The Pride of the Peacock

2. OAKLAND HALL

That week seemed a long time in passing for I was eager to hear more of Ben Henniker, who had shown me in our two meetings a different kind of world and made my own life seem colourless in comparison. I was not sure whether it was what he had to tell me or his manner of telling which made it so vivid to me, but I could picture myself in a calico tent fighting off the flies in the heat of the sun, wading through the mud and panning in the creeks. I could feel all the frustration of failure and the wonderful excitement of success. But that was gold. It was opal that I should look for. I could picture myself holding my candle, peering into crevices, gouging out the opal-the beautiful iridescent stone, the lucky stone which gave the gift of prophecy and which told a story, nature’s story.

I never stopped congratulating myself on being at the stream that day when the chair came hurtling along and I had been able to save Ben Henniker from an accident which I had already convinced myself would have been certain death. I could have liked him for that alone and he would have liked me for saving his life, but there was more to it than that. There was something in our natures that matched each other.

That was why it was so irksome to wait.

I would sit by the stream and hope he would come in his chair.

“I know it was next Wednesday we were to meet,” he would say, ‘but to tell the truth I thought it was too long to wait. “

Then we would look at each other and laugh.

But it didn’t happen like that. I just sat at the stream and nothing happened. I could see him so vividly, for his conversation had conjured up one image after another; I thought of the sun’s beating down on him and what would have happened if the rock which had fallen on him had been a little heavier and had killed him.

Then I should never have known him.

That started me thinking of death, and I was remembering the graves in the churchyard and they reminded me of the raised earth in the Waste Land where the archangel grew. Was it really a grave, and if so, whose?

It was no use sitting and staring across the stream. He wouldn’t come.

He had visitors who would perhaps be people who had come to buy or sell opals. I pictured them with a decanter of wine or whisky between them, filling then-glasses as soon as they were empty (for I was sure Ben Henniker drank heartily). He was the sort of man who would do everything with a special gusto. They would talk together and laugh a great deal and perhaps discuss the opals they had found or bought or sold. I wished I were with them. But I had to wait until next Wednesday and it was a long way off.

Sadly I stood up and wandered, aimless, along the stream and so I found myself in the Waste Land kneeling by the grave.

Oh yes, it was a grave. There was no doubt of that. I started to pull up the weeds which grew there and after I had worked for a while it was clearly revealed. It was not a dog’s grave. It was too big for that. Then I made a startling discovery. A stake protruded slightly from the earth, and when I seized it and pulled it up, I saw that it was a small plaque and on it was a name. I knocked off the earth and what was revealed made me feel as though icy water were trickling down my spine, for on that plaque was my own name-Jessica-simply Jessica Clavering.

I sat back on my knees studying’ the plaque. I had seen such used before on the graves in the churchyard. They were put there by those who could not afford the crosses and angels holding books on which were engraved the virtues of those who lay beneath them.

In that grave lay a Jessica Clavering.

I turned the plaque over and there I could just make out some figures.

‘1880’ and above it “Ju …” the other two letters were obliterated.

This was even more disturbing. I had been born on the 3rd of June, 1880, and whoever lay in that grave not only bore my name but had died at the time of my birth.

Momentarily I had forgotten Ben Henniker. I could think of nothing but my discovery and wonder what it meant

I found it impossible to keep this to myself and as Maddy was the obvious one to approach, I waylaid her as she was going into the kitchen garden to cut curly kale for dinner.

“Maddy,” I said, deciding to come straight to the point, ‘who was Jessica Clavering? “

She smirked.

"You haven’t far to look for that one. She’s her who asks too many questions and was never known to be content with the answer.”

"That one,” I said with dignity, ‘is Opal Jessica. Who is just Jessica?”

“What are you talking about?” I began to notice the signs of agitation.

“I mean the one who is buried in the Waste Land.”

‘now look here. Miss, I’ve got work to do. Mrs. Cobb’s waiting for her curly kale. “

"You can talk while you’re cutting it. “

“And am I supposed to take orders from you?”

"You forget, Maddy, I’m seventeen years old. That’s not an age to be treated like a child. “

"Them that acts like children gets treated as such. “

“It's not childish to take an interest in one’s surroundings. I found a plaque on the grave. It says ” Jessica Clavering” and when she died.”

“Well, now get from under my feet.”

“I’m nowhere near them and I can only presume that since you behave like this you have something to hide.”

It was no use talking to her. I went to my room and wondered who else would know about the mysterious Jessica, and I was still thinking of it when I went down to dinner.

Meals were dreary occasions at the Dower House. There was conversation, but it never sparkled. It usually centred round local affairs, what was happening at the church and to people of the village. We had very little social life and that was entirely our own fault for when invitations came they were declined.

“How could we possibly return such hospitality?” Mama would cry.

“How different it used to be! The Hall was always full of guests.” At times like that I would find myself watching my father, who would pick up The Times and cower behind it as though it were some sort of shield, and often he would find an excuse to get away. I once pointed out that if people invited guests they didn’t necessarily ask for anything in return.

“You are socially ignorant,” said Mama; then with resignation: “How could we expect anything else after the manner in which we have had to bring you up.” And I would be sorry I had given here another opportunity for reproaching my father.

On this occasion we were seated round the table in the really rather charming dining-room. The Dower House had been built at a later period than Oakland Hall, for it had been added in 1696 and there was a plaque over the porch to confirm this. I had always thought it a beautiful house and it was only when compared with the Hall that it could be considered small. It was built of brick with stone dressings, and the roof sprang from a carved cornice which, with the mullioned windows, gave great charm. The dining-room was lofty, although not large, and from its long windows we had a view of the lawn, which was Poor Jarman’s pride.

We sat at the mahogany table with its cabriole legs, which had once been at Oakland Hall.

“We were able to salvage some pieces,” Mama had said, ‘but to bring all the furniture from the Hall to the Dower House was impossible so we had to let some of it go. ” She spoke as though they had all been sacrificed, but I reckoned Mr. Henniker had paid a high price for them.

My father was at the head of the table saying scarcely anything; my mother at the other end kept a sharp eye on Maddy who had to serve at meal times in addition to her other duties a fact which Mama found more distressing than Maddy ever did and on my mother’s right hand was Xavier and on one side of my father Miriam and on the other myself.

Xavier was saying that the summer’s drought had not been good for the crops and he was sure that when we did need the ram it wouldn’t come.

This was said every year, and somehow the harvest was safely gathered in and there were great marrows and sheafs of wheat decorating the church to show that the miracle had happened again.

“When I think of the land we used to own …” sighed Mama.

