The Mask of the Enchantress

The Great Deception

It is a common human characteristic that when one has decided on a course of action which is wrong, dishonest and even criminal the mind of the offender immediately begins to discover reasons why such action is justifiable.

I was a Mateland. My father's offspring should surely be in the line of inheritance. I was my father's second daughter. Esmond was dead; Susannah was dead. Had my parents been married I should have been the next.

It was no use reminding myself that my parents were not married. I was, as I had frankly been told by the children at school, a bastard; and bastards had no rights.

But, said my persuasive mind, my father had loved my mother more dearly than he had loved anyone else. She was his wife in his eyes. I was a Mateland. I had changed my name when I came to them; surely I was entitled to be recognized as such.

The idea was growing.

But for Susannah, Philip would be with me now. He would have accompanied me to his sister's wedding, and we should have married, for he had been in love with me to a certain extent, as I had been with him.

But Susannah had come and stolen my lover. Why should I not take her inheritance? There! It was out.

"It's fantastic," I said aloud. "It's impossible. It's a wild dream."

And the alternative?

I stared the bleak future blankly in the face. I could go to Roston, Evans; I could confess my little deception. It was nothing very serious at the moment. Then I could go to the Halmers and stay with Mrs. Halmer until I worked out what I was going to do. Perhaps I could borrow the money to go to England and there try some post as a governess or a companion, which seemed to be the only course open to women of some education who suddenly found themselves forced to earn a living. I should be utterly miserable.

On the other hand there was this wild preposterous plan which had presented itself to me. All sorts of notions, ideas, possibilities were thrusting themselves into my mind.

It's wrong, I kept telling myself. It's fraud. It's criminal. It's unthinkable.

In some ways to contemplate it acted as a palliative. It took my mind off misery. Of course I won't do it, I told myself, but it would be interesting to see how it could be done ... if it could be done.

An hour slipped by. I was still thinking of it.

I could go to Roston, Evans. The young man did not know me. He was, in fact, of the opinion that I was Susannah. His accosting me in the street had been the beginning of it all. It would never have occurred to me if that had not happened. It was Fate tempting me. It was like a bait. I had taken the first step down the slippery slope when I allowed him to believe I was Susannah. Why had I done that? It was like some prearranged pattern beginning to show itself.

The first part would be easy. I could go to Mr. Roston and get the money for my passage home. I could tell him that I had set out for the island and been unable to land because of the volcanic eruption. That was all true.

I could go to England ... and to Mateland Castle. Then the dangerous part would begin.

One part of Emerald's letter kept coming into my mind: "I shall hardly know what you look like. It has been so long."

Surely it was meant to be!

I thought a great deal about the castle. I believed I knew something about Emerald from what Anabel as well as Susannah had told me. She had said it was long since we met; she referred to her poor vision. That letter of hers was like a beckoning finger, like Fate saying: Come on. It is all made easy for you.

Esmond was the only one who would have been so acutely aware of everything about Susannah that he would immediately recognize an imposture. And Esmond was dead.

Well, it had been diverting to dream and to fabricate such a wild adventure in my mind; and God knew I was in need of some divertissement to draw me out of this hideous depression which enveloped me.

I had done nothing so far except allow Roston to believe that I was Susannah, collect her mail and open it. There was nothing very wicked about that.

I must leave it there and start thinking sensibly.

Misery enveloped me. I kept seeing Anabel coming to visit me at Crabtree Cottage, carrying me off with her on that never-to-be-forgotten night—and most vividly of all, holding my hand as we stood together looking at the castle.

I had no desire to go on living unless ... unless ...

I spent a restless night. I kept dozing and dreaming that I had come to the castle.

"It is mine now," I said in my dream.

Then I would awake and toss from side to side, my dream still with me.

In the morning the first thing I thought was: Mr. Roston will be looking for Susannah. He will think she was not on the island. He will know by now that she is the owner of the castle and that that was the purport of the letters he gave me. He would be expecting her to call. I had already created a situation. I had forgotten that. Yes, I was deeper in this than I had at first thought.

Instead of filling me with horror, this thought exhilarated me.

Matelands lived dangerously and I was one of them.

Then I knew that I was going to attempt this outrageous adventure. I was going to enter the biggest masquerade I had ever envisaged. I knew it was wrong. I knew that I would be in acute danger. But I was going to do it. I had to do it. It was the only way out of the slough of despond.

The fact was that I didn't care what became of me. The Grumbling Giant had, at one stroke, robbed me of everything I cared for.

I was going to do this desperate thing because, for a host of reasons, it would give me an interest in life.

Besides, I wanted the castle. From the moment I saw it I had felt bound to it, and the urge to take it was growing stronger with every hour because it was only that which could make me want to go on living.

As I walked down Hunter Street I was turning over in my mind what I would say to Mr. Roston, and even as I entered the building and started up the stairs, my mind was not entirely made up. I should not have been surprised if I had blurted out the truth about my deception. But when he received me in his office I did no such thing. He began by saying:

"Miss Mateland, I am glad you've come. I have been expecting you. This is a terrible matter. Of course there was always the possibility of the volcano's erupting, but no one thought it likely, or my father would have advised you against going in the first place. It must have been a shock to you. And now ... this even greater shock. The death of your cousin in England." "I ... I can't believe it. It's quite terrible." "Of course. Of course. I gather it was a sudden illness. Most unexpected. A dreadful blow for you." He was gently soothing but, I sensed, eager to get on with the real business. "I suppose you will be returning to England." "It's what I must do. I haven't enough money for my passage... ."

"My dear Miss Mateland, that presents no problem. We have instructions from Carruthers, Gentle. I can advance you as much as you need. We can book your passage. I hear that your auntis eagerly awaiting your return."

My resolution was weakening. "The old Debil" was indeed at my elbow.

I suddenly knew, there in Mr. Roston's office, that I was going on with it.

Within three weeks I was sailing to England on the S.S. Victoria. My thoughts went back to that journey I had made with my parents over eleven years before. How different that had been and yet both voyages were dominated by a sense of adventure and excitement. In both instances I was going into a new life.

There was something uncanny about this. I was changing my character. At times I had the strange feeling that I was becoming Susannah. There was a new ruthlessness about me. Was it possible that when someone died that person's soul could find refuge in someone else's body? There was a theory about that, I believed. Sometimes I felt that Susannah had entered mine.

Mr. Roston had given me a trunk of clothes and documents which she had left in the care of his firm. Before leaving Sydney I had gone through it. I had tried on the dresses and chic hats. They all fitted me. I began to walk like Susannah. I began to talk as she had. The girl I had been would never have dared do what I was doing. It was significant that I had ceased to make excuses for myself.

I was a Mateland; I was Susannah's sister; I belonged to the castle. Why should I not take over the role of Susannah? What harm could it do? Susannah was dead. It meant changing my Christian name from Suewellyn to Susannah. They even sounded something alike.

S.M. was imprinted on the trunks. My own initials.

The long sea voyage gave me the time I needed to adjust and to observe the change in myself. People noticed me. I had lost all my diffidence. I had become not only an attractive young woman but one who knew she was.

The fact that there was now no going back added to my confidence. I had to carry on and I was going to. No one should ever know the difference. From now on I was Susannah Mateland, heiress to a castle and a fortune.

This wild adventure had done something for me. It was so preposterous, so fraught with danger, and there was so much to learn that I had no time to brood on my misery. I could even smile to think of Susannah, who had always enjoyed getting the better of me, now gone, leaving me to enjoy what was hers.

There was a certain amount of social life on the ship. The captain took a great deal of notice of me. He knew that I had been going out to visit relations on Vulcan Island and was full of commiseration. But he congratulated me on my fortuitous escape.

"If it had happened a week or so later I should have been there," I said. "I was going out for a last visit before leaving for England."

"A very happy escape, Miss Mateland."

I looked sadly out to the sea. There were moments when I

thought it was far from happy and I still wished that I had been there with them.

He patted my hand. "You must not grieve, Miss Mateland, but it is a tragedy that the island has been ruined."

He sensed that the subject was painful and did not refer to it again. But he was particularly kind to me and I told him that I was going home to claim my inheritance.

"Mateland Castle has come to me on the death of my cousin," I said.

"Ah, you have much to go back to. Is this castle known to you, Miss Mateland?"

"Oh yes ... yes. ... It is my home."

He nodded. "You'll feel better when you get home."

I went on to talk about the castle. I glowed with pride in it. I was almost aware of Susannah within me urging me on, applauding me. And I thought: This is the sort of thing Susannah would do. I am becoming Susannah.

That was the easy part.

It was April when we docked in Southampton. I took the train to Mateland. It was like retracing that long-ago journey when I sat holding Anabel's hand tightly, my whole being thrilled by the granting of my three wishes.

I remembered the comfort I had derived from Anabel and the lovely new feeling of security. I was far from feeling that now.

In fact with every passing moment I was growing more and more apprehensive.

Mateland Station. How heartbreakingly familiar! I alighted from the train and a man in a peaked cap came towards me.

"Why, Miss Susannah!" he cried. "Welcome home. They're expecting you. 'Tis good to see you. Terrible tragedy, were it not ... Mr. Esmond going like that?"

"Yes," I said. "Terrible ... terrible... ."

"'Tweren't long afore he died I saw him. He came back home. He'd been away. I can see him now getting out of this train, smiling ... in that quiet way of his. 'Back again, Joe,' he says. "You won't catch me staying long away from Mateland.' Not like you, Miss Susannah."

"No, Joe, not like me."

"Well, you've changed a bit."

My heart leaped in sudden fear. "Oh ... not for the worse, I hope."

"No ... no. Not that, Miss Susannah. Mrs. Tomkin will be glad you're back. She said to me only the other day: 'It's time Miss Susannah was back, Joe. That'll make a change up at the castle.'"

"Remember me to Mrs. Tomkin, Joe."

"That I will, miss. Can't wait to get home to tell her. Is the castle sending for you?"

"I wasn't sure of the time... ."

"I'll get the fly to take you down. How's that?"

I said it was a good idea.

As I was seated in the fly jogging along those lanes I told myself that this was going to be my first test. I had to keep my ears and eyes open all the time. I must not miss the smallest detail. I had to learn all the time. Even that brief encounter had given me the name of the stationmaster and the fact that he had a wife, and that Esmond had a quiet way with him.

It was scarifying, horrifying and at the same time tremendously exhilarating.

Then, suddenly, there it was ahead of me in all its glory. I was filled with emotion as I gazed at those lofty curtain walls and the strong drum towers at the four angles, at the battlemented gatehouse, the gray flinty walls, formidable, impregnable, and the narrow slits of windows.

I felt a great wave of possessive love for the place. Mateland. Mine.

The fly took us through the portcullis into a courtyard. There we stopped and two grooms ran out to help me alight. I was not sure whether I should know them or not. The elder of the two said: "Miss Susannah ..."

"Yes," I answered. "I'm here."

"This is good news, Miss Susannah."

"Thank you," I said.

"It seems so long since you went away, miss, and so much has happened since then. This is Thomas, miss, the new stableboy. He's been with us a month or more."

"Good day, Thomas."

Thomas touched his forelock and murmured something.

