The Landower Legacy

THE LOST ILLUSION

Seated in the train, watching the countryside rushing past, it was inevitable that I should recall that other occasion. It all came back so vividly. I could almost see Miss Bell sitting opposite me, making sure that I should profit from everything which came my way. I even remembered the two ladies who had left us at Plymouth although I had forgotten what they looked like.

I could remember so clearly that apprehension, that bewilderment, the terrifying experience of being wrenched away from all that was familiar, and being thrust without much warning into a new life. I could laugh now at my fears of Cousin Mary the ogress, the harpy, who had turned out to be so different from my imaginings.

Crossing the Brunei bridge, looking down at the ships below, I was seeing those two, Paul and Jago, and laughing to myself at the memory of Miss Bell who had disapproved of their addressing us. That was the beginning, I thought.

When I alighted there was Joe waiting for me in the trap just as he had five years before.

“My patience me,” was his greeting, “I wouldn’t have known ‘ee, Miss Caroline. You’m grown a bit since I last did see ‘ee.”

“It’s the usual thing, you know,” I replied. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

“A few more of the white hairs, Miss Caroline, a wrinkle or two I shouldn’t wonder. Travelling alone this time you be. Last time it was that governess woman. A bit of a Tartar she was.”

“As you say, Joe, I’ve grown up.”

Then we were rattling along. No need to warn me this time of the “bony” road. I knew it well. Everything was agreeably familiar.

I said: “It looks exactly the same.”

“Nothing much changed down here, Miss Caroline.”

“People change.”

“Oh … ah! They do grow older.”

“More white hairs, more wrinkles,” I said.

“You get along with ‘ee, Miss Caroline.” He began to laugh. “My missus was saying Miss Tressidor be right glad you’m coming.”

“Oh, did she? That’s a nice welcome.”

“She took to you, Miss Tressidor did. My missus says t’aint right for women to be all alone in this world. They want a husband and children … that’s what they do want. So my missus says.”

“She should know, having acquired both.”

“Well, yes, Miss Caroline, there be our Amy married to the wheelwright over Bolsover way and our Willy he’s doing well at Squire Trevithick’s place near Launceston. Then there’s our Jimmy who went out to Australia … caused us a bit of trouble, our Jimmy did.”

“You can’t expect everything to work out smoothly, can you?”

” ‘Tis something a man looks for, and I sometimes says to my missus, ‘Well, there be Amy and Willy … and we don’t see so much of them … and there be Jimmy in Australia.’ And there’s my missus herself … She keeps a tight hand on me. Sometimes I says to her, ‘Maybe the old maids ‘as the right idea.’ That’s if they’re placed comfortable like Miss Tressidor.”

“People make their own way in life,” I said. “The art is to be content with what you have.”

I thought I sounded just like Miss Bell.

Then I laughed and went on: “This is a very serious conversation, Joe. What’s been happening here at Lancarron?”

“There’s been tidy changes at Landower. The family be back there now.”

“Yes, I heard. What changes, Joe?”

“Well, smart as a new pin, that’s what. My patience me, there was workmen there all over the place … on the roof … banging and scraping. Nothing much wrong with Landower Hall now, I can tell ‘ee. The old gentleman died, you know. That must be well nigh a year ago.

But he saw the place righted afore he went, which made his passing easy, they say. And Mr. Paul, he be the master now. Oh, there’s changes, I can tell ‘ee.”

“For the better obviously.”

“You could say that and all … There be unease, Miss Caroline, on an estate what’s going downhill. Don’t I know it? And it was like that … for years it was like that. Not now though. Mind you, they’m on their toes. It were different with the old gentleman … that it were. It were the tables with him … gambling the night away. That and the wine and the women, they do say. There’s been wildness at Landower. My gran’fer could tell some tales and he did and all. That Mr. Jago now.”

“What of Mr. Jago? I remember him well. He was only a boy when I was here before.”

“He be a man now all right.” Joe started to chuckle. “Well, least said soonest mended.”

Before I could probe further we had come to the lodge house.

There it was, the same as ever, the thatched roof, the neat garden, the flowers and, of course, the bees.

And there was Jamie McGill—plaid cap, plaid breeches and a gamekeeper type of coat edged with leather.

His face lit up with pleasure when he saw me.

“Miss Caroline!” he said.

“Oh, Jamie, it’s good to see you. Is all going well?”

“Indeed it is, Miss Caroline. I heard you were coming and pleased I am.”

“Did you tell the bees?”

“They knew something was in the air. They’re as pleased as I am. They remember you well.”

“I hadn’t expected a welcome from them!”

“They know. They have their likes and dislikes and you’re one of their likes.”

“Jamie, I shall come and call … soon.”

“I’ll look forward to that with pleasure, Miss Caroline.”

The trap moved on down the drive.

“A strange fellow he be, Jamie McGill,” mused Joe. “My missus says she reckons something happened to him. Crossed in love, she reckons.”

“Well, he seems happy enough, so I expect that happened a long time ago.”

“There with all them bees … and the animals too. He’s always got some creature there … something that’s got hurt and he’s putting to rights.”

“I like Jamie.”

“They all like Jamie, but my missus says ‘tain’t natural for a man. He ought to have a wife and children.”

“Your wife is a firm believer in marriage and all it entails,” I said. “Oh … and there’s the house … just as I remember it.”

I felt overcome by emotion as we passed under the gatehouse and rattled into the courtyard.

The door was opened almost immediately by one of the maids. Betsy, I remembered.

“Oh, Miss Caroline, there you be. We’ve been waiting for ‘ee. Miss Tressidor do say you’m to be took right up to her room, soon as you come. Bring Miss Caroline’s bag to her room, Joe, and I’ll take you to Miss Tressidor, Miss Caroline.”

I went into the hall. Cousin Mary was at the top of the stairs.

“Caroline, my dear,” she cried, rushing down.

I ran to her and we met at the bottom of the staircase and hugged each other.

“Well, well,” she said, “at last. I thought you’d never come to see me. How are you? Well, I see. My word you’ve grown. Had a good journey? Are you hungry? Of course you must be. You’re here, at last!”

“Oh, Cousin Mary, it’s good to be here.”

“Come along. What’s it to be first? Refreshment, eh? What do you feel like? There’s a good hour to dinner. They could put it forward. Perhaps just a snack to be getting on with.”

“No, thanks very much, Cousin Mary. I’ll wait till dinner. I’m too excited to think about eating, anyway.”

“Then come and sit down just for a minute. Then I’ll take you up and you can wash before supper. I expect that’s what you’d like, eh? My word, you have shot up. Still, I’d have known you anywhere.”

“It’s five years, Cousin Mary.”

“Too long. Too long. Come and sit down. Your room’s the same one. Thought you’d like that. How did you come … all the way from France, eh?”

“It was a long journey. Fortunately I was in Paris, which is not so bad as being right down in the south. The journey from the south to Paris took almost the whole of a day.”

“And your mother married again! A kind of fairy prince, I gather.”

“A rather elderly one, but very nice.”

“Lucky for us all! If she hadn’t I expect you’d still be there.”

“I had made up my mind that I was coming, but it wasn’t going to be easy unless …”

“I know. The last time she was ill.”

“She really was.”

“H’m. Convenient sort of illness, perhaps. Never mind. She’s happy with her prince.”

“Honeymooning in Italy, and then they will return to his mansion in Paris and his chateau in the country. It is exactly what she needed.”

“She has become a lady of the French nobility.”

“Not exactly the nobility. He is a prince of industry.”

“Which probably means that his fortune is more sound. Well, let’s leave your mother to her good fortune and think about us.”

“I’m longing to hear everything.”

“All is well here. The estate is flourishing. I see to that.” She glanced at the watch pinned on her blouse. “I think, my dear, that you should wash and change now and then we can talk to our hearts’ content this evening. Betsy will be there to help you unpack. How’s that? I just wanted a brief word and a look at you. We’ve got lots of time ahead of us.”

I followed her up the stairs, through the gallery. No longer my ancestors, I thought, and felt a faint regret.

There was my familiar room. I went to the window and looked out across the parkland to the hills in the distance. I could not see Landower, but it was close and the thought of that sent my heart racing with excitement.

“Betsy,” called Cousin Mary, and Betsy came in.

“Help Miss Caroline unpack,” she went on. “She will tell you where everything has to go. Will you come down when you are ready, Caroline?”

I was very happy. This was a wonderful welcome. Cousin Mary was just as I remembered her and my affection for her was growing with every minute.

I was happy to be back.

Betsy was hanging up my things. “Where do ‘ee want this, Miss Caroline? Shall I be filling these drawers with your linen? Here. Let me hang that up. Miss Tressidor says if you haven’t enough space you could use the next room. There be a big court cupboard there.”

“I have heaps of room, thanks, Betsy.”

“Everybody be very glad you’m back, Miss Caroline. They do all remember ‘ee as a little ‘un.”

“I was fourteen when I came here. I don’t think I was all that little.”

“You be a grown-up young lady now.”

I thanked her when she had finished and she reminded me that dinner would be served in about half an hour. “Do you remember the dining room, Miss Caroline?”

“I do, Betsy. As soon as I entered the house I felt as though I had not been away.”

Cousin Mary was waiting for me in the dining room. The table was elaborately laid. I glanced at the tapestries on the walls and through the window to the courtyard.

“Come and sit down, my dear,” said Cousin Mary. “We’ll have a long chat this evening. Though I expect you’ll want to retire early tonight. You must say when you want to go to bed. We’ve lots of time in front of us.”

I told her how happy I was to be here and while we were eating we talked of France and the events which had led up to my going there. I found I could talk of Jeremy Brandon without too much emotion.

“I suppose I should have gone to Olivia’s wedding,” I said. “It was cowardly not to.”

“There are times when it is better to be a little cowardly. I don’t suppose the bridegroom would have been too happy to see you there— nor, I imagine, would Olivia.”

“You don’t know Olivia. She is guileless. It comes of being so sweet-natured herself that she thinks everyone else is the same. She really believes that Jeremy was not influenced by the money—simply because he tells her he wasn’t.”

“Sometimes people who don’t ask too many questions are happier than those who do.”

“In any case, she is married now.”

“He is no longer of importance to you?”

I hesitated. It was impossible to be anything but frank with Cousin Mary.

