The Landower Legacy

THE MASKED BALL

Three years had passed since my return from Cornwall and my seventeenth birthday was approaching.

For the first six months I thought often of Cousin Mary at Tressidor Manor, James McGill at the Lodge and Paul and Jago at Landower Hall. I particularly thought of Paul. I experienced a feeling of nostalgic longing every morning when I awoke. I told and retold my adventures to Olivia, who was avid to hear of them and listened entranced. Maybe I embellished them a little. Perhaps Landower Hall sounded like the tower of London and Tressidor Manor a little like Hampton Court. I talked of Paul Landower more than anyone else. He had become a handsome hero endowed with every noble quality. He was something between Alexander the Great and Lancelot; he was Hercules and Apollo; he was noble and invincible. Olivia’s lovely shortsighted eyes glowed with sentiment when I talked of him. I invented conversations with him. Olivia envied me my adventures; she was horrified at the outcome of the ghostly episode, and it never occurred to her to wonder why the omnipotent Paul had failed to save his own home. Cousin Mary had written only once. She was not a letter writer, I soon discovered, though I was sure that if I went back to the Manor we should take up our relationship where it had left off. In that one letter she did tell me that Landower Hall had been sold to the Arkwrights and that Miss Arkwright could not have been really badly hurt because she was now walking about. The Arkwrights were established in the Hall and the Landowers had moved to a farm on the edge of their estate. Apart from that everything was much the same as usual.

I wrote back and that letter remained unanswered. I did not write to Jago but I was sure that the old farmhouse, which was now the home of the Landowers, would be a very melancholy household indeed.

My father expressed no pleasure at my return. In fact I did not see him until I had been back three days; and then he scarcely looked at me.

Resentment flamed into my heart and I felt wretchedly hurt and longed for the casual affection of Cousin Mary.

Miss Bell was her old self. She behaved as though I had never been away; but my great consolation was Olivia, who implied a hundred times a day how pleased she was to have me back.

She had her own problems and the greatest of these was her “coming out.” She was extremely nervous and was being groomed by Aunt Imogen—an ordeal if ever there was one—and there were so many do’s and don’ts that she was becoming quite bewildered.

I had not been home more than three weeks when I heard I was to go away to school at the beginning of the September term. This was a blow no less to Olivia and Miss Bell than it was to me.

Olivia had not gone away to school. I could only believe that my father still remembered that if it had not been for me he might have gone on in blissful ignorance of my mother’s love affair with Captain Carmichael, and for this reason could not bear the sight of me.

Olivia was going to miss me. Miss Bell was anxious about the post of governess; but she was reassured almost immediately. She was to stay on and look after Olivia and presumably me during holidays from school when—I imagined most reluctantly—my father would have to allow me to return to the family home.

We discussed school and coming out—both with their hazards— and our mother.

Olivia had heard that she was abroad with Captain Carmichael and that he had had to resign his commission in the Army because of the scandal. It seemed strange to me that our mother could leave without wanting to see us—or at least to hear from us. And our father certainly did not want to see me. How different it had been with Cousin Mary!

There was an ache in my heart every time I thought of her.

Then life began to change—not suddenly, but gradually. I went away to school and after the first few weeks enjoyed it. I was extremely good at English literature and had a flair for languages. Miss Bell had taught us a little French and German and I rapidly progressed in those tongues. I played lacrosse with some success; I learned ballroom dancing and to play the piano, and in none of these activities was I a dunce, though I did not exactly excel in any of them.

I began to like school, my new friends, rivalries and all the drama and comedy which seemed to arise out of trivialities. I was not too different from the normal to arouse enmity, yet I had something which was unusual. I think it was a vitality, a tremendous interest in everything that was going on, and a willingness to try everything once. It brought me friends and it made my school life very acceptable.

But I always enjoyed coming home for holidays and in the beginning deluded myself into believing that it would all be changed. My mother would return; my father would be pleased to see me and everything would be happy. Why I should have thought this I could not imagine. It had never been so before.

Olivia was in the throes of “coming out” and after the first few months finding it not so bad as she had thought it might be. She was not an outstanding success in society but she had never expected to be; all she hoped for was to get by, which was just what she was doing. She went to balls and even on occasions to Court—the Court of the Prince and Princess of Wales, that was. The Queen was not given to frivolity and was at Windsor most of the time or hiding herself away in the Isle of Wight. The Prince and Princess of Wales were those who held court and were courted.

But those occasions were rare. The Prince of Wales was what was called a little “fast” and so the society which surrounded him was considered not ideal for young girls on the threshold of their entrance into society.

Between Miss Bell and Aunt Imogen, Olivia was very closely guarded; and she had overcome the dread she had felt at first and was beginning to find life not unpleasant. She still suffered from shyness; and wished that I could accompany her on her engagements. So did I. When there was a ball at the house I was not allowed to go and was resigned to my usual post at the top of the staircase—rather undignified for a girl who was fast becoming an adult.

My father then decided that I should go to a finishing school in France. Once again I was appalled and once again I was soon enjoying it. We lived in a chateau in the mountains, and parties of us would walk into the town once a week and have a cup of coffee and the most delicious pastries, sitting outside a cafe under a brightly coloured sunshade while we talked of what would happen to us when it was our turn to “come out.”

Time was passing. I had forgotten what Captain Carmichael looked like, though when we drank lemonade I remembered vividly sitting at the window on the day of the Jubilee, and how happy we had been then. But I never forgot Paul Landower. I used to sketch his face in one of the sketch-books which we took with us on rambles in the mountains. He grew more and more handsome, more and more noble with the passing of time. Girls would peer over my shoulder and say: “There he is again. I do believe, Caroline Tressidor, that he is your lover.”

They were always talking about lovers. I used to listen and smile and pretend a little … well, perhaps more than a little. It gave one enormous prestige to have had an admirer. I began to hint at a romantic attachment. I invented episodes which had taken place during my stay in Cornwall. Paul Landower had been in love with me but nothing could be done about that because he considered me too young. He was waiting for me to grow up. I almost had now. It became my favourite relaxation—making up little scenes between us, and I told them with such conviction that I began to believe them myself.

I mentioned that he was troubled and this made him even more attractive in their eyes. He was melancholy; he was like Lord Byron, said someone; and I did not deny it. It was no fault of his that his great house had had to be given up. If he had had time he would have retrieved his family’s fortunes.

I told the story of how I had played ghosts with his younger brother. Later, I romanced, I had confessed to Paul. He had taken me into his arms to comfort me. “There!” he said. “It is no fault of yours. You are not to blame.” “And you don’t love me any less for what I did?” I asked. “I love you more than ever … because of it. You did it for me. I love you infinitely.”

Sometimes I came out of my fantasies and laughed at myself. We laughed a lot. Finishing school was fun. Discipline was not the same and as long as we spoke French all the time, that was all that was required of us.

Then it was over. I was seventeen. I would now go home and I supposed my “coming out” would begin. I imagined that I should be drilled by Aunt Imogen as Olivia had been. I thought the dressmakers would be coming to measure me and sew for me as they had for Olivia. But it did not turn out that way.

Once Olivia asked Aunt Imogen when I was going to come out and she reported that Aunt Imogen put her lips together in that way she had and which was like a trap shutting. She had turned away and not answered.

It seemed very strange.

Olivia would have been delighted if we could have gone to the parties together. She had a wardrobe full of beautiful dresses and I longed to have some like them.

“One can only wear them once or twice,” said Olivia. “It’s the same people everywhere and it wouldn’t do for them to think you were so poor you had to go on wearing the same things over and over again.”

“Would it matter?”

“Of course. It’s a sort of parade, isn’t it? Everyone is supposed to be beautiful and rich. It’s all part of one’s assets.”

“Like a cattle market.”

“Yes,” she said thoughtfully, “it is really. Papa is quite well off and nobody seems very eager to take me. I suppose I am not attractive enough even though Papa has enough money to make me worthwhile in the other respect.”

“Oh, Olivia, you sound cynical. I never thought you would be that.”

“I suppose it’s the way life goes. You’ll see when your turn comes.”

But my turn did not come.

Then I noticed a change in Olivia. She seemed to have grown prettier; she was absent-minded; I would find her staring into space, and when I spoke to her she did not always hear me.

