Time of the Hunter's Moon

The Abbey

IT was a lovely spring day when I arrived at Colby Abbey station. I had been enchanted by the countryside which I had glimpsed through the windows of the train-lush green meadows and wooded hills and the rich red soil of Devonshire with the occasional glimpse of the sea.

The sun was warm although there was a slight nip in the air as though to remind me that summer had not yet come. I had said goodbye to Aunt Patty and Violet with much laughter, a few tears and constant reminders that we should all be together in the summer vacation. It was exhilarating as starting a new life must always be, and I was extremely fortunate in having Aunt Patty. Her last injunction had been: "If Madam Hetherington doesn't treat you with the right respect, you know what to do. But I think she'll behave herself. She knows that you are not exactly hers to command like some of those poor girls who have to toe the line or wonder where their next meal's coming from."

"You've always been a bulwark in my life," I told her.

"I hope that's not meant to be taken too literally, dear. I know I'm overfond of good food, but bulwark ... no, I don't like the sound of that."

That was how we parted. The last I saw of her from the train window, for she and Violet had come to London to see me off, was a smile though I knew the tears were not far off.

So here I was arrived at last, and as I stepped out of the train a man in smart livery came towards me and asked if my name was Miss Grant, for if so, he had come to drive me to Colby Abbey Academy where I was expected.

"The trap's in the yard, Miss. Be this your bag? 'Tis just a step or two ... nothing more."

I went through the barrier with him and there was what he called the trap - a rather smart two-heeled vehicle drawn by a grey horse.

He took my bags and stowed them away. "Reckon, Miss," he said, "you'll be comfortable up with me."

"Thank you," I said when he helped me up.

"It be a nice day for coming, Miss," he said. He had a black beard and dark curly hair-a stocky, middle-aged man, who spoke with that burr with which in time I should become familiar.

He was inclined to be talkative. As he whipped up the horse he said: "The young ladies will be coming next Tuesday. It'll give you time to settle in, Miss. Bit different when they'm all here, eh? Some of 'em stays at school this time of year though. It's only at Christmas and summer we have a full turn-out. Too far for some to go home, you do see?"

"Yes," I said.

"Do 'ee know Devon at all, Miss?"

"No, I'm afraid I don't."

"You've got a real treat in store. God's own country. A little bit of heaven itself."

"I'm glad to hear that."

"It be true, Miss. Sir Francis Drake, now. He were a Devon man. Saved England from them Spaniards, they do say. It were a long time ago though. Glorious Devon they call it. Devonshire cream and cider ... They do make songs about it."

"Yes, I have heard some of them."

"You'll see the big house in a minute. The Abbey's a good three miles on."

"Is that the home of the Verringers?"

"Yes, that be the Hall. Look, there's. the grave-yard by the church."

Just at that moment a bell began to toll.

"There be the funeral today. Funny time to arrive, Miss, if 'ee don't mind me saying so. Her ladyship going out like and you coming in."

His beard shook. He seemed to find that rather amusing.

"Whose funeral did you say it was?"

"Lady Verringer's."

"Oh ... was she an elderly lady?"

"No. She'm Sir Jason's wife. Poor lady. Not much of a life. Been invalid for ten years or more. Fell from her horse. They don't have much luck... them Verringers. They be cursed, I reckon, like folks say."

"Oh?"

"Well, it goes back ... right a long way. And the Abbey and all that. There's stories about them. There'm folks as think it was either Abbey or Verringers and it ought to have been the Abbey."

"It sounds mysterious."

"Oh, it goes back a long way."

We had turned into a lane so narrow that the bushes from the hedges brushed the sides of the trap. Suddenly my driver pulled up. A carriage was coming towards us.

The driver of the carriage had pulled up too. He had no alternative and the two men were glaring at each other.

"You'll have to back, Emmet," said the driver of the carriage.

My driver-Emmet apparently-remained stubbornly stationary. "You've less far to go back, Tom Craddock," he said.

"I b'ain't going back," said Tom Craddock. "Look out, Nat Emmet, I've got Squire here."

I heard a voice shout: "What in God's name is going on here?" A face looked out of a window and I caught a glimpse of dark hair and angry dark eyes.

"'Tis Nat Emmet, Sir Jason. He be bringing the new Young lady to the school and he's blocking the road."

"Get back at once, Emmet," cried the imperious voice and the face disappeared.

"Yes, sir. Yes, Sir Jason. That's just what I be doing... "

"Be sharp about it."

Emmet got down and we started to move back, and finally reached the wide road.

The carriage came out at a sharp pace and the driver gave Nat Emmet a victorious grin as it went past. I tried to catch a glimpse of the man inside the carriage but he was out of sight.

The funeral bell started to toll once more.

"He's just come from burying his wife," said Emmet.

"So that's Sir Jason himself. He seemed a bit choleric."

"What's that, Miss?"

"He seems a bit quick-tempered."

"Oh, Squire don't like anything to get in his way ... like his poor lady. There's some as say she was in his way. But I'm talking out of turn. But there's things folks don't keep quiet. And why should they?"

We went quickly through the lane.

"Don't want to meet no others," said Emmet. "Not that I'd go back a second time ... except for Squire and we're not likely to meet him again, are we?"

We trotted along while he made observations which did not interest me greatly because my thoughts were with the Squire and the lady who had been in his way and for whom the dismal bell was tolling.

"If you look when we turn this bend, Miss, you'll be getting your first view of the Abbey," Emmet told me.

Then I was alert ... waiting.

It lay ahead of me, grand, imposing, tragic, a shell encasing past glory. I could see the sun glinting through the great arches which were open to the sky.

"That be it," said Emmet, pointing with his whip. "It be quite a sight, b'ain't it? In spite of being nothing but an old ruin ... 'cept the part that ain't. Well, folks seem to think a lot of our Abbey. Wouldn't let it be touched. It was a good thing they did their bit of building in days gone by."

I was speechless with a kind of wonder. It was indeed a magnificent sight. Away to the hills the trees were in bud; the sun glinted on a brook which was wending its way across a meadow.

"Look over to the right of the tower, Miss, and you'll see the fish ponds. That's where the monks used to catch their supper."

"It's wonderful. I had not imagined anything quite so ... impressive."

"There's folks as won't go near the place after dark. Miss Hetherington her don't like us to say it, but it be true. She thinks it will frighten the young ladies so they'll ask to be took away. But I tell you there's some as say they can hear bells at certain mines of night... and monks chanting."

"One could quite believe that."

"You're seeing it in sunlight, Miss. You want to see it by the light of the moon ... or better still when there's just a few stars to light the way."

"I daresay I shall," I said.

We were getting nearer.

"It be comfortable enough in the school, Miss. You'd hardly know where you was to. Miss Hetherington, her's done wonders. Just like a school it is inside ... and when you hear all them young ladies laughing together, well, you forget all about them long dead monks."

The trap had drawn up in a courtyard. Emmet jumped down and helped me down.

"I'll see to your bags, Miss," he said.

I was facing a door in a greystone wall. Emmet pulled the bell and the door was immediately opened by a girl in uniform.

"Come in, Miss Grant. It be Miss Grant, b'ain't it? Miss Hetherington said as you was to be took right up to her the moment you arrive. She's just having tea."

I was in a large hall with a vaulted ceiling. It looked like a monastery; there was a coldness in the air which I noticed after the warmth of the sun outside.

"Did you have a good journey, Miss?" asked the girl. "It seems the train was on time."

"Very good, thank you."

"The other mistresses haven't come yet. They'll be here tomorrow, but it's when all the young ladies are here ... that's when we know it." She turned to me and raising her eyes to the ceiling jerked her chin upwards.