"Well, Miss Susannah. I'll have your baggage taken up to your room. And you'll want to go at once to Mrs. Mateland. She's been all impatience for you to come."

"Yes," I said. "Yes."

I walked into the castle. I recognized the hall from Anabel's and Susannah's descriptions as the main hall. I looked up at the magnificent timbered roof, at the stone walls on which some tapestry hung side by side with spears and lances. I knew that high in the wall there was what was called a "peep." It was an aperture scarcely visible from below to those who did not know exactly where it was. Behind it would be a little alcove where the ladies of the house used to look down on the revelries in the hall when they were considered too young to join in or the company was too ribald for them. I knew that it was now used to see what visitors had come and if one did not want to receive them one hurried out of reach.

I had a horrible feeling that I was being watched now, and quite suddenly as I stood there in the hall I was terrified. I had walked into this too glibly. I had not thought of where it could lead me. I was a fraud. I was a cheat. I was taking possession of this magnificent place when I had no legal right to.

It was useless now to tell myself that I had a moral right, which I had been doing since I started on this mad adventure.

I had come here to take the castle. It was as though I had been put under a spell. Now I felt that hundreds of eyes watched me, lured me on, mocked me, urged me to come and see what I could do to take the castle.

I was trapped at this first moment. Here I stood in the center of the main hall and I did not know which way to go. Susannah would have gone straight to her room or Emerald's. Susannah would have known.

There was a staircase at the end of the hall. I knew that it led up to the picture gallery. I had heard both Anabel and Susannah mention it many times. I started up it and was relieved to see a woman standing on the landing.

She was middle-aged, rather self-righteous-looking, with brown hair pulled tightly back from her forehead and rather penetrating light brown eyes.

"Miss Susannah," she said. "Well, my word, and it's about time too."

"Hello," I said cautiously.

"Let's have a look at you. H'm. You've changed. Foreign parts have done you good. Got a bit scraggy though. I suppose it's all this upset."

"Yes, I suppose so."

Who is she? I wondered. Some sort of servant, but a privileged one. A horrible thought struck me. She might be one of those nannies who had been with the child from birth. If so, she would soon find me out.

"It was shocking ... Mr. Esmond ... so sudden, too. You going to Mrs. Mateland or your room first?"

"I think I'd better see her first."

"I'll go up with you and warn her you're here, shall I?"

I nodded with relief. "How are her eyes?" I asked.

"They've got much worse. It's cataract over them both. She can see a little ... but of course it's going to get worse."

"I am sorry."

She looked at me sharply. "Well, you know she was never one to make light of her misfortunes ... and with Mr. Esmond going ..."

"Of course," I said.

She had started up the stairs and I gratefully walked beside her.

"I'll warn her you're here before you go bursting in," she said.

We went along the gallery. I felt I knew it well. There were all my ancestors. I would study them in detail at my leisure.

Up the staircase we went. At the top of it the woman paused. She turned and looked at me and my heart felt as though it would burst out of my body.

She said: "Did you see your father?"

I nodded.

"And Miss ... Anabel? ..." There was a slight tremor in her voice as she said that and then I knew, for from the first she had seemed vaguely familiar. She was the one who had brought the food when we went on the picnic and who had driven the dogcart for us, the one who, Anabel had told me, always said what she meant, who couldn't tell a lie and rarely said anything good about anything. I struggled a few moments to bring out her name from the recesses of my memory. Then I thought, Janet! It must be Janet, but I was not going to fall into the trap of using her name until I was sure.

"Yes," I said, "I saw them both."

"Were they ..."

I said fervently: "They were happy together. My father was doing wonderful work on the island."

"We've only just got the news about the explosion or whatever it was."

"It was a volcanic eruption."

"Whatever it was, it killed them both. Miss Anabel ... she was a wayward one ... but she had a sweet nature... .*

"You're right," I said.

Again that sharp look in my direction. Then she shrugged her shoulders. "Ought never to have done it."

She turned and we went on our way. She paused by a door, tapped on it and a voice called, "Come in." Janet turned to me and put her fingers to her lips.

I heard the voice say: "Is that you, Janet?"

"It is, Mrs. Mateland."

I was right. It was Janet. I felt I had made some progress.

"Miss Susannah's home, Mrs. Mateland."

I went into the room.

So this was Emerald, the wife of David whom my father had killed in a duel. She was sitting in a chair away from the light She was evidently a tall woman and very slender; her expression was resigned, her face pale and her hair turning gray.

"Susannah ..." she said.

I heard myself say: "Oh, Aunt Emerald, it is good to see you."

"I thought you were never coming." Her voice sounded peevish.

"There were things to settle," I said, and kissed her papery cheek.

"This terrible thing," she began. "Esmond ..."

"I know," I murmured.

"It was sudden. That fearful illness. He was well the week before and then he suddenly sickened and was dead in a week."

"What was it?"

"Some sort of fever ... gastric fever. If only Elizabeth were alive now. She would have been such a comfort. Malcolm is so practical. He arranged everything. Oh, my dear Susannah, we must mourn together. I know you were going to marry him, but he was my son ... my only son. All I had. There's no one now."

"We must comfort each other," I said.

She gave a strange little snort.

"That's a bit incongruous, isn't it?"

I patted her hand because I was not sure what to reply.

"Well," she went on, "we shall have to try and get along now. I take it you don't want to turn me out of my home."

"Aunt Emerald! How can you suggest such a thing!"

"Well, I suppose I haven't the same rights now that Esmond has gone. As his mother, it was natural... oh, never mind now. What is to be will be. It's all so upsetting."

"I didn't intend to disturb anyone," I assured her. "I want it to be the same."

"Your travels have done you good, Susannah."

"Oh, you mean I've changed."

"I don't know. I suppose it's seeing you again after all this time. You seem different somehow. I suppose all that traveling would change a person."

"In what way, Aunt Emerald?" I asked anxiously.

"Just a feeling. I thought you seemed less ... well, I always felt you were hard, Susannah. I don't know... ."

"Tell me about your eyes, Aunt Emerald."

"They're getting steadily worse."

"Can nothing be done?"

"No, it's an old complaint. Lots of people have it. I've just got to endure it."

"I am sorry."

"There! That's what I mean. You've got gentler. You sound as though you really care. I didn't think you ever gave my eyes a thought."

I turned away. She was thinking my concern for her sight was purely altruistic. I was sorry for her, but I couldn't help seeing this affliction of hers as something to my advantage.

She went on: "Would you like some tea? Or would you like to go to your room first?"

A sudden thought had come to me. I must discover which was my room. If I waited until my bags were put in it I should be able to identify it by them.

I said: "I wonder if my bags have come yet."

"Pull the bell rope," she said. "I'll get them to bring some tea and they can let us know when your bags arrive."

Janet came back.

"Ask them to send up some tea, Janet," said Emerald.

Janet nodded and went out.

"Janet doesn't change much," I ventured.

"Janet... oh. She's too forward if you ask me. Seems to think she is in some special position. I was surprised she stayed after your father went all those years ago. She came with Anabel from her home, you know. You must have seen Anabel with your father."

"Yes."

"On that ridiculous island. Sometimes I think there's a streak of madness in the Matelands."

"Very likely," I said with a little laugh.

"That awful affair. Two brothers ... I'll never get over it. I was glad that Esmond was too young to know what it was all about. And then Joel's going off to that island and living there like some nabob or something. Your father always was so flamboyant. So was David for that matter. I married into a strange family."

"Well, that was a long time ago, Aunt Emerald."

"Many weary years ago. There must be a lot you have to tell me ... about them ... and everything."

"Sometime I will," I said.

Tea was brought in.

"Susannah, will you pour?" she asked. "I can't see very well. I'm apt to slop the tea over into the saucer."

I sat down, poured out and took a cup to her. There were some little cakes on a plate and some bread and butter.

"Esmond was very restless after you'd gone," she went on. "Really, Susannah, need you have stayed away so long?"

"It was so far away, you see, and having made that long journey, I felt I had to stay a little while."

"Trust you to find out your father's hiding place! And then you went back to Sydney and while you were away the whole thing blew up. What a climax to all that secret melodrama. Fitting in a way."

"It was ... horrible," I said vehemently.

"But you were well out of it, Susannah."

"Sometimes I wish ..."

She was waiting. I must be careful. I must not show my feelings too intensely. I had a feeling that Susannah had never felt deeply about anything that did not concern herself.

"I wish," I finished lamely, "that they had accompanied me to Sydney. Tell me of Esmond."

There was a brief silence, then she said: "It was a return of that mysterious illness he had before you went away. Do you remember?"

I nodded.

"He was ill then ... desperately ill. As you know, we thought that was the end ... but he recovered. We thought he would the second time. It was a great blow. Malcolm took over estate matters. He's very friendly with Jeff Carleton."

"Oh, is he?" I said.

"Yes. I believe Jeff thinks the place should have gone to Malcolm after Esmond. In fact I thought it might. But your grandfather always had a prejudice against Malcolm because of his grandfather. They hated each other, those two brothers. I never knew such a family for feuds."

I felt a tremor of uneasiness. I should know these people. I was skating on very thin ice and I must inevitably come to a spot where the ice was too thin—and then would be disaster.

"I dare say Jeff Carleton will be wanting to see you soon. He's a bit uneasy about things, but of course that's natural."

"Of course," I replied, desperately searching in my mind for some clue received in the past which would tell me who Jeff Carleton was.

"He's hoping everything will be run in the same way. I don't suppose you'll want to change anything. I always thought dear Esmond was a trifle too easygoing."

I nodded. I was building up a picture of Esmond. Quiet. Easygoing.

"I think he gave Jeff rather a free hand and I dare say Jeff is hoping that will continue."

"I dare say," I said.

"There was always such a fuss about the estate and I suppose when David died Jeff assumed authority. He got a taste for it, Esmond being so young."

"And easygoing," I added.

She nodded.

I drank some of the hot tea. It was reviving, but I could eat nothing. I was too overwrought.

Emerald continued to talk and desperately I floundered, trying to catch at some thread and comment sensibly. It was exhausting and when there was a knock on the door and Janet entered to say that my bags were now in my room I rose with alacrity. I was looking forward to a few hours in which to assimilate what I had learned.

I rose and said I would go to my room.

"See you at dinner," said Emerald.

I went out. Now was the moment to look for my room. I guessed it would be on the next floor. I looked over my shoulder furtively. It was important that no one see me. I hurried up the stairs. As I reached the top a figure emerged from the far end of the corridor. It was Janet.

"Just going to your room, Miss Susannah?" she said.

"Er ... yes," I replied.

"Well, your bags are there. I went up with them to make sure everything was all right."

"Oh, thank you." Go away, I wanted to shout. What are you hanging about for? It was almost as though she knew what a quandary I was in and wanted to catch me.

I walked past her and she started towards the stairs. There was a window in the corridor. I went to it and loitered as though looking down on the scene below—at the green lawns and the woodlands in the distance.

I thought she had gone and turned towards the first door. I was about to open it swiftly when I heard her voice. "No ... no ... I shouldn't, Miss Susannah. I shouldn't if I were you."

She had come back and was standing behind me, her hand on my arm.

"It would be too painful for you. It's just as he left it. His mother wouldn't let us change it. I think she comes up here sometimes. It's not easy for her to get up. I think she just sits there and broods, grieving because he's gone."