“I’ll tell you what,” said Rosie Rundall, with whom, now that we were growing up, we seemed to be on even more friendly terms than before. “Miss Olivia is in love.”

“In love! Olivia! Oh, Olivia, are you?”

“What nonsense,” she said, but she was flushed and confused, so we knew it was true.

“Who is it?” I demanded.

“It’s nothing. It’s no one.”

“But you can’t be in love with no one.”

“Stop teasing,” she pleaded. “What would be the good of my being in love with someone. He wouldn’t be in love with me, would he?”

“Why not?” demanded Rosie.

“Because I’m too quiet and not pretty or clever enough.”

“Believe me,” said Rosie, “and I know what I’m talking about. There’s plenty who like their women that way.”

But however much we tried to probe, Olivia would tell us nothing. I presumed she nurtured a secret passion for someone who was scarcely aware of her existence. But she did not seem to dread going to parties so much—and even on some occasions looked forward to them. I confided in Rosie that it was because she hoped to see this young man, and Rosie thought that very likely.

Rosie herself seemed more lovely, more soignee than ever. She often used to come and show herself to us before going on those nightly jaunts of hers. We used to marvel at her clothes. Olivia, who had learned a great deal since coming out, said that the silk of her dress was of very good quality, and she wondered how Rosie could afford such garments.

Meanwhile I was more or less confined to the schoolroom. I did not have routine lessons but I used to read French with Miss Bell every day. Since my sojourn in France, I spoke that language better than Miss Bell did; candidly she admitted this, but decided it was good for me to “keep it up”—so we conversed and read daily in French.

Olivia came in one day excited because there was to be a ball at Lady Massingham’s. Everyone would be in fancy dress and masked. She liked the idea. “When my face is covered up I don’t feel so shy,” she said. “I think I rather like masked balls.”

“Very exciting not to know to whom you are talking,” I agreed.

“Yes, and they unmask at midnight and you sometimes get a shock.”

“I wish I were going.”

“I can’t think why … Moira Massingham was saying it was very odd that you don’t come out. She says you’re old enough and her mother was saying it was rather strange.”

“I expect it will happen soon,” I said.

“In the meantime you can’t go to the masked ball.”

“Oh, how I wish I could.”

“What as?”

“Cleopatra, I think. I rather fancy myself in the role with an asp curled around my neck.”

Olivia began to laugh.

The next day she said: “I was talking to Moira Massingham at the Dentons’ place and she said you ought to go. Why not? she said. No one would know and you could be like Cinderella and slip away before the stroke of midnight and the unmasking.”

The idea appealed to me.

“But I would be an uninvited guest,” I said.

“Not if Moira knew. After all it’s for her. Surely she can ask her friends.”

The prospect of going to the masked ball added zest to the days. Moira Massingham was thrilled by the idea. It had to be secret. She visited us for tea, which we were allowed to have together and alone—a tribute to Olivia’s maturity—and I was not sure whether I was expected to be present, but I managed to be.

“It’s a shame you’re not ‘out,’ ” said Moira to me when Olivia had gone out of the room to get something she wanted to show to Moira. “Perhaps they want to get Olivia married off first and think you might spoil her chances.”

“Why ever should I?”

“Because you’re more attractive.”

“That hadn’t occurred to me.”

“Never mind. You’re coming to the ball.”

Olivia returned and I could not stop thinking of what Moira had said. I wondered if Olivia believed the same. Poor Olivia, she already had a notion that nobody found her attractive.

Getting me to the ball would need a certain amount of manoeuvring. If it were discovered, the project would immediately be stopped. The fact that Moira wanted me to go eased my conscience about gate crashing. But how was I to get out of the house in my finery without being noticed?

When Rosie Rundall heard of it—and we could not resist telling her—she immediately took over command. “It’ll be tricky,” she admitted, “but we’ll manage. Leave it to me.”

She decided that Thomas, the coachman, would have to be a collaborator.

“He’ll do it for me,” she said with a laugh. “He’s the only one who would be ready to risk his job because he knows he couldn’t easily be replaced. They wouldn’t find the mews in such good order if Thomas wasn’t there. He’ll help us.”

So it was arranged that I should go to the back door through a corridor which was not used very much, and out across the garden to the mews where Thomas would be waiting with the carriage. Rosie would see that the coast was clear. I should get into the carriage, cower back so that I could not be seen while Thomas brought the carriage round to the front door to pick up Olivia.

“Do you think Aunt Imogen will be going with Olivia?” I asked.

There was a problem. If she did go the whole plot would fail.

“I’ll make them see that the whole idea of a masked ball is that nobody knows who is who,” said the forceful Moira. “I’ll impress on my mother that chaperones must be excluded on this occasion. I’ll say we’ll only ask the girls who can take care of themselves. None of the starters, the just-out-brigade.”

We were all giggling at the prospect and gave ourselves up to the fun of planning.

“What will you go as, Caroline?” asked Moira, who was going as Lady Jane Grey.

“Oh, we’ve discussed that,” said Olivia. “Caroline thinks of the maddest things.”

“I rather fancy Boadicea.”

“You’d have to have a chariot.”

“I should love to ride in scattering all before me.”

“Talk sense,” said Moira.

“Diana the Huntress. That would be fun. Helen of Troy. Mary Queen of Scots.”

“Think of the costume.”

“None of those is impossible.”

We went through Olivia’s wardrobe. She had a beaded jacket with beads which reminded me of hieroglyphics. I tried it on and shook out my dark hair. I had come back to my original idea. I would be Cleopatra.

Moira clapped her hands. “It’s perfect,” she said. “With a long black skirt. Here it is. Try it on.”

She looked at me critically, her head on one side, and said she had a necklace which looked like a snake. It had belonged to her great-grandmother. “There is your asp.”

Excitedly we planned.

I was sure Olivia was more interested in my costume than her own, which Aunt Imogen had helped to create. She was to be Nell Gwynn with a basket of oranges as her badge of identity.

Thomas was eager to help—perhaps mainly to please Rosie. I think quite a number of servants thought I was badly treated and were eager to perform little services for me.

We were all waiting with the utmost eagerness for the night of the ball. Moira brought our masks. It was imperative that they should all be the same, she said. They were large and black and covered our faces so well that it would be difficult for anyone to recognize us.

Rosie tried on our dresses and would not have needed much persuasion, I felt, to come herself; but when I mentioned this she said: “Oh no, ducks. It’s one of my nights off. I’ve got my own fish to fry.”

The arrangement was that when we returned she should let me in by way of the back door. Olivia would be dropped at the front door, which would be opened by Rosie in her capacity of parlourmaid—for she must return from her own night out by eleven o’clock—and she was in fact to sit up to perform this duty. Then Thomas would drive me round to the mews. I would then cross the garden to the back door where Rosie would be waiting to let me in, making sure that I was not seen.

The evening came. We were on the alert all the time while Olivia helped me to dress. She had taken the precaution of locking the door. Finally I was ready in my beaded hieroglyphics and my snake necklace. My hair, which had been dressed by Olivia, fell over my shoulders. I wore a headdress which we had contrived from stiff cardboard, painted red, blue and gold. It looked most effective, and I believe I did bear a resemblance—if a faint one—to the celebrated Queen of Egypt.

The dangerous moment had come, which was to get me out of the house undetected. We had eluded Aunt Imogen and Miss Bell; but the most perilous moments lay ahead, and I do not know what we should have done without Rosie. She it was who made sure that all was safe, and I crept out of the house to the mews where Thomas was waiting with the air of a conspirator. He bundled me into the carriage.

“Crouch down, Miss Caroline,” he said. “My, you’ll be the belle of the ball. What you supposed to be?”

“Cleopatra.”

“Who’s she when she’s out?” Thomas prided himself on his modernity and had all the catch-phrases of the day on his tongue.

“She was a Queen of Egypt.”

“Well, you’ll be queen of the ball, Miss Caroline, and that’s nearer than Egypt, eh?”

He laughed immoderately. Another of Thomas’s characteristics was to laugh heartily at what he considered his jokes. The trouble was that no one else saw them in that light.

“Now keep out of sight,” he warned. “Otherwise we’ll be in trouble, and Miss Rundall wouldn’t like that at all, would she? I’d be in the doghouse, I can tell you.”