"This way, Miss. Look out. These staircases can be dangerous. If you slip on the narrow bit... particularly coming down, you can come a cropper. Hang on to this rope. Supposed to be a banister.

This is how the monks had it, so we have to have it that way too."

"It's an anciens building."

"Built up from parts of the ruins, Miss. We're always hearing about it ... how we ought to appreciate it and all that 'cause the monks had it that way. Myself, I'd rather a nice wood banister."

We had come to a long corridor. It had a vaulted ceiling like that in the hall, and there were rooms leading from it.

"This way, Miss." The girl tapped on a door and a voice which I recognized immediately as that of Daisy Hetherington called: "Come in."

"Ah, there you are."

She had risen. She was taller than I remembered; and here within these walls she looked more than ever as though she had been carved out of stone.

"It is so nice to see you. You must be tired from your journey. Grace, bring another cup and some more hot water. First you will have some tea-it is quite freshly made-and then you shall see your quarters. I trust you have had a good journey. You are very much on time."

"The train was exactly on time."

"Take off your coat. That's right. And sit down. I am pleased to see you, Cordelia. I shall, however, call you Miss Grant, except when we are on our own. I don't want there to be any differences."

"No, of course not."

"I daresay you were impressed by the Abbey."

"Very. Although I have seen little so far, just the first impression. And that is truly staggering."

"I know the effect it has. We, who live in the midst of these ancient stones, I'm afraid are apt to forget all they stand for."

"It is certainly a wonderful setting."

"I think so. It makes us different. I think living in such a place gives the girls an understanding of the past. We have always done very well with history. Ah, here is the hot water. Let me pour out for you. Do you take cream or sugar?"

"Neither, thank you."

"You are not like your aunt. She always shocks me by the amount of sugar she takes in her tea." "She loves all sweet things."

"To her cost."

"She is happy as she is and manages to make all those about her the same."

"Ah, Patience. Well, here you are. I shall myself show you round after tea ... before it gets dark. I enjoy showing people round for the first time. I gloat over it. It really is unique, I am sure. It is wonderful what those Elizabethan builders managed to raise up out of the ruins. We should call ourself the Phoenix, I always say."

"What part of the monastery is this?"

"It's the Chapter House and Monks' Dorter and the Lay Brothers' Dorter and their library, kitchens and infirmary. This part was left almost untouched when the despoilers came in. It was the towers and the chapels which were so badly desecrated."

"So this is almost as it was when it was built, I suppose."

"Yes, in the mid 1100s. The monks built it with their own hands. Think of the activity which must have gone on. They had to bring the stone here you know ... and then build. Of course, it was a labour of love. You can feel that ... particularly in the nave and the aisles ... even though they are open to the sky."

"I am so looking forward to seeing it all."

"I knew you would be. I sensed that you would have a feeling for it. Some people have, some haven't."

She passed me a plate of thin bread and butter.

"I am glad you were able to come before the others arrive tomorrow ... or most of them. Mademoiselle Dupont and Frâulein Kutcher are here. They stay for the shorter holidays and go to their homes twice a year. It is expensive travelling back and forth to the Continent. They are good, both of them. Jeannette Dupont finds discipline difficult, but the girls are fond of her and if her teaching is not quite orthodox she gets results. Frâulein Kutcher is completely different. An excellent teacher, and she has a certain dignity which is necessary when teaching girls. They have to respect -you, you know. I hope you will find you have that quality. You will soon discover. I took a bit of a risk, you know ... as you have never taught before."

"If you are not pleased with me, you must say so immediately. Aunt Patty would be rather pleased, I think. She would like me to be with them."

"I should hate to see you stultify in a country village after your education. No. I have never failed in my judgement yet, and I don't expect to now. Do you ride?"

"I did quite a lot at Grantley."

"Good. We have a riding master who comes in three times a week to teach the girls. They go out in parties, but I like to have a mistress with them. You can use the horses in your spare time, if you like. We are rather isolated and you would have to walk everywhere if you didn't ride. The town is three miles from here ... such as it is. The Hall is just beyond."

"I passed that on my way here."

"Oh yes. There's a funeral today. Poor Lady Verringer passed away. A happy release, some say. Fiona and Eugenie will have been at the funeral. I suppose we shall have to allow them to wear black instead of their school uniforms for some months. It's so tiresome. I wouldn't allow it for anyone else. But they being who they are .. . and so close to the school . . I don't see how I can do anything else."

"I suppose it was their mother who has died. I saw their father."

"No. Not the mother. Their aunt. And you saw Sir Jason?"

"Yes, in his carriage. We met it in the lane."

"He would have been coming from the funeral. He is the girls' uncle. He and Lady Verringer had no, children. A sadness for them, I knew. Fiona and Eugenie are Sir Jason's wards-his brother's children. They lost both their parents when they were quite young. Their home has always been the Hall ... even when their parents were alive. Their father was a younger brother of Sir Jason. It was not, of course, like having children of their own and there is no direct heir. The Verringers have been at the Hall since it was built in the mid 1500s. The whole of the Abbey lands came into their possession after the Dissolution of the Monasteries."

"I see. I quite thought the girls were his."

"They have been with me for three years. They came when Fiona was fourteen. She is the eider, though not by much. There is just about eighteen months between her and Eugenie. Yes, she must have been fourteen because she is seventeen now .. . but soon to be eighteen, so Eugenie will be turned sixteen."

"The girls are mostly round about that age, are they?"

"From fourteen to eighteen. Very much like Schaffenbrucken, I imagine."

"Yes, very much so."

"I aim to turn out girls who will be fit to mingle in the highest society. That, I think, is important. Now to get down to practical matters. You will be taking English. That will consist of literature, of course. The girls study the classics with you. And I want you to concentrate on their social education. Conversation ... debates on current affairs. We have a dancing master ... ballroom dancing, you know. He comes three times a week, but there will be dancing practice every day and you and perhaps one of the others will be in charge of that. Then there is music. Mr. Maurice Crowe gives lessons to the whole school once a week, but he teaches piano-forte and violin to those who want it. We concentrate on music and the arts generally. We have an art mistress in Eileen Eccles. She may be arriving tonight. I have had a word with her. You and she can arrange to put on a play for the school. We have done that before and it is a great success. Parents like to see their children act. Last time we were allowed to do it at the Hall. They have a very fine ball-room which is ideal for the purpose."

"It sounds very interesting."

"I am sure you will find it so. Now for sleeping arrangements. The rooms are necessarily small; they were once the sleeping quarters of the Lay Brothers and we are not allowed to tamper with anything structurally, though Sir Jason has allowed one or two concessions to fit in with the school. For instance, we have partitioned one room as it was twice as large as the others, and made two bedrooms of it. It is not easy to accommodate so many people. One large dormitory would have been more normal. As it is we have two girls in each room, and as they are more or less in sections, I have put one mistress in charge of four bedrooms, which means eight girls. Your room is next to your four. You make sure that they are in their rooms every night, that they rise when the bell rings, and that they conduct themselves in an orderly manner."

"A sort of house mistress."

"Exactly, except that we are all under one roof and the other sections are not far away. The girls you will have are on the whole pleasant malleable creatures. Gwendoline Grey shares with Jane Everton. Gwendoline is the daughter of a professor and Jane's father is a manufacturer in the Midlands. Not the same class as Gwendoline but plenty of money. I mix my girls carefully. Jane will learn from Gwendoline and perhaps Gwendoline a little from Jane. In the next room is the Honourable Charlotte Mackay. Her father is Lord Blandore, and she is with Patricia Cartwright, from a banking family. Caroline Sangton's father is a city importer and she is with Teresa Hurst. By the way Teresa spends most of her holidays at school. Her father grows something in Rhodesia ... tobacco, I think. Sometimes we can pack her off to her mother's cousins, but not always, and I fancy they get out of having the child when they can."

