The Mask of the Enchantress

Susannah on Vulcan Island

Soon after that I went back to school for my last term; and when I came back Philip was installed on the island.

To be with him again reassured me that my suspicions were unfounded. Cougabel had planted those thoughts in my mind and she had done so deliberately. I remember Luke Carter's saying that the islanders were vindictive and never omitted to take revenge. I had made Cougabel jealous and, knowing my feelings for Philip, she was repaying me through him.

Silly girl! I thought. And sillier was I to have allowed myself to believe what I did for a moment.

The baby flourished. The islanders brought him gifts and Cougabel was delighted with him. She took him up to the mountain to give thanks to the Giant. It occurred to me that, whatever else Cougabel was, she was very brave, for she had deceived her people and yet she dared go to the mountain to give thanks to the Giant.

"But perhaps she was thanking him because she was extricated from this difficult predicament," my mother suggested. "But in fact she should be thanking us."

I was very happy during the months that followed. Philip had become like a member of the family. I was finished with school, and my parents were happier than they had ever been before— except for those rare moments which my mother had once mentioned. I realized now that they were at peace. As time passed danger receded and their big anxiety had been on my account.

Now I knew they were thinking that I should marry Philip and settle here for the rest of my life. I should not be confined as they had been. I should be able to take trips to Australia and New Zealand and perhaps go home for a long stay. The islands were prospering. Soon they would be growing into a civilized community. It was my father's dream. He wanted more doctors and nurses; they would marry, he said, and have children... .

Oh yes, those were dreams he and my mother shared; but it was the fact that they believed my future was settled which delighted them most.

There was another matter. I had noticed one of the plantation overseers, a very tall, handsome young man, was constantly near the house waiting for a glimpse of Cougabel. He liked to take the baby from her and rock him in his arms.

I said to my mother: "I believe Fooca is the father of Cougabel's baby."

"The thought had occurred to me," replied my mother. She laughed. She was laughing a great deal these days.

"You can see how it happened," she went on. "They were lovers. Cougabel probably knew she was with child on the night of the dance. The scheming little creature! Really, one has to admire her. She is bright, that girl. Luke Carter was a shrewd fellow and I think he has passed on some of his attributes to his daughter. It is miraculous the way she has turned this situation to advantage."

So we laughed at Cougabel's deception and, when Fooca came to Cougaba and offered to marry her daughter, we were all delighted.

So was Cougabel.

We were allowed to attend the marriage ceremony as she had lived in our house. She was kept all night in one of the huts with four selected unmarried girls—all virgins—who anointed her with coconut oil and braided her hair. Fooca was in another hut with four young men who tended him. Then in the late afternoon the ceremony was performed in the middle of the clearing. The girls brought Cougabel out of the hut and the young men brought Fooca. Cougaba stood there holding the baby, who was solemnly taken from her by two women and given to Cougabel. The bride and bridegroom held hands while Wandalo chanted something unintelligible to us and Cougabel and Fooca jumped over a palm log together. It was a log which was kept in Wandalo's hut and was said to have been thrown out of the Giant's crater years ago when he had all but destroyed the island. The log had endured as marriage should. It was symbolic.

After that there was feasting in the clearing and dancing, though not of the frenzied kind that took place on the night of the Dance of the Masks.

After we had watched the ceremony of jumping over the log, Philip and I wandered down to the shore. The singing at the wedding had begun and we could hear it in the distance. We sat down on the sandy beach and looked out over the sea. It was a beautiful scene. The palm leaves waved slightly in the balmy breeze which came across the water; the sun, which soon would set, had stained the clouds blood red. Behind us loomed the mighty Giant.

Philip said: "I never dreamed there was such a spot on earth." "Are you going to be content here?" I asked. "More than content," he said and, turning on his side, leaned on his elbow and looked at me. "I am so glad," be went on, "that you and Laura were friends. Otherwise you would never have come to the property and we should not be here together like this. Think of that... ." I said: "I'm thinking of it."

"Oh, Suewellyn," he murmured, "what a tragedy that would have been!"

I laughed. I was so happy.

I heard myself saying: "What do you think of Cougabel?" The suspicion was still lingering, although I almost believed it was nonsense. I wanted to talk of it, though. I wanted to be assured.

"Oh, she's a minx," he said. "Do you know, I wouldn't be surprised if she leads that ... what's his name? Fooca? ... a dance."

"She is considered to be very attractive. These people are often beautiful but she stands out because she is different, you see. That touch of white ..."

"Ah yes, your father was telling me that her father was a man who used to be here."

"Yes. We were shocked when the baby was born. He is even lighter than Cougabel."

"It happens like that sometimes. The next baby may be quite black. Then perhaps she'll have another of a lighter color."

"Well, she has jumped over the log now."

"Good luck to her," said Philip. "Good luck to everyone on the island."

"It's your future now."

He took my hand and held it. "Yes," he said. "My future ... our future."

The sun was low on the horizon. We watched. It always seemed to disappear so quickly. It was like a great red ball dropping into the sea. It had gone. Darkness came quickly. There was no twilight, which I vaguely remembered only from my childhood in England.

Philip sprang up. He held out his hand to help me and I took it.

He put an arm round me as we walked to the house.

I could hear the singing of the wedding party, and I felt that all was well with the world.

A week passed. The ship was due at any time now. My father was looking forward to it. It was bringing the supplies he needed.

It would bring mail too. Not that we received much but Laura was a good correspondent and there was usually a letter to me from her.

