wiped away. There was only fear; and I was flattered that she had turned to me for help. She looked at me wheedlingly as though I could certainly find the solution. I was pleased that she held me in such esteem.

"We must find him," I said.

"He loved me so much, Drusilla. More than anyone he has ever known. He said I was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen."

"I think they all say that to everyone." I thought of a sharp retort, but I spoke gently, for there is something more than ordinarily pathetic about the arrogant when they are brought low. I was looking at a very frightened girl, as well she might be.

"Drusilla," she begged, "you will help me?"

I did not see how, but it was gratifying that the normally overbearing Lavinia should turn to me with that innocent belief in my ability to solve her problem.

"We have to think about it," I said. "We have to give our minds to it."

She clung to me desperately. "I don't know what to do. I've got to do something. You will help, won't you? You're so clever."

I said, "I'll do all I can."

"Oh thank you, Drusilla, thank you."

My mind was occupied with her problem. I thought: The first thing to do is to find the Comte.

I went into the town on the wagon with the girls that afternoon. Lavinia stayed behind, pleading a headache. Perhaps it was a real one on this occasion.

I chose my cake and when Charles came out with the coffee I seized the opportunity to talk to him.

"Do you know Borgasson?" I asked.

"Oh yes, Mademoiselle. It's some fifty miles from here. Did you think of taking an excursion? It is hardly worth a visit."

"There is an old chateau there ... owned by the Comte de Borgasson ..."

"Oh no, Mademoiselle, there is no chateau ... just a few little farms and some small houses. Just a village ... No, not worth a visit."

"Do you mean to say that there is no Chateau de Borgasson?"

"Certainly there is not. I know the place well. My uncle lives there."

Then I began to see clearly what had happened. Lavinia had been duped by the bogus Comte; and the significance of her position was borne home to me.

I had to tell her. I said, "Charles, the garcon, says there is no chateau in Borgasson; there is no Comte. He knows because his uncle lives there. You have been deceived."

"I don't believe it."

"He would know. And where is the Comte? You'd better face up to the truth, Lavinia. He was pretending all the time. He merely wanted you to do ... what you did. And that is why he talked of marriage and all that."

"He couldn't have ... not the Comte."

"Lavinia, the sooner you face the facts the better ... for the easier it will be for us. We have to look at this as it really is and not as you would like it to be."

"Oh, Drusilla, I am so frightened."

I thought: I'm not surprised at that. She was relying on me. I would have to do something. But what?

People began to notice the change in her. She was looking pale and there were shadows under her eyes.

Miss Ellmore said to me, "I think Lavinia is unwell. Perhaps I should have a word with Madame. There is a good doctor here ... a friend of Madame ..."

When I told Lavinia this she fell into a panic.

"Don't worry," I said. "Pull yourself together. It would be fatal if she sent for the doctor. They would all know."

She tried, but she was still pale and wan.

I told Miss Ellmore that she was considerably better.

"Girls do go through these phases," said Miss Ellmore; and I felt we had got over that fence.

It was inevitable that Janine should notice.

"What's wrong with our forlorn maiden?" she asked. "Has the noble Comte deserted her? Are we witnessing the symptoms of a broken heart?"

It suddenly occurred to me that the worldly Janine might be able to help us and I asked Lavinia if I might tell her.

"She hates me," said Lavinia. "She would never help me."

"She would. She hated you because you were more attractive than she was. Now that you are in deep trouble she wouldn't hate you so much. People are like that. They don't hate people half as much when they fail. And she might be able to help."

"All right, tell her. But make her swear not to tell anyone else."

"Leave it to me," I said.

I went to Janine. "Will you swear not to divulge it to a soul if I tell you something?"

Her eyes glistened at the prospect of sharing a secret. "I promise," she said.

"Lavinia is in deep trouble."

I must say I did not like the light of pleasure that came into Janine's eyes.

"Yes ... yes ..." she urged.

"The Comte has gone."

"I always knew he was false. All that talk about the title and the estates ... at the first meeting. Go on."

"She is going to have a baby."

"What?"

"I'm afraid so."

"My goodness. What a story! Well, well. It serves her right. She was anybody's for the taking. All that attraction she is supposed to have for the opposite sex. What is it? Just ... I'm easy. Smile at me and I'm willing."

"What are we going to do?"

"We?"

"We've got to help her."

"Why should we? She has never been particularly pleasant to us."

"It's just her way. She's different now."

"Of course she is." Janine was thoughtful. "What could we do? We can't have the baby for her."

"There'll be a terrible scandal. You can't imagine what her mother is like. There is already a mad aunt in the house who believes peacocks' feathers are unlucky."

"What's that got to do with it?"

"It just means it will be awful for her if she has to go home and tell them she is with child."

"Being biblical about it may sound very fine, but it doesn't alter anything."

"I persuaded her to let me tell you because I thought you might help."

I could see that that had flattered Janine.

She began to laugh. "I'm just thinking of the fuss there'd be. It just serves Madame Lavinia right. When you think how arrogant she has always been, lording it over us all ... and now this. 'Pride goeth before a fall.' I reckon this will put an end to that grand marriage her mama has in mind for her. Wealthy gentlemen do like to think they are getting a virgin."

"Janine ... please ... try to help."

"What can I do?"

I used the tactics Lavinia employed with me. "You're clever. You know something about the world. You might think of something."

"Well," she said grudgingly, "I might."

Janine did give her mind to the matter. She talked with Lavinia, discovered when the baby was likely to appear, and when Lavinia calculated that it might be in August, Janine said with an air of wisdom: "Well, it will be in the holidays. That's something to be thankful for."

We looked at her eagerly.

"You see," she explained, "it gives you a chance to have the child and no one know."

"How?" pleaded the newly humble Lavinia.

"If you could leave here at the beginning of July when the terms ends ... My goodness, it will be eight months. Can we hide it so long?"

"We'll have to," I said.

"I will. I will," said Lavinia, like a drowning woman clutching a life belt which has just been handed to her.

"There is my Aunt Emily," went on Janine.

I turned excitedly to Lavinia. "Janine's aunt runs a clinic where people go to have babies ... among other things."

Lavinia clasped her hands as though in prayer.

"Aunt Emily is very discreet," said Janine.

"Where is it?" asked Lavinia.

"Near the New Forest." Janine's eyes were sparkling. "Listen. We'll go there. You must tell your people that you have been invited to stay ... you might say at the Princess's place."

"That would please Lady Harriet," I said.

"And you are to go there from Lamason when the term breaks up."

Lavinia nodded excitedly.

"I will write to my aunt and see if she will have you. If she will, you must write to your people and tell them that you will be staying at the Princess's mansion in ... wherever it is. It is very remote, I know. I had never heard of the place. When we leave here we will go together to my aunt's clinic, and there you will have your baby."

"It is wonderful," cried Lavinia. "Thank you, Janine."

I said, "And when the baby is born?"

Lavinia's face fell.

"Adoptions are arranged," said Janine. "You might have to pay ..."

"I would manage," said Lavinia. I knew she was already compiling a letter for her mother. She was going to stay with a noble Princess; she needed new clothes—French clothes—and they were rather expensive. Lady Harriet would be delighted at the thought of her daughter's visiting royalty, however remote.

It seemed that we were getting somewhere with the help of Janine. That took us up one step. But perhaps what was more important was what we were going to do with the baby afterwards.

Then I had a brilliant idea. My thoughts went back to that tall house opposite the common. I saw Polly and Eff with the "nippers." Polly would do anything to help me; she had always said so. But she would not be so ready to do anything for Lavinia, whom she had always disliked; and I fancied that she might not be displeased to see Lavinia in that spot of trouble which she had prophecied for her. But if / asked her she would surely help.

I mentioned this. Lavinia was overcome with relief. She said what good friends we were to her and she did not know what she would have done without us.

It was amazing to see her in this humble mood.

And from then on we became the three conspirators.

I must say that Lavinia played her part well, which could not have been easy. There was a certain anxiety about her health, but fortunately the true state of affairs had not occurred to anyone in authority.

I was on tenterhooks lest they should guess. We bought a voluminous skirt in the marketplace. It was very concealing. Spring came; we were all three deeply involved in the enterprise and Lavinia was able to sit outside the patisserie without being overcome by bitter memories.

We were to leave at the end of that term, having completed our allotted span. The three of us could scarcely wait, so eager were we to put our plan into action.

Janine had had a reply from her Aunt Emily, who said that it was not the first time this sort of thing had overtaken an unwary girl like Lavinia, and we could rely on her.

Polly wrote back. She and Eff would, of course, take in the little baby when it was born. Eff was really good with little babies and ought to have had some of her own, but there had been Him to look after. It seemed that He, being sometime dead, had lost a good deal of that sanctity which had descended on him when he was recently expired. However, the news was good. Polly and Eff would take the child in. It was only later that it occurred to me that the reason Polly was so quick to offer help was because she thought the child was mine.

So the plans were laid. It was pathetic to see the way in which Lavinia relied on us. Both Janine and I enjoyed that.

The weeks were passing. In a short time we should be on our way to put the first part of our venture into practice. The full skirt was becoming inadequate. Several of the girls told Lavinia she was putting on weight. Sometimes I wondered whether Madame was aware. It seemed to me that she discreetly shielded Lavinia from exposure. She would want no scandal attached to the most impeccable of institutions.

I was relieved when the day came to say goodbye to our fellow students. We exchanged addresses and promised to write and to see each other if we ever found ourselves in close vicinity.

We travelled with Miss Ellmore to England. I did see her glance once or twice at Lavinia, and we held our breath in case she had noticed, but, like Madame, Miss Ellmore wanted no complications while we were in her care.

She had been told that we were going to stay for a brief visit with Janine, and it was left at that.

When she had put us on the train we were almost hysterical with relief. We laughed and laughed and could scarcely stop ourselves. Lavinia was in good spirits. We had successfully eluded disaster, which had at times seemed imminent, and she owed it to us.

In due course we arrived at Candown, close to the New Forest. The Firs was a large white building set among trees. Aunt Emily received us graciously, but her eyes immediately went to Lavinia.

"We will get you to your room," she said. "You, Miss Delany, can share with Miss Framling. Janine will show you, and then I must have a talk with Miss Framling. But first we will get you settled in nice and comfy."

She was a large woman with a breezy yet soothing manner, which I thought from the first did not quite match the rest of her. She was slightly unctuous. She had light sandy hair and piercing eyes, which were between green and blue. As soon as I saw her I thought that was how Janine would look in thirty years' time, and I could not believe that there was not some blood relationship between them. In spite of her attempt to create what she would call "a comfy atmosphere," there was a certain sharpness about her, a certain coldness in her eyes, and an aggressive point to her nose gave a look of alertness to her face. She reminded me of some kind of bird—a crow or, I thought with a certain uneasiness, a vulture.

But we had successfully completed what seemed to us the most hazardous part of the adventure and must rejoice.

Janine took us to our room. It had blue curtains and the furniture was of light wood. It was a pleasant room and there were two beds in it.

"I am glad you are sharing with me," said the newly humble Lavinia.

Janine said, "You'll be all right now. You've just got to wait until your time comes."

"It's another month ... at least I think so," replied Lavinia.

"You can't be sure," Janine told her. "Aunt Emily will soon find out. She'll get Dr. Ramsay to have a look at you."

Lavinia shivered slightly.

I said soothingly, "It will be all right. I know it will."

Lavinia swallowed and nodded. Now that the difficulties of getting her here had been successfully accomplished she was beginning to brood on the ordeal before her.

A tray of food was sent up to us. Janine brought it and shared the food with us.

When we had eaten, she told Lavinia, "Aunt Emily wants to see you as soon as we've finished. She just wants to discuss a few things."

In due course she took Lavinia off to see Aunt Emily. I was left alone in the room. I went to the window and looked out on a garden. There was a seat there among the shrubs and two people sat on it. One was a very old man. Although seated, he leaned forward on a stick, and I could see that his hand was shaking; every now and then his head gave a little jerk. Beside him was a girl of about Lavinia's age; she was obviously pregnant. They did not speak together; they just sat staring into space. They looked as though they were bewildered.

A shiver ran through me. I had a sudden feeling that the walls were closing round me. From the moment I had entered I had had a premonition of evil ... and that had not been soothed by the breezy presence of Aunt Emily.

In a few weeks, I reminded myself, it will be over. The baby will be with Polly and we shall all go home. Lavinia was away for the best part of an hour and when she came back she looked a little frightened.

I said, "Well?"

"It's going to cost a great deal. I hadn't thought of that."

"But we haven't got the money."

"I don't have to pay it all at once. She'll give me time. I've got to give her some money now ... to start with. It's almost all I've got."

"I didn't think about the money," I said. "Janine didn't say how much it would cost."

"I'll have to find it somehow."

"Perhaps you should tell your mother."

"No!"

"What about your brother?"

"I couldn't tell him I'd got myself into this mess. I shall have to pay for your bed and board, too."

"I could go home."

"Oh, no, no. Promise you won't go."

"Well, if it is going to cost money we haven't got."

"I can pay. She'll give me time. I told her what I'd got and she said she would open an account. I shall have to send her something every month. Oh, Drusilla, why did I ever get myself into this?"

"Ask yourself. You knew how it was with Jos."

"Oh, Jos!" She smiled faintly. "He was only a stable boy, but ..."

"Not quite so dangerous as a bogus French aristocrat."

"I don't know how I could have been so taken in."

"I do," I said. "You are bemused by flattery. After this, you'll have to be more sensible."

"I know. Oh, Drusilla, you are my best friend."

"You didn't seem to think so before this happened."

"I always did. But it is things like this which test friendship."

"Well, you only have to wait now for the baby and then we'll leave. You'll have to pay Polly something, too. You can't just have children and send them off for someone else to keep."

"Polly was always so fond of you."

"But she wasn't so fond of you. You were always rather arrogant with her."

"I didn't know."

"Well, she didn't like you."

"She's only helping because you asked her. Oh, Drusilla, what would I do without you?"

"Or Janine," I reminded her.

"I know. You have both been ... wonderful."

"Don't get emotional. Remember the baby."

She smiled at me gratefully.

Those few weeks I spent at Aunt Emily's clinic were the strangest I had ever known up to that time.

I was not sure whether I was aware of the sinister atmosphere at that time or whether I built it up afterwards.

There were twelve patients staying there and there was nothing ordinary about any of them. There were four other young women expecting babies. They were always called by their Christian names, which in itself was significant. They were under a cloud and their identity was a secret known only to themselves. But I learned a little about them during our stay at The Firs.

I remember Agatha, a bold beauty, mistress of a wealthy merchant. Much to her chagrin, she had conceived his child. She had a rather curious cockney voice and a loud laugh. She was the only one who was not particularly reticent about her life. She told me she had had numerous lovers, but the father of the child was the best; he was oldish and grateful for her favours and in exchange for them was ready to lavish his wealth upon her. "Suits me, suits him," she said, giving me a wink. And in her presence it seemed to me that normality returned; and because I wanted to rid myself of that feeling of unreality I used to meet her in the gardens and we would sit on a seat while she did most of the talking. She knew I was merely accompanying Lavinia, who had been the victim of a little miscalculation, as she said with another of her winks.

"Bound to have happened to her sooner or later," she said. "She'll have to watch out and get the wedding ring soon. These little bastards can be most inconvenient."

She had successfully summed up Lavinia's character.

Another of the pregnant ladies was Emmeline, sweet-faced and gentle, no longer very young—about thirty, I supposed. I discovered a little about her, too. She was nurse to a querulous invalid lady, and she had fallen in love with the lady's husband and he with her. She had been genteelly brought up and I could see that she regarded her present position as a sin. Her lover came to see her. I was rather touched. It was clear to me that there was a genuine affection between them. They used to sit in the garden holding hands; he was very tender towards her.

I fervently hoped that the querulous wife would die and they would be able to marry and live in respectable happiness ever after.

There was one young girl who was expecting a baby. She had been raped and used to cry out at night; she was terrified at the sight of men. Her name was Jenny and she was only twelve years old.

Then there was Miriam. I think in time I grew to know Miriam better than any of the others. There was something intense about her. She was reticent and did not want to know anyone. She was locked in with her own tragedy.

I found the days long and strange. Lavinia rested a good deal. Janine had certain duties which Aunt Emily expected her to perform; but I was there more as an onlooker. I could not help feeling that I was in some way in a world of shades, among people who would one day escape from it and resume their normal personalities. At the moment they were unreal ... lost souls in a kind of Hades, fearing Hell and hoping for a sight of Heaven.

Miriam used to sit in the garden quite often, alone and brooding. At first she did not encourage me to sit with her, but it might have been that she sensed my sympathy and the temptation to talk to someone was too strong to resist.

Gradually I learned her story. She was passionately in love with her husband. He was a sailor. They had longed for a child and that blessing had been denied them. It was a sadness, but not a great one, because they had each other. She loved him deeply; she lived through one separation after another, waiting for the reunion. Her cousin had said she must not stay at home and brood during his absences, but go out a little. She had had no great desire to, but finally she had been persuaded.

She looked at me with tragic eyes. "That is what makes it all so stupid ... so pointless."

Tears coursed down her cheeks. "To think that I have done this to him."

I said, "Don't talk of it if you'd rather not."

She shook her head. "Sometimes I feel better for talking. Sometimes I think I'm dreaming and this is a terrible nightmare. What am I doing in this place? If only I hadn't gone ... if only ..."

"That is what so many people say."

"I couldn't bear him to know. It would kill him. It would be the end of everything we had."

"Wouldn't it be better to tell him? What if he should find out?"

"He never will." She became fierce suddenly. "I'd kill myself rather."

"This baby ..."

"It came about in the most silly way. I didn't know the man. They had given me too much to drink. I wasn't used to it. I told him about Jack—that's my husband—and he said his name was Jack. I don't know what happened. He took me somewhere. I woke up next morning with him beside me. I nearly died. I dressed ... I ran out. I wanted to wash everything out of my mind. I didn't want to remember that night. I wanted to pretend it hadn't happened. And when I found I was pregnant because of it I just wanted to die."

I put my hand over hers. She was trembling. I said, "Why don't you tell him? He would understand. You love him so much and he loves you. Surely he would forgive you."

"I could never face him. You see it was perfect ... and now ..."

I said, "You wanted a child."

"His child."

"This is your child."

"I would hate it. It would always be a reproach."

"You were innocent. They gave you too much to drink. You weren't used to it and that happened. I am sure that if your husband really loved you he would understand."

"He would not. He could not. We were everything to each other."

"And what of the baby?"

"I shall get someone to adopt it."

"Poor little baby!" I said. "It will never know its mother."

"You are too young to understand what was between Jack and me. No child could ever mean more to me than he does ... not even his. I have thought and thought. I have to do it this way."

"But it is making you very unhappy."

"I don't expect ever to be happy again."

"You should try, I am sure. It was one little moment when you were off guard. It wasn't as though you took a lover."

"It would seem like that."

"Not if you told him."

"He would never understand."

"Why don't you try? That poor little baby ... to be born unwanted. That is the most terrible tragedy of all."

"I know. My sin is heavy on me. I have thought of taking my life."

"Please don't talk like that."

"If I did it would break Jack's heart and if he knew of this it could never be the same between us. He would never believe me entirely. He is passionate and jealous. He so much wanted a child ... and to think that another man gave me what he couldn't ... I know Jack. You don't. You're too young to understand these things."

And so she talked to me and again and again she went over her problems. I tried to advise her but, as she said, I was too young to understand.

I thought a great deal about those children who would be born in Aunt Emily's clinic—the unwanted ones—and I thought of my own parents, who had planned my education while they were waiting for me. I thought of Lady Harriet, who had long upbraided the Almighty for denying her offspring, and who had rejoiced so wholeheartedly when her prayers had been answered that she spoiled her children to such an extent that Lavinia had come to this pass.

There were other patients besides the women who were expecting babies. There was the poor old man whom I had seen from my bedroom window sitting on the seat, on the first day I had come. I learned that he had been a great scientist in his day, but he had had a seizure which had robbed him of his mind; and he was at this place because he was unwanted by his family and had been put here to await death because it was the most convenient way of disposing of him. There was one woman who lived in a world of her own. Her manner was haughty and she believed she was reigning over a large household of servants. She was known as the Duchess. There was George Thomson, who was always laying fires in cupboards. He caused a great deal of anxiety and had to be watched. He had never attempted to light the fires, but there was always the fear that he might.

They were like people from a shadow world.

I often wondered about Janine, who had been brought up in this place by an aunt whose relationship to her she denied. The house was bright. There were blue curtains and white furniture everywhere, and yet somehow it seemed a dark and mysterious place, and I never felt at ease in it. I would wake in the night sometimes and start up in fear. I would gaze to that other bed where Lavinia lay, her beautiful hair spread out on the pillow. Her sleep was often troubled. I wondered how often she thought of her lover, swaggering up to us outside that patisserie with his tales of grandeur, his sole motive being the seduction of gullible girls. And those weeks of pleasure had led to this. What a lesson! I wondered if Lavinia would ever learn it.

She had been seen by Dr. Ramsay—a small man with dark, rather frizzy hair, some of which grew out of his nose and ears. He had examined her, declared her to be in good health and had said that all was going reasonably well and that we could expect the baby during the second week of August. This was good news. We had thought it would be two weeks later.