Esmond's room! I thought. What a lucky escape! She thought I was going in to brood.

I wanted to get rid of her. I said with what I felt was the right amount of emotion: "I have to go in, Janet."

She sighed and stepped into the room with me. It was very neat. There was his bed, the line of bookshelves along one wall, the bureau in the corner, the armchairs, the bronze-colored curtains with a chrysanthemum pattern on them.

Janet was behind me. "He died in that bed," she said. "His mother won't have anything changed. But I wouldn't advise you to stay in here, Miss Susannah. I don't know. It's eerie. Not good for you."

I answered: "I want to wait here awhile, Janet. I want to be alone."

"All right then. You do what you want to." She went out and shut the door.

I sat down on a chair and it was not of Esmond that I was thinking but of Janet and how I was to find my room without her knowing that I was seeking it.

After a while I cautiously opened the door and looked into the corridor. All was quiet and deserted. Stealthily I made my way along the corridor, opening one door after another and looking for my bags.

There were several bedrooms. Cautiously I opened the door right at the end of the corridor, and I found the room which contained my bags.

Strained and nervous, I went in and sank onto the bed.

And this was just the first few hours.

While I was unpacking there was a knock on the door.

"Come in," I called, my heart starting to pound as it did when I was about to encounter some fresh trial.

It was Janet again.

"Can I be of help?"

"No, thanks. I can manage."

"Is there anything they've forgotten to put in your room?"

"I don't think so."

"Grace, that new maid ... she's a bit scared of you."

"Why should she be?"

"Oh, she's heard of you and your tantrums. And now you're the mistress, so to speak."

I laughed uneasily.

"Are you going to put these things in the drawer? All neatly folded. That's not like you, Miss Susannah. I never knew anyone so untidy. Things always scattered over the floor. Now you've turned tidy. Is that what travel's done for you?"

"You might say it is. When you're packing and unpacking you realize you have to keep things in some sort of order."

She nodded. "I want to say something to you." She lowered her voice. "It's about Anabel."

"Yes?" I asked uneasily.

"You saw her on that island place. How was she?"

"She was well and happy and seemed satisfied with life."

Janet shook her head. "It was a terrible blow to me when she went away. She was like one of my own. She ought not to have left me like that."

"She could hardly have taken you with her."

"Why not? I came here with her from the vicarage. I belonged with her ... not here."

"Well, you stayed here."

"I was fond of her," mused Janet. "She was a bit of a minx ... up to tricks ... you never knew what it would be next... but she had a sweet nature."

I could not speak. I feared to betray my emotion.

"And they were happy there ... her and that Mr. Joel?" she went on. "I'll never forget that night. All the rushing to and fro ... all the noise and chatter ... and then finding him out there. I remember them carrying him in on a stretcher. It didn't seem like real life somehow. But the thing about real life is that it can sometimes be like what is unreal. Oh, my poor Miss Anabel!"

I thought: There is a purpose in all this. She is suspicious. She is testing me. It means something.

"There was a little girl," she said. "I saw her once. A nice little thing. I wonder what became of her."

"She was there ... with them," I told her.

"Well, bless me! I might have known. Miss Anabel wouldn't have gone away and left her."

"No, she didn't."

"And you would have seen her on this island then, Miss Susannah."

"Yes, I saw her. She was Suewellyn."

"That's right. They had a picnic once. I was there."

"Did they?" My heart was racing now. I feared it would betray my agitation.

"Yes. A nice bewildered little thing. I could see she was a Mateland. What became of her?"

I could feel Janet's eyes on me and I said quickly: "She was on the island ... when it happened. She went with them."

"Poor mite. She reminded me of you when I saw her. About the same age ... the same build ... and that something about her which made you say, 'No doubt what stable she came out of!' It's a terrible tragedy ... and a mercy you were not there when it happened. Funny what made you go over to Sydney just at the right time."

"You seem to know all about it, Janet."

"Well, the news came to Mrs. Mateland, you see, through those lawyers. Mr. Joel would have been the real heir after Esmond had gone if he hadn't been disinherited. It made it neater all the same to have him out of the way, so to speak. Old Mr. Egmont was in a fine way when he realized he'd lost both his sons at the crack of a gun, as it were. He disinherited Master Joel and in any case there was Mr. Esmond. Who would have thought he would have died like that? I'm glad the little girl was with Miss Anabel. I was only with them a little while but it was heart-warming to see them together ... though it was wrong, of course. My poor Miss Anabel. She deserved better."

"Yes," I said fervently. "She did."

Janet looked at me sharply and I went on quickly: "Well, it's all over now."

"So many deaths," added Janet. "I don't like it. That volcano ... well, that's an act of God. Poor Mr. Esmond, too. I wonder how long his room will be left. His mother don't want anything disturbed. Are you going to stick to that, Miss Susannah? The papers in his desk ... his books and all that ... not to be touched ... left exactly as they were when he died... . Well, that's the way his mother wanted it."

"We'll see, Janet," I said.

She looked at me dolefully and went out. When she had gone I sat on my bed staring into space.

Does she suspect something? I asked myself.

I got through the evening quite well. I could manage with Emerald, for in the first place she was partially blind and was unable to notice any difference between Susannah and me. Moreover she was a woman who was completely wrapped up in herself, which was a great help in a situation like this one. Any differences she might discover she gave little thought to beyond assuming they were due to the effects of travel.

It was different with the servants. Some of them had known Susannah since her childhood, but I think they were accepting me as Susannah though they thought I had changed.

The one I really had to fear was Janet. Janet knew too much.

She knew of the existence of Suewellyn. She might put two and two together. And then what?

That very first evening the fact of how easily I could slip up was brought home to me. Who would have believed I could be betrayed by such a simple thing as a pudding?

The dessert that night was ginger pudding. I felt disinclined to eat anything and I had some cheese and biscuits after the main dish, declining the pudding. Chaston, the butler, must have reported this, for after I had said good night to Emerald and was going to my room, about to mount the staircase, a flustered red-faced woman came from behind the screens and placed her ample body between me and the stairs.

"Is anything wrong?" I asked.

"Yes, Miss Susannah, there is."

"What?" I asked.

"I'd like to know, miss, if you are of the opinion that I am no longer worthy to cook for this household."

Such a verbose statement, delivered in what I can only call a bellicose manner, was an indication that the ire of this lady had been most forcefully aroused.

I wondered why I should be confronted in this way and then I remembered that I was supposed to be Susannah, the mistress of this vast establishment.

"Why, no," I said. "I thought the food was excellent."

"What was wrong with my ginger pudding that it should be sent back untouched?"

"Nothing, I am sure."

"But something for you to turn your nose up at! Why, it was done special for you, knowing as how you had always had a partiality for the same. I go to the trouble to make it on your first night ... knowing as how I always did when you come home from anywhere ... and there'd always be hardly any left when it come back to my kitchen. Not so much as a sliver taken."

"Oh, M—" I had forgotten that I did not know her name. "I'm sorry. The fact is ... I'm too tired to be hungry tonight"

"No," she went on, ignoring my interruption. "It comes out just as it was took in. I said to myself when I see that pudding coming out: 'Well, Mrs. Bates, it seems your cooking ain't grand enough for them that is world travelers.' I could tell you, miss, there's some not very far from here who'd welcome in their houses someone who could make a ginger pudding like that one."

"It's only because I'm so tired, Mrs. Bates."

"You tired! You was never tired. And if that's what traveling's done for you, you'd do better to stay at home... ."

"Will you make a ginger pudding tomorrow night, Mrs. Bates?" I begged.

She sniffed a little but I could see she was beginning to be mollified. "I would if I was ordered."

"Then I should be able to enjoy it. I'm just too worn out ... and too lacking in appetite to do it justice tonight."

"You had cheese, Chaston tells me," she said accusingly. "You passed by my ginger pudding for cheese! When I think of you, standing on a chair, with your fingers in the basin taking licks when I wasn't looking ..." Her face wrinkled into a smile. "You said to me, 'It's the ginger, Mrs. Bates. The Devil tempted me.' You was a caution, you was, and ginger pudding was always your favorite. Now it seems ..."

"Oh no, no, Mrs. Bates, I still like it. Please make one tomorrow."

She was beginning to twinkle. "I couldn't make it out," she said, "when I see that pudding going out just as it had come in. It was enough to break any cook's heart."

She was mollified. She accepted my excuses. But what a fuss over a pudding. How careful I had to be!

I was exhausted when I reached my bedroom. I had learned a great deal and the most important thing I had discovered was how easily I could be betrayed.

I slept well. I suppose I was worn out physically and mentally. I awoke with the feeling which was becoming commonplace to me now—a mingling of terrible apprehension and excitement. Any hour could bring my deception out into the open, I realized. I should be lucky to survive for a few weeks.

I rose and went down to breakfast. I had an idea that this was taken any time between eight and ten and that one just helped oneself from the sideboard. I went into the room where we had dined the previous night. Yes, the table was set for breakfast and food was sizzling on the sideboard in silver dishes.

I helped myself and sat down, grateful to be alone. I was hungry in spite of the internal uneasiness.

While I was eating Janet looked in.

"Oh, early," she said in that familiar way of hers. "Not like you, Miss Susannah, to be up at this hour. What's happened to you? Changed your habits since abroad? Miss Lie-abed has become Miss Early Bird."

So once again I had slipped. I must remember that.

"I don't suppose Jeff Carleton will be here till ten," she went on. "He won't be expecting you to want to look round the estate with him at this hour, I can tell you. He was saying how glad he was that you were coming home. He says it's a great responsibility to have when he can't get permission for what he wants. Though, mind you, Mr. Esmond gave him more or less a free hand. He says he doesn't expect that from you."

I listened. So this morning I was to go round the estate with Jeff Carleton, the farm manager. I had to thank Janet for giving me plenty of information. I felt quite exhilarated to pick up so much. I was learning to keep my eyes and ears open.

I said: "I'll be ready when he comes. Ten o'clock, you say."

"Well, that was the time you and Mr. Esmond used to go with him, wasn't it?"

"Oh yes," I said.

"He's told Jim to get Blackfriar saddled for you. He's so certain you'll want to go round the estate at once."

I said again: "Oh yes."

"I don't suppose Blackfriar will have forgotten you. They say horses never forget. He was always good with you, though."

There was a warning in this. I felt a momentary qualm. What if the horse rejected me? There was an implication in Janet's words that Blackfriar, though good with Susannah, was inclined to be less so with others.

"I'll leave you to your breakfast," said Janet.

I went up to my room and changed into riding kit. I uttered a prayer of thanksgiving to my father for bringing a couple of horses to the island and to the Halmers for making me ride so often on the property. They were all such expert riders and galloping through the bush with them and trying to keep up with their skill had given me confidence and a certain expertise.

Just after ten o'clock Jeff Carleton arrived at the house. I went down to meet him.

"Well, Miss Susannah," he said, seizing my hand, "it is good to see you back. We'd been hoping you'd come before. This has been a terrible tragedy."

"Yes," I said, "terrible."

"It was all so sudden. Only a week before I was riding round the place with him and Mr. Malcolm and then ... he's gone."

I shook my head.

