The Shadow of the Lynx

One

I was going to England and it was much against my will. I had argued persistently with Stirling.

“What good will it do?” I kept asking; and he set his lips stubbornly together and said: Tm going. It was his wish. “

“It was different when he was alive,” I insisted.

“I never agreed with his ideas but they had some meaning then.”

It was no use trying to reason with Stirling; and ia a way I was glad of this controversy because it took our minds from the terrible searing sorrow which we were both experiencing. When I was arguing with Stirling I was not thinking of Lynx lying on the brown earth, of their carrying his body home on the improvised stretcher; and I had to stop myself thinking of that I knew it was the same with Stirling.

There was something else we both knew. There was no comfort for either of us but in each other.

We should have turned to Adelaide. Her sound good sense would have served us well. She said she would not leave home; she was going to stay and keep things going for when we came back.

I wanted to stay, yet I wanted to go. I wanted to get right away from the house I had called Little Whiteladies. There were too many memories there; and yet I took a fierce and morbid delight in remembering every interview with Lynx, every game of chess we had played. But perhaps what decided me was that Stirling was going, and I had to be with Stirling. My relationship with Stirling was something I could not quite understand. I saw it as through a misted glass. How often in the past had I thought of marrying Stirling and yet when Lynx had married me that had seemed inevitable; and Stirling had made no protest. I believed that he felt towards me as I did towards him; but for the mighty personality of Lynx we should have married and been content. So now I had to be with Stirling. He and I could only have lived through those desolate weeks which followed the death of Lynx because of the knowledge that it was a desolation shared, and we belonged together.

“I am going to England,” he said firmly.

“He would want me to.”

So I knew I must go too.

Jessica came gliding into my bedroom one late afternoon when I was busy with preparations.

“So you’re going,” she said.

“I knew you would. You kept saying you’d stay but I knew you’d go.”

I didn’t answer and she sat on the bed watching me.

“So he’s gone,” she went on.

“He died, just like any other mortal being. Who would have thought it could have happened to him? But has he gone, Nora? He’d break free of death, wouldn’t he, just as he broke free of captivity? Out he came on the convict ship, like all the others, a prisoner. Then within a few weeks he breaks the fetters.

Could he break the fetters of death? “

“What do you mean, Jessica?”

“Will he come back? Do you think he’ll come back, Nora?”

He’s dead,” I said.

“You were lucky. You lost him before you knew him.”

“I knew him well,” I retorted.

“I was closer to him than anyone.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“You didn’t get to know the bad man in him. He was bad, Nora. Bad! You’d have found out in time just as the others did. All bad men see themselves as greater than other people. They see the rest of us as counters to be moved about to please them. You were a counter, Nora-a pretty counter, a favourite one … for the time being. He cherished you, but you were a counter all the same.”

I said: “Look here, Jessica, I have a lot to do. Don’t think you can change my feelings towards him. I knew him as you never could.”

“I’ll leave you with your pleasant dreams. Nobody can prove them false now, can they? But he’ll come back. He’ll find some way to cheat death as he cheated others. He’s not gone. You can sense him here now. He’s watching us now, Nora. He’s laughing at me, because I’m trying to make you see the truth.”

“I wish you were right,” I said vehemently.

“I wish he would come back.”

“Don’t say that!” she cried fearfully, looking over her shoulder.

“If you wish too fiercely he might come.”

“Then I’ll wish it with all my heart.”

He wouldn’t come back as you knew him. He’s no longer flesh and blood.

But he’ll come back . just the same. “

I turned away from her and, shaking her head sadly, she went out. I buried my face in the clothes which I had laid out on the bed and I kept seeing hundreds of pictures of him: Lynx the master, a law unto himself; a man different from all others. And lifting my face I said:

“Lynx, are you there? Come back. I want to talk to you. I want to tell you that I hate your plans for revenge now as I always did. Come back.

But there was no sign—no sound in the quiet room.

Adelaide drove with us to Melbourne and we stayed a night at The Lynx; the next day she came aboard to say goodbye to us. I am sure Stirling was as thankful as I was for precise Adelaide, who kissed us affectionately and repeated that she would keep the home going until we returned. So calm, so prosaic, I wondered then whether she was like her mother for she bore no resemblance to Lynx. As our ship slipped away she stood on the quay waving to us. There were no tears. She might have been seeing us off for a trip to Sydney.

I remembered sailing from England on the Carron Star. How different I was from that girl! Since then I had known Lynx. The inexperienced young girl had become a rich widow—outwardly poised, a woman of the world.

Stirling stood beside me as he had on that other occasion; and I felt comforted.

Turning, I smiled at him and I knew he felt the same.

We went first to the Falcon Inn. How strange it was to sit in that lounge where I had first met Stirling and pour the tea, which had been brought to us, and hand him the plate of scones. He was aware of it too. I knew by the way he smiled at me.

“It seems years ago,” he said; and indeed it did. So much had happened. We ourselves had changed.

We had talked a great deal in the ship coming over. He was going to buy Whiteladies because, he said, the owners would be willing to sell.

They would, in fact, have no alternative. He would offer a big price for it—a price such as they could not possibly get elsewhere. What did it matter? He was the golden millionaire.

“You can’t be certain they’ll sell,” I insisted.

“They’ve got to sell, Nora,” was his answer.

“They’re bankrupt.”

I knew who had helped to make them so and I was ashamed. The triumvirate, he had called us when I had discovered the mine. I wished I were not part of this.

There were things they could do, I pointed out. They could take paying guests, for instance.

“They wouldn’t know how!” Stirling laughed and in that moment he was amazingly like Lynx.

My feelings were in a turmoil. I set myself against them. I felt there was something in what Jessica had said. Lynx was still with us. And I didn’t want those people to sell the house. I was on their side.

Stirling’s eyes looked like pieces of green glass glinting through his sun-made wrinkles. He was so like Lynx that my spirits rose and I was almost happy. Whatever I said, he would acquire Whiteladies. It would be as Lynx wanted it. The Herrick children would play on the lawns and in time be the proud owners; and those children would be mine and Stirling’s. I could almost hear Lynx’s voice: “That’s my girl Nora.”

And I thought of the lawn on which I had once sat uneasily and the house with its grey towers—ancient and imposing—and understood the desire to possess it.

“The first thing to do is to let it be known that we are looking for a house,” said Stirling.

“We have taken a fancy to the district and want to settle here for a while. We are particularly interested in antiquity and have a great fancy for a house such as Whiteladies. I have already mentioned this to the innkeeper.”

“You lose no time,” I said.

“Did you expect me to? I had quite a conversation with the fellow. He remembered our staying here before, or so he said. He tells me that Lady Cardew died and that Sir Hilary married the companion or whatever she was.” - “Her name was Lucie, I believe.”

He nodded at me, smiling.

“I thought she was very humble,” I went on.

“Not quite one of the family. That will be changed now, I daresay.”

“You’re very interested in them, Nora.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Considering we have come across the world to buy their house, I certainly am.”

“You arc too sure,” I told him.

“How can you know what price will be asked? “

He looked at me in astonishment. What does it matter? He was the golden millionaire. But sometimes a price is not asked in gold.

That very day we paid a visit to the local house agent, and learned that a temporary refuge could be found which seemed the ideal place while we were looking round. By a stroke of great good luck the Wakefields were letting the Mercer’s House—a pleasant place and ideal for our purpose while we searched. Only, he warned us, there was no house in the neighbourhood to be compared with Whiteladies except perhaps Wakefield Park itself—and even that was no Whiteladies. We said we were very interested in renting the Mercer’s House and made an appointment to see it the next day.

The house agent drove us over in his brougham where Mr. Franklyn Wakefield was waiting to receive us. I remembered him at once and a glance at Stirling showed that he did too.

He bowed to me first, then to Stirling. His manners seemed very formal but his smile was friendly.

“I hope you will like the Mercer’s House,” he said, ‘though you may find it a little old-fashioned. I have heard it called inconvenient.”

“I’m sure it won’t be,” I told him, secretly amused because the agent’s reports had been so glowing while it seemed that its owner was doing his best to denigrate it.

“In fact we are enchanted by it … from the outside, aren’t we, Stirling?”

Stirling said characteristically that it was in fact the inside of the house with which we must concern ourselves if we were going to live in it.

“Therefore,” said Mr. Wakefield, “I am sure you will wish to inspect it thoroughly.”

“We shall,” said Stirling, rather grimly, I thought; and I remembered that he had taken a dislike to Franklyn Wakefield from the first moment he had seen him.

I said quickly: “You understand we should only be taking the house temporarily?”

“I was cognizant of the fact,” said Mr. Wakefield with a smile.

“But I daresay that however short the time you will wish for the maximum of comfort.”

I looked at the house with its elegant architecture—Queen Anne, I guessed. Over the walls hung festoons of Virginia creeper and I imagined what a glorious sight it would be in the autumn. There were two lawns in front of the house one on either side of the path—trim and well kept. I felt the need to make up for Stirling’s boorishness by being as charming as possible to Mr. Wakefield.

“If the inside is half as delightful as the outside. I shall be enchanted,” I said. He looked pleased and I went on.

“Am I right in thinking it is Queen Anne or early Georgian?”

“It was built in 1717 by an ancestor of mine and has been in the family ever since. We’ve used it as a sort of Dower House for members of the family. At this time there is no one who could occupy it. That is why we thought it advisable to seek a tenant.”

“Houses need to be lived in,” I said.

“They’re a little sad when empty.”

Stirling gave an explosive laugh.

“Really, Nora! You’re giving bricks and mortars credit for feelings they don’t possess.”

“I think Mrs….”

“Herrick,” I supplied.

“I think Mrs. Herrick has a good point,” said Mr. Wakefield.

“Houses soon become unfit for human habitation if they remain unoccupied too long.”

“Well, we’d better look round,” said Stirling.

The house was elegantly furnished. I exclaimed with pleasure at the carved ceiling in the hall. -“That,” explained Mr. Wakefield, ‘is the Mercer’s coat of arms you see engraved on the ceiling. You will see it in many of the rooms. “

“Of course, it’s the Mercer’s House, isn’t it?”