I wondered how she was getting on with her love affair and whether she really would be married before I was. I was sure that Philip loved me and would ask me to marry him. I wondered why he hesitated. I had passed my seventeenth birthday but perhaps he still considered me too young. Perhaps I seemed younger than I actually was because I had lived so much of my life shut away from the world. However, although he made allusions to the future, he had not yet asked me to marry him.

That was the state of affairs when the ship arrived.

I woke up one morning and there she lay, white and gleaming, out in the bay. She was about a mile out, for the water round the island was too shallow for her to come closer.

There was the usual excitement but no more than usual and, looking back, I marveled once more that Fate gives one no warning when some great event is going to burst upon one and change one's whole life.

The ship's small boats were being lowered and the canoes were already paddling out to the ship. How they reveled in those days when the ship came in! The noise and babble were tremendous and we could hardly hear ourselves speak.

My parents and I were standing on the shore ready to receive the boats as they came in, when to our amazement we saw someone being helped out of one of the boats which came from the ship. It was a woman. She was climbing down the swinging ladder and being caught by two of the sailors. She settled herself down to be rowed ashore.

"Who on earth can this be?" said Anabel.

Our eyes were fixed on the boat as it came nearer. Now we could see her more clearly. She was young and she wore a big shady hat decorated with white daisies. It was a most elegant hat.

She had turned towards us. She had seen us. She lifted a hand in a rather regal manner, as though she knew who we were.

The boat was scraping the sand. One of the sailors had sprung out. He gave her his hand and she rose. She was about my height, which was fairly tall, and she was dressed in white clinging silk. I thought she was very attractive, and like someone I knew.

And suddenly it hit me. It was like looking into a mirror—a not quite true mirror—and seeing oneself reflected in a flattering way. The person she was like was myself.

The sailor had lifted her out of the boat. He carried her so that she might not get her feet wet.

She stood there looking at us, a smile on her face.

She said: "I'm Susannah."

I think we all felt that we were dreaming—all except Susannah. She was completely mistress of the situation.

My parents appeared to be stunned. Anabel kept looking at her as though she could not believe she was real.

She was aware of it. I came to believe that there was little Susannah was not aware of. And she found the situation very amusing.

"I had to come and see my father," she said. "As soon as I knew where to come I set out. And Anabel... I remember you. And who ..."

"Our daughter," said Anabel. "Suewellyn."

"Your daughter and ..." She was looking at her father.

"Yes," he said. "Our daughter Suewellyn."

Susannah nodded slowly, smiling. Then she looked straight at me. "We're sisters ... half sisters. Isn't it exciting? Fancy discovering you have a sister at my time of life!"

"I knew of your existence," I said.

"Oh, unfair advantage!" Her eyes remained on me. "We are alike, aren't we?" She pulled off her hat. Her hair was cut in a fringe over her forehead.

"We are sisters indeed," she went on. "And we could look more alike ... if we dressed similarly. Oh, this is thrilling. How glad I am I have found you at last!"

The sailors put her baggage on the sand beside Susannah.

"You've come to stay," said Anabel.

"For a visit. If you'll have me. I have come a long way."

"Let's go to the house," said Anabel. "There'll be lots to talk about."

Susannah went to my father and slipped her arm through his.

"Are you pleased I have come?" she asked.

"Of course."

"I am so glad. I remember you, you know ... and Anabel."

"Your mother ..." he began.

"She died ... about three years ago. It was pneumonia. Yes, there is a lot to tell you."

Several boys and girls had come to stare at the newcomer. My father shouted at them: "Come on. Give us a hand with these bags."

They giggled and came running, delighted to be included in the adventure.

And so we went into the house, our emotions in a turmoil.

Philip was already there. He came out when he heard us. When he saw Susannah he stopped and stared.

Anabel said: "This is my husband's daughter. She has come out from England to see us."

"This is most interesting," he said, advancing.

Susannah held out her hand. "How do you do?" she said.

"This is Dr. Halmer," my father announced. "Dr. Halmer, Susannah Mateland."

"And have you come to stay?" asked Philip.

"I am hoping to for a while. It is a long way to come for a day. I believe the ship sails tomorrow. I hope they will like me well enough not to send me back on it."

"You're rather like ..."

She turned and flashed her smile at me. "It's natural," she said. "We share a father."

We all went inside. Cougaba came out and behind her was Cougabel. She had obviously been visiting her mother and was carrying the baby whose appearance in the world had been too soon for our comfort.

"Cougaba," said Anabel, "our daughter has arrived from England. Can you see that a room is made ready for her?"

"Yes, yes, yes," said Cougaba. "Cougabel, you come give me hand."

Cougabel stood there smiling, holding the baby in her arms and looking from me to Philip until her eyes rested on Susannah.

"It's a pleasant house," said Susannah.

"It's improved a good deal since we came," replied my father.

"It must have been about eleven years ago. I remember I was seven when ... you went away."

"It is eleven years ago," said Anabel quietly. "You must be thirsty. Let me get you something to drink while Cougaba gets your room ready."

"Cougaba! Is that the baleful female who regarded me as though I were some devil escaped from the gates of hell?"

"Cougaba is the elder," I said.

"Oh, I meant the young one with the baby. They're servants, I suppose. I've wanted so long to find you. It was so sudden ... your disappearance."

My mother brought some lemonade to which she had added some of the herbs she had discovered; they gave a special and very delicious tang to the beverage, making it a pleasantly refreshing drink.

