The Secret Woman

5

April 28th, 1887. Today I came to Castle Crediton. I couldn’t help feeling rather pleased with myself. I had a new patient and I should not be too far from Anna. We should see each other frequently. I was going to make sure of that. The Castle I knew was not a real one. “Fake,” Miss Brett had called it, but that meant little to me. It had all the appearance of a castle and I liked driving under the great archway with the gate house overhead. But I never cared for antiquity. I’ll ask Anna about it all sometime, if I ever think of it. The stone walls of the castle looked as if they had been there for centuries. I wondered what had been done to give them that appearance. Another thing to ask Anna — if I ever think of it. As for myself I couldn’t help thinking how pleasant it must be to own such a place — fake or not. There is an air of opulence about it; and I feel sure that this castle will no doubt be more comfortable to live in than the genuine article. I alighted from the station fly which I had engaged to bring me and my belongings from the Queen’s House. I was in a sort of courtyard and there was an iron studded door with a bell beside it, rather like the one at the Queen’s House. I pulled this bell and a manservant appeared.

“I’m Nurse Loman,” I said.

“Her ladyship is expecting you,” he answered. He was very dignified, the perfect butler. I had an idea that everything would be perfect in Castle Crediton — outwardly at least. I went into the hall which I was sure was the one Anna had once mentioned to me. Yes, there were the tapestries she had talked of, and which she had been examining when she had first met her Captain.

“If you will wait for a moment, Nurse Loman, I will inform her ladyship of your arrival.”

I nodded and looked about me, impressed by it all. I thought I was going to like living in a castle. In a very short time the servant reappeared and took me up the stairs to her “ladyship.” There she was seated in her high-backed chair, a tartar, I thought, if ever I saw one and I was glad that she was not to be my patient. I knew from experience that she would be the very worst possible, but she was in perfect health and would scorn illness, thinking, I was sure that it was due to some mental weakness. I can’t help comparing myself with Anna. She would have made an assessment of the treasures of the house, and while their obvious worth did not escape me I included them in my summing up of “grand” and concerned myself with the people. Nursing gives one a very clear insight into people; when they are sick and to a certain extent at one’s mercy, they betray themselves in a hundred ways. One becomes perceptive, and the study of human beings always seemed more interesting to me than that of inanimate objects. Yet I am inclined to be frivolous — at least when I compare myself with serious Anna.

Lady Crediton was what I call a battleaxe. She looked at me and did not entirely approve of my appearance although I was doing my best to look demure. Her appearance was entirely forbidding — or it would have been to anyone less experienced than I was. I thought to myself: Well, Dr. Elgin has recommended me and I’m here and they want a nurse, so at least they’ll have to give me a chance to prove my worth. (And I was going to prove it for I found Castle Crediton much to my taste.) The place had appealed to me as soon as I heard of it, and when I learned that there was the possibility of working there, I was elated. Besides, I don’t want to be too far from Anna.

“So, Nurse Loman, you have joined our household.” She spoke precisely in a rather gruff masculine voice. I could understand the husband seeking consolation elsewhere. She was clearly a very worthy person, almost always right and taking care that those about her realized it. Creditable, but very uncomfortable to live with.

“Yes, Lady Crediton. Dr. Elgin has given me particulars of my patient.”

Her ladyship’s mouth was a little grim, from which I gathered the patient is no favorite of hers. Or does she despise all patients because they haven’t earned her obvious ruddy health?

“I am glad that he has given you some indication of how we are placed here. Captain and Mrs. Stretton have their own apartments here. The Captain is not in residence at the time, but Mrs. Stretton and her son, with their servants occupy the east wing. But although this is so, Nurse Loman, I myself am … shall we say the Chatelaine of the Castle, and as such what happens in all parts of it is my concern.”

I bowed my head.

“If you have any complaints, any difficulties, anything you wish to be explained — apart from ordinary domestic matters, of course — I must ask you to see me.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Your patient is in a way a foreigner; her ways may not always be like ours. You may find certain difficulties. I shall expect you to report anything unusual to me.”

It was becoming rather mysterious and I must have looked puzzled for she said: “Dr. Elgin tells me that you are extremely efficient.”

“That was kind of him.”

“You have been nursing at the Queen’s House and were involved in that unfortunate occurrence. I met Miss Brett once when I allowed her to have an escritoire for which I had no use. She gave me the impression that she was a very precise and efficient woman.”

“She was,” I said.

“It seems very odd, that affair.”

“She changed a great deal when she became crippled; she suffered much pain.”

Lady Crediton nodded. “It was most unfortunate, Nurse Loman, and I will tell you frankly that I did consider whether I should be wise to employ someone who had been involved in such an unsavory affair.”

She was one of those women who would call her own outspokenness frankness and that of other people rudeness. I knew the type. Rich old women very often who had had too much of their own way for too long.

I decided to be affronted. I rose and said: “I have no wish to discountenance you, Lady Crediton. If you feel that having nursed Miss Brett you would rather I did not nurse your … your patient, I would not wish to remain.”

“You’re hasty,” she said. “Not a good quality for a nurse.”

“I must beg to contradict you. I spoke with no haste. However much I considered your remarks I should still say that if you would prefer me to go I should prefer to do so.”

“If I had not preferred that you stay I should not have asked you to come here in the first place.”

I bowed my head again. First round to me, I thought.

“I merely want to tell you that I deplore the unpleasantness of what happened to Miss Brett and it is impossible to be involved in such unpleasantness without being connected with it.”

“If one is involved one must necessarily be connected, Lady Crediton.”

Oh yes, I was scoring fast; but I sensed I was only doing so because she was trying to tell me something and did not know how to. She need not have worried. I understood. She did not like “the patient”; there was something strange about “the patient.” Something wild perhaps which might involve her in some “unpleasantness.” This was growing interesting.

I went on boldly: “One of the qualifications of a person in my position is discretion. I do not think Dr. Elgin would have recommended me to this case if he had not believed I possessed that quality.”

“You may find Mrs. Stretton a little … hysterical. Dr. Elgin will have told you what is wrong with her.”

“He mentioned some lung complaint with asthma.”

She nodded. And I realized that she accepted me. I thought she liked someone to stand up to her and I had done exactly that. I had her approval as the patient’s nurse.

“I daresay,” she said, “that you would wish to see your patient.”

I said I thought that would be desirable.

“Your bags …”

“Were brought into the hall.”

“They will be taken to your room. Ring the bell please, Nurse Loman.”

I did so and we waited in silence for the call to be answered. “Baines,” she said when it was, “pray take Nurse Loman to Mrs. Stretton. Unless you would prefer to go first to your room, Nurse?”

“I think I should like to see my patient first,” I said.

She inclined her head and we went out; I could feel her eyes following me.

We went through a maze of corridors and up little flights of circular stairs — stone some of them and worn in the middle — fake I thought. Stone doesn’t wear away in the space of fifty years. But I found it fascinating. A house pretending to be what it was not. That made it very human to my mind.

Then we went into the Stretton apartments, high up in one of the towers, I guessed.

“Mrs. Stretton will be resting,” said the manservant hesitantly.

I said, “Take me to her.”

He knocked at a door; a muffled sulky voice said: “Who’s there?”

“It’s Nurse Loman who’s come, madam,” said the servant.

There was no answer so he opened the door and I went in. In my profession we take the initiative. I said to him: “That’s all right. Leave me with my patient.”

There were Venetian blinds at the windows and the slats had been set to let in the minimum of light. She was lying on the bed, thick dark hair hanging loose, in a purple robe with scarlet trimming. She looked like a tropical bird.

“Mrs. Stretton?” I said.

“You are the nurse,” she said, speaking slowly. I thought: What nationality? I hazarded some sort of half-caste. Perhaps Polynesian, Creole.

“Yes, come to look after you. How dark it is in here. We’ll have a little light.” I went to the nearest window and drew up the blind.

She put a hand over her eyes.

“That’s better,” I said firmly. I sat down by the bed. “I want to talk to you.”

She looked at me rather sullenly. A sultry beauty she must have been when she was well.

“Dr. Elgin has suggested that you need a nurse.”

“That’s no good,” she said.

“Dr. Elgin thinks so, and we shall see, shan’t we?”

We took measure of each other. The high flush in the cheeks, the unnatural brightness of the eyes, bore out what Dr. Elgin had told me of her. She was consumptive and the attacks of asthma must be alarming when they occurred. But I was interested in her more as a person than a sick woman because she was the wife of Anna’s Captain and I wondered why he had married her and how it had all come about. I should discover in due course, I had no doubt.

“It’s too cold here,” she said. “I hate the cold.”

“You need fresh air. And we must watch your diet. Dr. Elgin visits you frequently, I suppose.”

“Twice a week,” she said.

She closed her eyes; quiet, sullen, and yet smoldering. I was aware that she could be far from quiet.

“Dr. Elgin is working out a diet chart for you. We shall have to see about getting you well,” I said in my bright nurse’s voice.

She turned her face away.

“Well,” I went on, “now that we’ve met I’ll go to my room. I daresay it is close to yours.”

“It’s the next to it.”

“Ah, good. I can find my way there then without bothering anyone.”

I went out of the room and into the next one. I knew it was mine because my bags were there. The shape of it indicated that it was part of the tower. I went to the window which was really a door — of the french window type — opening onto a balcony or rather a parapet. Anachronism, I thought. I must ask Anna. What a view from the parapet — the deep gorge and the river below and on the other side the houses of Langmouth.

I unpacked my bags and as I did so the door was cautiously opened and a small face peered round at me. It was a boy of about seven. He said: “Hello. You’re a nurse.”

“That’s right,” I replied. “How do you know?”

“They said so.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m Edward.”

“How do you do, Edward.” I put out my hand and he shook it gravely.

“Nurses come for ill people,” he told me.

“And make them well,” I added.

His enormous dark eyes regarded me as though I were some goddess.

“You’re clever,” he said.

“Very,” I admitted.

“Can you do twice one are two?”

“Twice two are four. Twice three are six,” I told him.

He laughed. “And a, b, c?”

I went through the alphabet with great speed. I had impressed him.

“Are those your clothes?” I told him they were. “Have you medicines for making people die?”

I was taken aback. “Like the furniture lady,” he added.

He was sharp; I could see that. I said quickly: “Only for making people well.”

“But …” he began; then he was alert.

“Master Edward,” called a voice.

He looked at me and hunched his shoulders; he put his fingers to his lips.

“Master Edward.”

We were both silent, but he had left my door open and his governess came in. She was tall, angular, and wore a most unbecoming gray blouse with a brown skirt — hideous combination; her hair was gray too, so was her skin.

“Oh,” she said, “you’re the new nurse. I hope Edward has not been annoying you.”

“Entertaining me rather.”

“He is really far too precocious.”

She had rabbity teeth and rabbity eyes. We took an instant dislike to each other.

“Come along, Edward,” she said. “You must not disturb your Mamma.”

“His Mamma is my patient, I believe,” I said.

She nodded.

“I shall soon learn my way around,” I added.

“You’ve just come from the Queen’s House.” Her eyes were alert. Young Edward looked from one to the other of us.

“My last case was there.”

“H’m.” She looked at the child, and I thought: How gossip spread! And thought of Anna and the horrible things which had been said about her. They were even inclined to regard me with some sort of suspicion; how much more so they would have regarded Anna!

She sighed. She dared not talk in front of the child. I wished he was not there so that I could discover more, but I had plenty of time.

She took him away and while I unpacked, a parlormaid brought tea to my room. Baines came with her ostensibly to see that she served it in the correct manner but actually to inform me that my meals would be taken in my own room. I realized that this was an edict from Lady Crediton and that he only ventured into this part of the house to deliver such commands.

I was beginning to learn something about the ways of Castle Crediton.

April 30th. This is my third day and I feel as though I have been here for months. I miss Anna. There is no one here with whom I can be friendly. If Miss Beddoes, the governess, were a different type, she might be useful, but she’s a bore, always anxious to impress on me that she has come down in the world. A vicar’s daughter, she told me. I said: “Snap. So am I.” She looked startled. I’m sure she was surprised that one so lacking in decorum should have come out of a vicarage. “What can one do,” she demanded. “One has never been brought up to work for a living, and suddenly it is a necessity.”

“Ah,” I replied, “that’s where I was more fortunate. I knew from my earliest days that I should have to battle for my bread in a cruel world, so I prepared myself.”

“Really,” she replied with cold disdain. But she does regard me a little more kindly since we both came from similar stables, or as she would say, were “distressed gentlewomen.”

She has told me quite a lot about the family, and for that I’m grateful. She whispered that she believes there is a streak of madness in my patient. I would call it hysteria. Mrs. Stretton is a passionate woman deprived of a husband. I think she is obsessed by him. She writes letters to him every day and tears half of them up. Scraps of paper fill her wastepaper basket. He, Miss Beddoes, tells me, is not very welcome in the house since his “disgrace.” What disgrace? I wanted to know. But she couldn’t tell me. It is something which is Never Spoken Of. They seem to want to keep him far away. But because of the child they brought Mrs. Stretton over here. “You see,” she said, “until Mr. Rex marries, that child is in a way a sort of heir.” It’s a muddled setup and I haven’t quite worked it out, but I intend to. My patient takes up so much time. I cook for her because Dr. Elgin wishes her diet to be watched. She is like a child and I suspect her of getting one of the servants to smuggle chocolates to her. She likes coffee and makes it herself. There is a spirit lamp in her room for the purpose. I think if she were well she would be fat. She is indolent and likes to stay in bed, but Dr. Elgin does want her to rest. She orders the maids to shut the windows after I’ve opened them. She hates what she calls the “cold,” and fresh air is an important part of the treatment.

I discovered this afternoon that Baines’ wife, Edith, is Ellen’s sister. She came to my room especially to tell me so. She wanted to say that if there was anything she could do to make me comfortable she would be pleased to do it. Great condescension from the butler’s wife. She looks after all the maids and they are quite in awe of her. Ellen must have given me a good reference.

May 1st. Two exciting things happened today. I am growing more and more pleased with Castle life. There is something about this place — an atmosphere of tension. I’m never quite sure of what my hysterical patient is going to do, and I’m constantly aware of intrigue. For instance there is what happened to the Captain to make him unwelcome here. I think that if they didn’t want him here they might have left his wife where she was. He could have visited her now and then, I suppose. It is some island. She has mentioned it to me as “the Island.” I wanted to know where but refrained from asking. She is inclined to retreat if one is too curious.