It was the sign for my father to clear his throat and talk brightly about how much less rain there had been this year compared with last.

“I remember what disaster there was last year,” he said.

Most of Yarrowland crops were under water. ” This was a mistake because Yarrowland was a farm on the Donningham estate, and it had reminded Mama of Lady Clara. I looked at Xavier to watch his reactions. He gave no sign that he was wounded, but then Xavier never would because he was the sort of man who considered it ill bred to show his feelings. I wondered whether that was why he found it so difficult to show Lady Clara that he really did want to many her.

The Donninghams can take disaster in their stride,” said Mama.

“They retained their fortune throughout the generations.”

That’s true enough,” my father agreed in the resigned way which implied he wished he hadn’t spoken. I was sorry for him, and to change the subject I blurted out: ” Who was Jessica Clavering? “

There was immediate silence. I was aware of Maddy, standing by the sideboard, a dash of curly kale in her hands. Everyone at the table was looking at me and I saw the faint colour begin to show under Mama’s skin.

“What do you mean, Jessica?” she said impatiently, but I knew her well enough to realize that this time the impatience was to hide embarrassment.

“Is it some joke?” said Miriam, her lips, which seemed to grow thinner with the passing of the years, twitching slightly.

“You know very well who you are.”

“I’m Opal Jessica. And I often wonder why my first name is never used.”

Mama looked relieved.

“It’s not very suitable,” she said.

Why did you give it to me. then? ” I demanded.

Xavier, who was the sort who always came to the rescue when he could, said: “Most of us have names we’d rather not own to, but I suppose when we were born they seemed suitable enough. In any case, people get used to names. I think Jessica is very nice, and as Mama says, it’s suitable.”

I was not going to be side-tracked.

“But who is this Jessica who is buried in the Waste Land?” I insisted.

“Buried in the Waste Land?” said Mama tetchily.

“What’s that? Maddy, the kale will be getting cold. Do serve.”

Maddy served, and I felt frustrated as I had so many times before.

Miriam was saying: “I hope Mrs. Cobb has given it an extra boiling. Did you think it was a little tough last time. Mama?"

” It was and I did speak to Mrs. Cobb about it. “

“You must know,” I said.

“You couldn’t have someone buried so near the house and not know. I found a stake with her name on it.”

“And what were you doing in this-as you call it-Waste Land?” demanded Mama. I knew her tactics. If she was ever in a difficult situation she retaliated by going into the attack.

“I often go there,” I told her.

“You should be better employed. There is a whole stock of dusters to be hemmed. Isn’t that so, Miriam?”

“Indeed it is. Mama. There is much waiting to be done.”

“It always seemed to me a wasted effort,” I grumbled.

“Hemming dusters! They collect the dust just as well without the stitching.” I could never resist stating an obvious fact, no matter how irrelevant.

This gave my mother the excuse she needed to go off on one of her sermons on industry and the need to give the poor as good as we took ourselves, for the dusters-made from old garments which had passed their usefulness and were cut up for the purpose-were distributed to the poor. If we could no longer afford to give them shirts and blankets we could at least cling to some of the privileges of the upper classes.

Xavier listened gravely—so did Miriam, and my father, as usual, was silent while the cheese -was brought in and. eaten. Then my mother rose from the table before I had time to pursue the matter of the grave and the plaque.

After the meal I made my way straight to my bedroom, and as I was mounting the stairs I heard my parents talking in the hall.

My father was saying: “She’ll have to know. She’ll have to be told sooner or later.”

“Nonsense,!” retorted Mama.

I don’t see how. “

“If it hadn’t been for you it would never have happened.”

I listened, shamelessly straining my ears for I knew they were talking about Jessica’s grave.

They went into the drawing-room and I was as bewildered as ever. It seemed that everything came back to the fact that my father had gambled away the family fortune.

As Wednesday approached I forgot my curiosity about the grave in the Waste Land in my excitement at the prospect of visiting Ben Henniker at Oakland Hall. In the early afternoon I set out and as I turned into the drive it struck me as strange that I should be a visitor to what so easily might have been my own home. Oh dear, I thought, I sound like Mama!

Oaks-solid, proud and beautiful-grew on either side of the drive which wound round-a fact which had caused me some irritation in the past because I had been unable to see the house from the road, but now I was glad of it. It added a sort of mystery and as soon as I had rounded the bend I was out of sight, which was useful in case anyone might be passing and saw me.

When I saw the house I caught my breath in wonder. It was magnificent.

It had always looked interesting seen through the trees from the stream, but to come face to face with it and have nothing impeding the view was thrilling. I could even understand and forgive my mother’s years’ old rancour, for having once lived in such a place it would be hard to lose it. It was Tudor in essence although it had been renovated since those days and added to so that there were hints of eighteenth century here and there. But that lovely mellow brickwork was essentially Tudor, and it could not have been much different in those days when Henry VIII had visited Oakland Hall, as I had heard my mother say he did on one occasion. The tall dormer windows, the projecting bays and the oriels might have been added later, but how graciously they merged, defying criticism by their very elegance. The gate tower had been untouched. I stood awe struck looking up at the two flanking towers with the slightly lower one in the centre. Over the gateway was a coat of arms. Ours, I supposed.

I went through the gateway and was in a courtyard, where I was facing a massive oak door. The ancient bell was fixed on the door. I pulled it and listened delightedly to the loud ringing.

It could only have been a second or so before the door was opened, and I had the feeling that someone had watched my approach and was ready and waiting. He was a very dignified gentleman and I placed him at once as the Wilmot of whom I had heard.

“You are Miss Clavering he said before I could speak and somehow he made the name sound very grand.

“Mr. Henniker is expecting you.”

I seemed to grow in stature. I had caught a glimpse of the engraving by the carved fireplace, and as your own name will appear to leap at you from a number of others I was aware of Clavering there and I was thrilled by the implication that I was a member of that family which had once belonged to this house.

“If you will follow me. Miss Clavering…”

I smiled.

“Certainly.”

As he led me across the hall I was aware of the big refectory table and the pewter dishes on it, the two suits of armour, one at each end of the hall, the weapons that hung there, the dais at the end towards which he was leading me and where there was also a staircase.

Did I imagine it or did I hear a faint murmur of voices, the slight hiss of whispering and the scuffle of feet? I saw Wilmot look up sharply and I guessed we were being observed.

Wilmot, realizing that I had been aware of something, no doubt thought it would be foolish to ignore it. A faint smile touched his lips.

“You will understand. Miss Clavering, that this is the first time we have received a member of the Family, since …”

“Since we were obliged to sell,” I said bluntly.

