The India Fan

Homecoming

I remember little of the journey. I suppose it was eventful, as all such journeys are, but everything that happened seemed trivial after what had gone before.

There were the children to look after. There seemed to be children everywhere and they needed constant attention. A sailing ship is not the easiest of nurseries.

There was a certain tension among the older passengers. Many of them had left husbands and other relatives behind in India and were constantly wondering what had happened to them. We had no news; we were a little band of refugees from a strange land.

The children, of course, were excited by everything they saw, and the crew were happy to have them around. I saw Louise on deck, with others of her age, while seamen pointed out to them the dolphins and flying fish. I remember the great excitement when a whale was seen.

We had the inevitable storms, which kept us to our cabins, and the children shrieked with laughter when they could not stand up straight and small objects rolled about the cabin. Everything was new and exciting to them, and at the end of it they were going to that wonderful place called Home.

What they were expecting I could not imagine. I hoped they would not be disappointed.

So we reached Suez.

I was not looking forward to the ride across the desert, but it was of immense excitement to the children. They did not appear to notice the discomfort of the wagons and the wildness of the horses that carried them along. They were thrilled when we stopped at the caravanserais. I could hear Louise telling Alan all about it while he jumped up and down, as he always did to express excitement.

How it all came back to me! The journey with Alice, our acquaintance with Monsieur Lasseur, and then the arrival of Tom Keeping and the mysterious disappearance of the socalled Frenchman.

I shivered to contemplate where I might be now, but for the intervention of Tom on Fabian's orders.

All my thoughts led back to Fabian.

At last we arrived at Southampton.

"Is this home?" asked Louise.

"Yes," I said with emotion. "This is home."

How strange England seemed after that land of brilliant sunshine, often overpowering heat, lotus flowers, banyan trees and dark, silent-footed people with their soft, melodious voices.

It was April when we arrived—a lovely time of year to return to England, with the trees in bud and the spring flowers just beginning to show themselves, the gentle rain, the sun warm without being hot, no longer fierce, merely benign and a little coy, since it so often hid behind the clouds. I watched the children's eyes grow wide with excitement. I think they had long ago made up their minds that home was a kind of Mecca, the promised land, and in it everything would be wonderful.

We were taken to an inn, where we could make our arrangements to return to those who were waiting for us.

I had a message sent off at once to Framling to tell Lady Harriet that I had arrived with the children.

There we heard the news. Sir Colin Campbell had relieved Lucknow. There had been great rejoicing at home at this news. It was believed that the Mutiny was grinding to a halt.

Everyone in the inn wanted to make much of us. We had been through the terrible Mutiny and we had survived. They could not do enough for us.

I was thinking of those I had left behind. How was Fabian?

Had the relief of Lucknow come in time for Alice, Tom and Dougal? I could not bear to think that the love Alice had planned to share with Tom might have been snatched from her.

Lady Harriet was never one for delays. As soon as she received my note, a carriage was sent to take us to Framling. And there we were, riding through English country lanes, past fields like neat green squares, past woodland, streams and rivers. The children were entranced. Louise sat silent, while Alan could not curb his desire to jump up and down.

And there was the familiar village, the green, the rectory, the House, the scene of my childhood. How was Colin Brady? I wondered. Still the humble servant of Lady Harriet, I was sure.

I watched the children as we approached Framling. It looked splendid in the pale sunshine ... arrogant, formidable and heartbreakingly beautiful.

"Is this home?" asked Louise.

"Yes," I said. "You will soon see your grandmother."

I had to restrain Alan, who was almost jumping out of the carriage.

Up the drive we went ... so many memories crowding in. Lavinia ... oh no. I could not bear to think of the last time I had seen her. Fabian ... I dared not think of him either. Perhaps I had had wild dreams. Now, face to face with that magnificent pile of bricks and soon to see Lady Harriet, I knew how absurd my dreams had been.

He would come back and everything would be as it always had been, except that I was the plain girl from the rectory who would have a good post as governess to Lady Harriet's grandchildren: a good, sensible girl who would remember her place. That was what Lady Harriet would want and expect; and Lady Harriet always had what she wanted.

The carriage had pulled up. One of the servants appeared. Jane? Dolly? Bet? I couldn't remember; but I knew her and she knew me.

"Oh, Miss Delany, Lady Harriet said you're to go to her with the children as soon as you come."

The children could hardly wait to get out of the carriage.

Into the hall ... the familiar hall with its high, vaulted roof and the weapons on the walls, weapons used by long-dead Framlings to protect the House against any who came against it. Up the staircase to the drawing room, where Lady Harriet would be sitting waiting.

"They're here, Lady Harriet."

She rose. She looked, as ever, stately and formidable. There was a faint colour in her cheeks and her eyes immediately alighted on the children.

I felt their grip on my hands tighten.

"This is your grandmother, children," I said.

They stared at her and she at them. I believed she was deeply touched by the sight of them and she would be thinking of Lavinia, of course. I was glad she did not know the nature of her dying. Fabian would never tell her; nor would I. So many people had died in the Mutiny. It was accepted that it might have been the fate of any one of us.

She looked at me. "Good day, Drusilla," she said. "Welcome home. Come along in. And this is Louise."

Louise nodded.

"I'm Alan," said the boy. "This is home, isn't it?"

Did I see the blink of the eyes, as though she feared she might betray her tears? I believed that was so. I heard the faint catch in her voice when she said, "Yes, my dear child, you have come home." Then she was immediately the familiar Lady Harriet. "How are you, Drusilla? You look well. Sir Fabian has written to me about you. I know you have been very sensible. You were always a sensible girl. Your room is next to the children's. Temporarily perhaps ... but just at first ... they would no doubt like that best. Sometime you must tell me of your adventures. Now, Louise, come here, my dear."

Louise released my hand reluctantly.

"My dear child," said Lady Harriet. "How tall you are! All the Framlings are tall. This will be your home now. I am your grandmama. I shall look after you now."

Louise turned to look up at me anxiously.

"Miss Delany ... Drusilla ... will be here, too. We shall all be here together. And then you shall have a nanny ... an English one ... like Miss Philwright." A faint look of criticism came into her eyes. How dared Nanny Philwright be so forgetful of her duties as to marry and leave the Framling children! She was still the old Lady Harriet. There was no change. I had thought there might be, as I had seen a little emotion. But of course that was merely for the Framling family. It did not extend to outsiders.

Both children watched her with a kind of wonder. I think the sight of them moved her deeply. Perhaps she feared she would show how much, and that made her brisk.

"I daresay the children would like something to eat," she said. "What about some broth ... some milk, bread and butter? What do you think, Drusilla?"

I felt it was an indication of her emotion that she should ask my opinion.

"They will be having their luncheon soon," she said.

"Then I think a little milk and perhaps a slice of bread and butter would be best." I turned to the children. "Would you like that?" I asked.

Louise said, "Yes, please," and Alan nodded gravely.

"Good," said Lady Harriet. "It will be sent to your rooms. I shall show them to you myself. I have had the old nursery made ready. And, later, Drusilla, I will have a talk with you. You are in the room next to the night nursery for the time being. Later we shall have a nanny ... but perhaps just at first ..."

I said I thought that was an excellent arrangement.

We went up the stairs to the old nursery and on the way up Lady Harriet despatched one of the servants for the refreshments.

The rooms were light and airy. I remembered seeing them in the old days when I had come to play with Lavinia. Then I was seeing her again, just as I had that last time, and a terrible sense of doom descended on me. Here in these rooms Fabian had held autocratic sway over, so it was said, even his mother. He had been the pampered one whose slightest whim was to be indulged, even when it meant taking a child from her family.