The first adventure was my meeting with the Crediton heir. None other than Rex himself. I had settled my patient for an afternoon rest and had taken a little walk in the gardens. They are as magnificent as I expected them to be. There are four gardeners living on the estate with wives who work at the Castle. The lawns look like squares of fine green velvet; I never see them without wishing that I had a dress made out of them; the herbacious borders will be dazzling later on I’m sure. Now the big features are the lovely aubrietia and arabis — in mauve and white clumps growing on gray stone on the terraces, and of course Castle Crediton aubrietia and arabis must be twice as bushy as anyone else’s. That is the first thing that occurs to me in this place: opulence. You know it’s the home of a millionaire and a first or second generation one. There is a continual straining after tradition, the Creditons want the best ancestry, the best background that money can buy. It’s different from the Henrock’s place where I nursed poor Lady Henrock — and very successfully for she left me five hundred pounds in her will — just before going to the Queen’s House. There had been Henrocks at Henrock Manor for the last five hundred years. It was shabby in places but I could see the difference. As I was inspecting the most elaborate of sundials whom should I see bearing towards me than the heir to the millions, Rex Crediton himself. Mr. Rex, not Sir Rex; Sir Edward was only a knight. I am sure that must be rather a sore point with her ladyship. He is of medium height and good-looking but not exactly handsome; he has an air of assurance and yet there is something diffident about him. His clothes were immaculately tailored; I think he must get them in Savile Row. There’d never be anything quite like that in Langmouth. He looked surprised to see me so I thought I would introduce myself.

“Mrs. Stretton’s nurse,” I told him.

He raised his eyebrows; they are light and sandy, his lashes are sandy too; he has topaz-colored eyes — yellow-brown; his nose is aquiline just like Sir Edward’s on the portrait in the gallery; his skin is very pale and his mustache has a glint of gingery gold in it.

“You are very young for such a responsibility,” he said.

“I am fully qualified.”

“I am sure you would not have been engaged unless that had been the case.”

“I am sure I should not.”

He kept his eyes on my face; I could see that he approved of my looks even if he was a little dubious about my capabilities. He asked how long I had been at the Castle and whether I was satisfied with my post. I said I was and I hoped there was no objection to my walking in the gardens. He said there was none at all and pray would I walk there whenever I wished. He would show me the walled garden and the pond; and the copse which had been planted soon after his birth; it was now a little forest of fir trees. There was a path through this which led right to the edge of the cliff. He led me there and examined the iron fence and said the gardeners had strict instructions to keep it in good repair. “It would need to be,” I remarked. There was a straight drop right down the gorse to the river. We stood leaning on the fence looking across at the houses on the opposite cliff over the bridge. There was a proud proprietorial look in his eyes and I thought of what Anna had told me about the Creditons bringing prosperity to Langmouth. He looked important then — powerful. He began to talk about Langmouth and the shipping business in such a way that he made me feel excited about it. I could see that it was his life as it must have been his father’s. I was interested in the romance of the Lady Line; and I wanted to hear as much about it as he was ready to tell.

He was ready and willing but he talked impersonally about how his father had built up the business, the days of struggle and endurance.

I said it was a wonderfully romantic story — the building of a great business from humble beginnings.

I was surprised that he should talk so freely to me on such a short acquaintance and he seemed to be too, for suddenly he changed the subject and talked of trees and garden scenery. We walked back to the sundial together and he stood beside me while we read the inscription on it. “I count only the sunny hours.”

“I must try to do the same,” I said.

“I hope all your hours will be sunny, Nurse.”

His topaz eyes were warm and friendly. I was fully aware that he was not as cold as he liked people to believe; and that he had taken quite a fancy to me.

He went in and left me in the garden. I was sure I should see him again soon. I walked round the terraces again and into the walled garden and even through the copse to the iron railings beyond which was the gorge. I was amused by the encounter and elated to find I had made an impression on him. He was rather serious, and must probably be thinking me a little frivolous because of the light way I talk, and I laugh quite frequently as I do so. It makes some people like me, but the serious one might well think me too frivolous. He was of the serious kind. I had enjoyed meeting him anyway, because he was after all the pivot around which the household revolved — and not only the household; all the power and the glory was centered on him — his father’s heir and now the source from which all blessings would flow when his mother was no more.

I went back to the sundial. This, I said to myself, is certainly one of the hours I shall count.

I looked at the watch I wore — made of turquoise and little rose diamonds, a present from Lady Henrock just before she died, and compared it with the sundial. My patient would soon be waking. I must return to my duties.

I looked up at the turret. This was not the turret in which my patient lived; it was the one at the extreme end of the west wing. I have very long sight and I distinctly saw a face at the window. For a few seconds the face was there and then it was gone.

Who on earth is that? I asked myself. One of the servants? I didn’t think so. I had not been near that turret. There was so much of the Castle I had not explored. I turned away thoughtfully; and then some impulse made me turn again and look up. There was the face again. Someone was interested enough to watch me, and rather furtively too, for no sooner had she — I knew it was a woman because I had caught a glimpse of a white cap on white hair — realized that I had seen her than she had dodged quickly back into the shadows.

Intriguing! But was not everything intriguing in Castle Crediton? But I was far more interested in my encounter with the lord of the Castle, the symbol of riches and power, than I could possibly be in a vague face at a window.

May 3rd. A perfect day with a blue sky overhead. I walked in the garden but there was no sign of Rex. I had thought that he might join me there and meet me “by accident” for I believe he is quite interested in me. But of course he would be busy at those tall offices which dominate the town. I had heard from several sources of information that he had stepped into Sir Edward’s shoes and with the help of his mother ran the business. I was a little piqued. I had imagined, with a fine conceit, that he had been interested in me. When he did not appear I started to think of the face at the window and pushed Rex out of my mind. The west turret I thought. Suppose I pretended to lose my way? It was easy enough, Heaven knew, in the Castle; and I could quite easily go up to the west wing and look round and if discovered imply that I had lost my way. I know that I am over-curious, but that is because I am so interested in people and it is my interest in them which makes me able to help them. Besides, I had an idea that to help nurse my patient I had to understand her and to do that I needed to discover everything I could about her. As everything in this house concerned her, this must.

Anyway toward late afternoon the sky became overcast, the bright sunshine had disappeared and it was clearly going to rain at any moment. The Castle was gloomy; this was the time in which I could most convincingly lose my way, so I proceeded to lose it. I mounted the spiral staircase to the west turret. Judging that it would be a replica of the quarters in which I lived, I went to a room in which I was sure was the window whence I had seen the face and opened the door. I was right. She was seated in a chair by the window.

“I … beg your pardon. Why …” I began.

She said: “You are the nurse.”

“I’ve come to the wrong turret,” I said.

“I saw you in the garden. You saw me, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“So you came up to see me?”

“The turrets are so much alike.”

“So it was a mistake.” She went on without waiting for me to reply which was fortunate. “How are you getting on with your patient?”

“I think we get on well as a nurse and patient.”

“Is she very sick?”

“She is better some days than others. You know who I am. May I know your name?”

“I’m Valerie Stretton.”

“Mrs. Stretton.”

“You could call me that,” she said. “I live up here now. I have my own quarters. I hardly ever see anyone. There is a staircase in the west turret down to a walled garden. It’s completely shut in. That’s why.”

“You would be Mrs. Stretton’s …”

“Mother-in-law,” she said.

“Oh, the Captain’s mother.”

“We’re a strangely complicated household, Nurse.” She laughed; it was slightly defiant laughter. I noted her high color with its tinge of purple in the temple. Heart, possibly, I thought. It was very likely that she might be my patient before long.

“Would you like a cup of tea, Nurse?”

“That is very kind of you. I should be delighted.” And I was because it would give me an opportunity of going on talking to her.

Like her daughter-in-law she had a spirit lamp on which she set a kettle to boil.

“You’re very comfortable up here, Mrs. Stretton.”

She smiled. “I couldn’t hope for more comfort. Lady Crediton is very good to me.”

“She’s a very good woman, I’m sure.” She didn’t notice the touch of irony in my voice. I must curb my tongue. I love words and they get out of control. I wanted to win her confidence because she was the mother of one of those two boys born almost simultaneously of the same father but by different women and under the same roof, which could have been a situation from one of Gilbert and Sullivan’s operas — except of course that they were never improper and this was decidedly so. I must go along and have a look at old Sir Edward’s portrait in the gallery. What a character he must have been! What a pity that he was not alive today! I was sure he would have made the Castle even more exciting than it was.

She asked me how I was getting on and if I enjoyed my work. It must be tremendously interesting, but she feared I must find it trying at times. Another, I thought, who doesn’t like my naughty patient.

I said I was used to coping with patients and didn’t anticipate that my present one would be any more trying than others I had experienced.

“She should never have come here,” Valerie Stretton said vehemently. “She should have stayed where she belonged.”

“The climate is not good for her, I admit,” I said. “But as this is her husband’s home perhaps she prefers to be here, and happiness is one of the best of all healers.”

She made the tea. “I blend it myself,” she said. “A little Indian mingled with the Earl Grey and of course the secret is to warm the pot and keep it dry; and the water must have just come to the boil.”

I listened politely to my lesson in tea-making and I wondered how much information I should get from her. Not much I decided. She was not a gossip. I daresay there had been too many secrets in her own life for her to want to chatter lightly about other people’s. She must have been extraordinarily pretty when she was young. Her coloring would have been fair; her hair was still abundant though white; her eyes were very blue. Quite a beauty! No wonder Sir Edward had succumbed.

I sipped my tea. “You must know every part of the Castle,” I said. “I find its geography so difficult to learn.”

“We shouldn’t complain of that as it’s due to it that I owe the pleasure of this visit.”

I wondered what lay behind her words. I came to the conclusion that there was a depth in her which was not apparent. What a strange life hers must have been, living here under the same roof as Lady Crediton.

“Do you get many visitors?”

She shook her head. “It’s a lonely life, but I prefer it so.”

I thought, she sits and watches the world go by like a nineteenth-century Lady of Shalott.

“Rex visits me often,” she said.

“Rex. You mean …”

She nodded. “There’s only one Rex.” Her voice softened slightly. “He was always a good boy. I was nurse to them … both.”

An even more strange situation. So she was nurse to the two boys — her own and her rival’s. What a strange household; they seemed to create unnatural situations. Was that Sir Edward? I decided it was. There was a trace of mischief in the old fellow.

I pictured it. She would favor her own son. Anna’s Captain was a spoiled boy; that was why he was careless of other people’s feelings, that was why he thought he could amuse himself with Anna and never allow her to suspect that he was already married to a dusky beauty across the seas.

“I daresay you are longing to see Captain Stretton again. When will he return?”

“I’ve no idea. There was this … affair …” I waited expectantly but she did not continue. “He’s always been away for long periods since he first went to sea. He wanted to go to sea right from a baby almost. He must always be sailing his little boats in the pond.”

“I suppose they were both interested in the sea.”

“Rex was different. Rex was the clever one. Quieter too. He was the businessman.”

The man, I thought, who will multiply his father’s millions.

“They are both good boys,” she said, suddenly taking on the character of the old nurse. “And now that Redvers is away Rex comes and sees me and makes sure I know that he doesn’t forget me.”

How complex people are! I had talked to this woman for half an hour and I knew scarcely any more of her than when she was a face at the window. There was a furtiveness about her one moment and a frankness at the next when she seemed simply the nurse who had loved her charges; I imagined she would have wanted to have been fair, and knowing that naturally she would favor her own son she had tried to be equally as fond of Rex. And according to her Rex was a paragon of virtue. That was not entirely true, I was sure. I should not have been as interested in him if he were because he would have been so dull. He was far from that.

“The boys were very different in temperament,” she told me. “Red was the adventurous one. He was always talking about the sea and reading romances about it. He imagined himself another Drake. Rex was the quiet one. He had a business head on his shoulders. He was shrewd, quick to seize an advantage right from the start and when they bartered their toys and things Rex always came out best. They were so lovable, both of them … in their different ways.”

How I should have liked to pursue that topic but she was becoming wary. I sensed I should never get anything from her by pressing. My only chance was to lure her to betray herself.

One must never rush confidences. They are so much more revealing if they come out gradually. But she interested me as much as anyone in the house — except perhaps Rex. I was determined that we should become friends.

6

I found Chantel’s journal enthralling. Mine was not nearly so interesting. To read what she had written was like talking to her. She was so frank about herself that I felt my writing was stilted in comparison. The references to me and the man she called “my captain” startled me at first but then I remembered that she had said we must be absolutely frank in our journals, otherwise they were useless.

I recalled my own.

April 30th. A man called to look at the Swedish Haupt cabinet. I don’t think he was serious. I was caught in the downpour on the way back from the shop and this afternoon to my horror discovered woodworm in the Newport grandfather clock. I got to work on it at once with Mrs. Buckle.

May 1st. I think we’ve saved the clock. There was a letter from the bank manager who suggests I call. I feel very apprehensive about what he will say.

How very different from Chantel’s account of her life! I sounded so gloomy; she was so lively. I began to ask myself whether it was the different way in which we looked at life.

However the situation was melancholy. Every day I discovered that the business was more deeply in debt. After dark when I was alone in the house I would imagine Aunt Charlotte was there laughing at me, implying as she had in life: “You couldn’t do without me and I always told you so.”

People had changed toward me; I was aware of that. They looked at me furtively in the street when they thought I didn’t notice them, and I knew they were wondering: Did she have a hand in killing her aunt? She inherited the business, didn’t she, and the house?

If only they knew what anxieties I had inherited.

I tried to remember my father during that time and that he had always told me to look my troubles right in the face and stand up to them, to remember I was a soldier’s daughter.

He was right. Nothing was to be gained by pitying oneself, as I knew too well. I would see the bank manager and know the worst, and I would decide whether it was possible for me to carry on. If not? Well, I should have to make some plan, that was all. There must be something a woman of my capabilities could do. I had a fair knowledge of antique furniture, pottery, and porcelain; I was well educated. Surely there was some niche somewhere waiting for me. I shouldn’t find it by being sorry for myself. I had to go out and look for it.

At the moment I was in an unhappy period of my life. I was no longer young. Twenty-seven years old — already at the stage when one earns the title of “Old Maid.” I had never been sought in marriage. John Carmel might have asked me in due course but he had certainly been quickly frightened off by Aunt Charlotte; and as for Redvers Stretton I had behaved with the utmost naïveté and had myself imagined what did not exist. I had no one but myself to blame. I must make that clear to Chantel when I next saw her. I must try to write as interestingly, as revealingly about my life as she did about hers. It was a measure of our trust in each other, and there was no doubt that writing down one’s feelings did give one a certain solace.

I must stop my brief entries about Swedish cabinets and tall clocks. It was my feelings that she was interested in — myself — just as I was interested in her. It was a wonderful thing to have such a friend; I hoped the relationship between us would always be as it was now. I became afraid that she might leave the Castle, or perhaps I might be forced to lake a post somewhere far away. I then realized to the full what knowing her had meant to me in these difficult times.

