Menfreya in the Morning

8

The first indication of the effect Jessica would have came almost immediately on her arrival. It was dinner-time on her first evening. I had dressed in a gown of dark-green velvet which I had always thought rather becoming, and ! wore the garnet earrings, brooch and bracelet which Lady Menfrey had given me. They had been hers, she told me, and the previous Lady Menfrey’s before her, so she was keeping them in the family.

While I looked at myself in the mirror—feeling pleased with the effect—Bevil came hi and, taking my shoulders, stood behind me looking at our reflection.

“Very effective,” he commented. “You look as if you’ve stepped out of one of the canvases in the gallery. But then you often do.”

I waited for him to say something about the new governess, but he didn’t, and that, even at this stage, seemed suspicious. Surely it would have been the most natural thing in the world to talk about the new arrival, particularly as we had known her in the past.

So we went down to dinner. It was Sir Endelion—in his new puckish mood—who called attention to the fact that no extra place had been laid.

Lady Menfrey said: “But we are expecting nobody.”

“What of Miss Trelarken?"

Lady Menfrey looked uneasy. “But, Endelion, she’s the governess now.”

“Now! But her father used to come here to dine. You cant banish people belowstairs when in the past they’ve dined at your table.”

“She isn’t banished belowstairs,” pointed out Lady Menfrey. “She has a tray in her room. That has always been the custom with governesses. They always had trays in their rooms because naturally they would not expect to eat in the servants’ hall.”

Bevil said nothing, but I could see that the bronze color of his skin had deepened. He was concerned about the outcome of this; and I felt certain that if I had not been there he would have joined in to support his father. The advent of Jessica had already changed him; he bad become less frank, as though he were a man with something to hide.

“My dear, you can’t put Jessica Trelarken in the servants' hall. She’s a lady.”

“She’s a governess DOW, Endelion. Alas, so many ladies have to become governesses … or companions. It’s the only course open to them when they’re left penniless as poor Jessica was.”

I was watching Bevil. I thought: She will be here every evening. It’s impossible. She must stay in her room … at least that.

I said: “My governesses never dined with my father. They always seemed to prefer a tray in their rooms.”

“My dear Harriet,” laughed Sir Endelion. ‘This isn’t your governess. It’s Jessica Trelarken. An old friend of the family. That’s so, eh, Bevil?”

Bevil hesitated for a second. Then he said: “The Trelarkens used to dine here now and then. I suppose we ought to show Jessica that we don’t regard her as a servant.”

“Governesses are not servants” I said. “They take some meals with their charges.”

“She can’t dine with hers at this hour,” retorted Bevil. “Unless she takes it at his bedside while he sleeps.”

Pengelly was hovering. My newly sharpened wits, which were already beginning to frighten me, assured me that in the servants’ hall they would be talking. Of course, she didn’t want her. Nor did my lady. It was the men who were determined to have her. Titters! The suspicion running through the house penetrating every corner.

“Has Miss Trelarken’s tray already gone up?” asked Lady Menfrey.

“No, my lady. That’ll be after the family has finished,” said Pengelly gravely.

“Then,” put in Sir Endelion, “lay another place. Then go to her and tell her we expect her to dine here with us.”

Pengelly inclined his head, signed to one of the girls to lay another place, and disappeared.

In five minutes Jessica came in. She was wearing a plain black silk dress, which she must hurriedly have slipped on when she received the summons, but there was no sign” of hurry about her.

She hesitated at the door, but I believed that to be studied hesitation.

Sir Endelion said: “Sit down, my dear. Of course, you’re to dine with us. Trays in rooms! Whoever heard such nonsense. Many’s the time your father has sat at this table.”

“Thank you,” said Jessica calmly. Pengelly held the chair while she sat.

She smiled, demure, serene, but unsurprised. It was clear that she did not think it strange that the governess should dine with the family. It could not have happened in other places where she had worked. But this was different. This was Menfreya.

Oddly enough, the change affected everybody. Jessica Trelarken seemed to illuminate the house in an oddly sinister way, making me see everything and everyone differently, so that I felt unsure of myself and wondered whether, after all, I was naive and without knowledge of the world.

She was so serene, but I was soon asking myself whether it was not a deadly serenity. Everything about her was quiet. She moved noiselessly; I often found that she had come into a room without a sound; one was unaware that she was there until one looked up and caught the blaze of her beauty.

Her beauty! No one could be unconscious of it It was rare beauty, and none could deny it It was perfection of feature; there was not a flaw in that perfect face. Her skin was smooth and seemed to glow. I had seen such a complexion only once or twice before; her hair was smooth, yet vital. She had everything, this woman—except fortune.

And it was inevitable that the presence of such a person in the house should have its effect upon us all. She seemed to bring out characteristics which had lain hidden within us. My father-in-law had always been charming to me; I had not seen a great deal of him, but when we had met our encounters were pleasant. I believed that he welcomed me into the family because I was an heiress, perhaps; but nevertheless he had been very friendly—fatherly, one might say. Now I was aware of a puckish streak in his character. He had known that Bevil had at one time been attracted to Jessica Trelarken; then why had he brought her into the house? There were times when I believed that he was mischievous — like a boy who puts two spiders into a basin and takes pleasure in watching them fight. Perhaps, I thought, he never forgets that he once lost the seat for the Menfreys, and it was only recently that it had been regained.

Whenever such thoughts occurred to me I dismissed them as hastily as I could. I was sure that but for Jessica Trelarken they would never have come into my mind.

Then there was Lady Menfrey. I had never thought her a very strong character; I knew she had given way to her family continually; but now she seemed cowed; and I noticed that she meekly accepted Jessica’s authority.

Fanny? She had become wary—furtive, almost In the past she had always been frank with me; now I had the feeling that she was holding something back.

Bevil? Naturally he who had always admired attractive women could not but be affected by her presence; in particular he had admired Jessica, and it was clear to me that he still did.

And myself most of all. I seemed to lose the attractiveness which being Bevil’s wife had given me. I had tried to follow —and with some success—that rather strange look of another century which the topaz gown and snood had brought out in me. People said of me: “She’s not conventionally good-looking, but that strange other-worldliness about her is attractive.” I knew it made me stand out, even among prettier women; and I wanted to stand out — for Bevil.

With the coming of Jessica it seemed to drop from me. I felt plain, as I had hi my childhood, and the feeling had its effect on my looks. My limp seemed more obvious; but perhaps that was because when I was happy I could forget it; and I was certainly not happy now.

Worst of all, I was becoming suspicious. Distrust had crept into my mind and it would not be dismissed. I was becoming watchful and alert; and each day these feelings grew stronger.

I tried to throw off my jealous fears, but they persisted.

Ever since Benedict had come to Menfreya I had been his special friend, for he had seemed to put me in the place of the mother he had missed; I had always spent some of the day with bun, and he looked forward to my visits. Some-tunes I took him out for a walk, or now and then I rowed him over to the island house, which he loved. He was always clamoring to be taken, and the row across delighted him.

One morning about a week after Jessica’s arrival, as Bevil bad gone to Lansella alone, I went to the nursery to see Benedict.

Jessica gave me her cool smile, which I had begun to compare with that of the Gioconda. She looked neat and, of course, beautiful in a lilac-colored gown with trim-lace collar and cuffs. She had few clothes, but what she bad were in perfect taste. That was something she possessed, a sense of how to make the most of her clothes; but it may have been that beauty such as hers would make any dress look wonderful. I immediately felt awkward in her presence, and I wondered then whether she deliberately made me feel so with those coo] glances of hers. She moved with a grace which I could never imitate, and there was a natural charm hi all her gestures.

“I came to see Benedict,” I said.

“He’s playing with his bricks.”

“I thought I’d take him out. Perhaps over to the island, as the wind’s dropped. He loves that.”

“He’s already been out this morning. I’m afraid he’d be overtired, and that’ll make him cross. Then, of course, he won’t want to eat his dinner. You know what children are.”

She was smiling so disarmingly.

“Oh, but…” I began.

“Had I known you were coming, I should have made him wait for his walk. But I do think regularity is important”

“I see.”

I walked to the door of his playroom; she was beside me.

“Please don’t tell him you were going to take him to the island.”

“You’re afraid he would want to come?”

Again that smile. “He’d want to go, of course. It’s just that I know he would be overtired.”

I went into the room. “Hello, Benny.”

“Hello!” He didn’t look up. But that was nothing. He was absorbed in building a brick house.

“Your auntie is here,” reproved Jessica.

“I know.” Still he did not look up.

She smiled at me.

I knelt down and looked at the brick house. “It’s going to fall soon,” I told him.

He nodded, still not looking at me—and that moment the bricks clattered to the floor. Benedict let out a shout of delight.

Then he picked one of them up and his pleasure faded as he noticed that the colored picture was slightly torn. He said mournfully: “Wants Jessie.”

I took it and said: “Oh, that can easily be stuck on.”

He took it solemnly from me and handed it to Jessica.

“Poor brick wants Jessie,” he said.