There would be so many memories here, and in that moment I felt that I wanted to go right away, for I could never be anything but an outsider in this house ... the rector's daughter, not quite good enough to mingle with Framling society except when she could be of some use to it.

"I will leave you to settle in," said Lady Harriet.

I had the feeling that she wanted to get away, that she could not bear to be in this room where her dead daughter had lived and played as a child, as these grandchildren of hers would now do. Could she really be overcome by emotion? I was sure it was something she would never admit.

At last she had gone and I was alone with the children.

"Is she the Queen?" asked Louise.

That was a strange day. I took the children round the house and the garden. They thought it was all wonderful. We met some of the servants, who could not hide their pleasure at the prospect of having children in the house.

I thought: They will be happy here in time. They clung to me with a little more intensity than before, which told me that they were a little uneasy about the change in their lives; and they were certainly in awe of their formidable grandmother.

My food was sent up on a tray.

Lady Harriet had intimated that she wished to talk to me that evening and I was invited to her sitting room after she had had her dinner.

"Sit down, Drusilla," she said. "There is so much I wish to say to you. I know you have endured a great deal. Sir Fabian has told me how you looked after the children and kept them safely during that dreadful time, for which we are both extremely grateful to you. Sir Fabian says you are to stay with the children, at least until his return, which he hopes will not be very long. He believes there will be changes in India because of this awful mutiny. Louise and Alan are now out of danger, but there is that other child. I know about that and your part in it. It was very unfortunate, but we will not dwell on that. I have had the whole story from my son and I have been to see those people who have the child. That dreadful place where they are living! I sent for them to come here, but they rudely ignored my request ... and I went to them. What a pity they took the child."

"I must tell you, Lady Harriet, that they were wonderful to us. I don't know what we would have done without them."

"I am not blaming you, Drusilla. Your part in the affair was ... commendable. That nursemaid of yours ... she is a forthright woman." I fancied she conceded a grudging admiration for one not unlike herself. "I suppose what they did at the time was ... admirable. But we have now to think of the child. However unfortunate her birth, she is my granddaughter and she must be brought up here at Framling."

"Lady Harriet, they have cared for her since she was a baby. They love her as they would their own. They will never let her go."

"We shall have to see about that," said Lady Harriet firmly. "Sir Fabian thinks she should be here with her half-sister and -brother."

"I know they will never give her up."

"She is a Framling and I am her grandmother. I have my rights."

"It would not be good for the child to take her away immediately."

"We shall in time make them see sense."

"But, Lady Harriet, sense to you might not be sense to them."

She looked at me in surprise that I could make such a suggestion. I did not flinch. I had made up my mind, as I had with Lavinia, that she should not dominate me. If they objected to my behaviour, I should simply have to make them understand that I was here only because I did not want to leave the children. I was more useful to Lady Harriet at this time than she was to me, and that gave me an advantage. My status was not that of an ordinary nursery governess.

"We shall see," she said ominously. Then she added, "I want you to go along and see these people."

"I intend to. Polly is very dear to me, and so are her sister and Fleur."

"Then I should like you to go as soon as possible."

"It is what I intend."

She nodded. "Explain to them the advantages the child would have here. In spite of her birth she is still my grandchild. I think they should be made to understand what that means."

"I think they will want to do what is best for the child."

"Ah. Then you can make them see good sense."

"I am not sure what their reaction will be, Lady Harriet."

"I have confidence in you, Drusilla." She bestowed a smile on me—a reward in advance for bringing her ill-begotten grandchild back to the flock, I thought. But it was not going to be as easy as that. I knew Polly and I knew Eff. They would be as resolute as Lady Harriet herself. "Well," she went on, "now that Louise and Alan are here, their future is assured."

"What of their father?" I asked. "When he returns he may have plans for them."

"Oh no." She laughed. "He will do nothing. He will see that they are better with me."

"Is there news ... ?"

"We have had very little. He was in Lucknow with that nanny and her husband." She sniffed to show distaste. "They were all safe. We did hear that. But, of course, those dreadful things are still going on. Those wicked people—to murder those who have done so much for them. English men, women and little children ... murdered by natives! They will get their just deserts, never fear."

I said, "I am glad to hear they are safe."

Lady Harriet nodded. "Well, Drusilla, it has been a long day for you ... and for me. I will say good night now. The children are sleeping, I suppose."

"Oh, yes, they are very tired."

"I have no doubt of that. I am sorry to impose the duties of nursery maid upon you. But they are used to you and it is best for the time being. I think too many changes would not be good for them at the moment. But I have a good nanny in mind."

"I certainly think that for the time being they are best with me. I have looked after them throughout the journey ... and before. They very much miss their Indian nurse."

A look of disapproval crossed her face. "Well, we shall have a good English nanny ... and that will be an end to all that. Good night, Drusilla."

"Good night, Lady Harriet."

How strange it was to be in this house once more ... to be actually living under its roof!

I went to my room. The sheets seemed very clean and cold, and the room airy and a little austere. There were too many memories ... beyond the gardens ... the green, the old church ... and the rectory ... the scenes of my childhood.

I thought of my father. I could see him, walking from the rectory to the church, his prayer book under his arm, his fine hair blowing untidily in the wind ... his thoughts far away ... in ancient Greece, most likely.

So much had happened since I left.

I did not feel tired, and yet as soon as I lay between those cool, clean sheets I fell into a deep sleep, so exhausted was I both physically and emotionally.

The next day I spent with the children. I took them for a walk through the old churchyard. I saw Colin Brady and his wife. There was a young baby now.

Ellen Brady, the doctor's daughter, now Colin's wife, insisted that I come into the rectory, where she gave me a glass of her elderberry wine. Colin came and joined us. The children sat quietly by.

I thought that / might be sitting there by the tray dispensing glasses of my elderberry wine to visitors. No. I would never have settled for that, although I had no doubt that Lady Harriet still considered it foolish of me not to have done so.

"We thought of you when we heard the news, didn't we, Ellen?" said Colin.

Ellen said they had.

"All those terrible things. How could they? It must have been really frightening."

The children had been taken by the maid to look at the garden, so they could speak freely by this time.

"And Miss Lavinia ... the Countess. What a terrible thing to die like that ... and so young ..."

I agreed, thinking: You have no idea how she died. You could never have imagined it.

When I went into the village people came to speak to me. Shopkeepers came out of their shops as I passed.

"Oh, I'm glad to see you back, Miss Drusilla. It must have been terrible. All those awful things ..."

They were interested in the children.

"It will be nice to have little ones at Framling. Lady Harriet will be pleased."

There was no doubt that she was. She mourned Lavinia, I knew. It seemed outrageous to her that natives should attack the English, but that they should murder her daughter was even more outrageous. Perhaps I had never really understood her. One thing she did care for was children—and now her grandchildren. I knew there was going to be a great battle for Fleur.

I thought about that a good deal, and as soon as I was assured that the children were sufficiently settled to do without me for a few days, I decided to go to see Polly. So I wrote to her.

Lady Harriet visited the nursery. I encouraged the children to talk to her, but I noticed they kept close to me when she was around.

She did not force herself upon them. That would not be Lady Harriet's way. But I could see how pleased she was when Louise addressed her directly. Alan averted his eyes when she was near and refrained from jumping.

"The children seem to be very quiet," she said to me once when they had gone to bed.

"They have to get used to their surroundings," I told her. "They have lived through so many changes. But they will settle in time."

"They shall be taught to ride."

I said I thought that an excellent idea.