Dear Chantel! How she had stood by me during those dreadful days which had followed Aunt Charlotte’s death. Sometimes I was convinced that she had contrived to divert suspicion from me. That was a very bold thing to do; it was what was called tampering with evidence. She was so lighthearted, so loyal in her friendship, it wouldn’t occur to her. I must write this down. No I wouldn’t because it was something too important to be written down. That was where I was not so frank as she was. When one started to write a journal one realized that there were certain things one kept back … perhaps because one didn’t really admit them to oneself. But when I think of Aunt Charlotte’s death I grew cold with horror because in spite of the button which Chantel found and the belief (which I am sure is true) that in certain circumstances people have special powers, I could never believe that Aunt Charlotte would take her own life, however great the pain she was suffering.

And yet it must have happened. How could it have been otherwise? Still everyone in that house benefited from her death — Ellen had her legacy which was more than a legacy because it was the gateway to marriage with Mr. Orfey; and Heaven knew Ellen had been waiting at the gate for a very long time. Mrs. Morton had been waiting too for the happy release from Aunt Charlotte’s service. And myself … I inherited this burden of debts and anxieties, but before Aunt Charlotte’s death I had not known they existed.

No, it was as Chantel had made them believe. I might think Aunt Charlotte would never take her life, but what human being knows all about another?

I must stop thinking of Aunt Charlotte’s death; I must face the future as my father would have done. I would go and see the bank manager; I would learn the worst and make my decision.

He sat looking at me over the tops of his glasses, pressing the tips of his fingers together, a look of mock concern on his face. I daresay he had spoken in similar strain to people before.

“It’s a matter of assets and liabilities, Miss Brett. One must balance them. And you find yourself in a very precarious position.”

He went on explaining; he showed me figures to back up his conclusions. I was in a very difficult position indeed and I had no alternative but to act promptly. He talked of “voluntary liquidation” which he believed, with care, could still be accomplished. In a few months’ time it might be too late. I must remember that expenses went on mounting and debts growing.

He was not suggesting that I should rely entirely on his advice. He was a bank manager merely. But the business had clearly been going downhill fast. Miss Charlotte Brett had bought unwisely — there was no doubt about that; she had often sold at a loss in order to raise money. That was a very dangerous procedure and could not be repeated too often. He suggested that I see my solicitor. Miss Brett’s loan to the bank would have to be repaid within the next three months he feared, and he believed that I should go into these matters very, very carefully. It might be a wise plan to cut my losses and sell everything — including the house. That should settle the debts and leave me a little capital in hand. He feared it was the best I could hope for.

He gave me a melancholy handshake and advised me to go home and think about it.

“I’m sure you are very sensible, Miss Brett, and will before long have made up your mind.”

When I returned to the Queen’s House, Mrs. Buckle was on the point of leaving.

“You look down in the dumps, miss,” she said. “I don’t know. I was saying to Buckle it’s no life for a young lady, that’s not. That old house, all alone there. I don’t reckon it’s right. All alone with them valuable things. It gives me the shivers, not that the house itself wouldn’t do that at night.”

“I’m not afraid of the house, Mrs. Buckle. It’s …”

But I couldn’t explain to her; besides she was a gossip and would be unable to help repeating any confidence.

“Well, it’s none of my affair,. But I think there’s worm in that ’Epplewhite table. Not much. But it was right next to the tall clock and you know what them little devils are.”

“I’ll have to look into that, Mrs. Buckle.”

She nodded. “Well, I’ll be getting along. We’re short of beeswax. I’ll get some on the way in tomorrow. See you then, miss.”

She was gone and I was alone.

I went into the garden and thought of that autumn night so long ago now and I wondered foolishly if he ever thought of it. I walked down to the river where the water crowfoot rioted among the lady’s-smocks and a swarm of gnats danced above the water. I looked back at the house and thought of what the bank manager had said. Sell everything. Sell the Queen’s House. I was not sure how I felt about that. The Queen’s House had been my home for so long. It attracted me while it still repelled me, and sometimes when I suddenly realized that it was mine I thought of it furnished as it must have been before it became Aunt Charlotte’s storehouse. It would have been a charming happy house then … before so many tragic things had happened in it. My mother’s death, my father, that brief evening’s happiness when I had thought I had met someone who would change my life, the disillusion and then Aunt Charlotte’s mysterious death.

I didn’t want to sell the house. And yet I believed I should have to.

I walked across the lawns. The apple and cherry trees were covered in pink and white blossom; and there were flowery pyramids on the horse-chestnut tree near my window. I had a strong feeling for the Queen’s House.

I stepped inside. I stood listening to the clocks. It was still as cluttered as in Aunt Charlotte’s day. Not many people came to the house now. Perhaps they felt embarrassed to deal with someone they suspected of being concerned in sudden death.

That night I walked all round the house, through room after room. So much valuable furniture for which I could not find profitable buyers! I should have to sell up and that meant selling to dealers. Anyone knew that they would only buy cheaply.

But I was coming nearer and nearer to a climax.

I seemed to hear my father’s voice: “Stand up to your troubles. Face them and then you’ll find the way to overcome them.”

That was what I was doing and the malicious clocks were telling me, “Sell, sell, sell, sell.” Yes, sell and get out; and start afresh. Make a new life … entirely.

“There’s some people,” said Ellen, “that say the Queen’s House is haunted.”

“What nonsense,” I retorted.

“Well, that’s what they say. It gives you the creeps.”

I looked at her sharply. She had changed since Aunt Charlotte’s death. I was certain that at any moment she was going to say that she couldn’t continue. After all she had only stayed to “help me out” as she had explained at the time. Mr. Orfey was an exacting husband. With the legacy, he had bought his own horse and cart and was in business on his own — “building up nicely,” said Ellen.

But it was not so much Mr. Orfey’s growing prosperity that made Ellen chary of the Queen’s House. It was the memory of Aunt Charlotte. In a way the house was haunted for Ellen as well as for me. Ellen wouldn’t go up into Aunt Charlotte’s room alone. As she said it gave her “the creeps.” I could see that very soon she would be giving her notice.

It was a wet day and the rain had been falling steadily through the night; the skies were overcast and the house was full of shadows even in the afternoon. Mrs. Buckle going up to the attic rooms came hurrying down to say there was a pool of water on the floor of the attic. It was coming through the roof.

The roof had always been a matter for anxiety. Aunt Charlotte had had it patched up now and then but I remembered the last occasion when we were told it needed major repairs. Aunt Charlotte had said she couldn’t afford it.

I was feeling very melancholy when Chantel arrived. How pretty she looked in her dark nurse’s cloak which set off her lovely hair to advantage; her cheeks glowed and her eyes sparkled. “I couldn’t resist calling,” she told me. “Miss Beddoes drove me into the high street and I’m joining her in an hour’s time. I was terrified that you’d be out.”

“Oh Chantel, it is good to see you!” I poured out everything that had happened; my visit to the bank manager, my fears about Ellen and the leaking roof.

“My poor Anna! What shall you do? You must have that money your aunt left me. I can’t imagine why she should have done such a thing. I’d only been here such a short time.”

“She quickly grew fond of you … as anyone would.”

“You must satisfy me by taking that money back.”

“You know I’d do no such thing.”

“Well, at least it’s there if you want it. What are you going to do?”

“The bank tells me I should sell up.”

“Can you do that?”

“I can try. There’s the house. That should fetch something.”

She nodded gravely. “I’m sure you’ll do the right thing, Anna.”

“I wish I could be sure.”

“Have you written it all in your journal?”

“How could I when you had it?”

“As you have mine. You must give me mine back. Things must be written when they happen, otherwise they lose their flavor. One forgets so quickly the essential feeling of the moment.”

“It was wonderful reading it, Chantel. I thought I was there.”

“How I wish you were! What fun that would be. If only they wanted an antique adviser at the Castle!”

“Did anyone ever want such a thing?”

“It’s fascinating, Anna. I’m intrigued by it. It’s not only the place which is so unusual, it’s them.”

“I know. I could sense that. Has anything else happened?”

“I’ve consolidated my position. I’m getting to know them all so much better. I’m no longer the stranger within their gates.”

“And this man … Rex?”

“Now why did you pick on him?”

“I fancied he had appealed to you rather specially.”

“That’s because you’re thinking of romance. Now do you think that the heir to all those millions is going to be interested, seriously, in his sister-in-law’s nurse?”

“I am sure he must be interested.”

“The important word is seriously.” She laughed, and I said: “Well, at least you are not thinking of him seriously.”

“I’m so frivolous, as you know.”

“Not always. I shall always remember you, Chantel, at the inquest. You weren’t frivolous then.”

“I have my serious moments.”

“I can’t get Aunt Charlotte out of my mind.”

“Stop it,” she said sternly. “You must get her out of your mind. It’s all over. It’s finished. What you have to think of now is what you are going to do. Is it very bad?”

“Very. The debts are double, treble what I thought. Aunt Charlotte seemed to lose her judgment. She bought the most unsalable things. I shall never get half what she paid for them, and toward the end she let the debts mount up. At one time she was always so meticulous.”

“Her illness changed her. It does change people.”

“It certainly changed her.”

“You ought to get away, Anna. This is no place for you.”

“Chantel, it is sweet of you to care so much what becomes of me.”

“Why Anna, I look on you as my sister.”

“We have not really known each other long.”

“Time is not always the foundation on which friendship is built. You can know more of some people in a month than you can of others in years. All that happened here brought us together. I’d like us to stay like that, Anna.”

“I want it too. But you have sisters.”

She grimaced. “It’s odd how one loses touch with one’s family. My sister Selina married and stayed in the village where my father had his living, Katey married a doctor and went up to Scotland.”

“And do you never see them?”

“I haven’t since I nursed Lady Henrock; you see I came straight to you and there wasn’t time to go home; and it’s so far away in any case. Right up in Yorkshire.”

“I expect they would love to see you.”

“They were years older than I, grown up when I was born. I was the afterthought, they used to say. My mother grew sentimental before I was born; she took my name from an old tombstone in the graveyard beside the vicarage. Someone named Chantel was buried there. She departed this life aged twenty-four years. Chantel Spring, her name was. My mother said, If it’s a girl I shall call her Chantel Spring. And she did. I’m Chantel Spring Loman. At least that’s the story I heard. I never knew my mother. I killed her getting born.”

“Killed her! What an expression. You speak as though it were your fault.”

“One feels a certain responsibility.”

“My dear Chantel, that is quite wrong. You should get that out of your head without delay.”

“Look here,” she said with a laugh, “I came to give you my advice not ask for yours.”

“Well, what is yours?”

“Don’t worry. Sell up if you have to. And then we’ll go on from there.”

“You’re a comfort to me, Chantel.”

Then we talked about the Castle and what had been happening up there. She was certainly excited about the place. She was like a girl in love, I thought, but with the Castle. Unless that was a blind. I was certain that she was very interested in Rex Crediton; but she did not seem in the least bit apprehensive, although she had said he could not possibly be serious about the nurse.

I didn’t want her to be hurt, as I had been. It seemed an odd coincidence that she whom I had really begun to think of as the sister I always longed to have, should become too interested in one of those brothers — as I was in the other — too interested, that was, for our comfort.

I felt so much better when she had gone. I was cheered; I felt that whatever was going to happen I could cope with it.

I longed to hear more about the Castle; she took her journal away and said that she must “make it up” as soon as possible. I told her I was longing to read the next installment.

“And you must write yours too, Anna. I want to know everything you do, everything you think, nothing held back. It’s the only way to see the truth.”

I agreed.

It was some time before I read her journal again. In the meantime I had come to the conclusion that I would have to sell up. I had even considered selling the house. I saw a house agent who told me that this would not be easy. It was an interesting house but no repairs had been done for years. The roof was leaking; there was woodworm in one of the floors and dry rot on the river side. “You’re too near the river and the place is damp. Houses like this are very picturesque but they need fortunes spent on them from time to time. Don’t forget this one has been standing here for the last four hundred years. It would be folly to put the house up for sale because so much has to be spent on it you would get practically nothing for it.”

The best suggestion he could make was that I let the house for a peppercorn rent with the proviso that the tenant must keep it in good repair. This meant that for the privilege of living in the house the tenant would have to see to that leaking roof, that woodworm and dry rot.

“It seems a possible way out,” I said.

“Believe me,” was the answer. “It’s the only way out.”

So I made up my mind. I was going to sell up, pay the debts; let the house. I should have little — perhaps nothing; but I should be free of encumbrances.

What I should do then had still to be decided; but these arrangements took so long to settle that I still had months in which to think about my future.

Meanwhile events were taking place at the Castle and of these I learned through Chantel — but chiefly and most vividly through her journal.

7

May 9th. I went to see Anna today and heard what they are advising her. I think it will be good for her to get away from the Queen’s House and all its associations — as long as she doesn’t go too far and I can’t see her now and then. I wish there was a means of getting her to the Castle. What fun it would be if we could talk over things as they happen. Today Edith Baines came to my room to bring some medicine Dr. Elgin had left for my patient and we talked. She is very different from her sister Ellen. Very dignified — mistress of the maids and wife to Mr. Baines! She regards me as an equal which means I am treated to graciousness without condescension which is amusing, and also profitable. I believe Edith knows a great deal about the “secrets” of the Castle. She did confide in me that there would shortly be a bit of a “to-do” in the household. Lady Crediton had summoned her yesterday and told her that she had invited the Derringhams for the first week in June. “So,” said Edith, “we shall have some fun and games, and that makes work, Mr. Baines has been told to have the ballroom floor repolished; and I hear she’s already been seeing the gardeners.”

“The Derringhams?” I said. “They would be important people I imagine since Lady Crediton thinks so highly of them.”

“In a way,” said Edith, “they’re our rivals.” Edith always implies she has a share in the Lady Line. “But all very friendly, of course. Sir Henry is a friend of Mr. Rex and of her ladyship. As a matter of fact I think Sir Henry and Lady Crediton have decided that Helena will do very well for Mr. Rex.”

“Do very well?”

“A match. Link the businesses. That’s always a good thing. My goodness, what a power we’d be — Creditons and Derringhams together.”

“It all sounds reasonable,” I said.

Edith raised her eyes to the ceiling: “It makes work. And some of those girls are so lazy. You’ve no idea. At least we’ll get Mr. Crediton safely married. After the Captain doing what he did.”

“The Captain’s a very mysterious person to me.”

“That’s what comes of … well,” Edith folded her arms primly. “It’s not the same is it? After all who was his mother? She seems like a lady, and there she is waited on hand and foot up in her turret. Jane Goodwin waits on her — thinks the world of her. But I mean to say who was she to start with? Although of course she was a lady’s maid.” Edith had a close knowledge of the social hierarchy of those who served the rich.

This was cozy. People like Edith were the best sort of informants. They were so righteous; they had such a sense of family. Edith for instance would have been astonished if she were accused of gossiping. Her respect for the family was great but so was her interest in it; and in talking to me she was not discussing it with one of the lower servants.

