The India Fan

A Perilous Journey Across the Desert

That happened two years ago. They had been two uneventful years, and life had taken on a grey monotone. Each day I rose in the morning knowing exactly what the day would bring. There was no light and shadow. The excitement was whether it would be fine for the summer fete or whether the bazaar would make more profit this year than last.

Fabian had left for India earlier than had been expected and went off soon after Lavinia's wedding day.

It was absurd, but it seemed very dull without him. Why it should, when I had seen so little of him and had taken such pains to avoid him, I could not imagine. I should not regret his going. He was, as Polly would have said, a menace.

Although I had often been irritated by Lavinia, I missed her. Framling seemed different without them. I wondered whether Lady Harriet missed them and I was surprised that she had allowed both her darlings to leave her. She gave herself up to the task of ruling the village with more energy than ever. Colin Brady was quite a favourite with her, which I guessed was because he was more conventional than my father had been. He was a subservient young man: "Oh yes, of course, Lady Harriet," "Thank you for telling me, Lady Harriet." I wanted to shout at him, "You don't have to be quite so blatantly humble. I am sure the living will be yours in time."

There was another reason for depression. My father's health was deteriorating. He became tired very easily and I had to be grateful to Colin for his care of him. Colin was to all intent and purposes playing the part of rector. It must be noticed and his reward must come.

I heard Lady Harriet say once, "Such a pleasant young man! The dear rector can be a little odd, you know. All that preoccupation with dead people ... and those who have been dead so long. He has his own parish to think of. You'd think that would be enough for him."

She called at the rectory now and then, feeling it was her duty to do so. She would cast her probing eyes over me.

I knew her thoughts. She liked everything to be rounded off neatly. My father had been ailing for some time and, like Charles the Second, was an unconscionable long time a-dying. I was his unmarried daughter and there was a young man living in the rectory. The solution was obvious in Lady Harriet's view, and in such circumstances those concerned should realize this and accept what was offered them.

My father had a slight stroke. It did not incapacitate him entirely, but his speech thickened a little and he lost some use of his arm and leg; he had become a semi-invalid.

I nursed him with the help of Mrs. Janson and two of the maids. I could see, though, that I was moving towards some climax.

Dr. Berryman, who had always been a good friend to us, told me he feared my father could have another stroke at any time and that could be fatal.

So I was prepared.

I used to spend a lot of time reading to him. It was what he enjoyed most and this duty certainly increased my knowledge of Greek and Roman history. Each day I woke up and wondered what it would bring, for I knew the existing state of affairs could not last.

Lady Harriet invited me to Framling to take tea with her. I sat in the drawing room while my stately hostess presided behind the lace-covered table, on which was the silver tray with silver teapot, thin bread and butter and a fruit cake.

A parlourmaid took the cup containing the tea that Lady Harriet had poured for me. While the maid remained, conversation was guarded, but I knew it was not simply to take tea that I had been summoned.

She talked of Lavinia and how much she was enjoying India.

"The social life there must be very exciting," she went on. "There are so many people from the Company out there. I believe the natives are so grateful to us. And so they should be. Ingratitude is something I cannot tolerate. The Earl is well and the dear young people are blissfully happy together ... especially after the birth of little Louise. Dear me. Imagine Lavinia ... a mother!"

I smiled grimly to myself. Lavinia had been a mother far longer than Lady Harriet realized.

She talked of little Louise and how she at least would have to come home sometime. It would be a little while yet, but children couldn't live in India all their childhood.

I sat listening and agreeing as docilely as Colin Brady might have done.

When we had finished tea and the tray was removed Lady Harriet said, "I am a little anxious about the state of affairs at the rectory."

I raised my eyebrows slightly as though to question why.

She smiled at me benignly. "I have always kept an eye on you, my dear, ever since your mother died. It was so sad. A child left like that. And your father ... I am very fond of him, but his head is in the clouds ... just a little. Most men find it difficult to care for a child ... but he particularly so. So I have watched over you."

I had not noticed the attention and was rather glad that I had not—but, of course, I did not really believe in it.

"Your father is very frail, my dear."

"I am afraid so," I said.

"There comes a time when facts have to be faced ... however painful. Your father's health is failing. It is time Mr. Brady took over entirely. He is an excellent young man and has my full support. He entertains very warm feelings towards you. If you and he married, it would be a relief to me and such a happy solution to the problems that will inevitably face you. As the rector's daughter you know our ways ..."

I felt indignant at the manner in which my future was being disposed of.

I said with a certain hauteur, "Lady Harriet, I have no wish to marry." I wanted to add, "And I shall certainly not do so because it is a relief to you."

She smiled indulgently, as though at a wayward child.

"You see, my dear, your father is no longer young. You are of an age to marry. I have spoken of the matter to Mr. Brady."

I could imagine it, and his responses, "Yes, Lady Harriet, if you think I should marry Drusilla, I shall certainly do so."

I felt angry and roused up all the stubbornness in my nature.

"Lady Harriet," I began, but I was saved from giving vent to my anger, which would probably have meant that I should be exiled from Framling forever, by a commotion outside the room.

I heard someone say, "No ... no, Lady Harriet is in there."

Lady Harriet rose and swept to the door. She flung it open and started back, for standing there was a wild figure whom I recognized at once. Her hair hung down her back in some disarray; she was wearing a loose nightgown and her feet were bare.

"What does this mean?" demanded Lady Harriet.

The woman I had known as Ayesha came hurrying forward, and my memory went back to the first time I had seen Miss Lucille, who had talked to me about the peacock-feather fan.

"I would speak to her," she cried wildly. "She is here. Ah ..." She was looking at me, stumbling towards me. Ayesha held her back.

"Miss Lucille ... come to your room. It is better so." I remembered the sing-song voice which had impressed me all those years ago.

Miss Lucille said, "I want to talk to her ... There is something I must say."

Lady Harriet said briskly, "Take Miss Lucille back to her bedroom. How could this have happened? I have ordered that she should be kept to her own apartments, which is so necessary for her health."

I had risen and the poor demented woman stared at me. Then she smiled rather tenderly. "I want ... I want ..." she began.

Ayesha murmured, "Yes, yes ... later on ... We shall see. We shall see ..."

Ayesha took her gently by the hand and led her away; as she went she turned her head and looked at me helplessly.

Lady Harriet was extremely put out.

She said, "I cannot think what happened. She is far from well. I do everything I can to care for her, and that they should have let her come down ..."

Clearly the scene had shaken her as well as myself. Her thoughts had strayed from me and my affairs. What was happening at Framling was of far more consequence.

"Well, my dear," she said, dismissing me, "you will think about it ... and you will see what is best."

I was glad to get away and went thoughtfully home.

It was a real problem facing me, and though I would do anything rather than accept Lady Harriet's solution, I had to admit that the future looked rather bleak.

Two days later Colin Brady asked me to marry him.

I did a good deal of walking. I should have liked to ride, but I had no horse of my own, and although Fabian had long ago given me access to the Framling stables, in view of my inability to fall in with Lady Harriet's views, I did not feel I could make use of the offer.

I had come home after a walk and was taking a shortcut across the churchyard when I saw Colin coming out of the church.

"Ah, Drusilla," he said. "I did want to have a word with you."

I guessed what was coming.

I looked at him steadily. He was by no means ill favoured. His face shone with virtue; he was the sort of man who would walk in the paths of righteousness all his life; he would make no enemies, except those who were envious of his virtues; he would bring comfort to the sick and ailing; he would introduce a touch of laboured humour, and many a young woman would be eager to spend a lifetime caring for him. Marriage with him was as much as an impecunious parson's daughter could hope for.

I don't know what I did hope for, but I did feel that I ought to face the world alone rather than with someone who had been more or less ordered to marry me, and whom I had been advised to accept because it was the best thing for me.

"Hello, Colin," I said. "Busy as usual, I see."

"Parish affairs. They can be demanding. The rector was looking less well, I thought, this morning." He shook his head.

"Yes," I answered. "I am afraid he is very weak."

He cleared his throat. "It seems to me a good idea if you and I ... well, in view of everything ... it seems a good solution ..."

Again that irritation arose in me. I did not want marriage to be a solution.

"Well," he went on, "you know this place. And I ... I have grown to love it ... and to love you, too, Drusilla."

"I think," I told him, "you have been talking to Lady Harriet. Perhaps I should say she has been talking to you. One doesn't exactly talk to Lady Harriet. One listens."

He gave a little titter and coughed.

"What I was really going to say was that you and I could ... get married."

"And you mean you could take over the rectory."

"Well, I think it would be a successful answer to all our problems."

"I feel one should not undertake marriage as an answer to problems, don't you?"

He looked puzzled. He said, "Lady Harriet has intimated ..."

"Oh, I know what she intimated, but I wouldn't want to marry just because it is convenient."

"It is not only that ..." He took my hand and looked earnestly at me. "I am very fond of you, you know."

"I like you, too, Colin. I am sure you will make an excellent job of it all when you take over completely. Well, you really have done that already. As for myself, I am not sure that I want to marry ... yet."

"My dear girl, you mustn't think like that. Everything will be all right, I do assure you. I do not want to hurry you. If we could be engaged."

"No, Colin. Not yet."

"I know you have a great deal on your mind. You are worried about your father. Perhaps I have spoken too soon. Lady Harriet ..."

I wanted to scream at him, "Lady Harriet is not going to govern my life if she governs yours."

"Lady Harriet," I said calmly, "likes to arrange people's lives. Please try to understand, Colin, that I want to manage my own."

He laughed. "She is a very forceful lady ... but kind at heart, I think, and eager for your welfare. I have spoken too soon. I know you are very anxious about your father. We will speak together later."

I let it go at that, but I wanted to shout at him, "I'll never marry you."

That seemed unkind. He was gentle and goodhearted. I shouldn't let him see how angry I was because he had made himself a tool of Lady Harriet. Perhaps he was wise. He had his way to make in the world and he knew he could not afford to ignore those such as Lady Harriet when they crossed his path, for they could be instrumental in making or breaking his career.

I went to the paddock a good deal. It was in Framling land, but rarely used. I found a certain peace there. I could see the west wing, that which housed Miss Lucille. I thought a great deal about that strange encounter of ours all those years ago. She had remembered, and when she came down to the drawing room where I was having tea with Lady Harriet, she had come to see me.

I brooded on the past and tried to look into the future. It was growing of some concern to me. My father was getting more and more frail. He looked forward to that period of the afternoon when I would read to him for a couple of hours, for his greatest affliction was his failing eyesight, which robbed him of his contact with the world of books. When he dozed off while I was reading I knew he was very weak indeed, for he so much looked forward to these sessions. I would let the book lie in my lap and look at his face, peaceful in repose. I would imagine his coming here with my mother and the hopes they had had and how they had planned for me. And then she had died, leaving him alone, and he had given himself to his books. How different it would have been had she lived!

And now here he was at the end of his life and I should be alone in the world. No, I would have Polly. Polly was like a raft to a drowning person, Polly was the guiding star of my life.

I knew that my father could not live long. I knew that Colin Brady would step into his shoes, and there was no place for me here—where I had lived all my life—unless it was as Colin's wife.

Perhaps some would think the wise thing to do would be to take what was offered to me.

No, no, I said to myself. Why should I feel this revulsion? Colin is a good man. I should be content with him. But I had compared him with others and found him wanting: Dougal, who had made me think our friendship was ripening to something stronger; Fabian, who promised excitement and who had made it clear what sort of relationship there would have to be between us.

It was foolish to think of these two. They were not to be compared with Colin. Colin would never be overwhelmed by beauty as Dougal had been; it would never occur to him to indulge in a less than respectable relationship.

Sometimes I thought I was foolish to turn from Colin. Lady Harriet was right. Marriage with him might well prove not only the best, but the only solution.

While I sat leaning against the hedge of the paddock I often found myself looking up at a certain window and remembering how, years ago, Miss Lucille used to look down on us having our riding lesson.

One day I saw the curtains move. A figure stood at the window looking down at me. Miss Lucille. I lifted a hand and waved. There was no response, and after a while I saw her move away as though she were being led.

I saw her often after that. I usually would be there in the afternoon, and often at the same time. It was like an arrangement between us.

I was getting more and more uneasy about my father. He talked now and then of my mother, and I felt he was finding great satisfaction in living in the past.

"Everything she was going to do was for you," he told me dreamily when he had nodded off when I was reading and had awakened suddenly to find that I had stopped. "She so much wanted a child. I was glad she lived long enough to see you. I never saw anything more beautiful than her face when she held you in her arms. She wanted everything for you. She wanted you well settled in life. I'm glad Colin Brady is here. He's a good man. I'd trust him as I feel I can trust few others."

"Yes," I agreed, "he has been good."

"He'll take over when I'm gone. It's right that he should. He'll be better at the job than I was."

"You are very much liked here, Father."

"Too forgetful. Not really cut out to be a parson."

"And you think Colin is?"

"To the manner born. He's got it in his blood. His father and grandfather were both in the Church. Drusilla, you could do far worse ... and you couldn't do better. He's a man I'd trust with you."

"A lot of people seem to think it would be convenient if I married Colin Brady."

"The rectory would always be your home."

"Yes. But does one marry for a home? Did you?"

He was smiling, his mind drifting back to the days when my mother was alive.

"You could do far worse," he murmured.

They were all concerned for my future and the answer seemed obvious to them ... even to my father.

One day when I was in the paddock Ayesha came to me. I was startled to see her. She smiled at me and said, "You come here often."

"It's so quiet and peaceful."

"Quiet ... peaceful," she repeated. "My mistress sees you. She looks for you."

"Yes, I have seen her."

"She wishes to speak to you."

"With me?"

She nodded. "She has never forgotten you."

"Oh ... you mean ... that time I took the fan."

"Poor soul. She lives much in the past. She is ill, I fear ... very ill. She talks of joining Gerald ... He was her lover. It is wonderful to see with what joy she contemplates the reunion. Shall we go? You see, she watches us from the window. Very much she wishes to speak with you."

I followed Ayesha into the house and up the great staircase, hoping that we should not meet Lady Harriet on the way.

Through the long passages we went and came to the door of that room in which I had found the peacock-feather fan. It was still in its place.

Miss Lucille was standing by the window. She was in a dressing gown, her feet in slippers.

"I have her here for you," said Ayesha.

"Welcome, my dear," said Miss Lucille. "How happy I am to see you here. It is a long time since we met face to face. But I have seen you." She waved her hand vaguely in the direction of the window. "Come and talk with me."

"Sit down here," said Ayesha, settling Miss Lucille in her chair and drawing up another for me.

"Tell me, my dear," said Miss Lucille. "Life has not been good ... ?"

I hesitated. I was not sure. Had it been good? In parts, perhaps.

"Much has happened that is not good?" she persisted.

I nodded slowly. All that trouble with Lavinia ... the ordeal with the police ... the sadness of Janine ... the tragedy of Miriam ... the disappointment with Dougal ... the encounters with Fabian.

"You should never have had it in your possession," she went on. "There is the toll ..."

I realized she was talking about the peacock fan.

"Do you ever think of it?" she asked. "The beauty of those feathers. Do you remember the jewel ... the good and the evil ... ? So beautiful ... but beauty can be evil."

Ayesha was standing by the chair watching her mistress closely. She was frowning a little and I believed that meant she was anxious.

Miss Lucille half closed her eyes and began to tell me the story of her lover, as she had told me once before, and as she spoke the tears began to run down her cheeks.

"It was the fan ... If only we had not gone into the bazaar that day. If only he had not bought it for me ... if only he had not taken it to the jeweller ... how different everything would have been! And you, my child, you should never have let it cast its spell on you."

"I don't think it cast a spell on me. I only borrowed it for a little while."

"It did. I know. I felt the weight lifted from me."

She closed her eyes and seemed to fall asleep.

I looked questioningly at Ayesha, who lifted her shoulders. "That is how she is," she whispered. "She wanted so much to see you and when you come she forgets what she wanted to say to you. She is content now. She has seen you. She talks of you now and then. She is concerned for you. She makes me tell her about your life at the rectory. She is concerned because your father is so ill."

"I wonder she remembers me."

"It is because she likes you and because of the fan. She is obsessed by the fan."

"Why does she attach such importance to it?"

"She sees it as the source of trouble."

"I am surprised she does not get rid of it."

She shook her head. "No. She believes she cannot do that. It would not get rid of the curse, she says. That goes on forever."

"But if she believes ..."

"It's an old superstition, and because of what happened after she had the fan, she believes it was because of it that she lost her lover. It has taken possession of her."

"It is very sad. I think I should go now. Lady Harriet would not be pleased to find me here."

"Lady Harriet has gone to London. She is very happy. Her son is coming home ... for a brief visit. There is some business to which he must attend. It is to be a short stay, but she is delighted that she will see him ... if only for a little while."

I felt my heart leap and I was alive again. A brief visit! I wondered if I should see him.

"There will be much entertaining. There will be some grand people here. Invitations go out. It is not good for Miss Lucille. She is always restive when there are people in the house."

I was wondering if his stay in India had changed him.

"I think I should go now," I said.

Ayesha glanced at Miss Lucille. "Yes," she said. "It is a deep sleep now. She sleeps most of the time."

"I have to read to my father. He will be expecting me."

"Yes," she said. "Come. I will take you out."

She led me out through the hall and I went quickly home.

I had almost forgotten the visit and the strangeness of Miss Lucille ... because Fabian was coming home.

That night my father took a turn for the worse. He had. had a stroke which left him slightly paralysed and unable to speak clearly. The doctor told us it could not be many weeks before the end.

I was with him most of the time and I could see death coming closer and closer.

Polly wrote. If anything happened I should come to her immediately. We'd talk. There would be a lot to say. I wasn't to rush into anything. Polly was the only one who seemed to think that marriage with Colin Brady was not the most desirable thing that could happen to me.

Fabian arrived at Framling the day my father died. I heard from Mrs. Janson that he was home. I was with my father at the end. He held my hand and I could see that he was at peace.

Colin Brady was very good. He took charge with sympathy and efficiency and if he thought he was a step nearer to his goal he did not show it.

Lady Harriet was displeased that the rector should die just as she was preparing for her son's return. Immersed as she was in parish affairs, the event was, to say the least, inconvenient. I imagined her mentioning the fact somewhat reproachfully in her prayers. There should have been a little more consideration from On High towards one who had always unflinchingly done her duty.

I heard from Mrs. Janson that she had been planning important festivities ever since she had heard that her son was coming home. Lady Geraldine Fitzbrock, with her parents, was coming to stay at Framling and it was an important visit. The Fitzbrocks were of lineage as impeccable as Lady Harriet herself and it was quite clear that she had settled on Geraldine Fitzbrock for Sir Fabian.

I wondered about him now and then, but mostly my thoughts were preoccupied with the past. There was so much in the house to remind me of my father. It seemed oddly quiet, and alien almost, now that he was lying in his coffin behind the drawn blinds of the sitting room. Everywhere there was something to bring back memories ... his study with the book-lined walls; volumes with bookmarks in his favourite places. I kept thinking of his hunting for his spectacles when he wanted to remind himself of a particularly beloved passage ... living in another age, halfheartedly trying to tear himself away from it and come back to the affairs of his parish.

I should have been prepared. I could see his furrowed brow when he contemplated me. He had been deeply concerned about my future—as I supposed I should be. In his unworldly heart he had believed I would marry Dougal. How he would have welcomed him as his son-in-law, visualizing long visits when they would delve into the past together. Dougal had been a young man not greatly endowed with worldly goods at that time—a scholar, a man of great gentleness, lacking ambition, a man made in my father's own mould.

Looking back, I realized how disappointed he must have been when it had not turned out as he wished. Not only had he been deprived of a son-in-law whom he would have welcomed, but there was the problem of his daughter's future, which had become an anxiety. Then he had hoped I would marry Colin Brady. That would have been a very sensible conclusion. Colin Brady, true, would have been second best, but very acceptable all the same.

People were thinking that I should take what I could get. Opportunity came rarely in life and when it did must not be lightly turned aside. Lady Harriet had implied that I was foolish. I daresay I was. It was not that I disliked Colin Brady. No one could, really. He was so kind and considerate to all. He would be the perfect priest. But somehow at the back of my mind was the feeling that if I did "the sensible thing" I would regret it, for I would be choosing a way of life that would be so predictable, it would rob me of all the excitement that made up the savour of living.

If I had never known Dougal ... if I had been a more conventional person ... perhaps I should have married Colin. But I was myself; and instinctively I rebelled against the suggestion of marriage in such circumstances.

Fabian came over to the rectory to see me. He looked really concerned. "I am so sorry," he said.

"Thank you. It was not unexpected."

"No. But a shock nevertheless."

"It was good of you to call."

"But of course I called."

"I hope your stay in India was successful."

He lifted his shoulders.

"And shall you be here long?" I went on.

"No. Briefly. Very briefly."

"I see."

"And you will be making ... plans?"

"I shall have to."

"I am sure you will. If there is anything we can do up at Framling ..."

"Nothing, thank you. Mr. Brady is a great help."

"I was sure he would be. I hear the funeral is tomorrow. I shall be there."

"Thank you."

He smiled at me and soon after left.

I was glad when he went. I did not want him to see how emotional I was. I almost wished that he had not come to see me.

The church was full when my father was buried.

Lady Harriet and Sir Fabian were in the Framling pew. I could think of nothing but my father, and I kept going over all the little things I remembered of him. A feeling of desolation swept over me. I had never felt so lonely in my life.

Colin Brady was brisk and businesslike. He conducted the mourners back to the rectory and we drank mulled wine and ate sandwiches prepared by Mrs. Janson. An air of solemnity enveloped the house.

It was no longer my home. It could be, of course, if I married Colin. I had to think very seriously what I should do.

The will was read. There was little to leave, but what there was was mine. The solicitor told me that it would provide me with a minute income—not enough to live on in any degree of comfort, but something to fall back on if need be. He added that he expected I had already considered the situation, which must be no surprise to me.

I said I was considering.

I was aware of the expectancy around me. Mrs. Janson looked prophetic. I was sure she thought I was going to marry Colin Brady and the household would go on in the way it always had. They knew my ways; they were fond of me; they did not want a stranger in the house.

It seemed inevitable to them, for it was clear that Mr. Brady was willing, and where would I find a more suitable husband? It was high time I settled down and there was the right place just waiting for me.

Colin talked to me on the night of the funeral. I was sitting by the window staring out on the graveyard and an infinite sadness had taken possession of me. I had come to the end of a path and I did not know which way to go. And there was the easy road to take and everyone was pushing me towards it.

"What a sad day," he said. "I know what your father was to you. I was fond of him. He was a wonderfully good man."

I nodded.

"After all these years you have been together, except of course when you were at school."

Ah, there was the point. What had happened then had changed me. If I had stayed all my years in the rectory would I have felt differently? It seemed that I had briefly stepped into a world where people did wild things and paid for them; but it had made me see that there was more to life than being comfortable and living one day after another, quietly, unadventurously, almost like waiting for death.

"It's a great blow to you," he was saying. "Drusilla, won't you let me share it with you?"

"You are doing that," I told him. "You have taken on everything and done it perfectly."

"I would be only too happy to care for you from now on."

I wanted to say that I did not particularly want to be taken care of. I felt capable of looking after myself. I wanted life to be adventurous, exciting ... I was not looking for comfort, pleasant as it might be.

"There could be an early wedding. Lady Harriet has said that would be best."

"I do not allow Lady Harriet to run my life, Colin."

He laughed at me. "Of course not. But she is important, you know. Her word carries weight." He looked a little anxious. "She is worried about you. We are all worried about you."

"You must not be. You must leave me to plan for myself."

"But you have had a great shock. I don't think you fully realize that. I want you to know you just have to say the word. I won't hurry you. This is your home. It should always be your home."

"Oh, rectories are like tied cottages. They go with the job."

"Yes, that is so." He looked so earnest. I had learned that he was a man who hated indecision; and I knew I could never marry him and that it was only fair to tell him so.

"Colin," I said, "I have to tell you that I shall never marry you."

He looked taken aback.

"I am sorry," I went on. "I am fond of you ... but differently."

"Drusilla, have you thought ... ? Just contemplate. Where will you go?"

I said on the spur of the moment, "I shall go to stay with Polly for a while. I shall discuss my future with her. She knows me well. She will advise me."

"I am thinking of what is best for you and what will make a happy solution. It is clear, Drusilla, you must marry me."

"I cannot do it, Colin. You are good and kind and have done a great deal for my father and me. But I cannot marry you."

"Later perhaps ..."

"No, Colin. Please forget it."

He looked abashed and I added, "I am most sincerely grateful to you for everything and for asking me."

"You are distraught just now."

"No," I said almost angrily, for it seemed he was saying I must be foolish to refuse him. But somehow I managed to convey to him that I meant what I said. I said, "I want to retire now. It has been a stressful day."

He said he would send one of the maids up with hot milk for me to drink. I tried to protest, but he waved that aside; and later the milk was brought to my room.

I sat by the window looking out. In the distance I could see the lights of Framling. I felt lonely and lost. There would be revelry there. The Lady Geraldine and Fabian would dance together, ride together, talk ... not today, of course, out of respect for my father, but later. It was Lady Harriet's wish that he should marry her. I wondered if he would. He would be the first to agree that it was suitable.

I told myself angrily that he was the sort of man who would marry suitably and indulge his fancies somewhere else ... with lesser mortals who would be good enough for a light divertissement but not for marriage.

I said to myself: I will go to Polly.

The next day I saw Fabian ride by with a young woman whom I presumed was Lady Geraldine. She was tall and handsome. She had rather a loud voice and they were chatting animatedly together. I heard Fabian laugh.

I went into the house and put some things together into a bag. I did not know how long I would stay, but I must make up my mind what I was going to do before I returned.

With Polly I found the comfort I was so sorely in need of.

Fleur was now five years old. She was a sensible child and full of high spirits. "Up to a trick or two," was Eff's fond comment and Polly added that she was as sharp as a "wagon load of monkeys."

She welcomed me. Both Polly and Eff always referred to me in near reverent terms when they spoke of me to her and it had its effect. I spent a lot of time with her. I found some books in a secondhand shop ... books that I had had as a child ... and I started to teach her. She was an apt pupil.

I began to think I could make a happy life for myself with Polly and Eff. I had my little income, which would suffice. I could teach Fleur and we could all be happy together.

Polly was worried about me.

"What will you be doing?" she asked.

"I have time to make up my mind, Polly," I replied. "I don't have to rush into anything."

"No. That's a mercy."

"I'd like to stay here for a while. I love being with Fleur. It takes my mind off things."

"Well, for a bit, but it's no life for a young lady as has been educated like you have. Where are you going to meet anyone here?"

"Your mind runs on familiar lines. Are you thinking of getting me married?"

"Well, it's a lottery, they say, but there is a chance of the right number coming up ... and if it does, well, there's nothing like it."

"I'm sure you're right, Polly."

"It's a pity about that Colin."

"I couldn't marry him just because it provided the good solution."

"Nobody's asking you to."

"Oh yes they are. Lady Harriet for one and Colin Brady for another."

"Oh, them ..."

"I know you're different, Polly, but good solution though it might be, I couldn't do it."

"Then let's go on from there. You're not still thinking of that Dougal. A nice one he'd be ... leading a girl up the garden path and then liking the flowers in the garden next door."

"Oh, Polly," I laughed, "it wasn't quite like that."

"How else, I'd like to know. There he was coming to see you and the rector and that Lavinia comes along and gives him the glad eye ... and it's whoops and away."

I couldn't help laughing, which showed how little I minded that it had happened that way.

"He'll rue the day he ever came into his fortune."

"Perhaps not, Polly. She's very beautiful and let's face it ... I'm not."

"You're as God intended you to be."

"Aren't we all?"

"And you're as good looking as any. There's some men as can't resist that 'come hither' look, and they are the ones to avoid, so thank your lucky stars you fell out of that one. I wouldn't touch that Dougal with a barge pole even if he come crawling back on his hands and knees."

"A spectacle, I assure you, we are unlikely to see."

"He'll soon be seeing he's made a mighty mistake. He'll be wishing he hadn't been so daft. You take my word for it."

"I think Lavinia may have changed now she has a child."

"Leopards don't change their spots, so I've always heard."

"Lavinia is not a leopard."

"She's as likely to change as one of them. Mark my words, he's regretting that hasty step. But it's you we've got to think of."

"I'm happier here than I could be anywhere else, Polly."

"For a while, yes ... but something has to be done."

"Let's wait, shall we? Let's wait and see."

She nodded.

The days passed. Fleur brought a lot of pleasure. We played games together. Then when she was in bed asleep I would sit with Polly and Eff and listen to their racy talk about the tenants.

"We do see life," said Eff with a chortle.

Polly agreed, but I could see she thought it was not the life I should be leading.

Then the letter came from Lady Harriet. Her family crest was on the envelope and Eff hoped the postman noticed it. She would bring Lady Harriet into the conversation next time she talked to Second Floor No. 32.

I stared at the letter for a few seconds before opening it, wondering what Lady Harriet would have to say to me.

"My dear Drusilla," she had written.

"I have been quite concerned about you. Poor Mr. Brady is most distressed. I only hope you will not regret your hasty decision. The best thing you could have done was to marry him and continue in your rectory home. I am sure in time you will come to regret your stubborn attitude.

"However, I have a proposal to make. Lavinia is very happy in India. She has little Louise, as you know, and I am delighted to tell you that she has just given birth to another—a little boy. Lavinia would like you to go out and help her. I must say she has made me see that this could be quite a good thing. I am sending a nanny out to her. I do not care that my grandchildren should be brought up by foreigners. She has an ayah at the moment, but I want her to have a good English nanny. I have found the right person for the post and I am sending her out almost immediately. Lavinia has expressed a wish that you should go out to be a companion to her and I am of the opinion that this is an excellent idea. It would serve Lavinia's needs and your own. Lavinia wishes the children to be taught in an English manner and she believes that as well as being a companion for her you could instruct the children.

"Lavinia and her husband, the Earl, expect to return to England in two years' time. I am sure you will decide that this will be an excellent opportunity for you. I shall expect an early decision. The nanny will be leaving at the beginning of next month and it would be most convenient if you travelled out together, so there are three weeks for your plans to be made. I shall appreciate an early reply."

I stopped reading the letter. I felt numb with surprise and a certain tingling excitement. To go to India! To be with Lavinia and the children. I would see Dougal and Fabian.

Polly came and saw me staring into space.

"News?" she enquired.

"Polly ..." I cried. "It's amazing."

"Well?"

"This is from Lady Harriet."

"Interfering again?"

"You could say that ... but in a rather exciting way. Polly, she is suggesting I go to India."

"What?"

"I would be a sort of governess to Lavinia's children and a companion to her."

Polly stared at me in amazement.

"That Lavinia," she said.

I read the letter to her. I could hear the thrill of excitement in my voice as I did so. It seemed to me that the Framlings had always been a great influence in my life.

Polly said, "When do you have to say?"

"Soon. I would leave in less than a month."

"H'm," said Polly.

