The Mask of the Enchantress

Anabel's Story

Jessamy had played a big part in my life. She had always been there. She was rich, petted and the only child of doting parents. I never envied her her pretty clothes and her jewelry. I am not, I believe, envious by nature. It is one of my virtues, and as I have few others it is advisable to record it. In any case I always believed I had so much more than she did.

It was true I did not live in a mansion surrounded by servants. I did not have several ponies which I could ride as the fancy took me. I lived in a rambling vicarage with my widowed father —my mother had died giving birth to me—and we had two servants only, Janet and Amelia. Neither of them exactly doted on me, but I think Janet was fond of me in her way, though she would never admit it. They were both quick and eager to tell me of my faults. But I was happier, I think, yes, a great deal happier than Jessamy.

The fact was that Jessamy was decidedly what kind people call "homely" and those uncomfortable people like Janet, who could never tell a lie however much it might save someone's feelings being hurt, called downright plain.

"Never mind," Janet used to say. "Her father will buy a nice husband for her. You, Miss Anabel, will have to find your own."

Janet pursed her lips when she said this as though she was certain that my hopes of finding one were very frail. Dear Janet, she was the best soul in the world but she was obsessed by her own unshakable veracity from which she would never diverge.

"It's a good thing you're not brought up before the Inquisition, Janet," I said to her once. "You'd still stick out for the silliest little truth in face of the stake."

"Now what are you talking about, Miss Anabel?" she replied. "I never knew anyone who took such flights of fancy. And, mark my words, you'll come a cropper one of these days."

She had seen that prophecy come true; but that was later.

So there I was in my vicarage home with my absent-minded father, down-to-earth honest Janet and Amelia, who was every bit as virtuous as Janet and even more aware of it.

Some people might wonder how I could enjoy life thoroughly but I did. There was so much to do. There was interest all around me. I helped my father quite a bit. I even wrote a sermon for him once and he was halfway through it before he realized it was not the kind of sermon his parishioners wanted to hear. It was all about what constituted a good person and I had unwittingly illustrated my meaning by describing some of the failings of the people who were sitting in the pews listening. Fortunately Father changed to one he kept in a drawer about God's gifts to the land, which was really one for the harvest festival, but as he changed over before my revolutionary words had aroused the congregation from its usual slumber, no one noticed.

I was not allowed to write sermons after that. It was a pity. I should have liked to.

I remember Sundays well. The Seton family were always there in the family pew right in the front under the lectern. They were the big family who lived in the manor and it was to them my father owed his living. They were related to us. Lady Seton was my aunt, for she and my mother had been sisters. Amy Jane had married "well" when she took Sir Timothy Seton, for he was a rich man owning a great deal of land and, I believe, had many possessions as well. It was a very satisfactory match apart from one thing. They had no son to carry on the illustrious Seton name and their hopes rested on their only daughter, Jessamy. Jessamy was constantly indulged, but oddly enough that did not spoil her. She was a rather timid child and I always got the better of her when we were alone. Of course when we were not and there were adults present, they always saw fair play, which meant putting Jessamy in the ascendant.

When we were young and before Jessamy had a governess, she came to the vicarage for lessons because then my father had a curate who used to teach us.

Let me start at the beginning though. There were two sisters-Amy Jane and Susan Ellen. They were the daughters of a parson and when they grew up the younger of the two, Susan Ellen, fell in love with the curate who came to assist her father. He was poor and not in a position to marry but Susan Ellen had never been one to consider the practical side of life. Acting against the advice of her father, the entire village community and her forceful sister, she eloped with the curate. They were very poor because he had no living and they opened a little school and taught in it for a while. Meanwhile Amy Jane, the wise virgin, had made the acquaintance of the wealthy Sir Timothy Seton. He was a widower with no children and he desperately wanted them. Amy Jane was a good-looking, very capable young lady. Why should they not marry? He needed a mistress for his house and children for his nurseries. Amy Jane seemed well equipped to provide them both.

Amy Jane believed she was a suitable wife for him and, what was more important, that he would be the right husband for her. Riches, standing, security—they were three very desirable goals in Amy Jane's eyes. And after the disastrous marriage of her sister there must be someone to reinstate the family fortunes.

So Amy Jane married and in her forceful way set about performing the tasks she had undertaken. In a short while Sir Timothy's household was managed with the utmost skill, to his delight and to slightly less of that of the domestics, for those whom Amy Jane considered not worth their salt were dismissed, and the rest, realizing their fate lay in their ability to please Amy Jane, proceeded to do just that.

It was not long before a living was found for the curate and his reckless bride; and they were to live right under the shadow of Seton Manor.

Amy Jane then set about the next project, which was to fill the nurseries at Seton Manor.

In this she was less successful. She had one miscarriage, which she believed to be an oversight on the part of the Almighty as she had prayed, and set the whole village praying, for a son. But she was almost immediately pregnant and this time that pregnancy was brought to a conclusion and, although it might not be entirely satisfactory, it was at least a start.

Sir Timothy was delighted with the puling infant who, Nurse Abbott declared, had needed an extra smart slap on the posterior to start its breathing. "The next will be a boy," stated Amy Jane, in a voice before which Heaven itself would have quailed. Opposition came from the doctor; Amy Jane would risk her life by trying again. Let her rest content with her girl. The child was responding to treatment and was going to survive. "Don't risk it again," said the doctor. "I could not answer for the consequences." And as neither Amy Jane nor Sir Timothy wished to face such a disaster, there were no more children; and Jessamy, after clinging to life somewhat precariously for a few weeks, suddenly began to clamor for food and to kick and cry the same as other children.

A few months after the birth of Jessamy, life and death came to the vicarage hand in hand. Amy Jane was shocked. My mother had always been a great disappointment to her. Not only had she made a disastrous marriage, but just when her capable sister was putting her on her feet in a very pleasant living which Sir Timothy had secured with some effort, for there were others who were in fact more deserving than my father, she had given birth to a child and died doing it. A small baby in a vicarage with a man who was more than usually helpless was inconvenient to say the least, but a woman of Amy Jane's caliber was not to be deterred. She found Janet and installed her. Henceforth I was cared for, and Amy Jane, as my mother's closest relative, would of course keep an eye on me.

This she undoubtedly did and her own precious Jessamy was a part of my childhood and girlhood. It was Jessamy's clothes which came to the vicarage and were made over for me. I was slightly taller, which would have made them short, but she was broader-shouldered and took them up more. Janet said it was child's play to take them in a bit and there was better stuff in them than any that would find their way into this house from the shops.

"You look a sight better in them than Miss Jessamy," she would say and, coming from can't-tell-a-lie Janet, that was gratifying.

So I was accustomed to wearing castoff clothes. I can remember very few that did not come via Jessamy. Spending such a lot of time with her, wearing her old garments, did make me become a part of her life.

There was one time when Aunt Amy Jane thought it was fashionable to send girls to school, and there was talk of our going. I was excited at the idea. Jessamy was terrified. Then Dr. Cecil, he who had suggested that there should be no other Seton child in the nursery but Jessamy, decided that she was not strong enough for a boarding school. "Her chest," was all he said. So no school it was, and as Jessamy's chest was too weak to let her go, mine, strong as it might be—and it had never given me or Dr. Cecil any indication that it was not—could not take me there. Fees would have to be paid by Sir Timothy, and it was not to be thought of that I should be sent and paid for while his daughter remained at home.

When there was entertaining at Seton Manor, Aunt Amy Jane always did her duty and invited me. When she came to the vicarage she rode over in the carriage with a foot warmer in the winter and a parasol in the summer. On winter days she would pick up her beautiful sable muff and alight from the carriage while the Seton coachman held open the door with the utmost display of deference and she would march into the house. In the summer she would hand her parasol to the coachman, who would solemnly open it and hold it out in one hand while he helped her to alight with the other. I used to watch this ritual from one of the upstairs windows with a mixture of hilarity and awe.

My father would receive her in a somewhat embarrassed way. He would be frantically feeling for his spectacles, which he had pushed up on his head. They always slipped too far back and he would think he had put them down somewhere—which he did now and then.

The purpose of her visit was certain to be me, because I was her Duty. She had no reason to bother herself about a man who owed his living to her benevolence—or Sir Timothy's, but all blessings which fell on our household came through her, of course. I would be sent for and studied intently. Janet said that Lady Seton did not really like me because I looked healthier than Miss Jessamy and reminded her of her daughter's weak chest and other ailments. I was not sure whether Janet was right but I did feel that Aunt Amy Jane was not really fond of me. Her concern for my welfare was out of duty instead of affection, and I have never relished being the object of duty. I doubt anyone ever does.

"We are having a musical evening next Friday," she said one day. "Anabel should come. She should stay the night as it will be late before it is over, and that will be much simpler. Jennings has the dress she will wear in the carriage. He will bring it in."

My father, struggling with his self-respect, said: "Oh, that isn't necessary, you know. I dare say we can buy a dress for Anabel."

Aunt Amy Jane laughed. I noticed that her laugh was rarely mirthful. It was usually intended to dismiss or denigrate the folly of the one to whom it was directed.

"That would be quite impossible, my dear James." When she said "my dear" that was very often a term of reproach. I was struck by that. Laughter was supposed to express gayety; endearments were for expressing affection. Aunt Amy Jane turned them about. I supposed it came of being such an efficient, highly respectable, always-right sort of person. "You can hardly be expected to buy suitable clothes on your stipend." A repetition of the laugh as her eyes swept round our humble sitting room and mentally compared it with the fine hall at Seton Manor, which had been in the Seton family for hundreds of years with the gleaming swords on the wall and the tapestries which had been in the family for generations and were reputed to be Gobelins. "No, no, James, leave this to me. I owe it to Susan Ellen." The hushed note in her voice indicated that she was speaking of the dead. "It was what she would have wished. She would never have wanted Anabel to be brought up like a savage."

My father opened his mouth to protest but by this time Aunt Amy Jane had turned to me. "Janet can adjust it. It will be quite simple." Other people's tasks always were in Aunt Amy Jane's eyes. It was only those she undertook herself which demanded so much. She was regarding me somewhat malevolently, I thought. "I hope, Anabel," she went on, "that you will behave with decorum and not upset Jessamy."

"Oh yes, Aunt Amy Jane, I will and I won't."

I felt an irresistible desire to giggle, which I am afraid came to me quite frequently in the presence of a number of people.

My aunt seemed to sense this. She said in a low funereal voice: "Always remember what your mother would wish."

I was on the point of saying that I was not sure what my mother would wish, for I was argumentative by nature, and I could never resist the temptation to get a point cleared up. I had heard from some of the servants at Seton Hall that my mother had not been at all the saint Aunt Amy Jane was turning her into. My aunt seemed to have forgotten that she had been so headstrong in making a marriage with a poor curate. The servants said that Miss Susan Ellen had been "a bit of a caution. Always got a finger in some pie and making a joke of it. Come to think of it, Miss Anabel, you're the spitting image of her." That was damning enough.

Well, I went to the musical evening in Jessamy's watered silk, which was really very beautiful. Jessamy said: "Yes, you look prettier in it than I did, Anabel."

She was a sweet girl, Jessamy was, which makes what I did to her all the more reprehensible. I led her into constant mischief. There was the affair of the gypsies, which will give you a good idea of what I mean.

We were forbidden to walk in the woods alone, but the very fact that the woods were out of bounds made them specially fascinating to me.

Jessamy did not want to go. She was the sort of girl who liked to do exactly what she was told; she saw it all as for her own good. Heaven knew that was the explanation given to us often enough. I was exactly the opposite; and I took a great delight in trying to prove which was the stronger—my powers of persuasion or Jessamy's desire to keep to the paths of righteousness.

I invariably won because I went on worrying her until I did. So at length I persuaded her to venture into the woods where some gypsies were camping. We could have a quick look, I said, and go away before they saw us.

The fact that there were gypsies in the woods made it all the more important that we should not venture into them. However, I was determined and I taunted Jessamy with cowardice so mercilessly that at length she agreed to accompany me.

We came to a caravan. There was a fire smoking nearby with a pot boiling on it. It smelled quite good. Seated on the steps of the caravan was a woman in a torn red shawl and with brass rings in her ears. She was a typical gypsy, with a tangle of black hair and big sparkling dark eyes.

"Good day to you, pretty ladies," she cried out when she saw us.

"Good day," I replied, gripping Jessamy's arm, for I had a feeling she was going to turn and run.

"Don't be shy," said the woman. "My! You are two fine little ladies. I reckon there's a bonny fortune waiting for you."

I was enthralled by the prospect of looking into the future. I always have been. I could never then and cannot now resist a fortuneteller.

"Come on, Jessamy," I said, dragging her forward.

"I think we ought to go back," she whispered.

"Come on," I said, holding her firmly. She did not like to protest. She was afraid it might seem ill-mannered towards the gypsies. Jessamy was always considering what was good and bad manners, and she was terrified of committing the latter.

"Now you two has come from the big house, I reckon," said the woman.

"She has," I told her. "I'm from the vicarage."

"Oh, holy, holy," said the woman. Her eyes were on Jessamy, who was wearing a fine gold chain with a gold locket in the shape of a heart attached to it. "Well, my pretty," she went on, "I'm sure you've got a good fortune waiting for you."

"Have I?" I asked, holding out my hand.

She took it. "You'll be the one who makes her own fortune."

"Doesn't everybody?" I asked.

"Oh, clever, are you? I see. Yes, we do ... with a little help from fate, eh? You've got a great future, you have. You'll meet a tall dark stranger and you'll sail across the seas. And gold ... yes, I see gold. Oh, you've got a great future, you have, missy. Now let me look at the other little lady."

Jessamy hesitated, and I held up her hand. I noticed how brown and grubby the gypsy's was compared with Jessamy's.

"Oooh. Now you're going to have the luck, you are. You're going to marry a lord and have silk sheets to sleep in. There'll be gold rings on your fingers ... finer than this here chain." She had taken the chain in her other hand and was examining it. "Oh yes, you've got a fine and bonny future before you."

A man had strolled up. He was dark like the woman.

"You been telling the ladies' future, Cora?" he asked.

"Bless their little hearts," she said softly, "they wanted to hear their fortunes. This little 'un comes from the big house."

The man nodded. I did not much like the look of him. His eyes were sharp like a ferret's, whereas the woman was fat and comfortable-looking.

"Hope they crossed your palm with silver, Cora," he said.

She shook her head.

The little ferret eyes were gleaming. "Oh, that's terrible unlucky, that is. You must cross the gypsy's palm with silver."

"What will happen if we don't?" I asked with curiosity.

"It would all turn topsy-turvy. All the good would be bad. Oh, that's terrible unlucky ... not to cross the gypsy's palm with silver."

"We haven't got any silver," said Jessamy, aghast.

The man had his hands on the chain. He tugged at it and the clasp came undone. He laughed and I noticed what unpleasant teeth he had; they were black, like fangs.

It occurred to me that our elders had been right and it was unwise to go walking in the woods.

The man was holding up the chain and looking at it intently.

"It's my best chain," said Jessamy. "It was given to me by my papa."

"Your papa is a very rich man. I reckon he'll give you another."

"That was for my birthday. Please give it back to me. My mother will be angry if I lose it."

The man nudged the woman. "I reckon Cora would be angry if we didn't have it," he said. "You see, she's given you a service. She's read your fortunes. Now that's something that has to be paid for. You have to cross the gypsy's palm with silver ... if you don't terrible disaster will befall you. That's so, ain't it, Cora? Cora knows. She's got the powers. She's in touch with them that knows. The Devil's a great friend of hers, too. He says to her, 'If any don't treat you right, Cora, you just let me know.' Well, telling fortunes without crossing the gypsy's palm is all against the rule. But gold will do ... gold will do just as well."

Jessamy was standing as though transfixed with horror. She was staring at her chain in the man's hands. I sensed danger. I could see his little eyes looking at our clothes, particularly Jessamy's. She was wearing a gold bracelet too. It was mercifully hidden by her sleeve.

I suddenly knew we had to get away quickly. I seized her hand and dashed away, running as fast as I could, dragging her with me. From the corner of my eye I saw the man start after us.

The woman shouted. "Let 'em be. Don't be a fool, Jem. Let 'em go, and put the horses on the van."

Jessamy was panting behind me. I stopped and listened. The man had taken Cora's advice and we were not being followed.

"He's gone," I said.

"So is my chain," said Jessamy mournfully.

"We'll tell them he came up to us and snatched it."

"That's not quite true," said Jessamy. Oh dear, I thought, these sticklers for the truth, how trying they could be!

"He did snatch it," I insisted. "We mustn't tell them how far into the woods we went. Well just say he came up and snatched it."