Wilmot winced a little and bowed his head. I realized later that in anyone outside the family this coming to the point and calling a spade a spade would have been considered bad taste. I wondered then how Ben Henniker and Wilmot got on together. There was little time for such thought for I was anxious to take in everything. I was led along a corridor and up another staircase.

“Mr. Henniker will receive you in the withdrawing-room, Miss Clavering.”

He opened a heavy oak door panelled with linenfold.

“Miss Clavering,”

“he announced, and I followed him in.

Ben Henniker was seated in his chair, which he wheeled towards me. He was laughing.

“Ha!” he cried.

“So you’re here! Well, welcome to the old ancestral home.”

I heard the door shut discreetly behind me as I went forward to greet Ben.

He continued to laugh and I joined in.

“Well, it is funny, don’t you think?” he said at length.

“You, the visitor. Miss Clavering-Miss Opal Jessica Clavering.”

“It’s certainly extraordinary that I should be named Opal and it was opals that brought you all this.”

“A little gold thrown in,” he reminded me.

“Don’t forget I did very well with that. Come and sit down. I’ll show you the place later.” His shoulders shook with secret merriment.

I shall begin to think you asked me just for the pleasure of showing a Clavering the family mansion.

“Not only that. I enjoyed our meetings and I thought it was time we had another. We’ll have some tea … but later. Now did you tell your family you’d made my acquaintance?”

No. “

He nodded.

“Wise girl. Do you know what they’d have said ? You’re not to darken his doors nor is he to darken ours. Better for ‘em not to know, eh ?”

“Far better.”

“It saves a lot of argument.”

“It also saves a lot of forbidding and disobeying.”

“I can see you’re a rebel. Well, I like that, and as you’ve found out I’m a wicked old man … or if you haven’t you soon will. So I may as well tell you in the early stages of our friendship.”

I was laughing with that laughter of pleasure. So this was the first stage of our relationship, and I was going to enjoy more and more of his stimulating company.

“So you would encourage me to come here even if my family forbade it?”

“I certainly would. It’s good for you to learn something of the ways of the world, and you’ll never learn much if you’re going to cut out this one and that one because they’re not nice to know. You want to know those that are nice and those that are not so nice. That’s why it’s good for you to know me. I’m the wicked man who made his pile and bought the house that wasn’t meant for his kind. Never mind. I won this with the sweat of my brow and the toil of my hands … with my driving pick and my sinking pick, with my shovel and my spider … I won this house and I reckon I’ve a right to it. This house represents to me the goal. It’s like the finest opal ever gouged out of rock.

It’s the green flash of an opal. “

“What’s that?” I asked.

“You mentioned it before.”

He paused for a moment and his eyes were dreamy.

“I said that, did I?

The Green Hash. Never mind. I won all this just as I meant to when I was a young shaver dressed up in livery at the back of the carriage a flunky, you might say, who’s getting his first peep at the kind of life he’s going to have one day. Now you . what are you? You’re one of them, see? We’re on different sides of the fence. But you’re not one of them, are you . deep down inside? You’re not just shut in with your cramped ideas that won’t let you look outside your blinkers.

You’re free. Miss Jessie. You sent your blinkers flying long ago. ” He winked at me. That’s why we get along together .. like a bush fire we get along. I’m going to take you into my own special hideaway. I can tell you I don’t let many see inside there since … Well, I’m going to show you something so beautiful you’ll be glad you’re named after it.”

“You’re going to show me your opals ?”

That’s one thing I wanted you to come for. Now you follow me. “

He wheeled his chair across the room, in the corner of which was a crutch; he reached for this and hoisted himself out of the chair. He opened a door and I saw that there were two steps leading down into a smaller room, which was beautiful with panelled walls and leaded windows. There was a cupboard, which he unlocked, and inside this was a steel safe. Twirling knobs, he opened the safe and took out several flat boxes.

“Come and sit down at the table,” he said, ‘and I’ll show you some of the finest opals that have ever been gouged out of rock. “

He sat down at a round table and I drew a chair to sit beside him. He opened one of the boxes inside which, lying in little velvet hollows, were the opals. I had never seen such beautiful gems. The top row was of great pale stones which flashed with blue and green fire; those on the next row, also of remarkable size, were darker-blue, almost purple-and in the last row the stones had a background which was almost black and the more startling because they flashed fire with red and green lights.

There,” he said, ‘your namesakes. What do you think of them? I see.

Speechless. That’s what I thought. That’s what I hoped. Keep your diamonds. Keep your sapphires. There’s nothing anywhere in the world to beat these gems. You agree with me, don’t you ? “

“I have never seen a great many diamonds or sapphires,” I said, ‘so it wouldn’t be fair for me to be so sure, but I can’t imagine anything more lovely than these. “

“Look at her!” he commanded as, with a gnarled finger, he gently touched one of the stones. It was deep blue and there was a touch of gold in it.

“She’s known as the Star of the East. They’ve got names, these opals. The Star of the East! Couldn’t you see her, there in the sky just before the sun rises and shuts off her light. It must have been something like her that the wise men saw on that Christmas night years and years ago. I tell you this: she’s unique. They’re all unique, these opals. You’ll find others that you think are just like them, then you’ll see your mistake. They’re like people, no two alike. That’s one of the marvels of the universe . all those people . all those opals . and no two exactly alike. And sometimes you find something like the Star of the East and you think of all you’ve suffered . for believe me a gouger’s life is no picnic . and you say it was all worth while. Now, for him who owns the Star of the East, it tells him the best is yet to come, for the Star is rising, you see, and wasn’t it there to announce the birth of the Christ child?”

“So your best is yet to come, Mr. Henniker?”

"You’re to call me Ben. Didn’t I tell you ? “

"Yes, but it’s hard to get used to when you’ve been brought up not to call grown-up people by their Christian names. “

“In here we don’t care what was done because someone said it should be without rhyme or reason. Oh no. We do what’s right for us, and I’m Ben to you as I am to all my friends and I trust you’re one of them.”

“I want to be… Ben.”

That’s the ticket, and that’s the idea. The best is yet to come for me while I’ve got the Star of the East. “

I put out a finger and touched it.

That’s right,” he said. Touch it. Look at the light on the stone. And that’s not the only one. Here’s Pride of the Camp. A fine piece of opal there. Not quite up to the Star of the East, but a fine gem. She came from White Cliffs in New South Wales. A roaring camp, that was. Some prospector had been there and moved on; then some fossickers came by and started to tap round as fossickers do. And what happened? He finds opal… not potch … oh dear me, no. Real precious opal. What a find for a fossicker. Before the month’s out there’s a camp there and everyone’s gouging like made. I was caught up in it. It was my luck to hit on Pride of the Camp.”

