The Song of the Siren

The Cellar Of Good Mrs. Brown

I SUPPOSE ALL MY life I have been overshadowed by Carlotta. She is seven years older than I, which gives her a certain advantage, but age has nothing to do with it. Carlotta is herself, and as such the most fascinating person I have ever met.

People turn to look at her when she comes into a room. It is as though the desire to do so is irresistible. Nobody could understand it better than I because I feel this deeply and always have. She is of course startlingly beautiful with that dark curling hair and those deep blue eyes; if one is the sister of such a creature one is immediately dubbed plain merely by comparison. I don’t doubt that if I had not had Carlotta for a sister I should have passed as quite a pleasant-looking, ordinary sort of girl; but there was Carlotta, and I became accustomed to hearing people refer to “the beauty.” I quickly accepted this and I didn’t mind nearly as much as my mother thought I might. I was one of Carlotta’s worshippers too. I loved to watch those deep-set eyes half closed so that the incredibly long dark lashes spread fanlike on her palish skin; then her eyes would open and if she were angry flash with blue fire. Her skin was pale but with a certain glow. It reminded me of flower petals. It was the same colour and texture. I was pink and white with straight brown hair which did not curl very easily and never stayed where I wanted it to. My eyes seemed to have no definite colour; I used to say they were water colour. “They are like you,” Carlotta once said. “They have no colour of their own. They take colour from whatever is close. You’re like that, Damaris. The good girl. ‘Yes, Yes, Yes,’ you say to everything. You never have an opinion that is not given to you by someone else.” Carlotta could be cruel sometimes, particularly when someone or something had annoyed her. She liked to take her revenge on whoever was near—and that was often myself. “You’re such a good girl,” was her constant complaint, and she made it sound as if goodness was a despicable thing to be.

My mother was always trying to let me know that she loved me as much as she loved Carlotta. I was not sure about that, but I did know that I did not cause her the anxiety that Carlotta did.

I overheard my grandmother once say to my mother, “You’ll have no trouble with Damaris, at any rate.”

I knew they were comparing me with Carlotta.

Carlotta was constantly involved in some controversy. Exciting things happened about her and she was generally the centre of them all.

Not only was she beautiful but she was rich. She had charmed Robert Frinton, who had lived at Enderby Hall, and so completely had she done this that he left her his fortune. Then there was all the fuss about her elopement with someone called Beaumont Granville. I never saw him but there was a great deal of talk about him and his name was on everybody’s lips—even the servants’.

That was over a long time ago and now she was married to Benjamin Stevens—dear Benjie, whom we all loved so much, and my mother was particularly pleased as there was a little baby.

We had spent Christmas at Eyot Abbass and everything had circled round Carlotta then.

My mother insisted on staying until the baby—a little girl called Clarissa—was born and my father and I had come home.

“Now she has a baby,” my mother said, “Carlotta will settle down.”

“Settle down!” cried my grandfather with a chuckle. “That girl will never settle down. Mark my words, she’ll always be the centre of some storm.”

My grandfather had a specially warm spot for Carlotta. He never seemed to notice me. My mother said that he had not been like that with her. It made his affection for Carlotta even more remarkable.

My mother was coming home shortly. There was no longer any reason why she should stay away. She had seen her granddaughter safely into the world, and Eyot Abbass was Carlotta’s home now that she had married Benjie. She had more or less returned to the scene of her childhood, for her early years, when everyone thought she was Harriet’s daughter, had been spent at Eyot Abbass.

Yesterday one of the Stevens’s grooms had ridden over with letters. My mother would be setting out at the end of the week. The journey was not long. It usually meant two nights at an inn, and that was taking it slowly. The grooms managed it in two days and they were always trying to do it in record time.

It was a sparkling morning. March had just come in like a lion, as the saying goes, and we were hoping it would prove the old saying true by going out like a lamb. There was a feeling of spring in the air. The long winter was, over; the nights were getting shorter, and although there was not much warmth in the sun yet, it gave a promising radiance to the fields and hedgerows. I loved to ride out into the country; I loved to watch for the changing of the land. I had a great fondness for the animals too. Apart from my dogs and horses I loved the birds and all wild things. They came to me first and always seemed to understand that I would not dream of hurting them and above all wanted to help. I knew how to speak to them, how to soothe them. My father said it was a natural gift. I had tended rabbits and sparrows and once there was a redshank which I found on the marshes. He had a broken leg and I had set it for him. It was amazing how it healed.

I loved the country life; I knew that the time would come when I would go to London with my family and there would be balls and such things for me, the object being to find me a husband. I dreaded that; but there was one consolation, neither of my parents would force me into marriage if I didn’t want it; and their great desire was to see me happy.

In any case I was only thirteen and that was in the future. I remembered that Carlotta had not been much more when she had fallen in love with Beaumont Granville. But Carlotta was Carlotta.

“She was born with all the wiles some women take a lifetime to learn,” said my grandfather. “And then only get half of them.”

He spoke with approval. I quickly realised that I had been born with none of those wiles.

On this particular March morning I did not care. I saw that the rooks were busy making their nests and I saw some meadow-pipits, which we sometimes called tit-larks. They were a little like larks and could be mistaken for them by some who had not studied them as I had. I loved to see them on the ground, where they ran instead of hopped. I heard the cry of a redshank—a sort of whimper. I would not go near her because the nest would not be far off and it would throw her into panic if anyone approached her young.

I came past Enderby Hall. No one lived there, which was rather absurd, said my father. A big house like that, furnished, standing vacant just because Carlotta had some caprice to keep it so. The house had been left to her by Robert Frinton with the rest of his fortune, and at one time she had thought to sell it and suddenly and capriciously, said my father, had changed her mind.

I didn’t like Enderby very much. When we were young Carlotta had tried to frighten me there. She told me how when she was very small she had wandered in there and been lost. They had all been in a panic and finally she was discovered in a cupboard fast asleep. Robert Frinton had been so taken with her that he had called it Carlotta’s cupboard.

She enticed me into it and tried to lock me in but I had known what she might have in mind too and for once in my life had been too quick for her. “Silly!” she had said afterwards. “I wouldn’t have kept you there. I just wanted you to learn what it feels like to be shut up alone in a haunted house.” She had looked at me with that trace of malice she often showed. “Some people’s hair turns white overnight,” she said. “Some just die of fright. I wonder what you would look like with white hair? It might be better than no real colour at all.”

Yes, there had been times when Carlotta had been merciless. But I had never faltered in my admiration and I always sought her attention and was gratified to receive it even when it could result in ghoulish experiments such as she had planned for me in the cupboard in Enderby Hall.

I rode past, skirting the land which my father had bought and which had once belonged to Enderby. There was a wall about it now.

I came past Grasslands Manor, the home of the Willerbys, and young Thomas Willerby saw me and called to me.

I would have to go in. They expected it; and old Thomas loved to have callers. He was particularly fond of everyone from our family.

I took my horse to the stables and Thomas and I went into the house together.

Old Thomas was delighted to see me. I told him the news while he sent for wine and cakes, which I should have to take because he would be hurt if I didn’t. He loved to show his hospitality.

I told him my mother was returning home and he said how glad we must be and how happy to have an addition to the family.

I admitted I was longing for my mother’s return. She would have all the news of the baby and Carlotta to tell us.

He said: “I have some news too. I have bought a place near York.”

“Oh,” I said, “You really will be going then.”

“As you know, my dear, I have been shilly-shallying for a long time, but now I really have made up my mind.”

“And what of Grasslands?”

“I shall sell it.”

I was thinking it strange how there seemed no lasting luck in either Grasslands Manor or Enderby Hall. I wondered if there was such a thing as ill fortune, for these houses seemed to have incurred the wrath of fate. Even the Willerbys had not escaped, though at one time they had been very happy. Then Thomas’s wife had died giving birth to young Christabel. It was all very sad.

“Yes,” he said. “It may be that your parents will give me a hand with the selling. I don’t want to wait here … now I have the new house.”

“We shall all be delighted to show people round it. Have you spoken to my father yet?”

“No, I was waiting until your mother came back. Now she is coming. That is good news. Less happy news at Court.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, the King has broken his collarbone.”

“That is not very serious, is it?”

“I heard he has been ill for some time,” said young Thomas. “He was riding from Kensington to Hampton Court when he was thrown from his horse. The horse caught his foot in a molehill, they say. It didn’t seem much at the time.”

His father put in: “I hear the Jacobites are drinking to the Little Gentleman in Black Velvet, meaning the mole who in making his hill has done the country a service.”

“It seems a pity that they must be so pleased about an accident. What of the horse? Was it badly hurt?”

“Now that I didn’t hear. I suppose they thought it wasn’t important.”

While we were drinking the wine another visitor arrived. It was my uncle Carl from Eversleigh. He was in the army and home on leave.

“Oh, hello, Dammee,” he said. He was very jovial, Uncle Carl, and thought it amusing to make a joke of my name, which he knew irritated my mother. “There’s news. The King is dead.”

“I thought it was just his collarbone,” said Tom Willerby.

“He had several fits apparently, and he has been trying to keep his weakness a secret from the people for some time. He died at eight o’clock this morning.”

“There will be excitement across the water,” said Thomas Willerby.

“Among the Jacobites, yes. They haven’t a chance. Anne was proclaimed Queen this very day. Let’s drink to the new reign, eh?”

So our glasses were filled and we drank to our new sovereign: Queen Anne.

The Eversleighs had always had close connections with the court. My grandfather Carleton Eversleigh had been a great friend of Charles the Second. After he had been involved in the Monmouth Rebellion he had fallen out of favor with James, of course, and although William and Mary had received him, he had never been on the same terms with them as he had with Charles. However, that we should go to London for the coronation was taken for granted and we made ready.

It was now April. Carlotta’s baby was two months old and she was not going to London this time. Harriet was not either. It must have been one of the first times she had missed a royal function, but I suppose even she was beginning to feel her age. She was several years older than my grandmother.

Nevertheless it was quite a big party that set out from Eversleigh. My grandparents, my parents, Uncle Carl and myself.

“Dammee,” said Uncle Carl, “it’ll be good for you to see a bit of life.”

“She is young yet, Carl,” said my mother, “and her name is Damaris.”

“Very well, sister,” retorted Uncle Carl. “She is as yet a babe in arms and I’ll remember not to call little Dammee Dammee.”

My mother clicked her tongue impatiently but she was not annoyed. There was something very lovable about Uncle Carl. He was several years younger than she was and sometimes she talked about the old days and then she told me how their father had doted on Carl while he hardly seemed aware of her.

“There came a time when things changed,” she said once, and there was a note in her voice which made me want her to tell me more; but when I asked she shut her lips tightly together and wouldn’t say a word more on the subject. Secrets, I thought. Family secrets. I should probably know them one day.

Well now we were going to London and there was all the fun of setting out. If Edwin had been home, as a peer of the realm, he would have played a big part in the ceremony. My grandmother regretted that he was away on foreign service. However, we were determined to make a jolly time of it.

“If you can’t rejoice at coronations, when can you?” said my grandfather. “You have a new monarch and you can with a good conscience delude yourself into thinking all will live happily ever after. So let us all enjoy our coronation.”

We were in high spirits as we set out. The family and six servants. We had three saddle horses, for we should need special clothes if we were to go to Court.

I was watching out for birds. I knew where to look for them—willow warbler in the open country, tree pipit always where there were trees and turtle doves in the woods. I loved to hear their joyous singing at this time of the year. They were so happy because the winter was over.

I told my mother that it made me feel happy just to hear them.

She gave me her warm approving smile. Later I heard her say softly to my grandmother, “Damaris will never give me one moment’s cause for anxiety, I am sure.”

And my grandmother replied: “Not of her own free will, Priscilla, but sometimes disaster strikes from unexpected quarters.”

“You are in a strange mood today, mother.”

“Yes,” said my grandmother, “I think it’s because we’re all riding to London. It makes me think of the time when Carlotta eloped.”

“Oh, how thankful I am that is all over.”

“Yes, she is safe with Benjie.”

“And now this child. A baby will sober even Carlotta.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence and in due course the grey walls of the Tower of London came into sight. We were almost at the end of our journey.

It was always exciting to arrive in London. The streets were teeming with life; there was noise and bustle everywhere; I had never seen so many people as I saw in London—all sorts of people, all different, all, I imagined, leading the sort of lives we of the country could only guess at. There were gentlemen in exaggeratedly elegant garments flashing with what could have been real jewels but might well have been imitation; ladies patched and powdered; vendors of all kinds of objects and apprentices standing at the doors of the shops calling out to passersby to buy their wares. There was the excitement of the river, which was always crowded with craft of all kinds. I could never tire of watching the watermen shouting for customers with the cry of “Next oars” and piloting their passengers from bank to bank and taking them for pleasure trips past the splendours of Westminster to beyond the Tower. I liked the songs they sang; and when they were not singing they were shouting abuse at each other. My mother had never wanted me to use the river. I had heard her say that people forgot their manners and breeding when they stepped into a boat, and even members of the nobility assumed a coarseness which would not have been acceptable to polite company ashore.

Although Carlotta would have called me rather slightingly a country girl, I could not help but be fascinated by the London scene. There was so much to see which we never saw in the country. The coaches which rattled through the streets containing imperious ladies and gentlemen so sumptuously attired fascinated me as did the street shows. One could see Punch and Judy in a booth at Charing Cross; and along Cheapside there were knife swallowers and conjurors and their tricks for the delight of passersby. There were giants and dwarfs performing all sorts of wonders; and the ballad sellers would sing their wares in raucous voices while some pie man would shout to you to come and test his mutton.

The greatest attraction was a hanging at Tyburn, but that was something I had no wish to see—nor should I have been allowed to if I had wanted to. Carlotta had seen a hanging once and she had described it to me—not that she had enjoyed it, I believed, but she could become exasperated with me at times and liked to shock me.

Her lover had taken her to see it because, he had said, she must learn what the world was about. She said it was terrible to see the men to be hanged arriving in a cart, and although she had pretended to look she had her eyes shut. She said there were men and women selling gingerbread, pies, fairings and the dying speeches and confessions of others who had recently met their death in this way.

I had said: “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to hear.”

But she had gone on telling me and, I believed, making it even more gruesome than it actually was.