“I should think Mrs. Stretton was very beautiful when she was young,” I prompted.

“I fail to see that that excuses her.”

“And what of Sir Edward?”

“It should have been hushed up. But …” Her eyes had fallen on a speck of dust on my cabinet which seemed of as great concern to her as the conduct of Sir Edward with his wife’s lady’s maid. I hastily diverted her attention from it. I did not want young Betsy whose task it was to dust my quarters to be scolded on my account. I wanted to be on pleasant terms with everyone.

“Why wasn’t it hushed up?” I said quickly.

“My mother told me. She had a post in the household before her marriage and that was why I was taken on in the first place. Mrs. Stretton — as she calls herself — is nearly twenty years younger than her ladyship, who was married fifteen years before Mr. Rex was born. It appears that Sir Edward believed her ladyship was barren. She was a wonderful help to him; she understood the business; she entertained when necessary — she was an excellent wife in every way but one. She could not produce a healthy child. And of course what Sir Edward wanted was a son to carry on the business.”

“Naturally, he’d want a son.”

“Her ladyship had had several failures. Sir Edward was in despair. Then her ladyship was pregnant but no one thought her pregnancy would come to a satisfactory end. It never had before and she was nearly forty. The doctors were dubious and even feared for her life. It became known that Valerie Stretton was about to have a child — and Sir Edward admitted parentage. Sir Edward wanted a son — legitimate if possible — but he wanted a son. There were two chances of getting one and Valerie Stretton seemed the more likely one. He was always a law unto himself. He snapped his fingers at local scandal and no one dared oppose him — not even Lady Crediton who was furious that her lady’s maid should be kept in the house. But Sir Edward always had his way — even with her ladyship. The strange thing was that her ladyship was brought to bed only two days after Valerie Stretton had given birth. Sir Edward was wild with joy because his mistress had had a healthy boy; he’d got his son. And a few days later Lady Crediton’s boy was born. He’d got two sons, but he wasn’t going to lose one of them. Sir Edward, they said, tried for everything and that was why he had got such a great deal. He wanted his wife and his mistress; and what Sir Edward wanted was done. So the two boys were to be brought up in the Castle and Sir Edward doted on both of the boys, though of course he was very strict with them. He was always talking about ‘my sons.’ Valerie Stretton’s was christened Redvers, but Lady Crediton wanted everyone to know who was the important one, so her baby was christened Rex — the King. Rex would inherit the business; but Master Red would be very well looked after; he’d have a share … a minor one of course; and Red was all for going away to sea and Rex was all for juggling with money. So they were different in their ways. But Rex is the Crediton. I wonder Sir Edward didn’t make Redvers change his name too. I’ve heard that if anything should happen to Rex …”

“You mean if he died?” I said.

She looked rather shocked. Death was “anything happening” — I must remember that.

“If anything happened to Rex,” she said firmly, “why Redvers would be the heir.”

“It’s all very interesting,” I said.

She admitted it. “My mother was here, you see, before the boys were born. She often talked of what happened. I remember her talking about the day the ship was launched. It was quite a to-do launching the ships. Sir Edward saw that it was done in the proper way because he used to say it was good for business. He wanted everyone to know that the Lady Line had added to its power.”

“Naturally,” I said soothingly.

“All the ships as you know are ladies. And Lady Crediton was going to name this one. It was all arranged; she was going to break a bottle of champagne on the side as they do, you know. They had decided to name the ship The Lucky Lady or something like that. The day before the launching there had been trouble at the Castle. Her ladyship had discovered Sir Edward’s feelings for Valerie Stretton and what was going on. She was most upset. She knew his tendencies, but that it should be in the Castle … right under her very nose you might say … made her very angry. She wanted to dismiss Valerie Stretton but Sir Edward wouldn’t hear of it. Oh yes, there was a rare to-do that day. And the next she went out to name the ship and when they all expected her to say ‘I name this ship The Lucky Lady’ or whatever it was, she said instead, ‘I name this ship The Secret Woman.’ Defiance you see!”

“What a flutter that must have caused.”

“The only Woman among the Ladies! But they kept it that way. It shows you, don’t you think, the sort of woman she was. Liked her own way and got it. But this was one thing in which she didn’t get it. She wanted to send Valerie Stretton away. But oh no, said Sir Edward. She stays. It was funny, too, that her ladyship accepted it and Valerie stayed on as the nurse. They were always cool and distant to each other. But there you are, Sir Edward was no ordinary man.”

“He was like an Eastern potentate with his wives and children all under one roof.”

“I wouldn’t be knowing about that,” said Edith. “But there’s not much I don’t know about the Castle.”

May 11th. I thought my patient was dying last evening. She had a terrible attack of asthma and was gasping for her breath. I sent Betsy for Dr. Elgin and when he came he told me that I must be prepared for these attacks. They were dangerous. When she had recovered a little he gave her a sedative and he came to my sitting room (next to my bedroom in the turret) and talked about her.

“It’s an unfortunate situation,” he said. “She would be better in a climate to which she is more accustomed. The sudden changes here affect her. The damp’s no good to her. And she has a touch of consumption, you know. Her temperament doesn’t help.”

“She seems an unhappy woman, Doctor.”

“This marriage is a bit incongruous.”

“Why has she come here? As her husband is so rarely here there doesn’t seem much point.”

“It’s the child, of course. Until Mr. Rex Crediton produces an heir, I suppose the boy is important. Moreover they want him brought up in the business more or less. It’s entirely due to the child that she is here.”

“It seems hard luck on the mother.”

“It’s an unusual situation. You’ve probably heard that the boy is Sir Edward’s grandson — wrong side of the blanket though it may be. But they want family in the business and the more the merrier; I know it was always a sore point with Sir Edward that he had only two sons. He had visualized a large family of them. It seemed to be the one thing over which he had no control and that irked him. Lady Crediton seems determined to carry out his ideas. So that is why young Edward is here to learn the shipping business with his a, b, c.”

“I think Mrs. Stretton is homesick. By the way where is her home?”

“It’s an island in the Pacific — not far from the Friendly Isles. Coralle is the name. I believe her father was French and her mother half Polynesian. She’s like a fish out of water here.”

“The attack last night followed a display of temper.”

“That was to be expected. You must try to keep her calm.”

I smiled ruefully. “She reminds me of a volcano ready to erupt at any moment. The worst possible temperament for one suffering from her complaint.”

“You must try to keep her happy, Nurse.”

“Her husband might do that … if he came home. I sense that his absence is the cause of her unhappiness.”

“She married a sailor so she should expect absences. Watch her diet closely. Never let her take a heavy meal — small and often is the rule.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Just a glass of milk or cocoa with bread and butter for breakfast. And at eleven milk … with perhaps an egg. She could take the egg in the milk. With the midday meal she might take a little wine but not much; and before retiring a glass of milk with a teaspoon of cognac in it.”

“I have the diet sheet, Doctor.”

“Good. If she were happy she’d be better. These distressing attacks are the result of inner tensions. She’ll sleep it off now, and you’ll find she’ll be calm enough when she wakes.”

When the doctor had left I realized how alarmed I had been. I had really thought she was going to die. I can’t pretend that I was fond of her; there was something quite unlovable about her; but I thought if she died I should no longer be at the Castle. And that thought made me very concerned. But of course it is the nature of my work. I am at one place for a while and then as Edith would say “something happens” and my services are no longer required. It’s a rootless existence; and it has been brought home to me since I came to Langmouth — first when I had to leave Anna and now at the prospect of leaving the Castle. I am growing far too fond of this Castle. I like its thick walls and the fact that it’s a fake endears me to it in a way. I think I should have liked Sir Edward. What a pity he died before I came. I have seen his son Rex several times. We seem to meet frequently — more frequently than could be put down to chance. I am enormously interested in him and long to know about his childhood when Valerie Stretton was his nurse, and what he thought of his half brother Redvers. I wish the Captain would come home. I am sure my poor patient would be happier if he did; and it would be interesting to see how they all get on together.

May 12th. Last night I was with my patient when she was coming out of her sedation. Her name is Monique. Such a dignified name does not really suit her. I picture her lying on sandy beaches under palm trees gazing out at the coral reefs about the island. She wears coral quite often and it suits her. I picture her meeting the Captain who would have perhaps gone to this Coralle to pick up copra and fish or something like that to take back to Sydney. I imagined her with exotic red flowers in her hair. He was captivated surely and foolishly, for he married her without thinking how she would fit into Castle Crediton society. But this was pure imagination. It probably happened quite differently.

As I sat beside her, she started to mutter; I heard her say: “Red. Why … Red … You don’t love me.”

Quite revealing for it shows that he is constantly in her thoughts.

Suddenly she said: “Are you there, Nurse?”

“Yes,” I soothed. “Try to rest. It’s what the doctor wants.”

She closed her eyes obediently. She was really beautiful — rather like a doll with her thick black hair and long dark lashes; her skin looked honey yellow against the white of her nightdress; her brow was low. I thought, she will age quickly. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-five now.

She was murmuring to herself and I bent over to listen. “He does not want to come back,” she said. “He wishes it had not happened. He wishes to be free.”

Well, madam, I thought, I don’t wonder at it if you get into tempers like you did a short while ago.

She was wild, passionate, and uncontrolled. What would Lady Crediton think of such a creature? One thing she would be pleased about. If one of the brothers had to make such a faux pas at least it wasn’t her precious son. I could imagine her fury if the important Rex made a mésalliance. What would she do? Had she the power to do anything? No doubt she had an interest in the Company; she would most certainly be a very important shareholder.

There were so many interesting things to be learned in the Castle; more interesting in fact than the matrimonial troubles of this pretty little fish out of water whom I had come to nurse.

May 15th. I heard today that the Captain is on his way home and should arrive in four weeks’ time. It was Edward who told me. We have become friends; I must say I find him a bright little fellow and I pity him left to the care of the prim Miss Beddoes. She is the most unimaginative woman imaginable and Edward is really rather a naughty little boy where she is concerned. The other day she brought him in from his walk in the grounds dripping with water. He had decided to take a bath fully dressed in the fountain, he said. She was quite distracted and he only laughed when she scolded him. It is her own fault in a way; she is so lacking in confidence that the shrewd child senses this and makes the most of it. He knows that he has to do what I tell him or go. But I suppose it is easy for me as I am not in control of him. He quite clearly thinks that I am clever and that I am in charge of his Mamma in the same way as poor Miss Beddoes is in charge of him; and to be in authority over a grown-up person makes me very important in his eyes. He comes into his mother’s room and watches me give her medicine. I have a little kitchen where I prepare her food and he watches me do that. He likes to have what he calls “tasters” from Mamma’s plate. Miss Beddoes frowns on this; she says it is eating between his meals and spoils his appetite; and as in the case of most young people the more this is forbidden the more it is to his taste. He is a lonely little boy in some respects. He is so small; the Castle is so big and his mother has no idea how to treat a child. Sometimes she spoils him and wants to fondle him; at others she loses her temper with him and has no time for him. He is not fond of her, I can see. He despises Miss Beddoes; he is in awe of Lady Crediton; but he is fond of Grandmamma Stretton, and goes to see her every day but Jane won’t let him stay long because she said he tires her mistress. It’s small wonder that he has become attached to me. I am, I suppose, predictable; my attitude is unchanging. I never fuss over him; in fact I take little notice of him; but we like each other.

So he came in this morning while I was preparing his mother’s mid-morning milk and cutting her bread and butter. He sat down watching me, swinging his legs. I knew he had some exciting news to tell and that he was wondering how best to startle me with it. He could not keep it to himself: “My Papa is coming home.”

“Well, are you pleased?”

He regarded the tip of his shoe shyly. “Yes,” he said. Then: “Are you?”

“I shan’t know yet.”

“When will you know?”

“When I meet him perhaps.”

“And will you like him?”

“I daresay that will depend on whether he likes me.”

For some reason that seemed to amuse him; for he laughed aloud, but perhaps that was with pleasure. “He likes ships and the sea and sailors and me …”

“That sounds like a song,” I said.

I began to sing:

“He likes ships and the sea

And sailors and me.”

He looked at me with great admiration.

“I know something else you like,” I said.

“What? What?”

“Bread and butter.”

I put a slice on a plate and gave it to him.

While he was eating it Miss Beddoes came in looking for him. She knew well enough to come straight to my room when he was missing.

Seeing her he crammed the bread and butter into his mouth. “Edward!” she cried angrily.

“He’ll choke,” I said. “That’ll do him no good.”

“He’s no right to come in here … eating between meals.”

She was criticizing me really, not him. I just ignored her and went on cutting the bread and butter. Edward was taken away. At the door he turned and looked at me. He looked as if he was going to cry so I winked which made him laugh. It always did and he would pull his face into all sorts of contortions to try to wink back. It was flouting authority of course and wrong of me, but it stopped his tears — and after all he was a lonely little fellow.

When I took the tray in Monique was sitting up in bed in a lacy bedjacket looking at herself in a hand-mirror. She had heard the news evidently. What a difference in a woman! She was quite beautiful now.

She frowned at the tray though.

“I don’t want that.”

“Oh come,” I said, “you’ll have to be well for when the Captain comes home.”

“You know …”

“Your son has just informed me.”

“Trust you!” she said. “You know everything.”

“Not everything,” I said modestly. “But at least I know what’s good for you.”

I smiled my bright nurse’s smile. I was pleased that at last he was coming home.

May 18th. It seems incredible that I have been here such a short time. I feel I know them all so well. Lady Crediton sent for me yesterday afternoon. She wanted a report on my patient. I told her that Mrs. Stretton seemed to be progressing favorably and there was no doubt that the new diet Dr. Elgin had worked out for her was having a beneficial effect.

“You are quite comfortable, Nurse?” she asked me.

“Very comfortable, thank you, Lady Crediton.”

“Master Edward has a cold. I understand that he went fully clothed into the fountain the other day.”

I wondered who her informant was. Baines probably — I imagined Edith’s reporting to Baines and Baines carrying the news to Lady Crediton. Perhaps our misdeeds were all recorded and presented to our employer.

“He is very healthy and will soon be well. I think a day or so confined to his bedroom and he will be perfectly well again.”

“I will speak to Miss Beddoes. She really should have more control. Do you think Dr. Elgin should look at him when he calls, Nurse?”

I said I thought he might do that but it was not necessary to call him specially.

She inclined her head.

“Mrs. Stretton has had no more unfortunate attacks?”

“No. Her health has improved since the news came that her husband is on his way home.”

Lady Creditons lips hardened. I wondered what she felt about Redvers. I should know when he returned.

“The Captain will not be home until after our house party. I must ask you to take special care of your patient, Nurse. It would be most inconvenient if she were ill at such a time.”

“I shall do my best to keep her well.”