We came round to the front of the house and Thomas leaped down to make sure that no one helped Olivia into the carriage but himself. Rosie stood at the door watching, all dressed in her night-out finery, and ready to set off for the frying of that fish she had mentioned. Olivia hurried into the carriage, nearly dropping her oranges, overcome as she was with excitement and nervousness.

Then we were trotting along to the Massinghams’.

Theirs was a large, imposing residence backing onto the Park, and carriages were already lining up at the door while their masked occupants alighted. Passers-by watched with amusement as we went into the house.

There was no formal greeting for the whole idea was that nobody knew who anyone else was.

“Ten minutes to midnight,” said Olivia warningly, as we left the carriage. “No later, Thomas.”

Thomas touched his cap. “I know, Miss Olivia. Before they take off their masks, eh? Wouldn’t do for anyone to see who’s who.” He was overcome with amusement.

“That’s the idea, Thomas,” I said.

“Well, ladies, I hope you enjoy it. You can rely on old Thomas to get you back.”

He went off chuckling and Olivia and I went to the ball.

The salon was on the first floor and it made a sizeable ballroom. It looked very grand decorated with flowers, and the musicians were playing as we entered. From the windows I could see the garden below— looking very romantic in moonlight. White chairs and tables had been set up down there, and beyond, the Park looked like a mysterious forest. I caught a glimpse of silver through the trees and guessed that to be the Serpentine.

I kept close to Olivia. Two men came up. One was dressed as a Saxon in a tunic and cross-over laces about his legs, and the other was a very elaborate gentleman from a long-ago Court of France.

“Good evening, lovely ladies,” said one of them.

We returned their greeting. One had taken my arm, the other Olivia’s.

“Let’s dance,” said one.

I had the Saxon and Olivia went into a waltz with Richelieu or whoever he was supposed to be.

The Saxon’s arm tightened about me. “What a crowd!”

“What did you expect?” I asked.

“I shouldn’t be surprised if there are some uninvited guests here tonight.”

I felt myself go cold with fear. He knows! I thought. But how? Then I calmed my fears. He was just making conversation.

“It would not be difficult to walk in,” I said.

“Easiest thing possible. I assure you / received my invitation from Lady Massingham.”

“I am sure you did,” I said.

It was difficult to dance, so crowded was the floor. He said: “Let us sit down.”

So we did, at a table in a corner among some green palms.

“I thought it would be fairly easy to discover who people were,” he said. “After all we do meet often, don’t we? The same crowd all the time. This ball … that occasion … and out come all the young ladies to meet the elected young gentlemen—all carefully vetted by cautious mammas.”

“I suppose that is inevitable in a small community.”

“You call this a small community?”

“The accepted social circle is not very large.”

“Are you surprised when you consider the qualifications one must have to enter it?”

“I didn’t say I was surprised. I was merely offering an explanation.”

“Have you guessed who I am?”

“No.”

“Nor have I guessed you. I know the young lady you were with though. I’ve met her before.”

“You mean …”

“Didn’t you know? I thought you came together. But I suppose you just met on the way. She was Olivia Tressidor. I’m sure of it.”

“How can you be sure? She was heavily masked like the rest of us.”

He laughed. “I’m still puzzling over you. I intend to discover before masks off.”

A man had come over to us.

“Cedric the Saxon,” he said, “are you being tiresome to the noble Queen?”

We laughed.

“I was trying to probe her disguise.”

The other sat down with us and leaned his elbows on the table looking at me intently. He was dressed as a cavalier. There were several cavaliers present.

“That’s part of the game is it not?” said the cavalier. “To guess who’s who before the final revelation?”

“I wagered Tom Crosby that I would discover the identity of more of our young ladies than he does,” said the Saxon.

“At least,” I put in, “we now know you are not Tom Crosby. You have betrayed that much.”

“Ah, my dear and most gracious Queen, how do you know that I did not say that to deceive you? What if I am Tom Crosby?”

“Anyone would know you were not Tom Crosby,” said the cavalier. “I wish you luck with your gamble. Why don’t we dance?”

He had bowed to me and I stood up. I was rather glad to escape from Cedric the Saxon who had probed Olivia’s disguise so quickly. I thought he was too inquisitive and I wondered whether he had an idea that I was not one of the circle.

The cavalier was a good dancer. I was quite good too, for a great deal of time had been devoted to that social grace at the finishing school.

We danced in silence. In any case there was too much noise and much suppressed laughter. I glanced at a Japanese lady far too large for a kimono; she was fluttering her fan in a very coquettish manner towards a portly Henry the Eighth. My companion followed my gaze and laughed. “A rather incongruous combination,” he said. “I wonder how the geisha girl strayed into the Tudor Court.”

We had stopped dancing and were close to a window.

“It looks inviting in the garden,” he said.

I agreed that it did.

“Let’s go,” he said.

So we slipped away. It was certainly very pleasant out of doors. He led me to one of the white tables and we sat down.

“You puzzle me,” he said. “I don’t believe I have ever met you before.”

“You probably did not notice me.”

“That’s what puzzles me. I am sure I should have noticed you.”

“I don’t know why.”

“Come, that’s scarcely worthy of the serpent of old Nile. You look the part to perfection, by the way.”

I sat back in my chair. I was beginning to feel a great excitement. It was the atmosphere; the people in their masks; the balmy evening; the moonlight on the Park; the soft music which was coming from the salon. And perhaps the fact that I was not supposed to be here. It made the evening such an adventure.

I felt bold. These young men must discuss the girls whom they all knew because they were invited to every social function. I could imagine that Cedric the Saxon was not the only one who made bets about the girls. I was amused. None would guess who I was for the simple reason that none of them had ever met me before.

I said: “Your companions in arms are here in force tonight.”

“Rallying against those despicable Roundheads.”

“I saw only one of those among all the cavaliers. Who are you? Rupert of the Rhine?”

“I didn’t aspire so high,” he said. “I’m just an ordinary servant of the King, ready to defend him against the Parliament. Is it not pleasant here, Your Highness? I am not quite sure whether that is the right way to address a Queen of Egypt.”

“Highness will do until you find out.”

“Had I known I was to meet you I should have come as Mark Antony. Or perhaps Julius Caesar.”

“I daresay Caesar will appear sometime tonight.”

“I shall have to be careful then. What chance would a mere cavalier have against him?”

“It would depend on the cavalier,” I said pertly.

Some couples had already begun to dance in the garden.

“Shall we?” he said. “Did you not find our steps fitted perfectly?”

“I thought we performed quite well together.”

“How glad I am that I discovered you and rescued you from that boring Saxon.”

“I was not finding him boring—probing rather.”

“The Saxons were very crude. Didn’t they paint their faces with woad?”

“No, that was the ancient Britons.”

“The Saxons were almost as bad. Not refined in their tastes as the cavaliers were. I’m surprised at James Eliot coming as a Saxon. I thought he would have wanted to be something more grand—the Great Cham or Marco Polo or something, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh … I don’t know.”

“I recognized him at once, didn’t you?”

“N … no.”

“You didn’t! I’m surprised. I thought it was obvious. At an affair like this you can guess most people. Their voices … the way they stand, the way they walk. I suppose it is because we all meet so frequently. But you, my dear gracious Queen, are the enigma. I don’t think we can have met before. I am wondering if you will be very kind and lift the edge of your mask.”

“I shall do no such thing. I shall cower behind it until the moment I take it off.”

“How cruel! I grow more and more intrigued with every passing moment.” He had drawn me towards the garden wall. We leaned out, looking across the Park.

“What a beautiful night!” I said.

“I am finding it more delightful every moment.”

This was flirtation, I recognized. I quite enjoyed it, and I had to confess that I was finding the cavalier’s company very stimulating.

He said suddenly: “You are different … from the other girls.”

“Every human being is different from every other,” I replied. “That is one of the wonders of nature.”

“Is that so? I find a rather boring similarity in many of the young ladies I am called upon to escort.”

“Perhaps that is due to your own lack of vision.”

“I wish it could serve me better tonight. I should like to look behind the mask. Still, I intend to possess my soul in patience. I shall discover on the stroke of midnight when I am determined to be at your side.”