On other visits to London I had walked with my parents in the Mall, which was delightful, and this fashionable thoroughfare was very much used by members of the respectable nobility. There one paraded and bowed to one’s friends and acquaintances and sometimes stopped and talked and made arrangements to meet at some place. I loved the Mall. My grandfather told me how he had played Pell Mell there several times with King Charles. Nowadays there were flower girls there with their blooms, girls with baskets of oranges, which they proferred to passersby; and one could come face to face with a milkmaid driving her cow and stopping now and then to take milk from the cow so that buyers could be sure of its freshness. Strolling by watching the people was a great excitement to me. I had always enjoyed it.

“You should see it at night,” Carlotta had said to me; and she had described the gallants who went out prowling through the crowds searching for young girls who took their fancy. At night one could see the ladies patched and beribboned and sometimes masked. That was the time to stroll down Pall Mall. “Poor little Damaris! They’ll never allow you to do that.” And when I had said they wouldn’t allow her either she had just laughed at me.

I could never stop thinking of Carlotta for long and here in this city of adventure she seemed closer than ever.

We were all installed in the Eversleigh town house which was not far from St. James’s Palace, and my mother said I should have a good night’s rest for we would be out early the next day to see the beginnings of the coronation ceremonies.

I woke early the next morning, excited to find myself in a strange bed. I went to my window and looked down on the street where people were already gathering. They would come in today from the surrounding country. It was the twenty-third of April, St. George’s Day. The people were very excited. I wondered how the Queen felt. What would one’s reaction be if one were taking a crown which did not by right belong to one. Of course the English would never have a Catholic on the throne. I had heard my grandfather expound at length on that subject. And King James could have retained his crown if he had given up his faith. He refused and lost it, and then we had had Protestant William and Mary, now both dead, and Mary’s sister Anne was our Queen.

The Jacobites would be angry but the mood of the people seemed to indicate that they wanted Anne. Or perhaps they just wanted a coronation.

At eleven o’clock we rode into the streets and saw the Queen on her way from St. James’s Palace to Westminster Hall. She was carried in a sedan chair because she was so troubled with dropsy and swollen feet that she could not walk. She was about thirty-seven years of age, which seemed young to be afflicted with such an infirmity, but she had given birth to so many children and not one of them had survived—the young Duke of Gloucester, on whom all her hopes were set, having died recently—that this had had its effect on her.

Prince George of Denmark, her husband, who was as devoted to her as she was to him, walked before her and he was preceded by the Archbishop of Canterbury.

It was a glittering sight with garter-king-at-arms and the lord mayor and black rod with the high steward of England all in attendance.

The Queen looked calm and surprisingly beautiful in spite of the fact that she was very fat, a condition induced by a lack of exercise and a love of food; on her head was a circle of gold set with diamonds and its simple elegance became her.

We had places in the Abbey and we followed the procession treading our way through the sweet herbs which had been sprinkled on the ground and taking the places allotted to us.

It was an uneasy moment when Thomas Tennison, the Archbishop of Canterbury, presented the Queen to the assembly and asked the question: “Sirs, I here present unto you Queen Anne, undoubted Queen of this realm. Whereas all you that are come this day to do your homages and service, are you willing to do the same?”

It seemed to me that the pause following those words went on for a long time, but that was merely my imagination because I had heard so much talk about the Jacobites.

Then the shout was deafening: “God save Queen Anne.”

The Archbishop had to repeat the question three times after that—for he had to face the east, west, north and south each time he said it.

It was a thrilling moment when the choir began to sing the anthem. “The Queen shall rejoice in Thy strength, oh Lord. Exceeding glad shall she be in Thy salvation. Thou shalt present her with the blessings of goodness and shalt set a crown of pure gold on her head.”

When I heard all those voices singing in unison I felt sure that Anne really was the chosen sovereign and the King Across the Water presented no threat to the peace of the land.

It was sad, though, to see the Queen having to be helped to the altar; but when she made the declaration her voice was loud and clear.

“Will you to the utmost of your power maintain the laws of God, the true profession of the gospel, and the protestant reformed religion established by law …?”

“I promise to do this,” declared Anne firmly.

This was what the people wanted. After all, it was because her father had not been an upholder of the Protestant faith that he had lost his throne.

After that there was the ceremony of the anointing, which was carried out in accordance with the ancient customs. Anne must stand while she was girt with the sword of St. Edward and then she must walk to the altar to offer it there. The spurs were presented to her and she placed them beside the sword on the altar and then she was invested with the ring and the staff.

The ring, my father had told me, was called the wedding ring of England and was engraved with the Cross of St. George. When it was placed on the finger it symbolized that the sovereign was pledged to honour his or her country and offer all the service and devotion of which that sovereign was capable. It is like a marriage, added my father.

I was deeply moved by the ceremony, as one must be, and when the Queen was seated on her chair and the Dean of Westminster brought the crown for the Archbishop of Canterbury to place on her head I joined with fervour in the loyal shout of “God save the Queen.” It was wonderfully inspiring to hear the guns booming out from the turrets of the Abbey and being answered by those of the Tower of London.

I watched the peers led by the Queen’s Consort, the Prince of Denmark, pay their homage to the new Queen by kneeling before her and then kissing her cheek.

We had places at the coronation banquet. My parents had been wondering whether the Queen would attend, for her disability must have made her quite exhausted, but my grandfather immediately replied that she must be there, tired or not. Otherwise those sly Jacobites would be saying she dared not face the traditional challenge of the champion Dymoke.

I enjoyed every moment. I was delighted to be able to gaze on the Queen. I thought she looked very regal and hid her tiredness very well. I liked her husband, who seemed mild and kind and was clearly anxious on her account.

It was after eight before the banquet was over and as the ceremonies had been going on for most of the day, the Queen was clearly relieved to leave for the palace of St. James’s. The crowds cheered wildly as she passed along in her sedan chair.

The banquet in Westminster Hall might be over but the people were going on carousing throughout the night.

My grandfather said we should get home before the streets became too rowdy, as they would later. “If you want to,” he said, “you can watch from the windows.”

This we did.

It was afternoon of the following day. My mother, my grandmother and I had shopped in the morning in the Piazza at Covent Garden, which was crowded with revellers still celebrating the coronation. My mother had admired some violets, one of her favorite flowers, and had meant to buy some, but we turned away, our interest caught by something else, and forgot about them.

As we sat there a young woman went by. She was young and very flamboyantly dressed; but something about her reminded me of Carlotta. It was only a fleeting resemblance of course. She was not to be compared with Carlotta. At that moment a young man walked past and stopped. I realised that he had been following her, that she was aware of it and was now waiting for him to make some proposition.

Of course I knew this sort of behavior was commonplace and that women came out, usually at dusk and at night, with the very object of finding companions, but I had never before seen it so blatantly undertaken.

The two went off together.

The incident had had an effect on me. Chiefly I think because the woman bore a slight resemblance to Carlotta and had brought memories of her. I thought, if she were with us she would not be sitting here looking out. What had she said to me once: “Damaris, you’re a looker-on. Things won’t happen to you. You’ll just watch them happen to other people. Do you know why? It’s because you’re afraid. You always want to be safe, that’s why you’re so dull.”

Cruel Carlotta. She so often hurt me. Sometimes I wondered why she meant so much to me.

Then the thought occurred to me that it Would be a lovely surprise for my mother to have her violets. Why should I not go out into the streets and buy them for her? I shouldn’t have to go back to the Piazza. There were many flower sellers in the streets—even more than there usually were because of the coronation, for they were taking advantage of the crowds to do more business.

I was not supposed to go out on my own. I seemed to hear Carlotta laughing at me. “It was only to the end of the street.”

I should be scolded, but my mother would be pleased that I had remembered.

I was sure that if I had not seen the woman and been reminded of Carlotta I should never have been so bold. I put on my velvet cloak, slipped my purse into the pocket of my gown and went out.

I reached the end of the street without seeing a flower seller, and as I turned the corner I was caught up in a howling mob. People were circulating about a man in a tall black hat and shouting abuse at him.

Someone pressed against me. I was wary and kept my hand on my purse.

A woman was standing near me. I said, “What is it? What has he done?”

“Selling quack pills,” she said. “Told us they’d make you young again, bring the colour back to your hair and cure all ailments, make you twenty again. He’s a quack.”

I stammered: “What will they do with him?”

“Duck him in the river, most like.”

I shuddered. I was made uneasy by the looks of the mob, for I suddenly realised that I myself was attracting some strange looks.

It had been rather foolish to come out alone. I must get away from the crowd, find my violets quickly and go home.

I tried to fight my way out. It wasn’t easy.

“Here, who you pushing of?” demanded a woman with greasy hair falling about her face.

I stammered: “I wasn’t pushing. I … I was just looking.”

“Just looking, is it, eh? The lady’s only looking at us common folk.”

I tried to move away unobtrusively, but she was not going to let me. She started to shout abuse at me.

I didn’t know which way to turn. Then suddenly a woman was standing beside me. She was poorly dressed but clean. She caught my arm and said: “Now let this lady alone, will you? She’s not sport for the likes of you.”

The other woman seemed so surprised at the interruption that she stared open-mouthed at the other, who took the opportunity to take my arm and draw me away. We were soon lost in the crowd.

I was grateful to her. I had simply not known what to do and how to escape from that woman who had seemed so determined to make trouble.

The crowd had thinned a little. I was not sure which end of the street I was at. I thought I would abandon the idea of getting the violets and go home as quickly as possible. I could see my mother had been right when she had not wanted me to go out alone.

The woman was smiling at me.

“You shouldn’t be out alone on the streets, dear,” she said. “Why, that’s a beautiful velvet cloak you’re wearing. Gives people ideas, see, dearie. Now let’s get you back home fast as we can. What made you come out alone? Who are you with?”

I told her I had come up from the country with my family for the coronation and I had slipped out to buy some violets for my mother.

“Vi’lets,” she cried. “Vi’lets. Now I know the woman what sells the best vi’lets in London and not a stone’s throw from this here spot where we standing. If you want vi’lets you leave it to Good Mrs. Brown. You was lucky you was, dearie, to come across me. I know that one who was after you. She’d have had your purse in no time if I hadn’t come along.”

“She was a terrible woman. I had done nothing to her.”

“Course you hadn’t. Now have you still got your purse?”

“Yes,” I told her. I had made sure to keep my hand on it after all the stories I had heard of the agility of the London thieves.

“Well, that’s a blessing. We’ll get them vi’lets and then, ducky, I think we should get you back home … before you’re missed, eh?”

“Oh, thank you. It is so kind of you.”

“Well, I likes to do a bit of good where I can. That’s why they call me Good Mrs. Brown. It don’t cost nothing, does it, and it helps the world go round.”

“Thank you. Do you know Eversleigh House?”

“Why, bless you, dearie, a’ course I do. There ain’t no place in these ’ere parts that Good Mrs. Brown don’t know about. Don’t you be afraid. I’ll whisk you back to Eversleigh House afore you can say Queen Anne—that I will—and with the best vi’lets you can find in London.”

“I shall be so grateful. They wouldn’t want me to be out, you see.”

“Oh, I do see, and right they are. When you think of what I just rescued you from. These thieves and vagabonds is all over this ’ere wicked city, dearie, and they’ve just got their blinkers trained on innocents like you.”

“I should have listened to my mother.”

“That’s what the girls all say when they gets into a bit of trouble, now don’t they? It never done no harm to listen to mother.”

While she had been talking we had moved away from the crowd. I had no idea where we were and I saw no sign of flower sellers. The street was narrow, the houses looked gaunt and dilapidated as we turned up an alley.

I said uneasily: “We seem to be coming a long way.”

“Nearly there dear. You trust Good Mrs. Brown.”

We had turned into an alley. Some children were squatting on the cobbles; from a window a woman looked out and called: “Nice work, Mrs. Brown.”

“May God bless you, dear,” replied Mrs. Brown. “This way, ducky.”

She had pushed me through a door. It slammed shut behind us. I cried out: “What does this mean?”

“Trust Good Mrs. Brown,” she said.

She had taken my arm in a firm grip and dragged me down a flight of stairs. I was in a room like a cellar. There were three girls there—one about my age, two older. One had a brown wool coat about her shoulders and was parading up and down before the other two. They were all laughing but they stopped and stared when we entered.

It was now brought home to me that the fears which had started to come to me when we first turned into the labyrinth of back streets were fully justified. I was in a more unhappy position now than I had been when accosted by the woman in the crowd.

“Now don’t be frightened, dearie,” said Mrs. Brown. “No harm will come to you if you’re good. It’s not my way to harm people.” She turned to the others. “Look at her. Ain’t she a little beauty. Come out to buy vi’lets for her mamma. Feel the cloth of this cape. Best velvet. That’ll fetch a pretty penny. And she kept her hand on her purse too, which was nice of her. She came near to losing it in the crowd.”

I said: “What does this mean? Why have you brought me here?”

“There,” said Mrs. Brown, “Don’t she talk pretty. You two girls want to listen and learn how to do it. I reckon it would be a help to you in your work.”

She laughed. It was amazing how quickly Good Mrs. Brown had become Evil Mrs. Brown.

“What do you want of me? Take my purse and let me go.”

“First of all,” said Mrs. Brown. “We want that nice cloak. Off with it.”

I did not move. I stood there clutching it to me.

“Now, now,” said Mrs. Brown. “We don’t want trouble. Trouble’s something I never could abide.” She took my hands in a firm grip and wrenched them from my cloak. In a few seconds it was off my shoulders. One of the girls grabbed it and wrapped it round herself.

“Now then, now then,” said Mrs. Brown. “Don’t you dirty it, now. You know how particular Davey is. He wants it just as it comes off the lady.”

“I see you brought me here to steal my cloak. Well, you have it. Now let me go.”

Mrs. Brown turned to the girls and they all laughed. “She’s pretty, though, ain’t she?” said Mrs. Brown. “Such a trusting little piece. She took quite a fancy to Good Mrs. Brown, I can tell you. Was ready to follow her wherever she led.”

I turned towards the door. Mrs. Brown’s hand was on my arm.

“That’s not all, ducky.”

“No,” I cried. “You want my purse as well.”

“You did keep it nice and safe for us. It would be a pity not to have it after that, wouldn’t it?”

They kept laughing in a shrill way which frightened me.

I took out my purse and threw it on the floor.

“Good. You see she’s not one for trouble either.”

“Well, you have my cloak and my purse. Now let me go.”

Mrs. Brown was feeling the stuff of my gown.