Jessamy was very unhappy. However, I was the one who told the story, keeping to the truth as far as I could, not telling them how deeply we had penetrated into the woods and eliminating the woman and her fortunetelling.

There was great consternation—more, I realized, because we had been molested, as Aunt Amy Jane put it, than because of the loss of the chain. They sent men into the woods, but the caravan had gone, though there were the wheel marks and the remains of the fire to show where they had been.

Aunt Amy Jane, who managed most things in the village as she did at Seton Manor, had "Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted" put up on signboards all over the woods, and from then on gypsies were not allowed to camp there. I felt overawed to contemplate that this had been brought about by my waywardness, but I consoled myself with the thought that I had not made a thief of the gypsy; he had been that already, so I did not feel there was anything much to worry about.

It was poor innocent Jessamy who worried. She blushed every time gypsies or fortunetelling were mentioned. We had acted a lie, she said, and the recording angel would make a note of it. It would have to be answered for when we got to heaven.

"That's a long time yet," I comforted her. "And if God is what I think He is He won't like that sneaking little recorder very much. It's not nice spying on people and writing down what they do in a little book."

Jessamy was always expecting the heavens to open and God to inflict something terrible upon me. I used to reassure her that He had had plenty of opportunities and He hadn't done anything so far, so it must mean that He thought I was not so very wicked.

Jessamy was unsure. Her life was fraught with fears and indecisions. Poor Jessamy, who had so much and never seemed to take advantage of it.

I was always very interested in Amelia Lang and William Planter. They had been a part of the vicarage household for as long as I could remember, and they had always been the same through the years. Then I discovered that there was, as Janet put it, "something between them." No sooner had I heard this than I was consumed with curiosity to discover what. I used to discuss it with Jessamy and make up all sorts of wild stories about them. William's name delighted me. It was William Planter, which, I said to Jessamy, was a lovely name for a gardener. Now did he become a gardener because his name was Planter or was it just a joke of God's ... or whoever had given him the name in the first place? For William came from a long line of Planters and they had all been noted for their skill in gardening.

I would roll about with delight and get Jessamy doing the same, forgetting all the rules about deportment, choosing names for people like William Planter's. The cook, I said, should be Mrs. Bakewell instead of Mrs. Wells. Thomas, the butler, should possess the obvious for his name. No one seemed to know what his real one was. He was always called Thomas. The footman should be Jack Foot. The coachman George Horsemare. As for Jessamy, she should be Jessamy Good.

It all seemed hilariously funny to me.

I remained very interested in this "something" between William and Amelia. On one rare occasion I induced Amelia to talk of it. Yes, there was an understanding between them, but William had never spoken and, until he did, things must remain as they were.

I could not understand what was meant, for I had heard William speak many times. He wasn't dumb, I pointed out. "He hasn't spoken," insisted Amelia, and that was all she would say.

I was instrumental in getting him to "speak." I managed to get them together one afternoon. I had lured Amelia into the garden to get some roses when I knew William was working on the rose beds.

So, having them together, I said: "William, you will not speak. You must do so right away. Poor Amelia can do nothing until you speak."

They just looked at each other and Amelia went bright pink, and so did William.

Then he said, "Will you then, Amelia?"

And Amelia replied: "Yes, William."

I watched them with satisfaction although they did not seem to be aware of me. But William had "spoken" and now they were engaged.

The engagement went on for several years but it was known that William and Amelia were bespoken from that day, and when Janet told me that meant no one else could have them, I remarked that I did not think anyone else wanted them.

I told her how I had made William "speak."

"Miss Interference!" she said; but I knew she was laughing.

There were always reasons why Amelia and William could not get married. William lived in a small place in the vicarage grounds. It was little more than a hut, and there was not room for two there. The marriage would have to be put off until they could find a place to live.

Amelia chafed under the delay but she was happy that William had spoken. I often reminded her that it was due to my prodding.

Several years passed and then one autumn day William had a fall. He had mounted a ladder to gather apples from the topmost branches when he missed his footing. He broke his leg and it was never right again after that. He limped about the place and developed rheumatism in the afflicted limb and my father spoke to Sir Timothy about him.

Sir Timothy was a kindly man who took a pride in looking after his work people, and of course ours—through Aunt Amy Jane of course—were under his jurisdiction.

It soon became clear that something must be done for William Planter. Sir Timothy, who seemed to have possessions all over the country, owned a cottage on Cherrington green. It was called Crabtree Cottage because of the crabapple tree in front of it.

William was past his best work. He should have an annuity and marry Amelia, whom he had kept hanging about far too long, and they should take up residence in Crabtree Cottage, which should be theirs for their lifetimes.

So William and Amelia married and departed in certain splendor for Cherrington and Crabtree Cottage.

Amelia sent us a card every Christmas and both she and William seemed to have settled into matrimony as comfortably as they did in Crabtree Cottage.

We had a jobbing gardener who also worked at Seton Manor and one of the widows in the village came in to help about the house in Amelia's place.

We were growing up. Jessamy was a few months older than I, but I always thought of myself as the elder.

We were seventeen and there was talk of "coming out." That would not be until we were eighteen and the object would be to find us suitable husbands. Before this great event there were what I called skirmishing parties and it was one of these which did not seem overly significant at the time but which, looking back, I think may have changed the whole course of our lives.

Aunt Amy Jane was inviting some people for a house party. There was to be what she called "a little dance." No, not a ball, just a pleasant evening, a sort of rehearsal, I gathered, for the great campaign which would begin when Jessamy was eighteen.

I was to have one of Jessamy's castoff dresses, made over. My father protested and said I was to go into the town and buy some material and get the village seamstress to make it up for me. Now I knew that any material we could get and any work industrious Sally Summers could put into it would not compare with a made-over garment from Jessamy's wardrobe, for Jessamy's clothes came from London or Bath and they were not only of the latest fashion, which all Sally Summers' neat stitching could not match, but they were of such delicate and expensive materials as we could not hope to acquire.

So I persuaded my father that I was quite happy in Jessamy's castoffs, and when Janet had done with them, no one would notice that they had been altered for me.

It was a beautiful dress—with rather a tight bodice nipped in at the waist and the skirt cascading out into hundreds of frills. It had become too tight for Jessamy and it was ideal for the transformation.

Jessamy was dark-haired and a little sallow; she took after her father and had inherited his nose, which was rather large. She had a sweet expression, though, and lovely dark doelike eyes. I thought that if she could only be a little more animated she would be quite attractive. The dress was pink and it had not matched her complexion. I was fair-haired with light brown eyes and very long gold-tipped lashes; my brows were very firmly defined and of a darker shade than my hair, which made them stand out. My skin was very fair and I had a slightly retrousse nose and a wide mouth. That I was attractive I knew, because people always looked first at me and then looked again. I was by no means beautiful, but I had those high spirits which were irrepressible, for there was little I could do to restrain them. I was always finding something in life so excruciatingly funny that I had to share the joke with someone. To some people—people like Aunt Amy Jane and Amelia—this in me was a decided fault; they shook their heads over it and did everything they could to repress it, but to some people it was amusing and attractive. I knew by the way they smiled when they looked at me.

Well, there we were at this little dance which was to prove so fatal to my future.

The carriage was sent over for me, which was considerate of my aunt, for it would have been awkward to walk from the vicarage to the great house in all my finery.

I arrived before the other guests and went to Jessamy's room. She was in a blue silk dress, all frills and flounces. My heart sank, for it was the wrong color for Jessamy; frills did not really suit her. She looked best in her gray riding habit with its severely tailored coat and the topper with the gray silk band round it.

As usual she was delighted to see me looking so well in the dress.

"It's lovely," she cried. "Why do my things always look better on you than on me?"

"Dear Jessamy, you imagine it," I lied, for I was never haunted by Janet's truth-at-any-price philosophy. "And you look lovely."

"Oh, I don't. Everything is getting so tight. Why do I put on weight? You're as slim as a wand."

"I move about more than you do, Jessamy. Heaven knows I eat as much. But you're only pleasantly plump. Mary Macklin said men like plump women and she should know."

I giggled, for Mary Macklin was our local light lady whom Aunt Amy Jane was trying to shift from the village.

"Did she tell you?" asked Jessamy.

"Oh no, it's only hearsay."

Just at that moment Uncle Timothy came in. He was carrying two little white cardboard boxes.

"For my girls," he said, looking at us with pride.

Inside the boxes were orchids. I cried out with delight. This was just what I needed to add a touch of elegance to my made-over gown. The orchids had been chosen with care, for they matched our dresses to perfection.

Uncle Timothy was standing there looking like a pleased schoolboy and suddenly I thought how good he was. He had given the Planters Crabtree Cottage and to me a beautiful orchid which matched my dress perfectly.

I put down my flower on Jessamy's table and put my arms about Uncle Timothy's neck. I kissed him vehemently. And just at that moment my aunt came in.

"What is going on here?" she demanded.

I withdrew my arms and said: "Uncle Timothy has given us such beautiful orchids."

Uncle Timothy looked slightly red and apologetic and my aunt continued: "You seem to be acting in a very boisterous manner. Now I will pin the flower on your dress, Jessamy. There is a right place and a wrong place."

Uncle Timothy said: "Well, I'll be going. There is a lot to see to."

"There is indeed," replied my aunt coolly.

I went to the mirror and pinned on my orchid. I was delighted with it and I noticed Aunt Amy Jane casting one or two malevolent glances in my direction.

Captain Lauder was one of the guests. He was in his early twenties, I imagined, tall, graceful and debonair. He was the son of Sir Geoffrey Lauder and it was clear that he and his family were among the more important members of the company, for Aunt Amy Jane was very gracious to them.

Captain Lauder was presented to Jessamy and they danced together. He was very charming and put Jessamy at her ease immediately, which was not without its difficulties, for I knew she persistently regarded herself as inferior in some way. However, she blossomed with Captain Lauder and it occurred to me that Jessamy was really quite attractive; all she needed was someone to convince her so strongly of this that she believed it herself.

I had plenty of dances and now and then noticed Aunt Amy Jane watching me cautiously. I hoped I had not done anything amiss, for I did so enjoy gatherings like this and should hate to be banished from them. There was so much to enjoy at the time and laugh about afterwards. I danced the supper dance with a pleasant young man who was a soldier and when we went in to supper we ran into Jessamy and Captain Lauder.

"Here's my cousin," said Jessamy.

Captain Lauder turned and looked at me. Admiration shone from his eyes as he took my hand and kissed it.

"You're Miss Anabel Campion," he said. "Miss Seton has been telling me about you."

I grimaced and Jessamy said quickly: "Only nice things."

"Thank you for keeping back the rest," I replied.

Everybody laughed.

The four of us sat down together and it was a very jolly party, but every time I looked up Captain Lauder's eyes were on me.

When we left the supper room he was at my side.

"I should like to have a dance with you," he said.

"Well," I answered, "they are just starting something."

We danced together.

"You're beautiful," he said.

That was not true but I had long since learned that if people had a good opinion of you, however misguided, it was best to let them keep it.

"I wish I had found you earlier," he went on.

"But I am sure you have been enjoying the evening in spite of the lack of my company."

He laughed: "You're the daughter of the vicar, I hear."

"Oh dear, Jessamy has been supplying you with information."

"She is very fond of you."

"And I of her. She is a delightful person."

"Yes, yes, I gathered that. I am still wishing, though, that I had found the intriguing Miss Campion earlier."

"What charming things you say."

"You sound as though you doubt my veracity."

"Should I? I have such a high opinion of myself that it hadn't occurred to me not to accept all the nice things you are implying about me."

"Do you find it hot? Shall we slip outside?"

Now of course I should have said no. But I did not. I was too warm and I wanted to discover how outrageous Aunt Amy Jane's cherished guest could be.

There was a half-moon among the stars out there.

"You look enchanting in moonlight," he said.

"It's less revealing," I replied.

He had drawn me under the shade of a tree and put his arms about me.

I withdrew myself. "On sober consideration," I said, "I think we should go back to the ballroom."

"Sober consideration is impossible when you are near me."

He had suddenly seized me in a viselike grip from which I could not extricate myself. Then his lips were on mine.

This had happened far more quickly than I had thought it could. I had no wish to be in the gardens, kissed forcibly by a man whom I scarcely knew. But he was stronger than I.

Then I heard a cough, and so did he, for he released me. To my horror Aunt Amy Jane was coming towards us.

"Oh," she said in a startled voice when she saw who it was she had caught kissing under one of her trees. Then she added: "Captain Lauder ... and ... er ... Anabel. My child, you will catch cold. Go in at once."

I was only too pleased to escape. As I did so I heard my aunt continue imperturbably: "I do want to show you my hydrangeas, Captain Lauder. While we are out here ..."

I went straight to Jessamy's bedroom. I was ruffled and slightly pink. There was a red mark on my cheek. I touched it gingerly. It would soon go.

I tidied myself and went back to the ballroom. Jessamy was there dancing with one of the neighboring squires.

The next day I was expecting a reprimand from Aunt Amy Jane. She had actually seen the captain kissing me and I was sure that as he had been one of her favorite guests I should be blamed for what had happened. Captain Lauder was of too good a family, too rich a family, to be in the wrong. He was an eligible bachelor and the discovery of the ideal gentleman in that category was her next project and one which she would pursue with single-minded purpose. Therefore, if he had been seen to act in an unseemly manner, he could only have been led into the indiscretion.

I was amazed that not a word was said to me, although I caught her looking at me rather oddly now and then.

For a while I allowed myself to believe she had forgotten. But Aunt Amy Jane would never forget.

Thus, when Jessamy and her parents were to pay a visit to Mateland Castle, I was not invited, although but for that incident I was sure I should have been, for I often went visiting as a companion for Jessamy, and Jessamy always begged that I should go with them. I was sure she did on this occasion, but Aunt Amy Jane was adamant.

So I did not go to Mateland Castle. If I had gone things might have turned out differently. I know it would have been different, and I should not be writing this to you, Suewellyn. Your life and mine would have gone on smoother lines. How the great events of our lives hang on flimsy chances. Yours and mine could have been so different... and all because of an unwanted kiss under an oak tree!

Jessamy returned from Mateland Castle in a state which I can only describe as bemused. For a time I could get no sense out of her; then an amazing truth began to emerge.

Jessamy had wakened up; she had become animated, which was what I always thought she needed to make her attractive. In the place of the gangling girl was a personable young woman.

Of course I lost no time in drawing the story from her.

Mateland Castle, it appeared, was an enchanted place. It was a combination of El Dorado, Utopia and the Elysian Fields. It was inhabited by gods and the occasional goddess; and nothing would ever be the same for Jessamy now that she had set foot within those magic portals.

"I shall never forget my first sight of it," she said. "We alighted from the train and the Mateland carriage was waiting to take us to the castle. I shall never forget riding along those lanes... ."

"Ill accept the fact that it has engraved itself in your memory forever. You've mentioned that twice. Get on, Jessamy."

"Well, it's just what you think a castle should be. It's medieval."

"Most castles are. Never mind about the castle. What about the people?"

"Oh, the people ..." She half closed her eyes and sighed. "There's Egmont Mateland ..."

"Egmont! A medieval name to go with the castle."

"Anabel, if you are going to interrupt and make fun, I shall not tell you."

I was amazed. Signs of revolt in our docile Jessamy! Yes, something had indeed happened.

"There's Egmont," I went on. "Go on from there."

"He is the father."

"Father of whom?"

"David and Joel. David has the dearest little boy named Esmond. He, of course, will be the heir to the castle."

"How interesting," I said coolly, feigning a complete lack of that state.

"Of course, if you don't want to hear ..."

"Of course I want to hear. But you're so slow."

"All right, there are two brothers, David and Joel. David is the elder and he is married to Emerald."

"I like the names."

"You're interrupting again, Anabel. If you want to hear ..."

"Oh, I do. I do," I said humbly.

"David manages the estate, which is considerable. Joel is a doctor... ."

Ah, I thought. It's Joel. I knew my Jessamy too well not to recognize the change in her voice when she said his name. I also noticed the slight emotional twitch of her lips.

"Tell me about the doctor," I said.

"He's such a good man, Anabel. I mean he really does a lot of good ... to a lot of people."

I found my interest flagging a little. People who did a lot of good to a lot of people were, I discovered, often indifferent to individuals. They liked people en masse, not individually. Moreover, they were usually so wrapped up in their good works that they became a little boring outside them. My only interest in Joel was the effect he had had on Jessamy.

"How?" I asked.

"With his work, of course. He has a place in the little town. The castle is outside the town ... right in the country. He lives in the castle with his family, of course. The Matelands have lived there for centuries."

"Since the days of the Conqueror, I bet."