“I was so eager to escape from the bondage of Miss Bell and the strict rules of the household. I was hurt because I sensed the hostility of the man I thought was my father. Jeremy was romantic and handsome and charming … and it was easy to believe he loved me. So I felt the same about him. Why I felt the same I am not quite sure. I think I was ready and eager to fall in love.”

“What they call being ‘in love with love.’ “

“Something like that.”

“And now …” I could not say, When I met Paul Landower again I was glad I was not married to Jeremy. Did I really feel so strongly about Paul, did I want to escape from the humiliation Jeremy had imposed upon me, was I still “in love with love”? I supposed all people’s feelings should be subject to analysis. Mine more than most.

I told her about the meeting with Alphonse and how he had immediately fallen under my mother’s spell. There would be no questioning in that case. As long as he could keep her in luxury she would admire him. Contrary to the rules of morality, my mother was going to be the one who lived happily ever after.

The meal was over. I said I did not want to go to bed just yet.

“Let’s go into the winter parlour. We’ll have a little port wine. Yes, Caroline, I insist. It will make you sleep.”

We left the dining room and went into the little room nearby. It was cosy and I remembered sitting there with Cousin Mary in the past. She took the port wine from the cupboard there and poured some into two glasses.

“There,” she said. “Now we can talk without servants hovering.”

I said that nothing much had changed here. Old Joe was still being commanded by his tyrant missus, and Jamie McGill was the same with his bees. “It all feels as though I’ve never been away.”

“Oh, there have been vast changes. You’ll discover.”

I didn’t want to broach the subject of the Landowers. I thought I might betray too much eagerness for information which would not escape the discerning eyes of Cousin Mary.

“So the estate is flourishing?”

“Oh yes, that’s one of the things I want to talk to you about… but perhaps not tonight.”

“But you’ve whetted my curiosity. What about the estate?”

“It’s just that I thought you might learn a little about it. You might help me.”

“Do you need help then?”

“Could do with it. I just thought you might find it interesting.”

“I’m sure I should.”

“It’s too involved for tonight. We’ll talk about a lot of things tomorrow.”

“When you said there were vast changes …” “I wasn’t thinking of Tressidor so much as Landower.” “Yes, Joe said something. How is … er … Jago?” “Oh Jago. He was a special friends of yours, wasn’t he? He’s become the Lothario of the neighborhood. There are tales about Jago.” “He must be twenty-one … or two. Is he married?” “Oh no. But some say he ought to be. They say he’ll go the way of his father. I don’t know about the gambling, but he’s certainly fond of the ladies. One hears these things and I’m not averse to a bit of gossip, particularly when it’s about my neighbours and old rivals.” “Does the feud still exist then?”

“Oh no, no. It’s not a feud. It hasn’t been for years. We’re very good friends on the surface. But the rivalry exists. In the old days when Jonas Landower was gambling away the estate we were far in advance and the winners. It’s different now. Jago would never have done it. The new affluence would soon have disappeared under him, I’m sure. They say he has a mistress in Plymouth to whom he is quite devoted, but he doesn’t marry her and he’s not averse to sporting with the village girls.” “I remember him well. He was an amusing companion.” “He’s all of that still. He goes around with a song on his lips distributing that indestructible charm to all beholders particularly if they are young and personable. You won’t want to get caught up with him. You won’t. You’re far too sensible.” “I’ve learned a lesson, Cousin Mary.” “Lessons are a blessing, providing one profits from them.” “I don’t think that indestructible charm would touch me.” “No … perhaps not. Jenny Granger, one of the fanner’s daughters, is making him pay for her baby … and it is said that it is possible he is not the father. Apparently there was a choice and she settled on him because she thought that would be more rewarding.” “A risk a gentleman of his kind must take.” “Now Paul, he’s of quite a different genre.” “I suppose it would be too much of a drain on the family fortunes to have two like Jago in it,” I said, trying to speak lightly.

“Paul is a very serious man. I have become rather specially friendly with him. There are visits … occasional ones … but neighbourly visits nevertheless.”

“That’s interesting,” I said, hoping my voice did not sound too unnatural.

“I have a confession to make,” she went on.

“Really?”

“Yes. He was going to the South of France … Paul Landower, I mean. And I asked him to look you up.”

“Oh!”

“I was worried about your mother and wondering what the position really was. I felt sure she wasn’t really ill but was determined to keep you there looking after her. I wanted to know because a selfish woman can chain a daughter to her side so that she has no life of her own. I talked to Paul about you and he saw the point. I said to him, ‘Could you call there? Go as if by chance … and spy out the land and then come back and let me know what’s going on.’ “

“Oh,” I said again. “I thought it was a chance meeting.”

“I hoped you would. I didn’t want you to think I was fussing or prying. But I did want to know.”

“And what did he report?”

“Just what I thought. So you can imagine how delighted I was to hear of this Alphonse carrying off your mother to romance among the perfume bottles. You understand my feelings. Of course you do. Monsieur Alphonse is the fairy godfather to us all.”

I felt deflated. He had come because she had asked him. He had stayed so briefly. Then I thought of him, standing on the balcony outside my bedroom … hesitating.

“Paul Landower is very shrewd,” said Cousin Mary, “but for him there would not now be Landowers at Landower Hall. He has set everything to rights, which I am sure was always his intention.”

“He must be very gratified.”

“I gathered that you spent a little time with him.”

“Yes. We went riding in the mountains. Unfortunately I fell off my horse and we had to spend a night at the auberge in the mountains.”

“He didn’t tell me that! A night in the auberge … with him!”

“Well, you see I was a bit bruised and shocked and they called in a doctor. He said I shouldn’t make the journey back that evening.”

“I see.”

“Tell me about Landower. How did he manage to get it back in such a short time?”

“Didn’t he tell you?”

“He didn’t speak much about Landower.”

“Oh well, the Arkwrights bought the place. You knew that.”

“Oh yes. You must have told me at the time. There was a question of it before I went away.”

“There was an accident and the daughter hurt her back.”

“Not seriously, I believe.”

“Well, it hasn’t prevented her having a child. There’s a dear little boy, Julian.”

“Oh, she married, then?”

“But of course she married. That’s how it all came about. It was the best solution. Old Arkwright would never have made a squire. There’s more to it than brass, as he would put it. He had the money to restore the house, to repair the tenants’ cottages … but he was no squire. They wouldn’t accept him with his northern accent and his northern ways, and he was shrewd enough to realize that. They preferred gambling old Landower any day … or Paul, who can strike fear into them, or Jago, who goes round seducing their daughters. They’re squiral qualities. They wouldn’t stand for the stern, down-to-earth, common sense of the northerner.”

“I should have thought they would have been glad if he repaired their cottages.”

” ‘He bain’t no squire’ … that was the tale wherever you went. They were against me for being a woman. ‘ ‘Tain’t natural,’ they used to say. But I soon showed them it was. Whether Arkwright would have managed to convince them in time, I don’t know, but the opportunity came and he was too hard-headed a man to refuse it.”

“What of the daughter, Miss Arkwright? I’m glad she wasn’t crippled.”

“Oh no, they thought the injuries would be worse than they were. She said she had seen a vision up there … ghosts. She was nervous and I don’t know how she felt about living in the house. But her father managed to convince her that she’d imagined the whole thing. Trick of light and all that. She stuck out that she’d seen something and the place has an even greater reputation now for being haunted than it had before.”

“Still, the Arkwrights bought the house. And the Landowers went into the farmhouse, I suppose?”

“For a while, yes. I didn’t think they’d stay there long. And they didn’t. It seemed the best solution. It might have been Jago, but that wouldn’t have done so well, and I doubt Mr. Arkwright would have accepted that. He wanted the elder … the serious one, for his son-in-law.”

“His son-in-law!”

“Didn’t Paul tell you he’d married Gwennie Arkwright and that brought the property back to the Landowers?”

I hoped she did not notice my reaction. I was sitting up straight in my chair and I knew the colour had drained out of my face.

“No-no.” My voice sounded as though it came from a long way off. “He—didn’t say anything about that.”

I could not believe it and I was fighting hard to hide my emotions.

“You’re tired,” said Cousin Mary. “I shouldn’t be keeping you up.”

“Yes … I am tired. It comes over one suddenly. I didn’t notice how tired I was …”

“Well, come up to bed.”

“Just a little longer, Cousin Mary. It’s so interesting. There was a marriage then …”

“Well, it’s quite three years ago. Yes, it must be. I think little Julian is two.”

“And there is a child?”

“Everyone said how sensible it was. Even old Arkwright. He died not long ago. A contented man, they said. It was soon after Jonas went, and the two men got on quite well at the end. Mr. Arkwright used to say he’d made his pile of brass and had used it to buy an estate and the standing he’d always wanted for his daughter. Brass wasn’t good enough without breeding, but he always used to say, ‘What you don’t have, you buy. You’ve got the brass, you’ve got what it needs.’ I liked the old man. I became quite friendly with him. He was a man of the people—though brass-coated, he said. He had a colourful style of language; he was outspoken … and straight. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was the one who put forward the proposition. I could imagine his saying, ‘Marry Gwennie and the house will be hers, which means yours, and it’s for the children Gwennie will have.’ His triumph was supreme when Julian was born, and he told me once that the best thing he’d ever done—apart from going into the building trade at the right moment— was to buy Landower and marry his daughter to the man who would have owned it if his family had known as much about making brass as the Arkwrights did. ‘It’s an unbeatable combination—brass and breeding, and that’s what my grandchildren will have.’ “

“I can see it worked out very satisfactorily for the Landowers.”

“Yes. They’re back in the old house with the money to settle Jonas’s debts, to restore the house and keep it up. A good stroke of business, wouldn’t you say? Everyone was happy. All the people around in the cottages. They’re real snobs, Caroline … much more aware of class than we are. They didn’t want the Arkwrights for their squires. They wanted the old reprobate Landowers … and they got it. Julian is a regular little Landower by all accounts. Like a fairy story, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” I said, “a fairy story.”

“Well, I filled you in with the picture. That’s what’s been happening at Lancarron. So now we have Landowers back at Landower, and Paul will see that the Arkwright brass is not frittered away. The estate is now as healthy as mine, and the rivalry to excel each other is once more rampant. Come on, my dear. To bed.”

She kissed me goodnight at my bedroom door.

I was glad to be alone. I felt bruised and humiliated. It was like reading that letter from Jeremy all over again.