"We shall dine in an hour's time," said Anabel. "Are you hungry? Should I speed it up?"

Susannah said no. The drink was refreshing and an hour or so would suit her beautifully.

She looked rather roguishly at my father. "I expect you are wondering how I found you. Old Simons, who arranged all your affairs, died last year. His son Alain took over. I made Alain give away your secret. I haven't told anyone but I was determined to come and see you."

"How did Jessamy die?" asked Anabel.

"It was during the cold winter three years back. We were snowed up at the castle for several weeks. You know how the wind whistles down those corridors. It's the draftiest spot I've ever been in. Well, it was too much for my mother. Her chest always troubled her. Elizabeth Larkham—you remember Elizabeth Larkham?—she died a few months after of the same complaint. A lot of people suffered through that winter."

"And how was your mother when ..." began Anabel.

Susannah gave that rather secretive smile which I had already noticed. "When you went away?" she asked. "Oh, devastated! She was terribly ill. Another of her colds, which turned to bronchitis. She was too ill to think of anything but getting her breath. I heard her say that it saved her from dying of melancholy."

Anabel closed her eyes. Susannah was opening an old wound and turning the knife in it.

"However," she went on, "that's all in the past. Things are different at the castle now."

Cougabel came down to say that the room was ready. She had only had to make the bed, she said; and she looked at Susannah and continued: "Rooms always clean this house. Mamabel like it so."

"How very commendable," said Susannah.

Cougabel lifted her shoulders and giggled.

"Let me take you to your room," I said. I thought my parents would want to be alone for a while to discuss this shock. Philip would realize this. He was most perceptive and would make an excuse to leave them, I guessed.

Susannah rose with alacrity. I believed she was looking forward to being alone with me.

When we reached her room she took a cursory look round it and turned to me. I obviously interested her far more.

"Isn't this ... fun?" she said. "I didn't know I was going to find a sister."

She shook out her hair and looked at her reflection. She laughed and came to me. Taking my arm, she drew me to the mirror and we stood there side by side.

"It's a fair likeness," she said.

"Well, perhaps."

"What do you mean ... perhaps! Why, I tell you, sister, that if you cut your hair in a fringe ... if you wore a fashionable garment like this one ... if you were a little less serious ... Do you see what I mean? Why, you even have a mole in the same place. Fancy that!"

I stared at it. I had forgotten how long ago that mole had seemed so significant when Anthony Felton tormented me because of it.

"I call it my beauty spot," went on Susannah.

"It's darker than mine," I said.

"Dear innocent Suewellyn! I'll confess to you and to you only. I touch it up a little with a special pencil I have for the purpose. I have perfect teeth ... you too, sister ... and the mole being where it is just calls attention to them. That's why they used to wear patches in the past. I wish we did now. How amusing that you should have one just in the same place. I tell you what we'll do. I'll touch yours up to accentuate it and we'll dress up as each other. Oh, it is exciting, finding you, Suewellyn!"

"Yes," I said, "it is."

"You must show me the island. I like the doctor. Are you going to marry him? He's rather handsome, isn't he? Not as distinguished as our dear papa, but then it is hard for anyone to compare with a Mateland. Don't you agree?"

"I think Philip is handsome," I said. "And we are not engaged to be married."

"Not ... yet," she said. I had a feeling that Susannah could see right through me. She fascinated me and at the same time made me feel very uncomfortable. My thoughts were in such a whirl and I was so entranced by her appearance that I could scarcely take in what she was saying. She was like me and yet so different. She was what I might have been if I had lived in a different world ... a world of castles and gracious living. That was the difference. Susannah exuded confidence; she believed herself to be fascinating and beautiful and, because she believed it, she was. Her features were so like mine that she could not have been so much more attractive than I without that belief. I was suddenly struck by the fact that I might have been exactly like her.

She was watching me in the mirror and again I had that uncomfortable feeling that she could read my thoughts.

She went on as though I had spoken. "Yes, we are alike ... taken feature by feature. Your nose is only a trifle longer than mine. But noses are important. Remember Cleopatra's? If it had been a fraction longer—or was it shorter—it would have changed the history of the world, someone said, didn't they? Well, I don't think that difference in our noses changes so much. I look slightly more pert than you do ... saucier, more irreverent. But perhaps that's my upbringing. Our mouths are different too. Yours is much sweeter—a rosebud of a mouth. Mine's wider ... it shows I'm very fond of the good things of life. Our eyes ... the same shape, the color very slightly different. You are a little fairer than I. Looking at us like this, the resemblance is not so striking, but if we dressed up ...if we impersonated each other ... oh, that would be another story. Let's do it one day, Suewellyn. We'll see if we can deceive them. I doubt we could Anabel. I am sure she knows every inch of your face. You are her little ewe lamb, aren't you? Do you know I was always aware of some secret Anabel was biding. It's hard to look back all those years. Can you look back, Suewellyn?"

"Yes, I can."

"And you were hidden away, weren't you? And I suppose on the night my father killed Uncle David they swooped down and carried you away with them to this desert island. What exciting lives we Matelands live, don't we?"

"This one's could hardly be described as such."

"Poor Suewellyn, we must alter that. We must make your life more amusing."

"I dare say you are the sort of person exciting things happen to."

"Only because I make them. I must show you how to make them happen to you, little sister."

"Not so little," I retorted.

"Younger. How much by? Do you know?"