She took it “I’ve stuck some of the others,” she explained. “Ill see to it, Benny.”

She raised her eyebrows as though to say, You know what children are.

But that too seemed to me like a sign.

Jessica now joined us every evening for dinner. She had three dinner dresses—one black, one gray and one of blue velvet. They were all simple and by no means costly, but she managed to look magnificent in them; and in mine—some of which I had bought in Paris on my honeymoon—I felt gauche and often overdressed. That was the effect she had on me; moreover, I had an odd feeling that that was what she meant to do.

There was nothing of which one could complain. An onlooker would have said that merely by being present Jessica put others into the shade. But I felt she was aware of this and that she was nursing a secret triumph.

She was like a magnet at the table, drawing to her the attention of all the men. Sir Endelion was gallant; Bevil was always conscious of my being there, always eager to draw me into the conversation, but I sensed it was a studied eagerness, calculated to hide his true feelings; even William lister, who also took meals with us, would turn to her with frank admiration.

If she had been a pretty, frivolous little fool like poor Jenny, it would have been bearable, but she wasn’t She was clever and well educated; and what was most disconcerting was my discovery that she was determined to show her knowledge of politics, for this subject was naturally one most frequently discussed at the dinner table.

Her voice was soft and gentle but because she spoke slowly and her enunciation was perfect, clearly audible.

I listened to her and was aware of the men, all watching her. Lady Menfrey at the head of the table was trying to look alert, as she did when the conversation was political, but I knew that she was really wondering whether she should send for more blue wool for her tapestry or whether Benedict was going to have a cold, since he had sneezed twice during the day.

“I’ve had many a discussion with my father on that point,” Jessica was saying, “He had very firm views. Of course, we didn’t always agree.”

“The doctor was a man who had very strong views on tariff reform, I remember well,” put in Sir Endelion.

“My mother used to say that once my father made up his mind on a subject, he made it up at the same time not to change it”

They all laughed.

“Many’s the time he’s come here and we’ve argued almost to blows,” said Sir Endelion. “A good fellow, the doctor. I don’t care half so much for this new fellow.”

“His wife is a strong supporter of the party,” I put in.

“That’s true,” Bevil smiled at me; it may have been my imagination, but I was certain that he forced himself to turn from Jessica to me.

I was beginning to dread these meals, yet previously I had so enjoyed them. I liked the political talk; William Lister was always deferential to me, and both Bevil and Sir Endelion paid me the compliment of listening gravely to me. Now ft seemed that Jessica was usurping my place even here.

Then she said: “I met Harry Leveret yesterday afternoon. I was riding not far from Chough Towers. He’s in residence there now.”

That was another thing; Jessica had always been fond of riding, and Sir Endelion had suggested that if she liked to give one of the horses a little exercise she should do so. Jessica had responded with enthusiasm.

They were all alert now. Lady Menfrey looked frightened and started to play nervously with her cutlery. I could see the pain in her face. She was thinking of that dreadful day when it had been discovered that Gwennan had run away.

Jessica gave her gentle smile, which I always felt was like a mask spreading across her face.

“He was very friendly,” she went on.

“Why not?” I retorted, and my voice sounded harsh. “He has no quarrel with you.”

“He knows I’m here, of course. He talked … about the future.” She paused and looked from Sir Endelion to Bevil, including William Lister in her gaze. “He said that he’s now accepted as candidate for his party.”

“So it’s settled,” said Bevil.

“Yes. There was something else he said. Perhaps it’s impertinent of me, but … I let him sound me as to your feelings. He thinks you’re probably piqued because he’s going to stand against you.”

“I must say it was a surprise,” said Bevil. “Why didn’t he come out into the open with it? It all seemed somewhat secretive to me.”

That’s what he thought, but he said that the Leverets and Menfreys had always been friends, and he doesn’t see any reason why you shouldn’t continue to be. He asked me whether I thought that if he asked you to dine at Chough Towers, you would refuse.”

Sir Endelion burst out: “I don’t like his politics. I’m surprised at him! Thought he was a businessman. What’s he doing suddenly going into politics like this?”

“If he asks you and you refuse,” said Jessica hesitantly, “he might make things awkward. What I mean is, he might let it be known … Do you see what I mean?”

“Exactly,” replied Bevil, leaning forward and looking at her with approval.

“He could say that he had been badly treated by the Menfreys once …” She smiled deprecatingly, and I thought of how deeply Harry had been wounded at the time of Gwennan’s disappearance. “And that now … just because he doesn’t agree in his political opinions, his friendship had been rejected. I may be wrong, but I don’t think it would be looked on very favorably …”

She paused again. Then the conversation broke out; and the outcome was that it was decided that when Harry Leveret invited us to Chough Towers we would accept the invitation.

Bevil and I dined at Chough Towers. It seemed strange to be in the house again, particularly as it was furnished almost as it had been when my father had rented it. There were some additions, of course, and it was clear that Harry was going to do a good deal of entertaining.

He was different from the young man who had come to the gallery to look for Gwennan, and I guessed that the loss of Gwennan had had a great effect on his life. It had made hint grow up suddenly, and he had ceased to be a lighthearted boy. I was certain that he had loved Gwennan dearly and had wanted alliance with the old family of Menfrey, Although he seemed insignificant, I sensed in him a driving desire to succeed, which he must have inherited from his father, who from humble beginnings had built up the fortune which had made him a millionaire.

We invited him back to Menfreya, and the relationship between the two families was re-established, Jessica appeared to have been right, for the move was approved of. When the election did come—although it seemed as though it would not be just yet—it was going to be a clean fight in the constituency, and most people—except Harry and some of his supporters—believed that Bevil would certainly hold the seat.

A few days after Harry’s visit to Menfreya I went into the library and saw Fanny standing at the window very still, crouched behind the curtains, so that she would not be seen.

“What are you looking at, Fanny?” I demanded, and I went swiftly to the window.

“Nothing … oh, nothing,” she replied, hastily turning away.

But I had seen them—Bevil and Jessica. Benedict was playing a little distance away, but it was on Jessica and my husband that Fanny’s attention was focused.

“Is anything wrong?” I asked.

“I hope not, Miss Harriet,” she answered tartly.

I knew exactly what was in her mind, and she knew what was in mine. I wanted to rebuke her, to tell her she was being foolish; but when I looked into her loving face I knew that if I suffered she would suffer with me.

I shrugged my shoulders and turned away.

A week or so later, going down to the dining room, I found, to my dismay, that both Bevil and Jessica were missing.

We had taken our places at the table—Sir Endelion and Lady Menfrey, William Lister and myself—expecting at any moment that the missing pair would arrive. The fact that they were both absent immediately aroused my uneasiness.

“What is keeping them?” murmured Lady Menfrey. “Mr. Lister, have you any idea?”

“None at all,” replied William. “I haven't seen Mr. Menfrey since four o’clock.”

“I hope Benedict is not unwell and that Jessica feels she should be with him.”

“I’ll go up to the nursery,” I said, and immediately slipped away.

I ran all the way, and when I opened the door of Benedict’s room I saw that he was in bed, fast asleep.

I went into the schoolroom and through to Jessica’s room and knocked on the door. There was no answer, so I went in. The room was as neat as it always was. A sudden fear made me open the drawers in the chest of drawers. With great relief I saw that her things lay neatly there. I opened the cupboard door. There hung her dresses.

I faced the fact then that I had actually believed that she and Bevil might have eloped together.

I went back to the dining room. “Benedict is asleep, but Jessica is not in the nursery or in her room.”

We dined at eight, and it was now ten minutes past the hour. Pengelly, hovering with his maids, wanted to know if he should serve.

Lady Menfrey often looked at Sir Endelion before giving an order. It was a habit which mildly irritated me, because I believed that she could have at least been mistress in the house if she had asserted herself.

I said rather sharply: “They know dinner is at eight. They won’t expect us to wait. Let us begin.”

I sounded as though I cared more for my food than anything, when in fact I was wondering how I was going to make a show of eating.

Pengelly said: “Thank you, Madam.” And the soup was brought in.

“It’s so unlike Jessica,” murmured Lady Menfrey. “She’s usually such a punctual person. Her father always was, I remember.”

“And Bevil?” said Sir Endelion. There was speculation in his eyes, and he looked more puckish than ever. “Have you any idea, Harriet, my dear, where he might be?”

“None,” I replied. “Unless he was suddenly called to Lansella, but in that case he would surely have left word.”

“Into Lansella with Jessica Trelarken? Now that’s hardly likely, I should think. Why, if he’d taken anyone into Lansella it would have been you, my dear.”

“I should have thought so.”

“It’s Jessica I’m wondering about,” said Lady Menfrey.

“I do hope there hasn’t been an accident Oh, Pengelly, send to the stables and see if any horses are missing. I remember poor Gwennan’s accident , . . and how Dr. Trelarken’s houseboy came over to tell us. Yes, go at once, Pengelly. I am most anxious.”

We were through the soup course before Pengelly came back.

“None of the horses is missing, my lady.”