The interview was over. I felt a little shaken. I am not easily overawed; but there was something snakelike about the woman’s eyes. I pictured her smashing the champagne bottle with venom against the side of the ship and saying in a firm voice: “I name this ship The Secret Woman.” How she must have hated having that woman in the house all those years! And what a power Sir Edward must have been! No wonder the Castle was such an exciting place! What emotions must have circulated within its walls! I wonder Lady Crediton didn’t push her rival over one of the parapets or Valerie Stretton didn’t put arsenic in her ladyship’s food. There must have been ample provocation. And now they still lived under the same roof; Valerie Stretton had lost her protecting lover; and I supposed that all passions were spent. They were merely two old ladies who had reached the age when the past seemed insignificant. Or did people ever feel so?

In any case, I thought, I should not like to offend Lady Crediton. There was no fear of my doing that at the moment. She was clearly quite pleased with me.

I fancied she was less so with Miss Beddoes who even as I left the presence was making her trembling way toward it.

I walked out into the gardens. Rex was there.

He said: “You seem to enjoy our gardens, Nurse Loman. I believe you find them beautiful.”

“I find them appropriate,” I replied.

He raised his eyebrows and I went on: “Worthy of the Castle itself.”

“You are amused by us and our ways, Nurse Loman?”

“Perhaps,” I retaliated, “I am too easily amused.”

“It is a great gift. Life becomes so much more tolerable when it amuses.”

“I have always found it very tolerable.”

He laughed. “If we amuse you,” he said, “you also amuse me.”

“I am glad. I should hate to bore you or make you melancholy.”

“I could not imagine that to be possible.”

“I feel I should sweep a curtsy and say: ‘Thank you, fair sir.’”

“You’re different from so many young ladies I meet.”

“I daresay. I work for my living.”

“You are certainly a most useful member of the community. How pleasant to be both useful and decorative.”

“It is certainly pleasant to hear oneself so described.”

“Nurse Loman sounds a little stern. It doesn’t fit you. I should like to think of you as something other than Nurse Loman.”

“You are asking my Christian name, I presume. It is Chantel.”

“Chantel. How unusual … and how delightful.”

“And more suited to me than ‘Nurse’?”

“Infinitely more.”

“Chantel Spring Loman,” I told him and he wanted to know how I came by such a name. I told him about my mother’s seeing it on the tombstone and he seemed to find that very interesting. He took me along to the greenhouses and he talked to the gardeners about the blooms which would be brought into the house during the period of the house party. He asked my advice and I gave it freely. It was flattering that he passed it on to the gardeners and said “This shall be done.”

8

May 21st. There has been drama in the house these last two days. I think it had begun before I realized it. I noticed that Jane Goodwin, Valerie Stretton’s maid, was worried. I asked her if she were feeling well.

“I’m quite all right, Nurse,” she said.

“I thought you looked … anxious.”

“Oh no, no,” she said, and hurried away. So I knew that something was wrong. I kept thinking about what went on in the west turret and wondering how Valerie felt about her son’s return. Was she eager to see him? She must be. From all accounts he was such a fascinating fellow. His wife was madly in love with him and my dear cool Anna had been ready to fall in love with him, so surely his mother should be happy by his return. I had quickly summed up Jane as being one of those women made to serve others. I doubted she had ever had a life of her own; the center of her existence would be her mistress and friend, in this case Valerie Stretton. So if Jane were anxious I guessed something was amiss with Valerie.

It was about nine o’clock in the evening. I had given Monique her food and was reading when Jane knocked at my door.

“Oh Nurse,” she said, “do come quickly. It’s Mrs. Stretton.”

I hurried to the west turret to find Valerie Stretton lying on her bed and distorted with pain. I thought I knew what was wrong and that it was what I had suspected. I turned to Jane and said: “I want Dr. Elgin at once.”

Jane ran off. There was nothing I could do. I believed it was an attack of angina and had thought “Heart” as soon as I set eyes on her.

I bent over her. “It’ll soon pass. It’s passing now, I believe.”

She did not speak but I think she was comforted to have me there. What startled me was the manner in which she was dressed. She wore high boots; the mud on them had stained the counterpane and her hat had half-fallen from her head. What I noticed particularly was the heavy veil which would have concealed her face. She had been out. I would not have believed that possible if I had not seen her boots and the hat. Why had she gone out dressed like that at that time of the evening?

The pain was passing. Such an attack would last about half an hour, and I knew that this was not a major attack.

But it was a warning.

Without disturbing her I removed her boots; they were very muddy. I took her hat off, but I did not take her coat from her as I did not wish to move her until the doctor had been.

When he came the attack was over. He examined her and I gently undressed her. She was too exhausted to tell him much but I described what I had seen and he looked grave.

She was to rest, he said; he wanted her to sleep.

He came into my sitting room afterward.

“Very grave, is it, Doctor?”

He nodded.

“Angina pectoris undoubtedly. I’m glad you’re here, Nurse. That’s if you’re prepared to take on another patient.”

“I certainly am.”

“I just want you to watch her very carefully. There must be the minimum of exertion; fatigue and anxiety must be avoided, excitement too. And of course her diet must be watched. She must eat sparingly. You’ve probably nursed this sort of case before.”

“Yes, the one before Miss Brett was a heart.”

“Good. Now, there may not be another attack for weeks, months … or even longer. On the other hand she could have another within the hour. Give her a little brandy if there is any sign of another attack. I’ll send up some nitrite of amyl. You know how to use it?”

“Five drops on a handkerchief inhaled?”

He nodded. “Was she alone when this happened?”

“No. Jane Goodwin was with her. She had just come in, though.”

“Ah, she had walked too far. She must be careful in future. She should always have close at hand a piece of cotton wool soaked with nitrite of amyl. There’s a special bottle I can give you; it has a particularly tight stopper. Put the five drops on the cotton wool and the wool into the bottle; then if she feels an attack coming on and is alone she can have it all ready for use. I want her to rest for a while — and either you or Jane Goodwin will be at hand. Jane seems a sensible young woman.”

I said I was sure she was.

“All right, I’ll go and see Lady Crediton and tell her the state of affairs. She should be grateful that you’re installed in the house, Nurse.”

Lady Crediton, if not exactly grateful, because she would never be that to someone she paid, at least found it most convenient (her word) that I should be there.

“Dr. Elgin tells me that you will keep an eye on Mrs. Stretton, Senior,” she said, making it seem the lightest of duties. “I understand that she has a bad heart.” Her nose was lifted with disapproval, as though she was saying: “How typical of such a woman to have a bad heart at such a time!”

I thought she was as hard as the nails which were driven into the Company’s “ladies” (if they do drive nails in. My knowledge of shipbuilding is nonexistent). I could see her fierce and implacable; and I wondered afresh how such a woman could ever have tolerated that situation which Sir Edward had put her into. It only went to show what a man of iron he must have been. And then suddenly it occurred to me that it was the Shipping Line she loved. It was Big Business, the acquisition of money. Sir Edward and she had been partners not only in marriage but in business; and if the marriage failed her, she was determined that the business never would.

May 24th. There is that feeling in the air which suggests that we are moving toward some climax. I believe it is the house party which will begin on the first of June. Such activities there are throughout the Castle! Baines importantly struts (there’s no other word for it) around, investigating the wine cellar, instructing the maids and informing the footmen what will be expected of them. This visit of the Derringhams is going to be important. I fancy that Rex is a little uneasy. Perhaps he doesn’t relish the fair Helena Derringham. Ironical that she should be called Helena. Though Helen would have been more apt. I said something to him about the face that launched a thousand ships and he smiled a little perfunctorily, as though it were too serious a matter (or perhaps too melancholy a one) over which to joke. I gather that the matchmaking is Lady Crediton’s doing. She will expect Rex to marry where she wishes. Poor Rex! I feel this will be something of a test for him. He has met Helena at dances when she came out two years ago, and I gather he was not exactly stunned by her charms. But of course her ladyship has a controlling interest in the business. This slipped out, too. Sir Edward left everything in her hands. He must have had a great respect for her business acumen — and I’m sure he was not a man to be mistaken. I understood that it could be very uncomfortable for Rex if he did not fall in with his Mamma’s wishes. She could leave her share away from Rex if he displeased her. To the Captain? I wondered. No, that was something she would never do, I am sure. She bitterly resents Red having any shares at all; but he has a small holding; Sir Edward had left that to him and of course he would always be one of the Company’s Captains. I was surprised that Rex should confide in me. But we had a rather special friendship — rather like the one I had with young Edward, perhaps. They found me different from the people they usually met. Besides, the people at the Castle do behave rather unconventionally.

May 25th. My original patient is much better. She blossoms. It is the thought of the husband’s return rather than my nursing, I’m sure. But it’s always so with that type of patient. I have difficulty though in making her rest and keep to her diet. Oddly enough when she’s excited she wants to eat more; she goes through her wardrobe and tries on her dresses — all in gay colors. She favors a flowered robe, loose and shapeless and split almost up to the knee. She looks as Edith said disapprovingly, “foreign.” Yesterday afternoon she flew into a temper because she couldn’t find the sash she wanted. I thought she was going to have an attack — but we avoided that. My other patient is much more sick and I have been spending a great deal of time with her. Jane welcomes me because I think she feels I know how to treat her mistress. I asked Valerie Stretton yesterday if she had walked very far on the day she had had the attack.

“Yes, quite far,” she said cautiously.

“Farther than usual?”

“Yes, much farther.”

“You usually walk in the grounds, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do, but …”

She was plucking at the bed coverlet and I thought I had better change the subject because this was exciting her too much. But was it merely fatigue, I asked myself, which had brought on the attack or was it due to some anxiety?

I discovered that she had had vague warnings before in the form of slight pains in the arms and chest. They had passed within a few minutes though and she had thought of them vaguely as some sort of rheumatism.

I said: “The thing is to avoid too much exercise. You must never overtire yourself. But I think anxiety would probably be more dangerous than anything else.”

Again that look of fear.

When I left her it was with the certainty that she had something on her mind. I wondered what, and being myself I knew I should not be happy until I found out.

June 6th. I have not had time to write in my journal for nearly a fortnight, and that is not surprising. Such excitement we have had in the Castle and it is due of course to the Derringhams’ visit. They arrived on the 1st — a lovely summer’s day and the roses were looking quite magnificent. The gardeners had been in a fever of excitement and the lawns and the flower beds were certainly at their best. The scent of pinks filled the air and the fountain-lawn marques had been set up for the garden party which was to be the first what Edith would call “to-do.” I was longing for a glimpse of the fair Helena and when I saw her I knew why Rex was melancholy. I am sure she was a young woman who was full of virtues, but she was not exactly an attractive one. She was awkward, with large hands and feet, and walked like a woman who spends a great deal of time in the saddle — which I’m sure she did. In fact her face was rather the shape of a horse’s; her laughter had an equine quality too; she neighed, one might say. She talked in a loud and piercing voice; she was a character. I wondered whether Lady Crediton had looked rather like her in her youth and then it occurred to me that Sir Edward might have felt the same reluctance as I was sure Rex was feeling now. But Sir Edward would do his duty. And there was no doubt that Lady Crediton heartily approved of Miss Derringham. How could she help it when she considered the Derringham million or so — and Sir Henry had no son. Moreover he doted on his daughter. I was glad that some people admired her for I had a notion that Rex was not being the attentive squire his mother and Helena’s father expected him to be.

I was at the window watching the guests on the lawn. It was a perfect day. Even the weather had to toe the line for Lady Crediton, it seemed. The grass was even more soft and velvety than usual, and the colored dresses, the big shady hats and parasols made an enchanting picture accentuated by the dark clothes of the men. I longed to be down there among them. I pictured the dress I should wear — green as the grass and my hair should be piled high. Perhaps I would have a froth of flowers and veiling on it but nothing more, and a parasol that was a mass of green and white frills like the one I most admired down there. If I had the clothes I would go down and mingle with the guests and I would be as beautiful and amusing as any of them — and no one would know that I was merely the nurse.

“Stop it, Cinderella Loman,” I said to myself. “It’s no use your looking round for a fairy godmother with a magic wand and pumpkin. You ought to have learned by now that you have to be your own fairy godmother.”

Monique had gone to the party. She insisted. She looked strange among those elegantly dressed women. Monique would never be elegant, only colorful. I imagined that Lady Crediton would not wish her to be there. How tiresome of her, she would think, to be well enough to attend the garden party when on almost all other occasions she was so ill that Dr. Elgin had suggested they employ a nurse!

Rex was being attentive to her, which was kind of him. He was quite fond of Redvers so I supposed he thought he should be kind to his wife.

I went along to see my other patient and I found her sitting at her turret window looking down on the scene.

“How are you today?” I asked, sitting beside her.

“I’m very well, thank you, Nurse.”

It wasn’t true, of course.

“It’s colorful,” I said. “Some of the ladies’ dresses are really beautiful.”

“I see Miss Derringham … in blue there.”

I had a good look at her. It was the wrong shade of blue — too light; it made her fresh color look crude.

“There are hopes, I believe, that an announcement will be made during the visit,” I said, because I could never curb my curiosity enough to resist bringing up the subjects I wanted to talk about.

“It’s almost a certainty,” she said.

“You think Miss Derringham will accept?”

“But of course.” She looked surprised that I could suggest anyone could possibly refuse Rex. I remembered that she had been his nurse and would have loved him as a small boy.

“It will be an excellent thing to link the two companies which is what will happen naturally. It will certainly be one of the biggest companies in the Kingdom then.”

“Very good,” I said.

“She’ll be lucky. Rex was always a good boy. He deserves his good fortune. He’s worked hard. Sir Edward would be proud of him.”

“So you are hoping this marriage will take place.”

She seemed surprised that I should imply there was an element of doubt.

“Yes, it will make up for Red’s marriage. That is a disaster.”

“Well, perhaps not entirely so. Young Edward is a charming child.”

She smiled indulgently. “He’s going to be just like his father.”

It was very pleasant talking to her but I got the impression that she would give little away. There was a definite air of wariness about her. I suppose it was natural considering her past. I remember my sister Selina’s calling me the Inquisitor because she said I was completely ruthless when I was trying to prise information out of people who didn’t want to give it. I must curb my inquisitiveness. But, I assured myself, it was necessary for me to know what was in my patient’s mind; I had to save her from exerting herself, worrying about anything — and how could I do that unless I knew what she was troubled about.

Then Jane came in with a letter for her mistress.

Valerie took the letter and as her eyes fell on the envelope I saw her face turn a grayish color. I went on talking to her, pretending not to notice, but I was fully aware that she was paying little attention to what I was saying.

She was a woman under strain. Something was bothering her. I wished I knew what.

She quite clearly wanted to be alone and I could not ignore the hint she gave me; so I left her.