We compared birthdays. "Ah, I am the senior," she said. "So I may call you little sister justifiably. So you were tucked away, were you? And Anabel used to visit you. It must have been a fearful quarrel they had that night. I shall never forget waking in the morning and feeling that something had happened. There was a terrible hush over the castle and the nurses refused to answer my questions. I kept asking where my father was. What had happened to my Uncle David? And my mother was just lying there on her bed as though she were dead like my uncle. It was a long time before I learned what had happened. They never tell children things, do they? They don't understand that what you can imagine might be far worse than what actually happened."

"There could hardly be a greater tragedy."

"You knew, did you? I suppose they told you. I suppose you know why."

"They will tell you if they think you should know," I said and she burst out laughing.

"You are a very self-righteous little sister. I dare say you always do what is right and honorable, don't you?"

"I shouldn't think so."

"Nor should I... if you are a Mateland. But imagine what it felt like having a murderer for a father. Though, of course, I didn't know this until later. I had to find out myself ... listening at doors. Servants are always chartering. 'Where is my father? Why isn't he here any more?' I was always asking, and they would button up their lips, and I knew by their eyes that they longed to tell me. And there was no one in the doctor's house and all the poor patients were sent away empty. And my mother, of course ... she was always ill. She would tell me nothing. If I mentioned my father to her she would just get tearful. But I got it out of Garth. He knew everything and he couldn't keep it to himself. He told me I was the daughter of a murderer. I've never forgotten that. I think he found some satisfaction in telling me. He said his mother hated me because my father had killed Uncle David."

She turned to me and laid her hand on my arm.

"I'm talking a great deal," she said. "I always do. But we'll have lots of time for talk, shan't we? There's so much I want to tell you ... so much I want to know about you. Dinner is in an hour, Anabel said."

"Shall I help you unpack?"

"Oh, I shall just drag something out of the bag and change now. Do you think the malevolent black woman could bring me some hot water?"

"I'll have it sent up."

"Tell her not to put a spell on it. She looks as though she brews them."

"She's quite benevolent really. It's only if you offend them that you have to take care. I'll have the hot water sent up and shall I come to you when dinner is ready?"

"That would be lovely, little sister."

I went out of her room and it was some time later when I remembered that mail had come with the boat and that there was a letter from Laura waiting for me.

Even as I slit the envelope my thoughts were full of Susannah.

My dear Suewellyn [I read],

It has happened at last. The wedding is to be in September. This will fit in just right for the boat. You can arrive a week before and help with the preparations. It is so exciting. My mother wants a grand wedding. The boys pretend they don't and it's a lot of nonsense. But I think they are thrilled really.

I'm having a white gown made. The bridesmaids' dresses are going to be pale blue. You are to be a bridesmaid. I shall have the dresses made up to a point and all they will need is a quick fitting when you come. I am writing to Philip too. You can travel together. Oh, Suewellyn, I'm so happy. I beat you to the post, didn't I? ...

I put the letter away. On the boat's next call I should be ready to leave with it. Philip could come with me. It might be that Laura's wedding would make him think that I was almost as grown up as his sister and that it was time I married too.

I was smiling to myself. It was all falling so naturally into place—or had been.

I had a feeling that things might change now that Susannah had come.

They did. Her very presence changed the place. There was a great deal of excitement on the island because of her. The girls and women chattered together about her and giggled as we passed by. The men followed her with their eyes.

Susannah enjoyed their interest. She was clearly delighted to be on the island.

She was charming, affable and affectionate; and yet her presence had an effect on us which was the reverse of comforting. ... I knew that she reminded Anabel of Jessamy and that disturbed her peace of mind. She was as conscious now of the wrong she had done Jessamy as she had been in the beginning.

"My poor Mama," Susannah said, "she was always so sad. Janet... do you remember Janet? Janet said she had no will to live. Janet was impatient. What's done's done,' she used to say. 'No use crying over spilled milk.' As if losing your husband and your best friend could be compared with knocking over the milk jug!" Susannah's laugh rang out as she recalled Janet and gave what I believe was a fair imitation of her. But, amusing as it might be, it brought back bitter memories to Anabel.

And my father? "A new doctor came to Mateland. People went on talking about you for years. ... It was a nine days' wonder, wasn't it? Poor Grandfather Egmont. He used to go about saying, I've lost both my sons at a stroke.' He made a great fuss of Esmond after a while and he invited Malcolm to stay more often. We wondered whether Malcolm would be the next in line of succession. We weren't sure because Grandfather Egmont had always borne a grudge against Malcolm's grandfather. He was always rather fond of me and some people thought I'd be the next if Esmond didn't have children. He was always rather fond of girls ... liked them a lot better than he liked boys... ." She laughed. "It's a family trait in the males which has persisted through the centuries. He seemed to realize that girls might have other attributes than good looks and charm. He used to go round the estate with me and show me things and talk to me about it. He used to say there was nothing like having two strings to your bow. Garth used to call Esmond, Malcolm and me the Three Strings."

Somehow in her seemingly lighthearted conversation she found the spot where best to thrust the barb, and when it came there would be an expression of such innocence on her face that no one could believe that she was aware of what she was doing.

She showed a great interest in the hospital but somehow managed to belittle it. It was wonderful to have such a place on a desert island, she said. It could have been part of a real hospital, couldn't it? They would have to train those black people to be nurses, she supposed. How very intriguing!

She made it all seem like a bit of play acting; and I noticed that there was a change in Philip now. He no longer had that exalted expression on his face when he talked about the work they were going to do.

