Time of the Hunter's Moon

The Alarming Discovery

THE new term had begun. Daisy called her usual pre-school conference and we were all assembled in her study. "We will do our best," she said, "to forget the events of last term. The girls should be under closer supervision when they are out ... even riding. It was fortunate that the girl involved was Fiona Verringer and that it was from her own home that she finally escaped, and not the school. If it had been one of the others, there could have been unpleasant difficulties with the parents. However, we must guard against such eventualities. I gather from Sir Jason Verringer that he has no idea of the whereabouts of Fiona and her husband, though he actually visited the Continent in search of them. Well, we will hope for a more peaceful term. We don't want too much gossip among the girls. The incident should not be referred to. Girls are inclined to admire those who do foolish things. Another elopement would be a disaster for the school. So ... that matter is closed.

"It would be a good idea to get them started on some entertainment for the Christmas festivities. It seems early to think of that, but it would keep the girls' minds occupied. Say scenes from Shakespeare ... little extracts which they could act before the school. It makes for excitement and speculation and keeps their minds busy.

"Miss Grant, I am putting Charlotte Mackay back in Eugenie Verringer's room. They were together originally and have always been good friends. I thought it would help Eugenie. She must be missing her sister. She spent her holiday at the Mackay's place up north near Berwick. I don't want Eugenie brooding too much about her sister. It was a good idea to let her go to the Mackay's place rather than stay at the Hall to be reminded that her sister was no longer there. Eugenie's is not a very placid temperament to begin with and girls like that can be difficult in so many ways.

"There is a new girl. Margaret Keyes. She seems a pleasant creature. She can go into Charlotte's place with Patricia Cartwright."

She went on to discuss other aspects of the term and finally we were dismissed to go to our rooms and "settle in" as she called it.

That night I made my rounds. They were all safely in their beds and seemed demure enough, even Charlotte and Eugenie, though Charlotte did give me a somewhat triumphant look as though to remind me of that first night at school when there had been a contretemps over who should sleep in whose room.

The first few days passed uneventfully until one night when I was awakened from sleep by a figure standing by my bed and I heard a voice saying urgently: "Miss Grant. Miss Grant."

I started up. Charlotte was standing there. "Charlotte!" I cried. "What's wrong?"

"It's Eugenie," she said. "She's ill."

I hastily put on my dressing gown and slippers and followed her to their bedroom. Eugenie was lying back looking very white; there were beads of perspiration on her forehead. It felt clammy.

I said: "Go for Miss Hetherington at once."

Charlotte, who seemed really frightened, quickly obeyed.

Daisy was soon at the bedside, her fine white hair in two plaits tied with pale blue ribbon, but she looked as much in command as ever.

"Eugenie is ill!" she said. She leaned over the girl.

"Do you think we should get the doctor?" I asked. She shook her head. "Not just yet. It's probably only a bilious attack. We don't want the girls to know. They exaggerate so. There is some sal volatile in my room. Will you go and get it, Charlotte. It is in the cupboard on the right hand side."

Charlotte went.

"She has probably eaten something which doesn't agree with her," said Daisy. "It happens now and then. What did they have for supper?"

"It was fish. And then they had their milk and biscuits before retiring."

"It must have been the fish. Give her half an hour. If she's no better then, I'll call the doctor." Charlotte returned with the sal volatile.

"There," said Daisy. "That's better."

Eugenie opened her eyes.

"Do you feel better now, dear?" asked Daisy in that brisk voice which demanded an affirmative. "Yes, Miss Hetherington."

"Felt iii, did you?"

"Yes, Miss Hetherington ... sick and dizzy." "Well, lie still. Miss Grant and I will stay here until you go to sleep and we know you are all right." "Thank you," said Eugenie.

"Charlotte, you should get into bed. You can keep your eye on Eugenie, but we shall be here for a while. It is only a common bilious attack. The fish couldn't have agreed with her."

How magnificent she was, our Daisy! No general could ever have given more confidence to his troops. One knew that with Daisy in command everything must work according to plan.

Yet ... there had been the elopement. But then she had known nothing about that until it was a fait accompli.

Eugenie had closed her eyes. She was breathing more easily and looked much better.

"I think she's asleep," said Daisy. "She looks more like herself." She touched Eugenie's forehead. "No fever," she whispered.

After five minutes of silence she rose and said: "I think we can return to our beds now. Charlotte, if Eugenie needs anything you'll wake Miss Grant. And if necessary come for me."

"Yes, Miss Hetherington."

"Good night, Charlotte. We look to you to keep an eye on Eugenie."

"Yes, Miss Hetherington. Good night. Good night, Miss Grant."

Outside my room Daisy paused. "She'll be all right in the morning. As I thought, a touch of biliousness. Charlotte did well. Do you know, I think that girl would improve considerably if she had something to do. If she felt herself useful ..

What do you think?"

"I'm sure of it."

"Well, we must watch them both," said Daisy. "I don't think we shall be troubled again tonight." I went to bed. I was tired and soon asleep.

In the morning Eugenie was better-almost herself, but I thought she should take a rest. She didn't want to. She was rather ashamed of being

"I'm all right really, Miss Grant. I don't know what it was but I just felt a bit funny."

"I think you should have a rest this afternoon." "Oh no, Miss Grant."

"`Yes, Eugenie. That sort of attack does weaken you more than you realize. I insist that you have a rest this afternoon. You can read or perhaps Charlotte will be with you."

She agreed rather ungraciously.

It must have been about three o'clock when I went to my room and remembering that Eugenie was resting, I thought I would look in and see if she had obeyed my orders.

The door was closed but I heard the sound of giggles coming from behind it. I guessed Charlotte was with her.

I hesitated, but decided to look in. I tapped at the door. There was a brief silence so I opened it and went in.

Eugenie was lying on her bed and Charlotte was stretched out on hers. On the chair sat Elsa. "Oh," I said.

"You told me to rest," replied Eugenie.

"We came to cheer her up," said Elsa grinning at me.

"You certainly seem to have done that. How are you feeling, Eugenie?"

"All right," said Eugenie.

"Good. Very well, you can get up when you want to."

"Thank you, Miss Grant."

As I went out and shut the door the giggles continued.

I thought about Elsa. She certainly did not behave like a servant and I wondered, as I had on other occasions, whether I should reprimand her for consorting with the girls as though she were one of them rather than a housemaid. But she always contrived to remind me by a look of the old times at Schaffenbrucken when she had behaved with me and my friends rather in the same way as she was with Eugenie and Charlotte. It was one of the disadvantages of being in a position like mine, when someone who had known you as a schoolgirl was present. One could hardly reprimand others for what one had done oneself. Perhaps the most extraordinary aspect was that Charlotte, known to us all as something of a snob, should be so friendly with a servant.