Sir Endelion sat back in his chair looking at me.

“It’s strange,” he said. “Both of them.”

The meal seemed interminable. I played with the fish on my plate, anxious that none of them should know how worried I was. I caught William lister’s eyes on me. He knew; and he was kind and sympathetic. I believed he was as worried as I was.

“Miss Trelarken knows many people in the neighborhood,” he suggested. “It may be that she has gone visiting and forgotten the time.”

“That’s what it is!” cried Lady Menfrey triumphantly, and she began to eat steadily. She had something to cling to now. Jessica was visiting friends and had forgotten the time; Bevil was in Lansella on parliamentary business; they would soon return and it would all be explained. She wanted peace in the household so desperately that she would pretend it existed when it didn’t.

William Lister, seeing that he had soothed her, went on: “I’m sure something must have turned up at the Lansella chambers demanding his immediate attendance.”

“Wouldn’t he have told somebody that he was going?”

“There might not have been time,” he said lamely.

“Of course,” cried Lady Menfrey. “That’s it There wasn’t time.”

Her husband was smiling at her sardonically. I guessed he believed that they were together. And if they were, I asked myself, if they had disappeared so blatantly, what could it mean?

But Bevil would never leave Menfreya. How could he give up everything? He was not a romantic boy to elope on impulse, leaving his wife and his career. There was some other explanation. But I was becoming more and more certain that they were together somewhere.

The meal had come to a dismal end.

“I’m. afraid,” said William Lister, looking at me almost pityingly, “there may have been an accident.”

“Oh no, no!” insisted Lady Menfrey. “Jessica has forgotten the time, and Bevil has been called to Lansella.”

William and I exchanged glances. We didn’t believe it We “went to the drawing room where coffee was served. We were all tense and nervous. We talked desultorily, but all the time we were straining our ears for the sounds of arrival, and none of us was really paying attention to what was said.

It was impossible to keep the disappearance secret. I was aware that the news was spreading with the speed and efficiency of jungle drums. The servants would be discussing the possibilities of what had happened to keep Bevil and Jessica away at precisely the same time, and the story would be carried around … to Menfrey stow and on to Lansella, which would surely not be good for Bevil’s reputation. That was what I could not understand; how had he, who cared so much for his career, allowed himself to be caught hi such a situation? Could it be that he was caught up against bis will? Or had he forgotten the passing of time?

In any case, if-they did not return soon, we should have to do something about it.

That was a very uneasy evening; and it suddenly occurred to me how lonely I was. I could not quite trust Sir Endelion, for since he had brought Jessica into the house, I was learning something of his character. He had been wild in his youth, and I could imagine his going through life tempting fate. He wanted something to happen … and was ready to risk disaster rather than suffer boredom. I understood this feeling, but I knew I could not rely on him. And Lady Menfrey? I thought of her kindness to me at the time of Jenny’s death. But then she had been acting in accordance with her family’s approval. She was too much a seeker after peace to be a rock in time of trouble.

William Lister was beside me; his face was puckered with anxiety.

“I know how you’re feeling,” he whispered.

“There must have been an accident,” I said. “Well have to do something.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “And soon.”

“What?” I asked.

“I’ll go into Lansella to see if he’s there. He may well be delayed on business, and a message to us could have gone stray.”

“The two of them must be together,” I pointed out.

He nodded wretchedly.

“An accident involving them both,” I went on. “It could be so if they had gone riding together … but all the horses are in the stables. What can it be!”

“It would be better to take some action. The reason I wanted to wait was …”

“I know. You were hoping they would turn up, and you didn’t”want a thing like this talked about.”

“I’m sure it was what Mr. Menfrey would wish. But I think the time has now come for action. I’ll go over to Lansella immediately. I think it’ll be quicker and there’ll be less noise about it if I ride over. I can find out if he’s been to the chambers and see if the agent knows anything. If I can’t get any satisfaction there we shall then have to let the police know.”

I had begun to tremble; he leaned towards me and lightly, shyly touched my hand. “You know I’ll do everything possible . .. for you.” ‘

“Thank you, William,” I said; and I believed there was someone whom I could trust.

So William rode over to Lansella, and I waited, tense and anxious, for what would happen next.

We sat on in the red drawing room—a disconsolate party, and it was about an hour after William had left when we heard Bevil’s voice. We all hurried to the window but could see little, for there was no moon, although the sky was clear and full of stars.

“He’s back!” I cried; and I ran out of the room along the corridor to the top of the staircase. I saw him standing in the hall, Jessica beside him.

“Bevil!” I cried. I discovered I was so pleased to see him that I could not keep the joy out of my voice.

“Harriet!” he answered me. “The most maddening thing happened.”

As I went down the stairs I was limping badly. Jessica was watching me; she was pale, and her hair was loose and untidy; it was slightly damp too, but this did not detract from her beauty. Her eyes seemed larger and more luminous; it occurred to me that she, at least, had enjoyed the adventure.

“What happened?” I demanded.

Jessica held up something. I didn’t recognize what it was.

She explained: “We went to get this, and then … found we were caught there.”

“Caught?”

“It’s all quite simple,” said Bevil. “Oh hello, Mother. Hello, Father.” Sir Endelion and Lady Menfrey had appeared on the staircase. “We went over to retrieve that thing, and then the wretched boat slipped away somehow.”

“Slipped away?” I was repeating the significant words interrogatively—always an irritating habit, I have thought, in other people. I couldn’t help myself, I was frightened.

“Perfectly simple,” said Bevil. “Benedict and Jessica were over on the island this morning, and he left his teddy bear there. He wouldn’t go to sleep until Jessica promised to bring it back to him. She asked me to row her over.”

I wanted to know: Why did she ask you? Why could she not have gone alone? But I didn’t I couldn’t betray my feelings before them all.

“So,” went on Jessica, “he kindly did so, and when we had found the bear and came down to the shore the boat was gone.”

“Where to?” asked Sir Endelion, a lilt in his voice, as though he were enjoying the adventure vicariously.

“That’s what I’d like to know,” put in Bevil, with an attempt at anger.

“You couldn’t have tied it very securely,” mocked Sir Endelion.

“I’m sure I did.”

“So the boat’s lost, eh?”

“No. A’Lee brought it in. He saw it drifting out to sea,” he said, “and he was bringing it in to Menfreya beach when he passed the island and we hailed him. He’s just brought us back.”

“Oh dear,” sighed Lady Menfrey. “You missed dinner and must be hungry. I’ll tell them to get something for you at once.”

She sensed the disbelief, the growing storm, and she wanted to be away.

Sir Endelion said: “Well, you’re not the first one to be marooned on an island. It was always a favorite place of yours.”

I remembered then myself cowering beneath a dust sheet and Bevil’s coming there with one of the girls from the village. This time I had not been there to prevent the culmination of the adventure.

What, I asked myself, had happened this time in the house on the island?

Bevil was looking at me, and I was determined not to betray myself.

“Well,” I said coolly, “you’ve returned.”

I caught a glimpse of Jessica’s face as I walked back to the stairs. She smiled faintly. Apologetically? Defiantly? I couldn’t say.

It was half past eleven when Bevil came up; he had been closeted with William, who had returned from Lansella and I was sure was deeply regretting that he had gone there, for his journey had only spread the story.

He looked at me coolly, and I knew well that it was a habit of his when disturbed to feign nonchalance.

“Still up?” he said, unnecessarily.

“But ready to retire,” I retaliated. “Wrapped in dressing gown and thought.”

“What’s wrong?”

I felt that sharpness of tongue which I had developed as a weapon in my early days beginning to take command. “I’m not sure.”

“What do you mean?”

“That’s what I want you to tell me. What actually happened?”

He looked impatient. Another sign of guilt? I asked myself.

“You heard what happened. We went to look for the toy, and the boat slipped away.”

“You tied it badly then.”

“I suppose so.”

“Deliberately?”

“Now look here, Harriet…”

“I think I have a right to know the truth.”

“You know the truth.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am not on trial. If you decide not to believe me, there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“We’ll have to do something about it. There’ll be gossip. Perhaps there already has been.”

“Gossip! I should have thought you’d have known better than concern yourself with that.”

“Then it shows how little we know each other, for I should have thought you would have known better than to become the subject of it.”

“I couldn’t help what happened tonight.”

“Bevil, that’s what I want to be sure of.”

“Of course, you can be sure of it Good God, what are you suggesting?”

“She’s a very beautiful woman.”

“And you’re an extremely jealous one.”

“And there are going to be a lot of curious ones when this is discussed throughout the constituency.”

“I wish you wouldn’t try to be clever, Harriet.”

“I’m not trying.”

“Well, let’s accept the fact that you are, without effort. What a stupid thing for Lister to do.”

“We had to do something. I agreed with him that he must go to Lansella. It was my fault. We had no idea what could have become of you, Bevil.” My voice had become earnest, almost pleading. I was fully aware while I quarreled with him how very much I loved him, how I needed him; and I was afraid because I believed I needed him far more than he needed me. “You’ll have to be very careful about your relationship with Jessica.”

