The Return of the Gypsy

The Blind Girl

FURTHER EFFORTS WERE MADE to trace Tamarisk without success. It did emerge that the gypsies may have left and gone to Ireland which they had on other occasions.

My father shrugged his shoulders and after consulting with the solicitor, it was decided that for the time being Enderby was to be let as it was, if a tenant could be found to take it until a decision was reached.

Enderby was shut up; the servants were scattered; some of them came into our household and some went to Grasslands. Some of our servants went over once a week to keep the place in order—always in twos and threes I noticed. Not one of them cared to go alone. The house’s reputation had become slightly more evil since the death of Aunt Sophie, and old rumours were revived.

“We had better put a stop to that,” said my father, “otherwise we shall never find a tenant.”

Jeanne herself often went to the house. She had moved to a cottage on the estate which happened to be empty. She was undecided about her future but I believed that one day she would return to France.

In the meantime the days were slipping past. My father said one day at dinner that he would have to pay a visit to London. He would be away for a week or so.

“You’ll come with me, Lottie,” he said.

“But of course,” replied my mother.

He looked at me. “And I wonder if my darling daughter would deign to honour us with her presence.”

“You know I should love to.”

“Well, that’s settled. We’ll go as soon as you can get your fripperies together.”

“A week,” I said.

“Too long. We are leaving on Thursday.”

“You always do these things in a great hurry,” protested my mother.

“Procrastination is the thief of time.”

“Slow and steady wins the race,” I said.

My father turned appealingly to David. “The two of them line up against me. Did a man ever have such a wife and daughter!”

David and Claudine smiled benignly at us. His softness was all the more noticeable because it was for us alone.

How easily I could understand my parents. No inhibitions, no brooding grief such as Aunt Sophie had suffered. I was lucky. I never wanted to leave them. Edward Barrington was hoping that I would marry him. He did not actually ask me again but I could see the hope in his eyes.

It was a happy state of affairs. I was flattered to be so desired as a wife and I often thought I should accept his proposal; at the same time I did not want to leave my home. I liked to be there close to my parents all the time. I should have to feel very attracted by someone to want to leave them.

We left Eversleigh in the carriage, which was the most comfortable way of long distance travel.

“We should set out early and try to make the journey in two days,” said my father.

We made good progress on the first day and did five miles more than we had believed possible, but as darkness was about an hour away my father said we had better look out for a good coaching inn, which we did and that was how we came to the Green Man.

It was a charming inn set back from the road, clearly displaying the sign which depicted a man clad in green.

“This looks a likely place,” said my father. “Stop here, Jennings.”

The postilion descended and went into the inn while we remained in the carriage.

“Let’s hope they have rooms here,” said my mother. “I am not eager to continue after dark.”

The postilion emerged with the host who bowed obsequiously. Beside him was his wife, beaming a welcome.

“We are honoured,” said the host. “It is Mr. Frenshaw and his lady wife and daughter. You shall have the best rooms in the inn, my lord. If we had known … As it is there is good roast beef and chicken pie only … If we had been warned of such nobility …”

My father held up a hand.

“Your good roast beef will suit us quite well,” he said. “And we shall need two rooms—your best, of course.”

I smiled fondly at my father. I supposed his fame had spread to every inn on the road from Eversleigh to London. Of course it was only necessary to look at him to sense his importance.

As we stepped inside the inn parlour, I noticed a man sitting there drinking from a flagon. He wore a stylish brown coat and there was a very white cravat at his throat. His brown beaver hat was on the table beside him. I judged him to be in his mid twenties; he was quite clearly interested in our arrival.

“First we will see the rooms,” said my father. “And how soon can we sup?”

“When you wish, my lord, sir. Whenever is your wish. My wife will make sure that you are well served. You will wish to eat privately, will you not?”

“That would please me.”

As we were being led towards the stairs I looked round and noticed that the man in the inn parlour continued to show interest. He caught my eye and half smiled. I looked away quickly.

The rooms were pleasant—a double one for my parents at the. front of the inn, and a smaller one for me at the back. Their windows looked onto the road, mine over the stables to woods and fields.

My father said the rooms would be adequate and when the innkeeper retired, telling us that supper would be served in a small room leading from the inn parlour, my father added that we had been fortunate to find such a place.

“They seem to know you,” said my mother.

“I have travelled this way for years and stayed at a number of inns. People talk. Now you two will want to wash the grime of the journey from your faces. When you’ve done so we’ll eat. Then I think an early night and a good sleep. We’ll travel on at daybreak.”

Water was brought by a rosy-cheeked girl; and soon we were ready. As we were ushered into the private room I saw again the man who had been drinking in the parlour. He gave me a bow as though we were old acquaintances. I lightly inclined my head.

My mother whispered: “He looks as though he believes he has met us before.”

My father replied in a rather audible voice which the man might have heard: “It’s wise not to scrape up acquaintance in inns. One never knows what sort of rogue one can get saddled with.” The door closed on us. We were in a small room where the table was laid for three and hot soup was being ladled into bowls.

“I do hope he didn’t hear you,” I said.

My father shrugged that aside. “It’s true,” he said. “Now let’s see what the food is like at the Green Man.”

It was quite good and after we had eaten we retired to our rooms.

“Don’t forget,” said my father. “An early start. I’ve explained to mine host that we want a quick breakfast at daybreak. He has promised it shall be ready.”

We said goodnight and went to our rooms.

I felt rather tired but disinclined to go to bed immediately. It was always difficult to sleep in strange beds and I did not want the night to seem too long.

I went to the window and sat there watching the activity in the stable yard. Our carriage was there being cleaned by our coachman and postilion. They were chatting idly together as they worked.

I yawned. It would be pleasant to get away from Eversleigh for a while. Aunt Sophie’s death had cast a gloom over us all. I wished Amaryllis had come with us. She was not so fond of the London life as I was. I liked the shops and visits to the theatre; and there was almost certain to be a ball at one of our friends’ houses while we were in town.

While I was thinking of this, the man who had been drinking in the inn parlour strolled out of the inn and paused by our coach. He talked to the men who were cleaning it. He examined the carriage, studying the family crest on the side.

He put his head inside the vehicle and touched the padded seats. Our coachman was talking enthusiastically, pointing out the details of the upholstery and bodywork with obvious pride.

The man leaned against the side of the carriage and went on talking. I wished I could hear what they were saying. I saw him slip some money into the hands of the men and fearful that he might look up, I moved back from the window.

What was he talking about to our servants? And why had he thought it necessary to reward them? Gentlemen often tipped servants, of course—even other people’s. Perhaps he was very generous and considered the details about the carriage which they were giving him were worth paying for.

I went to bed and in spite of its being a strange one, I was soon fast asleep, and the next thing I knew was that my mother was tapping on the door to tell me it was time to get up.

In the afternoon of the next day we arrived at the house in Albemarle Street, our London home. On the first day my father was away on business and my mother and I went shopping—a pursuit we both enjoyed. We bought materials, lace and ribbons and as we were returning home with our purchases I thought I saw the man who had been at the inn.

He was walking down our street and he seemed to pause for a second or so to look at our house. Then I thought I must have been mistaken. There were many men around dressed as he was dressed; and he had been tall—so was the man in the street.

I said to my mother: “Did you see that man?”

She looked round and said: “Yes.”

“Is it the man we saw in the inn?”

“What man?” she asked.

And I did not pursue the matter. I wondered why I remembered him. Perhaps because he had talked to our servants, and I had seen money pass between them.

On the third day my father took my mother to visit some friends. I was not included. My mother said we would all go out in the afternoon. “I should like to take a ride in the Park then,” she said. “Shall we do that?”

I said I should like it.

They had not been gone more than half an hour when the urge came to go out. There was some ribbon I had seen in one of the shops and I thought it would be a good idea if I went along to get it. My mother would not want to go back to the shops just for that.

There was no harm in my going out alone. My mother did not like me to, but then like all mothers she still saw me as a child.’ She had forgotten that I was grown up.

It would not take me long and I should be back before they returned.

I put on my hat and cloak and went out into the street.

There is an excitement about the London streets particularly when one is alone and accustomed to being chaperoned.

The air seemed to sparkle on that morning. There was a kind of frost in it. I decided I would go to Bond Street. Its elegance delighted me. The shops were all inviting with their windows divided into small panes with the displays of goods behind them. There were cravats, perfume, boots of every kind and all of the most fashionable; and the hats—they were a spectacle in themselves.