However, I did not think very much more about the incident.

There was a letter for me from John Markham. He asked me what it felt like to be back at school after the holidays. "That was an unforgettable week we all had together," he wrote. "I felt we had all known each other for years. Why ever didn't Lydia ask you for holidays? We might have known each other earlier. I do wish I could see you. Is it taboo to visit the school? I suppose it would not be considered quite comme il faut. Isn't there something called a half term? Do you go home? Perhaps it is rather a long way for such a short time. It wouldn't be quite so far to come to London. I'd like you to meet my brother Charles. Perhaps you and Teresa could visit us? Do think about it."

I did think about it and it was rather enticing. I did not mention it to. Teresa because I felt it would raise her hopes and I was not sure whether I should go.

I was still suffering from the shock of my encounter with Jason Verringer in the Devil's Den at Colby Hall. It had disturbed me even more than I had thought at the time. I could not stop thinking of him and my mind built up images of what might have happened if I had not made that dramatic gesture in thrusting my hands through the window. It had been a hopeless gesture in any case. I should never have been able to elude him if he was determined to catch me. And if I had managed to get through the window would I have jumped from the top of the tower? What I had implied was that I preferred death to submission to him. It was foolhardy. Yet it had sobered him. He had been really shocked to see the blood on my hands.

Stop thinking of him, I admonished myself. Forget him. It was just an unpleasant experience from which I had emerged unscathed. Even the scars on my hands had healed now. But at Colby I was surrounded by ruins of the past with all the grim legends and terrible sufferings that must have occurred and I was overwhelmed by an ambience of disaster and doom.

Here strange things happened. Jason Verringer seemed never far away. What had really happened to his wife? Where was Marcia Martindale? There would always be questions where Jason was. He was a man of dark secrets. One could almost believe that the Devil had been one of his forebears.

And how different it had been at Epping-the sunshine, the smell of corn, the simplicity of everything, the way of life, the people. It was clean and fresh and easy to understand. Peace ... that was what it offered ... and peace seemed very alluring just now. I had a desire to be there and yet .. . almost against my will I was drawn to the dark towers of Colby Hall and the ruins of the Abbey.

What finally decided me about taking up John's invitation was another letter I had. It was forwarded on to me by Aunt Patty and was from Monique Delorme.

"Dear Cordelia," she wrote in French.

"I am no longer Mademoiselle Delorme but Madame de la Creseuse. Yes. I married Henri. Life is wonderful. We are coming to London. We have been lent a house for two weeks by friends of Henri. So we shall be in your capital from the third of next month. It would be wonderful to see you. Write to me there. I will give you the address. I look forward to hearing your news. Do come.

Always your loving and faithful friend. Monique."

I told Daisy that I had received an invitation from some friends with whom we had stayed in the summer.

"Their home is in London, but we were with them in the country for a week. I could go in mid term. It is only for five days, including the week-end. I thought I might take advantage of it."

Daisy was thoughtful. "Few of the girls will go home. Of course there are no lessons. I don't think any of the other mistresses plan to go away. Yes, I do think you might manage it."

"Teresa is invited too."

"Oh, that will be nice for her."

"Then it is quite all right for me to make my plans?"

"Yes. I think so. Go ahead."

So I did. John wrote back that he was delighted. Teresa was wild with joy. I also wrote to Monique at the address she had enclosed in her letter and said that I would call on her when she was in London.

John was at Paddington station and in a short Lime we were trotting along in a cab to his home in Kensington. It was a tall house in a square and guarded by two ferocious-looking stone lions; the white steps leading to a heavy oak door were gleaming and the brass shone like gold.

When he opened the door with his key, a tall young man was hovering in the hall.

"This is Charles," said John. "He's longing to meet you. He's heard all about your stay at the farm."

It was the same open face and good looks. I liked Charles at once.

The maid appeared.

"Oh yes, Sarah," said John. "They'll want to go to their rooms. Teresa, you are next to Cordelia."

We mounted a staircase richly carpeted in a warm scarlet and came to a landing. The maid opened a door and I was in a bright bedroom with a four-poster bed, not a bit like the ones they had at the Hall, heavily curtained in velvet. This one had lace curtains draped at either end and caught into bows of pale mauve satin ribbon. It had brass knobs and rails and seemed to glow with freshness. There was some light and elegant furniture which suggested eighteenth-century France. It was charming. I went to the window and looked out on a small paved garden in which were pots of greenery which must glow with colour in the spring and summer. Chrysanthemums and Michaelmas daisies were still in flower against a grey brick wall.

Teresa came in. She looked radiant. She had a lovely little room and there was a communicating door between it and mine. I went in and had a look. It had obviously been a dressing room.

"Isn't it wonderful?" she cried.

She was so happy. Not only to get away from school but because we were here with John. She was a girl who fixed her affections firmly when she found an object of admiration. She had turned to me in desperation and from our association had come all the people she cared for most. Myself. Aunt Patty. Violet. And now she had added John to that band. It was overwhelming for her who had had no one and then suddenly so many.

I feared she was a little dramatic. I should never forget how she had flung Marcia Martindale's earring into the ponds. She was so young and had little control over her emotions and, being inexperienced, saw everyone as very good or very bad. There were devils and angels ... and nothing in between. She would have to learn, but for the next few days she would be with those whom she loved and admired and was happy.

Dinner that night was exciting. There was a gracious dining room with long windows onto the street. As we ate we heard the clop clop of passing horse-drawn carriages and occasionally the sound of a newsboy selling late night papers.

We talked of the week in the country, of school, of London and what we should do during our stay.

"There is so much to show you," said John. "Now what shall it be first?"

"I have an appointment with an old school friend," I said. "She has invited me to call. That is for the day after tomorrow."

"Well then, what's for tomorrow. Teresa, have you any idea? The zoo is amusing."

"I like animals," cried Teresa.

"Ail right then. Tomorrow morning, zoo. How would you like to ride in the Row, Teresa?"

Teresa was slightly less enthusiastic. She had never fully recovered from her fall, although I had persuaded her to ride again. "Yes," she said hesitantly.

So it was agreed.

We had a wonderful morning. It was not only Teresa who was delighted by the animals. We watched the seals fed; we marvelled at the lions and tigers; and we laughed at the antics of the monkeys. We sipped lemonade on the terraces and I thought how happy I was. I did not want the visit to end.

Dinner was a hilarious affair with everyone-now that they had got used to us-trying to talk at once. We sat in the elegant drawing room, rather like the dining room only at the back of the house instead of the front, with French windows facing the little patiolike garden.