"I shall delay getting the nanny ... just for a little while yet."

I told her I thought that was a good idea. "Let them get accustomed to new faces for a while."

She nodded with approval.

"The news is getting better," she said. "General Roberts is working wonders. He is showing those dreadful people who are the masters, and Sir John Lawrence, they seem to think, deserves great praise for the part he has played. It seems that soon things will be more or less normal out there ... as normal as they can be in such a place. It may well be that we shall have Sir Fabian and the children's father home sooner than I had hoped."

"That will be a great relief for you, Lady Harriet."

"Indeed yes. Then, of course, we shall have wedding bells. Lady Geraldine has waited long enough."

I did not want to look at her. I thought I might betray something.

"There will be no delay," she went on, "not once Sir Fabian is home. It is the last thing he would want." She smiled indulgently. "He is rather impatient, I'm afraid. He always has been. When he wants something he wants it at once. So ... I am sure there will be a wedding ... soon."

It seemed so reasonable now. Everything was different at home. When we were in India, travelling from Delhi to Bombay, I had perhaps dreamed impossible dreams.

Here, I could realize how foolish I had been.

I had had a rapturously loving reply from Polly.

"I'm just singing all over the place. Eff says I'm driving her mad. It's just that I'm so happy you're safe and sound and back home. We'll be waiting, so come just as soon as you can."

The papers heralded the good news. The Mutiny was fast coming to an end and black headlines in the papers proclaimed victory. General Roberts and Sir John Lawrence were the heroes. There was a great deal written about the loyal Sikhs and the treacherous sepoys. But all would be well. The wicked had been shown the evil of their ways and the just were trium­phant.

Old men sat by the pond and discussed the relief of Lucknow. Names like Bundelkhand and Jhansi were tossed about with abandon. They had all defeated the villainous Nana Sahib; they had triumphed over Tantia Topee. They had put the mutineers where they belonged.

There was peace in the air. The spring was with us; the faint hum of insects mingled with the sound of clipping shears as the garden hedges were cut.

This was home. And I set out to see Polly.

I told the children that I would be away only for a few days. They had taken a great fancy to Molly, one of the parlourmaids, and I knew they would be happy with her. She would take them down to the drawing room in the afternoons to spend an hour with Grandmama. This had become a ritual which they accepted, and they were indeed becoming less in awe of her. I felt I could leave them safely and in any case I did feel it was necessary for me to hear what Polly had to tell me.

She was waiting for me at the station. Her eyes filled with tears when she saw me and for a few moments we clung together.

Then she became practical. "Eff stayed at home. She'll have the kettle boiling by the time we get back. My goodness, am I glad to see you! Let's have a look at you. Not bad. I've been that worried ... you out there in all that. Enough to make your hair curl. When we heard you was back ... you should have seen us ... Eff and Fleur ... Oh, she remembers you all right. To tell the truth, sometimes Eff's a bit jealous. She is like that. But it's good to see you. I've told you, I've been singing all over the place ever since ... nearly driven Eff off her rocker. Well, here you are."

We said little in the cab going to the house. And there it was, so dear and familiar.

The door was flung open and there were Eff and Fleur— Eff the same as ever and Fleur grown far more than I had expected ... a beautiful, dark-haired girl, who threw her arms round my neck and kissed me.

"Well, are we going to stand here all night?" demanded Eff. "I've got the kettle on the boil. And there's muffins for tea. Got to be toasted. Didn't dare start till you come. Didn't want them all dried up, did we?"

And there we were sitting in the kitchen, too emotional to say very much at first, but so happy to be together.

I had to meet the governess. "Mrs. Childers, a real lady," I was told. "Come down in the world," Polly added. "She's ever so particular, and glad to be here. No airs and graces ... just fond of Fleur, and my goodness, is Fleur fond of her. Clever, she is. History, geography and French, would you believe? Fleur's a natural for that. You should hear 'em parleyvousing. Eff and me just curl up, don't we, Eff?"

"You do," said Eff. "I know French when I hear it, and it's not all that to laugh about. And it's right and proper that Fleur should speak French, because most ladies do, and that's what she's got to be."

Mrs. Childers turned out to be a very pleasant woman. She was in her late thirties, I imagined; she was a widow and very fond of children. She had obviously, as Eff told me, come down in the world, but—Eff again—there was "no side to her." She faced facts and, as Polly said, they might not be Lady High and Mighty or Lady Muck, but they treated her like one of themselves and she could take it or leave it.

Mrs. Childers had obviously taken it, and she told me that she was happy in the house and fond of Fleur. So it seemed they had all come to an excellent arrangement.

Each morning Mrs. Childers took Fleur into the park. They looked at flowers and things, Eff told me. It was something called botany.

Eff went often to the market to shop, and this gave me an opportunity to be alone with Polly.

She very soon began to talk about Lady Harriet's visit.

"Sent for me, she did. 'Please come to Framling without delay.' Who does she think she is? 'You go and take a running jump at yourself,' I said, not to her ... but to Eff. Then down she comes. You should have seen her. I would have took her into the kitchen, but Eff would have her in the parlour. She was going to take Fleur with her, she said. 'If you think that,' I said, 'you've got another think coming. This is Fleur's home and this is where she stays.' She started to tell us how much more she could do for her. So could we, I told her. Do you know we own this house now? Yes, we bought it, and we're on the way to getting next door. Eff talks about retiring to a little place in the country."

"The country! You, Polly! But you love London."

"Well, when you're getting on a bit it's different. Eff always liked a bit of green. Anyway, it's not for now. It's for later. But what I'm saying is we can look after Fleur without her ladyship's help. Now what about you? You're living there ... with that woman."

"The children are there, Polly ... Louise and Alan. You'd love them."

"If they're half as nice as their sister, I reckon I would. I reckon they're glad to have you, but it can't be much fun in that house with her ladyship."

"I manage. She is fond of the children and she realizes that they need me. I was with them all through that terrible time in India, remember."

Polly nodded. "You know, if you couldn't stand her you could always come here. I reckon we'd manage all right the way we're getting on. Rents are coming in regular and now that we've got our own house ... it's good. Mind you, we had a struggle to get it and we were a bit short at one time. That reminds me. I ought to have told you before. Well, I had to do it. You'll understand, I know."

"I expect so, Polly. What is it?"

"Fleur's been ill."

"You didn't tell me."

"There wasn't no sense in worrying you when you were so far away. There was nothing you could have done. There was one time when it was touch and go."

"Oh, Polly! Do you mean that?"

"H'm. If that old grandmother had been there then, I reckon Fleur would have been with her by now. We'd have had to let her go. Something in her throat it was. It could have been the end of her if she hadn't had this operation."

"This is terrible, Polly. And I didn't know it."

"There was this man ... a clever surgeon or something. Dr. Clement told us about him. He thought he was about the only man who could save her. Mind you, he was one of the Harley Street men ... and it was fancy prices to get him to work. We had to find the money. We'd just bought the house. If it had been earlier we could have used that money and let the house go. But there we were ... not much we could lay our hands on. Well, we'd got the house now, but that wouldn't have meant much to us if we'd lost Fleur."

I looked at her in horror, but she shook her head and smiled at me. "It's all right now. He did the job ... it was a complete cure. I'll tell you what we did. Remember that fan you'd got ... the one the old lady gave you?"

I nodded.

"There was a bit of jewellry in it."

"Yes, Polly, yes."

"I took it to the jeweller and he said that piece of glitter was worth quite a lot of money." She looked at me apologetically. "I said to Eff, 'This is what Drusilla would want if she was here.' She agreed with me. We had to have that money quick. I had to make up my mind there and then. And there were the jewels and there was dear little Fleur ... so I took the fan to the jeweller and he bought the jewels ... took them out he did ... ever so careful ... It saved Fleur's life.