I told myself: Soon we shall be out of this strange place. Here I felt shut away from the real world. It would be good to be back in the natural world, for the idea struck me that anything could happen here. Yet Aunt Emily seemed determined to create a homely atmosphere. She was always bright and breezy and wanting to know if we were "comfy." If only she had not those sharp blue-green eyes, which seemed to betray something to me that I would rather not know.

The days seemed normal enough; it was during the night when I heard strange noises. The little girl would suddenly cry out in terror, and the scientist would wander about tapping his stick, murmuring to himself that there was something wrong in the laboratory. The Duchess sometimes walked in her sleep, and we would hear her giving orders to the bust of George IV in the hall, thinking it was her butler.

It was a house of contrasts; the robust Agatha with her accent of the streets of London, gentle Emmeline awaiting the visits of her lover. Yes, it was a mysterious world and, while I found it of absorbing interest in a morbid sort of way, I longed to escape from it.

I knew that tremendous problems awaited us—or at least Lavinia—when we were out of here. I guessed that all the people here were paying Aunt Emily a considerable sum of money for her services; and even though Lavinia was to be allowed to pay over a period of time, it would not be easy for her.

There was something strange about most of the people here. It was the sort of nursing home where people who had something to hide went ... except those like the Duchess and the old man, whose people sent them here to get them out of the way. It was very pathetic and I could not get out of my mind the thought that it was also sinister.

I did not greatly like the doctor. There was something secretive about him. He looked to me like a man who had something to hide.

Janine was different here. She had to help her aunt and was often sent to look after the patients. There was one young man who was made her special charge. He was the Honourable Clarence Coldry and was quite clearly mentally deficient. He had a beaming smile and was delighted if anyone spoke to him. He himself had difficulty in speaking; his tongue seemed too large for his mouth. There was something doglike about him.

I had an idea that Janine was not very happy. She did not seem like the same girl who had been to school with us. I sensed a scheming nature behind Aunt Emily's smiles and she was very watchful of Janine.

I was longing to get away. It seemed as though we had been here for months. We took little walks, Janine and I. Lavinia had become quite cumbersome in the last weeks and she could not accompany us.

"Soon you'll be gone," Janine said to me once. "It can't be long now. Lavinia is almost ready to deliver the goods."

I winced. I was more fond of that yet-to-be-born baby than any of them. I did not like to hear it referred to as "the goods." "And I shall still be here," she said with a little grimace.

"Well, it is your home," I reminded her.

She nodded grimly. "Aunt Emily has plans for me."

"Not the Honourable Clarence!"

"Afraid so."

"Oh, Janine ... you couldn't!"

"Perhaps. After all, he is an Hon."

"He wouldn't want to marry."

"I have to make him rely on me."

"Janine, why do you stay here?"

"It's where I was born. I have lived here all my life ... except when I was at school."

"Your aunt must have been fond of you to send you to Lamason."

"She is not my aunt. It's my real family who pay."

"They would not want you to marry Clarence."

"It's Aunt Emily who has the say."

"She seems very powerful. I hope she will give Lavinia time to pay."

"She will. Although if there was any delay in the payments she might decide to approach Mama."

"She mustn't do that. I don't think Lavinia realized it was going to be so costly."

"Mistakes always are ... in one way or another. After all, she was in a real mess. We got her out of it ... you and I. What would she have done if we hadn't brought her here? There will be the baby's keep too. Mind you, she's been lucky. Can't expect any more than she's got."

"At least we have come so far," I said.

And I thought again: It can't be long now.

It was soon after that when Lavinia awoke one night to find her pains had started.

The doctor and Aunt Emily came to her room. I had hastily put on some clothes and was sent to arouse one of the maids, who knew something about childbirth and had assisted before.

It was not a difficult birth. Lavinia was young and healthy and the next day her little girl was born. A cradle had been set up in our room.

"We are rather full at the moment," explained Aunt Emily apologetically to me. I did not mind sharing the room, which had become a nursery. I was fascinated by the baby.

Lavinia was greatly relieved to have come through her ordeal. During the first day she sat up in bed, smiling and marvelling with the rest of us at the baby.

She had many visitors—Emmeline, Agatha and the Duchess; the latter mistook Lavinia for her daughter and kept calling the baby Paul. Miriam did not come.

There was to be a short respite for Lavinia before we moved on. I was conscious of an immense relief. Lavinia had come through safely. I had heard tell of many things which could go wrong in childbirth and I had had some anxious moments wondering what action we could take if anything of that nature happened to Lavinia. But there was no longer need to worry on that score. She was perfectly well and the baby appeared to be flourishing. Moreover the end of our stay in the house was certainly at hand.

For the first few days we gave ourselves up to marvelling at the baby. It was like a miracle to me that such an enchanting creature could have come out of that sordid little affair. Even Lavinia succumbed to her charm and looked rather proud and almost happy to have produced her. I loved her red wrinkled face, her screwed-up eyes and the tufts of dark hair, her little hands and feet all equipped with delicate pink-tinted nails.

"She has to have a name," I said. "She is like a little flower."

"We'll call her Flower and as she is half French she shall be Fleur."

"Fleur," I repeated. "It seems to suit her."

So Fleur she became.

I had written to Polly to tell her that the baby was born and that it was a little girl named Fleur. Polly wrote back that they couldn't wait to get the baby. Eff was so excited; she had everything ready ... cradle, bottles and nappies. Eff was very knowledgeable about babies' needs. She did think the name was a bit outlandish and would have liked Rose or Lily or perhaps Effie.

"You're on your own, now," said Janine. "I've got your address. I'll write."

Aunt Emily took a cosy farewell and at the same time presented Lavinia with the outstanding account, which depressed Lavinia every time she looked at it.

She and I were to take the baby to London. Polly would meet us at the station. Eff would be at home preparing the welcome.

In due course we arrived. I was carrying the baby. I was less awkward with her than Lavinia was. And so Polly saw us. She cried out, "Drusilla!" Then she was beside me, her eyes brimming over with love and hugging me and the baby at the same time.

"So here you are with that little love. And you ... Let's have a look at you. You're looking well."

"And you, too, Polly. It's wonderful to see you."

"You bet," said Polly. "And wait until Eff sees the nipper."

Her greeting to Lavinia was less warm. I was glad that Lavinia was suitably subdued and did seem to be aware of what she owed to Polly and her sister.

Polly had a cab already waiting for us and we all got in and drove to the house on the common, where Eff was waiting for us.

Eff had changed. She was quite stately now. They had taken the house across the road and now had three houses, which they let very profitably. It took me some little time to learn who the tenants were because there were now the various floors One, Two and Three, and so on.

Their joy over the baby eclipsed all else. Eff took charge. I could see that Polly was a little baffled. She kept looking at me intently. Of course, the presence of Lavinia was a mystery to them and it put a certain restraint on them. Lady Harriet's invisible presence seemed to brood over us; and I supposed even Polly was not quite immune from that. Eff apologized for everything to Lavinia, for she was far more aware of the grades of society than Polly would admit to being, and however much they disliked Lavinia, she was still Lady Harriet's daughter.

We stayed only a few days. I wrote to my father from London and Lavinia wrote to Lady Harriet. We said we had now returned from Lindenstein and were breaking the journey in London. We should be home within a few days.

Murder in Fiddler's Green

I was further shocked to see the deterioration in my father. He now walked with a stick, but he said he was still capable of carrying on. He had many good workers in the village who were of inestimable help of him.

He wanted to hear about Lindenstein; he believed the Schloss was very ancient, Gothic in fact. And was there any evidence of the Goths in the neighbourhood?

"It must have been fascinating for you, my dear. A great opportunity. You were wise not to miss it."

I parried his questions about the place and told myself I must find a book on it if that were possible, and learn something about it. I upbraided myself for my folly in not trying to do this earlier. But, of course, we had had too much to contend with.

Mrs. Janson said he had been ailing last winter and she dreaded the one to come. She was glad I was home. "You ought to be here," she added significantly. "I was a bit worried when I heard you wasn't coming straight home, but were going gadding about with foreign princesses."

"There was only one princess, Mrs. Janson," I reminded her.

"One's enough. You ought to have come straight home. I don't mind telling you, I'm glad school's done with. How was Polly?"

"Very well."

"I reckon she was glad to see you."

I said she was.

So, I was finished with school now. I was the polished article. What difference it had made to me I was not sure, except that I knew I was no longer the innocent girl who had gone to France.

That night as I lay in my familiar bed I had muddled dreams.

Faces seemed to swim in and out of my mind. The Duchess ... the scientist ... the man with his fires ... all waiting for Death ... and so many of the women for a new life to begin. I pictured Agatha's cheerful grin, Emmeline's wistful looks and Miriam's tortured face. I was aware of Aunt Emily's secret smile as she smiled at me as though she were saying: You'll never escape ... you will be here forever ... cosy ... cosy ...

I awoke crying out, "No, no."

Then I realized I was in my own familiar bed and it was only a dream. I was free.

Lavinia came over the next day.

"Let's ride," she said, and we rode out together, for being finished young ladies we could ride—as long as there were two of us—without a groom in attendance.

She said, "It's the only way I can really feel safe to talk. There are so many people around. I feel they might be listening. My mother is talking about a London season."

"She doesn't guess anything?"

"Of course not. Why should she?"

"My father asks awkward questions about Lindenstein."

"Oh, it's too far away for people to know about. A London season, think of that!"

"Do you want it?"

"Of course I want it. I want to marry a rich man so that I can pay off Aunt Emily. The woman's a shark."

"You didn't think that when you went to her."

"I didn't know it was going to cost so much."

"How long is it going to take you to pay?"

"More than a year ... unless I can get Mama to top up my allowance."

"Why don't you ask Fabian?"

"I couldn't tell him what I wanted it for and he'd want to know."

"Couldn't you tell him it's a secret?"

"You don't understand Fabian. He wants to know everything. That's how he has always been. No. I'll have to pay it out of my own allowance until I find a rich husband."

I looked at her wonderingly that she could talk so. Did she never think of little Fleur? Did she not want to be with her baby sometimes?

I asked her.

"Oh yes," she replied, "but I can't, can I? Those two will look after her. They love her already."

"I shall go down and see them soon. I want to see Fleur, too."

"Oh good! You can let me know how she is."

I marvelled at how rapidly she was regaining her old assurance. The submissive, fearful Lavinia was fast disappearing. She had overcome her misfortune and was, I could see, ready for adventure again.

She could think of little but the coming season. How she would revel in it. She was already regaining her healthy looks; she was even preening herself, certain that she would become the debutante of the season.

I went once or twice to Framling. I saw Lady Harriet, who was gracious in a detached sort of way. I was no longer of importance in her scheme of things. I had served my purpose as Lavinia's steadying companion over the school years and was now relegated to my proper position—the rather plain rector's daughter.

Lavinia's excitement grew. Such plans there were. Lady Harriet was having her schooled in certain accomplishments. She would soon be leaving with Lavinia for their London residence and there Lavinia would be put through her paces, learning how to curtsey, how to dance the new fashionable dances and certain matters of deportment; and of course she must visit the Court dressmakers. She was to be presented at Easter time.

All through the winter I saw little of Lavinia. I had written several letters to Polly and she reported the progress of Fleur. The child was flourishing. There wasn't a baby like her on the common. She and Eff took it in turns to wheel her out; and they had that nice bit of garden at the back where she could be in her pram.

She already knew them, and did she kick up a fuss when she wanted a bit of a cuddle!

I imagined there would be plenty of "bits of cuddle" for Fleur, and I rejoiced, as I had throughout my life, for the good fortune which had brought Polly into my life.

Christmas came—always a busy time for us at the rectory. There were the usual services—midnight mass on Christmas eve, the carol service—and before that the decorating of the church, organized by church workers, but my father had to be present, of course. We had friends from the neighbourhood to dinner on Christmas Day. They were the doctor, his family, and the solicitor and his wife.

There was a good deal of entertaining at Framling. Fabian was home. I saw him once or twice. He would call a greeting and give me that somewhat cryptic smile, which I had come to expect from him.

"Hello, Drusilla," he said. "Finished school now?"

"Yes," I told him.

"Now you are really a grown-up young lady."

What was there to say? He smiled as though it were a great joke that I had grown up.

He did not stay long at Framling. I heard from Mrs. Janson, who had it from the Framling cook, that he would be going to India soon; and that he was in London most of the time, in the offices there, learning about the East India Company, with which the Framling family had been concerned ever since it came into existence.

I wrote to Polly and sent Christmas presents to them, among them a little jacket for Fleur. Polly wrote back, but her letters were full of how the baby was getting on, how she smiled at Polly first, only Eff wouldn't have it, that that was not a smile. It was only a bit of wind, said Eff, determined to be the first to win recognition from the baby. In February, Lavinia and Lady Harriet went to London. The weather was extremely cold and my father caught a chill, which turned to bronchitis. He was quite ill and most of my time was spent nursing him.

A curate came to help out. He was Colin Brady, a fresh-faced, earnest young man who was quickly popular with the household. Mrs. Janson cossetted him and the others followed her lead. He was very much liked in the neighbourhood.

I was pleased that he had come, for willingly he took all the onerous tasks from my father's shoulders; he very quickly became part of the household.

He and I got along well together. We both enjoyed reading and discussing what we had read. There was an air of innocence about him which I found refreshing. He would discuss his sermons with me and he always listened to my ideas. I seemed to take more part in church affairs than I had when my father was in charge.

My father's health was improving, but, as Mrs. Janson said, he had to take care. We never allowed him to go out if the wind was cold; it was really quite touching to see how Colin Brady was always there when there was a question of my father's doing something which would be too much for him, and doing it himself in an unostentatious way.

I was very grateful to him and very glad that he was there, until I began to notice the surreptitious looks that came to us, not only from Mrs. Janson, but from the servants and certain of the parishioners. They had decided that the ideal solution was for me to marry Colin and that he should take over completely, thus solving the future of my father, Colin and myself in one swoop.

The result was that they had spoilt my pleasant relationship with the curate. I liked him very much, but the thought of what was in people's mind concerning us made me less comfortable in his presence.

With the coming of the spring my father was almost back to normal.

"He's a marvel," said Mrs. Janson. "They say creaking doors go on for a long time."

Fabian came to Framling and with him was Dougal Carruthers. Lady Harriet and Lavinia were still in London. I was writing regularly to Polly and received news of the baby. I told Polly that I wanted to come and see them, but in view of my father's health I had not been able to do so before. But now that he was better I wanted to arrange a visit. Polly wrote back that the baby was a little love, bright as a button, and did she know how to get her own way! I was not to worry about her and when I did come I could be sure of a big welcome.

Dear, dear Polly! What would I have done without her? What would Lavinia have done? I imagined her now being presented to the Queen, going to balls and parties; she would have completely forgotten the bogus Comte just as she had Jos. But could she have forgotten Fleur? I could not believe even La­vinia would do that.

I decided that I would go to London during the following week.

Dougal called to see my father. He stayed to tea and my father greatly enjoyed his visit. I was pleased to see him so animated, looking as well as he had before the winter.

When Dougal left I conducted him to the hall and thanked him for calling.

"But it was a pleasure," he said.

"It has done my father so much good. He has been rather ill and that makes him low in spirit."

"I hope I may come again."

"Please do. My father will be delighted to see you at any time."

"You too, I hope."

I did not expect him to come again so soon, but the next afternoon he presented himself. It was another pleasant teatime and my father said, "Do come and dine with us. There is so much we have to talk about."

"I should greatly enjoy that," replied Dougal, "but I am a guest at Framling. I could hardly leave my host."

"Bring him too," said my father rashly.

"May I? I am sure he would be delighted to come."

Mrs. Janson was slightly less than delighted. She did not like the idea of entertaining "them up at the House," and of course Sir Fabian would be our guest.

I said, "Don't worry. Just forget who he is."

"The trouble with them Framlings is they never let you forget who they are."

And so Fabian came to dine.

He took my hands and held them for a few moments in a warm grip.

"Thank you for letting me come," he said, somewhat insincerely, I thought, for I was sure he was not in the least grateful to be invited to our humble dwelling.

"Mr. Carruthers suggested it," I told him.

He raised his eyebrows as though he were amused. In fact I was beginning to feel that most of the time he regarded me with amusement.

"The Rector has an astonishing knowledge of ancient Greece," said Dougal. "He has some quite unusual ideas."

"How fascinating!" said Fabian, continuing to smile at me.

I took them to the drawing room, where my father was seated in his chair. Colin Brady was with him.

"I think you all know each other," I said.

"I don't think we have met," said Fabian, eyeing Colin closely.

"Mr. Brady came to help my father when he was ill and we are hoping he is going to stay with us."

"That must be useful," said Fabian.

"And Mr. Brady ... this is Sir Fabian Framling."

Colin was a little in awe of Fabian. He knew he came from the influential family that ruled the village.

Soon we were seated at table. Mrs. Janson had excelled herself and the maids had been given detailed instructions as to how they were to behave.

Dougal was in conversation with my father, with Colin Brady now and then throwing in a remark. Fabian turned to me.

"Did you enjoy Lamason?" he asked.

"It was a most interesting experience," I told him.

"I think my sister found it so, too."

"I am sure she did."

"And now you are back ... what shall you do?"

"I suppose ... I just go on living here."

He nodded.

My father was talking about the ancient civilizations that flourished for a while and then passed away.

"It is a pattern," said Dougal. "Empires rise and fall. I suppose the most significant fall was that of the Roman Empire. All over Europe you can see the remains of that civilization ... in spite of the fact that its fall was followed by the Dark Ages."

Then I heard my father say, "Drusilla was at Lindenstein only recently."

"Lindenstein," said Dougal. "Now that is a very interesting spot. You remember it, Fabian." He turned to me. "Fabian and I did a kind of grand tour. We visited all the conventional places, didn't we, Fabian? But we did stray from the beaten track now and then. Actually we were quite near Lindenstein."

I felt myself flushing a little. I was always uncomfortable when there was reference to our deceit. I wanted to change the conversation quickly.

"Tell us what you think of Florence, Mr. Carruthers," I said. "I have always felt it must be the most fascinating city in the world."

"There are many who would agree with you," replied Dougal.

My father said, "How I should love to stroll along the Arno where Dante met Beatrice."

"What do you think of Lindenstein, Miss Delany?" asked Fabian.

"Oh ... very interesting."

"That medieval Schloss ..."

"That is where Drusilla stayed, isn't it, Drusilla?" said my father. "The Princess was at school with Drusilla and Lavinia. She invited them. It was a great experience."

"Yes," I said with feeling. "We had a great experience."

My father had turned the conversation back to Dante, and Colin and Dougal joined in.

Fabian said quietly to me, "An amazing little country, Lindenstein. Those mountains ... stark and grim ... don't you think?"

"Oh yes," I said.

"And the Schloss. Extraordinary architecture ... all those towers ..."

I nodded.

"It must have been very interesting to stay in such a place."

I nodded again.

He was regarding me intently. I wondered if Lavinia could have confided in him after all; and I felt suddenly angry that I should have been burdened with her secret.

When I left the men with the port I went to my room. Fabian Framling always disconcerted me. It was the way in which he looked at me, as though he were trying to remind me how vulnerable I was.

When they were taking their departure my father said, "This has been a pleasant evening. I rarely meet people who are interested in my hobbies. Do please come again."

"You must dine at Framling," said Fabian.

"Thank you," I said, "but my father should not be out in the evening." I was looking at Dougal. "It is better for you to come here."

"That I shall certainly do ... when I am asked."

"I hope you will be here for a little while yet," said my father.

"I think so," answered Fabian. "I doubt we shall be leaving the country until the end of next year."

"Next week ... it is next week, is it not, my dear? ... Drusilla is going to London."

"Oh?" said Fabian, his gaze on me.

"It is to stay with her old nurse," explained my father. "You know how strong these ties are."

"Yes," said Fabian. "Then perhaps we may come when Miss Drusilla returns."

"There is no reason why you should not come when I am away," I said. "Mrs. Janson will take care of things, and my father would enjoy your company."

"I shall invite you," said my father.

Then they took their leave.

My father said what a delightful evening it had been and

Colin Brady agreed with him. Mrs. Janson was not displeased.

Her verdict was that the Framlings were just like anybody else - and she wasn't afraid of him. As for the other one, he was a perfect gent and no one could take objection to him.

I felt I had come through the evening tolerably well, although I had had certain qualms when they began to talk about Lindenstein.

I was growing excited about my coming visit to London. The prospect of seeing Polly again always filled me with joy, and now there was the baby as well as Eff. I went down to the town, which was about a mile out of the village. I had a pleasant morning shopping and bought a little jacket and bonnet and a pair of bootees for Fleur and a pair of bellows for Polly and Eff, because I could see they had had some difficulty in getting the kitchen fire to draw up.

As I was coming out of the shop a carriage drove by. I knew it was from Framling, because I had seen Fabian driving it around. It was drawn by two spirited grey horses and he liked to go at great speed.

I saw Fabian in the driver's seat and to my surprise he pulled up.

"Miss Delany."

"Oh ... hello," I said.

"You have been shopping, I see."

"Oh yes."

"I'll drive you back."

"Oh, that is not necessary."

"Of course I'll take you back."

He had leaped down from the seat and taken from me the bag that contained my purchases. As he did so the contents fell out, and there on the pavement were the bellows, the baby's jacket, the bonnet and the bootees.

"Oh dear," he said, stooping to pick them up. "I hope no harm is done."

I flushed hotly. He stood there with the bootees in his hand.

"Very pretty," he commented, "and they are all safe."

"Really," I stammered, "there's no need to take me home."