"Forgive my speaking of it. We've got to go on from there, haven't we, Miss Susannah, and I'm just wondering if you have any ideas about the estate."

"Well, I'd just like to look at things. ..." I wasn't sure whether to call him Jeff, Carleton or Mr. Carleton—so I called him nothing.

"You'll be wanting to take a hand, I reckon," he said with a laugh.

"Oh yes, I suppose so."

We came to the stables. The groom stepped forward and said: "Good day to you, Miss Susannah. I've got Blackfriar ready."

"Thank you." I wished I knew the names of these people. It was a great handicap to be in the dark.

I identified the horse. His name was useful. He was beautiful with his black coat in which were a few white flecks about the neck. His name suited him.

"There's one who will be glad to have you back, Miss Susannah. He was always your horse, Blackfriar was. I'll swear he pined when you went away. Of course he got used to your being away when you were in France."

"That's right," I said.

I was thankful that I had always had a rapport with horses and was able to approach Blackfriar confidently. I patted him cautiously. His ears went back. He was alert.

"Blackfriar," I whispered, "it's Susannah ... come back for you."

There was a tense moment while I was not sure whether he was going to reject me. I patted him and said: "You haven't forgotten. You know me." My voice was soothing. I brought a lump of sugar from my pocket. Susannah had always done that with our horses. They were creatures she was really gentle with.

"That's done it," said the groom. "He remembers that all right."

I leaped into the saddle and, patting him again, murmured: "Good old Blackfriar."

I wasn't sure whether he knew I was not Susannah, but I did know that he liked me; and I felt a sense of triumph as we rode out of the stables.

"Where would you like to go first?" asked Jeff Carleton.

"I'll leave that to you."

"I thought we'd look in at Cringles'."

"Yes," I replied, "if you think that a good idea."

I deliberately allowed him to go ahead. We came into the road which led past the woods and walked our horses side by side.

"You'll find a few changes, Miss Susannah."

"I expect to."

"It's been quite a long time since you were here."

"Quite a long time. Of course there was that short time when I was home after France."

"Yes, and then away again. There'll be certain things you'll be wanting to change possibly."

"I'll have to see."

"You always had ideas about the estate, I know."

I nodded, wondering what ideas Susannah had had.

"Of course we never thought ..."

"Of course not. But these things happen."

"Mr. Malcolm was very interested. He was here about a month ago, I think it was."

"Oh, was he?"

"I think he had ideas ... he being a man of course. When Mr. Esmond died ... he probably thought you wouldn't want to concern yourself with the running of things. I thought to myself, You don't know Miss Susannah!"

I gave a short laugh.

"Of course," went on Jeff Carleton, "with an estate like this people might think if there's a man in the family he should be the one to concern himself with it."

"And you think Malcolm had that notion."

"Sure of it. He thought he might be the next when Esmond died on account of your being a lady, even though he knew, like the rest of us, that your grandfather would hesitate to name him because of that long-ago quarrel."

"Yes," I said.

"Your grandfather's younger brother could, you might say, have a claim on the estate and that claim might go down through his son and grandson. There's some sense in it. Some families don't let the ladies inherit. It's different with Matelands."

"Yes, different with Matelands."

I had at least established Malcolm's claim. He was the grandson of Grandfather Egmont's younger brother. A definite claim. He was the one I was cheating out of his inheritance.

A tremor of alarm ran through me. But it was such a lovely day. The fields were gay with buttercups and daisies; and the birds were going wild with joy because the sun was up there in the sky and spring was advancing into summer.

I couldn't help feeling exhilarated.

"The farms are showing a good profit," went on Jeff Carleton. "All except Cringles'. I don't know what you feel about them and if you could suggest anything."

"Cringles'," I said, as though I were pondering the matter.

"They went to pieces after the tragedy."

"Oh ... yes."

What tragedy was this? I must feel my way with caution.

"The old man has never been the same since. It seems to have hit Jacob more than any of them. Of course Saul was his brother. They were twins, I think ... always closer. Jacob always used to depend on Saul. It was a great blow to him."

"It must have been."

"And the farm has consequently suffered. I suggested taking it away from them. They're not getting the best out of the land. Esmond wouldn't hear of it. He had a kind heart, Mr. Esmond. They all knew they could take their troubles to him. I know you used to get a bit impatient with him at times."

"Yes," I murmured.

"So ... I think they may be expecting changes. There's Granny Bell in the cottages who wants her roof done. It should be attended to. She'll have the rain in if we get any heavy stuff. She was going to ask Esmond to do it, but he was taken ill on the very day I was going to put it before him. So nothing's been done. Would you like to look at the roof?"

"No," I said. "Go ahead and do it."

"It would be wise really. But to get back to Cringles' ..." I looked about me. I could see fields of wheat and in the distance sheep grazing. The farmhouse lay in a valley. "They don't really take care of the property. Saul was the one. He was a good worker, Saul—one of our best. It was a great pity. No one ever seemed to get to the bottom of it."

"No," I said.

"Well, it's past history now. A year or more ... It's time it was forgotten. People do away with themselves at times ... they have their private reasons, and I always say, live your own life and it's not for any of us to judge others. Would you like to see the Cringles?"

I hesitated. Then I said: "Yes, I think so."

We changed direction and rode down between the fields of rye and wheat to the farmhouse.

We dismounted and Jeff Carleton tethered our horses. We walked across a yard where fowls were pecking at worms and whatever they could find.

Jeff Carleton pushed open a door which was slightly ajar.

"Anyone at home?" he called.

"Oh, it's you," said a gruff voice. "You can come in."

We stepped into a stone-floored kitchen. It was hot and baking was in progress at the range. A woman at the table had her hands in a basin. She was kneading dough. Seated in the chimney nook was an old man.

"Hello, Moses," said Jeff Carleton. "Hello, Mrs. Cringle. Here's Miss Susannah to see you."

The woman dropped a grudging curtsy. The old man grunted.

"How are you?" I asked warmly.

"Much as we always are," said Moses. "This is a household of mourning."

"I know," I replied. "I'm sorry. But how is everything going on the farm?"

"Jacob slaves away," said the old man. "Morning, noon and night he slaves away."

"And the children give a helping hand," added the woman.

"Still things aren't what they could be," suggested Jeff Carleton.

"We miss Saul," muttered the old man sourly.

"I know," I said.

"The children will be growing up soon," soothed Jeff. "I was wondering whether it would be a good idea to let Gravel Three Acres lie fallow next year. It's not giving a good yield and hasn't for the last year or two."

"It's all along of Saul," put in Moses.

"Well," was Jeff's mild rejoinder, "Saul couldn't do much about that field if he were here. It should lie fallow a year or so, I reckon."

"I'll tell Jacob," put in the woman.

"Do, please, Mrs. Cringle, and if he wants to consult me at any time I'm always available. Well, we'll be getting on."

We came out and Jeff untethered the horses.

"Hardly a gracious reception," I said.

"Did you expect it at Cringles'? They're all obsessed by what happened to Saul. It's a terrible thing for a man to take his life. They regard it as a disgrace to the family. He's buried at the crossroads. The rector wouldn't bury him in consecrated ground. That means a lot to people like the Cringles."

"I suppose so."

I had a desire to put as great a distance as possible between myself and the farmhouse.

We had ridden out into the road and were passing a wooded patch when something whistled past my head, missing me by a few inches before it rattled down onto the road.

"What was that?" I said.

Jeff Carleton leaped from his horse and bent down. He held up a stone. "It must have been children playing," he said.

"A dangerous game," I retorted. "If that had caught me ... or you ... it could have done quite a bit of harm."

He called out: "Who threw that stone?"

There was silence.

Jeff looked at me and shrugged his shoulders. He threw the stone onto the road. Then he darted among the trees calling: "Who's there?"

I was sure I heard the sound of someone running through the bracken.

Jeff came back and mounted his horse. "No one about," he said. "Shall we go on?"

I nodded.

So we rode round the estate and I saw more of the farms and their tenants. I came through without any serious mistakes but I had been really shaken by that stone. I felt certain it had been thrown at me and by someone from the mysterious Cringle household.

When I came back to the house Janet was in the hall. I could not get out of my mind the thought that she was watching me. She seemed relieved to see me.

"Well, you've had a good morning, miss, that's clear," she said.

"Yes, thank you, Janet"

"There was something I wanted to say to you. It's about Mr. Esmond's room. It's up to you to say what's to be done, of course, but I thought you might like to consider turning out that room ... like going through the papers in his desk. It ought to be done sometime and Mrs. Emerald hasn't the heart for it ... and her eyes aren't that good. I thought if you had a mind to it ... you might want to do it ... soon."

"Thanks," I said. "I will sometime."

An excitement had come to me. Who knew? I might learn something from those estate papers in Esmond's desk. Yes, it was an excellent idea. It could prove of inestimable value to me. They might give me all sorts of information which was vital to my role.

I washed quickly and took luncheon with Emerald. She was the easiest of all and I found it quite relaxing to be in her company. Her encroaching blindness was a great help—which seemed a callous thing to think of—but I must admit it had to be a relief; moreover her almost complete self-absorption was a blessing too.

She asked how I had spent my morning and I told her I had ridden round the estate with Jeff Carleton.

"Trust you to go into it right away," she said. "You were always urging Esmond to take more interest. I always said it was the castle you were in love with rather than Esmond."

"Oh, Aunt Emerald," I protested, "how can you say that? But I have always loved the castle."

"You need not tell me. ... So you rode round the estate with Jeff. How lucky you are to be able to get about. I wish I could... ."

So we were off on her favorite topic and I was safe for the rest of the luncheon.

I decided to put Janet's suggestion into practice as early as possible and, when Emerald had retired to her room for her af­ternoon siesta and the household was quiet, I went along to Esmond's room.

I shut the door and stood looking about me. It was an ordinary room—if a room in Mateland Castle could ever be that. The rounded window cut in the wall and the stone window seat alone distinguished it from the rooms I had known before; but it was the furniture in the room which struck me as conventional. There was a sofa, two armchairs, another chair, a small writing table on which stood an oil lamp and the bureau in the corner. The room told me nothing about Esmond.

I went at once to the table. That was where the papers Janet had spoken of would be.

I opened a drawer and saw several notebooks there. I took one out and opened it. A list of names in it was neatly indexed. I turned the pages and saw that it contained information about people and I realized at once that they were people living on the estate.

I saw how useful this information could be to me. If I went through this book carefully I should know the names and something about those who lived on the estate.

I wanted to cry out: "Thank you, Janet, for leading me to this."

"Emma Bell," I read in the list at the beginning. I turned to the page given in the index.

In her seventies. Lived in cottage since she married fifty years ago. Children married and left. All alone. Depends on what she earns as sewing woman.

Now I knew that this was the Emma Bell whose roof was in need of repair.

Tom Camber. Eighty. Came to Mateland aged twelve. To have cottage till he died. Then consider Tom Gelder when he marries Jessie Gill, housemaid.

This was wonderful. I could go through this book and know all about these people before I met them. I couldn't have a better aid to bolster my position.

I read on with increasing gratification. I decided I would take the book away with me to study. I was enormously exhilarated at the thought of riding round the estate and perhaps meeting Tom Gelder and telling him he should have the cottage when it fell vacant.