There was even some over, so we took her to the seaside with that ... Eff and me. A rare old time we had. You should have seen the colour come back into that little one's cheeks. You see ..."

"Of course I see, Polly. I'm glad ... I'm so glad."

"I knew you would be. What's a bit of stone compared with a child's life, eh? That's what I said to Eff. And I tell you this. He's made a good job of the fan, that jeweller. It looks just like it did before. I've kept it very special here. Just a minute."

I sat still, feeling shaken, while she went away to get it. I could never think of peacock feathers without seeing that terrible bloodstained fan lying at Lavinia's feet.

Polly stood before me and proudly opened the fan. It looked scarcely different from when I had last seen it; the place where the jewels had been was neatly covered.

"There!" said Polly. "A pretty thing it is. I'll never forget what it's done for Fleur."

As soon as I returned Lady Harriet wanted to know what had happened.

"They are adamant," I told her. "They will never give Fleur up."

"But didn't you point out the advantages I could give her?"

"They think she is better with them. They have a governess, you know."

"I did know. What any good governess would be doing in a place like that, I cannot imagine."

"She seems to be a very intelligent woman and she is very fond of Fleur."

"Rubbish!" said Lady Harriet. "They must be brought to their senses. I can assert my rights, you know."

"The circumstances are rather extraordinary."

"What do you mean? Fleur is my grandchild."

"But you have only just learned of her existence."

"What of that? I know she is my grandchild. I have a right."

"You mean you would go to law?"

"I will do anything that is necessary to get possession of my grandchild."

"It would mean bringing out the facts of the child's birth."

"Well?"

"Would you care for that?"

"If it is necessary it will have to be done."

"But if you took this matter to law there would be publicity. That would not be good for Fleur."

She hesitated for a moment. Then she said, "I am determined to get the child."

I felt it was a little ironical that when Fleur had been born she was unwanted by her mother and we had been at great pains to find a home for her. Now there were two strong factions—one determined to get her, the other to keep her.

I wondered who would win.

Time was slipping by. Louise and Alan were growing up into Framling children. They were given riding lessons, which delighted them, and each morning they spent half an hour in the paddock with a Framling groom. Lady Harriet used to watch them from her window with great satisfaction.

The nanny arrived. She was in her mid-forties, I thought, and had been looking after children for more than twenty-five years. Lady Harriet was pleased with her. She had worked in a ducal family, Lady Harriet told me—only a younger son, but still ducal.

"She will relieve you of the more onerous duties," she said. "You can confine yourself to the schoolroom now."

The children accepted Nanny Morton, and as she was in full possession of that nanny-like gift of keeping a firm hand and at the same time conveying the impression that she was one of those omniscient beings who would protect them against the world, she soon became part of the daily routine and she helped them gain a strong hold on that state which is all-important to the young: security.

Now and then they referred to their mother and the ayah, but these occasions were becoming more rare. Framling was now their home. They loved the spaciousness of that mysterious and yet now-familiar house; they loved their riding; and although they were in awe of their formidable grandmother, they had a certain affection for her and were gratified on those rare occasions when she expressed approval of something they had done; then they had Nanny Morton and myself.

Those weeks that they had spent cooped up in Salar's house and the general feeling of unease that they must have experienced made them appreciate the peace of Framling, the glorious gardens, the exciting riding and the general feeling of well being.

Lady Harriet often talked of Lady Geraldine.

"There is some restoration to be done in the west wing," she told me. "But I am doing nothing. Lady Geraldine may want to change it all when she comes." And then, "Lady Geraldine is a great horsewoman. I daresay she will want to improve the stables."

Lady Geraldine had a habit of cropping up in the conversation, and as time passed she did so more frequently.

"Surely there is nothing now to keep Sir Fabian in India," she said. "I am sure he will be home soon. I shall invite Lady Geraldine over so that she is here when he comes. That will be a nice surprise for him. Louise and Alan had better make the most of the nursery. They may have to be sharing it before long."

"You mean Fleur ..."

"Yes. Fleur, and when Sir Fabian marries." She gave a little giggle. "Lady Geraldine's family are noted for their fertility. They all have large families."

She was getting more and more excited, because she could not believe he would be away much longer.

Then Dougal came home.

We were at lessons in the schoolroom when he arrived. There was no warning.

Lady Harriet came in with him. I heard her say before she appeared, "They are having their lessons with Drusilla. You remember Drusilla ... that nice sensible girl from the rectory."

As if he needed reminding! We had been good friends. I had seen him in India, and he knew I had looked after the children there. But Lady Harriet was never very clear about the relationships of menials.

He came in and stood still, smiling, his eyes on me, before they went to the children.

I stood up.

Lady Harriet said, "Children, your papa is here."

Louise said, "Hello, Papa."

Alan was silent.

"How are you?" said Dougal. "And you, Drusilla?"

"Very well," I answered. "And you?"

He nodded, still looking at me. "It has been so long."

"We heard about Lucknow. That must have been terrible."

"Terrible for us all," said Dougal.

"I think the children might finish with their lesson," said Lady Harriet, "and as it is rather a special occasion, we will all go to my sitting room."

They left their books and I paused to shut them and put them away.

"You will want to be with your papa, children," said Lady Harriet.

"Yes, Grandmama," said Louise meekly.

Dougal looked at me. "We'll talk later," he said.

I was alone in the schoolroom, reminding myself that, in spite of all that had gone before, I was only the governess.

The children did not seem to be particularly excited to see their father, but Lady Harriet was delighted; the reason was that he brought news that Fabian would soon be coining home.

"This is good news from India," she told me. "My son will soon be on his way home. The wedding will take place almost immediately. They would have been married now, but for those wicked natives. I have started thinking about what dress I shall wear. As the bridegroom's mother I shall have my part to play, and Lizzie Carter, although a good worker, is rather slow. Louise will make a charming bridesmaid and Alan will be quite a stalwart little page. I always enjoy planning weddings. I remember Lavinia ..."

Her animated expression faded. "Poor Dougal," she went on briskly. "He is a lost soul without her."

I had never noticed his reliance on her, but I did not imply this. The mention of Lavinia was as painful to me as it was to Lady Harriet.

Dougal was staying for a few days at Framling; then he was going to his estates. He took an early opportunity of talking to me.

"It was wonderful to see you, Drusilla," he said. "There were times when I thought I should never see anyone again. What experiences we passed through."

"We did ... among thousands of others."

"Sometimes I feel I shall never be the same again."

"I think we all feel like that."

"I am leaving the Company. I intended to in any case. Indeed, I think there will be changes. The feeling is that this will be the end of the Company as such. It will be passed over to the State. I intend to hand over my interests to a cousin."

"What shall you do?"

"What I always wanted to. Study."

"And the children?"

He looked surprised. "Oh, they will be with their grandmother."

"That is what she wants, of course."

"It seems the most sensible thing. She has the big house ... the nurseries ... everything the children need and ... er ... she is determined to keep them. I was telling Louise about some of the newest discoveries in archaeology and she was quite interested."

"Louise is very intelligent ... the sort of child who is interested in everything she hears."

"Yes. It's fascinating to study a child's mind ... to watch the dawning of intelligence. They have perfect brains ... uncluttered ... and quick to learn."

"They have to be, to grasp what is necessary in life. It has often occurred to me that they think logically and clearly. All they lack is experience, and therefore they have to learn how to deal with triumph and disaster."