The carriages rattled by at great speed and I caught glimpses of the stylish occupants. Everywhere was noise and colour. I was fascinated.

I found the shop with the ribbon and bought it. I was in no great hurry to return to the house. I wanted to go on savouring the richness of this urban scene.

There was a moment when I had the feeling that I was being followed. I stopped short and looked round. There were several people about and they all seemed intent on their own business. Did I imagine it, or did I see a tall man in a brown beaver hat turn and suddenly become absorbed in one of the shop windows? No. I was becoming obsessed by the tall man in the brown beaver hat.

As I was about to cross the road I became aware of someone plucking at my sleeve. I turned sharply and looking down saw a young girl. She could not have been more than twelve or thirteen. She lifted her face to mine and murmured: “Please … could you help me cross the road?”

Something about the way she smiled into space told me at once that she was blind. She was neatly but by no means expensively dressed and she looked so helpless standing there that I was touched with pity. “Certainly I will,” I said.

I took her arm.

“You are so kind,” she said. “I was with my sister. I lost her. It was in the crowd. It is so bewildering when I am alone. When I am with her… or my mother … I think I can be all right, but it is different to be alone …”

“Of course,” I said. “I think we could try it now. I’ll hold your arm.”

I took her across. It was certainly a little hazardous even for the sighted.

We had reached the other side. “Do you have far to go?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “If you would just help me along to Greville Street…”

“It is just along here, I believe.”

“Oh, thank you.”

“Do you live in Greville Street?”

“In Grant Street. It is a turning off Greville.”

“I am only too pleased to take you along there.”

“You are so kind. My mother will be very grateful. I must tell her not to scold Sarah. It was not her fault. There were so many people, you see. It is rather bewildering to find oneself alone in the darkness … with noise all around one …”

“It must be. I am so glad you asked my help.”

“People are so kind to those who are afflicted.”

“Here is Greville Street.”

“Would you really not mind taking me along to Grant Street?”

“Certainly I’ll take you.”

“I trust I am not taking you out of your way.”

“That’s of no importance. Oh, here it is.”

“Would you mind taking me up to the door? It’s number nineteen.”

It was a biggish house of three storeys. There were balconies on the first floor and the windows were all discreetly curtained.

“I don’t know how to thank you. Would you mind ringing the doorbell?”

I did so and was about to step back when she said: “Do wait a moment.”

The door was opened by a big man who said: “Oh, there you are, Miss Mary. Miss Sarah’s been back a full fifteen minutes. Your ma was getting worried.”

“This kind lady brought me home.”

“Come in a minute, Miss, will you?”

“There is no need to,” I said. “Miss Mary is now safely home.”

He looked at me appealingly. “The missus will be mad with me if you’re not thanked properly,” he said.

“I have done nothing …”

Mary had taken my hand firmly and pulled me into the hall. The door shut behind us. It had a hollow sound and I noticed there was no furniture in the hall.

“Who is there?” called a voice.

“Come on,” said Mary. “That is my Mama. She’ll want to thank you.”

The big man threw open the door and Mary drew me into a room. It was very sparsely furnished. There was a table with two or three chairs and very little else. At the table sat a woman. I could not see her face very clearly because she had her back to the window but I was beginning to think there was something rather unusual about this household and I experienced the first twinges of apprehension.

On the table before the woman was a tea tray set with cups and saucers. She looked at me with curiosity as I came in.

“This is the lady who brought me home, Mama,” said Mary.

“Oh, how good of you. It is not the first time a kind lady has brought Mary home. Thank you. Thank you. You’ll have a cup of tea, won’t you?”

“I won’t stop now, thanks. I really should not have come in. It was nothing.”

“It was a great deal and you must drink a cup of tea with me or I shall be a little put out.”

“No thanks … please. I must get home.”

“Oh, you are a very fine young lady. That is obvious. And here are we… about to leave our home. Our furniture has gone … or most of it… just a few sticks left. And we shall be going soon. I understand, of course, we are not the kind of people your sort would mix with …”

The big man appeared carrying a pot of tea.

I said: “Oh no … of course not…”

“Then a little cup, eh. Ah, I knew you would … Jacob, take this to the young lady …”

I felt there was something strange about this … something not quite natural…

The cup was put into my hands and my impulse was to gulp down the tea and get out as quickly as I could.

Mary and her mother were watching me; and it struck me that Mary no longer had the look of a blind girl.

As I was about to put the cup to my lips there was a violent ringing of the doorbell. Both Mary and her mother were clearly startled. We all seemed to be listening intently. I heard voices. There was a shout and what sounded like a scuffle … The door was flung open and to my astonishment, there stood the man in the brown beaver hat.

I rose to my feet spilling the tea. I heard myself stammer: “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

He was looking straight at me.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“Get out. Get out of my house … whoever you are,” shouted the woman. “What do you want here?”

“I want to know why you have brought this young lady here.”

“How dare you! How dare you!”

He was looking straight at me.

“Let’s go,” he said.

I had set down the cup on the floor. I went to the man. The woman came towards us … so did Mary. They caught at my arm, but he flung them off and pulled me into the hall where the big man was lying on the floor moaning softly.

“Let’s get out of this place,” said the man in the beaver hat.

At the door he turned and shouted: “You’ll be hearing more of this.”

We came into the street. My first feeling was relief to have left behind that room which I now knew to have been evil.

My limbs started to shake. I did not realize until this moment how frightened I had begun to be. There had been an unreality about the entire proceedings—the girl pretending to be blind, the emptiness of the house, the strange almost theatrical atmosphere. I could not imagine what it had meant.

I looked at the man beside me. It was the first time I had been so close to him. He was quite handsome; his features were set in a classic mould; his light brown eyes could be humorous; but at the moment they were full of concern. I had been interested in him from the moment I had seen him. Now I was decidedly anxious to hear more about him.

“That,” he said, “was a most unsavoury place for a young lady of good breeding to find herself in.”

“I don’t understand what it was all about. All I know is that I have to thank you for rescuing me.”

“I was going to ask forgiveness for a certain curiosity, but it really served a good purpose in this instance. Would you like to come somewhere where we could have some refreshment? You need something.”

“Oh no … no … I want to go home.”

“You feel unsafe. I understand that… after what happened. Then I will escort you to your home.”

“Thank you.”

“The streets of London are not safe for attractive young ladies to wander in.”

“I cannot understand what that was all about. The blind girl…”

“Who was no more blind than you or I.”

“Then why … ?”

“She was the decoy. They wanted to lure you to that house.”

“What for? Robbery?”

“I think … perhaps … for something even more serious. I was astonished when I saw you go in that house, Miss er …”

“Frenshaw.”

“That place, Miss Frenshaw, is what is called a house of ill fame. Forgive the term … a brothel.”

“Oh no!”

“Yes, indeed.”

“It was an empty house, I thought.”

“Nevertheless that was what it was. They lured you to it. It is not an unusual practice. They usually trap girls fresh from the country.”

“But…”

“They could not have known that you have an influential family. Forgive me … but I did see you when you were travelling in your family carriage. I was at the Green Man. I noticed you.” He gave me a warm smile. “I saw the deference which was given to your parents. These people usually go for friendless girls.”

“I can’t believe this.”

“They would have drugged you. When you awoke you might have found yourself on a ship going out of the country. These people are devilish … quite unscrupulous. They care for nothing but profit.”

“But this is terrible.”

“I see you are still shocked by the experience and find it difficult to believe me. But I assure you that something like this must have been planned. I thank God I was in Bond Street today. I saw you, recognized you and … forgive me … I did follow you. I think I must have been trying to find some pretext for speaking to you. I saw the girl approach you. I was suspicious because a moment or so before I had seen her darting through the crowds and as she could not so suddenly have lost her sight, I wondered what was afoot. I followed at some distance. I was turning the corner into Grant Street when I saw you enter that house. I was astounded. I sensed something sinister was going on. I am only sorry I hesitated so long. However, at length I decided to ring the bell and force my way in if necessary. You know the rest.”

“Oh, thank you,” I said faintly.

“It shall be my pleasure to restore you to your family. A charming family if I may say so. I did see you once in Albemarle Street. It was as though our paths were destined to cross. I was meant to save you from … whatever those people were planning for you.”

I shivered. “It was miraculous.”

“I think so, too.”

“I had no idea that things like that went on or that such places existed.”