We talked it over for hours, but I think I had long before made up my mind that I would go. Polly came round to the idea very soon.

"It knocked me off my feet at first. India. It's such a long way. But perhaps it would be for the best. It's no life for you here ... much as we like to have you. A girl of your education ... she shouldn't be stuck here. Fleur ... ? We'd been thinking of getting a governess for young Fleur. We want her to be educated, you know. And we can use the money he put by for her. I don't see why we shouldn't. After all, he's her uncle. We wouldn't take anything for ourselves, but Fleur's different. She's got to have the best."

Eff agreed with Polly. It was no place for me here. Eff reckoned it was a bit risky going off to foreign places, but Lavinia had gone and she seemed to have survived.

I was going to write to Lady Harriet, but as there was so little time I thought it simpler to return. I had my room in the rectory still and many of my possessions were there, so it was the best place from which to make my arrangements.

Two days after receiving the letter I was on my way back.

I went straight to the rectory. Mrs. Janson had news to impart. Framling was in mourning.

"It's that Miss Lucille. She had a few funny turns and this last one was too much for her. It finished her off. I always say one funeral begets another." She often became biblical in her role as seer. "First the dear rector and then Miss Lucille. Well, it seems this was a happy release for her. We were hoping for a wedding, but I suppose that would be rushing things a bit."

"A wedding?"

"Lady Harriet was all for Fabian marrying Lady Geraldine, but he had to go back to India ... or somewhere. He had to cut his stay a bit shorter than he thought. I'll tell you what." She was the seer once more. "I reckon there's some understanding. She'll be going out there to him and they'll be joined in holy wedlock, you see."

"Is that so?" I said. "I want to see Lady Harriet immediately. She wrote to me suggesting that I should go to Miss Lavinia in India."

"My goodness gracious me! Indeed ... indeed! I don't know ... but I reckon if the Framlings are there ..."

"I think I should go now. I do need to let her know."

Lady Harriet received me at once.

"My dear Drusilla, I was expecting you."

"It seemed quicker to come than to write."

"And your decision?"

"I want to go, Lady Harriet."

A smile of satisfaction spread across her face.

"Ah. I thought you'd be sensible ... this time. There will be so many arrangements to be made. Alas, we are now a house of mourning."

"I am so sorry. I heard about Miss Lucille."

"Poor dear creature. It was really a happy release. We shall be concerned with the funeral, but in the meantime we will set our plan in motion. I shall write immediately to Lavinia. I know she will be delighted, and I am sure you will be able to teach Louise. It is a relief to me to know who will be in charge of her. Alice Philwright will be coming here for a few days and it would be a good idea for you to get to know her, as you will be travelling together. I think you will be safe with her. She has travelled before and has been looking after children in France. You will go by ship to Alexandria and there travel across country to another ship ... at Suez, I think. But there will be more details later. In the meantime you will have certain things to prepare ... your personal things at the rectory and so on. I don't know quite what arrangements you will make ... but I will leave that to you."

She went on talking, obviously pleased that at last I had fallen in with her decisions and seen the wisdom of following the plans she had made for me. There was little she liked better than arranging the lives of others.

I made my way back to the rectory. Colin was very kind. He was quite pleased with life. He had stepped into my father's shoes and was generally accepted throughout the neighbourhood. My father had been loved more for his foibles than his efficiency. Colin exuded goodwill and bonhomie; he mingled jollity with seriousness, which was very becoming to a man of the cloth. He was ideal for the job.

Moreover, he was already displaying interest in the doctor's daughter, Ellen. She was a few years older than he was, but had all the qualifications a parson's wife should have, plus the approval of Lady Harriet. What could be more suitable, when Colin's only lack to make him an ideal rector was a wife? He was obviously on the way to acquiring one.

He bore me no rancour for refusing his offer. He told me that there was plenty of room in the attics for me to store anything I wished, and after my stay in India I could decide what I wanted to do with it. He would pay me a good price for the furniture in the house, which he was now taking over, and that would save him the trouble of getting his own furniture and at the same time be a help to me.

This all seemed very reasonable and I was grateful to Colin for being so helpful in a practical way. I had to rid myself of all sentimental feeling about my old home and accept the fact that this was the best way.

My excitement grew and as the days passed I realized this was exactly what I needed. I wanted to get right away. My life had come to a dead end. I should experience new scenes, new people.

There was a great deal in the papers at this time about war with Russia. It had been coming to a boiling point for some time and now we were definitely at war.

Despatches were being sent home about the terrible conditions in the Crimea, and a Miss Florence Nightingale had gone out there with a party of nurses. I had read about it and when I was with Polly I had seen soldiers marching through London on the way to the wharf for embarkation. People cheered them and sang patriotic songs, but I am afraid I was so immersed in the dramatic change in my own fortunes that I paid less attention than I would otherwise have done.

I went to the church when Miss Lucille was buried. Colin took the service and I hovered in the background. I was aware that Lady Harriet might think it presumptuous of me to assume the status of a friend.

While the coffin was being lowered into the grave I caught a glimpse of Ayesha, who looked very sad and lost. I went over to speak to her.

She smiled at me and said, "She would be glad you came. She often talked of you."

"I felt I had to come," I said. "Although I saw very little of her, I never forgot her."

"No. And now she is gone. She was glad to go. She believed she would join her lover. I hope she will. I hope she will find happiness again."

The mourners were dispersing and I went slowly back to the rectory.

The next day one of the Framling servants came over to the rectory. Lady Harriet wished to see me at once.

I went over immediately.

"This is rather unexpected," Lady Harriet said. "Miss Lucille has left something to you."

"To me!"

"Yes. Ayesha tells me that you interested her when you came to play with Lavinia."

"I did see her once or twice since then."

"Well, she has requested that one of her possessions should be passed on to you. I have told them to bring it here."

Just at that moment one of the servants came in. She was carrying a case, which she laid on the table.

"This is the object," said Lady Harriet. "There were instructions in her will that it should go to you."

I took the case.

"Open it," said Lady Harriet.

I did so. The sight of the peacock feathers was not really a surprise to me. I knew before I opened it that this would be her bequest to me. I touched the beautiful blue feathers, and as I did so I felt a faint shudder of revulsion.

I could not resist taking out the fan and unfurling it. I touched the little spring in the mount and disclosed the emerald and diamonds I had seen before.

Lady Harriet was beaming at me.

"Worth, I have heard, a small fortune," she said. "Well, you may regard it as your nest-egg."

"Thank you, Lady Harriet," I said.

She inclined her head. "Miss Lucille was a somewhat eccentric lady. A tragedy in her youth affected her deeply. I can comfort myself by the thought that I always had her well looked after to the best of my ability."

So I came back to the rectory carrying the peacock-feather fan.

Ayesha came to see me.

She was very sad. She had spent a great many years looking after Miss Lucille. We walked in the rectory garden, for she did not wish to come into the house.

I asked her what she would do now.

She told me she would decide later. Miss Lucille had left her well provided for, so money was not a problem. She might return to India. She was not sure. Although she had been expecting Miss Lucille's death, it was still a shock to her. She had permission to stay at Framling until she had decided what she would do.

She talked about Miss Lucille—her kindness and gentleness and her terrible grief.

"She always said you must have the fan," she said. "She thought it the best way of disposing of it as you had already had it in your possession."

"But she thought it brought ill luck."

"She had listened to legends. She was told those stories after her lover died ... and in her grief she accepted them. Perhaps it assuaged her grief to believe that it was to be. You see, she blamed herself. She had wanted the fan and he had bought it for her; she had been so attracted by it that he wanted to embellish it for her, and while he was actually dealing with this he met his death. It was the only way she could stop blaming herself, to blame the fan ... which in her eyes represented fate."

"I could never understand why she did not destroy it if she thought it brought evil."

"It was because she thought it would bring more bad luck if she did so. It carried the curse. She had suffered; it would harm her no more. She believed too that you had suffered through your connection with it. There was gossip at the House. She heard some of it. She was interested and pleased when she thought you might marry Mr. Carruthers, who became the Earl. When he became engaged to Miss Lavinia she was sure this was due to the curse of the fan. It had robbed her of her lover and now you. She said, 'The curse worked on her, poor child. She has paid the price. She is young. She has many years to live. But she has paid the price ... so she is now free from its evil.' "

"It doesn't seem to be very logical reasoning."

"Poor lady, she was never reasonable. Her tragedy changed her. It touched her mind."

"It seems a strange legacy ... to pass on evil."

"She felt it was best. The fan would harm you no more. You had already paid the price. She felt it was best with you." Ayesha touched my hand lightly. "You are no dreamer. You have ... what is it they say, two feet on the ground. You will see that this is a nonsense. And in the fan is the jewel. It is there when you need it. We never know in this life what will happen to us. Who knows? One day you might be in need of money ... desperately in need. Then you sell the jewel ... and when the jewel is gone what is it but a few peacock feathers? You will be wise, as my poor mistress never could be. Remember this. We make our own luck. If you believe in ill luck, it will surely come. Mistress Lucille, she was stricken and she made no attempt to cast off her grief. She nursed it; she nourished it. She told herself that it was the curse of the peacocks' feathers ... and what did she do? She preserved the fan; she liked to look at it. At times she asked me to bring it to her and she would unfurl it and gaze at it until the tears rolled down her cheeks. You have much sense. You will know that Miss Lavinia's marriage to the Earl was in no way connected with the fan."

"Of course I do. But I was not deeply involved. I suffered from hurt pride, not a broken heart."

"And who knows, it may be in a few years' time you will say, 'That was good for me'—that is, when you find great happiness. Believe this will be so, and it will come. You are going to India. It will seem very strange to you. I shall pray for you ... that all good may come your way."

After that she talked awhile of India, of the strange sights I would see. She told me of the religion, the conventions, the different castes and the old customs.

"The women ... ah," she said, "they are the slaves of the men. You will know that the world over the man wants to dominate. It is so here in England ... but in India doubly so. There was a time when widows burned themselves to death on their husband's funeral pyre. That was the custom of suttee, but it is so no longer. The Governor General Sir William Bentinck made it against the law. But the people do not like their customs changed ... especially by foreigners."

"It was good to abolish such a custom."

"Yes ... that and thuggery ... but there are those who do not care what is good, only that their old laws are being interfered with."

"It is bringing civilization to the land. Surely they want that?"

She looked at me and shook her head, her dark eyes mournful.

"They do not always want what is good. They want what is theirs. Ah, you have much to see and you will understand ... Miss Lavinia will be glad to see you, I know."

We talked on about my journey and India. I said we must meet again before I left.

I spent a busy time preparing. I was in close touch with Framling and constantly being sent for by Lady Harriet to be grounded in what I must do.

She had already written to Lavinia, who would be getting ready to welcome me, and during one of our meetings she let drop the news that Lady Geraldine, she was sure, would soon be travelling out to India— "for a certain purpose," she added slyly. I felt a little twinge of anger because everything worked out as Lady Harriet wished it to, and even Fabian seemed to consider it imperative to obey her.

We were to stay two nights in London and I would spend those with Polly and Eff. It was what I wanted as I wished to say a proper farewell to them. Lady Harriet had thought it an excellent idea, as we would have to go to London in any case.

About a week before we were due to leave, Alice Philwright came to Framling. I was summoned to meet her.

She was a tall woman about thirty years of age, by no means beautiful, but her face suggested character. She looked a little formidable and extremely efficient. Lady Harriet had interviewed her personally and was pleased with what she had discovered.

First we had tea with Lady Harriet, during which the conversation was predictable, mainly given over to Lady Harriet's views of the upbringing of children. But later, when we were alone together, we came to know each other, which was a pleasure for me and I hoped for Alice.

She told me that she was one of those women who did not care for interference in the nursery, and if it had been Lady Harriet's children she was to care for she would have declined the post without hesitation. "I will not be told what to do in my nursery," she declared. "And I decided that one would not be able to stir outside her ladyship's ideas, which I fear might be a little antiquated in any case."

I laughed and assured her that it would be quite different with the Countess.

"You know her well, I suppose."

"Very well. We were at school together."

"Oh. So the friendship goes right back."

"Oh yes ... earlier than that. They used to send to the rectory for me to come and play with Lavinia."

"Lavinia is our Countess?"

I nodded. "She was rather a spoilt child, I'm afraid."

"Spoilt! Under that martinet!"

"She thought her children were formed in the same divine mould as herself."

"And this is my new mistress!"

"I am convinced that you will have a free hand in the nursery."

"I believe there is a brother, too."

"Oh yes, Sir Fabian. I doubt he will be aware of us."

"He is going to be married, Lady Harriet tells me."

"I had heard that. A lady of impeccable lineage will be going out to marry him."

"That will be interesting."

"Apparently there was not time to arrange the marriage when he was home, for he was called away on sudden business."

"Connected with the East India Company, I gathered."

"Are you looking forward to going to India?" I asked.

"I always look forward to new children. I've had two families so far and it is a wrench when you leave them. One has to steel oneself not to become emotionally involved with them, and remember all the time that they are not your children, although you're inclined to think of them as such."

"I have never lost touch with my nanny," I told her. "And I never shall. In fact, she is the best friend I have."

I talked often about Polly and Eff and the house.

"She was lucky," said Alice. "She had somewhere to go. Nannies, governesses ... they spend their lives with other families and never have one they can call their own."

"Unless they marry."

"Then they cease to be nannies and governesses. It's a strange thing. In my profession we understand children ... we love children ... we would make the best mothers ... but we rarely marry. Men are notorious for turning away from the women who would make the best wives and falling in love with some flighty creature because she looks pretty in moonlight ... and often they regret it later."

"I see you take a cynical outlook on life."

"That comes with increasing years. You wait."

"Oh, you are not so very old."

"Thirty-three. Considered to be most definitely on the shelf. Mind you, there is still a chance ... a very slight one ... that someone might see one and take to one. But very, very remote."

She laughed as she made these pronouncements, and I felt we were going to get along very well together.

There was one more session with Lady Harriet. We were given letters for Lavinia, which I was sure were full of admonitions. I went round the neighbourhood saying goodbye to my friends; I took a last leave of Ayesha and then we left.

Polly and Eff were waiting to give us a good welcome.

Alice Philwright was to spend the two days in their house. They had said it would be an easy matter to put her up. I think Polly was secretly pleased to have the opportunity of assessing my companion. I was delighted that they seemed to like each other from the start. Alice was completely at home in the kitchen and even partook of a glass of poker-heated stout.

She talked of her children in France and Italy and confessed that she was finding it hard to imagine what an Anglo-Indian menage might be like.

Polly said, "I'm glad you're going with her." And afterwards to me, "She's a good sensible woman, that one. I was afraid they were going to send you out with some young flighty piece."

I reminded Polly that flighty pieces rarely worked as nannies.

"You find all sorts anywhere these days," was her comment.

I had brought the peacock-feather fan with me. I showed it to Polly.

"It was left to me by Miss Lucille."

"H'm," said Polly. "Pretty."

She opened her eyes and gasped when I showed her the jewels.

"That must be worth a pretty penny."

"I believe so, Polly. Lady Harriet referred to it as a nest-egg."

"Well, that's nice to have, I must say."

"I want you to keep it for me. I didn't know where else to leave it."

"I'll take care of it. I'll put it in a safe place, never fear."

I hesitated. I did not tell her that it was supposed to be unlucky. I knew she would have laughed at the idea in any case; and I think secretly I wanted to forget it.

She said, "I wish I was going with you. Take care of yourself. And look out for that Fabian. I expect you might run into him while you're there."

"I don't suppose I shall see much of him. He'll be engaged on business matters."

"He's the sort who'd bring himself forward and I wouldn't touch him with a barge pole."

"I believe you've said that before."

"Well, I'll say it again. And remember this. We're always here. If they try any hanky panky ... either of them ... I never did trust anyone by the name of Framling ... you just let me know ... and I'll be waiting for you when the ship comes home."

"That's a comfort, Polly."

"Remember it. There's always a home for you here."

"I will remember it," I said. "Goodbye, Polly, and thank you for coming to the rectory and being there all those years."

"Well, we was made for each other, wasn't we? Now take care and come back soon."

"Two years, Polly. It's not long."

"I'll count the days."

And shortly after that we sailed on the Oriental Queen for Alexandria.

Alice and I stood side by side on the deck until the last piece of land that was England was out of sight. Then we went down to the cabin we shared.

It was small and cramped, but, as we realized later, we were lucky to have it to ourselves. But I was too excited to think about such details then. We were on our way to ... adventure.

I had had very little experience of travelling. True, I had crossed the Channel once or twice on my way to and from Lamason. I was immediately reminded of that secretive journey back to England with Janine and a pregnant Lavinia.

That set me thinking of Lavinia and wondering whether marriage had changed her and what surprises I had waiting for me at my destination. But that seemed a long way off. There was so much to be experienced first.

Within less than an hour of our departure the sea became very rough and continued so all through the Channel and into the Bay of Biscay. We had to curb our inclination to explore for a while, for it was difficult enough to stand upright on the ship.

When we did mingle with our fellow passengers we found them pleasant enough. Many of them knew each other, as they had made the journey several times on the ship; that rather set us apart, and it was quite unusual that two women should be travelling alone, for Alice, although of a more mature age than I, was still comparatively young. I was sure Lady Harriet would not have approved if it had not fitted in so well with her plans to send us out.

However, there we were, and in a few days we did learn a little about the people on board.

There were two girls—of different families—going out to get married. It was a fairly frequent happening, I understood. There was Fiona Macre, a Scottish girl who was going to marry a soldier, and Jane Egmont, whose husband would be one of the officials of what was referred to as the Company.

I kept thinking of Lady Geraldine, who would be coming out on some future voyage to join Fabian. I fell to wondering whether I should see him and what his attitude towards me would be. I wondered whether he would approve of my coming out to be with his sister.

Alice and I were naturally very much together and I learned a little about her. Once she had been engaged to be married. She had not then decided that she would become a nanny. She had lived with her married sister and brother-in-law in Hastings. She had not been very happy; not that her family had not been kind to her, but she had felt an intruder. And then she had met Philip. Philip was an artist. He had come down to Hastings for his health. He had a weak chest and the sea air was said to be good for him.

She met him when he was seated on the shore painting a rough sea. Some of his drawings had blown away and landed right at her feet; she had rescued them and returned them to him.

"There was this howling wind, I remember," she said. "It tore at you. I thought he was crazy to be working in such weather. They were sketches he was making. He was pleased that I'd caught them and we talked and got on well. Then we used to meet every day." Her eyes grew tender and she was like a different woman, soft, gentle and feminine. "We were to have been married. He told me that he was not strong. He had consumption. I planned to nurse him. I was sure I could bring him back to health. He died ... a month before we were to have been married. Ah, well, that's life. Then I decided I wanted to look after people ... little ones ... and I became a nanny. It didn't seem as if I were going to get any children of my own, so I had to make do with other people's."

We did share confidences very quickly. I told her about Colin's proposal and Lady Harriet's conviction that it was the best solution for me and that I was stubborn and foolish not to take it.

She grimaced. "You have to be careful of the Lady Harriets of this world. They are all manipulators. I'd never be manipulated. Good for you that you weren't either."

"I never shall be."

"You were right to refuse him. Marriage lasts a long time and it's got to be the right one. Perhaps you meet that one ... once in a lifetime. Perhaps he doesn't even notice you. But if he's the one no one else will do."

I did not tell her about Dougal, who had failed me before I had time to fall in love, nor did I mention Fabian, whom I never seemed to be able to get out of my thoughts.

Our first stop was Gibraltar.

It was wonderful to be on dry land. A certain Mr. and Mrs. Carling invited us to go ashore with them. I think they were sorry for two women travelling alone.

We had a very pleasant day inspecting the Rock and the monkeys, and it was exciting to be in a foreign place; but the British flag flew over it, so we still felt we were part of home.

Sailing along the Mediterranean was peaceful. We sat on deck basking in a mild sunshine. It was on one of those occasions that we made the acquaintance of Monsieur Lasseur.

I had noticed him once or twice about the ship. He was of medium height, verging on middle age, with black hair and dark eyes, which seemed to dart everywhere as though he were afraid of missing something.

He had always given me a pleasant smile and bow, with a cheerful "good morning" or whatever time of the day it was. I gathered that he was French.

As we were coming into port at Naples, I was leaning over the rail watching our approach. I was alone. I was not quite sure where Alice was. I became aware of him standing beside me.

"An exciting moment, is it not, Mademoiselle, coming into port?"

"Yes, indeed it is," I answered. "I suppose one feels the excitement because it is all so new."

"I feel it ... and it is not new to me."

"Do you travel this way frequently?"

"Now and then ... yes."

"You are going to India?"

"No. I go as far as Suez."

"I believe we have to travel by land from Alexandria."

"That is so. A little ... lacking in comfort. How will you like that?"

"Everything is so new and exciting to me that I don't think I shall notice the discomfort."

"You are very philosophical, I see. And the ... older lady ... your sister perhaps?"

"Oh no."

"Not so? Then ..."

"We are travelling together. We are both taking up posts in India."

"That is interesting. May I ask ... ? But I am curious. It is just that on board ... well, the conventions do not apply in the same way. We are here together ... we are one family ... So I can be like the uncle ... the elder brother peut-etre."

"That is a pleasant suggestion."

"You have not made many friends yet."

"So many people seem to know each other already, and married couples drift together. I suppose it is unusual to find two women like us travelling alone."

"Refreshing, shall we say? Refreshing. Now I am going to ask you. Are you going ashore at Naples?"

"Well, I am not sure ... You see ..."

"I know. Two ladies alone. Now I am going to be very bold."

I raised my eyebrows.

"I am going to say this. Why do I not conduct you two ladies ashore? Two ladies to go ashore by themselves ..." He lifted his hands and gravely shook his head. "No ... no ... that is not good. These people, they say, 'Here come two ladies ... we will charge them more.' And perhaps there are other bad things they practise. No, no, ladies should not go ashore without protection. My dear young lady, I offer you that protection."

"That is good of you. I will speak to my friend."

"I shall be at your service," he replied.

At that moment I saw Alice. I called, "Alice, Monsieur Lasseur is kindly offering to escort us ashore."

Alice's eyes widened with pleasure. "What an excellent idea! I was wondering what we were going to do."

"Mademoiselle, the pleasure is mine." He looked at his watch. "Let us meet say ... in fifteen minutes. I think we shall be allowed to leave the ship then."

So that day in Naples was spent in the company of the gallant Frenchman. He talked to us a great deal. He was a widower and childless. He had interests in Egypt and would stay in Suez for some time on business.

He contrived to find out a certain amount about us. He had an intent way of listening that made us feel that what we had to say was of the utmost interest to him.

There was about him an air of authority. He shepherded us through the hordes of chattering people, among whom were countless small boys begging or trying to sell us articles. He waved them all aside.

"No, Miss Delany," he said, "I see you are feeling sorry for these piteous waifs, but believe me, they are professional beggars. I have heard that they do very well from gullible visitors."

"There is always a possibility that they may be as poor as they look."

He shook a finger at me. "Trust me," he said. "If you gave to one you would have them all round you like vultures, and you may be sure that while you were concerned with your almsgiving some little fingers would find their way into your pockets."

He hired a little carriage drawn by two small horses and we were driven through the town. Monsieur Lasseur obviously knew the place well, and as we drove under the shadow of the great mountain Vesuvius, he talked interestingly of its menace. We said we wondered why people continued to live so close to it.

"Ah," he replied, "they were born here. Where one's native land is ... that is where one wants to be ... except adventurous young ladies who would go to the other end of the earth."

"It is because their work takes them there," pointed out Alice.

"To India ... land of strange spices and unsolved mysteries."

Then he talked about Vesuvius and the great eruption that had destroyed cities like Pompeii and Herculaneum. He was interesting.

He took us to a restaurant and we sat outside under gaily coloured umbrellas and watched the people passing by. He encouraged us to talk, and I found myself telling him about the rectory and Lady Harriet and how I had been to a finishing school in France. Alice said little about herself and it suddenly occurred to me that he did not prompt her to do so, although he listened avidly to what I told him.

I thought perhaps I was talking too much, and made up my mind to ask Alice when we were alone if this had been so.

Finally it was time to return to the Oriental Queen. It had been a most enjoyable day.

I said to Alice when we were alone, "Do you think I talked too much?"

"He certainly encouraged you to."

"I noticed you said little about yourself."

"I thought he did not want to hear. It was you in whom he was interested."

"I wonder ... if he really is, or whether he was just being polite."

"Oh, there is no doubt that he was very interested in what you said, and yet ..."

"And yet what?"

"Oh ... just a thought. I am not sure that I trust him."

"In what way?"

"He seems a little speculative ..."

"I did not get the idea that he was the least bit ... flirtatious."

"No. That is what makes it rather odd."

"Oh, Alice, you are being dramatic. I think he is just a lonely man who wants companionship. He travels a great deal. He probably becomes friendly with people for a few weeks and then forgets all about them."

"H'm," said Alice, but she was rather thoughtful.

In due course we arrived at Alexandria, where we left the Oriental Queen, boarded a steam barge and sailed up the canal to Cairo.

Monsieur Lasseur had explained to us what would happen. We would spend one night in a hotel—preferably Shepheards —and from Cairo we would make our journey across the desert to Suez in a sort of covered wagon. These wagons were in constant use, carrying people to where they could embark on the next stage of the journey by sea.

It was very exciting to be on dry land after so much time at sea, and we were impressed by the grandeur of the hotel, which was unlike any we had seen. It appeared to be dark and shadowy, and silent-footed men in exotic robes glided about watching us intently with their darting dark eyes.

Monsieur Lasseur told us that there was a constant stream of travellers—mostly going to and from India.

From the moment we entered the hotel, I noticed the man. He was in European dress, and was tall and broad, which made him immediately noticeable. When we came into the hotel after leaving the carriage that had brought us there in the company of the other passengers who were taking the route to India, he seemed to be aware of us. He rose from the chair in which he had been sitting and came close to the desk, where we were being asked our names and informed about our sleeping quarters.

"Miss Philwright and Miss Delany," said the clerk at the desk. "Your room is on the first floor. It is small, but as you see we are very crowded. Here is your key."

The tall man was very close to us then. I wondered what he was doing there, as he was not one of our party. But Alice was pulling at my arm. "Come on," she said. "It's only for one night. We shall be leaving early in the morning."

Excited though I was, I slept well, and I was awakened very early next morning by Alice telling me it was time we got up.

The trip across the desert was to be made in those covered wagons, which were very much as Monsieur Lasseur had described them. They were drawn by four horses and we were told that there were several caravanserais in the desert where we could rest while the horses were changed. Six people rode in each wagon.

Monsieur Lasseur said, "Let us go together. I feel I must keep an eye on you two young ladies. I know from experience how uncomfortable these journeys can be. The drivers are very handy with their whips and their one aim seems to be to get the wagon to the caravanserai as quickly as possible. I am afraid you will find the journey somewhat exhausting."

"As I have already told you, Monsieur Lasseur, it is all so new to us that we are ready to face a little discomfort," I reminded him.

I shall never forget riding through Cairo in the early morning. The buildings looked mysterious in the half light. We passed elegant mosques, one of the palaces of the Khedive, and latticed houses which would have delighted Dougal, who would have seen the Saracen influence in their shadowy walls. Because it was so early the city had not sprung to life, which it would shortly do. I saw just a few donkeys led by small, barefooted boys. There was a hush over the place, but the sun was about to rise, and in the light of dawn Cairo looked like an enchanted city, as though it belonged in the Arabian nights. I could well imagine a loquacious Scheherazade entertaining her sultan behind the doors of some ancient palace.

There were six of us in the wagon: myself, Alice, Monsieur Lasseur, Mr. and Mrs. Carling and, to my surprise, the tall man whom I had noticed in the hotel.

I wondered if he was going to join the steamer that was taking us to India or whether his destination, like that of Monsieur Lasseur, was merely Suez.

Soon the desert closed round us. It was now light enough to see the miles of sand. It was golden in the dawn light. I was fascinated. Then the driver whipped up his horses and we had to concentrate on keeping our seats.

"I told you," said Monsieur Lasseur, "it was hardly a comfortable journey."

We laughed as we were flung against each other. Mrs. Carling said it was a mercy it could not last for long, and Mr. Carling commented that when one undertook such a journey one must be prepared for discomforts. Monsieur Lasseur remarked that there were certain things in life that were wonderful to anticipate and look back on, but less agreeable to experience, and travel often proved to be one of them.

The tall man smiled benignly on us. He seemed to divide his interest between Monsieur Lasseur and me, and whenever I looked up I would find his eyes fixed gravely on one of us.

The horses rattled on.

"What happens if the wagon overturns?" I asked.

"Which," added Mr. Carling, "it might well do if it goes on like this. I don't think our driver realizes what he is putting us through."

"His idea is to get rid of one load, receive his money and then on to the next," explained Monsieur Lasseur.

"But if there is an accident surely that would delay him," I suggested.

"Oh, he is confident that Allah will look after him."

"I wish I shared his confidence," said Alice.

We were all relieved when the horses pulled up. Poor things, they must have been very weary. I knew we all felt considerably battered and we welcomed the short respite before the ordeal started again.

As we alighted I noticed the tall man stayed close to us.

The heat of the desert was intense, for it was round about noon. We had been going for some six hours and were glad of the shelter, although our resting place was like a hut, but the stables adjoining it were extensive.

Beverages were served, and I was glad to see that there was tea. There was food—bread and meat of some indefinable kind, which I declined.

We sat at tables—the six of us who had shared the wagon. I saw no one else from the ship's party and I presumed they would come later, as ours had been one of the first wagons to leave Cairo.

"At least we have come safely through the initial stage of the journey," said Alice.

The tall man replied, "There is still more of the same to come."

"I should not think it could be any worse," went on Alice with a grimace.

The man lifted his shoulders.

"I have heard of frequent breakdowns on the way," put in Monsieur Lasseur.

"How awful," I said. "What would happen then?"

"You wait until the message gets through and they come with another wagon."

"What if we didn't get to Suez in time to catch the ship?"

"They would find some means of getting you there," said the tall man.

"We don't know your name," I told him. "And it does seem as if we are to be fellow passengers on this hazardous journey."

He smiled. He had very white teeth. "It's Tom Keeping," he said.

"So ... you are English."

"Did you not think so?"

"I wasn't sure."

Monsieur Lasseur said, "I will find out when we are leaving."

He went to the table where a man who was obviously taking charge of the place was sitting.

Tom Keeping said, "I am an interloper. Your party have all come out from England, is that so?"

"Yes, we all sailed together."

"And Monsieur ... I forget his name ... the French gentleman."

"Monsieur Lasseur. Yes, he was with us also."

"And all good friends. People quickly become friends when they are travelling, I believe."

"They are thrown very much together," I explained.

"That must be so."

Monsieur Lasseur came back.

"We are leaving in half an hour."

"We had better brace ourselves," said Alice.