We went into the drawing-room with its french windows opening on to a lawn.

“We should need at least two gardeners,” said Stirling as though determined to find fault with the place.

“Would they be easy to get?”

“There is no problem about that,” Mr. Wakefield assured him.

“The gardens are taken care of by our own gardeners at the Park. The cost of this has been included in the details the agent will have given you.”

“We are not concerned with the price,” said Stirling and I felt myself blush at what seemed to be his ostentation.

“Nor, I might add, are we,” went on Mr. Wakefield. He smiled directly at me.

“The important point is to find the right tenant. I am sure, Mrs. Herrick, that you and your husband would like to be alone to look over the house.”

I said quickly: “We are not husband and wife. I am a widow and Mr. Herrick’s stepmother.”

If he was surprised he didn't snow it. Mr. Wakefield’s manners were impeccable. He would have been brought up to believe that to show his feelings was the gravest social error. He, of course, added tact to his many social graces, and it was true that I wanted to be free to discuss the house with Stirling.

If you would let us take our time . “

“But certainly, and if you would care to call at the Park when you have finished … that is, if you are interested … I should be delighted to see you there. I could send a carriage for you, or if you cared for the walk it is just across the park—about half a mile.”

I said we would walk and he left us.

As the door shut on him Stirling threw himself on to a sofa and began to laugh.

“If you would care to inspect this domicile, madam, and then take a short peregrination across the park …”

“Shut up, Stirling, he wasn’t as prim as that.”

“Our landlord! My God!”

“It’s not the landlord with which we have to concern ourselves but with the house.”

“We should have to see him sometimes, I suppose. He’d call … or perhaps his wife would. Do you imagine he has a wife? I wonder what she’s like. She will alight from her carriage and leave three cards.

Is that the correct number? And we should be invited to call and be bored to death. “

“How do you know we should be bored? How do you know he has a wife?”

“Of course we’d be bored and of course he has a wife. Mr. Wakefield’s life would run according to a pattern and you can be sure that pattern includes a wife.”

“I wonder what Wakefield Park is like ” Great old ancestral mansion.”

“Like Whiteladies.”

There is no place in the world like Whiteladies. “

“Well, are we going to take this house?”

“Let’s stay at the inn. If we’re his tenants that might involve social obligations.”

“Which I am sure you would have no hesitation in ignoring.”

“You are right for once, Nora.”

“For once! What do you mean? I’m going to look all over this house, and I can tell you this: I like it. I’ve a great desire to know who the Mercer was and what connection a mere tradesman could possibly have with the elegant Mr. Wakefield. “

We inspected the dining-room and descended to the enormous stone-flagged kitchen. I liked it. I liked the large pantries, the still room the buttery and the laundry. It was a fascinating house.

“It’s big,” said Stirling.

“Too big for a millionaire!” I demanded ironically.

“You practically told him you were.”

“I felt you were on his side.”

“What nonsense! As if it were a matter of taking sides. Let’s go up the staircase.”

There were three floors and some twelve rooms. The rooms were big and airy; I loved the long windows which reached to the floor.

“We’re going to take it, Stirling,” I said; and he did not contradict.

He was really as fascinated with the house as I was; and being tenants of the Wakefields, we could almost certainly meet the owners of Whiteladies. I was not sure what plans Stirling had and how quickly he hoped to acquire the place, but I. guessed it would take a long time, and it would certainly be more satisfactory having the Mercer’s House than an inn as our temporary home while we waited.

“Well?” he asked, when we had been through the house.

“We’re going to tell Mr. Wakefield that we’re taking it.”

We walked across the park and to the house which was called Wakefield Park. It was a big house—early Victorian, I judged, with its heavy ornate architecture. It looked strong and solid. On the front lawn was a pond in which a fountain played. White stone steps led to a terrace on which were seats. The flowers grew neatly, even primly.

“It’s just the sort of house he would have,” I commented.

“You can be sure everything is in its proper place,” added Stirling.

Then he mimicked: “It is fitting that each and every appurtenance of this house is lodged in the place assigned to it.”

“I don’t believe you like him.”

“Do you?”

“I like the Mercer’s House. That’s good enough.”

Along one wall of the house was a vinery. I could see the vine trained along the glass to catch the sun. There were pots of exotic-looking flowers in there too.

“You must admit,” I said, ‘that there is something imposing about his house. “

We mounted the steps of the terrace to the porch, on one side of which hung a bell. When pulled this gave a hollow clanging and almost immediately a manservant appeared.

“You would be Mr. and Mrs. Herrick,” he said.

“Mr. Wakefield is in the library with Sir Everard and her ladyship. I’m requested to conduct you there.”

I threw Stirling a glance as much to say: “You see how well ordered everything is.”

“What did you expect from Mr. Wakefield?” he flashed back.

The hall was enormous and somewhat oppressive. The heads of two stags adorned the wall on either side of that of a tiger. There were various portraits which we had no time then to study. A staircase with elaborately carved banisters curved upwards. We mounted this in the wake of the butler.

“Mr. and Mrs. Herrick!” he announced after knocking and opening a door.

Mr. Wakefield was there with a youngish man and an elderly man and woman.

“So good of you to come,” said Mr. Wakefield.

“May I present you to my parents—Sir Everard and Lady Wakefield and Dr. Hunter.

Lady Wakefield was a frail old lady who gave me a pleasant smile; then I turned to Sir Everard.

“You will forgive my not rising,” he said; and I noticed he was in a wheelchair with a tartan rug about his knees.

The doctor shook hands.

“Dr. Hunter has just been making one of his calls,” said Lady Wakefield.

“If you are going to live here, and need a good doctor—which I hope you won’t—you will find him excellent. Franklyn, do ring for fresh tea.”

“I have already told them to bring it if and when Mr. and Mrs. Herrick called,” “So thoughtful,” said Lady Wakefield with an adoring look at her son, who said in his dignified manner: “Pray be seated.”

“We have come to tell you that we are delighted with the Mercer’s House,” I told him, ‘and we want to take it. “

Splendid,” said Mr. Wakefield.

“It’s time it was lived in,” added Sir Everard.

“It doesn’t do the place any good to be left standing empty.”

“It’s a charming old place,” put in the doctor.

There was a knock at the door and a trolley was wheeled in accompanied by a footman and a parlour maid Life was clearly lived in an elegant fashion at Wakefield Park.

“Mr. and Mrs. Herrick are looking for a house in the neighbourhood, I gathered,” said Franklyn.

“That’s why they are taking the Mercer’s House temporarily.”

“They are not easy to find,” the doctor warned us.

“That is, if you want a house of character.”

“We do,” I replied.

“We have noticed a charming old place,” began Stirling.

“Whiteladies!” Lady Wakefield smiled.

“A most unusual place. It’s actually built on the site of an old convent. In fact some of the old convent still remains.”

The Cardews are great friends of ours,” said Sir Everard.

“If you come here to live you will be meeting them.”

That will be very interesting. ” Stirling gave me a look which was almost a grimace and I said quickly: ” We are very intrigued by the Mercer’s House and are wondering how it came to have such a name. “

“My great-great-grandfather built it,” explained Mr. Wakefield.

“He was a mercer of London where he made enough money to retire to the country and build himself a house. This he did. But he never forgot his trade so he called his house the Mercer’s House.”

The family prospered,” Sir Everard carried on the story, ‘and my father built this house which was better suited to his needs and Mercer’s was occupied by aunts and cousins and any member of the family who needed it … until two years ago. A sister of mine occupied it; and since she died it has been empty. It was my son’s idea that we should let it and you will be the first outside the family to live in it.”

That’s very interesting,” I said.

“I am sure we are going to enjoy it.”

Stirling said to me: “I fancy it was this Whiteladies that we visited briefly when we were here last. We have recently arrived from Australia,” he explained to the company.

“I had a brother who went there,” began Sir Everard. I could see he was a garrulous old gentleman, for his wife, smiling indulgently at him, said quickly: “So you were at Whiteladies … briefly?”

I explained the incident of the scarf and Mr. Wakefield looked delighted. I remember the occasion,” he said.

“What an excellent memory you must have!” I told him. There was a lady in a chair . “

“Lady Cardew. She has since died. There is now another Lady Cardew.”

“And a very pretty young girl.”

“That would be Minta,” said Lady Wakefield.

“Such a dear girl!” Her indulgent smile was turned on her son. Oh yes, I thought, there will be a match between Minta and Mr. Wakefield.

“She has a little half-sister now—Druscilla—daughter of the second Lady Cardew.”

“And Minta, is she married?”

Again that roguish look for Mr. Wakefield.

“Not yet.”

The doctor, who had said very little, took out his watch and looked at it.

“I should be on my way,” he said.

“So many people needing your services,” commented Lady Wakefield.

“You will be going back to the Falcon Inn, I daresay,” said the doctor to us.

“Could I give you a lift?”

“It’s an excellent idea,” said Mr. Wakefield.

“But if you are not going that way. Doctor, I will arrange …”

The doctor said that he was in fact going that way, so we thanked the Wakefields and I assured them that we would be ready to move into the Mercer’s House the following week when all that was necessary to be settled would have been completed.

That would be admirable, said Mr. Wakefield; and soon we were rolling along in the doctor’s brougham.

“Charming people,” he said of the Wakefields.

“I hope our neighbours at this Whiteladies are as charming,” murmured Stirling.

I noticed then a tightening of the doctor’s lips and I wondered what that meant. He seemed to realize that I was studying him and said quickly: “I daresay you will be able to judge for yourself in due course.”

He dropped us at the inn and when he had gone I said to Stirling: “He was a bit odd about the people at Whiteladies. Did you notice his face when I mentioned them?”

But Stirling had noticed nothing.

I felt better than I had since the death of Lynx. I was interested in life again. I disapproved of this crazy scheme to rob its owners of Whiteladies—and indeed the more I thought of it the more crazy it seemed—but at the same time I was fascinated by these people and it was almost as though, as Jessica had said. Lynx had come back and was urging me to act against my will.