These people were coming alive to me and I desperately wanted to make them happy and glad that I had become the lady of the castle. It would ease my conscience considerably and, as I read about them and thought what I could do, part of that overpowering sense of guilt started to slip away from me.

I was deep in the book when I heard the door open. I started and turned sharply, feeling the color flood into my face.

It was Janet standing there.

"Oh, I thought I heard someone here," she said. "But I wasn't sure. So you're going through the papers like I said." She was watching me intently and I felt sure that she was suspicious of me.

"I took up your suggestion," I said. "It's all very neat in here."

"Oh, some of those papers need going through," replied Janet. "I'm glad you're doing it. We don't want Mrs. Emerald starting on it and upsetting herself."

"There seems to be information relating to the estate here."

"That's what it would be. Perhaps inside the bureau ..."

"The bureau is locked."

"There must be a key somewhere. Now where did Mr. Esmond keep it?"

She was looking at me with a strange expression on her face-half amusement, half dismay. I could not understand Janet at all.

She clicked her fingers and went on: "I think it was kept in this vase. That's right. I found it when I was dusting in here. I thought I'd better dust in here myself. You know how some of these girls are about dead men's things. As soon as someone dies they think he turns into a hobgoblin—though Mr. Esmond was the mildest of men and never had a cross word for anyone. Oh yes, here it is. In this vase. I think you'll find this one fits."

"Are you sure that it's all right?"

"All right, Miss Susannah?"

"I mean ... looking into private papers."

Her gaze never left my face and I saw her mouth curl into a smile. For a fearful moment I thought: She knows. She is mocking me. That smile means it's amusing that I who am committing this great fraud should have any scruples at all.

Her face was again set into its usual matter-of-fact expression.

"Well, someone's got to go through them sometime. You're taking over where he left off, aren't you?"

"I suppose that's the way to look at it."

I took the key from her.

"All right then, miss," she said. "I'll leave you to it."

"Thank you, Janet."

"Better lock the bureau and put the key back when you've done."

"I will."

The door shut on her. She was clearly very helpful to me but she did make me somewhat anxious. She was always popping up and giving me the impression that she knew something.

But perhaps that feeling was due to my uneasy conscience.

I opened the bureau.

There were stacks of paper in neat little cubbyholes. I looked at some of them. They were receipted bills and various accounts of the amount of produce that the farms had yielded. There were also accounts concerning the repairs to the castle.

All things I should know about. Then, as I was putting back one stack of bills, my hand touched a bundle of small leather-bound books. I took them out. They were tied together with red tape; they were diaries and they had been placed in date order. I looked at the bottom one. It had been started last year and the entries stopped abruptly in November. I knew why. That was when Esmond had died.

These were Esmond's diaries and by reading through them I could get some idea of the life he had lived.

I sat with the books in my hands. I felt as though I were desecrating a tomb. The honorable side of my nature would keep popping up to disconcert me. That it still existed might be surprising but it was there.

The instinct for survival, however, was stronger and I could see what a profitable day this was going to be. I was lucky to have found my way into this room so soon and for that I had to thank Janet. What I could learn here was going to be of the greatest value.

I opened the first of the diaries. The entries were brief. For instance:

Tantalus lost a shoe this morning. Took to Jolly. Waited while he shod her and talked about his daughter who is getting married this year. Late for meeting with S. She was furious. Hasn't spoken to me all day.

I glanced through the pages.

Went to Bray Woods with S. Lovely day. S. in good mood, so I was too. Went out with Jeff. He's anxious for me to learn about the estate. Quite enjoyed it.

I turned to one of the more recent ones. There was a good deal about Susannah in it and the entries had taken on a new character. They were more emotional than a brief statement of fact and, reading between the lines, I saw that this was because of Susannah.

I picked up the one which would have been written just before Susannah left for Australia. I thought this would tell me more about recent events. I must discover as much as possible about Susannah.

S. upsets me. I don't understand her at all. Sometimes she is enchanting. At others I think she enjoys hurting me. Whatever though makes no difference. She was hateful this morning. Argued all the time. She was rude to poor Saul Cringle. He looked absolutely wretched. When I told her she says things that really cut into people's feelings and destroy their pride and self-respect, she laughed at me. She said I was soft and I would never manage the castle. She said: "I suppose I'll have to marry you or the whole place will go to rack and ruin." When she said that I couldn't stop myself. I said: "Do you mean that, Susannah?" And she said: "Of course I meant it." Then she took my face in her hands and kissed me in a strange way. I felt quite dizzy.

The diary seemed to be all about Susannah now. There was no doubt that she had completely fascinated and bewildered him. They had become engaged. He wanted to marry her at once but she had not finished school yet.

The story emerged. I could picture her with her arrogance which came from a deep assurance of her powers to attract. She had something which was irresistible. She could be cruel and be forgiven for her cruelty. I think it was an excessive physical attraction.

I let the book rest on the bureau as the realization of my folly swept over me. How could I ever have thought that I could be like Susannah?

Then I turned back to the book.

Garth came yesterday. He is going to stay awhile. Went riding together, the three of us. S. has taken a dislike to G. It's a pity because he tries to please. "He's an intruder," she says. She was very rude to him and hinted that he was only the son of the companion, a higher servant. Elizabeth would be furious.

Out riding today. Went past Cringles'. Saul C. was cutting the hedge with a scythe. We stopped to look. S. said she thought some of the fences needed repairing. Saul grew quite red in the face. He looked like a schoolboy who has shirked his homework. And the fact that he is so big—he must stand six feet four high—made me all the more sorry for him. He started making excuses. Susannah said in a voice I never like to hear because it frightens people who depend on the castle for their livelihood, "I should see to those fences if I were you, Saul Cringle." The scythe slipped and he cut himself rather badly. Susannah changed then. She jumped off her horse, threw the reins at me and ran to look what damage had been done. She made Saul go into the cottage and she bound him up herself. I was glad to see the change in her. But that's Susannah. When we rode off she said, "It was nothing. Only a little cut. He's making out it was worse. He wanted me to feel sorry." "Oh, I don't think so," I answered. Then she turned on me and said I was soft again and that I should need her to run the estate. She would know how to deal with people like Saul Cringle. Then she burst out laughing. No, I don't understand Susannah.

She seems to want to persecute Saul Cringle. She finds fault with everything on the farm. She acts very strangely. One night I saw her coming in late. It was raining and she was wet through. I went out to meet her and she was very angry with me. "Look here, Esmond Mateland," she said, "if you're going to spy on me, I won't marry you. I'd never marry a man who spied."

All day Susannah has hardly spoken to me. She came to my room last night. She had on a robe and nothing else. She took it off and slipped into my bed. She kept laughing. She said, "If you're going to marry me you'll have to get used to this." Oh, Susannah... .

I really could not read any more. He's dead, I kept telling myself. I am prying into what is for him alone.

I was not surprised that Susannah had gone to his room like that. Her sensuality was at the very heart of her attraction. There was promise in the looks she cast in the direction of those she wished to enslave; and I had a notion that if the whim took her she would not be averse to keeping that promise.

I wondered how it had been with her and Philip. But of course she had been going to marry Esmond.

I did not want to read any more. And yet I felt impelled to. If I were going to play my assumed character to perfection I must know exactly what she was like. The effect she had had on Esmond told me a good deal; and I had seen her with Philip.

How had I ever thought that I could be Susannah!

I put together the estate papers and the diaries. I must take them to my room and study them closely.

I locked the bureau, replaced the key in the vase and shut the door of Esmond's room quietly behind me.

I sat up in bed that night reading through the estate papers. I was sure I should now be able to ride round the estate and talk to people as though I knew them. I was filled with a new confidence. I tried out some of my newly found knowledge on Emerald and I was sure that I did very well. It was easy with her though; she was not one to concern herself with the people on the estate, except of course to provide them with coal and blankets for Christmas and hot cross buns at Easter (a quaint custom which had been carried out for more than a hundred years at Mateland and had been established by a well-meaning dowager) and a goose at Michaelmas. Not that she concerned herself with acquiring these benefits, but she did order that they should be distributed. I supposed I should do that now.

I chatted knowledgeably with Janet, who nodded her head with an air of approval, making me feel like a child who has learned her lessons well.

The next days passed smoothly and I spent the mornings riding round the estate. I stopped and visited some of them, confident in my newly acquired knowledge. Old Mrs. Bell dusted a chair for me and began to tell me about the roof which leaked.

"It is in hand, Mrs. Bell," I was able to tell her. "The thatcher will be along very soon."

"Oh, Miss Susannah," she cried, "I'll be right glad, I will. It ain't nice to be in bed and not be knowing whether the rain is coming in on you or not."

I replied that I was sure it wasn't and she must always let either me or Mr. Carleton know if there was anything else that needed to be done.

"Bless you, Miss Susannah," she said.

"We're going to look after you now, Mrs. Bell," I assured her.

"Well, that's nice. You've come back different, Miss Susannah, if you don't mind me saying so. ... Softer like. Mr. Esmond he was a soft kind sort of gentleman, always promising though not always doing ... if you know what I mean. Praise God, it will be different now... ."

"I shall do my best to make everyone comfortable," I replied. "It's a pity if they are not in such lovely surroundings."

"Oh, it's beautiful, miss. That's what I said to Bell when we come here ... it's fifty years ago, miss."

I said I hoped there would be another fifty years for Mrs. Bell in her cottage and that made her laugh. "You always were a caution, but if you don't mind me saying so, you're a nicer kind of caution now you've come back."

I came out feeling lighthearted. At least they liked me better than they had Susannah.

After Mrs. Bell, I visited the Thorns. This was a bedridden woman with her daughter Emily, who must have been in her late forties. The daughter was a thin scrawny mouse of a woman, small, with quick movements, graying hair and little dark startled eyes that moved fearfully as though in search of danger. I knew the situation from Esmond's diaries. She had been a lady's maid in a good position until her father died and her mother had become crippled with rheumatism. Then she had to come home to look after her mother. She made a living by doing fine embroidery and making garments for a shop in Mateland, which suited her because she could bring her work home. Poor Miss Thorn, I felt so sorry for her.

She was very nervous when I arrived and she looked at me as though I were some prophet of doom.

"I'm only visiting the estate, Miss Thorn," I said. "I want to know how everyone is getting on, you see."

She nodded and ran her tongue round her lips. She was a frightened woman. I wondered why. I must try to find out without too much obvious probing. Poor Miss Thorn, she was like a frightened mouse.

As I sat talking to her there was a banging on the ceiling. I looked up startled.

"That's my mother," she said. "She wants something. Will you excuse me a moment, Miss Susannah? I'll go and tell her you're here."

I sat looking round the little room with the open fireplace and the table covered with a worn but clean red tablecloth on which lay what I presumed to be needlework wrapped up in tissue paper. I could hear the drone of a voice upstairs, going on and on.

After five minutes Miss Thorn reappeared.

"I'm sorry, Miss Susannah," she said. "I was explaining to my mother that you were here."

"Might I see her?"

"Well, if you would wish to... ."

I was not sure whether I should have said that or not. I guessed at once that it was not the sort of thing Susannah would have said. Miss Thorn's startled look assured me of that However, she rose and I followed her up the stairs. The cottages were more or less all alike. Two rooms downstairs with a kitchen and a staircase leading out of the back room and circling up to the two rooms above.