“Of course you did not. I blame myself for hesitating those few minutes. I stood there asking myself what right I had to interfere. I could not understand why you should go into such a place. Then I threw discretion to the winds and rang the bell and demanded entrance. The man who answered it asked my business and I said I wanted to see the young lady who had just come in. He told me to get out. Then I heard voices coming from the room. He tried to detain me but I flung him aside for I was convinced then that you were being held against your will. I had heard that these people had strange ways of conducting their business. Well, that is the story. How glad I am that I happened to be on the spot.”

“I don’t know how to thank you.”

“It was very little really.”

“You did not know what you might have found in that place … how desperate they were. They are criminals. I think it was very brave of you to come after me.”

“Thank you.”

“My parents will want to thank you.”

“I was rewarded enough when I was able to bring you to safety.” We had come to Albemarle Street and I insisted that he come in and meet my parents.

My father was not at home but my mother had returned. Her astonishment was great when she saw the stranger, and when she heard what had happened she was horrified.

“I don’t know how to thank you, Mr.—er—”

“Peter Lansdon. I am delighted to make your acquaintance.”

“You must come in. You must have some wine. Oh, Jessica, how could you! I have told you repeatedly that you should not go out alone.”

“Oh, Mother, I am no longer a child.”

“But not able to take care of yourself it seems. As for you, sir, we owe you our deepest thanks for rescuing our daughter and bringing her home to us. No protestations please. It was a brave thing to do. What is the address of that place—Nineteen Grant Street. My husband will have this looked into without delay. It is one thing to run these houses for people to go to of their own free will but when they start taking innocent young girls off the street, that is going to be looked into. Do tell us how you knew my daughter was there.”

Peter Lansdon told her what he had told me.

“Insatiable curiosity, I have to admit. I saw you at the Green Man and remembered you. Then I happened to be in Bond Street this morning and recognized your daughter.”

“Thank God you were!”

“I thought there was something suspicious about the blind girl.”

“I was telling Mr. Lansdon how observant he is,” I said.

My mother nodded.

“So … I have to admit, I followed at a distance. I saw your daughter go into the house.”

“And you knew what sort of place it was?”

“I have heard mention of it. I believe at one of the clubs. I could not understand why your daughter should have been taken there by this girl… whose blindness seemed to have come on rather suddenly. Acting on impulse, I went in.”

“You must dine with us tonight,” said my mother. “That is if you are free.”

“I shall be delighted.”

He left us after half an hour.

“What a charming man!” said my mother.

When my father came in and heard what had happened he was first of all astounded and then so angry that I thought he was going to have an apoplectic fit.

He turned on me. “How could you have been so foolish! You don’t seem to have any notion of what can go on in a big city. The idea of going into a strange house …”

“The girl was blind … so I thought. She seemed so pathetic.”

“Pathetic indeed! And you were an idiot.”

I accepted his scorn meekly, feeling it was deserved and now that the ordeal was over I was beginning to feel rather excited. The tall man in the brown beaver hat had taken on a personality and it was a very interesting one. He was coming to dinner and I was sure that acquaintance with him could be stimulating.

My father said to my mother, “Keep the girl in. You never know what folly she’ll be capable of. And, remember, Jessica. You are not to go out alone in any circumstances. Have I made that clear?”

“You have.”

“Then give me your promise.”

I did.

My father went out soon after that. He was bent on making enquiries about number nineteen Grant Street.

To my mother I had to repeat over and over again what had happened: how the blind girl had approached me, what had been said in the house. She kept saying: “Thank God for that young man. I must say he was charming … so self effacing. He really seemed as though he did not think he had done anything very wonderful. To go into a house like that… Goodness knows what might have happened to him. And for the sake of a stranger too … someone to whom he had not even spoken. I think he is wonderfully brave and gallant too. I am so glad he is coming to dinner.”

My father came back some hours later. He had made enquiries about the house in Grant Street. It had been a brothel run by a woman calling herself Madame Delarge who was said to be French. There was no one there at the time. The place was about to be sold. Madame Delarge had what she called a reputable establishment in Piccadilly. She entertained gentleman callers it was true, but there was no enforcement of girls. Everyone came willingly. She had left the house in Grant Street and it had been vacated by her staff a week before. She could not imagine who the people were who had lured a young girl to the place. It was nothing whatever to do with her. She could only believe someone was playing some sort of joke.

More enquiries were made and it seemed that Madame Delarge was speaking the truth.

It was very mysterious, said my mother; and my father was baffled.

“A watch will be kept on the place,” he said.

The adventure seemed to have become more curious than ever.

Peter Lansdon dined with us that evening.

My father’s discoveries about the house in Grant Street had made him even more grateful towards my rescuer. He thought it was very odd that the house had been used by people unknown to Madame Delarge. He thought there was something very suspicious and sinister about the whole matter. He believed that there were organizations which abducted young women and took them out of the country to serve in houses of ill fame in foreign places and the thought that this could have happened to his own daughter roused his anger to such heights that my mother was afraid for him. He was having further investigations made.

“My dear Jessica,” my mother kept insisting, “you must be more careful.”

I promised that I would indeed and I felt very ashamed to have been so easily duped.

Peter Lansdon proved to be an interesting guest.

The dinner was just for the four of us. My parents had thought it better not to ask others. They did not want it known what a narrow escape I had had, and my father—who was by nature suspicious—wanted to know a little more about Peter Lansdon before he introduced him to our friends.

Peter Lansdon was willing—almost eager in fact—to talk about himself.

He had recently come to this country, he said. His family owned estates in Jamaica and had exported sugar and rum in large quantities. A year ago he had decided to sell out his holdings and settle in England.

“Such matters take longer than one at first anticipates,” he explained.

My father agreed with this. “And what are you planning to do now that you are in England? I can see you are a young man who would not wish to remain idle … not one of those gentlemen about town who spend most of their time gambling in clubs.”

“You have assessed me accurately, sir. Indeed, that is not my wish. I had thought that I might buy an estate somewhere and settle here… somewhere in the south. Having been accustomed to a warm climate, I might find the north too invigorating.”

“Have you looked for anything yet?” asked my mother.

“I have seen one or two … nothing which pleases me.”

“Have you a place in London?”

“Not yet. I have been travelling around. I am in a hotel at the moment. Exploring as it were.”

“My daughter tells me that you saw us at the Green Man.”

I smiled at him. “I remember you were in the parlour when we arrived.”

He nodded.

“And you recognized my daughter when you saw her in the street,” said my father.

“Well,” he smiled warmly, “she is rather noticeable. My interest was aroused when I noticed the girl who was pretending to be blind.”

“An extraordinary business,” said my father. “The place was deserted when I called a few hours later. They must have left hastily. Madame Delarge who owns the place knew nothing of them.”

“She is a Frenchwoman?”

“I’m not sure. Posing as one perhaps. Why do they think the French are so much more expert at vice than we are?”

“Perhaps because they are,” I suggested. “Vice must be rather like fashion. There has to be a special elegance … otherwise it becomes quite sordid.”

Peter Lansdon laughed. “There is something in that, I suppose,” he said. “I have made enquiries too and I cannot believe that this Madame Delarge who seemed to be very desirous of keeping what she calls her reputation would stoop to such actions as these people did. It was so crude and so absurd.”

“You are making me feel that I was even more foolish than I have been led to believe to be taken in by it,” I said.

“Oh no, no. Who would not be taken in? A poor blind girl asks to be helped. It would be a hardhearted person who would refuse.”

“But to go into the house …” I said.

“It all happened so naturally, I am sure.”

“It certainly seemed very strange to me,” said my father, and my mother added: “I shudder to think what might have happened if you had not been there, Mr. Lansdon.”

“Don’t think of it. All’s well that ends well and this has ended very well for me, I do assure you. Coming from abroad I have few acquaintances here and it is a great pleasure for me to dine here with you. I sincerely hope this will not be the end of our acquaintance.”

“There is no reason why it should be,” said my mother.

“I was wondering if you could help me at all. You see, I know so little about this country. Although it is my native land I went to Jamaica as soon as I had finished with school and there I joined my father.”

“Your father is there now?” began mine.

“He died two years ago. He was the victim of a virulent fever, endemic to Jamaica. He had suffered from it a few years before. That had a weakening effect…” He shook his head sadly.

“And you decided you would leave,” I asked.

“One has a feeling for one’s own country. One wants to be among one’s own people … the same ideals … the same way of thinking … You know what I mean.”

“I understand perfectly,” said my mother. “I feel the same. I went to France when I was about twelve or thirteen. My first husband was French. But I always regarded England as my home.”

Peter Lansdon was looking at me.

“No, no,” said my mother. “This is Jessica’s father. By my first marriage I have a daughter, Claudine, who is married to my husband’s son. I also have a son who is in France.”