Ten minutes later Jane was calling me. I went back to Valerie and gave her the nitrite of amyl. It worked like a miracle and we staved off the attack while it was merely an iron vice on her arms and was over before it reached the chest and the complete agony.

I said there was no need to call Dr. Elgin; he would be looking in the next day. And I thought to myself: It was something in that letter that upset her.

The next day a most unpleasant incident occurred. I disliked the Beddoes woman right from the start, and it seems she felt similarly about me. Valerie was feeling so much better that she was taken a short walk in the garden with Jane, and I was in her room making her bed with the special bed-rest Dr. Elgin had suggested to prop her up when her breathing was difficult.

The drawer of her table was half-open and I saw a photograph album in it. I couldn’t resist taking it out and looking at it.

There were several photographs in it — mostly of the boys. Underneath each was lovingly inscribed: Redvers aged two; Rex two and a half. There was a picture of them together and again with her. She was very, very pretty in those days, but she looked a little harassed. She was obviously trying to make Redvers look where the photographers wanted him to. Rex stood leaning against her knee. It was rather charming. I was sure she loved them both dearly; I could tell by the way she spoke of them and I imagined her trying not to show favoritism to her own son; they were both Sir Edward’s children anyway.

I put the album back and as I did so I saw an envelope. I immediately thought of what had upset her and wondered if this was the letter; I couldn’t be sure because it was an ordinary white envelope like so many. I picked it up. I was holding it in my hand when I was aware that someone was in the room watching me.

That sly rather whining voice said: “I’m looking for Edward. Is he here?”

I swung round holding the letter and I was furious with myself because I knew I looked guilty. The fact was I hadn’t looked inside the envelope. I had only picked it up and I could see by her expression that she thought she had caught me red-handed.

I put the envelope back on the table as nonchalantly as I could and I said calmly that I thought Edward was in the garden. He was probably walking with his grandmother and Jane.

I felt furious with her.

I shall never forget the night of the fancy dress ball. I was very daring, but then I always had been It was Monique oddly enough who goaded me to it. I fancied she was becoming rather fond of me; perhaps she recognized in me something of a rebel like herself. I encouraged her to confide in me because my policy was that the more I knew about my patients the better. She had started to talk to me about the house where she had lived with her mother on the Island of Coralle. It sounded like a queer, shabby old mansion near the sugar plantation which her father had owned. He was dead and they had sold it now but her mother still lived in the house. As she talked she gave me an impression of lazy steamy heat. She told me how as a child she used to go down to watch the big ships come in and how the natives used to dance and sing to welcome them and to say goodbye. The great days were when the ships arrived and the stalls were set up on the waterfront with the beads and images, grass skirts and slippers, and baskets which they had made in readiness to sell to the visitors to the island. Her eyes sparkled as she talked and I said: “You miss it all.” She admitted she did. And talking she began to cough; I thought then: She would be better back there.

She was childish in lots of ways and her moods changed so rapidly that one could never be sure in one moment of abandoned laughter whether she would be on the edge of melancholy in the next. There was no contact whatever between her and Lady Crediton; she was much happier with Valerie, but then Valerie was a much more comfortable person.

She would have liked to go to the fancy dress ball but she had had an asthmatical attack that morning and even she knew it would be folly.

“How would you dress?” I asked her. She said she thought she would go as what she was, a Coralle islander. She had some lovely coral beads and she would wear flowers in her hair which would be loose about her shoulders.

“You would look magnificent, I’m sure,” I told her. “But everyone would know who you were.”

She agreed, and said: “How would you go … if you could go?”

“It would depend on what I could find to wear.”

She showed me the masks that were being worn. Edward had taken them from the big alabaster bowl in the hall and brought them to her. He had come in wearing one crying “Guess who this is, Mamma.”

“I did not have to guess,” she added.

“Nor would anyone have to if you went as you suggest,” I reminded her. “You would be betrayed at once and the whole point is to disguise your identity.”

“I should like to see you dressed up, Nurse. You could go as a nurse perhaps.”

“It would be the same thing as your going with your coral beads and flowing hair. I should be recognized immediately and drummed out as an imposter.”

She laughed immoderately. “You make me laugh, Nurse.”

“Well, it’s better than making you cry.”

I was taken with the idea of dressing up. “I wonder how I could go?” I asked. “Wouldn’t it be fun if I could so completely disguise myself that that were possible.”

She held out one of the masks to me and I put it on.

“Now you look wicked.”

“Wicked?”

“Like a temptress.”

“Rather different from my usual rôle.” I looked at myself in the glass and a great excitement possessed me.

She sat up in bed and said: “Yes, Nurse. Yes?”

“If you had a dress that I could wear …”

“You would go as an island girl?”

I opened the door of her wardrobe; I knew that she had some exotic clothes. She had bought them on the way home from Coralle at some of the eastern ports at which they had stopped. There was a robe of green and gold. I slipped out of my working dress and put it on. She clapped her hands.

“It suits you, Nurse.”

I pulled the pins out of my hair and it fell about my shoulders.

“Nurse, you are beautiful,” she cried. “Your hair is red in places.”

I shook it out. “I don’t look so much like the nurse now, do I?”

“They will not recognize you.”

I looked at her startled. I knew that I was going down there; but I was surprised that she did.

I looked round the room.

“Take anything … anything,” she cried. I found a pair of golden slippers. “I bought those on my way over,” she added.

They were loose but that did not matter. They matched the green and gold robe perfectly.

“But what am I supposed to represent?” I picked up a piece of thin cardboard which Edward used for his drawing lessons — he had brought his latest picture in to show her — and twisted it into the shape of a steeple hat. “I have an idea,” I said. I took a needle and thread and in a moment I had my steeple hat. Then I took one of her sashes — a gold colored chiffon — and I draped it about the hat and let it flow down in cascades.

She was sitting up in bed rocking on her heels.

“Put on the mask, Nurse. No one will know you.”

But I had not quite finished. I had seen a silver chain girdle which she often wore about her negligee so I put it round my waist and picking up a bunch of keys which were lying on the dressing table I attached them to the girdle.

“Behold the Chatelaine of the Castle!” I said.

“The Chatelaine?” she asked. “What is this?”

“The lady of the house. The one who guards the keys.”

“Ah, that becomes you.”

I put on the mask.

“Will you dare?” she said.

There was a recklessness in me. Selina had noticed it and warned me about it. Of course I was going.

What a night it was — one I am sure I shall never forget. I was down there, among them; it was so easy for me to slip in. I felt a wild excitement grip me. Selina had said that I ought to be an actress; and I certainly acted that night. It was scarcely acting — I really felt that I was the Chatelaine of the Castle, that I was the hostess and these were my guests; I was quickly seized by a partner. I danced, resisted his attempts to discover my identity and joined in the game of mild flirtation which seemed to be the purpose of the affair.

I wondered how Rex was getting on with Helena Derringham. I could be certain that if he saw through her disguise he would do his best to avoid her.

It was almost inevitable that he should discover me in time. I was dancing with a portly Restoration nobleman when I was seized and wrested from him. Laughing I looked into the masked face and knew that my troubadour was Rex.

I thought: If I know him will he know me? But I flattered myself that I was more completely disguised. Besides, I was expecting to see him; he certainly was not expecting to see me.

“I’m sorry for the rough treatment,” he said.

“I think a serenade first of all would have been more appropriate.”

“An irresistible urge possessed me,” he said. “It was the color of your hair. It’s most unusual.”

“I shall expect you to make a ballad about it.”

“I won’t disappoint you. But I thought we should be together — after all we belong.”

“Belong?” I said.

“Just about the same period. The medieval lady … the Chatelaine of the Castle and the humble troubadour who waits outside to sing of his devotion.”

“This troubadour seems to have found his way into the Castle.” He said: “You might have come as a nurse.”

“Why?” I asked.

“You would have played the part to perfection.”

“You might have come as the shipping lord. How would that be, I wonder? A nautical uniform with a string of little ships hanging round your neck.”

“I see,” he said, “that there is no need to introduce ourselves. Did you really think I shouldn’t know you? No one else has hair that color.”

“So it was my hair which betrayed me! And what are you going to do? Dismiss me … in due course?”

“I reserve judgment.”

“Then perhaps you will allow me to retire gracefully. Tomorrow morning I shall expect to receive a summons from her ladyship. ‘Nurse, I have just heard of your most inconvenient conduct. Pray leave at once.’”

“And what of your patients if you deserted them in that cruel way?”

“I should never desert them.”

“I should hope not,” he said.

“Well, now you have caught me red-handed, as they say, there is nothing more to be said.”

“I think there is a great deal to be said. I do apologize for not sending you an invitation. You know that had those matters been left to me …”

I pretended to be relieved, but I had known all along that he was pleased I was here.

So we danced and we bantered together, and he stayed with me. It was pleasant and I know he thought so, too. But if he had forgotten Miss Derringham, I had not. In my impulsive way I asked if he knew what she was wearing. He said he had not inquired. And is there to be an announcement? I wanted to know. He replied that it certainly wouldn’t be tonight. The Derringhams were leaving on the seventh and on the night of the sixth there was to be a very grand ball. This would be more ceremonious than tonight.

“Opportunities will not be given to intruders?” I asked.

“I’m afraid not.”

“The announcement will be made, toasts will be drunk; there’ll be feasting probably in the servants’ hall; and those neither below stairs nor quite above — such as the nurse and the long suffering Miss Beddoes — perhaps even may be allowed to enter into the general rejoicing.”

“I daresay.”

“May I say now, that I wish you all the happiness you deserve.”

“How do you know that I deserve any?”

“I don’t. I wish that if you deserve it you may have it.”

He was laughing. He said: “I enjoy so much being with you.”

“Then perhaps my sins are forgiven?”

“It depends on what you have committed.”

“Well — tonight for instance. I am the uninvited guest. The Chatelaine with false keys … and not even an invitation card.”

“I told you I am pleased you came.”

“Did you tell me that?”

“If I did not I tell you now.”

“Ah, Sir Troubadour,” I said, “let us dance. And have you seen the time? I suppose they will unmask at midnight. I must disappear before the witching hour.”

“So the Chatelaine has turned into Cinderella?”

“To be turned at midnight into the humble serving wench.”

“I have never yet been aware of your humility — although I admit you have many more interesting qualities.”

“Who cares? I have always suspected the humble. Come, sir. You are not dancing. This music inspires me so and I have not much longer.”

And we danced and I knew that he was reluctant for me to leave. But I left a full twenty minutes before midnight. I had no intention of being discovered by Lady Crediton. Besides, I remembered Monique would no doubt be waiting to hear what had happened. I could never be sure what she would do. She might suddenly decide to see for herself. I pictured her coming down and looking for me and perhaps betraying me.

She was awake when I got up to her room and inclined to be sullen. Where had I been all this time? She had felt so breathless; she had thought she was going to have an attack. Wasn’t it my place to be with her? She had thought I would just go down and come straight back.

“What would have been the good of that?” I demanded. “I had to show you that I could deceive them all.”

She was immediately restored to good humor. I described the dancers, the plump Restoration knight who had flirted with me; I imitated him and invented dialogue between us. I danced about the room in my costume, reluctant to take it off.

“Oh, Nurse,” she said, “you’re not in the least like a nurse.”

“Not tonight,” I said. “I’m the Chatelaine of the Castle. Tomorrow I shall be the stern nurse. You’ll see.”

She became hysterical laughing at me; and I became rather alarmed. I gave her an opium pill and taking off my costume, I put on my nursing dress and sat by her bed until she slept.

Then I went to my room. I looked out of the window. I could hear the strains of music still. They would have unmasked; and were dancing again.

Poor Rex, I thought maliciously. He wouldn’t be able to evade Miss Derringham now.

June 7th. There is a strange flat feeling throughout the Castle. The Derringhams are leaving. Last night was the great finale, the great ceremonial ball. Everyone is talking about it. Edith came into my room on a pretext of inspecting Betsy’s work but actually to talk to me.

“It’s very surprising,” she said. “There was no announcement. Mr. Baines had made all the arrangements. We were going to celebrate in the servants’ hall naturally. They would expect it. And there was simply no announcement.”

“How very odd!” I said.

“Her ladyship is furious. She hasn’t spoken to Mr. Rex yet. But she will. As for Sir Henry he is very annoyed. He did not give Mr. Baines the usual appreciation and he has always been most generous. Mr. Baines had promised me a new gown because he was sure that after the announcement Sir Henry would be more generous than usual.”

“What a shame! And what does it mean?”

Edith came close to me. “It means that Mr. Rex did not come up to scratch as the saying goes. He just let the ball go by without asking Miss Derringham. It is most odd because everyone was expecting it.”

“It just goes to show,” I said, “that no one should ever be too sure of anything.”

With that Edith heartily agreed.

June 9th. Lady Crediton is clearly very upset. There have been “scenes” between her and Rex. The acrimonious exchanges between mother and son could not go entirely unheard by one or other of the servants and I gathered that there must have been some lively conversation behind the green baize door and at that table presided over with the utmost decorum by Baines at one end and Edith at the other. Edith of course learned a great deal and she was not averse to imparting it to me. I was very interested and rather sorry that my special status in the household prevented my joining those very entertaining meals when the conversation must have been so lively — I am sure it made up for the celebration they missed.

“My word,” said Edith, “her ladyship is in a nice paddy. She reminds him what he owes to her. You see Sir Edward had a very high opinion of her and she still has a business head on her shoulders. She’s the one who always has to have the last say in all business matters. And if she couldn’t cut him off with a shilling — as the saying goes — she could divert a big proportion of the shares. That was her word, ‘divert.’ Mr. Baines heard it distinctly.”

“To whom I wonder would she divert. To Captain Stretton?”

“Never! She could tie things up in some sort of trust … perhaps for Mr. Rex’s children if he had any. But she could make it so that he didn’t have all that much say in things after she’d gone. No more than he has now. Her ladyship is in a fine paddy, I can tell you.”

“And Mr. Rex?”

“He keeps saying he wants time. He doesn’t want to rush into anything and all that.”

“So he hasn’t definitely decided against the marriage.”

“No. It’s just that he hasn’t committed himself. He’ll come to it.”

“Can you be sure of that?”

“Oh yes, it’s what her ladyship wants and she always gets what she wants.”

“She didn’t … once.”

Edith looked surprised and I pretended to be embarrassed. “Well, it’s common knowledge,” I went on. “I was thinking of how put out she must have been about the Captain and Mrs. Stretton … but she had to accept that.”

“Ah, that was Sir Edward’s will. There was no going against that. But there’s no Sir Edward now, is there? And her ladyship has taken his place. You mark my words, Mr. Rex will come to it sooner or later. A pity he had to hang about like this … when you think of all those preparations Mr. Baines made for the staff celebration.”

“Very unfair to Mr. Baines,” I commented; and wondered whether I had gone too far; but Edith was incapable of recognizing irony. It certainly had been inconvenient for Mr. Baines.