"You're laughing at them again. No, it was not since the days of the Conqueror. The castle was built one hundred years after he came to England."

"I see you have the family history at your fingertips. Very commendable after one short visit."

"I feel as though I have known Mateland all my life."

"The castle or its fascinating inmates?"

"You know what I mean."

"I believe I do, Jessamy. Tell me more of the intriguing Joel Mateland."

"He is the younger son."

"Yes, you told me that, he having an elder brother, David, with a delightful son, Esmond, begotten in co-operation with the glittering Emerald. I have them and Grandpa Egmont settled in my mind. Now tell me about Joel."

"He is tall and handsome."

"Of course."

"All his life he wanted to be a doctor. There was some opposition in the family because the Matelands had never had a doctor in the family before."

"Certainly not. Too aristocratic, I am sure, to be sullied by a profession."

"Oh, do stop teasing, Anabel. You know nothing about these people."

"Fortunately your knowledge is so great that it positively drips out of you. How old is Joel?"

"He is not so very young."

"I thought he was the younger brother."

"He is. David is about two years older. He was married for ten years before Esmond was born. Joel was married before but had no children. Like all big families, they wanted an heir."

"What happened to Joel's wife?"

"She died."

"A widower, eh?"

"He is the most interesting man I ever met."

"I gathered that."

"My mother liked him very much. My father had met them somewhere ... I forget where. That was why we visited."

"It was obviously a successful visit."

"Oh yes," said Jessamy fervently.

Very significant, I thought. A widower. Perhaps the best sort of husband for Jessamy. And Mateland Castle! There was a good possibility of Aunt Amy Jane's approving of that.

It seemed that she did, for after about a month there was another visit to Mateland Castle. It was supposed to be for a few days but it was extended and Jessamy and her parents were away for two weeks.

When they returned a radiant Jessamy came to see me.

I guessed what her news was before she told me. She was engaged to be married to Joel Mateland. Aunt Amy Jane had won the campaign almost before it started. No coming-out balls for Jessamy—and I realized with a pang that that meant none for me either. I would have shared Jessamy's but I could not expect to have one specially for myself.

I shrugged my shoulders.

Jessamy, in the sweetness of her nature, had time to think of me.

"When I am at Mateland Castle you shall come and stay," she told me.

I could see plans forming in her limpid eyes. Jessamy was always one who liked to share good fortune. She was going to have the best husband in the world and it would be her pleasure to find the second best for me.

I kissed her. I wished her all the happiness in the world.

"It's what you deserve, sweet Jessamy," I said, seriously for once.

The Matelands had not come to Seton Manor. Joel was busy working, Jessamy told me. She and her family could always go to Mateland.

The wedding, however, would be held at Seton. Aunt Amy Jane threw herself into the bustle of preparation, for this was going to be the occasion to outdo all others. No expense must be spared. The very desirable marriage of the only daughter should be given all the honor and dignity it deserved.

One afternoon soon after the announcement of the betrothal she came to the vicarage in her carriage. It was early May— neither foot warmer and muff nor parasol weather. The Seton footman helped her out of the carriage and she came straight into the house. Janet took her into our rather shabby sitting room where my father received his parishioners when they came to pour out their troubles to him.

I was summoned too.

Aunt Amy Jane was seated in the only comfortable armchair and even in this the springs were sagging. They were apt to make pinging noises of protest when anyone sat down and I wondered how they would bear my aunt's not inconsiderable weight. She gave her usual disdainful look about our room, but she was not really thinking of it. She was in very high spirits and clearly the marriage of her daughter was going to be one of the great events of her life, rivaling only the triumph of her own marriage to Sir Timothy on which her opulent fortunes were founded.

"As you know," she announced, "Jessamy is to be married."

I could not resist murmuring: "We had heard of it."

Aunt Amy Jane chose to ignore my impertinence and went on: "The wedding will be as great an occasion as we can make it."

She smiled smugly. That meant very great with the might of Uncle Timothy's purse strings behind it, and it was well known who had control of them.

"Timothy and I are determined that it shall be a day neither Jessamy nor we shall forget. There is so much to do between now and the wedding day. How they are going to get her dress done in time, I don't know. But talking of the actual ceremony ... Jessamy has made a request. She wants you to be her bridesmaid, Anabel."

"Oh, how kind of Jessamy. She always thinks of others."

"Jessamy has been very properly brought up." A stern glance at my father, who quite missed the shaft and was intent on retrieving his spectacles, which had receded even farther than usual. "The fact is you are to be a bridesmaid. Now we shall have to have you suitably clad. I am arranging for Sally Summers to come and make a dress for you."

"Perhaps we could find something ..." began my father.

"No, James. The dress is not to be found. It is to be made. It must be absolutely right for the occasion. I thought of buttercup yellow."

I did not like buttercup yellow. It was not one of the colors which became me most and I had a notion that Aunt Amy Jane might have chosen it for that reason.

"Jessamy wanted shell pink or azure blue," she went on.

Dear Jessamy! She knew that of all colors those suited me best.

"I suppose she, as the bride, will be the arbiter on this occasion," I said.

My aunt did not reply to that. Instead she said: "Sally will be coming over with the material in a few days' time. There must be no delay. I have told her that she will stay here and make the dress. It should only take a day or so. We shall have a houseful of guests for the wedding, so there will be no room for you to stay at the Manor. You will be officiating of course, James, and Anabel can join the party at the church and you will come to the Manor for the celebrations. The bride and bridegroom are going to Florence for the honeymoon. You can return to the vicarage after they have left. I will send the carriage back for you."

"Oh, Aunt Amy Jane, what a wonderful manager you are!" I cried. "Everything planned to the last detail. I am sure it will all go off beautifully."

She gave me a look of rare approval; and when she left I thought how different life was going to be with Jessamy married, how I had taken her for granted and how fond I really was of her.

I should go and see her, though, in this wonderful enchanted castle of hers and I should meet the husband who had been able to work such a miracle in her.

Two days later the material arrived for my dress. It was soft azure-blue silk chiffon.

Dear Jessamy! I thought.

It was a lovely morning. June was the month to marry. Tomorrow would be Jessamy's wedding day.

There would be bustle and excitement at the Manor with all the guests arriving.

"We have a houseful," Aunt Amy Jane declared proudly. "The Matelands will be there in force and naturally all the bridegroom's family are staying in the house."

I had offered to help decorate the church and early this morning roses had come over from the Seton gardens and were now standing in buckets of water in the church porch. Sally Summers was an artistic arranger of flowers as well as a dressmaker and had been assigned to deal with them by my indomitable aunt. Poor Sally, her eyes looked as though they were going to disappear into her head; she had been so overworked, hurried and harried over the last two weeks.

"I'll get a start on it," I told her. "You can come in later and adjust them all. But it will be a help to have them in their various containers."

Sally was grateful and consequently on that June morning, the day before Jessamy's wedding, I made my way to the church immediately after breakfast and set to work on the decorations.

It was a lovely morning, and I felt exhilarated. Tomorrow was the great day. Who would have believed it possible that Jessamy would be married so soon? Shy little Jessamy had found the man of her choice, whose home was a castle—albeit shared by David, Emerald, little Esmond and Grandfather Egmont. And the bridegroom was a doctor. Such a comforting profession. One never need suffer from mysterious ailments, for he would always know what was wrong and to whom should he give his care more assiduously than to his dear wife? Oh yes, Jessamy was a queen of romance. I would never have believed it possible. In fact, I had always thought that, in spite of my overwhelming handicap, I should be the first to marry.

Well, Fate—or Aunt Amy Jane, which I had begun to believe was the same thing—had decided otherwise. And here I was confronted by bucketfuls of beautifully scented flowers which filled the church porch with their exquisite perfume and I was to start on this task—for which I was not really fully qualified; but I should be some help to poor tired overworked Sally.

I carried the buckets into the church and found the containers in the vestry. Then I set about the task. I sorted the colors and carried in more water from the pump and began on the flowers.

I had been working for an hour, cautiously picking up the prickly stems and arranging the flowers to the best of my ability.

They were so beautiful—only the very best blooms would suit Aunt Amy Jane, and I could imagine how the gardeners had been harassed ever since she knew there was to be a wedding. I decided that the glorious pink roses which had an even more exquisite scent than the others should go on the altar. There was a special pot which was used for this. It was metal and rather heavy. I made the mistake of filling it with water and arranging the flowers and then carrying it up the three carpeted steps to the altar. I should, of course, have taken it to the altar and filled it there. It was a supreme effort on my part and I was not going to dismantle it. I was sure I could never achieve that artistry again. So I picked it up and started up the altar steps.

I am not sure now what happened. Whether I heard the church door creak and open, and turned and so fell, or whether I stumbled and fell and then the door opened. I turned to look towards the door and saw a man standing there as I felt the pot slipping out of my hands. The roses were falling out, stabbing my hands, and I made a frantic effort to save the pot, which failed. I went sprawling up the three steps. It all happened in less than a second. I was lying there, the overall I had put over my dress was soaked with water, the flowers were scattered round me, and the pot had gone rolling down the stairs—bump, bump, bump—scattering Seton prize blooms as it went.

A man was looking down at me.

"What happened? I'm afraid I startled you," I heard him say.

I have often heard of those dramatic moments when one meets people who make a devastating effect from the first. I had never believed it. One had to get to know people before one could judge whether one was going to like them. That was what I had always believed. Deep feeling has to grow. But something happened to me on those altar steps. It meant that I was fast approaching the end of my carefree girlhood when, try as I might to be serious, anything seemed to turn into a joke. Something was about to happen which was no joke at all.

I noticed that he was tall, that he had dark hair with rather heavily marked brows. It was a somewhat inscrutable face but it was one which I wanted to go on looking at.

It could only have been some seconds that I lay there looking up at him, but it seemed to go on for a long time. Then he was kneeling down beside me, helping me up.

"I've spilled the water over the carpet," I said.

"Yes, you have. Let's make sure you're all right, though. Come on. Stand up."

I did so.

"All right?" he asked.

"My foot hurts a bit."

He knelt and touched my ankle. He had a firm yet delicate touch.

"Press down," he said. "Now ... put your weight on it. All right?"

"All right," I said.

"No bones broken. What about your wrist? You fell on that, I think."

I looked down at my hands. There was blood on them.

"Only a prick or two from the thorns," I said, taking my hand and working it about.

He smiled at me and for the first time I remembered how untidy I must be looking in the overall, which was too big for me, and my hair escaping from its pins.

"Thank you," I said.

"Shall we pick this up?" he asked.

He stooped and lifted the pot.

"No damage," he commented.

"I hope not. It's one of the church's best."

"It's rather fine. Where do you want it?"

"On the altar. But I shall have to fill it with water now and put the roses back."

"I shouldn't try carrying it up three steps full again if I were you."

"It was silly of me but I had done it before I thought."

He put the pot on the altar and I stooped to pick up the pail of water. He took it from me and carried it up to the altar. I stuck in the flowers in a manner which would have completely shocked Sally Summers.

"There's going to be a wedding here tomorrow," I said. "I'm decorating the church. I'm not very good at it, as you can see, but it will all be adjusted properly before the day. I suppose you came in to look at the church?"

"Yes, it's a fine old place."

"Norman. Part of it anyway. My father would be pleased to show you round. He's got all the history at his fingertips."

He was studying me intently. "So you're the vicar's daughter."

"Yes."

"Well, I'm glad to meet you. I am only sorry that my arrival caused you such inconvenience."

"You can put it down to my carelessness."

"Do you feel all right now?"

"Quite all right, thanks."

"A little shaken?"

"No. I've fallen many times in my youth."

He smiled. "Have you much more to do to the flowers?"

"Lots, but I'll have to go. The dressmaker is due at any moment and I daren't keep her waiting. She's so much to do and she is the local flower arranger too, so she does not only have to assure herself that I shall be right for The Day, but she has to make my dismal handiwork presentable."

"Well," he said, "I must not detain you."

"I should have loved to show you the church," I said regretfully, for I had not at this stage learned to disguise my feelings and I was tremendously stimulated for some reason which I did not understand then; although he was attractive in looks, I had seen other good-looking men, and our conversation had not been particularly sparkling. In fact I felt more tongue-tied than I ever had before. I only knew that I was excited and so glad that he had come into the church.

"Perhaps some other time," he said.

"Do you often come this way?"

"This is the first time," he told me. "But I shall come again. And when I do I shall find you and keep you to your promise."

We came out of the church together. He bowed and put on his hat, which he had taken off when he came into the church. He was in riding kit and he went to his horse, which was tethered by the lych gate.

I went into the vicarage. Sally Summers was already there fidgetingly looking at the clock.

"It's all right, Sally," I said. "I've been to the church. I've got the water for you and put some of the flowers into the containers. Not the right way, of course, but it will be easier for you."

"Oh, thank you, Miss Anabel. Now just let me make sure that this dress is right. I was at the Manor yesterday to see to Miss Jessamy. A regular picture she looks."

I was stripped of my overall and old clothes and put into the blue silk chiffon.

"Why, bless us, Miss Anabel, there's blood on your hands," cried Sally.

"I pricked them on the rose stems. I stumbled up the steps and dropped the pot and flowers and all."

Sally tut-tutted and said: "I don't want any blood on this dress, miss."

"I've stopped bleeding now," I answered dreamily.

And there I was resplendent in my bridesmaid's dress and wishing the strange man could see me now.

I looked into the future and saw him arriving at the church.

"Is the vicar's daughter here? She promised to show me the church."

And we would walk round together and he would come again and again.

I could imagine what it would be like at the Manor that morning. Everyone would be running to and fro and Aunt Amy Jane would be like a captain on the bridge of his ship seeing that orders were carried out.

And Jessamy? She would awaken early, if she had slept at all.

They would bring a tray in to her. The wedding dress—pride of Sally Summers' heart—would be hanging in the wardrobe. The ritual of dressing would begin and little Jessamy would be transformed into a beautiful bride.

I should have been there. It was mean of Aunt Amy Jane to keep me shut away. I was Jessamy's natural confidante. I had shared her childhood secrets. It was natural that she should want to talk to me. And there was so much I wanted to know. I was sure that Jessamy was entirely ignorant of the duties of marriage. I was not very knowledgeable on these subjects myself, but I did keep my ears and eyes open and I had gleaned a good deal of information.

The morning wore on. My father was nervous. He was to have the important task of conducting the service and performing the ceremony.

"It's only a wedding like any other," I consoled him. I remembered those words afterwards.

I was gratified to see myself in the mirror. The bridesmaid's dress was most attractive. I had rarely had a dress which had been made just for me. I felt quite important.

At last it was time to go to the church. I was to be waiting there for the bride to arrive. And there she was with Uncle Timothy looking—yes, the only word is radiant—in her white satin gown and the long veil, with orange blossoms in her hair.

She caught my eye and smiled as I stepped out of the back pew to follow her and Uncle Timothy to the altar.

The guests were arriving—the bride's one side, the bridegroom's the other. Our little church was going to be full with very important people.

Then the bridegroom came. And I don't need to tell you, Suewellyn, who he was, for you have guessed. He was the man I had met in the church the day before. He was Joel Mateland, who was to be Jessamy's husband.

I could not understand my emotions then, but I was to analyze them later. All I was aware of was a heavy cloud of depression descending on me. Whenever I smell roses I shall remember that moment in the church when he came forward to stand beside Jessamy. I shall hear their voices taking their vows.

And from then on I knew that nothing would ever be the same again.

I remember vaguely seeing him go down the aisle with Jessamy on his arm. I can remember the wedding reception at the Manor. All the people, all the splendor; and Jessamy standing there looking lovely and happy; and everywhere the overpowering scent of roses.

He came to me and said: "No ill effects?"

"Oh, the fall," I stammered. "Thank you, no. I'd forgotten."

He stood looking at me—not smiling, just looking.

"Your dress is very becoming," he said.

"Thank you. Rather different from my overall."

"That was becoming too," he said.

It was a strange conversation between a bridegroom and a bridesmaid.

I heard myself say: "I had no idea you were the bridegroom."

"I had an unfair advantage. I knew who you were."

"Why didn't you introduce yourself?"

He didn't answer, for Jessamy had come over.

"Oh, you're meeting each other," she said. 'This is my cousin Anabel, Joel." She spoke his name rather shyly, I thought.

"Yes, I know," he replied.

"I do hope you are going to like each other."

"We already do. But perhaps I should not speak for Anabel."

"You may," I said. "It's true."

Aunt Amy Jane was bearing down on us. "Now, you two ..." She was arch, the mother-in-law, a new role for her. Instead of being mildly amused by her as I usually was, I disliked her heartily.

