The Shadow of the Lynx

One

I am not sure when I first began to suspect that someone was trying to kill me. At first it was a hazy notion, one which I dismissed as ridiculous—and then it became a certainty. I had become a frightened and unhappy woman.

Yet on the day when I married Stirling I was, I was sure, the happiest bride in the world. I couldn’t believe that this wonderful thing had happened to me. In fact, on the day he proposed to me I was taken completely by surprise. Stirling was different from anyone I had ever known. There was a special quality about him. Nora had it too. They were the sort of people whose lives seemed so much more exciting than mine; and that made them stimulating to be with. Nora was by no means beautiful but she had more charm than anyone I knew; she was poised and had a rare dignity; I felt one only had to look at Nora to be attracted by her. Her life had been so unusual. There was the marriage to Stirling’s father of which she spoke very little, but I had noticed that whenever her husband’s name was mentioned there was a sort of breathless pause—with Stirling as well as Nora-as though they were talking of some deity. The fact that she had been his wife elevated her in some way, made her different from other people. Stirling had the same quality. They were not easy to know; they were unpredictable; they were unlike people I had known all my life—people like Maud Mathers and Franklyn—and even Lucie whom I understood and knew so well.

I had never hoped that Stirling would care for me. I used to think that he and Nora would be well matched, and had she not been his stepmother they might have married. And then that day came and he said without warning: “Minta, I want to marry you.” I blinked and stammered: “What did you say?” because I was certain I had misheard.

He took my hands and kissed them and said he wanted to marry me. I told him that I loved him and had ever since I had first seen him; but I didn’t dream he felt the same about me.

We told Father right away. He was delighted because he knew Stirling was rich and that when we were married I shouldn’t be haunted by poverty as he had always been. He summoned the household—including our few servants—and told them the news; and he sent down to the wine cellars for the last of the champagne so that everyone could drink our health. The servants did this readily. They were doubtless thinking that their wages would now be paid regularly.

But there were two people in the house who weren’t pleased.

The first was Lucie. Dear Lucie, she always behaved as though I had just emerged from the schoolroom and needed looking after. She came to my room after Stirling had gone and sat on the bed as she used to in those days when she came to Whiteladies for holidays.

“Minta,” she said, ‘are you absolutely sure? “

“I was never more sure of anything. It’s wonderful, because I never thought he could possibly care for me.”

“Why not?” she demanded.

“You happen to be a beautiful young woman and I always thought you’d make a good marriage.”

“Yet you’re looking worried.”

“I am … a little.”

“But why?”

“I don’t know. It’s a feeling I have.”

“Oh, Lucie, everybody’s delighted. And even if I wasn’t in love with him, it’s good from every point of view, isn’t it? He’ll stop all our worries about money; and you know how you’re always fretting about the house falling into ruin.”

“I know. I love this house and it is in urgent need of repair, but that doesn’t mean I think you should marry because of it.”

“You’re being a fussy old hen, Lucie.”

“Since I married your father I’ve looked upon you as my daughter. And before that, as you know, I was very fond of you. I want you to be happy, Minta.”

“But I am. Never so as now.”

“I wish you would wait … not rush into things.”

“You’ve become a gloomy old prophetess. What’s wrong with Stirling?”

“Nothing, I hope, but it’s all too quick. I had no idea that he was in love with you. He’s never given me that impression.”

“Nor me either.” I giggled like a foolish schoolgirl.

“But he’s different, Lucie. He’s lived a different life from ours. You shouldn’t expect him to behave like ordinary people. He wouldn’t show his feelings. “

That’s the trouble. He doesn’t. He certainly didn’t show he was in love with you. “

“Why else should he want to marry me? I can’t bring him a fortune.”

“He’s very interested in the house. He might be seeking the background marriage into a family like ours could give him. After all, who is he?

That rather vulgar display at the New Year shows a certain lack of breeding. “

“Lucie, how dare you say such things!”

I’m sorry. ” She was immediately contrite.

“I’m letting my anxieties run away with me. Forgive me, Minta.”

“Dearest Lucie. I’m the one who should ask forgiveness. I know you’re worried solely on my account. But really there’s nothing to worry about. I’m perfectly happy.”

“Well, you won’t rush things too much, will you?”

“Not too much,” I promised. But I knew Stirling wanted an early marriage and everything now would be what Stirling wanted.

The other dissenter was Lizzie. How dramatic—and rather tiresome—she had become since Mamma died. Lizzie had to wait until I was in bed before she came in, glided was the word, with her candle held high like some ghost. She was in a long white flannelette nightdress which added to the ghostly illusion. I was aware of being too excited for sleep, and was going over the wonderful moment when Stirling asked me to marry him.

She pushed open the door and I said: “What are you doing roaming about the house. Lizzie? You might set your nightdress alight with that candle.”

“I have to come and see you. Miss Minta.”

“At this time of night!”

“Time doesn’t matter.”

“Well, I think it does, Lizzie, because I’m tired and you ought to be in bed.”

She took no notice but sat on the edge of my bed.

So you’re going to get married . to him. “

“I’m going to marry Mr. Stirling Herrick, if that’s to whom you refer.”

“That’s him, all right. And the likeness is there. You’d know who he is at once.”

“Please don’t speak of my future husband disrespectfully, Lizzie.”

“There’s something unnatural about it. It seems a funny thing to me.

His father wanting to marry your mother and now he’s here and going to marry you. “

“What are you talking about. Lizzie.”

“It was his father who was here all those years ago.”

“His father! That was Mrs. Herrick’s husband.”

“A real mix-up,” said Lizzie.

“That’s what I think’s so funny about it. Your mother was mad about him and she wasn’t the only one.”

“Go to bed. Lizzie. You’re rambling.”

“No I’m not. What I say is true. It’s as though he’s come back. In a way I always thought he would.”

Events started to fall into shape in my mind. I said: “Lizzie, do you mean that my mother’s artist was …”

That’s right. Mr. Charles Herrick. You can see his name on some of the drawings in the studio cupboard. He came here to teach her drawing, then he went away . sent away to Australia for theft and your mother never saw him again. She was never the same after, and now he’s dead they say, but there’s this other one and you’re planning to marry him. Doesn’t that seem like some sort of fate? “

“I don’t understand it. I think you could be mistaken.”

“I’m not mistaken. There’s some who don’t lie down when they’re dead and he’s one of them.”

“You’re making a dramatic situation out of a perfectly normal one.”

“I hope so. Miss Minta. I certainly hope so. But how did he come here, out of the blue? He’s bewitched you just as his father did your mother . and others.”

“I’n ask Mr. Herrick about this when he comes back.”

“You ask him and listen carefully to the answers.”

“Now, Lizzie, I’m sleepy.”

“I take the hint, but I’ve warned you. I can’t do more than that.”

Then she picked up the candle and went out.

But I did not sleep. I was too excited. Could it be true that Stirling’s father was my mother’s artist? And what a strange coincidence that Nora’s scarf should have blown over our wall. What did it mean? But did it matter? What was important was that Stirling had asked me to marry him. Was it the house he wanted, as Lucie seemed to suggest? Was it some sort of pattern as Lizzie thought it to be? And finally, what did it matter? I was going to marry Stirling.