I wondered whether even my father had begun to think of this project as a wild dream.

Anabel and I sat together in our favorite spot under the palm trees in the shadow of the Grumbling Giant, and as we looked over the pearly blue-green translucent sea and listened to the gentle breaking of the waves on the shore, Anabel said: "I wish Susannah hadn't come."

I was silent. I could not really agree because Susannah excited me. Things had changed since she came and, although I knew they had not done so in the most comfortable manner, I was completely fascinated by my half sister.

"I suppose really," said Anabel, "I'm being unfair. It's natural that she should bring back memories of things we would rather forget. One should not blame her. It's just that she makes us blame ourselves."

I said: "It's so strange to me ... exciting in a way. Sometimes I feel I am looking at myself."

"The resemblance is not all that marked. Your features are alike. I remember her as a little girl. She was ... mischievous. One doesn't take much notice of that in children. Oh, as I say, I'm being unfair."

"She is very pleasant to us all," I said. "I think she does want us to like her."

"Some people are like that. They supposedly mean no harm ... and in fact do nothing one can point a finger to, but they act as a disturbance to others while seeming innocent of this. We have all changed subtly since she came."

I thought a good deal about that. It was true in a way. My mother had lost her exuberant good spirits; she was thinking a great deal about Jessamy, I knew. My father was living in the past too. It had been a terrible burden to carry, the death of his own brother. He would never need to be reminded of what he had done but he had begun to work out his salvation and he had dedicated himself to saving lives. And now his guilt sat heavily upon him. Moreover somehow the hospital had been belittled. It seemed like a childish game instead of a great endeavor.

Philip had changed too. I did not want to think about Philip. I had believed that he was beginning to love me. When I first went to the property as his sister's friend I had been just a schoolgirl to him. We had enjoyed being together, had talked together and liked the same things. I had been entranced by everything I saw and he had enjoyed introducing me to the great outback. But he had had to get used to the idea that I was growing up. I thought he had when he came to the island. I had, perhaps conceitedly, thought that I was one of the reasons for his coming. My parents had thought so too. We had all been so happy and cozy. The nightmare of that fearful experience that my parents had undergone had receded, although it could never disappear altogether. Now of course it was right over them, brought by Susannah. She could hardly be blamed for that, except that she made it seem as though it had happened yesterday. But Philip? How had she changed him? The fact was that she had bemused him.

Cougabel said to me one day when she met me on the stairs, "Take care of her, she spell maker and she make big spell for Phildo."

Phildo was Philip. He had been amused when he first heard it. It meant Philip the doctor.

Cougabel laid her hand on my arm and gave me an expressive glance from those limpid eyes of hers. "Cougabel watch for you," she said.

Ah, I thought, we are blood sisters again.

I was pleased, of course, to be on better terms with her, but disturbed by what she was hinting—the more so because I knew it was true.

It was natural that Philip should be attracted by Susannah. He had been attracted by me and Susannah was like me but in a more glittering package. The clothes she wore, the manner in which she spoke and walked ... they were alluring. I could imitate her very easily but I scorned to do this. All the same it was rather saddening to stand by and see Philip's interest in me wane while it waxed for Susannah's more sophisticated charms.

My mother was cool to him; so was my father. They must have discussed the change together and it was beginning to occur to them that Susannah—without doing anything but be perfectly charming to us all—was spoiling our plans for the future.

She loved to be with me, and I was fascinated but a little repelled by her.

I felt I had been transported to that magic day when I had seen the castle and there had had my three wishes. There was no doubt that she was obsessed by the castle too. She described it to me in detail ... the inside, that is. The outside was imprinted on my memory forever.

"It's wonderful," she said, "to belong to such a family. I used to like to sit in the great main hall and look up at that high vaulted roof and the lovely carvings of the minstrels' gallery and imagine my ancestors dancing. The Queen came once ... Queen Elizabeth, you know. It's all in the records. The Tudor Matelands were ruined by her coming and had to sell some of the oaks in the park to meet the bills for entertaining her. Another ancestor planted more when he was rewarded after the Restoration for being loyal to Charles. You can see them all in the gallery. Oh yes, it is exciting to belong to such a family ... even though we have robbers, traitors and murderers among us. Oh, sorry. But you mustn't really be so sensitive about Uncle David. He was not a very good man. I'll bet you anything my father had a very good reason for fighting that duel. Besides, a duel is not a real murder. They both agree to fight and one wins, that's all. Oh, I do wish you wouldn't all look so glum when I mention Uncle David."

"It's been on our father's conscience for years. How would you feel if you had killed your brother?"

"Having none, it's difficult to say. But if I killed my half sister I should be very cross with myself, for to tell you the truth I like her more and more every day."

She could say charming things like that and then one believed she never meant to wound.

"Uncle David was a typical Mateland," she went on. "In the old days he would have waylaid travelers and brought them to the castle and made sport with them. There was one who did that long ago in the dark, dark ages. Uncle David would have gone for the women ... fate worse than death and all that. Oh yes, he was very fond of the women. He had his mistresses right under Aunt Emerald's nose. Mind you, she was an invalid, poor soul. And a very trying old lady she is too. As for Elizabeth ... but she's dead now."

"What about Esmond?" I asked.

Her expression changed. "I'll tell you a secret, shall I, Suewellyn? I'm going to marry Esmond."

"Oh, that's wonderful."

"How do you know?"

"Well, if you love him ... and you've been brought up together ..."