“My relationship? What do you mean? She’s Benedict’s governess.”

“Nursery governesses have figured so frequently as the heroines of romance that they are becoming so in ordinary life, and when they are, besides being nursery governess, very beautiful, and the master of the house cannot hide his interest … when he disappears for hours with one—however innocently—and a hue and cry is sent out, there you have an explosive situation. If the master of the house is a landowner, a king in his own kingdom, he can go his own willful way, but should he be a Member of Parliament, guardian of public morals, a figure of righteousness, he’s sitting on a powder keg.”

“Quite a speech!” he said and began to laugh. “You’re good at them, Harriet. But I sometimes fancy you let your love of words run away with your common sense. Shall we let that be a peroration?”

“If you wish it.”

“One thing more. What I have told you about tonight’s affair is true. Do you believe me?”

I looked into his eyes. “I do now, Bevil.” He drew me to him and kissed me, but without the passion for which I longed. It was like a kiss to seal a bargain rather than one for displaying affection.

I wanted to say: When I’m with you I believe you. Perhaps I’m .like your mother. I believe what I want to believe. But when jealousy should rise up again it will bring the doubts back.

I slept late next morning, and when I awoke Bevil had gone. Fanny brought in my breakfast on a tray. She set it down and stood at the end of the bed, looking at me. She would, of course, have heard all about last night’s adventure.

“You look worn out,” she said, as though she were angry with me, as she used to be when I caught a cold as a child. “I suppose you’ve been worried about the absentees last night.”

“It’s all over now, Fanny.”

She sniffed disbelievingly.

“Here!” She had brought a bedjacket and put it about my shoulders. I saw her sharp eyes examining me for bruises. Fanny would never forget anything she did not want to forget.

She poured out the coffee and said, ‘There!” as she used to when I was a child.

I drank the coffee but could not eat with any relish. I kept going over that moment when I had stood on the stairs and seen Bevil and Jessica together, and the words Bevil and I had flung at each other later in this room still rang in my ears.

Fanny clucked her tongue and said: “I don’t know, I’m sure. All I can say is, you can’t trust ‘em. We’re better off without ‘em.”

“Who, Fanny?”

“Men.”

“You don’t mean that,”

“Oh yes I do.”

“If Billy had lived …” It wasn’t often that I talked of Billy; I usually waited for her to broach the subject.

“Billy,” she said. “He was like the rest, I reckon. Billy wasn’t as much for me as I was for him.”

“But he loved you, Fanny. You always told me so.”

“He had a mistress, you know. He went from me to her. That’s how it is with men. They don’t love like we do.”

“Fanny!”

“I never told you that, did I? No I wasn’t the only true love for Billy. He had this other love … and you might say he deserted me for her.”

I was startled. I had never heard her talk like that before. Her eyes were wild, and she seemed to be peering beyond this room into the past.

. She was talking to herself, “There was the little one … and he gave me that … but I lost my baby … that baby … and then I found my other baby.”

I put out my hand and she took it. The touch seemed to bring her out of her trance.

“Don’t you fret,” she said. “I wouldn’t let nothing bad happen to you. I’m never going to leave you, Miss. So don’t think it.”

I smiled at her. “I didn’t think it, Fanny,” I said.

“All right then. Eat up that egg and don’t let’s have any nonsense.”

I obeyed, smiling to myself. I had thought I stood alone— but there was always Fanny.

I was very anxious to hide my fears, so I asked Jessica to ride with me the next day, and we went into Lansella together. People threw us some curious glances, but I was sure that to be seen together was the best way of allaying suspicions. Jessica behaved as though nothing had happened, but I was very unsure of her. There were moments when I thought she was secretly amused at my anxiety to make people believe we were the best of friends.

I promised I would go and have nursery tea with her and Benedict next day, and when I arrived I found Benedict alone in the nursery standing on a chair.

“I’m a monkey,” he told me. “Monkeys climb; did you know?”

I told him I did know.

- “Ill be an elephant, if you like. They have trunks and walk like this.” He climbed down, got on all fours and lumbered about “Would you like me to be a lion now?” he asked.

I said I would rather he were himself for a while, which amused him.

Jessica came out, and I was at once aware of his affection for her and ashamed of the surging jealousy within me, I should have been pleased that we had a good nursery governess for him; Jessica had certainly shown herself skillful in the nursery, and to have won his affection did her credit. I thought: But she is usurping my place … everywhere … throughout the house.

Then I felt ashamed and said quickly how well Benedict was looking and how grateful we all were to her for her care of him.

“It’s my job,” she replied. “But I never thought I’d be a governess to Gwennan’s child that day when they carried her into the house.”

“Poor Gwennan. Benedict is so like her. I see her in him every time I look at him.”

I had sat down, and Benedict came to put his hands on my knees and look up into my face.

“Who’s he like?” he asked.

“He was like an elephant just now, and now he’s like himself.”

That made him laugh.

Jessica brewed tea in the brown earthenware nursery teapot. “It always tastes so much better in these old brown pots,” she said lightly as she poured. “Is it because we always remember them from our childhood?”

She talked about nursery days hi her home, when her mother was alive. She was the only child and must have been beautiful from the day she was born; they had doted on her. How different her childhood had been from mine!

“I used to sit on a high stool in the dispensary,” she told me, “watching Father make up the medicines, and he used to say “This for The Influenza’ or The Ulcer came in to see me today.’ He thought of all his patients as the disease they had. Mother used to say it was bad for me to hear so much of illnesses, but Father said it was right for a doctor’s daughter.”

She was being affable. Perhaps, I thought, she was as anxious to reassure me as I was to reassure the community.

“You take sugar?” she asked.

I nodded. “Yes, please. I have rather a sweet tooth.”

Benedict was staring at me. “Show me!” he cried. “Show me the sweet tooth.”

I told him that it meant I liked rather a lot of sugar in my tea, and he was thoughtful.

“If it had been possible,” Jessica was saying, “I should have liked to be a doctor.”

“A noble profession,” I agreed.

“To have the power … to a certain extent … over life and death …” Her eyes glowed. I was struck by the way she put it. Power?

My thoughts were diverted immediately because Benedict had taken a spoon and, before we had noticed what he was doing, had put a spoonful of sugar in my tea.

“That’s for your sweet tooth,” he shouted.

We were all laughing. It was quite a pleasant teatime.

We were at dinner, discussing the ball we were giving at Menfreya. A fancy-dress ball, we had told Harry Leveret when he had called with his mother for a game of whist the previous evening. The Leverets came frequently since the reconciliation; and with William and Jessica, we were able to make up two tables.

“I always remember,” Harry had said, “the fancy-dress ball your father gave at Chough Towers.”

I remembered it in every detail. I had worn the dress which had somehow been important in my life, because it had marked a turning point That night I had realized that I could be attractive, because the dress had brought out my rather medieval looks, and I had been accentuating them ever since.

The dress still hung in my room. I looked at it often and longed for an opportunity to wear it, though I had worn the snood now and then.

I was delighted, therefore, at the prospect of an opportunity to wear it again, but I knew I should not do so without arousing poignant memories of Gwennan in the gallery with me, of our creeping down, two young girls on the brink of adventure. I wondered whether Harry remembered too.

“I remember my father’s parties.” I smiled, thinking of the London house and the elaborate displays. I saw a child leaning over the banisters, listening and hearing no good of herself.

“Memories?” said Bevil tenderly. He had been at great pains since the island adventure to show me he cherished me; and I had been feeling happier. If only Jessica were not here, I thought, I believe I could be completely happy.

But there she sat, smiling serenely, listening intently; and the free-and-easy way in which conversation was carried on showed clearly that she was accepted as a member of the family.

“Costume always provides a problem on these occasions,” said William. “But I do know an excellent firm who supply them.” He smiled at me. “I used them in your father’s time.”

“I have my costume,” I replied promptly. “I wore it at one of my father’s affairs.”

Jessica had leaned slightly forward. “Do tell me about it What does it represent?”

“It’s just a period dress. Actually it must have belonged to one of the Menfreys because there’s a portrait of her wearing … well, if not the identical dress, one so like it that I can’t tell the difference.”

“How exciting! I hope you’ll show me.”

“Certainly.”

“I suppose,” went on William, “I had better see about hiring some costumes. You must tell me what you would like to be.”

“I think I shall try to make my own,” said Jessica. Though she looked a little startled, but even at that moment I felt she was not truly so, and entirely sure of herself. That is … if I am invited.”

“But naturally,” cried Sir Endelion.

She smiled deprecatingly. “After all I am only the nursery governess.”

“Oh, come, come, my dear.” Sir Endelion was giving her his goatish look. “You mustn’t think of yourself as anything but a friend of the family.”

“Well then,” said Jessica, “as Mrs. Menfrey is providing her costume, I shall do the same.”

I took out the dress and held it against me. I was certain my eyes seemed brighter and that my skin took > on a new bloom. I let the dress fall to the floor while I put on the jeweled snood. Then I held up the dress again.