In one of these lay Mrs. Thorn, a large woman who bore a likeness to her daughter in looks, but there the resemblance ended. I saw at once that Mrs. Thorn was a woman who would have her own way. That accounted for her daughter's cowed looks. It was easy to see that Mrs. Thorn was the dominant character.

She peered at me and for a moment I thought she was going to accuse me of being an impostor.

"Well, it's good of you to bother, Miss Susannah, I'm sure," she said, "and not expected. It's the first time anyone from the castle has come to visit me." She gave a little sniff which I gathered implied resentment. "Not much good to anyone since I got so crippled with the rheumatism. Since Jack Thorn went I've no right to be here, I suppose."

"Oh, Mrs. Thorn, that's no way to talk. I'm sure Miss Thorn won't let you think that."

"Oh, her ..." Mrs. Thorn threw a malevolent glance in her daughter's direction. "Gave up her career, she did, to come and look after her old mother. That's something we ain't going to forget in a hurry."

"She keeps the cottage beautifully," I said, feeling the little mouse daughter was in need of protection from her fierce if crippled mother.

"Finick, that's what she is ... a regular finick ... used to living in mansions, that's what it is ... waiting on highborn la­dies."

I was growing sorrier and sorrier for the mouse every minute.

"It was a terrible thing that overtook me, Miss Susannah. Here I lay ... day in, day out. Can't move a muscle without pain. I don't get out. I don't know what's happening. I didn't hear Mr. Esmond had died till a week after it happened. And when there was all that talk about his first illness and Saul Cringle did what he did ... well, I didn't hear of that either. Things like that make you feel shut off ... if you know what I mean."

I said I did and I sympathized wholeheartedly. I had come to see if all was well with the cottages.

"Everything is in order," said Miss Thorn hastily. "I do everything I can... ."

"I can see that," I reassured her. "It all looks very neat and orderly."

Miss Thorn said nervously: "They say there are going to be changes now you've come back, Miss Susannah."

"For the better, I hope," I said.

"Mr. Esmond was a very kind landlord to us."

"Yes, I know."

I rose and took my leave of Mrs. Thorn. Miss Thorn conducted me down the stairs and stood at the door, her eyes pleading. "Everything is taken good care of," she repeated. "I do my best."

I wished I knew what was worrying her. I intended to find out.

I rode away and discovered that I was quite near the Cringles'. The farm and its inmates fascinated me. I wondered about Saul. I could picture him, his eyes sullen as he cut the hedge and Susannah taunted him. She had taken a dislike to him, wanted to tease him, show him, I supposed, that he owed his livelihood to the castle.

I dismounted and tied my horse. A boy ran past. He paused to look at me.

I said: "Hello."

He just turned and ran off.

I walked up the path to the farmhouse thinking: I shouldn't have come. It is not very long ago that I called with Jeff Carleton. I thought of quick excuses. I would ask what Jacob (that was his name) had thought about leaving Gravel Three Acres fallow now that he had had time to consider the matter.

I knocked. The old man was sitting in his chair and Mrs. Jacob was washing down the wooden table and a young woman was tying onions into bundles and setting them in a tray.

"Oh, it's Miss Susannah again," said the woman.

The girl looked at me with a pair of beautiful brown eyes, which nevertheless had a haunted look.

"I just came," I said, "to see if you had made a decision about the field."

" 'Taint for us to make decisions," said the woman. "It's for us to listen and do as we're told."

"I don't want it to be like that," I protested. "You know so much better about the farm than I do."

"Jacob says that if it lies fallow we'll be short of a crop, and if it ain't so good as it might be, it's still a crop."

"You're right there," I agreed. "I think Jacob and Mr. Carleton ought to get together and make a decision."

"Give Miss Susannah a drop of your cider, Carrie," said the old man.

"Oh, 'twouldn't be good enough for the likes of her." "Some of us was good enough once," commented the old man wryly; and I wondered what that meant. "Get it, girl," he shouted to the young girl who was dealing with the onions. "Go on, Leah," said the woman.

The girl rose obediently and went to the cask in the corner. I did not want the cider but I thought it would be impolite to refuse and heaven knew they were touchy enough already.

"It's her own make," said the man, nodding towards the woman. "And it's good stuff. You'll enjoy it, Miss Susannah. That's if you're not too proud to drink with the likes of us." "What nonsense!" I cried. "Why should I be?" "There's folks as don't always have to have a reason," commented the old man. "Look sharp, Leah."

Leah was turning the tap of the cask and filling a jug with golden liquid. A pewter tankard was brought to me. I tasted it. I didn't like it much but I realized that I had to drink it or offend the Cringles even more than they seemed to be already, so I put my lips to the tankard and sipped. It was strong stuff. They were all watching me intently.

"I mind you when you was a little 'un," said the old man. "That's years ago ... when your uncle was alive and your father was here. It was afore he ran away after murdering his brother."

I was silent but I felt very uneasy. I could feel the hatred in the man and the woman. It was different with the girl. She seemed preoccupied with her own thoughts. She was a dainty, pretty creature and her eyes reminded me of a fawn's—big, appealing and alert, like Miss Thorn's, looking for danger.

I knew instinctively that she was pregnant. There was just the faintest, almost imperceptible bulk below her waist—but it was something in her expression. I could have sworn I was right. I said: "Do you live here with your husband?"

I was unprepared for the effect those words had. She flushed scarlet and looked at me as though I were a witch with supernatural powers to search her mind.

"Our Leah ... husband! She's got no husband!"

"No ... I... I'm not married." She made it sound as though it were a major calamity.

Just at that moment I was aware of a shadow at the window. I turned sharply. I saw a flash of dark clothing and then whoever had looked in was gone.

My uneasiness increased. Someone had been at the window watching me. It is always disconcerting to be watched when one is unaware of it.

"There was someone there," I said.

The woman shook her head. "One of them rooks flying past the window, I reckon."

I did not think it had been a rook but I said nothing.

"No," went on the woman, "our Leah is not married. She's sixteen. She'll wait a year or so yet, and when she does she'll not be living here. This farm wouldn't support no more. Why, you reckon we don't do well enough as it is."

"I don't reckon that, Mrs. Cringle."

"Then I reckon it's something what brings you here, Miss Susannah. We'd rather you told us outright."

"I want to get to know everyone on the estate."

"Why, Miss Susannah, you've known most of us all your life. Of course, there was that time when you went away when Mr. Esmond was took bad and come near to dying and our Saul ..."

"Hush your tongue, woman," said the old man. "Miss Susannah don't want to hear about that. I reckon that's the last thing she wants to hear about."

"I think we want to turn to the future," I said.

The old man gave a hoarse chuckle. "That's a good way, miss, when the past don't bear looking into."

The cider was indeed strong and they had given me a large tankard. I wondered whether I could in politeness leave it. No, I decided, they were too prickly as it was.

I drained the tankard and rose to my feet. The cider was evidently potent. The farmhouse kitchen was looking a little hazy. I was aware of them all watching me with a sort of sly triumph. Not the girl though; she was indifferent; she had too many problems of her own to care for victory over me. I could understand that if she were in fact illegally pregnant. I imagined what that would mean in a household like that.

I was untying the horse when the boy I had seen on my arrival ran up to me.

"Help me, miss," he said. "My cat's caught up in the barn. I can't reach her. You could. She's crying. Come and help me."

"Show me the way," I said.

His face broke into a smile. "I'll show you, miss. Will you get her down for me?"

"I will if I can."

He turned and started to walk quickly. I followed. We went over a field to a barn, the door of which was swinging open.

"The cat ... she got in ... high up ... and she can't get down. You can get her, miss."

"I'll try," I said.

"In here, miss."

He stood aside for me to enter. I did so and the door was immediately shut. I was in complete darkness and could see nothing after the light outside.

I cried out in astonishment, but the boy was gone and I heard a bolt slide. Then ... I was alone.

I looked about me and suddenly I felt the goose pimples rise on my flesh. I had heard people talk of their hair standing on end. I had never experienced it before, but I did then. For hanging from one of the beams was the body of a man. He was swaying on a rope, turning slightly as he did so.

I screamed. I cried: "Oh ... no ... !" I wanted to turn and run.

Those first seconds were terrible. The boy had shut me in here with a dead man ... moreover a man who had hanged himself or been hanged by others.

Terror gripped me. It was so dark and eerie in the barn. I could not bear this. The boy had done it deliberately. There was no cat ... only a body hanging on a rope.

I was trembling. I had been lured here for a purpose. That boy must have known what was here. Why had he done this to me?

Panic seized me. I did not know which way to turn.

The barn was some distance from the farmhouse. If I shouted, would they hear ... and if they did would the Cringles come and help me?

The last thing they would do was that. I could feel the waves of hatred coming towards me in that farmhouse kitchen ... from all except the girl Leah. She had too many problems of her own to consider me.

A terrible inadequacy came over me. What should I do? Suppose he wasn't dead. I must try to get him down. I must try to save him. But my first impulse was to escape, to call someone, to get help. I tried to push open the door but it had been bolted from the outside. I shook it. But the barn was a flimsy structure and it shook as I banged on the door.

I had to see whether the man was alive. I had to get him down.

I felt sick and inadequate. I longed to be out in the sunshine, away from this horrible place.

I looked again towards that grisly sight. I could see now that the figure was limp and lifeless. There was something about the way it sagged that told me that.

I stared at it in horror, for it had swung round and I was looking at a grotesque face ... a face that was not human. It was white ... white as freshly fallen snow, and it had a grinning gash of a mouth the color of blood.

It was not a man. It was not a human being, though the corduroy breeches and the tweed cloth cap were those of a man who worked on the land.

I moved forward but every instinct rebelled against my going near the thing.

I suddenly felt I could not stay there a moment longer. I banged on the door and called out: "Let me out. Help."

I kept my back on the thing that was hanging there. I had an uncanny feeling that it might come to life, detach the rope about its neck and come over to me and then ... I knew not what.

The cider was having an effect on me—making me a little lightheaded. It was no ordinary cider. I believed that they had deliberately given me too much of their strongest brew. They hated me, those Cringles. Who was the boy who had shut me in the barn? A Cringle, I was sure. It must be. I had heard there were two sons and a daughter.

I started to hammer on the door again. I went on shouting for help.

My eyes slewed round. It was there ... that horrible grinning thing.

I must try to be calm. I asked myself what this could mean. The Cringles had done this. They wanted to frighten me. They must have told the boy to bring me out here and lock me in. For what purpose? Did they intend to keep me here? To kill me perhaps?

That was too preposterous, but I was frightened enough to think anything possible.

I must get out of here. I could not bear to stay in this barn with that horrible grinning thing looking at me as it swayed on its rope.

I shouted again. I banged on the door until it shook under my blows. What a hope! Who would pass this way? Who would hear me? How long must I stay here shut in with that thing?

I leaned against the door. I must try to think rationally, calmly. I had been locked in here by a mischievous boy. But what was the significance of that hanging figure? Why should the boy bring me here with the story of a trapped cat? Boys were mischievous by nature. Some of them enjoyed playing unpleasant practical jokes. Perhaps the boy had thought it would be funny to lock me in here with that thing. It was the boy I had seen when I arrived at the farm. He must be a Cringle. He could have hung up the figure there and then waited for me. Why? There was some meaning behind it, I was sure.