Stirling said there was no need for delay. He was eager to become my husband.

I mentioned what Lizzie had told me.

“It’s true,” he admitted, ‘that my father was a drawing-master at Whiteladies, wrongly accused of theft and sent to Australia. There he quickly made good. It was a grossly unfair charge to make against a great man. When I came to England to take Nora back I naturally wanted to look at the house where my father had worked, Nora’s scarf blew over the wall and we came in to get it. “

There seemed nothing extraordinary about that. It was all so logical—except of course for the fact that Stirling had never mentioned his father’s connection with the house before this.

“I’m sorry about your father,” I said.

“He wouldn’t need pity.”

“But to be wrongly accused.”

“It happened often in those days.”

“You were so fond of him, Stirling.”

“He was my father.”

“You have a certain reverence for him. It’s the same with Nora.”

“If you had known him you would have understood.”

“Poor Nora! How she must have suffered when he died!”

He didn’t speak but turned his face away. I feared I had been tactless. He never liked to speak of Nora. I thought it was because he was worried about her future so I said that if ever she wanted to come to Whiteladies she would be very welcome.

“After all, she is like your sister. I know she is, in fact, your stepmother, but that seems ridiculous. She’s so attractive. I always feel unworldly beside her. I wish I were more like her.”

Stirling didn’t say anything; he just stared ahead as though I weren’t there. He’s thinking of his father, I told myself; and I was glad that he was capable of such deep devotion.

There were so many preparations for the marriage. Maud Mathers was excited by it and envious in the nicest possible way. She immediately began working out how she would decorate the church.

“I wish it were May instead of April, she said.

“It would give us more opportunity with the flowers.”

Lucie supervised the making of my wedding-dress. We had Jenny Callow and her daughter Flora to come in and work on it and make some other clothes for me. It was like old times because when I was a little girl before we became so poor. Jenny used to work full time at Whiteladies.

Flora was a little girl then, learning her trade from her mother. I remember her standing by holding the pins. Then Jenny had to go and people used to get her to do dressmaking for them so that she could make a living.

The only person I could chatter with was Maud. Lucie would have been ideal but I couldn’t bear her silent disapproval. I would have liked to talk to Nora but she kept out of the way. I was disappointed; I thought she was going to be like a sister. Maud wanted to know where we were going for the honeymoon and when I told her that we hadn’t discussed this she was faintly disappointed.

“Venice!” she said.

“Sailing down the Grand Canal in a gondola. Or perhaps Florence. Strolling to the bridge where Dante and Beatrice met. Rome and the Forum and standing on the spot where Julius Caesar was struck down. I always think Italy is the place for honeymoons.”

I was surprised. I had not thought Maud so romantic.

When I mentioned a honeymoon to Stirling he said: “Why should we go away? What could be more fascinating than Whiteladies?”

“You mean stay at home!”

“It’s only just become my home,” said Stirling. There’s nothing I’d like so much as to explore it. Of course if you would like to go away”

But I wanted to do exactly what he wanted. There won’t be a honeymoon yet,” I told Maud. That will come later.”

So the dresses were made and the cake baked; and Father said there was no need to consider the expense of the wedding. I was getting a handsome settlement and because of my marriage Whiteladies would be gradually restored to its old magnificence.

A week before the wedding Lucie came to my room one night for a talk.

There’s just one thing I want to say, Minta,” she told me.

“If you want to change your mind you shouldn’t hesitate.”

“Change my mind! Whatever for?”

“It’s all been rather hurried and there’s been so much talk about how good this is for Whiteladies. But if you decided not to marry, we’d manage. We’ve managed so far. I don’t want you to feel you have to marry for the sake of the house.”

“I never felt that for one moment, Lucie. I love the house and hate to see it crumbling away, but I wouldn’t marry tor it. It’s just the greatest good fortune that Stirling happens to be rich and loves the house. He’s going to put it all to rights. You’ll be glad. I know you will. You’ve worried a lot about the house. “

“I’ll be glad, of course, but nothing would compensate for your making the wrong marriage.”

“Set your mind at rest. The reason I am marrying Stirling is because I love him.”

That satisfied her. She started to talk about the wedding and hoped Maud would look well in the cerise-coloured silk she had chosen. Maud was to be Maid of Honour. I had hoped Nora would be but she had said it would be absurd for a married woman to take the part and had shown so clearly that she did not wish for it that I hadn’t tried to persuade her. Lucie said it was a pity Druscilla wasn’t old enough to be a bridesmaid and I agreed. We had asked Dr. Hunter to be best man.

There again Franklyn would have been the obvious choice but somehow it seemed wrong to ask him because I knew so many people had expected him to be the bridegroom at my wedding. But, as I said, what did all this matter? The important thing was that I married Stirling.

And so at last came our wedding-day—the happiest day of my life.

After Mr. Mathers had performed the ceremony we went back to Whiteladies and the reception was held in the great hall where the brides of our family had celebrated their marriages through the centuries. On that day Stirling seemed as though he were enraptured.

He loves me, I thought. He couldn’t look like that if he did not.

He stood in the hall with me by the great cake and guided my hand as I cut it, and there was something about him which I can only describe as triumph.

There were the usual speeches—Father’s rather rambling and sentimental; Dr. Hunter’s short and rather witty; Franklyn’s conventional—the sort of speeches that had been made at weddings for the last hundred years. Stirling answered. He was direct. It was a happy day for him, he said. He felt tie had come home.

Some of the guests stayed on to a dinner-party and afterwards we danced in the hall which made a wonderful ballroom. Stirling and I waltzed round together. He was not a good dancer but I loved him the more because of that.

“You’ll find me lacking in fancy manners,” he told me.

“I know I shall love what I find,” I replied. Then the guests left and we were alone. I was a little afraid of my inadequacy, but Stirling was kind. It was almost as though he were sorry for me and I was enchanted by his unexpected tenderness. Yes, that was the happiest day of my life.

Two

It was a strange honeymoon. On the first day Stirling wanted me to take him on a tour of the house.

“Just the two of us,” he said.

I was delighted and we went round together. He was horrified by the state of things and made a lot of notes. I remember how he probed the oak beams in some of the rooms.

“Worm!” he commented.

“They could collapse at any moment. We’ll have to get to work on them right away.”

“You’re more like an assessor than a husband,” I told him.

This is your house,” he retorted.

“It’s in trust for our children. We have to see that it is kept in order.”

I hadn’t realized how thoroughly neglected the house had been.

“It will need a fortune spent on it, Stirling,” I said.

“There’s no need to do everything at once.”

’I have a fortune,” he said. I laughed because what Lucie called his ostentatiousness amused me. He was rich and proud of being so because his father had made that fortune and everything his father had done was wonderful in his opinion.

“And,” he went on, ‘nothing is going to be left. I’m going to see that your house is in perfect order.

“I wish you wouldn’t say your house in that way, Stirling. What I have is yours. You know that.”

Then he smiled in a way which touched me deeply. He kissed me gently and said: “You’re a sweet girl, Minta. I’m sorry that I am as I am.”

I laughed at him and said: “But that’s why I love you.” He put his arms round me and held me against him.