I was eager to live in the Mercer’s House. I liked the Wakefield family. I had heard from the innkeeper who was a gossip that Sir Everard and Lady Wakefield had despaired of having children and that they were well into middle age when their son was born. They doted on him; and he would say this for Mr. Franklyn, he was a good son if ever there was one, and it wouldn’t be many more months he was sure before there was a match between the Park and Whiteladies.

“That would be Miss Minta,” I said.

“You’d be right there. A sweet young lady, and highly thought of hereabouts.”

Then Mr. Franklyn will be lucky. “

They’ll be a lucky pair. “

“And Whiteladies? I suppose that will one day be Miss Minta’s—but she’ll be at Wakefield Park.”

“Don’t you believe it. She’ll be at Whiteladies. It’ll go to her—the eldest—and who’d have thought there’d be another. Sir Hilary at his time of life too! But a new young wife, you know how it is.”

I nodded sagely. He was a good source of information. I should miss our talks when we moved to Mercer’s.

There were two servants attached to the place—a parlour maid and a housemaid.

“We can’t say they haven’t thought of our comfort,” I said to Stirling, who agreed reluctantly. He could think of little but Whiteladies and was all impatience to approach the family.

“How?” I demanded.

“For heaven’s sake be tactful. You can’t exactly call and say, ” I’d like your house and insist you sell it to me,” you have to feel your way.”

“Don’t be afraid. I’ll know how to deal with it. But everything takes so much time.”

Two days before we were due to move into the Mercer’s House, the landlord’s wife came to my room and told me that ‘a person’ was downstairs asking to see me. She had been ‘put’ into the inn-parlour.

I went down and found a middle-aged woman waiting there.

“You would be Mrs. Herrick?” she asked.

I said I was.

“My name’s Glee—Mrs. Amy Glee. I was housekeeper up at Whiteladies until Madam decided she had no need of my services.”

She could not have said anything more inclined to arouse my interest.

“Madam?”

“The new Lady Cardew,” she said with a significant sniff.

“Oh, and why have you come to see me?”

“I hear you’re taking Mercer’s, and I thought you might be needing a housekeeper. know you’ll be needing one because I’ve had experience of Ellen and Mabel. They were both at Whiteladies at one time … and when they started getting rid of servants those two went to the Park.”

“I see,” I said.

“They’ll work, but only if watched. I know their type and there’s many like them. Now, madam, if you don’t want to spend all your time watching lazy maids …”

“Were you at Whiteladies long?”

“Fifteen years, and good service I gave.”

I recognized her now. She was the woman to whom Lucie had taken me when my hand was bandaged.

“I am sure you did,” I said.

“Fifteen years and then told to go. Mind you, I was all right. I had my cousin once removed … down Dover way. She died six months back and left me the cottage and something besides. It’s not for the need that I’ve come. But I’m a woman who likes to be on the go. And told to leave I was-after fifteen years. I was all right, but I might not have been.”

There was something about the pursed lips, the jerk of the head which aroused my curiosity. I decided that we needed a housekeeper at the Mercer’s House.

Two

I enjoyed settling into the house. I felt that I could be happy there in a placid way and that was what I wanted. I had had enough adventure. I had seen a man killed; I had experienced strange and not altogether understood emotions; I had been the wife of a man who had dominated me and of whom I had never known the like. That was enough.

I could never know those wild joys and fears again, and perhaps I did not want to. Lynx could never come back; and I wondered whether I could ever have known real peace with him. But here in this elegant country house, built by the rich London mercer nearly two hundred years ago, I could perhaps find a new way of life. He had come to live here in peace; I sensed that. The Mercer’s House would be my refuge as it had been that of the mercer. Here I would be in charge of my own destiny; I could mould my life to my own inclination. Sometimes I wondered whether I had always known that my life with Lynx would be brief. He had been so much older than I. True, I had believed him to be immortal. Often now I could not believe that he was really dead.

One thing was certain: I was fortunate to have known him and to have been loved by him; but I had to convince myself it was over; and since I must rebuild my life, the Mercer’s House was the best place in which to do it. Sometimes I felt Jessica was right and he was beside me, guiding me, urging me in that direction where he wanted me to go. I believed that he wanted me to marry Stirling and that had he not desired me himself would have arranged our marriage before he died. So I dreamed of marrying Stirling. We would abandon the crazy idea of acquiring Whiteladies. Perhaps we would buy the Mercer’s House and our children would be born there. Minta should marry Franklyn Wakefield and our children and theirs should play in the lawns of Whiteladies.

So after all Lynx’s grandchild should play on those smooth and velvety lawns. But would Lynx ever be satisfied with a compromise?

So I dreamed.

We had not been a week in the Mercer’s House when Minta came to call.

She had changed little. She was very pretty and much as I remembered her. There was a certain innocence about her which I found appealing.

“Franklyn Wakefield told me you were here,” she said.

“How very interesting. Of course I remember the time you came. Your scarf blew over the wall.”

As it was mid-morning I asked if she would care for coffee or perhaps a glass of wine. She said she would like the coffee so I rang the bell.

Ellen appeared, neat and trim, and Minta smiled at her and said: “Good morning, Ellen.” Of course the girl had worked at Whiteladies before going to Wakefield Park.

When she had left us, Minta said: “I hope you are well looked after. Mr. Wakefield was very anxious what you should be. Ellen and Mabel are such good girls. “

Mrs. Glee had other opinions but Minta would believe the best of everybody.

“Our housekeeper keeps them in good order.”

“Oh yes, you have Mrs. Glee.”

“I see that our actions have been well observed.”

She laughed.

“This is country life, you know. Everyone is always interested in newcomers and wonders whether they are going to enter into local affairs.”

“Is that expected of us?”

“Shall we say it might be hoped. You won’t be pestered if you show you wish to remain aloof, but somehow I don’t think you will.”

“There is my stepson,” I said.

“Oh yes.” She smiled.

“It seems so strange. You are so young to have a grown-up stepson. But I have a stepmother who is not much older than I. When we met previously I thought you were brother and sister until. “

“It is rather a complicated relationship. I married Stirling’s father and now he’s dead and I am a widow …”

My voice trembled. I was seeing him carried home on that stretcher. I was thinking of that immense vitality; that excitement which he had brought into my life and which was gone for ever.

“I’m sorry,” said Minta. I realized she was very sensitive to the feelings of others. I liked her, and thought what an admirable wife she would make for Franklyn Wakefield. I liked him, too. There was something worthy about them both. Nice people, I thought. Yes, that was the word. Nice! Unexciting but good. There would be few surprises.

They were different from people like Lynx, Stirling and myself. They were lacking in our egoism, perhaps. They seemed colourless. But perhaps that was unfair when applied to such a charming girl as Minta.

I said quickly: “It’s over. One has to learn to forget.” She nodded and I went on: “I remember so clearly the first day I saw Whiteladies.

It impressed us both so much. The lawn and the kind way in which you received us. And then of course the way my hand was bandaged. “

“That was Lucie. She is my stepmother now. You will meet her. My mother died …” A look of sorrow touched her face. She was easy to read and one of her charms was the changing expressions of her face.

“I gathered she was an invalid,” I said.

“Yes, but …” I waited but she did not finish the sentence.

“Lucie has been wonderful. She has been so good to Papa. She helps with his work and manages the house perfectly.”

“I am so glad.”

“And we have an addition to the family. My little half-sister Druscilla. She’s a darling. She is nearly a year old.”

“It’s not really so long ago that we met for the first time,” I commented, ‘and so much has happened since then. “

I was thinking: I became Lynx’s wife and his widow. I must have betrayed my thoughts for she changed the subject quickly; “You will enjoy it here, I’m sure. It’s rather a pleasant community.”

Ellen brought in the coffee with Mrs. Glee close behind. Mrs. Glee gave Minta a triumphant: “Good morning. Miss Cardewl’ to which Minta replied how glad she was to see Mrs. Glee again and then assured me that Mrs. Glee would take admirable care of the household. Mrs. Glee’s head shook with pleasure and righteousness as she supervised Ellen serving coffee.

When she had gone Minta said: “She really is a wonderful housekeeper.

I’m glad you have her. We should never have let her go if we could have afforded to keep her. “

So it was true that they were not well off. Perhaps Stirling would succeed after all. But it was a very different matter selling a house from ridding themselves of an expensive servant.

“I daresay Maud Mathers will be calling on you soon. She’s the rector’s daughter. His wife is dead but Maud is indefatigable in parish affairs. She’s a good, sensible girl and I’m sure you’ll like her. But, please, I want your first visit to be to Whiteladies. I shall ask Mr. Wakefield to join us for dinner. Sir Everard and Lady Wakefield rarely leave the Park. They are not fit for it. Now will you promise me?”

I readily gave the promise.

I was sure, I told her, that Stirling would be delighted to accept the invitation; and at that moment Stirling came in.

I said: “Stirling, Miss Cardew has called. Do you remember?”

“But of course!” exclaimed Stirling; and I saw the excitement leap into his eyes. She noticed it, too, and she flushed prettily.

“This is a great pleasure,” he added with feeling.

I knew he was thinning he was making progress.

“Have some coffee,” I said and went over to the table to pour it for him.

“We are invited to Whiteladies,” I told him.

“I am delighted,” he replied.

She was smiling. She had become more animated since Stirling had arrived. Naturally, I thought, he seems exciting because she is accustomed to Franklyn Wakefield.

It was rather gratifying to discover what a stir we had made in the neighbourhood. We did seem rather incongruous, I supposed—a young man close to thirty with a stepmother just entering her twenties, living together in the Mercer’s House. It was the most respectable of relationships; besides we had the servants as chaperons plus the presence of Mrs. Glee. Stirling’s rooms were on the first floor, mine on the second; his at the front, mine at the back. Mrs. Glee, in black bombazine, dispelled any gossip for it was inconceivable that she would be found in any house where the slightest impropriety was practised.

She came to me every morning to discuss the menu for the day; she behaved as though we were a large household; and I realized that this ceremony was necessary to her dignity. It was only when she discussed Whiteladies that she forgot her decorum. I confess that I lured her to talk of that household which was of the utmost interest to me.