It was unfair, I thought. No, it wasn't. She should have let me go to the castle. I should have met him before. What was I thinking? What had happened to me? I knew, of course. Such things did happen sometimes. There was something about him which drew me to him and made me want to laugh and cry at the same time. It was something which happens now and then if rarely. And to me it had happened too late.

The days dragged after the wedding. I felt depressed. I missed Jessamy more than I had thought possible. I went to my father's library and read a book about Florence. I imagined myself there ... with him. I tried to picture Jessamy there. She had never been greatly interested in works of art. I imagined them walking along the Arno where Dante had met Beatrice. I imagined their shopping for chunky stone-encrusted bracelets on the Ponte Vecchio.

"What's the matter with you all of a sudden?" said Janet. "You look like a month of wet Sundays."

"It's the heat," I said, for it had turned warm.

"First time I've known it affect you," she replied. "I believe you're jealous."

Oh dear, trust Janet to put her finger on the truth and not hesitate to give voice to it.

"Don't talk nonsense," I snapped.

August passed. The church fete took up a good deal of time. It was held in the gardens of Seton Manor.

"Last year," said Aunt Amy Jane complacently, "Jessamy was here to help."

I tried to throw myself into the life of the village, but my heart wasn't in it. Not that it had ever been, but in the past everything had seemed comical. Now it was just infinitely boring.

At the beginning of September Jessamy came home for a week. I knew she was coming and I could scarcely wait to see her. I wondered what I should feel when I saw Joel again.

I was not invited to Seton Manor. "Jessamy will want to be with her parents for a while," said Aunt Amy Jane. "No intruders ... not even family."

She was coyly delighted with the marriage.

But it was like Jessamy to seek the first opportunity to come over and see me. She rode over looking very pretty in a dark blue riding habit and a jaunty hat with a tiny blue feather in it.

There was no doubt that she was happy. We hugged each other.

"Oh, Jessamy, it's been so miserable without you."

She was surprised. "Really, Anabel?"

"Here have I been stuck, doling out cups of tea from the urn at the garden party ... one penny a cup, but all in a good cause, and there have you been in romantic Italy with your fairy prince. Let me look at you, my sleeping beauty, who was awakened by a kiss."

"You talk such nonsense, Anabel ... you always did. I was wide awake, I do assure you. I was glad. Otherwise I should not have seen Joel."

"And he is all your fancy painted him?"

"Oh, he is ... he is."

"Why didn't you bring him over to see us?"

"He's not here. He has his work, you see, Anabel."

"Of course. And he doesn't mind your coming?"

"Oh no. He suggested it. He said: 'They'll all want to see you, your father and mother and your cousin... .' He mentioned you, Anabel. I think you made quite an impression on him. It was falling down the altar steps. Trust you."

"Yes, trust me. I must have looked rather peculiar in one of Sally's aprons, rather wet, my hair falling down and myself surrounded by roses."

"He told me about it. He laughed over it. He said he thought you very ..."

"Very what?"

"Amusing and ... attractive."

"I see you have married a man of discernment."

"He must have been, to have chosen me." Oh yes, Jessamy had changed. She had poise and confidence. He must have given her that. Oh, lucky Jessamy!

"There is so much I want to hear," I said. "I want to hear about Florence and honeymoons and life in the enchanted castle."

"You are interested, Anabel."

"Of course I'm interested."

"I'm going to suggest something."

"What?"

"When I go back, you come with me."

"Oh, Jessamy!" I cried. It was as though lights were flashing round me. Joy ... indescribable joy and then warnings. No, no. You must not. Why not? You know why.

"Don't you want to come, Anabel?" Her voice was blank. "I thought you were so interested."

"I am but ..."

"I thought you would love to come. You were just saying what a bore it was here... ."

"Well, it is just that ... Do you think I should?"

"What on earth do you mean?"

"Newly married and all that. The third party intruding. Two's company ..."

She burst out laughing. "It's not like that at all. We are not alone in a house of our own. We're at the castle and there are the rest of them there. It's not that I see Joel very much."

"Oh, you don't see much of him?"

"He has his place in the town. That's where he works. Sometimes he stays in town. It can be a little lonely."

"Lonely? What about David and Emerald, not to mention little Esmond and Grandpapa?"

"The castle is vast. You have never lived in a castle, Anabel."

"No, I haven't. Nor had you until you made this brilliant marriage."

"Don't talk about it like that."

"How?"

"As though you were making fun."

"You know my flippant ways, Jessamy. They don't mean much. The last thing I would do is make fun of your marriage. You deserve to be happy. You're such a good person."

"Oh, nonsense," said Jessamy.

I kissed her.

"You've become sentimental," she said.

"Jessamy," I answered, "I'm coming back with you."

There were of course a great many things to settle.

"Yes, you must go," said my father. "It will do you good. You haven't been quite yourself lately."

"Can you manage without me?"

"Of course. There are plenty of willing helpers in the village."

It was true. As a widower my father always had a stream of middle-aged and elderly ladies eager to ingratiate themselves into his good graces. He never saw through their motives and thought it was the church they were interested in. He was a very innocent man. I did not take after him one bit.

I should need new clothes, said Jessamy, and came over with a pile of dresses. "I was sorting them," she said. "I was going to turn them out."

Janet was pleased and said she was itching to get her fingers on them. She was all in favor of my visit to Mateland. I think she was fond of me in her undemonstrative way and thought my only chance of getting the right sort of husband was through Jessamy. She had been hoping for coming-out balls for me, shared with Jessamy, of course, and assuring herself that I would be the one who would get the suitors.

Aunt Amy Jane was unsure.

"Wait awhile," she said. "Let Anabel visit you later."

But Jessamy was adamant for once and so on a golden September day she and I were seated side by side in a first-class carriage and chuffing along to Mateland.

There was a halt which had been made especially for Mateland and a board stating Mateland Castle was on the platform. We alighted and a carriage accompanied by a man in livery was waiting for us. He bowed and took our hand luggage. He said to Jessamy: "The rest will be collected by the wagon, madam."

And soon we were trotting along the road to the castle.

I shall never forget my first glimpse of it. You have seen it, Suewellyn. I showed it to you and you were as impressed with it as I was. So I will not go into lengthy details describing it to you. You do not need me to tell you of the grandeur of those thick stone walls, of the impressive gatehouse and the machicolated towers and narrow slits of windows.

It enchanted me. There was a golden haze in the air, and I felt as though I were on the threshold of some exciting drama in which I was to play a major part.

"I can see you're impressed by the castle," said Jessamy. "Everyone is. When I first saw it I thought it had come out of one of the fairy stories we used to read, do you remember?"

"I do. There was usually a princess who was a captive in them and had to be rescued."

"And the princesses were all beautiful with long yellow hair. Your color, Anabel."

"I don't think I fit the role somehow. You're the princess, Jessamy. Awakened from years of slumber at Seton by Prince Joel's kiss."

"Oh, I am glad you came, Anabel."

We went under the gatehouse and into a courtyard. Grooms hurried out and we alighted from the carriage.

"Thank you, Evans," said Jessamy, very dignified. I thought that life in a castle suited her.

You have seen the outside of the castle, Suewellyn, but not the interior. Believe me, the inside is equally enthralling. The past seems to rush at you and envelop you when you enter the hall. I am not surprised that the Matelands all seem to revere the place. It has been there for centuries. It was built by one of their ancestors years ago, although in the twelfth century it was little more than a fortress. It has been added to through the ages. I think they loved every stone. It has been cherished by them, enhanced by them. It is their home and their pride. Even I began to feel something of its magnetism although my connection with it was through Jessamy, who had married into it.

The hall was lofty with finely carved stone walls on which weapons hung. There were several suits of armor which had belonged to various members of the family. They looked like sentinels, standing guard. Its timbered roof was very fine and there was a minstrels' gallery at the end; at the other were the screens and near the gallery a beautiful staircase. Jessamy was looking sideways at me to see the effect the place was having, but even I was struck dumb with wonder.

"I'll take you to your room," she said. "It's near mine. Come along."

We walked through the hall and up the staircase. At the head of the staircase was a long gallery. "It's the picture gallery. Here hang the members of the family, illustrious and otherwise."

"Don't tell me there are 'otherwise' Matelands."

"Scores of them," she said with a laugh.

I wanted to linger but she hurried me on. "You'll have plenty of time to look," she said. "Come on. I want to show you your room."

"Do they know you're coming back? Do they know I'm coming?"

"They know I am. I didn't mention you were. You know you didn't decide at once."

"They might not want me here."

"I do," she said, and gave me a hug.

"It's a strange sort of household, isn't it?"

"I think it seems so because it's so big. Everyone goes his own way. Nobody interferes with anyone. It works very well. I thought you wouldn't want to be isolated in the castle. That's why your room is near mine."

"You're right. I shouldn't want to be. I should be imagining all those long-dead Matelands, good and otherwise, were descending on me."

"You were always imagining something. Later on I'll show you everything ... the library, the long gallery, the armory, the dining room, the drawing room, the music room ... all of it."

"I'm not surprised your mother liked this place and thought it a worthy setting for her precious daughter."

"Oh, my mother was enchanted by it from the moment she set eyes on it."

"It makes Seton Manor look like a farm laborer's cottage."

"Oh, come, hardly that."

"No, of course not. Unfair to dear old Seton. Seton is lovely. I'm not sure I wouldn't rather have it than a castle. There's something about this place. It seems almost alive."

"No more fancies... . This is your room."

I looked round it. It was circular in shape. There were three tall narrow windows at which hung draperies in scarlet velvet. There was a four-poster bed with gold hangings and a gold-colored bedspread. There was an alcove in which were a basin and ewer. Persian rugs covered the stone-flagged floor; there were a table and small bureau, a few chairs and several cupboards. I thought it very well appointed.

"We're in the west front drum tower," said Jessamy, and I looked out of the window. I could see lawns, grassy slopes and woods in the distance.

"I ... we are just along the corridor."

I said suddenly: "May I see your room?" and immediately wished I hadn't. I did not want to see their room. I wanted to forget about them altogether.

"Of course. Come along and see it." I followed her down three steps to a corridor. She flung open a door. It was a large and lofty room and there was a big bed in it with fine silk hangings. There were a dressing table, chairs and two big court cupboards; and an alcove similar to mine.

I kept seeing them there together and I wanted to shut out the picture. It made me unhappy.

I turned away and started back to my own room.

"Where are the rest of them?" I asked.

"Oh, David and Emerald are on the east side. We meet at meals."

"And the grandfather?"

"He has his own apartments. He doesn't leave them very often. Anabel, there's something I have to warn you about."

"Yes."

"It's Emerald. She's an invalid. She has been for some years. She has a companion."

"Oh, I didn't imagine her an invalid."

"She had a riding accident about two years ago. She is in a chair most of the time. Elizabeth is devoted to her."

"Elizabeth?"

"Elizabeth Larkham. She is more like a friend really. She's a widow. She has a son ... Garth. He's away at school. He comes here for his holidays to be with his mother. You see ... she's like one of the family. You'll meet them all at dinner."

"And ... your husband?"

"He will be there, I think."

There was a knock on the door. "Oh, they are bringing your things up. Would you like to wash? They'll bring hot water. Then perhaps you'd like to rest a little. We shall be eating in the small dining room. I'll take you there when you're ready. You'll lose your way in the castle at first. I did."

My baggage came and with it a maid bringing hot water.

I took out a dress—a blue one with a tight-fitting bodice and a rather full skirt, one of the made-over ones of which my wardrobe consisted. It was a fairly large wardrobe and the only one which had been made for me was the blue silk chiffon bridesmaid's dress.

When I had washed I lay on my bed for a while and thought about the strangeness of everything and how quickly it had all come about. This time last year we had been unaware of the name Mateland. Now here we were joined up with the family.

And all the time I lay there I was wondering what it would be like to see Jessamy's husband again. I had only seen him twice— once when I was doing the flowers in the church and the other occasion was that of the wedding; and yet I could remember every detail of his face, how he had looked at me, wonderingly, intently, as though I had the same effect on him as he had on me.

My longing to see him was almost unbearable and yet at the same time I was aware of warning voices within me.

You shouldn't have come, they said.

But of course I must accept Jessamy's invitation to her new home. Even Aunt Amy Jane did not disapprove of my doing so.

There was a tap on the door.

"Are you ready?" said Jessamy. "How nice you look."

"Recognize it?" I asked.

"Yes, but it never looked so well on me."

"It would now. You look very pretty. Marriage suits you, Jessamy.''

"Yes," she said, "I think it does."

She slipped her arm through mine.

"Tomorrow I'm going to take you round and show you the castle."

"You are like the monarch of all you survey."

"Oh no. Not me. Grandfather Egmont is very much the lord of the castle ... and after him, David. Then Esmond. They are the monarchs. We are on the fringe. Remember, Joel is only a younger son."

"I believe you love your old castle."

"One does, you know, Anabel. Perhaps you can't feel it ... not being a Mateland, but it's there. They have fought for it in the past ... given their lives for it."

"I am sure they have. Well, you have become one of them, dear cousin. What a long way it is."

"I told you it was a very big castle."

"I look forward to exploring it."

"It's grisly in parts. Dungeons and so on."

"My dear Jessamy, I should have been hideously disappointed if there had been no dungeons."

We had come to a door framed in a pointed stone arch, and I heard voices behind it. Jessamy lifted the latch and walked in. I followed.

It was not a large room. There was a fire in the grate, which gave a welcoming look to the room. I was aware that several people were there and as we entered a man rose and came towards us.

He was not really like Joel, who had haunted my thoughts ever since I had seen him, and yet there was a resemblance, so I knew at once that this was David, the elder brother and heir to the castle. He had dark hair and brilliant dark eyes. He took my hands and held them firmly. "Welcome to Mateland," he said. "I knew at once who you were. Miss Anabel Campion. Jessamy has talked of you."

"And you must be ..."

"David Mateland. I have the honor to be brother-in-law to your cousin."

He had slipped his arm through mine. His hands were warm, almost caressing.

"Here she is, my dear," he said. "Jessamy's cousin Anabel. I suppose we may call you Anabel? You're part of the family now."

So this was Emerald of the brilliant name. Anyone less like a precious gem I could not imagine. She was pale and her hair was a dusty brown. Her light blue eyes were sunken, and I wondered if she suffered much pain. Her legs were covered in a blue fleecy rug and her thin blue-veined hands lay limply on it.

She smiled at me and her smile was kind.

"We are glad to have you at the castle," she said. "It will be nice for Jessamy. Elizabeth, my dear, come and meet Anabel."

A tall youngish woman had come into the room. I imagined her to be in her late twenties. She was slender, with sleek dark hair parted down the center and brought to a nob at the nape of her neck. She had large rather sleepy blue eyes and full red lips which somehow did not match the rest of her face. Her nose was rather thin, which gave her a shrewish look. It was an interesting face.

She held out her hand and gripped mine tightly.

"We have heard so much of you from Jessamy," she said. "She has been determined that you should come here for a long time."

"We have always been good friends as well as cousins," I said.

Her eyes were assessing me and I imagined there was a glitter of speculation in the sleepy blue eyes.

"Where is Joel?" asked David. "Is he coming?"

"He knew I was coming home today," said Jessamy. "I am sure he will be here."

"I should hope so," said David. "He has not been a husband long enough to stay away. Let us have a drink while we are waiting. I wonder if Miss Anabel would like to sample our Mate-land cup. It's a special brew, I assure you, Miss Anabel."

"Thank you," I said. "I'll try it."

"Don't drink too much of it, Anabel," warned Jessamy. "It's very potent."

"You shouldn't have warned her," said David. "I was hoping to see the gates of restraint opened and the real Anabel emerge."

"I can assure you I'm myself now," I said. "There is no other one to be let out."

He came to stand beside me. I could feel his eyes on me. He made me rather uncomfortable. "Is that so?" he said. "I felt from the first that you were a very unusual lady."

Elizabeth Larkham brought me a pewter goblet in which was the Mateland cup.

"I'm sure you'll like it," she said. "David brews it himself. He won't let anyone else."

"Only I have the magic formula," he said, looking into my eyes.

"I shall be interested to try it," I said, and put it to my lips.

"I hang on your words," he said.

"It's good ... very good."

"Then drink up and have another."

"I have been warned," I reminded him.

He grimaced and Jessamy came to my side. "I never drink much of it," she said.

"I won't either."

She smiled at me, a little anxiously. Dear Jessamy, I thought. She deserves everything of the best. A castle, a husband who loves her and whom she loves. And surely everyone must love Jessamy.

As we were going in to dinner Joel arrived.

He took my hand and I felt a tremor of excitement run through me. We seemed to stand facing each other for longer than was customary in such circumstances, but perhaps that was my imagination.