We talked until we were drowsy and rather reluctantly retired to our beds because this was the end of another happy day.

John had to go to his bank on the next morning, and on the way there took me to the address which Monique had given me.

It was an elegant house in Albemarle Street leading off Piccadilly. We had driven through Hyde Park, which I thought enchanting, then turned into Piccadilly, where fashionably attired people strolled, and the horses and carriages passed picturesquely down the main thoroughfare.

John took me in. A smart young maid said that Madame was waiting for me. I was ushered into a drawing room and there was Monique looking very pretty indeed in a frilly morning gown of turquoise blue.

I introduced John, and Monique begged him to take a Little coffee or wine with us, but he said he had business in the City and would collect me in two hours' time.

"So soon?" said Monique in her attractive English.

"I shall have to go then," I said, "for we have arranged to take a trip on the river this afternoon." John left us and we settled down.

"What a charming man!" said Monique, when he had gone. "Henri, too, is out on business. He hopes to meet you when he comes back. I have talked so much of you."

I said: "Marriage suits you, Monique."

"Oh, Henri ... he is so good."

"It turned out very well then ... You used to call it your mariage de convenance. Do you remember?"

"Oh yes, it was decided in our cradles. Oh, the papers and the lawyers ... the settlement ... the arguments."

"And it worked!"

"And this Mr. Markham ... he is for you?"

"Oh no. He's just a friend. I should have told you. He is Lydia's brother."

"Of course ... Lydia Markham. Where is Lydia then?"

"Oh ... you don't know ... Lydia died."

"But no!"

"It was a skiing accident."

"Lydia ... skiing! I am surprised. But how terrible. I never knew."

"Well, I suppose I shouldn't have heard if I hadn't written to her. Her brother opened my letter and then came to see me. That was when I was with my aunt."

"Oh, the aunt, yes. How you used to talk about the Aunt! Who was it?"

"Aunt Patty."

"The good Aunt Patty.

The maid came in bringing coffee. When she had gone Monique poured.

"I cannot stop thinking about Lydia ... To die like that. It is hard to believe."

"Yes, a terrible shock. I was astonished when her brother told me she had married."

"Oh, I knew that. Lydia wrote and told me so. She was wildly happy."

"She didn't write to me."

Monique was silent and I looked at her sharply.

Her lips were pressed together. I remembered that it was an old habit of hers. it meant that she knew something which she should not tell.

"I wondered why she didn't write to me," I said. "When I wrote to you I wrote to her also. I had replies from you and Frieda but nothing from Lydia."

"Well, she didn't write to you because ..." "Because what?"

"Oh ... I don't suppose it matters now. She thought you might be a little upset."

"Upset? Why should I be?"

"About her being the one to get married, you see."

"Why should I be upset?"

"Well, because we thought, didn't we, that you were the one."

I looked blank.

"I'm sure it doesn't matter now. It might have been you who had the skiing accident. But I don't suppose you would have. You would have been better at it."

"I don't really follow all this, Monique."

"Cast your mind back. Do you remember Elsa?" "Yes, and it's a funny thing. She's at my school now."

"Elsa ... at your school? Well, that is very strange. What they call a coincidence, of course."

"She said she got tired of Schaffenbrucken and came to England. She had one job which she didn't like and ended up at my school."

"Very odd. But then life is."

"You were telling me about Lydia."

"I was saying, do you remember how Elsa told us that if we went into the forest at the time of Hunter's Moon we might meet our future husbands?"

"Yes. We were a silly lot. We believed it."

"Well, there was something in it. Do you remember the man we called the Stranger?"

"Yes, yes, I do remember."

"We thought he liked you. He seemed to. That was why Lydia didn't want you to know she was married. She thought you'd be upset because you would know it wasn't you he had liked after ail. It was Lydia."

The room was swinging round me. I could not believe I was hearing correctly.

I said: "His name was Edward Compton."

"No, it wasn't that. It was er ... let me think ... Mark somebody. Mark Chessingham ... or ton ... or something."

"It couldn't have been."

"Yes, it was. She was ever so excited. She said it was trie about meeting your future husband. Elsa was right about that. But she said she wasn't telling you because she thought you might be hurt. What's the matter?"

"Nothing. It seemed so odd ..."

"You do mind, Cordelia. You did think that he..."

"I'd almost forgotten him. I'd told myself he didn't exist."

"Oh, he existed all right. He was Lydia's husband. Poor Lydia! He was very good-looking, wasn't he? I only saw him once but he really was ... fascinating. Do have some more coffee."

She went on talking but I was not listening to what she said. I could only think. So he went away and married Lydia. But why had he said his name was that of a man who had been dead for twenty years?

I don't think Monique found my visit as exciting as she had thought it was going to be. John called for me as we had arranged and I was immensely relieved when we said goodbye to Monique and her husband who had returned just before our departure.

As we drove to Kensington, I said: "I have made an alarming discovery."

Then I told him about the man in the forest and how I had seen him on the boat and again at Grantley, how he had disappeared suddenly and that when I had gone to the village in Suffolk where he had told me his home was, I had found that the manor house which he had said was his home was burned out and the name he had given me was on the tombstone of a man who had died twenty years before. And this, according to Monique, was Lydia's husband.

He listened intently. He said it was an incredible story and he wondered what it meant.

"I'll tell you what we'll do," he went on. "We'll go down to that Suffolk village where you saw the tombstone and we'll see what we can find out."

There was a train to Bury St Edmunds at eight thirty next morning and John and I decided to catch it. Charles was taking Teresa on the river from Westminster Stairs to Hampton Court so they were safely disposed of.

It was a relief to be able to talk to John about this strange affair, because I did feel now that it not only concerned me but Lydia.

He asked me to describe the man. It wasn't easy because the description could fit so many. Not that he was ordinary by any means. But fair curling hair, blue eyes, chiselled features ... many had those, and it was not easy to explain that quality of other worldliness.

I told myself there must have been a mistake. Lydia could have imagined that her lover was the romantic stranger she had met in the wood at the time of the Hunter's Moon.

"I can't believe that she would do that. Lydia wasn't a dreamer. She was very practical really."

"That's true. How are we going to start looking?"

"Well, his name is Edward Compton or Mark Chessingham."

"But why should he give two names?"

"I don't know. That's what we have to find out. He mentioned this place Croston in Suffolk and the name of Edward Compton. You went there and saw the name on a tombstone. There must be some connection."

"Yet he was really Mark Chessingham."

"Very odd. The thing is, how are we going to start our enquiries?"

"There were some houses. Perhaps we could ask there."

"We'll see how it goes."