“I see.”

“A complicated relationship,” she added.

“But you understand how I felt about coming home.”

“Perfectly. One day you must meet my other daughter—Jessica’s half sister.”

“That would be a great pleasure. In what part of the country is your estate, if I may ask?”

“The south east. We are only a few miles from the sea. Our nearest big town is Dover.”

“Oh, that part of the country? Is it fertile?”

“Yes. Our bane is the south east wind. That can be pretty fierce. But as you know in the south of England we enjoy a fairly temperate climate. Farming is good. It’s quite a reasonable spot.”

“I shall have to explore.”

“I wonder …” began my mother; and I knew she was thinking about Enderby.

“Yes?” asked Peter Lansdon.

“There is a house which could be rented. It’s quite close to us. It belongs to someone connected with the family and we are looking after it.”

“Really?”

“It would be a good place to look round from, wouldn’t it, Dickon?”

“I don’t know of any estates up for sale in the area,” said my father.

“What about the house itself?” asked Peter Lansdon eagerly.

“There isn’t a lot of land attached to it.”

“Could one acquire land?”

“It might be possible. Our estate covers most of the area round there, and there is another house, Grasslands. There are two farms attached to that.”

“It seems promising. What is the name of this house?”

“Enderby,” I said.

He smiled. “I wonder …” he said.

After the meal we went into the drawing room and Peter Lansdon talked to my father about Jamaica and the exporting of sugar and rum. My father was always interested in business projects and I think found Peter Lansdon’s company entertaining. My mother had taken a great liking to him—largely I think because he had rescued me.

As for myself I was certainly intrigued. He had a special way of looking at me which told me that he admired me, and I guessed that the reason why he had been so interested was on my account.

He left us at ten thirty to go back to his hotel. My mother came up to my room and sat talking for a while.

“What an interesting young man! I am so glad he came to dinner.”

“He seemed delighted to come.”

“I daresay he hasn’t many friends … coming so recently from Jamaica. My dear child, I thank God for that young man. When I think …”

“Oh, please, Mother, don’t go over it all again! I was foolish. I was gullible. But I have learned my lesson.”

“As long as you have …”

“Well, of course I have. It is experiences like that which make us wise. I’ll never be caught like that again.”

“You have to have your eyes open in a city like London.”

“I know that now.”

“Well, we have made the acquaintance of this interesting young man and your father is so grateful to him. Wouldn’t it be amusing if he came to Enderby.”

“Amusing?”

“I mean interesting. It’s odd. But we met the Barringtons through a chance encounter and they came to Grasslands.”

“I don’t think he would want to live at Enderby. It’s not a very enticing house.”

“No, but other things might be … enticing.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think he was rather taken by you.”

“Mother! You are incurably romantic.”

“Well, you are young and very attractive.”

“In your maternal imagination perhaps.”

“I think he is very interesting. I hope we see more of him.”

I was thoughtful after she had gone. It had been a strange day. I went on reliving those terrifying moments in that room in Grant Street. It was very odd and I could believe I had dreamed the whole thing but for Peter Lansdon. I could not get the memory of him out of my mind.

It was small wonder that I found sleep evasive; and when I did sleep I dreamed of him vaguely.

And the first thing I thought when I awoke was: I wonder if I shall see him again.

How life had changed in our neighbourhood—and all within the space of a few years. One thing is altered and then another and another until it is an entirely different scene. It was not completely different because all remained more or less the same at Eversleigh. But Grasslands, where once the rather odd Mrs. Trent had lived with her grand-daughter, was now the home of the somewhat conventional Barringtons; and Aunt Sophie was dead and we had Peter Lansdon at Enderby.

My parents had not thought for one moment that he would take the house. I had secretly held different views. I was beginning to think that he had fallen in love with me at first sight; and I found that exceedingly gratifying and romantic. From the moment he had seen me in the Green Man, he had been interested. He had questioned our coachman; he had seen where I lived in Albemarle Street and by great good luck he had followed me on my adventure to Grant Street.

This last had made a very special bond between us—and indeed with the family, who could never be grateful enough to him.

So I was not altogether surprised when he decided he would take Enderby for three months while he, as he said, “spied out the land”; and I was almost certain that he had come there to be near me.

I enjoyed his society very much and we saw a good deal of each other. My mother took him under her wing and procured servants for him. She invited him to our house frequently and he was now on very friendly terms with the family. Even my father enjoyed talking to him. Amaryllis thought him very charming—one of the most pleasant men she had ever met, she commented.

The Barringtons were slightly less enthusiastic; but I think that was because they felt he might be a rival to Edward.

I had thought a great deal about Edward since the arrival of Peter Lansdon. In Peter’s company I felt stimulated; in Edward’s interested and cosy, but not in the least excited.

At this time Edward was having a great deal of anxiety at his factory and this made him preoccupied; moreover he was away for long periods at a time. His parents were very worried about him and so was Clare Carson. I think she was rather pleased by the advent of Peter Lansdon, which confirmed my suspicions that she was in love with Edward.

Life had become very interesting since Peter was the tenant of Enderby. I was extremely gratified that he had gone to such lengths to be near me and I supposed this endeared me to him. I was still waiting for that great excitement which I connected with being in love. I had believed in it so fervently long ago when I had watched Romany Jake dancing round a bonfire. I had to grow up, I reminded myself. I would have to marry soon. It was expected of me. I thought I was fortunate to have two suitors and was rather sorry for Amaryllis who had no one.

It would be Peter, of course. Our meeting had been so romantic. Poor Edward, he would be heartbroken. I was very sorry because I was fond of him and the last thing I wanted was to hurt him. Perhaps he would marry Clare. That would be a satisfactory conclusion for everyone.

Peter had been so enthusiastic from the first and determined to take Enderby. He had travelled back to Eversleigh with us on that first occasion and my mother invited him to stay with us for a day or so.

He had been fulsome in his praise of our home. “A perfect example of Elizabethan architecture,” he had called it; and he had wanted to know as much as he could about the family.

“It is what one misses when one makes one’s home abroad,” he said. “Oh, how I envy you!”

He studied the portraits in the gallery and asked questions about them. He rode round the estate with Amaryllis and me, and he was charmingly courteous to us both.

I was with my mother and Amaryllis when we took him to see Enderby. I wondered what he would think of it for it looked particularly gloomy as it did on winter days.

I studied him closely trying to see what his first impression was as we went into the hall—that gloomy old hall with the minstrels’ gallery and high vaulted roof.

“It has an atmosphere,” he said. “Not as grand as Eversleigh, but nevertheless splendid in its way.”

We went up the stairs, through the bedrooms.

“Rather a large house for one gentleman,” said my mother.

“It’s a family house,” he agreed.

“It’s a house that needs people,” said my mother. “My aunt, the last occupant, had just herself and her maid. Before that it stood empty for so long.”

“You are not afraid of ghosts, I hope,” said Amaryllis.

“I don’t think Mr. Lansdon is afraid of anything,” said my mother warmly.

“There might be something,” he admitted. “But ghosts certainly not.”

“It’s interesting to look at the old house,” said Amaryllis. “I must confess I never liked the place.”

“Are you trying to discourage me?” he asked.

“Oh no … no … It’s for you to say. I often think places have different effects on people. Some feel one thing, others another.”

“Do you really think there is a possibility of your taking this place?”

“It could not be better situated for my purposes.”

He smiled directly at me and Amaryllis.

I said: “You have decided to look round this area for a suitable place to buy then?”

“I think it might be an ideal spot.”

“Of course,” said my mother, “it is not like buying a place. I don’t think you can get the feel of a neighbourhood until you have actually lived in it.”

We went through the rooms.

“So many of them,” he said.

“Yes, and there is an intriguing speaking tube from one of the bedrooms to the kitchen. I must show you that,” I told him.

“It is a most exciting house. I should like to come and look at it again if I may.”

“Whenever you like,” said my mother. “The girls will come with you. Or perhaps you would prefer to be alone. I often do when I am going to make a decision.”

We talked about Enderby constantly during that day.

“You are certainly letting me know the disadvantages,” he said.

“There are not many advantages to tell you about really,” I replied.

“There is one.”

“And that is?”

“That I should have charming neighbours.”

And before that visit was over he had decided to take Enderby for a short period; and I was sure he had done so, not because the house was suitable but because he was falling in love with me and wanted to be near the family.