"It is good to be with you, Drusilla. I have missed you. I often think of the old days at the rectory. Do you remember them?"

"Of course."

"Your father was such an interesting man."

We were watching the children on their ponies and at that moment Alan passed. He was riding without holding the reins. The groom was beside him.

"Look at me, Drusilla," he cried. "Look. No reins."

I clapped my hands and he laughed joyously.

"They are so fond of you," said Dougal.

"We grew close while we were in hiding. Both of them were aware of the danger, I think."

"How fortunate that you came through all that."

"You were with Tom and Alice."

"Yes, they were in Lucknow. That was a time of real terror. We never knew, from one moment to the next, what was going to happen. I can't explain to you what it was like when Campbell's troops took the city. It was a hard struggle. They fought like demons."

"Will Tom and Alice come home?"

"Not for some time, I imagine. Things are in upheaval over there. Everyone is anticipating great change. Tom will be needed and is sure to be there some time yet. But he has Alice with him. They get along very well together. Fabian will be home quite soon. I don't know how it is all going to work out. He will want to see people in London. Everything is in a state of flux. There will be great changes in the Company and I don't know how this will affect Fabian."

"Nor Tom Keeping, I suppose."

"Tom will be all right. He is a lucky man. Alice is a fine person." He looked a little wistful. "Just imagine. They had known each other such a short time ... and there it was. They seem as though they were just made for each other."

"I suppose it happens like that sometimes."

"To the lucky ones. To the rest of us ..." He lapsed into silence and then went on, "There should be no pretence between us, should there? We know each other too well. Drusilla, I have made a mess of things."

"I suppose we all feel that about ourselves at some time."

"I hope you don't. Here am I ... adrift. A man with two children to whom sometimes I fancy I am a stranger."

"That could soon be remedied."

"They are so fond of you, Drusilla."

"I have been with them for a long time. They were my charges when I came to India and have been ever since. Then we went through that fearful time together. They weren't aware of the enormity of the dangers, but even young children can't live through a time like that without being affected. I represent a sort of rock to them, security, I suppose."

"I understand that. It is how they would see you. There is a strength about you, Drusilla. I often think of the old days. We were very good friends then. I can't tell you how much I used to look forward to those sessions with you and your father."

"Yes, we all enjoyed them."

"We talked of interesting things ... important things ... and because we shared our pleasure we enjoyed it the more. Do you ever wish you could go back in time ... to act differently ... to change things?"

"I think everyone does that now and then."

"Mine was not a happy marriage. Well ... it was disastrous really. You see, she was so beautiful."

"I don't think I ever saw anyone as beautiful as Lavinia."

"It was a blinding sort of beauty. I thought she was like Venus rising from the sea."

"You worship beauty, I know. I have seen your eyes when they rest on certain pieces of statuary or great paintings."

"I thought she was quite the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. She seemed to be fond of me, and Lady Harriet was determined ..."

"Ah yes," I said. "You became very eligible overnight."

"That should never have happened to me. Well, she is dead now, and there are the children."

"They will be your chief concern."

"They will be brought up here, I suppose. They are well and happy here. I am not sure about the influence of the Framlings. I worry about them a little. I feel they might take their values from Lady Harriet. I am glad that you are with them, Drusilla."

"I love them very much."

"I can see that. But when Fabian returns ... I believe he will soon get married. I gather there is already some understanding with Lady Geraldine Fitzbrock. Not an official engagement yet ... but that will come, and Lady Harriet wants a quick marriage, so ..."

"Yes, I too have gathered that from her."

"Well, it will be a little time before Fabian has children, I suppose. But the nursery will be theirs, and if his children are anything like him they will soon be dominating mine."

The subject of Fabian's marriage filled me with deep depression, which I hoped I did not show.

He went on, "I wish I could take them away ... have a place of my own."

"You have, haven't you?"

"A rambling old place ... more like a fortress than a home. It came along with the inheritance. It would not be much of a home for children, Drusilla."

"Perhaps it could be made so."

"With a family ... children perhaps ..."

"Well, it is all before you."

"Yes. It's not too late, is it?"

"Some say it is never too late."

"Drusilla ..." He was smiling at me.

I thought in panic: He is going to ask me to marry him, as my father thought he might all those years ago. He is thinking it could be a solution. I have already been a surrogate mother to his children and he knows that I will be interested in whatever he takes up. I am not beautiful ... hardly like Venus rising from the sea ... but I have other qualities. As Lady Harriet would say, I am a sensible girl.

Just at that moment the children ran up. Their riding lesson was over. I was glad of the diversion.

Louise said, not looking at her father, "Drusilla, I did the jump today. Did you see?"

"Yes," I told her. "You did it beautifully."

"Did I? Jim said it's going to get higher and higher."

"Right up to the sky," said Alan. "Did you see me?"

"Yes," I assured him. "We both watched ... your father and I."

"You were very good," Dougal told him.

Alan smiled at him and jumped.

"Stop, Alan," said Louise. She looked apologetically at Dougal. "He's always jumping," she added.

"It shows he's happy," I said.

"You wait until I do the jumps with my horse," Alan cried.

"We will," I told him. I turned to Dougal. "Won't we?"

"You too?" said Alan, looking doubtfully at his father. "You and Drusilla?"

"We shall be there," I replied.

Alan jumped again and we all laughed.

Then we walked back, Alan running on ahead and turning to look back at us every few seconds while Louise walked rather soberly between us.

Fabian was coming home. He was on the high seas and in a week or so he would be with us.

Lady Harriet was more excited than I had ever seen her. She was quite talkative to me.

"I have decided that I won't ask Lady Geraldine just at first. He will pay too much attention to her and as I have not seen my son for a long time I want him to myself. Besides, it will be more romantic for him to go down to her. He should propose in her father's house. Everything will be different when he comes. There will be no nonsense about the child from those two women. Fleur will be brought to her rightful home."

"I daresay she will want to have some say in her future herself."

"A mere child! What are you thinking of, Drusilla?"

"I was thinking that perhaps I should consider my position."

"Your position! What do you mean?"

"I thought Lady Geraldine might want to make changes."

"In the nursery. I am mistress of this house, as I was when I came here as a bride, and I intend to remain so. Moreover, you teach the children very well and / am satisfied with their progress. Louise is getting on admirably. You have a gift for teaching. My governess was with me from my earliest days to the time when I had my season."

That was an end of the matter ... for her. But not for me. I could not stay. I certainly would not remain when Fabian was married to Lady Geraldine. I knew I had had ridiculous dreams. I suppose those days in India, which now seemed part of an unreal nightmare, had had their effect on me. Back in Framling I realized how impossible those dreams had been.

The Framlings were Framlings. They would never change. They looked upon the rest of us as pawns in a game, to be moved around as benefitted them. We were of no importance except in our usefulness.

During that week, while Lady Harriet went around in a state of happiness which I had never seen her in before, I was getting more and more depressed. I did not want to be here when he came home. I could not join the general rejoicing because of the suitable marriage he was making. Fabian would marry suitably, I was sure. He was as much aware of family obligations as his mother was. He had been brought up to regard them as all-important. I had not been mistaken when I had thought there was an attraction between us. There always had been ... with him as well as with me. I knew that he wanted to make love to me; but the question of marriage would never arise. I had heard whispers of past Framlings ... the vivid lives they had led, the romantic adventures which had nothing to do with marriage. They married suitably and that was all that was expected of them.

But that was not the life for me. I was too seriousminded, as Lady Harriet would have said, "too sensible."