"Poor Teresa," I said.

"Yes, indeed. And I am also giving you the Verringer girls. They are in one of your rooms. So that is your little family as I call it. I am sure you will find everything goes smoothly. Now have you finished your tea? Then I will take you to your room myself. Your bags will be there and if you are not too tired and would like to look round I will show you. Perhaps you would like to freshen up alter your journey? If you will come now we'll go to your room and you can wash and change if you like and hang up your things. Then I will show you round the Abbey."

"Thank you. That will be very interesting."

"Come then."

I followed her over the stone-flagged floors, up staircases rather like the one I had seen-treacherously narrow where it reached the post and wider at the other end, with its rope banister.

At length we came to the bedrooms. Mine was small with thick stone walls which made it seem cold, and the window was long and narrow. There was a bed in it, a cupboard, a chair and a table.

"You are thinking it is a little spartan," said Daisy. "Mine is the same. Remember this is an abbey and I impress on the girls that we are privileged to be here. Now I will show you where we wash. I have been allowed to divide this into cubicles ... a great concession, I do assure you. The Lay Brothers would have washed in this trough which ran along the whole length of this section. However, you will find this more in keeping with modern times. I have put mirrors in too. Now you have seen your quarters and the rooms of the girls who will be in your charge. Shall I send for you in half an hour? One of the maids will bring you to my study and then we can go on our tour of exploration."

I washed, changed my travelling clothes and hung up my things in the cupboard. I was rather unsure of my feelings. I was excited by everything I had seen and I felt that I understood Daisy Hetherington, respected her and would get along moderately well with her. On the other hand, although I found my surroundings of immense interest there were moments when I was repelled by them. Perhaps it was because the past was too close; it intruded. What could one expect within the actual walls of an abbey!

I was ready and waiting when the summons came. I was imagining telling Aunt Patty all about it when we were together in the summer. That cheered me considerably.

I was conducted to the presence of my employer.

"Ah!" Her cool blue eyes surveyed me and I gathered she approved of my white blouse and navy blue skirt. "Here you are. Now I will take you first over our own establishment. If there is time I will give you some idea of the surroundings, but these you will discover in more detail later. I have a picture here of the Abbey as it was before the Dissolution. It wasn't drawn until the beginning of this century, but it is a good job of reconstruction and it wasn't so difficult with the outline there, as you might say. Only the slightest degree of imagination was necessary. Our monks were Cistercians and so the Abbey is built in that style. You see it is constructed on either side of a stream which runs into the fishponds. They in their turn go into the river. We are about eight miles from the sea. There are three fishponds, one flowing into another. There are some good fish in there too. Emmet and some of the others fish there frequently and much of our Friday fish comes from the ponds. I think it is a very important tradition. Here you can see the nave and the transept. That is the chapel of six altars. There is the Chapter House and the Gate House and the Great Hall ... the Abbot's House, the refectory, the store house and buttery. You'll find everything on the plan. And here we are. Now ... shall we go?"

We came out into the fresh air. It seemed warm outside. Daisy talked as we went along. It was a fascinating tour and I found I could not take in all I had to see; but what I was deeply aware of was the brooding atmosphere of the Abbey-and particularly that part which was roofless. It seemed uncanny to walk over those stone flags, past great pillars which seemed meaningless since they were supporting walls and arches which were now a ruin, and through which I could see the sky. I understood how imaginative people fancied they heard the sound of bells and the chanting of monks when dusk fell. I had yet to see the place without the bright sunshine. I could believe it was very eerie in the dusk and for the first time I wondered whether Daisy Hetherington had been wise in taking part of the old Abbey for her school. Wouldn't it have been better in some fresh open country or facing the sea somewhere along the South Coast.

But of course it did make the school unique, and that was what Daisy was striving for.

"You are silent, Cordelia," she said. "I understand. You are overcome. It is the effect it has on all sensitive people."

"The girls ... how do they feel about all this antiquity?"

"Frivolous creatures most of them ... unaware of it."

"And the mistresses?"

"Oh, I think some of them are surprised when they first come. But it grows on them. They realize that they are privileged."

I was silent. I touched the rough stone wall and looked through the Norman arch to the sky. Daisy Hetherington patted my arm. "Come along in," she said. "We dine at seven thirty."

Dinner was served in the Lay Brothers' Refectory which must have been more or less the same as it was seven centuries before with its vaulted ceiling and long narrow slits of windows.

Daisy presided at the head of the table looking like an abbess herself. The food was excellent. "All home-grown," she told me. "It is one of the features of the place. We have plenty of space. The old kitchen gardens for instance, and we make good use of them. I have two gardeners working full time, and Emmet helps out. So do the other stable boys."

I could see that this was a very large establishment. It made Grantley Manor seem almost amateur in comparison.

At dinner I was introduced to Mademoiselle Jeannette Dupont, Frâulein Irma Kutcher and Eileen Eccles, the art mistress, who had arrived. I was able to talk both in French and German which delighted not only those I talked to but Daisy herself who, although she herself did not venture beyond English, liked to stress the fact that I was fluent in both languages.

Jeannette Dupont was in her mid twenties, I imagined, and rather pretty. Irma Kutcher wasn't much older but appeared to be, as she was rather stern-looking, and I was sure took her post very seriously.

Eileen Eccles was the typical art mistress with rather untidy hair and expressive dark eyes; she wore a loose dress of mingling shades of brown with a faint touch of scarlet and she looked every inch the artist.

We talked of school matters, and I had the feeling that I should not find it too difficult to fit into Daisy's establishment. She herself did most of the talking and it was all about the school and the idiosyncrasies of certain pupils. I felt I was getting a real grasp of everything.

When dinner was over we went into Daisy's study and there the conversation continued in the same vein until she said she was sure I was tired and would like to retire.

"The rest of the mistresses will be arriving tomorrow or the next day. And on Tuesday all the girls who have been home will be coming back."

Mademoiselle asked if the Verringer sisters would be returning on Tuesday.

"Of course," said Daisy. "Why not?"

"I have thought," said Mademoiselle, "that there is this death in the family ... and they stay at home to mourn."

"Sir Jason wouldn't want that. They'll be better off at school. They'll be joining us on Tuesday. Charlotte Mackay will be with them. She has been spending the holiday at the Hall. It must have been rather awkward to have her there at such a time. However, I believe the families know each other. Now, I am sure Miss Grant is very tired. Miss Eccles, perhaps you would take Miss Grant to her room. I am sure she will soon find her way around but just at first it can be confusing."

Miss Eccles rose and led the way.

When we were on the staircase, she turned to me and said: "Daisy can be a little overpowering at times. It's not so bad when there are more of us."

I didn't answer that but merely smiled and she went on: "This place takes a bit of getting used to. I can't tell you the number of times I nearly packed up and went home during my first term. But I stuck it out, and in a funny sort of way it grows on you. I think I'd be rather sad to leave now."

"Mademoiselle and Fraulein seem very pleasant."

"They're all right. So is Daisy in her way. All you have to do is keep on the right side of her and remember that, like God, she knows all, sees all and is always right."

"Sounds simple but faintly alarming."

"Keep everything in order and she's all right. Have you taught before? Oh no, I remember you've just come from Schaffenbrucken. I ought not to forget that. Daisy's told us about a dozen times already."

"They make such a fuss about that place."

"It is the Nec plus ultra."

I laughed.

"At least in Daisy's eyes," she went on. "You've teaching social graces, I believe."