"I'm so glad you came," he said.

"Thank you. I'm glad to be here."

Then we went in to dinner. I was seated beside him and I had rarely felt so excited in the whole of my life.

"I hope there were no complications," he said.

For a moment I was bemused and he went on: "The fall. Your ankle ... your wrist ..."

"Oh no. None whatsoever." And then I thought: That's not true. There were complications, but not the kind I could mention because I don't think anything is ever going to be quite the same again.

He said to the rest of the company: "The first time I met Miss Campion she was lying on the altar steps."

"There is some significance in that surely," said David.

"I was surrounded by roses."

"A kind of sacrificial lamb?"

"Hardly. I was wearing a big overall. You see, I was about to decorate the altar."

"Ah, bent on good works."

"For Jessamy's wedding," I went on.

"The flowers were lovely," cried Jessamy. "I'll never forget the scent of those roses."

"I am sure they were most artistically arranged," said David.

"They were, but not by me. My talent in that direction is nil."

"But you are very good at falling down altar steps since you came through the ordeal without damage to ankle or wrist."

I could not understand David Mateland. That he was obviously interested in me was a fact which made me feel rather uncomfortable. He seemed eager to be friendly and yet at the same time there was something mocking in his attitude.

"I hope you will be comfortable in the castle," said Emerald.

"I am going to make sure of that," said Jessamy.

"It's a little drafty," Emerald remarked. "Not so bad at this time of the year."

"They say that in the winter when the wind blows from the east you could sail a battleship through our corridors," added David.

"It's not quite as bad as that," Joel told me, leaning towards me and laying a hand lightly on my arm. "Moreover, it's not winter yet."

"I remember when I first came here," said Emerald, "I thought it was quite bleak. I came from Cornwall, Anabel, which is a more benign climate."

"But damp," put in Elizabeth Larkham. "I prefer it here."

"Oh, Elizabeth loves the place and everything connected with it."

"I just think I am lucky to be here," said Elizabeth to me. "Emerald is so good to me. And it is such a relief to have my son here during school holidays."

"Dear Elizabeth," murmured Emerald.

The conversation went on in that vein during the meal. I was conscious of a certain tension in the atmosphere. The setting was so strange to me. To be dining in a room with tapestries on the walls and a suit of armor in the corner, to be in a medieval castle with strangers ... all except Jessamy—it was certainly a new venue for me. But it was more than that. I had the feeling that these people were leading complicated lives which were not as they seemed to be.

There was Emerald in her chair, assiduously cared for by Elizabeth Larkham, who was almost catlike in her movements, with those strange eyes which seemed so sleepy and yet to take in all that was going on. Then there was David. I felt I understood him a little better than the others. It was clear that he was a man who liked the company of women. His glances were too bold for my comfort; and there was a hint of cruelty in his mouth and this, I think, showed itself in his conversation. There was a touch of asperity in his words, and I could believe that he derived a certain pleasure in saying wounding things. Perhaps it was wrong to make hasty judgments; but I had always done that. How many times had I been obliged to adjust my assessment of someone! He had an invalid wife and that must be a trial to a man of his—or so I imagined—sensual nature. But foremost in my thoughts was Joel. Joel was an enigma. He betrayed little. He seemed apart from the others. He was a doctor and it seemed strange to find a doctor pursuing his profession in a place like this. He had his rooms in the town, which I gathered was about two miles from the castle. According to Jessamy, he was dedicated to his work, and sometimes he stayed in his place in the town. I could not quite understand why he had married Jessamy.

Again I was jumping to conclusions. Who can know what it is that attracts people to each other? That Jessamy adored him was plain and most men enjoy being adored. When he was present I found my attention was focused on him. I was conscious of every time he spoke to me, every time he looked my way; and I do not think I imagined that he did that rather often.

He excited me. I wanted to be near him. I wanted to attract his attention, to talk to him, to find out everything about him. I wanted to know what it had been like to have been born into a castle, to have lived one's life in a place like this, to be brought up with brother David. I was obsessed by him.

We went into a small parlor to drink coffee. There was a great deal of talk. Tomorrow I was to be introduced to Grandfather Egmont and I should meet young Esmond. He was four years old and, I learned, had been born a year before Emerald's accident.

At ten o'clock Jessamy said she would take me to my room. She said she was tired after the journey and she was sure I must be. Tomorrow she would show me the castle.

I said good night and Jessamy took me to my room, lighting me up the stairs with a candle in a brass candlestick.

I felt it was rather eerie walking up that staircase following Jessamy. Along the gallery we went. The pictures looked different in candlelight and one could imagine they were living people who looked down on us.

"We couldn't very well have gaslight in the castle," said Jessamy. "It would be rather incongruous, wouldn't it?"

I agreed.

"On some occasions we have flares in the main hall. I can tell you they look very fine."

"I am sure they do. Jessamy, you love your castle, don't you?"

"Yes. Wouldn't you?"

"I believe I would," I replied.

We reached the room in the tower and she lighted two candles on the dressing table.

I did not want her to go yet. I knew I should not sleep well that night.

"Jessamy," I said, "do you like living here with all these people?"

She opened her eyes wide. "But of course I like it. Joel is here."

"But it's like sharing a home, isn't it? There's David and Emerald... . It's two households. You know what I mean."

"Families like this have always lived together. In the old days there were more of them. When Esmond grows up and marries he'll live here with his family."

"And your children too, I suppose."

"Of course. It's tradition."

"And you get on all right with David and Emerald?"

She hesitated a moment. "Yes ... yes ... of course. Why shouldn't I?"

"Methinks you do protest too much. And why shouldn't you, you say? I should think there is every reason why you shouldn't. People don't necessarily have to get on because they are forced to be together. In fact it is more likely that they don't than that they do."

"Oh, Anabel, that's just like you. I can't say that I'm exactly fond of Emerald. She is rather vague and wrapped up in herself. It's being as she is. It's so dreadful. She was always riding before. It can't be very pleasant for her, can it? And David ... well, I don't altogether understand him. He's too clever for me. He says sharp things ... sometimes... ."

"Sharp things?"

"Wounding things. He and Joel don't get on well. Brothers don't always, do they? Sometimes I think David is jealous of Joel."

"Jealous! Why? Has he designs on you?"

"Of course not. But there is something... . And then ... Elizabeth."

"She seems a very self-contained young woman."

"She's wonderful with Emerald. I think David is very grateful to her for what she does for Emerald. And she of course is so glad to be here. You see, she's a widow with a son. He's about eight ... four years or so older than Esmond. He's away at school and she's so grateful that he can come here for his holidays. It solves a big problem for her. Anabel, you do like Joel, don't you?"

"Yes," I said quietly, "I do like him. I like him very much."

She put an arm round me.

"I am glad, Anabel," she said. "So very glad."

The next morning Jessamy took me on a tour of the castle. She told me that Joel had already left for the town.

I was enchanted by everything I saw.

She said we should start at the bottom, which we did, descending a stone spiral staircase with a rope banister to which one had to hold firmly as the stairs were not very wide and narrowed almost to nothing on one side.

The dungeons were horrifying with their little cells, small and airless, many of them without even the tiny barred window.

Jessamy said: "I hate it down here. No one ever comes here ... except when we show people, that's all. Every castle in the old days had its dungeons. There was one Mateland, in the time of Stephen, I believe, when the country was in a turmoil, who used to waylay travelers and hold them here to ransom. His son was even worse. He tortured them."

I shivered. "Let's go and see the rest," I suggested.

"I agree with you. It's horrible. I suggested having the dungeons walled up, but they won't hear of it. Egmont goes purple in the face at the mere mention of it or any alteration to the castle."

"I can understand it in a way. But as for this place ... I should think what happened here is best forgotten."

We mounted the stairs with the aid of a rope banister and were in a stone hall.

"This," explained Jessamy, "is just below the main hall. You ascend that stone staircase and you are in a little passage, and there facing you would be the door to the main hall. This is a sort of crypt. When people die the coffin is kept here for a while."

"It reeks of death," I said.

She nodded. "Look how it is groined with blocks of hard chalk. And just feel these massive pillars."

"Impressive," I said. "This is the very ancient part of the castle, I am sure."

"Yes, it's part of the first structure."

"How grim it must have been to have lived in those days."

I could not get the dungeons out of my mind. I was sure I should think of them even when I went upstairs to my luxurious room.

We went back to the hall where Jessamy pointed out the fine carved stonework and truly magnificent timbers in the vaulted roof. She showed me the exquisite linenfold which had been put in when Queen Elizabeth visited the castle and the intricate carvings at the foot of the minstrels' gallery which depicted scenes from the Bible. Then we went to the long gallery where I studied pictures of ancient and modern Matelands. It was interesting to see Grandfather Egmont there and to have some indication of the man I was to meet. He was remarkably like David. He had the same thick brows and penetrating eyes. There was a picture of Joel and one of David.

"The little boy has not yet been painted," I said.

"No. They are not painted until they are twenty-one."

"How exciting to be able to look back to your ancestors all those years. Oh, Jessamy, perhaps your descendants will inherit all this one day."

"It's hardly likely," she said. "First of all I'd have to have the child ... and then of course there's Esmond. His children will inherit. David's the elder."

"Suppose Esmond died ... or didn't marry ... and therefore had no legitimate heirs."

"Oh, don't talk of Esmond's dying! He's the loveliest little boy."

She seemed eager to get out of the picture gallery.

We explored the rest of the house. There was the drawing room, the dining room in which we had eaten last night, the library, the armory, the gun room—I had never seen such a selection of guns—the Elizabeth room, the Adelaide room—both queens had honored the castle with their presence—and there were all the bedrooms. In fact I wondered how anyone ever learned to find his way about the castle.

Finally we came to the nursery and there I made the acquaintance of Esmond. He was, as Jessamy had said, a beautiful little boy. He was sitting in a window seat with Elizabeth Lark-ham and she was reading, pointing to the words with her finger as she did so.

He stood up as we entered. He came towards us and Jessamy said: "This is Esmond. Esmond, this is Miss Campion."

He took my hand and kissed it. It was a charming gesture, and I thought how pretty he was with his dark hair and his fine dark eyes ... undoubtedly a Mateland.

"You're Jessamy's cousin," he stated.

I told him I was and that I was looking at the castle.

"I know," he told me.

Elizabeth laid a hand on his shoulder. "Esmond has been asking about you," she said.

"It's nice of you to be interested," I said to the boy.

"Can you read?" he asked. "This story is about three bears."

"I believe I know it," I said. " "Who's been sitting in my chair?' 'Who's been eating my stew?""

"It wasn't stew. It was porridge," he corrected me solemnly.

"I dare say it changes with the years," I replied. "Stew or porridge, what does it matter?"

"It does matter," he insisted. "Stew's not like porridge."

"Esmond is a stickler for detail," said Elizabeth.

"Am I a stickler?" asked Esmond. "What is a stickler?"

Elizabeth said: "I'll tell you another time. I was just going to take him out," she told us. "It's time for his midmorning walk."

"Not yet," said Esmond.

She held him firmly by the hand.

"You'll have more time to talk to Miss Campion," she said.

"Well, we'll continue with our tour," Jessamy replied.

"It's a fantastic place, isn't it?" Elizabeth looked straight at me, and again I felt that she was summing me up.

I agreed that it was.

"We'll go out to the battlements," Jessamy announced. "I want to show you the stone walk."

"I shall see you later then," I said to Esmond, who nodded and said rather sadly: "It wasn't stew."

Jessamy and I climbed the stone stairs—another of those tricky spiral ones—and were on the battlements.

"Esmond is a very serious little boy," she said. "He should be more with boys of his own age. It's only when Garth and Malcolm are here that he sees other boys. And they are both older than he is."

"I've heard of Garth," I said. "Who is Malcolm?"

"He's a cousin of some sort. His grandfather was Egmont's younger brother. You can work it out. I gather there was some feud between Egmont and his brother. They quarreled or something. Egmont has relented and Malcolm pays periodic visits. I think Egmont likes to regard him as an unlikely but possible heir to the castle. You see, if Esmond were to die and Joel and I had no children, I imagine Malcolm would be the next in line. Malcolm's about Garth's age ... sometimes we have them both here together. It's good for Esmond. Elizabeth is of course devoted to him. I think she's a bit jealous if he takes notice of anyone else."

"She needn't be jealous of me. I'm just one of those ships that pass in the night."

"Don't say that, Anabel. I want you to come here often. You don't know how your coming cheers me up."

"Cheers you up! Surely you don't need cheering up?"

"What I mean is that you add that much more."

But she had alerted my senses. Things were not quite what they seemed at the castle. Jessamy was not completely happy. I was sure this had something to do with Joel.

I had been three days at the castle. I had made the acquaintance of Egmont, a rather ferocious-looking old man with the Mateland bushy brows, gray in his case. He was affable to me. "He has taken a fancy to you," said Jessamy.

She told me he had a reputation for being fond of women and in his youth he had had mistresses all over the countryside. There were numerous Matelands all over the district.

"I don't think he ever attempted to deny paternity," she said. "He was proud of his virility. He always looked after them, too."

"What of his wife? How did she react to these bastards all over the countryside?"

"She endured and she accepted. There was nothing else she could do. Of course, in those days that sort of thing was taken as a matter of course, more than it is today. The Queen sets such a good example."

"She sets the fashion for virtue," I commented, "but that sometimes means drawing a veil over immorality rather than suppressing it."

She frowned slightly, and I wondered what she was thinking. I was becoming very sensitive to her moods. For the first time in her life Jessamy was hiding something from me. I was certain that everything was not what it seemed on the surface. But try as I might I could not get her to tell me her innermost thoughts, and the longer I was at the castle the surer I was becoming that there were secrets there.

I saw Joel frequently, but never alone. Sometimes I thought that we both contrived that this should be so. But there did come a day when we were thrown together.

I had done a little riding at the castle. Jessamy rode a good deal. She always had at Seton and Aunt Amy Jane had grudgingly allowed me to share her lessons. I had loved riding and some of the happiest days of my childhood had been spent galloping and cantering over the fields and walking the lanes in Jessamy's made-over riding clothes. There had been nothing quite as exciting in those days as galloping along, a horse beneath me and the wind buffeting me.

So it was pleasant to ride at Mateland, where there was, of course, a large stable and several horses to spare. The right mount was found for me and Jessamy and I rode every day.

Once when Jessamy and I were riding we met David. He had been going round the Mateland estate, which he spent his days looking after, and when he saw us he rode with us.

He chatted amicably, wanted to know what I thought of the Mateland stables and the particular mount which had been found for me, how much riding I had done and so on.

There came a moment when Jessamy slowed down to talk to a woman at the door of one of the cottages. I managed to catch a strange smile about David's lips. He quickened pace a little, and I kept up with him. He turned up a lane, and then I realized that he was trying to get ahead of Jessamy.

I said: "Does she know we're going this way?"

"She'll find out," he answered.

"But.. "

"Oh, come on, Anabel. I never get a chance to talk to you."

There was something in the tone of his voice which warned me to take care.

"We shall lose her," I protested.

"That could be the object of the enterprise."

"Not mine," I reminded him.

"Anabel, you are a very attractive young lady. You know it. And you are not as prim as you would have me believe. You have bewitched us all."

"My father, myself and my newly wedded brother."

"I am flattered to have made such an impression on your family."

"Anabel, you would make an impression wherever you went. You have something more than beauty. Did you know that?"

"No, but I am interested to hear a catalogue of my virtues."

"There is vitality in you ... a response... ."

"A response to what?"

"To that which you arouse in men."

"I am learning a great deal, but I think I must say here endeth the first lesson and the first lesson shall be the last."

"You amuse me."

"Another talent? Really, you will make me very conceited.*

"I tell you nothing you do not know. Since you have come to the castle you have been constantly in my thoughts. Have you thought of me?"

"Naturally I think of people when I am in their company. Now I think we should join Jessamy."

"Let me show you round the estate. There is a great deal you would be interested in, Anabel... ."

I turned and called out to Jessamy, who was looking for us. I rode back to her.

"I didn't see that you had gone up the lane," she said.

I felt very shaken. I thought that clearly I could not stay on at the castle. It seemed to me that there was something a little sinister about this man. I wanted to get away from him.

I thought a great deal about what David had said. The men in the family were all impressed by me. That was what he had stated. I knew that he was. What was he looking for? A brief flirtation, a passing affair? He was married to an invalid and for a man such as he was that must be trying. I had no doubt that he attempted to seduce every woman with whom he came into contact, so perhaps I should not attach too much importance to this approach of his. I only had to show him that I was not the type to indulge in brief love affairs with married men ... and even if I were he did not attract me.