“I don’t like it, madam,” she reiterated on an old theme one morning after we had decided what should be prepared for luncheon.

“For years I served Lady Cardew—the first Lady Cardew, that is—and I venture to say that she never had cause for complaint. And then suddenly I’m told my services are to be dispensed with. They could do without me. As though, Madam, what I did was of such little importance that I could go and no difference be noticed.”

“I gathered from Miss Cardew that economies were necessary,” I said.

“Economies! There was money wasted in that house. Oh no, the second Lady Cardew wanted me out of the way. She wanted to run the place. She didn’t want anyone there who might see what she was up to. And that’s the long and the short of it, madam.”

“I daresay it had to be, you know. The expense of keeping up a place like Whiteladies must be great.”

Mrs. Glee sniffed.

“I always thought there was something going on in that house.”

“Oh?” Of course I shouldn’t be discussing my neighbours with my housekeeper, but the temptation to do so was irresistible.

“Oh yes,” went on Mrs. Glee.

“She’d make up her mind what she wanted and she didn’t want anyone there who might see through her. After all, what was she in those days? A sort of companion, neither one thing nor the other.”

“Miss Cardew seems very fond of her stepmother.”

“Miss Cardew’s one of the blessed innocents. Wouldn’t see what was going on right under her nose if you was to ask me.”

“She seems a very charming young lady.”

“She and her father … a pair of babes in the wood. Oh, you can smile, Mrs. Herrick, but she was after the doctor at one time. We all thought there’d be a match there, and then her ladyship dies and ” No thank you,” said madam to the doctor, ” I’m after her ladyship’s shoes. ” Mrs. Glee’s language became more colourful as she warmed to her subject, and I felt I must put an end to these observations which I believed were decidedly prejudiced.

“Well, I hope, Mrs. Glee, you don’t regret the change too much. Miss Cardew was saying how lucky we were to get you.”

“Miss Cardew was always the lady.”

“I’m sure of that. And I think we’ll have the apple pie. Mr. Herrick is very partial to that.”

Confidences were over, we were back to business.

Franklyn Wakefield picked us up in his carriage. Our own had not yet been delivered but Stirling already had four fine horses in the stables.

I liked the courtly manner in which I was handed into the carriage. He asked if I liked riding with my back to the horses or otherwise. I told him I had no preference.

“I daresay you rode a great deal in Australia.”

“Everywhere,” I told him.

“It was necessary. We even camped out. Do you remember, Stirling, that occasion when we rode some forty miles or so to Melbourne … and then back?”

I could smell the perfume of the eucalypts; I remembered Adelaide boiling the kettle and Jagger coming close to me while I knelt by the fire. Would there always be these memories?

“You will be an expert horsewoman.”

I shrugged my shoulders, and he went on: “I would like to show you my estate one day. Perhaps we could ride out together and I could introduce you to the countryside.”

Stirling started to talk about the vastness of the property in Australia in a rather brash, patronizing way which made me frown; and the more I frowned the more bombastic he became. Franklyn listened politely and made no effort to cap Stirling’s stories which I should have been tempted to had [ been in his place. It was a pity Stirling could not hide his contempt for Franklyn who, of course, completely disguised his reaction. A lesson in good manners, I would remind Stirling when we were alone.

To arrive at Whiteladies after dusk was an experience. The place looked mysteriously romantic and—in odd contrast-almost sinister.

There was a lantern hanging in the porch which creaked slightly as it swung and as we mounted the steep stone steps an excitement possessed me. I glanced at Stirling. His eyes gleamed; I was aware of his tension.

Franklyn pulled the bell rope and we heard the clanging echoing through the hall. The door was iron-studded and looked impregnable; there was a grille through which we saw the eyes of the manservant before he opened the door.

Then we were in the hall; the floor was stone-flagged, the panelling intricate; candles guttered in the sconces. So it must have looked nearly forty years ago when Lynx came here to give his Arabella drawing lessons. How could I ever forget him when there were a thousand things everywhere I went to remind me of him!

Minta appeared at the staircase on one end of the hall. T heard the bell,” she said, descending. She looked radiant and as dainty as a fairy princess in the candle light.

“I’m so pleased that you’ve come.”

“We’re pleased that you invited us,” said Stirling.

“It’s a great occasion, I can tell you, to be guests in this house.”

Minta said she wasn’t sure whether it was the house or its inhabitants that pleased him.

“Both!” replied Stirling.

“If you’re interested in architecture.” put in Franklyn, ‘you couldn’t have a better example of the Tudor than you have here. Some of it is a little later but the house is fundamentally Tudor. “

“Living in Australia, I have had no opportunity of visiting these ancient houses,” said Stirling.

“So it’s a great novelty to me. Not so Nora. She was a tenderfoot, you know. She was only out there a mere two years or so.”

“I’m fascinated by Whiteladies all the same.”

“We must show you over the house,” promised Minta.

“Perhaps after dinner. First you must meet my father and stepmother.”

Stirling started up the stairs after her, and as Franklyn and I followed he pointed out the carving which was the work of a sixteenth-century artist He was sure of this because that particular artist always left his special mark—a nun’s head. There were examples of his work in other houses in this part of the country. It might have been that his first big commission was the carving in Whiteladies and ever after he had used the nun’s head as his symbol.

“As soon as one begins to delve into the past one makes all sorts of interesting discoveries,” he said.

“Do you delve into the past?” I asked.

“In a dilettantish manner. I am interested in this part of the world.

We’ve had several discoveries. We’ve found old coins and jewellery belonging to the Stone and Bronze Ages. But I’m interested in the more recent past. The history of old houses, for instance; and this one is one of the most fascinating I’ve ever known. “

“I find it fascinating too,” I said; and by this time we had reached the top of a staircase and Minta had thrown open the door of a room.

It was delightful with its tall mullioned windows and lofty ceiling; the cupola had been so designed to make this appear even higher than it was. I imagined that in daylight the wood carving was magnificent.

There were portaits on the walls, and the furniture I judged to be early eighteenth century. It was extremely elegant; in daylight I was to discover that it was somewhat shabby, but that was not noticeable at this time.

I recognized Lucie immediately though she had changed. She had a new dignity and was striking in an unobtrusive way. She appeared to be very modestly dressed in puce-coloured velvet but the dress was beautifully cut and elegant in its simplicity. She was reserved, yet completely mistress of the occasion. Her dark hair was simply dressed but becomingly. She came forward and took my hand.

“This is a pleasure,” she said. She spoke gently but without warmth.

“I remember you well. Minta has been telling me.”

Then she turned to Stirling.

“Oh yes, indeed. I do remember. After all it is not so long ago. Come and meet my husband.”

Sir Hilary—Minta’s father—came towards us and shook hands. He looked frail and had the same guileless expression I had noticed in Minta.

Innocent, I thought, and quite unworldly; and then immediately I was thinking of his marrying the woman whom Lynx had loved, and it seemed incongruous that I should be here taking up the threads of Lynx’s past. Here I should remember him as vividly as I had done in Australia.

“We are so pleased to have neighbours,” he said.

“Franklyn has told me all about your taking the Mercer’s House. You’re lucky to get it. It’s a gem of a house.”

Franklyn was near.

“We’re lucky to have such tenants at Mercer’s,” he said.

“Ah, Franklyn, and how are your parents today?”

Franklyn said they were very lively and well; and Sir Hilary went on to ask questions about them. He was obviously interested in their ailments and comparing them with his own.

Two other guests arrived. I had already met the doctor who looked, I thought, quite ill at ease; and with him was Miss Maud Mathers, the vicar’s daughter, a rather tall young woman with an outdoor complexion and a breezy manner. I was immediately convinced that she was a great asset to her father in the parish.

Dinner was served in a dining-room the same size and similar in many ways—the same type of ceiling, the same panelling—to the drawing-room. Minta mentioned that they used this dining-room most of the time although for occasions when there were many guests, such as Christmas time, they used the hall.

“In the old days we used it more than we do today,” she explained.

“We used to have a houseful of guests. I’m sure my parents didn’t know half the people they entertained. Now of course we have to be careful.”

“One day perhaps it will be different,” said Stirling.

I was uneasy. He was showing his obsession with the niar too clearly. There was something so honest about Stirling. I loved him for it, but I felt it would be better to hide his intentions as yet.

He had no subtlety. Now Franklyn. I was continually comparing the two, and everything about Stirling I loved, although I did not necessarily applaud or admire it. Now he was being almost naive as his covetous eyes roamed about the house.

I noticed there was only one parlour maid and the butler was the man who had opened the door. They evidently had few servants. The meal was well cooked and well served, which I imagined was due to Lucie’s supervision. She had her eyes on everything and I was quickly aware that the servants were in awe of her.

Conversation at the dinner-table ranged over a number of subjects. Sir Hilary and Franklyn discussed the Wakefield estate; Stirling was asking Minta questions about the house;Lucie from one end of the table was looking after her guests and joining in here and there; I was seated next to the doctor and opposite me was Maud Mathers, who talked in an animated way about parish affairs.

“You’ll love the church, Mrs. Herrick. It’s the same period as this house. The tower is quite impressive, isn’t it, Dr. Hunter?”

The doctor agreed that it was a fine old church.

“I hope you’ll come along to some of our social affairs,” said Miss Mathers.

“Do you intend staying long tn the neighbourhood?” the doctor wanted to know.

“It’s difficult to say,” I answered.

“My stepson is enamoured of this part of the world and he has fallen in love with Whiteladies.”

“It’s the sort of house about which people get obsessions,” said Maud.

“I believe one or two people have wanted to buy it.”

“I understand it’s been in the family for centuries.”

“Yes, handed down from generation to generation. Not like our house, which goes with the living,” “Miss Cardew has promised to show us round after dinner.”

Lucie joined in the conversation.

“Most people want to see over the house.”

“You must get tired of showing them.”

“I never get tired. I’m as fascinated with the place as every one else, except of course those who are born in it, like Minta. I always tell her she doesn’t appreciate it. It will be the same with Druscilla. ” She smiled.