I shut the door and leaned against it.

What a fool I had been! Once more I had let my dreams take possession of my life. All men were the same. They looked to the main chance—and they took it.

I thought of Jeremy holding me in his arms, kissing me passionately, telling me how much he loved me. I thought of Paul Landower standing outside my window. Suppose he had come in! How dared he! He would dare much, I knew. Could it really have been that he was contemplating coming in, taking advantage of my gullibility? Had I betrayed myself so much?

And all the time he was married—married to someone who could give him Landower—just as Jeremy was married to Olivia, who could give him her fortune!

The pattern was the same. That was how men were. At least the Jagos of the world were honest. I thought of Robert Tressidor, the good man, the philanthropist. How shocked he had been by my mother’s liaison with Captain Carmichael. He had turned her out of his house and turned his back on me. And all the time he was sneaking off to indulge his sexual appetites with prostitutes! And Jeremy Brandon had loved me most passionately until he found I had no fortune, when he turned his affection to my sister who had. And now Paul Landower. He had not attempted to make love to me, it was true, but somehow he had conveyed something … Or was I so foolishly fascinated by him that I had imagined it? He had gone away and left me with my dreams and hopes. I had not cared that he had no fortune. I had none either. I would have been prepared to live in a farmhouse … anywhere with him.

I wanted to cover my face with my hands to hide the shame I felt. I wanted to weep, but I had no tears. I felt my heart was bruised far more than my body had been by my fall in the mountains—and the scars that resulted were deeper and would never be cured.

I went to the window and looked out. Somewhere out there lay that great mansion which was more important to him than anything on earth. And somewhere far away Olivia and Jeremy were together, making love possibly … and what he really loved was the fortune which would be his. Such men do not love women—they love possessions.

“I hate men,” I said aloud. “They are all alike.”

And, as I had when Jeremy had wounded me so deeply, I found solace in hating.

During the night, when I lay sleepless in spite of my tiredness after the journey, I told myself that I would not stay here. I would go right away. But where? Where could I live? I had no home. Alphonse had said my home could be with him and my mother. No, that would not do. Olivia had said there would always be a home for me with her. What! Shared with Jeremy Brandon, my one-time false lover! Cousin Mary implied that she would like me to stay with her. I had wanted this until I had discovered that Paul had married in the same manner as Jeremy had.

I can’t stay here, I told myself. Yet in a way I wanted to. I wanted to show him my contempt. I wanted him to know that even though I had not the slightest interest in him, which was quite false, I despised him, which was a contradiction. What I must show was my indifference to him, my unawareness of him.

That would be difficult. It would be better to go away. But where?

All my joy in my return was gone. I must not let Cousin Mary realize this. She was so very pleased to see me; she wanted me to stay. I came back to the perpetual question: How could I? Yet where else could I go?

I started to make plans. I would get some sort of post. What post? I had gone into all this before. A governess to unruly children? Companion to some demanding old woman? What could one do? Why were women never trained to be independent? Why was it presumed they were worthy only to serve the needs of men?

Men are all the same, I told myself. They may seem charming but their charm is superficial and they use it to get what they want. All they think of is what is best for themselves.

I hate them all. Never will I allow myself to be deceived again. If ever I have a chance of showing my contempt for them, I shall seize it.

In the morning, in spite of an uneasy night, I felt better. There is something therapeutic about the daylight. One sees clearly that during the hours of darkness one has been a prey to one’s emotions, unreasoning, letting one’s heart, as they say, rule one’s head.

Why should I feel so angry with Paul Landower? What had he done to me? Nothing? Except fascinate me—yet he had made no attempt to do so. It had just happened. It was true he had stood outside my bedroom door. Might it have been that he was just looking in to see if I were all right? After all I had taken a nasty toss and one could never be sure what effect that would have. Had I misconstrued his intentions? How many times had I been wrong in the past? I had been a fool to imagine that he wanted to be with me, to be my lover. Because I had been attracted by him, it did not mean that he had been by me. And yet …

I despised him, of course, for selling himself to the highest bidder. But wasn’t I jumping to conclusions? Gwennie Arkwright might be a fascinating siren. I did not think so. I had met her on two occasions— once in the inn with Jago and once in the gallery when I had helped to frighten her. I was pulled up sharply at the thought of that. She had more reason to dislike me than I had to feel contempt for her husband.

I was being foolish again. I had allowed my dreams to take possession of reality once more.

Cousin Mary came in while I was having breakfast.

“Is that all you’re having—coffee and toast!” she cried.

I said I was not very hungry.

“You’re still feeling the effects of that travelling. Have an easy day. What would you like to do? You tell me. Are you still keen on riding? Of course you must be.”

“Yes, very. But I didn’t have much chance in France. I only rode once.”

“That was when you had your fall.”

“Yes. It was when …”

“When Paul Landower visited you.”

“He hired the horses and we went into the mountains.”

“We haven’t any mountains here. Only Brown Willy, and he won’t match up to the Alpes Maritimes.”

I laughed. It was good to be with her. She was so matter-of-fact, so full of normality. She was no dreamer.

I said impulsively: “It’s good to be with you, Cousin Mary.”

“I was hoping you’d feel that. Caroline, I want to talk to you very seriously.”

“What, now?”

“No time like the present. Have you thought about doing anything—”

“You mean … earning a living?”

She nodded. “I know how you’re placed. I got it all from Imogen. My cousin left you nothing, but you have a little from your maternal grandfather.”

“Fifty pounds a year.”

“Not exactly affluence.”

“No. I have been thinking a great deal. But then I was with my mother and it seemed I might have to stay. Alphonse very kindly offered me a home with them but … Olivia too.”

“If I know anything about you you’re a young woman who wants her independence, are you not? Of course you are. Therefore I expect you will want to do something.”

“I could be a governess, I suppose. A companion to someone.”

“Ugh!” said Cousin Mary.

“I quite agree.”

“Definitely unsuitable. Of course it is.”

“When I passed Jamie McGill’s lodge I thought of having a little cottage and keeping bees. Can one make money by selling honey?”

“Very little, I imagine. Oh no, Caroline, that’s not for you. You say you’ve been thinking. I’ve been thinking, too.”

“About me?”

“Yes, about you. Now, I’m beginning to feel my age a bit. Not so spry as I used to be. A touch of what they call ‘the screws’ meaning the old rheumatics in the joints. It slows you down a bit. I’ve thought of asking you many times … but it seemed you’d marry, which I suppose would have been the best thing for you if it had been the right man.”

“Why, Cousin Mary, you follow the general trend of thinking. The best thing a woman can do is pander to the needs of some man. Why shouldn’t she keep her independence? You have done so … very successfully.”

She looked at me sharply. She said: “Don’t brood on that defaulter. Congratulate yourself rather. There are men and men. I know very well that a woman wants to choose very carefully and it often happens that she makes the wrong choice. I agree with you that it’s better never to marry than to marry the wrong one. But if you could find that paragon of a man and have children of your own … well, that’s about the best thing, I reckon. But don’t set too great a store on it. The world’s full of good things, and independence and freedom to be yourself is one of them. And in marriage you have to give up that to a certain extent. Make the most of what you’ve got. That’s what I’ve always done and it hasn’t turned out too badly. Now listen to what I have to say. I want you to help me. I want you to learn about the estate. There’s a great deal to do. There are all the tenants to look after. Jim Burrows is a good manager, but it’s the landowners who set the pace. I’ve always taken a personal interest. That’s what was wrong at Landower … until now. I’d like you to learn about things, get to know the tenants, to write letters for me … and generally learn all about it. I’ll pay you a salary.”

“Oh no, Cousin Mary. Certainly not.”

“Oh yes. It has to be on a business footing. Just as if I were employing you. But I shouldn’t let it be known just yet that I was doing so. People are so inquisitive … they talk too much. You’d find it interesting. You’d earn some money. It would be more profitable than keeping bees, I assure you. Believe me, you’d find it very interesting. Now what’s it to be?”

“I-I’m overwhelmed, Cousin Mary. I think you’re doing this to help me.”

“I’m doing it to help myself. I can tell you / want help … but not from an outsider. I think you’re cut out for the job. So that’s settled.”

“You are so good to me.”

“What nonsense! I’m good to myself. You and I are two sensible women, are we not? Of course we are. I can’t stand any other sort.”

“I had thought that I shouldn’t stay here … that I ought …”

“Give it a chance,” she said. “I shall never forget your woebegone little face when we said goodbye last time. I said to myself ‘There’s one who’s got a feel for this place.’ And that’s what it takes. It will be a great relief for me to have you with me.”

“Well, I don’t want to be paid.”

“Now I’m beginning to believe you’re not so sensible as I thought after all. Didn’t someone say the labourer was worthy of his hire? You’ll be paid, Caroline Tressidor, and no nonsense about that. Why is it people always get on their high horse when it’s a question of money? What’s wrong with money? It’s necessary. We can’t go back to bartering goods, can we? Of course we can’t. You shall be paid. Not excessively, I promise you. Just what I would pay someone I called in to give me a hand. And with that, and what you’ve got, you’ll be an independent young lady. And there are no contracts or anything like that. You come and go as you please.”

I felt the tears coming to my eyes. It was strange that I, who had hardly shed a tear over Jeremy’s perfidy and when confronted with the avarice of Paul, now wanted to weep for the goodness of Cousin Mary.

I said rather tremulously: “When do I start?”

“There’s no time like the present,” said Cousin Mary. “Get into your riding things and I’ll take you round and show you something of the estate this morning.”

Jamie McGill was in his garden as we rode out and he came to greet us.

“Lovely morning, Jamie,” said Cousin Mary.

“Aye, Miss Tressidor, Miss Caroline. It’s a fine morning.”

“Bees all happy?”

“That they are. They’re glad Miss Caroline is back.”

“It’s very nice of them to be so welcoming,” I said.

“Bees know,” he told me gravely.

“There you are!” said Cousin Mary. “If the bees approve of you, you’re the right sort. That’s so, is it not, Jamie? Of course it is.”

He stood with his cap in his hand while the light breeze ruffled his sandy hair.

“Poor Jamie,” said Cousin Mary as we rode on. “Though perhaps I should say, Lucky Jamie. I’ve never known anyone who has that complete contentment. It’s due to coming to terms with life. I suppose. Jamie has what he wants. He doesn’t look beyond that. A roof over his head, enough to eat, and his friends about him … chief of which are the bees.”