A faint tremor of uneasiness swept over me, but I dismissed it. It was early and I had not yet had the fun I intended to have this evening. I wondered fleetingly how Olivia was faring.

“You are a very mysterious lady,” he went on.

“Well, is not mystery the theme of this gathering? It is intriguing to talk with people and not know who they are. It should make one very cautious.”

“It is supposed to have the opposite effect of making us all careless, throwing off our inhibitions. What does it matter what I do tonight? No one will know who I am … until midnight.”

“Unless, like Cedric the Saxon, we make discoveries.”

“Oh, some are obvious. Did you see Marie Antoinette? I’d be ready to swear she is Lady Massingham. I thought to myself the lady has acquired a little avoirdupois—and after her stay in the Conciergerie! And the gentleman who is our host … who is he? It is harder to guess who he is supposed to be than who he really is. Is it Dr. Johnson? Or Robespierre? Surely one should be able to tell the difference between these two gentlemen—but I’m dashed if I can. You dance divinely.”

“And you pay empty compliments. It is quite impossible to know how one dances in a crowd like this.”

“Please, dear enchanting Queen of Egypt, whisper your name.”

“It is against the rules.”

“Do you always obey rules?”

I hesitated. “Ah,” he said quickly. “You do not. You are a rebel. Just as I am. How far do you rebel against the laws of society?”

“You would not expect me to admit my indiscretions to you, would you?”

“Why not? I don’t know who you are, and do you know me?”

“One should never admit to indiscretions even to people one does not know.”

“Oh, you are very profound. Perhaps when you know me better".

“Tonight I cannot be anyone but Cleopatra and you are Rupert of the Rhine.”

“I have a feeling that tonight is only a beginning.” He gripped my hand suddenly and brought his face close to mine. I was aware of light blue eyes glittering through the mask; they studied me intently.

“Dear Serpent of the Nile,” he said, “I have a feeling that you and I are going to know each other very well.” For a moment I thought he was going to kiss me and I half wanted him to. I was reckless on this night. I certainly was enjoying the world of romantic glamour into which Olivia had the right to enter, while I was an intruder.

He touched the necklace at my throat. “What a clever touch to bring your asp. I hope you don’t decide to carry your interpretation too far. Oh … I believe I have seen that asp before. It’s really rather unusual. I remember seeing it on the neck of a young lady. Ah … yes, I have it. It was Lady Jane Grey … in other words Moira Massingham. And you are not Moira Massingham, are you? A clue! You are a great friend of that young lady and she has lent you her necklace. Collusion, dear Queen. Conspiracy. Who is Miss Massingham’s friend of the moment? I fancied it was Miss Olivia Tressidor. I saw you come in together. I noticed you at once. In spite of your mask you looked excited, ready to enjoy every moment. None of that blase indifference which so many young ladies affect. You came in with Miss Olivia Tressidor when you were accosted by the crude Saxon. I was watching you, you know.”

I was growing more and more uneasy. I turned away from the Park. I said: “I believe they are serving supper in the dining room.”

“They are. Let me escort you.”

It was glittering and so exciting. I was amused and happy. I did not want the evening to end. I found my companion exhilarating, and the fact that I was afraid he would discover I had no right to be here only increased my enjoyment. What if he did discover? He would laugh, I was sure. He would never betray me. Not tonight perhaps. But later he would laugh over the incident with his friends.

We grew very merry. He told me I had chosen wisely for I was possessed of infinite variety. It was a pity all that beauty should be destroyed by a venomous snake.

“We are a tragic pair. Poor Rupert, you found disgrace … in Exeter, was it?”

“Your historical knowledge is greater than mine. You are gracious to have elevated me to the rank of Prince and commander when I entered this house as a humble cavalier.”

So the badinage continued.

I drank champagne and felt myself light-headed. We danced; we talked; he was at times earnest. He wanted us to be friends. “I await midnight with impatience,” he said, “and yet I don’t want the evening to end.”

I certainly was not looking forward to midnight when I should be in the carriage worrying about getting into the house unseen. Most surely I did not want the evening to be over; it had been one of the most exciting I had ever known, and I did not want to say goodbye to my companion.

Servants, presided over by a splendid gentleman in blue and gold livery, stood behind a table laden with dishes; duck and chicken sizzled over braziers. Cutlets of salmon were laid out on dishes garnished with watercress and cucumber; and there were patties containing all sorts of delicacies.

When we had been served we took our plates to one of the tables for two and there we ate and talked again.

He said: “Your eyes are green. I don’t remember ever seeing such green eyes before. You are a mystery woman. But soon I shall know. Do you realize that within an hour that mask will no longer hide your face.”

“Within an hour!”

“Dear Queen, it struck eleven some time ago.”

He was looking at me intently.

“Why are you so scared?” he asked.

“Scared? Of course I’m not scared. Why should I be?”

“You may have your reasons. Do you know, I am beginning to wonder if you should not have come as Cinderella. She was the lady who had to leave the ball before midnight, wasn’t she?”

I laughed, but I did not think my laughter was very convincing. Now I had to concern myself with planning my retreat, which was not going to be easy, for he was going to be very watchful.

“Let us dance,” he said. “Shall we go down to the garden?”

“No,” I said firmly, deciding it would be easier to escape from the crowded salon than from the garden.

There was a big clock in the salon. It had been decorated with flowers and put there for the occasion. It struck the hours and I could imagine the scene when it came to twelve.

It was now half-past eleven.

I looked about. I could see nothing of Olivia. Was she equally nervous? We danced. The hand was slowly creeping up. Twenty minutes to go. At ten minutes to twelve Thomas would be there waiting. I had to find Olivia if I could. She would certainly be there—perhaps she was crouching in the porch waiting for me already.

A quarter to.

I dared not wait any longer.

“I need a drink,” I said. “Could you get me a glass of champagne?”

“Are you bracing yourself for the revelation?” he asked.

“Perhaps. But please do get it for me.”

“Wait here. I’ll be back in a moment.”

The bar was in a corner of the salon. I had to be quick. I hurried through the crowd … down the staircase to the hall. The door was open and Olivia was in the porch.

“I thought you were never coming,” she whispered.

“It was difficult to get away.”

“Thomas is already there. Here.”

We ran. Thomas was opening the door of the carriage and we got in.

“All present and correct?” he said, laughing.

We started up. I lay back in the seat—relieved, yet deflated because it was now all over.

“What was it like?” asked Olivia.

“Wonderful. What did you think?”

“I’m glad it’s over.”

“Did you dance much?”

“Quite a bit.”

I said: “The salmon was delicious and the champagne …”

“You didn’t drink too much, did you?” she asked anxiously.

“What is too much? I only know that I felt light-headed and very excited and that it was the most wonderful evening of my life.”

“Here we are, ladies,” said Thomas.

Olivia said: “You’ll be all right. Rosie will be waiting to let you in at the back door.”

“It’s all arranged,” I replied. “Perfect strategy. This is an example of expert organization. It went without a hitch, I think, though I was pursued by a very inquisitive gentleman.”

“It’s not over yet,” warned Olivia. “I shall be on tenterhooks until you are out of the costume.”

Thomas alighted and went up the stairs to ring the bell.

The door opened and Olivia went in.

“Now we’re off,” he said.

In a few minutes we were at the mews and I was running across to the back door.

I stood in the shadows, waiting for Rosie. I waited. Nothing happened. Surely she would have come straightaway to let me in. That had been the plan. I began to feel cold, then a little anxious. What had gone wrong? Where was Rosie? What could I do, locked out of doors, dressed in this absurd costume?

Suddenly the door opened. But it was not Rosie who stood there. It was Olivia.

“I couldn’t get away before,” she whispered.

“Why? Where’s Rosie?”

“Come in quickly. I’ll have to make sure no one sees you.”

We made our perilous way to our bedroom. Olivia would not speak until we were there. She was pale and trembling.

“Something happened. Rosie isn’t here.”

“Where is she then?”

“I don’t know. One of the servants let me in. She didn’t know where Rosie was, so I had to come and open the door for you.”

“It’s most unlike Rosie to let us down.”

“I can’t understand it. She was so interested. Never mind. We’ll hear in time. You’d better get out of those things quickly. I shan’t feel safe until you do.”