“Do you sell them?” I asked.

He was thoughtful for a moment.

“Well, that would seem to be the object, but there sometimes comes a stone that no matter what it can bring you, you just can’t sell. You get a sort of feeling for it. It belongs to you and you only. You’d rather have it than all the money in the world, and that’s plain straight.”

“So all these you are showing me are stones which you felt like that about?”

That’s it. Some are there for their beauty and some for Other reasons.

Look at this one here . See the green fire in it? That cost me my leg. ” He shook his fist at it ” You cost me dear, my beauty,” he went on, ‘and for that reason I keep you.

She’s got fire, that one. Just look at her sitting there. She cares nothing for me. She says, “Oh, if you want me, take me but don’t start counting the cost.” I call her Green Lady, for that was the name of a cat I once had. I’m rather fond of cats. They’ve got a sort of disdainful pride that I like. Have you ever noticed the grace of a cat? How it walks alone? It’s proud. It never cringes. I like that.

This cat I had was called Lady. It suited her, that name. She was a lady, and her eyes were as green as the green you see in her namesake there. So that’s why I won’t let her go, though she cost me my leg and you might think I wouldn’t like to be reminded. There she was glinting at me in the candlelight . and I had to have her though the roof fell in and crippled me. “

I took up the Green Lady in my hands and studied her. Then I laid her gently back in her soft velvet case.

“And look here. Miss Jessie. Look at this heart-shaped cabochon. See the violet in it. It’s Royal Purple, this one. Look at the colour. Fit for a royal crown she is.”

I was fascinated, and he opened more boxes and I saw a variety of stones from the milky kind flashing their reds and greens to the dark blue and black variety with their stronger colours.

He talked about them all, pointing out their qualities, and I was caught up in his enthusiasm.

One box he took out was empty. It was smaller than the others, for it was meant to “cushion one single stone, and in the centre of the black velvet was a hollow somehow almost accusing in its emptiness. He stared at it in a melancholy way for some moments.

What was there? ” I asked.

He turned to me. His eyes had narrowed, his mouth hardened and he looked murderous. I stared at him, astonished by this change of mood.

“Once,” he said, ‘the Green Hash at Sunset was there. “

I waited but said nothing. His jaw protruded and his mouth was set and angry.

“It was a specially beautiful opal?” I ventured.

He turned to me, his eyes blazing. There was never such a beauty,” he cried.

“No, never such an opal in the whole world. It was worth a fortune, but I would never’ have parted with it. You’d have to see it to believe this, but you’d know it if you did. The green flash … it wasn’t there all the time. You had to watch for it. It was the way the light caught it and the way you held it. it was something about you as well as the stone. “

“What happened to it? ” It was stolen,” he said.

“Who stole it?”

He was silent. Then he turned to look at me, his eyes narrowed. I could see how the loss of the stone upset him.

“When was it stolen ?” I prompted.

“A long time ago.”

“How long?”

“Before you were born.”

“And all that time you never found it?”

He shook his head. Then he snapped the box shut. He put it back in the safe with the others, and when he had locked the safe he turned to me and laughed. But there was a slightly different note in his laughter than there had been before.

“Now,” he said, ‘we’re going to have some tea. I told them to bring it precisely at four. So let us go back there. ” He pointed to the drawing-room.

“You can pour out and entertain me, which is somehow right and fitting as you’re the Clavering. ” The spirit lamp and silver teapot were already there, with plates of sandwiches, scones and plum cake. Beside Wilmot stood a maid.

“Miss Clavering will pour out,” said Ben.

“Very good, sir,” replied Wilmot graciously; and I was glad when he and the maid had retired.

“All very ceremonious,” said Ben.

“I confess to you I’ve never quite got used to it. Sometimes I say: ” Enough of that I” You can imagine how a man feels when he’s boiled his own billy-can and cooked his own damper round’ a campfire. Today’s special, though. Today’s the day when the first Clavering comes to be my guest.”

“But not a very important one, I’m afraid,” I said with a laugh.

“The most important. Never underestimate yourself. Miss Jessie. People are going to think you’re not up to much if you think that way yourself. You’ve got to find a nice way between because it doesn’t do to be too big for your boots nor for your hat. Then they won’t fit.”

I asked him how he liked his tea, poured out, and when I carried it to him, he smiled at me appreciatively. I set his cup and plate on a table by his chair and felt very pleased with myself as I took my place behind the silver teapot.

Tell me about this Green Hash at Sunset,” I said.

He was silent for a second or so and then he asked: “Have you ever heard of the green flash. Miss Jessie?”

“Only this afternoon.”

“I don’t mean the opal … that other green flash. They say that there’s a precise moment when the sun goes down-just before it disappears-that there is a green flash on the sea. You can only see it in tropical seas and then conditions have to be exactly right. Ifs a rare phenomenon. It’s beautiful and exciting to see. People watch for it; some never catch it at all. If you as much as blink your eyes you could miss it. It’s there and it’s gone and you hardly know it’s been.

You’ve got to be in the right spot at the right moment, looking in the right direction, and you’ve got to be quick to see it. I saw it once.

It was on the voyage back to England from Australia. There I was on deck, and it was sunset time. I was watching that great ball of fire drop into the ocean. It’s different in the tropics. There’s little twilight like we have here. And there was this peaceful scene . no cloud and the great sun so low that I could just bear to look at it.

Then it was gone and there was this green flash.

“I’ve seen it,” I cried out loud.

“I’ve seen the green flash.” Then I went and looked at my opal. It was very valuable, the finest opal of all. I remember on that journey home I carried it about with me. I’d look at it now and then just to assure myself that it was there. Now this opal reminds you of the green flash at sea. You’d look at it, you’d see its beauty, you’d see the red and blue flashes. There was a darkening of colour right across it so that it looked like the meeting of land and sea, and there was such red fire in it that it was like the sun, and if you were looking at the right moment and you were holding it at a certain angle and the light was right, suddenly the red would seem to disappear and then you’d see the green flash. First I believe it was called the Sunset Opal and then when I had caught the green flash that was it. She couldn’t be anything else but the Green Flash at Sunset. “

“And you loved it best of all your stones ?”

There was never one like it. I’d never known that green flash in a stone before. You had to watch for it. It was something that was rare, and you’d got to be ready for it. It was like no other green and if you missed it you might not get the opportunity again. “

“Did you never find out who took it ?’ I had my suspicions. In fact everything pointed to him, the young devil. By God, if I could lay my hands on him . ” He seemed to be lost for words, which was rare with him, and he was for the moment unaware of me. I guessed he was back in that time when he had opened the box and found the opal gone.