The next part of the journey was as hazardous as the first. I noticed that there was a pathway across the desert. Presumably it had been made by the wagons, and if the drivers had kept to this it would have been moderately comfortable, but the frisky horses, maddened no doubt by the frequent applications of the whip, kept straying into the sand, which sent up clouds of it over the wagon.

Several times during the trip to the second caravanserai I thought we were going to be overturned, but by some magic we survived and, after what seemed an interminable journey, we reached the second of the resthouses.

As we were making our way into the caravanserai Monsieur Lasseur slipped his arm through mine and drew me slightly away from the others.

He said, "That was a real shake-up. I feel quite bruised, don't you?"

I told him I did.

"I think," he went on, "I could get a better conveyance for us. Don't say a word. I couldn't take the others ... only you and Miss Philwright."

As he was talking Tom Keeping came up close behind us.

I said, "How could we leave the Carlings? They should be the ones to travel more comfortably."

"Let me arrange this," went on Monsieur Lasseur. "I'll find a way."

I felt a little uneasy. I wished that I could have asked Alice for her opinion. It was not just the fact of the two of us going off with Monsieur Lasseur. We had travelled with him and knew him well. How could we explain to the Carlings, who were less able to stand up to the journey than we were?

We sat down and refreshments were brought to us.

Tom Keeping said, "I have a bottle of wine here, which I brought with me. Would you care to join me?"

I declined, as did Alice and Mrs. Carling. We preferred tea, although it was not very good. Mr. Carling hesitated and finally said he, too, would take the tea.

That left Monsieur Lasseur and Tom Keeping. The latter went to the end of the room and procured a tray and two glasses, pouring the wine into them.

He brought it back to the table and offered one to Monsieur Lasseur.

"To a successful journey," said Tom Keeping, lifting his glass. "May we all arrive safe and sound at our destinations."

We chatted for a while and then Monsieur Lasseur left us. He looked at me rather conspiratorially as he went. Mr. and Mrs. Carling were so tired that they were dozing off. There was a small room where we could wash and freshen up a little before we began the next phase of our journey. I signed to Alice to accompany me there.

I said to her when the door had closed, "Monsieur Lasseur has plans. He thinks he can get a better carriage for us, but he can't take us all."

"Then he had better take the Carlings. They are elderly and we can stand up to it better than they can."

"I mentioned that, but he wants to take us."

"Why? We have endured the greater part of it."

"He seems to be going to a lot of trouble."

"It would be nice to travel in comfort, but it would be impossible to leave the Carlings. Mr. Keeping will be all right, but I really think Mrs. Carling has had enough."

"Yes, we'll insist that he take them."

"I don't think he'll be eager to do that. He wants to show you what a resourceful gentleman he is."

"I think he wants to be more comfortable himself. He said he was going to the stables to arrange it all."

"Well, let's see what happens."

We washed and prepared ourselves for the resumption of the journey.

When we went back to the table Mr. and Mrs. Carling roused themselves and went off to the rest room. There were two of them, naturally, one for men and one for women.

It was some time before Mr. Carling emerged with Tom Keeping, and as soon as I saw them I knew that something was wrong. Tom Keeping came quickly to the table at which Alice and I were sitting.

"I am afraid something has happened to Monsieur Lasseur," he said.

We half rose. "What is it?"

"Oh, don't get alarmed. He is a little unwell. I think it may be something he ate at the last stopping-place. It happens now and then. I am afraid he will be unable to continue with us."

"But ..." I began.

"Perhaps there is something that we could do," said Alice.

"My dear ladies," said Tom Keeping, "we have to catch the steamer. I believe Monsieur Lasseur's business was in Suez. If he is a day late in arriving that could be of little moment. For us to arrive after the steamer had sailed would be disastrous."

"But what can we do ... ?"

"He is in good hands. They are used to this sort of calamity here. They will look after him. He will catch a later wagon."

"Where is he now?"

"In the men's rest room. There is a little room there where people can lie down. He has asked me to convey his best wishes to you and tell you not to worry about him."

"Perhaps we could see him ..." I began.

"Miss Delany, he would not wish that. Moreover the wagon is leaving at any moment now. If you miss it there may not be room on the next."

Mr. Carling said, "This is the most uncomfortable journey I have ever undertaken."

"Never mind, Father," said Mrs. Carling. "We've come so far and this part is nearly over. Only one more lap to do."

Mr. Keeping hurried us to the wagon and we were soon galloping across the desert.

In due course we arrived at Suez, where we spent a day waiting for the rest of the wagons to arrive. To our amazement, Monsieur Lasseur did not come. Alice and I wondered a great deal about him. It was strange. Who would have thought that such a seasoned traveller would have eaten something that did not agree with him. It would have been understandable if it had happened to one of us.

The P. & O. Steamer was waiting for us. We went on board and settled into our small cabin for two, immensely relieved that we had survived the hazardous journey across the desert.

In due course we sailed. Monsieur Lasseur still had not arrived.

We discussed him a great deal during the first days at sea.

"He was very attentive to us," I said to Alice.

"I always felt he had a motive," she said.

"Just friendliness. He liked helping two defenceless females who ought not to have been travelling on their own."

"I could never quite understand him, and his disappearance was most mysterious."

"I wonder how he felt about not being able to get to Suez?"

"He'll only be a few days late, and as he hadn't a ship to catch I don't suppose it mattered all that much."

"It seemed so strange. We were with him most of the time and then ... he disappeared."

"Tom Keeping seemed to think it was a very ordinary occurrence. The food doesn't always agree with us. I don't suppose standards of hygiene are what they should be. But I thought he would be the sort who would be fully aware of all that and act accordingly."

"I think Tom Keeping did not care very much for him."

"Perhaps the feeling might have been mutual. However, Monsieur Lasseur disappeared, and it is doubtful that we shall ever hear of him again."

We saw Tom Keeping every day. I had a feeling that he was watchful of us and had instituted himself as our protector in place of Monsieur Lasseur.

The seas were calmer and the voyage enjoyable; one day seemed to slip by after another and there was a similarity among them. Many of the passengers who had been on the Oriental Queen were still with us, and it seemed just a change of scene, but we had picked up a few passengers at Suez and there were friendly exchanges between us as we sailed down the Red Sea to Aden.

The heat grew great and I remember lazy days when we sat on deck and, as Alice said, recovered from the gruelling time we had endured in the desert.

Tom Keeping often joined us. I noticed that Alice was getting very friendly with him. He was most pleasant to us both, but I detected that while he regarded me more as an object in need of protection he had a great admiration for Alice.

He was an experienced traveller. He told us that he had done the journey from India to England and back many times.

"Most of the people who are going out are in the Army or in the Company; and I think the greater number are in the Company."

"And you," I asked, "are in the Company?"

"Yes, Miss Delany. I am a Company man and I shall be making my way to Delhi as soon as we land."

"We shall be staying in Bombay for a while," Alice told him. "But I believe that our employer may travel round a bit, so we might well find ourselves in Delhi."

"It would please me very much if you did," he said.

He knew, of course, to whom we were going. Fabian, it appeared, was well known to him.

"You must know India well," said Alice.

"My dear Miss Philwright, I don't know anyone who is not a native of the country who knows India well. I often wonder what goes on in the minds of the natives. I don't think anyone can be sure ... any European, that is."

He talked vividly. He made us want to see the lush, green country, the big houses with their lawns dominated by the spreading banyan trees, the stately pipal and feathery tamarind, but most of all to see the people ... the mixed races, the several castes, the customs—which were so different from our own.

"I have a feeling that many of them resent our presence," he told us, "although the more sensible of them know that we bring trade and a better style of living. But intruders are never popular."

"How deeply do they resent foreigners?"

"That is something we cannot be sure of. We are dealing with an inscrutable race. Many of them consider themselves to be more civilized than we are and they resent the intrusion of our foreign ways."

"And yet they endure you."

Tom Keeping smiled at me wryly. "I sometimes wonder for how long."

"You mean they might turn you out?"

"They couldn't do that, but they might try."

"That would be dreadful."

"You express it mildly, Miss Delany. But what a topic! India is safe in the hands of the Company."

I shall never forget our time in Aden. It was brief. We were only stopping for a few hours, but Tom Keeping said he would take us for a short drive.

How menacing it seemed as we sailed towards it. The black cliffs rising starkly out of the sea seemed to threaten us.

We were on deck, Alice and I, with Tom Keeping beside us.

"It looks as though we are sailing into the gates of hell," Alice remarked.

"You feel that, do you? Do you know what they say of this place? That Cain—who slew Abel—is buried here, and that since such a notorious murderer was lain here, the atmosphere of the place has changed. It has become evil."

"I could well believe that," I said. "But I imagine it was rather gloomy before."

"No one has left word to tell us so," replied Tom Keeping. "And I think the story got about because it has such a forbidding aspect."

"Oh, I certainly believe legends attach themselves to things and places because they seem to fit," said Alice.

The few hours we spent in Aden were very pleasant. We were under the protection of Tom Keeping and I was glad of it. Alice seemed to be changing. She looked younger. I thought: Can it be that she is falling in love with Tom Keeping?

They talked a great deal together and sometimes I felt like an intruder. It was strange. Alice was the last person, I would have thought, who would have allowed herself to be taken by romantic storm. Perhaps I exaggerated. Just because two people obviously liked each other, that was no reason to conclude that they were contemplating marriage. Alice was far too sensible to take a shipboard friendship seriously, and I was sure Tom Keeping was, too. No. It was just that their personalities were congenial. They struck me as two of the most sensible people I had ever known; quite different from Lavinia and her bogus Comte.

Tom Keeping told us that he would make his way by land from Bombay to Delhi. Travelling was not easy in India. There was no railroad and therefore journeys were tedious and only taken from necessity. Doubtless he would travel by dak-ghari, a sort of carriage drawn by horses; there would be many stops en route, often in places offering inadequate comfort.

"I believe it was you who warned us that travelling was often uncomfortable," I said.

"It is something I have learned through experience."

The sea voyage was coming to an end. There were long, warm, calm days as we crossed the Arabian Sea, and we forgot our cramped cabin, the stormy seas and the ride through the desert when we had rather mysteriously lost Monsieur Lasseur.

I noticed that Alice was growing a little sad as we were nearing our destination and I believed it was at the prospect of saying goodbye to Tom Keeping. He did not seem to be touched by the same melancholy, although I did feel he had enjoyed his friendship with us and particularly with Alice.

He had always given me the impression that he had taken on the role of protector, and I told Alice that I often thought of him as Tom Keeper rather than Tom Keeping. She laughed and said she felt the same.

And then at last we were nearing the end of our long journey.

I was excited by the prospect of seeing Lavinia again ... and perhaps at some time Fabian. I wondered how I should feel about Dougal. Whichever way I looked at it, I knew it would be far from dull.

"You will be met, I am sure," said Tom Keeping. "So ... the time has come for us to say our farewells."

"How long will you stay in Bombay?" I asked.

"Only for a day or so. I have to make arrangements to leave for Delhi immediately."

Alice was silent.

There came the last evening. In the morning we would disembark.

As we lay in our bunks that night, I asked Alice how she felt about arriving at our destination.

"Well," she said rather wistfully, "it's really what we set out to do, isn't it?"

"Yes. But the journey was an adventure in itself!"

"Well, it is over now. And here we are. Now we have to begin our duties."

"And remember we are no longer independent."

"Exactly. But work will be good for us."

"I wonder if we shall see Tom Keeping again."

Alice said nothing for a few moments and then, "Delhi is a long way from Bombay. You heard what he said about the difficulties of journeys."

"It is so strange. When you travel with people you get to know them so well ... and then they are gone."

"I think," said Alice soberly, "that is something you have to accept from the start. Now we should try to sleep. We have a long day ahead of us."

I knew she was afraid of betraying her feelings. Poor Alice. I thought she had begun to care for Tom Keeping. And he might have done for her if they could have remained together. But now he seemed concerned with his business. I thought of Byron's lines:

Man's love of man's life is a thing apart

'Tis woman's whole existence. The next day we reached Bombay.

The Approaching Storm

There was bustle the next morning. I was accustomed now to these arrivals in port. People seemed to change their personalities and it was almost as though those who had been close friends for weeks now slipped back into the role of strangers. One realized that what had appeared to be a deep friendship was only a pleasant but passing acquaintance.

Poor Alice! She was aware of this, but she was a brave and sensible woman. She would never admit that she had allowed herself to entertain warm feelings towards a man whom she might never see again.

And there we were on that crowded quay.

One of the officials from the dock approached us and asked if we were Miss Delany and Miss Philwright. If so, there was a carriage waiting to take us to our destination. A few paces behind him was a most dignified Indian in a white puggaree and a long blue shirt over baggy white trousers. He ignored the official and bowed low.

"You Missie Delany?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied eagerly.

"I come for you and Missie Nannie."

"Oh yes ... yes ..."

''Follow please."

We followed our impressive leader as he shouted orders to two coolies who appeared to be part of his entourage.

"Coolie bring bags . . . Missie follow," we were told.

And we felt that we were well and truly being treated like honoured arrivals.

A carriage was waiting. It was drawn by two grey horses, standing patiently in the care of another coolie.

Tom Keeping left us there, having more or less handed us over. I noticed that he held Alice's hand firmly and seemed reluctant to let it go. I watched her smile at him unflinchingly. I liked Alice more and more as I began to know her better.

We were helped into the carriage by our gracious protector; our hand luggage was passed to us and we understood that our main baggage would be delivered in due course. Such was the outstanding presence of our man that we were confident everything would be in order.

The memory of that drive stays with me still. I suppose it was because it was my first glimpse of India.

The heat beat down on us. There were people everywhere —noisy, colourful. It was quite unlike anything I had ever seen before. Small boys seemed to be darting all over the streets. I thought we would run some of them down, but our driver skilfully avoided them, although on one occasion he shouted something that sounded like a string of curses and the miscreant turned and gave him a look of intense dismay which I was not sure was due to his narrow escape or to the awfulness of the curses.

How colourful were those streets—the buildings white and dazzling and very grand; and in the side streets, of which we had a fleeting glimpse, the contrast of dark little hovels and people squatting on the pavements ... poor old men who seemed nothing but rags and bones, little children naked save for a loincloth, searching in the gutters ... for food, I imagined. I was to learn later that, however much I was impressed by the grandeur, there would almost always be the accompanying shadow of appalling poverty.

I wanted to stop and give all I had to the mother with the child in her arms and another pulling at her tattered skirts. Our driver drove furiously on, oblivious of the effect this had on us. I supposed he had seen it all so many times that he accepted it as normal.

There were stalls filled with produce, which I did not always recognize, and people in various styles of costume. I learned afterwards that they belonged to different castes and tribes: the Parsees with their umbrellas, the Brahmins, the Tamils, the Pathans and others. Darting everywhere were the coolies, presumably seeking to beg or earn a little money for some form of labour. I saw women, white-veiled, wrapped up in plain, shapeless robes, and here and there those of lower castes with their beautiful long, black hair hanging down their backs, moving with infinite grace. I thought how much more attractive they were than the purdah women, whose charms, I supposed, were kept for their masters alone.

We said little, as we were both intent on the scene about us and eager to miss nothing. We drove on for some miles and passed several beautiful houses, at length pulling up before one of these.

It was a most impressive residence—dazzlingly white, surrounded by a veranda on which were two white tables and chairs. Over the tables were green-and-white sunshades.

There were steps leading to the veranda.

As we approached, white-clad servants came running out of the house. They surrounded the carriage, chattering excitedly.

Our magnificent driver descended, threw the reins to one of the servants and waved his hand, silencing the chattering servants. He then began to issue orders in a tongue we did not understand. He was immediately obeyed, which did not surprise me at all.

We mounted the steps, he marching ahead of us.

Alice whispered to me, "One feels there should be trumpets ... not for us, but for him."

I nodded.

We were led from the veranda into the house.

The contrast in temperature was amazing. It was almost cool. The room was large and darkish, the windows being built into recesses. I realized that this was to keep out the heat of the sun. On the wall of the room was a large fan, which I learned after was called a punkah. This was manipulated by a boy in the regulation long white shirt and baggy trousers. I imagined he had been idling, for at our approach he was on his feet, vigorously working the punkah.

The lordly one threw a scathing glance in his direction and I guessed there would be a reprimand at a more suitable moment.

"Missie Nannie go to room ... in nursery," said our gentleman. "Missie Delany come to Memsahib Lady Countess."

Alice looked surprised, but one of the servants immediately snatched the bag she was carrying and hurried off. Alice followed him. I was left.

"You Missie Delany. You come," I was told.

I was taken up a flight of stairs. Through one of the windows I caught sight of a courtyard. There was a pool on which lotus blossoms floated, and chairs and a table were out there, with a green and white sunshade.

We paused before a door. My guide scratched on it.

"Come in," said a voice I recognized.

"Missie come," said the guide, smiling with the satisfaction of a hero who has triumphantly completed an almost insuperable task. "I bring Missie," he added.

And there was Lavinia standing before me.

"Drusilla!" she cried.

I ran to her and we embraced. I heard the grunt of self-congratulation as the door closed on us.

"You've been so long."

"It is a long journey."

"I'm so glad you've come. Let me look at you. Still the same old Drusilla."

"What did you expect?"

"Just what I see ... and I'm glad of it. I thought you might have developed into some terrible old bluestocking. You were a little like that."

"I never expected you would do such a thing! Now let me look at you."

She took a few steps back, shook out her magnificent hair, which had been loosely tied back with a ribbon, turned her eyes upwards in a saintly manner and posed for me.

She was plumper, but as beautiful as ever. I had forgotten how striking she was. She was clad in a long, loose, lavender-coloured teagown and it suited her ... in fact, everything always suited Lavinia.

I felt that she had staged our meeting and was acting it as though it were a scene in a play and she was the heroine.

"You haven't changed a bit," I said.

"Well, I hope not. I work on it."

"India suits you."

She smirked. "I'm not sure. We're going home in two years' time. Dougal can't wait. He hates it here. He wants to go home and study some dry old thing. Dougal just doesn't know how to enjoy himself."

"People don't always find enjoyment in the same things."

She raised her eyes to the ceiling—an old habit of hers, I remembered. "Trust Drusilla," she said. "You've been here five minutes and the conversation has already taken a psychological turn."

"That's just a plain, simple fact."

"What's simple to clever you is profound to a numbskull like me. The point is, Dougal can't wait to get home."

"Where is he now?"

"In Delhi. They are always going somewhere. It's the old Company making its demands. I'm sick of the Company. Fabian is there, too."

"In Delhi?"

"It's the headquarters."

"Why aren't you there?"

"Well, we were in Bombay and we're to stay here for a while. I think in time we may be going to Delhi."

"I see."

"Well, tell me about home."

"It's just as it was except that my father died."

"I heard that from Mama, and you were supposed to marry the good Colin Brady and keep up the parsonic tradition. I heard all about it from Mama. You were not very sensible, which meant that you did not do what she had planned for you."

"I see you are well informed in Framling parish matters."

"Mama is a great letter writer. Both Fabian and I get periodic missives from home. One thing .... she cannot see from there whether her orders are carried out or not ... which is a mercy."

"She has always arranged everything. It is her mission in life."

"She arranged my marriage." She looked a little sulky.

"You went willingly to the altar."

"It seemed all right then, but I'm a big girl now. / decide what I am going to do."

"I'm sorry it didn't work out well."

"Are you? You know, he ought to have married you. You'd have got on well. You would have liked all that talk about olden times. It is just up your street. I can see you getting excited because someone dug up a pot which was used by Alexander the Great. I wouldn't care whether Alexander or Julius Caesar used it. To me it would just be an old pot."

"You're unromantic."

That made her laugh. "I like that. I'm terribly romantic. I'm having quite a good time ... romantically, as a matter of fact. Oh, I'm so glad you're here, Drusilla. It's like old times. I like to see you look at me disapprovingly. It makes me feel so gloriously wicked."

"I suppose there are ... admirers?"

"There always have been admirers."

"With disastrous results."

"I have already told you I am a big girl now. I don't get into silly scrapes any more."

"That, at least, is a mercy."

"You're looking prim again. What is it?"

"You haven't asked about Fleur."

"I was coming to that. What about her?"

"She is well and happy."

"Well, what is there to be so disapproving about?"

"Just that you happen to be her mother and are somewhat casual about the relationship."

"I have to remind you, Miss Delany, that I am now your employer."

"If you feel like that I will return to England at the earliest possible moment."

She burst out laughing. "Of course you won't. I'm not letting you go now. You've got to stop here and put up with it all. Besides, you'll always be my old friend Drusilla. We've been through too much together for it to be any other way."

I said, "You didn't see Fleur before you left. In fact, have you seen her at all since Polly took her?"

"The good Polly didn't want me unsettling her. Those were your own words."

"You know that Fabian is aware."

She nodded. "I've been lectured on my folly."

"I hope you didn't think I told."

"He said it was Polly who told, because he had come to conclusions about you. He seemed to be more angry about that than anything else."

"He has been good," I said. "He has deposited a sum of money for Fleur, to be used at Polly's discretion ... for her education and all that. They are going to have a governess for her. She has to be educated."

"That's fine. What have we got to worry about? And that dreadful Janine was murdered. That worked out very well."

"For you perhaps—hardly for her."

"Blackmailers deserve their fate."

"Have you thought of poor Miriam?"

"I didn't remember her very much. You were the one who was running round getting to know them all while I was in acute discomfort awaiting the birth. It was a horrible place and I'm so glad it's all over."

"Shall you tell Dougal?"

"Good Heavens, no. Why should I?"

"I thought perhaps you might want to see Fleur and have her with you ... though Polly and Eff would never allow that. Or ease your conscience, perhaps."

"Conscience is something one has to learn to subdue."

"I am sure that is one lesson at which you have excelled."

"There goes Drusilla again. Oh, I mustn't remind you of our respective positions or you'll get huffy and I don't want that. Besides, I like those stern asides. They are pure Drusilla. I'm glad you're here. What about this nanny Mama has sent out with you?"

"She is very good. I like her enormously. She is sensible and, I am sure, absolutely trustworthy.",

"Well, that's what I expected, since Mama found her."

"We got on very well." I started to tell her about our journey and the hazardous ride across the desert and the disappearance of Monsieur Lasseur, but I saw that her attention strayed. She kept glancing in the mirror and patting her hair. So I stopped.

I said, "What about the children?"

"The children?"

"Oh, have you forgotten? You have two born in wedlock. We have already discussed and dismissed your illegitimate offspring."

Lavinia threw back her head and laughed.

"Typical Drusillaisms," she said. "I love them. I'm not going to give you the pleasure of being dismissed for impertinence to your mistress, so don't think I am. You have been chosen for me by my determined mama and my overbearing brother approves of the decision ... so you will have to stay."

"Your brother?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact it was he who suggested it in the first place. He said to me, 'You used to get along well with that girl from the rectory. You went to school with her. I daresay you would be amused to have her here.' When he said that I didn't know why I hadn't thought of it before. I said, 'How would she come?' You know Fabian. He replied, 'By steam to Alexandria and then on from Suez.' I didn't mean that, of course. I said, 'Why? How could she?' 'Well,' he said, 'she's a very erudite young woman. She could teach the children. That's what genteel, well-educated young women of flimsy means do—and the rectory girl is exactly that.' "

She laughed and I felt a foolish elation. He had suggested it. It must have been when he had come home and was courting Lady Geraldine that he had spoken to Lady Harriet.

I wanted to ask about Lady Geraldine, but I felt this was not the moment to do so. Lavinia, by no means clever academically, would be an adept at discovering one's feelings towards the opposite sex.

So I just said, "Oh ... was it like that?"

"Coming from Mama it is like the passing of an Act of Parliament, and the approval of Fabian is like the signature of the Monarch. So, you see, it becomes law."

"You don't always take their advice, I'm sure."

"That is why sin is so enticing to me. If I hadn't such a forceful family it wouldn't be half as much fun. My dear, virtuous Drusilla, so different from your erring friend, I can't tell you what joy it is to have you here. It was delightful that the command from Framling should coincide exactly with my wishes. I'm going to have lots of fun."

"I hope there are not going to be more predicaments like ..."

She put her finger to her lips. "The subject is closed. I'm out of that one. Seriously, Drusilla, I'll never forget the part you played in it. Then I snatched Dougal from right under your nose."

"He was never mine to snatch."

"He could easily have been. I reckon if he hadn't suddenly become important in Mama's eyes he might still be delving in his books and paying his snail-like courtship to you. He might not have arrived at proposing yet. Speed is not Dougal's greatest strength. But the progress would have been steady ... and so right for him, really, and it might have been a solution for you. Better than that priggish old Colin Brady, whom you had the good sense to refuse. But then you would always have good sense. At the same time, Dougal would have been happier without his grand title. Poor Dougal! I could feel almost sorry for him. Swept off his snail's path to marry the woman who was the most unsuitable in the world for him. Still, it was Mama's decree and that is like the laws of Medes and the Persians, which you would know of."

I was suddenly very happy to be here. I felt life had been dull too long. I was alive again. Everything was strange, a little mysterious—and Fabian had suggested that I should come.

I wondered why. For the convenience of the Framlings, of course. Lavinia needed a companion, perhaps someone to rescue her from the result of possible peccadilloes, of which there would certainly be many here, where there were more opportunities than there had been in a French finishing school. And I had proved myself very useful once. Fabian would remember that.

Therefore, one of the decrees, which had ordered the marriage of Dougal and Lavinia, was now extending to me. I was to leave everything and report for duty—so here I was.

I was afraid she would see my elation and connect it with Fabian, so I said, "I should like to see the children."

"Drusilla has spoken. I shall indulge her whim, just to show how pleased I am to have her here. I will take you to the nursery."

She led the way from the room up a staircase and we were at the top of the house, where the nurseries were ... two huge rooms with smallish, shrouded windows set in embrasures. There were heavy drapes, which gave a darkness to the room.

I heard voices and I guessed Alice was already there, making the acquaintance of her charges-to-be.

Lavinia took me to a room where there were two small beds, mosquito-netted, and there was the inevitable punkah on the wall.

The door to the communicating room was opened and a small, dark woman in a sari emerged. With her was Alice.

"This," I said, "is Miss Alice Philwright. Alice, this is the Countess."

"Hello," said Lavinia in a friendly fashion. "I am glad you are here. Are you introducing yourself to the children already?"

"It is the first thing I always do," said Alice.

They went into the room. The slight, dark woman stepped aside to let us pass. She looked apprehensive and I believed that she feared our arrival meant her departure. I smiled at her and she returned my smile. She seemed to read my thoughts and to thank me for them.

Louise was enchanting. She reminded me a little of Fleur, which was not surprising, as they were half sisters. She had fair, curly hair and delightful blue eyes; her nose was small and pretty, but she lacked the tigerish look which I had noticed when I first saw Lavinia, who at that time would have been very little older than Louise. She was a pretty child, but she had missed her mother's great beauty. She was a little shy and stayed close to the Indian woman, to whom she was clearly attached. The boy was not quite two years old. He was taking his first steps and was a little uncertain of his balance.

When Alice picked him up he studied her intently and seemed to find her not unpleasing.

"Louise will be your pupil, Drusilla," said Lavinia.

"Hello, Louise," I said. "We are going to learn some wonderful things together."

She regarded me solemnly and when I smiled she returned my smile. I thought we should get on well together. I had always been attracted by children and although I had had little contact with them I seemed to have a natural empathy with them.

Lavinia watched us a little impatiently. I felt sad for her children. Their affection for the ayah was obvious, but Lavinia appeared to be almost a stranger to them. I wondered how Dougal was with them.

Lavinia did not want to linger in the nursery. She insisted on taking me away.

"There is so much to arrange," she said. She turned a dazzling smile on Alice. "I can see you are going to manage everything perfectly."

Alice looked gratified and I guessed she was assuming— correctly—that there would be no—or very little—interference in the nursery.

I went to my room to unpack and I was aware of a feeling of exhilaration such as I had not felt for a long time.

Each day was a new adventure. I had decided that at first two hours' tuition for Louise would be enough, and Lavinia was ready to agree with anything I suggested. I went riding with her in a carriage through the town, past the burial place of the Parsees, where their bodies were left in the dry, hot air that the vultures might leave nothing but their bones. I was fascinated by so much that I saw and I wanted to savour it to the full. Everything was so new and exotic.

Occasionally Alice and I ventured out together. We liked to walk through the streets, which were a continual fascination to us. We were assailed on all sides by the beggars, whose conditions appalled and distressed us. The deformed children worried me more even than the emaciated-looking men and women who exposed their infirmities to win one's sympathy and cash. Alice and I used to take a certain amount of money out with us, which we would give to what we considered to be the worst cases, but we had been warned many times that when we were seen to give we should be pestered unmercifully. We accepted this and eased our consciences.

There seemed to be a plague of flies which ascended on the goods for display, on the white garments of the veiled women, on the pink and yellow turbans of the dignified gentlemen and, most disconcertingly, on the faces of the people, who apparently were so accustomed to them that they ignored them.

We watched the snake charmer piping his rather dismal tunes; we strolled through street after narrow street, past coolies, past water carriers with their brass pots on their shoulders, past donkeys laden with goods. Sometimes we heard the strains of unfamiliar music mingling with the shouts of the people. Most of the shops were frontless and we could see the wares spread out before us, presided over by their owners, who would do their best to lure us to pause and examine. There were foodstuffs, copper ware, silks and jewellry. Presiding over these last was a plump man in a glorious pink turban smoking a hookah. Cattle often lumbered through the streets. Small boys ran among us, often naked except for a grubby loincloth, like mischievous gnats darting around seeking the right moment to rob the vulnerable.

Alice and I bought some Bokhara silk, which we thought amazingly cheap and which was very beautiful. Mine was blue and pale mauve, Alice's biscuit colour. Lavinia had said that my clothes were awful and that there was a very good darzi who made up materials with speed and efficiency at a very low price. She would help me to choose a style that would suit me and he would be only too pleased to come to the house. All the Europeans used him; all one had to do was tell him what was wanted. He could be paid the price he asked without the usual native haggle. Praise meant as much to him as the money.

Lavinia took quite an interest in my appearance; she was enthusiastic about my clothes. I felt she had some motive. Lavinia, I believed, would always have a motive.

She moved in an Army and Company set, for these two appeared to work closely together. The Company was more than just a trading company. It was part of the government of the country, it seemed, and the Army was there to support it. It stood for British interests in India.

Lavinia was contented, and that meant something. I was certain she had a lover. I had come to realize that Lavinia was the sort of woman who must always have a lover. Admiration and what she would call love were essential to her. She attracted men without even trying and when she did try the effect was great. I had intercepted glances between her and a certain Major Pennington Brown. He was a man in his early forties with a mouse of a wife who, I imagined, at one time had thought him wonderful. Perhaps she no longer did. I thought him rather foppish and affected, but he certainly was handsome.

I tackled Lavinia about him. She said, "Oh, spying already, are you?"

"No great effort was needed. I just assumed there was an intrigue in progress. I know the signs. They haven't changed much since your French Comte put in his untimely appearance."

"Garry is rather sweet and he absolutely dotes on me."