"Yes, I have to work out how I am going to do that."

"Just walk in the steps of Schaffenbrucken and you can't go wrong."

"It must be gratifying to teach art when you fend talent."

"We haven't a Rubens or a Leonardo among us, I'm afraid. At least, if there are, we haven't at the moment discovered them. If they can produce a recognizable landscape I'm happy enough. Perhaps I'm not being quite fair. There are actually two girls who have a little talent. Here you are. This is where you sleep. You've got the important Verringers under your wing. I think that's because Daisy feels they might imbibe a little Schaffenbrucken even while they're sleeping. There! It's a little chilly. It always is. You could easily imagine you were a monk. Daisy likes us to follow the monastic ways as much as possible. Don't worry. They haven't laid out your hair shirt. You just forget you're in an abbey and get a good night's sleep. I'll see you in the morning. Good night."

I said good night. I liked her. She amused me and was comforting to know that I had pleasant companions like those I had met on this night. I brushed my hair and undressed quickly. On the table there was a mirror and I guessed that was one of the modern concessions which Daisy liked to stress. I felt the bed. It was narrow as befitted my -Bell-like room, but it seemed comfortable.

I got into bed and pulled the sheets up round me. It was difficult to get to sleep. The day had been too exciting and my surroundings were so unusual. I lay with the sheets up to my chin thinking about it all and wondering about-and yes, looking forward to-the future.

I wanted most of all to make the acquaintance of the girls.

As the time passed I seemed to grow more and more wide awake. It is always difficult to sleep in few places and when one is in an ancient abbey, full of the impressions of another age, it is only natural that one should be wakeful. I turned to the wall and stared at it. There was enough light coming through the narrow window to show me the marks on the grey stone, and I wondered how many monks had lain staring at the walls during long nights of meditation and prayer.

Then suddenly I was alert. I had heard a faint sound and it was not far away-a quick intake of breath and then a suppressed sob.

I sat up in bed listening. Silence and then ... yes. There it was again. Someone not very far away from me was crying and trying to stifle the sound.

I got out of bed, felt for my slippers and put on my dressing gown. The sound was coming from the room on my right ... one of the rooms of which I was to be in charge.

I went into the corridor, my slippers making a faint sound on the flagged stone.

"Who's there?" I said quietly.

I heard the quick intake of breath. There was no answer.

"Is anything wrong? Just answer me."

"N ... no," said a frightened voice.

I had located the room and I pushed open the door. In the dim light I saw two beds and in one of them a girl was sitting up. As my eyes grew accustomed to the gloom I saw that she had long fair hair and wide startled eyes, and must be about sixteen or seventeen years old.

"What's wrong?" I said. "I'm the new mistress." She nodded and her teeth started to chatter. "It's nothing ... nothing," she began.

"It must be something," I said. I went to her bed and sat down on it. "You're unhappy about something, aren't you?" She regarded me solemnly with those wide scared eyes. "You needn't be afraid of me," I went on. "I know what it is to be homesick. That's it, isn't it? I went away to school ... in Switzerland actually ... when I was your age."

"D ... did you?" she stammered.

"Yes, so you see, I know all about it."

"I'm not homesick ... because you can't be sick about what isn't, can you?"

I was remembering. "I think I know who you are. You're Teresa Hurst, and you've been staying at the school during the holiday."

She seemed relieved that I knew so much.

"Yes," she said. "And you're Miss Grant. I knew you were coming.

"I'm to be in charge of this section."

"It won't be so bad when the others come. It's rather frightening at night when it's all so quiet." "There's nothing to be frightened of really. Your parents are in Africa, aren't they?"

She nodded. "Rhodesia," she added.

"I know what it feels like, because funnily enough my parents were in Africa too. They were missionaries and they couldn't have me with them so I was sent home to my Aunt Patty."

`I was sent to my mother's cousins."

"What a coincidence! So we were both in the came boat. I hated the thought of coming to England and leaving my parents. I was scared.

Then I came to my Aunt Patty and that was lovely."

"My cousins don't really want me. They always make excuses at holiday times. The children have measles, or they are going away ... and so I stay at school. I think I'd really rather. It's just at night ..."

"I shall be here now and the girls will be coming on Tuesday."

Yes, that makes it better. Did you mind going me to your Aunt Patty?"

"I loved it. She is the best aunt anybody ever had, and I've still got her."

"That must be lovely."

"Yes, it is. Anyway I'm here now. I'm sleeping close to you. If you are frightened, just come and tell me. Will that be all right?"

"Yes, that will be lovely."

"I'll say goodnight then. Are you all right now?"

"Yes. I'll know you're there. It's only that sometimes the girls laugh at me. They think I'm a bit of a baby."

"I'm sure you're not that."

"You see they go to their homes and they never want to come back to school. They love the holidays. I dread them. It makes a difference."

"Yes, I know. But you'll be all right. You and I will be friends, and you'll know I'm here to help you."

"I think it's funny that your parents were in Africa too."

"Yes, quite extraordinary, isn't it? Clearly we were meant to be friends."

"I'm glad," she said.

"I'll tuck you in. Do you think you could go to sleep now?"

"Yes, I think so, and I won't mind if I think I see ... shadows. I'll know I can come to you. You did mean that, didn't you?"

"I did. But I don't think you'll be coming because everything is going to be all right. Good night, Teresa."

"Good night, Miss Grant."

I went back to my room. Poor lonely child! I was glad I had heard her and had been able to give her a little comfort. I would look out for her in the days ahead and make sure she was not bullied.

I took some time to get warm enough for sleep but I think that Little encounter had soothed me as well as Teresa Hurst and finally I did sleep. I had wild dreams though. I dreamed that I was riding through the pave in a carriage and I was aware of the mighty buttresses on either side of the carriage and the blue sky overhead. Suddenly another carriage was blocking the way and I saw a man .serge from it. He looked in at my window at me and shouted: "Go back. You are in my way." It was a- wild dark face; then it changed suddenly and it was that of Edward Compton.

I awoke uneasily and for a moment wondered where I was.

Only a dream, I told myself. I did dream more than I used to. It was ever since I had met the stranger in the forest.

I awoke, sat up in bed and looked at the bare stone walls and sparse furnishings, and a feeling of excitement swept over me.

I washed and dressed. I took a look into Teresa Hurst's room. Her bed was neatly made and she was not there. I wondered if I was late.

I found my way down to the room in which we'd dined on the previous evening. Daisy was seated at the table and Mademoiselle Dupont and Frâulein Kutcher were with her.

"Good morning," said Daisy. "I trust you slept well."

I thanked her and told her that I had.

I acknowledged the greetings of the others and Daisy signed for me to be seated.

"In between terms we breakfast between seven thirty and eight thirty," she said. "In term it is seven thirty, and two of the mistresses supervise in the main dining room where the girls eat. After that it is prayers in the hall and we usually have a little talk-not more titan five minutes-given by one of us. Something uplifting ... a sort of text for the day. We take it in turns. Lessons start at nine. Do help yourself from the sideboard. We are rather unceremonious at breakfast."

While I was helping myself to cold York ham and coffee, Eileen Eccles came in.

I sat at the table and we talked of the school-or mainly Daisy did; the rest of us listened. As the newcomer, many of her remarks were addressed to me.

"The mistresses should all be here by Monday morning. Then we shall be ready for the girls. There will be a meeting of us all in my study on Monday afternoon and then we'll run through the term's work. I daresay you will want to have something prepared which we can discuss ... and to explore the place of course." She smiled round the company. "I am sure you will find many who will want to tell you anything you want to know."

Eileen Eccles said: "I shall go into the town this morning. There are one or two things I want to get. I'm short of paper and brushes. Would you care to come with me? It'll give you a chance to look at the town."