We left the train and took the small branch line to Croston. Memories came back to me. We walked first to the graveyard and I showed John the tombstone with Edward Compton's name on it.

"What next?" I asked.

"I noticed quite a large house on the common. What if we told them we were trying to trace someone. They might be able to help."

We went to the house, which was obviously the most important in the village. A maid admitted us and John asked if he could see the master or mistress of the house. It says a great deal for his business-like manner and air of respectability that we were granted an interview.

Mrs. Carstairs was a comfortable looking middleaged woman who was clearly a little intrigued to find her callers were strangers. She graciously bade us sit down and state our business. She was clearly impressed by John's urbane manner. He gave her his card with the name of his bank on it.

"We are making enquiries about a man who, we think, may have lived here at some time. Unfortunately we are not sure of his name. It could be Mark Chessingham."

He waited. She gave no sign that she had heard that name. "Or Edward Compton," he added.

"Oh, that must be the family who were at the Manor. There is not a Manor now. It was burned to the ground. There's been talk of rebuilding but they never seem to get round to it. But the Comptons lived there. It was a tragedy. I think that several members of the family were burned to death. There aren't any Comptons now."

"Oh dear," said John. "The trail seems to end. Perhaps there is some branch of the family ...?"

"I've never heard of them. I don't think I can help you. You seem to be talking about people who have been dead long ago."

"You've been most helpful. We knew we had a difficult task."

"You have to live here for centuries to be recognized by the people here. We're looked on as foreigners almost, though it's nearly fifteen years since we came. Oh, wait a minute. There's old Mrs. Clint. She's a know-all. She's lived here all her life and must be about ninety. She'd remember the fire. If you want to know anything about the people who lived here she'd be the one to tell you."

"It's most kind of you to be so helpful. Where could we find her?"

"I'll take you to the door and show you. Her cottage is just across the Green. She's bound to be in. She can't get about much now. Her daughter goes in and does what is necessary."

"Well, thank you very much."

"I'm only sorry I can't be of more help."

She stood at her door and pointed out the cottage across the Green.

"Knock," she said. "She'll call for you to go in. She likes visitors. The trouble is that when she starts to talk she doesn't know when to stop. I hope you've got plenty of time!"

"The whole day," said John.

We walked across the Green.

"-Well," he said, "we didn't draw entirely a blank."

It was as the lady of the house had said. We knocked and were bidden to enter.

Mrs. Clint was in bed, a bright old lady in a white cap from which fine grey hairs straggled; she wore woollen mittens over her claw-like hands.

"I thought it was my daughter dropping in with the broth she's bringing for my dinner," she said. "Who are you?"

"We have to apologize for disturbing you," said John. "But the lady from the big house across the common told us that you might be able to help us."

"That's Mrs. Carstairs from London. They don't belong here. What do you want from me? Give a seat to the young lady and you have that rush chair. Mind, it's a bit weak. Old Bob hasn't been round mending this year. I don't know ... people nowadays. Used to come regular as clockwork. He'd do the chairs and sharpen the scissors. You could rely on him once. What are you looking for?"

"Mark Chessingham or Edward Compton."

"Mark Whatsisname ... no. And if it's Edward Compton you're looking for, the graveyard's the place for you."

"We might have the wrong name," said John. "The man we are looking for is tall and fair. He has a slight accent ... Might have been German. Very faint ... almost unnoticeable."

"Oh yes," I said excitedly. "I remember that. He had. So you noticed."

Mrs. Clint scratched her head through her cap.

"Twenty years or more, the whole house burned down. The children ... It was a blow to the village. But not many remembers now . . only us old ones." She paused. "A bit of an accent you say and he lived here ... I only ever heard a German accent once. My son Jimmy he had an ear for that sort of thing. He was a builder and he went abroad with his master on some big job. When he came back he said the Dowlings had German accents. The mother was German you see. Dowling he wasn't much good. Worked up at the big house at one time. Drink, it was ... His downfall. Never had a job after the Manor went."

"Who had the German accent?" asked John.

"She did. Well, she couldn't speak much English. Couldn't always grasp what she was trying to say. My Jimmy used to say you could understand that with her, but the young ones, born over here .. . brought up over here ... you'd think they'd be different."

"And what was their name, did you say?"

"Dowling."

"Could we see them?"

"If you know where they've gone to you could." She gave a hoarse chuckle. "What'll stop you is, you don't know where they are. They went away ... all of them. There was a boy and a girl ... very handsome both of them. Some said they went to Germany. Old Dowling had gone by then. So had she. He took more than the usual and one night fell down the stairs. He lingered for a few months. Then that was the end. That was years ago. Always together they was ... the brother and sister. They were what you might call a devoted family."

"You have been a great help to us, Mrs. Clint."

"Have I now? I'm glad of that."

"Thank you very much and now we have to be getting on. Good day to you."

"A good morning's work," said John as we came out onto the green.

"So you think we've discovered something?"

"Only that the Dowlings were half German and although Lydia's husband never said that he was, it is in my mind that he must be."

It had been an interesting time and I had enjoyed being with John as I had done before; we had found out very little in Suffolk and we did not even know if that was relevant; the mystery remained as deep as ever; but at least I knew that my stranger had gone from me to Lydia and I constantly asked myself why he had come first to me and then given a false name; and why should it have been that of someone long dead?

It was baffling and somehow alarming to think that he had gone straight to Lydia and disappeared as far as I was concerned without even saying he was going.

It was certainly mysterious and I still had a niggling feeling that he might not have been human, that he was some spirit of doom, the ghost perhaps of that boy-or man-whose life had been cut short and now lay in Croston churchyard. Fanciful thinking, but then the matter was fanciful.

Daisy had welcomed me back and implied, with only the slightest trace of reproach, that I had been missed. After all, it was the half-term holiday and if one could get away one was entitled to do so.

"Eugenie had another bad turn while you were away," she told me. "Charlotte came and wakened me."

"That's rather alarming," I said. "I hope she is not sickening for something."

"It was the same sort of thing ... sickness and giddiness. It was a little worse than last time. I got the doctor in to have a look at her."

"What did he say?"

"Just what I thought. Something she had eaten did not agree with her."

"But that's the second time it's happened."

"She may have some weakness internally. There may be something which she cannot digest." "Was it fish again?"

"No. Oddly enough. It was stew. All the others were all right. I had some myself. It was very good."

"You don't think she's in a nervous state, do you? That could have this effect."

"That's what I mentioned to the doctor. She must miss her sister."

"Although she was always more friendly with Charlotte than she was with Fiona."