“We’re going to be very happy,” I told him, for it was as though he was the one who needed assurance then.

“Our children will play on the lawns of Whiteladies,” he said solemnly.

“A restored and beautiful Whiteladies which has lost its woodworm and whose bartizans will stand for another thousand years.”

What energy Stirling had and he spent it on the house! Within three months the rot had been arrested and Whiteladies was beginning to be a fine old house again. But he wasn’t satisfied. There was still a good deal to be done. That time was what I called the Whiteladies Summer.

At the beginning of September tragedy struck Wakefield Park. Sir Everard had another stroke and died. It had been expected for we all knew that he couldn’t live long, but it was a shock nevertheless.

Especially for Lady Wakefield. She was lost without her husband; Franklyn was with her all the time but she fretted and a week after the funeral she took to her bed and for some weeks lay there without any will to leave it. In the middle of October she died and everyone said it was a ‘happy release’.

Poor Franklyn was distressed, but he was not the man to show it. Dr. Hunter told us that he had warned Franklyn of the inevitability of his father’s death and the fact that Lady Wakefield had died so soon afterwards was as she would have wanted it. Dr. Hunter had come to Whiteladies to see Druscilla. Lucie was always calling him. She worried ridiculously about that child. In fact where Druscilla was concerned she was by no means her usual practical self.

“She had no will to live,” said Dr. Hunter.

“I’ve known it happen like that many times. People have been together all their lives. One goes and the other follows immediately.”

Father was upset about losing his dear friends. He insisted on going to the funeral. Lucie was quite cross about it because there was a keen east wind blowing; she declared she would not allow him to go out. Yes, she did fuss us. It was because she had never had a family before and that made us rather precious to her. Father usually gave in but he was adamant on this occasion. He said he was determined to ‘see the last of his old friend’. So he drove to the church and followed the cortege to the graveside and stood there in the wind.

his hat in his hand.

I was sad for Franklyn, knowing how devoted he was to his parents, and was glad Nora was there because I felt that her presence comforted Franklyn. I had known for some time that he admired her. Towards him she showed a certain aloofness but she was friendly in a way. I remarked to Stirling that it would be rather a pleasant solution for Nora if she married Franklyn, for she constantly talked as though she intended to return to Australia.

“They’re completely unsuited to each other,” said Stirling coldly.

“Franklyn!” he added quite contemptuously as though Franklyn wouldn’t make a good husband.

“You don’t know Franklyn,” I defended my old friend.

“He’s one of the kindest people in the world.”

He turned away quite angrily. Nora had married his father, of course, and I supposed the thought of anyone’s supplanting him was distasteful.

Still, I continued to think how pleasant it would be if Franklyn and Nora could marry. I wondered whether the idea was in Franklyn’s mind.

I was sure it was not in Nora’s.

A few days after Lady Wakefield’s funeral Father developed a cold.

Lucie fussed terribly as she always did when he was ill and made him stay in bed. He should never have gone to the funeral, she grumbled.

She sent for Dr. Hunter and kept him with her a long time. When the doctor left the sick room I asked him to come into the library and asked him if my father was really ill or was it just Lucie’s worrying.

“It’s a chill,” he said, ‘but it’s near to bronchitis. I hope we’ve caught it in time. Perhaps a few days in bed. “

Poor Dr. Hunter! He looked very tired himself; and I thought of his going home to that rather dismal little house where his housekeeper might or might not be in a drunken stupor. Why didn’t he marry Maud?

She would look after him.

I insisted on his drinking a glass of sherry before he went out to his brougham; that brought a little colour into his cheeks and he seemed more cheerful.

“I’ll look in this evening,” he promised, ‘just to make sure your father is going along as he should. “

But when he came that evening. Father had bronchitis. In a few days this had turned to pneumonia. I had rarely seen Lucie so upset and I thought how lucky Father was to have such a devoted wife, for I had believed that for Lucie hers had been a marriage of convenience. I knew she had wanted Whiteladies to be her home for ever and no doubt she had enjoyed being Lady Cardew; but when I saw how upset she was I realized how deeply she eared for my father.

She wouldn’t leave the sick room; she was with him day and night, only snatching an hour or so’s sleep in the next room if I sat with him.

I don’t trust those servants,” she said.

“He might want something.”

“If you don’t rest you’ll be ill yourself,” I scolded.

I sat with him but as soon as he started to cough she was up.

We waited for the crisis; but I knew Dr. Hunter didn’t think there was much hope. Father was old and had been failing in health for some time. Pneumonia was a serious illness, even for the young.

Father wanted Lucie at his bedside all the time and was uneasy if she wasn’t there. I thought how wonderful it was to see their love for each other and I remembered how peevish my mother had always been. I was glad my father had found happiness in the end with a woman like Lucie.

We were both with him when he died but his hand was in Lucie’s. I shall never forget the look on her face when she lifted it to me. It was as though she had lost everything she cared for.

“Lucie darling,” I said, ‘you still have Cilia. “

I led her to Druscilla’s room. It was nine o’clock and the child was asleep. Nevertheless I picked her up and put her into Lucie’s arms.

“Mamma,” said Druscilla sleepily and a little crossly.

And Lucie stood there tragically straining the child to her till I took Druscilla away and put her back in her bed. It was perhaps a rather sentimental and dramatic gesture but it did some good. Lucie braced herself and I knew she was realizing that she had Druscilla to live for.

Christmas came. Last year we had gone to Wakefield Park; this year the festivities should be held at Whiteladies. They could not be as lavish as they would be next year, said Stirling, because of my father’s death, but they should be worthy of the house. It must be understood that Whiteladies, not Wakefield Park, was the focal point of the neighbourhood.

Lucie had gone about like a ghost in her widow’s weeds. In fact they rather became her. Druscilla was nearly two; she had become imperious and demanding, the pet of the household. Lucie loved her passionately but refused to spoil her as I fear the rest of us did. I adored her and constantly longed to have a child of my own. Stirling wanted it too. He was always talking about our children’s playing on the lawns of Whiteladies.

Once I had thought I was pregnant and it had turned out not to be so.

I was very upset about that and determined that I wouldn’t say anything to anyone next time until I was sure. Lucie was always asking pointed questions.

“When you have a child of your own …” she would say. Once she said:

“Perhaps you want a child too passionately. I’ve heard it said that sometimes when people do they can’t conceive. It’s a sort of perversity of nature.”

When I told her about Stirling’s ideas for taking up the old Christmas ceremonies as we used to in the past she thought it a good idea.

“Whiteladies is the great house,” she said.

“Wakefield Park is an upstart. I think your husband has the right idea.”

I was glad that she was beginning to like Stirling and change her suspicions about the reason why he had married me.

“When you have your family you will probably want me to leave,” she said one day.

“What nonsense!” I cried.

“This is your home. Besides, what should we do without you?”

“It won’t always be like that. I am just the stepmother-not really needed.”

“When have I ever not needed you?” I demanded.

“I shall know when the time comes for me to go,” she said.

“I wish you wouldn’t say such a thing.”

All right. We’ll forget. But I’d never stay if I weren’t wanted. “

That was good enough, I told her. She always would be.