“Perhaps the simple life is the best.”

“There’s a lot to be said for simplicity. Well, here we are. These woods along here are the dividing line between Tressidor and Landower. There used to be conflict in the old days. Whose woods were they? Now they’re a sort of no-man’s land. I would first like to call on the Jeffs. Their cottage is decidedly damp and Jim Burrows thinks something ought to be done about it … I shall introduce you as my cousin’s daughter,” she went on. “That’s what we thought you were. No point in going into complicated relationships.”

I said: “It’s odd to think that we are not related. I continued to think of you as Cousin Mary even after …”

“I never did believe in all that nonsense about blood’s being thicker than water. Who was it said we choose our friends but our relations are thrust upon us? How true! I never thought much of my cousin Robert nor his sister Imogen for that matter. However, my cousin’s daughter you stay. How’s that? All right, eh?”

“If it makes it easier.”

“Just at first anyway.”

We were received with pleasure by the Jeffs.

“I remember Miss Caroline,” said Mrs. Jeffs. “It must be well nigh … well, bless me if I can remember how many years since she were here.”

“It’s five,” I told her.

“My word, you’ve shot up since then. I remember how you used to ride round with Mr. Jago.”

“Fancy your remembering.”

“Oh yes. That were the time when there was trouble up at Landower. I do recall how Jane Bowers and her husband Jim were that worried as to what was going to happen to the estate. My patience me, there was rumours going round. There’s been Landowers up at the house as far back as anyone could remember. Jim Bowers’s grandfather and great-grandfather … they’d all been on Landower property. Praise God, ‘tis all well now and Landowers be where they belong to be and Landower tenants be safe in their homes.”

Cousin Mary discussed the damp at some length with Mr. and Mrs. Jeffs and when we left them and were riding along in silence I thought of Mrs. Jeffs’ words about people being safe in their homes. So the marriage had brought some good to others as well as to the Landowers. He wouldn’t have been thinking of that though. He would merely have been considering what he would gain.

I felt the bitterness rising and I did my best to suppress it. I did not want Cousin Mary to know that I had been so foolish as to look on Paul Landower as someone very important to me.

We were soon calling at one of the other cottages to talk of further matters, and from there we set out for the farms.

As we were riding home Cousin Mary said: “That’s one of the most important parts of the job—to get to know the tenants. They’re hard-working people for the most part and many of them work on the farms. I like to feel that they are comfortable and happy. That is how to make a contented estate and you can’t have a prosperous one without that contentment.”

As we were riding through the gateway we met a woman coming out.

She seemed vaguely familiar.

“Oh, Miss Tressidor,” she cried, “I was just calling on you. I see that your visitor has arrived.”

“You must come back to the house,” said Cousin Mary. “This is Caroline Tressidor, my cousin’s daughter. This is Mrs. Landower, Caroline.”

I felt my heart begin to beat very fast. I could not stop myself studying her intently. She sat her horse well and her riding habit was immaculate. Her light sandy hair was visible under her riding hat; her eyes were light blue and very piercing. They were what I noticed first, for they were very lively and seemed to dart everywhere—almost avidly, as though their owner was intent in taking in every detail.

“Well, just for a moment,” she said. “I just wanted to say welcome to Miss Caroline. As a matter of fact I was calling to ask you if you would dine with us tomorrow evening.”

“That’s good of you,” said Cousin Mary. “We’d love to come, wouldn’t we, Caroline? Of course we should. Ho, James,” she called to one of the grooms who was crossing the courtyard. “Take our horses. Mrs. Landower is coming in for a while.”

We dismounted and I saw that she was considerably shorter than I and I noticed—a little maliciously I admit—that she had rather a plump figure, which made her look dumpy.

“I’ve been showing Caroline something of the estate,” said Cousin Mary.

“Do you like the country, Miss Caroline?” she asked. I could detect the faint touch of the north in her speech and it brought back to me vividly that meeting at the inn with Jago when we had been waiting for my horse to be shod.

“Oh yes, yes indeed I do,” I replied.

“You’ll have something to drink,” put in Cousin Mary, making it a statement rather than a question.

“Thank you,” she replied.

“In the winter parlour, I think,” went on Cousin Mary. “More cosy.”

One of the maids had heard us come in and was beginning to say, “Mrs. Landower called …”

“It’s all right, Betsy. We were in time to catch her. Bring some wine will you, to the winter parlour … and some of cook’s wine biscuits.”

In the winter parlour we awaited the arrival of the wine.

“Your face seems familiar to me,” said Mrs. Landower.

“Well, we did meet before. Do you remember the inn … before you saw the house.”

“Oh, of course. You were there with Jago. I do remember that. But you’ve changed so. You were only a child then.”

“I was fourteen.”

“But you’ve grown up a lot since.”

“Everyone here keeps telling me that.”

“It’s something that happens to us all,” said Cousin Mary. The wine was brought and she poured it into glasses and I passed round the biscuits.

“Dinner, you say,” said Cousin Mary. “That sounds delightful. I want Caroline to get to know everything that goes on here … quickly.”

“I was most anxious to meet her. After all, we are neighbours, aren’t we? Did I see you only once? I can’t believe it. You are so familiar to me … although you’ve grown so much. You’ll have to meet my little boy.”

“Oh yes. Cousin Mary was telling me about him.”

“He’s beautiful. They say he takes after the Landowers.” She grimaced.

“Oh,” said Cousin Mary, “I expect he’s got a bit of you in him. Perhaps he’ll be like your father. Now, there’s a man I respected deeply.”

“Dear old Pa,” said Gwennie Landower. “A pity he had to go and die just when he’d got what he wanted.”

“At least he got it in time,” said Cousin Mary philosophically. “Is your husband well?”

“Quite well, thank you.”

“And Jago?”

“Jago is always well. He’s back from Plymouth. He’s very anxious to see you, Miss Caroline. He was telling us how well you two got on together all those years ago. He said he wondered if you’d changed and hoped you hadn’t … too much.”

“I shall look forward to renewing our acquaintance.”

She drained her glass.

“I should go. I only looked in to invite you. So it’s all right then? Can you come over about seven-thirty? Not a big dinner party … just the family. Getting neighbourly, you know. Jago said we must be the first to ask you.”

“That’s appreciated, tell Jago,” said Cousin Mary.

We went out with Gwennie Landower to the courtyard and watched the groom help her into the saddle.

She lifted a gloved hand and waved as she went under the gatehouse.

As we returned to the house Cousin Mary said: “Well, she is determined to be friendly.”

“She certainly seemed so.”

“She would want to see how you looked.”

“Why should she be so eager?”

“She likes to know everything that goes on. She’s so inquisitive. It’s been said that she can’t keep her nose out of anything that’s going on. They say that she knows which servant is courting and she can spot a baby on the way before its mother knows it’s there. Our servants say she gossips with her servants. They don’t like that. They expect a strict code of behaviour from employers, I can tell you. Gwennie—we always call her Gwennie—doesn’t quite come up to what they think the squire’s lady ought to be—any more than her father did as squire.”

“So you think she just wants to have a good look at me?”

“Oh, she likes to have people around, but I noticed she was giving special attention to you–and I think you were quite interested in her.”

“I wanted to see what Landower’s benefactress was like, naturally.”

“Well, now you have. She’s very pleased with herself. She got what she wanted.”

“So she is satisfied with her part of the bargain.”

“Doesn’t seem any doubt of it.”

“I wonder whether he is.”

“Ah! I wonder. Well, do you want to change? You’d better have a rest after luncheon. I can see you are still rather tired. We’ll talk some more tonight. You’ll be completely restored tomorrow.”

“Yes,” I said. “I must be fresh for the Landowers in the evening.”

“It will be interesting. You didn’t go there before, did you?”

“Not as a guest. Jago gave me a sneak view of the place.”

“Well, now you’ll go in style. You’ll enjoy that, I promise you.” As I went to my room I wondered whether I should.

I was dressing for the Landower dinner party. I had slept soundly during the previous night. I must have been tired out. The day had passed quickly. I had ridden with Cousin Mary in the morning and seen a little more of the estate, and as Cousin Mary rested in the afternoon, I had sat in the garden reading a little but mostly brooding on how I should feel that evening.

I dressed with great care. I wished that Everton had been there to do my hair. I could never quite achieve the results that she had; she had said I should dress it high because of my high forehead, and it gave me added height, which I liked. I wore a cream dress with a tight bodice and very flounced skirt which had been bought in Paris for my mother’s wedding. I had never before had such a dress and as it had had Everton’s approval before the purchase, I felt it was the pinnacle of elegance. Moreover, I had the emerald brooch which my mother had given me as a parting gift. “It does something for Miss Caroline” had been the comment—Everton’s, of course. “And really, Madam, it is not so much for you. The aquamarine is your stone … as we always said.”

And as my mother was going to be showered with jewels she could part with the brooch without missing it, so it came to me; and Everton was right; it certainly brought out the green in my eyes.

When I looked at myself ready for departure I was struck by the brilliance of my eyes; they positively glittered. But I did look rather like a general going into battle. I intended to show Paul Landower that although I was not in the least interested in him, I despised his mercenary behaviour.

Cousin Mary had not taken the same care with her appearance. I doubted she ever had.

“Goodness me,” she said when she saw me, “you do look splendid.”

“It is a simple dinner dress really. My mother bought it for me … or I suppose Alphonse did … when we were in Paris. I had to be presentable for the wedding celebrations.”

“It’s very haute couture. Is that what they call it? Very French too. But I doubt they’ll know that in Cornwall. They’ll just think you’re a very elegant lady. What a lovely brooch! Our old trap seems hardly good enough.”

“It will suit me.”

“Let’s get going then. It was nice of her to ask us like this. En famille, as they say in France.”

I could not help being overawed as we approached the house. It looked magnificent and I remembered the first time I had seen it. The great stone walls, the battlemented tower, that fortress-like appearance —they were impressive. I could understand why a family who had owned it for generations, whose ancestors had built it, would be prepared to make great sacrifices for such a place. Perhaps it was natural that Paul had acted as he did.

We passed under an archway into the courtyard where a groom hurried forward to help us alight. A nail-studded door opened and a maid appeared.

“Will you please to come in, Miss Tressidor,” she said. “Mrs. Landower be waiting for you.”