"Well, blood is thicker than water. I think she may feel restless. It's a pity Fiona doesn't bring that husband of hers to the Hall and make it all normal. I think that would be a help."

"I am sure it would and perhaps she will in time."

"We'll watch Eugenie and see if we can find out what is upsetting her."

"Yes, we'll do that."

When I took my afternoon ride I met Jason Verringer. He had evidently been waiting to catch me.

I said: "Good day," and galloped on. But he was beside me.

"Slow down," he said. "I want to talk to you."

"I have no wish to talk to you," I flung over my shoulder.

He brought his horse directly in front of mine so that I had to slow down.

"I've had enough of this," he said angrily. "How long is it since I've seen you?"

I felt an excitement grip me and realized afresh how much I enjoyed my battles with him. He might subdue me through his greater physical strength but never mentally. I was a match for him and I couldn't help revelling in making that clear.

"Did you expect me to call? Leave my card with grateful thanks."

"My dearest Cordelia, how wonderful it is to be with you again! I have been so bored ... so wretched ..."

"I have always believed that you are prone to self pity. I have to get back to school now."

"You have just come out."

"It is such a short break."

"I hear you have some new and very charming friends. The Markhams. I know the name. City bankers. A very respectable family."

"How knowledgeable you are!"

"I make a point of knowing what you are doing." "You waste your time for it can be of no importance to you."

"Stop it. You know it is of the utmost importance. Let us go into the woods. We can tic up our horses and we can talk comfortably."

"You must think me very gullible if you think I would ever put myself in a vulnerable position with you around."

"Are you never going to forget?"

"Never."

"If you had not been so unadventurous it could have been the turning point. I could have shown you what you are missing."

"You showed me very clearly. That is why I am asking you not to try to see me again alone. I know that, because of the school, a certain amount of contact is necessary and unavoidable. But I want no more than that."

"Of course you had a wonderful summer holiday, didn't you?"

"I did."

"I heard through Eugenie."

"Teresa has been talking, has she?"

"I understand this banking fellow has all the virtues. I heard he is something of a paragon."

"That would be Teresa's version. Teresa is inclined to glorify the people whom she likes."

"And vilify those she doesn't."

"It's a habit of the Young."

"Cordelia, do stop this. We must talk. It is no use your trying to pretend you are indifferent to me. Do you think I don't know how you feel? If you'd stop being so restrained and were natural, you'd come to me right away. It's what you want. But you are so under control ... so much the schoolmistress. But we're not in the classroom. We're two living creatures ... a man and a woman, and the most natural thing in the world is for us to be together.

"You don't understand me in the least."

"But I do. You want me ... me. I am the one for you, and you are fighting against it all the time. Why? Because respectability is standing beside you, urging you not to become involved with a man who may have helped one woman to her death and murdered another because he found her a nuisance. You listen to gossip. You accuse me ... when all the time you want me. I could show you that you want me as much as ... or almost ... as I want you."

I was afraid of him when he talked like that. Why did I stay here with him? Why did he excite me as he did? Was there something in what he said?

He went on: "You believe I killed my wife ... an overdose of laudanum ... so easy to administer. And then the other ... strangulation ... a blow on the head ... and then I buried her body in the woods ... no, I threw it into the fish ponds. That was the better idea. It was done by a member of my family before. In spite of this ... the gossip, the scandal and your lack of faith, you want me. What could be a stronger indication than that? You turn away from me, but you can't hide the truth. You wanted me in the Devil's Den. You were longing for me. You wanted me to force you. Then you could have come to terms with your conscience. But old Respectability was standing by your side. `Escape', he said. `Break the window. Leap out.' Anything that dear old Respectability should be satisfied. Do you think that would have stopped me?"

"Yes. It did." I laughed because I couldn't help it and he laughed with me.

He went on: "Oh, Cordelia, you are throwing away what you want most. If you reject me you will regret it ail your life. This knight in shining armour ... this Galahad, this symbol of purity, this miserable banker who always adds his figures correctly and has never had a single mistress and is without sin and stain ... do you think he is your sort?"

I was laughing again. "You are quite ridiculous," I said. "I am sure he would be amused to hear himself so described. Surely there is nothing to be despised in adding up figures correctly, and I should imagine there is a certain amount of that involved in running an estate. You seem very anxious to marry me off. I might tell you that it has not been suggested, and I am surprised that you listen to schoolgirls' tattle."

"The proposal will come. Bankers always know exactly how long to wait and how to get the right answer."

"Admirable people," I said.

"Oh, I am tired of your schoolmistress attitude to life. You are afraid to live ... afraid of scandal."

"Which you never were. You see how different we are. We should never match."

"Not like you and your banker. Precise, conventional, the household accounts always in order, making love every Wednesday night, having four children, that being the correct number. You're laughing. You're laughing ail the time at me. You're happy with me, aren't you?"

"Goodbye," I said, and galloped away in the direction of the school.

It was true in a way. If I was not entirely happy with him, I was exhilarated as with no one else. No, I was not happy with him; but on the other hand I was not happy away from him.

It would be better if I never saw him alone. I would shut him right out of my mind. I would remember those peaceful days on the farm. I went straight to my room to change for my class.

Elsa was standing on the stairs, a duster in her hand, outside my room.

"Good afternoon, Miss Grant," she said with her familiar smile.

"Good afternoon, Elsa."

I was about to walk past when she said: "Miss Grant, is Eugenie Verringer all right?" "Eugenie? Why?"

"Well, she's been iii, hasn't she? She's been iii twice. I was worried about her."

"She's all right. It was only bilious attacks."

"Oh, I'm glad. You get fond of some of the girls ... like I did at Schaffenbrucken. There was you and the French girl and that German one and that other English girl."

"Lydia," I said. "Lydia Markham. You'll be sorry to hear she was killed in a skiing accident."

She clutched the door and looked really disturbed. "Not that Lydia ..."

"Yes. I discovered it only the other day. Her brother came to see me and told me all about it. She was married."

"She was only a young girl."

"Old enough to be married. By the way, Elsa, do you remember when we went into the forest? You told us about Hunter's Moon and all that."

"That was a bit of rubbish just to amuse you girls." "Well, you were right that time. We met a man and he got to know Lydia afterwards. He married her."

"You don't say!"

"Rather strange, wasn't it?"

"And then her to die like that. Skiing did you say? I shouldn't have thought she was a one for that sort of thing."

"No, her husband must have changed her."

"Oh, Miss Grant, this is a bit of a shock for me. Of course it's a long time since I saw her ... Fancy you meeting her brother like that. It must have been a shock for you."

"A terrible shock. I saw Monique ... you remember her? She told me about Lydia. Lydia hadn't written to me."