I liked to sit beside Grandfather Egmont and talk to him. He was complimentary too and made it very clear that he considered me an attractive woman. I hadn't thought much about that before and it was as though I had changed when I set foot in Mateland Castle. A spell had been laid upon me. "Every man who sees you shall desire you!" That was the sort of thing. Grandfather Egmont had a wicked twinkle in his eye and was implying that if he were thirty years younger he would be ready to woo me. This amused me and I responded in a lighthearted flirtatious kind of way which delighted him. I did notice that his attitude towards Jessamy, Emerald and Elizabeth was quite different. So it really did seem as though there was something in me which aroused this spark in the Matelands.

That Joel was conscious of my presence I knew, but he seemed to avoid me. But I did meet him one day as I was riding out of the stables. Jessamy had had some duty to perform and she had asked me if I would mind riding alone that day.

I said of course not and when I had ridden through the great gate and down the incline towards the woods Joel joined me.

"Hello," he said as if by surprise. "Riding alone today?"

"Yes. Jessamy is busy."

"Are you going anywhere special?"

"No. Just riding aimlessly."

"Do you mind if I ride along with you for a while?"

"I'd like that," I said.

So we rode through the woods and I was as excited as I had been since our encounter in the church and again at the wedding. It was that particular brand of excitement which only he could inspire in me.

He asked how I was enjoying my visit and then he talked about the vicarage and the church which had so impressed him, and I found myself rattling on. I felt joyous; I wanted to catch and hold the minutes to prevent their passing.

"I suppose all vicars' daughters and wives lead the same sort of existence," I said. "There is always the great concern. Of course it can be the roof, the steeple or the belfry... . This is the century of crumbling churches in England, which is very logical, I suppose, since most of them were built at least five hundred years ago. You must have problems with the castle."

"Constant," he assured me. "Our great enemy, deathwatch beetle, is continually summoning us to action. We win a battle or two and then we hear him knocking in another place. That's my brother's concern really."

"And yours is your profession. Are there many doctors in the family?"

"No. I'm the first. It was something of a battle but I was insistent."

"Yes," I said, "you would be."

"Oh, you have summed me up, have you?"

"Yes, as the kind of man who, when he makes up his mind he wants something, gets it."

"I don't think it is quite like that, but there was nothing in the way of my taking up the medical profession. It was just that it had never been done before, and if you know of a sillier reason for not doing something than that it has not been done before, please tell me."

"I know of none," I said. "So you studied and finally qualified."

"I did. It wasn't as though I was the heir. Second sons have more freedom than heirs. It is sometimes not a bad thing to be a second son."

"Certainly it wasn't in your case. Tell me about your studies. Do you specialize in anything?"

"No ... just general... ." He told me about his apprenticeship and how finally he had set up a practice in the town. "It was not before it was needed," he said. "There's a dearth of doctors in this area. I've plenty to do, I can tell you." He turned to me suddenly. "Would you like to see my quarters? I'd like to show you. I'm hoping soon to build a hospital in the town. It's what we need."

"Yes," I said, "I should very much like to."

"Then come with me. We're nearly there."

We were on the outskirts of the town and we rode on in silence. I wondered how much he talked to Jessamy. He clearly found pleasure in discussing his work.

Mateland was a small town and as we rode through it several people called a greeting to him. I felt pleased because clearly he was popular. He discussed them with me. "That's an enlarged heart going up there. It's hard to treat. He's far too energetic... . Kidneys," he said of a thin little woman who called, "Good morning, Doctor," as we passed.

I laughed. "So they are hearts and kidneys and whatever is wrong with them to you."

"That's what I'm interested in."

"The rest of us are bodies as a whole, I suppose, until of course you find one of our organs worthy of notice."

"That sums it up, I suppose."

We had come to a house of three stories. It stood apart from the rest of the houses in the street. There was a drive in and a semicircular path which went up to the house and had a gate at each end. We rode in, dismounted and he tethered our horses.

As we went into the house a woman came into the hall. I guessed at once that she was the housekeeper.

"Dorothy," he said, "this is Miss Campion, my wife's cousin."

Dorothy gave me an appraising look.

"Good day to you, miss," she said.

"Are there any messages?" asked Joel.

"Jim Talbot's been in. He says if you could look in on his wife this afternoon he'd be glad. She's better, he says, but not right yet."

"I'll go this afternoon, Dorothy." He turned to me. "Would you like some tea or coffee? There's time, I think, Dorothy, before surgery begins."

"I should like some coffee," I said, and Dorothy went out.

That was an enchanted hour to me. He glowed with enthusiasm for his work and it occurred to me that he did not find it easy to talk to many people as he did to me. His life was so different from that of the other members of the family. A modern doctor in that medieval setting!

As we drank the coffee he explained something of this to me.

"If I had been the elder," he said, "I should never have been able to pursue this and it means a great deal to me. I can't explain how exciting it is. One never knows when one is going to discover something of vital importance ... some strange symptom, some cure ... something to give one a lead as to how to go on. It was an old doctor who inspired me when I was a boy. He came to the castle to see my mother and I used to watch and listen to him. My father laughed when I said I wanted to be a doctor. 'Why not?' I said. 'There's David to run the castle estate.' In fact they would have liked me to help him. But David and I never saw things in the same way. There would have been friction. I don't know who is the more stubborn—he or I. We each want our own way and, when two people like us start pulling in different directions, something has to give. Why didn't you come to the castle with Jessamy in the first place? You said you were often at Seton Manor?"

"I wasn't asked," I said.

He looked at me very steadily and then he said something which both alarmed and delighted me. It was just: "A pity!"

I heard myself saying quickly: "Well, I finally came."

He was silent for a moment. Then he said: "We're a strange lot at the castle, aren't we?"

"Are you?"

"Don't you find us so?"

"All people are unexpected when you get to know them."

"So you don't think there is anything specially different about us?"

"No. Except that you can trace your ancestry back hundreds of years and you live in a castle."

"I live quite a lot of my time here." He hesitated.

"Does Jessamy like it here?" I asked.

"She ... she hasn't been here a great deal. I stay here when I want to be early the next morning or I am working late."

"It's not very far from the castle."

"But it sometimes seems simpler to stay."

I thought it was strange that Jessamy had not mentioned this.

"Talking about our being different," he went on, "there are always rumors about us, you know. There's supposed to be some curse on us. It affects the Mateland wives."

"Oh, what is the curse?"

"It's a long story. Briefly, at the time of the Civil War there was discord between the castle and some of the townspeople here. They were for the Parliament. The castle was of course strictly Royalist. The King's army was in the ascendant here at one time and apparently they raided the town; one of the citizens escaped and came to the castle with his young wife, who was pregnant. He asked for succor. It was refused and one of my ancestors threatened to hand them over to the King's men. They went away; the wife died in a ditch and her husband cursed the Matelands. They had murdered his wife, he said, and they should know no luck in theirs."

"Well, I dare say that has been disproved time and time again."

"I don't know that it has. The odd thing about these legends is that now and then they have a habit of coming true, and when they do they grow in strength."

"And when they don't I suppose they are forgotten."

"My mother went into a decline when I was ten years old," he said. "You know Jessamy is my second wife. I shall never forget the night Rosalie died. She was my wife ... my first wife. She was eighteen. We had known each other since we were children. She was dainty and pretty and rather frivolous. She loved to dance and was rather vain about her appearance ... rather charmingly vain, you understand?"

"Yes," I said. "I understand."

"There was going to be a ball at the castle. She had talked for days about her gown. It was a mass of frills ... lilac color, I remember. She was enchanted with it and tried it on the night before the ball. She danced round and round the room in it. She went too close to the candle flame. We tried to save her ... but it was too late."

"What a terrible thing. I am so sorry."

"There was nothing that could be done," he said quietly.

I put out a hand and touched his. "But you are happy now," I said.

He took my hand and held it but he did not answer.

"Then," he went on, "there was a riding accident. Emerald, you know. My mother ... Rosalie ... Emerald ..."

"But now you have Jessamy and luck will change."

He kept looking at me and still he said nothing. But something passed between us. There was so much that did not have to be said. I understood. He had found a certain peace with Jessamy but he wanted something more.

How did I know? Because of a certain longing in his eyes, because of my response to him and my awareness that he knew of this.

I put down my coffee cup.

"Your patients will be arriving," I said.

"I am glad you came," he answered.

"It was all so interesting."

He went with me to the horses.

I rode away thoughtfully and as I was about to enter the woods I heard the sound of horse's hoofs behind me. Then a rider was at my side.

"Good morning to you." It was David.

"Good morning," I said. "I am just returning to the castle."

"No objection to my joining you, I hope. I am going back myself."

I inclined my head.

"Do I detect a lack of enthusiasm? I see I am not as fortunate as my brother. What did you think of that place of his?"

I said: "Have you been following me?"

His smile was malicious. "I just happened to see you emerging with old Joel. You were both looking mightily pleased with yourselves."

"I had met him by chance and he offered to show me his place in the town. It does not seem to me that there is anything in such a natural occurrence to warrant your amusement."

"Quite right," he said. "All very proper and natural. Why shouldn't our noble doctor show his cousin-in-law this practice of his? I just thought I ought to drop a little word of warning into your innocent ears. There's nothing to choose between us, you know. We're all the same. Mateland men all have the same roving eye ... they always have ... they've been noted for it from the days of King Stephen. They don't change their ways any more than leopards change their spots. Beware of the Matelands, dear Anabel, and particularly beware of Joel."

"You really are letting your imagination run away with you. Both you and your brother are happily married men."

"Are we?" he asked.

"And," I said, "I find this conversation rather distasteful."

"In that case," he said, inclining his head in mock respect, "we must not pursue it."

We went back to the castle in silence. I was very disturbed. I knew that I must get away from there and that I should not come back.

How dull it was at the vicarage. My thoughts were in the castle. Jessamy wrote to me.

I do miss you, Anabel. You should come for Christmas. It will be a traditional Christmas in the castle. It has to be as it was celebrated hundreds of years ago ... all wassailing and so on, and the great bowl in the hall with steaming punch in it. I heard about it from Esmond. He and I are becoming great friends. There is to be a carol service in the hall on Christmas Eve, and then there will be distribution of baskets of Christmas fare to all the needy villagers. They come up to the castle to collect them. The gardeners are beginning on the decorations. We shall have a house party. Do come, Anabel. It will be spoilt for me if you don't. Joel is kept very busy. I have hardly seen him for several weeks. He says there is a lot of sickness in the town. He works very hard. Grandfather Egmont doesn't like it. He says there has never before been such a thing as a Mateland actually taking money from others for what he does. He thinks it's degrading. Mind you, Joel doesn't take money from the poor. He doesn't need it really. All the Matelands are rich ... very rich, I think. Joel is really a very good man, Anabel. He is indeed... .

I paused there. I thought she was a little too emphatic. Then I went on thinking about him. He was doctoring and helping the poor, which was very commendable. But there was a certain set of his jaw ... I could not describe it but it suggested that he was no saint. He was a man who went out for what he wanted and would not rest, I was sure, until he got it. He could be ruthless. He had obsessed me. I wished I had never seen him. "We are all the same," David had said. Did that mean that they were all philanderers?

Stop thinking about them, I warned myself.

There was enough to do at the vicarage even if I had decided that I was not going to Mateland for Christmas. Aunt Amy Jane and Uncle Timothy had been invited to the castle and were going.

"It will be so interesting to have a castle Christmas," said Aunt Amy Jane. "I hope all goes well here, James." She meant, of course, that it would be the first Christmas that she would not be at home to superintend the festival. "I shall be here for the children's party," she went on. "And I am allowing the Mothers' Union to have their annual gathering in our hall. That is all taken care of. I think I can leave the rest with you and go off with a clear conscience."

How I wished that I were going! Silly, I told myself. It was your own fault. You were invited.

It seemed a long Christmas. It rained all through Christmas Eve. Janet cooked the goose with one of the women from the village to help her. It was too much to do alone, she said, now that Amelia had gone off to that Crabtree Cottage.

The doctor, his wife and two daughters dined with us on Christmas Day. It seemed quiet after our usual Christmas at Seton Manor. The day seemed endless and then there was Boxing Day to follow.

I went for a ride. I had permission to ride one of the horses in the Seton stables. The groom who saddled it for me said: "It don't seem the same without Miss Jessamy. A lovely young lady, she was."

"7s, Jeffers," I cried. "Don't talk about her as though she is in the past."

I was depressed. I could find no pleasure in the morning although it was a lovely day, quite balmy, with a faint mist in the air. I noticed that there were lots of berries on the holly, which was a sign of a hard winter, so those who were well versed in country lore told us.

I was uneasy about Jessamy. I did not know why I should be. She had everything. Why should I have qualms about her future? I must stop thinking about Mateland Castle and the people in it. My life would be set in a different direction.

I took the horse back to the Seton stables and from there walked to the vicarage. My father was not in.

"He's not come back yet," said Janet. "I expected him an hour ago. I'm waiting to put the food on the table."

"Is he still at the church, do you think?"

"He said he was going over for something ... I don't remember what."

"He's forgotten the time," I said. "I'll go and get him."

I went into the church. I could not enter it now without thinking of myself sprawled on the altar steps and Joel Mateland standing there. I had been a different person up to that time.

I called to my father. There was no answer.

He must be in the vestry, I thought, or in the Lady chapel.

Then I saw him. He was lying very near the spot where I had fallen. I ran to him crying: "Father, what's happened?"

I knelt beside him. At first I thought he was dead. Then I saw his eyelids flicker. I ran out to get help.

He had had a stroke, and he was paralyzed down one side and had lost the power of speech.

With Janet's help I nursed him. A vicar came to take over while my father was ill—so they said; but I knew and so did Janet that he would never preach again.

Tom Gillingham was an earnest young man and a bachelor. Janet reckoned he'd been sent for a purpose.

"Whose purpose?" I asked. "God's or the bishop's?"

"I wouldn't mind reckoning a bit of both," retorted Janet.

Janet, true to the habit of plain speaking, had put the matter clearly before me.

"Your father is not going to get any better," she said. "Pray God he doesn't get worse. And what of you? You've got to think of yourself. Oh yes, you can look at me as if you'd like to tell me to mind my own business. It is my business. I work here, don't I? What's going to happen to you and me when your father dies?"

"He may live for years."

"You know he won't. You can see him getting worse every day. Two months ... three at the most, I reckon. Then you'll have some thinking to do. I doubt the vicar is going to leave you a fortune."

"Your doubts are confirmed, Janet."

"Well then, what's for you? Companion to some old lady? I can't see that for you, Miss Anabel. Governess to some little 'uns ... a bit more likely, but still not right. It's either that or staying on here."

"How could I do that?"

"Plain as a pikestaff, that is, that Tom Gillingham being a bachelor."

I couldn't help smiling. "I wonder what he would say if he knew you were arranging the future for him?"

"He wouldn't mind ... seeing as how I've arranged it. He's sweet on you, Miss Anabel. I wouldn't be surprised if he's got something like that in mind."

"He's a pleasant enough young man," I agreed.

"And you've been brought up in a vicarage ... know all the ins and outs and suchlike."

"It seems very satisfactory but for one thing."

"And what's that?"

"I don't want to marry Tom Gillingham."

"Love can grow, they say."

"It can also diminish, and if it is not there in the first place it can't even do that. No, Janet, we shall have to think of something else."

"It's not that I'm so concerned. I've got my sister Marian I could go to for a spell. We never got on but it would be somewhere to go while I looked round."

"Oh, Janet," I cried, "I should hate to say good-by to you."

Her face twitched but she was always in control of her emotions.

We were silent. It was a bleak future we were looking into.

When Aunt Amy Jane and Uncle Timothy came back they were shocked to hear of my father's illness.

"This puts you in a very awkward position, Anabel," said Aunt Amy Jane.

"You'll have to come to Seton Manor," kind Uncle Timothy told me.

Aunt Amy Jane gave him a cold look. She had never liked him to show affection to me.

"Anabel would never want to live on charity," she said firmly. "She's far too proud."

"Charity!" cried Uncle Timothy. "She's our own niece."

"My niece. Therefore, Timothy, I am the one to know best for her. I dare say there would be something for her to do."

"I shall know what I have to do when the time comes," I said coldly.

There was speculation in Aunt Amy Jane's eyes. I could see she was beginning to work out a plan of action to decide my future.

When she realized that Tom Gillingham was at the vicarage already, and had in fact been appointed to take over when my father died, she saw the solution even as Janet had. Tom Gillingham should marry me—whether he wanted to or not. He should be made to see reason, as everyone must who had a part to play in Aunt Amy Jane's scheme of things.

I knew that Tom would raise no objection. He was interested in me and I only had to respond, I knew, and he would suggest marriage.