I saw Dougal often. He did not ask me to marry him, but I knew it was in his mind. He was afraid to ask me outright, for fear I should refuse. I realized that Dougal was not the man to take quick decisions. He would always waver; others would have to make up his mind for him.

If I gave him that little bit of encouragement for which he looked, he would have asked me. Why did he want me? I asked myself. It was because I represented a certain security to him, as I did to his children. I would be the surrogate mother, for which post I had already qualified.

It would be convenient, wise no doubt. I could look to a peaceful life ahead with Dougal, quiet, pleasant, with a husband who would be considerate and caring ... and the children growing up with us. We would study together. I would learn a great deal. Our excitement would be in the antiquities of the world ... books, art ... they would give us our interest.

Perhaps I should grow like him.

He was seeing me as the antithesis of Lavinia, but he would never forget that outstanding beauty, which I believed he had marvelled at when he saw her.

Everyone would say I should be glad of the opportunity. "What is your life?" they would say. "Are you going to spend it serving the Framlings?" And what about Lady Geraldine?

Would she sense her husband's feelings towards me? It could develop into an explosive, impossible situation.

I should have to go. Where? I had a little money, just about enough to keep me in a rather dreary, comfortless style. What a fool I was to turn away from all that Dougal was offering me.

And Fabian would be home in a day or so.

I could not bear to be there when he came.

I said to Lady Harriet, "I would like to go to see Polly again."

"Well," replied Lady Harriet, "that is not a bad idea. You can tell them that Sir Fabian will soon be home and he will put a stop to their nonsense. They might as well give up Fleur with a good grace. Tell them we shall not be forgetful and shall reward them for what they have done."

I did not remark that that was the very way to stiffen their resolve, if it needed stiffening—which it did not. But how could one explain such things to Lady Harriet?

I was happy to be with Polly again. I was taken back to my childhood, when she was there to soothe away my little problems.

It was not long before she sensed there was something on my mind. She managed in that skilful way of hers that we would be alone together.

"Let's sit in the parlour," she said. "Eff won't know. Besides, you're a visitor and parlours are for visitors."

So we sat there on the stiff, unused chairs with their prim antimacassars on the backs and the aspidistra on the wicker table in the window and the clock, which her father had thought such a lot of, ticking away on the mantelshelf.

"Now, what's on your mind?"

"Oh, I'm all right, Polly."

"Don't give me that. I know when something's wrong with you and that's now."

"Sir Fabian is coming home," I said.

"Well, it's about time, I should think."

I was silent.

"Here," she said. "Tell me. You know you can tell your old Polly anything."

"I feel rather foolish. I've been so stupid."

"Ain't we all?"

"You see, Polly, if you can imagine what it was like in India ... From one minute to the next we never knew whether it was going to be our last. That does something to you."

"You tell me what it does to you."

"Well ... he was there and all those other people were, too, but it was like being with him alone. He'd saved my life, Polly. I had seen him shoot a man who was going to kill me."

She nodded slowly.

"I know," she said. "He seemed like some sort of hero to you, didn't he? You had this fancy for him. You'd always had it, really. You can't fool me."

"Perhaps," I said. "It was silly of me."

"I never thought he'd be any good to you. There was that other one." She looked at me. "And he goes and marries that Lavinia. I reckon you're better off without the both. Men ... they're chancy things ... Better none at all than the wrong one ... and, my, my goodness, the good ones don't grow on trees, I can tell you."

"There was your Tom."

"Ah ... my Tom. Not many like him in this world, I can tell you, and he goes and gets himself drowned. I said to him, 'You ought to get a job ashore, that's what.' But would he listen? Oh no. No sense, men, that's about it."

"Polly," I said. "I had to get away. You see, he's coming home and he is going to be married."

"What?"

"Lady Harriet is making preparations. She is Lady Geraldine Fitzbrock."

"What a name to go to bed with!"

"She will be Lady Geraldine Framling. I couldn't stay there. She wouldn't want me."

"Not when she sees he's got a fancy for you."

"It was only a passing fancy, Polly. He'd forget all about me if I was not there."

"You'd better get out of that place, I can see. There's always a home for you here."

"That's another thing, Polly. Lady Harriet says he will do something about Fleur."

"What about her?"

"She says they will stand by their rights. She's the grandmother, you see."

"Grandmother, me foot! Fleur's ours. We brought her up. We had her since she was a few weeks old. Nobody's going to take her away from us now. I tell you straight."

"If she took it to court ... all their money and the fact that Fleur is their flesh and blood ..."

"I won't have it. Eff won't either. They wouldn't want all that dragged through the courts ... all about Madam Lavinia's affairs in France. Course they wouldn't."

"Nor would you, Polly. You wouldn't want Fleur to be faced with all that."

Polly was silent for once.

"Oh ... it won't get to that," she said at length.

"They are very determined and accustomed to having their own way."

"Here's someone who's not letting them. But we're talking about you. You know you want to get that Fabian out of your mind. That other one ... well, it mightn't be such a bad idea."

"You mean Dougal?"

"Yes, him. He's a bit of a ninny, but there are the children, and you know how fond you are of them."

"We were great friends really. I liked him very much. But then Lavinia appeared. She was so beautiful, Polly. I think it ruined her life in a way. She couldn't resist admiration. She had to have it from everyone and in the end ... she died."

I found myself telling the story. It all came back to me so vividly. Roshanara ... the Khansamah ... his meetings with Lavinia in her boudoir ... to that last terrible scene.

"She was lying on the bed, Polly. I knew what had happened. She had insulted his dignity and she paid for it in a special way. He gave her a peacock-feather fan. She thought it was because he was contrite and so enamoured of her beauty. But it was the sign of death. That's what it meant. And there she lay with the bloodstained fan at her feet."

"Well, I never."

"You see, Polly, there is a legend about peacocks' feathers.

They are bringers of ill fortune. You remember Miss Lucille and her fan."

"I do indeed. And reason to be thankful for it. I reckon it saved our Fleur's life."

"But getting the jewel cost her lover his."

"I reckon them men would have got him at any time."

"But it was when he was taking the fan to have the jewels set in that it happened. Lucille believed it was the ill luck of the fan."

"Well, she was off her rocker."

"I know she was unbalanced ... but it was due to what happened to her."

"You want to get rid of all them fancy ideas about fans."

"But it means something to them, Polly. They are a strange people. They are not like us. What seems plain common sense here is different there. Dougal found there was a legend about peacocks' feathers. The Khansamah must have believed it, for he gave Lavinia the fan and when he killed her he laid it at her feet. It was a sort of ritual."

"Well, let them think what they like. A bundle of feathers is a bundle of feathers to me, and I can't see anything to frighten yourself about that."

"Polly, I have the fan. At one time my father ... and others ... thought Dougal would ask me to marry him. They all thought it would be good for me."

"He'd have shown a lot more sense if he had asked you, and I'm not sure you wouldn't have shown some if you'd said yes. He might not be all that you'd want ... not one of them dashing heroes ... he might be just a timid little man ... but he's not so bad, and you can't have everything in life. Sometimes it's best to take what you can get ... providing it's all right in the main."

"He didn't want me when he saw Lavinia. It was as though he were bewitched. He didn't see me after that. I was interested in what interested him, as my father was. He enjoyed being with us ... talking to us ... and then he saw Lavinia. He had seen her before, of course, but she was grown up and he saw her afresh. He forgot any feeling he might have had for me. You see, it's a sort of pattern."

"I shall begin to think you're going wrong in the head. What's all this got to do with fans?"

"I think, Polly, that I shall never be happy in love because I took the fan. It was in my possession for a while. That is what Miss Lucille believed ... and it seems as if ... you see."