How Stirling enjoyed planning for Christmas! A great deal of the essential work had been done on the house and he took a personal pride in it; but there was much still to be done. He had already increased the staff. Now we had six gardeners and the grounds were beginning to look beautiful. There were always workmen in the house and some rooms were out of bounds because the floor was up or the panelling being repaired.

Two weeks before Christmas I was almost sure that I was pregnant. I longed to tell someone but decided not to. I didn’t want to raise Stirling’s hopes. Oddly enough. Lizzie guessed. She was dusting Druscilla’s room, which was one of her duties, and I had gone in to see the child, who was sitting on the floor playing with her bricks, so I knelt down and we built a house together. I couldn’t take my eyes from that small face with the delicate baby nose and the tiny tendrils of hair at the brow. I was thinking of my own baby when Lizzie said in that forthright way of hers: “So it’s like that, is it?”

“Like what?” I demanded.

Lizzie cradled an imaginary baby in her arms. I flushed and Druscilla cried: “What have you got there. Lizzie?”

Lizzie said: “You’d be surprised, miss, wouldn’t you, if I told you another baby. That would put Miss Cilia’s little nose out of joint, wouldn’t it?”

Druscilla touched her little nose and said: “What’s that?”

I kissed her and said: “Lizzie’s playing.”

“You couldn’t fool me,” said Lizzie. There’s always a way of telling.”

Druscilla impatiently called my attention to the bricks and I thought:

Is it true? Is there a way of telling?

Christmas had come and gone. The Christmas bazaar had been held in the newly restored hall of Whiteladies; Stirling had provided lavish entertainment free of charge, something which had never been done before. It was a great success and everyone enjoyed our new affluence.

We entertained the carol singers at Whiteladies and soup and wine and rich plum cake were served to them. I heard one of the elder members say that it was like old times and even then they hadn’t been treated to such good wine.

We had only a small dinner-party on Christmas Day because of our recent bereavement—just the family, with Nora and Franklyn; and on Boxing Day we all went to Wakefield Park.

The new year came and then I experienced the first of those alarming incidents.

That morning at breakfast Stirling was talking—as was often the case—about the work which was being done in the house.

They’ve started on the bartizan, he said.

“There’s more to be done up there than we thought at first.”

“Won’t it be wonderful when it’s all finished,” I cried.

“Then we can enjoy living in a house that is not constantly overrun by workmen.”

“Everything that has been done has been very necessary,” Stirling reminded me.

“If my ancestors can look down on what’s happening at Whiteladies, they’ll call you blessed.”

He was silent for a while and then he said: “A big house should be the home of a lot of people.” He turned to Lucie and said: “Don’t you agree?”

“I do,” she answered.

“And you were talking of leaving us,” I accused.

“We shan’t allow it.

Shall we, Stirling? “

“Minta could never manage without you,” said Stirling, and Lucie looked pleased, which made me happy.

“Then there’s Nora,” I went on.

“How I wish she would come here. It’s absurd … one person in the big Mercer’s House.”

“She’s considering leaving us,” said Stirling.

“We must certainly not allow that to happen.”

“How can we prevent it if she wants to go?” he asked quite coldly.

“She’s been saying she’s going for a long time, but still she stays. I think she has a reason for staying.”

“What reason?” He looked at me as though he disliked me, but I believed it was the thought of Nora’s going that he disliked. I shrugged my shoulders and he went on: “Go and have a look at what they’ve done to the bartizan some time. We mustn’t let the antiquity be destroyed. They’ll have to go very carefully with the restoration.”

He liked me to take an interest in the work that was being done so I said I would go that afternoon before dark (it was dark just after four at this time of the year). I shouldn’t have a chance in the morning as I’d promised to go and have morning coffee with Maud who was having a twelfth-night bazaar and was worried about refreshments.

That would take the whole of the morning, and Maud had asked me to stay for luncheon. Stirling didn’t seem to be listening. I looked at him wistfully; he was by no means a demonstrative husband. Sometimes I thought he made love in a perfunctory manner-as though it were a duty which had to be performed.

Of course I had always known that he was unusual. He had always stressed the fact that he had no fancy manners, for be had not been brought up in an English mansion like some people. He was referring to Franklyn. Sometimes I think: he positively disliked Franklyn and I wondered whether it was because he knew that Franklyn admired Nora and he didn’t think any man could replace his father.

He needn’t have worried, I was sure. If Franklyn was in love with Nora, Nora was as coldly aloof from him as I sometimes thought Stirling was from me. But I loved Stirling deeply and no matter how he felt about me I should go on loving him. There were occasions in the night when I would wake up depressed and say to myself: He married you for Whiteladies. And indeed his obsession with the house could have meant that that was true. But I didn’t believe it in my heart. It was just that he was not a man to show his feelings.

I came back from the vicarage at half past three. It was a cloudy day so that dusk seemed to be almost upon us. I remembered the bartizan, and as Stirling would very likely ask me that evening if I had been up to look at it, I decided I had better do so right away, for any lack of interest in the repairs on my part seemed to exasperate him.

The tower from which the bartizan projected was in the oldest part of the house. This was the original convent. It wasn’t used as living quarters but Stirling had all sorts of ideas for it. There was a spiral staircase which led up to the tower and a rope banister. In the old days we had rarely come here and when I had made my tour of inspection with Stirling it had been almost as unfamiliar to me as to him. Now there were splashes of whitewash on the stairs and signs that workmen had been there.

It was a long climb and half-way up I paused for breath. There was silence about me. What a gloomy part of the house this was! The staircase was broken by a landing and this led to a wide passage on either side of which were cells like alcoves.

As I stood on this landing I remembered an old legend I had heard as a child. A nun had thrown herself from the bartizan, so the story went.

She had sinned by breaking her vows and had taken her life as a way out of the world. Like all old houses, Whiteladies must have its ghost and what more apt than one of the white ladies? Now and then a white figure was supposed to be seen on the tower or in the bartizan.

After dark none of the servants would go to the tower or even pass it on their way to the road. We had never thought much about the story, but being alone in the tower brought it back to my mind. It was the sort of afternoon to inspire such thoughts—sombre, cloudy, with a hint of mist in the air. Perhaps I heard the light sound of a step on the stairs below me. Perhaps I sensed as one does a presence nearby. I wasn’t sure, but as I stood there, I felt suddenly cold as though some unknown terror was creeping up on me.

I turned away from the landing and started up the stairs. I would have a quick look and come down again. I must not let Stirling think I was not interested. I was breathless, for the stairs were very steep and I had started to hurry. Why hurry? There was ho need to . except that I wanted to be on my way down; I wanted to get away from this haunted tower.

I paused. Then I heard it. A footstep—slow and stealthy on the stair.

I listened. Silence. Imagination, I told myself. Or perhaps it was a workman. Or Stirling come to show me how they were getting on.

“Is anyone there?” I called.

Silence. A frightening silence. I thought to myself: I’m not atone in this tower. I am sure of it. Someone is dose . not far behind me.

Someone who doesn’t answer when I call.

Sometimes I think there is a. guardian angel who dogs our footsteps and warns us of danger. I felt then that I was being urged to watch, that danger was not far behind me.