“The very best cloth,” she said, “only worn by the gentry. Come on, dearie. Off with it.”

“I cannot take off my dress.”

“Her servants has always done it for her,” mocked one of the girls.

“We’ll be her servants today,” said Mrs. Brown. “I always believe in treating my friends in the way they’re used to.”

It was becoming more and more of a nightmare. They were pulling my dress over my shoulders.

“What shall I do?” I cried. “You are taking all my clothes. I shall be … naked.”

“See, a nice modest little girl. Now listen, dearie, we wouldn’t let you go out into the streets starkers, would we, girls? Now that would cause a bit of a barney, wouldn’t it?”

They all laughed hideously.

I felt numb with terror. How I longed to call back time. How I wished I was sitting at my window and that I had had the good sense to do what I had been told was the wise thing to do—never go out alone.

I was sure this was some sort of nightmare. It couldn’t be true. Things like this did not happen.

They had stripped me down to my shift. How I hated their dirty fingers feeling the cloth of my clothes, gloating, as they took them from me, over the price they would fetch.

I stood there shivering with the awful realisation that if I wanted to escape I could not run out into the street with no clothes on.

Nevertheless I felt I could not endure to stay any longer in this terrible room with the piles of clothes lying on the floor. I saw that it was the profession of women like Mrs. Brown to lure unsuspecting people—children, it seemed mostly—into her den and there rob them of their clothes.

“Well, dearie,” said Mrs. Brown, “you was a nice little pick up. But listen here. I don’t want no trouble. You understand. Trouble and Mrs. Brown is two that don’t go together.”

“You’re a thief,” I said. “You will get caught one day and you’ll go to Tyburn for what you do.”

“Not such a babe as we thought, eh?” She winked at the girls, who chortled with amusement.

“We’re careful. We’re good. Least I am. I wan’t called Good Mrs. Brown for nothing. Give me that cloak, ducks,” she said to one of the girls. The girl handed her a cloak which was rugged and torn.

“There, wrap that round yourself,” she said.

I looked at it distastefully.

“Oh, it’s not what you’re used to, dearie. I know that. But it’s better than going naked. It’s more decent, see.”

I wrapped the cloak round me and for a moment my disgust was greater than my terror.

“Now listen, dearie. We’re going out of here. I’ll take you back on your road, see. I don’t want no trouble. I don’t want nothing traced to me. Good Mrs. Brown keeps out of trouble. All she wants is the nice clothes rich little ladies and gentlemen wear. It don’t mean much to them because they have others. But it means the difference between eating and starvation to Good Mrs. Brown. So I shall take you out with me. And if you was to shout I’d got your clothes nobody here would listen to you. Then I’ll leave you to find your home on your own. Yes, when it’s safe I’ll leave you. Understand?”

I nodded. My one desire was to get out of this place with as little trouble as possible.

She gripped my arm. We went up the stairs. The relief to feel the fresh air again was great.

All the time she was taking me through the narrow streets she was talking to me. No one took any notice of us. She had had my shoes too, so I was barefooted and I could not walk easily on the cobbles.

She laughed at me because I stumbled.

“They are such pretty shoes,” she murmured. Then she went on: “Listen to me, ducky. You’ve had a lucky escape. You lost your clothes. You could have lost more than that, dearie. Mrs. Brown has taught you a lesson. What a day for a rich little girl to go wandering out in her velvets and silks! Today, dearie, there’s more rogues and vagabonds in this ’ere city than at any time … and there are enough of us, Gawd knows, without this new lot. They comes in from all over the place, coronation days, royal weddings, you know … such like. They’re the times to make a picking. Well, you’ve been plucked, little pigeon, and thank your stars it was by Good Mrs. Brown. Now I don’t want no trouble. You haven’t been hurt, have you. I’ve even given you this ’ere cloak to cover yourself. They’ll ask questions. You’ll tell them it was Good Mrs. Brown … but you won’t know where I took you, will you? So you won’t be able to tell on me. You’ll get over this. My what a scolding you’ll get. Silly little pigeon. But they’ll be that glad to get you back; I reckon you’ll be petted more than ever. Thank Good Mrs. Brown. And you won’t want to bring trouble on her, will you? Remember the good she’s done you. Why, you might have been picked up by one of them old bawds and been sold to some loving old gentleman by now. See. You’ll be prepared next time. But I reckon there won’t be a next time. You’ve learned a lesson from Good Mrs. Brown.”

We had come out of the labyrinth of streets.

“There now,” she said. “You want to get home fast. Just round the corner is the street where they was getting ready to duck the old quack. You know where you are from there. Get home … quick.”

She gave me a little push. I looked round and she disappeared. My relief was intense. I started to run.

Yes, she was right. There was the street where it had all begun. If I turned the corner and went straight on I would come to Eversleigh House.

I turned that corner and ran full tilt into a woman who was walking along with a young man beside her.

She gave a little shriek of disgust and I think she put out a hand to ward me off. I fell sprawling to the ground.

“Gad,” said the young man. “She’s wearing nothing beneath the cloak.”

“She was after my purse,” said the woman.

“I was not,” I cried. “I have just been robbed of my clothes.”

They were startled by my voice, and having just come from Mrs. Brown’s terrible room I understood why. It did not match my appearance.

The young man helped me to my feet. We must have looked odd together, for his appearance could only be described as exquisite. I could smell the faint perfume with which his clothes were scented.

The lady was beautifully dressed too and also perfumed. We must have made a strange contrast.

“What happened to you?” said the lady.

“I came out to buy some violets for my mother,” I said quickly. “A woman started to shout at me in the crowd and then another woman came along. She said she would take me to buy the violets and she took me to a horrible room and made me take off all my clothes.”

“There’s quite a trade in it,” said the young man. “It is usually young children who are the victims. Are you hurt?”

“No, thank you. I want to get home quickly.”

“Where is your home?”

“It’s Eversleigh House.”

“Eversleigh House! So you are one of the Eversleighs,” said the woman.

“Let us get her home quickly,” said the young man. “They’ll be anxious, I daresay.”

They walked along beside me. I wondered what passersby thought to see this elegant pair in the company of such a ragged barefooted urchin. No one took very much notice. So many strange sights were seen in London that the people accepted them as commonplace.

I could have wept with relief when we arrived at the house. Job, one of our servants cried: “She’s here. Mistress Damaris is here.” I knew by his words that I had already been missed.

My mother came running into the hall. She saw me standing there in the horrible cloak, stared disbelievingly for a few seconds then, realising it was indeed her daughter, swept me into her arms.

“My darling child,” she said, “whatever has happened? We have been frantic.”

I could only cling to her speechless, I was so happy to be with her.

The lady spoke. “It’s a trick they practice often,” she said. “She was robbed of her clothes.”

“Robbed of her clothes …!” my mother repeated.

Then she looked at the two who had brought me home. I saw her glance at the young man and as she did so a strange look came into her face. It was a mingling of all sorts of things, amazement, disbelief, a certain fear and a sort of horror.

The lady was saying: “We found her running away … She ran into us, and then, when we heard who she was, we thought we would make sure she got home safely.”

My mother stammered: “Thank you.” Then she turned to me and hugged me against her and we just clung together.

My father appeared.

“She’s here. She’s home,” he cried. “Thank God. Why … for God’s sake.”

My mother said nothing and it was the strangers who explained.

“It was good of you,” said my father. “Come, dearest, let the child get rid of that awful garment. She had better have a bath quickly.” I ran to him and he held me tightly. I had never loved them so much as I did at that moment.

My mother was terribly shaken. She seemed to be in a kind of daze and it was my father who took charge.

“You must have some refreshment,” he said to the woman and the young man.

“It is not necessary,” said the woman. “You will all be feeling very upset.”

“Oh, come,” said my father, “you must stay awhile. We want to tell you how grateful we are.”

“The streets of London were never safe but they are becoming worse than ever,” said the young man.

“Priscilla,” said my father, “take Damaris up and look after her. I’ll see to our guests.”

I went upstairs with my mother. The cloak was taken away and given to one of the servants to burn. I washed all over in warm water and dressed myself while I told my mother exactly what had happened.

“Oh, darling,” she said, “you shouldn’t have gone out on your own.”

“I know, but I only meant to go to the top of the street and buy you violets.”

“When I think of what could have happened. That wicked woman …”

“She wasn’t so very wicked, mother. She called herself Good Mrs. Brown. She didn’t hurt me. She only wanted my clothes and my money.”

“It is monstrous,” said my mother.

“But she was poor and it was her way of getting something to eat, she said.”

“My dear, you are such a child. Perhaps you should rest now.”

“I don’t want to rest, mother, and I think I should go down and thank the people who brought me home.”

My mother stiffened in a strange way.

“Who are these people?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I was running along and fell into them. I went sprawling on the ground and they picked me up. They knew this was Eversleigh House, and when I told them it was my home they insisted on bringing me.”

“Very well,” she said, “let’s go down.”

My father was in the drawing room with them and they were drinking wine. They were still talking about the rogues who invaded London at a time like this. My grandfather and grandmother had joined them. They had not been aware that I had disappeared and had listened with horror to what had befallen me.

My grandmother rose up when I entered and embraced me with fervour, but the way my grandfather looked at me implied that he had never had much respect for my intelligence and had even less now.

My father said: “This is the strangest coincidence. This lady is Mistress Elizabeth Pilkington, who once thought of taking Enderby Hall.”

“Yes, and I was very disappointed when I heard that it was no longer for sale.”

“A caprice of my granddaughter’s,” said my grandfather with a curl of his lips. “The house belongs to her. It’s a mistake to give women power over property. I’ve always said it.”

“You have always nourished a feud against the opposite sex,” said my grandmother.

“It didn’t prevent my snaring you into matrimony,” he countered.

“I married you to show you how you underestimated us,” she countered.

“Alas,” he retorted, “my opinions do not seem to have changed after … how many years is it?”

They were always like that together; it was a constant sparring match and yet their devotion to each other kept showing itself; and they were as happily married as were my parents. They merely had a different way of showing it.

“Speaking of houses,” said my grandmother, “although Enderby Hall still stands empty, there is another in the district. Neighbours of ours—of whom we were very fond—are going away.”

“Yes,” said my grandfather, “there is Grasslands Manor.”

“Are you still looking for a place in the country?” asked my mother.

“My mother is very interested in that part of the country,” said Matthew Pilkington.

A faint colour had appeared in Elizabeth Pilkington’s cheeks. She said, “Yes, I might like to take a look at this Grasslands Manor.”

“Any time which is convenient to you we shall be pleased to see you at Eversleigh,” my grandmother told her.

“It is so bracing there, I believe,” said Matthew.

“If you mean the east wind favours us with its presence very frequently, yes,” said my grandfather.

“An interesting spot, though,” said Elizabeth.

“Roman country, I believe,” added Matthew.

“Yes, there are some fine specimens of Roman remains,” put in my grandfather. “Well, we’re not far from Dover and there is the old Pharos there … the oldest in England.”

“You must go and look at this Grasslands Manor,” said Matthew Pilkington.

“Oh, I will,” replied his mother.

They took their leave soon after that. They had a house in London close by, they said, and hoped we should meet again before we left for the country.

“Unfortunately we shall be returning the day after tomorrow,” said my mother.

I looked at her sharply because we had made no arrangements so far.

My grandmother was about to speak but my grandfather threw a warning look in her direction. I felt there was something going on which was a secret to me.

“Well, I shall be down to look at this Grasslands place, I daresay,” said Elizabeth Pilkington.

When they had left I was plied with questions. What had possessed me to go out on my own? I had been warned often. I must never never do it again.

“Don’t worry,” I assured them. “I won’t.”

“To think how easily it could happen,” cried my mother. “And what might have happened. As it is there’s that beautiful new cloak and dress …”

“Oh, I am so sorry. I have been so foolish …”

My mother put her arm about me. “My dear child,” she said, “if it has taught you a lesson it was worth it. Thank God you came safely back.”

“It was good of the Pilkingtons to bring her back,” said my grandmother.

“I rushed into them. I was almost home then,” I said.

“But they really were concerned,” went on my grandmother. “Wouldn’t it be strange if they took Grasslands?”

“There’s something about them I don’t like,” said my mother, and there was a strange expression on her face as though she had drawn a veil over her features to hide what she really felt.

“They seemed pleasant enough,” said my grandmother.

“And to have the means to buy the place,” added my grandfather.

“Carlotta showed her over Enderby Hall,” said my mother. “And then she decided not to let. She must have taken a dislike to her.”

“Oh, it was just one of Carlotta’s whims,” said my grandmother. “That couldn’t have had anything to do with Elizabeth Pilkington. She just did not want to sell the house.”

“It will be strange if you have found a buyer for Grasslands, Damaris.”

I thought it would be strange too. I rather hoped I had. I thought it would be rather pleasant to have the Pilkingtons as neighbours.

The next day Matthew Pilkington called.

I was in the hall when he arrived so I was the first to greet him. He was carrying a big bunch of violets.

He smiled at me. He was very handsome—in fact I think the most handsome man I had ever seen. Perhaps his clothes helped. He was wearing a mulberry-coloured velvet jacket and a very fine waistcoat. From the pockets low down in his coat a frilly white kerchief showed. His stick hung on a ribbon from his wrist. He wore high-heeled shoes which made him look very tall—he must be of a considerable height without them; and the tongue of his shoe stuck up well above the instep, which, I had learned since coming to London, was the very height of fashion. In one hand he held his hat, which was of a deep shade of blue, almost violet. In fact his clothes toned beautifully with the flowers, so that I could almost have believed he had chosen them for that purpose. But of course that could not be so, violets having a special significance.

I felt myself flushing with pleasure.

He bowed low, took my hand and kissed it.

“I see you have recovered from your adventure. I came to enquire and I have brought these for your mother so that she shall not be without what you braved so much to get for her.”

“Oh, but that is so good of you,” I said. I took the flowers and held them to my nose, inhaling the fragrance.

“From the best flower seller in London,” he said. “I got them in the Covent Garden Piazza this morning.”

“She will be so pleased. You must come in.” I took him into the little winter parlour which led from the hall.

“Please sit down,” I said.

He put his hat on the table in the hall and followed me.

“So,” he said, “you are returning to the country tomorrow. I am sorry about that. My mother would so liked to have entertained you. She is anxious to hear more of this house which is for sale.”

“It’s a very pleasant house,” I said.