"Oh dear, it's all come about in a funny sort of way ... You not knowing and all that. But what I really wanted to ask you about was Eugenie. I heard they had the doctor to her. What did he say?"

"Nothing serious. It seems she's prone to biliousness."

"Oh. I'm glad. It was her having it before made me wonder. Weakening, that sort of thing."

"Yes, but Eugenie's young. It's just that something must be upsetting her. We'll find out what it is and put an end to these distressing attacks. It happens now and then."

"I'm sure it does. I'm glad it's nothing serious. I began to wonder ... And it's a terrible shock about that Lydia."

"Yes," I said, and went into my room.

November had come, dank, dark and gloomy. Aunt Patty wrote that the Markhams had asked us to spend Christmas with them. She thought it would be a lovely idea. "A sort of Dingley Dell Christmas, dear. Can't you imagine it? Teresa, of course, is included in the invitation."

I thought of it. It would be pleasant. When I told Teresa she clasped her bands in ecstasy.

"Oh do let's go. Do let's."

I was still smarting from my encounter with Jason and I thought how peaceful it would be on the Essex farm, and impulsively I wrote back to Aunt Patty and said we must accept.

I felt I was being drawn closer and closer to John Markham. It was true what Jason had said-he would not be impulsive. His life would be orderly, lived on an even keel; and after the events of the last months, that was a state of affairs which seemed very inviting.

We were busy at school. There was what Eileen called the usual Christmas fever. All the anguish about who was to play in the pieces we were doing: Romeo and Juliet and The Merchant of Venice. Eileen said she wished Miss Hetherington would show a little of the quality of mercy and instead of giving us two extracts concentrate on one.

"The Merchant would have been ample," she said. "And I am surprised that dear Daisy thinks that the sight of Juliet quafing the draught which is to send her into a trance is suitable for impressionable girls."

It seemed that rehearsals were going on all the time and it was more like a theatre than a school.

"It pleases the parents and we'll do it the day before break-up," said Daisy. "However, we'll have a show two weeks earlier to make sure it is all right for Parents' Day."

Eugenie had another attack in the middle of the night. We didn't take much notice. We were used to those attacks now. It was just something that did not agree with her.

"We must find out what it is," said Daisy. "It seems the poor child has a weak stomach ... nothing serious. When we discover what is causing these upsets we shall be able to stop them."

Eugenie seemed to take the attacks lightly, for two days later she was playing Juliet with great verve.

There was an atmosphere of Christmas in the town. The shop windows displayed goods and invited people to shop early for Christmas. Mrs. Baddicombe had a special window full of cards and had white cotton wool on strings like beads hanging down to give an impression of falling snow.

When I went in, she said: "Do you like my window? Christmassy, don't 'ee think? And how is it up at the school now? Getting ready for the break. Mind you there's a whole month to go yet."

I said we were all well and I hoped it was the same with her.

"We're that busy," she said, "and likely to get more. How's that Miss Verringer? I heard she was very poorly. That maid up there ... she said the poor girl was very ill, and she wouldn't be surprised if she were sickening for something."

"That's nonsense. She just has a weak stomach, that's all."

"Weak stomachs can be a sign of something worse ... according to that maid of yours ..."

"What maid?"

"The foreign-looking one. Oh, she's not really foreign but there's something different about her. Elsa ... is it?"

"Oh I know. She talked about Miss Verringer, did she?"

Mrs. Baddicombe nodded. "If you want my opinion, she's upset about her sister going off like that. Nobody's ever heard where she be to, have they?"

"I daresay she'll be bringing her husband home in due course," I said.

"It's to be hoped she's got one."

"Mrs. Baddicombe, you shouldn't ..."

"But you know what men are. Or perhaps you don't. But you'll find out." Her eyes twinkled. "Soon, I shouldn't wonder."

I found all my resentment rising against her. I did not want her inventing illnesses for Eugenie so I hesitated and said: "Miss Verringer is quite well. We haven't any anxiety about her health."

"Well nobody could be more glad than me to hear that. If you ask me that girl ... what's her name ... Elsa? ... I reckon she's a bit of a gossip."

I couldn't help smiling and Mrs. Baddicombe went on: "She's not a bad-looking girl. I think she's got someone tucked away ... in foreign parts, I reckon."

"What do you mean ... tucked away?"

"I reckon she's over here saving up to get married. She's always writing to someone ... and it's a man. I've seen the name on the envelope when she's sticking on the stamp. A Mr. Somebody ... I couldn't quite see the name. Well, it's not easy upside-down. I said to her I said in fun like, "Oh, another love letter eh?" and she just smiled and wouldn't say a thing. When you think how she'll come in here and talk ... But some can be close about themselves though ready enough to talk of others. But I know there's somebody. She's always writing to him. And he seems to be on the move a bit ... sometimes it's one country, sometimes another. I have to look up the cost of the stamp. France ... Germany ... Austria ... Switzerland .. . all of them places. Last time it was Austria."

"Perhaps she has lovers in all those places," I said.

"No, it's the same one ... as far as I can see. Sometimes she'll get the stamps and don't put them on at the counter. Then I am in the dark."

"How perverse of her."

"Well, that's life, ain't it? You'll be going home soon I expect. Nice for you."

I bought my stamps and came out.

I always felt there was something sinister about that abnormal curiosity of hers. The idea of checking up on the stamps people bought and not only speculating about the recipients of the mail but discussing it with anyone who came into the shop!

Towards the end of November it started to snow.

"They boast in this part of the world that they only see snow once in seventeen years," commented Eileen. "This is two years running. We must be approaching another ice age."

The girls enjoyed it. It was fun for them to be cut off for several days. From our windows the ruins looked like something out of another world-ethereal and delicately beautiful.

"I wish the wind would drop," I said. "When it blows from the north it makes queer whining noises like souls in distress."

Eileen said: "It must be all those monks rising up in protest against old Henry who destroyed their Abbey."

"That's no reason why they should complain to us," I pointed out.

"They're complaining about the injustices of the world," retorted Eileen. "Mind you, we all feel like that sometimes."

"Oh, Eileen, you're contented enough."

"I shall be when we break up for Christmas. Just imagine the bliss. No more trying to make Constables out of people who can't draw a straight line. The only one here who has a modicum of talent is Eugenie Verringer, though Teresa Hurst is coming on nicely. No more lovers of Verona and that wretched pound of flesh. Clare Simpson sounds more like a pork butcher than a brilliant young lawyer. It was a great mistake to cast her as Portia."

"She has two young sisters, candidates for the Academy," I pointed out. "Don't forget parents will be coming to the perfected performance."