It was an anticlimax to a wonderful evening. What had happened to Rosie? She had always seemed an unusual person. No one would have suspected she was a domestic servant when she went off on her evenings. There had always been a fear at the back of my mind that one day Rosie would leave us. I knew that several of the menservants eyed her with relish. She would marry, I was certain. Indeed I wondered sometimes if she had not done so already. There was a brooding speculation about her. Secrets in her eyes, little spurts of laughter—most of all when she came back from her evenings off.

There was nothing to do now but undress quickly. How sadly deflated I felt shorn of my royal garments. I was no longer an exciting woman, hiding behind a mask. I was myself—a girl, not yet “out,” insignificant, far removed from that fascinating woman I had believed myself to be a few hours before.

That man had fostered my belief. Rupert of the Rhine! I laughed to myself. I wondered who he was. Surely I should soon be brought out into society. I was only just turned seventeen, but it was time, as everyone said.

I slept little that night.

In the morning there was a certain tension in the household. I learned from one of the maids that Rosie had gone.

“Gone!” I cried. “Gone where?”

“That’s what we don’t know, Miss Caroline.”

“Didn’t she come home last night?”

“Well, Mrs. Terras said she did come in. She was the only one who saw her. She’s gone now though.”

“Gone without saying goodbye.”

“Looks like it. Her things has all gone … all her lovely clothes.” * It was incredible.

I was so taken aback that I tried to question Miss Bell. I doubt whether she would have told us had she known, but it was obvious that she was as much in the dark as the rest of us.

Our father had not gone to the bank that morning. The carriage had come round and been sent away. He was in his study—not to be disturbed.

There was a strange atmosphere throughout the house. But perhaps I imagined that as I was so sad because Rosie had gone.

I was in the schoolroom reading with Miss Bell—Olivia had come in and sat with us as she sometimes did—when there was a knock on the door and one of the servants entered holding a dozen red roses.

“They’ve just been delivered, Miss,” she said.

Miss Bell rose. She read: “For Miss Tressidor.” Then: “Oh, Olivia. For you.”

Olivia flushed and took the roses.

I said: “They’re lovely.” Then I saw the card attached. Written on it was: “Thank you. Rupert of the Rhine.”

I turned away. I thought: He knew who I was. And he has sent the flowers for me.

Olivia was looking puzzled.

Miss Bell smiled. “Obviously one of the gentlemen at the ball,” she said.

“Rupert of the Rhine …” began Olivia.

She looked at me.

“Rupert of the Rhine,” went on Miss Bell. “He would have been in some sort of armour, I suppose. Rather difficult to achieve.”

“There was no one in armour.”

“It was evidently someone who noticed you,” said Miss Bell.

The maid was hovering. “Shall I put them in water, Miss Olivia?”

“Yes,” said Olivia. “Please do.”

I could not concentrate after that.

Miss Bell said: “You are reading very badly this morning, Caroline.”

Olivia did not mention the flowers to me. I suppose it did not occur to her that anyone would have known that I was at the bail. I tried to figure out how Rupert knew.

While Olivia and I were taking tea with Miss Bell in the small sitting room which was used for such occasions, one of the maids came in to announce that Mr. Jeremy Brandon had called. Miss Bell looked at Olivia, who flushed a little. It was quite in order for young men who were interested in young women to call discreetly at the house and see the object of their interest in the company of a chaperone.

“Perhaps Mr. Brandon would care to join us for a cup of tea,” said Miss Bell graciously.

He came in and I immediately knew him. His blue eyes rested on me and there was mischief in them. He took Olivia’s hand and bowed to her and Miss Bell.

“And this,” said Miss Bell, is Miss Caroline Tressidor, Miss Tressidor’s younger sister.”

He bowed to me, smiling that conspiratorial smile.

He seated himself next to Olivia. I was opposite. I averted my eyes from him though my thoughts were in a whirl. How soon had he known? He must have realized that I had no right to be there. I knew that it was not Olivia whom he had come to see, just as the roses had not been meant for her.

“It was an interesting evening,” he said. “And the gardens were so suited to the occasion. I thought some of the costumes were delightful.”

“I had great difficulty in keeping my oranges in my basket,” said Olivia. “I realized quickly that it was not a good idea to be encumbered with them.”

“I thought Henry the Eighth and Marie Antoinette were very amusing,” he said, “and there was an enchanting Cleopatra.”

“I daresay,” said Miss Bell, “that there was more than one.”

“I only saw one,” he said.

They talked in a desultory way for a few minutes. I kept very quiet. I think Miss Bell was wondering whether I should be present, and was coming to the conclusion that no harm could come of it, even though I had not passed the magical “coming out” barrier.

He was determined to bring me into the conversation.

“Miss Caroline,” he said, “did you enjoy the ball?”

I hesitated and Miss Bell said: “Caroline has not yet come out, Mr. Brandon.”

“Oh, I see. So we shall have to wait another season before we are able to see more of you.”

Olivia was fidgeting a little.

He then began to talk to me, asking about the finishing school in France. He said that France was a country he liked to visit. In a way he was shutting Olivia and Miss Bell out of the conversation.

I was feeling more of that excitement which I had known at the ball. He was very good-looking. His features were regular; he had twinkling eyes and a mouth which turned up naturally at the corners, indicating that he found life very amusing.

But I was becoming aware of Olivia’s dismay and the disapproving glances of Miss Bell.

When he left he asked permission to call again and Miss Bell said she was sure that would be most agreeable.

Olivia did not mention him to me, which I thought strange. But she did seem to be a little bemused. I fancied she had believed at first that he had come to see her, which was natural of course; and she did not connect his visit with the red roses.

For the first time in my life I felt restrained with her, a little shy of saying what was in my mind, so I resisted the impulse to tell her that Mr. Jeremy Brandon was Rupert of the Rhine and that I had spent almost the entire evening with him.

The next day when I was walking in the Park with Miss Bell, we met him as if by chance; but I was delighted because I knew he had contrived the meeting.

He swept off his hat and bowed to us.

“Why it is Miss Bell and Miss Tressidor, I do believe.”

“Good day to you, Mr. Brandon,” said Miss Bell.

“What a pleasant afternoon. The flowers are beautiful, are they not? Have you any objection to my walking with you?”

I think Miss Bell would have liked to refuse but she was not sure of the propriety of this, but she could hardly do so without appearing brusque, and what harm could a young man do to a girl not yet “out,” simply by walking beside her in the Park?

He talked of the flowers and pointed out the various trees; and I had a notion that he was trying to create a good impression with Miss Bell. She joined in the discussion with enthusiasm.

I said: “It is really becoming like a botany lesson.”

“Knowledge is so interesting,” he said. He pressed my arm and I knew that he was finding the situation very amusing. “Do you not agree with me, Miss Bell?”

“I do indeed,” she replied with fervour. “One misses gardens in London. Do you have a garden, Mr. Brandon?”

He replied that there was a very fine one at his parents’ country house. “What a joy to escape from Town to be in the peace of the country,” he added, giving me a look which suggested he felt exactly the opposite.

Miss Bell was warming to him. One would have thought that she was the object of his pursuit. I knew differently from this. I knew that he was acting just as much now as he had done at the masked ball and that he was no more a country lover with a passionate interest in horticulture than he was Rupert of the Rhine or a nameless cavalier.

He was with us for the best part of an hour and took his departure with a bow and fervent expression of thanks for an interesting time.

Miss Bell said: “What a charming young man! It is a pity there are not more like him. I rather hope something comes of his interest in Olivia. It would be so good for her.” She was more communicative than usual and I think she had fallen a little under the spell of the captivating Jeremy Brandon. “I have spoken to Lady Carey about his call at the house and I have told her about the flowers. I wonder if he sent them. It could well be. He comes of a good but impoverished family. A younger son, but I think … for Olivia … he might be acceptable.”

I burst out laughing.

“Really, Caroline. I fail to see what is so amusing.”

I replied: “You have to admit it is rather like a market.”

“I never heard such nonsense,” she said shortly. Then she was silent and her mood softened. I imagined she was thinking of Jeremy Brandon.

During the week he called again. I was not present and Olivia received him. The visit was rather brief, and the next day Miss Bell and I met him in the Park. It was not so easy to pretend this was a chance meeting. I don’t know what Miss Bell thought. I wondered whether it occurred to her that I might be the one in whom he was interested. We walked along by the Serpentine and then we sat on a seat and watched the horses in the Row. He talked knowledgeably about horses, but this was a subject in which Miss Bell was not interested as she was in horticulture.