“I wonder why the owners left it.”

“The wife died having a baby and her husband can’t forget. He came from the north originally and has gone back there. They were very great friends of ours and we have offered to show people the house if they are thinking of buying it. My grandmother has the keys at Eversleigh House.”

“And what about this other house?”

“Enderby. Well, that is a fine house too, but it has the reputation of being haunted.”

“My mother was most impressed by it.”

“Yes, but Carlotta, my sister, who owns it, decided not to sell. It was left to her, you see, by the previous owner, who was a relative.”

“I see, and Enderby remains empty.”

“It is extraordinary. Carlotta’s whim, my grandfather calls it.”

“Where is your sister?”

“She is married now and lives in Sussex. She has the dearest little baby. Tell me, do you live in London?”

“Well, I have a place in the country—in Dorset—a small estate to look after. I am there sometimes and sometimes with my mother in London. Of course now that there is war I may join the army.”

I frowned. My mother hated wars so fiercely that she had imbued me with the same feeling.

“It seems ridiculous that we should concern ourselves with the problems of other countries,” I said. “Why should what happens in Europe matter to us?”

I was really repeating what I had heard my mother say.

He said: “It is not quite as simple as that. Louis the Fourteenth, the French King, made an agreement with our late King and he has broken that agreement. His grandson Philip of Anjou has been made King of Spain. You see France will be dominating Europe. He has already put garrisons into the towns of the Spanish Netherlands. Worst of all he has acknowledged the son of James the Second as James the Third of England. War has been declared and we have strong allies in Holland and the Austrian Empire. It is necessary to go to war, you see.”

“So you may become a soldier. My father was a soldier once. He gave it up. My mother was so much against it. He bought the Dower House at Eversleigh and farms the land there and looks after his tenants; he works with my grandfather, who is getting old now. You met him yesterday. My uncle Carl is in the army and so is my uncle Edwin. He is the present Lord Eversleigh. He lives at Eversleigh when he is home.”

“I know yours is a family with a strong military tradition.”

We were deep in conversation when my mother entered the room. She drew back in astonishment.

“Oh, mother,” I cried, “we have a visitor. And he has brought some violets for you.”

“That is kind,” she said. “Thank you.” She took them and buried her face in them.

“My mother asked me to try to persuade you to stay a few more days so that we could entertain you here in London,” said Matthew Pilkington.

“That,” said my mother, “is extremely kind but we have made our arrangements.”

She sent for the customary wine and he stayed for an hour. I felt he was reluctant to go but I sensed that my mother was not eager for him to stay. I hoped he did not realise this and that I did only because I knew her so well.

When he left he said: “I believe we shall meet again soon.”

“I hope so,” I said warmly.

Later that day my mother told my grandparents that Matthew had called.

“A suitor for Damaris already,” said my grandmother.

“Nonsense,” retorted my mother, “she is far too young. In any case he brought the violets for me.”

“An excuse of course,” said my grandmother.

I suppose hearing Matthew referred to as my suitor set me thinking. He had seemed to like me. Then I realised that this was one of the rare occasions when Carlotta had not been present to demand attention.

Still, I rather liked the idea of having Matthew for a suitor.

We left London the next day. As we rode out of the town, passing through Temple Bar into Cheapside, where the stall holders and their customers made passage difficult, to Bucklersbury, where the tantalising smells which came from the apothecaries and grocers shops filled the air, and as I saw the grey walls of the Tower of London rising above the river I thought of what could have happened to me when I ventured into these fascinating but terrifying streets and how fortunate I had been to encounter no worse than Good Mrs. Brown.

Indeed I was beginning to bestow on her that benevolence she had been so eager to claim. Moreover, I remembered that she had brought the Pilkingtons into my life; and since Matthew had called with the violets I had been thinking about him a good deal.

My mother had been inclined to laugh at what she called his dandified appearance. My grandfather said it was the fashion and most young men looked like that nowadays. He thought fashions were less exaggerated than in his young days. “We were beribboned. Yes, that’s it! Ribbons in every conceivable place.”

My grandmother was rather pleased that Matthew had called again. She was sure he had come to see me. She had always felt that Carlotta overshadowed me and I knew that now she believed I should come into my own.

When I came to think of it I was rather pleased that Carlotta was not here. Then I fell to wondering whether I should ever see Matthew again.

So we left London and came into the country.

We stayed one night in an inn near Seven Oaks and the next day were home.

When I had assured myself that my dogs and my horse had been well cared for I was prepared to settle down to the daily routine, but somehow nothing could be quite the same again. We had a new sovereign; and I had had that adventure which was going to haunt me for a while. It did. I had a few nightmares dreaming I was in that horrible room with the three young girls and they were creeping up to me led by Good Mrs. Brown. I would awake calling out and clutching the bedclothes frantically to me. Once my mother heard me. She sat by the bed.

“How I wish we had never gone up to London,” she said.

But after a while I ceased to dream, and then there was the excitement of Elizabeth Pilkington’s coming to Grasslands Manor.

As soon as she saw it she declared that she liked it; and this time the sale went through. By the end of the summer she was installed in the Manor.

Matthew by that time was serving with the army, and I did not see him, but I became friendly with her and we visited each other frequently.

I helped her move in and buy some of the furniture for the house, for she was still keeping her London residence.

“I am so used to town life,” she told me, “that I can’t abandon it altogether.”

She was amusing and lively and talked a great deal about the theatre and the parts she had played. She reminded me of Harriet and indeed they had known each other at one time when they had played together in William Wycherley’s The Country Wife. My grandfather liked her and she was often invited to Eversleigh. My mother became friendly with her too. Her dislike seemed to be for Matthew and now that he was in the army she seemed to have forgotten about him.

That Christmas we went to Eyot Abbass. Little Clarissa was quite a person now. She was ten months old and beginning to take an interest in everything. She was fair haired and blue eyed and I loved her dearly.

My mother said: “Damaris will make a good mother.” And I thought more than anything I should like to have a baby of my own.

Carlotta was as beautiful as ever. Benjie adored her and was so delighted to be her husband. It was not so easy to know how Carlotta felt. She had always been unpredictable. There was a vague restlessness in her which I could not understand. She was the most beautiful girl in any gathering; she had a husband who clearly wanted to grant her every wish; she had a dear little baby, a gracious home; Harriet and Gregory were very fond of her and she had all her life been like a daughter to them. What did Carlotta want to make her happy?

I couldn’t resist asking her once. It was four days after Christmas and I went out walking with Gregory’s retriever when I came upon her sitting in the shelter of a cliff looking out to the Eyot.

I sat down beside her. “You are lucky, Carlotta,” I said. “You just have everything …”

She turned to look at me in amazement. “What has come over our little Damaris?” she asked. “She used to be such a contented little piece. Happy in her lot, ministering to the sick—animals mostly but not above taking a basket of goodies to the ailing of the district-goodness and contentment shining from her little face.”

“You always made fun of me, Carlotta.”

“Perhaps it was because I could never be like you.”

“You … like me! You’d never want to.”

“No,” she said. “You’re right there. What an adventure you had in the wicked city. Robbed of your clothes and sent out naked. My poor Damaris!”

“Yes, it was terrifying. But I ran into the Pilkingtons and because of that Elizabeth Pilkington is at Grasslands. Carlotta, isn’t it strange how one thing that happens leads to something else which wouldn’t have happened otherwise?”

She nodded and was serious. I could see her thinking of that.

“You see, if I hadn’t gone out to buy violets …”

“I get the point,” she said. “No need to elaborate.”

“Well, it just struck me.”

“You like this woman, don’t you? I did when I showed her Enderby.”

“Why did you decide so suddenly not to sell?” I asked.

“Oh, I had my reasons. She has a son, has she?”

“Yes … Matthew.”

“You like him, don’t you?”

“How … did you know?”

She laughed at me and gave me a friendly push. “That was the trouble, Damaris. I always know what you’re going to do. You’re predictable. It makes you …”

“I know,” I said. “Dull.”

“Well, it is nice to meet a little mystery now and then. So Matthew was very gallant, wasn’t he?”

“He brought violets for our mother.”

She burst out laughing.

“Why do you laugh?” I asked.

“Never mind,” she said. Then she stared out to sea and said: “You never know what is going to happen, do you? Right across the sea, that’s France over there.”

“Of course,” I said, a little nettled by her laughter. “What’s odd about that? It’s always been there, hasn’t it?”

“Imagine it over there,” she said. “There’ll be a lot of excitement. The old King dying and now the new one.”

“There isn’t a new one. It’s a Queen we have.”

“They don’t think so over there.”

She hugged her knees, smiling secretly.

I was about to remark that she was in a strange mood. But then Carlotta was often in a strange mood.

A few days later when I was riding I passed the same spot and there she was seated by the rock staring out to France.

Night In The Forbidden Wood

A YEAR HAD GONE by. I had passed my fourteenth birthday and was now rising fifteen. The war was still going on. My uncles Edwin and Carl were abroad serving with Marlborough, who had now become a duke. But for the fact that they were engaged in the fighting we should have thought little of it for the war itself did not intrude on our lives.

It was Maytime, a lovely time of the year. After I had finished lessons with my governess, Mistress Leveret, I would exercise my horse, Tomtit; sometimes I would take him to the sea and ride along close to the water. He loved that and it was exhilarating to take deep breaths of air, which we all said was fresher on our coast than anywhere else. There was always a sharp tang in it which, having been brought up with it, we all loved.

Sometimes I rode deeper into the country. I liked to leave Tomtit to drink by a stream while I lay in the grass very quietly watching the rabbits come out to gambol and sometimes voles and baby field mice. I could watch the frogs and toads and the water beetles for hours. I loved the country sounds and the melodious song of the birds.

One day Tomtit cast a shoe and I took him along to the blacksmith. While he was being shod I went for a walk and that led me near Enderby Hall.

The place had a fascination for me as it had for most people. I rarely went in it. My mother was always complaining that nothing was done about it; it was absurd to keep the place cleaned and aired for nobody she said. Carlotta must be made to see reason and get rid of it.

Close by the house was that land which my father had acquired when he bought the Dower House. He had never put it to use and was always going to do something about it but somehow never did. It was fenced in and he made it quite clear that he did not want it used as common ground. I guessed he must have had some plan for it.

I leaned against the fence and looked at the house. Dark and forbidding it seemed; but was that because of its reputation. And then suddenly I heard a sound. I listened. I looked towards the house. But no, it was not coming from the house. It was somewhere behind me. It was beyond the fence. I listened again. There it was. A piteous whine. Some animal in distress. I thought it sounded like a dog.

I was going to see. My father had put up such a strong fence around this land that it was not easy to scale it. There was a gate, though heavily padlocked, but it was possible to climb over this and I did so.

I stood there for a moment listening. The place was overgrown. I called it the Forbidden Wood because my father had stressed often that it was very private. I wondered afresh why he should have taken such pains to prevent people getting in and then do nothing about it.

Then I heard the sound again. It was definitely some animal in distress.

I went in the direction of the sound. Yes, I was getting nearer. Then I saw it. I had been right. It was a dog, a beautiful mastiff bitch—buff coloured with slightly darker ears and muzzle. I saw at once what had happened; one of her hind legs was caught in a trap.

She was looking at me with piteous eyes and I could see she was in considerable pain.

I had always had a way with animals. I think it was because I always talked to them and I had a special love for and understanding of them which they were quick to sense.

I knelt down. I saw exactly what had happened. Someone had set a trap to snare a hare or rabbit I guessed, and this beautiful dog had been caught in it.

I was running considerable risk, I knew. She might have bitten me, for the pain must have been intense, but I soothed her as I got to work, and as I had never been afraid of animals somehow they never seemed afraid of me.

In a few minutes I had seen how to release the trap. I did so and the dog was free.

I patted her head.

“Poor old lady,” I murmured. “It’s bad, I know.”

It was indeed bad. She could not stand up without intense pain.

I coaxed her along, murmuring still. I sensed that she trusted me. I knew something about broken limbs. I had set them before for other animals with some success. I promised myself I would have a try with this one.

The animal was in excellent condition and was obviously well cared for. Later I would have to set about finding the owner. In the meantime I would tend the wounded leg.

I took her back to the Dower House and to my room, and Miss Leveret, who passed me on the stairs, cried: “Oh, Damaris, not another of your sick animals!”

“This lovely creature has hurt her leg. She was caught in a trap. People should not be allowed to use such traps. They’re dangerous.”

“Well I’ve no doubt you will put it right.”

“I don’t think the leg is broken. That is what I feared at first.”

Mistress Leveret sighed. Like the rest of them, she thought I should be growing out of my absorption with animals.

I sent for hot water and bathed the leg. I found a very big basket which I had used for one of the bitches when she had puppies and I put the mastiff in it. I had a special ointment which was soothing and nonpoisonous. I had had it from one of the farmers who made it himself and swore by its healing properties.

The mastiff had ceased to whimper and was looking at me with her liquid eyes as though she was thanking me for easing her pain.

I gave her a bone which I found in the kitchens and there was quite a bit of good meat on it, and some water in one of my dogs’ dishes. She seemed contented and I left her sleeping in the basket and went down to supper.

Mistress Leveret, who took her meals with us, was telling my parents that I had brought another wounded stray into the household.

My mother smiled. “There is nothing unusual about that,” she said. We sat down at the table, and my father was talking about some of the cottages on his estate and the repairs which would have to be done, and we had almost finished when the talk came back to the dog I had saved.

“What had happened to this one?” asked my father smiling at me.

“His leg had been caught in a trap,” I explained.

“I don’t like traps,” said my mother. “They’re cruel.”

“They’re meant to kill at a stroke,” my father explained. “It’s unfortunate for an animal if he just gets trapped by a leg. The men like to get a hare or a rabbit for the pot, you know. They consider that a part of their wages. By the way, where was the trap?”

“It was on the closed-in land by Enderby,” I said.

I was astonished by the change in my father. His face turned red and then white.

“Where?” he cried.

“You know … the fenced-in land which you’re always going to do something about and never do.”

“Who put a trap in there?” he demanded.

I shrugged my shoulders. “Someone who thought he’d trap a hare or a rabbit for the pot, I suppose.”

My father was a man who was rarely roused to anger but when he was angry he could be violently so.

He said: “I want to know who put that trap there.”

He spoke quietly but it was the quiet before the storm.

“Well, you said that they used traps as part of their wages.”