I ran to the top of the tower. I stood there, leaning over the parapet, gripping the stone with my hands. I looked down below, far below and I thought: Someone is coming up the stairs. I shall be alone here with that person . alone on this tower.

Yes. It was coming. Stealthy footsteps. The creak of the door which led to the last steps. Three more of those steps and then . I stood there clinging to me stones, my heart thundering while I prayed for a miracle.

Then the miracle was there below me. Maud Mathers came into sight with her quick, rather ungainly stride.

I called: “Maud! Maud!’ She stopped and looked about her.

Oh God help me, I prayed. It’s coming dose. Maud was looking up.

“Minta! What are you doing up there?” Hers was the sort of voice which could be heard at the back of the hall when the village put on its miracle play.

“Just looking at the work that’s being done.”

“I’ve brought your gloves. You left them at the vicarage. I thought you might want them.”

I was laughing with relief. I turned and looked over my shoulder.

Nothing. Just nothing! I had experienced a moment of panic and Maud with her common sense had dispelled it.

“I’ll come right down,” I said.

“Wait for me, Maud. I’m coming now.”

I ran down those stairs and there was no sign of anyone. It was fancy, I told myself. The sort of thing that happens to women when they’re pregnant.

I didn’t think of that incident again until some time afterwards.

By the end of January I was certain that I was going to have a child.

Stirling was delighted—perhaps triumphant was the word—and that made me very happy. I realized then that he had become more withdrawn than ever. I began to see less of him. He was constantly with the workmen; he was also buying up land in the neighbourhood. I had the feeling that he wanted to outdo Franklyn in some way, which was ridiculous really because the Wakefields had been at the Park for about a hundred years and however much land Stirling acquired there couldn’t be a question of rivalry.

Lucie cosseted me and was excited about the baby. She wanted to talk about it all the time.

“It will be Druscilla’s niece or nephew. What a complicated household we are!”

I was very amused when I discovered that Bella, the little cat which Nora had given me, was going to have kittens. I had grown very fond of Bella. She was a most unusual cat and Nora assured me that Donna was the same. They followed us as dogs do; they were affectionate and liked nothing so much as to sit in our laps and be stroked. They would purr away and I always smiled when I was at Mercer’s to see Donna behave in exactly the same way as Bella did. And when I knew Bella was going to have kittens I couldn’t resist going over to tell Nora.

I was a little uneasy with Nora nowadays. I hadn’t felt like that before my marriage, but now there seemed a certain barrier between us which might have been of her erecting because it certainly wasn’t of mine.

She was in the greenhouse where she was trying to grow orchids and Donna was sitting on the bench watching her at her work.

“Nora, what do you think?” I cried.

“Bella’s going to have kittens.”

She turned to look at me and laughed and she was how I liked her to be—amused and friendly.

“What a coincidence!” she said.

“You mean … both of us.”

Nora nodded.

“Poor Donna will be piqued when she knows.”

At the mention of her name Donna mewed appreciatively and rubbed herself against Nora’s arm.

“So she’s stolen a march on you, eh?” said Nora to the cat. And to me.

“What will you do with them?”

“Keep one and find a home for the others. I think they’d like one at the vicarage.”

So we went in and Mrs. Glee served coffee in that rather truculent way of hers which amused Nora and was meant to show how much better things were done at Mercer’s that at Whiteladies.

“I’m giving a dinner-party next week,” said Nora.

“You must come, Minta.”

“I’m sure we should love to.”

“It’s going to be a rather special occasion.” She didn’t say what and I didn’t probe. I was sure it was no use in any case. Nora was the sort of person who could not be coaxed into saying what she did not want to.

While we were drinking coffee we heard the sounds of a horse’s hoofs on the stable cobbles.

“It’s Franklyn,” said Nora, looking out of the window.

“He calls in frequently. We enjoy a game of chess together. I think he’s rather lonely since his parents died.”

Franklyn came in looking very distinguished, I thought. I wondered whether there would be an announcement of their engagement and this was what the party was going to be for. One couldn’t tell from either of them. But Franklyn’s frequent visits to Mercer’s seemed significant. After all, I knew him very well and I was sure he was in love with Nora.

I really looked forward to the dinner-party. It seemed to me that it would be such a pleasant rounding off if Nora married Franklyn and we all lived happily ever after.

But on the night of the dinner-party I had a shock. There was no mention of an engagement. Instead Nora told us that this would be one of the last dinner-parties she would give because she had definitely decided to go back to Australia.

Bella was missing. We guessed of course that she had hidden herself away in order to have her kittens, but we had no idea where. Lucie said it was a habit cats had. I was rather worried because I thought she would need food, but, as Lucie said, we shouldn’t worry about her for she would know where to come when she wanted it.

She appeared after a day and night and it was clear that she had had her kittens.

“We’ll have to follow her,” said Lucie, ‘and find out where they are.”

We did, and, to our amazement, Bella led us to the tower. Work had had to stop up there because some special wood was needed and it was hard to obtain. Stirling had said that there could be no makeshift so that part of the work had had to be postponed. The door leading to the tower must have been left open, so Bella had found her way up there.

She had gone right to the top where workmen had left a piece of sacking and on this were four of the loveliest little kittens I had ever seen. They were tawny like Bella and I was enchanted by the little blind things and touched by Bella’s devotion to them. She purred while I admired them but showed her disapproval when I touched them and she was very uneasy if anyone else approached.

“We’d better leave them up there,” said Lucie.

“She won’t like it if they’re moved. She might try to hide them. Cats have been known to do that.”

“I’ll look after them,” I said.

“I shall bring Bella’s food up here myself.”

I went over at once to tell Nora about the kittens and where they’d been found and she said she would be over in a day or so to see them.

I went up the spiral staircase every day and I often thought of that occasion when I had taken fright. The feeling of fear had completely vanished now. The fact that Bella had used the tower for her kittens had made it marvellously normal. I made a habit of going up every morning at about eleven o’clock with a jug of cream for Bella and her food. She expected me and would be delighted each morning when I would inspect the kittens to see how they had progressed.

I was going up one morning when Nora arrived.

“To see the kittens?” I asked.

“You too,” she told me. She had become more friendly since the day I had ridden over and told her about the kittens.

“I was just going to feed them,” I said.

“Come up with me.”

It really seemed as though I had a guardian angel, for I believe that might very well have been the end of me if Nora hadn’t come with me. I put the saucer on the stone ledge as I always did while I poured out the milk. It saved stooping. Nora was standing slightly behind me and as I put the saucer in its place and started to pour out the milk there was a sudden rumble. Nora had caught at my skirts and was clinging to them. The stone ledge on which I had placed the saucer seemed suddenly to crumble. I heard the crash of falling masonry. I didn’t know what had happened because Nora had pulled me backwards with such force that we both fell.

Nora was on her feet first, her face ashen.

“Minta! Are you all right?”

I wasn’t sure. I was too dazed. I could think of nothing but that sudden collapse and myself being hurled forward, Nora with me . down from the topmost point of Whiteladies as the nun had gone long ago.

“The fools!” cried Nora. They should have warned us. That balustrade was unsafe. ” Then she was kneeling beside me.