Even as I smiled at myself I felt the pain of memory. I could never forget Gwennan.

“Gwennan,” I whispered to my reflection, “if only you hadn’t run away, if you’d lived and married Harry and gone to Chough Towers and had your children there, it would have been wonderful. You would have been my sister, and Jessica Trelarken would not be here looking after your son.”

But life had to be accepted for what it was.

I felt a desire then to look again at the circular room which was said to be haunted by the sad governess, and to see once more the woman who had worn a dress so similar to mine that it could have been the same one.

I had been meaning to talk to Bevil about the house, for it seemed wrong to have so much of it that was never used. We ought to go through those old rooms and have them renovated so that we could give house parties, fill the place with gaiety, as Harry was doing at Chough Towers.

A few days later I found time to go and look at the portrait of the woman in my dress. As I made my way to the deserted wing I assured myself that I was not a nervous type, and I was even inclined to be skeptical of the supernatural, but when I pushed open the door and stepped into the wing I was not so sure. Perhaps it was the protesting whine made by the door which set my nerves on edge. I had forgotten it, and it startled me as I broke the silence. I laughed at myself and went along the corridor where Gwennan had once led me. It was gloomy for there was only one window high in the wall, and that was in need of cleaning. It was ridiculous. This part of the house should be attended to. I could imagine Sir Endelion shrugging his shoulders and not wishing to go to the expense of opening up the wing, and Lady Menfrey, of course, agreeing with him.

I started back. It was as though a clammy hand had touched my face. I cried out involuntarily, and my own voice echoed back to me. In those seconds I felt an icy shiver run through my body.

Then I put my hand to my face and realized I had, as on another occasion, walked into a cobweb.

I wiped it off as best I could and tried to laugh at my folly, but I knew my nerves were taut, and I could not prevent myself peering over my shoulder.

I wanted to turn back, but I knew if I did I should despise myself, so I went forward and came to the door which had replaced the sliding panel. Again that protesting whine as I stepped into the circular cavity of the buttress.

A faint shaft of light came through the slit in those massive walls. There was the long mottled mirror, the trunk—and that was all.

I caught my breath in a little sob, for the door had moved on its hinges, and I heard again that noise which sounded like a groan.

Could it be true, I asked myself, that a woman had lived here, and the rest of the household were unaware of it? I pictured her lover looking like Sir Endelion. No, he would have been young and would have looked more like Bevil. I imagined him silently coming here to see her.

I touched the walls; they were very cold. She had had little comfort here. But what would have happened to her if she had been driven from the house by the mistress—the woman in my dress—and had nowhere to go. Any shelter was better than none—besides, she had the support of her lover.

I walked round the circular room, through the narrow opening, up the twisting, narrow flight of stairs to the parapet round the buttress tower. The air seemed so strong after the confinement of the circular room that I felt intoxicated. I stood there breathing deeply. Far, far below me the sea was whirling playfully about the rocks, sending up little spurts of white spray. I could just see the tips of the treacherous Lurkers and … the island.

Then I was alert. It was the sound of a step on the stone stairs. I was mistaken. Naturally one became a little fanciful in a place which had such a legend. No. There it was again. Is it true then, I asked myself, that the governess who died here could not rest and returned to the scene of her last days on earth?

I tried to laugh at myself, but I felt trapped—shut in by the stone staircase leading to the haunted chamber on one side, and on the other by the sheer drop to the sea.

Seconds seemed like minutes; I had turned and, gripping the parapet, kept my eyes on the narrow opening. I heard the sound of deep breathing and there was a shadow hi the opening … and the governess was looking at me. For a moment I believed I was seeing a ghost, and then I caught my breath, for it was not the governess of long ago who had come to haunt me, but the governess of today who had followed me here.

“Jessica!” I cried.

She laughed. “I believe I startled you. I’m so sorry. “

I saw the door to the wing open and I couldn’t resist exploring. I’ve never been to this part of the house before.”

Had I left the door open? I didn’t believe I had.

“It needs repairs and a lot of attention,” I said, trying to make my voice sound matter-of-fact.

She came and stood beside me on the parapet, her eyes level with mine.

“Is it true,” she said, “that this part of the house is haunted?”

“You wouldn’t believe that sort of nonsense, I’m sure.”

"I'm Cornish, and you know what we Cornish are. It’s all very well for you prosaic English …”

“Yes,” I said coolly, “I know that you’re a superstitious race, but I should have thought you had too much common sense to believe these stories.”

“During the daylight I’m skeptical, but not always when darkness comes … or when I’m hi a place like this. This story was about a governess, wasn’t it?”

“So the tale goes.”

She laughed. “I’m naturally interested in a Menfreya governess. Do tell me the rest”

“She became pregnant, hid herself up here, gave birth to a child and died. No one knew she was here except her lover, and he was away. When he came back he found her and the child dead.”

“Quite a feat, keeping someone hidden away in the house where his family were living.”

The room was supposed to be sealed off then.”

“It almost is … now.”

We were silent; I was aware of our isolation. I could well imagine the long-ago governess' loneliness and terror when she knew her child was about to be born. I shivered.

“I wonder what really happened,” said Jessica quietly. “Do you think the wife murdered her?”

“Murdered her! That’s not the story.”

“It wouldn’t be. But do you think she didn’t know. She must have seen how things were between her husband and the governess. I mean … wouldn’t a wife know?”

I repeated blankly: ‘That’s not in the story.”

She gave a little laugh. A gull suddenly swooped to the sea, and his melancholy cry was like jeering laughter.

Jessica laid her hand on my arm. “I think the wife knew. I think she came up here and murdered her after the child was born. Murdered them both. It couldn’t have been difficult in those days to make it seem as though she died in childbirth. Imagine the wife’s feelings! Her husband is in love with another woman! She’d feel murderous, wouldn’t she?”

Was it my imagination, or was she closer to me than was necessary? Was that a grim purpose I saw in those beautiful, unfathomable eyes?

As she gripped me more firmly and swayed towards me, a frantic fear possessed me, and I wrenched myself free so violently that she fell against the wall of the tower. I saw her trying to steady herself, her face drained of all its color. I caught her as she slid to the floor, breaking her fall.

“Jessica!” I said. “What’s wrong?”

Her eyes were closed, her dark lashes long and black against her pale skin. ‘She had fainted.

I propped her against the wall and forced her head down. I was wondering whether to leave her and run for help, when she opened her eyes.

She looked bewildered.

“You fainted,” I said.

“Faulted?” she repeated. “Oh … I… I’m all right now. It’s passing.”

I knelt beside her. “What happened?” I asked.

“It was nothing … just a faint. It’s the height… I could never endure heights. It upset me suddenly.”

“Shall I call someone?”

“Oh, please, no. I’m all right Getting better every minute. It was nothing. Just a momentary thing. Really, I’ve almost recovered.”

“Do you often faint?”

“Oh … people do now and then. I’m sorry it happened.”

“Let me take you back to your room.”

Thank you.”

She stood a little unsteadily, but she looked more like herself now. She turned to smile at me. “Please don’t make a fuss. It was nothing. Just a little dizziness. Will you forget it happened and not mention it?”

“If you wish.”

“Thank you.”

We returned to the circular room and, as we left it, she said: “I’d like to see the portrait of that Lady Menfrey you mentioned.”

“Now? Wouldn’t you rather go to your room and rest?”

“The dizziness has passed. It was really the picture I wanted to see.”

“It’s along here.”

I took her to the room where the portrait hung. She looked at it and then at me. “The features are not really like yours,” she said, “but I can imagine in a dress like that you could belong to her period.”

“Wouldn’t we all in the clothes of the period?”

“That’s what we’ll no doubt find out at the ball when we see the guests in their costumes. So she was Lady Menfrey at the time the governess died. I still suggest she murdered her.”

“You think she looks like a murderess?”

“Do murderesses look the part? I don’t think so. The most unexpected people commit murder. That’s why murders are committed. If people looked the part, the victims would be on their guard and the murder would be prevented. No. She knew that the governess was going to have her husband’s child. Imagine her feelings. How would you feel? They must have hated each other—that wife and governess. It’s reasonable to suppose that one might attempt to murder the other.”

“I don’t believe it,” I said.

She smiled—completely serene once more, as though that incident on the tower had never taken place.

“It makes a better story,” she murmured.

The hall at Menfrey is the most magnificent part of the house. The vaulted ceiling with the carved wooden beams; the fine old staircase with the armor said to have been worn by a Menfrey who crossed to France with Henry VIII; the gallery with the pictures; the arms on the wall; the dais on which the musicians now sat. It was a beautiful sight, particularly as the greenhouses had been denuded to provide pots of the most exotic blooms, while our native hydrangeas —pink, blue, mauve, white, multicolored—in enormous tubs draped in purple velvet had been placed at intervals about the room. Leaves decorated the staircases, and I was reminded of the entertainments my father used to give.

Fanny helped me to dress. She was silent, and I wondered whether she knew something which she was withholding from me for fear of hurting me.