“Not on that land,” he said. “I gave express orders that no one was to go there.”

My mother looked frightened.

“I don’t suppose he’s done any harm, Leigh,” she said.

My father brought his fist down on the table. “Who ever put that trap there disobeyed my orders. I am going to find out who did it.”

He stood up.

My mother said: “Not now, surely.”

But he had gone out. I heard him riding out of the stables.

I said: “He is in a great rage.”

My mother was silent.

“I hate those traps,” I said. “I’d like to stop them. But why is he so angry?”

She did not answer. But I could see she was very shaken.

The next day there was terrible trouble. The owner of the trap was found. He was Jacob Rook. My father dismissed him. He was to take everything and go. My father would not have his orders ignored.

It was most distressing, for when the people on the land were dismissed they not only lost their work but their homes. Jacob and Mary Rook had lived for fifteen years on the Eversleigh estate in one of the small cottages which now belonged to my father.

They had a month to get out.

We were all very upset. Jacob was a good worker; Mary often helped in the house, and I hated to think my father could be so cruel.

It was terrible when Mary came to the house and cried; she kept clinging to my mother and begging her to let them stay. My mother was very unhappy; she said she would speak to my father.

I had never seen him like this before. I had not realised he could be so hard.

“Please,” I begged, “overlook it this once. He’ll never do it again.”

“I will be obeyed,” said my father. “I gave special orders and Jacob Rook deliberately disobeyed them.”

He was adamant and there was nothing we could do.

I blamed myself for saying where I had found the mastiff. I had not thought it would be so important.

In a day or so the bitch was healed enough for her to limp about. I fed her on the best I could get and it was clear that she had taken a fancy to me, but my joy in the adventure had gone because of the Rooks.

Two days after I had found the dog I was riding past Grasslands Manor when I saw Elizabeth Pilkington in the garden. She called to me. “I have been meaning to send a messenger over to you. I wanted you to come and visit me. I have someone who very much wants to see you.”

As she spoke Matthew Pilkington came out of the house.

He hurried over to me, took my hand and kissed it.

He looked very elegant but not so fancifully dressed as he had been in London. He wore high leather boots and knee-length jacket of dark blue frogged with black braid. I thought he was even more handsome than when I had last seen him.

“How delightful to see you again,” he said. “You must come in, must she not, mother?”

Elizabeth Pilkington said that I must indeed do so.

I dismounted and went into the house.

I was tingling with pleasure at the sight of him. He seemed different from the young men of the neighbourhood whom I met from time to time. It was that air of immense sophistication which hung about him and which I had never noticed in other people. I suppose it was due to his living so much of his life in London

He had been with the army overseas for a spell, he said, and then he had gone back to his estates in Dorset for a while. “One cannot neglect them for too long,” he added.

“You’ve grown up since we last met,” he commented.

Then his mother said: “Matthew has had one great unhappiness since he arrived here. He has lost a favourite dog.”

I stood up in my excitement and cried: “A mastiff bitch?”

“Yes,” said Matthew. “How did you know?”

I started to laugh. “Because I found her.”

“You found her? Where is she?”

“Reclining in a basket in my bedroom at the moment. She was caught in a trap. I found her, took her home and dressed her wound. She is recovering very nicely.”

Matt’s eyes were beaming with delight.

“Well, that is wonderful. I am so grateful to you. Belle is my favourite dog.”

“She is a beautiful dog,” I said. “Poor dear, she has been very sorry for herself.”

“And grateful to you … as I am.” He had taken my hand and kissed it.

“Oh,” I said blushing, “it was nothing. I would never pass by an animal in distress.”

Elizabeth Pilkington was smiling at us benignly. “This is the most wonderful news,” she said. “You’ve been our good angel, Damaris.”

“I am doubly glad for Belle’s sake. I could see that she was no stray. She is used to the very best.”

“She’s a good faithful creature. Not so young now but you couldn’t find a braver and more devoted guard.”

“I know well her qualities. I am so glad to have restored her to you.”

“If you hadn’t discovered her …”

“Who knows what would have happened? People hardly ever go to that land. In fact … there is great trouble because Jacob Rook set a trap there.”

“Which land is it?” asked Elizabeth.

“It’s close to Enderby. It was Enderby land at one time. My father bought it. He has some plans for it but at the moment it is strictly out of bounds. I call it the Forbidden Wood.” I turned to Matt. “Your dog will be able to walk tomorrow, I think. I’ll bring her back to you then.”

“That’s wonderful. How can we ever thank her?” he asked his mother.

“Damaris doesn’t need to be told how much we appreciate what she has done. She knows it. She would have done the same for any little hedgerow sparrow.”

I rode home in an exalted mood which I realised was not only due to the fact that I had found the dog’s owner and that he should be Matthew Pilkington; it was largely because Matt had come back.

My pleasure was dampened as I went in by the sight of Mary Rook in the kitchen, her eyes swollen with crying. She gave me a reproachful look. I was the one who had discovered the trap and reported where it was found. Had I known what my father’s reaction would have been I should have kept quiet, but it was no use telling Mary that now.

I did not mention the fact that I had found the dog’s owner and who he was at the supper table, for the dog was a subject we did not now discuss in front of my father; he was still in an angry and unrelenting mood; and I believe suffering because of it.

I did say to my mother as we were going upstairs for the night, “By the way, Matthew Pilkington is paying a visit to his mother, and, do you know, the dog is his.”

“How strange,” she said quietly.

She did not seem overjoyed.

The next day I took the dog over to Grasslands. There was no mistaking her joy to see her master again. She barked in ecstasy; nuzzled up to him while he knelt and fondled her. I stood watching them. I think I fell in love with him at that moment.

One can fall in love quite deeply at fourteen—and I should soon be fifteen. Mistress Leveret had said to my mother that in some ways I was old for my years. I was serious; and I believe I had an intense desire to be loved. All people have, of course, but I had been so overshadowed by Carlotta, so much aware of her superiority, that I supposed I needed it more than most.

To have someone’s attention directed on me was rare. I revelled in it.

Matthew and I had so much in common. He loved his horses and his dogs even as I did mine. We could talk about them for hours. We loved to ride; I felt I could even take an interest in clothes, which he seemed to care so much about. I had never bothered with them much before. I had always known that however grand my gown, Carlotta would look so much more attractive in the simplest garment.

All that was changed since Carlotta went away. I missed her; I longed sometimes to be with her. And yet I could not have this sense of being a person in my own right, capable of living excitingly, if she were here. Matt made me feel that I was interesting. He was delighted that I had saved his dog. He was sure the beautiful creature would have died if she had been left in the trap. It had been wonderful for me to have saved her for him, he kept telling me.

Elizabeth joined us and Belle settled down leaning against Matt’s knees and looking at me with an expression of affection in her soulful eyes.

It came out in conversation that my father had discovered who had set the trap and that he was very angry about it. He had forbidden any of them to go to that particular spot.

“It’s very wild and overgrown, is it not?” said Elizabeth. “Why does he shut it off like that?”

“It’s some plan he has for it, I think. He is very annoyed that Jacob Rook should have disobeyed him. In fact he has dismissed the man.”

“Wherever will he go?” asked Elizabeth.

I looked wretched and she said: “Oh, poor man … I know he did wrong to disobey his master … and I hate the thought of traps—they’re cruel—but for such a small offence …”

“It isn’t like my father,” I said. “He has always been so kind to all the people who work for him. He has a reputation for being just and good to them. Even more so than my grandfather, who could often be harsh, but father … Anyway he is firm about this.”

“Poor Jacob!” said Elizabeth.

A few days later I saw Mary Rook at the pump in the garden. She had changed completely. She was smiling almost truculently.

I felt very happy, believing that my father had relented. He only wanted to give them a warning, I told myself. He let them think that they were dismissed for a day or two and then had taken them back. He felt so strongly about complete obedience that he had considered it necessary.

“You look pleased with life, Mary,” I said. “Is everything all right now?”

“You might say that, mistress,” she replied.

“I knew my father would forgive you.”

“Master be a hard man,” she said through tight lips.

“But it’s all right now, you say?”

“We’ra off. There’s other places in the world besides this ’ere Dower House, mistress.”

I was amazed. “What … what do you mean?”

“There be Grasslands, mistress, that where we be going. Mistress there have places for us both.”

Mary tossed her head. A smirk of triumph was on her face.

I turned away and went into the house.

Well, I thought, it was good of Elizabeth. But it would make an awkward situation between our families—living so close together as they did.

Through the June and July that followed I saw a great deal of Matt. They were enchanted months for me. We discovered so much that we had in common. He knew a great deal about birds and we used to lie in the fields quietly watching for hours at a stretch. The birds had ceased to sing so joyously because they were busy with the young, though the wren and the chiffchaff now and then made themselves heard and the cuckoo was still announcing his presence. Matt taught me a good deal and I loved to learn from him. We took Belle for long walks and sometimes when we rode out she would follow us; she liked to trot beside the horses and run with us when we cantered and galloped, until she tired. He was always reminding her that she was no longer a puppy. Sometimes we rode down to the sea and walked along the shingle. We explored the pools for sea anemones and sometimes we took off our shoes and paddled, looking for all the curious little creatures which inhabited the shallow water. We had to be watchful and look out for dragonets and weevers. Matt showed me what looked like a three-bladed knife on either side of the dragonet’s head, and the weever was even more deadly, with spines on its back which could be poisonous.

They were such happy days for me.

Once I overheard my grandmother say to my mother: “He looks upon her just as a child. He must be at least seven or eight years older than she is.”

My mother replied: “She is such a child, but I think she may be seeing too much of him.”

I was very much afraid that they were going to try to stop our meetings, but I suppose they thought he would go away in due course, and as I was so young they could let our friendship come to a natural conclusion.

One day we passed by Enderby Hall and, as usual, paused to look at it. There was something impelling about the house which made most people do that.

“It’s a delightful house,” said Matt. “I was sorry my mother didn’t take it.”

“Are you still sorry?” I asked.

“No, not now she has Grasslands. That’s as near to Eversleigh Dower House as Enderby.”

I glowed with pride when he said things like that.

“I’d like to have a look at it again,” he said. “I saw it once when my mother was considering taking it.”

“That’s easily done. The keys are at Eversleigh. I’ll get them tomorrow and take you over the house.”

“I should enjoy that.”

“We will go in the afternoon—not too late. We want to see it before dusk.”

“Ah, you mean when the ghosts come out. Are you scared of ghosts, Damaris?”

“I shouldn’t be if you were there.”

He turned to me and lightly kissed my brow. “That’s the spirit,” he said. “I’d protect you from all the perils and dangers of the day and night.”

He did little things like that. He had great charm. But he did them lightly and naturally and I sometimes wondered how deeply he meant them.

The outcome was that I took the key from the desk where it was kept at Eversleigh and met him the next afternoon at the gates of Enderby Hall.

Belle was with him.

“She so wanted to come,” he said, “I hadn’t the heart to refuse her. She must have known I was meeting you.”

She leapt round me showing her pleasure. I patted her and told her how glad I was that she had come.

I took out the keys and we went through the gardens to the front porch. The garden had been kept in some order. Jacob Rook had been one of the men who had looked after it. I thought, it will have to be someone else now. The house was of red Tudor brick built like so many of its era with its central hall and a wing on either side. The creeper covered large portions of the wall. It looked lovely with the red bricks showing through the green glistening leaves—but not really as beautiful as it would look later in the autumn when the leaves were in the full glory of their russety colours.

“If we cut back the creeper it would be much lighter inside,” I commented.

“You would detract from the ghostly atmosphere,” said Matt.

“Well, that might be a good idea.”

“No. You’d take away its aura of mystery.”

We stepped into the hall. Matt looked up at the magnificent vaulted ceiling.

“It’s lovely,” he said.

“Look. There’s the haunted gallery.”

“That’s where the minstrels used to play.”

“It’s the scene of the tragedy. One owner hanged herself there … or tried to. The rope was too long and she injured herself and was an invalid and suffered a great deal before she died.”

“Is she the ghost?”

“I believe there are others. But that’s the story which is always told.”

Belle was running about the hall, sniffing in corners. She found the place as exciting as Matt obviously did.

“Let’s go upstairs,” I said.

“It has a lived-in look,” said Matt.

“That’s because it is furnished. Carlotta wouldn’t have the furniture taken away.”

“Carlotta seems to be a very determined young lady.”

“Oh, she is.”

“I should like to meet her. I daresay I shall one day.”

“If you stay here long enough, yes. We visit them and they come here. I’m longing to see Clarissa.”

“I thought her name was Carlotta.”

“That’s my sister. Clarissa is her baby. The dearest little girl in the whole world.”

“All baby girls are that, Damaris.”

“I know, but this one really is,” I sighed. “Carlotta is so lucky.”

“To have this incomparable little girl, you mean?”

“Yes, that and to be Carlotta.”

“Is she so very fortunate?”

“Carlotta has everything that anyone could want. Beauty, a fortune, a husband who loves her …”

“And …”

I interrupted. “You were going to say, ‘And Clarissa.’ ”

“No, I was going to say and a charming sister who admires her enormously.”

“Everyone admires her.”

We had come up to the minstrels’ gallery and Matt went inside.

“It is rather dark,” he called out. “It’s chilly too. It’s those curtains. They’re beautiful but a bit sombre.”

Belle followed him into the gallery … and was sniffing round.

I said: “Come and see the rooms upstairs.”

He followed me. We went through the bedrooms and came to the one with the big four-poster bed hung with red velvet curtains. I immediately remembered that I had seen Carlotta there one day-lying there talking to herself. I had never forgotten it.

“An interesting room,” said Matt.

“Yes, it’s the biggest of the bedrooms.”

At that moment we heard Belle barking furiously somewhere below.

We found her in the gallery. She was in a state of some excitement. She was staring at the floor and barking as she scratched at the floorboards as though she would tear them up. There was a gap between the boards at that point and she seemed as though she was trying to get at something down there.

Matt knelt and put his eye to the crack.

“It looks as though there is something bright down there. It must have caught her eye.”

He put his hand on Belle’s head and shook it gently. “Come on, you silly old girl. It’s nothing down there.”

She responded to his caress but would not be put off. She was trying to lift the board with her paw.

Matt stood up.

“Well, it’s an interesting place,” he said. “I’ll agree it has something which Grasslands lacks. But I would say Grasslands is more cosy. Come on, Belle.”