"Quite good reasons, but there is another. Shall I tell you what it is? You ought to guess. Can you? No, of course you can't. You're too good. You've been brought up by sweet Anabel ... who was not too sweet to get a child by the husband of her best friend... ."

"Please don't talk about my mother like that."

"I'm sorry, sweet sister. But it was my mother who was her best friend and I was there when she found out. But you're right.

It's not fair to speak of it now. It's not really fair to judge anybody, is it? Only priggish people do that, for how can they know what drives people to act as they do, and how do we know what we should do in similar circumstances?"

"I agree," I said.

"Then you won't judge me too harshly when I tell you I'm going to marry Esmond because he owns the castle."

"And you wouldn't marry him if he didn't?"

"No. It is purely because he owns the castle and I'd marry anyone who owned the castle. I should get it if Esmond died but as Esmond comes first I'd have to marry Esmond or kill him— and marriage is much easier. There, now you're shocked. You think, She is selling herself for a pile of stones and talking about murder as though it is a natural way of life."

I was silent. I was thinking: If she is going to marry Esmond, she will go away and it will be as it was before. Philip and I will be together again.

But it wouldn't be the same, of course.

"Ever since I was a child I was fascinated by the castle," she went on, for once not seeing that my attention had strayed from her affairs to my own. "I used to force myself to go down to the dungeons. I had the children over from the nearby manor house to play with me and I used to make them enter the undercroft— and the crypt leads from there. You go down a few steps and it is dark and cold ... so cold, Suewellyn. It's hard to imagine that cold here. And there are the vaults ... long-dead Matelands all lying in state in those magnificent tombs. One day I shall be there. I shan't change my name when I marry. I shall never be anything but a Mateland. It's very convenient Esmond's being my cousin."

"Does he know of your obsession with the castle?"

"To a certain extent. But, like all men, he is vain. He thinks he must be included in the obsession and that is something I have to let him believe."

"You sound very cynical, Susannah."

"I have to be realistic. Everybody does if they are going to get what they want."

"When are you going to marry Esmond?"

"When I go back probably."

"When is that?"

"When I have seen the world. I was in a finishing school in Paris for a year and when that was over I wanted to complete my education by seeing the world. I was going to do something like the Grand Tour. Then I discovered where my father was, so naturally I changed plans and came out here."

"It was a breach of confidence for this man to tell you."

"I had to be very charming to him. I can if I want to."

"You seem to be ... quite effortlessly."

"It seems so. That's the art of it ... to let it appear effortless. But a lot of work goes into it, you know."

"Sometimes I think you're laughing at me ... laughing at us all."

"It's good to laugh, Suewellyn."

"But not at other people's expense."

"I wouldn't hurt you ... any of you. Why, I love you all. You're my long-lost family."

Her eyes were mocking. I wished that I understood Susannah.

But there was no doubt that her delight in Mateland Castle was genuine. I was growing as enthralled as she was. It seemed as though I wandered through those vaulted rooms with her. I could feel the cold of the vaults, the terror of the dungeons, the eerieness of the undercroft and the splendor of the main hall. I felt that I had actually walked up the great staircase and stood beneath the portraits of those long-dead Matelands, that I had dined in their company in the dining room with its tapestried walls and needlepoint chair seats which had been worked by some long-dead ancestor. I lingered in the Braganza room which the Queen of that name had occupied when she stayed at the castle. I sat on the bay window in the library with books from the shelves piled beside me—and in the main hall and the little breakfast room which the family used for taking meals when they were alone. Then I walked through the armory at night when it was so ghostly with the suits of armor standing there like sentinels. I felt that I had sat in the solarium catching the last of the sun before darkness fell. It was uncanny. I felt that I knew the castle, that I had lived there. I longed to hear of it and continually I plied Susannah with questions.

She was amused. "You see the power of this castle," she said. "You, who have never stepped inside it, long to be there. You would like to possess it, wouldn't you? Oh yes, you would. Imagine yourself mistress of Mateland. Imagine yourself going to the kitchens every morning to discuss the day's menu with the cooks, bustling round the stillroom, counting your preserves, arranging balls and all the amusements which are part of entertaining in a castle. It's because you belong. You're one of us. Our blood is in your veins and if you acquired it on the wrong side of the blanket, as they say, it's still there, isn't it? It's the home of your ancestors. Your roots are sprouting from those ancient stone walls."

There was a good deal in what she said. I would never forget as long as I lived standing at the edge of the woods with Anabel and seeing it for the first time, and how I had watched the riders passing under the gatehouse—Susannah, Esmond, Malcolm and Garth.

Susannah and I spent a great deal of time together. I told her I was going to Laura's wedding and would be leaving with the ship when next it called. "Shall you be leaving too?" I asked.

"I'll think about it," she said. "You'll be away two months. Oh yes, I must come with you. I'll have to make plans for going home. Why don't you come with me? I'd love to show you the castle."

"Come with you! How would you explain me to Esmond ... Emerald and the others?"

"I should say: 'This is my beloved sister. We have become good friends. She is going to stay at the castle.'"

"They would know who I was."

"Why not? You're a Mateland ... one of us, aren't you?"

"I couldn't come. They would ask questions. They would find out where my father is... ."

She shrugged her shoulders. "Think about it," she said, "while you're dancing at this wedding."

"I am leaving in two weeks' time."

"And Philip will go with you. The bride is his sister, isn't she? I'll have to come, I think."

"I am sure the Halmers would welcome you. It's a big property and there are lots of rooms."