She would clearly become suspicious if there were any more “chance” meetings in the Park.

It was a week after the ball. There was no more news of Rosie Rundall. I was constantly trying to learn something from the servants, but although they were willing to talk—for the mystery of Rosie Rundall was one of the main topics of conversation in the servants’ hall —I could glean nothing, only certain descriptions of the clothes she had.

“To my mind, Miss,” said one of the maids, “she must have gone off with a gentleman friend. She must have had one. Look at the clothes she had. I reckon he gave her them lovely things.”

So Rosie had disappeared leaving no trace. Olivia and I talked of her, speculated about her and deeply regretted her departure.

Then one morning there was great consternation throughout the house. When his manservant had gone to the bedroom with my father’s hot water, he had found him lying in his bed, unable to move.

Within a short time the doctor’s brougham arrived and Dr. Cray hurried in.

The verdict was that my father was gravely ill. He had suffered a stroke and his life was in danger.

Everyone was subdued. This could mean great changes in the household and they were all deeply aware of that.

There were doctors in and out of the house. Two nurses were installed. Miss Bell, who added a knowledge of nursing to her many accomplishments, became attached to the nursing contingent and I saw less of her.

For a few days we expected my father to die, but he rallied.

Miss Bell told us that his health had been much impaired and that he would never be the same again but, as sometimes happened in these cases, a recovery could be made.

And it was. In a month’s time he could leave his bed and walk about with the aid of a stick, though he dragged one leg a little.

After the first shock had subsided I began to realize that Miss Bell’s involvement with the nurses meant that I had more freedom. I made the most of it.

Olivia and I were allowed to go out together and we enjoyed escaping from continual supervision. Jeremy Brandon had been considered by my aunt Imogen, and as his family connections, although not brilliant, were passable, and Olivia had been “out” for some time and had so far failed to capture a rich prize, he was acceptable.

He was allowed to take us to tea at the Langham Hotel, which was a great occasion.

We rode with him in the Park, too. I was allowed to accompany them and was amused to think of myself as a chaperone.

But Olivia, of course, was not long deluded. She knew that she was not the one in whom he was interested. It was a fact which even he could not hide; and finally I confessed to her that I had met him at the masked ball and that he was that Rupert of the Rhine who had sent the roses, which in fact were meant for me.

Now that the secret was out we could talk about the ball, and we did over tea.

“Your sister was such a plausible Cleopatra,” he said to Olivia. “Really to talk to her was like being transported back to ancient Egypt.”

“What exaggeration!” I cried.

“Oh, it was so indeed. I was looking over my shoulder all the time expecting Mark Antony or Julius Caesar to put in an appearance. There was an air of mystery about Cleopatra. I could not place her at all. I knew most of the girls in the circle. I was so surprised. I got the truth out of Moira Massingham. That was after the unmasking, when Cleopatra, the Cinderella of the ball, had disappeared. I recognized the snake necklace. I knew it was Moira’s. She told me the whole story.”

“It gave us many a qualm, didn’t it, Olivia?”

She agreed that it did.

“Olivia was wonderful.”

He smiled at Olivia. “I can well believe that.”

She flushed and cast down her eyes. I felt sorry for Olivia who, I was sure, had first thought he came to see her.

Sometimes with Jeremy as our escort we left the dignified streets and went into the byways. I loved the bustle of the little streets where you could sometimes see children hopping over chalk marks on the pavements, chanting as they did so. I loved the hurdy-gurdies playing the popular tunes, and I liked the pavement artists whom we would stop to admire. Jeremy would sometimes talk to the artist and always dropped some coins into his upturned cap. The wider streets always seemed to be congested with landaus and broughams and hansom cabs.

We went shopping for ribbons and such articles, at Jay’s in Regent Street mostly, and every day we saw Jeremy Brandon.

I was intoxicated by this newly found freedom which my father’s illness had brought me.

One day—it was almost a month after my father’s stroke—Jeremy drew me a little aside and whispered: “Why can I never see you alone?”

“It is just not allowed,” I said.

“Surely we can arrange it.”

“I’m not sure.”

“Oh come, when you consider all the effort which went into fixing the Cleopatra episode, what insurmountable difficulties could a meeting on our own present?”

“I’ll see if I can slip out alone tomorrow afternoon,” I said. “Be at the end of the street at half-past two.”

Olivia, who had been a few paces behind us, caught up then. He squeezed my hand surreptitiously.

I believed that he was in love with me. He gave me every indication that this was so. As for myself, I was only too ready to follow him in this exciting adventure. I was a romantic. I had lived so much in a fantasy world, which I suppose young people do, especially when there is not a great deal of affection in their lives. I had Olivia, it was true, and I knew that she was a staunch friend as well as a sister. But who else was there? My mother had gone off with her lover and had not even written to her daughters; it was hard to imagine my father fond of anything but virtue; Miss Bell was a good friend and I knew had some affection for Olivia and me, but her governess-like attitude made her aloof. I dreamed of a reconciliation between my parents, of my father’s suddenly experiencing a complete change in his character like Ebenezer Scrooge in A Christmas Carol. My mother, on her return, in my dreams, became the mother I had always wanted—loving, protective, but at the same time a confidante to whom one could talk of one’s adventures, who would help and advise. Up to this time the centre of my dreams had been Paul Landower. Why I should have made such a figure of him I was not entirely sure. But there was logic in my dreaming. I hardly knew him. It was his brother who had been my friend. But Jago was not of the stuff heroes were made. He was just a boy—rather like myself when it came to making wild plans. There was nothing remote or romantic about him. And it was romance I was looking for. Romance was mysterious, exciting, the dream in which a girl like myself could indulge, setting the stage for all sorts of happenings—all, alas, the figments of her overworked and event-starved imagination.

Thus I had set up Paul Landower as the archetypal hero. He had the right appearance. He was not too good-looking; he was essentially masculine and strong. I used the word rugged in my imagination. He was the scion of a noble family forced into a difficult situation by the profligacy of his forefathers. He had a touch of melancholy—so becoming in a hero. He had great problems and my favourite dream was that I helped him solve them; I was responsible for bringing back the mansion which was about to pass out of his hands. I did it in various ways and one was that I discovered some healing herb which cured Gwennie Arkwright—for in this version she had suffered greatly from her fall from the minstrels’ gallery—and Mr. Arkwright was so grateful that he presented me with Landower Hall, which he had bought. I promptly handed it back to Paul.

“I shall be grateful to you for the rest of our lives,” he said. “And there is only one thing which will make this gift acceptable. You must share it with me.” So we married and lived happily ever after and had ten children, six of them sons, and Landower was saved forever.

That was my favourite and wildest dream; and there had been many more.

I was longing to be in love, for I was sure that was the happiest state in the world. I had seen what it meant when we had been in Captain Carmichael’s chambers at the time of the Jubilee. That was what I thought of as Guilty Love. Mine would be noble and all would be wonderful.

Paul Landower’s appearance had changed a little. He had become darker, more mysterious, more melancholy; and it was the right sort of melancholy which only I could disperse.

Sometimes I came out of my dream world and laughed at myself. Then I said: ‘If you saw the real Paul now, you probably wouldn’t recognize him as yours!’

However that was over now—ever since Jeremy Brandon had danced with me at the masked ball. I had a real figure to put in place of my dream one.

So I proceeded to rush, with habitual impetuosity, into love.

When I met Jeremy at the end of the street he said he wanted to talk to me seriously, and he was rather silent as we made our way to Kensington Gardens. We sat on one of the seats which surrounded the court in which stands the Albert Memorial, that dedication to her sainted husband by our grieving Queen—the symbol of faithful and devoted conjugal bliss.

The sun was shining on Albert, and I could hear the shrill laughter of children’s voices and the admonishing or encouraging answering ones of their nannies to walk sedately along the flower walk, frolic on the grass, or go to feed the ducks on the Round Pond.

Jeremy came immediately to the point.

“I’m in love with you, Caroline. It started at the masked ball and it’s gone on in leaps and bounds from there.”

I nodded blissfully.