We started down the stairs, Belle following us with some reluctance. We stood in the hall and paused for a while to look up at the roof and as we paused Belle was off.

“She’s gone back to the gallery,” said Matt. “She’s very single-minded, is Belle. She was my father’s dog once. He used to say that when she gets a notion in her head she doesn’t let go lightly.”

Belle was barking so wildly that we could scarcely hear ourselves speak. We retraced our steps to the gallery.

She was still staring at the crack in the boards and doing her best to lift them.

Matt said: “In a moment she’ll rip that board up.”

He knelt down: “What’s the matter, old girl? What is it you want down there?”

Now she was barking with wild enthusiasm. She had captured his interest and she was not going to let it go until she had whatever it was she wanted down there.

Matt looked at me.

“I could lift up the board,” he said. “There shouldn’t really be this gap. It does need repairing.”

I said: “Lift it up. We can get one of the men to come and put it right. I don’t think the girls come to this gallery very much. They are all terrified of it.”

“Oh, it is the haunted room, isn’t it? Strange that Belle has selected it for her attention. They do say that dogs have an extra sense.”

“Matt,” I said, “do you think we are about to stumble on some great discovery?”

“No,” he said, “this is just Belle’s obsession. She can see something down there and she is not going to be satisfied until she gets it. And I’ll tell you something, Damaris, I’m getting rather curious myself.”

“So am I.”

“Well, shall I see what I can do with that floorboard?”

I nodded.

“Right. With your permission I will lift it up. It does need repairing in any case.”

Belle was growing wildly excited when Matt began to lift the board.

It creaked; there was a shower of wood dust at that part where it touched the wainscot.

“Oh, yes,” said Matt. “It needs replacing. Well, here goes.”

The board came up and we were looking down onto the dust of ages; and there, lying in it, was the object which had attracted Belle. It was a buckle which looked as though it might have come from a man’s shoe.

Belle was making strange sounds of excitement—half whimpering, half whining, punctuated with sharp barks.

“Nothing much to get so excited about, old girl,” said Matt.

“It could be silver,” I said. “Must have been lying here for years.”

“It could have slipped through the gap in the boards, I suppose. There’s room.”

“It must have done.”

Matt was holding it in the palm of his hand and Belle was watching it intently, her tail wagging, and every now and then she would make that strange sound which I imagined was meant to convey ecstasy. She had got what she wanted.

“I daresay it came off a shoe,” Matt said, “and the owner of the shoe wondered where on earth he had lost it. He wouldn’t have thought of looking under the floorboards. Now what about this board? I’ll put it back. You’ll have to get it done, someone could catch a foot in it and fall.”

“I’ll tell them.”

Matt put the buckle on the floor. Belle immediately seized it.

I patted her. “Don’t swallow it, Belle,” I said.

“She’s too smart for that. She’ll take care of it, won’t you, Belle?”

I watched while Matt replaced the board.

“There,” he said. “That doesn’t look too bad.”

He stood up and we surveyed it.

“But don’t forget to tell them about it,” he said.

Belle was still holding the buckle in her mouth. She stood there watching us, wagging her tail.

“You’re a spoilt girl,” said Matt. “You only have to cry for something and it is yours. Even if it means pulling up the floorboards to get it.”

We came out of the house and locked it up.

Matt said: “Come and see my mother. She loves to see you.”

So we went to Grasslands. Belle was still holding the buckle. She wouldn’t let it go.

Elizabeth greeted me warmly as she always did.

“What’s Belle got?”

As though in answer, Belle put down the buckle and sat looking at it, head on one side, with what I can only call immense satisfaction and gratification.

“What is it?” asked Elizabeth.

We explained.

“It must be filthy,” she said. She picked it up. Belle looked anxious.

“A man’s shoe buckle,” she said. “Rather a fine one.”

Belle began to whine.

“All right, all right,” she went on. “I’m not going to take it from you.”

She gave it back to the dog, who immediately seized it and moved away to the corner of the room.

We all laughed.

Then Elizabeth said: “It would be interesting to know to whom it belonged.” It was soon after that that we began to have one of those periods of hauntings which happened now and then about Enderby Hall.

It was usually started by some silly little incident. Someone would see, or fancy they saw, a light in Enderby Hall. They would mention it and then everyone would be seeing lights.

My mother said it was the way the light of the setting sun caught one of the windows, and it could, to anyone who was looking for strange sights, appear to be a light.

However, the rumours grew.

I had mentioned the faulty floorboard and it had been repaired, but I did not say anything about the buckle because it involved Belle and I thought it would remind my parents of the unfortunate incident which had led to the dismissal of the Rooks.

I saw them now and then, and their attitude towards me was always a little truculent. When I asked Mary if she had settled in at Grasslands she replied with relish: “Oh, yes, Mistress Damaris, me and Jacob has never been so well served. We’m in clover.” Which was her way of telling me that it had been a change for the better and a good day for them when my father had sent them packing.

Elizabeth said they seemed over anxious to please and were really very good servants. I noticed that the servants at Grasslands always regarded me with a special interest and I wondered what stories the Rooks told of our household.

Carlotta had always said that servants were like spies for they knew too much about the private lives of their masters and mistresses. She said: “One should never forget them; they are there watching and chattering together, seeing much and making up what they don’t see.”

I wished more than ever that I had not told them where I had found Belle.

Belle herself had become obsessed by some sort of treasure hunt since she had found the buckle. She kept it with her. Once we thought she had lost it; then we discovered she had buried it in the garden with a bone.

She had suddenly become interested in the land where she had been caught in the trap. Up till now she had refused to go near it. Whenever we had come near the fence she would cringe away from it and keep very close to us. We knew she was remembering her experiences in the trap.

Then suddenly, when we were passing that way, we missed her. We called and called and she did not appear.

We knew that the house fascinated her because she was always trying to get into it. And when we passed it she would sometimes sit down at the gate and look at us appealingly.

“Oh, come, Belle,” Matt would say, “there aren’t any more buckles.”

She would put her head on one side and give that little murmuring whine which was meant, I think, to plead with us.

But up to that time she had never wanted to go over the fence.

On this particular day when we lost her and called and called, Matt said: “I wonder if she has got into the house? Someone may have left something open.”

And just at that moment she was squeezing under the gate looking rather shamefaced.

We were astounded. It was the last place we expected her to be in view of her previous reluctance.

She leapt up at Matt, wagging her tail.

“What have you been doing?” he asked. “You’re covered in mud.”

It was the next day when we could not find her at all. We were in the same spot. It was surprising how often we walked that way. I think it was because Belle led us there and we just followed her without thinking very much where we were going.

It might seem that we, like everyone else, were obsessed by Enderby.

On this day we could not find Belle. We called and called but she did not come.

I turned pale suddenly. “You don’t think Jacob Rook has defied my father and set another trap?”

Matt stared at me.

“And Belle caught in it! Oh, no! Once caught never again. She’s intelligent enough to recognise that sort of trap when she sees it. And Jacob wouldn’t set a trap. He’s no need to. He lives in the house now and wouldn’t want a hare or a rabbit for his pot.”

“No. But I have a feeling that Belle might be in there. She has been acting rather strangely lately.”

With Matt’s help I clambered over the gate. He joined me on the other side.

“Belle!” we called. “Belle.”

In the distance I heard the answering bark but she did not come bounding towards us as she would normally have done.

“This way,” said Matt and we penetrated farther into the undergrowth.

“I can’t think why your father doesn’t use this land,” he added.

“He has a great deal to do at the moment. He’ll come round to it.”

Then we came across Belle. She was digging and had made a considerable hole in the ground.

“What are you doing, Belle?” cried Matt.

“We must get her out of here,” I said. “My father gets really angry if anyone comes here.”

“Yes, come on, Belle.”

She paused and looked at us with sorrowing eyes. “What is the matter with you?” asked Matt.

She then picked up a ragged object from the ground and laid it at Matt’s feet.

“What is it?” I asked.

It was very dirty, covered in mud and there was a green lichenlike patch on it.

“It was a shoe at one time, I think,” said Matt.

“Yes … so it was.”

“Another find, Belle!” said Matt. “But you can’t bring this one into the house, I promise you.”

He threw it from him into the bushes. Belle immediately leapt forward and retrieved it.

“You’re a strange collector, Belle,” I said. “Matt, do let’s get out of here. If anyone saw us and reported it to my father he’d be angry. He hates people to come here. He’s made it strictly private.”

“You heard that, Belle,” said Matt. “Come on. Drop that dirty object.”

Belle dropped the shoe immediately.

“Home,” said Matt.

As we came to the gate, Belle, who had lingered behind, caught up with us.

Matt said: “Look what she’s brought.”

It was the old shoe.

Matt took it from her and threw it back into the undergrowth. Belle gave a little protesting whine and then, realising that it was her master’s will that we went, gave in with resignation and we went into Grasslands.

Elizabeth said: “I am going to give a little party. We’ll have charades and a lot of fun. I shall invite your family of course and a few others. I feel it is time I did a little entertaining. You must help me, Damaris.”

I said I would with pleasure but I was not much good at that sort of thing. Parties had never been very enjoyable occasions to me. I had always been too shy, and when there was dancing I had often been one of those who was without a partner. However I had changed lately. It was due to my friendship with Matt. He had made it so clear that he enjoyed my company and we were together a great deal. We were always discovering interests in common. In town, where he looked so much the dandy, I found him a little formidable but here in the country he seemed like a different person. Of course I knew all this was transient. He would go away soon. He was always saying he would have to return to his estates in Dorsetshire and also he had commitments with the army. I was not sure what, and he never seemed to want to talk about them. I was very much in harmony with him. I think it was because I could understand his moods and respected them.

I was brought face to face with the change in myself when Elizabeth’s suggestion of this party excited me instead of filling me with apprehension.

My grandmother was very interested in the proposed charades. She said it took her back to the days when she and Harriet were young.

“Harriet was very clever at that sort of thing,” she told me. “It was due to her being an actress. I expect Elizabeth Pilkington will be too. That’s why she wants to do it I suppose. We always want to do what we do well.”

However, I was at Grasslands frequently and we worked out our charades and went through trunks of clothes which she had had for the theatre.

It was great fun dressing up and trying on the various wigs and things she had brought with her from her acting days.

Once when she had dressed me up, she put her hands on my shoulders and kissed me. “Do you know, Damaris, I am growing very fond of you,” she said. “I know Matt is too.”

I flushed a little. There was an implication in her words. I thought: Can she really mean what I think?

It seemed possible. I was indeed in love, and like all people in love I lived between ecstasy and apprehension.

I could not believe he could love me. He was so splendid, so worldly, so much older than I. I forgot Carlotta’s mockery. I was beginning to have a different opinion of myself and believe in myself. So when Elizabeth Pilkington said that I was so happy.

I knew my mother did not like Matt. She had a strange antipathy which I could not fathom. But my grandparents liked him—even my grandfather did, and he did not easily like people.

So we planned our charades.

My grandmother came over to Grasslands one day. She said all this talk about charades had revived memories. She remembered Harriet Main years ago acting in a chateau where they were all staying just before the Restoration. “You remember Harriet, Mistress Pilkington?” she asked.

“Not very well. I did a child’s part just at the time when she was thinking of leaving the stage. That was when she was going to be married.”

“Yes, she married into our family. Of course, you’re years younger than she is. It is wonderful how Harriet deceives us all into thinking she is still a young woman.”

“Is she still very beautiful?”

“Yes, she is,” said my grandmother. “She has that rare beauty which now and then appears. It is as though all the good fairies were at her christening. Your sister, Carlotta, has the same, Damaris.”

“Yes,” I agreed.

“We played Romeo and Juliet,” went on my grandmother, her eyes vague as she looked back into the past.

“We’ll content ourselves with charades,” said Elizabeth.

So we planned. And I was at Grasslands every day rehearsing under Elizabeth’s instructions. Matt was no good as a performer and I loved him all the more for that. It put him in the same category as myself.

One day I was a little upset. I was in Elizabeth’s sewing room and as it was a warm day the window was wide open. I was on the window seat and Elizabeth was examining a dress which she was holding up.

The sound of voices floated up from below. I recognised that of Mary Rook.

“Well, it struck us as really strange like. He were so mad. Now why should he want to keep everyone away so … if it weren’t for what was there and what he do know to be there.”

My heart had begun to beat faster. I knew that Elizabeth was listening, although she was stroking the silk of the dress as though completely absorbed by it.

“Mark my words, there’s something there.”

“What do you think it be, Mary?”

“Well, I don’t rightly know. Jacob he thought it might be some sort of treasure, he did.”

I was very still. The impulse to move away came to me but I felt I had to listen to what they were saying.

“You see, them that used to live there … they was took away suddenly. It were some plot. Well, Jacob says mayhap they hid something in that patch … some treasure like and he do know it and wants it for himself.”

“Treasure, Mary …!”

“Well, ’tis something there, ain’t it? Must be. Why should he get so raving mad just because Jacob sets a trap. They be setting traps all through the woods … they don’t matter there. Is just a trap.”

“But there be this ghost up at the house. …”

“You’re asking me. I tell you there’s something in that patch he don’t want people to know about …”

They had moved away from the window.

Elizabeth laughed.

“Servants’ gossip,” she said. “I think this dress would do for you, my dear. I wore it in one of my young girl roles.”

We were all excited about the charades. It was to be a sort of tableau to describe words. We should do it in a most elaborate fashion and there were to be two teams competing against each other.

Elizabeth would be in charge of the teams, and when she selected them she put Matt and me together. Our words were “cloak and dagger” and we were to illustrate these historically. The cloak was to be represented by the scene from Queen Elizabeth’s reign when Raleigh spread his cloak for Elizabeth to walk on and I was to be Elizabeth, Matt, Raleigh. I was to be dressed in a most elaborate Elizabethan costume and Matt’s would be equally authentic.

“I have to choose parts according to what I had in my trunk,” Elizabeth explained.

After the scene with the cloak I was to make a few changes to my costume and become Mary Queen of Scots. Matt was Rizzio and we would then enact the scene by mime of that supper in Holyrood House when Rizzio was murdered. That would represent the dagger.

The other team were to do theirs first. We should watch that and guess. But first there was to be a buffet supper.

It had been one of the lovely September days—golden days. I think all days were golden to me at that time for I was becoming more and more certain that Matt loved me. He could not have stayed here all this time, been with me so often and pretended to enjoy my company. Oh no, there was something in this. I had an idea that if I had not been so young he would have spoken of his intentions by now.