I could not stay here forever. I should be missed. But who would know where to look for me?

If I went to that thing ... examined it more closely ... But I could not bring myself to do that. It was so uncanny, so horrible in the gloom. It was like a ventriloquist's dummy. But there was something about this one. ... It seemed alive.

I hammered on the door again. My hands were grazed. I shouted as loudly as I could for help.

Then I Listened tensely, and my heart leaped with hope, for I heard a voice.

"Hello... . What's wrong? Who's there?"

I banged with all my might on the door. The barn seemed to shake.

Then there came the sound of horse's hoofs and the voice again. "Wait a minute. I'm coming." The horse had stopped. There was a brief silence. Then the voice was closer. "Wait a minute." Then the bolt was being drawn. I heard it scrape out of the sheath. A shaft of light came into the barn and I almost fell into the arms of the man who was coming in.

"Good Lord!" he cried. "What are you doing here, Susannah?"

Who was it? I did not know. In that moment I had time for nothing but relief.

He held me against him for a moment and he said: "I thought the barn was coming down."

I stammered: "A boy lured me here and ... bolted the door. I looked up and saw ... that."

He stared at the thing swaying on the rope.

He said slowly: "My God! What a trick to play ... what a foolish joke."

"I took one look at it and thought it was a man. The face was round the other way then."

"Will they never forget? ..."

I did not know what he was talking about, but I was now realizing that I had been brought out of a terrifying situation into a very dangerous one.

He had gone over to the figure and was examining it.

"It's one of their scarecrows," he said. "Whatever made them string it up like this?"

"He told me his cat was trapped in here."

"One of the Cringle boys, was it?"

I took a chance. I gathered I ought to know the Cringle boys. I nodded.

"This is too much. Some people would have had a heart attack. You're made of stronger stuff, Susannah. Let's get out of here, shall we? Have you your horse nearby?"

"Yes, near the approach to the farm."

"Right We'll go back. I came this morning. Heard you'd gone out round the estate and thought I'd come and look for you."

We came out into the sunshine. I was still trembling from my experience but I had recovered sufficiently to take stock of him. He was tall and what struck me most about him was an air of authority. I had noticed it and admired it in my father and I realized in that moment that it had been lacking in Philip. The man's hair was dark and there was a penetrating look in his brown eyes which would have warned me if I had not been in such a state of shock. He seemed to notice my scrutiny, for he said: "Let me have a look at you, Susannah. Have you changed much since your circumnavigation of the world?"

I avoided his gaze and tried not to look as uneasy as I felt.

"Some people seem to think I have ... a little," I said.

He was looking at me intently and I took off my hat, shaking out my hair as I did so, for because of my fringe I fancied I resembled Susannah more hatless.

"Yes," he said. "You're mellowed. That's what travel does for you. Especially your sort of travel."

"You mean I've grown older?"

"Haven't we all? It's been nearly a year ... more than that. I didn't see you when you came back from school. How long were you here then?"

"It must have been about two months."

"And then this wild notion to go to Australia took you. You were going to find your father. You succeeded, I know."

"Yes, I succeeded."

"Let's find the horses and go back. My word, you do look shaken. That wretched scarecrow! They're a vengeful crowd, those Cringles. I never liked them. Why should they blame you for Saul's death? I know you were always getting at him. It's a pity you got on the wrong side of them. All that religious fanaticism. Old Moses is a self-righteous old devil, for all that he fancies himself an angel. I think he gave those boys a dance when they were young. And where has it led them? Saul to a rope in a barn and Jacob ... turning into another such as his father. He's a fool too, if he had a hand in playing that trick. He should be more careful now that you're in control. He should think of losing the farm. They're all scared of the changes you'll make. As for that girl of his, Leah ... Is that her name?"

"Yes, that's her name. I saw her this morning... ."

"I'll bet she has a hard time of it. She looked frightened out of her wits."

I was growing more and more bewildered. So Saul Cringle had hanged himself in a barn! And because of this I had been shut in with that scarecrow hanging from the rafters. There was some secret in the Cringle household and Susannah was part of it.

I suddenly felt very much afraid.

In the meantime I had to discover who my rescuer was.

We rode back to the castle. He was talking all the time and I was desperately working hard not to betray myself.

When we came to the stables I had my first piece of luck of the morning.

One of the grooms called out: "So you found Miss Susannah then, Mr. Malcolm."

Then I knew that my companion was the man whom I had cheated of his inheritance.

As we came into the castle Janet was in the hall.

She said: "Good day, Miss Susannah, Mr. Malcolm."

We acknowledged her greeting and I noticed that she was studying me intently.

"Luncheon's in an hour," she said.

"Thanks, Janet," replied Malcolm.

I went to my room and it was not long before Janet came knocking on my door.

"Come in," I called. She came and I was aware of that alert look on her face which I had noticed in the hall.

"You've no idea how long Mr. Malcolm will be staying, Miss Susannah?" she said. "Only Mrs. Bates was asking me. He used to be fond of saffron flavor and she's run out of it. It's not all that easy to get hold of."

"I've no idea how long he's staying."

"Like him to turn up unexpected. He's been turning up like that... oh, ever since your grandfather used to encourage him after the trouble."

"Oh yes," I murmured. "You can never be sure with Malcolm."

"You never got on very well with him, did you?"

"No. I didn't."

"Too much alike, you two, that's what I used to say. You wanted to take over charge of everything ... both of you. I always used to think poor Mr. Esmond got squashed between the two of you."

"I suppose it was a bit like that."

"Well, with you two always at each other's throats ... I used to look forward to Mr. Malcolm's visits. I used to say it was good for you." She looked at me quizzically. "You could be a little demon at times."

"I expect I was rather foolish."

"Well, I never thought I'd hear you say that. I always used to say, 'Miss Susannah always sees one point of view and that's her own.' It was rather the same with Mr. Malcolm. There's no doubt about it though, he's got a great feeling for the castle. And the tenants like him too. Not that they didn't like Mr. Esmond. But he was a bit too soft, and then, of course, he had that way of promising and not carrying out. He gave way always because he wanted to please people. He hated saying no, and so he never did. It was yes, yes, yes, whether he could do it or not."

"That was a mistake."

"I'd agree with you on that, Miss Susannah. But he was well liked. It was a shock to us all when he went like that and the people on the estate mourned him."

I thought it was safe to ask about Esmond's death because I knew Susannah had not been here when it happened.

I said: "I'd like to hear more about Esmond's last illness."

"Well, it was like that time when he was ill. You were here when that happened. He had the same symptoms ... that terrible weakness that came over him suddenly. You remember how he was when you came back from your finishing school. Mr. Garth was here then. It was at the time Saul Cringle killed himself. After that Mr. Esmond seemed to get better. It was all a bit dramatic, wasn't it? Then you decided to go off and find your father. I know how you felt. I'll never forget the day they found Saul Cringle hanging in the barn. Nobody could say why he'd done it. It might have had something to do with that old Moses. He led them all a dance. Saul and Jacob and now the grandchildren. I reckon young Leah and Reuben and Amos have a terrible life of it. But they got the idea somehow that you had something to do with Saul's taking his life. You'd been bothering him, they said ... finding fault... . You were always at Cringles', remember."

"I wanted to see that the estate was running properly."

She looked at me slyly, I thought. "Well, that was for Esmond to see then, wasn't it? They said Saul had been so strictly brought up that he thought he was destined for hell-fire if he did anything that could be the slightest bit wrong. That could explain it."

"How?" I demanded. "If he thought he was destined for hellfire you'd think he'd delay his arrival there."

"That's just what you would say, Miss Susannah. You were always irreverent, you were. I used to say to Mrs. Bates, 'Miss Susannah cares for neither God nor man.' Your mother went in fear for you."

"Oh, my mother ..." I murmured.

"Poor dear lady! She never got over being left like that ... and him going off with her best friend."

"They had their reasons."

"Well, doesn't everybody?" She went to the door, pausing there with her hand on the latch. "Well," she went on, "I'm glad to see you and Mr. Malcolm seem to get on better together. It's early days yet. But you used to be like a cat and dog snarling at each other. I think it's got something to do with the castle. In the old days people used to fight over castles... . All that boiling oil they used to pour down from the battlements ... and the battering rams and the arrows out of the windows ... They did all that to capture the castle. Now they have other ways."

"It's all settled now," I said.

She looked wary. "You were always set on being mistress of the castle. I always thought that was why you decided to marry Esmond. Then of course you got it without marrying him. You're mistress of the castle now, and if Esmond had lived you would have had to share it with him. Not that you wouldn't have had your way. I'm sure you would. But it's different now. You're in complete command."

"Yes," I said; and it struck me as very strange that she should always be seeking me out and that she should talk to me in this way. But I dared not discourage her. I had learned more from Janet than from anyone. And I desperately needed to learn.

She said then: "I'll be getting on and you'll want to tidy up for luncheon."

I couldn't help but be grateful to her. So Malcolm and I were old enemies. He wanted the castle. And he had believed that there was a possibility of his inheriting it on Esmond's death. It must have been a blow to him to realize that I—or rather Susannah—had come before him.

I had to be especially careful now. Malcolm knew Susannah but hadn't seen her for some time. Fortunately they had never been very friendly and had in fact disliked each other; still he had all his faculties about him and nothing would delight him more than to discover this fraud.

This was my test. The rest of them had been comparatively easy compared with him. Emerald might have represented difficulties if she had not been half blind; with Malcolm it would be different. He was shrewd; moreover, nothing would please him more than to discover that I was an impostor, for since Susannah was dead he was in fact the true heir. Only a bogus one stood between him and the castle.

There were only three of us to luncheon and I was filled with trepidation. I wished that I had had longer to prepare for Malcolm.

Emerald at the head of the table peered at him. "I guessed you would soon be with us," she said.

"I didn't know Susannah would be here, and I thought I would just take a look at the estate in case there was something I could do."

"Jeff Carleton was pleased to see you, no doubt."

"I haven't seen him yet. He was out so I went in search of Susannah."

"I could not have been more glad to see you," I told him.

"Well, that is unexpected, I'm sure, Malcolm," put in Emerald.

"It was. And in such circumstances! I think the Cringles should be spoken to. This was going a bit too far."

"I hope there is not going to be trouble," said Emerald, "because it makes me feel quite ill. We've had enough, heaven knows."

"It was those Cringle boys, I assume," said Malcolm.

I thought I had been silent long enough so I cut in: "I was at Cringles' and one of the boys said his cat was trapped in the barn and asked me to help him free it. He took me to the barn and there was ..."

"It was a scarecrow, dressed like Saul," said Malcolm.

"How ... horrible!" cried Emerald.

"He was hanging there ..." I said.

"And he had one of Saul's old caps on," added Malcolm. "I must say it was realistic until the thing turned and you saw the face. It was a nasty shock."

"I should think so. That's why you've been so quiet, Susannah."

"The Cringles have got to put all that behind them," Malcolm put in. "They've got to stop blaming you ... us ... for what happened. Saul wasn't in his right mind, if you ask me." He was looking at me steadily. "The reason he did it may be known to some ... but let it rest, I say."