He had moved in before Christmas. It was very easy because the place was furnished, just as Aunt Sophie had left it before she died. We seemed to spend a lot of time going back and forth to Enderby and he was often with us at Eversleigh. Amaryllis and I helped him decorate the place for Christmas and he insisted that he entertain us on Boxing Day as he came to us for Christmas Day.

My mother said it was rather touching to see Enderby in a festive mood. There had never been anything like that during Aunt Sophie’s ownership, and before that the place had been empty and neglected. We brought in the yule log and hung a Christmas bush on the door; we stuck up holly and mistletoe in every conceivable place and we decorated the house with ivy.

The Barringtons were invited and I think Mrs. Barrington was a little put out because she wanted us all to go to them on the important days and it was she who had to have her Christmas party on Christmas Eve.

When I had danced with Edward at Grasslands he had once more asked me to marry him. I told him I was still undecided. He was rather sad—anxious about Peter Lansdon’s coming into my life. I was sorry for him and should have liked to comfort him because he was going through such a difficult time; but I did not know how to, except by promising to marry him.

On that occasion I had a word or two with Clare Carson. She said: “What an attractive man your friend from London is.”

I agreed with her.

“I wonder how long he will stay at Enderby.”

“He is deciding what he will do now that he is going to settle in England. He has just sold his estates in Jamaica.”

“How fascinating. I expect… you will marry him.”

I flushed hotly. “Why do you say that?”

“I thought it was what he wanted … you too.”

“You know more than I do.”

She laughed and I realized that was something she rarely did. “I should be surprised if it didn’t happen that way,” she said.

I thought: Is it as obvious as that? Or was it a matter of wishful thinking on Clare’s part.

The Pettigrews were spending Christmas at Eversleigh. My father liked Jonathan to come fairly frequently. He would, of course, be the eventual heir and my father was the sort of man to look ahead. He had a certain affection for Jonathan, a grudging admiration which I think meant that he saw in his grandson something of what he had been at his age.

Peter Lansdon was intrigued by the relationships in our family. He said: “It is so complicated that I have to keep reminding myself who is who. It seems odd that Jessica should be your aunt, Amaryllis.”

“Oh yes,” agreed Amaryllis. “It gave her such superiority when we were in the school room and you can be sure she took advantage of it.”

“Jessica would always seize an advantage.”

We were walking home from church at the time. It was Christmas morning and my head was ringing with the Christmas hymns which I loved. I felt so happy that I could have burst into song.

I said: “You make me sound grasping and scheming. Is that your opinion of me?”

He turned to me and took my hand. “I am sorry. I merely meant you are full of energy … full of the desire to enjoy life … which is what it is meant to be.”

“It is true,” Amaryllis confirmed. “Jessica is… how can I put it? … aware. I am far more gullible, more trusting, more stupid I suppose.”

“I will not allow you to say such things.” He had turned his attention to her. “Like Jessica, you are charming …”

“Although so different,” she added.

“You are both … as you should be.”

“You make us sound like paragons,” I said, “which we are not… even Amaryllis.”

“I shall insist on keeping my opinions.”

“You will probably change them when you know us better.”

“I know you very well already.”

“People can never really know each other.”

“You are thinking of the secret places of the heart. Well, perhaps that is what makes people so fascinating. Would you say that?”

“Perhaps.”

“I am still a little at sea about these relatives of yours. Who is the lively young gentleman?”

“You mean Jonathan?”

“Yes, Jonathan. What exactly is his relationship?”

“My father in his first marriage had twin sons—David and Jonathan. Jonathan married Millicent Pettigrew and young Jonathan is their son. David married my mother’s daughter by her first marriage, Claudine. And Amaryllis is the outcome of that marriage.”

“So Amaryllis and Jonathan are cousins.”

“Yes, and I am Jonathan’s—as well as Amaryllis’—aunt.”

“Isn’t it strange what complicated relations we have managed to build up,” said Amaryllis.

“My father likes Jonathan to come here,” I said. “I daresay he’ll have Eversleigh one day, after David has died of course.”

“Don’t speak of it,” said Amaryllis quickly.

“It will be years and years and we all have to go some time,” I retorted lightly.

“And haven’t the Pettigrews got an estate for Jonathan somewhere?”

“They have a fine house but it is not exactly an estate,” said Amaryllis.

“It will have to be Eversleigh for Jonathan,” I put in. “My father will insist. It was lucky that his sons were so different. David was very good for the estate and I believe his brother Jonathan wasn’t interested. He had all sorts of mysterious irons in the fire. He died violently … I think because of them. I am sure he would never have settled down to run the estate. It may be Jonathan will be like his father.”

“My mother says he reminds her so much of him,” said Amaryllis.

“Your father seems to be a man who knows exactly what he wants,” said Peter to me. “And he’ll make sure he gets it.”

“That sums him up perfectly,” I replied. “There will be trouble if Jonathan doesn’t come up to expectations. He is always saying it is a pity David didn’t have a son as well as you, Amaryllis. He is very fond of you but he would have preferred you to be a boy. He thinks David’s son would have been … amenable.”

“You see,” said Amaryllis, “I have a reputation for being easily led.”

“That’s not exactly true,” I replied. “Amaryllis can be firm, but she is inclined to believe the best of people.”

“What a nice compliment for an aunt to pay her niece,” said Peter lightly; he slipped his arms through mine and that of Amaryllis.

We had reached the house.

Peter said goodbye to us and went back to Enderby. He would be returning later for the evening festivities.

It was a very merry party which sat down for Christmas dinner, consisting of the Barringtons, with Clare Carson, Peter Lansdon, the Pettigrews and our own family. It also included the doctor and his wife and the solicitor from the nearby town, who looked after my father’s domestic business at Eversleigh. For several years they had been our guests and the only newcomer was Peter Lansdon. He made a difference to the party. He had all the social graces to make him immediately popular. Clare Carson seemed to like him a great deal—but I think that was largely due to the fact that she believed he wanted to marry me and that I felt strongly about him.

I was thinking a great deal about Edward and it seemed to me that it would be an excellent idea if she married him. She would care for him, sympathize with him; and she knew something about the factory for she had lived with the family in Nottingham since she was a child.

How unfortunate life was! Why did people set their hearts on the wrong people?

I talked to Edward at dinner and asked how matters were faring at Nottingham.

He said: “No doubt you have heard that these people are getting more and more violent. It is not just confined to Nottingham now. It is spreading all over the country. This cursed French revolution has a lot to answer for.”

“Indeed it has in France.”

“Something like that can’t happen without sending its reverberations all over the world.”

“What will happen about these people who are breaking up the machines?”

“Penalties for the culprits must get harsher. It is the only way to stop it.”

“You mean … transportation?”

“That… and hanging most likely. Only stupid men would not see that you can’t stand still in industry. You have to go forward.”

“Even if it means losing their jobs?”

“Then they must find other jobs. In time the industry will be more prosperous and that will mean more security for them.” He looked at me apologetically. “Hardly the subject for the Christmas feast.”

I put my hand over his. “Poor Edward,” I said. “It is hard to forget it.”

He pressed my hand. I think Peter saw the gesture and I thought with a little touch of excitement: He will be jealous.

I was young. I was frivolous. I was vain; and I could not help being excited because two men were in love with me. I liked Edward so much and I was very sorry for him. If Peter asked me to marry him … when Peter asked me to marry him… what should I say? I could not shilly-shally for ever. The circumstances of our meeting had been so unusual, so romantic. Of course I was going to marry Peter. I was not sure whether I was in love with him. I was very much a novice when it came to falling in love. I felt this was not quite how I ought to feel. But I must be in love with Peter.

My father was talking across the table to Lord Pettigrew who was seated opposite him. I heard my name mentioned and realized they were talking about the adventure and how Peter had rescued me.

Peter was alert, listening.

“I am still making enquiries,” my father was saying. “I don’t intend to let the matter drop. I am going to sift it out.”

“Difficult to trace … The place is empty, you say.”

“The Delarge woman is said to own the place. I don’t believe that. I wonder if there is someone behind her. I’m keeping my eyes open.”

Conversation buzzed round us and continued in a light vein until the meal was over and the hall cleared for dancing.

Peter was a good dancer. He danced with me and then with Amaryllis. That left me free for Edward, who danced rather laboriously—correctly but without inspiration.

“You ought to come for a visit to Nottingham,” he said. “Your mother told me she would like to. She and my mother get on so well together.”

“Yes, it would be interesting,” I said.

“It is a very pleasant house really, lacking the antiquity of this one, of course. But it’s a good family house … some way from the town and we are surrounded by green fields.”