I went over to him, took his cup and brought it over to refill it; and when I handed it back to him I said softly:

“How did it happen, Ben ?”

“It was here,” he said, ‘in this house. ” He pointed over his shoulder to the room we had just left.

“I hadn’t had the place long then. I was anxious to show it off for I had a great pride in it. It was more than just a house. That's how you’d feel about a place like this. I reckon your family felt it. Well, their loss was my gain. I used to have people to stay here because I wanted to say: ” Look what I’ve got. This is what all these years of toil and disappointments have got for me.

Success at last” Some of them had never seen a place like this. It was pride, pride going before a fall, as they say. Look what I’ve got.

Look at my mansion. Look at my opals. We went in there . ” He pointed to the study door. There were four of us and on this occasion I brought out my opals just as I have for you and that was the last I saw of the Green Flash at Sunset. I put her back in her box and put that in the safe. The next time I went there, the box was in its place all the opals were there except one-the Green Flash at Sunset.”

“Who had stolen it?”

“Someone who knew the combination of the safe. It must have been.”

“And didn’t you know who it was ? There was one young man. He disappeared. I never saw him again, although I searched for him. He was dearly the one who had the Green Rash.”

“What a wicked thing to do There are wicked people in the world.

Never forget it. Funny thing was, I’d never have thought it of him. He had that dedication, that determination which almost always ends in success. But when he set eyes on the Green Flash, that was his downfall. You see, there’ll never be another like her. She’s the Queen of Opals. The way you had to look for the flash and it never came for some, you see what I mean. And I’d lost her forever. “

“Surely the police could find him.” - “He was far away in next to no time. Sometimes I tell myself that one of these days I’m going to find him and the Hash.”

“Do you think he sold it?”

“It wouldn’t have been easy. She’d have been recognized. Every dealer knew her and would have reported the sale. He may have taken her with him … just to keep her to himself. She had a terrible fascination for everyone who saw her. In spite of all the tales of bad luck, everyone who laid eyes on her wanted her.”

“What tales, Ben? ” Well, you know how these things get round. She was unlucky, they said. There’d been one or two people who’d owned her and misfortune had come to them. The Green Flash meant death they used to say. “

“So you didn’t find it in the first place, then ?”

“Oh dear me no. It had passed through other hands before mine. You might say I won it.”

“How did you do that?”

“I was always a bit of a gambler. Take a chance, that’s me. I’d always keep a reserve though. I’ve never gambled to my last coin, like some.

I liked to be rich and then do my gambling from there, if you know what I mean. There was old Harry Wilkins who’d got this stone, and from the moment he showed it to me I wanted it. I’d fallen under its spell, you might say, and I was bent on getting it. Ill luck dogged Harry. They said it was the stone. His son had never been much good and one night he went out and never came back. He was found with his neck broken. He’d always drunk too much. Old Harry went to pieces after that. He was a great gambler. He’d take a bet on anything. A couple of raindrops falling down a window pane.

“I’ll bet you a hundred quid the right one gets to the bottom first,” he’d say. He just couldn’t help it. Well, I wanted that stone and it was about all he’d got because this son of his had robbed him right and left before he died. To cut a long story short he staked the Green Flash for a fortune. I took the gamble and won. He shot himself a few weeks later.

Disaster follows the Green Flash, they used to say. “

“And what about you ?”

“I wouldn’t believe in the curse.”

“You lost the stone so perhaps you escaped it ” One day she’ll be back where she belongs. “

You talk about the Green Hash as though she were a woman. “

That’s how she was to me. I loved her. I used to take her out and look at her when I was downcast. I’d watch for the’ flash and I used to say to myself: “Times will change. You’ll find happiness as well as stones, old Ben. ” That's what she’s telling you.”

Suddenly it seemed as though he could no longer bear to talk of his loss and he started telling me of the days when he had been a young man and had done what he called ‘a bit of fossicking’ and how he had first felt the lure of the opal. Then he said he reckoned I’d like to see the house, and as he was not able to get around as fast as he’d like, he’d tell one of the servants to take me.

Much as I disliked leaving him, I did want to see the house, and as I hesitated-which seemed to please him-he said:

“You’ll come again. We must make a point of these meetings, for there’s one thing that’s certain sure. You and I have quite taken a fancy to each other. I hope you agree with my feelings.”

“Oh I do, and if I can come again and hear more, I’d love to see the house now.”

“Of course you would and so you shall. Then you can think what it would have been like if you’d lived your life here as you would have done if one of these get-rich-quick johnnies hadn’t come along and grabbed the ancestral home.”

“I shall always be glad of that now,” I assured him, and he looked very pleased.

He pulled a bell-rope and Wilmot appeared immediately.

“Miss Clavering would like to see the house,” said Ben.

“One of you must show her round.”

“Very good, sir,” murmured Wilmot.

“Just a minute,” cried Ben.

“Let Hannah do it. Yes, Hannah’s the one.”

“As you say, sir.”

I went to Ben’s chair and took his hand. Thank you. I have enjoyed it so much. May I really come again? Next Wednesday. Same time. “

Thank you. “

His face looked strange for a second. If he had been anyone else I should have said he was about to cry. Then he said:

“Off with you. Hannah will show you round.”

I wondered why he had selected Hannah. She was the one who interested me most She was a tall, spare woman with rather gaunt features and large dark eyes which seemed to bore right into me. She was clearly gratified that she was the one who had been chosen to show me round.

“I was with your family for five years,” she told me.

“I came here when I was twelve years old. Then I stayed on, and when they went they couldn’t afford to keep me.”

That happened with so many, I’m afraid. “

“Would you care to start at the top of the house. Miss Clavering, and work down?”

I said I thought that seemed an excellent idea, and together we climbed the newel staircase to the roof.

“You can see the turrets best from up here. And look what a fine view of the countryside.” She looked at me intently. There’s a good view of the Dower House. “

I followed the direction in which she was looking and there it was nestling among the trees and the greenery. The house looked like a doll’s house from here. The clean lines of its architecture were very obvious and the smooth lawn looked like a neat square of green silk. I could see Poor jar man working on the flowerbeds.

“You have a better view of us than we have of you,” I commented.

“In summer Oakland House is completely hidden.”

“I often come up here and look round,” said Hannah.

“You must have seen us in the garden now and then.”

Oh, often. “

I felt a little uneasy at having been watched by Hannah.

“Do you prefer it now to the days when my family were here?”