“Thank you,” said Cousin Mary.

“I’ll take the trap into the stables,” said the groom.

“Thank you, Jim.”

We went into the hall. Memories came back. I couldn’t help looking up at the minstrels’ gallery as our footsteps rang out on the stone-flagged floor. The rail must have been replaced. I glanced at the fireplace and the family tree which spread out over it and beyond. In the house it was even easier to understand how such a place made demands, how it would entwine itself about one’s life, how it could well become of major importance.

I was making excuses for him.

The maid led us up the staircase.

“Mrs. Landower is in the drawing room,” she said.

She knocked and without waiting for a reply opened the door. I had not been in this room before. It was large and lofty; the windows were latticed and did not let in a great deal of light. I had time to notice the tapestry on the walls and the painting of some long-dead Landower over the fireplace.

Gwennie Landower came towards us.

“It’s good to see you,” she said as though she meant it.

She took my hand and gazed at me. “You look grand,” she said.

I felt embarrassed. Cousin Mary explained afterwards that in Gwennie’s vocabulary “grand” did not necessarily imply grandeur. It merely meant, “You look very nice.”

“And you know my husband.”

He had come forward; he took my hand and held it firmly.

“How nice to see you,” he said. “I hope you have recovered from your fall in the mountains.”

“Paul told us all about it,” said Gwennie. “I scolded him. He was supposed to be looking after you, wasn’t he? Miss Tressidor had asked him to go and see you because she was worried about you.”

“It was entirely my own fault,” I explained. “Your husband was well ahead and we were going at a snail’s pace. I was just not attending. You can’t afford to do that on horseback.”

“Don’t I know it! I had to learn to ride, didn’t I, Paul?”

He nodded.

“I managed it though, didn’t I? Took me some time. But I thought, well, if I’m going to be in the country I’ve got to be able to get about without fuss. But I was ill for a while … that was before I was married. I had a bad fall.”

“Oh yes,” I said quietly. “I heard.”

“Ugh!” she shivered. “Do you know I can’t go into that hall without looking up and wondering …”

“It must have been a shock.”

“Oh, here’s someone you know.”

He was coming towards me. He had grown a great deal since we had last met. He was the handsomest man I had ever seen. Tall, rather lean, with a somewhat swaggering walk. It was not that his features were perfect. His mouth was full and rather sensual; it looked as though it only knew how to smile; his heavy dark-lidded eyes, so like his brother’s in shape and colour, shone with amusement as they surveyed the world; his thick dark hair grew in much the same way as Paul’s; in fact they were very much alike but they seemed so different because of expression. Paul appeared to be over-serious, whereas his brother looked as though he hadn’t a care in the world, or if he had, refused to recognize it. He gave an impression of complete joie de vivre.

“It’s Jago,” I said.

“It’s Caroline,” he answered.

Throwing aside decorum he put his arms round me and hugged me.

“What a delightful … I was going to say surprise … but the news of your impending arrival had already reached us … so I’ll say occasion. You can imagine how thrilled I’ve been awaiting the reunion. Welcome back to Cornwall. You’ve grown up.” He looked at my hair and raised his eyebrows. “Still the same green-eyed siren, though. I couldn’t have borne it if you had changed.”

Gwennie said: “Well, everybody’s met each other before, haven’t they? Even I met Miss Caroline once. Do you remember? It was at the inn where Pa and I stayed. You two came in and tried to put us off. You told us what a terrible place this was … on the point of collapse.”

“We didn’t want to hide the truth from you, dear Gwennie,” said Jago.

“You were up to something … as usual.”

“What a day that was,” said Jago. “The moors … Caroline’s horse was in trouble and we had to go to the blacksmith: I can see that ‘do you remember’ is going to be the theme of our conversation for some time to come.”

“And I can see that you are obviously well pleased with life, Jago,” I said.

“It’s a mistake to be otherwise than pleased with life.”

“It is not always easy to be pleased with something which is not pleasing,” said Paul.

“It’s what is called an approach to living,” explained Jago.

“Very glib,” commented Paul; and Gwennie said, “Shall we go in to dinner?”

She came to me and slipped her arm through mine. “I did explain,” she said in a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s quite informal tonight. Just the family. Mind you, we do entertain in style now and then. I like to get back to the old days of Landower glory … so does Paul … so does Jago.”

“I’m all for the glory,” said Jago, “as you say, dear sister-in-law of mine.”

“We’re not eating in the dining room this evening,” went on Gwennie. “We should all be at great distances from each other. We use it when we have guests but when we’re just family we eat in the little anteroom next to the dining room.”

“Tonight we have our most important guests,” protested Jago.

“They’re neighbours, that’s what I mean,” said Gwennie.

“Which is very pleasant,” put in Cousin Mary.

“Of course we do have big dinner parties now and then,” explained Gwennie. “Sometimes so big that we use the old hall. Well, we have a position to keep up, don’t we? It wouldn’t do for us to forget our position in the Duchy … if you see what I mean.”

I glanced at Paul. He was biting his lips in annoyance. Jago was looking amused.

She led us through the dining room to the smaller room. I could see what she meant. We should have been lost at that vast table and conversation would have been difficult. The dining room was quite splendid with its lofty ceiling and tapestried walls; the other room was delightful, cosy, intimate, with a small window looking out on a courtyard. The table was laid for five and there was a candelabrum in the centre, though the candles had not yet been lighted. The ceiling was painted in delicate pastel shades, representing Neptune holding court.

“What a delightful room!” I said.

“You’ve restored it beautifully,” added Cousin Mary.

“It cost me something to have that ceiling done,” said Gwennie. “You couldn’t even see what it was meant to be. Like everything else it had been neglected. I got an artist down here. He had to clean it and then restore it. I can tell you a pretty penny had to be spent on this place.”

“Dear Gwennie!” murmured Jago. “She has been so generous with her pretty pennies. Personally I have never cared whether they were pretty or plain. Any penny is good enough for me.”

“He likes to take a rise out of me,” Gwennie explained confidentially to me.

“Dear Gwennie,” went on Jago. “No one could be more proud of this old house than she is. She’s more of a Landower than any of us, are you not, dear sister-in-law!”

“A woman’s family is the one she marries into,” said Gwennie sententiously.

“Which sounds as if it came out of the prayer book,” said Jago, “but knowing our wise little Gwennie, I’ll swear she made it up herself.”

Gwennie’s lips were pressed tightly together. I thought there was tension between them all. Both Jago and Paul hated to have her money saving them. They should have thought of that before they took it, I thought severely.

She turned to Cousin Mary and me with a smile and indicated where we were to sit. Paul was at one end of the table, she at the other. I was on Paul’s right and Jago was next to me. Cousin Mary faced us.

As the meal was served, Cousin Mary talked a great deal about estate matters with Paul. I listened with attention and was able to offer a remark now and then. I had already learned a little and was finding it interesting. I was desperately seeking to divert my thoughts from all the unpleasantness I had discovered.

Jago leaned towards me and said sotto voce: “There’s a lot for us to catch up on. I was wildly excited when I heard that you were coming and desolate when you were whisked away. It was rather sudden, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, it was. I hated going.”

“We were such friends in that little while, were we not? What good times we had. I hope we are going on from there.”

“Oh, I daresay you have a lot to occupy you and I’m learning something about the Tressidor estate. It’s very interesting.”

“I never allow business to interfere with pleasure.”

Paul overheard that remark and said: “I assure you that this at least is one occasion when Jago speaks with sincerity.”

“You see how they treat me,” said Jago, raising his eyes to the ceiling.

“You’re treated better than you deserve,” commented Gwennie.

“Hush! Caroline will think I’m a wastrel.”

“I daresay she knows that already,” said Gwennie. “If she doesn’t, she soon will.”

“You mustn’t believe half they say of me,” said Jago to me.

“I always make my own judgements,” I assured him.

“Remember rumour is a lying jade.”

“But it is true,” said Paul, “that the most convincing rumours are founded on truth.”

“The oracle has spoken,” said Jago. “But Caroline is going to consider me from the wisdom of her own experience.”

“I always believe in saying what I mean … right out,” Gwennie put in. “No beating about the hush. Some people would tell any tale to get out of saying something that might not be polite. It’s what my father used to call the perfidy of the southerner.”

“Compared with the sterling honesty of the northerners,” added Paul.

“There’s a lot to be said for honesty,” persisted Gwennie.

“Sometimes it can be very uncomfortable,” I reminded her.

“It often happens,” said Paul, “that people who are determined to say what they mean—however displeasing it may be to others—are not quite so happy when others are equally frank with them.”

“I’m all for the comfortable life,” said Jago. “I am sure that is the best way of getting along.”

There was a certain asperity creeping into the conversation. Cousin Mary threw me a glance and started to talk about the pictures in the house.

“There was such a fine collection.”

But this was just another outlet for Gwennie’s favourite theme.

“All going to rack and ruin,” she said sharply. “There wouldn’t have been anything left of them if Pa and I hadn’t got that artist in to do them all up. My goodness, the change in this place!”

“Miraculous,” said Jago. “We have learned the meaning of miracles since Gwennie took us in hand.”

I quickly asked a question about the Landower estate and how it compared with that of Tressidor. Paul talked at length about the different problems and Cousin Mary joined in enthusiastically. Jago was also involved in the management of Landower and added a remark or two, rather desultorily, while he made several attempts to engage me in asides. I did not encourage him. I wanted to hear what Paul and Cousin Mary were saying; and I believe Gwennie did too. She was clearly something of a businesswoman.

My feelings wavered between a deep perturbation and an exhilaration. I wanted to get away one moment and the next I was eager to remain. I was trying to assess my feelings for Paul. I had thought there was no doubt of them since I had discovered his mercenary act in marrying a woman for her money—an act similar to that which had made me so bitter against Jeremy Brandon; but for some reason I could not help feeling sorry for Paul. I had already seen that his life with Gwennie was not an easy one, and that he must be paying dearly for regaining his house. Perhaps he had hoped for a simple transaction. It was far from that.

When the meal was over Gwennie, determined to observe the conventions, said she would take us ladies into the drawing room and leave the men over their port. How absurd that was, I thought, and wondered wryly what Paul and Jago would have to say to each other alone at the dining table.

In the drawing room Cousin Mary exclaimed at the wonderful restoration of the ceiling which was beautifully moulded into delicate patterns, and Gwennie was off on what I had quickly learned was her favourite subject.