“Perhaps we can come in the spring,” I said. “Edward, I do hope your troubles will be over by then.”

“They must be. They can’t go on. The law will be more stringent and then we shall see changes.”

“Your parents are worried.”

“Yes, about me … in the thick of it.”

“Oh Edward … take care.”

He pressed my hand. “Do you really care?”

“What a stupid question! Of course I do. I care about your whole family … your mother, father, you and Clare. Clare is very worried about you, I believe.”

“Oh yes, she is one of the family.”

I thought how pleased I should be if he and Clare married. I would cease to have a conscience about him then.

“You haven’t made up your mind … ?”

I wanted to say: Yes, I have. I think I shall marry Peter Lansdon, but how could I say that when he hadn’t asked me? All I was aware of was that being with him was exciting, exhilarating, and the manner of our first meeting had seemed so unusual, so adventurous that it was significant.

I said hesitantly: “N-no, Edward. Not yet.”

He sighed and I was very worried because I was going to hurt him. It seemed so sad in view of all his business problems.

I wished I could have made him happier. If I promised to marry him he would have forgotten his business troubles for a while at any rate. And how pleased his parents and mine would have been! At the same time I felt a little irritated with him. It is a sad commentary on human nature that when one could help and doesn’t one begins to dislike the person who arouses one’s pity … largely because one hates feeling uncomfortable, I suppose.

I was glad to escape from Edward.

And there was Peter who, having danced with Amaryllis, was now coming towards me. His step was light. He took charge of the dance. I went where I was led and it was like dancing on air.

He said. “What a happy day it was when I stopped at the Green Man. Do you know I almost went to the Cat and Fiddle. Suppose I had? I should not have been in the street… I should never have noticed the girl pretending to be blind … never have rescued you … never have been here tonight dancing with you.”

“And where should I be?”

“Don’t think of that. I was just marvelling at the good fortune which has brought me here. Your father still thinks of it. I heard him talking to Lord Pettigrew.”

“He won’t let it rest. He has many concerns in London. If it is possible to find out who those people were … he will.”

“They are probably out of the country now.”

“Do you think so?”

“In that sort of criminal underworld you never know what is going on.”

“My father is the sort of man who would never let any detail escape him. He doesn’t go so much to London now that he is getting older, though. But he was in all sorts of things earlier … and so was his son, Jonathan. We hear whispers of it in the family. I think perhaps Jonathan would be more suited to that sort of work than running an estate … just like his father was. Some people have the temperament… others haven’t. Amaryllis has quite a gift. She goes round the estate with her father. She has a gentle personality and the people like her. I have heard David say that you have to establish a relationship with the people on the estate. It is not merely a matter of keeping down rents and repairing homes. It’s a sort of comradeship as well. Amaryllis has that gift, her father says. Her parents think she is quite perfect. Mind you, they are not far wrong. In our family there are the good and docile ones and the wild rebellious ones. Amaryllis and I are good examples of both types.”

“I think you are both enchanting.”

“But different.”

“Well, of course.”

“You dance well. Where did you learn?”

“I was sent to school in England and then I had a year in the North with some cousins where I was supposed to learn how to live in graceful society.”

“That was before you went out to help your father in Jamaica?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, they certainly taught you well.”

“Dancing or the social conduct required in English society?”

“Both.”

“It is amazing to remember that we have known each other such a short time.”

“Yes, but we have seen each other frequently since our first meeting.”

“I’m grateful to Enderby.”

“How are you liking it in that great barn of a house?”

“I like very much what is close to it.”

“How long shall you stay?”

“It depends.”

“You mean on what you find here? Have you discovered anything that might be suitable?”

“To tell the truth I’ve hardly had time to look—what with the Christmas festivities and the kind hospitality of my good neighbours. I like Enderby.”

“Do you? It’s amazing how people become fascinated by it. There was my Aunt Sophie. She saw it and immediately wanted it.”

“It is a family house really.”

“Of course. Far too big for one.”

“It would change completely … with many children.”

“You are right. We should look for a married couple with a considerable brood.”

“The marriage need not be of long duration. The house could wait for the patter of little feet.”

I laughed. This was exciting. I thought he was going to ask me then. And what should I say? Could I say, It is too soon. I am not yet sure …

The dance was over and the servants were bringing round cooling drinks.

We sat for a while and then he said: “Excuse me. I am engaged to your niece for this one.”

I watched him dancing with Amaryllis. She was laughing and talking quite animatedly. I was glad that she liked him too.

Edward came and sat beside me.

Peter was a gracious host at Enderby on Boxing Day. Amaryllis and I congratulated ourselves on the decorations which we had helped to put up; and I must say the old house seemed to have lost entirely that dour ghostliness which had been such a feature of it in the past.

Peter had devised a very clever treasure hunt through the house and this provided a great deal of merriment for he had wittily phrased the clues which led from one spot to another. It was rather uncanny to hear the old house echoing with laughter.

There was a good deal in what David always said, and Peter had seconded it, that with people in the house Enderby would be just like any other.

“I never thought we should have a jolly time in this house,” said my mother.

“You’ve laid the ghost,” my father told Peter.

It was two days later when Peter had been riding with Amaryllis and me and on the way home came into Eversleigh for a glass of wine before going on to Enderby.

We were in the hall. My parents were with us and so were Claudine and David—when one of the servants came in and said that Farmer Weston wanted to see my father—and added that Farmer Weston seemed rather upset.

“Bring him in,” said my father, and Farmer Weston came into the hall. He certainly looked agitated.

“I want to have a word with you in private, sir,” he said.

“You can say what you have to say here. Anything wrong at the farm?”

“No sir … not exactly. It’s my Lizzie and … another. I’d rather talk in private.”

“Come on in here then.” My father led him into the room we called the winter parlour.

They were there for about ten minutes before they came out—Farmer Weston was very red in the face and my father looked quite angry, not with Farmer Weston though for he said to him quite gently: “Don’t worry. I’ll speak to him. Perhaps no harm’s done. Young people …”

He went out with Farmer Weston and soon afterwards joined us. My mother looked at him interrogatively.

“That scamp Jonathan,” he said.

“What is it this time?”

“Weston’s Lizzie.”

“She’s only a child. What is she? Fourteen or so?”

“That makes it worse. Jonathan’s not much older. That boy’s got a few things to learn. If he’s got to sow his wild oats he’d better choose somewhere else to do it—not on my land.”

My mother looked at my father and then at Peter.

“I’m sorry about his,” she said.

“Well,” said my father. “Young people. Hot blood. These things happen. I had a job to calm down Weston.”

Peter, showing a slight embarrassment as though he realized he had strayed into something which my father would have wished to be private, said he must be going and took his leave.

“He has impeccable manners,” said my mother. “Dickon, need you have blurted that out in front of him?”

“You asked me and I told you. Nothing very unusual about it. I think we shall have some more of that sort of trouble from Jonathan. Or the Pettigrews will. I was wondering if I ought to speak to Millicent or her father.”

My mother said: “You know Millicent. She can see no wrong in her boy. And Lord Pettigrew is too softly spoken. Now Lady Pettigrew … No, Dickon, you are the one who will strike fear into his wicked little heart. You’ll have to do it.”

“He’s his father all over again.”

“Well, Jonathan was a fine worker and he died nobly,” said Claudine.

“Yes, but all this philandering doesn’t go down well on the estate.”

“You are quite content for him to do it elsewhere?” I said.

“My dear girl, you know nothing about these matters.”

“Weston’s a good man,” said David. “His farm is a model for some of them.”

“And now he’s going to worry about his Lizzie,” put in my father. “If she presents us with a baby in nine months’ time, our Jonathan will be in trouble.”

“I suppose that was why Weston came to see you at once,” said David. “He wants you to know that Jonathan is responsible.”

“The young can be a plaguey nuisance,” said my father. “He’s got to mend his ways. I’ll not have Eversleigh going to someone who is going to play ducks and drakes with it… that’s for certain. His father was no good on the estate.”

“Well, you had David,” said Claudine.

My father grunted.

“We’ll see how the young scamp shapes up. I’ll have to see him. I’m going to my study. Get the servants to find him and send him to me at once.”

The incident had curbed the festive spirit. Everyone was a little subdued and I noticed that there was a certain defiance about Jonathan after his session with my father.

My mother had the full story from my father and she told it to me.