She hesitated, then she said: “In some ways. Mr. Henniker goes away a lot and we have the place to ourselves. It seems funny that … at least it did at first, but you get used to most things. He’s easy to work for.” I could see that she was implying that my mother was not.

“Miss Miriam was only a girl when she lived here,” she went on.

That was a long time ago. Before I was born. “

They won’t be pleased to hear you’ve been here. Miss, I reckon. “No, they won’t,” I agreed and added: “If they find out.”

Mr. Henniker is a very strange gentleman. “

“Unlike anyone I’ve ever known,” I agreed.

“Well, you just think of the way he came here. Who’d have thought a gentleman like that would take a place like this?”

We were silent for a while contemplating the view. My eyes kept going back to the Dower House. Poor Jarman had straightened himself up as Maddy came out and started to talk to him.

I was amused that unbeknown to them I could I watch them. I Shall we go in now. Miss Clavering suggested Hannah, ‘y I nodded and we descended the circular stairs and entered , a room-I admired the moulded beams of the ceiling, the panelled walls and the carved fireplace.

There are so many rooms like this that you lose count of them,” said Hannah.

“We don’t use them all even when there’s a house party.”

“Is there often a house party?”

“Yes, gentlemen come to talk business with Mr. Henniker. At least that’s how it was. I don’t know if it will be the same since his accident.”

“I suppose they come about opals.”

“All sorts of business Mr. Henniker’s engaged in. He’s a very rich gentleman. That’s what we say is so good about being here … in the servants’ hall, I mean. There’s never all this talk about economizing, and wages come prompt, not …”

“Not like it was when my family was here.”

Most of the gentry have their money troubles, it seems. I’ve talked to others in houses like this. But someone like Mr. Henniker . well, he’s got to have a lot of money to buy the place, hasn’t he, so it stands to reason he can afford to keep it up-not like someone inheriting it and finding it’s a drain. “

“I see that it must be a great comfort to work for Mr. Henniker after my family.”

“It’s all so different. Mr. Wilmot’s always saying it’s not what he’s used to, and I reckon he sometimes hankers for a house with more dignity. But it’s nice to know your wages are there … on the dot just when they’re due, and there doesn’t have to be all this pinching and scraping. He never locks up the tea or anything like that … never asks to see Mrs. Bucket’s accounts, but I reckon he’d know fast enough if there was any fiddling.”

We had come to a gallery.

“Once,” she went on, ‘there were pictures of the family all along here. They were taken away, and Mr. Henniker never put up pictures of his own. A gallery’s not a gallery without pictures of the family, Mr. Wilmot says, but we don’t know much about Mr. Henniker’s. “

The gallery was beautiful, with carved pillars and long narrow windows, the stained glass of which threw a lovely glow over the place. There were curtains of rich velvet at intervals round the walls. They hid the part which wasn’t panelled, Hannah explained.

They say this is haunted,” she told me. There always has to be one haunted room in a house like this. Well, this is it. No one’s seen or heard anything since Mr. Henniker’s been here. He’d frighten any ghost away, I reckon. They used to say that they could hear music here coming from the spinet that was once there. Mr. Henniker had it shipped out to Australia. It meant something special to him, I heard. Mrs. Bucket says it’s a lot of fancy. Mr. Wilmot believes it though, but then he’d think that any family that didn’t have a ghost wouldn’t be fit for him to work for.”

“But he works for Mr. Henniker now.”

“It’s something of a sore point.”

We went on with our tour of exploration and, as Hannah had said, there were so many rooms of the same kind that it would be easy to lose oneself. I hoped that if I visited Mr. Henniker frequently I should be able to see it all again and enjoy exploring at my leisure. Hannah was not the most comfortable of guides because whenever I looked at her I would find her eyes fixed on me as though she were assessing me. I put this down to > the fact that I was a member of the family she had once served. However, I couldn’t stop thinking of her looking down on to the Dower House and watching me.

I admired the carved fireplaces which had been put in during Elizabeth’s reign; their theme was scenes from the Bible, and I picked out Adam and Eve and Lot’s wife being turned into a pillar of salt and felt very ignorant when others had to be explained to me.

I thought the solarium delightful, with its windows facing south and its walls covered in tapestry, which had no doubt been sold to Ben Henniker by my family, and I pictured my mother pacing up and down here in the gallery while they discussed how they could possibly go on living here.

Finally we came down to the hall and passed through a vestibule to what Hannah called the Parlour.

“In the very old days,” she explained, ‘this was where guests were received. ” The walls were panelled, the windows leaded, and there was a suit of armour in a corner.

“Right at the other end are the kitchens with the buttery and pantry and that sort of thing. That’s the Screens end of the hall. You’ll want to see them. Some of them go right back to the days when the house was built and that was long enough ago, goodness knows. “

She led me back across the hall to what she called the Screens a door which shut off the servants’ quarters from the hall and I was in a vast kitchen. An enormous fireplace took up almost the whole of one side. In this were bread ovens, roasting spits and great cauldrons. There was a big table with two benches, one on either side; two armchairs-wide and ornate were placed at each end of the table, and I later learned that one of these was occupied by Mrs. Bucket and the other by the butler, Mr. Wilmot.

As I entered the kitchen I was aware of whispering voices. I knew that I was being watched from some vantage point.

A large woman came smiling into the kitchen followed by three maids.

Hannah said: This is Miss Clavering Mrs. Bucket. “

“How do you do. Mis Bucket,” I replied.

“I have heard of you.”

“Is that so?” she’ asked pleased.

“Maddy who is with us often mentions you.”

“Ah, Maddy, yes. Well, Miss Clavering, this a great day for us to have one of the Family here.”

“It is wonderful for me to be here.”

“Well,” said Mrs. Bucket, ‘perhaps this is going to be a beginning.”

I felt a little embarrassed because they were all assessing me. I wondered whether they were thinking that a Clavering who had been brought up in a Dower House was not quite a true one. After all, I had never known the grandeurs of a house like this.

“I’ll never forget the day the Family told us they were going. Lined up in the Hall we were … even the stable boys.”

Hannah was signalling to Mrs. Bucket, but I blessed the plump cook for I could see that she was one who could not stop herself talking and that the sight of me in the kitchen -a Clavering -had brought back such memories that she could not stop herself recalling them.

“Of course, we’d heard it before. Money, money, money … It was affecting people all over the place. There was talk of this income tax and how it was ruining everybody. They’d already cut down in the stables. The horses they had when I first came here! And the gardeners! That’s where the cuts always have to come first . the stables and the gardens. I’ said as much to Mr. Wilmot, which he will tell you is the truth if you will ask him. I said to him. “

“It’s a long time ago, Mrs. Bucket,” interrupted Hannah.