“My daughters,” she added.

“And how is Druscilla?” asked the doctor. Lucie’s smile gave luminosity to her face. Mother love, I thought, plus candle light.

“She is quite well now.” She turned to me.

“I’m like all mothers with a first child. I fuss. I call the doctor in for nothing.”

“It’s called ” first baby nerves”,” said the doctor.

“It shows a mother’s tender care,” Maud put in.

“And I’m sure Dr. Hunter understands and doesn’t blame any of the mothers in the parish for their over-anxiety.”

“Oh, I’m very tolerant,” said the doctor lightly.

“A necessary qualification,” added Lucie almost sarcastically. I seemed to be sensitive that night. I was aware of a certain tension between the doctor and Lucie Cardew. Or was I imagining it? I fancied that he was very interested in her, that he admired her and she did not return his esteem. Then once again I was thinking of Lynx. There would have been dinner-parties such as this one to which the drawing-master would not have been invited. I could imagine his anger at slights, his determination that one day he would sit at the head of this table.

I came out of my reverie to hear Lucie say: “Oh, Maud, you know you spoil her. She’s getting quite arrogant.”

“She’s such a darling,” Maud insisted, ‘and so bright. “

“I can hear you are talking about my little sister,” said Minta. Then she told a story illustrating the intelligence of the absent Druscilla; and soon afterwards the ladies were conducted to the drawing-room and the men left at the table with their port. There Maud dominated the conversation, which seemed to be mainly about the proceeds of the coming sale of work which would help in the repair of the inevitably beetle-ridden church roof. It would be held in the grounds of Wakefield Park, which Sir Everard and Lady Wakefield had kindly placed at their disposal.

“It used to be Whiteladies,” Minta explained to me, ‘but the Park is so much more suitable. “

“Is it?” I asked.

“I should have thought…”

“Oh, we’re ancient, but the Park gardens are so much better than ours nowadays. We only have two gardeners. In my grandfather’s day there were six. It means that quite a lot of the place has gone wild, and the flowers at the Park are superb. “

Another indication of poverty, but she seemed quite unperturbed by it.

I wondered how Stirling was getting on at the table.

Later the men joined us and after coffee Minta said she knew that Stirling and I wanted to see the house, so she would show us now.

“Be careful of the bartizan if you go up there,” warned Lucie.

“I will,” promised Minta. She explained to us as we went out of the room.

“The stonework is beginning to crumble in some parts of the house.”

“What is this bartizan?” asked Stirling.

“It’s a sort of battlemented overhanging turret on the top of the tower. Lucie’s afraid it’s going to collapse.”

“Shouldn’t it be put right?”

“It will be one day when we can afford it.”

“But if it’s dangerous …”

“Oh, there’s so much that needs to be done. You’ve no idea.”

“Yes, I have,” said Stirling.

She smiled at him as though she thought he was clever.

“Most people never think that a house like this needs constant expenditure if it’s to be kept in order. And if this is neglected for some years …”

She raised her eyebrows.

“But surely it shouldn’t be neglected,” insisted Stirling.

“If the money isn’t available it has to be.”

“I’m sorry …” began Stirling.

She shrugged her shoulders.

“All my life people have been saying that Whiteladies would fall about our ears if necessary repairs weren’t done. I get used to it.”

“But a house like this is a sort of trust.”

“Yes,” she agreed.

“A sort of trust. This is the entrance into the old part. These were really the convent walls. You’ll be able to see how thick they are in a minute. Mind these stairs. They’re rather dangerous.”

We mounted the spiral stone staircase, holding the rope banister. The steps were steep and worn in the middle.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” said Stirling, and there was a lilt of excitement in his voice.

“I’m glad you find it exciting,” said Minta, who hadn’t noticed the acquisitive gleam in Stirling’s eyes.

Through the old part of the house we went, Minta had picked up a lantern from the walls and Stirling carried it. We followed her up winding flights of steps into alcoves that were like cells. It was very cold.

We sometimes use this for storing things,” said Minta.

“When I was young I can remember venison and great hams being kept here. That was when we entertained a good deal and there were more servants.”

She took us back to the inhabited part of the house.

This section was built a little later than the main part. It was in the time of Elizabeth Tudor so it is built in the shape of an E. This is the main block; there are two projecting wings on either side and this short section in between. “

“One could get lost in such a house,” I said.

“I was lost once,” Minta told us.

“They searched and searched for me.

I was in what we called the studio. There’s an enormous cupboard there and for some reason no one thought of looking in it. The studio was given the name when my mother had drawing lessons there. “

“I’d like to see it,” I said.

“You shall, though there’s nothing special about it except that it has a good north light.”

Nothing special! When he had sat there with her, instructing her, falling in love with her!

“My mother, you know, was the daughter of the house-the only child.

When my father married her he came to live here. “

“So there weren’t always Cardews at Whiteladies.”

“No. We haven’t been able to keep the family name going. There have been several family names. They’re inscribed on that wall in the Library. There have been six changes of name in three hundred years. It seems to be a feature of the family that every now and then a woman inherits. She marries and the family name is changed. That’s what happened to my mother.”

“And it will to you.”

“Well …” She laughed with an insouciance which implied that she was completely unconcerned as to whether Whiteladies came into her possession or not.

“Before Drusilla was born we thought she might be a boy. In which case”

“But she would not have been in the direct line,” insisted Stirling.

“Your father married into the family and his present wife is nothing to do with it, so . “

“Oh no,” said Minta quickly.

“When people marry they become the family. It has always been like that. Whiteladies is my father’s now ...”

“You could have lost Whiteladies!’ cried Stirling, ‘and you don’t seem to care.”

“I should like to have a little brother. My father would love to have a son. He was so proud when Druscilla was born.”

“But if there was a son it seems you could lose Whiteladies.”

“I don’t think of Whiteladies as a possession exactly. It’s the family home. Whoever owned it, it would be home, always. “

“Unless,” suggested Stirling, ‘it passed out of the family. “

I flashed him a warning glance. He was going too far too fast.

“That couldn’t happen,” she said with & look of surprise.

“It’s always been the family’s house.”

“But if it were a burden …”

“A burden! Oh, I see what you mean … financially.” She laughed almost merrily.

“It’s always been a financial burden.”

“If it became too heavy a one …”

“It’s always been too heavy a one. Now this is the way to the studio I was telling you about. We have to get up the narrow flight. It’s at the top of the wing … to get the light, you see.” She threw open a door.

“There! Look at the dust. It’s not used nowadays and I suppose the servants don’t often come up here. There’s far too much for them to do. My mother used to come up here a lot. Oh, there’s the cupboard.

It’s enormous . one of those you can walk about in. I think I must have come up here to look for her; then I wandered into the cupboard and shut myself in. “

The room was plainly furnished. There was a big table, some chairs and an easel.

“I was never any good at drawing,” went on Minta.

“Perhaps Druscilla will be. Then we can use the studio again.”

She opened the cupboard door. It was the size of a small room and down one side were shelves on which were a few pencils, crayons and two drawing-boards. Minta picked up one; on it were several sketches of a horse. That was Lynx’s work. I would know it anywhere. Oh Lynx, I thought, how could I ever have imagined that I would be able to forget!

“Not much to see here,” said Minta and I felt angry with her, which was stupid. How could she guess at the turmoil in my heart?

She took us to the library after that and showed us the crest and the coat of arms and the names of the family very artistically inscribed on the branches of a fig tree— Merrivale, Charton, Delmer, Bemngton, Dorian and Cardew. Stirling was staring as though fascinated. I knew he was adding a new name: Herriek.

We climbed more stairs.

“This is the east wing of that E. We don’t use this part now, but my mother was fond of it. When Lucie married my father she decided it would be economical to close this part of the house. Lucie is wonderful at managing things. I am sure our affairs are in better shape since she started looking after them.”

I could well believe that.

“This was my mother’s room. Lucie had the furniture covered in dust sheets. The servants don’t like to come up here.”

“Why?” asked Stirling.

“You know how it is when there has been a recent death … or perhaps you don’t. Servants get superstitious. My mother died rather suddenly.”

“I thought she had been an invalid for some time,” I said.

“Well, a sort of invalid. We all thought she rather imagined her illness and then she died of a heart attack. We felt we’d misjudged her—and Lizzie, who had been her maid, started imagining things.”

Things? “

“Oh, that my mother wouldn’t rest and she believed she was still in the house … her ghost, she meant. Poor Lizzie, she had been with Mamma since she was a girl. She was so sensible and practical, but Mamma’s death seemed to unnerve her. Lucie is taking her in hand, though, and she’s getting better.”

I looked round the room. Her room! Here she would come after the drawing lesson to dream about him. It was in this room that they had found him with jewels in his pockets. I believed I could sense the great drama which had taken place there.

Minta was ushering us out and leading the way along the corridor.

“There’s a staircase at the end of this landing,” she was saying. I was still thinking of that room. It happened forty years ago, I reminded myself. And I could feel the frustration and agony of Lynx when he was caught, trapped; and he knew be could not hope for justice. And because of this Stirling and I were here now. Poor innocent Minta! She did not know that the apparently courteous guests whom she was graciously showing round were two harpies planning to take Whiteladies from her.

I wanted to see that room again. I wanted to be in it alone. I wanted to sense the atmosphere of that tragic night when Lynx’s pride was humbled. Minta and Stirling had turned a corner. I hastily slipped back into the room. It was different now. Without the lamp I could just make out the humps of furniture under the dust sheets because light from a half moon shone through the windows.

Oh Lynx, I thought, I understand your misery, but it’s all over. It must be forgotten. Well have the Mercer’s House, Stirling and I—and Minta and Franklyn will be our friends. Your grandchildren shall play on the lawns of Whiteladies. That’s how your dream will come true.

No! I could almost hear his scorn. He wanted revenge. I could hear his voice in my mind thundering: No!

Then my heart began to beat fast because there was something in the room. I sensed a presence. Someone was watching me.

“Lynx!” I breathed.

“Oh, Lynx, come back.”

A shape materialized in the doorway and moved towards me.

“You’re Mrs. Herrick.” A human voice. Not that of Lynx.