So Major Pennington Brown was Garry!

"I am sure his wife agrees with you."

"She's a poor little thing."

"Evidently he didn't think so once. He must have found her attractive to have married her."

"Her fortune was very attractive."

"I see. And you find such conduct 'rather sweet'?"

"Now please don't take up that tone. Remember ..."

"I am the servant. Very well ..."

"Hush! Hush! I shall certainly not allow you to go home in high dudgeon ... whatever that is. I like Garry if you don't, and why shouldn't he find me attractive?"

"As he is looking for just a light love affair, I suppose he would."

"Just a light love affair! Don't speak so slightingly of such a delightful occupation. What do you know of light love affairs?"

"Nothing, and never want to."

"Oh, we are so virtuous, are we?"

"We are not stupid, if that's what you mean."

"Well, I think you are if you refuse to indulge in what is really a great pleasure." Her eyes narrowed. "I'll make you change your mind one day ... you see."

Now I knew what she was planning for me. She wanted me to find someone among that social circle of hers, someone with whom I should have a light love affair. She wanted someone to giggle with, to share chat of our experiences. I could not really think why Lavinia would be so eager to have me here when she could find so many Army or Company wives who would much more suitably fill her need for companionship.

I did not like her circle of friends; they seemed to me superficial and not very interesting. But I enjoyed my sessions with Louise, who was a delightful child, interested in the picture books I had brought with me. She liked me to tell her simple stories, and when I came into the nursery she would hurry to me and bury her head in my skirts in enthusiastic welcome. Already I loved the child.

The ayah would sometimes sit watching us, nodding her head and smiling. Our love for Louise had made a bond between us.

It was in the gardens that I came upon her on one occasion. I had a feeling that she had followed me from the house and had chosen a suitable moment to speak to me.

There was a gazebo in the gardens—a favourite spot of mine. It looked over a beautiful lawn, in the centre of which was a spreading banyan tree.

She approached me and said, "Please ... may I talk?"

"Of course," I replied. "Do sit down. Isn't it beautiful here? How lovely that tree is ... and the grass is so green."

"Much rain make it so."

"Do you want to talk about Louise?"

She nodded.

"She loves to learn," I said. "It is a joy to teach her. I think she is an enchanting little girl."

"She is to me ... my own baby."

"Yes," I said. "I know."

"And now ..."

"Are you afraid that now the nanny is here you will be sent away?"

She looked at me with wide, piteous eyes. "Louise ..." she said, "is like my baby ... I do not want to lose."

I took her hand and pressed it. "I understand," I told her.

"Missie Alice ... she new nanny. Poor ayah ... no more."

"The children love you," I said.

A smile spread across her face, but the sorrow returned.

"I will be told," she said. "I will be told ... go."

"And that would make you very sad."

"Very sad," she repeated.

"Why do you tell me? Do you think I could change this?"

She nodded.

"Memsahib Countess like you very much. She listen. She is very happy you come. All the time say, 'Where is Missie Drusilla?' " She pointed at me. "You listen ... but she not listen. I think she will say Go."

"I tell you what I'll do. I will speak to her. I will tell her how the children love you. I will say it is best that you stay."

Her smile was dazzling. She stood up, put her hands together and bowed her head as though in prayer. Then she moved gracefully away, leaving me staring at the banyan tree but seeing nothing but the ayah coming to the house, taking over the care of Louise, growing to love the child, being excited at the prospect of another child, and in due course giving the same devotion to Alan. And then all this love and care was to be terminated because of Lady Harriet's whim. Lady Harriet knew nothing of the true circumstances here and would not understand the love that could exist between an Indian nurse and her English charges.

I took the first opportunity to speak to Lavinia. She was taking a rest before preparing for the evening, which would be a gathering of friends before dinner. I had been present on several of these occasions, where she graciously introduced me as her friend from England. I had been quizzed by the men, who might have thought I would be an easy conquest, but the effort of attempting my seduction must have seemed hardly worthwhile to them; and when it was discovered that I was the governess, brought into contact with them through the generosity of Lavinia, I was more or less politely ignored. These sessions had become ones which I wanted to avoid whenever possible.

She was lying on her bed, pads of cotton wool over her eyes.

"Lavinia," I said, "I want to have a word with you."

"Didn't they tell you I was resting?"

"Yes, but I came all the same."

"Something important?" She lifted the cotton wool from her right eye and looked at me.

"Very important."

"Do tell me. You've changed your mind and want to come to the party? All right. Wear the mauve Bokhara. It's the best thing you have."

"It is not that. How many servants do you employ here?"

"What a question to ask me! Ask Khansamah. He's the one who would know."

"So many that one makes little or no difference."

"I suppose you are right."

"I wanted to speak to you about the ayah."

"What about her? She'll be going soon."

"I don't think she should go."

"Well, Nanny Philwright will want to be rid of her, I'm sure."

"She doesn't want to."

"She has told you so?"

"Yes. You see, Louise loves her."

"Oh, children love everybody."

"That's not true. Listen, Lavinia. That ayah has been with those children since Louise was born. She represents something to the child. Security, stability. Can't you see that?"

Lavinia was beginning to look bored. She wanted to talk to me about a certain Captain Ferryman who was making Major Pennington Brown decidedly jealous.

But I was determined. "Lavinia, it won't make any difference to you whether the ayah is here or not."

"Then why bother me with it?"

"Because you can change everything for her. She is a most unhappy woman."

"Is she?"

"Listen, Lavinia, I want you to do something for me."

"Unto half of my kingdom, as they say in the fairy stories."

"Oh, not as much as that."

"Then it is yours."

"Be serious. I want you to let the ayah stay."

"Is that all?"

"It's a great deal to her."

"And what is it to you?"

"I care, Lavinia. I want her to be happy. I want Louise to be happy. If she goes away they will both be miserable."

"Look here, Drusilla. Why are you so intense about it? Why should I care whether the woman goes or stays?"

"I know you don't care about these things, but I do."

She laughed at me. "You're such an odd creature, Drusilla. You have the most queer obsessions. I don't care what you do. Keep the ayah if you want to, as long as Nanny Philwright doesn't mind. I don't want trouble there. She mustn't be upset. Mama would be cross, because she is her choice."

"I can assure you that Alice Philwright will agree with me. She has the welfare of Louise at heart. Alan already loves her, too."

"Pass me the mirror. Do you think I am getting too plump?"

"As far as your looks go you are beautiful."

"So it is only my soul that is black?"

"Not exactly black."

"Not shining white either."

"No. But I think you are not entirely beyond redemption."

"And if I grant your wish will you plead for me when you reap the rewards of your virtue and I am consigned to the flames?"

"I promise."

"All right then. Request granted."

"I may tell ayah that you wish her to stay on?"

"Tell her what you want to."

I went to the bed and kissed the top of her head. "Thank you, Lavinia. You don't know how happy you've made me."

"Then stop and talk to me till it is time for them to come and dress me. I want to tell you about Captain Ferryman, who is really very good looking. He's quite clever, too. They say he has wit."

So I listened and made the comments she expected until the maid came in to help prepare her.

It was a small price to pay for victory.

When I told the ayah that there was no question of her being sent away, she took my hand and kissed it reverently.

I drew it away, murmuring, "It was nothing ... it is right that you should stay."

But she continued to regard me with her soulful eyes.

Alice said to me afterwards, "The ayah looks upon you as a kind of all-powerful goddess."

I told her what had happened.

"I think you have earned her eternal gratitude," she said.

Louise was changing. She was now a very happy child. She was ready to love anyone who showed her affection. She had her ayah and along we had come: Nanny and myself. Alice was strict but loving; she was completely fitted for the job and she filled it with efficiency. Alan loved her, too. Young as he was, I was teaching him. He liked the pictures in the books I had brought and could already pick out certain animals which I had pointed out to him.

Louise liked to sing. She loved the nursery rhymes I taught her and the strains of "Ba, Ba, Black Sheep" and "Ring a Ring of Roses" could often be heard.

It was a happy nursery. I was delighted with my task and so was Alice. But I had, though, a strong feeling of transience. This was ephemeral.

There was talk of our going to Delhi, which we must do sooner or later.

"We shall leave the Army personnel here, I expect," said Lavinia ruefully. She was enjoying the rivalry between her captain and her major. She had repeatedly tried to bring me into her circle of friends, but my reception of them was as lukewarm as theirs of me.

Lavinia was irritated. "You make me angry," she said. "You take no pains. You make no effort."

"Do you want me to roll my eyes and flutter my fan as you do?"

"You'll never get anyone with that 'keep off air of yours. You might just as well write it on a board and carry it round your neck."

"It's in contrast to your 'come hither' approach."

That made her laugh. "Drusilla, you'll be the death of me. I shall die of laughing at you."

"What I say is true."

" 'Come hither' anyway is more friendly than 'keep off.' "

"It helps to maintain that devastating attraction of yours. Your way of going on is tantamount to an invitation to all and sundry. 'Lover wanted. No lengthy courtship necessary.' "

"I wonder why I put up with you."

"There is an alternative."

"Oh, are we back at the dreary subject? I give in. You amuse me too much for me to let you go. I shall just ignore you and put on my 'come hither' look whenever I wish."

"I didn't expect anything else."

And so we continued to banter and there was no doubt that Lavinia was happy to have me here. One of the things she enjoyed most was shocking me.

One day when I went to the schoolroom the ayah was there with a young girl who must have been about eleven or twelve years old. She was a strikingly lovely child. Her long black hair was tied back with a silver ribbon and she wore a pale-pink sari which set off the smoothness of dark skin. Her eyes were large and luminous.

"This, Missie, my niece."

I said I was very pleased to make her acquaintance.

"She ... Roshanara."

"Roshanara," I repeated. "What a lovely name."

The ayah smiled and nodded.

"Is she visiting you?"

The ayah nodded. "Missie let her stay ... listen to Missie Louise."

"But, of course," I said.

And as I sat with Louise over the books, Roshanara watched and listened intently.

Roshanara was exceptionally beautiful, even for an Indian girl. Her natural grace was delightful to watch. She already spoke English tolerably well. She loved learning and it was delightful to see her rather solemn little face break into a smile when she mastered some unfamiliar word. Louise loved having her with us, and those two hours teaching were some of the most enjoyable of my days.

I learned a little about Roshanara. She was the ayah's niece, her father being a prosperous tradesman, and she was heiress to a little money, which meant that her marriage prospects were good. She was already betrothed to a young man a year older than herself. He was the son of the Great Khansamah, who presided over the house in Delhi.

"The house," Ayah told me, "where live the great sahibs ... Memsahib Countess's sahib and her sahib brother."

I found out more about this house from Lavinia. It was a Company house, as most of the houses were, and they were kept up for the convenience of important directors of the Company. The house in Delhi was grander than this one in Bombay, but Lavinia found this more cosy. I think she meant that here she was free of her husband and the censorious eye of her brother.

According to Roshanara, the house in Delhi was under the command of the Great Khansamah, who was a very important gentleman indeed. He was employed by the Company, as the Khansamah in Bombay was, and it was their duty to look after the comforts of important gentlemen sent out from England—I presumed such as Fabian and Dougal.

The man in Delhi was known as Great Khansamah Nana. Later I wondered whether this was his real name or one given to him for his authoritative attitude to all those who came under his sway. I had not heard then of Nana Sahib, the revolutionary leader who was obsessed by his hatred of the British. It seems strange, looking back, that we should have been completely unaware of the gathering storm.

The Great Khansamah Nana had a son, and it was to this son that Roshanara was betrothed. When the household moved to Delhi, which would be before long, the marriage would be celebrated.

"You are looking forward to it?" I asked Roshanara.

I looked into those limpid eyes and saw a hint of fear overshadowed by resignation.

"It is what must be," she said.

"You are too young to be married."

"It is the age to be married."

"And you have never seen your bridegroom!"

"No. I shall not until we are married."

Poor child! I thought, and I felt very tender towards her. We were becoming good friends. I talked to her often and I fancied she found confidence, which grew out of our friendship.

As for the ayah, she looked on with contentment. She was happy. She was to remain with her beloved children and her beloved niece was with her—learning, as she said, from a very clever lady.

I had been apprehensive as to my skill as a governess, but I really was beginning to congratulate myself that I was rather good at it.

In two years' time we were to return to England. Then, of course, Louise, probably under the guidance of Lady Harriet, would have a professional governess and be taught all the things an English young lady should know. In the meantime I would suffice.

Lavinia sent for me. It was afternoon, when a silence lay over the house. There was no sound but that of the creaking punkahs as the sleepy boys worked the pulleys.

Lavinia was lying on her bed, looking languid in a green peignoir, which contrasted charmingly with the tawny shades of her hair.

I sat on the edge of the bed.

"We're going to Delhi," she said. "Orders from above."

"Oh?" I said. "Are you pleased?"

She grimaced. "Not really. It was getting quite interesting here."

"You mean the rivalry between the handsome major and the ambitious captain?"

"Oh, is he ambitious?"

"To enjoy your obvious charms."

"Oh, thank you. A compliment from you means a good deal, because you don't give them often. You're one of the dreadful honest people who have to tell the truth at all costs. You're the sort who'd go through fire and torment rather than tell one little white lie."

"And you would tell them without compunction."

"I knew you couldn't continue to praise me. Seriously, Drusilla. We have to depart next week."

"That's short notice surely."

"They think it rather long, and I'm only getting it because of the children. Otherwise it would be up and away with twenty-four hours' notice. Someone is coming out to Bombay ... Papa, Mama and three children. They want the house so we have to go to Delhi ... where we should be in any case."

"So we set out next week?"

She nodded.

"It will be interesting to see Delhi."

"Dougal will be there and, I expect ... Fabian."

"You will be delighted to see your husband and your brother again."

She pursed her voluptuous lips with faint distaste.

"Oh," I said, "I suppose it will mean you have to behave with a little more decorum than you usually display."

"Can you see me acting with decorum? I shall be myself. No one is going to change me. It's quite a business moving the nursery. It's a good thing Ayah is here. We have to ride in those wretched dak-gharis, as they call the awful things. I can tell you, it will be most uncomfortable."

"Well, I did survive that journey across the desert, which is not exactly the most comfortable I have undertaken."

"You wait till you see our dak. It's a long journey and there are the children."

"I don't suppose you will worry much about them."

"They will have Nanny Philwright and the ayah ... not to mention their resourceful governess."

"What about Roshanara?" I asked.

"Oh, that young girl who is going to marry Great Khansamah's son. She'll go with us. We can't afford to offend G.K."

"G.K.?"

"Oh, come. Where are your wits? Great Khansamah, of course. He rules the household, I gather, with a rod of iron. You need someone of Mama's calibre to stand up to him. Dougal could never do it. Fabian could, of course. But he would consider it a waste of time."

"So," I said, "we in the nursery shall be making tracks for Delhi?"

"Exactly so ... with the rest of us."

"I shall look forward to seeing more of India," I said. And I was thinking: Fabian will be there. I wonder what he will be like now.

Preparation went on apace. Ayah was delighted that she was accompanying us. She told me she owed her happiness to me. She knew that it was my word with Memsahib Countess that had made it possible for her to stay.

"This I never forget," she told me earnestly.

"It was nothing," I assured her; but she would not have it so. She told me she was happy because she would see her niece married. She loved Roshanara dearly and she was delighted that she would make a grand marriage.

Roshanara was less content, and as the days passed she grew more and more apprehensive.

"You see ... I do not know him," she confided in me.

"It seems wrong to marry you to someone whom you have never seen."

She turned her sad, fatalistic eyes on me. "It happens all girls," she said. "Sometimes happy ... sometimes not."

"I heard he is an important young man."

"Son of Great Khansamah in Delhi," she told me, not without pride. "Grand Khansamah is very great gentleman. It is an honour, they say, for me to marry his son."

"He is about your age. You'll grow up together. That might be good."

She shivered a little. I could see she was trying to comfort herself by painting a rosy picture in which she could not believe.

In due course we were ready to leave. Baggage had already gone off in horsedrawn carriages, all cleverly packed by the servants on the instructions of the Khansamah—not the great one, of course, but a very impressive gentleman for all that. Now it was our turn.

It was a long journey and, having travelled before, I was prepared for acute discomfort.

I was, perhaps, on the whole, a little too pessimistic.

Our dak-ghari was a badly constructed carriage drawn by a wild-looking horse. There were several of these vehicles for our party. I was with Lavinia and a certain Captain Cranly who, I suppose, was there to protect us. The children travelled in a dak that they shared with Alice, the ayah and Roshanara, with the small amount of luggage that we would need for the journey. In another dak we had our brass pots, which we would use for washing, and mattresses on which we could sleep if there were no beds in the rest houses where we would stay during the journey.

And so we set off.

It was, as India always would be, interesting, stimulating and intensely exciting, but so intent were we on keeping our balance as the dak lurched along that we could not give our full attention to the scenery.

Lavinia was sighing for a palanquin, which would have made the journey so much more comfortable. A palanquin, she told me, was a kind of litter, with bedding inside on which the occupant could recline in comfort. They were suspended on poles, which four men carried.

"Rather hard on the men," I commented.

"They are used to it. I think I shall refuse to travel any more without a palanquin."

The journey seemed long. We stopped at several of the dak-bungalows, which bore a striking resemblance to the caravanserai that we had discovered in the desert on the way from Cairo to Suez. We were usually given chicken and oatmeal bread there, and we had tea, too, with goat's milk, which I did not like very much. Still, hunger seasons all dishes, they say; and it certainly did on that journey to Delhi.

Every time we stopped the children greeted us as though they had not seen us for months, which amused us very much.

And in due course we saw in the distance the red stone walls of beautiful Delhi.

To ride through that city was an exhilarating experience. My first impressions filled me with excited anticipation. I wished that I had a guide with me to answer my eager questions and explain what these impressive buildings were.

The walled city stands on high ground, with a commanding view over verdant woods. Domes, minarets and gardens gave it a touch of mystery that enthralled me. I saw the red walls of the Fort, the old palace of Shah Jehan. I yearned to know more of its history. I thought suddenly: How Dougal must enjoy this.

We went through the city past Jama Masjid, the great mosque, which was surely one of the finest structures in India. I caught a glimpse of the imperial tombs. I did not know what the future held, but I did know I would always be glad that I had seen India.

And so we came to Delhi.

The house was much grander than the one in Bombay.

We were met by the Great Khansamah, a middle-aged man with more dignity than I have ever seen in any other person. The house might have been his and we distinguished guests, but not quite of his high caste.

He clapped his hands and servants came running. He cast an eye on Roshanara and his expression was censorious. I remembered that this was her future father-in-law; and I hoped for her sake he would not live too close to the married couple.

"Welcome to Delhi," he said, as though he owned the city.

We found ourselves talking to him deferentially. Watching him, I saw his eyes linger on Lavinia with a certain gleam in them which I had noticed in the eyes of others when they looked at her. She was aware of it and did not resent it.

We were taken to the rooms that had been assigned to us. There were punkahs everywhere and I noticed there was no surreptitious idling here.

I kept thinking of one thing: I shall soon meet Dougal ... and Fabian.

Alice, with the ayah, took the children to their quarters. I was shown to my room, which looked down across the veranda to the stately pipal tree with its abundant green foliage. The garden onto which I gazed was beautiful. In the pond, water lilies and lotus flowers floated under a tall, feathery tamarind tree.

There was a feeling of serenity and peaceful beauty. Later I tried to tell myself that it was a brooding calm before the storm, but I believe that did not occur to me at the time.

After a while I went along to see how Alice was settling the children in. Their quarters were more spacious then those in Bombay. Roshanara was there. I noticed she shivered intermittently.

I said, "All will be well."

She looked at me pleadingly, as if I had the power to help her.

"I feel it in my bones," I added with a smile.

"My bones tell different."

I believed it was the overbearing Great Khansamah who had struck fear into her heart.

I said, "Stern fathers often have gentle sons. You see, they have been brought up strictly and perhaps suffered. It makes them kind and understanding."

She listened attentively. I thought: Poor child! What a sad fate to be given in marriage to a stranger. I, who had successfully evaded the efforts of Lady Harriet to marry me off to Colin Brady, could feel especially sorry for frail Roshanara.

Alice was delighted with the new nursery. She, too, was finding life strange and exhilarating; but sometimes I detected a wistfulness in her eyes and I guessed then that she was thinking of Tom Keeping. A thought struck me: He had come to Delhi; he worked for the Company. Perhaps we should see him again soon. That thought delighted me. Alice was such a good sort. She should have children of her own rather than lavish affection on those of other people who, as the ayah had stressed, could so easily be snatched from her.

After leaving the children I went back to my room. Lavinia was there, sprawling in one of the armchairs.

"Where have you been?" she demanded.

"Just giving them a hand in the nursery."

"I've been waiting for you."

I did not apologise. I was a little irritated by her lack of interest in the children's welfare.

"You will dine with us tonight?"

"Oh, should I?"

"Dougal will be there. So will Fabian, I expect ... unless they are dining somewhere else, which they often have to do. Company business crops up."

"I see. But I am here as the governess."

"Don't talk nonsense. They know you. Dougal rather well, I fancy. There would be an outcry if you were put in the category of servant ... even higher servant."

"I don't suppose they would notice."

"Don't you fish for compliments from me. That's my province. I want you there. There'll be lots of boring conversation about the Company, of course. You and I can chatter on the side."

"Well, if I shall serve a useful purpose ..."

She laughed at me. "I wish we'd stayed in Bombay. Those awful dak things. They were horrible. I shall reprimand Dougal for not sending palanquins for us to ride in. I shall say it is an insult to the Company to have Company people's memsahibs riding around in those awful things. They might take some notice if I put it that way. Why couldn't we have stayed?"

"I know you hate to leave the romantic major and the aspiring captain behind."

She snapped her fingers. "Oh, they'll have a regiment here. They'll have to. This is, after all, the important place, where most of the business is done. Here and Calcutta ... I'd rather Delhi than there ... I must say."

"So there will be replacements for the gallant pair."

"There is no need for you to worry on that account. What shall I wear tonight? That's what I wanted to ask you."

She chattered on about her clothes and I listened halfheartedly, my mind on what it would be like to see Dougal and Fabian again.

I was soon to find out.

I saw Dougal first. I had found my way to the room that was a kind of anteroom to the dining room. Dougal was already there. I had a notion that he would have heard that we had arrived and was waiting for me.

He came forward and took both my hands.

"Drusilla! What a great pleasure."

He had aged quite a bit. He had lost that air of looking out on the world and finding it full of interest. There was a faint furrow between his eyes.

"How are you, Dougal?" I asked.

He hesitated just for a second. "Oh, well, thank you. And you?"

"The same," I said.

"I was delighted when I heard you were coming ... and so sorry to hear of your father."

"Yes. It was a great sadness."

"I shall always remember those days when we talked together." A wistful look came into his eyes. It had always been easy to read Dougal's thoughts ... though perhaps not always, for had I not believed at one time that he was growing fond of me? Fond of me he was. But not in the way I had thought.

And then Fabian came into the room and my attention was all for him.

He stood still, legs apart, studying me. But I was not able to read him as I did Dougal. I did see his mouth turn up a little at the corners as though he found something amusing in the fact that I was here.

"Well," he said. "Miss Drusilla Delany. Welcome to India."

"Thank you," I said.

He had advanced, and he took my hands, looking intently into my face as he did so.

"Ah ... still the same Miss Delany."

"Did you expect someone different?"

"I was hoping I would find no change. And now I am content." He spoke lightly. "What did you think of the journey?"

"Tremendously interesting. A trifle uncomfortable, but a stimulating experience."

"You take a philosophical view, I see. I knew you would, of course. And I do hope the interest and stimulation outweighed the discomfort."

Lavinia had come into the room. Both men turned to her. She looked beautiful, with her hair dressed high on her head and her somewhat diaphanous gown clinging to her superb figure.

I immediately felt like an insignificant wren in the presence of a peacock.

Dougal went to her and they kissed perfunctorily. It was not what one would have expected from a husband and wife deprived of each other's company for some months. I noticed the change in Dougal. He seemed apprehensive.

She turned to Fabian.

"Well, sister," he was saying, "you seem to look better than ever. I guess you are delighted that Miss Drusilla has joined you."

Lavinia pouted. "Oh, she disapproves of me, don't you, Drusilla?"

"I expect with reason," said Fabian.

"Drusilla would always be reasonable," added Dougal with an air of resignation.

"Of course, Drusilla is a paragon of virtue," said Lavinia mockingly.

"Well, let us hope that you profit from her example," added Fabian.

"We had better go in to dinner," said Dougal. "Great Khansamah will be annoyed if we do not."

"Then let us delay," said Fabian. "I believe that we should make the rules."

"He can be very difficult in many ways," Dougal reminded him. He turned to me. "He has complete control over the servants."

"All the same," protested Fabian, "I don't intend to let him govern my life. But I suppose the food will be spoiled if we don't go in. So perhaps Great Khansamah has reason on his side. We don't want to give Miss Drusilla a bad impression, do we?"

It was cool in the dining room—a large, salon-like place with French windows looking out onto a beautiful lawn with a pond, on which floated the familiar water lilies and lotus flowers. There was a faint hum in the air from the countless insects and I already knew that when the lamps were lighted the curtains would have to be drawn to prevent certain obnoxious creatures invading the room.

"You must tell us all about your journey," said Fabian.

I told them and mentioned our hazardous progress across the desert.

"Did you become friendly with any of your fellow passengers?" asked Fabian. "One does on ships."

"Well, there was a Frenchman. He was very helpful to us, but he was taken ill on the journey through the desert and we didn't see him again. We met someone from the Company. You will know him, I expect. A Mr. Tom Keeping."

Fabian nodded. "I trust he was helpful."

"Oh, very."

"And what do you think of India?" asked Dougal.

"I feel I have seen very little of it so far."

"Everything is different here from in England," he said a little ruefully.

"That is what I expected."

The Great Khansamah had come into the room. He was dressed in a pale blue shirt over baggy white trousers; his puggaree was white and he wore a pair of dark red shoes of which, I discovered, he was very proud. He wore them with an air that was meant to imply that they were a sign of his great position.

"Everything is to the satisfaction," he said in a voice daring us to say that it was not.

Lavinia smiled at him warmly. "It is very good," she told him. "Thank you."

"And the sahibs ... ?" he said.

Fabian and Dougal told him that it was very satisfactory.

Then he bowed and retired.

"He really has a great opinion of himself," murmured Dougal.

"The trouble is," replied Fabian, "so has the rest of the household."

"Why is he so important?" I asked.

"He is employed by the Company. This is for him a permanent post. He regards the house as his and those of us who use it are merely his passing guests. That is how he sees it. Of course, he is very efficient. I suppose that is why he is tolerated."

"I think he will be easy to get along with," said Lavinia.

"He will if he gets complete subservience," Fabian told her.

"Which you resent," I said.

"I won't have my life ruled by servants."

"I don't think he sees himself as that," said Dougal. "To himself he is the great Nabob, the ruler of us all."

"There is something about him that makes me wary," said Fabian. "If he becomes too arrogant I shall do my best to get him replaced. Now what news from home?"

"You know the war is over," I asked.

"It is about time, too."

"They have brought the men home from the Crimea and the nurses are looking after them. They did a wonderful job."

"Thanks to the redoubtable Miss Nightingale."

"Yes," I said. "It took a great deal of hard work to make people listen to her."

"Well, the war is over," said Fabian. "And it ended in victory for us—a Pyrrhic victory, I fear. The losses were tremendous and the French and Russians suffered more than we did, I believe. But our losses were great."

"Thank Heaven it is all over," said Dougal.

"It took us a long time," commented Fabian. "And ... I don't think it has done us much good here."

"You mean in India?" I asked.

"They watch closely what the British are doing and I have come to the conclusion that attitudes have changed a little since it started."

He was frowning as he looked into his glass.

Lavinia yawned. She said, "I believe the shops here are very much like those in Bombay."

Fabian laughed. "And that is a matter of the utmost importance, which you will no doubt quickly investigate."

"Why should the attitude change because of a war far away?" I asked.

Fabian leaned his arms on the table and looked intently at me. "The Company has brought great good to India ... so we think. But it is never easy for one country to impose its customs on another. Even though the changes in some cases may be for the better, there is necessarily a certain resentment."

"There is undoubtedly resentment here," agreed Dougal.

"And it alarms you?" I asked.

"Not exactly," replied Fabian. "But I think we have to be watchful."

"Is that one of the reasons why the despotic rule of the Great Khansamah is tolerated?"

"I see you have grasped the situation very quickly."

"Oh, Drusilla is so clever," said Lavinia. "Far cleverer than I could ever be."

"You do show a certain perception, since you are able to see it," said her brother. "Although I must say it is rather obvious."

"Fabian is always beastly to me," said Lavinia, pouting.

"I am truthful, dear sister." He turned to me. "Things have changed a little in the last year or so. And I think it may have something to do with the war. There were accounts in the papers of the suffering endured by our men and of the long siege of Sebastopol. I sensed that some were regarding that with a certain satisfaction."

"But surely our prosperity helps them."

"It does, but all people are not so logical as you and I. There is something such as cutting off one's nose to spite one's face. I fancy there are many here who would be ready to do just that ... to let their own prosperity suffer for the sake of seeing us humiliated."

"It sounds rather a senseless attitude to take up."

"There is a strong sense of national pride in us all," put in Dougal. "Independence is dear to most of us, and some fear to lose it, even if retaining it means dispensing with certain comforts."

"What would be the result of this feeling?" I asked.

"Nothing we shouldn't be able to handle," said Fabian. "But it shows itself now and then. The Khansamah of this house is a man of overweening pride, as you have seen."

"I think he is rather fun," said Lavinia.

"If you recognize that he is the head of the household, all will be well," said Fabian. "I believe he is not a man whom it would be wise to cross."

"What could he do?"

"Make things uncomfortable in a hundred ways. The servants would obey him. They daren't do anything else. If there is a growing restlessness in the country, it is probably due to the way we have brought in new laws. They are afraid we are going to impose our ways on them to such an extent that their native institutions will be stifled out of existence."

"Is it right to do that?" I asked.

Fabian looked at me and nodded. "Thuggery. Suttee ...they are evils which have been suppressed by the British. You looked surprised. I see you are unaware of these matters. Both are pernicious, wicked, cruel customs long overdue for suppression. We have made the performance of them against the law. There were many Indians who lived in fear of these practices, but at the same time they resent our coming here and making them criminal acts. Dougal, of course, has made a study of all this."

"He would," said Lavinia.

Dougal did not glance at her. He turned to me. "It is the Hindustani Thaga. We have called it thuggery. It is a worship of the goddess Kali, who must be the most bloodthirsty of all gods and goddesses ever thought of. She demands perpetual blood. Those who take the oath to her are by profession murderers. It is considered an honourable profession ... to murder."

"Surely everyone agrees that it is good to stop that," I said.

"Everyone ... except the Thugs themselves. But it is interference by foreigners with the customs of the country."

"People must have been terrified."