“Minta …?” I knew she was thinking of my baby. I could feel the movement of the child and I was filled with relief because it was still alive.

“I’ll get help quickly,” went on Nora.

“Stay there. Don’t move.”

I half raised myself when she had gone. Bella was licking her kittens, unaware of the near-tragedy which had just been enacted. I shivered and waited again for my child to let me know that it continued to live. I was afraid to get up lest I did some harm to it and it seemed a long time before Nora came back. Lude was with her, her face strained and anxious.

“Minta!” She was kneeling beside me.

“This is terrible. Those men should be shot.”

“How are we going to get her down the stairs?” asked Nora.

“We won’t,” said Lucie, ‘until Dr. Hunter’s seen her. “

“There’s something about this tower that I don’t like,” I said.

What? ” asked Lucie.

“Something … evil.”

“You’re talking like the servants,” said Lucie sharply. She hated what she called ‘silly fancies’. Practical as ever, she had brought a cushion and blankets and she and Nora stayed with me until Dr. Hunter came.

He made me stand up.

“No bones broken,” he said. He frowned at the balustrade.

“How could such a thing be allowed!” he demanded.

“They’ve been hammering away for weeks,” said Lucie.

“We ought to have thought something like this might have happened. When you think of an old place like this suddenly being knocked about … In any case the kittens shall be brought down. The cat may not like it but she’ll have to put up with it. I’m sending Evans up to bring them down and put them somewhere in the stables.”

“You can walk down to your room,” said Dr. Hunter to me.

“But I think a few days’ rest would be good … just so that we can make sure. Feet up, eh?”

“I’ll see that she does that,” said Lucie firmly.

So no harm was done but Lucie insisted that I rest. She needn’t have worried. I was determined to carry out the doctor’s orders, thinking of the safety of my child. But two nights later I had a dream. I was in the tower and suddenly the terror I had experienced there came upon me. I peered about me but could see nothing. Yet there was something there-some faceless thing which was trying to force me over the parapet.

I awoke with a start and for a few moments thought I was actually in the tower. Then I was aware of my warm and comfortable bed. I was alone in it. Stirling slept in another room now. He had said something about its being better for the baby.

I lay thinking and remembered that time when I had mounted the stairs to the tower and had thought that someone was following me and the fear that I had felt then was like that which I had experienced in the dream. Maud had been below. But suppose she had not been down below. I thought of myself clutching that stone balustrade, the evil presence coming close behind me . and no one below! This was an example of the nonsensical imaginings of a pregnant woman who so feels the need to protect her unborn child that she imagines people are trying to kill her. Why? For what purpose’ I shook myself fully awake and laughed at myself. The first incident had been pure imagination; the second an accident which could have happened to anybody. There was no reason why anyone should want to harm me.

But soon I was to discover that there could be a reason Stirling wanted to give a dinner-party a rather elaborate one. He reckoned that we were no longer a house of mourning; we had been unable to entertain as he had wished at Christmas and he wanted to do something now.

I know that he was upset by Nora’s intention to leave u; and I particularly wanted to please him. He planned to us the minstrels’ gallery and as it was years since we had player; up there I went up with two of the maids to make sure every thing was in order. Later I discovered that I had lost a stone from a garnet and pearl brooch which had been my mother’! and it occurred to me that I might have lost it in the gallery I went along to search and that was how I came to be then and overheard the scene between Nora and Stirling. Then were red velvet ruchings over the lower woodwork of th gallery and heavy curtains of the same material which could be drawn back when the musicians were playing. I was of my hands and knees looking for the stone, completely hidden from anyone in the hall below by the red velvet ruchings, where someone came into the hall and I was about to stand at when I heard Stirling say in a voice which I had never heart him use before: “Nora!”

Nora said: “I came to see Minta. I stood up but they didn’t see me and before I could cal to them Stirling said: ” I’ve got to talk to you, Nora. I can’t go on like this. “

She answered angrily: “Shouldn’t you have thought of that before you married Whiteladies?”

I should have called to them but I knew that only if the) were unaware of me could I discover something of what could well be of the utmost importance to me. On impulse I shamelessly played the eavesdropper. I knelt to conceal myself from them.

“Oh God,” he said, and I hardly recognized his voice, so different was it from the way in which he ever spoke to me ‘if only I could go back.”

She taunted him.

“And then? You would listen to me? You would have seen the folly of marrying for the sake of settling old scores?”

I put my hand over my heart. It was making such a noise. I was going to learn something terrifying unless I stood up at once and announced the fact that I was here. I couldn’t. I had to know.

“Nora,” he said.

“Oh Nora, I can’t go on like this. And you’re threatening to go away. How could you! It would be heartless.”

“Heartless!” She laughed cruelly.

“Heartless … as you were when you married. How did you think felt about that?”p>

“You knew it had to be.”

“Had to be!” There was great scorn in her voice.

“You talk as though you were under some compulsion.”

“You know why …”

“Lynx is dead,” she said.

“That died with him. I shall go back to Australia. It’s the only way. You chose this marriage. Now you have to meet your obligations.”

“Nora, don’t go. I can’t bear it if you go.”

“And if I stay?”

“There’ll be a way. I swear I’ll find some way.”

“Don’t forget you have to see your children playing on the lawns of Whiteladies. How will you do that? You thought it was going to be so easy. All the golden millionaire had to do was make the family bankrupt.”

“That was done before.”

“And we suspect how. It’s nothing to be proud of. But it didn’t work out as you thought it would. Only the family could inherit this place so you had to marry into the family.” She laughed bitterly.

“All this for these stones, these walls. If they could laugh they’d be laughing at us. No. I’m going to Australia. I’ve written to Adelaide.

You’ve made your bed, as they say. Now you have to lie in it. “

“I love you, Nora. Are you going to deny that you love me?” She was silent and he cried out.

“You can’t deny it. You’ve always known it.

That night of the fire . “

“You let me marry Lynx,” she said.

“But that was … Lynx.”

“Oh yes,” she said, almost viciously, ‘your god. “

“Yours too, Nora.”

“If you had loved me …”

“You two were the most important things on earth. and if you had loved me enough . “

“I know,” she said impatiently.

“But it was Lynx then, and it’s Lynx now. We can’t escape from him. He’s dead but he lives on. You had a choice, though. When you found out you couldn’t buy this place you could have come back with me to Australia. Or we could have stayed here. It wouldn’t have mattered to me if …”

“If we were together,” he said triumphantly.

“But it’s too late. You’ve married. You’ll stay married.” Her voice was cruel again.

“You’ve got to see those children playing on the lawn. Remember?”

She spoke as though she hated him and I knew how deeply he had wounded her. I knew so much now. In the last few minutes everything had fallen into shape. Dominating all our lives was his father who had once lived here and who had been deeply wronged—a great, powerful man, whose influence lived on after he was dead.

“Too late,” she said.

“And you’ve no one to blame but yourself. When you told me … I wanted to die. I hated you, Stirling, because …”

“Because you love me.”

“It’s too late. You chose. Now you must live with your choice.”

“It can’t be too late,” Stirling said.

“There’s always a way and I’ll find it, Nora. I swear it. Promise to be patient.”