"Who knows, it might be enough to put them off forever. I must say Charlotte makes a fair Romeo. She's quite a good actress, that girl. I don't think Eugenie is right for Juliet, but then the poor girl lost her sister. I wonder how Sir Henry Irving would like to choose his actors for Daisy's reasons?"

"Oh, Eileen, it is only the school play!"

Eileen put on an air of mock despair. "How can I be expected to produce a masterpiece when you, my fellow conspirator in this impossible task, see it only as the school play!"

So it went on. The sessions in the calefactory were a great relief and Eileen was always amusing. There wasn't one who was not looking forward with anticipation to the Christmas holidays.

It was the beginning of December. The cold persisted although we were able to get out. Miss Hetherington allowed tobogganing down the gentle slope and the girls were enjoying it immensely. The gardeners had made extra toboggans so that several of the girls could indulge at the same time.

Then one night I was awakened. This time by Eugenie.

"Miss Grant. Miss Grant." She was shaking me. "Wake up. Charlotte. She's ill... just as I was."

I hastily put on my dressing gown and slippers and went to their room.

This was worse than Eugenie's attacks. Charlotte was writhing in pain; she was very sick and her face was the same colour as the sheets.

I said: "Get Miss Hetherington at once."

Daisy came and I could see that even she was alarmed. This was a different aspect of the case. Eugenie might have had a weakness, but when another girl was taken iii that was a serious matter.

"We'll get the doctor at once," she said. "Go down to the stables and see if you can find Tom Rolt. Send him off immediately. Better put something warm on first. We don't want you down with pneumonia."

I hastily put on boots and a cloak and dashed out, my steps crunching on the snow, the wind blowing my hair about my face. I found Tom Rolt, who lived over the stables. He was disgruntled at being called out and it took him a little time to get the trap ready. He took it because he said he would be able to bring the doctor back with him.

This he did, but it was an hour and a hall after Eugenie had awakened me before he came and by that time Charlotte was a little better. The pain seemed to have disappeared and she lay white and still in her bed.

The doctor was a little peevish to have been brought from his bed for what he considered to be another bilious attack. He had thought at first that it was Eugenie he was coming to see and was surprised to find it was another girl.

"It's the same complaint," he said. "There must be something here which is upsetting the girls."

"I can assure you, Doctor," said Daisy with a hint of righteous wrath, "that there is nothing in this school to harm my girls."

"It is something they are taking. You see, Miss Hetherington, the symptoms are the same. There is something which is poisoning them and naturally they are rejecting it."

"Poisoning them! I never heard of such a thing! Everything we eat here is of the best. We grow our own food. You can question the gardeners."

"There are lots of new ideas now, Miss Hetherington. There are things that poison some and not others. It seems these two girls are rejecting something which they are eating."

"Charlotte's attack is worse than Eugenie's."

"It may be that she has not got the same resistance to it. This girl is very weak. She will have to rest for a week, I should say."

"Oh dear, how distressing. We shall have to find a new Romeo."

I couldn't help smiling although I was upset to see Charlotte so Heaven knew she had been a trial to me but she was pathetic now, a shadow of her former arrogant self.

"She should be carefully fed white she is recovering," said the doctor. "Just a light diet. Boiled fish, milk puddings ..."

"Of course," said Daisy. "She should stay in bed, you say."

"Yes, until she feels strong enough to get up. This will have weakened her considerably. The main thing is to be careful of what you give her to eat. There must be something which is not agreeing with the girls."

"h is strange," I commented, "that it should have happened to two in the same room."

The doctor looked round the room as though searching for some evil there in those four walls.

"A coincidence most likely," he said. He looked at Eugenie who was sitting on her bed looking frightened. "She should have absolute rest. She'll sleep tonight for I am going to give her a sedative, and I should like her to sleep through tomorrow. It would be better if she could be in a room on her own."

Miss Hetherington looked perplexed. "All the rooms are fully occupied at the moment ..."

I said: "Eugenie's bed could be moved into my room."

"That's an excellent idea, Miss Grant. We'll get that done tomorrow. For a few nights, Eugenie, you will sleep in Miss Grant's room. In the morning take what you need as quietly as you can." She turned back to me. "It would only be for a few nights. Then we'll be back to normal."

"Good," said the doctor. "She's sleeping- now. She'll be better in the morning ... but rest and then very careful diet."

"We need have no fears," said Daisy. "Miss Grant is in charge of this section and she will see that everything is as you say it should be."

"Yes, indeed I will, Miss Hetherington."

"Well, I'm sorry we had to call you out, Doctor," went on Daisy.

"Oh, that can't be helped, Miss Hetherington." "I think you had better take a little brandy before Rolt drives you back."

"Thank you. That would be pleasant."

They went off leaving me in the room with the two girls.

"I should try to get some sleep now, Eugenie," I said.

"I was so frightened, Miss Grant. She looked so ill. I thought she was going to die. Did I look as ill as all that?"

"Yes, you looked quite ill ... and see how you recovered. Now go to sleep and in the morning your bed will be taken into my room."

"Yes, Miss Grant."

She was very subdued and unlike the Eugenie I had known.

On a sudden impulse I tucked her in and kissed her as I might a child. As soon as I had done it I reproached myself. But oddly enough, Eugenie seemed pleased. She smiled and said gently: "Good night, Miss Grant."

In the morning Charlotte was still very weak and tired. Daisy brought up two men from the stables to move the bed and this was done quietly and with speed. The doctor came again and I could see that he was more concerned than he had been on the previous night. Then I supposed he had been a little irritated at being called out and been inclined to dismiss Charlotte's indisposition as trivial.

He said: "It's a case of rather virulent food poisoning."

Daisy was horrified. She was quite fond of the girls though Charlotte's nature had never been an endearing one, but her real concern was for the school. An elopement last term. A death by poisoning this! That could be fatal for the Academy.

During that first day Charlotte was very ill and Eugenie was very upset indeed. I was surprised that she could show such depth of feeling, even for her greatest friend, for she had never struck me as a particularly affectionate girl.

In a way it made her more vulnerable, more amenable, and oddly enough she seemed to cling to me for comfort. When we were in bed-she in hers under the crucifix which was carved into the wall and I on the other side of the room- she would lie sleepless and I sensed she desperately wanted to talk.

"Miss Grant," she said on our first night. "Are you going to marry my uncle?"

I was taken completely by surprise. I stammered: "My dear Eugenie, what gave you such an idea?"

"Well, he wants to, I know. And he was always trying to be with you ... though not so much now. I wouldn't mind if you did. You'd be a sort of aunt, wouldn't you? You mightn't like it though. He's not very nice. And Teresa says you are going to marry that other man John Somebody. She says he is lovely ..."