That Elizabeth liked me, I was sure. She had taken to treating me as a daughter, so surely that was significant.

When I had arisen that morning the first thing I thought of was the party and the dress I would wear, which was most becoming. Elizabeth’s sewing woman had altered it to fit me and I could scarcely wait to play the part.

My mother said: “You’ve changed lately, Damaris. You’re growing up.”

“Well, it’s time I did,” I said. “You sound as though you don’t want me to.”

“Most mothers want to keep their children babies as long as possible.”

“And that,” I said, “is quite impossible.”

“A sad fact we all have to realise.” She put her arms about me and said: “Oh, Damaris, I do want you to be happy.”

“I am,” I said ecstatically. “I am.”

“I know,” she answered.

Then I started to tell her about my dress, which I must have described to her twenty times before, and she listened as though she was hearing it for the first time. She seemed reconciled. I hoped she was getting over that first unreasonable dislike of Matt.

It was warm when the sun rose and chased away the morning mists. The summer was nearly over. “In the autumn I shall have to go,” Matt had said.

The only sadness at that time was the thought that it could not last.

But before he goes he will speak to me, I thought. He must.

I was not quite fifteen. It was young but obviously not too young to be in love.

In the afternoon I went to Grasslands. I was going to wear the Elizabethan costume for the whole evening.

“We can’t get you all dressed up like that in five minutes,” said Elizabeth. “Besides, all those in the charades will wear their costumes.”

“It makes it like a fancy dress ball,” I said.

“Well, let us call it that,” she said.

She took great pleasure in dressing me, and how we laughed as she helped me to get into what was called the under propper, the purpose of which was to make my skirt stand out all round me. Then I put on—with Elizabeth’s help—the dress, which was magnificent in a way, though perhaps it would seem a little tawdry by daylight.

“It has been lying in a trunk for a long time,” said Elizabeth, “but it will look really fine in the light of the candles. No one will see where the velvet is scuffed and the jewels bits of glass. How slender you are. That is good. It makes it easier to wear.”

The skirt was rouched and festooned with bows of ribbon; it was lavishly sprinkled with brilliants which might look like diamonds in candlelight.

“You make a good queen,” said Elizabeth.

Then she frizzed my hair and made it stand up and stuffed false pieces into it to make it look abundant. “A pity you aren’t red haired,” she said. “Then everyone would recognise you at once as the Queen. Never mind, I believe she wore wigs of all colours, so this is one of her nights for brown.”

She put a circlet of brilliants in my hair and then when she added the lace ruff about my neck and stood back to admire her handiwork, she clasped her hands together.

“Why, I wouldn’t recognise you, Damaris,” she said.

It was true. I gasped as I looked at my reflection.

“Who would believe anyone could be so changed?”

“It’s a few deft touches here and there, my dear. We learn that in the theatre.”

When I saw Matt we stared at each other and burst into laughter. He too had become a different person.

He stood there before me in his yellow ruff and his bombasted breeches, which were so wide that it was impossible for him to walk easily. His doublet was embroidered; his hose gartered at the knee, displaying his well-shaped calves, and he wore a little velvet hat with a fine feather curling over the brim. Most important of all was the cloak—an elaborate affair to fit the occasion. It was velvet and decorated with shining red stones and massive glass imitation diamonds.

He looked different. I was glad to see him without his periwig and I thought it a pity that the fashion of wearing wigs prevailed in our times. He looked younger in spite of the elaborate costume and the fact that the cut of the breeches made him walk with a very stately gait.

He bowed to me solemnly.

“I do declare,” he said, “Your Majesty looks most forbidding.”

“It will be for the first time in my life,” I replied.

There was dancing before the supper. Elizabeth Pilkington was a great organiser and she knew how to arrange these affairs. She had asked exactly the right number of guests. Besides members of my family there were several who had come in from the neighbouring countryside.

Matt and I were together throughout the evening.

“No one else could dance with us,” he said. “I feel more than a little cumbersome. How do you feel?”

“The same,” I said.

Everyone admired our costumes and said how they were looking forward to seeing the charades, which were to be the highlight of the evening.

I had never enjoyed a party so much before. This one I wanted to go on and on forever, although I was a little apprehensive about my performance in the charades.

“You’ll be wonderfull,” said Matt. “In any case it’s only a game.”

During the evening he said to me: “I’m getting very fond of you, Damaris.”

I was silent. My heart was beating fast. I had had a feeling that he would speak to me about our future on an occasion like this.

“Oh, Damaris,” he said, “it’s a pity you’re so young.”

“I don’t feel young. It’s only a matter of years …”

He laughed. “Well, that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it?”

He patted my hand and then changed the subject.

“Thank heaven,” he said, “that we don’t have to speak lines. I should never remember them. I’m afraid I have not inherited my mother’s talent.”

“Your mother should have been Elizabeth. She would have done it beautifully.”

“No, she was anxious for you to do it. Besides, she’s busy being the hostess.”

I was sure that he had been on the point of making some proposal. Oh, how I wished he had!

We should have to wait awhile, of course. Everyone would say I was too young for marriage. I would have to wait until I was nearly sixteen. That was more than a year. Well, that did not seem so bad. I would be Matt’s betrothed. If I only knew that we were to be married in a given time I could wait and be happy.

He took me into supper and I did not notice what I ate. I was too excited. The wine was cool and refreshing and I was nervously awaiting my appearance as the Queen.

Then the moment came.

Elizabeth announced that the guests were now going to see the charades and the audience must guess the words we were acting.

We had taken supper in two of the rooms which led from the hall and it was in the hall itself that the performances would take place.

There was a dais at one end, which was very useful, and a curtain had been drawn across it.

The first of the charades went off very well. Then it was our turn. Behind the curtain Matt and I waited. It would be drawn back and I would be standing at one side of the dais in all my finery and Matt would be at the other. We had two attendants each—all dressed in Elizabethan costume.

There was a round of applause and we went into action. I tried to assume a Queen’s regal manners and Matt was most courtly as the gallant Walter Raleigh.

This was a short scene. The next one would be longer. I looked across at Matt. He smiled at me. He took off his hat and made a deep bow. Then I stepped forward and looked down at the ground and tried to assume an expression of distaste as Elizabeth had taught me. I shrank back and Matt took off his cloak, spread it on the floor and I walked over it.

I looked at him fondly. He bowed. Left the cloak where it was. I put my arm through his and the curtain fell.

There was loud applause.

The curtain was drawn back.

“Take a bow … together,” said Elizabeth from the side of the stage.

So we just stood there, rather embarrassed, while they applauded.

The curtain was dropped and a small table was put on the dais. I had donned a headdress of black trimmed with pearls which came to a peak in the centre of my forehead. I had put a black cloak over my finery and was seated at the table. Matt had discarded his hat and wore a wig of dark curls. It was amazing how that transformed him.

He was seated at my feet and the others who had been our attendants in the spreading of the cloak incident were seated beside me at the table.

Matt had a lute on which he was strumming and he was looking up at me with an adoration which I found most affecting.

We remained thus for some time. Then those who had been Raleigh’s attendants and were now transformed into Rizzio’s enemies came onto the dais from the other side. They dashed at Matt. One of them held high a dagger, which he pretended to plunge into Matt’s heart.

He looked so fierce that for a moment I was really frightened.

Then Matt rolled over realistically and the curtain fell.

The audience applauded wildly. The curtain was drawn back and Matt stood up.

“Take a bow,” whispered Elizabeth.

So we stood in front of the dais hand in hand and then there was a sudden bark. Everyone turned round. Belle had come into the hall.

She bounded up to the dais, evidently highly pleased with herself. Then we saw that she carried something in her mouth. She laid it almost reverently at Matt’s feet.

“Whatever is it?” cried Elizabeth coming forward. She was about to pick it up when she drew back.

My father had come forward. He knelt. Belle watched, head on one side, tail wagging with delight.

“It looks like an old shoe,” said my father, and I noticed that he had grown rather pale.

“It is an old shoe,” said Elizabeth. “Where did you find that, Belle?”

I lay in my bed thinking about the evening. It had been such fun. I was sure Matt had been going to say something to me … something about our future. But he didn’t, and from the moment when Belle had come in the atmosphere had changed.

Elizabeth had sent for one of the servants to take the shoe away. It was too filthy for us to touch. It was unfortunate that it should be Mary Rook who came. She brought an ash pan and a little broom. Then she curtsied and went out with it, Belle following her.

The charades were over. Our words, “cloak and dagger,” had been guessed and we guessed our opposing team, which was “Gunpowder Plot.”

There was to be more dancing but as I stepped from the stage with Matt, my father had come up to me and said: “Your mother is not feeling well. We’re going home now. You’d better get those things off and come with us.”

So the evening had ended. I took off the clothes in Elizabeth’s bedroom and resumed my own and went back with my parents.

Dear Belle, she had been so happy with her find, so eager to show Matt so that he could join in her pleasure.

And somehow that incident had seemed as dramatic as our amateur acting in charades.

We had been so happy together, Matt and I. I had looked forward to dancing with him again. He danced beautifully when he was not encumbered by those heavy clothes, which did not fit too well. I could not match him but somehow when we had danced together I had felt I danced better than ever before. That was how it was with Matt. I felt different in his company. I felt I had changed my character, become more interesting, more attractive.

That was what Matt had done for me and I wanted him to go on doing it.

It had been a wonderful evening, but I felt faintly frustrated. But I went to sleep assuring myself that Matt did love me.

During the next week a change seemed to have come over everything. My mother was in bed for a few days. She looked very wan when I went in to see her. She was very tired, she said. She certainly looked pale and ill. I suggested she should see the doctor but she refused to do this.

My father was clearly worried about her. It changed the household. Things did not improve when a rumour started that will-o’-the-wisps had been seen in the woods and in that patch of fenced-off land. Will-o’-the-wisps were said to be the souls of departed spirits who could not find rest and came back to earth to try to wreak vengeance on those who had wronged them in life.

My father said that it was a lot of nonsense and he was going to put a stop to it, but when I asked him how he had no solution to offer.

“It was all due to that dog getting caught in a trap there. You know it’s the Rooks who are spreading these rumors.” He was so vehement that I couldn’t help remonstrating with him.

“It’s all a lot of fuss about nothing,” I said. “Father, you must do something with that land. If you turned it into pasture or grew something there or even took down the fences it would be like the rest of the land.”

“All in good time,” he said.

But he was very uneasy. He was worried about my mother, I was sure. She did not seem to want anyone to be with her except him, and when I had gone in to her room once I found him sitting by her bed holding her hand and saying over and over again: “It will be all right, Priscilla. I’ll see that it’s all right.”

After a few days my mother was about again but she still looked strained and ill.

I found it very difficult to settle. Matt did not call for a day or so. I had an idea that he was not sure about his feelings for me and I believed that it was all because of my extreme youth. How I wished I were a few years older!

Oddly enough my footsteps always seemed to lead me in the direction of Enderby. I was becoming obsessed by the place and the patch of fenced-in land. It was because of all the talk about it; the will-o’-the wisps and the gossip that was circulating about something’s being hidden there. I was sure the Rooks had started that.

Oh, Belle, I thought, why did you want to get caught in that trap!

Then I thought of my father, and I really did wonder why he became so angry about his rights over a piece of land which was no good to anyone.

I came close to it. I leaned against the fence and looked towards the house, and it occurred to me that if some nice ordinary family went to live at Enderby it would stop all this gossip. Carlotta must see sense and either let or sell the place.

Then as I sat there I heard the bark of a dog. My heart sank. I thought, oh, Belle, you’re in there again. You’re like everyone else, you are obsessed by the place. What is the attraction?

If my father discovered Belle in there he would be angry, I was sure. There was only one thing to do. That was climb over the gate. Find Belle and get her out.

There was certainly something eerie about the place. I found myself looking about nervously. Had people really seen mysterious lights about the place? Were there such things as spirits which could not rest—people who had sinned on earth and perhaps died by violent means before they had been able to repent? Will-o’-the-wisps … lights shining through the trees. I shivered.

I heard the bark again. I called: “Belle. Belle. Where are you?”

I listened. But there was only silence.

I went on through the undergrowth. The fenced-in land was not very large—I imagined about half an acre. My father had behaved really very oddly about it.

“Belle,” I called. “Belle.”

I heard the bark again. She was answering me. Not caught in another trap. No, no one would dare put a trap here after what had happened to Rook.

I saw Belle. She was not alone. I gasped with astonishment for she was on a lead and Elizabeth was with her.

“Oh, Damaris,” she said, “I heard you calling.”

“I was on the other side of the fence and I heard Belle. I was afraid she might be in another trap.”

“She has a fancy for this place.” Elizabeth laughed but her manner was different from usual. She seemed nervous and her hair was untidy as I had never seen it before. She was wearing a dark dress and thick woollen gloves. I noticed that there was mud on her skirt.

She went on speaking rather quickly. “I heard her in this place and I didn’t want any more trouble so I came after her.”

“You brought the lead. Belle’s not used to that.”

She said: “I saw her leave the house and I guessed where she had come. I was determined to bring her away so I brought the lead …”

I supposed that she had put on the gloves because she thought holding the lead with a rather boisterous dog at the other end of it might have bruised her hands.

“I was doing a little gardening …” she said, as though she had to make excuses to me.

I said: “Poor Belle. She doesn’t like being on the lead.”

“Perhaps I should let her off. Are you going back past Grasslands?”

“I might as well,” I said, “I was just out for a walk.”

So we walked and we talked mostly about the success of the party. We laughed over the charades, and by the time we reached Grasslands Elizabeth was her old relaxed self. But she did not invite me in.

My uneasiness persisted. After my morning lessons the next day I went out again, and once again almost involuntarily I went in the direction of Enderby Hall.

And when I came to the fence I felt an irresistible urge to go into the forbidden territory and look again at the spot where Belle had found the old shoe. I had become adept at scrambling over that gate.

The place was less eerie in the early morning. The sunlight filtered through the trees almost denuded of their leaves by now. I saw two magpies black and white against the sky and a cheeky little robin strutted a few paces ahead of me flicking his tail and his head. I thought sadly that many of the birds would already have left for warmer climes. The swallows, the house martins and my beloved sandpipers.

The oaks were bronze now—the leaves dry and ready to drop.