"But I insist. I like to show off my horses, you know. They really are a superb pair. You can sit beside me. Then you can see the road better. You'll enjoy it."

He carefully put my purchases in the carriage and helped me up.

"Now," he said. "Off we go. I shall not take you directly home."

"Oh, but ..."

"Again I insist. You'll be home just as soon as you would if you had walked. And you will have the pleasure of seeing Castor and Pollux in action."

"The heavenly twins ..." I murmured.

"They are as like each other as twins only to look at. Pollux has a bit of a temper and Castor is inclined to be lazy. But they know the master's touch."

The horses broke into a gallop and he laughed as we gathered speed.

"Just cling to me if you're scared," he said.

"Thanks," I replied. "But I'm not."

"And thank you for the compliment. It is well deserved in fact. I know how to manage my horses. By the way, I haven't seen you riding lately."

"Not since I returned."

"Why not?"

"We don't have a stable at the rectory."

"But you used to ride regularly."

"That was when Lavinia was at home."

"My dear Miss Delany, you don't have to ask permission to use a horse from the Framling stables. I thought you understood that."

"It was different when Lavinia was here. I rode with her."

"There is no difference at all. Please, whenever you wish, ride the horse you have always had."

"Thank you. That is very good of you."

"Oh no. After all, you are a great friend of my sister. Do you envy her, preening in London?"

"I don't think I should greatly care for the process."

"No, I dare say not. But please ride when you want to."

"You are very kind."

He gave me a sideways, rather sardonic smile.

"Tell me about Lamason," he said.

"Oh, it is supposed to be a very fine school."

"Where they turn hoydens into young ladies."

"I think that is the idea."

"And do you think they have done a satisfactory job on you and Lavinia?"

"I cannot speak for Lavinia. You should ask her."

"But yourself?"

"That is for others to judge."

"Do you want to hear my judgement?"

"Not particularly. It could not be a true one because you scarcely know me."

"I feel I know you very well."

"I can't think why. I have so rarely seen you."

"There have been significant moments. Do you remember when you took the peacock fan?"

"On your orders, yes. Tell me, how is your Aunt Lucille?"

"She has grown very feeble. She is lost to this world and exists only in her own."

"Does she still have the Indian servants?"

"She does. They would never leave her, and she would be completely lost without them."

"I'm sorry," I said.

There was a brief silence; then he said, "You will be going to London soon."

The carriage lurched and I fell against him, clutching his coat.

He laughed. "All's well. I told you you were safe with me."

"I really think I should be home. I have a great deal to do."

"You have to prepare for your visit to London."

"Yes, that and other things."

"How long shall you stay?"

"Oh ... about a week."

"You are very fond of your old nurse."

"She is not really old. Polly is one of those people who never will be."

"Your loyalty does you credit."

"Is it so very creditable to express one's true feelings?"

"No, of course not. There. You see how docile I am. I'll have you at the rectory door in three minutes."

"Thank you."

He pulled up sharply at the grey stone house, leaped down and helped me out. He took my hands and smiled at me.

"I hope the gifts are acceptable."

"What gifts?"

"The bellows and the baby's clothes."

To my annoyance I flushed again.

I took the bag he handed me, said "Thank you," and went into the house.

I was disturbed. He had always disturbed me. It was a pity he had seen my purchases. I felt he had looked at them cryptically. I was wondering what he had thought.

My father asked if it were wise of me to travel to London alone.

"My dear Father," I replied, "what harm could befall me? I shall get on the train under the eyes of Mr. Hanson, the stationmaster, and Mr. Briggs, the porter. Polly will be waiting for me at the other end. I am grown up now, you know."

"Still ..." said my father.

"I shall be all right."

At last he agreed that I could come to no harm and I set out, with my case containing the gifts and the little bit of luggage I was taking with me.

I sat in the carriage by the window and closed my eyes while I contemplated the pleasure of a reunion with Polly and seeing Eff and the baby again.

The door opened. Fabian was getting into the carriage.

He grinned at me. "I had to go to London unexpectedly. This is fun. We can travel together. Why, you don't look very pleased to see me."

"I hadn't expected to ..."

"Surprises are pleasant, don't you think?"

"Sometimes."

He sat opposite me and folded his arms.

"I am sure your father would be pleased. I believe he is a little anxious about your travelling alone. Young ladies don't usually, do they?"

"I am of the opinion that we are not so fragile as some try to pretend."

"I wonder why?"

"Oh, it is a masculine idea ... meant to show the superiority of men."

"Do you really believe that?"

The train was beginning to move out of the station.

"Believe what?" I asked.

"In masculine superiority."

"Certainly not."

"They are inferior then?"

"I did not say that."

"That is gracious of you."

"No ... just common sense. The sexes are meant to complement one another."

"Doesn't it say that in the Bible? But I believe there are some occasions when the subservient role of the female is expressed. St. Paul ..."

"Oh, St. Paul! Wasn't he one of those who found women a temptation and blamed them for being that?"

"Did he? I think your Biblical knowledge is greater than mine. It all comes of being such a polished young lady."

"Thank you."

"How long shall you be staying in London?"

"A week, I think. I do not like leaving my father longer."

"He was very ill in the winter, I believe. I understand your anxiety. The curate is a very worthy young man, I gather."

"He is very helpful and popular with the parishioners, which is very important."

"It is important for us all to be popular."

"But particularly with someone in his position. For instance, I don't suppose you care very much whether you are popular or not."

"I do ... where some people are concerned." He smiled at me in the quizzical manner with which I was familiar.

He sat back, still smiling. "This is really a pleasant way of travelling. Usually I regret the time spent on it."

"You will be doing a good deal of travelling, I daresay."

"Oh, you mean India, where I shall be going at some time."

"Soon, I suppose."

"Probably at the end of the year. Carruthers will go, too. You see, our families are connected with the East India Company."

"I had heard."

"From Carruthers, I suppose. I know he is a frequent visitor at the rectory."

"He gets on well with my father. They have shared interests."

"We have been brought up with the idea that we shall eventually go into the Company. My uncle ... my father's brother ... has offices in London. I go there now and then ... gleaning experience, you might say."

"It must be interesting."

"The Company ... oh yes. It is part of history, of course. It goes back years and years. As you know, trading with India started when Vasco de Gama discovered the eastern passage and cast anchor off Calicut. But the Portuguese never started a trading company; they left that to us. Did you know that Queen Elizabeth granted us a charter to trade? It was on the very last day of the sixteenth century. So, you see, we have our roots in the past and it is obligatory in the family to carry on."

"You must be very proud of your ancestors."

"We do have our share of sinners."

"All families have that."

"Some more than most. Now I imagine yours is very worthy ... just the occasional peccadillo perhaps."

"It might be better not to enquire."

"I am sure you are right, but with a family like ours it all seems to be recorded. We know that an ancestor was one of those who founded the Company and we know something of the lives of those who followed him. People are unexpected, don't you agree? Those who appear so virtuous often have their secrets and the villains often a grain of goodness."

I said, "Tell me about the merchandise. What commodities do you deal in?"

"We send out bullion, woollens, hardware and such things to India and we bring back silks, diamonds, tea, porcelain, pepper, calico, drugs and so on."

"I see. You are traders."

"Exactly. But we have become very powerful. You see, we were not content with trading. We wanted to rule, and we have taken part in quarrels between Indian princes, supporting one against another. We have gained power, and some would say that the East India Company is the true ruler of India."

"Do the Indians resent this?"

"Naturally, some of them do. Others see the advantages we have brought them. The French had an East India Company, too. That is the reason for the trouble between our two countries."

"It seems to me that this ambition for power causes a great deal of trouble."

He nodded. "You see why, do you not, that it is a family tradition."

"Yes, I do," I said, "with a family like yours."

"Well, enough of the Company and my family. What of you? What do you propose to do now you are home?"

"Do? What could I do?"

"You tell me."

"At the moment I am helping to run the rectory and look after my father. There are a great many duties that fall to the rector's family. I suppose that is what I shall continue to do."

"You have no plan ... no ambition? To travel perhaps? You have already been to France ... and Lindenstein."

I replied hurriedly, "I suppose one waits to see what happens."

"Some of us are impatient and prod fate. Are you one of those?"

"That is something I have to find out. Up to now I have never done any prodding. Have you?"

He leaned towards me. "I am continually doing it. If I want something I make an effort to get it."

"It is all that ambition and lust for power. It is because you belong to the Framlings and the East India Company."

"Not entirely. It is my pushing nature."

I laughed and he said, "How different you are when you laugh. Did you know that you look a little severe in repose?"

"I did not know I was particularly so."

"Perhaps it is only when you see me."

"I can't think why you should induce solemnity."

"Perhaps because you disapprove of me?"

"Why should I?"

"I can think of a few reasons."

"Then I don't know them."

"Don't look expectant. I am not going to tell you. I should not be so foolish as to increase your disapproval."

"The disapproval is entirely of your imaginings. How could one disapprove of someone one did not know?"

"Perhaps through ill repute."

"I know nothing of that."

"There! Now you are severe again. I feel we are getting to know each other well on this journey."

"Why should being in a train do that which all the years living as neighbours has failed to do?"

"There is something very intimate about trains."

"Is there?"

"Don't you feel it?"

"I suppose we have talked together more than we ever did before."

"There you are, you see. You can't get away from me."

"Nor you from me."

"Oh, but I don't want to."

I laughed. "I think we must be near our destination."

"Five more minutes," he said. "Alas! What a short journey it has seemed. Most enlivening. How fortunate that we had a carriage to ourselves. I will tell you something. It wasn't luck. I had the foresight to tip the guard."

"Why?"

"Obvious reasons. I thought it would be interesting to get to know each other. People would have spoilt our little tete-a-tete."

"I can't understand why you took the trouble."

"I take a lot of trouble to do what I want. Didn't I tell you that I'm a prodder?"

I was a little startled and faintly alarmed. I did not know what was in his mind. It seemed to me that he might be preparing to indulge in a little light flirtation. No doubt he thought that I was an innocent maiden ready to fall into the arms of the all-powerful lord of the manor. If Lavinia had learned little from her experience, I had learned a great deal.

I said coolly, "I can't imagine why you should wish to do so."

"I'll tell you later."

"In the meantime, here we are."

He took my case.

"I can manage, you know," I said.

"I wouldn't think of allowing you to carry it."

It seemed to me that he was taking a proprietorial attitude already.

I should have to be wary of him. He was the type of person who thought he only had to beckon to a girl and she would come running. He was Sir Fabian, rich and powerful, and his mother had made him feel—as they used to say—the little Caesar.

I tried to take my case from him, but he resisted, smiling. We walked along the platform and there was Polly waiting for me.

She stared in amazement to see me with a man, and her amazement turned to dismay when she recognized him.

I ran to her and she embraced me. "Oh, Polly," I cried, "how wonderful to see you."

"Well, it's not like a smack in the chops to me neither."

She was restrained because he was there.

"It's Sir Fabian, Polly. He kindly carried my bag."

He bowed to Polly. "Miss Delany and I met on the train."

"Did you now?" said Polly, very faintly bellicose. She had never approved of the Framlings. I knew she was thinking, Who were they when they were out? Or on trains and carrying people's bags. Up to no good, shouldn't reckon. I knew her so well that I was aware of her thoughts.

"Well, thank you, Sir Fabian," I said. "It was good of you."

"We'll get a cab and be home in a tick," said Polly.

"I shall see you home," he said. "I shall get the cab."

"There is no need ..." I began.

"But I insist." He spoke as though his word was law. It was faintly irritating. I felt an urge to snatch my case from him and tell him we did not need his help. But if I did that might betray something that I ought to hide.

I was aware of the imperious manner in which he hailed the cab and in a very short time we were on our way to the common.

I tried to chat to Polly as I should have done if he had not been there. I asked about Eff. Eff was flourishing. Doing very well. Might even take on No. 10 Maccleston if the old man living there moved out. Eff had always had her eyes open.

Neither of us mentioned the baby, but I knew Polly was longing to talk of her, as I was.

I was glad when the journey was over. He alighted and carried my bag to the door. Eff was waiting to open it. She cried out with pleasure when she saw me and then stepped back at the sight of Fabian.

He raised his hat and bowed.

"This is Sir Fabian Framling, a neighbour of mine," I explained. "I saw him on the train and he has been very helpful."

I could see she was wondering whether he should be asked in for a cup of tea and a piece of the special sultana cake she had baked for the occasion; her only hesitation was because of his title and perhaps his undeniable presence.

I said quickly, "It was kind of you, Sir Fabian. Thank you so much." With that I turned away, and he, with another bow, went back to the waiting cab.

We went inside.

"Well, I never," said Polly. "You could have knocked me down with half a feather when I saw who he was."

She shook her head; she was bothered. I would tell her as soon as I had an opportunity that there was no need for alarm.

Eff said, "I know who you'll be wanting to see. I'd have her here, but she's having her nap, and I don't want to disturb her, else there'll be ructions, eh, Poll?"

"You bet," said Polly.

"Well, what about a nice cup of tea first. I've got some muffins."

As we sat over tea and muffins I heard of the increasing prosperity of the business and how the baby grew more beautiful every day.

At length she was brought down by Eff and I held her in my arms while she gazed at me wonderingly, her little hands curled round my finger and what could have been a smile of contentment on her pinkish face. She had changed a good deal from the day when Lavinia and I had brought her here. She was getting on for nine months old—quite a personage. I had always been distressed by unwanted babies, but this one, at least, thanks to Polly and Eff, was overwhelmed with love.

Fleur had vivid blue eyes and the almost black hair she had been born with had lightened considerably. It was dark brown with tawny lights in it—inherited, no doubt, from Lavinia. She was clearly a contented baby, and that was something to be happy about.

Being with Fleur made me wonder about the other babies who had been born round about the same time. What had happened to Emmeline? Her child would have had a happy home, I was sure. And the poor little girl who had been raped? Surely her family would look after her child. And Agatha? She would know what to do. She was warmhearted and would never desert her child. Mostly I thought of Miriam, who would have to give up hers for the sake of not disturbing her marriage. That seemed the saddest case of all.

But I was delighted to see Fleur here. She would not miss her parents, because she could not have two more devoted people to care for her than Polly and Eff.

The bellows were seized on with joy. "That kitchen fire never did draw like it ought," said Eff.

The bonnet was immediately tried on and Fleur was very interested in the bootees.

"Nice for her afternoon nap," said Polly. "She's starting to toddle now. I reckon she thinks she's done enough shooting round on her hands and knees."

"Don't you think she's a little angel?" said Eff.

I said I did.

"Eff spoils her really," said Polly.

"I like that!" retorted Eff. "Talk about the pot calling the kettle black!"

It was all so comforting, so much what I had expected from them. Polly was still the anchor in my life.

She was uneasy though. I sensed that. When she came to my room that night, after Eff had retired, she talked very seriously to me.

She said, "I've been worried about you, Drusilla. I didn't like to think of you in that foreign place. I didn't know what was happening. Fleur ... she's Lavinia's. I know that now. At first I thought she was yours."

"Oh, Polly!"

"Well, that's why we took her in so prompt. I said to Eff, 'This is my girl and she's in trouble. We're going to help her all we know how and if that means having the baby here, well then we'll have the baby here.' "

"I thought of you immediately. I remember how you and Eff always liked babies."

"We do. But having one of your own is something that has to be thought about."

"You didn't hesitate."

"No ... As I told you, I thought it was yours."

"You've always been wonderful to me, Polly ... always."

"I know now she's that Lavinia's. That saucy baggage. Just like her. Gets into trouble and gets someone else to sort it out for her."

"Lady Harriet took over a big part of my school bills. I was there to be with Lavinia."

"I know. That sort think they own the world and everyone in it. Now there's that Fabian ... or whatever he calls himself."

"Everyone else calls him Fabian. It's his name."

"Sir Fabian, if you please."

"He inherited the title from his father. He's been a sir ever since his father died."

"Silly way of going on ... Little children getting airs. No wonder they grow up thinking they are Lord God Almighty."

"Do you think he does?"

"Clear as daylight."

"That's not always very clear."

"Now you're being clever and I want to talk serious-like. It's about Fleur."

"Oh, Polly, hasn't Lavinia sent you any money?"

"It's not money we're after. What I wanted to say was that Fleur ... well, she is one of them Framlings when all's said and done. She's all right now. Wouldn't know the difference between Buckingham Palace and the rookeries ... as long as we're there to look after her and give her a kiss and a cuddle ... she's all right. But when she grows up a bit, is this place going to be good enough for her?"

"It will be good enough if you and Eff are there. She loves you both. Look how contented she is when you're there."

"Oh, she's a loving little thing. No bones about that. But there'll come a time when she'll have to be told who she is and something done about her education and all that."

"Let's leave it at that, Polly. When I get a chance I'll talk to Lavinia."

"And there's you."

"What about me?"

"What are you going to do?"

"What do you mean, Polly?"

"You know what I mean. Rector's not well, is he? How long can he go on working? I reckon this Colin Brady will take over. Do you like him?"

"You are not trying to do a little matchmaking, are you, Polly?"

"People have to be serious about these things. I'd like to see you settled, I would. You'd be happy with some little ones. Oh, I know. I've seen you with Fleur. There's some who are natural mothers and you are one of them."

"You are going too fast, Polly."

"Well, you like him, don't you, this Colin Brady?"

"Yes."

"And he's a good man."

"I daresay he is."

"You don't want to let some people pick up when they think they will and like as not drop you when they get a little tired."

"To whom are you referring?"

"That Sir Fabian."

"Oh, there is no question of his picking me up. He just happened to be on the train."

"Some people have a way of making things happen when they want them to."

I thought of what he had said about prodding, and he had certainly contrived the meeting. I felt rather pleased and excited that he had bothered to do so. It ought to have irritated me, but it didn't.

Gradually she wormed the story of Lavinia's betrayal and downfall from me.

"That one had trouble coming to her if ever anyone had. Perhaps this will be a lesson to her. Could be ... though I doubt it. She's got mischief written all over her, that one. She'll be in trouble again sooner or later. And to think that Sir Fabian is our Fleur's uncle and doesn't know it!"

"Of course, he doesn't know there is a Fleur."

"Bit of a shock to him if he did. I'm not surprised that Lavinia went to all them lengths to keep her little secret. I've always been sorry for girls in trouble, but I can't say I'm getting out my sackcloth and ashes for her."

And so we talked, and it was as comforting to me as it used to be in the old days when we sat in the room at the rectory with the churchyard on one side and the village green on the other.

Polly and I had our trips "up West"; I bought some clothes and some gloves for Polly and a scarf for Eff. I had my allowance, which came from the money my mother had left. It was not very much, but at least I was not penniless. I told Polly I was going to send her half of what I had to help with Fleur, but she was indignant. "You'll do no such thing! If you attempt to do that I'll send it right back ... pronto ... and Eff and me 'ull be most put out."

She told me how they loved having the baby. It was important ... particularly to Eff. Eff loved the business, but she often said she'd missed something. She had put up with Him for years and she would have forgiven him all his little ways if he had given her a baby. But it seemed he wasn't any good ... even at that. Polly, too, had been disappointed in that respect.

"But now we've got Fleur," she said, "and if that Lavinia ever wanted her back she wouldn't get her. I'd fight to the death for Fleur ... so would Eff ... and Eff always wins ... always has and always will. Father used to say that."

I often thought of Lavinia and wondered what she was doing and if she ever gave a thought to the child. I doubted it. She had recklessly conceived the child for her own gratification and as casually cast her off without seeming to realize how fortunate she had been to find people to take the burden from her shoulders.

During that week, I would wheel the baby out on the common. I used to sit on a seat and think of everything that had happened over the last two years. Often in my mind I went back to the little town, choosing my pastry and bringing it out on a plate to sit under the sunshade and wait for Charles to bring the coffee. I could recall with vividness the day the so-called Comte had strolled up to us. I could see Lavinia smiling provocatively at the handsome intruder in her secretive manner. I remembered so well that inner satisfaction of hers. I should have guessed that the Comte was false and all he wanted was a brief love affair.

While I was dreaming thus and Fleur was dozing in her pram, I was suddenly aware that someone had sat down on the seat beside me. I turned and with a mingling of exhilaration and consternation I saw that it was Fabian.

"Sir Fabian ..." I stammered.

"Oh please," he said, "not so formal. I'm simply Fabian to my friends."

"What ... what are you doing here?"

"Rejoicing in this happy turn of fortune. How are you faring? You look well. Such a rosy colour in your cheeks. Is that due to the London air or to reunion with your devoted nurse?"

I did not answer and he went on, "What a pretty child! Whose is it?"

"She has been adopted by Polly."

"She is an unusual woman, your Polly. The bonnet suits her." He looked at me rather roguishly. "It was a good choice."

"Yes, it was."

"And the little socks."

"She is really too old for those, so it wasn't such a good choice. She crawls and totters and needs shoes for that."

"You should have thought of that. How enterprising those two are! They have their own houses and they take it upon themselves to adopt a child. Most unusual! Tell me, have they acquired Number 10 Maccleston yet?"

"No, but it will come. Are you on business down here?"

He looked at me with a half-amused smile. "I see you suspect me of playing truant. I happened to be in the neighbourhood and when I came across the common I remembered you were staying here. Luckily I saw you. I was surprised. First the baby carriage disconcerted me. I thought it must be some young mother ... and then I realized that no one could look quite as you did ... and I rejoiced. When are you returning? I believe you said you would stay for a week. Friday would be a week exactly."