Yet as I looked at my reflection in the mirror, the topaz color of the dress bringing out something in my eyes, the jeweled snood doing the same for my hair, I felt invulnerable.

“I'll brush your hair to make it shine,” said Fanny. “We’ve plenty of time.” So she took off the snood, laid it on the dressing table and, putting a white cloth about my shoulders, brushed my hair.

“You’re happy tonight,” she said. Her eyes met mine in the mirror. She looked like a prophet standing there, the brush raised in her hand, her eyes intense. “I pray you stay that way,” she added.

“Don’t be long, Fanny,” I said. “Don’t forget I’m the hostess tonight. I must see that everything is in order.”

Guests would not be announced as at an ordinary ball. They would be ushered in by Pengelly and others of the men servants, all splendidly dressed in blue-satin coats, frogged with silver cord, white knee breeches and powdered wigs; and then in their masks they would mingle and assemble for supper, and afterwards unmask. We had decided on a masked ball because they were always so much more exciting, we thought. The air of mystery they gave to the proceedings added to the gaiety, and we believed that people enjoyed hiding behind anonymity, and it gave an added zest to attempt to guess who one’s partner was.

The Menfreys would move among the crowd so that none would know that we were not guests ourselves until the unmasking when we should receive their thanks and congratulations.

I should be watchful of a man in a Roman toga. But then I should know Bevil anywhere. Two Roman togas had been delivered, William had told me in dismay and wondered whether to send one of them back. He had ordered a Persian costume for himself, a Roman one for Bevil.

“There simply isn’t time to do anything about it,” I told him. “There will just have to be two Romans from Menfreya. You can be sure there’ll be others.”

He agreed.

Sir Endelion was a cardinal—Wolsey, Mazarin or Richelieu, I was not sure, but he could have passed as any one of them. Lady Menfrey was, ironically, Catherine of Aragon.

I thought of the change in Sir Endelion. But was it change? Hadn’t the mischief always been there, waiting to be brought out? Perhaps I had much to learn of those about me.

I shivered.

“Someone’s walking over your grave?”

“It’s more likely to be a draught from that window.”

Fanny went over and shut it. “Your hair’s shining. I used to like to see it look like that. Now where’s that thing?”

“ ‘Thing’ seems disrespectful, Fanny. It’s a ‘snood’ or a 'filet.’”

“Well, bless me, it’s a pretty thing, anyway. I don’t know. It does suit you. You seem different somehow … when I put it on.”

“How … different, Fanny?”

“I don’t know … as though you don’t belong here … but somewhere else.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t ask me. It just came into my head.” Her face puckered suddenly, and I thought she was going to cry.

“Fanny,” I cried. “What’s wrong?”

She threw her apron over her head suddenly and sat down. I went to her and put my arm about her shoulders.

“I’m a silly thing, I am. It’s just that I wanted to see you happy…”

“I am Fanny. I am, I tell you.”

She looked at me sadly, and I remembered how she used to look at me hi the past and mutter: “You can’t fool Fanny.”

I recognized Jessica at once. She was the only one in that assembly who was simply dressed; and how clever of her, for she was the one who consequently attracted all the attention. She had made the dress herself. Almost puritan in its simplicity, it was made of lavender-colored silk; the skirt cascaded to her feet; the bodice was meant to convey primness, but on her it had the opposite effect, by accentuating her perfect figure. Her dark hair was smoothed down on either side of her face to a simple knot hi the nape of her neck. She had come as a governess of another age. I caught my breath when I saw her.

“I see you recognized me in spite of my mask,” she said. “What do you think of my costume?”

“It’s so …”

“Plain? It’s supposed to be a governess, you know.”

“It’s charming. What made you decide on that?”

“Your going as a long-ago lady of the house, which is what you are. Why shouldn’t I come as what I am? It was easy to make, and I thought no one else would come like this.

The idea came to me when we were talking in that eerie part of the house the other day.”

“I see.”

“Do you think that governess looked like this?” she asked. “I think she might have. I looked up the costumes. And this is about the same period as yours. I wonder if anyone will notice it.”

“I should hardly think so.”

“Rather amusing, if they do.”

I turned away from her, and as I made my way across the hall I was joined by a Roman toga, and for a moment I thought it was Bevil. “You are looking striking in your costume.” The voice was William Lister’s.”

“Thank you. I’ve already seen two other togas. I told you there would be plenty. We might have strayed into the Appian Way.”

“Practically every country and period is represented.”

“I’m going to the supper rooms to make sure everything is in order there.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No, do please go and look after Mary, Queen of Scots. She looks as it she’s in Fotheringay rather than Menfreya.”

I saw a cardinal’s costume pass by with Marie Antoinette. My gallant father-in-law was regaining his youth.

We had decided on music from all countries, and “The Blue Danube” waltz was being played as I made my way to the supper rooms. There were three of them, all beautifully decorated with flowers and leaves, and small tables with dazzling napery had been set up in each. I spoke to Pengelly, who assured me that everything was in order, so I returned to the ballroom.

“Will you join me in the dance?”

Another Roman. For a moment my heart leaped. I thought it was Bevil putting on a disguised voice to amuse me; but that illusion quickly passed.

The floor was too crowded to dance very successfully, but that did not worry my partner, who was obviously not a good dancer and wanted to talk.

“I must confess I know who you are,” he told me.

“Is it so obvious?”

“Not at all. But I’ve seen you in that dress before.”

I had caught the voice now. I knew that mouth. It had grown tight-lipped when Gwennan had gone away.

“So it’s you, Harry.”

“I'm betrayed.”

“You gave it away by mentioning the dress.”

“That seems years ago.”

“Harry…”

“Yes, go on. You’re wondering whether I mind talking about it Well, it’s in the past, and she’s dead now.”

“Oh, Harry,” I said, “it was so silly of her. It wasn’t as though ...”

“As though she really cared for him? No, perhaps not. But she didn’t care for me, either. I don’t think she cared for anyone but herself. She was a Menfrey.”

I heard the bitter note in his voice, and I felt a great pity for him. He hadn’t forgotten; perhaps he hadn’t forgiven.

“She suffered terribly, Harry.”

He was silent and I saw his lips harden, almost as though he were glad that she had. Poor Harry, he had loved her; there seemed to be some power the Menfreys had of binding people to them. I thought of my own feelings for Bevil; nothing he did to me could alter it And so it might be with Harry, who continued to brood over Gwennan.

I wondered then whether he had decided to go into politics to turn his thoughts from that tragedy, and whether he wanted to stand against Bevil as a sort of revenge.

“You’re sorry for me, Harriet,” he said suddenly, reading my thoughts. “You’re thinking that Gwennan jilted me and now I’m going to be humiliated once more when the people here show me they don’t want me to represent them in Parliament.”

“Why here, Harry?” I asked. “Why not somewhere else?”

“You don’t like the idea of my standing against your husband?”

“No. After all, you're an old friend of the family. I know we pretend that isn’t important but it is … in a way. I’d like to see you putting up somewhere else.”

“You don’t think I have a chance here?”

“The Menfreys have held the seat for a long time.”

“There was a period when your father represented Lansella. That could happen again.”

“But… he was of the same party.”

“The allegiance to a certain party doesn’t have to go on forever.”

I could see the grim set of his lips, and I believed that he had an idea that if he won the seat from a Menfrey, life would have, in a measure, made up for the humiliation he had suffered through Gwennan.

It seemed a crazy notion and I didn’t like it.

“You’re going to be disappointed, Harry,” I said.

“Spoken like the wife of the reigning M.P. I wouldn’t expect anything but that from you, Harriet.”

“Why don’t you think about trying to get a chance somewhere else?”

“This is my place,” he said, “as much as the Menfreys. Should I be driven out by them? It’s going to be a fight.”

We sat down for a while and he brought the conversation back to Gwennan. I could see that he was dwelling on the past, that he couldn’t get her out of his mind. It was natural, I thought, for this ball must have recalled that other when they had been together, she so gay hi her homemade blue velvet, enjoying the adventure of the ball she was not supposed to attend. Harry would be carried away by all that charm, exhilarated as never before. No wonder he was full of regrets.

I excused myself to make sure all was well, for after all I was hostess, even though disguised.

I was relieved to get away from him, for he depressed me. I danced now and then; I sat out and talked; it was dear that several people knew who I was. Perhaps my slight limp betrayed me. I talked a good deal of politics; I mingled with the guests; I danced with my father-in-law and with Bevil, who was gay and very affectionate.

“You’re an asset to the party, Harriet Menfrey,” he told me with a laugh. “How Harry Leveret thinks he’s going to beat us when you’re around, I can’t imagine.”

I told him that I had danced with Harry, who seemed to be brooding about Gwennan. Bevil wasn’t very interested hi Harry; he told me I looked wonderful, a most exciting ghost from the past. “We ought to bring that picture out and have it cleaned. It should hang in the gallery. Perhaps well have you painted hi that dress to hang beside it That would be amusing.”

It was wonderful to be with Bevil; I could understand Harry’s bitterness.