"Thank you," I said. "I should like that."

"You do ride, don't you? It's the only way we can go in."

I replied: "Yes, and thank you."

Daisy smiled her approval.

It was a beautiful morning. Eileen took me to the stables and pointed out a little bay mare. "You'll like her," she said. "She's got spirit and yet she's easy to handle." She herself took a grey horse. "We're old friends," she said, patting his flank, and he stamped his foot as though expressing agreement with her.

Soon we were on our way to the town.

"It's not far," she said, "which is a mercy. The horses are a godsend. They give us a chance to get well away from the school now and then. Thank goodness that the management of a horse is one of the necessary accomplishments of well-brought-up young ladies."

We rode past the fishponds glinting in the early morning sunshine. I looked round at the ruins and thought once more how magnificent they were-far less eerie in the early morning light.

"You'll get used to them," said Eileen. "I scarcely notice them now. At first I used to glance over my shoulder expecting some black-robed figure to leap out on me. That was before I discovered that their habits were white-which somehow would make them even more ghostly-by moonlight at least, don't you think?"

"I think one would be scared to encounter them, whatever colour they wore!"

"Don't worry. They're all dead and gone, and in any case if their spirits lingered on I am sure they would approve of Daisy. It is people like the Verringers who would have to be on their guard."

"Well, I suppose if the Verringers hadn't taken the place some other family would."

"Not the point, my dear Miss Grant. The Verringers did."

We came out into a lane and I was struck by the lush beauty all around me. Green grass, red earth, horse-chestnuts and wild cherry in bloom, and the sudden burst of a song from a sedge-warbler near the fishponds.

I said: "I met Teresa Hurst last night. Poor child. She seems lonely. I understood how she felt. I might have been in a similar position." Then I was telling her about Aunt Patty.

"Mind you," said Eileen, "Teresa does lack spirit. She rather allows herself to be weighed down by her misfortunes instead of putting up a fight."

"I shall see more of her. I had a Little talk with her last night. I think we got on quite well."

Eileen nodded. "She draws quite well and unlike some of them she does know the difference between olive green and Prussian blue."

She turned into a field, tapped her horse's flank and we cantered forward. "Short cut," she said, over her shoulder.

Then I was looking down on the town.

"Pretty isn't it, in sunlight," said Eileen. "Typical Devon small town. But some of the shops are quite adequate and it's better than nothing. They have a very good inn. Drake's Drum. I thought we'd meet there. I shall be at least an hour making my purchases. A bit boring for you to trail round with me and I like to be alone when I buy. You could explore a bit outside the town. The country's pretty. Or leave your horse in Drake's yard. In any case let's meet there in an hour, shall we? Then we'll have a glass of cider. They're famous for it."

I said that would suit me very well.

I thought I would ride through the town, turn onto the country for a look round and then explore the town afterwards. It was very small and I did not think I should need more than half an hour just to look round at first.

She showed me the inn with its coloured sign showing Sir Francis with his drum; and she rode onto the yard, and I went on.

As the town was Little more than a main street I was soon into the country lanes. They were beautiful, narrow and twisting so that they presented an element of excitement leading one to wonder what the next turn would reveal.

I must have ridden for some twenty minutes when .I thought it was time I turned back to the town. I had come through so many narrow winding lanes and I had not thought very much about the direction in which I was going, for it did not occur to me that it might be difficult to find my way back. I turned my little mare and we ambled along for five minutes or so before we came to a cross roads. I didn't remember seeing it before and there was no signpost. I tried to work out which of the four roads I should take.

While I hesitated I saw a rider coming along one of the roads - a man on a grey horse - and I decided I must ask him the way when he came up.

He had seen me and was riding towards me. As he pulled up I noticed something familiar about his face and I knew at once who he was, for although I had only caught a brief glimpse of him, when he had put his head out of the carriage window, it was one of those faces when once seen would not easily be forgotten.

I thought with mingled annoyance and excitement: the great Sir Jason himself.

He swept off his hat as he approached.

"You are lost," he said almost triumphantly.

"I was going to ask you the way back to Colby."

"The town, the Hall or the Abbey?"

"The town. Can you direct me?"

"More than that. I happen to be on my way there myself. I shall escort you."

"That is very good of you."

"Nonsense. It is good of you to allow me to."

He was surveying me rather boldly in a manner which made me feel uncomfortable. This is a little different, I thought, from the choleric passenger in the carriage.

"Thank you. It is not far, I am sure. I can't think how I lost my way."

"It is easy enough to lose one's way. These roads twist so much that you are turned and turned around until you don't know which direction you are facing. It's a very pleasant morning, don't you think?"

"Very "

"Doubly so now."

I did not answer.

"I will introduce myself," he said. "I'm Jason Verringer of the Hall."

"I know," I replied.

"Then we are old acquaintances for I know who you are, too. We met before. In a lane. You were sitting up with Emmet. Is that so?"

"Yes, and you angrily commanded us to retreat."

"That was before I saw you."

I tried to move my horse forward, which was a silly thing to do as he was showing me the way and in any case he was immediately beside me, but I did find his manner disturbing.

"Had I known Emmet was driving the very accomplished new schoolmistress to the Academy, I should have ordered my driver to go back."

"It is of no importance," I said.

"It is of the utmost importance. It was our first encounter, and I must tell you how delighted I am to meet you. I have heard so much about you from Miss Hetherington."

"Oh, does she discuss her staff with you?"

"My dear young lady, when such a prize falls into her hands she discusses her with everyone. I gather you have all the graces bestowed on you by some foreign establishment."

"I am sure you are exaggerating."

"Not in the least. I am so pleased to discover that a lady of almost divine qualifications has one little human weakness. She lost her way."

"I have many weaknesses, I do assure you."

"That pleases me. I shall hope to discover them."

"That is hardly likely. This is not the way I came."

"No. I don't suppose it is. What do you think of the countryside. This is good rich land ... the richest in England, some say. It has served us well through the centuries."

"And no doubt will go on doing so."

"No doubt. You will be meeting my wards ... my two nieces in fact. They attend the Academy. It is gratifying to know that they will be taught by someone with such talents."

I felt irritated because I knew he was mocking me with his constant references to my education.

I said: "I trust you will be satisfied. I look forward to meeting them. I understand from Miss Hetherington that they will be coming to school on Tuesday."

"That is the arrangement."

"It must be pleasant for them to be at school so near their home."

He lifted his shoulders.

"You may have heard that we have just had a bereavement in the family."

"Yes, I am sorry. The funeral was yesterday-the day when I arrived."

"That was strange, wasn't it?"

"Strange?"

"That I should have been coming from my late wife's funeral when our carriages met."

"I would hardly call it strange. They just happened to be in the same spot at the same time. These lanes are very narrow. Vehicles meeting like that must be quite a common occurrence."

"Not as often as you would think," he said. "I suppose we don't get a great deal of traffic. I do apologize for ordering your carriage to go back." "Please forget it. It's of no importance."

"You thought me a little ... arrogant?"

"I understand that you must have been very upset on such an occasion."

"Then we are friends?"

"Well ... hardly that ..." I looked ahead. "It seems rather a long way back to the town."

"You did stray rather far."

"Why, it is nearly a quarter to eleven. I am meeting Miss Eccles at the Drake's Drum at eleven."

"The Drake's Drum is a very good hostelry. It does good business on market days."

"How far are we from the town?"

"You'll be there by eleven."

"Is it as far as that?"

He raised his eyebrows deprecatingly and nodded.

There was something about the smile which played about his lips which disturbed me. I wished I had tried to find the way myself. I was sure that he had taken me round a long way.