“The work we had to do on this house! You’ve no idea. But I was determined to do it absolutely right. So was Pa. The cost was more than he’d bargained for. I often wondered whether Pa would have taken it on in the first place if he’d known. When you start on a house like this you make a lot of discoveries.”

“You must have completed all the restoration by now,” I said.

“There’s always something. I’m going to start on the attics one day. I haven’t touched them yet. There’s one room I’m very interested in. It’s off the long gallery. I think there’s something behind the walls.”

“A priest’s hole or something like that?” I asked. “Were the Landowers Catholics at one time?”

“The Landowers would be anything that was best for them,” said Gwennie, with a tinge of both contempt and admiration.

“I know they crossed from Cavalier to Roundhead and back during the Civil War,” said Cousin Mary. “But they saved the house, I believe.”

“Oh, the Landowers would do a great deal to save the house,” said Gwennie with an expression which hovered between triumph and bitterness.

We seemed to come back and back again to that unfortunate subject.

“I’ll tell you what,” she went on. “I’ll show you this room. See what you think of it. You’ve lived in Tressidor all your life, Miss Tressidor. You must know a great deal about old houses.”

“I know a great deal about Tressidor. All houses are different.”

“Well, come and look.”

“Won’t the men wonder where we have gone?”

“They’ll guess, I reckon. That room’s my favourite project just now. It’s off the long gallery. Come on.”

She took a lighted candle and led the way.

She turned to me. “May I call you Caroline? We’re much of an age. And two Miss Tressidors makes it a little awkward.”

“Please do.”

“And I’m Gwen … but everyone calls me Gwennie. Pa started it. He said even Gwen was not the name for a little scrap. Certainly not Gwendoline, which is what I am really. It’s friendly, in a way.”

“All right, Gwennie,” I said. “I shall be very excited to see this room. Won’t you be too, Cousin Mary?”

Cousin Mary said she would indeed, and we left the drawing room.

“The nurseries are at the top of the house. Not right at the top … that’s the attics … just below the attics. Julian is fast asleep now. Otherwise I’d show him to you. He’s a lovely boy.”

“Two years old, I believe,” I said.

“Coming up to it. He was born within the year after we married. I’ll tell you what. If you like, we’ll have a quick peep at him.”

She led us up several staircases and opened a door. The room was in darkness apart from a faint glow from a night light. A woman rose from a chair.

“It’s all right, Nanny. I’ve just brought the Misses Tressidor. To show them Julian.”

The woman stepped back and nodded as we advanced into the room. Gwennie held the candle high so that the light fell on the sleeping child.

He was a beautiful boy with thick dark hair. I looked at him and felt envy because he was not mine.

“He’s beautiful,” I whispered.

Gwennie nodded, as proud as she was over the restored ceilings and all the work she had done at Landower.

He doesn’t love her, I thought. It’s obvious. She’s a source of irritation to him. But she had that beautiful child and I had not envied her until I saw him.

She led us to the door.

“Couldn’t resist showing him to you,” she said. “He’s a pet, don’t you think?”

Cousin Mary said: “A lovely boy.” And I nodded in agreement.

“Well, come on, and I’ll show you my room.” She led us down a flight of stairs and eventually we stopped before a door. “Here it is.” She opened the door. “We need more light. Here’s another candle … I always keep plenty here. I don’t like to be caught in the dark. Funny thing. Nothing else frightens me. It’s just things that are not natural. I was always like that since I was a little one. In a place like this you’d expect to find ghosts, wouldn’t you? I don’t know why I’m so fond of it.” She turned to me, her eyes luminous in the candlelight. “You wouldn’t think I was the sort to have fancies, would you?”

I shook my head.

“Well, sometimes I get this zany idea that there are ghosts in that gallery and that they were making me come here … making me bring new life to the house.”

“An odd way of doing it,” said Cousin Mary practically, “to frighten you so much that you fell over the rail and hurt yourself.”

“Yes … but up to then I thought Pa was against it. He was saying what a lot of work there was to be done. He liked the idea of living here but there would be other places in the country which wouldn’t be in such a bad state. But when I fell I hurt myself so badly I stayed here and Pa stayed with me … and that was when the house started to … I don’t know how to say it …”

I said: “Put its tentacles about you.”

“That’s right. And they held Pa fast. And then he had this idea about Paul and me … to make it right with everyone. He always cared more for my future than his own. He was, after all, right where he planned to be … except that he wasn’t the squire. But father of the squire’s lady was good enough for him.”

“So we come to the fairy tale ending,” I said ironically; but she did not notice the touch of asperity in my voice.

“Well … things have to be worked out,” she said rather sadly, “and life is never what you think it’s going to be. Look here.” She threw the light of the candle over the walls. There was a desk in the room and a cupboard—very little else. “I don’t think they ever used this room,” she went on. “I had that cupboard moved. You see, it was over there. You can see the slightly different colour of the wall … even in this light.” She tapped the wall. “There! Can you hear the hollow sound?”

“Yes,” said Cousin Mary. “There could be something behind that.”

“I’m going to get them working on it,” said Gwennie.

I heard a sound behind us. We all started and a voice said: “Boo!”

Jago was grinning at us and Paul was just behind him.

Jago said: “I told Paul you’d be inspecting Gwennie’s latest discovery.”

Jago stepped forward and tapped the wall.

“Is anyone there?” he enquired.

He turned to smile at Gwennie. “Dear sister-in-law,” he said, “I’m only teasing. There is only one thing in the world before which that stalwart northern spirit quails—and that is ghosts. As if any of them would want to hurt the one who has saved their habitation from crumbling into decay!”

Behind his banter there was a certain malice. I thought: Both of these brothers resent her, and she is determined to remind them at every moment of what she has done. There is more than resentment in this house. There is hatred.

“We shall soon see what is behind that wall,” said Paul.

“Did no one ever wonder about it before?” I asked.

“No one.”

“Until Gwennie came,” added Jago.

“Well, there is nothing to be seen here tonight,” went on Paul.

We came out into the gallery. Paul and Cousin Mary walked on ahead. Cousin Mary was talking about a similar experience at Tressidor. “We took down a wall … oh, that was long ago … in my grandfather’s day, and all that was behind it was a cupboard.”

Gwennie joined them and began asking eager questions.

“I can’t say much about it,” said Cousin Mary. “I only heard of it. I know the spot where it was done, of course.”

I paused to look at a picture which I thought was Paul.

“Our father as a young man,” said Jago.

“He is like your brother.”

“Oh yes. That was before his dissolute days. Let us hope that Paul doesn’t go the same way. Not much hope … or fear … of that.”

“I should think it is hardly likely.”

The others had passed out of the gallery.

“He could be driven to it.”

“Oh?”

“Haven’t you noticed the way it is? Never mind. I want to show you something. It’s the view from one of the towers. It’s just through here.”

“The others will wonder …”

“It will do them good to exercise their minds.”

“You haven’t changed much, Jago.”

“The boy is father to the man. Aren’t they the wise words of someone? You should know. You’re the wise one. All that education in France … !”

“How did you hear about that?”

“Miss Tressidor is mighty proud of her young relative. She’s talked a great deal about you.”

“It is nice to know that the two families have become friends.”

I had allowed him to lead the way out of the gallery. We had come to a winding staircase which we mounted. He cautioned me to hold the rope banister. Then we were on a tower, out in the open air. I stood still breathing in the fresh coolness. A faint moonlight showed the parapet and the battlements and park and woodlands stretched out before my eyes.

“It’s magnificent,” I said.

“Can you imagine Gwennie’s bringing my brother up here and saying: ‘Sell your soul to me and all this shall be thine’?”

“No, I can’t.”

“Of course not. It would be a matter-of-fact transaction. Just imagine Pa, banging the table. ‘You’ve got the house, the background and the family. I’ve got the brass. Take my daughter and I’ll save the house for you.’ “

“You resent it, don’t you?”

“Mildly. / wasn’t the one who had to take Gwennie.”

“Why do you dislike her so much?”

“I dislike her because I don’t dislike her as much as I want to! Or rather I do dislike her and I know I shouldn’t. She’s not a bad sort, our Gwennie. If only she was less brass-conscious, if you know what I mean, and my brother was less proud … it might work.”

“Marriages of convenience should at least be convenient.”

“That’s exactly what it is. Convenient. And there it ends.”

“You should have stayed at the farmhouse. That seems to me to have been the best bargain.”

“Younger sons never get the best of the bargain. The house will go to Paul’s offspring. Young Julian is half Arkwright. That’s part of the bargain.”

“You can always congratulate yourselves on saving the house.”

“I suppose we do. It’s something we don’t forget. But what is past can’t be altered. It is the future which concerns us. I’m glad you’ve come back, Caroline.”

I was silent, looking out over the moonlit grass. Was I glad? I was immensely excited. Life was certainly not monotonous as it had been in France. How different it would have been if Paul had decided to save his dignity and his honour rather than the house, and was living humbly in the farmhouse looking after the few acres which went with it—a poor man, but at least a proud one. I should have liked that better.

“You look sad,” said Jago. “Has life been difficult?”

“Not exactly. Unexpected perhaps.”

“That’s how one wants it to be, surely. As soon as the expected happens it becomes dull.”

“Sometimes one’s expectations are very important to one.”

“Don’t let’s get philosophical. Do you still ride as well?”

“Well, I did have a spill in the French mountains, of which you have heard.”

“I wish I’d known you were there. I would have come out to spy out the land. We would have had some fun and I should not have allowed you to fall off your horse.”

“It was I who allowed myself to do that. Jago … does Gwennie suspect?”

“Suspect what?”

“That a trick was played on her … in the gallery that time.”

“You mean the ghosts?”

I nodded. “Sometimes she seems …”

“Gwennie is the most inquisitive person I have ever known. She wants to know everything about everyone, and she doesn’t rest until she finds out. She doesn’t suspect it was a trick. She insists she saw ghosts. They are the only things that can scare Gwennie, and it is comforting to know that such a formidable lady has one weak spot.”

“What do you think she would do … if she were to find out that we were the ghosts?”

“I don’t know. It’s so long ago, and if she hadn’t fallen and we hadn’t played the good hosts everything might have been different. There might have been other people at Landower. There might have been no buyer at all, in which case this revered old place would be a crumbled ruin and we would be struggling in penury in our farmhouse. Who can say?”