“Patient! What are you talking about? You’re married. You’re married to Whiteladies. This wonderful, marvelous unique old house is your bride. You can’t just walk out, you know.”

“Nora!”

“I shall go on with my plans. The sooner I leave the better.”

“And you think you’ll be happy back there .. without him … without me?”

“I have not thought of happiness. Only the need to go.”

“I won’t allow it. There’s a way out. I promise you I’ll find a way.

Only Nora, don’t go . don’t go. “

Again she laughed at him. How cruel Nora could be!

“You’re shouting.

You’ll tell the whole household what you have done. “

Then the door was noisily shut. I peered through the niching and saw Stirling was alone. He covered his face with (us hands as though to shut out the sight of the hall with its dais and tapesteries and vaulted ceiling—everything that had made it the wonderful old house worth the greatest sacrifice to attain—even worth marrying me in order to take possession of it.

I remained in the gallery after Stirling had gone. My knees were cramped. I had forgotten the lost garnet. I understood everything now.

I should have seen it before, his sudden proposal when he had seen that there was no other means of acquiring the house; his perfunctory love-making; his moroseness when Nora announced that she was leaving.

Everything fell into place.

I wished that I were worldly like Nora. Then I should know what to do.

I wanted to confide in someone. If Nora had not been involved I should have chosen her. There was Lude. I hesitated. Lucie had been suspicious of the match right from the first. Lucie was wise and Luci loved me.

I went to my room still feeling dazed. I shouldn’t have listened.

Listeners rarely hear any good of themselves. How many times had I heard that?

Bella came and rubbed herself against my legs. The kitten I had kept was playing with the blind cord. I thought of that day on the tower and how the balustrade had crumbled . and then I thought of the occasion when I believed I had been followed up there; and I heard a voice ringing in my ears, Stirling’s voice: “I’ll find a way.”

“No,” I said, ‘that’s stupid. He didn’t mean that. ” But how did I know what he meant? What did I know of him—or rather what had I known before a short while ago? At least now I knew that he had married me because of some vow to own Whiteladies. I knew that he was capable of deceit, that he had pretended to love me when what he wanted was the house. I knew that he loved another woman and that he was planning in some way to end his marriage with me in order to marry her.

How? I asked myself; and some horrible voice within me said; “It almost happened in the tower. There was the balustrade … and that other occasion.” I tried not to think of his creeping stealthily up the stairs, seizing me from behind and throwing me over the tower.

That was fancy. Fancy!

Hadn’t I heard a movement? Hadn’t I sensed evil? Nora had saved me once. At least she was not in the plot . if plot there was. But I couldn’t believe that of Stirling.

My head was throbbing and I could not think clearly. I don’t know why I went to Lizzie’s room, but I did.

“Are you all right. Miss Minta?” she asked.

“I have a headache.”

“Sometimes women get them in your condition.”

“Tell me about that artist who came to teach my mother drawing.”

“Mr. Charles Herrick,” she said slowly.

“And now you’re Mrs. Herrick and there’s another Mrs. Herrick at Mercer’s. And soon another little Herrick will come into the world.”

“What was he like?”

“Like your Mr. Herrick but different. I never saw anyone quite like him. He stood out and above everyone else. You’d have thought he owned the place. Your mother worshipped him.”

“And you too, Lizzie.”

Yes,” she admitted.

“And he wasn’t averse. I might tell you.”

“He loved my mother.”

“He loved her for what she stood for. He was proud and poor and he saw himself as lord of the house.”

“And then?”

“There were ructions.

“Get out,” he was told and he went, but he came back for your mother. They were going to elope. ” Lizzie started to laugh.

“He came up by the ladder. She was ready to go with him. She gave him her jewels. She had some valuable pieces. He put them into his pocket and then … they burst into the room and caught him … and that was the last we saw of him.”

“Somebody warned them.”

“Yes,” she said slyly.

“It was you. Lizzie, wasn’t it?”

Her face puckered.

“You know!” She cried.

“Your mother knew. I told her on the night she died. The shock killed her. She would never have forgiven me if she’d lived. She raged at me. She said that but for me her whole life would have been different. She’d have gone away with him; he’d never have gone to Australia.”

“But he went and he made a vow and because of that. Lizzie, because of you …”

I walked out of the room, leaving her staring blankly before her. I was bewildered, still not knowing how to act I couldn’t go down to luncheon because I couldn’t face anyone. Lucie came up to my room.

“Minta, what’s wrong?”

I feel ill, Lucie. “

“My dear, you’re trembling. Ill get a hot-water bottle.”

“No, Lucie. Just sit by the bed and talk to me.”

She sat down and I started to talk. In whom could I confide who would be more sympathetic than Lucie, who for so many years had been closer than my own mother? I told her what I had overheard in the minstrels’ gallery.

“You see, Lucie, he loves Nora. He married me for Whiteladies.”

Lude was thoughtful for some moments; then she said:

“Nora is going back to Australia. You and Stirling will make a life for yourselves. It will be a compromise, but marriage often is.”

“No,” I said.

“He loves her and won’t be able to forget her. There’s a great bond between them—it’s part hate and part love, or so it seemed, for Nora sounded as though she hated him and loved him at the same time. She hated him because he’d hurt her by marrying me. I’ve been lying here trying to think of something I can do.”

“Minta, my dearest child, the best thing you can do is nothing. This sort of thing has happened before. Stirling is married to you. You are going to have his child. Nora will go to Australia. You’ll be surprised. In a few years’ time he will have forgotten her and so will you.”

“He won’t let her go,” I insisted.

“He said so.”

“Impulsive talk. He has no say and Nora is a wise woman of the world.

She knows that nothing can be done. You are his wife. When she goes away he may fret for a while but time heals everything. Hell be reconciled. You have a great deal to offer him, Minta. “

“No, no. I’ve been trying to think of what I should do. I even thought of going away.”

Where to? “

“I can’t think where.”

“You are not being practical. You’ll stay here and I'll be at hand to look after you.”

“But [ did think of going … somewhere. I even started to write a letter to him.”

She went over to my desk and picked up a sheet of paper. On it I had written:

“Dear Stirling, I was in the minstrels’ gallery when you and Nora were talking so I know that you love her and there seems only one thing to do. I must stand aside …”

I had got no farther, having paused there to wonder what I could do.

Angrily, Lucie threw it into the wastepaper basket. Then she came back to the bed.

“You are overwrought,” she said.

“I am going to take care of you and I promise you that in time all this will seem nothing to you. He couldn’t have been so much in love with Nora or he would never have married you.”

“You’re a great comfort, Lucie, but …”

“You trust me. Now you’re to stay in bed for the rest of the day, then you won’t have to face anybody. I’ll go along to Dr. Hunter and tell him to come and have a look at you, shall I?”

“Dr. Hunter can’t help over this.”

“Yes, he can. He can give you something to make you sleep and that’s what you need really. I’ll tell everyone you’re resting today. You haven’t been yourself since that fall in the tower.”

I shivered. I couldn’t tell even Lucie of the horrible suspicion that had come to me. But merely talking to Lucie had made me feel better.

She went out and left me, and I lay still, trying to believe what she had told me and failing wretchedly.