"It was a religious community. Those people who took the oath lived by murder. It was not important whom they murdered, as long as they killed. They lived on the plunder they took from their victims, but the motive was not robbery, but to placate their goddess. They banded together in groups, falling in with travellers, seeking their confidences and choosing the appropriate moment to murder them."

"How ... diabolical!"

"They usually killed by strangulation."

"Quite a number of them made use of the thorn apple," said Fabian.

"Oh, that's a special sort of drug," said Dougal. "It grows profusely here. The leaves and seeds are used in medicine. When the leaves are dry they have a narcotic smell. You'd recognize this plant when you see it. The name is actually datura, but they call it thorn apple. You can see the tubular five-cleft calyx with a large carolla, shaped rather like a funnel. It has a prickly sort of capsule."

"Trust Dougal to get the scientific description," said Lavinia mockingly.

"There's nothing scientific about that," said Dougal. "It is just easy for anyone to see."

"I fancy I wouldn't recognize it if I saw it," said Lavinia. "Would you, Drusilla?"

"I don't think so for a moment."

"There you are, Dougal. You're boring us with your description. I want to hear more about the poison."

"It's deadly," said Dougal. "A peculiar alkaloid called daturina can be distilled from it. Some of the natives use it as a drug. When they do, they become wildly excited. The world seems a beautiful place and they are almost delirious."

"And they like that?" I asked.

"Oh yes, indeed," said Dougal. "It makes them feel wonderful ... while it lasts. But I believe it is followed by acute depression, which is usual in the case of these substances. Moreover, it can be very dangerous and in the end fatal."

"You were saying that these thugs used it to kill their victims."

"It was one of their methods," replied Fabian, "but I believe the more usual was strangulation."

"I should have thought most people would have been greatly relieved that these thugs had been put out of action by the law."

Fabian lifted his shoulders and looked at the ceiling.

"It is a matter of what we were saying ... independence or better rule. There are those who will always want the former. It is the same with suttee."

"That was abolished about the same time as thuggery," Dougal told me. "They really have a great deal to be thankful for to Lord William Bentinck. He was the governor of Madras for twenty years and then he became Governor General from 1828 to '35. You know what happens in suttee. A husband dies and his wife leaps into his funeral pyre and is burned to death with his body."

"How terrible!"

"So thought we all, and Lord William brought in the laws condemning suttee and thuggery," added Fabian.

"It was a great step forward," commented Dougal.

"Do you know?" put in Fabian. "I believe both are still practised in some remote places. It is a defiance of British rule."

Lavinia yawned again and said, "Really, this is getting like a history lesson!"

"A fascinating one," I said.

"Drusilla, don't be such a. prig! You infuriate me. You just encourage them. I know what she's going to say. 'If you don't like it, I'll go back home.' She's always threatening me with going back home."

"That," said Fabian gravely, "is something we must persuade her not to do."

I was happy suddenly. It was the experience I had known before. It was like coming alive.

For the rest of the evening we talked of India, of the various castes and religions. Looking out on the lawn, I thought it was one of the most peaceful scenes I had ever encountered.

When I retired that night, it was long before I slept. I kept thinking about the evening, the old cruel customs of the country and the fact that I was living under the same roof as the two men—I had to admit it—who had been most important in my life: Dougal and Fabian. How different they were! I was a little alarmed by the wistfulness I saw in Dougal's eyes. He was sad and regretful. It was not difficult to see that his marriage had brought disillusionment to him; and he seemed, even in the brief time we had been together, to be turning to me for solace. I thought I would have to be careful. As for Fabian, he had changed little. I must not allow myself to become too impressed by him. I must remember that he was a Framling and they did not change. They would always believe that the world was made for them, and all the people in it made to suit their purpose. Moreover, I must not forget that Lady Geraldine might soon be coming out to marry him.

Almost immediately Roshanara was married. We did not attend the ceremony, which was carried out in accordance with the ancient Indian custom. Asraf, the young bridegroom, I heard from the ayah, was about a year older than Roshanara.

"Poor children," said Alice. "I pray that life will not be too difficult for little Roshanara and her husband."

We saw the decorated carriages, for it was a grand occasion presided over by the Great Khansamah, who looked very magnificent. I saw the glitter of jewels in his puggaree.

I did not see Roshanara after her wedding. She was leaving with her husband for the tea plantation where he worked for his uncle, and it was some distance away. I wondered whether the uncle was as grand as Asraf's father; but it was difficult to imagine that anyone could be that.

We had settled into a routine. We had made a schoolroom in the nursery and there I taught the children. We all missed Roshanara. Alan was becoming quite a little person now.

They were happy. The change of scene had affected them very little, because they had those they loved and relied on about them. It was sad, Alice said, that their mother was not very interested in them, but I replied that she never had been, so they would not notice. True, she was their mother, but titles were not important and they were content with Alice, Ayah and me. We represented their close little world and they asked for nothing more.

Lavinia was somewhat pleased with the move now that she was settling in. Delhi was more fashionable than Bombay; there was more going on and naturally there was a greater military presence here, which pleased her.

"More handsome officers to choose from," I told her sardonically.

She put her tongue out at me.

"Jealous?" she asked.

"Not in the least."

"Liar."

I shrugged my shoulders. "Have it your way."

"Poor Drusilla, if you'd only pretend to think they're marvellous they would like you."

"I leave all that to you."

She laughed secretly.

As usual she was very preoccupied with her appearance and what clothes she should wear to enhance it. She had found some exotic perfume, which pleased her. I was amazed how little her experiences had changed her. The sordid affair with the mock Comte had passed her, leaving her unrepentant and able to forget Fleur as though she did not exist. Others had taken care of that misdemeanour. I think she must have imagined that there would always be those around her to do that. But in her way she was fond of me. She enjoyed shocking me; she liked my veiled criticism. If ever I suggested going she was alarmed. That gave me the weapon I needed against her now and then. She realized this and accepted it. And in spite of everything I had a fondness for her, too, though often I thought her behaviour outrageous.

She had followed the custom of the ladies of the household by interviewing the Khansamah each morning to discuss the day's menu. This surprised me, for in Bombay, where it had also been her duty, she had shirked it. But now she did it regularly. I was to discover why.

The Great Khansamah would come with his usual pomp to the upper part of the house and Lavinia would receive him in the little boudoir-type room close to her bedroom. She would be wearing a beribboned peignoir or some equally feminine garment, which I thought unwise.

She did not seem to be aware that this was a ceremony—a ritual almost. The lady of the house should sit at a table, dignified and precise, listen attentively to the suggestions made by the Khansamah, sometimes query them and make a suggestion herself, and then give way or insist, whichever etiquette demanded.

The procedure was quite different with Lavinia. I knew why she bothered. It was because the dignified Khansamah emerged sufficiently from his regal aura to imply that he considered her beautiful.

Dougal and Fabian were away for most of the day. Sometimes they dined at the house; at others they did so elsewhere. Dougal came more often than Fabian, who seemed to be more closely involved with the Company.

I took my meals with them. I had wondered how Alice felt about this, because she had hers in the nursery or in her own room. I tried to explain to her. "I think it's because I'm supposed to be here as a sort of companion to the Countess. I knew her from my childhood ... you see ... living close. She seems to want me there at the moment. Of course, she could change. She is very unpredictable."

"I'm happier this way," said Alice. "It suits me."

"I hope you don't mind ... really."

"My dear Drusilla, why should I? I'm sorry for you sometimes ... having to spend so much time with the Countess."

"I know her well. I don't let her bully me."

"She seems to be a very reckless woman."

"She has always been that."

"I guessed that, but I thought it would be different here than in England."

I agreed; and I often had uneasy twinges about Lavinia. Well, if there were scrapes here she had a husband and a brother to look after her.

We had dined. Fabian was not with us; there were just Dougal, Lavinia and myself. We had talked generally about things and as soon as the meal was over, Lavinia said that she was going to bed.

Thus Dougal and I were left alone together.

We were in the drawing room. The heat of the day was gone and the cool of the evening was delightful.

"The gardens are so beautiful in the moonlight," said Dougal. "If we put out the lamps we could draw the curtains and enjoy the scene."

This he did, drawing back the curtains. He was right. The scene was breathtakingly beautiful. I could see the pond with the blooms floating on its surface, and the banyan tree looked mysterious in the pale light.

Dougal said, "It isn't often that we get an opportunity to talk alone. It's a rare luxury, Drusilla."

"I know you are a little homesick, Dougal."

"Each day brings Home a little nearer."

"Are you determined to break away when your two years are up?"

He nodded. "I think so. People must live their own lives as they want to, don't you agree?"

"Yes, I think you are right ... providing they don't hurt anyone in doing so."

"I was never meant for this."

"No. You were meant to live quietly surrounded by your books in the shades of academe."

"I think you know me well, Drusilla."

"One wouldn't have to, to realize what you want from life."

"I would like to be reading ... learning all the time. There is nothing so exciting as discovering facts about the world we live in. I wonder more people don't realize it. It seems to me that most of them are chasing shadows."

"Perhaps they think you are doing the same. All people view life differently. What is excitement to one is boredom to another."

"How right you are."

"It is something we have to remember."

"I want very much to go home. I don't feel happy here. There is a brooding sense of evil in the air, I fancy."

"Do you really feel that?"

"It seems to me that these people watch us ... purposefully. It seems they are saying, 'You don't belong here. Get out.' "

"Have you told Fabian?"

"My brother-in-law is a practical man. As they say, his feet are firmly on the ground. To be in authority here suits him as it would never suit me. So you see why I plan definitely to go home when the two years are up and stay there."

"If you feel that, why do you not go before?"

"I have to give a good warning. So far I have hinted. I have certain commitments at home, I tell them. The trouble is, the family has been connected with the Company for years. If one comes from such a family one is expected to uphold tradition."

"Poor Dougal!"

"Oh, I deserve my fate. I have made one mistake after another."

"I think that is not uncommon with most of us."

"You have made none."

I raised my eyebrows and laughed. "I am sure I have."

"No major ones. Drusilla, there is no sense in trying to cover up what is obvious. I have made just about the most ghastly mistake a man can make."

"Are you sure you want to talk to me about this, Dougal?"

"To whom else should I talk?"

"Fabian, perhaps."

"Fabian? These Framlings are too self-centred to concern themselves very much with other people's problems."

"I'm sure Fabian would be sympathetic." He did not answer and I went on, "Is it your marriage?"

"Lavinia and I have absolutely nothing in common."

A sudden wave of anger swept over me. I thought: Why do you realize this only now? It must have been obvious from the first, and why tell me?

"I used to enjoy our times at the rectory," he went on wistfully.

"My father did, too."

"I got the impression that we all did."

"Oh yes. We talked of interesting things."

"You always took up any subject with enthusiasm. If only ..."

"That must be one of the most used phrases in the language."

"Do you never use it?"

"I suppose so. But it is always ineffectual. Nothing that has ever gone before can be changed."

"That doesn't prevent my saying ... if only ..."

"You will not be here always, and if you have made up your mind to go back and study when you get home ... well, that is something to look forward to."

"Lavinia would never agree to live the kind of life I would want."

"That seems very likely, but why did you not think of that before?"

"I was bemused."

"Ah yes, I know."

Silence fell on us. It was broken only by the sound of an enormous flying insect passing the open door.

"He would have been in the room if we had had the lamp burning," said Dougal.

"He looked very beautiful."

"There is so much beauty here," said Dougal. "Look at the garden. Is it not exquisite ... the trees, the pond, the flowers. There is a feeling of deep peace ... but it is quite false, in fact. Everything in this country is mysterious. It seems to me that nothing is what it appears to be."

"Does that apply here particularly?"

"I think so. These servants who come to do our bidding ... I often wonder what is going on in their minds. They seem almost accusing sometimes, as though they harbour resentment and blame us for it. Look at that garden. Where could you see a more peaceful-looking spot, and yet out there among the grass lurk Russelian snakes. You could even come face to face with a cobra lurking in the undergrowth."

"You make it sound like the garden of Eden with the serpent lurking," I said with a laugh.

"It is not dissimilar. You must be careful in the garden, Drusilla. These snakes are everywhere."

"I have seen one or two. Are they the pale yellowish kind?"

"Yes ... the variegated ones. They have big oval spots, brown with a white edge to them. Avoid them. Their bite could be fatal."

"I have seen them in the bazaar emerging from the snake charmers' baskets."

"Ah yes, but those have had their poisonous fangs removed. The ones you find in the garden have not."

"It makes me shiver to think of the peaceful aspect of this place and all that danger lurking beneath it."

"It is like a mirror to life. Often great beauty will disguise emptiness ... and sometimes evil."

In the half light I saw his sad smile. I knew he was thinking of Lavinia and I wanted to comfort him.

We sat in silence for a few moments and it was thus that Fabian found us.

He came into the room suddenly.

"Ah," he said. "Forgive me. I did not know that anyone was here. So you are sitting in the dark."

"We wanted the air but not the insects," I said.

"Well, I daresay a few of them have found their way in."

He sat down near me.

"You have had a tiring day?" I asked.

He shrugged his shoulders. "No more than usual." He stretched his long legs. "You are right," he went on. "It seems very peaceful here sitting in the dark. Tell me, have I interrupted some interesting conversation?"

"We were talking of the contrasts here. The beauty and the ugliness beneath the surface. The beautiful flowers, the green grass and the Russelian snakes out of sight and ready to strike the fatal blow."

"Danger lurking everywhere," said Fabian lightly. "But isn't that what makes it exciting?"

"I suppose most people would say yes," said Dougal.

"And what of you?" asked Fabian of me.

"I am not sure. I suppose it would depend on the lurking danger."

"And whether, having met it, you could escape it?" suggested Fabian.

"I suppose so." I stood up. "I daresay you have business to talk of. I will say good night."

"Oh, you mustn't let my coming break up this pleasant tete-a-tete."

"We were just talking idly," I said. "And I will go now."

Fabian accompanied me to the door.

"Good night," he said, and there was a quizzical expression in his eyes.

I was reminded of that conversation a few days later. I was in the garden with Alice and the children. The ayah was with us. I was talking to her about Roshanara and asking if she had heard anything of her.

She shook her head. "No ... no. She go far away. Perhaps I never see her again."

"Oh, but she will come and see you!" I protested. "She can't be so very far."

The ayah lifted her hands and gently rocked from side to side. There was something fatalistic in her attitude.

Louise came running up to us. She was holding something in her hand.

"What is it?" I asked.

"I picked it for you," she said and handed a plant to me. I stared at it. I had never seen anything like it before.

The ayah had taken it. Her face had turned pale. She said in a frightened voice, "Thorn apple."

Memory stirred in me. What had I heard about the thorn apple? Snatches of conversation came back. It was the thorn apple from which drugs were distilled. The thugs had used it in the past to poison their victims when they did not despatch them by strangulation.

And here was Louise ... picking it in the garden.

I could see that the ayah knew about it.

I said: "I ... I have heard something of this plant."

She nodded.

"Where did Louise find it?"

She shook her head. "Not here. It could not be. It would not be permitted ..."

Louise was watching us with some dismay. She was a bright child and would understand immediately that something was wrong.

"Thank you, Louise," I said. "It was kind of you to bring me the flower." I kissed her. "Tell me. Where did you find it?"

She spread her arms and waved them as though to embrace the whole of the garden.

"Here?" I said. "In the garden?"

She nodded.

I looked at the ayah. "Show us," I said.

I was holding the thing gingerly. I could smell a faint narcotic odour.

Louise was leading the way to a small gate. It was locked, but possible for one of Louise's size to crawl under it, which she proceeded to do.

"This Great Khansamah's garden," said Ayah, shaking her head.

"Come back, Louise," I called.

She stood on the other side of the gate looking at us wonderingly.

"It was in here I found your flower," she said, pointing. "Over there."

"This Great Khansamah's garden," repeated Ayah. "You must not go there. Great Khansamah ... he be very angry."

Louise scrambled back looking alarmed.

"Never go there again," said Ayah. "It is not good."

Louise gripped her sari as though for protection. Everyone had heard of the power of the Great Khansamah.

I took the sprig into the house and burned it. Then I realized that I should have kept it and shown it to Dougal or Fabian.

I saw Dougal soon after that and told him what had happened.

"Are you sure?" he said.

"The ayah called it thorn apple and I remembered what you had said."

"Could you recognize it from my description?"

"Well, no ... not exactly, but it could have been. But the ayah knew it. She would surely know and she recognized it at once."

He was silent. Then he said, "The Great Khansamah's garden is his own property and we cannot tell him what he can and cannot grow there."

"But if he is growing this drug ..."

"He is a law unto himself."

"But he is employed by the Company and if he breaks the law ..."

"I think it wiser to say nothing abut this just yet. After all, we have to have proof, and it could cause a great deal of trouble if we tried to prevent his growing what he wants to, in that patch of land that the Company has decided shall be for his sole use."

I wished that I had spoken to Fabian about it. I was sure his reaction would have been different.

On the other hand, I had only the ayah's word for it that it was the dreaded datura. She could so easily have been wrong, and I could imagine the outcry there would have been if we had tried to interfere with the Great Khansamah's right to grow what he wanted to in his own garden.

That very day we had a great surprise and perhaps that is why I was not more concerned at the time with the discovery of the deadly plant in the garden.

Tom Keeping came to the house.

He came face to face with us as Alice and I were preparing to take the children into the garden.

"Miss Philwright, Miss Delany," he cried, his face breaking into a delighted smile.

I was aware of Alice, a little tense beside me.

"I knew you were here," he went on. "It is a great pleasure to see you again. Are you well? Are you enjoying being here?"

I said we were and Alice agreed with me.

"I knew we should meet again sometime, and urgent business has brought me here."

"Shall you be staying?"

"That depends on many things. However, we shall be able to meet at times." He was looking at Alice. "You find it congenial?"

"Yes," she said. "I get on well with the children. Don't we?" she said, looking at Louise.

Louise nodded vigorously, staring up at Tom Keeping with interest.

"Me too," said Alan.

"Yes," said Alice, ruffling his hair. "You too, darling."

"I want to see Sir Fabian urgently," said Tom. "I am told he will be here this afternoon."

"We never know when he will be here," I told him.

"We should be getting along into the garden," said Alice.

Tom Keeping smiled. "We shall meet again soon. Au revoir," he said.

Dougal had appeared. He said, "Sir Fabian will be here very soon. In the meantime, come into the study and we can talk things over."

They left us and we went into the garden.

"What a surprise!" I said.

"Yes, but I suppose as he is employed by the Company ..." Alice's voice trailed off.

"He is such a nice man."

Alice was silent. She looked pink and flushed and younger; I noticed, too, that she was rather absentminded. I thought: It would be wonderful if he cared for her, but if he does not it would have been better if he had not come back.

Fabian returned later that day. He was closeted in his study with Dougal and Tom Keeping. They did not appear at dinner, but had something sent to the study.

Lavinia and I were alone.

"Thank goodness," she said. "I can't bear all this Company talk. You'd think there was nothing else in the world."

She chattered on about a certain young captain whom she had met the previous evening.

"So handsome, and married to the plainest girl ... I expect it was for her money. She doesn't even know how to make the best of herself. Fancy anyone with her dark skin wearing brown."

I could not give much attention to such matters. I was thinking about Alice and Tom Keeping.

The next day we took the children into the gardens. Tom Keeping joined us. I made an excuse and left him and Alice together. Alice looked a little alarmed, but I was firm. There was something I had to do for the Countess, I lied.

I could not help feeling that Tom Keeping was rather pleased.

On the way into the house I came face to face with Fabian.

He said, "Hello. Are you busy?"

"Not particularly."

"I'd like to have a talk."

"What about?" I asked.

"Things," he said.

"Where?"

"I think in my study."

I must have shown some apprehension. I had never forgotten that occasion when he had made some sort of advance when he had been under the impression that I was Fleur's mother. I could never be alone with him without wondering whether he was going to do the same again. He knew now that I was not a woman of easy virtue, but I fancied that would not prevent his belief that as a Framling and so much above me in the social scale, it would be in order to amuse himself with me for a while. Perhaps that was why I always seemed to be on the defensive. He was aware of this, I was sure. That was what was so disconcerting. He seemed to read my thoughts with ease. I had always felt that he was faintly attracted by me—not for my good looks, which were nonexistent, not for my feminine appeal, but because I was, as Lavinia had pointed out many times, prim, and a man such as he was would find it diverting to break through my armour and to see me submit to him.

I was determined not to show him that I felt excited as well as apprehensive.

He shut the door, his lips turning up at the corners. He held the chair for me and as I sat down his hand touched my shoulder. He took a chair by the table, which was between us.

"You know Tom Keeping is here," he said.

"Yes, he is in the garden with Miss Philwright and the children."

"I noticed the little charade. You discreetly left them together. Is there some relationship between Keeping and the nanny?"

"That is something you should ask them."

I saw the amused look in his eyes. It faded suddenly. "Drusilla," he said seriously, "you are a sensible girl. I wish I could say the same for my sister." He hesitated. "We are a little alarmed."

"About what?"

He waved his hands. "Everything," he said.

"I don't understand."

"I wish we did ... more fully. Tom Keeping has a special position in the Company. He travels around a great deal. He keeps an eye ... on things."

"You mean he is a sort of Company spy?"

"That is hardly the description I would use. You see the position we are in here. It is, after all, an alien country. Their customs are so different from ours. There are bound to be clashes. We think we could help improve conditions here. They are thinking we are an imperialistic conqueror. That is not so. We want the best for them ... providing it is also the best for ourselves. We have made good laws for them ... but they are our laws ... not theirs, and they often resent them."

"I know. You have told us."

"They act in defiance to us. That is the trouble. That is what Tom is here to talk about. There has been a rather bad outbreak of thuggery some thirty miles from here. A group of four travellers have been murdered. We recognize the methods. They had no enemies ... four innocuous men, travelling together for company. They have all been found dead in the forest near a certain inn. The innkeeper admits they stayed there. There were two men at the inn who dined with them. A few hours later the four travellers were found dead in the forest. They had died of poison, which must have been administered in some drink just before they left the inn. There was no reason for the deaths ... except to placate the bloodthirsty Kali. It seems to me that in defiance of our law there is a return to this old barbaric custom."

"How dreadful! Innocent travellers ... murdered by strangers!"

"That is the way of the Thagi. It makes me very uneasy. There have not been many cases lately and we were beginning to think we had wiped the whole thing out. It's a return to it ... a defiance ... That is what is so upsetting. Tom is investigating. If we could find the source of the trouble ... if we could find the murderers and where they come from we might be able to stamp it out, and we must stamp it out quickly. To allow it to go on would not only bring terror to countless Indians, but, worse still, it is an open defiance of British law."

"What are you going to do about it?"

"No doubt there is some sort of central control. These people have their meetings, you know. Wild ceremonies with blood offerings to Kali—strange oaths and so on. If we could find the leaders and root them out, we'd stop the whole thing. No sensible Indian would want to continue with that."

"But Dougal was saying that people value their independence more than anything. They don't want improvements if they are going to interfere with that."

"Oh, Dougal. He's a dreamer. We've got to find out what this means and root it out."

"Perhaps it could be explained to the people."

He looked at me in exasperation. "Drusilla, you are a child in these matters. The sentimental view will only make matters worse. We have to stamp out these evils if we are going to have a reasonable country here where we can live and work and bring benefits to them as well as to ourselves. If they won't accept this, we have to make them."

"Do you think you will ever do that?" "We have to try."

"What would you do if you found the murderers?"

"Hang them."

"Would that be wise? They are following what seems to be a religion with them. It is the worship of the goddess Kali that makes them do such things."

"You are a clever young lady, my dear Drusilla, but in these matters you are ... infantile."

"Then why do you bother to tell me of them?"

"Because I think we should all be warned. Keeping doesn't like the way things are going. He says he is aware of an undercurrent. He has detected insolence in certain people. He is trained to recognize these moods. He is a very experienced man, and he is disturbed."

"What should one do about it?"

"Take great care. Watch the way the wind blows. It is no use talking to Lavinia."

"No use at all. But why do you talk to me?"

"Because I expect you to be ... sensible."

"In what way?"

"Be watchful. Tell one of us if you see anything that may seem strange. We are going through an uneasy patch. We have them from time to time. We must be careful not to offend ... not to show arrogance ... to respect their customs."

"Except thuggery."

"That is true. But we are hoping that this is an isolated outbreak. If we could track it down and put an end to it there might be no more. If it goes undetected it might grow."

"I understand your anxiety. Thank you for telling me."

"I daresay Tom Keeping will tell Miss Philwright. In fact, I am sure he will. He has a great respect for her intelligence. He seems to be very interested in her."

"It was obvious when we travelled with him."

"And she ... what are her feelings?"

"I am not sure. She is not one to betray them."

"There are some like that," he said, smiling at me.

"It is often wise."

"I am sure anything Miss Philwright—and you also— would do would be wise. Tom Keeping is a good fellow ... a very faithful member of the Company. I owe him a good deal."

"Yes, he is clearly very efficient."

"You owe him something, too."

"You mean because he looked after us during the latter part of our voyage?"

"He looked after you very well. I don't think you are aware of how well."

I waited.

He went on, "Do you know he rescued you from a rather tricky situation?"

I looked at him in surprise. "I know he was very kind and helpful."

"How good a student of human nature are you, Miss Drusilla?"

"Do you mean can I judge people? Oh, tolerably well, I believe."

"I imagine that might be so ... among ordinary people with whom you come into contact. The lady helpers at the church and the garden bazaar and so on; who must arrange the flowers in the church for Easter; who must be given that best stall at the sale of work; who is a little jealous because someone had too friendly a smile from the delectable Reverend Brady ... By the way, Brady is married. He married the doctor's daughter."

He was watching me intently.

"A very suitable match," I said. "I trust it satisfies Lady Harriet?"

"There might not have been a marriage if it had not."

"I suppose not. Colin Brady is a very docile subject."

"You were less so."

"I like to manage my own life, don't you?"

"Precisely. But we stray from the point, which was an assessment of your ability to judge human nature. I can tell you this, Miss Drusilla, you may be an expert in your narrow field, but when you stray outside that you are an utter ignoramus."

"Indeed."

"Indeed yes. You were completely taken in by the charming Lasseur."

I was startled.

"He was attractive, was he not? The attentive Frenchman. Were you just a little impressed by him? Did you find him quite attractive?"

"Monsieur Lasseur ..." I murmured.

"The very same. He was not really a Frenchman, you know."

"But ..."

He laughed at me. "You were an innocent ... a sheep among wolves. I think it would always be well to know when one is out of one's depth."

"You are talking in riddles."

"Always an amusing way to talk, don't you think?"

"No. I would like plain speaking."

"Then I will speak plainly. Monsieur Lasseur, no Frenchman but a gentleman of obscure origins, was playing a part. The gallant gentleman was out to deceive unsuspecting ladies who believe they have such a good understanding of life and its little vicissitudes that they are ready to fall into his trap. Your Monsieur Lasseur ..."

"Mine?"

"Monsieur Lasseur is what is known in certain quarters as a procurer for a very wealthy employer, an oriental gentleman who has his own country's traditional ideas about the uses of women ... with which a young lady such as yourself would never agree. In other words, Monsieur Lasseur had selected you as an interesting addition to his master's harem."

I felt myself blushing scarlet and I could see this amused him very much.

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

"Nevertheless, he is known to some of us. English young ladies are very desirable in certain circumstances. First, they belong to that proud country which sees itself as master of the world. They have had a different upbringing from the women of eastern countries. They have had more independence; they have not all been brought up to believe that their mission in life is to serve men in any way in which they are called on to do so. I am sorry if this conversation shocks you, but you see, if you are going adventuring through the world you must be made aware of the facts of life. Lasseur travelled with the ship from England. He was there on his master's more legitimate business; but if he could find someone delectable enough to titillate his master's somewhat jaded palate and bring her back in triumph he would win the great man's approval and gratitude. He would have done more than merely complete his master's business, which he had been sent to England to do. Well, he saw you."

"I really don't believe a word of this."

"You can ask Keeping. He saw what was happening. It would not have been exactly the first time a young woman had disappeared in the desert with him and been heard of no more. By the way, you owe a little gratitude to me. I sent word to him to look out for you when you left the ship at Alexandria. He did. He made you his concern, for he knew that was what I would wish. You look stunned."

I was. I was remembering it all. The meeting with Monsieur Lasseur ... the conversations ... the coming of Tom Keeping. And Monsieur Lasseur had intended to arrange that we travel without the rest of the party. Good heavens! I thought. It is feasible.

Fabian was smiling, reading my thoughts.

"I hope you are not disappointed to have been snatched from a sultan's harem."

"I am sure the sultan would have been, but I would have thought I was hardly worth the trouble."

"You underestimate yourself," he said. "I believe that you are worth a great deal of trouble."

He rose from his chair and came over to me. I rose too. He put his hands on my shoulders.

"I'm glad Keeping rescued you and brought you safely to us," he said seriously.

"Thank you."

"You still look bewildered."

"I have been astonished by what you have told me. I really find it hard to believe."

"That is because you have lived most of your life in a rectory where cunning eastern gentlemen are unheard of."

"There are predatory creatures the whole world over, I suppose."

"Yes," he said with a smile, "but their methods would be different."

"I must tell Mr. Keeping how grateful I am to him."

"He will tell you he was doing it all as a matter of duty ... obeying orders."

"The Company's orders?"

"The Company is only those who work for it. Shall we say, my orders. I am the one to whom you should show gratitude."

"Then if that is so, I thank you."

He inclined his head. "I might ask your help one day."

"I can't imagine my feeble efforts would be of any use to you."

"You underestimate yourself again. You mustn't, you know. There is a belief that people take you at your own valuation. You see, for all his faults, the discerning Monsieur Lasseur recognized your worth. Others might too ... if you let them."

"I think I should join the children. I am usually with them at this time."

"And spoil the tete-a-tete between Miss Philwright and Tom Keeping?"

"Perhaps I should take the children off her hands. They would be able to talk more easily then."

"Drusilla ..."

"Yes?"

"Are you a little grateful to me?"

I hesitated. I still found the story incredible.

"I ... I suppose so," I said.

"You suppose! That is a very hesitant comment from a young lady who is usually so determined."

"I am grateful to Mr. Keeping, of course. What did he do to the man?"

"He will tell you. There was a stop at one of those places."

"Yes. It was where he was taken ill."

"Helped by Tom, of course."

"It must have been something he put in the wine. I remember there was wine."

"Of course. He did tell me. He slipped it into the fellow's glass, knowing the effect would be quick. He went in with him to the men's rest room so that he was handy when Lasseur began to feel strange. He looked after him, called the manager of the place and arranged for him to stay there until he was fit to travel. By the time he had recovered, the ship would be sailing from Suez, with you out of harm's way."

"It was very cleverly done. What did he give him?"

"Something to get the desired effect. In the course of his business Tom has learned of such things."

"Perhaps it was datura," I said. "The thorn apple."

"Oh, that ... Dougal was talking about it, wasn't he?"

"Yes. He explained what it looked like. I could hardly recognize it from his description."

"You have seen it, then?"