“I’ve been thinking about you so much … in fact I have thought about nothing else since our first meeting. I can’t go on like this … just meeting you with someone else there all the time. I want you all to myself. There’s only one answer. Will you marry me, Caroline?”

“Of course,” I answered promptly.

Then we began to laugh.

“You should have said, ‘Oh dear, this is so sudden!’ I believe that is the conventional reply, even after a courtship that’s been going on for months.”

“You’ll have to get used to an unconventional wife.”

“Believe me, I would ask no other.”

He put his arms about me and kissed me. I was so happy. This was the perfect day. Here was the perfect lover. The melancholy rugged hero of my dreams had vanished completely. He was replaced by this handsome, charming, regular featured mystery-lacking flesh-and-blood husband-to-be.

I was ecstatically in love.

“I will love you forever,” I promised him.

“Dear Caroline, you are so delightfully … unencumbered.”

“Unencumbered by what?”

“By conventions, by tiresome etiquette and all that is most boring in society. Life will be wonderful for us. I tell you what I plan to do. I shall write to your father and ask him if he will see me. Then I shall beg for his permission to ask you to marry me.”

“He’ll never give it.”

“Then we shall have to elope.”

“I shall climb from my window by means of a rope ladder.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Oh, don’t spoil it. I love the thought of a rope ladder. You’ll be waiting below in a carriage to whisk me off. We shall be married immediately and live happily ever after. Where?”

“Ah,” he said. “So you have a practical streak after all. This is what we have to decide. We’ll have a small house near the Park so that we can come here often, sit on this seat and say, ‘Do you remember?’ “

I looked dreamily into the future.

“Do you remember the day Jeremy asked Caroline to marry him,” I said dreamily. “And she said, ‘Yes’ … immediately and immodestly.”

“And he loved her for it,” went on Jeremy.

Then we kissed each other solemnly.

He said: “I can’t wait. I’m going straight home to write that letter to your father.”

I shook my head gloomily. “He never liked people to be happy even when he was well. I believe he’s even worse now.”

“We’ll start with him in any case. I hope we can get his consent. It will save a lot of trouble.”

“Never mind. I’ll soothe away your troubles. Haven’t I told you that we are going to live happily ever after?”

To my amazement my father agreed to see Jeremy and then gave his consent to our engagement.

Life had changed completely. From being an insignificant member of the household I had become an important one. My hour of glory had begun. Moira Massingham called to see me. I was not present on sufferance this time. She regarded me with a kind of wonder. She thought it was so romantic—and me not even “out.” Who had ever heard of anyone’s securing a husband before she was launched into society? It was unprecedented. “And to think it all began at our masked ball!” she marvelled.

It was not only with Moira that my stock had risen.

I was invited to several houses. I took tea at the Massinghams’ and Lady Massingham regarded me with approval. There were other mothers present. I was something of a phenomenon—the girl who had acquired a fiance without the cost of an enormously expensive season.

How I revelled in my glory.

I was sorry for Olivia, who after two years had failed to achieve what I had before starting.

Even Aunt Imogen deigned to notice me now.

“It is the best thing that could have happened,” she said. “The money your maternal grandfather left you is to be released. It is not much. There is a lump sum of a few hundred pounds, which was to come to you when you were twenty-one or on your marriage; and then you will have an income of fifty pounds a year. It is not a great deal. Your mother’s family were not rich.” She sniffed with a certain degree of elegance to indicate her contempt for my mother’s family. “The money will be useful and we can start to plan your trousseau. June is a good month for weddings.”

“Oh, but we don’t want to wait as long as that.”

“I think you should. You are very young. You have never been launched into society. It is most fortunate that this young man has offered to marry you.”

“He thinks he is rather fortunate,” I said complacently.

She turned away.

I thought: We are not going to wait until June. But when I broached the matter with Jeremy he said: “If that is what your family want we should go along with it.”

We looked at houses. What a happy day that was when we found the little house in a narrow street—one of the byways of Knightsbridge. The rooms were not large but it had an air of elegance. There were three storeys with three rooms on each floor and a small garden in which a pear tree grew. I knew I could be happy in such a house.

The servants regarded me with a new respect. Jeremy was allowed to call at the house and he and I could go out together on certain occasions. I lived in a whirl. I was in love; I had never been so happy in my life—and I believed it would go on like that for the rest of it.

Jeremy of course was not exactly the catch of the season. He had just scraped into the magic circle set up by what he called the Order of the Questing Mamas. It was through family connections rather than wealth, and to make the perfect catch a man must have both. But one, in certain circumstances, could be regarded as enough.

How we laughed together! The days seemed full of sunshine, though I did not notice the weather. The wind could blow; the rain could teem down; and life was still full of sunshine. We were constantly together and so delighted because my father had given his consent—not that we could not have surmounted that difficulty, said Jeremy; but it was better not to have to. I was mildly surprised how much store he set by that. He said that he did not want any impediments. He was passionate and irritated by the restraints which were put upon us. He told me how he longed for the time when we could be together all through the days and nights.

I lived in an enchanted dream until one morning when our household was thrown into confusion.

When my father’s manservant had gone to his room he found him dead. He had had another stroke—a massive one this time—and it had killed him.

Death is sobering—even that of people one has never really known. I suppose I could say I had never known my father; certainly there had been no demonstrative love between us, but he had been there in the house, though a figure who represented virtue and godliness. I had always imagined God was rather like my father. And now he was not there.

The Careys came at once and took over control. All the servants were in a state of tension, speculating as to what changes would be made in the household. There would certainly be some and they might well be out of employment.

Gloom pervaded the house. To smile would have been considered showing a lack of respect to the dead. Outside the house a funeral hatchment—a diamond-shaped tablet with the Tressidor armorial bearings—was fixed to a wall; and there were notices in the papers, besides his obituary which extolled his virtues and set out in detail the good works he had accomplished during a lifetime “devoted to the service of his fellow men.” He had been a selfless man, we were told. He was one of the greatest philanthropists of our age. Many societies working for the good of the community were grateful to him and there would be mourning all over England for the passing of a great good man.

Miss Bell cut out all the notices to preserve them for us, she said; and there was a great deal of activity over what was called “The Black.”

We all had to have new black garments and we should attend the funeral with veils over our faces. We should be in mourning for six months, which was the specified period for a parent; Aunt Imogen escaped with two months since she was a sister merely; but if I knew anything about her she would extend that period.

So Olivia and I should be in our black for six months and then, said Miss Bell, we should emerge gradually into greys perhaps. No bright colours for a whole year.

I said I couldn’t see why one couldn’t mourn just as sincerely in red as black.

Miss Bell said: “Show some respect, Caroline.”

Many of the servants were given black dresses and the men wore crepe armbands.

Everyone—not only in the house but in our circle—talked of the goodness of my father, of his selfless devotion to his philanthropic work which had never flagged even when he suffered ill health and domestic trials.

I was relieved when the day of the funeral arrived.

People gathered in the streets to watch the cortege, which was very impressive. I saw it through my veil which gave a hazy darkness to the scene. The horses magnificently caparisoned in their black velvet and plumes; the solemn black-clad men in their deep mourning clothes and shiny top hats; Olivia seated opposite me, looking white-faced and bewildered and Aunt Imogen upright, stern, now and then putting her black-edged handkerchief to her eyes to wipe away a tear which was not there, while her husband, seated beside her, contorted his face into the right expressions of grief.

And then to the family vault—grim and menacing with its dark entrance and its gargoyle-like figures defacing—rather than decorating —the marble.

I was glad to ride back to the house—far more quickly than we came. There were sherry and biscuits provided for the mourners, and all I guessed were waiting for what I was sure was for them the great event of the day—the reading of the will.

The family was present in the drawing room and Mr. Cheviot, the solicitor, was seated at a table with documents spread out before him.

I listened without paying a great deal of attention to the legacies for various people and the large sums of money which were to be put in trust for some of the societies in which my father was interested.

He expressed appreciation of his dear sister, Imogen Carey, and she was rewarded financially for her support. He was a very wealthy man and I gathered that Olivia would be a considerable heiress. I was surprised when Mr. Cheviot finished reading the will that I had not been mentioned. I was not the only one who was surprised. I was very much aware of the looks which were, somewhat furtively, cast in my direction.