"Yes. I expect it will be then."

"I hope you are having a rewarding week."

"Extremely so."

Fleur had awakened and, after regarding us gravely for a few moments, decided that she had been ignored long enough and started to whimper. I took her out of her pram and she was immediately smiling. I bounced her up and down a little, which she obviously enjoyed. She showed great interest in Fabian and, stretching out towards him, took hold of one of the buttons on his coat. She looked up at him, staring intently into his face.

"Is that an expression of disapproval?" he asked.

"I am not sure, but it is certainly one of interest."

Fleur laughed as though she found him amusing.

"She will soon be talking," I said. "She wants to say something to you, but she just cannot get the words."

"She's a nice creature."

"I think so, and so do Polly and Eff."

"Eff?"

"Short for Effie."

At the mention of Eff, Fleur began to mumble, "Eff, Eff ... Eff."

"You see," I said, "she is already beginning to speak."

"It did not sound like speech to me."

"Oh, you have to listen carefully. She is saying Eff."

"Effeff ... eff," said Fleur.

"What is her name?" he asked.

"Fleur."

"A little French flower. Is she French?"

"Polly did not say."

"But they gave her a French name."

"I think she may have had that before she came to them."

I tried to persuade her to relinquish the button, but she refused to do so, and when at length she did her hand shot out and gripped his ear.

"She clearly likes you," I said.

"I wish she would find another way of expressing her fondness."

"Come, Fleur," I said. "It is time we went home. Polly will be waiting for you and so will Eff. They will be cross if I keep you out too long."

"I have an idea," he said. "Take the baby back and let me give you luncheon."

"It is kind of you," I replied, "but I have such a short time left. I must be with Polly."

"Because you will soon be leaving. All right. We'll travel back together."

I did not answer. I put a mildly protesting Fleur back into the pram and turned to him. He stood there hat in hand, bowing.

"Goodbye," I said.

"Au revoir, " he replied meaningfully.

I did not tell Polly I had met him on the common. I knew it would disturb her.

It was the following morning. Polly and I were breakfasting. Eff took hers very early, which often meant that Polly and I could talk, as we loved to do. I think Eff knew this and was glad to make herself scarce and give us the opportunity.

Polly had been glancing through the paper and she cried as soon as I appeared, "Here, what do you think of this?"

I sat down expectantly.

"There's been a big fire at the place ... that Firs. Nursing home it calls it ... in the New Forest."

She started to read: " 'Firs Nursing Home. Terrible fire, believed to have been started by one of the patients. The fire was well under way before it was discovered. Mrs. Fletcher, the proprietoress, lost her life. It is not yet known how many died, but the fire was very intense and it is feared that several lives were lost. Many of the inmates were suffering some infirmities ...' "

I sat staring ahead. Had Janine been one of the victims? I wondered how many women awaiting their babies had perished. I thought of the Duchess and the young man whom Aunt Emily had intended for Janine. I imagined that one day George had lighted one of those fires he had laid so many times in cupboards and such places.

I told Polly about George.

"Thank goodness it didn't happen when you were there," she said.

All that day I could not stop thinking of The Firs and Aunt Emily, Janine and the people I had known.

It might so easily have happened while we were there.

I scoured the papers later that day and all those I could find on the next. I supposed it was not considered of enough interest to be given more than the initial space.

The day for my departure arrived.

An hour before the train was due to leave, Fabian appeared at the door with a cab to take us to the station in time to catch the three o'clock train. It was the only one that afternoon, so he knew I would be taking it.

Eff opened the door when he knocked. Her surprise was obvious; she was greatly impressed. She liked distinguished people to come to the house. As she said, it went down well with the neighbours.

There was nothing to be done but to accept his offer with a good grace. Polly came with us to the station, but of course his presence prevented intimate conversation between us.

He was very affable to her. When we arrived he insisted that the cabdriver should take her back and he paid for the journey.

Polly said, "There's no need for that."

But he waved aside her protests and even Polly had to fall in with the arrangement, though she resented it and I knew was disturbed to see me sitting with him in the carriage.

He seemed very pleased with his manoeuvering.

"It was a pleasant visit," he said, as we moved out of London.

"I always enjoy being with them."

"A most unusual pair of ladies, and there is the baby, too. I could see how much you liked her. A pleasant child. I fancy she looked a little French."

"Oh, did you think so?" I forced myself to say.

"Oh yes. And the name Fleur. I don't know whether it is used much in France, but it is certainly charming, don't you think?"

"Yes, I do."

"It makes one wonder who could abandon such a child. I should like to know the story behind her birth. A liaison, I imagine ... with both participants realizing that they had made a mistake."

"Perhaps."

"Most certainly, I would say. Did you hear how those two worthy ladies undertook the adoption?"

"I don't know how such things are done."

I looked out of the window.

"You find the view interesting," he said.

"The home counties are very pleasant," I replied.

"They are indeed. There is an air of peaceful prosperity about them. Nothing rugged ... all neat and pleasant. It always seems to me that even the trees submit to conventions. How different from Lindenstein!"

I felt sick with apprehension. He had guessed something and he was determined to bait me. He was teasing me as a cat teases a mouse before the final death stroke.

"Oh ... Lindenstein," I murmured, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Rather flat, I thought when I saw it. Stark, in fact. Rather surprising when you consider its position. Not quite what one would have expected."

He was trying to trap me. I remembered snatches of that conversation when he had visited us and there had been mention of the mountainous country.

I was growing very uncomfortable under his scrutiny.

I turned from the window and met his gaze. There was a faint amusement in his eyes. Was he telling me that he knew I had never been to Lindenstein? I could see that he was working things out. Lavinia and I had left school at the end of term; we had said we were visiting the Princess; we had been away for two months; and there was a mysterious baby—French—who had been taken in by my devoted nurse.

I imagined he was fitting things together and thinking he had the solution. The inference would seem obvious to him. I felt indignant. I wanted to tell him to stop his insolent probing and ask his sister for the explanation.

I said coldly, "I suppose everywhere is different from what we expect it to be. Perhaps it is not wise to compare."

"Odious, aren't they ... comparisons? ... Or is it odorous?"

"It depends in which source you are consulting."

"That is true, of course, but in either case it means they are rather obnoxious."

He continued to regard me with amusement. Surely he must consider Lavinia's involvement in this. Knowing her—as he must—he could not believe that she would be ready to make any sacrifice for a friend. If I had been the one who was forced to hide, she would never have gone to such lengths to help me.

I wanted to shout at him, "You Framlings take up such an attitude of superiority when you are the ones who cause all the trouble."

He must have seen that I was shaken, and when he spoke it was rather tenderly. "I hope there is an improvement in your father's health when you return."

"I hope so. Of course, his duties are considerably lightened by the coming of Colin Brady."

"Oh, the curate. I hear he is quite a success."

"That's true, and it is very fortunate that he is there. There are some days when my father is unable to work and that distresses him. But Mr. Brady takes on all the duties and it is a great load off my father's shoulders."

"I suppose he will want a living of his own one day."

"He certainly will."

He nodded and again he was giving me that probing look.

"I daresay you have a great deal in common."

I raised my eyebrows.

"Both in Holy Orders, so to speak. You by accident of birth and he by choice."

"I suppose you could say that."

"And you are obviously good friends."

"One could not be anything else with Mr. Brady. He is so friendly with everyone."

"An admirable young man."

Again the almost derisive smile. I was annoyed with him. First he had decided that I had had a liaison in France and that Fleur was the result and now he was contemplating marrying me off to Colin Brady. It was really quite impertinent ... assuming the role of lord of the manor taking care of the underlings.

I wanted to tell him that I had not sought his company and that I did not care for his assumptions, but of course I did nothing of the sort, and in due course he changed the subject.

He talked about India, a subject which clearly fascinated him, the scenery and the people. He had not yet seen it, he told me, but he was learning so much about it that he felt he was beginning to know it.

I was interested to hear about the people, the caste system, the power of the company, the markets and the exotic goods which could be bought there. I was quite beguiled, but I could not forget our previous conversation, and the implication that Fleur was the result of an indiscretion on my part; and, of course, I could not tell him that it was his sister and not I who was at the centre of that sordid tragedy.

In due course the train steamed into our station. One of the grooms from Framling had brought the carriage and Fabian drove me to the rectory.

He took my hand and smiled at me as he said goodbye. It had been a most interesting and illuminating visit, he told me, with double-edge meaning.

I felt very uneasy, and I could not get out of my mind that thought of the fire at The Firs. I wondered which of the strange people I had known had been its victims. Had Janine been one of them?

Mrs. Janson told me that all had been as well as could be expected at the rectory during my absence. The rector had had one rather bad turn but she hadn't thought it necessary to interrupt my holiday. That Mr. Carruthers had been over once or twice and his visits seemed to do the rector a power of good. There they had been, huddled over some old maps and things that Mr. Carruthers brought, and it was like a tonic for the rector. And, of course, Mr. Brady was there to look after everything, so she could say it had all gone off rather well.

During the next week or so my friendship with both Dougal Carruthers and Colin Brady seemed to take a new turn.

Dougal came often and my father was eager for me to join them in their discussions.

"You will find it all so interesting," he said. "Of course, Mr. Carruthers' forte is the Anglo-Saxons ... a little late for me, but I am finding it all absorbing. He has a good knowledge of early European history, which is very necessary to the period, of course. You will find his conversation quite fascinating."

I was rather surprised that this was so. He brought books for me to read and I was glad of the diversion, for I had been more upset than I had realized by those encounters with Fabian. I could not stop thinking about him and his insinuations. When Lavinia returned I would tell her that she must explain to her brother what my part had been in the adventure.

It was clear that he had pieced things together and come up with what he thought was the right solution. I did not want him to think that first I could have been involved in such a sordid affair and secondly that I should abandon my child ... even to a trusted nurse. Lavinia would have to explain.

I wished I could stop thinking of Fabian. He intruded constantly into my thoughts. I was not sure of my feelings towards him and sometimes they came close to dislike. I dreaded meeting him, which was always possible as we lived so close to each other; on the other hand, I hoped I would.

He made me feel alive, on the defensive as no other had ever done before. It was rather alarming because of Fleur; on the other hand, our meetings had been an exhilarating experience.

I wished I could stop thinking of the fire at The Firs. Janine was constantly in my mind. What had become of her? She knew where we were, so perhaps she would get in touch. I believed her aunt had amassed a fortune and surely she would have left Janine well provided for. I wished there had been more news in the papers.

My friendship with Dougal was developing and I began to think that he came to the rectory to see me as well as my father.

The interest of probing into the past took hold of me for a time; it was because I needed to keep my mind from dwelling on Fabian and what he might be thinking about me—if he gave me another thought. Perhaps it was presumptuous of me to think that he would, but he had seemed deeply interested at the time, which might be because of his sister's involvement. Moreover, I had muddled dreams in which The Firs featured. I was back in that half world, surrounded by strange people. I saw George laying his fires and in the middle of the night creeping out and lighting one. I dreamed of waking up, suffocating smoke in my lungs. How dreadful for those poor people caught in such a place!

Colin's attitude was changing towards me, too. Church matters brought us together. He would always discuss them with me—what hymns should be chosen for special services, who should have which stall at the annual bazaar, and when the Framlings should be asked when we might make use of their grounds.

I imagined I could see plans forming in Colin's mind. It was only natural that they should. He was a young curate in search of promotion. This would seem the perfect parish for him. Parsons needed wives; promotion was easier for them if they had the right one. The rector's daughter would be considered highly acceptable, and the likelihood was that, married to me, the living would be his.

I thought, as most girls do, of marriage; but I had learned in the Framling garden that I was plain and I knew that plain girls did not attract husbands as readily as pretty ones. I had told myself that if no one wanted to marry me I did not care. I would be my own mistress and not have to consider the vagaries of any man.

My chances, if any, would be few and, as Polly would say, no sensible girl would turn them away without consideration; but I had made up my mind that I would prefer not to be married at all than because it was a convenient solution for Colin Brady.

I had to admit at the same time that I had been thinking just a little romantically of Dougal Carruthers. He was moderately good looking, gentle and courteous to everyone. Mrs. Jan-son was always delighted if he stayed to lunch. She was also very fond of Colin Brady, but I believed she had a special admiration for Dougal Carruthers.

I was becoming very interested in history and he brought books for me to read, which we discussed. One day he suggested that we ride to Grosham Castle, which was about eight miles away. It would be a day's outing and Mrs. Janson could give us a picnic lunch to take with us. She was delighted to do this. Leave it to her, she said. She knew just what was wanted.

So early in the morning we set out from the Framling stables. It was a lovely summer's day, not too hot, with a gentle breeze; and we made our leisurely way to the castle.

Dougal did not want to hurry. He liked to savour the countryside. He was interested in wildlife. We walked our horses side by side so that it was easier to talk. He told me that he was not looking forward to going to India. He would rather stay at home. He would have liked to be attached to some university and pursue his studies.

We reached the castle at about noon. The sun was getting warm and as we had made an early start we decided to take, a quick look at the ruins and after that refresh ourselves with what Mrs. Janson had prepared for us. After that we could explore more thoroughly.

Grosham was a shell, although the walls were intact and, riding up to it, one would have no idea that the interior had been destroyed.

We picked our way over the jutting stones—part of an inner wall—past broken columns, over grass which was growing where once there had been a tiled hall.

Dougal's indignation was great, for it was not natural age and decay which had ruined Grosham, but Cromwell's soldiers.

In the shadow of the castle we opened the picnic basket to find legs of roasted chicken with salad and crusty bread with a pot of butter. There was fruit to follow, and a bottle of Mrs. Janson's homemade elderberry wine.

We were hungry and the meal tasted especially delicious.

I did enjoy talking with Dougal and as I had been reading a great deal more since I had known him I was able to talk with confidence.

I had rarely seem him so indignant. "To think that castle might be in perfect condition today but for that ... vandal."

"You are referring to the self-righteous Oliver, of course."

"I hate to see beautiful things spoilt."

"But he thought they were sinful."

"Then he must have been a fool."

"I think he is not generally regarded as such."

"People can be wise in some ways and foolish in others."

"That's true. Cromwell did raise an army and taught peasants how to fight. He did win a war and governed the country for a time."

"He destroyed beautiful things and that is unforgivable."

"He made war and destroyed people, which is worse. But he believed he was right, that he had God on his side. Can people be blamed for doing what they think right?"

"It is arrogant to think one is right when so many people have different views."

"It is difficult to understand whether he was right or not. Some historians agree, others take the completely opposite view. It is not easy to form a judgement on such a man. About people like Nero and Caligula there are no possible doubts. But your opinion on Oliver Cromwell must be your own."

"He destroyed beautiful things," insisted Dougal, "and that is something for which I cannot forgive him. When people kill in the name of God I feel more strongly against them than I would if they were openly cruel. That castle is just one example. When you think of what he did all over the country."

"I know. But the point is that he thought he was right and that he was doing the best for the people."

"I suppose you have a point. I love beauty so passionately. I cannot bear to see it destroyed."

"I believe that beautiful things mean more to you than they do to most people. Cromwell saw them as sinful because people worshipped them more than they did God."

He became animated in discussion. There was a faint colour in his pale, rather aesthetic face. I thought: I believe I could be very fond of him. He is the sort of person who becomes more interesting as one knows him. I could picture myself taking up his interests and making them mine. It would be a rich and rewarding way of living. Already he had opened up new ideas in my mind. He was a man of intellect, a lover of humanity—except those who vandalized beautiful things. I had never seem him show such indignation towards a living person as he did towards Oliver Cromwell.

He seemed to follow my thoughts. He said, "It has been a great pleasure to me to know you and your father."

"It has been a great pleasure to us to know you."

"Miss Delany ... it seems absurd to address you so formally when there is such friendship between us. Perhaps I shall call you Drusilla."

"It seems a good idea," I replied, smiling.

"What an excellent picnic this is."

"I shall tell Mrs. Janson what you say. She will be delighted."

"Drusilla ..."

I never knew what he intended saying, for just at that moment we heard the sound of a horse's hoofs approaching and as Dougal paused in surprise, Fabian rode up.

"Hello," he called. "I knew you were coming here so I thought I'd join the party. Food! What an excellent idea!" He dismounted and tied up his horse with ours. "Are you going to invite me to join you?"

I felt a faint annoyance. I had been serenely contented listening to Dougal and now this man had arrived to put me on the alert, to destroy that serenity.

I could not help saying, "It seems you have invited yourself, Sir Fabian."

"I guessed you wouldn't mind my joining you. Is that chicken?" He stretched out a hand and took a leg. "The bread looks delicious," he added.

"It was made by Mrs. Janson."

"An admirable cook, Mrs. Janson, as I learned when I had the pleasure of dining at the rectory. How good it tastes! I am so glad I came along."

"How did you know where we had gone?" asked Dougal.

"Ha. Devious methods. I shall not tell you. I might want to use the same again. It's a wonderful old ruin, is it not? I am not surprised it aroused your interest. Outside perfect and inside ... not quite what you would expect. It is like some people, who present an innocent face to the world and hide secrets."

He was looking straight at me.

I said, "We were discussing Oliver Cromwell."

"An unpleasant fellow, I always thought."

"There is one who would agree with you, Dougal," I said.

"Drusilla had a good word to say for him."

I read his thoughts. Drusilla? Dougal? He had noticed the use of Christian names and was considering the significance of this. He looked faintly displeased.

"And so ... Drusilla ... admired the man?"

I replied, "He believed he was right in doing what he did and that has to be taken in consideration when assessing people."

"You are very fairminded. I, of course, have to be grateful to him for leaving us Framling intact."

"He was a strongminded man with firm views."

"It is a necessity for a ruler. Is that wine? I wonder if I might partake."

I poured a little into a small tumbler which Mrs. Janson had thoughtfully provided. "I am afraid it is one I have used," I told him. "Mrs. Janson naturally believed there would be only two of us."

"I am delighted to share your glass," he said, smiling at me. He sipped the wine. "Nectar of the gods," he murmured. "Your Mrs. Janson is a most excellent provider."

"I will pass on your compliments. I am sure she will be gratified."

"How delightful this is! We should do more of it. Alfresco picnics! What an excellent idea. Whose was it? Yours, Dougal's or Drusilla's, eh?"

"Mrs. Janson naturally provided some food, since we would not be returning to luncheon."

"A most thoughtful lady! Yes, certainly we should do more of this. You and Drusilla will be able to tell me of the antiquities we should explore. I confess being something of an ignoramus in these matters. But I am always ready for instruction."

Since he had come he dominated the conversation. The pleasant intimacy had gone. When we had packed up the remains of the meal and were exploring the castle it seemed different. He was there, making me uneasy now and then and casting his amused glance on me from time to time. It seemed to be a speculative glance and it both irritated and disturbed me.

The magic had gone out of the afternoon and he had a way of making our comments about the castle sound pretentious.

We curtailed the exploration considerably and thus returned to the Framling stables an hour or so earlier than we had expected to.

Two days later, Dougal came to the rectory. My father expressed his great pleasure and Mrs. Janson brought out wine and her special wine-biscuits into the drawing room, where we were.

She purred rather like a cat to show her pleasure. She liked distinguished visitors to come to the rectory and Dougal was certainly one of those.

As soon as she had gone I poured out the wine.

Dougal said, "I have come to tell you that I shall be leaving tomorrow."

"I hope you will be coming back soon," replied my father.

"I hope to. This is a matter of trouble in my family. My cousin has had a fall from his horse and is rather badly injured. I must go to see him."

"Is he far from here?" I asked.

"About sixty miles. It's a place called Tenleigh."

"I have heard of it," said my father. "Some Roman remains were discovered nearby ... on the Earl of Tenleigh's land, I believe."

"Yes, that is so."

"Very interesting. Fine mosaic pavings and baths. What a wonderful race the Romans were. They brought benefits to the lands they occupied, which is, of course, what a conqueror should do. It was a great tragedy that they should have become decadent and their empire fade away."

"It is the fate of many civilizations," Dougal commented. "It is almost like a pattern."

"One day there might be one to break free of the pattern," I suggested.

"That may well be," agreed Dougal.

"We shall miss your visits," my father told him.

Dougal smiled from my father to me. "I shall miss them, too," he said.

I was a little sad that he was going away. I went to the door with him to say goodbye. He took my hands and held them firmly.

"I am sorry to have to go just now," he said. "I was so enjoying our meetings. I was planning some more excursions like those to the castle. There are so many interesting places all over England. It has been such a pleasure."

"Well, perhaps when you have seen your cousin ..."

"I shall be back. You may be assured of that. I shall insist on being invited."

"I daresay my father would be pleased if you stayed with us. We can't offer you the grandeur of Framling, of course."

"I should so much enjoy that, but wouldn't it be putting you out?"

"Not in the least. There is plenty of room at the rectory and Mrs. Janson would enjoy cooking special meals for you."

"It would not be the food I came for. Food for the mind is another matter."

"Well, think about it." He looked at me earnestly and went on, "Drusilla ..." He stopped and I looked enquiringly at him. Then he went on, "Yes, I should so much like to stay here. I'll just get over this matter and then ... we'll talk."

"I should like that," I said.

He leaned towards me and kissed me lightly on the cheek.

Then he had gone.

I felt a sudden contentment. The relationship between us had deepened and that gave me a feeling of great serenity.

The future seemed suddenly promising.