But of course Bevil and I could not be together all the evening. It was our duty, he said, to attend to the wilting wallflowers. He went off to talk to a plump Helen of Troy, and I to an aging Sir Galahad.

Now and then I caught sight of the eighteenth-century governess. I knew that she was never without partners; her beauty shone through any disguise, and how clever she had been to come so simply clad! It struck me that she would always be clever.

It was after I had left the supper rooms that I caught sight of her dancing with Bevil. I turned away. I did not want to see them.

All the time I was dancing I was wondering what they were saying to each other. How were they together? The ball had turned sour for me, and I wished it was over. Harry Leveret had disturbed me, and I felt then that once having loved a Menfrey, there was no escape. That was how it would be with me. I was afraid of Jessica Trelarken, and I was afraid of Bevil. I did not understand her, and I understood him too well. Why had she come here as a governess? Was she trying to draw some parallel? Was she saying: It is happening now as it happened then?

I suddenly saw it with clarity, how it must have been all those years ago. The governess who lived in those rooms, had she some irresistible attraction like Jessica’s? I could imagine the husband who could not let her go, who kept her there, close to him …

It was silly. I was not being reasonable. The past could not intrude like that on the present. I had a husband who was fond of female company; there were men who could not be content with one woman, and by a fortuitous chain of events we had a governess who happened to be possessed of rare beauty.

I imagined the rest.

I felt a desire to get out of the ballroom, and slipped into the grounds. The wind caught playfully at my hair, but it was safely held in the filet. A strange urge came to me, and I took the path which led to the cliffside garden and then went into the garden itself. I paused to glance back at the house. It was beautiful in moonlight; the lighted windows, the sound of music before me, and behind me the sound of the waves on the sand and rock.

It was high tide, and the island seemed farther away than a usual; the tips of my slippers were wet, as a wave, wilder than the rest, splashed me with its spray. I looked across at the island and saw the light in the window. I caught my breath and stood still, watching.

I do not know how long I stood there, for as I did so I was back in the past, when I had lain beneath a dust sheet and Bevil had towered over me, the girl from the village standing by.

Who was there now? “Bevil always uses the house for his seductions,” I could hear Gwennan’s voice laughing in my ears; and it seemed that the night was full of ghosts—not of a governess who might have died in childbirth, not of a woman who might have murdered her, not so far back as that … Gwennan … mocking me, yet my friend. I felt Gwennan was warning me on that night.

And as I stood there I saw a figure emerge from the house. It was not easy to see who, from this distance, but a white toga is easily distinguishable. He was joined by a woman, and because she was in a simpler fancy dress than those of everyone else it was easy to recognize her.

They were together on the island. They came down to the shore; the man hi the toga was doing something to the boat They were going to row back.

Anger constricted my throat. I would wait for them. I would be there when the boat touched the sand.

But no … they were not coming back. They had been making sure that the boat was securely tied. Once before they had not tied it securely enough.

I thought: I will go over. I will confront them. This time he’ll not find me cowering under a dust sheet.

I was untying the boat when I heard a cry from behind me.

“Stop, Miss.”

Fanny was running down the cliff path and came panting to stand beside me.

“What are you doing here? You were going to get into that boat!”

“I had a fancy to go out to the island.”

“Are you mad? On a night like this, with the sea choppy! If that boat overturned you’d be dragged down in those skirts before you could say Jack Robinson.”

She was right.

“Oh I know,” she went on grimly, “I saw. But it’s not for you to go over there. Now you’d better get back to that ball and forget about it.”

“Not just yet, Fanny. I want to stay out here for a while.”

“It’s too chilly. Come on.”

We climbed up to one of the arbors, and there we sat together for a while.

Fanny looked fierce. I wanted to talk to her but I daren’t I was trying to pretend that I had imagined I had seen them on the island.

At length we returned. I didn't see Bevil and Jessica again until the unmasking. Then they were not together.

It was the early hours of the morning before the last guests had gone and I was alone with Bevil. I kept on my dress to give me confidence. I was going to speak to him because I couldn’t remain in suspense.

I gripped my hands behind my back to give me courage. He was humming one of the waltz tunes and, coming to me, put his arms about me and tried to dance round the room with me.

“I think our ball was a success,” he said. “We must do more entertaining.”

There’s something I have to say to you, Bevil.”

He stopped and looked at me intently, noticing the gravity of my voice.

“I left the ballroom at one time,” I said. “I went down to the beach and saw two people on the island.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You mean—our guests?”

“One of them was Jessica Trelarken. The other was in a Roman toga.”

“The Romans were ubiquitous tonight” He spoke lightly.

“Bevil,” I said, “was it you?”

He looked startled; he hesitated, and my heart leaped with fear.

“On the island? Certainly not!”

I thought: Would it be part of his code to lie, to defend his mistress in any way necessary?

“I thought…”

“I know what you thought Because of that unfortunate affair of the teddy bear …”

“You really weren’t there, Bevil?”

“I really wasn't there,” he replied, mimicking my earnest tone.

Then he took the snood from my hair and threw it onto the dressing table. His hands were on my dress.

“How does this thing unfasten?” he asked.

I turned my back to show him. I believed him—because I wanted to so much.

A few weeks later Bevil had to go to London, and I went with him. Although I loved Menfreya so much, I was delighted to get away from Jessica.

I was very happy in Bevil's little town house; I met many of his political friends, and because I was able to talk to them about politics and the party I was a great success and Bevil was proud of me.

“Of course,” they said, “as Sir Edward’s daughter you knew all about it before you married.” They thought Bevil had made a very wise marriage; they envied him, they said; and he liked to be envied.

I enjoyed calling on Aunt Clarissa. Phyllis was engaged, but the match was not up to their expectations. I was sorry for Sylvia, who was still unattached. But I couldn’t help being amused at the different treatment accorded my new status. Aunt Clarissa rather implied that I owed my good fortune to her endeavors. Bevil and I laughed a great deal about this when we were alone.

Yes, they were happy days.

It was while we were in London that I had the idea of turning the island house into a holiday home for poor children who had no opportunity of having a few weeks by the sea in summer. This notion had come to me when I had made a sentimental journey to the markets I had long ago visited with Fanny. I saw them through different eyes now and longed to give those little coster children a taste of sea air.

I was excited by the project and delighted when Bevil agreed with me that it would be a fine way of using the house which had been so useless. I decided that as soon as I returned I would make preparations, and it might be that we could start our holiday scheme at the beginning of the following summer.

By the time we returned Jo Menfreya the autumn was well advanced. Benedict was pleased to see us and found primroses in the lane which he brought to me. They were a rarity at this time of the year, but I have seen them occasionally in November, as though the balminess of the weather has deluded them into thinking that the spring had come. “For you,” he told me; and I was delighted until I realized that Jessica had prompted him to make the offering. I sometimes had the notion that she was trying to placate me.

It was soon after our return that the rumor about the island became the prevailing topic for several days.

Two of the local girls, out after dusk, hurrying along the cliff path, were sure they saw a ghost on the island. According to their account, they had both seen the apparition, had looked at each other and then started to run home as fast as they could.

They were questioned by then? parents. “A ghost? What did it look like?’

“Like a man.”

Then perhaps it was a man.”

” Twas no man, we know.”

“Then how did ‘ee know ‘twas a ghost?”

“We did know, didn't us, Jen?”

“Yes, we did know.”

“But how?”

“ Twere the way he stood there.”

“How do ghosts stand?”

“I dunno. But ‘tain’t like ordinary folk. Looking to Menfreya he was …”

“How?”

“How ghosts do.”

“How’s that?”

“I dunno. You just know it’s how they be when you do see un, don’t see, Jen?”

“Aye, you do just know.”

“I wouldn’t live hi that house for a farm.”

So the story went round. A man had appeared on the island, and although it wasn’t possible to see him clearly they knew he wasn’t any man of the neighborhood. He wasn’t anyone they had seen before.

Bevil laughed at the story. “It means they’re running short of scandal. They must have something to talk about.”

But I thought of the night when I had hidden under the dust sheets; I thought of the night of the ball. I had seen two of our guests there then. Could it be that they had found the island house a pleasant meeting place? Could it be that the man who had been there that night was the “ghost” seen by the two girls.

I wondered.

The Cornish people love a ghost There are more ghosts in Cornwall than in all the rest of England; they can be piskies, knackers, little people, spriggans—but they are ghosts, all the same; and when the Cornish discover one they don’t let him go lightly.

The cliff path was often deserted after dark, but several people claimed to have seen the spirit of the island. He varied from a knacker to a man hi a sugarloaf hat, small but lit by a phosphorescent light so that he could be clearly seen; he was tall beyond ordinary men, some said, and they saw horns sticking out of his head. To others he was an ordinary man in a southwester—a man who had been “returned by the sea.”

I used to sit at my window, looking out to the island, and I could understand how these fantasies were created. The shifting light could play tricks, and with the help of the imagination and absolute belief, almost any image that was desired could be created.