"Yes," said Emerald, "they should let it rest. The subject makes my head ache."

She then began to talk of a new recipe she had for headaches. She thought it very effective. "There's rosemary in it. Now you wouldn't think that had restful properties, would you?"

I started to talk animatedly about herbs and all the time I was saying to myself: I must find out what Susannah was doing at the time of Saul Cringle's death. That she was involved in it I was sure.

We got through luncheon and Emerald went to her room to rest. I did not ask what Malcolm was doing, but I went to my room with the intention of looking through some of the castle papers.

I wished I could shut out the memory of that horrible hanging figure.

I had avoided reading Esmond's diaries. I had felt reluctant to do so and had laughed at my scruples, which seemed incongruous in one who was perpetrating an imposture which was growing more and more like a criminal act.

At times I had the desire to pack a bag and disappear, leaving a note behind. ... To whom? To Malcolm, telling him that Susannah was dead and I had stepped into her shoes. I had no right here and was going away.

But where to? What should I do? I would quickly be without the means to support myself. Perhaps I could do what I should have done in the beginning: stay with the Halmers until I could find some sort of post.

I could not stay in my room. I felt stifled. So I went out and across the fields to the woods. And there I lay down on the spot where I had stood long ago with Anabel and looked at the castle.

The intensity of my feeling amazed and alarmed me. I was caught in the spell of the castle. I would never willingly give it up. If I did I would yearn to be back forever.

It had bewitched me. I realized that it must have had the same effect on Susannah. She had been ready to marry Esmond to get it; and from what I had heard of Esmond it was becoming increasingly clear to me that she could never have been in love with him. She would have that mild, teasing affection for him which I had associated with her and Philip.

I kept imagining her going into Esmond's room, naked beneath her robe. I sensed his bewilderment and delight. Poor Esmond!

And Susannah? She wanted to be admired, adored. I had been aware of that from the first. I wondered why she had stayed so long on the island. Because of Philip, of course.

Somehow in the shadow of the woods I felt safe. It was as though the spirit of my father and mother hovered over me. I thought back to the first moment of temptation and wondered why I who had hitherto been so law-abiding should have become involved in this trickery. I tried in vain to make excuses for myself. I had lost all whom I had loved. I was without means to support myself. Life had dealt me a cruel blow and then ... this had presented itself to me. Carrying it out had drawn me out of that depression from which I had felt I could never escape. It had made me forget for moments my parents and all that I had lost. But there is no excuse, I told myself.

And yet, as I lay there in the shadow of the trees, I knew that if I had the chance to go back I would do it all over again.

I was startled by the crackle of undergrowth. Someone was close. My heart started to beat uncertainly as Malcolm came through the trees.

"Hello," he said. "I saw you come this way." He threw himself down beside me. "You're upset, aren't you?" He went on scrutinizing me earnestly.

"Well," I temporized, "it was rather an upsetting experience."

He looked at me quizzically. "In the old days ..." he began and stopped. I waited apprehensively for him to go on.

"Yes?" I couldn't stop myself prompting him although I was feeling so uneasy.

"Oh, come, Susannah, you know what you were like. Pretty heartless. Cynical too. I should just have thought you would have looked on it as a sort of practical joke."

"A joke! That!"

"Well, perhaps even you would have balked at that. But I wouldn't have expected you to have the vapors."

"I had no such thing."

He laughed. "An exaggeration. But Garth used to say, 'Susannah's armor-plated throughout. She'll go through life unscathed by the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. Not that she'd ever let it be outrageous to her.' Do you remember that?"

"Oh, Garth," I said evasively.

"I agreed with him, you know. But it now looks as though that thing in the barn pierced the armor."

I yawned. "I think I should get back."

"Well, you were never very fond of my company, were you?"

"Must you harp on the past?"

"I feel the inclination to because you seem to be different somehow."

"People often seem different after you haven't seen them for a long while."

"Do I?"

"I'll tell you later when I've had time to make up my mind."

I stood up.

"Don't go yet, Susannah," he said.

I stood waiting while he looked at me with that puzzled expression in his eyes which destroyed my peace of mind.

"I wanted to talk to you," he added.

"What about?"

"The estate, of course. You'll have to be serious now."

"I am serious."

"Since you've been away I have been here a good deal with Jeff ... and Esmond. Esmond asked me to help. The estate needs a lot of care and attention ... particularly care, if you know what I mean. You're dealing with people... . You have to care about them and their troubles."

"I know that."

"I never thought you realized it."

"It seems you thought a lot of odd things about me."

He had leaped to his feet and was standing very close to me. I found his proximity distinctly disturbing.

"Now you are back, do you want me to go?" he asked.

I don't know what possessed me then. It might have been some spirit of adventure in me. I knew very well that his arrival had put me into imminent danger. But he excited me. Perhaps I was a true adventurer and the thought of danger added a zest to my life. In any case I heard myself saying: "N-no. I don't want you to go ... yet."

He gripped my hand and held it firmly for a second or so.

"All right, Susannah," he said. "I'll stay. I want to, you know, even now you've come back."

I turned away. I was trying to fight some foolish emotion which would not be suppressed. It was extraordinary, the effect this man had on me.

We walked back to the castle together and we went on talking about the estate.

He did not appear at dinner that evening. He left word that he was dining with Jeff Carleton. I was disappointed yet faintly relieved. It was restful to be alone with Emerald, for she made few demands on me.

She was a little scathing about Malcolm. "He's getting everything out of Jeff," she said. "He's got into the way of acting as though the castle were his over the last years when my poor dear Esmond was so poorly."

"Poor Esmond," I said tentatively. "He never really got over that first illness."

She nodded. "I'll never forget how ill my poor boy was that first time. But you remember as well as I do."

"Oh yes... ."

"So ill he was, I didn't see how he could survive and it was painful to watch him. I was with him as much as my own health would allow. And then that recovery ... and the horrible affair of Saul Cringle which shook as all so badly. Then you ... going off to your father."

"You bring it all back so vividly," I said.

"It's something I shall never forget. It's my belief that, after that illness of Esmond's, Malcolm had hopes. He really believed he must be the next. Your grandfather was a mischievous man. I believe it amused him to let Malcolm hope. He always loathed his brother and he said once that Malcolm was the image of him. I wondered what he said to Malcolm on the quiet. It wouldn't surprise me if he raised his hopes ... so when Esmond was ill he naturally thought ..."

"He would," I said.

"He was here a great deal while you were away. He did more on the estate than Esmond did. Esmond was glad to leave it to him. Poor lamb, he must have been feeling weak at the time."

"Poor Esmond," I said again.

"You shouldn't have left him so long, Susannah."

"No, I shouldn't."

I changed the subject by asking about her backache and as usual that never failed to absorb her interest. When I retired to my room I was feeling quite wide awake.

There was something I really must do. I must abandon my remaining scruples and read what Esmond had written about that period when he was taken so ill and Saul Cringle had died, and Susannah had left the castle to go in search of her father.

I undressed, got into bed and took the diaries with me.

I found the one I needed. It was dated some two years ago.

A restless night, [I read]. I waited for S. She did not come. I wish she would agree to our marriage. She keeps saying, "Not yet." Garth is here. He and S. are at loggerheads. I have tried to remonstrate but she calls him an upstart. Feel bewildered by S. She takes such violent dislikes ... to Garth and of course Saul C. for instance.

Malcolm has arrived. He and S. seem to dislike each other in a cold sort of way. She is disdainful towards him and he ignores her, or pretends to. I don't believe anyone can be really indifferent to S.

S. out all afternoon. I wonder where. No use asking. She hates what she calls being spied on. Saw her riding in later. She came out of the stables and met Garth. They talked for a while. I watched from my window. I am always uneasy when they are together. I am always afraid she will say something unforgivable to him and there'll be trouble. They seemed to be on slightly better terms though. Then she came in and he went on. I went down to meet her. She looked hot, I thought. I commented on this and she said sharply: "Well, it's scarcely midwinter!" in that sharp voice of hers which she uses when she's angry. "Watching, were you?" she said. "Yes," I answered, "I saw you meet Garth. I was glad you seem a little less irritated with him than usual." "Oh, did I?" she answered. "Yes," I said, "quite affable." "Affable!" she screamed at me. "I'd never be affable with that man." Then she laughed and kissed me. When S. kisses me I don't think of much else. I wish it was always like that.

S. came last night. I never know when to expect her. She does such extraordinary things. She'd brought a bottle of cider which Carrie Cringle had given her. "Poor Esmond, I believe you feel terrible when I come to your room like this. I won't, you know, if you don't want me to." That is like S. She knew that I wanted her more than anything in the world and sometimes that seems to please her, at others it irritates her. She said, "This will arouse your ardor. It will stifle your scruples. Come on. We'll both drink it." She poured it into two glasses which she had brought with her. She brought mine to me, making me drink it, holding it to my mouth and taking a little sip from the glass herself. It was intoxicating. When I awoke next morning she was gone. There is a poem by Keats which reminds me of S. La belle dame sans merci. S. has me in thrall. There is no doubt about that.

I felt ill next morning. I thought it was the cider. S. came in to see me and was dismayed. "It couldn't have been the cider," she said. "I've suffered no ill effects." I reminded her that she had only sipped from my glass. "Wrong!" she said sharply. "I had a glass myself."

It was a month before Esmond wrote in the diary again.

Better today. Less feeble. S. getting ready to go away. She says she must see her father. I think she is upset about Saul Cringle, who was found hanging in the barn soon after I was taken ill. There has been a lot of talk and some hinted that S. had made his life a misery and threatened to persuade me to take the farm away from them. It is not true. She had never done that. But she had often gone to Cringles' farm. People had seen her riding over there. It was all very unpleasant. I can understand why she wants to get away and she has always been intrigued by her father's disappearance.

The entries after that were sparse.

A letter from S. today. Through someone at the solicitors she has discovered her father's whereabouts. It is some remote island, she writes, where he is a sort of great white chief. She is longing to see it. Garth was here today. Malcolm yesterday. It was pleasant to have them around.

Feeling a little sick today. It reminded me of the illness I had a few months ago. The same dizziness and cramp. Was to have ridden round with Jeff. Malcolm went instead.

A little better today, but not so well in the evening. I think I shall have to call the doctor.

I wish all the time that S. were here. I wonder when she will come home. Malcolm says that he will come to the castle to live if I would like some help. I can see he thinks I'm a bit of a weakling. I thanked him for his offer. He's staying for a while. When S. comes back we'll marry. She won't want Malcolm here. I'll have to be careful what I arrange.

The next entry was a week later.

Too ill to write before. Too tired to write much now. Think all the time of S. Malcolm and Garth are both very good. I wish I could shake off this listlessness.

That was the last entry. I saw by the date that he died soon after he had made it

I shut the book and lay back thoughtfully. It explained little, and I was no nearer to solving the Cringle mystery; but I had a more complete picture of Esmond and Susannah.

I remembered what Cougabel had said of her. She was a witch. She was a spell woman. Perhaps Cougabel was right.

I could not sleep. I was thinking what a dangerous role I had taken on.

Where will it end? I asked myself.