I thought a good deal about Dougal during the days that followed. I believed that in time he would ask me to marry him. Dougal was a thoughtful person. He was seriousminded; he would not make hasty decisions. That he was attracted to me, I knew; yet our friendship had grown steadily and I felt that was the best way it should grow. Ever since I had overheard that comment in the Framling gardens I had recognized the fact that I was plain and that no man was going to fall violently in love with me on account of my beauty, for I had none. But relationships were formed in other ways, and I believed that one founded on mutual understanding would be firmer than a blinding passion for a beauty.

Dougal had been away for a week. Fabian was in London, a fact for which I was glad. I could well do without his disturbing presence. I was becoming obsessed by the thought of Janine and my dreams about The Firs kept recurring. I had an idea that if I went to the New Forest and saw the place for myself, I might discover something from the local people. Janine had been so close to us during those anxious months and had done so much to help us, I just could not forget her.

I was in constant communication with Polly, who kept me informed of Fleur's progress, and I wrote to her and told her of my concern about Janine and how I could not forget the fire at The Firs and the terrible tragedy that had overtaken all those people among whom for a short time I had lived.

Polly had an idea. What if I came to London? She and I could take a trip to the place. Eff would be in sole charge of Fleur, which would please her. And so it was arranged.

I left the rectory and this time travelled alone to London.

Polly was at the station to meet me and there was the usual affectionate greeting.

Then there was the joy of seeing Fleur and Eff again. Fleur had grown amazingly; she now toddled and could even say something that sounded like Eff ... Poll ... yes ... no— quite emphatically this last. She was enchanting and seemed very satisfied with life.

Eff and Polly vied for her affection and she gave it with regal unconcern; and it was quite clear to me that no mother could give a child more love than did those two dear people.

Polly had made plans for our visit. She suggested we go the next day and spend the night at one of the inns nearby. She had discovered through Third Floor Back in one of the houses— who most fortuitously knew the district—that The Feathers was the best one and she had taken the precaution of booking two rooms for the night.

This was progress and Polly and I in due course set out on our voyage of discovery.

We arrived in the late afternoon and decided that on the following morning we would visit the site.

In the meantime we were able to have a little conversation. First of all we talked to the chambermaid. She was a middle-aged woman who had worked at The Feathers when she was a girl, and now that her children were off her hands she came in the afternoons. She lived only a few yards from the hotel.

"So," I said, "you know the district well."

"Like the palm of my hand, Madam."

"You must remember the fire."

"At The Firs?"

"Yes."

"Oh, that wasn't so long ago. My goodness, what a blaze that was! It happened in the night."

"We read about it in the paper," said Polly. "It was quite a piece of news, that."

"It was a strange place. Used to give me the horrors every time I passed by."

"Why?" I asked.

"I dunno. That Mrs. Fletcher ... As a matter of fact, before I came back here ... just when my youngest was old enough not to need me at her heels all the time ... I worked there for a bit."

"Oh," I said faintly, fearing suddenly that she might have seen Lavinia and me.

"Best part of five years ago, that was."

I was relieved.

"Why did it give you the creeps?" asked Polly.

"I can't rightly say. There was something about it. It was all them old people. You get the feeling that they are all there waiting for death to come along and take them. It gives you the shivers in a way. People used to say they were put there because their families did not want them. And a funny lot they was ... and there'd always be one or two who had come there to have a baby ... on the quiet, if you know what I mean?"

I certainly knew what she meant.

"And the fire?" I prompted.

"Lit up the whole place. I was in bed and I said to my old man, 'Jacob, something's going on.' He said, 'Go to sleep,' and then he realized there was a funny smell and a sort of light in the room. 'Snakes alive,' he said, and he was out of that bed in a flash. He was out there helping them. The whole village seemed to be out there. Oh, it was a night, I can tell you."

"There were a lot of casualties, were there not?" I asked.

"Oh yes. Well, you see, this batty old man had started fires in one of the downstairs cupboards and the whole of the ground floor was well on the way to being destroyed before it spread about. They were all burned to death ... Mrs. Fletcher herself among them."

"All?" I asked. "Everyone?"

"Everyone in the place. It was too late to rescue them. Nobody knew the place was on fire until it was well on the way."

"What a terrible tragedy."

I did not sleep that night. I kept on thinking of Janine and how easily it might have been the end for Fleur, Lavinia and me.

The next day Polly and I made our way to The Firs. The gate, with "The Firs" on it in brass letters, was open. Memories rushed back as I went up the drive. The walls were surprisingly still standing in some parts. I looked through the windows onto the scorched pile.

Polly said, "It makes you think. I'll tell Eff we've got to be specially careful. Make sure all the fires are out before we go to bed. Watch out for candles. Them paraffin lamps could turn over as soon as you could say Jack Robinson ... and then it would be a case of God help you."

It was difficult to recognize the place. I tried to work out which room would have been Lavinia's and mine, which Mrs. Fletcher's sanctum on the first floor and Janine's room ... and that of Emmeline and the others.

It was impossible, and Polly thought we should not try to mount the remains of the staircase.

"You'd only have to take a look at that and it would collapse."

I was thoughtful and sad, remembering so much.

Polly said, "Here. Let's go. We've had enough of this."

It was as I stood with Polly among the debris that I heard quick footsteps coming along the drive. A middle-aged woman came into sight. I saw her before she saw us. Her face was pale and her eyes tragic. She stood for a few moments looking up at the grim remains. Then she saw us.

"Good morning," I said.

"Oh ... er ... good morning."

"Like us, you are looking at the burnt-out house."

She nodded. She looked as though she were fighting to conceal her emotion.

Then she said, "Did you have ... someone ... someone who perished?"

"I don't know," I replied. "There was a girl I used to know at school. Mrs. Fletcher was her aunt."

She nodded. "It was my daughter who was here. We didn't know she was. It wouldn't have mattered. She could have told me. She was so bright ... a lovely girl ... to go like that."

I guessed the story. It was similar to others. The daughter was going to have a baby and she had come here in secret and here she had died.

"Such a tragedy," said the woman. "It should never have happened."

"It doesn't really help us to come here," I replied.

She shook her head. "I have to. When I found out she was here and died in the fire ... I would have done anything ..."

Polly said, "Things like that happen sometimes. It's hard to know why. Makes you bitter. I know."

The woman looked enquiringly at her.

"My husband was lost at sea."

It is amazing how someone else's tragedy can make one's own seem lighter. The woman certainly looked a little comforted.

"Have you been here before?" I asked.

She nodded. "I can't seem to keep away. I just had to come."

"Do you know anything about the people who died?"

"Only what I've heard from others."

"There was a young girl with whom I was at school. I wonder if you knew whether she was saved."

"I wouldn't know. I only know that my daughter was there and it happened to her . . . my girl."

We left her there contemplating the ruins as if by doing so she could bring her daughter back.

We walked slowly to The Feathers. There was a bench on a stretch of grass in front of a pond and on this sat two old men. They were not talking ... just staring into space.

Polly and I sat down on the seat and they regarded us with interest.

"Staying there?" said one of the men, taking his pipe from his lips and jerking it towards The Feathers.

"Yes," I replied.

"Nice place, eh?"

"Very nice."

"Used to do pretty well before the fire."

"That must have been terrifying."

One of the old men nodded. "Reckon it was the vengeance of the Lord," he said. "The lot they had up there. Sodom and Gomorrah ... that's what it was. They got their just deserts."

"I heard there were several old people there."

The old man fiercely tapped his head. "Not right up there. Offended against the Lord in some way. It was the punishment of the Lord, that's what I reckon. Her ... she was a queer one ... and all them women ... no better than they should be."

I was in no mood to enter into a theological discussion. I said, "Did you hear if there were any survivors?"

The two old men looked at each other. The religious fanatic said with satisfaction, "All burnt to a cinder ... taste of hell fire that's waiting for 'em."

Polly said ironically, "You're destined for the heavenly choir, I reckon."

"That's so, Missus. Good churchgoer all me life. Regular every Sunday ... night and morning."

"My goodness," said Polly. "You must have a good record. Wasn't there any time you did a bit of sinning?"

"I was brought up in the shadow of the Lord."

"Oh, I reckon the recording angel would have looked the other way when you got up to your little bits of mischief."

I could feel a real antagonism building up between them and I guessed that if I were going to get any information from them this was not the way to do it.

"So everyone there died," I said.

"Here," put in the other. "Wasn't there some niece or something, Abel?"

I said eagerly, "Her name was Janine Fletcher. Do you know what became of her?"

"Oh, I remember," said the man to Abel. "You know that young woman ... wasn't she out of the place on a visit or something? That's right. She was the only one who didn't die."

"It was God's will," said Abel.

I was excited. I turned to his companion. "So she didn't die?"

"No ... that's it. She came back. There was some sort of to-do about insurance and that sort of thing."

"It wasn't insured," said Abel. "They was like the foolish virgins unprepared when the bridegroom came."

"Doesn't sound much like a wedding to me," commented Polly.

"Do you know where she went?" I asked.

"Can't tell you that, Miss."

I could see that that was all the information we could get. I rose as Abel began reminding me about the rewards of evil. I said, "We must get back."

Polly agreed. "I reckon," she said, as we walked away, "that that Abel's got a nasty surprise waiting for him when he gets to Heaven."

I felt our journey had not been wasted. We had not discovered where Janine was, but we knew she was still alive.

I had not been back at the rectory for more than two days when, to my surprise, Fabian called.

In all the years he had not called before, except with Dougal, and I was surprised to see him.

I must have shown my surprise.

"I heard that you had been to London," he said. "I came to assure myself of your safe return."

I raised my eyebrows. "That was extraordinarily kind of you."

"I was concerned. Had you told me I should have made my visit coincide with yours."

"The journey is not long and I was met at the other end."

"By the inestimable Polly, I guess. And how is her sister and that enchanting ward of theirs?"

"Very well."

"That is good. I have news of a friend of yours."

"Really?"

"Dougal Carruthers."

"What news?"

"He has become an exalted gentleman overnight."

"What do you mean?"

"You were aware that his cousin had an accident. Alas, the cousin died from his injuries."

"Were they close friends?"

"Relations." He smiled sardonically. "That is quite a different thing. They say that one chooses one's friends, but one's relations are thrust upon one."

"There is often a stronger bond between relations than friends."

"The proverbial blood being thicker than the proverbial water."

"Exactly."

"Well, I don't think the cousin ... or to give him his full name, the Earl of Tenleigh ... had very much in common with our friend Dougal. He was the hunting man—more at home on a horse than on his own two legs. Athletic, all physical activity and a brain that hardly ever got any consideration and had begun to pine away from neglect. Ah, I'm speaking ill of the dead and perhaps shocking your conventional heart just a little."

I smiled. "Not in the least," I said. "But how has Mr. Carruthers become an exalted gentleman?"

"By the death of the cousin. You see, the Earl was the son of Dougal's father's elder brother, so he got the title and the family estates. Dougal's father was just a younger son. I gathered from Dougal that he was rather pleased about that. Like his son, he was the studious type. I am not sure what his obsession was. The Byzantine Empire, I fancy. Dougal takes after him with his Anglo-Saxons and Normans. Alas for Dougal. The present has impinged itself on the past. He will have to tear himself away from Hengist and Horsa and Boadicea, most likely, and think a little about his obligations to the present."

"I daresay he will enjoy it. He will probably have the money to continue with his research in the way he wanted it."

"Great estates are demanding and he may not find it so easy. In any case I thought I ought to warn you that we shall doubtless see little of him from now on. These things change people, you know."

"I do not believe they will change him."

"He's too wise, you think?"

"I do think that. He would never be arrogant."

I looked at him and he smiled. "As some people are," he murmured.

"Yes, as some people are."

"Well, we shall see. But it will mean that he will not be here to enjoy those little picnics in ruined places. I thought I should warn you."

"Thank you."

"It is a pity that the picnics cannot continue."

"There was only one ... in which you shared."

"Into which I forced myself. It would be rather pleasant not to have to do that. Why do we not have a picnic of our own ... you and I?"

"It would be quite impossible."

"Whenever I hear that word I am always challenged to disprove it."

"You are not interested in ruins."

"You could teach me."

I laughed at him. "I don't think you would relish the idea of being taught anything."

"You are mistaken. I am avid for knowledge ... particularly the kind which you can supply."

"I don't quite know what that means."

"Now you are looking like a teacher ... a little severe ... rather displeased with the bad boy and wondering whether to give him a hundred lines or make him stand in the corner with the dunce's cap on his head."

"I am sure I implied nothing of the sort."

"I shall see if I can discover a ruin you have never seen ... and tempt you."

"Don't bother. I am sure I should not be able to come with you."

"I shall never give up hope," he said and added, "teacher."

"If you will excuse me I have several things to do."

"Let me help you."

"You could not really. They are parish matters."

"Which you perform with Mr. Brady?"

"Oh, no ... he has his own affairs. You have no idea what has to be done in a rectory ... and with my father not so well we are very busy."

"Then I must detain you no longer. I will see you very soon. Au revoir."

When he had gone I could not get him out of my thoughts. It made me forget Dougal's elevation to high rank and fortune. Then I began to consider that and to wonder what difference it would make to him and to our relationship, which was just beginning to flower into something deeper.

Colin Brady said to me, "We should be thinking about the summer fete."

"Everyone knows it is to be on the first Saturday in August. It always has been. Most of them have been working for months getting things together for the stalls."

"The rector was saying that it is the custom to ask permission of the Framlings to hold it in the grounds and if it is wet to use the hall. I suppose it's big enough."

"Oh, yes. It's vast. There have only been a few occasions in my memory when we have had to go inside. The Framlings know about it. It's a tradition and Lady Harriet has always granted permission most graciously."

"Yes, but your father says it has to be asked for. That is also a part of the tradition."

"Yes, I suppose so."

"Well, Lady Harriet is in London with her daughter. We shall have to make the request to Sir Fabian."

"I should hardly think that was necessary."

"But he should be asked."

"It would be different if Lady Harriet were there. She is a stickler for convention."

"I think it would be wise to ask Sir Fabian ... just as a gesture. Perhaps you would go and get his formal consent."

"If you are passing ... it would only be a matter of looking in."

"Well, I have to go and see Mrs. Brines today. She has been confined to her bed for several weeks and is asking to see me. Also I have a good deal to sort out ... so if you could see your way ..."

There was no reason why I should not do it, except that I felt uneasy about approaching Fabian. But I could not refuse without explaining, so I thought I would go over, quickly make the request and get it over.

Sir Fabian was at home, I was told. I asked if they would tell him that I had merely come to ask his permission for the fete to be held in the grounds if the weather was fine and in the hall if it was wet. I would not take up much of his time.

I was hoping the maid would come back and say that permission was granted so that I could be on my way. Instead she came back with the news that Sir Fabian was in his study and would be pleased to see me there.

I was ushered across the great hall to the staircase. His study was on the second floor.

He rose as I entered and came towards me, smiling. He took both my hands.

"Miss Delany! How nice to see you. You've come about the fete, they tell me."

The maid went out, shutting the door, and that feeling of mingling excitement and apprehension was with me.

"Do please sit down."

"I shan't stop," I said. "It's a formality really. Lady Harriet usually grants permission for the grounds to be used, and if it is wet, the hall."

"Oh, my mother always deals with that sort of thing, doesn't she?"

"There is nothing to be dealt with really. Framling has always been used for the fete. I just want to get formal permission, so I will say 'thank you' and 'goodbye.' "

"But you haven't got my permission yet."

"It is really taken for granted."

"Nothing should ever be taken for granted. I should like to discuss this with you."

"But there is nothing to discuss. It is the same every year. So I may take it as granted ... ?"

He had risen and I immediately did the same. He came close to me.

"Tell me," he said, "why are you afraid of me?"

"Afraid? Of you?"

He nodded. "You look like a frightened fawn who has heard the approach of a tiger."

"I do not feel in the least like a frightened fawn. Nor do you strike me as being tigerish."

"Then a bird of prey perhaps ... a rapacious eagle, ready to swoop on a helpless creature. You know, you should not be frightened of me, for I am very fond of you and the more I see you the fonder I grow."

"That is good of you," I said coolly. "But I must go."

"It is not good of me. It is an involuntary emotion and one for which I cannot personally take credit."

I laughed with an attempt at lightness.

"Well," I said, "I take it we can go ahead with plans for the fete."

He put his hands on my shoulders and drew me towards him.

"Sir Fabian?" I said in surprise, drawing back.

"You know how I feel about you," he said. "Isn't it obvious?"

"I have no idea."

"Aren't you curious to know?"

"It is not really of great interest to me."

"You don't give that impression."

"Then I am sorry if I misled you."

"You haven't misled me in the least, for I know a good deal about you, my dear Drusilla. After all, we have been acquainted all our lives."

"In spite of that I would say we hardly know each other."

"Then we must remedy that."

He drew me towards him with a strength I could not resist and kissed me on the lips.

I flushed and encouraged the anger that arose in me. I said, "How dare you!"

He smiled mockingly. "Because I am a very daring person."

"Then please keep your daring displays for others."

"But I want to show them to you. I want us to be good friends. I am sure that could be very pleasant for both of us."

"It would not be so for me."

"I promise you it will."

"I do not believe in your promises. Goodbye."

"Not yet," he said, taking my arm and holding it fast. "I think you like me just a little."

"Then that assumption must be due to your good opinion of yourself."

"Perhaps," he said. "But you are not indifferent to my undeniable charm."

"I do not wish to be treated in this flippant manner."

"I am not in the least flippant. I am in deadly earnest. I am very fond of you, Drusilla. You have always interested me. You are different ... so serious ... so dedicated to learning. You make me feel humble and that is such a new experience with me that I find it exciting. It is growing more and more impossible for me to hide my feelings."

"Goodbye," I said. "I shall tell the church committee that permission has been granted in the usual way."

"Stay a while," he pleaded.

"I do not wish to. I will not be treated like this."

"Your maidenly modesty is most affecting." He paused and raised his eyebrows. "But ..."

I felt myself flushing. I read the suggestions in his eyes.

I wrenched myself free and walked to the door, but he was there before me, standing with his back to it, mocking me.

"I could detain you," he said.

"You could do no such thing."

"Why not? This is my house. You came here willingly. Why should I not keep you here? Who would stop me?"

"You seem to think you are living in the Middle Ages. Is this some idea of droit de seigneur?"

"What an excellent notion! Why not?"

"You had better step out of the past, Sir Fabian. You and your family may have the idea that we in this place are your serfs, but that is not the case and if you attempt to detain me as you suggest I shall ... I shall ..."

"Bring in the law?" he asked. "Would that be wise? They probe, you know."

"What do you mean?"

He looked at me slyly and I knew he had been planning something like this. He had only been waiting for the opportunity and I, foolishly, had given it to him. He thought he had discovered a secret in my past and he was going to use it against me. I wanted to shout at him, "Fleur is not my child. She is your sister's." I almost did; but even at such a time I could not bring myself to break my promise to Lavinia.

He was so gratified at my discomfiture that he released his hold. I dashed past him out of the room and hurried down the staircase into the hall and out of the house. I did not stop running until I reached my room at the top of the rectory. I flung myself on the bed. My heart was beating furiously. I was very deeply disturbed.

I was so angry. I hated him. It was a sort of blackmail: I have discovered your secret. As you are the sort of girl who can have a love affair before you are out of the schoolroom, why are you so outraged when I make certain suggestions to you? It was too humiliating.

I heard the news from Mrs. Janson. Lavinia and Lady Harriet had come home.

Lavinia sent a message over. "You must come at once. I want to talk to you. Meet me in the garden where we can get right away from people."

I sensed an urgency in her message. She would not be so anxious to see me if she did not want something from me. Perhaps, I told myself, it was merely because she wanted to boast of her successes in London. But had her season been so successful? There was no news of an engagement to a duke or a marquess. I was sure Lady Harriet would aim for the highest stakes.

I was chary of going to Framling after that encounter with Fabian, and I was therefore glad that she suggested a meeting in the garden.

She was waiting for me. There was a change in her, or perhaps I had forgotten how beautiful she was. Her skin was milk-white; her catlike eyes with the dark lashes were arresting, but it was her magnificent hair that was her crowning glory. She wore it high on her head and little tendrils escaped from the mass on her forehead and in the nape of her neck. She was wearing a green gown which was most becoming to her colouring. She was, in fact, the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.

"Oh, hello, Drusilla," she said. "I've got so much to tell you."

"You have had a successful season?"

She grimaced. "One or two proposals, but no one Mama thought good enough."

"Lady Harriet would set high standards. None but the highest in the land for her beautiful daughter. Did you see the Queen?"

"When I was presented, and once at the opera and once at a ball for charity. She danced with Albert. Drusilla, that fire ..."

"You mean at The Firs?"

"I was so relieved."

"Lavinia! A lot of people died!"

"Those people ... well, life wasn't much for them, was it?"

"They might have thought so, and there were people there who were going to have babies, as you were. I met the mother of one of them when I went down."

"You went there?"

"I wanted to see what had happened. Polly came with me."

"All those demands for payment ..."

"Well, it was what you owed. What would you have done without her?"

"I know ... but it cost a lot and / had to find the money."

"It was your affair."

"I know, I know. But it's Janine."

"Janine? I gathered she wasn't there on the night of the fire."

"I wish she had been."

"Oh ... Lavinia!"

"You haven't heard what I'm going to tell you. It's Janine I'm worried about. I have seen her."

"So she is all right?"

"It's far from all right. There was I thinking I was free of all that and then Janine turns up."