“Farmer Weston caught the pair of them in one of his barns. He was astounded. You know what a godfearing man he is … regular at church every day … and all the little Westons likewise. To find young Lizzie … flagrante delicto with Jonathan shocked him deeply. Well, I suppose it would most parents. Of course, your father understands … and isn’t as hard on them as some would be. What annoys him is that it is Weston’s daughter and on the estate. He was talking about bringing Jonathan over here to learn estate management… but I am not sure now. It’s a pity there aren’t more boys in the family.”

“Why do they imagine a woman can’t run an estate?”

“Largely because they can’t.”

“David is excellent. How lucky there were two of them.”

“Dickon is always lucky. This will sort itself out. We shouldn’t pay too much attention to this prank.”

“Prank, you call it? Lizzie Weston loses her virtue and that is a prank?”

“That’s what your father called it. He was thinking of Jonathan.”

“Well, I can understand Farmer Weston’s concern.”

“So does your father. He says that if there are results it will be taken care of.”

“Well, that doesn’t really satisfy Farmer Weston.”

“Hardly. But at least it helps. I wouldn’t care to be in Lizzie’s shoes for the next few weeks.”

“And Jonathan will be let off with a caution. It doesn’t seem fair.”

“When was the world ever fair for women?”

“You seem to have made quite a success of things.”

“So will you, my love,” she answered.

“Perhaps,” I said, thinking of Peter Lansdon.

January came in with a cold wind blowing from the south east. Winter was with us. The trees stretched out their bare branches making a delicate lacy pattern against the grey skies; they seemed as beautiful as they ever did in the spring. People speculated as to whether there would be snow. The Pettigrews had left.

“Glad to be rid of them,” mumbled my father. “Let Jonathan make trouble in their patch if he must and leave mine alone.”

Peter had gone to London for a brief spell. He was not thinking of leaving Enderby yet, although his search for property was not proving very fruitful. But he had interests in London to attend to. He said he would soon be back.

Edward Barrington had gone back to Nottingham and Mrs. Barrington had caught a chill and had taken to her bed.

“You should go over to see her,” said my mother. “She is especially fond of you.”

So I went. I sat by her bed in the cosy room where a fire was burning in the grate.

“So good of you to come, Jessica. You’ve cheered me up a lot.”

“How did you get this chill?” I asked.

“Run down I think. I worry a lot. I do wish Edward wasn’t in the thick of all that in Nottingham.”

“These people are becoming a real menace,” I said.

“It’s spreading, I’m afraid. It’s a deadlock. Edward said that if they don’t have the machines they can’t compete with foreigners … and if they can’t make profits the men will lose their jobs anyway.”

“They can’t see that, of course.”

“They’re shortsighted, Edward says. I am glad his father has semi-retired. I do wish Edward could stay here for a while until it settles down.”

“It is his business. He feels he must be there.”

“Oh yes … but it worries me.”

“It’s a worry for us all.”

She reached out and took my hand. “I wish … He’s such a good young man.”

“Yes,” I said, “he is.”

“There are very few like him, you know. He has always been so reliable. How I should love to see him settled.”

Clare Carson came into the room. “I came to see if you wanted any more coal on the fire.”

“I think it is all right, thank you, dear. I was talking to Jessica about those terrible riots.”

“You mustn’t fret,” said Clare. “Edward knows how to take care of it.”

“Oh, I know. But I do hate to think of it. I wish …”

“It can’t last,” I said. “I hear they are imposing more and more heavy sentences on those who create the disturbances.”

“Sometimes that makes people more angry,” said Mrs. Barrington. “Clare, do you think you could go and ask them to bring us some tea?”

Clare went out and left us.

“The fire will get rather fierce,” I said. “Would you like me to put up the screen?”

She sighed. She would have liked to talk about marriage and she knew it was a subject which I wanted to avoid.

The tea came eventually. Clare took it with us and the talk was general—about the Christmas festivities, the weather and the prospects for the year.

On my way home I met Amaryllis with Peter. I was surprised. I had not known that he was back.

“I only arrived this morning,” he said. “I called at Eversleigh this afternoon and learned you were out. Amaryllis and I decided to take a ride.”

“We were just going back,” said Amaryllis.

“So was I.”

We all went back together.

During the next few days I noticed a change in Peter. He seemed preoccupied. I did not see him alone. I felt something must have happened while he was in London and I wondered whether some proposition had come up which meant that he was no longer interested in an estate near us.

Three days after his return he asked us over to Enderby to dine. The memory of that evening stayed with me for a long time. I don’t think I had ever been more shocked in the whole of my life.

Amaryllis had been absent the whole of the afternoon. She had returned to Eversleigh to change for dinner and we had all gone together in the carriage.

Peter greeted us warmly and said how glad he was to be back, and very soon we were seated at the table. He talked about his visit to London, how glad he was to be back and what a pleasure it was to see us round his table. It was all very conventionally convivial.

Then came the blow.

He said: “I think it is time we let you into the secret. I do hope you will all share our joy. We are going to be married.”

I stared at him. He had not asked me. Surely … I could not believe this was real. I must be dreaming.

He was smiling across the table at Amaryllis, who was blushing and looking extremely pretty.

“Yes,” he said, “Amaryllis has promised to be my wife.” He was looking at David and Claudine now. “My gratitude to Amaryllis’ parents who have told me they are willing to accept me as their son-in-law. And I am hoping we shall have the approval of the rest of the family.”

“Well, Amaryllis,” cried my mother, “this is a surprise!”

I knew that she had thought I was the one in whom he was especially interested.

“As soon as we saw each other… we knew,” Peter was saying.

Then everyone seemed to be speaking at once. Someone was talking of toasts. I felt myself behaving mechanically. There was a great lump in my throat. One thought was uppermost in my mind. No one must know.

I could not believe this was happening. I was so unsure of my feeling. I was not exactly in love with him. I had enjoyed his attentions. I had thought he was very seriously regarding our future. I was too shocked, too bewildered, to think clearly.

Amaryllis was smiling happily. She looked very beautiful. I lifted my glass with the rest. I noticed that Claudine was avoiding my eyes. She was sorry for me … Oh no, I could not bear it.

Had I betrayed my feelings? Was I betraying them now? I had to say something. I had to act normally. Did Peter know? Had he guessed? Amaryllis did not know. She would not be so happy if she did.

I heard myself say: “What a pity you didn’t wait. Edward and I were going to announce our engagement when he came back to Grasslands.”

Silence. Then exclamations of pleasure. This was what my parents had wanted. They had always wanted me to marry Edward Barrington.

“This is great news,” cried my mother jubilantly.

My father said: “So it’s to be two of them, is it? I didn’t think our Jessica would allow Amaryllis to steal a march on her.”

So they drank their toasts; and I sat there numb and thought: What have I done?

How like me to have acted on the spur of the moment. I should have been calm. But it had been the only way to cloak my feelings. I would not have them sorry for me—him too, knowing as he must have done that I had believed he was in love with me. And all the time it had been Amaryllis. I could not believe it even now.

Amaryllis was beside me. She put her arms round me and kissed me.

“I’m so pleased, Jessica. Edward is a fine man. Isn’t it wonderful … both of us on the same day.”

I said it was wonderful. I drank the toasts. And all the time I was longing to escape to my room.

I wanted to be alone to think about what I had done.

When we returned my mother came to my room. She knew me so well that I wondered if she had guessed.

She put her hands on my shoulders and drew me to her; she held me tightly for a few moments.

“My dear, you are happy, aren’t you?”

“Yes, of course,” I lied.

“Edward is such a good man. Your father and I have always liked him. We have always hoped …”

“Well, you are content now. But I shouldn’t have blurted it out like that. I should have waited for Edward to be there.”

“I understand,” she said. “There was Amaryllis …”

“I wanted to share in it, I suppose. That was why …”

“Well, it is not important how and when the announcement was made. All that matters is that you and Edward …”

“I… I er would rather it wasn’t mentioned … not till Edward comes home. The Barringtons might be a little put out. After all, it should have been said when they were all present. I think it should be kept just in the family… until Edward comes back.”

“Of course …” she said slowly. And she was looking at me intently. We had been very close all our lives. It had been something which had always comforted me, but at that moment I was wishing she did not know me quite so well.

She kissed me tenderly, said goodnight and left me alone with my thoughts.

I was too bewildered to sleep. I was hurt and angry. I felt I had been deceived but was not sure who had done the deceiving. Myself perhaps.

I was vain. Although I lacked Amaryllis’ angelic looks I had thought myself to possess superior physical attractions. Now I had learned a lesson.