She was thoughtful.

A few days later she said: "Why do you always wear those smocks, Suewellyn? I'd like to see you in something really smart. Come on, try on one of my dresses. Let's see if we can fool them. We'll dress you up as me."

"It would take more than a dress."

She eyed me intently. "I'm going to try," she said.

She brought out the white dress which she had arrived in. It had been freshly laundered.

"Come on, slip it on. Let me see you."

I did so. The dress did transform me. It was an almost perfect fit. I was slightly taller—so slightly that it was only noticeable when we stood side by side; and I was a trifle slimmer.

"What a transformation! Because you live on a desert island, you don't need to look like a native," she said. "There, what do you think of that?"

We stood side by side looking in the mirror. "We're still very much ourselves," I said.

"Here. Let me do your hair for you."

I sat down and she turned away swiftly and came back to me. She had started to cut my hair before I had noticed what she was doing. I cried out in protest but it was too late. I already had the beginnings of a fringe.

She laughed at my dismay.

"I assure you it will be an improvement. You will love it. In any case you are too late to stop me now. Please keep still or you will spoil my handiwork."

I sat there. The image which looked back at me from the mirror had changed from that which usually confronted me.

Susannah stood back. "There! Isn't that exciting?"

She put her face close to mine.

"We might be twins. And now let me make the picture complete."

She turned my face towards her and applied a black pencil to the mole on my chin.

"There. The picture is complete. Do you think you can deceive them?"

"Deceive my mother! Never!"

"Perhaps not, but you could those who don't know you very well."

She was amused. Her eyes gleamed. "I look forward to going down to dinner. You must wear that dress, Suewellyn, and when we are in Sydney we'll buy some clothes for you." I looked down at the white dress and she went on: "Oh, do keep it on. It's most becoming. I always liked that dress. But more on you than on myself."

I kept glancing at myself in the glass. No, I was not really much like Susannah; but it was a different self that looked back at me.

When I came out of Susannah's room I came face to face with Cougabel. She took one look at me, gave a little scream and fled.

I cried out: "Come back, Cougabel. What's the matter with you?"

She paused and looked over her shoulder, staring at me as though I were a ghost.

"Oh no ... no ..." she cried, "bad ... bad... ." And she turned and ran away.

They were astounded when I appeared at dinner.

"Suewellyn!" cried my mother, really dismayed. "What have you done to your hair?"

"I did it," said Susannah, almost defiantly.

My mother just looked at me.

"Don't you like it?" asked Susannah. "And doesn't she look lovely in my white dress? I was heartily sick of those smocks and my sister's going round like a native."

"It looks charming," was Philip's comment. "Why, you look very like Susannah."

That hurt a little. I looked charming because I looked more like Susannah. He was honest at any rate.

My father's comment was: "Whatever have you done to yourself?"

"Susannah did it," my mother told him.

"Oh, Stepmother ..." Susannah now and then referred to Anabel as Stepmother; she did it in a somewhat ironical way. Anabel hated it and Susannah knew it. "You make it sound as though I've cut off her head."

"You've cut off some of her beautiful hair," said Anabel.

"It shows it off better that way; and she looks so pretty. You must admit it."

"It looks ... neater," said my father.

"There!" cried Susannah. "That is what you call damning with faint praise. Who wants to look neater? That is for maiden aunts. We want to look more fashionable, a la mode, beautiful, don't we, Suewellyn?"

"Oh," I said, "for heaven's sake stop discussing my hair."

"I like it," put in Philip softly.

And then we settled down to a meal.

That night I had two visitors when I was in bed. The first was my mother. She sat on the edge of the bed and said: "What made you let her do it?"

"I didn't realize she was going to until she started. Then she had to go on. In a way, she's right. It is more becoming. My hair was also getting untidy."

"It makes you look like her. It accentuates that faint resemblance."

"Never mind. It's done. It's only hair and I can let it grow in the old way in time."

"You'll be going to Laura's wedding soon. I suppose she will go with you."

"The Halmers are very hospitable. I am sure Philip has asked her."

My mother's face hardened. She said: "Oh, I wish she hadn't come here. She's changed everything... ."

"If they changed," I said quietly, "it wasn't really only because of her. If they had been more ... steady ... they wouldn't have changed."

I was thinking of Philip and she knew it.

"She's like some sort of siren," said my mother angrily. "She was always a strange child. I remember she always used to be up to some sly sort of mischief. We thought she would grow out of it."

"You mustn't get ideas about her, Anabel."

"She's not a bit like Jessamy, or her father. I wonder where she gets that mischievous malice from."

"It's the Mateland strain, I dare say. Some of the ancestors were not too nice. There is nothing wrong with Susannah really. Sometimes she can be very charming."

"I always feel she's making trouble. I suppose I don't like her because she is your father's daughter and I don't like the thought of anyone's giving him a daughter except me."

Anabel was always frank with herself and I loved her for it

"Dear, dear Anabel," I said, "don't worry because I've got a fringe. Nothing can change the way we are together, can it? Whatever happens, you'll always be there for me ... and I for you."

She came close to me and put her arms about me.

"You are right, Suewellyn," she said. "There are times when I think I am becoming a silly old woman."

She kissed me and went out.

My next visitor came about half an hour later just as I was dropping off to sleep. This was more dramatic.

The door was slowly opened and a black figure glided in. I could scarcely make her out, for there was no light in the room except that which came from a crescent moon and a sky full of stars.

I started up in bed.