“It seems like yesterday. Why at that time you wasn’t born, Miss Clavering. When we heard that a gentleman coming from Australia had bought the place, we couldn’t believe it. You ask Mr. Wilmot. But it was so, and then it was all different and the Claverings went to the Dower House and we wasn’t on speaking terms. And now…”

“Miss Clavering has become acquainted with Mr. Henniker,” said Hannah firmly, ‘so he asked her to tea with him. “

Mrs. Bucket nodded.

“And did you enjoy the scones. Miss Clavering? I always remember Miss Jessica…”

Hannah was staring at Mrs. Bucket as though she were Medusa herself. I could see that she was imploring her to be discreet.

But I was not going to allow that. I said: “Miss Jessica? Who was she?”

“Mrs. Bucket meant Miss Miriam. She loved the scones. Don’t you remember, Mrs. Bucket, how she’d come down to the kitchen while you were baking them?”

“She said Miss Jessica,” I insisted.

“She gets muddled sometimes over names, don’t you, Mrs. Bucket? This is Miss Jessica. It was Miss Miriam and Mr. Xavier who used to love your scones. I reckon that Mrs. Cobb’s are not a patch on yours.”

“Nobody’s was a patch on mine,” said Mrs. Bucket emphatically.

“I thought they were delicious,” I said, but I was asking myself why she had said Miss Jessica.

Hannah asked quickly if I would like to see the stables. I said I thought I’d better not, for it had just occurred to me that though my visits were supposed to be secret, some of the servants would certainly talk, so the fewer I saw the better. I could imagine my family’s consternation if it was discovered that I had become friends with Ben Henniker. I was seventeen years old, still a minor and I had to obey orders to a certain extent, rebel that I was. It was therefore better for the time being to keep my visits as secret as possible and the fewer people I saw the better.

I said it had been very interesting and I told Mrs. Bucket that I was glad to have made her acquaintance, and when I had thanked Hannah for showing me the house I left.

I felt they were watching me as I walked down the drive and was glad when I reached the bend, although then I was exposed to the road and wondered what would happen if Miriam, Xavier or my parents came along at that moment. They did not, however, and I reached the Dower House unobserved.

I kept thinking of what Mrs. Bucket had said about Jessica and the scones and I went straight to the Waste Land and found the plaque which I had stuck back into the ground with the name showing: Jessica Clavering ju . 1880.

She must be the Jessica of whom Mrs. Bucket had spoken.

All through the hot month of August I went to Oakland Hall. It was not only on Wednesdays because Ben said he disliked regularities. He liked unexpected things to happen, so he would say: “Come on Monday” or “Come on Saturday.” And sometimes I would say: “Well, that’s the church fete day’-or some such engagement-‘and they’d miss me.” Then we would make another date.

He seemed to be showing progress and could walk about more easily with the aid of his crutch. He made jokes about his false leg and called himself Ben Pegleg and said he reckoned he’d do as well with wood as most people did with flesh and blood. He used to hold my arm and we would walk along the gallery together.

Once he said to me: There ought to be family pictures here. That’s what a gallery’s for, they say. My ugly face wouldn’t add much to it.”

“It's the most interesting face I have ever seen,” I told him.

The face in question twitched at that. Underneath his tough exterior he was a very sentimental man.

He always talked a great deal and I had vivid pictures of what his life had been. He made me see the streets of London clearly and I could picture him with his bright eyes darting everywhere, discovering the best way of selling his wares and always being one step ahead of the rest. He spoke often of his mother and he was very tender then. dearly he had loved her dearly. Once I said to him: “Ben, you should have had a wife.”

“I wasn’t the marrying sort,” he replied.

“Funny thing, there was never one who was there at the right moment. Timing plays a big part in life. The opportunity has to be there; when you’re in a position to seize it I’m not going to tell’ you there weren’t women. That would be a falsehood and we want truth between us two, don’t we? I’d be with Lucy for a year or so and then just when I’d be thinking it was time I made it legal, something would happen to change it all. Then there was Betty. A good woman, Betty, but I knew it wouldn’t have worked with her either. “

“You Could have had some sons and daughters to fill the gallery.”

“I’ve got the odd one or two,” he said with a grin.

“At least they claim me as father … or did when I began to grow rich.”

“Perhaps they would have claimed you if you were a poor man.”

“Who’s to say?”

And so we talked.

I was friendly with the servants too. Mrs. Bucket had taken me to her heart. She liked to discover how Mrs. Cobb did certain things and questioned me closely. She would sit nodding in a superior way with a smirk on her lips as I talked, and I was sure she was unfair to Mrs. Cobb.

“Old Jarman would have done better to stay,” she commented.

“Look what he got. A cottage and enough children to fill it to overflowing, if you ask me. He would have been better to stay and wait for another five years. He’d have had five less to feed then.”

Wilmot after a while accepted my visits to the servants’ hall. I was sure he worked it out that although I was a Clavering I was not really an Oakland Hall Clavering for I had not been born in the great vaulted chamber where other Claverings had first viewed the world, but in a foreign land. It had lowered my status in some way, and although he treated me with respect it was tempered with a certain condescension.

I was amused and Ben and I used to laugh a great deal over it, and I would wonder how I had endured the monotony of my life in pre-Ben days.

It was as we were approaching the end of August that Ben made me uneasy. We were taking our stroll along the gallery and he was now dearly able to walk quite easily with the aid of his crutch.

“If this goes on,” he said, “I’ll be off on my travels next year.” He was aware of my consternation and hastened to reassure me.

“It won’t be this side of Christmas. I’ve got a lot more practice to do yet.”

“It will be so dull here without you,” I stammered.

He patted my arm.

“Ifs a long way off. Who can say what will happen by Christmas?”

“Where would you go?” I asked.

“I’d go up to my place north of Sydney … not far from the opal country where I’m sure there are more finds to be made.”

"You mean you’d go mining again “Ifs in my blood.”

“But after your accident…”

“Oh, I’m not sure that I’d go off with my pick. I didn’t mean that. My partner and I have mines out there that we know are going to yield.

We’ve got men working for us. “

“What’s happening to all that now ?”

Oh, the Peacock’s looking after it. “

The Peacock? “

Ben began to laugh.

“One day,” he said, ‘you’ll have to meet the Peacock. The name suits him. “

“He must be vain.”