"I shall hope to see more of you, Miss er ..." "Grant."

"Yes, Miss Grant. I hope you will visit the Hall sometimes. We have a concert now and then to which Miss Hetherington comes and allows some of her staff and even pupils to attend. There are occasions when I am invited to the school, so I am sure we shall face opportunities of meeting."

I was silent for a few moments. Then I said: "Are you sure this is the road?"

"I assure you that it is."

We rode on in silence for some time and then with great relief I saw the town ahead of us.

I spurred my horse and we galloped along together until we reached the outskirts of the town.

"You see," he said, "I have delivered you safely. I believe you thought at one time that I was leading you astray."

"I thought it was a long way back."

"For me the time flew."

"I know where I am now. Thank you for your help."

"It was the greatest pleasure."

He remained by my side until we reached the Drake's Drum. Eileen Eccles was already there. She had come out into the porch where she had obviously been looking anxiously for me.

"I lost my way," I said.

Jason Verringer took off his hat and bowed to us. Then he rode off.

I said to Eileen: "I met him when I was wondering which road to take and he showed me the way back. Where shall I put my horse?" "I'll show you."

She led me to the yard and then we went back into the inn parlour.

"He has soon discovered you," she said.

"I was lost. He appeared by chance and offered to show me the way back. It did seem a very long way."

"I daresay he saw to that. Come into the parlour. I'll order some cider for you. I was beginning to get a little worried."

"So was I. I thought I was never going to get back. I wasn't sure of the way but I believe I could have found it myself as easily."

"So you were escorted by the mourning widower." "He didn't seem to be mourning particularly." "Rejoicing more likely from what I hear." The cider came. It was cool and refreshing. "They're noted for it in this part of the world," said Eileen. "So you haven't seen anything of the town. Not that there's much to see."

"Did you find what you wanted?"

"Not exactly what I wanted but what I can make do with. This will help us along for a while. There won't be any time for looking round now. We have to start back as soon as you've finished your cider."

"I wish now that I had stayed in the town."

"He would have discovered you sooner or later. He has a reputation, you know, for assessing the females within his range."

"Oh ... but he is in mourning at the moment. Only yesterday his wife was buried."

"I am sure he was scarcely beating his breast, tearing his sackcloth and scattering his ashes."

"Far from it."

"At least he's honest. He probably feels like killing the fatted calf. No, that's the wrong analogy. He's rejoicing anyway ..."

"Was it as bad as that?"

"There's a tremendous amount of gossip about him. That's one thing the Verringers have always done. Provided the neighbourhood with plenty to talk about. The story is that he married that wife of his ... arranged marriage ... because she brought some big estate with her. But she had an accident in the hunting field, not long after the marriage, which crippled her and that meant that there was no Verringer heir - and as there have been Verringer heirs from 1500 and something, ever since the Verringers took over the Abbey lands, that a matter which could bring no delight to the family. Sir Jason would end the direct line because his younger brother, father of the two girls, died. Would the estates go to a female? Horror throughout the land! And yet, what short of murder could give Sir Jason another chance?"

'Murder!"

"Not a word to be lightly bandied about among ordinary folk. But Verringers? Who shall say? In case the lady dutifully died and, as you arrived, bell was tolling for her." You make it sound very macabre."

"I am told that any adjective may be applied to the and often is. Well, the lady died and there are rumours around ..."

"I thought she was ill for a long time."

"Crippled. Useless for reproduction purposes. But not an illness which is going to prove fatal, you understand. Then Marcia Martindale appears on the scene, gives birth to an infant, and Lady Verringer dies."

"This is all becoming very involved."

"You are going to live here so you will have to something of the local inhabitants; and the t colourful, exciting, dramatic-one might say dramatic- are the Verringers. With Jason e have always been ... women. It is a family and, with an incapacitated wife, what can we expect of such a virile lusty gentleman? He's a house not far from the Abbey. It's called Rooks' Rest - presumably because it is surrounded by elms in which rooks choose to make their nests. It's a small house, Queen Anne and elegant. One of the Verringer aunts lived there for years. Then she died and the place was vacant for a few months. It must have been about eighteen months ago when Marcia Martindale was installed there-strikingly handsome and undoubtedly pregnant. Sir Jason set her up there, and there she has remained. It is rather blatant but, when you are in the position of Sir Jason, you don't have to worry about local reaction. He is after all the powerful overlord, owning all the property and the houses people live in. Such people cannot pass too much judgement on these little peccadilloes. They may be sniggered at, always behind a concealing hand, and little more than a shrugging of the shoulders, and raising of eyes to heaven is permitted."

"Nevertheless a great deal of scandal does seem to be circulating about that man."

"My dear Miss Grant ... may I call you Cordelia? Miss Grant is rather formal and we shall be seeing a lot of each other."

"Please do ... Eileen."

"That's settled. What was I saying? Oh ... little Miranda. Nobody doubts who her progenitor is. It's all so blatantly obvious, and Sir Jason would scorn to cover up any of his actions because he would construe that as weakness. He is the law around here. The rumour is that he has one child and could get more. Who knows, the next might be the longed-for boy. The stage set. And what happens? Lady Verringer dies."

"It sounds diabolical. How did she die?"

`I believe it was an overdose of laudanum. She suffered pain and used to take it. That's the story. You came in at the end of the act to hear the bell Ming for the departed lady. Now the curtain will again ... on what?"

"You do make it sound like a melodrama."

"Believe me, Cordelia. What did I tell you? Where that man is there will be melodrama. Now I have acquainted you with our greatest scandal, and at is more to the point, you have finished your eider. It is time we left."

We paid for the cider, complimented the landlord his brew, and came out into the sunshine. Over the weekend the mistresses began to arrive as Daisy had said they would.

There was Miss Evans who taught geography; Miss Barston who specialized in needlework stressing embroidery and gros point; and Miss Parker Who instructed the girls in physical exercises. Mathematics was taught by a man, James Fairley, who like the dancing, riding and music masters did live in-as Daisy thought it was quite unsuitable for men to live under the same roof as the girls. She was sure the parents would not like it.

"Not," commented Eileen, "that they could not get up to certain tricks without necessarily sleeping under the monastic roof. But it is the look of the thing that counts."

I found my fellow teachers all inclined to be pleasant and I was sure that I was going to get along very well with them.

It was the advent of the girls for which I was eagerly waiting.

On Monday they began to arrive-many on the morning train and others in the afternoon. The atmosphere of the place was immediately changed. The Abbey became a school. There were excited voices, reunion of friends, frenzied talk about what they had done during the holidays.

On Monday evening at seven o'clock they were all gathered for what Daisy called Assembly in the hall which had been the Lay Brothers' infirmary. I looked eagerly along the lines of faces. The eldest must have been eighteen; the youngest fourteen. I felt a little uneasy on account of my own youth rather than my inexperience. I wondered how many of those young women would feel about being instructed by someone not very much older than themselves.

However, I was determined to be dignified and maintain discipline at all costs, for I did know from my experience at Schaffenbrucken that once that slipped there could be trouble.

There was a dais at the end of the hall and on this sat Miss Hetherington with her staff ranged round her. She addressed the girls briefly, welcoming them back to what she hoped would be a productive term.

"We have to welcome a newcomer to our ranks.

Miss Grant. We are delighted to have her with us, and I am sure you will greatly profit from what she has to teach you. She herself has lately come from Schaffenbrucken in Switzerland of which you will all have heard."

I saw one girl whisper to another behind her hand and the other suppressed a giggle. The whisperer was a tall girl with sandy hair worn in a plait round her head. I sensed something aggressive about her, and I felt that if ever she came within my orbit I might be called upon to do battle with her.