“It is interesting to see how it brought about the opposite result to what we intended. Remember we played the ghosts to drive the Arkwrights away and we succeeded in bringing them in.”

“It was in our stars, as they say.”

“Ordained. The saving of Landower and the union of Gwennie with your brother.”

“I believe the old house arranged it. Naturally it didn’t want to tumble down. You’re very beautiful, Caroline.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“I’ve never seen such green eyes.”

“Which my mother’s lady’s maid would tell you came from my wearing this brooch.”

He bent his head to look at it and his fingers lingered on it; and just at that moment a voice said: “Oh, you’re here. I guessed you’d come up by way of the gallery staircase.” It was Paul.

“We wanted a little fresh air and I was showing Caroline the view.”

“It’s very beautiful,” I said. “And so is the house. You are very proud of it, I know.”

There was a coldness in my voice which he must have been aware of.

“Shall we join the others?” he said.

Jago gave his brother an exasperated look as we followed him down the staircase.

In the drawing room Cousin Mary was saying that it was time we left.

“I was showing Caroline the view from the tower,” said Jago.

Gwennie laughed significantly.

Cousin Mary said: “It’s been such a pleasant evening and so kind and neighbourly of you to ask us.”

Eventually we took our leave and were soon bowling along the short distance to Tressidor.

Cousin Mary came up to my room with me. There she sat down thoughtfully.

“What an atmosphere,” she said. “You could cut it with a knife.”

“They resent her,” I replied, “both of them.”

“Jago was interested in you. You’ll have to watch him, Caroline. You’ve already heard something of his reputation.”

“Yes, I know. They are not very admirable, are they? One the rake of the countryside and the other blatantly marrying for money.”

“Human frailties both, I suppose.”

“Perhaps. But having made the bargain it should not be resented.”

“Oh, you’re talking about the elder one. I know what you mean. Some men are like that … proud … holding firmly to the position into which they were born. One can understand it. They’ve been brought up to expectations and they’re about to be robbed of them. Opportunity presents itself and they fall into temptation.”

“That woman …”

“Gwennie. The name doesn’t suit her. She’s as hard as nails.”

“She needs to be with such a husband.”

“You despise him, don’t you? I had the impression that when you were in France you rather liked him.”

“I didn’t know then that he had sold himself.”

“What a melodramatic way of describing a marriage of convenience …”

“Well, that’s what it amounts to.”

“It’s hard for him. They are quite unsuited. I can see that her mannerisms, her blunt way of expressing her thoughts … the fact that she doesn’t fit in … irritates him. If she had been a simple little girl … an heiress with Pa’s money to buy her a mansion and a handsome husband it might have worked better. But there he is a proud scion of an old family married to a woman who has been brought up to an entirely different culture, you might say. Good manners, social subterfuge, an elegant and somewhat indolent way of living, against that of a girl brought up by a hard-working, shrewd father of not much education but possessed of great gifts … which to some extent she had inherited. It’s like trying to mix oil and water. They never do. One won’t absorb the other. And there you have it. Discord! I never noticed it so much until tonight.”

“Have you seen much of them together?”

“Occasionally. It was different tonight—more or less the family. You and I were the only outsiders. Generally when I have been entertained by them there have been a lot of people.”

“It was certainly an experience.”

Cousin Mary yawned.

“Well, you’re settling in. I liked to hear you talking to Paul Landower about the estate. You’re learning already.”

“I want to, Cousin Mary.”

“I knew it would absorb you, once you started. Goodnight, my dear. You look pensive. Still thinking of those people?” She shook her head. “It wouldn’t surprise me,” she went on, “if there were trouble there one day. I got the impression of rumbling thunder in the distance. You know what I mean? Of course you do. Two strong natures there. I wish Gwennie had been a dear simple soul. I wish Paul was ready to accept what is. Well, it’s their problem. Nothing to do with us, is it? Of course it’s not. But a lot of people depend on the prosperity of Landower. All the people on the estate. It’s the best way really. Keep the estate going … make up for the dissolute ways of those who have gone before and brought about the situation in the first place. I believe Gwennie will do her best. She’s got her father’s head for business. It’s just the domestic side she can’t manage. Well, as I said, no concern of ours. Goodnight again.”

I kissed her and she went out.

Then I sat down at my mirror and took off my emerald brooch. I studied my reflection. My eyes did look brilliant even without the brooch to call attention to them. Whatever I said, whatever I tried to think, I could not banish the memory of Paul from my mind. I could not stop myself being sorry for him.

“It’s his own fault,” I said aloud. “He made his bed. He must lie on it.”

How apt! I could sense his dislike of Gwennie. There were moments when he could not hide it. I now knew the reason for the melancholy, for those secrets in his eyes.

I wanted to hate him. I wanted to despise him. But I could not. I could only feel sorry for him and I had an overwhelming desire to comfort him.

“It’s no concern of ours.” Cousin Mary’s words were in my ears. Of course it is no concern of ours, I said to my reflection.

But I still went on thinking of him sadly, yet with a vague hope … I could not say of what.

The next morning Cousin Mary stayed late in bed. I went to see her in some alarm.

“Oh, I’m feeling my age,” she said. “I always lie in after a night out. I shall be up shortly.”

“Are you sure that’s all?”

“Completely sure. I don’t believe in driving myself. Particularly now that I have an assistant.”

“Not much use so far, I’m afraid.”

“I’ll tell you what you can do this morning. Ride over to Brackett’s farm and tell them Jim Burrows is looking into the matter of three-acre-meadow, will you? There’s some question about the soil there. Jim won’t have time to go because he’s got to go into Plymouth today. I said I’d see to it.”

I was pleased to be able to do something useful and practical and after breakfast I set out.

I sat in the Bracketts’ kitchen and had a cup of tea and a hot scone which Mrs. Brackett had just brought out of the oven. I passed on the message and Mrs. Brackett said how pleased she was I had come to the Manor.

“I often thought it was lonely up there for Miss Tressidor, so it is nice for her to have you along with her like. And she thinks the world of you. I said to my Tom, ‘It’s nice for Miss Tressidor to have Miss Caroline with her.’ “

“Yes,” I said, “and nice for me.”

“We’re lucky to be on the Tressidor estate, I always say to Tom. Landowers now … well, there was a time not so long ago. I said to Tom, ‘It’s not the same … Landower’s changing hands … It makes you think.’ “

“But it is back to normal now.”

“Yes, but they say she keeps her hands on the purse strings …

Of course she’s not quite what you’d expect. There! I’m talking out of turn.”

I wanted her to go on. I was eager to learn all I could about what was happening at Landower. But naturally I must not gossip.

I came out of the farmhouse and turned my horse towards the moor. I wanted to gallop over the fresh turf. I wanted to feel the wind in my face. I wanted to think clearly about last night and what the future was going to be like. Cousin Mary was expecting me to stay and I wanted to, but having seen Paul last night and being aware of the strained relationship between him and his wife made me feel very uneasy.

It was no use saying it was no concern of mine. I was well aware of the feelings he aroused in me and I was not sure whether I was right in thinking I had a certain effect on him. If this was so, then it could easily become a concern of mine. Unless, of course, I went away.

I believed I had to think very seriously about my future.

It was a warm day with a fairly brisk breeze which came from the southwest—the prevailing wind in these parts, and which I always felt carried with it a breath of the spices of Morocco. I inhaled with pleasure as I galloped along. In the distance I could see the old scat ball which Jago had once pointed out to me.

I went towards it.

It certainly looked eerie. I remembered the stories Jago had told me about the departed spirits who were said to inhabit old mines. Here, alone on the moors with the wind whistling through the grass, I could understand the reason why people were affected by old superstitions.

I approached near to the edge of the shaft. The wind sounded like hollow laughter. I drew back and looked about me. I could see right to the horizon on one side; on the other the view was blocked by several tall boulders.

I turned my horse away and as I did so I heard the sound of horse’s hoofs and then someone was calling my name.

At first I thought I had imagined it or that it was one of those departed spirits Jago had said were called knackers. But the voice was familiar and among the boulders I saw the rider picking his way through the stones.

It was Paul.

“Good morning, Caroline,” he said.

“Good morning. I thought I was quite alone.”

“I was going to call on you and I saw you taking the path to the moor. You shouldn’t go too near the old mine shaft.”

“It seems safe enough.”

“You can never be sure. It’s supposed to be haunted.”

“That makes me all the more eager to have a look at it.”

“There’s nothing much to see. About fifty years ago someone fell down the shaft and was killed. It was on a misty night. People said he had fallen out with a witch.”

“I know no witches and it is clear sunshine today, so I was perfectly safe.”

He had come up to me and was carrying his hat in his hand. The wind caught at his dark hair and his heavy-lidded eyes regarded me solemnly.

“It’s a great pleasure to see you,” he said and his voice vibrated with feeling.

It moved me, piercing my indifference. It made me more and more certain of my feelings for him and I was angry with myself for allowing my emotions to take control over my common sense; and I turned my anger on him.

“Congratulations,” I said.

He raised his strongly marked brows questioningly.

“For acquiring Landower,” I said. “You must be proud of all the restoration.”

He looked at me reproachfully and said: “The house will now stand safely for another two hundred years and be kept in the family.”

“A great achievement. Surely worthy of congratulation.”

“I was going to tell you about my marriage when we were in France.”

“Oh? What made you decide not to?”

“I found it very difficult to speak of it.”

“Why should you? It was all so natural, wasn’t it?”

I turned my horse and started to walk away from the mine shaft. He was beside me. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“You are talking to me.”

“Seriously.”

“Why don’t you then?”

“You’re not as you were when we were in France. That was a very happy time for me, Caroline.”

“Yes,” I said. “It was pleasant. Of course there was that unfortunate accident.”

“You suffered no ill effects?”

“None.”

“It helped us to get to know each other better.”

“I don’t think it helped me to know you.”

“You mean …”

“Not as well as I do now,” I said coolly.

“I think you must know that I have a very special feeling for you, Caroline.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh come, let’s be honest. Let’s be frank. Here we are alone on the moors. There is none to overhear us.”

“Only the knackers, the spirits and the ghosts.”

“When we were in France, that little time we spent together … it’s something I shall never forget. I’ve thought about you ever since. It was after that that everything seemed to become intolerable.”