I could not do it. It would be like writing The End to my life story, because everything that followed would be so predictable.

If only Jessamy had not gone. If I had never seen Mateland Castle, if I had never realized there were other goals in the world than contriving to exist in a degree of comfort, I might have been willing to accept what seemed like the inevitable. But I had glimpsed a different life. I had met Joel Mateland and even though he was my cousin's husband I still went on thinking of him.

Calmly to settle down in the Seton church as the wife of the vicar was not the life for me.

It was spring when my father died. The moment of decision had come.

Tom Gillingham had made it clear that I must not hurry away, although of course I, as an unmarried woman, could not with propriety go on living at the rectory. When my father had been alive—helpless invalid though he might be—it had been different.

It was the day of the funeral. Tom officiated at the service and we filed into the churchyard following the coffin and its pallbearers. We stood round the grave and desolation swept over me as I thought of my dear kindly father with his ineffectual ways and absent-minded but always self-effacing nature.

It was the end of a way of life.

I felt a hand in mine and, turning, I saw Jessamy. The sight of her warmed me, filled me with some sort of hope. A little of my misery lifted.

The mourners had all gone. Jessamy was sitting on the stool in my bedroom, her arms folded about her knees, looking at me. She had always sat like that. To see her there brought back so many memories of our childhood, when I had dominated her, bullied her sometimes, and led her into mischief. Dear, dear Jessamy who had never ceased to love me for all my wickedness to her.

"What are you going to do, Anabel?" she asked.

I shrugged my shoulders.

"You are not going to marry Tom Gillingham, are you? My mother says you are."

"For once she is wrong. I like Tom, but ..."

"Of course you can't marry him," she said firmly. "Then what?"

"I think the only alternative is to take some post."

"Oh, Anabel. You'd hate that."

"If you have no money you often have to do something which is not congenial. But I'm worried about Janet. You see, though she can go to her sister for a while, she won't want to stay there. She'll have to get another post ... and posts are hard to come by."

"Anabel, I want you to come back with me. Come to the castle. I miss you very much. I'm lonely some of the time. To tell the truth, Joel is away so much ... and then ... and then ... I think he is not very ..."

"Not very what?"

"Satisfied with our marriage. He seems almost aloof sometimes. Emerald can say wounding things and so can David ... particularly David. Sometimes I think he and Joel hate each other. And then there's Elizabeth. ... I don't know what to make of her. Sometimes I feel so alone there ... a little afraid. No, not exactly afraid ... but ..."

"I thought you were so happy there."

"Oh, I am ... particularly now... . Anabel, I am going to have a baby."

I leaped up, took her hand, pulled her up from the stool and hugged her.

"Yes, isn't it exciting?" she said.

"Joel must be pleased."

"Oh yes, he is. Anabel, you must come back with me. I say you must ... particularly now."

"I don't think I should, Jessamy."

"But you must. You can't desert me."

"Desert you! You have a husband ... and a baby coming. You have everything. What can you want with me?"

"I do want you." She was quiet for a moment. Then she said: "Anabel, I'd feel happier, safer, if you were there."

"Safer? What are you afraid of?"

"N-nothing really." She laughed nervously. "I don't know. Perhaps it's because it's a castle. There's so much of the past there. All the long-dead Matelands ... Sometimes it seems as though they are there ... watching... . Then there is the legend about the wives. It's supposed to be unlucky to be a Mateland wife."

"Jessamy," I said, "you are afraid of something."

"You know I was always a bit silly. Anabel, I need you. I've worked it out. Janet could come with you. She could be your personal maid. It would solve everything if you came."

"But... perhaps the others wouldn't want me. Your husband ... your father-in-law ..."

"You're wrong. You're absolutely wrong. They were all pleased when I suggested it ... every one of them. They said such lovely things about you. Grandfather Egmont said you would brighten up the place. David said it would be pleasant to have you there because you are amusing."

"And Emerald?"

"She is never very enthusiastic about anything but she didn't say she wouldn't want you to come."

"And your husband?"

"I think he would be as pleased as the others. He thinks it would be good for me to have you there. There is plenty of room in the castle. And Janet can come too. Do you think she would like that?"

"She would," I said. "But I don't think it would be wise." I added firmly: "No, Jessamy, I won't come."

But I knew I should go. I could go two ways ... one was bleak, offering me nothing, and the other was beckoning me away to adventure, excitement and if it was going to be dangerous, well, it had always been my nature to court danger. It lured me, it fascinated me.

Within a month of my father's death Janet and I were on our way to Mateland Castle.

So there I was installed in my turret room. My new home was now Mateland Castle. Janet was delighted.

"A bit different, this, from that vicarage," she commented. "And here I can keep an eye on that Miss Jessamy, a gentle little thing, and I'm not at all sure that she's been done right by."

"What do you mean?" I demanded.

"I reckon she's neglected, that's what. And there's people here that wants watching."

So there was Janet, happy to be installed as the watchdog of the castle.

I was growing away from the shock of my father's death. I had not realized when he was alive how much I loved him. He had always seemed so ineffectual, so vague, so shut in with his books, going about his duties, delivering uninspired sermons every Sunday to people who came not so much to hear them but because it was expected of them to come. Now that he was gone I knew what an unselfish man he had been. I missed his gentleness.

He had left a little money for me—not enough to live on but sufficient for me to buy a few things I should need and enable me to preserve a modicum of independence.

To have left the vicarage and to have plunged into these new and exciting surroundings was the greatest help I could have to recover from my grief. I had never thought of my father as my guardian; he had never interfered very much and had been a background figure; but now that he was gone I felt alone.

I spent my days with Jessamy and I believe I was as much a comfort to her as she was to me.

There was no doubt of my welcome. Grandfather Egmont came down to dinner on my first evening and made me sit beside him. He seemed to be consumed by some secret enjoyment. "You're going to bring a bit of life into the castle," he said, his chin wagging to express amusement. "Always liked to see a pretty woman around."

David cocked an eyebrow and winked at me. "So you're here," he said. "One of us now. No need for me to say how I feel about that. A thousand welcomes to Mateland Castle, beauteous Anabel."

And Joel? He looked at me steadily, his eyes smiling, telling me more clearly than any words could how pleased he was that I was there.

Emerald showed little feeling either way. "I hope you'll like it here," she said, and her voice was dubious.

Elizabeth Larkham said that there was no doubt of Jessamy's delight in my coming, as though she felt Jessamy was the only one who was going to profit from it.

And so here I was. I had found a refuge for myself and Janet. There was no doubt of Janet's gratification. Even she shared that innate snobbery which most servants seem to have, and the grander the household in which they serve, the better pleased they are. And from a vicarage where certain economies had to be practiced to a castle where there seemed an unending flow of worldly goods was a great step upwards.

I knew from the first that I had to go warily. David had, without doubt, determined to pursue me. There was a gleam in his eyes every time he looked at me. I knew I was already his mistress in his imagination. I was determined that I should never be in reality and I could see that he was equally determined that I should be. He was a ruthless man. Yes, indeed I must take care. Not that I feared I should succumb to his wiles. That could never be; but I believed he would do his best to trap me into an embarrassing situation. As for Joel, I was unsure of his feelings towards me. There were times when I found his eyes on me with the same desire which I had seen in David's. When I was close to him he would touch my arm, my hand, my shoulders and I sensed that he wanted to be close to me.

I would have been insensible if I had not realized that I had aroused great feeling in these Mateland brothers.

There were times when I lay in my turret bedroom and said to myself: If you were a good and virtuous woman, you would go away from here. You know no good can come of this. David is a buccaneer, a descendant of those men who captured travelers and brought them to the castle to ransom or torture them. He would do anything to gain his desires. You are in acute danger from him. And ... you are becoming more and more involved with Joel. You are excited by him. In fact sometimes you seek his company. The truth is you are falling in love with Joel Mateland, allowing yourself to become more and more involved every day. To become his mistress would be more shocking than to become David's because he is Jessamy's husband.

It was an uneasy atmosphere. I locked my bedroom door every night. I was glad Jessamy was only a few doors away. I used to think of her and Joel together. But he was more often at the house in the town.

Jessamy was troubled. Once she had a nightmare and called out. I went along to her room, where she was tossing about in her bed. She was saying something about the curse on the Mateland wives.

I aroused her, soothed her and stayed the night in her room.

"You were dreaming," I told her. "You mustn't have these nightmares. They'll be bad for the baby."

Janet and I only had to say something would be bad for the baby and Jessamy would be most concerned. Her life centered round the baby. It was as though she looked upon it as some consolation.

There was so much I wanted to ask Jessamy about her marriage, but I found it difficult to talk of it. I feared I might betray my feelings about Joel.

The inevitable had to happen. I want you to understand, Suewellyn, that neither Joel nor I was wicked. We had both tried hard to stop its happening. But there is something unconventional about us both, and during those first months when I was at the castle we really did try hard, but it was too strong for us.

Jessamy had had to give up riding and I went out alone. One day I met Joel in the woods. I knew he had been waiting for me.

"I had to talk to you," he said. "You know I love you, Anabel."

"You must not say that," I told him rather feebly.

"I must say what is true."

"You married Jessamy."

"Why didn't you come with her that first time? Everything would have been so different if you had."

"Would it?" I asked.

"You know it would. There was a tremendous undeniable attraction between us from the first moment we met, on the altar steps. That was significant. Oh, Anabel, if it had only been you!"

I struggled to remember my loyalty to Jessamy.

"But it wasn't," I insisted. "And you married Jessamy. Why did you, if you didn't love her?"

"I told you about my first marriage. I had to marry again. I wanted children. I had waited years. That is what is so ironical. If only I had waited a little longer ..."

"It's too late now."

He leaned towards me. "It's never too late."

"But Jessamy is your wife ... soon to bear your child."

"You are here," he said, "and I am here... ."

"I think I should leave the castle."

"You must not do that. If you did I should follow you, so you would achieve nothing by going. Anabel, you and I are of a kind; we were meant for each other. It was there between us right from the first. You know that as well as I do. Only rarely in life does one meet the right person at the right time."

"But we have met at the wrong time," I reminded him. "Too late... ."

"We're not going to let ourselves be hemmed in by conventions. We'll push aside these man-made barriers. You're here and I'm here. That's enough."

"No. No," I persisted. "Jessamy is my dear cousin. She is good and quite incapable of disloyalty and unkindness. We must not betray her."

"I tell you we are going to be together, Anabel," he said firmly. "For the rest of our lives, I swear it. Do you think I'm going to let you go? You're not the sort to let conventions ruin your life."

"No, perhaps not. But there is Jessamy. If it were anyone else ..."

"Let's tether our horses here and talk. I want to hold you ... make you understand... ."

"No," I said quickly. "No." And I turned my horse and galloped away.

But it was inevitable. One afternoon he came to my room. Jessamy was sitting in the garden. It was a lovely September day and we were enjoying the sunshine of an Indian summer.

He shut the door and stood there watching me. I had taken off my dress and had been about to change and join Jessamy in the garden.

He took me in his arms and kissed me. He went on kissing me and I was as eager for him as he was for me.

But Jessamy was down there, innocent and unsuspecting, and I clung to the loyalty and love I felt for her.

"No, no," I protested. "Not here."

It was an admission. He held me at arm's length and looked at me.

"You know, Anabel, my love," he said, "that we belong together. Nothing on earth is going to keep us apart."

I did know it.

He went on: "Soon then... ."

And he was smiling.

I don't want to make excuses. There is no excuse. We became lovers. It was wicked of us, but then neither of us is a saint. We could not help it. Our emotions were too strong for us. It is rarely, I am sure, that two people love as we did ... immediately and simultaneously. I am sure to love like that is the happiest state in the world ... if one is free to do so. We tried to forget that we were betraying Jessamy, but of course I could not completely. It was the bitterness in my ecstasy. Perhaps there were times when we were together in closest intimacy when I did forget; but it could not be for long and I found it hard to escape from the memory of Jessamy. She was always in my mind except for those rare moments—and I despised myself for deceiving her because when I looked back I realized that I had known something like this would happen if I came to the castle. I should have been noble and unselfish; I should have taken some post with a disagreeable old woman and pandered to her wishes, taken her nasty little dog for walks, or tried to grapple with the education of little horrors in an alien nursery. I shivered at the thought, and yet, wretched as I should have been, I could have held up my head.

Jessamy had a difficult pregnancy. The doctor said she must keep to her bed, which she did. She was uncomplaining, eagerly looking forward to the day when her child would be born. She was very thoughtful towards me. "You must not stay in all day, Anabel," she said. "Take one of the horses and exercise it."

Dear Jessamy and despicable Anabel! I would take one of the horses and ride to the house in the town, and there Joel and I would be together.

He did not suffer so greatly from remorse as I did. He was a Mateland, and Matelands, I imagined, had never denied themselves the gratification of their senses. That there had been many women before me I was fully aware. Oddly enough I regarded this as a challenge. I was going to keep him devoted to me. I was determined on that. Indeed I was a mixture of contrasts at that time. I was exultant, ecstatic and yet filled with a sense of self-loathing and shame. But one thing I did know and that was that I had to behave as I did. It was as though there was some powerful force driving us together. I think he felt it too. He said there had never been anything like it in his life before, and al­though this is the sort of thing people say lightly in such circumstances, I believed him.

Understand, Suewellyn, that had this not been a mighty and overpowering emotion in me, a certainty that this was the only man I could ever love, I should not have entered into this relationship. I am not a good woman, but I am not a light one.

So while Jessamy was awaiting the birth of her child, I was making ardent love with her husband. We were completely absorbed in each other and it was only when we were alone in that house that we could allow ourselves to act naturally. In the castle we had to cloak our feelings, and we knew we were involved in a highly dangerous situation. It was not only Jessamy we had to deceive, I was constantly aware of David's watching eyes. He was amused by my rejection of him and at the same time his desires were strengthened by it.

If she knew, Emerald paid no attention to this. I dare say she was accustomed to his philanderings. I often caught Elizabeth Larkham watching me closely. She was Emerald's friend and clearly did not approve of David's interest in me.

As for the old man, he would have been highly amused by the situation if he knew of it, I was sure.

It was a strange household. When I was in the castle I was most at peace with young Esmond. We had become good friends. I used to read to him, and we would sit with Jessamy while she worked at some baby garment and I read aloud. It was a comfort to me to have the boy there; I was very uneasy when I was alone with Jessamy.

I believe that the only person who knew what was happening between me and Joel was Dorothy. She was imperturbable and I could not tell what she thought. It occurred to me that women might have come to the house before. I asked Joel about this and he admitted that it had happened once or twice. He assured me vehemently that that had all been very different. There had never been anything like this, and I believed him.

Elizabeth Larkham's son Garth came to the castle for the summer holidays. He was a noisy boy who behaved as though the castle were his. He was several years older than Esmond and took the lead in their games. I wondered whether Esmond welcomed him. He did not say he did not. He was too polite for that. His mother said it was good for him to have someone near his own age to be with and perhaps it was. There was another boy who came for a short visit. He was a cousin of some sort, named Malcolm Mateland. His grandfather was Egmont's brother.

When I look back now everything that happened seems inevitable. Jessamy's baby was born in November and by that time I had discovered that I was going to have a child.

It was a devastating discovery, although I should have been prepared for it. For several days I kept the information to myself.

Jessamy's baby was a girl. She was called Susannah. It is a custom in our family to give the girls two names by which they are called. Amy Jane for instance. My mother was Susan Ellen. When it came to Jessamy and myself, our names were two strung together. Jessica Amy and Ann Bella. So naturally Jessamy thought of Susan Anna for Susannah.

So wrapped up in her baby was she that Jessamy did not notice my preoccupation.

I discussed my predicament with Joel. He was delighted at the prospect of our having a child and waved aside all the difficulties. I was beginning to understand Joel very well. He was a forceful man, as all the Matelands were. When he was presented with a difficult situation, he always began by assuming that a solution could be found.

"Why, sweetheart," he said, "it's happened millions of times before. We'll find a way."

"I shall have to go away," I said. "I'll find some excuse to leave the castle."

"To go away briefly ... yes. But you're coming back."

"And the child?"

"We'll arrange something."

It took us some time to work out a plan of action. We then arranged that I should tell them at the castle that a distant relative of my father who lived in Scotland was anxious to see me. I had heard my father talk of these people but apparently there had been some quarrel in the family, and now that they had heard my father was dead they wanted to see me.

I told Jessamy that I thought I ought to go.

Jessamy hated quarrels in families and she said why didn't I go for a week or two?

I left it at that. I would go for a week or so ostensibly and then I would find some reason for lengthening my stay.