I said, "It seems the Khansamah grows it in his garden."

Fabian dropped his bantering manner. "G.K.," he said. "In his garden. But ... the cultivation is forbidden ... except in certain cases."

"Perhaps he is one of the certain cases."

"I should not think so. How did you know of this?"

I told him how Louise had brought the sprig to me.

"Good God!" he said. "He is growing it in his garden!"

"Shall you speak to him? Ayah was very upset. You see, Louise crawled under the fence and thought she was bringing me a nice flower."

"The child took it ..." he murmured. "You have said nothing of this to the Khansamah?"

"No. You know how important he is."

"I do indeed," said Fabian grimly. "Did you tell anyone about this?"

"I told Dougal, but foolishly I had burned the thing, so I couldn't show him. I am sure he thought I had been mistaken and I think he felt it was not possible to question the Khansamah."

"H'm," said Fabian slowly. "That would be difficult, I admit. Perhaps it is one of those pieces of information best hidden ... for a while. I want to see Tom Keeping. Perhaps you could go out there and tell him I'm in my study. Would you do that?"

"Of course."

I could see that the possibility of the Khansamah's growing the thorn apple in his garden had driven all frivolous thoughts from his mind.

I sat on in the garden, talking to Alice. Tom Keeping had immediately gone in to Fabian when I had told him where he was.

Alice was different. There was a lilt in her voice. I thought to myself: This is Alice in love.

She said how strange it was that Tom Keeping had come to the house.

"It's not strange at all," I said. "He is the Company's servant, as they all are. Sir Fabian has just told me the strangest thing. I don't know whether to believe him or not."

I explained.

She stared at me in amazement. "It was all rather odd, wasn't it?" she said. "The way in which he was so suddenly taken ill."

"It fits," I agreed. "But it does seem a rather wild story to me."

"Well, we were in a wild country. Things are different there ... and here ... from what they are at home. It just seems improbable because you are putting it into an English setting. I think Tom acted splendidly—so quickly ... so efficiently."

"Yes, I shall have to thank him."

"What would have happened if he hadn't been there!" She shivered. "It is too awful to contemplate."

"Sir Fabian says that Tom was acting on his orders."

"He would, wouldn't he?"

"It sounds ... possible."

Alice lifted her shoulders. "I think Tom was wonderful," she said.

I could see that she was obsessed by Tom and I wondered what the outcome would be.

We chatted in the nursery together when the children had gone to bed. Alice was more talkative than usual.

"Tom is apparently a wonderful man," I said. "They all seem to think highly of him."

"His life is very adventurous. I don't suppose he'll stay here long. He is always on the move. He was delighted to see us."

"He was delighted to see you."

"He did say that he was. Then ... he said a strange thing ... how glad he was to have met us, but he did not think it was a good time for us to be here. I asked him what he meant by that, but he was rather noncommittal."

"I told Sir Fabian about the discovery of that plant in the Khansamah's garden. He was rather disturbed."

"There is a strange feeling in the air. This matter of the Thugs ... I think it is causing them a great deal of concern."

"Naturally it would. It's rebelling against the law."

"Tom says he expects to be here only a few days and he never knows where he will go next." She was silent for a while; then she went on, "It was really wonderful what he did in the desert."

She smiled proudly. I hoped everything would turn out well for her. She deserved some good fortune.

As soon as I saw Tom Keeping I told him I now knew what he had done and I thanked him.

"It was a pleasure," he said. "I only wish I could have had that man arrested. But it is not easy in such places. I recognized him at once, for he had tried the same tactics before. There was a young girl who was going out to be married. Lasseur was one of the party and they disappeared together on the journey across the desert. He had procured a small carriage at the stables, persuaded the girl that they would take the last stage of the journey in greater comfort and ... she was never seen again."

"I don't know what to say to you. It is so bewildering. When I try to think of what might have been ..."

He laid a hand on my arm. "Well, it didn't happen. Sir Fabian did not like the idea of you two ladies travelling unaccompanied and he told me to look out for you, as I was in the neighbourhood and would be making the last part of the journey back to India with you. I saw at once that he was trying the same trick again. I thoroughly enjoyed foiling the loathsome creature."

"He will probably do it again."

"Doubtless he will. I should have liked to expose him, but it is a tricky thing to do. His employer is, I believe, a man of great wealth and power. Heaven knows what the consequences would be if anyone interfered with one of his men. It could be an international incident! Discretion had to be the better part of valour on that occasion and I had to content myself with bringing you safely to your destination."

"Well, thank you."

"You should thank Sir Fabian. Your safe arrival was a matter of the utmost importance to him."

I felt a glow of pleasure which, ridiculously, seemed to make the dangers through which I had passed worthwhile.

Then something disturbing did occur. It was afternoon, that time when the day was at its hottest and the household was quiet.

Lavinia had asked me to go to her. She wanted to chat and ask my opinion about a new dress she was having made up. Not that she would take my advice on such a matter; but she wanted to talk.

I thought this would be a good time. She usually rested at this hour, though she did not sleep, so I guessed I would find her alone.

As I approached her door I heard the sound of voices. Lavinia's was high pitched. She sounded alarmed.

I ran to the door and opened it. For a few seconds I stared in blank amazement. She was standing by the bed; her peignoir had fallen from her shoulders. She looked startled and afraid— and with her was the Great Khansamah. He was there beside her, his puggaree awry ... his face distorted. It seemed to me that he was attacking Lavinia. His eyes were glazed and there was something odd about him.

As for Lavinia, her hair was loose about her bare shoulders. She was very flushed. When she looked at me I saw the fear fade from her face and an almost smug expression cross her features.

"I think," she said to the Khansamah, "that it would be better if you left now."

I could see that he was desperately trying to recover his dignity. His hand went to his half-opened shirt. He looked at me and said haltingly, "Missie come to see Memsahib Countess. I will go."

"Yes, Khansamah," said Lavinia, a trifle imperiously. "You should go now."

He bowed and throwing a look of dislike in my direction, he departed.

I said, "What was that all about?"

"My dear Drusilla, I was most surprised. The fellow thought I might allow him to make love to me."

"Lavinia!"

"Don't look so surprised. He thinks he is better than any of us."

"How could you allow it!"

"I didn't allow it. I protested vigorously."

"Why should he have thought it would be possible?"

"I tell you, he has a high opinion of himself."

"You must have given him some encouragement."

She pouted. "That's right. Blame me ... as you always do."

"Don't you see how dangerous this is?"

"Dangerous? I could have handled him."

"You looked rather alarmed when I came in."

"In the nick of time!" she said dramatically.

"You should never have received him the way you have. You should have seen him downstairs for your daily consultations."

"What nonsense! I was only doing what all the women do. They see their khansamahs every morning."

"This one is different. You have behaved foolishly. You have flirted with him. You must have made him think that he might be successful with you. It would never have entered his mind if you had behaved with decorum as the others do. Who else would dream of encouraging the servants to have such ideas?"

"I did nothing of the sort."

"You did. I have seen you. Receiving him in your negligee ... smiling at him, accepting his compliments. Naturally he thought he was making headway with you."

"But he is a servant here. He should remember that."

"Not when you behave like a slut."

"Be careful, Drusilla."

"It is you who have to be careful. If you do not want plain speaking there is no point in our going on talking."

"I thought you would be sympathetic."

"Lavinia, don't you realize the situation here? Tom Keeping is here because of it. There is unease ... unrest ... and you create this situation with that man!"

"I didn't make it. He did. I didn't ask him to come to my room."

"No. But you have implied your interest in him."

"I have never said a word."

"Looks speak as loud as words. You are just as bad as you were at school."

"Oh, you are going to bring all that up, are you?"

"Yes, I am ... as an example of one piece of folly. This is almost as bad."

She raised her eyebrows. "Really, Drusilla, you do give yourself airs ... just because I have been friendly towards you."

"If you don't like my manner ..."

"I know. You'll go home. You would go back to that boring old rectory ... so you think. But you can't. You can't marry Colin Brady, because he's already married."

"I never intended to marry him. And I don't want to be where I am not wanted."

"Fabian would never let you go."

I flushed slightly. She saw it and laughed. "He's quite interested in you ... but don't deceive yourself. He'd never marry you. Fabian is no better than I am, really. But ... you shouldn't be so standoffish with him, you know."

I prepared to go, but she cried piteously, "Drusilla, wait a minute. I'm so glad you came in when you did. I think the Khansamah would be very determined. I was really getting just a little scared that he might rape me."

"I don't want to hear any more, Lavinia. What happened was largely your fault. I think you ought to be a little more responsible. I believe he was drugged. I know he grows datura in his garden. This would account for his indiscretion, for I cannot believe that even he would dare presume so much in the normal way."

"So what are you going to do now? Tell Dougal what a terrible wife he has? Don't bother. He knows already. Tell him he's such a bore and that is why I have to find a little divertissement. "

"Of course I shall not tell Dougal."

"I know. You'll tell Fabian. Drusilla, for Heaven's sake don't do that."

"I think perhaps it ought to be mentioned. It's intolerable ... his coming to your bedroom like that."

"Well, I am rather irresistible."

"And full of implied promises."

"Drusilla, please don't tell Fabian."

I paused. Then I said, "I think it might be important in view of . . "

"Oh, don't be so profound! He's a man like any other. They are all the same if you give them half an inch."

"Then stop giving away inches ... though in your case it must go into yards."

"I promise ... Drusilla, I promise. I'll behave ... only don't tell Fabian."

At length I agreed, but somewhat uneasily, for I felt that the fact that a member of the Indian household should contemplate such a relationship with the lady of the house was significant.

It was about two days later when the news was brought to the house.

I had seen the Khansamah once during that time. He was his old dignified self. He bowed his head in the customary greeting and made no sign that he remembered that scene in Lavinia's bedroom and the part I played in it.

Lavinia said that when he came to pay his daily call she received him in her sitting room and she was dressed for the day. It had gone off in a calm manner—much as many such meetings must be going on in houses in the British quarter, where matrons were discussing the day's menus with their khansamahs. There had been no reference to what had happened.

"You should have seen me," said Lavinia. "You would have been proud of me. Yes, even you, Drusilla. I just discussed the food and he made suggestions as to what would be suitable. I said, 'Yes, Khansamah, I will leave that to you,' just as I am sure the most dignified ladies do it. Then ... it was over."

"He will understand that he behaved in a way that will not be tolerated," I said. "He wouldn't apologise, of course. That would be asking too much. Besides, the fault was largely yours. He has decided to ignore the whole thing, which after all is the best way of dealing with it."

A young man came to the house. He had ridden from afar. He was quite exhausted and wanted to be taken to the Great Khansamah without delay.

In due course we learned that the message that had been brought was from the Khansamah's brother, and that the Khansamah's son, Asraf, who had recently been married to Roshanara, was dead. He had been murdered.

The Khansamah shut himself into his room in mourning. A pall of gloom fell over the house. Fabian was deeply disturbed. Tom Keeping and Dougal were in the study with Fabian for a long time. They did not emerge for dinner and, as on other occasions, trays were sent to the study.

Lavinia and I met over dinner alone. We talked, as the whole household was talking, about Asraf's death.

"He was so young," I said. "He and Roshanara have only just been married. Who could have wanted to kill him?"

Even Lavinia was shocked.

"Poor Khansamah. It is such a blow to him. His only son!"

"It is terrible," I said, and felt sorry for the man in spite of the fact that he was fast becoming a sinister figure in my imagination.

Lavinia said she would retire early and she went to her room. I was in no mood for sleep. I felt very disturbed. I wondered what would happen to Roshanara. Poor child, she was so young.

I sat in the drawing room in the dark, with the curtains drawn back so that I could look out on the beauty of the moonlit garden.

Just as I was thinking I would retire, the door opened and Fabian came in.

"Hello," he said. "Still up? Where is Lavinia?"

"She has gone to bed."

"And you are sitting here alone?"

"Yes. All this is so disturbing."

He shut the door and advanced into the room. "I agree," he said. "Very disturbing."

"What does it mean?" I asked.

"It means that for some reason Asraf has been murdered."

"Perhaps it is one of those thugs. They murder without reason."

He was silent for a while. Then he said, "No ... I do not think it was the thugs this time ... though it might be connected with them."

"You think that someone murdered ... not just for the sake of killing ... but for a definite reason?"

He sat down opposite me. "It is imperative that we find out what is going on."

"I understand that."

"It could be of the utmost importance to us. I don't like the way things look. I have been discussing with Dougal and Tom the possibility of getting Lavinia and you away with the children."

"Away! You mean ..."

"I should feel happier." He smiled at me a little sardonically. "I don't mean happier ... exactly ... I mean relieved."

"I don't think Lavinia would go."

"Lavinia? She will go where and when she is told to go."

"She has a will of her own."

"It's a pity she hasn't some sense to go with it."

"I don't think I would like to be sent here and there ... like a parcel."

"Please don't be difficult. Things are hard enough to decide, so don't make them worse."

"It is just that one wants to have a little say in what happens to one."

"You have no idea what is going on and yet you want to make decisions. Women and children should not be here."

"You raised no objections to Lavinia's coming out here. The children were born out here."

"She came with her husband. I could not arrange where the children were born. I am just stating that it is unfortunate that she and they and you are here. But all that came about naturally enough. I blame myself for bringing you and Miss Philwright out."

"You did not bring us out."

"It was my suggestion that you come."

"Why?"

"I thought perhaps you would have some influence on Lavinia. You did in the past and, as I believe I told you ... or implied at least ... I also considered the benefits your presence here would give me."

"Because you think with your mother that it is necessary for the children to have an English governess and an English nanny."

"But of course ..."

"And now you regret it."

"For one reason only. I don't like the situation here and I think it would be better not to have too many women and children around."

"I think your concern does you credit."

He said with a touch of sarcasm, "You know the real reason why I manoeuvered your visit. It was because I wanted a little pleasure for myself."

"I am surprised that you should think I could provide it."

"You can't be. You know, for one thing, how I enjoy these spirited conversations ... also, I wanted to get you away from the odious Colin Brady."

"I thought he was regarded as a devoted Framling subject."

"All the more reason why I should dislike him. I wanted to see you ... so I arranged it. Besides, what would you have done at home? You couldn't stay at the rectory without marrying Brady. Where would you have gone?"

"Where I did go. To my old nurse."

"Ah yes, that good woman. I wanted you here, that was all. In spite of your indifference to me, I am fond of you, Drusilla."

I hoped I did not show the pleasure I felt. He was irrepressible. He must know that I would never indulge in a light love affair with him; but he never gave up.

I changed the subject. "Why are you so disturbed now?"

"This Asraf business."

"The murder?"

"Exactly. Why was he killed? He was little more than a boy. Why? It is something we have to find out ... quickly. If it were the Thugs, I think I would feel easier. But this was an isolated killing. Thugs deal in numbers. The blood of one innocent boy would not placate Kali for long. As much as I would deplore further outbreaks, I feel that would be more understandable than this mystery. You see, this comes back to our own household. I have a feeling that that is significant."

"Can you question the Khansamah?"

He shook his head. "It might be dangerous. We have to find out what is going on. Why was Asraf murdered? We must know whether it was a ritual killing or for some other reason. Tom has left at once for the tea plantation. We may have some news when he gets back."

"It is all very mysterious."

"There are many mysteries in this country. Drusilla, I think I should warn you. I may decide that you would have to go at a moment's notice. I should have sent you off before now, but travelling is so difficult and the journey might prove more dangerous than staying here. It might be necessary to move you to another town here in India. But we have to understand what this murder means first. So much depends on what is behind it."

There was silence for a few moments. Then he said, "How peaceful it seems out there ..." He did not go on. I stood up suddenly. I wondered what Lavinia would think if she came down and found me in this darkened room with her brother.

I said, "I will say good night."

I heard him laugh. "You think being here alone with me ... is a little improper?"

Again he was reading my thoughts, which surprised and disconcerted me every time I discovered it.

"Oh ... certainly not."

"No? Perhaps you are not quite so conventional as I sometimes think. Well, you came on a very hazardous journey. You came with great risk across the desert ... so it is hardly likely that you can be afraid of me just because we are alone and in a darkened room."

"What an idea!" I said lightly.

"Yes, it is, isn't it? Stay awhile, Drusilla."

"Oh, I am very tired. I think I should go to bed."

"Don't worry too much about what I have told you. I may be wrong. There could be a logical answer to all these things ... chains of coincidence and that sort of thing. But one must find out and be prepared."

"Of course."

"I would be most unhappy if you had to go."

"It is kind of you to say so."

"It is merely truthful. I wish you were not so afraid."

"I am not afraid of you, you know."

"Afraid of yourself, perhaps?"

"I assure you I am by no means overawed or in terror of myself."

"I didn't mean in that way."

"I must go."

He took my hand and kissed it.

"Drusilla, you know I am very fond of you."

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me for what I can't help. Stay awhile. Let's talk. Let's stop hedging, shall we?"

"I was not aware of hedging."

"It's built up between us. You planted the seeds and they grow like weeds ... of the most prolific kind. I know what started it. It was that business in France. It had more effect on you than it had on Lavinia. You decided that all men are liars and deceivers and you have made up your mind never to be lied to or deceived."

"I think you are talking about something of which you are quite ignorant."

"Well, give me a chance to learn. I shall be your humble pupil."

"I am sure you would never be humble ... nor take instruction from me. So I'll say good night. I will remember what you told me and hold myself in readiness for departure at any moment."

"I hope it doesn't come to that."

"Nevertheless I shall be prepared."

"Do you insist on going?"

"I must," I said. "Good night."

I went upstairs in a mood of exhilaration. I wished that I could believe it when I told myself I was indifferent to him.

Alice showed me a letter Tom Keeping had left for her to read after he had gone. He was expecting to return before long and then perhaps she would have an answer for him. He was asking her to marry him. He knew that she would not want to give a hasty reply and would need time to think. They had known each other such a short time, but he himself was certain that he wanted to marry her.

"The times are somewhat uneasy," he wrote. "I shall be here for some years, I imagine. You would be travelling with me. It could be dangerous at times and there would be occasions when we would be apart. I do want you to consider all this. I thought it better to write, for I did not want my feelings to carry me away to such an extent that I glossed over the difficulties. Everything will be different from what you have known. But I love you, Alice, and if you care for me I should be the happiest man on Earth."

I was deeply moved when I read it. It might not have been an effusive love letter, but it conveyed a deep sincerity.

I looked at Alice and I did not have to ask what her answer would be.

"I would not have believed such a thing could happen to me," she said. "I never thought for one moment that any man would want to marry me ... and a man like Tom. I feel I must be dreaming."

Dear Alice! She did look bemused, but incredibly happy.

"Oh, Alice," I said. "It's wonderful. It's a beautiful romance."

"That it should happen to me! I can't believe it. Do you think he really means it?"

"Of course he means it. I'm so happy for you."

"I couldn't marry him yet."

"Why not?"

"What about my job here? The Countess ..."

"The Countess wouldn't care about you if it suited her. Of course, you must marry him. You must begin this wonderful life as soon as you can."

"What about the children?"

"They have a good nurse in Ayah and an excellent governess in me."

"Oh, Drusilla, we have been such friends!"

"Why the past tense? We are good friends. We always shall be."

It was wonderful to see the change in Alice. She was like a different person. She had never thought to meet someone like Tom Keeping who would love her and whom she loved. She was very fond of children and wanted to have her own; but she had long thought that it would be her mission in life to look after other people's.

A wonderful vista was opening out before her. An adventurous life ... travelling through India with a man who had a most unusual and exciting job—and she would be with him forevermore.

She looked at me rather wistfully, and I guessed that, like many people in love—unselfish ones like Alice, that is—she wanted to see others in the same state, and especially me.

"I wish ..." she said rather sadly.

I knew what she was going to say and added quickly, "You wish that Tom would come back quickly and you are wondering when you can be married. It will be quite simple, I imagine. Think of all the girls who come out to be married. They must be quite used to it by now."

"I was wishing that you could find someone ..."

"Oh," I said lightly, "there aren't enough of Tom Keeping's kind to go round. Only the fortunate ones get them."

She was frowning. "I shan't like leaving you."

"My dear Alice, I shall be perfectly all right."

"I shall worry about you."

"Oh, come, Alice. You know I'm not a wilting blossom. I shall manage the children perfectly with Ayah's help."

"I wasn't thinking of that, Drusilla. We have been very close. Oh, I feel I can talk to you. How do you feel about Fabian Framling?"

"Oh ... an interesting man. Very much aware of his own importance."

"How important is he to you?"

"I suppose the same as he is to everyone else. He seems to be quite a power around here."

"That isn't quite what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?"

"I think he is not indifferent to you."

"He is not indifferent to anything that goes on around here."

"You know what I mean. He's interested ..."

"In seduction?"

"Well ... I did think of something like that."

"And I think it might enter his mind ... as it would where any youngish woman was concerned."

"That is what I'm afraid of. It wouldn't be wise to feel too strongly."

"Don't worry. I know him very well."

"Isn't that Lady Somebody coming out to marry him?"

"I should imagine all that is shelved because of the uneasiness here."

"But eventually the marriage will take place."

"I think it is Lady Harriet's will ... and that is usually obeyed by all."

"I see. I wish you could come away with me when I go."

"I don't think Tom would want a third person to share his honeymoon."

"I do hope you will be all right. Of course, you are very sensible. I don't like your being here ... with the Countess, who is very reckless and selfish ... and as for her husband ... I think he is half in love with you."

"Don't worry, I tell you. Dougal would always be half in love ... never wholly so."

"I don't like the situation at all. You must never let anyone take you off your guard."

"Thank you. I suppose you feel that as an about-to-be-married woman you should look after your less experienced and fragile sisters. Oh, Alice, just concentrate on being happy. For I am happy for you."

Lavinia was amused when she heard that Tom and Alice were to be married.

"Who would have thought it of her! She seems a born old maid. Frankly, I can't understand what he sees in her. She's very plain."

"There is more to people than waving tendrils and tigerish looks, you know. She's highly intelligent."

"Which, you imply, I'm not."

"Nobody could call you plain."

"Nor intelligent either?"

"Well, the way in which you behave does rather suggest a scarcity of that valuable asset."

"Oh, shut up. Anyway, I think it's funny. Nanny Alice and Tom Keeping. And what about the children? Mama will be furious. She sent Alice Philwright out to look after the children, not to get married."

"The matter will be passed out of your mother's jurisdiction. She may rule Framling, but not all India."

"She'll be extremely put out. I wonder if she will send out another English nanny."

"I wouldn't think so. After all, your time out here is not very long, is it?"

"Thank you for reminding me of that blessed fact."

"You might not enjoy such male adoration on the Carruthers country estate as you do here."

"No. That is a point. And Mama will not be so far off. I shall have to reconsider. Perhaps I shall persuade Dougal to stay after all."

"I think he longs to get home."

"To those dry old books, which he can't get here. Serve him right."

"Such a dutiful spouse," I murmured; and she was laughing.

Fabian's reaction to the news was one of surprise.

We were at dinner when the matter was brought up.

"I thought Keeping was a confirmed bachelor," he said.

"Some men are until they meet someone they really care about," I replied.

He threw me an amused glance.

"Nobody could be more surprised than I," said Lavinia. "I thought people like Nanny Philwright never got married. They're supposed to be devoted to their charges all their lives and in the end live in a little house bought for them by some grateful one who visits Nanny every Christmas and on her birthday and makes sure she is comfortable for the rest of her days."

"I am not surprised at all," I said. "They are a delightful couple. I could see there was a rapport between them from the moment they met."

"On the road across the desert," said Fabian, smiling at me significantly and reminding me how Tom Keeping, at his command, had saved me from a fate too horrible to contemplate.

"It means we are losing our nanny," said Lavinia. "That is a bore."

"The ayah is very good," I reminded her. "I shall help to look after them, as I always have done. But we shall all be very sad to see her go."

"She will visit the house with Tom from time to time, I daresay," said Dougal.

"Then there can be a joyous reunion," added Fabian.

"I am very happy for Alice," I said. "She is one of the best people I have ever known."

"Then," said Fabian, "let us drink to them." He lifted his glass. "To lovers ... wherever they may be."

The Riot

Asraf's body was brought to his father. It was kept in state in the little house in the grounds that was the Great Khansamah's home. There was to be a traditional burial, which meant that Asraf's body would be placed in a wooden cart and taken to a certain spot, where it would be burned.

Roshanara had come back. She was staying under the protection of her father-in-law, the Great Khansamah. I wished that we could see her again. I should have liked to talk to her. I wanted to know what her future would be.

I was soon to learn.

Ayah came to me; she plucked my sleeve, implying that she wished to see me alone.

I said, "Is anything wrong?"

She did not answer that. Instead she said, "Missie ... come ..."

She took me out to the garden and to the gazebo, there among the tall grasses and shrubs. Few people went there. We were told that snakes abounded in the long grass. The Russelian snake had been seen there, and on one or two occasions the dreaded cobra.

I drew back a little as we approached the gazebo. The ayah noticed. She said, "We take care ... great care. Follow where I go, please."

I followed her, and in the gazebo I came face to face with Roshanara. We looked at each other for a few seconds and then she was in my arms.

"Oh, Missie ... Missie ..." she said. "So good ... so kind."

I held her at arms' length. I was a little shocked by her appearance. She was no longer the child who had sat down with Louise and listened to my lessons.

She looked older, thinner and what alarmed me was her expression of apprehension, which was immediately noticeable. I realized that here was a very frightened girl.

"So you are a widow now, Roshanara," I said.

She gave me a sorrowful look.

"I am so sorry," I said. "It was terrible. You have been so briefly married. How sad to lose your husband."

She shook her head and said nothing, but her big, frightened eyes never left my face.

"He was murdered," I went on. "It was so senseless. Was it some enemy?"

"He did nothing, Missie. He just frightened little boy. He die because of what was done ... by another."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

She shook her head. Then suddenly she was kneeling at my feet, clutching at my skirt.

"Help me, Missie," she said. "Do not let me burn."

I looked at the ayah, who nodded. She said, "Tell. Tell, Roshanara. Tell Missie."

Roshanara looked up at me. "There will be the funeral ... the funeral pyre. I must throw myself into the flames."

"No!" I said.

"Great Khansamah say 'Yes.' He say it is the widow's duty."

"No, no," I said. "That is suttee. It is no longer permitted under British rule."

"Great Khansamah, he say this our way. He will not have the foreigners' way."

"It is simply forbidden," I told her. "You just have to refuse. No one can make you. You have the law on your side."

"Great Khansamah, he say ..."

"This is nothing to do with Great Khansamah."

"Asraf was his son."

"That is of no account. It is against the law."

"Missie will know," said Ayah.

Roshanara nodded.

"It is not going to happen," I said. "We shall see to that. Leave it to me. I shall see that it does not happen."

Roshanara's terrified look was replaced by one of confidence. I was a little shaken that she put so much reliance on my powers.

I wanted to act quickly and I was not sure how to go about it. This was too big a matter for me to deal with alone. I must consult Fabian and Dougal. It would have to be Fabian. Dougal would be all sympathy, but he was a little ineffectual. Fabian would know what was the best thing to do.

I must find him quickly and talk to him.

I said, "Leave this to me. Now I must go. What will you do, Roshanara?"

"She will go back to Great Khansamah's house," said Ayah. "He must not know she come and tell you this. I take her back."

I said, "I am sure I shall soon be ready to tell you what you must do."

I went at once to Fabian's study. By good fortune he was there.

He rose and showed his pleasure at the sight of me. I was annoyed with myself for feeling so elated when I had this terrible situation to face.

I said, "I have to talk to you."

"I'm glad of that. What is it?"

"It's Roshanara. She's here. I've just seen her. The poor child is terrified. The Great Khansamah is going to force her to leap into Asraf's funeral pyre."

"What?"

"It is what she has been told she must do."

"It's impossible."

"It's the Great Khansamah's orders. What do we do about it?"

"I'd say we'd stop the proceedings."

"That would not be difficult in view of the law, would it?"

"It wouldn't be difficult, but it might be dangerously provocative. We have made a few alarming discoveries and it is my opinion that the situation is becoming explosive. I believe we have to act with the utmost caution."

"But in a case of lawbreaking ..."

"Drusilla," he said seriously, "I can trust your discretion."

"Of course."

"Don't speak of this to my sister, or anyone. When Tom Keeping returns I daresay he will put Miss Philwright in the picture ... but she is a sensible girl. Tom wouldn't have fallen in love with her otherwise."

"I have promised Roshanara that something will be done."

"Something shall be done. This atrocious thing will not be allowed to take place. Rest assured of that. But we have discovered certain things. There is a rebellion in the air. It would take very little to set a spark to the smouldering fires, and when it comes—if it comes—the conflagration will be great. We've gone wrong somewhere ... or perhaps it has all come about naturally. The Company has never wanted to make a subject race of the Indians. We have improved their lot in so many ways, but there are bound to be mistakes. Perhaps we have made a few. I think our influence has been too rapidly felt. These people may believe that their civilization is threatened and that their native institutions are being squeezed out to make way for others."

"But surely they must realize that they are better off without such evil practices as suttee and thuggery."

"Perhaps. But still there will be some who object. You see, under Lord Dalhousie we have annexed the Punjab and Oudh. But the real trouble at the moment is that a certain unrest is growing up here in Delhi round the deposed King Bahadur Shah and Dalhousie is now threatening to send the old Mogul family from their seat in Delhi."

"Why?"

Fabian lifted his shoulders. "We are watchful of the leader Nana Sahib, who will seize the first opportunity to rouse the people to revolt against us. We are in a difficult position. I am telling you this so that you will see that we have to act with the utmost care."

"What about Roshanara?"

"This must be stopped. There is no doubt of that. But we shall have to be careful how we act. We have made discoveries about the Great Khansamah and it seems we have trouble in our own household."

"That does not surprise me. Can you not denounce him?"

"Certainly not. That would start the rebellion at once and Heaven knows where it would end. He is not only a khansamah. He has taken this position because this is a house frequented by officials of the Company."

"You mean ... in a way ... he is a spy?"

"Oh, more than that. G.K. is a leader. He hates the intruders. I am sure of that. He is a follower of Nana Sahib, who wants us out of the country."

"He is Nana, too. Great Nana. I have heard him called that."

"Whether he took the name after the leader or whether it is his by right, I do not know. All I do know is that we have made discoveries about him and because of what he is we must act with the greatest caution."

"What discoveries?"

"He is growing datura in the garden. Because thuggery has been abolished by our law, he wants to defy the law. Keeping suspected ... and he has now found evidence to prove that he was right and that G.K. was helping his friends to go back to thuggery. The travellers who were found in the forest had been poisoned, and we believe that the poison came through G.K. This seems likely for a relative of one of the travellers who died took his revenge by murdering Asraf."

"Oh, poor Asraf, to be the victim of someone's revenge on someone else!"

"His own father, of course. Asraf is G.K.'s only son. It would have been hard to inflict a greater injury. So, you see, we have the seeds of deception in our own household."

"But what can we do about Roshanara?"