"Now, girls," went on Daisy, "we shall all go to supper and afterwards you will retire quietly to your rooms. Many of you are in the same ones as last term, but there have been changes. You will see from the notice on the board. Dismiss now."

We ate together-the mistresses at one table, the girls at another. Miss Parker said grace and I learned that she was responsible for religious instruction.

After supper we went to our rooms. I was glad of this because I wanted to make the acquaintance of the girls who had been allotted to my care.

I noticed that the Verringer girls were not there and remembered that they were among those who were returning on Tuesday.

As I went into my room there was a hushed silence. I knew the girls were in their rooms listening and I thought it would be a good idea to visit them and have a little talk with each of them. I recalled what Daisy had told me about them. I knew Teresa Hurst of course and that she was sharing with Caroline Sangton. I didn't expect trouble from Teresa. She and I had become good friends since our first encounter and I was aware that she was already growing fond of me. She had told me a little about the girls in my section. Caroline Sangton, who shared with her, was the daughter of a city businessman and rather looked down on by the others led by Charlotte Mackay, because they had heard there was something derogatory about being in "trade". Caroline was a stolid girl apparently, who didn't much care what the others thought, and she and Teresa got along quite well together without actually becoming great friends.

Most of the girls were crazy about horses and waiting impatiently for riding times-especially Charlotte Mackay who was the best horse-woman of them all. Teresa did not say, but I guessed, that she herself was not so eager and was, in fact, a little scared of the horses.

I went first to Teresa who introduced me to Caroline with an air of pride because she already knew me. I was pleased to see how relaxed she was in my company. If all the girls were as easy to understand as Teresa, my task would present few difficulties.

"We're glad you've come, Miss Grant," said Caroline. "Teresa was telling me all about you, and my father is very pleased that we are going to have social training."

"I am sure you will profit from it, Caroline," I

said in my best schoolteacher manner. "You'll keep your room tidy and there must not be talking after 'lights out'. I have explained that to Teresa." "Oh yes, Miss Grant."

"Well, good night, Caroline, and good night, Teresa. I am sure you are glad to have your roommate back."

"Yes thank you, Miss Grant," said Teresa smiling shyly at me.

I was sure I had an ally in Teresa.

The next visit was not quite so harmonious, and I was a little dismayed to find that the whisperer I had noticed was one of my girls-in fact she was the Honourable Charlotte Mackay, tall, rather gawky, though she might grow into gracefulness, sandy haired with a quantity of freckles and scanty eyebrows and lashes. Her companion was Patricia Cartwright, the banker's daughter. Patricia was small and dark and I guessed would not be a troublemaker on her own but might well respond to Charlotte Mackay's influence.

Neither of the girls was in bed. Patricia Cartwright was seated at the dressing-table brushing her hair;

Charlotte Mackay was sprawling on her bed fully dressed.

She did not rise when I entered, though Patricia stood up rather shame-facedly.

"Hello," I said. "Charlotte Mackay and Patricia Cartwright. I am looking in to see you all before we retire. I am sure we shall get along very well together if you keep your rooms tidy and remember that there must be no talking after `lights out'."

"Mademoiselle never complained," said Charlotte Mackay. So I gathered Mademoiselle Dupont had occupied my room last term.

"Then I am sure I shall have no need to either."

Charlotte and Patricia exchanged covert glances- a habit which irritated me as it implied a suggestion of conspiracy between them against me.

"Good night," I said firmly.

"Oh Miss er ..." began Charlotte.

I felt I should have told her to stand up when addressing me, but was unsure whether it would have been wise at this stage to insist on that. The last thing I must show was uncertainty, but I did not want to begin by declaring war on this girl whose manner betrayed a certain bellicose attitude towards authority.

"Yes, Charlotte?"

"Last term I shared with Eugenie Verringer." "Oh, I see. This term she is with her sister."

"We wanted to be together this term. We planned to be together."

"I am sure you will get along very happily with Patricia."

"Patricia was with Fiona."

"Well, it will be a little different this time." "Miss Grant, I want to be with Eugenie and Patricia wants to be with Fiona."

I looked from one to the other. Patricia did not meet my eyes and I knew she was being forced into this by Charlotte Mackay.

"I can't see any reason why we should be changed," went on Charlotte.

"Miss Hetherington doubtless can."

"You're in charge, Miss Grant. It is for you to say. It's nothing to do with Miss Hetherington."

I was angry. I knew that she was baiting me as some young people did when they thought they had a weakling to deal with. I could understand why Teresa was uneasy when she talked about Charlotte. I had no doubt that Charlotte was a bully-and Î would not have bullying while I was in charge.

"Will you please stand up or sit up properly when addressing me. It is impolite to loll on your bed like that."

"Not how they do in Schaffenbrucken," said Charlotte with a sly smile.

I went to her, seized her by the arm and forced her to sit up. She was so taken by surprise that she did so.

"Now," I said. "I want you to understand. We shall get along well together while you behave correctly and in such a manner becoming to a young lady. You will occupy the rooms which Miss Hetherington has assigned to you, unless it is her wish to make changes. Do you understand? Good night and remember no talking after `lights out'."

With a feeling that I had won the first skirmish I went out and into the room occupied by Gwendoline Grey and Jane Everton. They were sitting up in bed and had evidently been listening. Their eyes were round with wonder.

"Gwendoline. Jane," I said. "Tell me which is which. Ah. I see. I am looking in to make everyone's acquaintance as we shall all be together for this term. I am sure everything will be comfortable if you remember the simple rules. Well, good night, girls."

"Good night, Miss Grant," they said.

Pleasant girls, both of them, I thought; but I was still uneasy alter my encounter with the Honourable Charlotte.

I went to my room and to bed. It was vine o'clock, the time ordained by Miss Hetherington for "lights out".

I lay waiting. I quite expected to hear the sound of voices from Charlotte's room. To my surprise there was silence; but I had an idea that the war was not yet won.

The next morning the Verringer girls arrived. Miss Hetherington sent for me to meet them in her study. I thought this was a little unwise and it surprised me that Daisy should have done it, for it must have made the girls feel that they were of special importance.

"Ah, Miss Grant," said Daisy as I entered, "here are Fiona and Eugenie Verringer. They have just arrived."

Fiona came forward and took my hand. She was a tall pretty girl with flaxen hair and hazel eyes; she had a pleasant smile and I liked her, which surprised me as I was expecting the worst from a connection of Jason Verringer.

"Good morning, Miss Grant," said Fiona.

"Good morning," I replied. "I am pleased to meet you at last, Fiona."

"And Eugenie," said Daisy.

I felt a quiver of alarm. She was so like him. She had very dark hair and large lively dark brown eyes. Her olive skin had the smoothness of youth and her face was long; she reminded me of a spirited young pony. There was something rebellious about her; it was in her springy dark hair, her wide eyes and her firm chin. She might have been his daughter rather than his niece.

"How do you do, Eugenie?" I said.

"How do you do, Miss Grant?"

Both of the girls were dressed in black. Fiona's became her fair hair. Eugenie needed brilliant colours.

"They are joining us late," said Daisy, "because of the unhappy event which took place at the Hall." "Oh yes," I said, looking at both girls. "I'm sorry." "There's no need to be sorry, Miss Grant," said Eugenie. "It was what is called a happy release." "Death is always sad," I said.

Daisy frowned. She did not like the conversation to stray from the conventional.

"Well, my dears," she said, "you may go to your rooms. There is a little change this term. You are together."

"Together!" cried Eugenie. "The last time I was with Charlotte Mackay."

"Yes, I know. This term you are with Fiona."