"No, I don't see," said Polly. "This isn't like you. I always thought you had some sense."

"Strange things happen in India."

"Well, you're not there now. You're in plain, sensible England, where fans are just fans and nothing else."

"I know you're right."

"Of course I'm right. So don't let's have any more of this nonsense about fans. I reckon that fan done us all a good turn. When you look at young Fleur now and think what she was like at that time ... it makes me tremble all over now to think of it. So you're not going to marry this Dougal?"

"He hasn't asked me yet, Polly."

"Looks like he's just waiting for a shove in the right direction."

"I shall not do the shoving."

"Well, you'd have a grand title, wouldn't you? I never thought much of them myself, but there's plenty as do."

"I wouldn't want to marry for that, Polly."

"Course you wouldn't. But he seems a nice enough fellow. All he needs is a bit of pushing and you'd be rather good at that. And there's the children, too. They're fond of you and they'd have you as their mum. I reckon that's what they'd like."

"They probably would, but one doesn't marry for that reason."

"You're still thinking of that old fan. You're thinking it's going to be bad luck and nothing will go right while you have it. Here. Wait a minute. Come into the kitchen. I want to show you something. Just a minute. I'll go and get it."

I went into the kitchen. It was warm, for the fire was burning. It always was, for it heated the oven and the kettle was always on the hob.

Within a few minutes Polly came in; she was carrying the case that contained the peacock-feather fan.

She took it out and unfurled it.

"Pretty thing," she said.

Then she went to the fire and put the fan into the heart of it. The feathers were immediately alight—their deep blues mingling with the red of the flames. I gasped as I watched it disintegrate.

Nothing was left of it but the blackened frame.

I turned to her in dismay. She was looking at me half fearfully, half triumphantly. I knew she felt unsure of what my reaction would be.

"Polly!" I stammered.

She looked a little truculent. "There," she said. "It's gone. There's no need to worry about that any more. You was getting worked up about that fan. I could see it was beginning to get a hold of you. You was expecting things to go wrong ... and somehow that's often a way of making them. It's gone now ... that's the end of it. We make our own lives you know. It's got nothing to do with a bunch of feathers."

I had been in the park with Mrs. Childers and Fleur, and as soon as we returned Polly came hurrying into the hall, Eff just behind her. Polly looked anxious. Eff excited.

Eff called, "A visitor for you, Drusilla." And then, in a high-pitched, overawed sort of manner, she added, "In the parlour."

"Who ... ?" I began.

"You go and see," said Polly.

I went in. He was standing there, smiling, making the parlour look smaller and less prim than it usually did.

"Drusilla!" He came to me and took my hands. He looked at me for a second or so and then he held me to him tightly. After a moment he released me, holding me slightly away from him, looking at me intently.

"Why did you go?" he demanded. "Just when I was coming home."

"I ... I thought you would want to be with your family."

He laughed, a happy, derisive sort of laughter.

"You knew I wanted to be with you more than anyone."

I thought then: It is wonderful. I don't care what happens afterwards ... this is wonderful now.

I began, "I was not sure ..."

"I did not know you could be so foolish, Drusilla. You knew I was coming and you went away."

I tried to calm myself. "You've come here because of ... Fleur. You've come to try to take her away."

"What on Earth is the matter with you? Have you forgotten? Remember the last time we were together ... all those people around, when we wanted to be alone. The first thing I said when I came home was, 'Where is Drusilla? Why isn't she here with the children?' And my mother told me you had come here. I said, 'But I said she was to be here.' I expected to find you at Framling as soon as I got back."

"I didn't know you would want to see me."

He looked at me incredulously.

"Drusilla, what's happened to you?" he demanded.

I said slowly, "I've come home. Everything is different here. It seems to me now that in India I was living in a different world, where anything could happen. Here it is ... as it always was."

"What difference does it make where we are? We are us, aren't we? We know what we want. At least I do. And I want you."

"Have you thought ... ?"

"I don't have to think. Why are you being so aloof? It wasn't like this when we were last together."

"I tell you it is different now. How was it in India?"

"Chaotic."

"Alice and Tom?"

"In a state of bliss ... a most wonderful example of the joys of married life."

I smiled. "Ah," he said. "Now you are more like yourself. What is the matter? We're talking like strangers. Here am I come home to marry you and you behave as though we have just been introduced."

"To marry me! But ..."

"You are not going to raise objections, are you? You know my nature. I just ignore them."

"What of Lady Geraldine?"

"She is well, I believe."

"But your mother was arranging ..."

"Arranging what?"

"The wedding."

"Our wedding."

"Your marriage to Lady Geraldine. Your mother has been arranging it."

"I arrange my own wedding."

"But Lady Geraldine ..."

"What has my mother said to you?"

"That you were coming home to marry her."

He laughed. "Oh, she has had that in mind for some time. She forgot to consult me, that's all."

"But she will be ... furious."

"My mother will agree with me. She always does. Though I believe I am the only one whose opinion she considers. Stop thinking about my mother and think of me. You're not marrying her."

"I can't believe all this."

"You're not going to say, 'This is so sudden, sir,' as so many well-brought-up ladies are supposed to."

"But, Fabian, it is sudden ..."

"I should have thought it was obvious. The way we were in India ... have you forgotten?"

"I forget nothing of what happened there."

"We went through all that together, didn't we? I blamed myself for bringing you out there. But now we're here ... together ... I think those times taught us a great deal about each other. It taught us that there was a special bond between us and it grows stronger every day. It's never going to break, Drusilla. We're together ... forever."

"Fabian, I think you go too fast."

"I think I have gone unforgivably slowly. You are not going to refuse me, are you? You should know by now that I never take refusals. I would immediately abduct you and drag you to the altar."

"Do you really mean that you want to marry me?"

"Good Heavens! Haven't I made that clear?"

"You do realize it is most unsuitable."

"If it suits me it has to suit everyone else."

"Lady Harriet would never allow it."

"Lady Harriet will accept what I want. She already knows. I was enraged when I came back and found you weren't there. I said, 'I am going to marry Drusilla and there will be no delay about it.' "

"She must have been outraged."

"Only mildly surprised."

I shook my head.

He said, "I am disappointed in you, Drusilla. Have you forgotten everything? That night you came to the house ..." I shook my head and he went on, "That dreadful moment when I feared I might miss ... that I might be too late. You've no idea what I went through. I lived a lifetime in those few seconds. Have you forgotten that trek to Bombay? I was desolate when you sailed away and I promised myself that the moment I was free of all that, we would be together ... and never part again. Drusilla, have you forgotten? Didn't I choose you when you were a baby? 'That's mine,' I said, and it has been like that ever since."

I felt numb with happiness, which I could not accept as real. He was holding me tightly. I felt protected against the fury of Lady Harriet, the disappointment of Lady Geraldine and the terrible fear that I would wake up and find I had been dreaming. Don't think of what's to come, I admonished myself. Live in the moment. This is the greatest happiness you could ever know.

He felt no such qualms. I knew, of course, that he would never have any doubts that he could have what he wanted.

"So," he said, "we'll go back. No delays. It will be the quickest wedding in Framling history. No more protests ... please."

"If it is true. If you mean it ... if you really mean it, then ..."

"Then what?"

"Then life is wonderful."

We called in Polly and Eff and told them the news.

"So you are getting married," said Polly. She was a trifle bellicose, I must admit. I saw the glint in her eyes. She was still a little uncertain whether her little ewe lamb was going to be devoured by the big, bad wolf.

He knew how she regarded him and I saw the glint of amusement in his eyes.