"Did she come to see you?"

"She certainly did. There were pieces in the paper about the debutantes and I was mentioned. They called me 'the beautiful Miss Framling.' Every time they mentioned me they called me that. She must have seen it. Oh, Drusilla ... it was awful."

"How? What do you mean?"

"She's asked for money."

"Why?"

"Because she says she is very poor and I've got to help her or else ..."

"Oh no!"

"But yes. She said if I didn't, she would put a piece in the paper about Fleur."

"She couldn't."

"She could. I never liked her."

"She got you out of your trouble."

"She just took us to that dreadful place ... that awful aunt of hers who kept demanding money."

"You can't do what you did and get away without paying for it."

"I know. Well, Janine is living in London. She's got some miserable place. It's all she can afford. She said how lucky I was and she wanted me to give her fifty pounds, and then she would say nothing of what she knew about me."

"It's blackmail."

"Of course it's blackmail. You are not supposed to submit to that sort of thing, but what could I do? Mama would have been furious."

"I daresay she would have known how to deal with Janine."

"I knew how to deal with her. I had to give her fifty pounds to keep her quiet. I did ... and I haven't heard any more of her."

"It is terrible to think of Janine's stooping to that."

"It was awful. I had to pretend I was going to the dressmaker and I went to this place where she lives. It's in a little house in a place called Fiddler's Green. It's in a row of little houses. She's got rooms there. She says it's all she can afford. She said she wouldn't have asked if she hadn't been desperate. You see, the fire burned down the house that belonged to her aunt and all the contents of the place, too. Her aunt hadn't insured the place. She had only just succeeded in buying the house and all she had was tied up in it ... so there was nothing much for Janine. She said fifty pounds would set her on her feet. I found it hard to get the money together, but I did. And that's the end of it."

"I hope so," I said.

"Of course it will be."

"Blackmailers have a habit of coming back and asking for more."

"I shan't give her any more."

"You should never have given her anything in the first place. What you should have done was confessed to your mother. It is always unwise to submit to blackmail. I've heard that said many times."

"By people who are not being blackmailed, I suppose."

"Perhaps."

"Well, it was worth it to me to shut her up. She said she was going to marry that Hon... . whatever his name was ... and she would have been set up for life, for he was quite rich. But he died in the fire. It was just good luck for Janine that she was away that night."

I was thoughtful. "Lavinia," I said, "you will have to confess."

"Confess? Why ever should I?"

"Because it's got to come out. There's Fleur."

"She's all right. She's happy with those two nice old women."

"For the moment. But she will have to be educated. Polly and Eff will have to be paid for keeping her. Why don't you tell your mother?"

"Tell my mother! I don't think you know my mother."

"I assure you that everyone around here knows Lady Harriet very well."

"I just can't think what she would do."

"She would be horrified, but she would certainly do something, and something has to be done."

"I could never tell her."

"Your brother has seen Fleur."

"What?"

"I went to London and he was on the train. He saw where I was staying. He came there one day when I was taking Fleur out in her pram."

She had turned pale.

"He was suspicious," I said. "I want you to tell him the truth, because he suspects the baby is mine."

She tried to disguise the look of relief that came onto her face.

I went on, "You must tell him. He can't go on with this half-truth."

"Youdidn't tell him!"

"Of course not. But I do object to his sly references, and I think you ought to tell him the truth right away."

"I couldn't possibly tell him."

"Why not? I don't suppose he has led a blameless life."

"It's all right for men. It is girls who have to be so pure."

"Obviously there are some who are not. I don't suppose you are the only one who has indulged in premarital adventures."

"Oh, Drusilla, I do rely on you."

"Far too much. I am not going to be insulted by your brother."

"He wouldn't insult you."

"He would and he has ... and I want him to know the truth."

"I ... I'll think about it."

"If you don't tell him, I might be tempted to."

"Oh, Drusilla ... first Janine and now you ..."

"This is quite different. I'm not blackmailing you. I am merely asking you to tell the truth."

"Give me time. Just give me time. Oh, Drusilla, you have always been my best friend. Promise you won't say anything ... yet."

"I wouldn't say anything without telling you first, but I won't have your brother hinting ... at things."

"However did you let him guess there was a baby!"

"I told you ... he followed me."

"But why should he follow you? It could only be that he suspected something like this. It's not as though ..."

"I am the sort of girl men follow?" I finished for her. "Nobody could be interested in me, of course."

"Well," she began.

"Don't feel you have to wriggle out of that," I said. "I know I'm not the beauty you are."

"Well, there is that Mr. Brady. Mama thinks it would be most suitable."

"Do thank her for her concern," I said.

"She likes everything to run smoothly in the neighbourhood."

"I am sure she does. But I don't propose to be someone's neat ending to a problem."

"Oh ... look who's coming."

I looked and saw Dougal approaching us.

"Mama invited him," went on Lavinia. "Do you know, he is an earl now. Mama insisted that he come and stay."

I was pleased to see him. My friendship with him had been so refreshing and promising. His regard for me restored my faith in myself.

"Oh ... Drusilla ... Lavinia," he said. He was smiling at us. Lavinia was standing a little apart. The faint wind ruffled the tendrils and as she put up a hand to her hair the green material of her loose, rather Grecian-style gown flapped round her, clinging to her figure.

Dougal could not take his eyes from her. I saw the light in them and I remembered his adoration of beautiful objects.

He looked rather startled, as though he were seeing something for the first time. It was the new Lavinia, in her studiedly simple gown with her escaping curls and her tigerish eyes.

I knew in that moment that he had fallen in love with her or that he was on the brink of doing so.

The moment passed. He was smiling his gentle smile at me, asking how my father was, telling me that he would be soon coming to see us if he might.

I said my father would be delighted.

"I have discovered two new books on the Conquest," he said. "I must bring them over."

I was not thinking so much of the Norman Conquest as of Lavinia's.

I did not go into the house with them. I excused myself. "There is so much to do at the rectory."

"Even now you have that nice curate," said Lavinia a little roguishly. "I hear you and he get on very well together."

"He is very efficient," I said.

"I am so glad you came and that he is so nice," said Lavinia. "Well, see you soon, Drusilla. Drusilla and I are the greatest friends," she went on, turning to Dougal. "We always have been." Some spirit of mischief seemed to take hold of her. I think she knew of my feelings for Dougal. She was also aware that he had just been blinded by her great beauty. A few moments before she had been terrified that her secret might be revealed, but now she had forgotten the past and was revelling in the present. Admiration always stimulated her. "Drusilla and I were at school together. It was in France."

"I know," Dougal told her.

"That sort of thing draws people together," went on Lavinia. "We had some exciting times there, didn't we, Drusilla?"

She was laughing at me, triumphing over the spell she had cast on Dougal. She would have heard rumours of his attachment to the rectory and its inhabitants; she was savouring her triumph to such an extent that she forgot to be anxious about Janine.

I felt angry, humiliated and hurt. I went back sombrely to the rectory.

Mrs. Janson said, "That Lady Harriet is making a dead set at that Mr. Carruthers ... oh, beg his pardon, the Earl of Tenleigh if you please. Well, it stands to reason. That Miss Lavinia goes up to London. The most beautiful debutante, they say ... the Debutante of the Season. All very well, but where's this duke that Lady Harriet thinks she's going to get? All that season and not one in sight. I reckon that won't please her ladyship. An earl will have to do, and what's she doing going up to London when she's got one right on her own doorstep? I can tell you, there are some goings-on up at the House. Lady Harriet says he must come. She insists ... and earl as he is, he can't refuse Lady Harriet. I reckon something will come of this. Lady Harriet will see to it."

That was what I overheard, and when I appeared she was silent. I was sure that long ago they had paired me off with Dougal as a first and Colin Brady as a second.

Mrs. Janson liked Dougal and he had been a frequent visitor. They were sure he was, as they said, "sweet on me." But now Lady Harriet was making a rare fuss of Dougal. Mrs. Janson had it from the maids there. "Now that he's got this title and money it's been a leg up for him. Before, he was just a friend of Sir Fabian's ... treated just like one of them young boys from the school. Now it's a different matter. We didn't see him so much then ... Why, there was a time when he seemed to make the rectory his home."

He did come over to bring the books he had spoken of. My father was delighted to see him and they had long discussions together. I went in and joined them. I did fancy he was a little subdued with me. He made a special effort to include me in the conversation, whereas previously it had been done without effort. I remembered how we had talked just before he left, when I had been foolish enough to think that he was on the point of making a declaration.

It was a bitter blow to my pride rather than to my deep emotions. I was not sure what I really felt about Dougal, except that he was a very pleasant and interesting friend. I had allowed myself to envisage a future with him and I had believed it could be very rewarding. How foolish I had been! Of course, he liked to talk to me about things that interested him, and he would never be able to talk to Lavinia in that way. But that was not love. It was not what people married for. The beauty of Lavinia had suddenly struck him and he could not help but marvel at it.

I did not go over to the stables for I would not avail myself of Fabian's offer. I wanted to take nothing from him. Moreover, I avoided Framling, for fear of meeting him.

I was in the rectory garden one day when he came riding by.

"Drusilla," he called. "It is such a long time since I saw you."

I merely replied, "Good morning," and turned to go into the house.

"I trust you are well. And your father?"

"Thank you, yes."

"You know, of course, that Dougal is here."

"He has been to see my father."

"And you too, I daresay. I know what good friends you are."

I did not answer.

"I hope you are not still put out with me. I think I rather allowed my feeling to get the better of my good manners."

Still I did not answer.

"I am sorry," he went on humbly. "You must forgive me."

"It is of no importance. Please forget it."

"You are very generous."

"I must go in now."

"There is so much to do at the rectory." He spoke mockingly, finishing my sentence for me.

"That is true," I retorted sharply.

"There is quite a flutter of excitement at the House," he went on.

In spite of myself I waited to hear what had caused this.

"We are expecting them to announce it shortly."

I felt the blood rushing to my head.

"Lavinia and Dougal," he added. "My mother is delighted."

I looked at him steadily, my eyebrows raised.

He nodded, smiling—was it maliciously? "My mother says there is no need to delay ... long. Why should they? It is not as though they were strangers. They have known each other for a long time. They have suddenly realized how they feel. People do, you know. My mother is all for an early wedding. I am sure you will be pleased for them, for you know them both so well."

"It is most ... suitable."

"That's what my mother thinks."

I thought angrily: Yes, since Dougal acquired a title and a fortune and the London season did not produce anyone of higher rank.

"I daresay Lavinia will be coming over to tell you the good news. Dougal too, perhaps. They will want you to give them your blessing."

I felt a great need to get away from his probing eyes. I knew what he was telling me. You have lost Dougal. My mother will never let him slip out of her hands now. It was different before he came into this glory.

He raised his hand, inclined his head and, murmuring "Au revoir," rode off.

A month after the arrival of Dougal at Framling the engagement was announced between the Earl of Tenleigh and the beautiful Miss Lavinia Framling, the debutante of the season.

I did not go to Framling to congratulate Lavinia. She came to me. I could see at once that she was disturbed.

"What's the matter?" I asked. "You don't look like the happy betrothed."

"It's that woman ... Janine. She wants more money."

"I told you how it is with blackmailers. You should never submit in the first place."

"Why should this have happened to me?"

"You have to pay for your sins."

"I only did what a lot of people do." She was aggrieved and I felt a sudden anger sweep over me. She had had so much and now she had taken Dougal. I had analysed my feelings for him and I was desperately hurt. But I was honest enough to admit to myself that it was mainly my pride that had been wounded. It had been hard for me to realize that at first, for I had enjoyed his friendship and I had thought of eventual marriage as a pleasant prospect. It would have been a wonderful experience to be loved by a man whom I could trust.

But could I have trusted him if our close relationship, which might have developed into a serious commitment, could have been shattered by the appearance of a girl just because she happened to be outstandingly beautiful?

I whipped up my anger against Lavinia. These Framlings seemed to think the whole world was made for them. Lavinia believed she could commit the greatest indiscretion, have a child even and everyone should cover up for her and leave her to sail happily on. As for her brother, he had thought he could insult me and then come along and behave as though nothing untoward had happened.

I was tired of the Framlings.

"And," Lavinia, was saying, "I haven't come here to be quoted at from the Bible. I suppose that is in the Bible. You, Miss Know-all, would be aware of that."

"I'm sorry, Lavinia. You must get yourself out of your own troubles."

"Oh, Drusilla." She had run to me and flung her arms round my neck. "Help me, please. I know you can. I didn't mean to say those silly things. I'm at the end of my tether. I am really. If Mama or Dougal found out ... I'd just kill myself ... I've thought about jumping out of my window."

"You'd land on the furze bush, which would be very uncomfortable."

"Oh, help me, please, Drusilla."

"How can I?"

"I thought you might see her."

"I? What good would that do?"

"She likes you. She thinks you're interesting. She told me you were worth a dozen of me. I know she's right."

"Thanks. I'll remember that. But talking to her would do no good."

"It might ... if you did."

"What could I say?"

"You could tell her how good I've been so far and if she would wait a little time ... until I'm married ... I'll be very rich and I'll do something for her then. I will. I promise."

"I don't think she would believe in your promises, Lavinia."

"You promise for me. Tell her you'll be a sort of witness and you'll make sure she gets the money. It is only a matter of waiting."

"I think you should go to your mother or your brother or Dougal and tell the truth."

"How could I? Dougal might refuse to marry me."

"I believe he is a very understanding young man."

"He wouldn't understand. He'd be furious. He believes in perfection."

"He has a shock waiting for him when he marries you."

"I am going to try to be a good wife to him."

What a fool he is! I thought. He wants to marry Lavinia without knowing her. Even the village idiot would know better than that; and Dougal is supposed to be clever! Well, he would discover, I thought, with a certain satisfaction—and Lavinia was not the sort to change just because she was married to the indulgent husband he would probably be.

Lavinia went on pleadingly, "We've been such good friends ... ever since we met."

"I remember the time well. You were not the most charming of hostesses. It is rather unwise of you to recall that occasion if you are trying to show the loving nature of our relationship."

"Stop being clever, Drusilla. You are too clever and always showing off. Men don't like it. I never do that."

"You are showing off, as you call it, all the time."

"Yes, but only in the right way. Drusilla, stop beating about the bush. Do say you'll help me. I know you will in the long run. You are just making me suffer."

"But what can I do?"

"I told you. Go and see Janine. Explain to her."

"Why don't you?"

"How could I go to London? You could ... easily. You can just say you have gone to see Polly."

I hesitated. I always felt better after a visit to Polly. She would understand how I felt about Dougal's engagement. I had no need to go into explanations with Polly. I could talk to her as I could to myself. I could see Fleur. The child was beginning to get a hold on me. She could pronounce her version of my name. Polly had written, "You should hear Eff go on at her. Who's got a nice Aunty Drusilla, eh? Whose Aunty Drusilla is coming to see her soon?' That's how she goes on." Yes, it would be wonderful to be with Polly, Eff and Fleur. Moreover, I had a raging curiosity to see Janine.

Lavinia could see that I was wavering.

"You love Fleur," she said. "She's a little darling."

"How do you know? You never see her."

"I'm going to ... when I get this sorted out. When I know Dougal better I'll tell him. I will, really. I know he'll say I can have her with me."

"That would be the last thing Fleur would want. Don't you understand that children are not pieces to be moved round a board as people want to for their convenience?"

"You're being the governess again."

"Somebody has to try to teach you a few facts of life."

"I know. I'm wicked. But I can't help it. I'm trying to be good. Once I'm married to Dougal I shall settle down. Oh please ... please, Drusilla."

"Where does she live?"

"I've written it down. I went there to take the fifty pounds. I'll tell you how to get there. It's not so very far from Polly's place."

I took the address. "Fiddler's Green, Number 20," said Lavinia. "It's easy to find."

"Did you take a cab?"

"Yes, I did. The driver looked surprised, but I made him wait for me to come back. I didn't want anyone to know where I was. It was awful . . '. and then ... her. She sneered at me. She kept calling me the Countess. Then she told me I had to find the money, for if I didn't come with it she was going to let the world know what I had done. She said I had deserted my child and a lot of other unpleasant things. I said I hadn't. I'd found a good home for the child. She said, 'Drusilla found that. You would probably have left her on someone's doorstep so that you could go on with your life.' I told her she was wrong. I did care about Fleur and when I was married I was going to take her. I know it will be all right once I am married."

"I shall not come to your wedding, Lavinia. It's such a mockery really. Have you thought how you are deceiving Dougal? You will be standing there in virginal white ..."

"Oh, shut up. Are you going to help me or not? Can't you see how miserable I am?"

"I can't do anything. / haven't any money."

"I'm not saying give her money. I just know if you talked to her she'd listen to reason."

"No, she wouldn't."

"She would. She has always admired you. I know you can persuade her. Please, Drusilla, go to London. You know how you like to see Polly and Fleur. Please, Drusilla."

And then I knew I had to go.

I considered what I should say. It gave me something to think about. The wedding plans were going ahead, as Lady Harriet did not see why there should be any delay. I might not be exactly in love with Dougal, but I did not want to hear about them.

I said to my father, "I think I will go and see Polly."

"I know." He smiled. "You want to go and see that child they have adopted. You are very fond of her, are you not?"

"Well, yes ... and I am very fond of Polly."

"A good woman," he said. "Somewhat forthright, but good at heart."

I went, and as usual Polly was delighted to see me. I did not tell her where I intended to go, for I felt she would try to dissuade me. She would think I should not involve myself further in Lavinia's affairs. I had done so once and that had brought them Fleur and she could not regret that; but, as she would have said, once is enough.

I took a cab to Fiddler's Green. The driver looked at me in surprise but did not comment. I asked him to wait for me—not outside the house, but a little distance away.

He looked at me as though he thought I was on some nefarious mission. I wondered whether Lavinia had had the same experience.

I found my way to No. 20 Fiddler's Green. It was a tall house showing signs of what must have been an attempt at grandeur; but now the stucco was broken away and what should have been white was a dirty grey. Four steps leading to the front door were broken away; two mangy-looking stone lions stood on guard. Lavinia had told me to knock three times, which meant that I wanted Janine, who was on the third floor.

I did so and waited. It seemed a long time before Janine appeared.

She stared at me for a few seconds in amazement. Then she cried, "Drusilla! Whatever made you come here?" She lifted her shoulders. "You'd better come in," she added.

I was in a dingy passage with a staircase facing me. The carpet on the stairs was showing signs of wear and was threadbare in places.

We went up three flights and the carpet grew shabbier as we rose. She threw open a door to disclose a fairly large room, sparsely furnished. She turned to me, grimacing. "Now you see how the poor and needy live."

"Oh, Janine," I said, "I'm so sorry."

"Just my luck. Everything went wrong for me."

"I've wanted to know what happened since I heard of the fire."

"Everything lost ... Aunt Emily dead ... and all those people with her. That stupid George. It was his fault, you know. I told her how dangerous he was and that we should all be burned in our beds one night."

"Yes, he was certainly dangerous."

"Dangerous! He destroyed everything for Aunt Emily ... and for me, too. I was going to marry Clarence ... Oh, I know he was simple, but he adored me. He would have given me anything ... anything I asked. And then he died ... killed by that stupid George."

"He didn't know what he was doing. Oh, Janine, what a blessing that you weren't there on that night."

"Sometimes I've almost wished I had been."

"Don't say that."

"I do say it. How would you like to live in a place like this?"

"Do you have to?"

"What do you mean ... do I have to? Do you think I would if I didn't have to?"

"Surely there is something you can do? People of education usually become governesses."

"Well, I don't intend to."

"What will you do then?"

"I'm planning. It made me mad when I saw all that fuss over Lavinia Framling. When you think of her ... and that child ... and there she is queening it over everyone. It's not fair."

"One has to make up one's mind that life never is fair."

"I intend to get something out of it anyway."

"She told me you had asked her for money."

"She would! And why shouldn't she give me something? I helped her. Where would she have been without me? I reckon the noble Earl would not be so keen if he knew he was getting soiled goods."

"Don't be bitter, Janine."

"It's not so much bitterness as sound thinking. She has everything. I have nothing. Well, then, I think it is about time I took a share."

"You will regret this, Janine."

"I am sure I shall not. I want to start a business. I could, I am sure. Making hats. I think I'm quite clever at it. I know someone who has a little shop. If I could find the money I could go in with her. I have to have the money and I don't see why Miss Lavinia Framling should not provide me with some of it."

"You'll need more than fifty pounds."

She looked cunning. "I intend to have it."

"It's blackmail, you know, and that is a crime."

"Would she take me to court? That would be nice, wouldn't it? Miss Lavinia Framling bringing a charge against someone who knew she had an illegitimate child whose existence she was keeping secret. I can see her doing that, can't you?"

"Janine, it is not the way."

"You tell me another."

"I should think you could work ... work and save. You'd be happier that way."

"I certainly should not. In some ways you are a simpleton, Drusilla. The way you've worked to keep that little matter a secret ... and all for her. She's thoroughly selfish. Do you think she would have helped you in the same way?"

"No."

"Then why bother? Let her pay up or take what's coming to her."

She looked fierce and very angry, and I knew there was nothing I could say to divert her.

I looked round the room and she noticed my glance.

"Grim, isn't it?" she said. "You can see why I want to get out of it."

"I do, of course, and I am very sorry. Where were you that night?"

"You remember the Duchess?"

"Yes, I do."