"We shall stop it ... but subtly and in secret. To make a scene at the funeral pyre would be the utmost folly and could start an instant revolt. I feel certain that if we did there would be an immediate uprising in this very house. We must avoid that. When Keeping comes back I shall discuss with him the urgency of getting you, with Lavinia and the children, out of Delhi."

"You expect trouble in Delhi?"

"Delhi is an important city. When there is trouble it is likely to be at the heart of it."

"Tell me what you propose to do about Roshanara."

"I shall have to give the matter some thought, but at the moment it seems to me that what we must do is smuggle her out of the city."

"The Great Khansamah would never allow that."

"I will do it without his knowledge, of course."

"Is it possible?"

"We must make it possible. The Company owns several houses in various places. There it is possible for people to live in secret for a little while. I do believe this is the best way to act. We must be very, very careful, though. Tom should return tonight. He comes and goes with frequency, so it will not arouse much comment if he leaves again. When is the funeral to be?"

"Very soon, I believe. I think in two days' time."

"Then prompt action is necessary. Be ready. I may need your help. And remember, not a word to anyone."

"I'll remember," I said.

He smiled at me and leaned towards me. I thought he was going to kiss me, but he did not. I think he must have seen the alarm leap into my eyes. I must disguise my feelings. Alice had noticed something. I must be sure no one else did ... especially Fabian.

The events of that day stay clearly in my mind.

As soon as I could I saw the ayah, which happened almost immediately, because she was as eager to see me as I was to see her.

I said to her, "It is all right. It is going to be stopped, but we have to be careful. There must be no betrayal of what we are going to do."

She nodded gravely.

"Sir Fabian is going to see that it is all right. You must do exactly what you are told and not whisper a word to anyone."

She nodded again. "Now?" she asked.

"When we are ready I will tell you. In the meantime you must behave as though nothing has happened."

I knew she would. She was terrified of what would happen to her if the Great Khansamah ever discovered she had been involved in a plot to undermine his authority.

Later that day Tom Keeping arrived.

Fabian summoned Dougal and me to the study and said that Miss Philwright must come, too, for her help might be needed and now that she was engaged to Tom she would work with us.

It was obvious that Tom already knew that Alice had accepted him. His look of contentment mingled with one of apprehension, for which the situation was responsible.

"Sit down," said Fabian. "You too, Miss Philwright. You have heard what is happening?" He looked questioningly at Alice.

Alice said she did know.

"Well, we have to get this girl out of the house. Tom is seeing to that. There are several small houses owned by the Company to which many of its members can go if ever there is the need to hide. They are run as little inns in the country. There anyone who has to hide for a while can pass as a traveller and little notice is taken of them. Tom, tell your plan."

"We are going to get the Indian girl out of danger," said Tom. "We could, of course, forbid the ceremony and call in the law. That is what I would suggest normally. But we think that would not be wise in view of the explosive state of affairs at present."

Fabian said, "I believe that both Miss Delany and Miss Philwright are aware of the growing tension among the people here. Our enemies are spreading rumours among the sepoys that the bullets they use have been greased with the fat of beef and pork, which they consider unclean. They think that we are trying to suppress their old customs by treating them with contempt. Several fires have been started in Barrackpur. I'm sorry, Tom. I digress, but I do think it is important for the young ladies to understand the gravity of the situation and why we have to act in this devious manner. There have been outbursts of rebellion which we have suppressed, but rumours are running through Oudh and Bundelkhand, which are undermining our prestige. Now, carry on, Tom."

"We're highly suspicious of the Khansamah. He is a man who seems able to lead people. It is because of his presence in this household that we have to proceed with the greatest caution, and Sir Fabian and I have come to the conclusion that until we are more sure of his intentions, we must concentrate —for the moment—more on saving the life of this girl than on seeing justice done. Our plan, therefore, is to get Roshanara out of harm's way."

"How?" asked Dougal.

"By taking her away from here."

"You will be seen leaving," said Dougal.

"Not if we do it this way. She will not leave until after dark."

"She will be missed from the Khansamah's house," I said.

"We hope that she is supposed to remain alone in her room, prostrate with grief for the loss of her husband. According to tradition, she should be spending what they believe will be her last night on Earth in meditation and prayer. They will leave her in solitude to do this. What she must do is slip out of his house, but not come into this one. She will go to the gazebo."

"The grass around it is infested with snakes," said Dougal. "I can tell you that some of them are ... lethal."

"I know how interested you are in the various species, Dougal," said Fabian impatiently, "but there is not time to discuss them now."

"I merely thought the approach to the place is dangerous."

"The danger is minor compared with what we would have to face if we did not take this action. Go on, Tom."

"Well," said Tom, "we must disguise Roshanara. This is where you ladies will help. I have a wig here, which will transform her appearance." He opened a small bag and brought out the wig. It was made of human hair and looked quite realistic. It was light brown in colour.

"It will make a good deal of difference to her appearance," I commented.

"A little face powder might lighten her skin," said Alice.

"I am sure it would," I said. "Lavinia has lots of pots and bottles on her dressing table. I'll ask her."

"No," said Fabian. "Don't ask her. Take what you want."

"She may miss them."

"You must make sure that she does not. You will only need them briefly and they can be replaced before she notices they have been taken away. So you really think you could alter her appearance ... make her look ... European?"

"I think we might," I said. "We can try."

"But you must not tell Lavinia a word."

"It will mean purloining these things."

"Then purloin."

"The plan is," went on Tom, "to get Roshanara here at midnight. She must in no circumstances come into this house. Servants have sharp ears and eyes and are always on the alert, but particularly so now. She should make her way to the gazebo."

"In spite of possible snakes," added Fabian, throwing a glance at Dougal.

"There," went on Tom, "she will be dressed in some garments which you will find for her ... European style. Her appearance should be entirely changed. She and I will leave at once. I shall get her to a house on the fringe of the city. Mr. and Mrs. Sheldrake will arrive. Sheldrake is one of the Company's men. His wife will be a help. Roshanara will pose as their daughter. Mrs. Sheldrake and the girl can travel in a palanquin ... the girl being ill, we shall say. That will insure against too many questions being asked, for no one will want to go too near her for fear of catching some infectious disease. Thus we will get her to a house of safety, where she will remain until we can review the situation."

Fabian looked at me. "You are thinking this a little melodramatic. Why do we not simply stop the proceedings? Believe me, it is what I should prefer to do."

"I do understand," I assured him. "It must be done as you have arranged. Alice and I will do our best to disguise her."

"The thing is to find something to fit her," said Alice. "She is so young and slight."

"Any garment will do," said Fabian. "She will be in the palanquin most of the time ... except at first, of course."

"And that, I should imagine, is the most dangerous part," I said. I turned to Alice. "Where shall we find the clothes?"

Alice studied me for a few seconds. "You are very slim, though much taller than the girl. We could cut off the bottom of one of your dresses."

"That's the answer," said Tom, looking proudly at Alice, who had produced it.

"And don't forget," said Fabian, "my sister must not be in the secret. She would be unable to stop herself blurting out something about it."

"We must first get the message to Roshanara," said Tom.

"I will speak to the ayah at once," I told him.

"I don't like a native being involved," said Fabian.

I looked at him with exasperation. "Don't you see, Ayah wants this to succeed as much as any of us. She is her aunt. She brought her up. She will do everything she can to save her. I know."

"It doesn't do to get emotionally involved," said Fabian. "It leads to misjudgement. Impress on the ayah ..."

"Of course I will, but she will understand that without telling. We can trust her discretion absolutely."

"It is a mistake to trust absolutely."

Why was it, I asked myself, that I could never be with him without this argumentative mood overtaking me? This was no time for it. We had to concentrate all our efforts on making the plan work.

As soon as I left the house I saw the ayah. I suggested she go to the gazebo, where we could talk. Fabian was right. One should not be too trusting, and although I was sure there must be many of the servants who would be sad to see Roshanara burned to death, they would never know where the wrath of the Khansamah would end, and some might feel a patriotic desire to drive the British out of India and defy their laws.

I told Ayah what we planned. Roshanara would hear what she had to do when she arrived at the gazebo. We would tell her while we dressed her. It was pathetic to see the hope in her eyes. She believed Roshanara's chances of survival had come through my goddess-like power. I wanted to tell her that it was Fabian and Tom Keeping who had formulated the plan between them.

She listened carefully to what I said. Roshanara would come to the gazebo at midnight, when the house of the Great Khansamah was quiet and all in it were sleeping. It could be done, she knew, because the whole family would be in their rooms praying the night before the funeral.

Alice and I would go to the gazebo during the day, taking certain of the things we would need to change the appearance of Roshanara. Our great fear was that we might betray in some way that we were acting in an unusual manner.

Apparently we did not, for all went smoothly.

Alice and I dressed Roshanara. The poor child was trembling with fright. She could not believe that anyone could challenge the orders of the Great Khansamah, but at the same time she had great confidence in me.

There was no need to warn either Indian of the consequences to themselves if the plan went wrong. They were as aware of that as we were.

So in due course Roshanara was ready. She did not look in the least like her old self. The cut-down dress hung on her a little, but it was not entirely ill-fitting, and the wig of light brown hair completely transformed her. She looked like a Eurasian. Her graceful movements and her striking dark eyes could not be disguised.

I knew how successful our plan had been when, a few days later, a note was delivered from Tom Keeping.

"All is well," he wrote. "Cargo will be safely delivered from the city tonight."

That seemed satisfactory. We had saved Roshanara.

There was a great outcry the next day when the news of Roshanara's absence became known.

The Khansamah said nothing, but I knew he was in a murderous rage. He had wanted the old custom of suttee to be carried out to the letter. He wished to defy the British, which was apparently a sentiment gaining ground throughout the country.

The ayah told me that many questions had been asked. He had interrogated her particularly. What did she know? She must have an idea. Had the girl gone off on her own? They would find her, never fear. She would die in the fire if she were found, and she would not have the honour of making a sacrifice for her husband and her country. But die she would, for defying the orders of the Great Khansamah and for being a traitor to her country.

Poor Roshanara! I hoped she had escaped from her formidable father-in-law forever.

Lavinia had been kept in ignorance of all this on Fabian's orders, but now she was aware of Roshanara's escape. The reason for it had seeped out and everyone was talking of it.

"Poor girl," she said. "Did you know they wanted her to jump into the funeral pyre?"

"Well, it was an old custom at one time."

"But it isn't now."

"No. Thank goodness it has stopped."

"But they still do it. The Great Khansamah wanted it done this time. It was out of respect for his son. He seems a little annoyed that his wishes were disobeyed."

"Serve him right."

"He's only following the old custom."

"I wonder if he would be prepared to jump into a fire for the sake of an old custom."

"Of course he wouldn't. Roshanara's well out of it. I wonder how she managed it. I wouldn't have thought she would have had the spirit."

"When one is faced with death one finds the power to do all sorts of things."

"How do you know? You've never faced death."

"You're right. We none of us know how we would behave in certain circumstances if we have never faced them."

"Philosophising again! Trust old Drusilla. G.K. has been questioning them all. He is trying to find out who disobeyed his orders."

"Has he been telling you?"

"Not he! He's very dignified now ... since that time I sent him off with a flea in his ear."

"As I remember, you did nothing of the sort. The encounter was brought to an end when I came in and rescued you."

"Drusilla to the rescue! Because you did it once over that boring old Comte, you think you do it all the time."

"I am glad he has become that boring old Comte. He was so wonderful at one time."

"Well, Khansamah has been behaving very well lately."

"Very well! Trying to force his daughter-in-law to burn herself to death."

"I was referring to his way with me."

"Of course. You never give a thought to anything that does not concern you."

Lavinia laughed. "Stay with me. I love the way you treat me. I don't know why. Mama would have dismissed you long ago for insolence."

"But you are not Mama, and if I am dismissed I will take myself off without delay."

"Huffy again! Of course I want you to stay. You're my best friend, Drusilla. What a name! It suits you. You look like a Drusilla."

"Prim? Disapproving of all the fun?"

"That's right."

"It's not true. I only disapprove of the so-called fun you like to have with the opposite sex, which has once had dire consequences, which you should remember."

"Are we back to that?"

"Yes ... and be careful of the Khansamah. He may not be what you think."

"Oh, he's polite to me always. He's quite humble now."

"I wouldn't trust him."

"You wouldn't trust your maiden aunt who goes to church four times a day and prays for an hour kneeling by her bedside every night."

"I have no such maiden aunt."

"You ought to be one yourself—only you haven't any family to be aunt to. That's why you impress your prim propriety on me."

"I tell you ..."

"I'm going home!" she mimicked. "Oh, no you won't. What was I telling you? Oh, I know. How G.K. is with me. He is rather sweet really. Do you know he brought me a present the other day. I know what it is for. He's asking for forgiveness for that outburst. Of course I forgive him. He just admired me so much."

"I believe you would have surrendered if I hadn't come in."

"Give up my virtue! What an experience it would have been!"

"You have so little virtue that you would hardly be aware of its loss. As to experience ... so is jumping into the sea and drowning yourself, but I don't suggest you try that for the sake of sweet experience."

"Oh, shut up and look at the present G.K. brought to me."

She went to a drawer and took out a case.

"You mean you accepted a gift ... from him!"

"Of course I accepted it. One has to accept gifts in the spirit in which they are given. It's extremely impolite not to do so."

She opened the box and drew out its contents. She held it to her face, peering over the top coquettishly.

I was staring in horror at a peacock-feather fan.

The weeks that followed were marked by increasing tension. In certain parts of the country open rebellion had broken out, but so far it had been kept under control.

At the beginning of March of that year, 1857, Alice and Tom Keeping were married. It was a simple ceremony, which I attended with Dougal, Lavinia and Fabian, who had made a flying visit to Delhi for the occasion and left immediately afterwards. He did say that he had urgent Company business and must keep in touch with the Army. He was going to the Punjab, where, so far, everything was quiet.

Dougal remained in Delhi and I had several opportunities of talking to him.

He said he would very much like to get out of the country and Fabian had agreed with him on this. Undercurrents of rebellion were springing up everywhere and the journey to the coast might prove very hazardous. But for the children, he thought it would be advisable to attempt to leave. Both he and Fabian agreed that Delhi might perhaps be the safest place for us to be after all, for the biggest concentration of Army personnel was stationed there.

I had thought a great deal about the Khansamah's gift of the peacock-feather fan to Lavinia. I could not help feeling that there was some sinister implication in this. I chided myself. It was a small matter compared with the cloud of uncertainty that hung over us. Fans made of peacock feathers were common enough in the bazaars and marketplaces. True, they were mostly bought by foreigners who would not know of their reputation ... whatever that was. But what was the significance of Khansamah's gift of one to Lavinia?

She believed it was a form of apology for his behaviour; but then Lavinia would always believe what she wanted to.

I did ask Dougal about peacock feathers. He was very interested in old customs and he had probably heard that they were considered to be unlucky. He had not, but being Dougal, he set himself the task of finding out.

As he had known that one day he would have to visit India, he had made it his duty to find out all he could about that country, and in his possession were several books which he had brought out with him from England. There was not much that he could tell me, however, but he did discover that there were suspicions regarding peacocks' feathers and one or two sources stated that in some quarters they were considered to be bringers of ill luck.

I told him that I had one in my possession, which had been given to me by Miss Lucille Framling, who had certainly believed in its evil influence.

"Odd that she should wish to pass it on to you," he said.

I told him of the incident when I had taken the fan. He smiled and said, "I believe she was a little unbalanced."

"Yes, she had a great tragedy. Her lover was murdered and it seemed to her that it was all due to the fan."

"Well, that's a lot of nonsense."

I did not tell him that the Khansamah had presented Lavinia with one. I wondered what he would say if he knew that she had carried on a mild flirtation with the man. Sometimes I thought he did not care what Lavinia did.

"It goes back to the legend of Argus, whose eyes went to the peacock's tail. Some believe that Argus wants revenge and that the spots are eyes which see everything that is going on ... not only what is visible, but what is in the mind. There are quite a number of people in this country who never have peacock feathers in their houses."

"They don't all feel like that, I suppose. Some might think the fans made pleasant gifts. They are really very beautiful."

"It might be that the fact that they are would make them more evil in the eyes of the superstitious."

I tried to forget that the Khansamah had given Lavinia the fan. Heaven knew there were far more important matters to concern me.

I received a letter from Alice. She was very happy. She wrote: "Tom is wonderful and we often marvel at the fortuitous way in which we met. Tom is wondering what is going to happen next. I think he realizes the danger of the situation more than most, for his work takes him all over the country. His work is so exciting and it is marvellous to be able to help him. You will be happy to know that the cargo is settled and being taken care of. I look forward to meeting you some time. Perhaps we shall come back to Delhi. Tom is never sure where his work will take him and things are a little uncertain now. It would be wonderful to have a real talk about everything."

I was so pleased to read her letter. How wonderfully life had turned out for Alice!

Meanwhile, as the uneasy weeks passed, rumour intensified. April had passed and May was with us. Lord Canning made a proclamation assuring the sepoy troops that the cartridges they used were not greased with pork or beef, but it was, I believed, received with scepticism.

Dougal was called away. He went reluctantly.

"I don't like leaving you here alone," he said. "Major Cummings will keep an eye on the house. You must do whatever he tells you."

Lavinia was rather pleased. She was developing a fondness for Major Cummings.

The day Dougal left, Fabian returned.

He asked me to go to his study. When I arrived, I saw how serious he was.

He said, "I can't talk to Lavinia. She has no sense of responsibility. I can't tell you how worrying this is, Drusilla. It seems to me you are the only sensible one here, now that Alice Philwright has gone. A pity. She is a practical young woman."

"What has happened?"

"God knows. There is a terrible feeling of uneasiness throughout the Company and the Army. It was a mistake to depose the King of Delhi—old Bahadur Shah was quite harmless—and an even greater one to try to turn them out of the family mansion. You see, Drusilla, we have won many a battle with the sepoy troops. Now they say to themselves: Who won these battles? It is the soldier who wins the battles ... not those in command. What we could do for the British we could do for ourselves. They are against us, Drusilla ... and they are part of the Army."

"Do you really think they would revolt?"

"Some would. The Sikhs are loyal ... so far. I think they can see what benefits have come through us and they care enough for the country to want us to continue. But this headlong nationalism ... we can't stop it. What worries me is you and Lavinia and the children. I do wish I could get you home."

"I don't think that would be easy, would it?"

"Far from easy ... but just possible. You see, if we got you out of Delhi, where would you go? One doesn't know from one hour to the next where revolt will break out. We might be sending you into disaster ... whereas here in Delhi ... at least we are well represented and we know where we are."

"There must be more important things to worry about than us."

"That is not the case," he said. "I wish to God you had never come. I wish I could stay here. I want to keep my eyes on things ... here. But I can't. Drusilla, you will have to think for yourself and Lavinia."

"Have you talked to Lavinia?"

"I have tried to. It doesn't make much impression. She doesn't really see danger. I don't like leaving you here with the Khansamah. I wish I could get rid of him. I am certain that he was responsible for that outbreak of thuggery. He would regard it as a gesture of defiance ... against us, you see. He is at variance with the laws because we have imposed them. But someone took revenge on him, for the murder of young Asraf was revenge by the family of one of the victims. Now he may suspect that we were involved in the plot to spirit Roshanara away. I want you to be ready to leave at a moment's notice."

"I will be."

"There may not be much warning. I wish I could stay in Delhi, but I have to leave tonight."

"Don't worry about us. I will be prepared."

"The children ..."

"I shall manage that. I shall tell them it is a new game. They will be easy to handle then."

"I'm sure you'll manage. Sometimes I thank God you are here and at others I curse myself for having brought you."

I smiled at him. "Please don't do that," I said. "It has been ... illuminating."

He looked at me steadily for a moment and then suddenly he put his arms round me and held me tightly against him.

Then I felt that everything was worthwhile.

When he had gone I felt a frightening loneliness. There seemed to be a special stillness in the air ... a tension, as if something terrible were lurking, ready to spring out on us and destroy us.

It was early evening. The children were in bed. The ayah's cousin had joined her to help her look after the children. She was a quiet, gentle girl and both Louise and Alan were already fond of her.

I heard a gentle knock at the door. I went to it and there was the ayah.

"Is anything wrong?" I cried in alarm.

She put her fingers to her lips and came into the room.

"I want you to come ... see my brother. He must see you."

"Why does he want to see me?"

"He want to say thank you." She lowered her voice. "For saving Roshanara."

"There is no need for that."

"Yes ... great need."

I knew how easily susceptibilities could be wounded, so I said, "I shall be home tomorrow. Perhaps he would call then."

"He not come. He say you go to him."

"When?"

"Now."

"The children ..."

"They are in good care."

I knew that she had set her little cousin to watch over them.

"Very important," she said and added mysteriously, "for plan."

I was very puzzled and she went on, "Come. Go to gazebo. Wait there."

I was very curious, but I did sense an urgency in her manner, and because I knew that I must be prepared for any extraordinary occurrence I fell in at once with her suggestion.

I looked in at the children. They were sleeping peacefully and the ayah's cousin was seated by Alan's bed.

"I watch," she said.

I went with all speed to the gazebo. The ayah was already there. She opened a box and took out a blue sari, which she asked me to put on. It seemed to become more and more mysterious, but remembering Fabian's warnings and the dangers in which we were living, I complied. She gave me a piece of material rather like a shawl to put round my head.

"We go," she said.

We left the garden, avoiding coming in view of the house, and we were soon hurrying along the streets.

I knew the way well. It was near the bazaar.

We came to a house. I had noticed it before, because it had a magnificent mango tree in front of it. Now it was full of blossom.

"This is my brother's house," said the ayah.

The brother came out to greet us. He bowed twice and took us into the house. He drew aside a beaded curtain and invited us into a room which seemed full of carved wooden furniture.

"Salar very happy," he said. "He want thank for Roshanara ..." He shook his head and there were tears in his eyes. "She safe now ... she well. She happy. Missie Drusilla, she say, she one great lady."

"Oh, it was nothing," I told him. "Naturally we wouldn't have allowed it to happen. It is against the law."

"Salar ... he wish to do service. He wish to say not good in big house. Not good stay."

"Yes," I said, "there is trouble everywhere."

"Not good," he went on, nodding. "Salar want to say big thank."

"Well, you must not think any more of it. We were fond of Roshanara. We could not allow her to do as they wanted her to. Naturally we did what we could."

The ayah said, "My brother does not understand. He say you must leave big house. It not good."

"I know," I said. "We shall go when we can."

"My brother say best go back across sea."

"Tell him we shall when the opportunity comes."

They talked together, Salar shaking his head and the ayah nodding with him.

"He say will help," she told me.

"Will you thank him very, very much and say that I shall not forget his kindness."

"He owe debt. He like not to owe. He like to pay."

"I am sure he does and I do appreciate it. Tell him that if I need his help I will ask."

In due course we were ushered out of the house.

Salar evidently felt relieved, for he had made his gratitude known to me.

It was a few days later when I heard that incendiary fires were springing up all over Meerut and that mutiny had broken out there.

The tension in the household increased. The Great Khansamah had grown in importance over the past weeks. He strutted about the house as though he were indeed master of us all. I was very much afraid of what he might do.

I talked to Lavinia about it.

I said, "Lavinia, aren't you afraid?"

"What of?"

"Are you completely oblivious to what is going on around you?"

"Oh, all this talk, you mean? There's always talk."

"You know that Fabian and Dougal are worried about us?"

"There is no need to. Major Cummings is here to protect us. He says he will make sure that I am all right."

"What about the children?"

"They are all right. They are only children. They know nothing of all this whispering. Besides, you'll look after them ... and Ayah, of course."

"Lavinia, you don't seem to have an inkling of what is going on. This is an explosive situation."

"I tell you we shall be all right. Khansamah will make sure of that."

"He is against us."

"He's not against me. We understand each other ... besides, he's one of my great admirers."

"I marvel at you, Lavinia."

"All right. Marvel away. It is what I expect."

I knew it was no use trying to impress on her the gravity of the situation.

It was only a day or so later when, in the evening, the ayah came to my room.

She said, "We must go ... go now. I will take the children to the gazebo. Come there ... as quick as you can. I take children ... now."

I could see that she was aware of some impending danger and that it was very close. The urgency of her voice convinced me that I must obey at once without question.

"I will go and bring the Countess."

"Quick. No time to lose."

"The children are in bed."

"No matter. I tell them new game. I keep them quiet. We will bring them. Must be quick. No time."

"Why ... ?"

"Not now. Just come. I tell ..."

I ran to Lavinia's room. Fortunately she was alone. She was seated by the mirror, combing her hair.

I said, "Lavinia. We have to go at once."

"Where?"

"Down to the gazebo."

"What for?"

"Look. There is no time to explain. I don't know myself yet. Just come. I know it is important. The children will be there."

"But whatever for?"

"Don't argue. Come."

"I'm not dressed."

"Never mind."

"I won't be ordered like this."

"Lavinia. Ayah will be frantic. Promise me you'll come at once. And come quickly. Don't let anyone know where you are going."

"Really, Drusilla."

"Look, you must have some idea of the danger we're in." She did look slightly alarmed. Even she must have been aware of the changing atmosphere.

She said, "All right ... I'll come."

"I'll go on ahead. I must tell Ayah. She'll be wondering why I'm so long. Don't forget. Don't tell anyone ... not anyone where you are going, and try not to let anyone see you. It's very important."

I went down by means of a back staircase. I reached the garden without seeing anyone, and sped across the grass to the gazebo.

Ayah was there with the children. I could see the panic in her eyes.

"We must go ... quick ... ," she whispered. "It is dangerous to wait."

Louise said, "It's a new game, Drusilla. It is hide and seek, isn't it, Ayah?"

"Yes, yes ... we now hide and seek. Come."

"I must wait for the Countess," I said.

"No wait."

"She will come down here and not know what to do."

"We must take the children now. You come, too."

I said, "I have to wait."

"We cannot. No wait."

"Where are you going?"

"To my brother house."

"To Salar!"

She nodded.

"This what he say. When time come you must be here... with Missie ... with children ... Time come. We must go."

"Take the children. I will bring the Countess there. I have told her I will wait for her here. I must stay for her."

The ayah shook her head. "No. Bad. Bad ... not good."

She had wrapped the children in cloaks so that I could hardly see them. She put the box she had brought to the gazebo into my hands. "You wear," she said. "Cover head. You look Indian woman ... a little then. Come. Do not wait."

I put on the sari and the shawl over my head.

"Drusilla, you do look funny," said Louise.

"Now we go. I take children. You come to brother. We want do this for you."

"As soon as the Countess arrives I will bring her. She can't be long. I think she is realizing the danger at last."

"Tell her cover head. Wear shawl ..."

I was dismayed, but I knew I must deal with such problems when they came.

Taking Alan's hand and commanding Louise to keep close, Ayah hurried out of the gazebo.

The stillness was broken only by the sound of insects, with which I had now become familiar. I could hear the beating of my own heart. I was aware the ayah was better informed of danger than I could be and I could see that it had become more acute.

I felt alone and helpless. As soon as I had let the children go I believed I should have gone with them. They were in my charge, but how could I have left Lavinia? The folly of Lavinia had once before had a great effect on my life. I now believed that it was about to do so again.

If only she had come with me at once. It might well be that there was no need for the flight from the house, but Ayah believed so. I went to the door of the arbour and looked towards the house. And then ... suddenly I heard shouting. I saw dark figures at the windows. It seemed that the entire household was invading the upper rooms.

My heart was thundering, my throat parched. I kept whispering, "Lavinia ... Lavinia, where are you? Why don't you come?"

There was nothing I wanted so much as to see her stealthily creeping across the grass to the gazebo.

But she did not come.

Instinctively I knew that I should go, that I should find my way to the house with the mango tree. I knew my way there. I had passed it many times.

Go! Go! said my common sense. But I could not go without Lavinia.

What if she came to the gazebo and found me gone? Where would she go? What would she do? She did not know that there would be sanctuary in that house.

I must wait for Lavinia.

I did not know how long I waited. I could see Lavinia's window from where I was. Some of the lamps had been lighted. And as I watched I saw the Khansamah at her window. So he was in her room! He was gone in a second and I wondered if I had been mistaken.

I stood there shivering. I did not know what to do. I prayed for guidance.

Go ... go now, said the voice within me. But I could not go while Lavinia was in the house.

It must have been an hour later. The night was hot, but I was shivering. I heard the far-off sound of singing ... drunken singing. It was coming from the lower part of the house.

I hesitated. Then I ventured across the grass. I knew it was folly. Something dreadful had happened in the house. I should run from it as quickly as I could. I should find my way to Salar's house, where Ayah and the children would be waiting for me.

But still I could not do it.

"Lavinia," I heard myself whispering. "Where are you? Why don't you come?"

The waiting was unbearable. I could not endure it. I knew I had to go into the house and find her.

It was folly, of course. The ayah had known that it was imperative for us to get away. She had saved us just in time. But how could I leave Lavinia there?

I told myself that my duty lay with the children. They would need me now. But they were safe with the ayah. If she had reached her brother's house they would be there waiting for me now.

I knew what I had to do. I had to find Lavinia. I could not leave without her. She should have come with me, of course; she was foolish. She always had been foolish. But still I was fond of her. It seemed to me that my life was somehow bound up in hers and I could not desert her now.

I was outside the house. I stood leaning against the wall, listening. The sounds of revelry were coming from the servants' quarters. I pictured the Khansamah there. But where was Lavinia?

She had said she would come. What was she waiting for?

The door was open. I stepped into the hall. I could hear the shouts and laughter more distinctly now. They were very merry ... the merriment of intoxication, I was sure.

Silently, fearing the Khansamah would appear at any moment, I crept up the stairs. Fortunately that part of the house seemed to be deserted.

The door of Lavinia's room was wide open. I crept along the corridor and paused there.

The sight that met my eyes was one that will be forever imprinted on my mind. Disorder ... and horror. The walls of the room were splashed with blood. And there, spreadeagled across the bed, was Lavinia's nude body. Something about its posture was obscene, and I knew it had been placed deliberately so. Her eyes were wide and staring with horror. Her glorious hair was matted with blood, and spread out at her feet was the blood-spattered peacock-feather fan. I knew then that the Khansamah had done this.

I felt sick and faint, for I saw that her throat had been cut.

Lavinia was dead. That beauty which had been her pride, which had obsessed her and made her what she was, had in the end destroyed her.

Instinctively I knew that the Khansamah had taken his revenge in his own way, because she had encouraged him and then rejected him. She had committed the great crime in his eyes of insulting his dignity. He had been waiting to avenge his lost prestige; the gift of the peacock-feather fan had been a warning.

For some moments I could see nothing but the horror of this.

Lavinia ... Lavinia ... why did you not come? Why did you hesitate? You have destroyed yourself.

How can I tell the children? I asked myself, as if that were the most important thing in the world.

The children! I must get back to them. I should be looking after them. I would have to plan for them as I had planned for Fleur.

I must get out of this house of death immediately. If I were discovered my fate would be that of Lavinia. I was needed. I must look after the children.