“You startled me,” I said.

“I’m sorry, madam, I’m sure. I wasn’t expecting anyone in Miss Arabella’s room.”

“Miss Cardew is showing us the house.” Understandably she looked round for Miss Cardew. They went on without me and I wandered back in here.”

She peered at me as though I were of rather special interest to her.

“You’re Mrs. Herrick” ‘ she said. There was someone here long ago . of that name. “

“You must have been here a long time.”

“I was two years older than Miss Arabella. I was under-nurse when I was fourteen. Because there wasn’t much difference in our ages we were together … a lot.”

“You’re Lizzie,” I said.

She nodded.

“I was there … all the way through. And now he’s dead and there another Lady Cardew. “

It was eerie in this room with nothing to light it but the moon, and the odd shapes of furniture seemed as though at any moment they might take on life. I knew instinctively that this woman had known and loved him. It was impossible for anyone to be unaffected by him. She reminded me of Jessica.

“You come from Australia and that was where he went … this man who was here once. I know you were his wife but he had another before you.

That’s his son. There’s a likeness, though he’s not the man his father was. There’s some thing in the air. I can feel it. It’s as though he’s come back. “

“He’s dead,” I said sharply, ‘so he can’t come back. “

“He could if he wanted to. He could do anything. Don’t make any mistake about that. Something’s going to happen. It always does where he is … and he’s here. I’m sure of it. I knew him well.”

I shivered. She was so like Jessica and I felt that I was caught up in some intricate pattern which kept repeating itself.

“The others will be wondering what has happened to me,” I said.

She ignored that.

“Lady Cardew died suddenly,” she said.

“We weren’t expecting it. It was very strange. Sometimes I think ..”

Fortunately I heard Minta’s voice calling me.

“I’m here,” I called.

She stood in the doorway, Stirling holding the lamp behind her.

“Oh, Lizzie!” she said rather reproachfully.

“I’ve been talking to Mrs. Herrick,” said Lizzie almost defiantly.

“Well, now we’ve found you we’d better continue with the tour,” said Minta. She added gently: “Lizzie, I should get back to your room if I were you. It’s rather chilly to hang about here.”

“Yes, Miss Minta,” said Lizzie meekly.

Minta turned and we all followed her. On the next landing Lizzie disappeared and Minta took us to show us the carved banisters which led up to the minstrels’ gallery.

“I hope Lizzie didn’t scare you,” said Minta.

“She’s been rather odd since my mother died.”

“Like Jessica,” said Stirling. And to Minta: “She’s a cousin of my mother’s and she went a bit queer when my mother died. They were always together.”

“Very like Jessica,” I agreed.

“They are two devoted people.”

“I must speak to her,” went on Minta, “She mustn’t go wandering round these closed-up rooms. This minstrels’ gallery was put in in the sixteenth century when this wing was built. You didn’t notice it from the hall because the curtains were drawn.”

We examined it and I pretended to show interest but my encounter with Lizzie had started up so many memories that my thoughts were far away.

I kept imagining Lynx in this house attracting the young lady whom he was teaching—and the maid at the same time.

When we rejoined the others the doctor was about to take his leave. He had one or two patients he wanted to look in on and he said he would take Maud home at the same time. I suggested that we ought to go too and Franklyn immediately offered to drive us home. So we said goodbye and soon were driving the short distance to the Mercer’s House.

“What a place!” Stirling was saying.

“I have never been is such a house.”

“I should think not,” I retorted.

“It’s unique.”

There are other houses which have been built on the site of old monasteries . and with some of the original stones,” said Franklyn.

“Fountains Abbey in Yorkshire springs to mind.”

“It’s a pity,” said Stirling, ‘that they can’t afford the necessary repairs. “

“A great pity,” agreed Franklyn.

“Perhaps they’d be wise to sell it to someone who could put it to rights.”

“Oh never!” cried Franklyn.

“It’s an institution. It’s a tradition.”

“That sort of house belongs to posterity,” said Stirling rather pompously.

“If people can’t afford to run it they should let it go.”

“If it were mine, I never would,” I said.

“And you can be sure,” added Franklyn, ‘that the Cardews never will either. “

The lights of Mercer’s were visible and we drove the rest of the way in silence.

We were too excited for bed. We went into the drawing-room and Stirling threw himself on to the sofa. I sat down in the armchair looking at him.

“The first move,” he said.

“Well, if you think you’ve made a move, I don’t.”

“We’ve been there. We’ve inspected the house. My goodness, it needs some money spent on it, and they haven’t two brass farthings to rub together.”

“Exaggeration! And who wants to rub brass farthings together, which I’m sure they could easily do if they had a mind to.”

“You’re becoming infected by Mr. Franklyn Wakefield. That’s just the sort of thing he would have said.”

“Then he’d be talking sense.”

“But, seriously, Nora, what a satisfactory evening!”

“Was it? I came away with the impression that they would never for one moment consider selling Whiteladies.”

What will they do? Let it fall about their ears? “

“It’s in no danger of imminent collapse.”

“It’ll be worthless if they let it go much farther.”

“It’ll always be their home. Let them enjoy it. I happen to like this Mercer’s House. It’s really far more comfortable.”

“It’ll do until we move into Whiteladies.”

“And when will that be?”

“In the not far distant future. I feel it in my bones.”

“I wouldn’t rely on them.”

“You’re determined to be pessimistic.”

“I think I see this more clearly than you do.”

“Let’s be practical.”

“Yes, let’s. But they are not what you would call practical people.

They’ll never sell Whiteladies. That’s been made clear. Franklyn implied it. He would know. “

“He would know nothing. He’s quite obtuse. He knows how to bow and make the sort of remark people want to hear. That’s the sum total of his accomplishments. And since when have you been on Christian name terms?”

“We aren’t. I only call him Franklyn privately. I think you underestimate him.”

“Listen, Nora. These people are not like us. They’ve been brought up to luxury. They haven’t the same stamina and vitality. We’re different. Think of our fathers. They had ambition, the ability to go out and get what they wanted. We have inherited that. They haven’t.

They were brought up in their mansions; they think they’ll inherit from Papa and that’s that. But if there’s nothing for them to inherit, what then?

I’ll make a bet with you, Nora. We’ll be in Whiteladies this time next year. “

“I don’t think so.”

“It’s the wrong attitude. You invite failure when you’re certain of it.”

“Perhaps I don’t think it would be such a failure.”

“It was what my father wanted,” he said.

“It’s what he would expect.”

And it was as though Lynx looked at me through his eyes, so that I felt I was a traitor and was silent.

Stirling smiled at me tenderly.

“You’ll see,” he said.

We were invited not only to Whiteladies and Wakefield Park but to the vicarage and several other houses. We had become part of the life of the neighbourhood, Maud Mathers saw to that. I was glad to be of use, for I had taken a great liking to her. She seemed to have such good sound sense. I had a great respect for her, too. My feelings for Minta and Franklyn were to some extent affected by Stirling’s attitude towards them. He seemed to despise them faintly. He was continually stressing that they weren’t like us; they had been brought up in a different school. Whenever he discussed them a faintly pitying note would creep into his voice. I laughed at him for it, but it had its effect on me.

Lucie exasperated him a little. I knew why. She was more like ourselves. She had not been brought up to accept a life of luxury; she was practical and obviously doing everything she could to live within the means at their disposal. Stirling was aware of this. It hurt me in a way to see how he rejoiced in the ill fortunes of the Cardews. He had an obsession. Yet I could not entirely disapprove, for everything he did was due to his devotion to his father’s memory.

On the Saturday before harvest festival I went to the church to help Maud decorate. We worked hard arranging chrysanthemums, asters, dahlias and Michaelmas daisies round the altar. There were enormous vegetable marrows, too, and tomatoes and cabbages all on display.

Bunches of corn were tied up with red ribbon and set side by side with loaves of delicious crusty bread which would later be distributed to the needy.

“It’s been a good year for the harvest,” said Maud, looking down at me from the ladder, on the top rung of which she was standing draping russet-coloured leaves over a brass rail.

“Be careful you don’t fall,” I warned.

“I’ve decorated this spot in the same way for the last five years. I’m surefooted.”

I came over to steady the ladder and hold it for her.

“What on earth would happen if you were out of action?” I asked.

“Father would have lots of helpers who would do just as well.”

“I don’t believe it. And just think of the work you’d give poor Dr. Hunter. He’s overworked already.”

“Yes,” she said soberly, ‘he is. “

She came down the ladder then and I noticed how rosy her cheeks were.

“I’ve often told him he should have help,” she went on.

“Sometimes I feel anxious for him.” She bit her lip. She was embarrassed.

“He seems . worried. It’s having so much to do.”

I was sure she was right, I told her. I’d noticed it too.

“Do you think these bronze chrysanthemums would look well with the leaves?” I asked her.

“Perfect. I do wish something could be done about Dr. Hunter.” Then she started to talk about him, his selfless devotion to his cases; the good he had done to this one and that.

As I arranged the flowers and leaves I thought: She’s in love with him.

I rode a good deal that autumn. Life in Australia had made a competent horsewoman of me and riding seemed the easiest and most convenient method of getting around. Stirling sometimes accompanied me. He was getting restive and making all sorts of plans. He was going to acquire land and saw himself as a local squire, which, I told him, would be usurping Franklyn Wakefield’s place.

“There’s no reason why there shouldn’t be two of us,” he would say.

But the first task was to get possession of Whiteladies and he was no nearer doing that than when we had arrived.

He wanted to go to see Sir Hilary and make an offer. I dissuaded him because I was certain he would be disappointed; and he accepted my advice when I reminded him that he might set the Cardews against him if they guessed at his motive for cultivating their friendship.

I often rode with Franklyn Wakefield. He made a habit of calling at Mercer’s and suggesting he show me some part of the country which I hadn’t seen before. I enjoyed those rides. We would often tether our horses outside some old inn—he always seemed to be well known in these places-and lunch off bread and cheese and cider. The food always tasted exceptionally good and I enjoyed meeting the people to whom he introduced me. I was aware of the great respect in which he and his family were held and this pleased me.