But I was sure in the beginning I had been the one. What had made him change? And what did I really feel? Was I brokenhearted to have been jilted … or something near it? My pride had been deeply wounded. It was not exactly that I was in love. I hardly knew this man. I had had romantic thoughts of him largely because of the romantic circumstances in which we had met. As for Amaryllis she knew him even less, yet she had had time to fall in love with him.

I could not really understand myself. And why … oh why had I been so recklessly foolish as to tell them that Edward and I were engaged? And I was engaged to Edward now. I had used him shamefully to extricate myself from an embarrassing position. Why had I not paused to think for a moment? How much more dignified, how much more honest it would have been to have sat there and taken the blow on the chin—as they say—and tried not to show how much I was flinching.

How typical of me to flounder in and put myself in an even more awkward situation.

I had a very restless night and the next day went over to Grasslands. Mrs. Barrington had recovered from her cold and was as brisk as ever.

I asked after Edward and learned that he was coming back the next day. I was determined to see him at the first possible moment.

Amaryllis was in a state of bliss. Not only was she in love but, being Amaryllis, at the same time she could spare a little pleasure because I appeared to be in a similar state.

I consoled myself that if I had not made the announcement Amaryllis’ happiness would have been clouded because like my mother, and others perhaps, she had thought I was the target for Peter Lansdon’s affections. It gave her great happiness to believe that I was in love with someone else because it left her free to enjoy her own bliss without the slightest twinge of remorse.

“Of course I always knew how Edward felt about you,” she said, “but I thought you were undecided. You’ve been a long time making up your mind.”

“I wanted to be sure,” I told her.

She giggled happily. “Isn’t it strange that you were the cautious one this time? Peter and I just fell in love at first sight. Isn’t life wonderful? Just think… if that awful thing hadn’t happened to you, I should not be engaged now. I do think Peter was so very brave to go into that house like that.”

“Yes, he was.”

She hugged me. “It’s so wonderful. I’m so happy, Jessica. It will be marvellous to be married on the same day. We’ll have to think about June. It seems a long time to wait.”

“I think it would be a very good time,” I said.

“Peter says it is far too long.”

It was amazing to see Amaryllis thus and I almost reminded her that she hardly knew the man she was going to marry. A few weeks ago she had not even heard his name. But what was the use? She was in love and she was going to be married to the man of her choice. I should be married, too, but not to the man of mine.

Edward returned the following day. I went over to Grasslands in the early afternoon. He was delighted to see me.

I said to him: “I want to speak to you alone … soon.”

“Now?”

“Yes, away from the house. Could we go for a ride? That would be easiest.”

“Of course,” he said.

He looked a little strained, I fancied. I guessed it was the usual trouble at the factory but he brightened at my suggestion and I warmed towards him. He was a very good man and I was sure he would do everything he could to help me now … and always. I was very lucky to be loved by such a man, how perverse of me it was not to return his deep feeling and to be so much more excited by the company of a man I did not really know. That was how I was beginning to think of Peter Lansdon. How was it that he had made me feel that he was exclusively interested in me and then suddenly I discovered it was Amaryllis whom he intended to marry? I would always be sure of Edward.

In a very short time we were riding together.

“Edward,” I said, “I have a confession to make.”

“A confession?” He was startled. We were walking our horses and he pulled up to look at me.

I went on: “You have often asked me to marry you. Do you still want to?”

“I shall always want you, Jessica.”

Waves of relief swept over me.

I said: “My confession is that I have told them … told them that we are going to get married.”

“Jessica!”

“Yes. It was most immodest of me. Amaryllis became engaged to Peter Lansdon …”

“Amaryllis? But I thought…”

“Things are not always as they seem. He saved me in London and when he came here he fell in love with Amaryllis and she with him. They announced their engagement at the dinner table and I thought, well… why shouldn’t I tell them about Edward and myself…”

“Do you mean … ?”

“What I mean is that I thought we had hesitated long enough.”

“We?”

“I. Oh, I’ve been silly … young and foolish I suppose, not being sure when I should have been. So I said, Well they are not the only ones who can be engaged. Edward and I have known each other for longer than they have and there are many more reasons why we should be married, so …”

He took my hand and kissed it. “What an odd place to hear this … on the back of a horse.”

We laughed. His face was transformed. The lines of worry caused by the Nottingham rioters had disappeared. He looked young … and so happy.

“Well, Edward,” I said, “it had to happen, hadn’t it? It was inevitable. My parents are delighted. They have a great respect for you.”

“Mine will be delighted too.”

“Then there is delight all round.”

“Oh, Jessica, this is wonderful. Let’s ride back and tell them all about it.”

So it was as easy as that.

I was sitting in the drawing room at Grasslands. Mr. Barrington had insisted on bringing one of his finest wines from his cellar. Mrs. Barrington was twittering round in a state of great excitement.

“There, Jessica. You’re our daughter now. I can’t tell you how happy you’ve made us all. Isn’t that so, Father?”

Mr. Barrington said: “It is what we have always wanted. Why you had to be so long about it beats me.”

“It was right and proper,” said Mrs. Barrington, although I believed she had chafed at my procrastination more bitterly than her husband had. “One has to be sure about these things. That’s so, isn’t it, Jessica? What a wonderful day that was for us all when you picked up Father on the road and brought him home. I wonder what happened to that gypsy. He must have nearly served his time.”

“It was seven years,” I said. “He will have done six of them.”

“How time flies! You were such an earnest little thing then, Jessica. You cared so much about that poor man. We all loved you for it didn’t we?”

Barrington Pere and Fils agreed.

My spirits were lifted in their company. I thought what a delightful family they were—simple in a way compared with my parents, and so lovable. My family for the future.

Edward said: “I want Jessica to come to Nottingham to have a look at the house. There might be certain things she’ll want to alter.”

“Yes, it’s always nice for a bride to make changes. We furnished the house, didn’t we, Father… how many years ago? Too many to remember. It would be a little old-fashioned now, I shouldn’t wonder.”

“But it will only be a second home,” said Mr. Barrington. “You’ll be back at Grasslands. Grasslands has become the family home, even though we haven’t been here so long.”

“We loved Grasslands from the moment we saw it,” said Mrs. Barrington. “I’ve never regretted coming here and you know that is mainly because of the family at Eversleigh. And now this … I’ve wanted it for so long. By the way, where is Clare?”

“She’ll want to be in on this,” said Mr. Barrington.

“I remember. She said she was going into the town to do some shopping. She should be back soon. When is the wedding to be?”

“My mother thinks about June,” I told them.

“June’s a lovely month for a wedding.”

“It seems a long way ahead,” said Edward.

“Hark at the impatient bridegroom,” laughed his mother. “We’ll want a little time to get ready, won’t we, Jessica?”

“Amaryllis is getting married too,” I said.

“To that young man,” said Mrs. Barrington, faintly disapproving. “Well, that was quick work. She hardly knows him.”

“I met him in the most dramatic circumstances,” I said.

“I know… and brought him to Enderby. Well, it’s funny how things work out. I think it is better when people have known each other some little time. There are all sorts of things you have to learn about people if you’re going to live with them. Father and I were engaged … for how long was it, Father?”

“Two years,” he said promptly.

“And then we’d known each other since we were children.”

“It certainly turned out satisfactorily for you.”

“Well, you see, we knew what we were getting.”

“We knew what to be prepared for.”

Mrs. Barrington laughed heartily and at that moment Clare came in.

“Oh, there you are, Clare,” said Mrs. Barrington. “Come and hear the news. Get a glass for Clare, Father. It’s happened at last. Edward and Jessica are engaged.”

She stood very still and I noticed that one of her hands which was hanging at her side was clenched.

“Oh,” she said. “I thought…”

“We all thought they’d taken a long time about it,” said Mrs. Barrington. “But at last all is well.”

Clare turned to me. “Congratulations … And you, Edward.”

“We’re drinking to their health and happiness,” said Mr. Barrington. “Here you are, Clare.”

She took the glass and raised it. Her eyes, which were fixed on me, glittered oddly.

Did Edward know she was in love with him? Did the Barrington parents know?

I supposed not. She had been in the household since she was a little girl… an unwanted orphan taken in by distant relatives … treated as one of the family and yet feeling perhaps not quite one of them, although I was sure the Barringtons would have done everything possible to make her feel so. And she loved Edward … really loved him. It was not merely her vanity which was hurt.

She had taken her blow more gracefully than I had taken mine. I had a great admiration for Clare Carson and I believed, with a tremor of uneasiness, that she would figure largely in the life I had chosen for myself.