"Soon," he told her, "you shall dance at our wedding."

"My dancing days are over," said Polly tersely.

"But on such an occasion they might be revived, perhaps," he suggested.

Eff's eyes glistened. I could see her choosing her dress. "It's for a wedding, a rather special one. Sir Fabian Framling. He's marrying a special friend of ours." I could hear her explaining to the tenants. "Well, I suppose you'd call it one of them grand weddings. Polly and me, we've had our invitations. Such an old friend."

Polly was less euphoric. She didn't trust any man except her Tom, and her suspicion of Fabian was too deeply rooted to be dispersed by an offer of marriage.

I could smile at her fears and be happy.

Fabian wanted to stay on in London for a few days, and then we would go back together. He had booked a room in a hotel. Eff was relieved. She had had an idea that she might have to 'put him up,' but she did not really think there was a vacant room in any of the houses that would be worthy of a titled gentleman, although the prestige that would come from being able to say, "When Sir Fabian was in one of my rooms ..." would be great.

Later that day Fabian and I went to a jewellers to buy a ring. It was beautiful—an emerald set in diamonds. When it was on my finger I felt happier than I ever had been in my life ... for the ring seemed to seal the bond and to proclaim to the world that I was to marry Fabian.

I believed I would be happy. I believed I could forget the horrible sights I had witnessed during the Mutiny. I was loved by Fabian, more deeply, more tenderly than I had ever believed possible; and somehow at the back of my mind I linked my happiness with the destruction of the peacock-feather fan.

It was ridiculous, I knew—a flight of fancy. Perhaps I had been too long in India, where mysticism seemed to flourish more than it could in the prosaic air of England. No blame could attach to me. I had not destroyed it. Polly had done that for me and she had never owned it, so it could not involve her. I closed my eyes and could see those beautiful blue feathers curling up in the flames. It was ridiculously fanciful. I had allowed the fan to take hold of my imagination: subconsciously I had endowed it with magical qualities and so it had seemed to influence my life.

But no more. I felt free. I wanted to live every moment ahead of me to the full. There would be difficulties to face. I could leave those for the future and live in this moment ... this wonderful moment ... with the joy of loving and being loved.

Fabian and I sat in the gardens opposite the house and talked.

He said suddenly, "There is the question of the child."

"They will never give her up," I told him.

"She can't stay in this place."

"Fabian, you can't use people when they are useful and when you think they have served their purpose cast them aside."

"I have an idea. They should bring her down to Framling."

"Polly and Eff!"

"This is what I think. There are a couple of vacant houses on the estate. They could have one of these and the child would be there ... near Framling. She could live between the two houses for a while. Then the time will come when she will go away to school. And she can think of both the house with those two in it and Framling as her home."

"They have their houses. They wouldn't want to go to the country."

"They'd want what was best for Fleur, and they'd be near you. I think they could be persuaded and you are the one to persuade."

"I am not sure they will accept it ... or even consider it."

"You'll do it. You'll persuade them."

"They are independent."

"They own that house, don't they? They could sell it and buy this place."

"What about the price?"

"It could be anything that fitted. They could have the place for nothing."

"They would never accept that. They'd call it being beholden."

"Then let them buy it ... at whatever price will fit. It's quite simple."

"You don't know Polly and Eff."

"No, but I know you and I am sure you can make it work out."

I talked to Polly first.

"Well, I never!" she said. "Give up this house. Take the one they've got empty. We want no charity from them."

"It wouldn't be charity. You'd be absolutely independent of them. You could sell this house and buy the other with the proceeds."

"Not on your life."

"You'd be near me, Polly. That would be lovely."

She nodded.

"And Fleur would have all that the Framlings could give her."

"I know that. It's worried me at times. I've talked to Eff."

"You gave her a home when she needed it. You gave her love. That was wonderful, Polly. But she will have to go to school. Framling will be a good background."

"You don't think Eff and me haven't thought of that."

"Why not speak to Eff?"

Polly was weighing the advantages. Most certainly she and Eff wanted the best for Fleur. It was more important to them than anything; and I could see Polly was liking the idea of being near me. She was thinking I might need a bit of advice, married to that one.

She was wavering. Eff had said she was getting tired of some of the tenants. She had had a lot of trouble with Second Floor No. 28.

I said, "Polly, it would be wonderful for me."

"I'll speak to Eff," said Polly. "She won't, though."

"You might persuade her."

"Oh, I know she wants the best for Fleur, and I can see it would be a bit different there than here ..."

"Think about it, Polly ... seriously."

Later I said to Fabian, "I think it might work."

Fabian and I travelled back to Framling together. I was bracing myself for facing Lady Harriet.

I was amazed at how graciously she received me. There was a difference in her attitude. I had left the house as the governess to her grandchildren; I returned as the fiancee of her beloved son.

I wondered if she were asking herself what Fabian was doing, throwing himself away on the plain girl from the rectory—particularly when her choice had fallen on someone else.

I remembered that long-ago incident when he had brought me as a baby to his house and proclaimed that I was his child. Lady Harriet had insisted that her son's whim should be gratified. Now perhaps it was a similar situation.

Smiling, she discussed the wedding.

"There is no point in delay," she said. "I have thought for long, Fabian, that it was time you were married. You can't be married from here, Drusilla, that would be quite irregular. Brides should not be living under the same roofs as their bridegrooms the day before their marriages. So you can go to the rectory. That will be the most appropriate, because it was your old home. It's a pity Colin Brady can't give you away. He would have been the best person for that. But he will have to officiate in the church ... so it will have to be the doctor. That will be an excellent alternative, as his daughter is at the rectory now. The next best thing to Colin Brady himself."

Lady Geraldine was mentioned only once. "A nice girl ... a little too fond of riding. She spent most of the day in the saddle. I believe that broadens the figure and can mean a lack of other interests."

She gave no hint that she was disappointed. Here was a new side to Lady Harriet. Her love for her son went as deep as did that she had for Lavinia ... and perhaps deeper, for Fabian was perfect in her eyes. The fact that she rarely mentioned her daughter did not mean that she had forgotten her. She often went to Lavinia's old room and stayed there for a long time and she would be noticeably subdued when she emerged. As for Fabian, he could do no wrong in her eyes. He was her son and therefore the perfect man. Fabian had chosen me and, because I was his choice, miraculously I had become hers.

I could not believe in such a volte-face until I began to understand Lady Harriet. She must, of course, always be right, so wisely she promptly adjusted her views to the inevitable and made herself believe that it was what she had wanted all the time. I felt warmer towards her because we both loved the same person and he was more important than any other to us. She recognized this and it made an instant bond between us.

History did seem to be repeating itself. I overheard a conversation and shamelessly I listened, as I had on another occasion.

It was in this very garden that I had overheard her remark that I was the plain child from the rectory. It had affected me more deeply than I had realized at the time.

Lady Harriet was in the drawing room with the doctor and his wife. The doctor was receiving his instructions, as he had been chosen by her to play his part at the ceremony.

Her voice, resonant and authoritative, floated out to me.

"I had always meant Drusilla for Fabian and I am so happy that it has all turned out as I planned. She is so good with the children ... and such a sensible girl."

The sun was shining on the pool; the water lilies were enchanting. A white butterfly paused and alighted on one of them. It rested a moment and was gone.

I was happier than I had believed possible.

Fabian loved me. Polly and Eff, I was sure, would soon be close at hand, and Fleur with them. The qualms that my formidable mother-in-law might have aroused in me were stilled. Moreover, I felt an understanding of her which could develop into fondness.

Fabian would be beside me and life would be good.