I turned away from that scene of horror. I crept down the stairs. Luck was with me, for no one appeared. I was out through the open door, speeding across the grass.

The night air sobered me. I went inside the gazebo and allowed myself a few seconds to regain my breath. I must get to the children. To do so I had to pass through the streets. I could guess what was happening in every house where Europeans were living. The Mutiny had started in earnest. What we had feared for all these weeks had erupted, and it was far worse than anything I had imagined.

There were few people in the streets. I was glad of the shawl and the sari. Ayah had been wise to provide them. I stooped a little, for I was tall and my height might betray me.

That journey through the streets seemed to take a long time. I saw several bloodied bodies lying in the roads. They were all Europeans. I guessed what was happening and as I turned each corner I expected to come face to face with someone who would recognize me as belonging to the race they hated.

My good fortune was great that night. I realized how great later.

I reached the house.

Ayah embraced me when she saw me.

"I have been worried."

"Ayah," I stammered. "They've killed her. She's dead."

She nodded. "She should have come."

"Oh yes ... yes ... She wouldn't believe it. It was awful. Blood ... blood all over the room."

"Remember the children," she said.

"Where are they?"

"Asleep now. You have been long."

"Ayah ... what are we going to do?"

She said resignedly, "We wait. We see. You rest now. Safe for a while. My brother, he happy. He pay debt."

She took me into the workshop. Carved wooden objects were scattered about the place. There was a smell of wood in the air. I noticed a window that looked out onto a courtyard.

"All right," she said. "Out there courtyard. Salar's courtyard. No one see."

She took me into a small room which led from the workroom. There was no window in this room. The children lay on a pallet on the floor, fast asleep. There was another pallet beside them.

"You here," said the ayah, pointing to it. "You rest now. You feel very bad."

Feel bad? Indeed I did. I was desperately trying to shut out of my mind that scene, which I knew I would never be able to forget.

I lay on the pallet. I was seeing it all again. That once pleasant room transformed into a scene from some hellish horror ... something I could never have imagined. Blood ... blood ... everywhere, and Lavinia's body placed across the bed, her once-flaunted beauty degraded and gone forever.

I lay there thinking of the first time we had met, of going away to school ... Lavinia, who had been so much a part of my life almost always ...

And now ... no more.

What could I have done to save her? I should have impressed on her more urgently the need to go. I should have made her understand the danger. But who could make Lavinia do what she did not want to?

My face was wet. I was weeping. It helped a little. It soothed me somehow.

Oh, Lavinia ... Lavinia ... dead.

One of the children stirred in sleep as though to remind me that it was my duty to calm myself, not to give way to grief, to cherish them, to make them as my own.

I often wondered how the woodcarver Salar managed to keep us hidden in his house for all those weeks. It was an amazing feat.

The house was not big. He lived alone, for he was unmarried. He carved his wooden objects and took them along to the shops that bought them from him. He had always lived a lonely life, so this was a help.

I learned a little about him from Ayah, who told me that his niece Roshanara had meant a great deal to him. He loved the girl more than he had ever loved anyone else and he would never forget that we had saved her life. One day he would visit her; perhaps he would live close to her; and he owed that to us. He was happy now, for he was paying his debt ... more than paying it. Three lives for one. He was pleased about that. But he had not yet saved us. Only the first part of the operation had been carried out. The debt would not be wiped out until we could walk freely in the streets again.

On the very night of our escape Ayah went back to the house. She did not want suspicion to fall on her, for that could lead the Khansamah to Salar's house, and if he came that would be the end of us all. Salar would not be able to protect us then; and whatever happened, Salar must pay his debt.

This was a blessing, for she could keep me informed of what was happening there; also, she could walk the streets and get an idea of the general situation.

It was very difficult to keep the children amused and to answer their questions. The little courtyard which I had seen from the window was shut in by very high walls; but at least it was open to the sky, and this was the only fresh air that the children could have. We dared not let them be seen. Ayah brought some little trousers and tunics so that they were dressed like the natives, but their fair hair betrayed them. We toyed with the idea of dyeing it black, but we doubted whether we could do this satisfactorily. In any case, we would be afraid to let them venture out. We could not keep up the pretence that this was merely a game of hide and seek. Louise was too intelligent for that.

I said to her, "We have to hide here for a little while, because there are some bad men who are trying to find us."

Her eyes widened. "What bad men?" she asked.

"Just ... bad men."

"Great Khansamah?" she asked.

How much does she know? I wondered. I had often been startled by the mingling of innocence and shrewdness displayed by children.

I decided to tell her the truth. "Yes," I said.

She regarded me seriously. "He does not like us," she said. "I know."

"How did you know?" I asked.

She merely nodded. "I know," she said.

"So we have to stay here for a little while until ..."

"Until he has gone away?"

"Yes," I said.

"Where is my mama?" asked Alan.

Louise was regarding me intently and I knew I had to tell them. I made up my mind quickly. "Your mama has gone away."

"When is she coming back?" asked Louise.

"Well ... she has gone a long way."

"Home to England?" asked Louise.

"Well ... not exactly. She has gone farther than that."

"There isn't farther than that," said Louise gravely.

"Yes, there is. There's Heaven."

"Is that where she's gone?"

"Yes."

"How long will she stay?" asked Alan.

"Well, when people go to Heaven it is usually for a long time."

"Will she be with the angels?" asked Louise.

"I'm an angel," said Alan.

"You're not an angel," said Louise. "You haven't got any wings. You're only a little boy."

"I'm Drusilla's angel," he said. "Aren't I, Drusilla?"

I hugged him and said he was.

I was near to tears and Louise was watching me intently. She was a very serious little girl and I think she did not entirely accept my stories of what was happening.

"You won't go away, will you?" she said.

I shook my head and said that if I had my way I would never go.

Days passed. Each morning I awoke and wondered whether this would be my last day on Earth, and each night when I lay on ray pallet I wondered whether I would live through to the next day.

I tried to carry on with lessons. I invented games that we could play. We had guessing games and I was continually trying to devise new versions of old ones. Alan was often fretful. He wanted to go out into the garden. It was difficult to explain to him. Louise understood, I think, that we were in real danger; she was a sensible and clever little girl.

Ayah visited us often. It was quite natural that she should call on her brother. She brought news of what was happening.

The sepoys who had murdered their officers were now the Army, and they were in Delhi. Moreover, Bahadur Shah had been restored. Everyone must do homage to the King. The British had been driven out of Delhi. Any found on the streets would be instantly despatched. India was now for the Indians. The great Nana Sahib, who bore the same name as our Great Khansamah, was marching through Oudh to the North West Provinces preaching rebellion and the need to throw off the foreigners' yoke. Risings had taken place in Lahore and Peshawur. Soon the British would be driven out of India, said Salar.

I did not believe my countrymen would allow themselves to be so easily dismissed and it seemed that I might be right in this, for soon after we heard that Sir John Lawrence had armed the Sikhs and with their help had curbed the power of the sepoys. The Punjab remained faithful to the British and rumour had it that Sir John Lawrence was sending an army to the relief of Delhi.

I knew that we were in acute danger and that if any man, woman or child of European origin were found in the streets they would be instantly killed.

I gave myself entirely up to the care of the children. I had to keep them happy and myself occupied. I gave my entire attention to them; it was one way of shutting out that fearful memory.

I wished that I had never seen it. To have heard vaguely that Lavinia had been killed, as had thousands of others, would have shocked me deeply, but that I should have seen the manner in which she died, seemed more than I could bear to think of.

The children were a blessing. They were very good in the circumstances. At least we were not so much in the dark as we had been. Louise had a strong sense of danger. Sometimes she would come and stand beside me for no apparent reason. I understood. She was old enough to realize that we were living through dangerous times. She clung to both me and the ayah. I knew she was very disturbed when the ayah was not with us.

They were wonderful, those two ... the ayah and her brother. I had complete trust in them; the fidelity of Ayah and the integrity of Salar were an example to us all.

All the time I was wondering about Fabian and Dougal. Where were they? How had they fared in this holocaust? I guessed that Fabian, at least, would be somewhere in the heart of the trouble. I longed for news of him. Lying on my pallet at night I would think of him, and because I felt life was so uncertain and death was hovering all the time behind any door, I faced my true feelings for him.

I longed to be with him. The times I had spent with him had been the highlights of my life. I liked to brood on the childish episode when he had seen me as a baby and taken me for his own. He might have kept me there always. What a difference that would have made to my life! I thought of him as he had been, stretched out on the settee ... with Lavinia kneeling before him with a chalice of wine while I fanned him with Miss Lucille's peacock-feather fan.

Then my mind switched to that terrible scene ... the sight of the bloodstained feathers of the fan that the Khansamah had given to Lavinia. How strange that there should be yet another feather fan to haunt me. When he had given that fan to Lavinia she had believed it meant contrition on his part. How little she understood. It meant disaster was coming to her ... revenge because she had slighted him.

I must cling to something to blot out the memory. Fabian would save us, I told myself. I prayed that he might still be alive and that I should soon see him again.

I must face the truth. He was more important to me than I dared admit; but what was the point of deceiving myself now? Why did I not admit to my obsession with him? It had been there ever since we had been children. I supposed I was in love with him. I had always been what was called a sensible girl. Even Lady Harriet had admitted to that. Had she not sent me to the finishing school in France—which my father could never have afforded—for the purpose of looking after Lavinia?

And I had looked after her. I had brought her through a difficult situation which, had we not been successful, would have ruined her prospects for a grand marriage. That was something of which Lady Harriet was ignorant, but I was sure she would have approved of my action had she known.

I was a sensible girl. I must go on being sensible. Just because I was overwrought ... just because I had witnessed something more terrible than I could ever have imagined, I must not allow it to unnerve me.

The ayah came in to tell me the news. Something was happening. The British were advancing on Delhi and there was great consternation throughout the city.

"Take great care," said Salar. "They must not find you."

We waited. Could this life be going to change? The weeks were passing. Surely something must happen soon?

It was a hot June day when an attempt was made to blow open the gates of the city. Perhaps Delhi would be taken. Then perhaps I might see Fabian.

However, this was not to be. The people rose in their determination to hold the city. The sepoys were well trained and they were brave soldiers; and they did not fight the less boldly and skilfully because they were fighting for India.

It was a bitter disappointment when the attempt failed, but of course that was not the end. There followed more long weeks of waiting and speculation, wondering if each day would be our last. We had come to Salar's house in May, and it was not until September that the city of Delhi was taken by the Sikhs and the British.

It was still unsafe to venture out. Fighting was going on in the streets and anyone not of the Indian race would be shot on sight.

But hope had returned. Something must happen soon. Louise was aware of this.

"Will my mother come back now?" she asked.

"No, Louise. She can't come back."

"Will my father?"

"Perhaps."

"And my uncle?"

"I don't know. They will come if they can. They will want to make sure that we are all safe."

"Shall we go away from here then?"

"Yes, we shall go away."

"On a big ship? Home?"

It was pleasant to hear her speak of England as home, for she had never seen it, yet it meant home to her.

"Yes," I told her. "One day ..."

"Soon?"

"Perhaps that may well be."

She nodded, smiling. She knew that if she asked some questions she would get evasive answers and her instinct told her that they might not be true.

And so we waited.

One day the ayah came to me. It was in the late afternoon. I thought this was simply one of her periodic visits, but it was quite different.

She said, "We all leave house. Khansamah say it is not safe. He says enemy come. Soldiers in all houses, British soldiers now. He say they blame us ... kill us."

"They wouldn't kill you."

"Khansamah, he say ..."

"Where is the Khansamah?"

"I do not know. He say all go. They all go different places."

She stayed in her brother's house all that day and the next night. We waited eagerly for news.

The following day she went out. She still thought it might be unsafe for me to venture into the streets with the children. People were still being killed, and even though the British Army had taken over the town there were still pockets of resistance.

When she came back she said, "I see Fabian Sahib. He is at house."

I was speechless, but I think she must have been aware of the joy that was surging through me.

"Did you see him? Did you speak to him?"

She nodded. "I go to him. He say, 'Where Missie Drusilla and children? Where Memsahib Countess?' "

"You ... you told him?"

She shook her head. "I fear Khansamah. He watch me. I think he know." She began to tremble. "I think he watch me."

"But where is he?"

She hesitated. "I didn't see ... but I think he watch. I think he follow me. I did not see, but I know."

"Well," I said. "He won't be able to do any harm now. He is no longer at the house. What did you tell Sir Fabian?"

"I tell him Countess dead, children safe with you."

"So you did tell him that?"

She nodded. "He say, 'Where? Where?' But I did not tell. I fear Khansamah come here. I fear he watch. I say, 'I bring Missie Drusilla to you.' He say, 'Yes, yes.' And then I run away."

"I must go to him," I said.

"Not in day. Wait for night."

How did I live through that day? I felt lightheaded. An exultation had taken hold of me. Then I experienced guilty feelings. There was death and destruction all around me. How could I feel this joy when I was still mourning Lavinia's death and that of all the others who had died with her?

At last it was evening.

"Wear sari," said Ayah. "Cover up head best. Then come."

I went through the streets with Ayah, hurrying along, being able to think of nothing but the possibility of seeing him, yet fearing that I never should. I imagined an assassin at every turn.

I had an uneasy feeling that we were being followed. A light footfall ... a hasty glance over my shoulder. Nothing. Only imagination stretched beyond belief because of all the terrible things that had happened in the last months of my life.

I must live through the next moments. I must see Fabian again.

And there was the house.

"I wait for you in the gazebo," said Ayah.

I went swiftly across the grass. There were lights in several of the windows. I wanted to call out: Fabian. I'm here, Fabian.

There was a clump of flowering shrubs near the house. As I passed this I heard a movement behind me. I turned sharply and as I did so, terror swept over me. I was looking into the murderous eyes of the Khansamah.

"Missie Drusilla," he said softly.

"What ... what are you doing here?"

"My home," he said.

"No more. You have betrayed those who trusted you."

"You very bold, Missie Drusilla," he said. "You go ... you take children ... you hide. I know now where. I kill Ayah ... but you first."

I screamed for help as he sprang towards me. I saw the knife in his upraised hand. I called out again and with all my strength pushed him from me.

It was a feeble effort, but it did cause him to reel back a little. He regained his balance immediately and was coming nearer. Those seconds seemed to go on for a long time. It amazes me, thinking back, how much can pass through the mind at such a moment. My first thought was: Has Ayah betrayed me? Is it for this she brought me here? No. She would never do that. She loved the children. She was fond of me for what I had done for Roshanara. It was an unworthy thought. I believed in that fearful moment that this was the end. I shall never see Fabian again, I thought. And who will look after the children?

Then there was a shattering explosion. The Khansamah threw up his hands. I heard the knife fall to the ground; he reeled drunkenly before he collapsed in a heap at my feet.

Fabian was coming towards me, a pistol in his hand.

"Drusilla!" he said.

I felt faint with shock. I thought I must be dead and dreaming.

His arms were round me. He was holding me tightly against him. I was trembling.

I heard him mutter, "Are you all right? Thank God you are safe ..."

"Fabian," I whispered. "Fabian ..." Repeating his name seemed to relieve me.

"Let's get inside ... away from that."

"He's dead," I murmured.

"Yes, he's dead."

"You ... saved me."

"Just in time. The old villain. It's his just deserts. Tell me ... I've wondered so much ... such nightmare thoughts. You're shivering. Come into the house. Don't be afraid. They've all gone ... none of them stayed when we came in. The house is safe now. There's so much to say ..."

He put his arm round me and led me into the house. It was quiet.

"I'll find some brandy or something," he said.

A soldier in uniform came into the hall.

"Can you find some brandy, Jim?" said Fabian. "There's been a nasty accident out there. Get rid of the body, will you? It's an old rascal who used to work here. He tried to kill Miss Delany."

"Yes, sir," said the man. He was clearly no more moved by one request than the other.

We went into the drawing room, which no longer looked familiar, and after a few moments the man returned with the brandy and two glasses.

Fabian poured it out. "Drink this," he said. "You'll feel better."

I took the glass with trembling hands.

"That man ..." I began.

"Stop thinking of him. It was you or him. So he had to go. Moreover, he has caused a lot of trouble. He's had that coming to him for a long time."

"Lavinia ..." I said. And I told him.

He was deeply shocked. "My poor foolish sister ... she never learned, did she?" He took a sip of brandy and stared ahead of him. He had cared for her, I knew, although he had deplored her conduct and had usually treated her with an affectionate contempt. He had done what he could for Fleur's future. It was a terrible blow to him that she was dead.

"It was that man ..." I said, and I heard myself blurting out what I had seen. "The peacock-feather fan was at her feet. It was spattered with blood. He must have put it there."

Fabian put an arm round me and held me close to him. I fancied we comforted each other.

"I have avenged her, then," he said at length. "I am glad I was the one. We have been looking for him for some time. He was one of the leaders. Fancied himself a Nana Sahib. Thank God we've got him now. It will be over in a little time, Drusilla. But there's a good deal to do yet. We'll get away from it all ... we'll be able to put all this behind us ... once we are out of this mess."

I started to talk about the children ... about Salar and his workshop and the way in which he had sheltered us all this time.

"Good man. He shall be rewarded."

"He doesn't want rewards," I said. "He wants to pay his debt for what we did for Roshanara."

"Yes," he said. "I understand that."

"What was the Khansamah doing here?" I asked.

"Probably trying to get me. He was lurking in the grounds, I suspect. So that must have been his idea. We have some of the military here and I daresay there were attempts at sniping. We'll have to take the greatest care."

"And Dougal?" I asked. "Where is Dougal?"

"I haven't heard from him for some time. I think he may be in Lucknow. Alice and Tom will be there, too."

I shivered. "If only this were over."

"It will be," he assured me. "But there is plenty of danger yet. You must go back to Salar's shop. You've been safe there so far. The children must stay there. How are they?"

"Restive ... but otherwise all right. I can't tell you what I owe to the ayah and her brother. It's really all because of Roshanara."

"Well, we foiled the old devil over that little matter. It is comforting to know he is beyond seeking revenge now. You have been constantly in my thoughts, Drusilla ... all of you."

"And you have been in mine ... with Dougal ... Alice and Tom."

"I know the children will be as safe as it is possible to be with you. The thing is, where do we go from here? I wouldn't want you to come to the house ... yet. I feel that would be unsafe. I am going to move heaven and earth to get you all home as soon as possible."

"You said the trouble was dying down."

"It will be a slow death, I fear. Although we are here in force there is going to be trouble yet. I'd be so much easier in my mind if I thought that you and the children were out of it. A pity we're not in Bombay. Then it might be possible to get you away. But here ... you'd have to travel across country and heaven knows what you might run into. Now what you have to do is get back to Salar's. Stay there as you were for a few days and then we'll see how things are. I shall know where you are ... and I am going to concentrate on getting you out of the country and home."

I could not think clearly. It was all-important that he was alive ... that we had met again ... that he was so moved and delighted to see me, that he was the one who had saved my life when I was on the brink of death. Perhaps in such circumstances one thinks more lightly of death than one does normally. This night I had seen a man shot dead before my eyes and I could only feel a numbed sense of shock, which was overpowered by a tremendous happiness.

He took me back to the gazebo, where the ayah was waiting. She had heard the shot and had crept out to see what had happened. She had thought at first that I might have been killed. I think she must have been relieved when she saw the dead man, for she herself had lived in fear of him for a very long time. There was no doubt that he had been arrogant, cruel and sadistic. I suppose I should not feel so disturbed because he had been treated as he had treated so many. But death is shocking and I could not throw off the effects of that shock.

Ayah was delighted to see me safe, but she was a little worried to see Fabian, and more so when he told us that he was going to see us safely to her brother's house, where I was to stay for a while longer. She was very disturbed. He must not be seen with us. Who knew who would watch?

She was really frightened, and Fabian saw reason in her fear, so it was arranged that she and I should walk ahead of him, with Fabian watchful of us but keeping his distance, his pistol ready, in case he should have to come to our assistance.

And so I went back to Salar's house.

I lay on my pallet in a bemused state for the rest of that night.

Life had changed. The streets of Delhi were safer now, though there were periodic outbreaks of violence. Nana Sahib had been defeated, but the Mutiny was by no means quelled, though the British were gaining success after success, and it was becoming clear that, although it might take time, order would eventually be restored. I could go out, but I never went far. Fabian was still at the house and I saw him now and then.

We talked a great deal about the position here. He never discussed the future. Later I thought that was because he did not believe then that there would be one for us.

Death had receded a little. It was no longer lurking beside us, but it was still not very far away.

Fabian's great concern was to get us out of the country. He was continually making enquiries as to how safe it would be for us to travel to the coast. There were big British successes at Rajpootana, Malwa, Berar and some remote places.

It was safe for me to go to the house now, but Fabian did not wish me to go there too often. He thought that some of the Khansamah's men might be around and take it into their heads to avenge his death, and they would shoot anyone connected with the house for that purpose. I was to stay at Salar's house until something could be arranged to get us out of the country.

Fabian did not leave Delhi.

He told me that this would probably be the end of the Company as such. It was being realized, he had heard, that a trading company was not fitted to govern a country; it could be said that the Company had done that, with the aid of the Army. It was not very satisfactory, and he believed that some other form of government would take its place when all this was settled.

"You mean we shall still keep our interests in India?"

"Most certainly, yes. There is no question of that. But there will be new legislation, I am convinced."

I loved those sessions with him. We seemed to grow very close. I was greatly soothed, for the terrible things that I had witnessed had changed me forever. I would never forget the sight of Lavinia, spreadeagled across that bed. I should never be rid of the memory of the peacock-feather fan. I would always remember the look of startled horror on her face. I thought so often of her ... she who had lived in a world of dreams where she was always the beautiful siren, adored by gallant knights. What had she thought when she had found herself face to face with horrific reality? Perhaps the answer was in those wild, staring eyes.

I often spoke her name aloud. "Lavinia ... Lavinia, why would you not come with me when I begged you to? Why did you delay? Could you really have believed that the Khansamah was your devoted slave, that no harm would come to you while he was there?" Oh, poor deluded Lavinia!

Fabian had been deeply shocked by what had occurred, but he was a realist. She was dead. Nothing could bring her back. Her death was in a way due to her folly. What we had to do now was think of the children.

The coming of the new year saw the end of rebellion in Bengal, and in most of Central India. Bahadur Shah, the last of the Moguls, had been tried and convicted of treason and sent to Burmah. Order was slowly being restored. I still thought a good deal about Dougal, Alice and Tom. It seemed they must still be in Lucknow, for we had heard no news of them. I was desperately afraid of what might have happened.

Life was more tolerable. We were still living at Salar's house, but we were freer now and there was no need for us to keep our identity secret. Our own people were back in command in Delhi. We had nothing to fear from the Sikhs, who had always been loyal to British rule and had realized the benefits it brought to them.

I did not take the children to the house, for I feared it would bring back memories and start them asking questions about their mother; but Fabian came to Salar's house. They were pleased to see him and showed some rather restrained affection towards him, for they were still a little in awe of him.

He had changed somewhat. He was more serious now. What had happened to Lavinia had affected him more deeply than I realized. Moreover, he had lost several friends and colleagues in the debacle. I supposed no one who had lived through all that could ever be the same carefree person again.

One must take life seriously when one could never be sure when one could be plunged into horror.

Our conversation was very sober now and we talked a great deal about what was happening in this country. Those verbal battles between us were no more. I felt that our relationship—however deep it was now—must change when we returned to more normal circumstances. Perhaps we had been drawn together closely but superficially. I had a sense of transience.

I thought often: I shall never be the same person again. I told myself often that I must not attach too much importance to my new relationship with Fabian, for neither of us was living a normal life.

The year was advancing. At any moment I was prepared to hear that I must make ready to go.

Then it came. I was to prepare to set out for Bombay in two days' time, taking the children with me. The ayah would remain behind in her brother's household. I would travel in the company of a party of women and children. For a long time plans had been in progress to get them home.

"So," I said blankly, "I shall travel alone."

"I shall accompany you as far as Bombay," said Fabian. "I cannot contemplate your making that journey, which may be highly dangerous ... without me."

I felt my heart leap with joy while I chided myself for my folly.

How sad it was to say goodbye to the ayah. Salar was triumphant. He had successfully paid his debt. Ayah was calm; the children were quiet. It was a great wrench for them—perhaps their first real sorrow.

I said, "Dear Ayah, it may be that we shall meet again."

She gave me that infinitely sad smile of hers, and told me of her deep unhappiness, but that she must accept her fate.

That journey to Bombay seems unreal to me even now.

We set out in a dak-ghari type of vehicle, in which I had travelled before. I knew that in those rough carts drawn by one unkempt-looking horse we must prepare for a somewhat uncomfortable journey. The children, sad as they were to leave Ayah, were glad to escape from the confinement of Salar's house. They were going home, Louise told Alan, and the little boy so far forgot his sorrow at parting with his beloved ayah as to jump up and down and sing "Home, home."

There was a magic in that word.

We had set out from the house very early in the morning, I riding in the cart with the children, and Fabian on horseback beside us with half a dozen armed men. We did not have to wait long before more joined the party, and by the time we left Delhi our numbers had increased considerably. There were women and children in dak-gharis like ours. More soldiers joined us. And the long trek began.

We knew that the Mutiny was by no means over and that it was possible that we could be attacked by hostile natives. The fact that we were women and children and elderly people would not save us. This was a war against a race, not against individual people. It was moving to see how everyone wanted to help each other. If anyone was sick or some minor accident occurred, everyone, without exception, wanted to give whatever possible. It amazed me how the sense of impending danger could have that effect on people.

Most of us had seen death in some form over the last months; we knew that its shadow still hung over us and that any moment could be our last: but for some reason we had lost our fear and awe of death. It had become an everyday occurrence. We had learned that life was transient. Perhaps we had become more spiritual, less materialistic. I did not know. But, looking back, I see that it was a strange and elevating experience to have lived through.

We stopped now and then at the dak-bungalows for food and to rest or change horses. We did not sleep there. There was a sense of urgency among the company. Everyone knew that we must get on the ship before we would be safe.

The stops were a relief. It meant that we escaped for a spell the violent jolting of the dak-gharis. We snatched a few hours sleep here and there. The children usually closed their eyes when the sun set and slept through the nights.

I was always aware of Fabian's presence and it comforted me. While he was there I felt assured that we should come safely through. In one way I did not want the journey to end, because I knew it would mean saying goodbye to him, and in spite of the discomfort I found his presence exhilarating.

When we reached Bombay, he would return to Delhi and we would sail away. We might be safe, but he would be going back into danger. Often I wondered what was happening to Tom, Alice and Dougal.

During our little halts Fabian and I would talk together. We would wander a little distance from the others.

He said, "Once you are on the ship all should be well. You will have the journey across land, of course, from Suez to Alexandria ... but you know of the pitfalls now. You will be with a great number of people and you are not likely to get taken in by handsome strangers of the Lasseur breed."

"No," I answered. "I know better now."

"When you get home you will stay with the children."

"Lady Harriet will want to have them with her."

"Of course. But you will be there, too. You can't desert them. Think what that would mean to them. They have lost their mother and the ayah. They cling to you, I notice. You represent security to them. You must stay with them at Framling. I have written to my mother to tell her this."

"You think a letter will reach her?"

"I have already given it to one of our people who left two weeks ago. I have told her that you will be arriving with the children and I shall want you to remain with them until I come home."

"When will that be?"

He lifted his shoulders. "Who can say? But you must be with them. My mother might be a little ... formidable ... just at first. They will need you there to help them understand her. Poor children, they have suffered enough through their experiences."

"It does not seem to have affected them adversely. I believe children soon come to accept everything as normal. They are used now to this hole-and-corner existence. They had all those weeks at Salar's."

"And their mother?"

"They accept her death. They think she has gone to Heaven."

"They will still be wondering."

"So much has happened and Lavinia did not see very much of them. She was a rather remote person to them."

"Perhaps that is as well."

"They miss the ayah, of course."

"That has made them turn more to you. So, you see, Drusilla, you must not leave them. I've explained that to my mother."

"You want me to remain at Framling ... as a sort of governess."

"You are a friend of the family. When I come home we can make arrangements. Until then, I want you to make sure they are all right. Promise me."

I promised.

"There is something else," he went on. "I have told my mother about ... the other child."

"You mean Fleur?"

"Yes. I thought she should know."

"But Polly and her sister ..."

"I know. They have looked after her ... and very well, too. But what if anything should happen to them? It is right that Fleur should be with her family."

"So Lady Harriet knows at last."

"Well, she had to know sometime. I could not break it to her gently. Who knows what is going to happen here?"

"What do you think she will do?"

"She will probably try to get the child."

"Oh no!"

I could imagine the confrontation, with Polly and Eff on one side and Lady Harriet on the other. It would be the meeting of two formidable contingents. I wondered who would be the stronger.

"I do hope ..." I began.

"My mother will make up her mind what should be done about the child. And in any case, whatever happens, we know that Fleur will have a home."

I heard myself say faintly, "I suppose you are right. '

"I think so."

"Polly and her sister will never let Fleur go."

"I fancy there will be some sort of battle, but I am not sure which side will be victorious. My mother is a very determined lady."

"So are Eff and Polly."

"It will be a battle of the Titans."

He laughed and I found myself laughing with him.

I felt suddenly secure, unafraid.

I shall never forget that night ... that line of vehicles, the grazing horses ... the warm balmy air, the hum of insects ... and Fabian there beside me.

I wanted it to go on. It was absurd, but I was in no hurry to reach Bombay.

There were other pauses. We talked and sometimes were silent, but there was a great bond between us. More than ever I was sure that my life was bound up with the Framlings. Sometimes we talked of the past, and again of those days when he had captured me and made me his child, when he had pretended he was my father.

"You thought you could take what you wanted," I told him, "including other people's children."

"I suppose I did."

"Perhaps you still do."

"Old habits persist."

I thought of the peacock-feather fan, but I did not speak of it. To brood on it brought back the memory that I knew I would never entirely forget—Lavinia on the bloodied bed, with the fan at her feet.

I must put all that behind me. I must live for the future. I had a great task to do. I had to get the children home, to give my life to them ... until Fabian returned.

At last we were in Bombay. There were the familiar buildings, their walls brilliant white in the dazzling sun, the sea— the gateway to India, as they called it. Now we were to pass through those gates ... on our way home.

We had to wait a few days for the ship; at last it came. We were taken on board and Fabian came on to see us settled. There was a small cabin that I was to share with the children.

There was no time to be wasted. Soon after we were on board we were ready to sail.

Fabian took his farewells of the children, admonishing them to obey me in all things. They listened solemnly.

Then he took my hands.

"Goodbye, Drusilla," he said. "I'll come home as soon as it is possible." He smiled at me. "We'll have lots to talk about and plenty of time to do it in then," he said.

"Yes," I said.

He kissed me twice, once on either cheek.

"Take great care," he said.

"You, too," I told him.

And that was all. I sailed out of Bombay with the children, leaving Fabian behind in that strife-torn land.