"Her family decided they would take her back. They might have been ashamed of themselves dumping her on Aunt Emily like that—but I think perhaps it was something to do with money. They wanted to have her under their noses so that she couldn't make a will leaving it all to someone else. They didn't trust Aunt Emily. They weren't far wrong on that one. I had to take her home. There was no one else. It was too long a journey to make in one day, so I was to stay the night at the family's stately home. It was a bit different from this, I can tell you."

I nodded.

"So, you see, that's what happened. Everything gone in the fire. The house would have been mine. That was worth something. I could have started some business. But I wouldn't have had to because I would have married Clarence. I'd have been set up for life and now ... nothing. The place wasn't insured. How could Aunt Emily have been so foolish with madmen like George about!"

"But you were lucky not to be there."

"If you can call it luck."

"I've come to ask you to think again."

She shook her head. "No, she's got to pay. She has to give me some of what she's got."

"She doesn't have a large allowance."

"Then I want a share of what she's got, and when she marries her noble lord ..."

"Do you mean you will go on demanding money? You told her that the fifty pounds she gave you would be all."

"Well, it's not. I'm desperate, Drusilla. I'm not going to let a chance like this go by."

"You won't do it, Janine, I know you won't. You'll stop it. Whatever you feel—and I do understand your bitterness—it is wrong."

"It's right for me. It's time someone taught Lavinia Framling a lesson. She always thought she was superior to the rest of us because of that red hair."

"Oh, Janine! Listen. I shall come to see you again. I could take you back with me to the rectory. You could have a holiday with us. We might be able to find some work for you to do. We know a number of people, and if you were recommended by a rector it would be a help. You could stay with us until you found work. Leave this place ..."

She shook her head. "You are good, Drusilla," she said rather gently. "You are worth twenty of Lavinia."

I smiled. "My value has gone up. You told Lavinia twelve."

"I overestimated her. Actually she's not worth anything at all. I'm sorry for this earl. He's going to have a nice dance with her. She's one who can't leave the men alone. I've seen one or two of those in my time."

"I think she may settle down when she marries."

"I know you were top of the class, Drusilla, but you are a babe in arms when it comes to the facts of life."

"Do listen to me."

"I have."

"So you are going on with this ... blackmail."

"I'm going on getting money until I set myself up."

"It's a mistake."

"I'll be judge of that. Did you keep a cab waiting?"

"Yes."

"You'd better go then. He might not wait. He wouldn't believe anyone who came here would be able to pay him. He'll think you've made off."

"He didn't seem to think so and he said he would wait."

"I appreciate what you have done."

"If I hear of anything I shall come along and let you know."

She smiled at me and shook her head.

And that was all I could do at the time with Janine Fletcher, but I did not give up hope.

I avoided telling Polly where I had been. I knew she would have disapproved and told me to keep away. But I was sorry for Janine. I think in a way I always had been. She had had such a strange life; there appeared to have been little affection from Aunt Emily. Janine had been sent to an expensive school because Aunt Emily had had plans for a rich marriage and she must have intended to select one of her clients for her. Poor Clarence had been an ideal young man for the case. Oblivious of what was going on, affectionate to anyone who showed him kindness and rich into the bargain. He was like a puppet to be manipulated, and Aunt Emily had performed the manipulation with skill. And now ... instead of making a desirable marriage, poor Janine was alone and penniless; so she had taken to that most despicable of crimes: blackmail.

I wrote to Lavinia and told her that I had made little headway with Janine. She was adamant.

I could image Lavinia's dismay on reading that letter. She would rage against Janine and perhaps against me for failing to perform the mission satisfactorily. But she had to know the truth.

Polly said, "Is anything wrong, love?"

"No. Why should there be?"

"You seem ... thoughtful. You can tell me, you know. That Dougal ... he seems a bit of a fool to me ... to be taken in by that Lavinia. I like a real man, I must say, one who can see what's what and is not going to make a fool of himself. I think you were a little bit fond of him."

"He is a very charming man, Polly, and clever."

She sniffed. "Bit of a jackass, if you ask me."

"Lots of men fall in love with beauty. Lavinia is really lovely. Going to Court has done a great deal for her and she has some exquisite clothes."

"Men don't marry clothes-horses ... not if they've got any sense."

"Polly, I was not in love with Dougal Carruthers and he did not throw me aside to marry Lavinia. He had never asked me to marry him."

"I thought ..."

"Then you thought wrongly. Lavinia will be a countess. Can you see me as one?"

"Why not? I reckon you could be Queen of England if you wanted to."

"I don't think Prince Albert would think so. And I shouldn't fancy him either ... even if Her Majesty was willing to abdicate in my favour."

"Oh, you!" she said, smiling. "But you know there's nothing you can't tell me."

I tried to forget Lavinia's affairs. I concentrated on Fleur, who was more enchanting than ever. I used to sit by the kitchen fire in the evenings and neither Polly nor Eff omitted to mention every day how well the fire drew nowadays, throwing a glance at the bellows which had pride of place nearby. I listened to their cosy talk while they heated the poker and put it red hot into the stout; and then I felt a certain peace. Somewhere at the back of my mind was the fact that I should always find a home where I would be loved and cherished. I had Polly, Eff and Fleur. In my most despondent moments I should never forget that.

One day Eff said, "Second Floor 32 says her relation is the Honourable Mrs. Somebody."

"Honourable my foot," said Polly. "That one's always going on about her high-class relations."

"She's got breeding," said Eff. "I know about these things."

On such matters Polly had to bow to Eff's superior knowledge. "Well, what about her?" she added, conceding the point by implication.

"This cousin ... or somebody's going abroad. Oh, hoity toity, she is ... connected with the highest in the land. This cousin, or whatever she is, is looking for a companion to take abroad with her ... have to be a lady and know how to manage things."

I had been in a soporific mood, watching the leaping flames and seeing pictures in them, when suddenly I was alert. A companion to travel ... to get right away. Janine, I said to myself.

"It sounds like a good post," I said aloud.

"Good post!" retorted Eff. "It's one in a million. Now if I had been young ... before I met Him ... it's just the sort of thing I would have jumped at."

"Why, you always hated foreigners, Eff," said Polly with a little laugh.

"They're all right in their own country and that's where I'd be seeing them."

I was still thinking of Janine.

I said excitedly, "One of my old schoolfellows is rather hard up. She is looking for a post. I was with her the other day."

"You didn't say," said Polly. "Did you run into her somewhere?"

"Yes. I know she needs work. I wonder if ..."

"I tell you what," said Eff. "You find out if she'd like the job and I'll have a word with Second Floor 32. Perhaps we could arrange a meeting."

"I should like to do that."

"Do you know where she lives?"

"Yes, I have her address. I might write."

"It would be a feather in Second Floor 32's cap if she found this educated young woman and she turned out to be just what they was looking for."

I asked a few questions about Second Floor 32, who was, according to Eff, "the genuine article, a lady who had come down in the world."

If I wrote to Janine she would tear the letter up, I guessed. If I talked to her it might just possibly be different. Perhaps I flattered myself, but I did imagine I had made some impression on her.

The next day I took a cab and did the same as before. I was deposited in the same spot and made my way to No. 20 Fiddler's Green. I walked quickly, making up my mind what I would say to Janine as I went along.

As I came into the street I noticed a group of people standing near No. 20. They looked at me curiously as I approached. I mounted the broken steps and knocked three times on the door.

It was opened by a man. He said, "What do you want?"

"I have come to see my friend Miss Janine Fletcher," I told him.

His expression became alert. "You'd better come in," he said.

I went in. A woman opened a door and looked at me.

"Better wait here," said the man.

He went up the stairs. It was very strange. I could not understand what it meant. The woman was looking at me. "Terrible, ain't it?" she murmured. "A young woman like that."

"What happened?"

"She must have been up to something. It's not good for the house."

I was getting very worried. I knew something awful had happened to Janine.

I heard the sound of a carriage drawing up at the door.

"That's them," said the woman. "They've come to take her away."

"I don't understand," I said.

There was a knocking on the door. As the woman went to open it the man who had let me in appeared on the stairs.

There were two men at the door carrying a stretcher.

"It's all right," said the man on the stairs. "Come up."

They went up the stairs carrying the stretcher. The woman had retreated into her room, but she left the door open. I was still standing in the hall.

There was a movement from upstairs. The men emerged with the stretcher; they were carrying someone on it this time —a body covered with a sheet. As they passed me I caught a glimpse of sandy-coloured hair. It was matted with blood.

I knew that under that sheet lay Janine.

A man followed the stretcher bearers down the stairs. He came to me and said, "I am a police officer. I am here to investigate the death of Miss Janine Fletcher. What are you doing here?"

"I came to see her."

"You are a friend of hers?"

I felt sick. I tried to suppress the thought that persisted in my mind. I was telling myself that Lavinia had done this. She would never get away with it ... never.

"I was at school with her," I heard myself say.

"Do you visit her often?"

"No. I came once before."

"When?"

"Three days ago."

"And she was all right then? Did she seem frightened? Worried?"

I shook my head.

"Where do you live?"

I gave him the rectory address.

"You have come some way to visit Miss Fletcher."

"I am staying with my old nurse for a few days."

A younger man had joined us and the first said to him, "Take the lady's address. We shall be wanting to ask you a few questions as we shall be visiting you at some time. Please re­main in London."

"Well, I have to go back ..."

"We must ask you to stay. You may have something important to tell us. It is necessary."

I murmured, "I'll stay."

My legs were trembling and I felt myself sway a little. I wanted to run away from this macabre scene. There was so much I wanted to know. How had this happened? Who had done it? Whom did they suspect? I kept saying to myself: You would never do this, Lavinia. You always left others to do your dirty work.

The man turned to the other who had joined us. "Oh, Smithson," he said, "take the young lady to the cab she is alleged to have waiting for her." And to me, "One of our men will be wanting to ask you a few questions about your relationship with the deceased. It's just a formality."

I was only too glad to escape. I noticed the man who was accompanying me was very young and he looked a little nervous.

"Bit of a shock," he said as we walked away.

"I feel ... shaky."

"I'm a bit nervous myself," he admitted. "It's my first murder."

Murder! It was a word that set me shivering. I could not believe it. Janine! To think that we had all been to school together and now ... in a short time Lavinia had become a mother and Janine ... a corpse. I tried to shut out the idea that these two facts were in some way connected.

As we moved away a young man approached us. He took off his hat and bowed.

"May I ask you if you are a friend of the young lady?" he asked.

I thought he was another policeman and I said, "Yes."

"Would you tell me your name?"

I told him and he produced a notebook from his pocket.

"Do you live near here?"

"No ... in the country. I'm just staying here."

"Interesting. Did you know the young lady well?"

"We were at school together. I have just told your people this."

"Just a few questions. We have to get this right, you see." He went on, "Where abouts in the country?"

I gave him the address of the rectory.

"So you are the rector's daughter?"

I nodded.

"And you were at school together. Have you any idea why anyone would want to kill your friend?"

"No," I said emphatically.

My escort nudged me. "You're talking to the press," he whispered.

"You needn't worry about that, Miss," the other assured me. "Just a few questions, that's all."

I stammered, "I thought you were connected with the police."

He smiled disarmingly. "There is a sort of connection," he said.

"I don't want to say anything more. I know nothing about this."

He nodded, smiling, lifted his hat and walked away.

I felt I had behaved in a very indiscreet manner.

The young man walked with me to where the cab was waiting. He came with me back to the house.

"You should never talk to the press," he said. "We don't like it. We like to give them the information we want them to have."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

He blushed. He did not like to admit that the identity of the reporter had not immediately dawned on him.

His parting words struck a note of doom. "I reckon you'll be hearing from us soon," he said. "They'll have to check up and all that."

Polly and Eff were in the hall wondering what had happened.

"Here," said Polly, "what's all this? Who was that young man with you?"

"A policeman," I said.

Polly turned pale.

Eff said, "Police here. What's police doing with respectable people? What are the neighbours going to think?"

Polly interrupted her. "Get a drop of brandy. Can't you see how upset she is?"

I was lying on my bed and Polly was seated beside me. I had told her everything that had happened.

"My goodness," she murmured. "This is something. Murder, eh? That Janine, she was a nasty piece of work if you was to ask me, going round blackmailing people."

"I feel sure her death has something to do with that, Polly."

"Shouldn't be surprised. Do you reckon that Lavinia had a hand in this?"

I shook my head. "I can't believe that."

"I'd believe anything of that piece of goods ... and this will put paid to her and her great romance if it's true. I reckon not even the mighty Framlings would be able to hush this up."

"Oh, Polly, it's terrible."

"I only hope to God you can keep out of it. What a pity you went there. Don't want to be mixed up in this sort of thing."

"I'm afraid I am involved now, Polly."

"That Lavinia ... she spells trouble. I think there's a very good chance she has had a hand in this."

"I can't believe it, Polly. She would lie if necessary ... but I am sure she could not commit murder. She could never bring herself to do it. Where would she get a gun?"

"They'd have guns at Framling. That wouldn't be hard for her. I reckon she's capable of doing anything to save her own skin. I'm not telling Eff any of this. She'd go stark raving mad if she thought we'd be having the police here."

"Perhaps I'd better go back to the rectory."

"It would be worse still there. No, I'm keeping you here till this blows over."

I just clung to her. I was bewildered and frightened. I could not get out of my mind the thought of Janine lying under that sheet ... dead.

The police came. They asked more questions. What did I know of Janine's life? What friends had she? I told them I knew nothing of her friends. I had met her only a few days ago for the first time since we left school.

"She was the daughter of a Miss Fletcher, who ran a nursing home."

"That was her aunt," I said.

The two policemen exchanged glances.

I thought: They discover everything. They will learn who Fleur is. This is going to be terrible for Lavinia ... and just when she was about to get married.

I was so relieved when they went, but there was worse to come. Polly saw it first in the morning paper and she knew then that it was no use trying to keep it from Eff.

She read it to me in a shaky voice: " 'Who was Janine Fletcher? Why should someone take this young girl's life? I had the opportunity of speaking with an old school friend of hers. This was Miss Drusilla Delany who is at present staying with her onetime nurse.' They've given this address." Polly went on: "She is the daughter of the rector of Framling and was on a visit to her school friend when she found her lying on a stretcher being conducted out of her lodgings. Janine had been shot through the head. Miss Delany said she knew of no one who would want to kill her friend. Janine was the daughter of Miss Emily Fletcher, who ran an exclusive nursing home for the well-to-do in the New Forest. Police at the moment are saying nothing, but it is rumoured that they have hopes of an early arrest."

Polly finished reading and looked at me in dismay.

"Oh, Polly," I said, "it's terrible."

"I wonder if they'll find out about Fleur. Police has noses for sniffing out nasty tit-bits."

"It would be terrible, just as the wedding is about to take place. I do hope Lavinia is not involved in this. I am sure she isn't, but all sort of things could come out."

"It might be better for that earl or whatever he is to know something about the girl he's marrying before the ceremony. He'll find out quite enough after, I shouldn't wonder."

"Oh, Polly ... I'm frightened."

"Nothing for you to be frightened of. If anything comes out you've got to stand up and tell the truth. Never mind covering up for Madam Lavinia. It's time she came out in the open."

It was comforting to be with her, but I felt I should return to the rectory, for I knew how concerned Eff was for the respectability of the house. Polly was, too, but her love for me overcame her desire for respectability.

It was the day after we read that piece in the paper when Fabian appeared at the house. I heard the knock and I had an uneasy feeling that it might be the police. I went to open it and there was Fabian.

"Good afternoon," he said, stepping into the hall without invitation. "I want to talk to you."

"But ..." I began.

"Where can we go?" he asked.

I took him into the parlour, that prim little room with the straight velvet-backed chairs and the sofa to match, the whatnot with the precious ornaments on it—dusted only by Eff— the marble mantelpiece, the aspidistra in the big brown pot on the table standing by the window and the paper flowers in the vase in the fireplace. It was the unlived-in room, the sanctum of respectability used for callers, interviewing would-be tenants and, sometimes, on very special occasions, Sunday afternoon tea.

"What has brought you here?" I asked.

"Need you ask? I've seen the paper. This girl ... Janine ... what has she to do with you?"

"If you read the paper you would know that we were at school together."

"The girl's been murdered ... and you were there at the time."

"I arrived after she was dead."

"After she was murdered," he said. "Good God! What does it mean?"

"I think that is what the police are deciding."

"But you have been mentioned in regard to this case."

"I happened to be there. I was questioned."

"The police don't question just to be sociable, you know. The fact that they questioned you means they think you know something."

"I did know her. I was going to call on her."

"For what purpose?"

"Purpose? She was an old school friend."

"Just renewing acquaintance? I want to know the truth. Do you hear me? You can't go on lying forever. You'd better tell me. I insist on knowing."

At that moment the door burst open and Polly stood there. She told me afterwards that she had heard him come in and had been listening at the door.

She stood there, her cheeks aflame, her arms akimbo.

"Now, Sir High and Mighty Whatever Your Name Is, I'm going to tell you a few things. I'll not have you coming here and upsetting my girl. She's worth the lot of you all tied up in a bundle, and I wouldn't give you tuppence for it either."

He was taken aback, but I saw the amused look in his eyes.

"Polly!" I said reproachfully.

"No. You let me have my say. I've had enough of this, if you haven't. I'm going to tell these Framlings a thing or two.

Coming here ... upsetting you. He's going to have the truth."

"Nothing would please me more," said Fabian.

"Oh! You won't be so pleased when you hear it, I can tell you, and if them policemen come here trying to trap Drusilla into saying what they want, I'll tell them, too. Drusilla's done a lot for your sister. Whose child do you think it is we've got here? Your sister's, that's whose. Drusilla tried to help her and gets insulted for it. Who was it went away with her to that home? Pretending they were at Princess something or other's place? Who was it brought the baby to me? It was plain to me when they come here that your sister didn't know the difference between a baby and a pound of butter—and cared just about as much. So I am not having you here bullying Drusilla. You go back and bully your sister. She's the cause of the trouble."

He said, "Thank you for telling me." He turned to me. "This is true, I suppose?"

"Of course it's true," cried Polly. "Are you calling me a liar?"

"No, Madam, but I thought a little corroboration might be in order."

"Now we're in this bother and it's all along of your sister. So don't you start accusing Drusilla of nothing, because I won't have that, either."

"You are quite right," he said, "and I am indebted to you. It is an unpleasant situation and I want to do all I can to help."

"H'm," said Polly, slightly mollified. "It's about time, too."

"Yes. Once more you are right. Do you think I might have a little talk with Miss Delany?"

"That's for her to say."

"Yes, certainly," I said.

I was trembling slightly. Polly's revelations had staggered me, but I was glad that he knew, and that I was not the one who had betrayed Lavinia.

Polly said, "Well, I'll take myself off." She looked at me. "Will you be all right?"

"Yes, Polly, thank you."

The door shut on us.

"A redoubtable lady," he said. "So now I have the truth. I think you should tell me more about this. You see, I am deeply involved through my sister. It happened in France, did it?"

"Yes."

"A Frenchman?"

I nodded.

"You knew him?"

"I saw him once or twice."

"I see. And my foolish sister asked for your help."

"Janine Fletcher was a girl at school. She had an aunt."

"So you lied about going to Lindenstein. I knew you hadn't been there, of course."

"Yes. You tried to trap me. And you had some idea of what really happened."

"When I saw the child ..."

"And you thought that I ..."

"It seemed hard to believe."

"Yet you did."

He did not answer. Then he said, "This girl ... Janine ... what do you think happened?"

"I don't know."

"You came along just after. Why?"

"I was trying to talk to her."

"About Lavinia. Was she blackmailing Lavinia?"

I was silent. I did not want to betray her, but of course Polly had already done that.

He was serious now. "My God!" he said. "But she wasn't here. She was at Framling. It must have been ... someone else."

"You mean ..."

"Did that woman have other girls there in the same position?"

"There were some."

"What a mess! It is a pity you were seen there. I am glad I know. I shall keep in touch. I shall be in London. I'll give you the address of my place in town. Get a message to me if anything develops."

He looked really anxious. I imagined he was thinking of the scandal if anything came out about Lavinia's staying at the nursing home and for what reason. That would be headline news. I only rated a mention and a short paragraph. Lavinia's reputation would be in ruins. I could see that her brother was prepared to prevent that at all costs.

I felt a certain relief. I had great confidence in his powers to help. He would be strong and resourceful. Of course, he was only concerned about protecting his sister, but in doing so he would look after me at the same time.

He said he would go now. He took my hands and smiled at me; it was almost like an apology for his behaviour in the past. I was glad that at last he knew the truth and I had not been the one to tell him.

There was no news of the case—just brief references. The police were pursuing their enquiries. There was no more visits from them.

Fabian called at the house. Eff let him in. She was not at all displeased.

"Eff's a rare one for a title," Polly explained. "You'll hear her going on to Second Floor about Sir Fabian calling. She thinks it's good for the house. He looks the part too. I hope he's behaving right."

"Oh yes," I assured her.

"Don't you put up with any old truck from him."

"No, I won't."

He wanted to talk to me about the child, he told me. Those two women had looked after her from birth, had they? I told him they had.

I knew by his attitude that he had a respect for Polly. I think he quite enjoyed her manner of dealing with him, although what she had to impart had been unpalatable. He had seemed faintly amused to contemplate the rector's daughter having stepped out of line; it was not quite so amusing for his own sister.

"It's a little girl, isn't it?"

"Yes. You should meet your niece. Apart from that one encounter on the green you have not seen her."