"Well," I said, trying to speak lightly, "you girls seem to have settled my fate."

"Miss Grant, is Charlotte going to die?"

"Of course not. She'll be better in a few days."

"Suppose she did. She'd want to confess ... about that letter."

"What letter?"

"The one about Mrs. Martindale."

"You sent that. You ... and Charlotte!"

"Yes. We were so angry with you because you parted us when you first came. Charlotte said we'd have revenge. We'd bide our time, she said. That's what we did and when it seemed as if it might be true, it didn't seem so bad."

"It was a wicked thing to do."

"I know. That's why I have to confess ... in case Charlotte dies with it on her conscience. She wouldn't want that."

"First of all stop talking about Charlotte's dying. You'll laugh at yourself in a few days' time. And as for that letter. It was silly and unkind, and only mean people send anonymous letters. Your accusations are quite untrue. Your uncle says that Mrs. Martindale went to London. If she wants to do that it is no one's concern. Never do such a thing again."

"But you forgive us?"

"Yes, I do, but remember ... it was mean and cruel and wicked."

"All right. I'll tell Charlotte if she's well enough."

"Yes do, and tell her that I think you were two silly and immature girls ... and that's an end to the matter."

"Oh, thank you, Miss Grant."

After that she seemed to get quite fond of me and I liked her better too. She had been worried about that letter and that did show some finer feelings. I forgot how it had upset me and had really changed my feelings towards Jason; but it was a relief to know that at least that unsavoury matter was cleared up.

During the next day Charlotte seemed a little better, but still very weak, and she hardly noticed that Eugenie was not in her room.

It was Eugenie's second night in my room when I made the shattering discovery which was to open my eyes and make me realize that I was in the midst of some sinister and dangerous conspiracy.

Eugenie lay in her bed, ready for what seemed to be becoming a bedtime chat - a mark of our new relationship.

"Charlotte was all right during the day before she was so ill, and she was laughing and joking. She said she was going to see if she could jigjag the toboggan down the slopes the next day and to see if we could skate on the fish ponds. They were frozen then."

"I hardly think Miss Hetherington would allow that."

"We were sure she wouldn't."

"And you wouldn't be so foolish as to attempt such a thing without first asking permission."

"Oh no, Miss Grant, we shouldn't have done that."

"You do realize it could be very dangerous."

"I think that was why Charlotte liked the idea. She was laughing about it. She was so well. She had a second helping of soup. She said it was too salty and it made her thirsty, so later on she drank my milk as well as her own. I didn't want mine. So it didn't matter."

I had been thinking of the girls' attempting to skate on the fish ponds and was pulled up sharp.

"What did you say? She drank your milk?"

"Yes. She was so thirsty. The soup was too salty."

I felt myself turn cold. Charlotte had drunk the milk intended for Eugenie and she had been ill as Eugenie had previously ... when presumably Eugenie had drunk her own milk.

"Are you asleep, Miss Grant?"

"No ... no," I said faintly.

I was thinking of the milk which was served to the girls. Milk and two plain biscuits ... the last thing before they retired to their rooms. I visualized the maids going round the tables and the tin of biscuits. The maids took it in turn to do this duty.

I heard myself say: "So ... Charlotte drank your milk?"

"Yes. It shows she was all right because she drank her own as well."

"Who gave you the milk? Do you remember?"

"No ... It was one of the maids. I wasn't noticing because Charlotte had this idea about skating on the ponds.

"I wish you could remember."

"Well, you don't always notice the maids, do you? They all look alike in their black dresses and white caps.

I was thinking: Am I dreaming this? Eugenie sick three times ... and when Charlotte drinks the milk intended for Eugenie she is ill. I wished Eugenie would stop chattering inconsequentially and would concentrate on this.

"She's good fun and she's clever. It did come out all right though we thought of it as a joke at first." "What?" I said absently.

"Oh, she knows a lot about old legends." I realized then that she was talking about Elsa. "Do you believe in them, Miss Grant? She said if we went into the wood at full moon time one of us would meet our future husband ... and it happened to Fiona."

"What?" I cried, sitting up.

"What's wrong, Miss Grant?" asked Eugenie.

I must be careful, I thought. This is becoming frightening.

"Tell me more about that," I said.

"It was May Day. That's a special night for the old religions. Druids and all that, I think. Elsa said all sorts of things could happen on certain days and if we waited till the moon was full and went into the forest even in daytime, which was the only time we could go anyway, we'd meet a man ... We laughed and didn't believe it and we said we'd go into the woods and when we got back tell Elsa we had met a man, but when we went into the woods, there he was..."

My mouth was dry and I found it difficult to speak. I said at last, "So you met this man and Fiona ran away with him."

"Yes. It was so romantic."

"Eugenie," I said, "what was the name of the man you met in the woods?"

"It was Carl."

"Carl What?"

"I never heard his other name. Fiona talked about him as Carl."

"And you and Charlotte helped her to elope." "Yes, we did. On that night when we went to the Hall."

"And you found a monk's robe so that he could come to the pageant?"

"It was so exciting. He had to see her that night to tell her what time she was to meet him. They were going to London first. We thought it was the most fantastic thing."

"Eugenie," I said quietly. "Miss Eccles says you have a real talent for drawing."

"Oh does she? I love it. It's my favourite subject. I wish I could do it all the time."

"Could you draw me a picture of Fiona's husband?"

"Oh ... I could try. I'll do it in the morning." "I want you to do it now."

"Now, Miss Grant? When I'm in bed?"

"Yes," I said. "Now. I want to see it now."

I got out of bed and found a pencil and paper. She sat up in bed and using a book as a prop, started to draw, screwing up her face in concentration.

"He's very good-looking: It's hard to do. It's a bit like him though. Yes, he's very good looking. His hair is fair. It curls a bit ... like that. His face .. . well, it's different from other people's faces. There's a look in his eyes ... I can't get that."

"Go on," I said. "It's coming."

And so it was. The face that looked back at me bore a strong resemblance to that of the stranger in the forest.

I took it from her and put it carefully in a drawer. I was not sure what I was going to do now. I had made a discovery so startling that it numbed me.

I could not think what it meant.

"It's funny you should want it now," began Eugenie.

"It's getting late," I said. "I think we ought to go to sleep."

She lay back and closed her eyes. "Good night, Miss Grant."

"Good night, Eugenie."

I was saying to myself, Fiona's husband was Lydia's husband. Lydia died skiing and he is teaching Fiona to ski. I was sure now that someone was trying to poison Eugenie, and that someone must be Elsa who was deeply involved in this macabre affair.

I must act quickly. But how?