I loved the odours of autumn—the mist which was often in the air; the smell of burning leaves as we passed some garden; the nip in the air which made my skin tingle. I watched the trees gradually denuded of their leaves to make a lacy pattern against the grey-blue sky. And I learned much about the responsibilities of a country squire, for he took them seriously; I became accustomed to his rather pedantic style of speaking and grew to like it. When I was with him I forgot that slightly patronizing attitude of Stirling’s which had rubbed off on me. There was something dependable about this man which I respected. I realized, too, how great was his affection for his parents. He was devoted to them. So he was to his tenants and I was astonished by how much he knew—and cared-about their affairs.

One rather warm November day when the red sun was veiled by mist, and spiders’ webs were draped across the hedgerows, we rode out together.

He was rather subdued that day and I asked him if anything had happened to upset him.

“It’s not unexpected,” he answered.

“Dr. Hunter thinks my father can only have another six months to live.”

“Oh, I am sorry.”

“He is old and his condition is worsening. I am more particularly worried about my mother.”

“She is ill, too?”

“No, but they have been so close all their lives. They were neighbours and knew each other from childhood. I can’t imagine what would happen to her if my father died.”

“She will have you.”

“I don’t think that would be enough. She will be so heartbroken it will kill her.

“Do you think people die of broken hearts?”

This would be a broken life. “

I was, as alive as I had ever been.

We rode in silence and he sensed my sympathy, I knew.

It was that day that we found the kittens. When we called at one of the farms on his estate, the farmer’s wife came out from the kitchen wiping her floury arms and Franklyn introduced me as the new tenant at Mercer’s.

“A fine old house,” commented the farmer’s wife, ‘and you couldn’t have a better landlord. “

She insisted on our drinking a glass of her very own elderberry wine and eating one of the buns which she had just taken from the oven. We sat on chairs in the kitchen and she told Franklyn about the farmer’s intention to let gravel-tfaree-acres lie fallow next year. A big tabby cat came in and, purring, rubbed itself against my legs.

“That’s old Tibbies looking for a saucer of milk again,” said the farmer’s wife.

“She’s lost interest in her last litter.”

“How many cats have you now?” asked Franklyn.

“Well, to tell the truth, Mr. Wakefield, I’ve lost count. I can’t bring myself to destroy the little things and in next to no time they’re no longer kitties and have little ones of their own. They scratch around in the barns so they don’t trouble us and they keep the mice away.”

When the farmer came in he took us out to show us the new barn he was putting up and that was when I saw the kitten. There were ten or twelve cats—most of them just passing out of the kitten stage—and I noticed one in particular because she was not so pretty as the rest and was, in fact, rather thin and cowed. When I called her she came readily and I wished I had something to give her to eat.

“This one seems a little outsider,” I said.

“You get them now and then,” said the farmer.

“They’re not so strong as the rest and can’t fend for themselves.”

I said on impulse: “We haven’t a cat. May I have her?”

“We’d be glad for you to take any that you want,” was the farmer’s answer; and I knew I was going to enjoy taking this little one and feeding her and cosseting her to make up for the hard time I was sure she had had on the farm.

We were about to leave the barn when another small cat came running up. She was tawny—much the same colouring as the one I had chosen, but much prettier though she had the same underfed look. She mewed piteously and I thought: She wants to come too. I said: “I’ll have the two. They’ll be company for each other. “

The farmer’s wife found a basket and the two little cats were put in it. Franklyn carried them and we rode off. On our way we called at Whiteladies as Franklyn wanted to see Sir Hilary. Minta came out and was most interested in the cats. While Franklyn was with her father we took them out of the basket and gave them a saucer of-milk apiece.

“They’re darlings,” cried Minta.

“And never had a look-in at meal times. These will be quite different from those cats who started life as pampered pets.”

I saw that she would like to have one so I suggested she should. She was delighted.

“You choose,” I said, ‘and we’ll name them. “

When they had licked their saucers clean they sat licking themselves.

“That one is more beautiful,” said Minta.

The other has more dignity. “

We tried several names and at length I suggested Bella and Donna—Bella for the beauty and Donna for the dignified one.

Minta chose Bella; so I left her behind at Whiteladies.

(t was only a few weeks later that we heard about the copse. Stirling came in in a mood of great excitement. The Cardews were putting up for sale the copse which was on the edge of their grounds.

“They’re obviously being forced to raise money,” he said.

I heard about it from Franklyn. When he said he would buy the copse I asked if he planned to cut down the timber and build on it. He shook his head.

“No. I’ll leave it as it is.” I guessed he was thinking that when he married Minta it would be as though the land had not changed hands.

I was astonished when I saw him next to learn that he had not bought the copse. Someone had made a very big offer for it. I began to feel uneasy when I heard this. I couldn’t wait to see Stirling.

I knew before I said anything. It was what he would call making a move.

“So you’ve bought the Whiteladies copse,” I said.

“How did you know?”

“And,” I went on, ‘you’ve paid about twice as much as it’s worth. “

“What does that matter?”

“Not at all to our golden millionaire. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You’ve become very odd lately, Nora. You’re getting more like Them and less like Us.”

“If you mean I try to act tactfully …”

“Oh, come now. What’s tactless about paying a high price for something to help people out.”

“When they know it’s you they’ll be embarrassed.”

“They weren’t embarrassed to take my cheque and get twice as much as the land’s worth.”

“Sir Hilary …”

“Knows nothing about business.”

Well, Minta . “

“She knows even less. It’s Lady Cardew who has the business head in that house.”

“So you arranged it with her.”

“I arranged it with my man of business.”

“I don’t think you should have done it, Stirling.”

“Why not?”

“Because Franklyn Wakefield was going to buy that land and if he had it would have remained in the family.”

“I don’t follow your reasoning.”

“Then you must be blind. Franklyn is going to marry Minta, and when he does he’ll be able to deal with Whiteladies.”

“It’s going to take more than he’s got to put that place to rights.”

“How do you know?”

“I make it my business to know. It needs thousands spent on it.

Wakefield’s comfortably off but he’s no . “

“Millionaire,” I added.

He nodded, smiling. He was certainly a man with an obsession.

Minta spoke to me about the copse.

“I know now that it was Mr. Herrick who bought it. He paid far more than it was worth.”

“He can afford it,” I said rather tersely.

Her eyes shone warmly.

“It was very kind of him.”

“I think he wanted it rather badly.”

“He couldn’t have wanted it. There is plenty of land about which is far more valuable.”

But not Whiteladies, I thought. And I could see by Stirling’s manner that he believed be already had a foot in the door.

You’re wrong, Stirling, I thought. It isn’t going to work out your way. You’ll settle in at Mercer’s or we’ll go back to Australia. I knew then that it wouldn’t have mattered to me either way—as long as I was with Stirling.

Christmas was almost upon us. During the week before, Stirling and I with Maud, Minta and Franklyn accompanied a party of carol singers round the village to collect money for the church. We went to Wakefield Park afterwards where hot soup was served to us. I gathered it was a custom and that long ago Whiteladies had been the setting for it. Franklyn appeared to be taking over Whiteladies’ duties, and when he marries, I thought, he’ll go and live there and old customs will revert to what they once were.

Seeing his father seated in his chair with the tartan rug over his knees and his mother hovering close, it occurred to me that he had delayed asking Minta to marry him because of his parents. When he was married he would be expected to live at Whiteladies and he wished to remain with his father for what time was left to him.

We all met again on Christmas morning at church and in the late afternoon went to Wakefield Park where we were to dine. The place looked festive hung with holly and mistletoe and I was reminded of Adelaide’s attempts to bring an English atmosphere into our home on the other side of the world.

It was the traditional Christmas—turkey and plum pudding blazing with brandy, and gifts for everyone from a Christmas tree in the centre of the drawing-room. Toasts were drunk to our hosts, to their guests and particularly to newcomers. There were several guests besides ourselves and after dinner more called in. In a large ballroom we danced, to the music of two violins, the old country dances—Jenny Pluck Pears and Sir Roger de Coverley—and afterwards we waltzed and some of us tried the minuet. I enjoyed it all and tried not to think of Christmases spent in Australia. Franklyn’s parents stayed up until the end and I noticed the old man nodding and beating time to the music, and how his eyes and those of his wife followed Franklyn all the time.

“It was a lovely Christmas,” I told Franklyn; and he replied in his stilted way how pleased he was that I had not been bored by their old customs.

On the way home Stirling admitted it had been an enjoyable day and told me he had invited them all to the Mercer’s House for the New Year.

“We must put our heads together,” he said, ‘and plan something equal to Mr. Franklyn Wakefield’s entertainment. “

( was a little ashamed of that New Year’s party. Stirling had sent for a firm of London caterers to come down and manage the whole thing. He scattered invitations throughout the place. Special plate was brought down; expert chefs came to do the cooking; and he even decided that we should have footmen in blue velvet livery wearing powdered wigs.

I laughed aloud.

“It’s ridiculous,” I said, ‘for a small country house like this—and appalling bad taste. “

“I wish we could have it in Whiteladies,” he said wistfully.

“Imagine that hall …”

“This is not Whiteladies, and what are these people going to think when they see your hired flunkeys.”

But I could not dissuade him.

Mrs. Glee was inclined to be indignant.

“I could have managed very well, Mrs. Herrick, with an extra maid or two and [ would have known where to get them,” she scolded reproachfully.

“I hope Mr. Herrick is not dissatisfied with my cooking.”

I assured her that this was not the case and that Mr. Herrick had acted without consulting me. I should have planned a very different sort of party—with Mrs. Glee’s help, of course.

She was mollified and when she saw the decorated dining-and drawing-rooms and all the preparations, she began to take an immense pride in them. We were going to outshine Whiteladies and that meant something to her. She became quite excited, especially as she would take an authoritative part in the proceedings.