"Cougaba!"

"Yes, Little Missy. Cougaba."

"Is something wrong? Is Cougabel all right?"

"Cougabel very frightened."

"What's happened?"

She pointed a finger at me. "What you do. What you am. There is spell on you."

I put up a hand and touched my new fringe.

"Not good ... not good," murmured Cougaba. "Bad spell is put on you."

"Oh, Cougaba, have you wakened me to tell me you don't like the way my hair is cut?"

She came closer to the bed; her eyes were round with horror.

"I tell you," she said, "bad ... bad... . Cougabel know. You blood sister. She feel it. She feel it here... ." Cougaba touched her forehead and the spot where her heart might be expected to be.

"She say: 'Bad things have come to Little Missy. Spell woman take her ... make her bad. Make her like spell woman.'"

"Oh, dear Cougaba, you must tell Cougabel not to worry. I'm perfectly all right. It's only that some of my hair has been cut off."

"Bad witch," she said, "Cougaba know. Cougabel know. Cougabel said Giant not like her. He grumbled when this bad thing done."

"The Giant! What has it to do with him?"

"He like island grow big ... rich. He like Daddajo and Mamabel and Little Missy. He not like spell woman ... and now she take you and make you like her."

"Nobody is going to take me and make me different. I'm myself and I always will be."

Cougaba shook her head sorrowfully.

"You go away. You go on big ship." She came closer to me.

"Take Phildo with you. Take him away from her. She put spell on him. You ... Phildo ... happy. We like. Have little babies... . Grow up on island. More babies ... lots of little babies ... and make fine rich island. But Giant angry. He does not like. Take her away... . Come back ... come back with Phildo and have babies."

"Oh, Cougaba, it's good of you to care so much."

I held out my arms and she came to me and held me for a moment. Then she drew back, frowning at my hair.

"Not good," she said, shaking her head. "She take you ... she make you like her... . Cougabel very sad. She feels it in her blood. She says Giant angry. He her father. ... He father of her child. She very close to Giant."

It was no use reminding Cougaba that this was not so. It mattered not that she had admitted in a moment of stress that Luke Carter was Cougabel's father and we knew that Cougabel's child had not been conceived on the Night of the Masks. Cougaba, like all her race, accepted as truth what she wanted to.

However, I soothed her and, as she thought that Susannah was going away soon, she allowed herself to be comforted.

It was a week before the ship was due to arrive and I was ready to leave.

We were at dinner when Susannah said: "I've decided not to go to Sydney. I'm not really ready to leave the island yet, and let's face it, when I leave I'll have to go home, and when should I get a chance to come and see you all again?"

There was silence. Philip looked completely dismayed.

I said: "Laura would have liked you to be at her wedding. I was looking forward to her seeing us together."

"Fringes and all," cried Susannah flippantly. "No. I've made up my mind. You won't turn me out, will you?" She was looking pleadingly at our father and then she turned and her gaze lingered on Anabel.

"Of course you must stay as long as you want to," said my father.

"I thought the novelty had worn a little thin by now," added Anabel.

"There you are mistaken. The place is so fascinating. Think of all you are doing. When that hospital project really gets under way it will be magnificent. I should love to see it. But I dare say it will take years and years to turn it into a working concern. Perhaps I'll come back someday and see you all. But just yet, I don't feel ready to go. Do you mind, Suewellyn?"

"I was looking forward to introducing you to Laura. She would have enjoyed meeting you. But I understand, of course."

"You'll be coming back in two months. I shall have to go then, but we'll have a lovely day together before I leave."

"You seem to like the primitive life," said Anabel coldly.

"There are certain things which keep me here." Her eyes swept round the table and rested on Philip.

But he is going with me, I thought, and I wondered how Susannah would like the island without Philip to enslave and me to laugh at.

I was very soon to get an answer to that.

I had come out of the house and was walking down to the shore to sit in my favorite spot under a palm tree where I would read one of the books which had come on the last ship. Philip was beside me.

"I want to talk to you, Suewellyn."

"Yes. What about?"

"Shall we sit down? Under this tree?" He was obviously seeking for the right words. At length he said: "I've been thinking a lot about this... ."

"About what?"

"Laura's wedding."

"You do need a lot of prompting, Philip. What about Laura's wedding?"

"Well, there's a certain amount of fever on the island... ."

"There always is."

"It... it's rather too much for your father to cope with."

"He coped adequately before you came."

"I think he needs me here."

"Oh," I said slowly, "you're telling me that you don't want to come to Laura's wedding."

"Not don't want to, Suewellyn."

"Well, just that you prefer to stay here."

"It's not a matter of preferring. It's just that I feel I ought... ."

I nodded. I looked out over the sea so calmly beautiful, opalescent today, and the water so clear that one could see the sand beneath it.

I wanted to fling myself down on the sand and weep. I did not know until that moment how much I wanted to stay here with my family around me, my deeply loved mother, my revered father ... and Philip. I had planned so far ahead. I had seen the hospital working full strength, doing all that I knew it was capable of. I had seen the island a prosperous community and Philip and me bringing up our children here.

I heard myself say: "You feel that ... that ..."

"I do," he said earnestly. "I could not happily leave your father here alone ... now... ."

I wanted to shout at him: "You mean you don't want to leave Susannah."

So it was all over. All this time I had been telling myself that she would go away and in time we should forget that she ever came.

Then I thought: Poor Philip. She will never marry you. She is going to marry Esmond ... for the castle.