I stayed in bed for the rest of the day. Lucie brought supper for me on a tray, but I couldn’t touch the roast chicken nor the cheese and fruit. She had been to Dr. Hunter’s, but he was out on a case and that stupid Mrs. Devlin had seemed as though she had been drinking. However, she had left a message for him to come and see me in the-morning. I could have one of the pills he had given me at the time of my fall.

Lucie would have some milk sent up for me to take with it.

“Won’t you try and eat something?” she asked.

“I couldn’t, Lucie.”

About nine o’clock she sent Lizzie up with some hot milk and biscuits.

Lizzie looked subdued and this clearly had something to do with her outburst earlier that day. I couldn’t feel the same about Lizzie any more. Her action had had such a tremendous impact on all our lives. I looked distastefully at the milk and turned away, so Lizzie put it on my bedside table.

I closed my eyes and I must have dozed, for when I awoke my heart started to pound furiously for someone was standing by my bed. It was Stirling. I couldn’t face him then so I pretended to be still asleep.

He stood there looking at me and I wondered what was in his mind. Was he thinking of putting a pillow over my face and smothering me? I didn’t care if he did. Who would have believed it was possible to love a man whom one suspected of murdering one. Nora loved and hated him at the same time and I loved him while I suspected him of wanting to kill me. How complex were human emotions!

He went out after a while. I lay still and the same thoughts went round and round in my mind and suddenly I was startled by a movement near the window. I sat up in bed and doing so knocked over the tray.

The kitten followed by Bella came running over from the window. I realized that it was their playing with the blind cord that had awakened me. The kitten discovered the milk and started to lap noisily, so I put the tray on the floor and they finished it between them. Bella jumped on to the bed, purring, and I stroked her. After a while she jumped down and I tried to sleep. I couldn’t, of course. I just lay there going over everything and finally I was so exhausted that I did sleep.

Lizzie came in. It was eight-thirty. I was usually up by this time.

“Her ladyship sent me to ask how you were this morning.”

“I’m tired,” I said.

“Just leave me. Don’t pull up the blind.”

“So you’re staying in bed for a while?”

I said I was. She went out and a little later Lude came in.

“Just to see how you feel,” she said.

I was half asleep, so she went on: “I won’t disturb you. A little rest will do you good.”

It was about half past ten when there was a light tap on my door. It was Mary, one of the housemaids. She said:

“Mrs. Herrick’s called. She wants to see you.”

Nora! My heart was leaping about uncomfortably. I wanted to see Nora, to talk to her. I was turning over in my mind whether I might tell her what I had heard. I had always felt an urge to confide in Nora. But how could I in this case?

I heard myself say uncertainly: “Ask her to come up.”

“Shall I draw the blinds. Miss Minta.”

I hesitated.

“N … no. Not just yet.” I wanted to know whether I could face Nora first. My hair was unkempt; I should have washed, tidied myself before seeing her. But it was too late now. The maid was gone and when she came back Nora was with her.

Nora was wearing a grey riding habit and she looked elegant and worldly. There was a gentleness in her face. I knew that she was sorry because I was married to Stirling—not only because that meant he wasn’t free for her. She was sorry because she thought I was going to be unhappy.

“Oh, you are resting,” she said.

“I heard that you weren’t feeling well.”

“I didn’t feel very well yesterday and since the fall Dr. Hunter likes me to rest a lot.”

“I’m sure he’s right.” A faint light came through the slats of the blind and she drew a chair up to the bed.

“I thought I must come and see you,” she went on.

“I shan’t have much more opportunity.”

“You are determined to leave us, then?”

“I’ve definitely made up my mind.”

“I shall miss you. As for Stirling …” My voice trembled.

She said quickly: “I always thought I should go back some time.”

“You must have been very happy there She drew her brows together and said: ” Yes. I daresay you are longing for the child to be born. “

Yes, I am. “

“And Stirling, too.”

Children playing on the lawns of Whiteladies! I thought.

The waiting period can be irksome,” I said.

“Franklyn will miss you.”

“In a -year or so you will have forgotten me … all of you.”

I shook my head. I had a great desire to see her face more clearly.

She hid her feelings well but I thought: She must be as unhappy as I am. I said: “It’s dark in here.”

“Shall I pull up the blinds?” She rose and went over to the window. I heard her give a little gasp. She was staring at the floor. Then hastily she pulled up the blind and looked down again.

“What is it?” I cried, starting up.

“Bella and the kitten …”

I leaped out of bed. I caught my breath in horror. Their bodies looked oddly contorted. They were both dead. I knelt down beside them. I could not bring myself to touch those once lively little bodies which I had loved.

“They’re dead,” said Nora.

“Minta, what can it be?”

I knew. I remembered the milk dripping on to the floor and Stirling standing by my bed.

“There was poison in my milk,” I said quite calmly.

“Of course it was meant for me.” Then I began to laugh and I couldn’t stop myself.

“I’ve a charmed life. First Maud … then you, and now the cats.”

She took me by the shoulders and shook me.

“What do you mean?” she demanded.

“What do you mean? Control yourself, for God’s sake. Don’t touch the cats. You don’t know what’s wrong. Let me help you back to bed. Remember the child.”

She drew me back to the bed. I was saying: “It’s all very simple, Nora. Someone is trying to kill me. There have been other attempts.

But I have a charmed life . “

She was very pale.

“I don’t believe it,” she said.

“I don’t believe it.” And said it as though she were trying to convince herself. And I knew what was in her mind. She had heard him say it. He had said to her: “I’ll find a way.” I heard her whispering to herself.

“No … no It’s not true.”

“Nora,” I said, ‘it can’t always miss, can it . not every time? “

“You’ve got to get away from … from here. We have to think about it. I can’t leave you here. You must come bade with me to Mercer’s. We can talk there … we can plan …”

I thought: Go with her She is the reason why he wants to be rid of me.

He wants Nora and Whiteladies. How can I go with her? But she had saved me once before.

“What will they say if I go with you?” I said.

“What will Stirling say?”

“We must save him … and you,” she answered. It was as though she were speaking to herself. It was an admission that the thoughts which were in my mind were shared by her.

There was a knock on the door. Nora looked at me in dismay. It was the maid again.

“The doctor is here. Miss Minta. I’ve brought him up.”

Dr. Hunter was immediately behind her and he came into the room.

“Lady Cardew suggested I pop in and have a look at you,” he said. He gazed at us both in astonishment.

“Is anything wrong?”

I left it to Nora to explain. I heard her say: “We’re very alarmed, Dr. Hunter. Come and look at the cats.”

She took him over to the window and he knelt down to look at Bella and her kitten. When he rose his face was ashen.

“What happened?” he asked.

They drank the milk which was intended for Minta,” said Nora.

“Were they poisoned?”

“It could be so.”

“What should we do?”

“I will take the cats away.”

“I was suggesting that I take Minta with me to the Mercer’s House.”

“That’s an excellent idea,” said the doctor. He turned to me and said.

“Get up and dress quickly. Go out of the house as though nothing extraordinary has happened. Go to the Mercer’s House with Mrs. Herrick right away and stay there until I come.”

So he left us, taking the cats with him; and I dressed hastily and, wrapping myself in my cloak, went out of the house with Nora.