Aunt Imogen came to me and said that Mr. Cheviot would like to see me alone as he had something very important to say to me.

When I sat facing him in that room which had been my father’s study, he looked at me very solemnly and said: “You must prepare yourself for a shock, Miss Tressidor. I have an unpleasant duty to perform and I greatly wish that it was not necessary for me to do so, but duty demands that I should.”

“Please tell me quickly what it is,” I begged.

“Although you have been known as the daughter of Mr. Robert Ellis Tressidor, that is not the case. It is true that you were born after your mother’s marriage to Mr. Tressidor, but your father is a Captain Carmichael.”

“Oh,” I said slowly. “I ought to have guessed.”

He looked at me oddly. He went on: “Your mother admitted that your father was this man, but not for some years after your birth.”

“It was at the time of the Jubilee.”

“June 1887,” said Mr. Cheviot. “It was at that time when your mother made a full confession.”

I nodded, remembering: the locket, my mother’s sudden departure, the manner in which he had ignored me. I could understand it now. He must have hated the sight of me because I was the living evidence of my mother’s infidelity.

“There was a separation at the time,” went on Mr. Cheviot. “Mr. Tressidor could have divorced your mother but he refrained from doing so.”

I said rather defiantly: “He would not have wanted the scandal … for himself.”

Mr. Cheviot bowed his head.

“Understandably he has left you nothing. But you will have a small inheritance from your mother’s father, who left this money in trust for you when you came of age, or on your marriage, or at any time the trustees should consider it should be passed to you. I am happy to tell you that in view of your sudden impoverishment, the money is to be released to you immediately.”

“Some of it has already been released.”

“Yes, that was at the request of Lady Carey.”

“It has been spent on my trousseau … or most of it has.”

“I understand you are shortly to be married. That is very satisfactory and will solve many difficulties, I do not doubt. Mr. Tressidor did say before he died that it was a solution for you who could not after all be blamed for the sins of your parents.”

“But even if I was not to be married he would still have left me with—what is it? Fifty pounds a year. Of course, he is such a good man. He has taken such care of all those philanthropic societies. It is no wonder that he cannot concern himself with his wife’s daughter.”

Mr. Cheviot looked pained. “I am afraid recriminations do not help the situation, Miss Tressidor. Well, I had my duty to perform and I have done that.”

“I understand that, Mr. Cheviot. I … I never thought of money before.” He did not speak, and I went on: “Do you know where my mother is?”

He hesitated and then said: “Yes. There have been occasions when it was necessary, when acting for your father, to be in touch with her. He had made her a small allowance which he considered his duty for in spite of her misdemeanours she was his wife.”

“And you will give me her address?”

“I can see no reason why it should be denied to you now.”

“I should like to see her. I haven’t done so since the time of the Jubilee. She has never written to me or my sister.”

“It was a condition of her receiving the allowance that she did not get in touch with you. Those were Mr. Tressidor’s terms.”

“I see.”

“I will have the address sent to you. She is in the south of France.”

“Thank you, Mr. Cheviot.”

When I left him I went straight to my room. Olivia came to me. She was very distressed.

“It’s terrible, Caroline,” she cried. “He has left me so much … and you nothing.”

I told her what the solicitor had told me. She listened wide-eyed.

“It can’t be true.”

“Don’t you remember how we went to Waterloo Place? It was my fault, Olivia. I blurted out that we’d been there. He saw the locket. Oh, you didn’t know about the locket. Captain Carmichael gave it to me. It had his picture in it. You see, it was his way of telling me he was my father.”

“It’s not the same between us, is it? We’re not the same sisters.”

“We’re half sisters, I suppose.”

“Oh, Caroline!” Her beautiful eyes were full of tears. “I can’t bear it. It’s so unfair to you.”

I said defiantly: “I don’t mind. I’m glad he wasn’t my father. I’d rather have Captain Carmichael than Robert Ellis Tressidor.”

“It was cruel of him,” said Olivia, and then stopped short, realizing she was speaking ill of the dead.

I said: “I shall get married … soon.”

“You can’t while we’re in mourning.”

“I shall not stay in mourning. After all, he is not my father.”

“It’s so … hateful.”

I laughed rather hysterically. “We always shared everything … governess … lessons … everything. Now you’re the heiress and I’m the penniless one … well, not exactly penniless. I have enough to stop myself starving, I suppose. And you Olivia, quite suddenly, have become a very rich woman.”

“Oh Caroline,” she cried, “I’ll share all I have with you. This is your home. I’ll always be your sister.”

We clung together, half laughing, half crying.

I had arranged to take another look at the bijou house with Jeremy and I decided that I would not let what had happened stand in the way of that.

Jeremy was strangely subdued. I supposed he was thinking of the funeral. I did not want to talk of it, I told him I wanted to look at the house and think about the future.

As soon as we opened the door and stepped inside he seemed to throw off his gloom. Hand in hand we went through the rooms; we discussed what we would turn them into, what colour carpets, what sort of curtains.

Then we went to the garden and stood under the pear tree, looking back at the house.

“It really is a gem,” said Jeremy. “I could have been so happy living here with you.”

“Well, we are going to,” I replied.

“How shall we pay for it, Caroline?”

“Pay for it. I hadn’t thought of that.”

“It’s customary when buying something to have to pay for it, you know.”

“But …” I looked at him in astonishment.

He said with some embarrassment: “You’ve always known I haven’t much. The allowance from my father is adequate … but this would require a lump sum.”

“Oh I see, you thought … like everyone else … that I should have some money.”

“I thought that your father would help us with the house. A sort of wedding present. My family would have come up with something but I know they could never afford to buy the house outright.”

“I see. We shall have to find something less expensive.”

He nodded solemnly.

“Oh well, never mind. Houses are not all that important. I’d be happy anywhere with you, Jeremy.”

He held me tightly in his arms and kissed me with growing passion.

I laughed. “Why are we looking at this house if we can’t afford it?”

“It’s nice to look at what might have been. Just for this afternoon I want to pretend that we are going to live here.”

“I want to get out of this house right away. I want to forget all about it. It’s rather old. It’s probably damp. And look at this tiny garden. One small pear tree. But it doesn’t have any pears on it and when it does they’ll be sour, I know. We’ll rent … chambers. Is that what they call them? Somewhere right on the roof tops … on the top of the world.”

“Oh,” he said, “I do love you, Caroline.”

I did not notice the regret in his voice.

It was two days later when I received the letter from him. I guessed it had taken him a long time to find the right words.

“My dearest Caroline,

“You will always be that for me. This is very hard for me to say, but I do not think it would be wise for us to marry. Love on the rooftops sounds delightful and it would be … for a time. But you would hate poverty. You have always lived in luxury and I have had enough. We should be so poor. My allowance and yours together … two people couldn’t live on it.

“The fact is, Caroline, I’m not in a position to marry … in the circumstances.

“This breaks my heart. I love you. I shall always love you. You will always be someone very special to me, but I know you will see that it is simply not practical to marry now.

“Your heartbroken

“Jeremy, who will love you till he dies.”

It was the end. He had jilted me. He had believed that because I was supposed to be the daughter of a very rich man he would be marrying an heiress.

He had been mistaken.

I felt my happy world collapsing about me.

His love for me had all been the greatest fantasy I had ever imagined. I did not weep. I was numb with wretchedness.

It was Olivia who comforted me. She kept assuring me that we should always be together. I must forget all that stupid talk about money. I was her sister. She would make me an allowance and I should marry Jeremy.

I laughed at that. I said I would never marry him. I would never marry anyone. “Oh, Olivia, I thought he loved me … and it was your father’s money that he wanted.”

“It wasn’t quite like that,” insisted Olivia.

“How was it then? I was ready to marry him … to be poor. He was the one who could not endure it. I never want to see him again. I have been foolish. I feel I’ve grown up suddenly. I shan’t believe anyone any more.”

“You mustn’t say that. You’ll grow away from it. You will. You will.”

Then I looked at her and I thought: “I believe she was in love with him. She didn’t say so. She let me go ahead … and discover what he was worth.”

“Oh, Olivia,” I cried. “My dear, sweet sister, what should I ever do without you?”

Then I found the tears came and I felt better for crying there with her.

But there was a terrible bitterness growing in my heart.