I don’t know whether I could call that evening a success. At least it was memorable. Fancy lamp-posts had been fixed outside the house and red carpet laid down on the steps of the portico. Stirling had hired a band which was set up in a little room between the dining-and drawing-rooms and the players wore red breeches with white Hungarian blouses. The table decorations were a masterpiece of roses which were very expensive at that time of the year. The guests were duly impressed and faintly embarrassed in the midst of such grandeur; consequently it was not such a merry party as we had had at Wakefield Park. Stirling had arranged for a pianist to entertain us ana afterwards we danced in the drawing-room which had been made ready for this purpose. It was not a ballroom such as they had at Wakefield Park, but it was when the dancing started that the party became enjoyable. We danced folk dances which Maud led because she ran a class for them, and then everyone became more natural. At a quarter to twelve we sat down waiting for midnight to strike; and when it did we joined hands and sang “Auld Lang Sync*. I had Franklyn on one side of me, Minta on the other; and I felt happy because I knew them.

When the last of the guests had gone Stirling and I sat down in the drawing-room and talked about the evening.

“You have made your point admirably,” I told him.

“Your friends and neighbours will no longer doubt that they have a millionaire in their midst.”

“It’s rather a pleasant thing to be.”

“When it gets you what you want; but do remember money won’t buy everything.”

“Name a few things it won’t.”

Those things which are not for sale. “

“You’ll see. I’ve made up my mind I’m going along to have a talk with Sir Hilary.”

“When?”

“In a few days’ time.”

“So you’re waiting a few days! Tactful of you but I marvel at your sloth. Why not go along tomorrow and say:

“Sir Hilary, I’ve made it clear to you that I am a millionaire, an ostentatious fellow who likes to stress the point. I’m ready to pay what you ask.” “You’ve changed, Nora. Sometimes I wonder whether you’re on my side.”

“I’m always on your side,” I said.

He smiled, understanding. That was love between us, unshakeable, inevitable. I could criticize him; he could mock me; it didn’t matter.

We were meant for each other and it would always be like that. True, I married Lynx; but then Lynx had decided that. And I was so close to Stirling that I shared his adoration of the strange man who had been his father. Stirling had had no choice but to stand aside for Lynx; and I had no choice but to stand aside for Whiteladies . which after all was for Lynx. But we were one-Stirling and I. After a year of widowhood I would become his wife.

As he smiled at me that night I was as certain of this as [ had been during that time in the cave when we had lain close together while a forest fire raged over our heads and we thought never to come out alive. There was the same understanding between us now.

By the end of January Stirling’s patience gave out and he went to see Sir Hilary. I was in the library when he came in, his face white, his lips tight and a look of blank despair in his eyes.

“What’s happened?” I cried.

“I’ve just come from Whiteladies.”

“Is something terribly wrong there?”

He nodded.

“I’ve made an offer to Sir Hilary.”

“And he refused. Is that all? I could have told you it would happen.”

He sat down heavily and stared at the tip of his boot.

“He says he can’t sell … ever. No matter what offer he had, he couldn’t.

“I’m saddled with the house and so is the family,” he said. Those were his words. Saddled with it! There’s some clause that won’t allow them to sell. It was made by some ancestor who had a gambling son. The house remains in the family . whatever happens. “

I felt as though a burden had been lifted from my shoulders.

“That’s settled it. You’ve done all you can and there’s an end to the matter.”

“Yes,” he said, ‘it would seem so. “

“You tried. No one, not even Lynx, could have done more.”

“I didn’t expect this.”

“I know. But I told you there are some things which are not for sale.

Now you can put it out of your mind and start planning for the future.”

“You’re glad, I believe.”

“I think it’s wrong to try to take from people something which belongs to them.”

“He used to talk so much about it. He was determined that we should be there.”

“But he didn’t know of this clause, did he? And I never agreed with him. He could be wrong … sometimes. His firm intention was to be revenged and revenge is wrong. There is no happiness in it.”

He was silent and I knew he wasn’t listening to me. He was thinking of all his wasted efforts. I went to him and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“What shall we do now?”

I asked.

“Shall we go back to Australia?”

He didn’t answer, but he stood up and put his arms round me.

“Nora,” he said. He repeated my name and kissed me as he never had before. It was a lover’s kiss—and I was happy.

I thought we would talk freely after that because we had made a tacit admission of our feelings; but this was not the case. Stirling was more withdrawn than he had been before. He was silent—almost morose; he went out riding alone. Once I saw him coming back, his horse sweating.

“You’ve been overworking that poor animal,” I accused, hoping he would tell me what was on his mind.

I thought I knew. He loved me, but Lynx was between us. Lynx, his father, had been my husband; and that made a strange relationship between us.

It will pass, I assured myself. What Lynx would want more than anything would be for Stirling and me to marry. We were the two he had loved best in the world; he would want us to be together. We shall call our first son Charles after him. We will never forget him. So I was unprepared for what happened next. Stirling came in one late afternoon just at dusk. Ellen had brought in the lamps and drawn the curtains and I was alone in the drawing-room. There was a strange expression on his face as though he were sleepwalking.

“I’d better tell you right away,” he said.

“I’m engaged to be married.”

I could not believe I had heard him correctly.

“I’ve just asked Minta to marry me,” he went on. I heard my voice then, cold, terse, indifferent almost.

“Oh … I see.”

“You do see, don’t you?” he said almost imploringly.

“Of course. It’s the only way to buy Whiteladies.”

“It was the only way … in view of the fact that it can’t go out of the family.”

“Congratulations,” I said harshly.

I had to get out of the room or I should rage and storm at him. I should lay bare my hopes and longings. I couldn’t stay in that room trying to speak to him calmly. So I pushed past him to the door. I sped up to my room and locked myself in.

Then I lay on my bed and stared at the Mercer’s coat of arms on the ceiling and I wished that I were dead.

How I lived through the weeks which followed I am not sure. I had to look on at Minta’s bliss. How she loved him! I could understand that.

Once she had been contented enough at the prospect of marrying Franklyn Wakefield, no doubt; and then he had come—this strong, vital Stirling who, when he wanted something, would allow no obstacle to stand in his way. Poor Minta; Did she guess why he was marrying her?

Often I wanted to tell her. I had to keep a tight control on my tongue to prevent myself shouting at her; and all the time I could feel nothing but pity for her. Poor innocent little dupe! The victim of one strange man’s desire for revenge and of another’s tenacious need to fulfill a duty. Poor innocent Minta, who believed herself loved! She was not marrying for the sake of Whiteladies even though it would now be completely restored to its old perfection. It would be a cherished house. I could imagine Stirling’s thorough assessment of the necessary repairs. No expense spared. Here comes the golden millionaire.

And what happiness would come from such a marriage, I asked myself bitterly. I was jealous, angry and humiliated. loved Stirling and I had believed he had loved me. And so he did. But his duty towards Lynx came before his love for me. A voice within me said: As your infatuation for Lynx came before your love for Stirling, remember?p>

Lynx was still with us, ruling our lives.

If I was deeply unhappy I was determined not to show it. I think I managed very well. Stirling made sure that we were rarely alone together. He spent a lot of time at Whiteladies. He was, as I guessed, making that assessment of necessary repairs and he threw himself into the task with all the ardour a normal man might have showered on his bride.

Minta came to see me and sat in the drawing-room nursing Donna. She was so happy, she said. She would tell me a secret. She had been in love with Stirling ever since we came to the Mercer’s House. No, before that really. Did I remember the occasion when we had all met for the first time? And when he came back . it seemed like fate.

Not fate, I thought, but Lynx.

“Stirling adores Whiteladies. He’ll love living there.”

It’s the only reason for his marriage, I thought grimly.

“He makes me see it differently. More as Lucie does.”

“And Lucie? Is Lucie pleased?”

She wrinkled her brows and I warmed towards Lucie, who, with her practical good sense, saw farther than Minta and her father.

“Lucie’s worried about me. I think she has the idea that I’m a child still. She taught me at school long ago and I don’t think she ever sees me as anything but one of her less bright pupils.”

So Lucie didn’t altogether approve.

“And what I wanted to say, Nora, is this: If you would like to come and live at Whiteladies there will always be a home for you there.”

Then At Whiteladies. Oh, but you don’t want your stepmother-in-law. “I heard myself giggle a little wildly.

“That absurd title. I know Stirling wants you to come.”

“Has he said so?”

“Well, of course.”

No, I thought. Never! How could I live under the same roof and see them together and think of all that should have been mine? And Stirling loved me. He knew it. Poor innocent little Minta, who did not understand the devious people who surrounded her.

“Well, I’ve grown very attached to the Mercer’s House.”

“What, that big house all to yourself! Don’t imagine we should live in each other’s pockets. Whiteladies is vast. You could have your own wing. There are the apartments which used to be my mother’s.”

“It’s good of you, Minta, but I think I’ll be better here for a while.

I may go back to Australia. “

“Please don’t say that. We should hate it … Stirling and L’ And how I hated the proprietary way in which she spoke of him. My feelings were tempestuous and I was wretchedly unhappy. But I could only feel pity for Minta.

They were married that April—just as the buds were showing on the trees and the dawn chorus was at its most joyful.

Maud had decorated the church and I had helped her, which was bitter irony. How she had chattered! She was so happy for Minta.

“If ever a girl was in love that girl is Minta,” she said. And I knew Maud was imagining herself walking down the aisle on the arm of Dr. Hunter, a bride. I could feel a great sympathy for Maud, but at least she did not have to see the man she loved married to someone else.

Right up to the wedding-day I kept assuring myself that something would happen to prevent this marriage; but the day arrived and Sir Hilary gave his daughter away and the Reverend John Mathers performed the service.

I sat and watched Stirling at the altar taking his vows to Minta. On one side of me was Lucie, on the other Franklyn. Lucie looked rather stem as though she feared for the marriage. And Franklyn? What were his feelings? He gave no indication that he suffered from seeing the girl who was surely intended for him marrying someone else. But that was characteristic of him.

The responses were over; they were signing the register; soon the wedding march would peal forth and they would come down the aisle together. It was like an evil dream.

And there they were—Minta, a radiant bride, Stirling inscrutable; and the organ playing the Wedding March from Lohengrin. It was over.

We left the church and with Franklyn beside me, I came out into the uncertain April sunshine.