I was now three months' pregnant. Janet was in the secret. It was impossible to keep it from her. She had been horrified at first, but that snobbery in her arose in my favor. At least the father of my child was the bearer of a great name and his home was a castle. That made the sin more venial in her eyes. She would come with me.

We did not go to Scotland as we had said we would but to a little mountain village near the Pennines and there we lived while we awaited the arrival of the baby. During that time Joel came twice to see me and stayed a few days each time. They were halcyon days. We were together in the mountains and we played a game of make-believe that we were married and that I was not hiding away so that our child could be born in secret.

Well, in due course you came into the world, Suewellyn, and I want you to know now that no child was ever more loved than you were.

What could I do? I could have set up house somewhere. We thought of that. Joel could have visited us. But I didn't want it to be that way. I wanted to make it as easy as possible for us all. Joel wanted me at the castle. So we decided that you should live with Amelia and William Planter. I could visit you often, keep an eye on you, and the Planters could be trusted to do their duty —moreover they would be well paid for doing it.

They took you and brought you up, and as you know I used to come regularly to see you.

It is a common enough situation. People, of course, began to suspect. The people who lived near the Planters must have guessed. I was always telling Joel that we should take you away. I wanted to have you with me. The Planters would never ill-treat you, I knew, but they would never love you. I used to worry a lot about you.

Do you remember the day I brought you to Mateland? I showed you the castle and Joel came. You were so happy that day, weren't you? You had three wishes. I almost broke down when you told me what they were.

It seems miraculous that they have come true. I wish they could have come true in some other way.

I have told you about David, haven't I? David was a wicked man. I know that Joel and I are no saints. I know that we allowed our senses to overcome our duty. I know that we thoughtlessly brought you into the world when it would be impossible to bring you up as parents should bring up their children. We were concerned first with our selfish desires. But we loved, Suewellyn, we loved. That is my excuse. David could never love anything or anyone but himself. He was concerned with his pride, which had to be satisfied at all costs. There was envy in him too. I quickly sensed that he was envious of Joel. It was true he was the elder son and he had a son to follow him. But Joel possessed some inner gratification. His work among the sick gave him a satisfaction which David lacked. Moreover David was a very sensual man. I do not say that Joel was not. He was. There is a ruthlessness in your father just as there was in David. They had the Mateland traits, both of them. The love of power had been bred in both of them and there is a saying that power corrupts. But Joel was capable of love. I know that David was not. He was concerned only with the satisfaction of his desires. I had denied him and I fancied that because of that his desire for me increased; but he wanted not only me but revenge.

David was a man of another century. He belonged to an age when the lord of the castle was a feudal lord, when all obeyed him and their fate depended on his whim. I believed he was capable of great cruelty; moreover, that he took a delight in inflicting it.

So, Suewellyn, though you were brought up in Crabtree Cottage, I always promised myself that one day I was going to make up for those early times. They were not desertion. Never that. I ached for you, longed for you. Joel and I talked of you constantly.

I prayed that we could all be together. That was my wish ... as it was yours.

The years began to speed by. I knew they were fraught with danger. I knew that David was watching me. I guessed he was aware how it was between Joel and me.

I discovered that Elizabeth Larkham was his mistress. She was a strange woman, an unusual woman. I think she was fond of Emerald but as in the case of Joel and myself her emotions must have been too strong for her. They could exert tremendous power, these Mateland men.

In a way I was grateful to Elizabeth because she turned David's attention away from me. To tell the truth, I was aware of a certain menace in the castle. It had been the scene of many tragedies in the past; many dark deeds had been performed within those walls. Sometimes I believed that violence, passion, death and disaster leave some shadow behind them which generations to come can sense.

There were times when the atmosphere was like a cauldron waiting to boil over. There was David, envious, sensual, seeking to satisfy his insatiable senses; there was Emerald in her chair, quiet and gray like a ghost from the past, and I often wondered what her life with David had been like before her accident. There was Elizabeth Larkham, placating Emerald, making herself necessary to Emerald ... and Emerald's husband; and there were myself and Joel indulging in our illicit passion, grasping at something which could never be while Jessamy lived. There was also Jessamy, dear innocent Jessamy, who was aware of something wrong with her marriage, conscious of her husband's indifference and her own inadequacy, living for her child. Then the children: Esmond, bright and intelligent, nearly ready to go away to school; Garth, who came for the holidays; and Malcolm, who paid less frequent visits—a masterful boy, already showing signs of the Mateland strain; and of course Susannah—a beautiful child, screaming to get her own way and chuckling adorably when she got it—another true Mateland.

Even so, there came a time when I was lulled into a sense of security. How foolish of me! David was never going to allow anyone to get the better of him.

Perhaps he was growing tired of Elizabeth, but I grew aware that he was turning more and more to his pursuit of me. When I rode out I would find him following me. I had great difficulty in getting to the house in the town without his seeing me.

I used to slip out at odd times and if I failed to elude him I did not go to the house and Joel would be waiting there in vain.

His hatred of David was intense, I discovered. Joel's emotions were always intense. He never did things by halves. He threw himself wholeheartedly into whatever obsessed him. He was obsessed by his work; he was obsessed by our passion. I often thought how happy we could have been—he, you and I, Suewellyn, in that house in the town away from the castle.

This brings me to the last time I visited you at Crabtree Cottage—no, not the last time, for the last time I came was when I took you away. I mean the time before the last.

I did not realize that I was being followed. I should have done. But he was very skillful. David had become aware that I often left the castle for a day, ostensibly to visit relations of my father. This was supposed to be a branch of the family with whom I had stayed at the time of your birth and whom I had met at that time.

Well, on that occasion David followed me to Crabtree Cottage. He stayed at the local inn for a few days and asked a lot of questions. He saw you ... and frightened you, I believe. What he discovered was what he had expected to find. You were there ... our daughter, mine and Joel's.

He came back full of delight and the very next day he followed me when I went riding and caught up with me in the woods.

"Now, Anabel," he said, "I have to talk to you."

"Well, what have you to say?" I asked.

"It is about the eternal triangle ... you, Joel and myself."

"I don't think I want to hear anything you have to say on such a subject," I retorted.

"Ah, but it is not a question of what you want to hear. It's what I want to tell. I know all, sweet Anabel. I know how you and Joel behave. While he is supposed to be ministering to the sick you and he are sporting in his bachelor bedroom. I am surprised at you, Anabel, though not, of course, at my brother."

"I am going back to the castle."

"Not yet. We'll go back later. I know everything, Anabel. I know of the love nest above the surgery. I know about the little girl too. She's charming ... just what I would expect of your daughter ... and Joel's, of course."

I felt sick with horror. I guessed that he might have suspected my relationship with Joel but that he should have discovered your existence horrified me.

I heard myself stammering: "You ... you went and spoke to her... ."

"Don't look alarmed. Little girls don't appeal to me. I like big, beautiful ones like you, Anabel."

"Why are you telling me this? Why did you go spying ... ?"

"You're clever enough to know. I wonder what Jessamy will say when she hears that her dear friend is her husband's mistress. And she has a little girl too! Do you know your child has a look of Susannah about her? There's not much difference in their ages. There's no doubt that they are Matelands."

I felt ill. I thought of Jessamy. I could picture her stricken face when she knew. That I should be the one ... her cousin and her dearest friend! The betrayal was a thousand times more shocking because I was the one who had been disloyal to her.

"You must not tell Jessamy," I said.

"I don't want to, of course. And I won't ... for a ... consideration."

I felt myself go cold with horror. "What ... consideration?"

"I should have thought that to one of your discernment that would have been obvious."

I tried to push my horse past him, but he laid a hand on the reins.

"Well," he said, "isn't it just a question of when?"

I lifted my whip. I could have struck him across his smiling face. He caught my arm.

"Why so outraged?" he asked. "You're no shrinking virgin, are you? I mean, it would not be the first time you have indulged in this kind of adventure."

"You are despicable."

"And you are desirable. So much so, sweet Anabel, that I am ready to go to great lengths for you."

"I don't want to see you again."

"Where shall we go? In the castle? That would be amusing, wouldn't it? When will you come?"

"Never," I said.

"Oh, poor dear Jessamy, she will be upset!"

"Haven't you any decency?"

"None," he said.

"I hate you."

"In a way that will make it more interesting. Listen, Anabel, I have been waiting for this ... for years. I know about you and Joel. Why be so kind to one brother and so cruel to the other?"

"Joel and I love each other," I said vehemently.

"Very touching. It makes me want to weep."

"I doubt you ever wept for anything but rage."

"There are many things you have to learn about me, Anabel. But you will learn. You are going to have a long time to do it. You have to keep your wickedness from Jessamy, don't you? And there is only one way to do it."

"I shall go to her and tell her myself."

"Will you? Poor Jessamy! She is a very sentimental girl and she has not been well since Susannah was born. She suffers from her chest, you know, and her heart is not what it should be. I hope Joel has not got ideas in his head. Oh dear, the plot thickens. I wonder how she will take the news? This story of your wickedness, I mean. You and her husband ... husband and best friend. Alas, it is often like that."

I spurred up my horse and galloped away. I did not know where to go, what to do. Finally I went back to the castle. Jessamy was resting, I was told. I felt frantic with anxiety. I could not bear Jessamy to know.

And the alternative ...

I was shivering with fear. There was one thought which kept hammering in my head. Jessamy must not know.

I kept going over that scene in the woods. I could not forget his gleaming eyes and his full sensual lips. I could read his thoughts so clearly and I knew that he believed he had at last got me into his power.

My door opened slowly. I jumped up startled, for it was Jessamy.

"Did I startle you?" she asked.

"N-no," I answered.

"Is anything wrong?"

"No, why?"

"You look ... different."

"I have a slight headache," I told her.

"Oh dear, Anabel, it is so rare to see you not well."

"I'm quite all right really."

"You must get Joel to give you a tonic. Why don't you lie down? I really came to talk to you about Susannah."

"What's wrong with Susannah?"

"She can be very willful, you know, Anabel. She wants her own way all the time and seems to get it."

"She's a Mateland," I said.

"I shouldn't bother you about this now. It's nothing really. I just wanted a talk, I suppose. I was a bit worried about her and when I'm worried it's to you I come. Do you remember, it's about seven years since you came to the castle?"

"I was seventeen then," I said, just to say something.

"That makes you twenty-four now. You ought to have a husband, Anabel."

I closed my eyes; this was becoming unbearable. She went on talking as though musing to herself. "We ought to do something about you. Give parties ... balls... . I'm going to speak to Joel ... when I see him. What's the matter? Are you really all right? I'm chattering away when you've got a headache. You must rest, Anabel!"

She made me lie down. She covered me with a quilt. I wanted to shriek at her: You should hate me. That's what I deserve.

She left me lying there, trying to think what I should do.

I could think of no way out. Jessamy would have to know, and I could not bear her to know. I must tell Joel. Yet I was afraid to tell him. I was afraid of what he would do. I knew that he would be filled with rage against his brother and yet I must tell him.

I came out of my room, still wearing my riding habit. As I entered the hall David called to me. I ran to the door but he was there before me.

"There is a time limit, you know," he said. "Shall we say four hours to make up your mind? I think it would be a nice gesture if you came to my room. It is in the front drum tower. It's a very pleasant room. I will have the fire lighted early. I shall be waiting there for you. I dare say my dedicated brother will be at his surgery. He does not seem eager to be with his wife. We understand why, of course. Other fish to fry. Very well, Anabel, my dear, tonight."

I ran past him. I went out to the stables. I mounted my horse and rode. But I did not go to the town. I dared not tell Joel. But I would have to, of course.

I rode recklessly, galloping over the fields, and all the time asking myself what I was going to do.

It was late afternoon. I must see Joel, I must tell him. One of the things we had said to each other was that we would always share everything.

He had finished with his patients and I saw his pleasure at the sight of me. I threw myself into his arms. I was half sobbing with relief.

I told him everything, and as he listened he grew pale. He said at length: "He's expecting you tonight. He will find me instead."

"Joel," I cried, "what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to kill him," he said.

"No, Joel. We must think about this. You must not be rash. It would be murder ... your own brother."

"It would be no more than killing a wasp. I hate him."

"Joel ... please ... try to be calm... ."

"You must leave this to me, Anabel."

"I can't bear Jessamy to know. She would never believe in anyone again. She has always trusted me. We have always been so close ... the greatest friends. I can't bear her to know that I have done this, Joel."

I could see that he was consumed by his anger and could think of nothing else. I knew that anger could be fierce, obsessive. I remembered when a child in the town had been ill-treated by its parents, how his anger towards them had been uncontrolled. He had had them sent to prison and the child cared for elsewhere. It was righteous anger, of course, but he had not considered that the parents were under strain and that they were not of normal intelligence. I had argued with him about it but he had remained adamant. Now he thought of nothing but revenge on David—not for spying on us, not for going to find you, but because of what he had suggested to me. His blackmail, he called it, as it was most certainly. And, he said, there was only one thing to do with blackmailers and that was eliminate them.

I was afraid of the passions I aroused in these two men. I knew their stormy natures—Joel's no less than David's—and I was afraid.

We returned to the castle together. I went to my room pleading a headache and did not go down to dinner. Jessamy came in after dinner to see how I was. She told me that everything seemed so strange. Joel had scarcely spoken and David seemed in an odd mood. "He was making jokes all the time ... obscure ones," said Jessamy. "I couldn't understand them and I was glad when the meal was over. Poor Anabel. It is so unusual for you not to be well. David was saying he didn't remember your ever being unwell before ... except that time six or seven years ago when you went to stay with your father's people. He went on about your not looking quite as usual for some time before you went away then but when you came back you had obviously quite recovered. It was a horrible meal, Anabel. I was go glad when it was over. But you're tired." She bent over and kissed me. " 'Better in the morning,' that's what old Nanny Perkins used to say. Remember?"

"Thank you, Jessamy," I said. "I do love you. Remember that."

She laughed. "You must be feeling poorly to be so sentimental. Good night, Anabel."

I wanted to reach out to her, to try to explain and ask forgiveness.

I lay there for some time.

Joel had said he would come for me and we would go to David's room together. He did not come though, and as I waited, my eyes on the door, I heard the sound of a muffled shot somewhere outside the castle.

I stood alert, listening. There was no sound from below. I was afraid that shot had something to do with David and Joel. I went to the room which Jessamy shared with Joel and stood at the door listening. I was sure Jessamy was there alone.

Then I could not help it. I made my way to David's room in the drum tower. I stood outside listening. There was no sound from within so I opened the door quietly and looked in. The fire was flickering in the grate. The room shone in the light of several candles. A chair was by the fire and a silk robe lay on the velvet-covered bed.

There was no one there.

My fears were increasing every second.

I ran down the stairs and out to the courtyard. I had to know what had happened and I was terrified of discovering. I heard running footsteps. I held my breath listening.

It was Joel who was running towards me and I knew some terrible tragedy had taken place.

I threw myself into his arms. I could scarcely breathe. There was a great lump in my throat which I suppose was a form of terror.

I stammered: "I heard ... a shot... ."

"He's dead," he said. "I killed him."

"Oh, God help us," I murmured.

"I went to his room," he said. "I told him I knew and that I was going to kill him. He said we would settle it in a civilized way. He suggested pistols. "We're both good shots,' he said. So we took the pistols from the gun room. He always thought he was the better shot ... that was why he suggested them ... but he wasn't this time."

"You've killed him, Joel," I whispered. "Can you be sure?"

"Yes. Right through the heart. That's what I aimed for. It was either him or me ... and it had to be him ... for you ... and myself ... and for Suewellyn."

"Joel!" I cried. "What are you going to do?"

"I always thought I'd kill him one day ... or he'd kill me. We've come near to it once or twice. Now it's over. I'm going away. I'll have to ... tonight... ."

"Joel ... no!"

"You're coming with me. We'll have to get out of the country."

"Now ..."

"Now ... tonight. We've got to think carefully. It is not impossible. I can arrange with my bank when we are well away.

We can take valuables with us ... everything we can lay our hands on and conveniently take. Go to your room. Get what you can together. Don't let anyone know what you are doing. We'll be well away by morning. We'll ride out a few miles and then get the train to Southampton. We'll get a ship and go out to ... Australia most likely ... and on from there."

"Joel," I breathed. The ... child."

"Yes," he said. "I've thought of the child. You'll have to go and get her. The three of us will go together."

So I went to my room and within an hour after I had heard that pistol shot I was riding through the night with Joel.

We parted at the railway station. He went to Southampton where I was to join him with you. I had to wait for trains and did not get to you until the following day. You know the rest.

That's my story, Suewellyn. You have come to love us, your father and me, and now that you have heard how it happened you will understand.