“Oh, he’s got a good conceit of himself. Mind you, I’m not saying it’s not warranted. Ever seen a peacock’s feather … that blue … unmistakable. He’s got eyes that colour. Rare, you know, deep, darkish blue, and my goodness can he flash them when he’s in a rage. There’s not a man in the Company who would dare cross the Peacock. That can be very useful. I know he’ll take care of everything while I’m away. Why, if it wasn’t for the Peacock I wouldn’t be here now. Dursn’t be. I’d have to be back there. You’ve no idea how wrong things can go.”

“So you can trust this Peacock?”

“Seeing the closeness of our relationship, I reckon I can.”

"Who is he then? “

“Josslyn Madden. Known as Joss or otherwise the Peacock. His mother was a very great friend of mine. Oh yes, a very great friend. She was a beautiful woman, Julia Madden was. There wasn’t a man in the camp who didn’t fancy her. Jock Madden was a poor fish who ought never to have been out there. Couldn’t manage a job or hold a woman. Julia and I were very fond of each other. And when young Joss came along there wasn’t a shadow of doubt. Old Jock was incapable of getting children anyway.”

“You mean this Peacock is your son?”

That’s about it. ” Ben began to laugh.

“I’ll never forget the day. All of seven he was. I’d built Peacocks at that time … it might have been about five years before. I’d got the peacocks on the lawn and the house had its name. Julia used to come over to see me. She was thinking of leaving Jock and coming for good. Then one day on the way over her horse fell; she was thrown and the fall killed her. Jock married again. She was a tyrant, that one. No one would have her, even though there was a shortage of women, so she took Jock because he didn’t know how to say no. Caught proper, he was. Our young Peacock didn’t like the household at all, so he promptly packed a bag and one day there he was walking across the lawn, frightening the peacocks, marching along like any swagman. They brought him to me, and he told me: ” I’m going to live here now for ever. ” Not, may I? but I am! That was Joss Madden aged seven and that’s Joss Madden today. He makes up his mind what he wants and that’s how it’s going to be.”

“You’re fond of him, Ben. I can see you admire him.”

“He’s my son … and Julia’s. I can see old Ben in him in lots of ways. There’s nothing makes you admire people like seeing yourself in them.”

“So he stayed at Peacocks and he became so vain that people called him the Peacock, and he’s ruthless and he’s your son.”

That's about the ticket’ “And is he one of those about whom you say he claims you as his father when you grew rich?”

“At seven I don’t know how knowledgeable he was about wealth. I think perhaps he just hated his home and liked the peacocks. He paid more attention to them than he did to me. He used to strut round the lawns with them. Then he became fascinated by opals particularly those with the peacock colourings. He took an interest right from the start and when Joss takes an interest it’s a big one. I know the place is safe with him. He could soon manage it all without my help. But the urge comes over me to be out there. Sometimes I dream I’m there … going down the shaft… down, down into the underground chambers .. and there I am with my candle and the roof a mass of gems … lovely opal flashing red, green and gold … and right at the heart of it another Green Flash.”

“It’s unlucky, Ben,” I said.

“I don’t want any harm to come to you.

You’re rich. You’ve got Oakland. What does it matter about the Green Flash ? “

I’ll tell you one of the nicest things I’ve found since I lost the Flash,” he answered.

“Well, that’s you.”

We didn’t speak for some time. We just stumped along the gallery, but he had started misgivings in my mind and I knew the day would come when he would go away.

Sometimes I used to feel that there wasn’t much time. If Ben went away I should no longer have an excuse for visiting the Hall, and there was so much I wanted to know before that happened.

I had learned a little about opals and how they were gouged from the earth. I had my own mental picture of the roaring camps he had talked of and the lives of the people who lived in them; I could picture the excitement when a brilliant gem was discovered; but I had learned more than that.

There was nothing Mrs. Bucket liked more than for me to go down to her kitchen, and I always made a point of doing this. I had discovered how little I knew of my own family and I often thought that Miriam, Xavier and my parents were like shadow figures moving about in a dimly lighted room; the lights had been dimmed when my father’s gambling lost them Oakland Hall.

Mrs. Bucket’s main delight was to cook little delicacies for me so that I could compare them with the kind of fare Mrs. Cobb put on our table.

I think she had a kind of guilt complex because she had not gone with us to the Dower House. She liked to talk about the past, and from her I learned that Mr. Xavier had been a ‘bright little fellow.

“Mind you, at the time of the trouble he was getting his education. He liked my cooking. Used to call me Food Bucket.” She purred and shook her head.

“Nothing disrespectful, mind.

“Of course you’re Food Bucket,” he used to say. “because nobody can make food taste like you do.” Eat. He could eat. Miss Miriam could be a little tartar now and then. When she was a little thing I caught her more than once stealing the sugar. Fifteen years old she was when she came to me and she said:

“Mrs. Bucket; we’ve got to leave Oakland.” And she was near to crying, she was-and I don’t mind telling you I was too. Now, Miss Jessica”

What a deep silence there was before Hannah said: “Have you made those currant buns for tea, Mrs. Bucket?"

” Who was Jessica? ” I asked.

Mrs. Bucket looked at Hannah and then she burst out:

“What’s the good of all this pretending? You can’t keep that sort of thing dark forever.”

Tell me,” I demanded rather imploringly, as though I were an Oakland-bred Clavering ‘who was Jessica ?”

There was another daughter,” said Mrs. Bucket almost defiantly.

“She came between Miriam and Xavier.”

“And she was called Jessica ?” I went on.

Hannah bowed her head. It was tantamount to agreement “Why is there this secrecy?”

They were silent again, and I burst out: “It’s all rather foolish.”

Hannah said sharply; “You’ll know in time. Ifs not for us…”

I looked at Mrs. Bucket appealingly.

“You know,” I said.

“Why shouldn’t I? What happened to this Jessica?”

“She died,” said Mrs. Bucket.

“When she was very young ?” I asked.

“It was after they left Oakland,” Hannah told me, ‘so we wouldn’t know much about it. “

“She was older than Miriam, and Miriam was fifteen when they left,” I prompted.

“About seventeen,” said Hannah, ‘but it’s not for us . Mrs. Bucket shouldn’t have. “

“I’ll do what I like in my own kitchen,” said Mrs. Bucket.

This is no kitchen matter, “protested Hannah.

“I’ll thank you not to be impudent to me, Hannah Gooding.”

I could see that they were making a quarrel of this to avoid telling me. But I was going to find out. I was determined on that.

I left the Hall and went to the churchyard and looked at all the graves. There was only one Jessica Clavering among them, and she had died about a hundred years before at the ripe age of seventy years.

Then I went to the Waste Land. There it was-the grave and the plaque engraved with her name and the date Ju . 1880.

So this is where they buried you, Jessica,” I murmured.