"I don't want to be with Fiona, Miss Hetherington."

"Oh come, my dear, that's not very polite, is it?"

Fiona looked slightly disconcerted but Eugenie went on: "Oh, please, Miss Hetherington. Charlotte and I understand each other."

"It is arranged, dear," said Daisy coolly, but there was a glint in her eyes which should have been obvious to Eugenie.

Eugenie, however, was fearless, and she was not afraid to speak out. "Well, it is not the law of the Medes and Persians, is it?"

Daisy smiled very coldly. "I can see, dear, that you have been paying attention to Miss Parker's lessons. She will be gratified. However, you will remain with your sister this term. Now go to your rooms and Miss Grant is going to stay here with me as I have something to say to her."

The girls went. I thought, That is the way to treat Miss Eugenie. Victory for Daisy.

When the door shut on the girls Daisy raised her eyebrows.

"There is always trouble with Eugenie," she said. "Fiona is such a good girl. You will have to be firm with Eugenie and Charlotte Mackay. Did you have any trouble last night?"

"A little. Charlotte was rather truculent."

"The Mackays are. It's a title of only two generations. The family has never really grown accustomed to being members of the nobility and have to remind people of it at every turn. I should have thought by now they would have got used to it. What happened?"

"h was this matter of sharing with Eugenie Verringer."

"They are two troublemakers. Last term they shared. Mademoiselle was quite incapable of keeping order. That is why I have taken her away from that section."

"And given it to me ... a newcomer!"

"I thought you would be able to deal with it, Cordelia, after all your training at Schaffenbrucken." "That has a lot to answer for."

"Of course it has. It is the reason why you are here. I am confident that you will know how to deal with these recalcitrant girls. Mademoiselle was hopeless. She always is at discipline. Her classes are often in complete disorder, but she is a pretty creature and gentle and the girls are really fond of her. They would never let the troublemakers go too far against Mademoiselle. It will be necessary to take a very firm hand with Mesdames Eugenie and Charlotte. Let them see that you are in complete command and you will subdue them. They are like animals really. You know how they have to be trained. Unfortunately Eugenie is a Verringer and as you know all this belongs to the Verringer estate. What with that and Charlotte's father's title, we have two opinionated rebels on our hands. But you will deal with them. Stand firm and never let them get the upper hand."

"Have I your permission to take what action I feel necessary?"

"Yes. Do what would have been done at Schaffenbrucken."

"I don't remember any such situation arising there. Girls there were not wildly excited about titles and estates. Most of them came from families who had them for generations so they were commonplace."

Daisy flinched a little and then murmured: "Of course. Of course. Do what you think best."

"Very well then, I shall be firm and demand discipline."

"Splendid," said Daisy.

In the common room-which Daisy insisted was called the calefactory-where the staff congregated before dinner (called supper during term) everyone welcomed me and told me how everything was conducted.

It was Eileen who explained to me about Daisy's determination that we should never forget we were in an abbey, and that was why instead of having a common room we had a calefactory.

"You may if you wish refer to it as the calefactorium. Either term is permissible. It is the apartment which was used by the monks when they wanted to get a little warmth. Poor things, they must have been frozen half the time. Underneath were the flues which gave it a little heat ... hence the name. You can imagine them all hastening here when they had a few moments in which to relax, just as we do. There you see history repeating itself."

"I'll remember," I said.

The others talked about lessons and pupils and I was able to have a word with Mademoiselle Dupont.

"Oh," she cried, throwing her hands into the air. "I am happy because I am no longer with those naughty girls. Charlotte Mackay ... Eugenie Verringer ... they talk and laugh ... and I believe have feasts in their bedrooms. The others join them. I hear them laughing and whispering ... And I pull the bedclothes over my ears and I do not hear them."

"You mean you allowed them to do that!"

"Oh, Mees Grant, it is the only way. Charlotte .. . she is the one who will say what is to be ... and Eugenie ... she is another."

"If that is allowed to go on, they'll be managing the whole section."

"It is so, alas," said Mademoiselle sadly.

Her expression was one of condolence but she could not hide her pleasure in having escaped.

I was very uneasy, but at the same time I couldn't help a slight feeling of exhilaration. Perhaps I liked a battle. Aunt Patty had always said I did, although I had never had the occasion to face one with her and Violet. But once or twice over some domestic trouble my fighting spirit had shown itself. "Determination to win is a good friend providing you use it only when necessary," Aunt Patty had said. "But don't forget such good friends can become enemies, like fire for instance."

I did remember; and I was going to teach those girls a lesson other than those they would learn in the classrooms.

The routine did not change-assembly, prayers, supper; and then dismiss.

There was a hubbub in the washing cubicles and after that retirement to rooms and "lights out".

I had decided to make it a cule that I visited the girls last thing and said good night to them making sure that they were all where they should be and ready for slumber.

I knew there was something wrong when I entered Teresa's room for she looked unhappy- and I guessed it was on my account. Caroline looked very meek lying in her bed; and I said good night to both girls.

Gwendoline Grey and Jane Everton were also in their beds and although they lay quietly, almost demure, they had an air of waiting.

I went into Charlotte's room where I knew I should find trouble, and how right I was! Charlotte was in one bed, Eugenie in the other.

I said in a voice which could be heard in all the other bedrooms: "Eugenie, get out of that bed at once and go back to your own."

Eugenie shot up in bed and I was aware of her angry dark eyes glaring at me. "This is my bed, Miss Grant. It was my bed last term."

"But not this," I said. "Get up at once."

Charlotte was looking at Eugenie urging her to rebellion.

"Where is Patricia?" I said. I looked into the next room. She was in one bed, Fiona in the other. They both looked alarmed.

I said: "Get out of that bed, Patricia."

She did so at once.

"Put on your slippers and dressing-gown." She obeyed meekly.

I went with her into the next room. "Now, Eugenie, get out of Patricia's bed and go back to your own."

"Mademoiselle ..." began Charlotte.

"This is no concern of Mademoiselle's. She is no longer in charge. I am and I will be obeyed." "You are not really grown-up yourself."

"Don't be insolent. Did you hear me, Eugenie?" She looked at Charlotte and without meeting my eyes muttered: "I'm not going."

I felt inclined to pull her out by force. If Charlotte came to her aid, the two of them might overcome me; and in any case violence was out of the question.

I remembered something Teresa had said. They were crazy about horseriding - and in particular Charlotte.

"I think you are," I said. "I am going to start from now and the longer you remain in that bed the longer will be your detention. We are studying Macbeth this term and for the number of minutes you stay in that bed you will be detained and learn that number of lines from the play. The detention will take place during riding lessons, so that any disobedient girl will not join the others."

Charlotte shot up in bed.

"You can't do that," she said.

"I can assure you I can."

"Miss Hetherington ..."

"Miss Hetherington has given me permission to take what action I consider necessary. We are starting from now. If you do not get out immediately, Eugenie, you and Charlotte will begin your detention during tomorrow's riding time."

This was important. I could feel the tension. I had to be firm now or lose the battle. I wondered what Daisy would say about curtailing lessons for which the girls' parents paid highly.

I stood looking at them.

Charlotte's love of horses won the day.

She looked sullenly at Eugenie and said: "You'd better go ... for now ..."

Eugenie got out of bed. The curtailing of riding would be as much a tragedy for her as it was for Charlotte.

As she dashed past me, I said: "For now ... and the rest of the term ... if you want to enjoy your riding. Now Patricia, get into your bed, and let me hear no more talking. Good night, girls."

In the next room Eugenie was lying with her face to the wall and Fiona gave me an apologetic look as she returned my good night.

I went back to my bed. Victory. But I was trembling.