June 13th. I have heard today — through Edith — that Sir Henry is taking Miss Derringham on a long sea voyage. It will be very beneficial to the health of them both.

“They are going to Australia,” said Edith. “They’ve a branch there. So have we, of course. After all, many of our main voyages are to Australia and back. So naturally we’ve our branch there. Sir Henry’s not the sort to go for pleasure alone. But of course they’re going because of the disappointment.”

“What does her ladyship think of that?”

“She’s furious. Do you know it wouldn’t surprise me if she punished Mr. Rex.”

“Send him to bed without his supper?”

“Oh, Nurse, you are a one for jokes. But she was talking about solicitors and all that.”

“But I thought it was only a postponement and that he just wanted Time.”

“Suppose she meets Another out there?”

“But surely there isn’t another shipping line like ours!”

“There is certainly not,” said Edith stanchly. “But Sir Henry has fingers in lots of pies. He’s a man with wide business interests. He might have someone else in mind for Miss Derringham.”

“Then what shall we do?”

Edith laughed. “You can bet her ladyship’s got the trump card up her sleeve.”

Yes, I thought; and I wondered what would happen when she used it.

9

June 18th. The Captain has come home. What a stir there is in the house. He is not as important as Rex, of course, but somehow he makes his presence felt. For the last few days Monique has been impossible to control — alternating between excitement and depression. “You’ll love the Captain, Nurse,” she told me.

“I think that is an exaggeration,” I replied deciding to be the cool nurse.

“Nonsense! All women do.”

“Is he so devastatingly attractive?”

“He’s the most attractive man in the world.”

“It’s a mercy we don’t all think alike on such matters.”

“People think alike about him.”

“Wifely prejudice,” I retorted, “and very admirable, of course.”

She tried on her dresses, exhausting herself; then she was depressed. I found her crying quietly one afternoon before he came back. It was not unusual that she should cry but that she should do it quietly was.

“He doesn’t want me,” she gasped between sobs.

“What nonsense,” I said nonsensically. “You’re his wife. And pray calm yourself. You want to be well for his return. Now come along. What shall you wear for the great occasion? These beautiful corals. How lovely they are!” I slipped them round my neck. I loved beautiful things and they became me as much as they did her. “These,” I said, “and that long blue dress. It’s most becoming.” She had stopped crying to watch me. I took it out of the wardrobe and tried it against myself. “There,” I said, “don’t you think that’s lovely. Don’t you see how right for a dutiful wife?” I composed my features in a humble and devoted expression which made her smile. I was finding that I could often lure her from a stormy mood to a sunny one by one of my little acts.

She talked about him then. “We did not know each other so very well when we married. He had come to the Island … only twice.”

I pictured the big gleaming ship and the irresistible Captain in his uniform; the beautiful girl and the tropical island.

“He was brought to the house by a friend of my mother’s,” she said. “He dined with us and afterward we walked in the gardens among the fan-shaped palms and the fireflies.”

“And he fell in love with you.”

“Yes,” she said, “for a time.”

Her lips were beginning to tremble so I started to play the amorous captain and the dusky beauty in the garden where the fireflies flitted about the fan-shaped palms.

Oh yes, poor Monique was certainly difficult during those days.

And when he was in the house it changed, because without meaning to he made his presence felt. And when I saw him I realized the attraction. He was certainly good looking — taller than Rex, more blond, lacking that reddish tinge which was Rex’s; but their features were similar. The Captain laughed more readily, talked more loudly; and I should imagine was less guarded than Rex. He was the adventurer type — the sea rover; Rex’s adventures would be confined to business deals. Rex seemed pale in comparison with the Captain whose skin was deeply tanned; his deep blue eyes were more startling than Rex’s topaz-colored ones.

I couldn’t help being excited by his arrival. But I did wonder whether his coming had added any happiness to the house. I daresay his mother was delighted to see him; and I wondered whether I ought to have a word with him regarding the seriousness of her illness; but perhaps that was for Dr. Elgin to do. Lady Crediton was cool toward him for obvious reasons and I heard from Edith that this seemed to amuse him rather than upset him. He was that sort of man. I was sorry for poor Monique because it became very clear to me that she was not happy. You’re fickle, Captain, I thought; the exotic little flower once plucked no longer charms you.

And I was thinking a great deal about Anna. I always do; but particularly now that the Captain was home. But it was long ago that he went to visit her and caused such trouble with old Miss Brett. I could understand the fascination he had had for Anna, though.

June 20th. The Captain came to my room this morning, nonchalant, at ease, very much the man of the world.

“Nurse Loman,” he said, “I wanted to speak to you.”

“Certainly Captain Stretton. Do sit down.”

“About your patients,” he went on.

Ah yes, he would be concerned about his wife and his mother.

“They are both a little better at the moment,” I said. “Perhaps it is due to their pleasure in your return.”

“Do you find any change in my wife since you’ve been here? Has her complaint … worsened?”

“No.” I watched him covertly and wondered what his feelings were for Monique. I suppose there is nothing more nauseating than to be pursued passionately by someone one does not want. I believed this to be the case with him. And I wondered: Is he hoping that a benevolent fate will give him his freedom? “No,” I went on. “Her condition is much the same as when I arrived. It depends a great deal on the weather. During the summer she will be a little better, especially if it is not too damp.”

“She was better in her own land,” he said.

“That’s almost inevitable.”

“And … your other patient?”

“Dr. Elgin will be able to give you more details than I but I think she is very ill.”

“These heart attacks … ?”

“They’re really a symptom of imperfections in the heart.”

“And dangerous,” he said. “Which means that at any time she could die.”

“I think that is what Dr. Elgin would tell you.”

There was a brief silence and then he said, “Before you came here you were on another case.”

“I was at the Queen’s House. You probably know the place,” I added craftily.

“Yes, I know it,” he admitted. “There was a Miss …”

“Brett. There were two Miss Bretts. My patient was the elder and her niece lived with her.”

He was rather easy to read, this Captain. He was not as subtle as Rex. He wanted to ask about Anna; and I felt a little more friendly toward him. At least he remembered her.

“And she died?”

“Yes, she died. Rather suddenly.”

He nodded. “It must have been rather alarming for Miss … er, Miss Brett.”

“It was decidedly unpleasant for us both.”

“She took an overdose of pills, I heard.”

“Yes. That was proved at the inquest,” I said quickly and I discovered that when I had mentioned the matter in the past I had spoken as though I defied anyone to deny it. That was what I did now.

“And Miss Brett is still at the Queen’s House?”

I said: “Yes, she is.”

He stared beyond me; and I wondered whether he was thinking of calling on Anna. Surely not. That would cause quite a scandal now that he had his wife actually living at the Castle. But one thing I did know; he was not indifferent to her.

Young Edward came in, looking for his father, I believed. He had little time for me now; there was no one for him but his father. His eyes were round with adoration. He had shown me the model of a ship his father had brought him. He took it to bed with him and clutched it all night, Miss Beddoes said; moreover he had nearly driven her frantic by sailing it in the pond, and had all but drowned himself; she had caught cold getting him out. He carried the boat under his arm now, and saluted the Captain.

“All present and correct?” asked the Captain.

“Aye aye, sir. Gale blowing up, sir.”

“Batten down the hatches,” said the Captain with a serious face.

“Aye aye, sir.”

I watched them. The Captain could charm a child as easily as he could women. He was that sort of a man.

June 21st. Monique spat blood this morning and the sight of it so frightened her that she had one of the worst asthmatical attacks as yet. I believe there had been a scene between her and the Captain on the previous night. He occupied a room close to hers in the turret — and because I was not far off and Monique never controlled her voice, I often heard it raised in anger or protest. When Dr. Elgin came he was very grave. He said he thought her condition would worsen with winter. The English winter climate would be no use to her. He really thought she should get out before the autumn was over. After he had seen both of the patients he had a long session with Lady Crediton.

June 25th. We have had a death in the house. Jane Goodwin awakened me at four o’clock this morning and begged me to go to her mistress; I scrambled into my slippers and dressing gown but by the time I reached Valerie Stretton she was dead. I was horrified. I had known of course of her precarious condition but when one comes face to face with death and realizes that one will never see the person again, one feels shaken. I know I should be used to this by now — and I am to some extent. But I have never been so shocked by a patient’s death before. I had become so interested in this woman’s story and I was getting to know her. I believed that she had something on her mind and I wanted to discover what, that I might understand her case. There was that occasion when she had had her first attack and I knew she had been out because of the mud on her boots. I felt there was some drama in her life which was still going on, and I had wanted to understand it. And now she was dead.

June 27th. A house of mourning is a sad place. Lady Crediton finds it most inconvenient, Edith tells me. After all these years her rival is dead. I wonder what she really feels. What passionate emotions erupt within these walls. The Captain is grieved. She was after all his mother. Monique is alarmed. She is afraid of her own death. Edward is bewildered. “Where is my grandmamma?” he asked me. “Where has she gone?” I tell him she has gone to heaven. “In a big ship?” he asked. I said he should ask his Papa, and he nodded as much as to say Papa would surely know. I wonder what the Captain told him. He had a way with children … children and women.

The west turret is the turret of death. Lady Crediton does not wish the funeral gloom to penetrate to the rest of the Castle. In Valerie’s old room the blinds are drawn; the coffin stands on its trestles. I went in to see her for the last time; she lies there with a white frilled cap hiding her hair and her face looks so young that it seems one of Death’s rôles is that of a laundress to iron the lines out. I can’t help thinking of her coming to the Castle all those years ago, and of her love for Sir Edward and his for her. All that violent passion and now he is dead and she is dead. But their passion lives on for there is the Captain, virile, so vital, so alive to give proof to it. And there is young Edward too, and the children he will have, and their children, and on forever, so that that love affair will have left its mark for generations to come. I feel frustrated that I had not been able to discover what had frightened this poor woman and what may well have hastened her death. I went back and back again to that darkened room to take a look at her. Poor Valerie, what was her secret, whom did she go to meet? That was the question. That person whom she had gone to meet, the person who had written the letter to her. That was the one I should like to discover. I should like to say: “You hastened her to her death.”

June 28th. Last evening at dusk, I went along to that chamber of death and as I put my hand on the door handle I heard a sound from within. I felt a strange sensation in my spine. I am not superstitious and my profession has made me familiar with death. I have laid out people for their burials; I have seen them die. But as I stood outside that door I did feel this strange sensation, and I was afraid to go into that room. Lots of foolish images flashed into my mind. I imagined she would open her eyes and look at me and say: “Leave me and my secrets alone. Who are you to pry?” And I was shivering. But this foolishness passed and I heard that sound again. It was a stifled sob from a living throat. I opened the door and I looked in. The coffin loomed up in the gloom and there was a shape … beside it. For a moment I thought that Valerie had left her coffin. But only for a moment. Commonsense returned, and as soon as it did I saw that it was Monique standing there. She was crying quietly.

I said sharply: “Mrs. Stretton, what are you doing here?”

“I came to say goodbye to her before …”

“It’s no place for you.” I was brisk, efficient, as much for my own benefit as for hers. I could not imagine how I could have been so foolish. I had almost had an attack of the vapors.

“Oh, it is terrible … terrible …” she sobbed.

I went to her and shook her firmly by the wrist. “Come back to your room. What possessed you to come here! You will be ill if you act so foolishly.”

“My turn next,” she said in a whisper.

“What nonsense!”

“Is it nonsense, Nurse? You know how ill I am.”

“You can be cured.”

“Can I, Nurse? Do you really believe that?”

“With the right treatment, yes.”

“Oh, Nurse … Nurse … you always make me laugh.”

“Don’t laugh now. You come back to your room with me. I’ll give you some warm milk and a little cognac, eh? That will make you feel well.”

She allowed me to lead her from that room and I have to admit that I was glad to get outside. For some odd reason I couldn’t get out of my mind that something in that room was watching us … that it was probing into our innermost thoughts.

She felt it too for she said as the door closed behind us: “I was frightened in there … yet I had to go.”

“I know,” I soothed. “Come along now.”

I got her to her room where she began to cough a little. Oh dear! That fatal telltale stain! I would have to report it to Dr. Elgin.

I said nothing of it to her.

I tut-tutted as I got her into bed. “Your feet are like slabs of ice. I’m going to get you a hot-water bottle. But first the hot milk and the cognac. You should not have gone there, you know.”

She was crying quietly now, and the quietness was more alarming than her noisy outbursts.

“It would be better if I were the one lying in that coffin.”

“You’ll have a coffin when the time comes like the rest of us.”

She smiled through her grief. “Oh, Nurse, you do me good.”

“The cognac will do you even more good, you see.”

“At times you’re the stern nurse and at others … at others you’re quite something else.”

“We all have two sides to our natures, they say. Now let’s see the sensible one of yours.”

This made her laugh again, but she was soon in tears.

“Nobody wants me, Nurse. They’d be glad … all of them.”

“I won’t listen to such nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense. They’d be glad, I tell you, if I was the one in that coffin. He’d be glad.”

“Drink up this nice milk,” I said. “The bottle will be ready in a little while. And let’s think about this nice feather bed. It’s more comfortable than a coffin, I do assure you.”

And she was smiling at me through her tears.

June 30th. The day of the funeral. Gloom in the house. In the servants’ hall they will be talking of the love affair between the dead woman and that legend which is Sir Edward. There may be some of the older servants who will remember. I wonder if there are. I would like to talk to them about her. Jane Goodwin is heartbroken. I wonder what she will do now? I expect she will stay on at the Castle. Baines will be asked to find some job for her. Poor Jane, she was closely associated with Valerie Stretton for years. Valerie must have confided in her. She must know something. The Captain is the chief mourner. Monique was too ill to go; and little Edward did not either.

Rex went. He is very fond of the Captain and the Captain of Rex. The tolling bells are very depressing. Jane lies in her room engulfed in desolation; Monique cries that it should have been her because that is what some people want. And I went down to draw the blinds in the death chamber and while I was there who should come down but Miss Beddoes. For some reason she dislikes me. It is mutual. She looked a little disappointed when she saw that I was merely pulling up the blinds. I wondered what she expected. In my room in the turret I can hear the bells of the nearby church tolling, telling the world that Valerie Stretton has passed away.

July 4th. Edith came to my room with news.

“It’s almost certain that Mr. Rex is going away,” she said.

“Going away?” I echoed, by which I really meant: Tell me more. “He’s going to Australia,” Edith smiled slyly. “Well, we know who he’ll meet there.”

“The Derringhams have a branch there,” I said, “and so have we.”

“Well you see how it’s working out, don’t you?”

“Brilliant strategy,” I said.

“What’s that?” she asked but did not wait for an explanation. She was sure that what she had to say was more interesting than anything I could. “Mr. Baines heard her ladyship talking to Mr. Rex. You must see what’s happening over there,” she said. “Your father always believed in keeping in touch.”