I interrupted: “I don’t think you should talk to me like this. You should remember that you are married very satisfactorily … very conveniently.”

“I should never have done it.”

“What! When you saved Landower for the Landowers!”

“I hesitated for a long time. So much depended on it. My father … Jago … the tenants …”

“And yourself.”

“And myself.”

“I understand perfectly. I believe I told you when we were in France that I had been engaged to be married and when my fiance discovered that I had no fortune he decided that he could not marry me. You see, I know the ways of the world.”

“You are cynical, Caroline, and somehow it doesn’t suit you.”

“I am realistic and that is how I want to be.”

“I wish it could have been different.”

“You mean … you wish that you could go back to the days before your marriage. Then you would also go on living in your farmhouse. I’m sure you don’t wish that.”

“Can I explain to you what Landower means to my family?”

“It’s not necessary. I know. I understand.”

“I had to do it, Caroline.”

“I know. You bought Landower from the Arkwrights just as they bought it from you—only the currency used was different. The transaction was just the same. It is all perfectly clear. No explanations are needed. I could see last night that you were a little dissatisfied. Perhaps I am talking too frankly. It’s being here on the moors, I suppose. I feel quite apart from the world of polite society. Do you?”

“Yes,” he replied. “That’s why I’m talking as I am.”

“We have to go back to the real world,” I said, “where we study the conventions of polite society. You should not reveal so much and I should be speaking in a guarded fashion. We should be discussing the weather prospects and those of the harvests instead of which … I must go back.”

“Caroline …”

I turned to look at him. I said: “You made your bargain. You got what you wanted. You have to go on paying for it. After all it was a very costly purchase.”

I felt so bitter and unhappy that I wanted to hurt him. I knew that I could have loved him more deeply than I ever had Jeremy. I was mature now. When Jeremy had jilted me my feelings for him had quickly turned to hatred. Yet here was Paul as mercenary as Jeremy and yet I had to fight my impulses to take his hand, to caress him, to comfort him.

I could see danger ahead and I was filled with apprehension. I must not let him know how deeply he affected me.

I galloped across the moor. I could hear his horse’s hoofs thundering along behind me. The wind pulled at my hair and I thought how different it could have been. And I almost wept with frustration. I could have loved him and I believe he could have cared for me; and between us there was Landower, which had had to be saved, and Gwennie, who had bought him so that he was bound to her for the rest of their lives.

The moorland scenery was changing, growing less wild. Now we were in the country lanes.

He said: “I hope that nothing will interfere with our friendship, Caroline.”

I said shortly: “We are neighbours … as long as I am here.”

“You don’t mean that you are going away?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I am not certain.”

“But Miss Tressidor spoke as though you were going to make your home with her.”

“I really don’t know what will happen.”

“You must stay,” he said.

“It won’t make any difference to you whether I go or stay.”

“It will make all the difference to me.”

I wanted to make some bitter retort but I could not. I wondered if he noticed that my lips trembled. He might have. We were walking our horses side by side.

I did not want him to know how deeply he affected me.

I could see it all so clearly: the passion between us growing, becoming irresistible; secret meetings; secret guilt; Gwennie probing; servants prying. Oh no. I must not allow that to happen.

I rode ahead of him. There must be no more of this conversation.

I said goodbye to him when we came in sight of Tressidor. I went in and straight up to my room. I could not face anyone for a while. I was in too much of an emotional turmoil.

There was a certain joy in my heart because he was not indifferent to me; there was a feeling of deep desperation because he was not free; and any relationship between us other than the most casual friendship was out of the question.

But was it? Why had he spoken to me as he had? Was he in love with me? Was I in love with him? Was he suggesting that something should be done about it?

Perhaps they were questions it was better not to ask.

Perhaps I should go away … in time.

That afternoon I paid a visit to Jamie McGill.

There was an atmosphere of peace in the lodge house and I felt I wanted to escape into it for a while. He was delighted to see me. He had increased his hives, he told me, since I had last been there.

“We’ve had our ups and downs,” he said. “There was that cold winter. We don’t get winters here like we did in Scotland … but that was a cold snap … just for a few weeks and the bees didn’t like it. Of course I protected them from the worst of it. They know that. They’re grateful. More grateful than folks, bees are.”

He made the tea and said it would be a good idea if I went out and had a word with the bees.

“Wouldn’t want them to think you were standoffish.”

I smiled. “Do you really think they would?”

“They know. But they’d take it as a good gesture if I took you out there. They know you’re here. They knew before I told them. Sometimes I think bees know these things … quicker than we do. Lionheart, he’ll sometimes know what’s going to happen before it does.”

The Jack Russell, hearing his name, wagged his tail. He was lying on the rug looking at his master with adoring eyes. The cat came and leaped upon his lap.

“Oh,” he said, “mustn’t forget Tiger. Tiger’s a wise one, aren’t you, Tiger?”

Tiger was black and sleek with slanting green eyes.

“What an unusual cat!” I said.

“Tiger’s more than a cat, aren’t you, Tiger? Tiger came to me one night. Outside the door he was … not exactly begging to come in. Tiger never begs. But demanding in a way. So he came and he’s stayed ever since. Where did you come from, Tiger? You’re not telling, are you?”

“You get great satisfaction from animals and bees,” I commented.

“They’re different from people,” he said, “and I always got along with them better. I know them and they know me … and we trust each other. There’s Lionheart. Now in his eyes I can do no wrong. That’s a good friend to have. Tiger … well, he’s not so predictable. It’s my privilege to have him, if you understand. That’s how Tiger sees it.”

“And the bees?”

“They’re a cross between these two. We live side by side. I do what I can for them and they do what they can for me.”

“It’s a good life you’ve made for yourself here, Jamie.”

He did not answer. His eyes had a faraway expression as though he were looking beyond the cottage and me and even the animals.

“It would be a good life,” he mused, “but for Donald. I never know when he might find out where I am.”

“Your twin brother,” I said, remembering what he had told me in the past.

“If he were to come here, all this peace … it would be gone.”

“Do you expect him to come, Jamie?”

He shook his head. “There’s whole days … weeks … when I don’t think of him. I forget him sometimes for months at a stretch.”

“Well, you’ve been here a long time, Jamie. It’s hardly likely that he’ll come now.”

“You’re right, Miss Caroline. It’s foolish of me to worry. He won’t come.”

“Apart from that, you have made everything as you want it.”

“I reckon that’s so. Miss Tressidor has been good to me … to give me this lovely house and garden to live in.”

“She’s good to all the people on the estate.”

“I’ll never forget what she’s done for me.”

“I’ll tell her. But I think she knows. Did you really mean that you wanted me to see the bees?”

“Oh yes. We must do that.”

He dressed me up in the veil and gloves which I had worn on a previous occasion and I went out to the hives. I felt a momentary panic when the bees buzzed round me, even though I knew I was well protected.

“Here she is,” said Jamie. “Come to see you. Miss Caroline. She takes a great interest in you.”

I saw some alight on his hands and some on his head. He was not in the least perturbed and nor were they. He must be right. They did know him.

Back in the lodge he divested me of the veil and gloves.

“It’s wonderful,” I said, “how they know you.”

“No,” he answered, “it’s natural.”

“They seem to have a thriving community. They don’t seem to be bothered by the troubles which beset us humans.”

“There can be trouble. Sometimes there are two queens in one hive.”

“Couldn’t the two of them live side by side?”

Jamie laughed. “They’re like people after all. You couldn’t have two wives in one home, could you? You couldn’t have two queens ruling a country.”

“What happened?”

“They fought. One killed the other.”

“Murder!” I said. “In your ideal colony!”

“Jealousy is a terrible thing. There’s only room for one … so the other gets rid of the one in the way.”

“You’ve spoilt my illusion.”

“It’s better to have the truth than illusions, Miss Caroline.”

“So bees are not perfect after all.”

The black cat sprang onto my lap.

“Tiger likes you,” he said.

I was not sure. The cat was staring at me with its green satanic eyes. Then suddenly it settled down and started to purr.

There was a brief silence in the room broken only by the sound of the ticking clock.

There is peace here, I thought. Perfect peace. No, not quite perfect. I kept thinking about the queen bees who had fought to the death of one; and the niggling fear in Jamie’s mind that one day his wicked brother would find him.

I received a letter from Olivia. It moved me deeply.

“My dear Caroline,

“I have great news for you. I am going to have a baby. That will make my happiness complete. Everything has been so wonderful for me since I married. Jeremy is so delighted. It was what we both wanted to crown our happiness. Jeremy wants a boy, of course. I suppose men always do. As for myself I really don’t mind—except for Jeremy, of course. It will be quite soon. I put off telling people for as long as I could. I had a funny feeling as I always did about wonderful things— afraid that something might go wrong if I talked too much about them. So I kept it to myself. It will be at the end of July.

“I know you will share my joy in this. How do you fancy being an aunt? It’s hard to imagine you as one. I do wish you would come up some time. I long to see you. I want you to promise that you will be the baby’s godmother. Please write to me soon and tell me that you will.

“I love your letters. I can imagine it all. Perhaps one day I’ll come to Cornwall. It will be difficult for a while because of the baby, but you must come here, Caroline. It is a long journey but I should so love to see you.

“Miss Bell is still here, of course. She is so excited about the baby. It will be a new one for her to ‘governess’. I am afraid she felt her post here was something of a sinecure since I can hardly be said to be in the schoolroom now. She ‘directs’ me as she calls it. Jeremy is amused by her.

“You will think about coming, won’t you? You will have to for the christening. It is usual for godmothers to attend.

“Do go on writing to me. I do so look forward to your letters. I love to hear about the Landowers and the people on the estate and of course Cousin Mary and the quaint man with the bees. I should have loved to see you in that veil and everything.

“With much love,

“Your affectionate sister, “Olivia.”

Olivia a mother! It was hard to believe. I felt a twinge of envy. She had avoided telling me because she had been unsure of what my feelings would be. I had not been at her wedding. She knew why. Sensitive to a degree herself, she always thought of others. She put herself in their places. It was one of her most endearing qualities.

And Jeremy was a good, devoted husband. Of course he is, I thought cynically. He is living comfortably.

Dear Olivia! She had been used by him … as I should have been … as any woman would have been who had the means to keep him in the style to which he aspired.

I would be free and independent.

I thought of Jeremy—excited by the prospect of a child. I thought of Paul and a terrible desolation came over me.