"I want to meet her. And those two have looked after her, fed her ... clothed her ..."

"They have also loved her," I said.

"Poor child! What would she have done without them ... and you?"

"Lavinia would have had to make some arrangements, but none could have been so good for Fleur as Polly and her sister."

"I want to make sure that they are compensated for what they have done."

"You mean ... money?"

"I did mean that. They cannot be wealthy enough to take care of other people's children. It must be a costly business."

"They are, as they would say, comfortably off. They let rooms and Eff is a good businesswoman. Polly, too. They work hard and enjoy the fruits of their labours. They might be offended if they thought you believed they were in need of money."

"But they have taken the child!"

"They did that for me, because ..."

"Because they made the same mistake as I did. You see, I was not such a villain after all if Polly ... who is so close to you ... Well, perhaps that sort of thing can happen to anyone."

"Perhaps."

"We all have our unguarded moments." He was smiling at me quizzically. Then he said briskly, "I shall find a way of recompensing these good women. Will you talk to them for me? I am afraid I should never be allowed to state my case. They might listen to you."

I said I would speak to them

They were both rather indignant when I told them.

"Who does he think he is?" demanded Polly. "We don't want his money. We've had Fleur since she was a baby. She's ours ... If you took money from a man like that you'd have him dictating ... telling you what you'd got to do. No, we're not having that."

Eff conceded, "It was good of SirFabian to suggest it." She always made the most of the 'Sir' when talking to Second Floor 32 and fell into the habit with us.

"Look, Polly," I said, "you're all right now ... but suppose things didn't go so well. You have to think of Fleur and there will be school and all that."

"I wouldn't want her going to one of them foreign places. A lot of good it did to that Lavinia."

But Eff was more practical. I think Polly's emotions dulled her perception to some extent. She had marked Fabian out as a smooth seducer and she had made up her mind that he had designs on me. She was very wary of him.

However, when Fabian suggested that he should set up an account for them on which they could draw at any time they needed money for Fleur, they at length agreed.

"Not that we'll touch it," said Polly.

"But it's nice to know it's there," added the practical Eff.

During the following week I saw a good deal of him. I had to admit that he was a help and that he comforted me. The fact that he was there and knew the truth took a great weight off my mind.

No one else from the police came to see me. There was little in the papers about the case. It was good to know that if any crisis arose Fabian would be there.

I grew to know a little more of him. He used to visit the house and Eff, with a certain pride, would serve tea in the parlour. I think she was rather proud to show it off. When he was coming, fresh antimacassars were put on the velvet chairs and there was an extra polish on the brass; the ornaments on the what-not were carefully dusted. "We don't want that Sir Fabian to think we don't know what's what." I was secretly amused at the thought of his examining the little bits of china on the what-not and assessing the brightness of the brass of the candlesticks. But I liked to see Eff's pleasure in entertaining the titled gentleman and Polly's suspicions of him, which were an indication of her love and concern for me.

He seemed to change a little. He met Fleur, who took quite a liking to him, which surprised me, for he found it difficult to communicate with her and appeared to make no attempt to do so.

"Say hello, Sir Fabian," Eff urged; and Fleur did with a halting charm. She put her hands on his knees and gazed up at him with a sort of wonder. It was very amusing. I thought there was a look of the Framlings about Fleur. She had failed to inherit Lavinia's tawny hair, but I thought she would be a beauty like her mother.

"A pleasant-looking child," was Fabian's comment.

"She seemed to sense that she was related to you," I told him.

"Surely not?"

"Who knows? You are her uncle."

Effie brought in tea, which I took alone with Fabian. I guessed Polly was hovering. As she would say, she wouldn't trust him and he might get up to some "hanky panky."

We talked of Lavinia's coming marriage, which would be very soon now. Lavinia would have heard of Janine's death, as it had been reported in the papers. I wondered what she was thinking. If I knew her, she would be mightily relieved on one hand, but on the other she must be wondering what could come out about Janine. I wondered if it occurred to her that if Janine was blackmailing her she might be doing the same to other people. Surely she must be suffering some anxiety.

Fabian would have to return for the wedding.

"I think," he told me, "you would be expected to attend."

"I am not sure whether that is necessary. She will have heard about Janine. I wonder how she is feeling."

"She doesn't let much worry her, but even she must be having some uneasy moments. Thank God she was in Framling when the woman was killed and there can be no question of accusations being brought against her."

"Do you think she will tell Dougal?"

"No, I do not."

"Do you think she should?"

"It is a matter for her to decide."

"Shouldn't he know?"

"I can see you are a stickler for morality."

"Aren't you?"

"I am for good common sense."

"And morality does not always fit in with that?"

"I would not say that. Each situation has to be judged on its own. You cannot generalize about such matters."

"Do you think it is right ... or even wise ... for a woman who has a child to marry and not mention that child to her husband?"

"If the woman in question was a virtuous one she would not have had the child in the first place, so you must not expect exemplary conduct from her afterwards. It is a matter for Lavinia to decide."

"And Dougal ... isn't he being deceived?"

"Yes. But perhaps he would prefer not to know."

"Do you really think so? Would you in similar circumstances?"

"I find it exceedingly difficult to put myself in Dougal's place. I am not Dougal. I am myself. Dougal is a good, worthy man. I am sure he has lived an exemplary life. I cannot say the same for myself. Therefore I take a different view from the one he would take. I believe that it is better to get through life as easily as one can ... and if ignorance is more soothing than knowledge, let's remain in the dark."

"What a strange philosophy!"

"I am afraid you disapprove of me."

"I am sure there are very few things you are afraid of and my approval or disapproval is not one of them."

"I would always welcome your good opinion."

I laughed. I was feeling much easier with him. I looked forward to his visits and I was continually warning myself not to become too interested in him. I had had one warning with Dougal. He had seemed the perfect gentleman; Fabian was not that, but I found him, if anything, more interesting. The sub­jects raised by Dougal had fascinated me, but it was Fabian himself who attracted me.

I was on dangerous ground. Polly knew it; that was why she was watchful.

It was evening. Fleur was in bed, and I was sitting with Polly and Eff by the kitchen fire. Eff had just commented on how well it was drawing these days, when there was a knock on the door.

Eff rose in dismay. She never liked anyone to catch her using the kitchen as a living room.

"One of the tenants," she said. "First Floor Back, bet you anything."

She composed herself, putting on the special dignity she reserved for tenants, and went to the door.

Polly followed her with me in the wake.

It was not First Floor Back but one of the others, and she was clutching a newspaper.

"I thought you might not have heard the latest," she was saying excitedly. "It's the Janine Fletcher case."

We all went into the parlour. Polly had seized the newspaper and spread it out on the table. We all gathered round. It was on the front page, Stop Press News.

"Startling Developments in the Janine Fletcher Case. Police think they have solution."

That was all.

"Well, well," said Eff. "It was kind of you, Mrs. Tenby."

"Well, I thought you'd want to know. And Miss Delany ... you'd be interested, seeing as how you knew the poor thing."

"Yes," I agreed.

"Now we have to wait and see what it's all about," said Polly.

Eff, with the utmost dignity, was ushering Mrs. Tenby into the hall.

"Well, thank you for letting us know."

When she had gone we sat in the kitchen asking ourselves what it could mean and we were later than usual going to bed.

I went in to see Fleur, as I always did every night. She was fast asleep, clutching the little doll Eff had bought for her and from which she refused to be parted. I bent and kissed her; she murmured something in her sleep. I felt a great relief because Fabian knew and that meant that her future was assured.

I lay awake for a long time, wondering what new development there had been and whether I should see Fabian next day.

We had the papers early and there it was for us to read. It was a further shock for me and I felt more deeply involved than I had before. Dramas ... tragedies ... take place frequently. One reads of them and sometimes they seem unreal because they happen to vague people whom we can only imagine; but when they concern someone we know, that is different.

What I read saddened me greatly, although it must have brought intense relief to Lavinia.

They had found the murderess—not by any great detective work on the part of the police, but through the confession of the one who had killed Janine.

"Killer of Janine Fletcher confesses."

It was written in flowery prose.

"In a little house on the outskirts of Wanstead near Epping Forest, Jack Everet Masters lay dying of self-inflicted wounds. Beside him was the body of his wife, Miriam Mary Masters. She had been dead some hours.

"They were known as the happiest couple in the neighbourhood. Jack was a seaman. Neighbours tell how his wife used to wait for his return and how each time he came home it was another honeymoon for them. Why should she then have decided to take her life by consuming an overdose of laudanum? It was because she could not face the consequence of a reckless act which took place during one of Jack's absences at sea."

"Double Suicide" was the next headline.

"Miriam could no longer tolerate the situation in which she found herself and decided she could no longer go on living. So, carefully writing two letters—one to Jack and one to the coroner—she confessed to the killing of Janine Fletcher. In that to her husband she gave her reasons for doing so.

"/ love you, Jack.

"The letter she wrote to her husband explained what happened. One night when Jack was at sea she had been persuaded by friends to go to a party. She had not wanted to and, little realizing that she was setting out on a path which would lead to misery and finally death, unused to alcohol, she took too much and was unaware of what was happening to her. Some person took advantage of the poor girl's state and seduced her with the result that she became with child. Miriam was desperate. How to tell Jack? Would he understand? She greatly feared that he would not. Her happiness was in ruins. She tried to plan a way out. She had heard of Mrs. Fletcher's Nursing Home in the New Forest. It was expensive, but discreet. She decided there was no alternative but to go there and get the child adopted when it arrived. Janine Fletcher, known as the niece of the owner of the nursing home, was there when Miriam had her baby. Janine knew her secret. The child was born and adopted.

Miriam came home to put the past behind her. And so she did, until Janine Fletcher turned up in her life.

"It is not an unfamiliar story. Janine wanted money to keep quiet. Miriam paid ... once or twice ... and then she found she could not go on paying. Greatly she feared the consequences. She could not face telling Jack. She acquired a gun. She went to Janine's rooms and shot her dead. She managed to get away without being seen. But she realized she could not live with such a secret, so she wrote those letters.

"Star-Crossed Lovers.

"They were Romeo and Juliet. He came and found her dead. He read her letter. He was prostrate with grief. He would have understood. He would have forgiven. Perhaps they would have found the child and he would have been a father to it.

"Too Late.

"She had killed Janine Fletcher. She must have realized, while she might have lived on weighed down by the sin of adultery, she could not by that of murder. So the star-crossed lovers died, and the mystery of who killed Janine Fletcher is solved."

Fabian called later in the morning.

"You've heard the news?" he said.

"Yes," I said. "I was deeply touched." I remembered Miriam so well. I remembered her misery and I thought how cruel life had been to her.

"You seem shaken," he said.

"I knew her. She was there when we were there. She was such a gentle person. I cannot think of her as a murderess."

"It closes up the case. We can breathe more easily now. Good God! It would have been certain to come out. Lavinia could have been caught up in all this. So could you. I was daily expecting something to be disclosed. And now it's all over."

I said, "She loved her husband ... deeply. And he must have loved her. He could not contemplate living without her. She made a deep impression on me."

"She must have been an unusual woman ... to take that gun and shoot her enemy."

"It all seems so unnecessary. If only she had told her husband! If only Janine had tried to work for her living and not turned to blackmail! If only Lavinia had not been carried away by that man!"

"If only the world were a different place and everyone in it perfect, life would be simpler, wouldn't it?" He smiled at me ruefully. "You look for perfection," he went on. "I believe you will have to do with something less. I am going to cheer you up. I am going to suggest that you have luncheon with me. I think we have something to celebrate. The case is over. I can tell you I have had some uneasy moments!"

"For Lavinia," I said.

"For you also."

"I had nothing to fear."

"It is never good to be connected with what is unsavoury. It leaves something behind. People remember ... vaguely. They forget details ... who was who ... what part they played. It is a great relief that it is over."

"I can't stop thinking of Miriam."

"She took what she thought was the best way out of her dilemma."

"And destroyed her life and that of her husband."

"Alas. It was her choice. It is a sad story. I will call for you at twelve-thirty."

Polly was pleased by the news.

"My goodness, it gave me the willies ... thinking what was going to happen next ... and now you are going to lunch with him." She shook her head. "You want to be careful with that one. I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw a goose feather."

"That might float in the air for quite a long time, Polly."

"It would come down pretty soon, I reckon. Take care."

"Oh, Polly, I will."

Over luncheon he treated with the utmost deference. He was in good spirits. Naturally, he had never met Miriam, and her tragedy meant little to him except an ending to a situation which could have become dangerous.

"Isn't it strange?" he said. "You and I have been acquainted since you were two years old and it is only now that we know each other. It took this little matter to bring us together. I very much regret that I shall soon be leaving England."

"You are going to India?"

"Yes, by the end of the year or the beginning of next. It is quite a journey."

"Have you ever done it before?"

"No. But I have heard a great deal about it. There are always people at the House connected with the East India Company and they discuss it constantly."

"You will go part of the way by ship, of course."

"One has to decide whether one will take the long haul round the Cape or disembark, say at Alexandria, and take the trek across the desert to Suez, where one can board an East Indiaman."

"Which you will do, I suppose."

"We take that route, yes. It saves time, but I believe crossing the desert can be a little hazardous."

"I am sure it will be of the utmost interest."

"I feel certain of that, too. But in a way I shall be sorry to leave England."

He smiled at me significantly and I felt myself flushing faintly. I could not forget that time when he had, as I believed, made a rather veiled suggestion to me.

"I don't know when your friend Dougal, our bridegroom, will be coming out," he went on. "He was to have done so, but it may be that his new commitments will keep him in England."

"Whereabouts is the ancestral home?"

"Not very far from Framling. I would say some forty or fifty miles." He looked at me intently. "I daresay you will be invited to visit. Perhaps you will enjoy that."

He had a way of insinuating meaning into his conversation. He implied that he knew of my feelings for Dougal and was translating them into aspirations and hopes. I felt indignant. It was a mood I was often verging on with him.

"Of course, the newly married couple may wish to be alone for a while, but doubtless that will pass. Then I am sure you will be an honoured guest."

"Lavinia will have new interests. I daresay she will have little time for me."

"But you and Dougal were so interested in antiquities. It is hardly likely that he will lose his enthusiasm for those after the first delights of marriage are over."

"It remains to be seen."

"As so much does. You are very philosophical."

"I did not know that."

"There is a great deal we do not know about ourselves."

He began to talk about India and the Company. He thought he might be away for several years. "When I come back," he said, "you will have forgotten who I am."

"That's hardly likely. Framling and its inhabitants have dominated the village for as long as I can remember."

"Perhaps you will have married and gone away ... I wonder."

"It seems hardly likely."

"What seems unlikely today can be inevitable tomorrow." He lifted his glass and said, "To the future ... yours and mine."

He was disturbing. He was implying that he knew I had cared for Dougal and that I was sad because Lavinia and Lady Harriet had taken him from me. I could not explain to him that, though I liked Dougal and we had been good friends and I had perhaps been a little piqued because he had seemed to forget me when he had been overwhelmed by Lavinia's beauty, I was far from heartbroken.

He leaned forward across the table. "Do you know," he said, "I have always had a special interest in you?"

"Really?"

He nodded. "Ever since I kidnapped you and took you to Framling. Did you ever hear how I cared for you during those two weeks?"

' I did hear of it."

"Don't you think there is some significance in that?"

"The significance is that you were a spoilt child. You had a whim. I was there and I did as well as any other, so you took me to your home and because you had to be indulged you kept me there ... away from mine."

He laughed. "It shows a purposeful character on my part."

"Rather that you were surrounded by those who allowed you to indulge your whims."

"I can remember it. A little baby. You weren't much more. I enjoyed my part as the father figure ... and what I am saying is that it gave me a special interest in you. That's natural enough."

"I believe you have a natural interest ... if a fleeting one ... in most young women."

He laughed at me. "Whatever you say, I think our little adventure makes a special bond between us."

I shook my head. "Nothing of the sort."

"You disappoint me. Don't you feel it?"

"No," I replied.

"Drusilla, let's be friends ... good friends."

"One can't make friendship to order."

"One can give it a chance. We live close together. We could see a great deal of each other. This ... incident ... has brought us closer together, hasn't it?"

"I hope it has taught you a little about me that you did not know when you jumped to certain conclusions."

"It has taught me a good deal about you and I am eager to learn more."

I thought I knew what he was leading up to ... not quite so crudely as he had done once before when he came to conclusions about me ... but it was there all the same.

In my mind's eye I could see Polly's warning face. She did not trust him. Nor did I.

I started to talk about India and he told me more about that country, until I said it was time I left.

I was surprised at myself. I did not want the luncheon to end. Yet I knew Polly was right. I must beware of this man.

When I returned to the house she studied me a little anxiously. I must have shown signs of the elation his company always seemed to inspire in me.

I could not stay with Polly indefinitely. In due course I had to return home.

The wedding day was close.

Lavinia was caught up in a whirl of excitement. I went over to see her and she greeted me with a show of affection and talked excitedly about the wedding and the honeymoon until she was able to get me alone.

"Oh, Drusilla," she burst out, "if you only knew what I went through."

"Others did, too, Lavinia."

"Of course. But I was just going to get married."

"Poor Miriam went through a good deal."

"Fancy her doing that! I couldn't believe it."

"Poor girl. She came to the point when she could endure no more."

"I was terribly worried. What if the police had put my name in the paper! They did have bits about me ... but in a different way. You know they called me the most beautiful debutante of the year."

"I had heard it."

"Dougal was very proud. He adores me, of course."

"Of course," I said.

"It's going to be such fun. We are going to India."

"So both you and your brother will be there."

She grimaced. "He's been a bit touchy about all this business. Lectured me about Fleur and all that. I told him I'd arranged for her to be well looked after. What else could I do?"

"You might have brought your daughter home and looked after her."

"Don't talk nonsense. How could I?"

"Make a confession, turn over a new leaf and become a devoted mother. Fleur is lovely."

"Is she? Perhaps I'll go and see her one day."

"Polly wouldn't want you to. She'd say it was unsettling the child."

"Unsettle her to see her mother!"

"Certainly, when that mother has left her with others to get her out of the way."

"Oh, shut up. You talk like Fabian. I've had enough of that. It's over. Miriam saw to that."

"She was certainly your benefactress."

"That's a funny way of seeing it."

"It's how you see it. Can you imagine the anguish she suffered?"

"She ought to have told her husband."

"As you have told Dougal?"

"That's different."

"Everything that happens to a Framling is different from that which happens to other people."

"Stop it. I want to talk to you about the wedding. We're going to Italy for our honeymoon. Dougal wants to show me the art treasures." She grimaced.

Poor Dougal! I thought. Then I felt an anger against him. How could he have been so stupid as to marry someone who was so utterly incompatible as Lavinia was?

How self-centred she was! She had hardly spared a thought for Miriam, except to be gratified because she had removed the one who was a threat to herself.

I had daydreams at that time. I dreamed that Dougal realized his mistake, that he came back to the rectory to resume our pleasant friendship, that the relationship between us strengthened.

It was strange that there were three men who were important in my life. There was Colin Brady, who would be prepared to marry me because it would be so convenient and a step towards acquiring the living, with which my father was rapidly becoming too ill to continue; there was Fabian, who had hinted clearly that he would like to indulge in some sort of relationship with me ... an irregular one, of course. Marriage would not come into it. I had no doubt that Lady Harriet, who had so capably acquired a noble title for her daughter, would have even greater ambitions for her son. He might resist, of course; he would not be so malleable as Lavinia. Lady Harriet must have realized by now that her adored son had as strong a will as her own. That was something I should remember. Just suppose he really did care for me, he would only have to decide to marry me. Lady Harriet, outraged and bitterly disappointed as she would be, would have, nevertheless, to bow to his wishes. It was impossible. He might be sufficiently attracted to me to enjoy a light love affair, but there could be no question of a marriage between the heir of Framling and the humble girl from the rectory. And then there was Dougal. Dougal had the manners of a gentleman and the morals, too. I could have been proud to care for Dougal. I could have shared his interests. But he had seen beauty and succumbed. If I were wise I should agree with Polly and say to myself: I have been lucky. Suppose it had happened later when I had become more deeply involved?

Polly had said before I left, "Men are funny things. There's the good and the bad, the faithful sort and them that can't stop running after women even if they know they're sitting on a keg of gunpowder. It's choosing the right one to start with that's the thing."

"If there is a choice," I reminded her.

"There's a choice whether to or not. That's where it comes in. And there's some I wouldn't touch with a barge pole."

I knew Fabian was one of those; but Dougal hadn't been, and he was soon to be joined in matrimony with Lavinia, who might well be, as Polly had mentioned, one of those who was sitting on a keg of gunpowder. It was almost certain that that marriage would not run smoothly.

The wedding day dawned. It was a great day for the village. My father performed the ceremony. The church was decorated with flowers of all descriptions. These had been sent down from nearby nurseries, which had chosen their best blooms for the purpose. With them had come two ladies to arrange the flowers, much to the disgust of the Misses Glyn and Burrows, who had always previously dealt with the decoration of the church.

It was very impressive. Lavinia was a breathtakingly beautiful bride, Dougal a handsome bridegroom. The guests were numerous.

I sat at the back of the church. I saw Lady Harriet, resplendent in her wedding finery, and Fabian with her, extremely distinguished. I felt like a wren among peacocks.

And so Lavinia was married to Dougal.

Janine was dead. Fleur's future was taken care of. I felt it was the end of an episode.