“Keeping in touch with the Derringhams?”

“Well, this could put everything right. After all he’s had the time he wanted now, hasn’t he?”

“I should think so.”

“Mr. Baines thinks it is almost certain that Mr. Rex will leave for Australia fairly soon. Changes never come singly. Mrs. Stretton’s passing away … and now Mr. Rex.”

I agreed that there would certainly be changes.

July 5th. Dr. Elgin questioned me very closely about my patient.

“She is certainly not improving, Nurse.”

“She is always so much worse on the damp days.”

“That is natural, of course. The condition of the lungs has worsened.”

“Also the asthma, I think, Doctor.”

“I was going to suggest that you try the nitrite of amyl if there should be a bad attack. But perhaps in her case this would not be advisable. Himrod’s Cure has been known to be effective. Not that I like patent medicines, but there is nothing harmful in this one. You know it, Nurse?”

“Yes,” I said. “One burns the powder and the patient inhales the fumes. It was effective with one of my patients. I also found burning paper which had been dipped into a solution of saltpeter effective.”

“H’m,” he said. “We have to remember the lung complication. I will give you a mixture of iodide of potassium and sal volatile with tincture of belladonna. We’ll see how that goes. This can be given every six hours.”

“Yes, Doctor. And I shall hope that the weather stays warm and dry. So much depends on it.”

“Exactly. To tell the truth, Nurse, in my opinion they should never have brought her over here.”

“Perhaps it would be advisable for her to return.”

“There is no doubt in my mind of the wisdom of that.”

And with those words he went down to report to Lady Crediton.

July 8th. In the gardens today I met Rex.

He said: “Snatching a little recreation, Nurse?”

“It is necessary now and then,” I replied.

“And walking is a good substitute for dancing?”

“I would hardly say that.”

“And you prefer your Chatelaine’s robes?”

“Infinitely.”

“Well, those are equally becoming, but perhaps yours is the kind of beauty which needs no enhancing.”

“All beauty needs the right setting. I have heard that you will shortly be leaving us. Is that true?”

“It’s almost a certainty.”

“And you are going to Australia. Is that so?”

“How well informed you are.”

“There is a very good news service in the Castle.”

“Ah,” he said, “servants!”

“I am sure you will enjoy your trip. When does it start?”

“Not until the end of the year.”

“So you will be going into the Australian summer and leaving us to face the rigors of winter.”

He looked at me very intently and I was rather piqued because he did not seem to be in the least regretful. I had thought he had felt some special friendship for me. But no, I thought, it is just a mild flirtation. How could it be otherwise?

“And,” I went on, “I expect Sir Henry Derringham and his daughter who, I am informed, are already there, will give you a very warm welcome.”

“I daresay.”

Then he said: “There is talk of Mrs. Stretton’s returning to her parents’ home.”

“Oh?”

“Indeed, yes. The doctor had a talk with my mother. I think she feels that it would be wise in every way for Mrs. Stretton to go back to a climate she is used to.”

“I see,” I said.

“Your patient’s future would affect yours, of course,” he said.

“Of course.”

“My mother will be speaking to you of this. When she does, it will naturally come as a complete surprise.”

“Naturally.”

We walked to the pond and stood for a while watching the ancient carp swimming to and fro.

He talked about Australia; he had been there some years ago. The harbor was magnificent, he said. He had always felt that he would like to return.

July 9th. I am expecting Lady Crediton to send for me. I am wondering what she will say when she does. Will she suggest that I might accompany my patient? Or will she give me a month’s notice … perhaps longer, for she will wish me to stay until Monique leaves. But Monique will need attention on the voyage. Australia. I had never thought of leaving England, but if I had been asked I should have said I always wanted to travel. Now I thought of leaving home and it was not my childhood’s home that I was thinking of, but Anna at the Queen’s House. While I have been writing this journal I have been thinking of Anna; and in a way I have been writing it for her, because I know how interested she is in everything that goes on at the Castle. I now share her interest. It has made me feel very close to her, and the first thing that occurs to me when I think of going away is leaving her. Of course I don’t have to leave her. I could leave the Castle instead. But it has become so much a part of my life. How could I leave it?

So every time there is a tap on my door I expect one of the servants to come in and say I am summoned to her ladyship. I feel very disturbed.

July 10th. There has been great consternation in the Castle today. Young Edward was lost. Miss Beddoes was quite distracted. She had lost him just after he had had his midday meal. He had left the table and had gone to the nursery. I suspect she was having a nap and when she awoke he was no longer there. She didn’t concern herself very much but went into the gardens to look for him. When he hadn’t come back at four when he usually had a glass of milk and piece of cake, she began to be worried. She ran to his mother, which was a foolish thing to do, because Monique immediately panicked. She began to scream that her little boy was lost. In a very short time we were all searching. The Captain went off with Miss Beddoes and Baines and I went with Rex, Jane, and Edith. We went into the gardens because we were sure he must have gone out, and I think we all made our way through the copse to the iron railing at the cliff edge. It was sound enough but was there room for a small boy to squeeze between those rails? I looked fearfully at Rex. He said: “He couldn’t. Someone would have seen.” I didn’t think that was necessarily so. While we were standing there I heard Monique’s voice and I realized that she had come out to this spot too. Her hair was flowing round her shoulders; she wore a silk dressing gown of scarlet and gold, and her eyes were wild.

“I knew it,” she cried. “I knew he came here. He has fallen over there. I know it. I will go with him. I’m not wanted here.”

I went to her at once and said: “This is ridiculous. He is somewhere else, playing somewhere.”

“Leave me alone. You’re deceiving me, all of you. You don’t want me here. You’d be glad if I were the one …”

It was one of her hysterical fits and I knew how dangerous they could be.

I said: “I must get her back to the house.”

She threw me off so that I went sprawling and would have fallen had not Rex caught me. I had already been made aware of the extreme strength she seemed to have in her rages.

“Now,” she cried, “he has gone and I’ll go with him. No one will stop me.”

I cried: “You will be ill. You must go back at once.”

But she was running toward the rail.

Rex got there before her. He tried to hold her back and I had a horrible fear that both of them would go hurtling over.

The Captain appeared suddenly with Miss Beddoes and Baines. He saw what was happening, ran to his wife, and catching her he dragged her away from the rail. “You’d be glad … glad …” she cried, and began to cough.

I went over to them, and the Captain gave me a wry look.

“I’ll carry her back,” he said, and he lifted her as though she were a baby.

I went with them up to her room. I felt the shocked silence behind us; momentarily everyone had forgotten the lost child.

I could see the attack would soon be at height and I wanted her safely in her room where I could treat her. I told the Captain that I thought he should send for Dr. Elgin and I gave her the mixture the doctor had prescribed for her.

I thought she was going to die. It was the worst attack she had had since my arrival.

Dr. Elgin came but by that time her breathing had improved; she was limp with exhaustion but I knew that she was not going to die that time.

Just before the doctor came I was able to tell her that Edward had been found.

I was unprepared for the second scene of that day. I myself found Edward. It was just after I had given his mother her medicine and made her as comfortable as it was possible for anyone to be in her condition that I went to my room to get a handkerchief. I had given mine to Monique. There was a huge cupboard in my room — so big that it was more like a little off-room; one could walk about it, and there curled up on a cushion building bridges with my coat hangers was Edward.

I said: “They’re searching for you. Come out and show yourself, for Heaven’s sake.”

I took his hand and called to Betsy who came running.

She gasped when she saw the child.

“He was in my cupboard all the time,” I said. “Let everyone know he is safe as quickly as possible.”

I went back to my patient to be told a few minutes later that the doctor had arrived.

It had been an exhausting day. Monique was settled for the night. Dr. Elgin had given her opium and said that she would sleep through till the morning. She needed the rest. So I went to my room and decided on an early night. I had a great deal to think about. I had slipped off my dress and put on my nightgown and was brushing my hair when the door was flung open. I was astonished to see Miss Beddoes. Her face was distorted; she had obviously been crying; her pince-nez were quivering and her skin was blotchy. I had rarely seen such hatred and it was directed against me.

“You’ll say you didn’t do it,” she cried, “but I know you did! I know you. You’re wicked. You’ve always hated me.”

“Miss Beddoes,” I said, “I beg you calm yourself.”

“I am calm,” she cried.

“Forgive me but you are far from calm.”

“Don’t try your nurse’s tricks on me. Don’t soothe me with your soft voice. I believe …”

“And I believe that your good sense has deserted you.”

“It deserted me when I first saw you or I should have been prepared for you.”

“Miss Beddoes, I beg of you be calm. Sit down and tell me what has happened.”

“What you arranged should happen.”

“I have no notion of what you are talking about — so what could I have arranged?”

“That I should go. You’ve been worming your way into young Edward’s confidence ever since you came.”

“But …”

“Oh you’ll deny it. You’re a liar, Nurse Loman. I know that. You want me out of the way. You don’t like me, so you think that you can brush me aside, just like a fly.”

“Do believe me when I say I don’t understand. I can’t defend myself until I know the accusation.”

She sat down on a chair — a frightened woman.

I said gently: “Please tell me.”

“I’m to go,” she said. “Lady Crediton sent for me. She said she doesn’t think I have the right methods for controlling Edward. I’m to pack and leave because she doesn’t like people being here under notice. She’s given me a month’s wages in lieu of notice.”

“Oh … no!”

“Why do you sound surprised? It’s what you wanted.”

“Miss Beddoes, I … I have never thought of anything like this.”

“Weren’t you always implying that I couldn’t look after the boy?”

“I never did.”

“He was always in here.”

“His mother is nearby.”

“It was you he came to see.”

“I liked him. He is a bright boy. It was nothing more than that.” She stood up and came close to me. “You hid him this afternoon. You hid him in that cupboard. Yes you did. I know it.”

“Miss Beddoes, I did no such thing. Why should I?”

“Because you knew they were dissatisfied with me. You thought that would be the last straw, and it was.”

“I can only say that you are wrong. I should be angry with you, but I’m sorry, Miss Beddoes. I’m desperately sorry. Are you all right … for money …”

Her face twisted. Oh God, I thought, help lonely women. Surely those brought up in genteel poverty suffer most.

“I have my month’s wages,” she said.

I went to the table and unlocked a drawer. I took out two five-pound notes.

“Take these,” I said.

“I’d rather die,” she retorted dramatically.

“Please, I beg of you.”

“Why should you beg of me?”

“Because you suspect me of something. I’m not sure what. You think I helped to bring this about. It’s quite untrue but because you have suspected me you owe it to me to take this money.”

She stared from it to me, and I could see the look in her eyes; she was calculating how long it would last. As for myself I was picturing her in some lonely lodging writing for posts that sounded good on paper. I thought of arrogant and demanding mistresses — peevish old ladies who needed a companion; mischievous thoughtless schoolboys like Edward. I felt the tears coming to my eyes.

She saw them too and they were more effective than any words I could have uttered.

“I thought … I thought …” she said.

“That I had hidden the child? But what could I have possibly done that for? Don’t you see it’s all so far-fetched. Oh, I understand. You’re terribly upset. I daresay Lady Crediton was … beastly.”

She nodded.

“Please, will you take this money? It’s not much. I wish I could give you more.”

She sat down then, staring before her, and I put the money into the pocket of her dress.

“I’m going to make you a good cup of tea,” I said. “A nice sweet cup of tea. You’ll be surprised how much better you’ll feel.”

I put the kettle on. I was by no means as calm as I appeared; my hands were shaking a little.

While I was waiting for the kettle to boil, I told her that if I heard of any suitable posts I would get in touch with her. In my profession I went around quite a bit. I would not forget it.

She sipped the tea and when she had drunk it, she said: “I owe you an apology.”

“Forget this,” I said. “I understand. You have had a shock. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

“I shall leave in the morning,” she said.

“Where shall you go?”

“I know a very reasonable lodging house in the town. I shall soon find something.”

“I know you will,” I said.

And when she left I was sure she looked upon me as a friend. As for myself, I was certainly disturbed, but I had meant it when I said that if ever I heard of a post which would be suitable for her I should let her know.

July 11th. Lady Crediton sent for me today. I had forgotten how awe-inspiring she could be for it was so rarely that I was received into the presence. She sat upright, her back as straight as that of her ornate chair which was like a throne. Her snowy white cap might have been a crown, she wore it so regally.

“Ah, Nurse Loman, pray be seated.”

I sat.

“I sent for you because I have a proposition to put before you. I have had several talks with Dr. Elgin and he informs me that your patient’s health is not improving.”

She looked sternly at me as though this was somehow due to my incompetence, but I was no Miss Beddoes to be intimidated.

I said: “Dr. Elgin has no doubt told you of the reason for this.”

“He believes that our climate is not good for her, and it is because of this that I have come to this decision. Mrs. Stretton is going to pay a visit to her native shores. If this improves her health we shall know that it was indeed the climate here which was detrimental to it.”

“I see.”

“Now, Nurse. Two alternatives present themselves. She will need a nurse in attendance. We have no doubt of that. Dr. Elgin has a good opinion of your efficiency. Therefore I am offering you a choice. You may accompany her and continue to nurse her if you wish; or if you decide that you do not wish to stay with her you will be brought back to England at my expense. If however you do not wish to accompany her, there is nothing to be done but terminate your engagement here.”

I was silent for a while. I had been expecting this of course, but I kept thinking of Anna.

“Well?” she said.

“Your ladyship will understand that it is rather a big decision to make.”

She grudgingly conceded this.

“I admit that it would be a little inconvenient if you were to decide to leave your patient. She has become accustomed to you … and you to her.”

She waited. The use of her favorite word “inconvenient” implied that she expected me to save her from that undesirable state.

“I do agree that I understand her,” I said. “But it is still a big decision for me to make.” Then I said suddenly: “Lady Crediton, may I put a proposition to you?”

She looked startled, and before she could refuse I hurried on: “I have been wondering about the little boy, Edward. He will presumably be with his mother?”

“Y-yes,” she admitted grudgingly. “For a short time perhaps. He is young and would come back here in due course, I daresay.”

“But he would go with her?”

She looked at me with astonishment. This was not the usual manner in which she conducted interviews with her employees.

“Miss Beddoes has gone,” I said. “I could not undertake to look after the child and my patient, but I daresay your ladyship had thought of employing a governess or nurse for the child.”

She was still amazed. She did not discuss the domestic affairs of the Castle with people whom, she considered, they did not concern.

I went on quickly: “It is just possible that a friend of mine might agree to take on the post of looking after Edward. If she did … then I should be delighted to accompany Mrs. Stretton.”

A look of relief came into her face, and she was too taken aback to hide it. She very much wanted me to go with Monique; and she had realized that after all she would be needing a governess for Edward.