One old man, Jemmie Tomrit, who lived in a two-room cottage in Menfrey stow, was deeply affected by the story. He was a fisherman of ninety—a man respected for his longevity; he was the pride of his family, who were determined to keep him alive till he was at least a hundred. He was a mascot, a talisman. There was a saying in the town: “As long-lived as the Trekellers.” And old Jim Trekeller had lived to ninety-two, his brother to eighty-nine. So the Tomrits were hoping to nave the name Trekeller changed to Tomrit, if they could manage it.

Therefore, the old man was never allowed out in a cold wind; he was cosseted and cared for, and when he was missing from home there was a general outcry.

He was found sitting on the cliff, close to Menfreya, “looking for the ghostie,” he said.

And the Tomrits were angry with Jen and Mabel, who had come home with tales of ghosts on the island, because the old man was always trying to get out to the cliffs to stare at the island. He muttered to himself and hadn’t been the same since; and when he had tried to get out of bed at night and had fallen and bruised himself, the Tomrits had called in Dr. Syms, who had said it was a lucky escape, for it might have been a broken thigh which could have been dangerous at his age. And if he was getting an obsession about the island, well they must remember that he was a very old man and old men must be expected to ramble on a bit—it was called senility.

“Grandfer senile!” cried the Tomrits. ” Tis they silly girls that be responsible for this, Tis a lot of silly nonsense. There would be no ghost on No Man’s Island.”

Then the most important topic hi Menfrey stow was “Would the Tomrits be able to snatch the title from the Trekellers, after all”; and the island ghost slipped into second place, and after a while was only mentioned now and then, although it was remembered at dusk when people found themselves on the lonely cliff path.

I caught a bad cold during November, and Fanny insisted that I spend a few days in bed. She made me her special brew of lemon and barley water, which stood by my bed in a glass jug over which she put a piece of muslin, weighted with beads at the four corners to keep out the dust.

I had to admit it was soothing.

Bevil had to go back to London, and I was sorry I couldn’t accompany him. So, he said, was he; but he thought he would not be away for more than a week or so.

The weather turned stormy and my cold had left me with a cough over which Fanny shook her head and scolded me.

“It’s wise to stay in, dear,” said Lady Menfrey, “until the gales die down. Going out in this weather’s no good for anybody.”

So I stayed hi my room, reading, going through letters which had come to the Lansella chambers and answering some of them. William told me that he was carrying on at the chambers in Lansella while Bevil was away, and it came out that Jessica was helping him.

I was astonished.

“But what of Benedict?”

“His grandmother takes charge of him while she’s away. She’s glad to, and I need help at the chambers. Miss Trelarken has an aptitude for the work, and the people seem to like her.”

Occasionally during those days a feeling of dread would come over me. I felt threatened, but I could not be sure from which direction.

Fanny was aware of it Sometimes I would see her sitting at the window staring broodingly across at the island as though she hoped to find the answer there. I wanted to talk to Fanny, but I dared not Already she hated Bevil; I could not tell her of my vague fears; but her attitude did not help me.

I woke up one night with sweat on my face, startled out of my sleep. I heard myself calling out, though I did not know to whom.

Something was wrong … terribly wrong. Then I knew. I was in pain and I felt sick.

“Bevil,” I called, and then I remembered that he was in London.

I got up and staggered through to Fanny’s room, which was just across the corridor.

“Fanny!” I cried. “Fanny!”

She started up from her bed. “Why, lord save us, what’s the matter?”

“I feel ill,” I told her.

“Here!” She was at my side. She was wrapping something round my shivering body. She got me into bed and sat by me.

After a while I felt better. I stayed in Fanny’s room, and although next morning I no longer felt ill, I was weak and exhausted.

Fanny wanted to send for the doctor, but I said no, I was all right now.

It was just weakness after the cold, Fanny said; but if I felt like that again she was going to have no more nonsense.

It was only a few days later when that incident, coupled with what happened to Fanny, took on an alarming significance.

It was Fanny’s custom to awaken me in the morning by drawing my curtains and bringing me my hot water. Therefore, I was surprised on waking and looking at the clock to see that it was half an hour later than my usual time for rising.

A terrible fear came to me then. There was only one thing which would stop Fanny coming, and that was that she was ill. Putting my feet into slippers and wrapping a dressing gown about me, I hurried across the corridor to her room.

The sight of her horrified me. She was lying in bed, her hair in two thin little plaits jutting out at the side of her head, her face a grayish color.

“Fanny!” I cried.

“I’m all right now,” she assured me. “I thought I was going to die.”

“What?”

She nodded. “The same,” she said. “I feel that weak I couldn’t get up to save my life.”

“You mustn’t, Fanny,” I said. “I’m going to send for the doctor.”

She gripped my wrist.

“Lovey,” she said earnestly, reverting to a pet name of my childhood, “I’m frightened.”

“Why, Fanny?”

“It was the lemon barley,” she said. “You haven’t been taking it lately.”

“No. I didn’t fancy it after that night I wasn’t well.”

“I saw it standing there. It had been there all day. I didn’t think I ought to waste it and I drank the lot”

“Fanny, what are you saying?”

“It was in the lemon barley. I was with your stepmother when she had a bad turn once. She said to me: ‘It’s all right, Fanny. I’ve taken an overdose of my medicine.’ You know what that medicine was? They told us at the inquest. It killed her hi the end.”

“Fanny!”

“It was meant for you. There’s something going on in this house.”

“You mean somebody’s trying to poison us?”

“They didn’t know I was going to drink it. It wasn’t meant for me.”

“Oh… Fanny!”

“Yes,” she said. “I’m frightened, I am.”

I was silent. Thoughts were crowding into my mind too jumbled … too horrifying to express. I kept seeing Jessica’s face with the unfathomable smile. And I thought: No. It’s impossible.

“Fanny,” I said, “what are we going to do?”

“We’ve got to catch them, that’s all. We’ve got to watch.”

“We must call in the doctor.”

Fanny shook her head. “No,” she advised. “Then they’d know we were on their track. They’d try something else, and we wouldn’t be prepared for it. They mustn’t. They’ll think you didn’t drink it and it was thrown away. Let them think that.”

Fanny’s eyes were wide and staring. I didn’t like the look of her at all and was in two minds about calling the doctor.

I told her so and she shook her head. “You must never take anything in your room. That’s the only way you’ll be safe.”

I said: “You could make more lemon barley. We could have it analyzed. That’s what we ought to do.”

“No,” she said. “They’re cunning. While we’re doing that they’ll try something else.”

“Fanny, this is madness.”

“Who came into the room today, do you remember?”

“Everybody. William, with some papers from the chambers. Lady Menfrey brought in the flowers. Sir Endelion came to see how I was. Miss Trelarken came in and brought Benny to see me. Then there are the maids.”

“You see, it’s awkward and we don’t know, and they might not try it again. I feel better now although I believed I was near death in the night. Oh my little Miss, I don’t know what this means, but I don’t like it I never have liked it I feel as though something’s calling me to get away … that’s how I feel.”

“I’m sure we should do something, Fanny.”

“We must give ourselves a little while though … a little while to think.”

She was so distraught that I promised her to do nothing …yet.

After the first shock I found myself disbelieving Fanny’s theory that the barley water had been poisoned. I had had a cold; perhaps it was a gastric chill. It had made me feel sick; Fanny had caught it; she certainly seemed ill after that bout in the night I said to myself: We’re hatching this between us. It’s suspicion and jealousy that haven’t any foundation in fact. Bevil said he wasn’t on the island; and even if he were unfaithful, he would never allow anyone to harm me.

Poison! It was impossible.

Fanny had changed; she had grown even thinner and her eyes seemed sunken; there was a wild expression in them which alarmed me; she was more possessive than ever and would scarcely let me out of her sight.

About a week after Fanny’s sickness I went down to the Lansella chambers and there received another shock when I realized how insidiously Jessica was undermining my position.

One of the callers, when received by me, said as she sat down: “Last time I saw Mrs. Menfrey. Such a lovely lady! So kind and gentle. Fm not surprised our Member is so proud of her—as I’ve heard he is.”

“I’m Mrs. Menfrey, the Member’s wife,” X said.

“Oh!” she cried, turning faintly pink. “Well, I must say I’m sorry … I thought, you see, from the way she was … er … and she didn’t say she wasn’t when I called her ‘Mrs. Menfrey’ … which I’m sure I did.”

When I next saw Jessica I said to her, “I hear you were mistaken for me at the chambers.”

She raised those perfectly shaped eyebrows to signify surprise.

“Yes,” I went on, “one of the callers said she had seen the Member’s wife last time she had come. It was you.”

Jessica shrugged her shoulders. “They form then- conclusions.”

“She was so certain because she’d addressed you as ‘Mrs. Menfrey,’ and you hadn’t corrected her.”

“Oh, they imagine these things.”

I looked into her face and noticed the calm, smiling mouth, the beautiful eyes which betrayed nothing, the perfection of her smooth, fresh-colored skin. In that moment I thought: If she wanted my place she’d be ruthless enough to do anything to get it.