I came to the spot almost before I was aware of it. There it was. The ground was rough. I went closer. It looked as though it had been recently dug up. Surely Belle had not done all that with her scratching?

I knelt down and touched the earth. It was so still all around me. I suddenly felt an irresistible desire to get away from this spot.

There is something evil here, I thought. Get away. Forget it. Don’t come here again.

I stood up and stumbled away. I did not want to search in those bushes. I felt I might find something there which I would rather not see, that I might discover something which would add to my uneasiness.

My father had been so angry. Why? And why had Elizabeth Pilkington brought Belle out on a lead? Why had she been so nervous, so full of excuses, so anxious to make me feel that what she had been doing was perfectly normal?

That afternoon Elizabeth came over to see us.

“I have to go to London,” she said. “I may be away for a week or so.”

“Is Matt going with you?” I asked quickly. I had spoken before I could stop myself.

“No,” she said. “He will stay here. Of course, he will have to go away soon.”

We talked awhile of the successful party she had given and how well staged the charades had been; but I sensed some tension even in Elizabeth. My mother’s nerves were certainly on edge.

Elizabeth left the next day.

I often think how strange it is that we have no warning of events which are going to shatter our illusions and change our lives. I had been so happy after the party. I was so sure that Matt loved me—perhaps not so intensely as I did him, but I did not expect that. Carlotta’s opinion of me, so often expressed, had so influenced me that I still saw myself as a very ordinary, rather dull and not very attractive creature who must be grateful for every crumb of affection which fell from the tables of the irresistible such as herself.

It was true that I was aware of a heightening of tension, a certain uneasiness about me which had been caused by the discovery of Belle in the trap and the dismissal of the Rooks. But unfortunate as these incidents were, they did not seem to concern me personally.

The day after Elizabeth Pilkington had left, my mother and I were in the stillroom. She had always taught me her skills in that direction and I had been a good pupil, which pleased her. She had often said: “At least I will make a housewife out of one of my daughters.” Which indicated that she had long despaired of doing so with Carlotta.

There were sounds of arrival in the courtyard. We looked at each other. We were always excited by visitors. Sometimes they came from Westminster and we loved to hear the news; but mostly they went to Eversleigh, where my grandparents and Jane could entertain them more easily, having so much more room.

But this sounded like visitors for us.

We went hastily down to the hall and my mother gave a cry of joy, for there was Carlotta herself.

Whenever I saw Carlotta after an absence I was always overwhelmed by her loveliness. She looked so beautiful in a dove-grey riding habit and a dark blue hat with a feather of a paler shade. Her eyes were sparkling blue, the colour of bluebells; there was a faint colour in her cheeks and startlingly thick black brows and lashes made such an entrancing contrast to her blue eyes. Her dark curls escaped from under the hat and she looked as young as ever. Having a child had certainly not detracted from her beauty.

“My darling child!” cried my mother.

Carlotta embraced her.

“Is Benjie with you?”

“No,” she said.

My mother looked astonished. It was unthinkable that Benjie should not travel with his young wife.

“I just wanted a few days to be with my family,” said Carlotta. “I insisted on coming alone.”

“Alone,” said my mother.

“There were of course the attendant grooms. Ah, sister Damaris.” She put her cheek against mine. “Still the same young Damaris,” she said and I immediately felt stripped of the confidence I had been acquiring over the last weeks.

“And Harriet and Gregory?” said my mother.

“All well. They send their love and greetings.”

“So you’ve come alone, Carlotta.” My mother looked worried. “What of Clarissa?”

“Clarissa is being well cared for. Have no fear of that. She is rapidly becoming a spoilt child.”

“Well, you have come and I’m delighted to see you.”

Carlotta laughed. She had a lovely laugh. Everything about her was more beautiful than I remembered. I was beginning to experience the old feeling of being plain and awkward.

“Come up to your room. Leigh will be so pleased to see you and so will they be at Eversleigh.”

“What of little Damaris? Is she pleased to see me too?”

“Of course,” I said.

“Well, I could do with a wash and I should like to change. I’ve told them to bring the bags up to my room. They will be taking them up now.”

My mother slipped her arm through Carlotta’s.

“It is wonderful to see you, darling,” she said.

I stayed with my sister to unpack.

She had some beautiful dresses. She had always understood what became her most. I remember the scenes we had had with Sally Nullens and old Emily Philpots over clothes. Once Carlotta took off a red sash and threw it out of the window because she insisted on having a blue one. One body’s work, they said Carlotta was. “Give me a good child like little Damaris.”

I hung up her dresses for her while she stretched on the bed watching me.

“Do you know,” she said, “you’ve changed. Has anything happened?”

“N-no.”

“You don’t sound very sure whether anything has happened or not.”

“Well, nothing very much. Elizabeth Pilkington gave a lovely party a little while ago. We did charades. I was Queen Elizabeth.”

Carlotta burst out laughing.

“My dear Damaris. You! Oh, how I should have loved to see you.”

“They said I did very well,” I replied somewhat nettled.

“What were you doing?”

“Raleigh and the cloak.”

“Oh, I see, and you most regally walked on it.”

“Elizabeth did my dress and my hair. She’s been an actress you know … like Harriet. They can do such wonderful things with ordinary people.”

“She must be a miracle worker if she could turn you into Queen Elizabeth. Who was Raleigh? I’m trying to think of someone round here. I suppose they were all from these parts.”

“Oh, yes. It was Elizabeth’s son—Matt.”

“What fun!” she said languidly. “I should have come earlier.”

“Is everything all right?” I asked.

“All right? What do you mean?”

“With you … and Benjie.”

“Of course it’s all right. He’s my husband. I’m his wife.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean …”

“Benjie is an indulgent husband … which is what all husbands should be.”

“I’m sure he’s very happy, Carlotta. Now he has you and dear little Clarissa. How can you bear to leave her?”

“I bear it with amazing fortitude,” she said, her lips curling. “You’re still the same sentimental Damaris. Not grown up yet. Things are not always what they seem, dear sister. I just wanted to get away for a while. That’s how it is at times. I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.”

“It doesn’t sound as if you are very happy, Carlotta.”

“You’re such a babe, Damaris. What’s happiness? An hour or so … a day if you’re lucky. Sometimes you can say to yourself, ‘I’m happy now … now.’ And you want to cling to now and make it forever. But now becomes then in a very short time. That’s happiness. You can’t have it all the time and when you think back to when you did you’re just sad thinking of it, so that happiness has really deserted you.”

“What a strange way to talk.”

“I’d forgotten. You, dear Damaris, wouldn’t see it my way. You don’t ask for much. I hope you get what you want. Sometimes I think people like you are the lucky ones. It’s easy for you to get what you want because you don’t ask for the impossible. And when you’ve got it you just go on believing it’s happiness. Lucky Damaris.”

She was in a strange mood. I thought of her sitting on the cliff looking out to sea as though she were dreaming of the past and longing for it to come back.

My mother had said that Matt must come over to us whenever he wished while his mother was away. She would not issue formal invitations. He was to consider himself one of the family.

“That’s easy,” he said. “I think I already do.”

Words to set my spirits soaring.

That day my mother had been busy in the kitchens preparing everything that she knew Carlotta liked to eat. She looked better than she had for some time and I knew it was due to the pleasure of having Carlotta home.

About half an hour before we were about to sit down to dinner, Matt arrived.

I was in the hall alone when he came. He took my hands and kissed them. Then he bowed low, which he had done since we had played Elizabeth and Raleigh. It was a little joke between us.

“It is so pleasant to come here,” he said. “Grasslands seems empty without my mother.”

“You are well looked after there, I hope.”

He touched my cheeks caressingly. “I am absolutely cosseted. But I assure you I do appreciate being allowed to come here.”

At that moment Carlotta appeared at the top of the stairs.

Matt looked up at her and kept looking. I heard his quick intake of breath. I wasn’t altogether surprised that he should be overwhelmed by Carlotta’s beauty. Most people were, and I felt that pride in her which I had always felt when people met her for the first time and were startled by her outstanding looks.

She was wearing a simple blue gown with a long-waisted bodice and elbow-length sleeves with frills of lace at the edge of them. It was cut rather low and was close fitting and accentuated her tiny trim waist. It was laced in the front to show her undergown of a lighter shade of blue. The skirt was long with side panniers. Not an elaborate gown but I had often thought that the more simply Carlotta was dressed the greater impact her beauty had. I was wearing green—a colour I think which suited me as well as any. It gave more colour to my eyes; and I had taken more pains with my appearance since the coming of Matt. Mine was a pretty dress with a laced bodice showing a pale pink undergown, and my sleeves had matching pink frills at the edges. But I had always had the feeling that anything I wore would look homely beside Carlotta’s simplest gown.

It seemed to me that there was a long silence while they looked at each other and that Carlotta was as taken aback as Matt was. Then she came slowly down the stairs.

“This is my sister, Carlotta,” I said.

Her eyes seemed enormous and brilliant. She was looking at him as though she could not believe he was real.

She walked towards us—it seemed to me very slowly but perhaps that was my imagination, because everything seemed to have slowed down. Even the clock in the hall seemed to pause between its ticks.

Carlotta was smiling. She held out a hand. Matt took it and kissed it.

She gave a little laugh. “Damaris,” she said. “You haven’t introduced me.”

“Oh,” I stammered. “This is Matt … Matt Pilkington, whose mother has taken Grasslands Manor.”

“Matt Pilkington,” she said, keeping her eyes on him. “Oh, yes, of course, I have heard of you. Tell me, what do you think of Grasslands?”

He began to talk rather fast about Grasslands and how his mother had fallen in love with it the moment she had seen it. She had gone to London. He did not know how long she would be. He hoped Carlotta would have a long stay here. He had heard so much about her from Damaris.

“I believe you have seen a lot of my family … and my little sister,” said Carlotta, and I immediately stepped back into that niche from which my friendship with Matt had helped me emerge.

“They have been so good to me,” he said.

My mother came into the hall. “Oh, Matt,” she said, “how nice to see you.”

“I have taken advantage of your invitation to call in when I’m lonely,” he said.

“And right glad I am that you have. You see, I have my other daughter with me now.” She went to Carlotta and slipped her arm through hers. Then she reached for my hand to show me that I must not feel that I was left out. But I did feel it. And I went on feeling it through the days that followed.

I had become accustomed to seeing the effect Carlotta had on men. It had always been the same from the time when I was first aware of her; it did not matter who they were. I had often heard the story of how she had charmed Robert Frinton, who had left her his fortune; and even my grandfather was not immune to her charm.

What was so amazing about it was that she did it effortlessly. She said what she pleased and she never went out of her way to impress or attract. It was some charm, some magnetism, which flowed from her.

Emily Philpots had hinted that she was a witch. There had been times when I could believe it.

During that first meal she dominated the table. She had been to London recently and had all the Court news. She was aware of what the Duke of Marlborough was doing on the Continent and how the war was progressing; she talked of the new book Daniel Defoe had written: The Shortest Way with Dissenters, or Proposals for the Establishment of the Church. “Such a brilliant satire on the intolerance of the Church party,” she commented. She talked blithely of the Whigs and the Tories and was apparently on terms of friendship with some of the leading men of affairs.

This made her conversation racy and amusing. She sparkled and became even more beautiful every minute.

My mother said: “But how can you do all this? You have your household now you are married. What of Benjie and Clarissa?”

“Oh, Eyot Abbass was never like it is here, you know,” said Carlotta, somehow relegating our household to the category of boring dullness. “Harriet was never one to concern herself with domestic affairs and the men of the family were brought up to understand and like it that way. Benjie goes to London when I want to. As for Clarissa, we have an excellent nurse and a very good little nursery maid. Clarissa doesn’t need more than that.”

“Why on earth didn’t Benjie come with you?”

“I wanted to come alone. I was longing to have a glimpse of you all. You have been telling me in your letters how Damaris has grown up, emerging from her shell like a baby chicken. I wanted to see my little sister on the brink of womanhood.”

So the conversation went on, dominated all the time by Carlotta.

I was glad when the evening was over. Matt left to ride over to Grasslands and I retired to my room.

I was brushing my hair when there was a rap on the door. It was Carlotta.

She came in smiling.

“It’s nice to be home, Damaris,” she said.

“Don’t you find it rather dull?” I asked.

“Quiet … but it’s what I wanted … for a while.”

I went on brushing. I said slowly: “You get tired of things quickly, Carlotta.”

“I don’t think I would if …”

“If what?”

“Never mind. He’s an interesting young man, this Matt Pilkington, do you think?”

“Oh, yes, I do.”

“The son of that actress. I can’t remember what she looks like now. I saw her when I showed her round the house. Has she got a lot of red hair?”

“Yes.”

“Rather elegant?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not very talkative tonight, Damaris.”

“You always pointed out to me and others that I had little to say for myself.”

She laughed. “You were always such a meek child. But you’re supposed to have grown up now. Are you sixteen yet?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Still you will be in the not too distant future. When I think of how I had lived at your age, Damaris, I realise how different we are.”

She came over suddenly and kissed me.

“You’re good, Damaris. You know, I could never be good like you.”

“You make it sound as though there was something rather disgraceful about being good.”

“I didn’t mean it. Sometimes I wish I were like you.”

“Never!” I cried.

“Yes, I do. I wish I could settle down and be good and happy. After all, I have so much, as you are all so anxious to keep telling me.”

“Oh, Carlotta, you’re pretending. Of course you’re happy. Look how merry you were tonight.”

“Merriment and happiness do not necessarily go hand in hand. Still, Damaris, I rather like your Matt.”

“Yes,” I said, “so do we all.”

She bent swiftly and kissed me again.

“Good night,” she said and went out.

I sat looking at my reflection in the mirror and seeing not my own face but her beautiful one. What had she been meaning to say? Why had she come to my room in this way? I thought she had been going to tell me something. But if she was she had changed her mind.

The next day Matt came over to go riding. I was in the garden when he arrived.

He called to me.

“It’s a lovely morning. There won’t be many more like this. Winter is advancing on us.”

Carlotta came out then and when I saw that she was dressed for riding in her dove-grey habit and little blue feathered hat and had evidently expected him, I realised with a twinge of dismay that they must have arranged this the previous evening.

I looked from one to the other and flattered myself that I hid my disappointment admirably.

“Oh … so you plan to take a ride?” I said.

Matt said: “Are you coming with us, Damaris?”

I hesitated. Obviously they had arranged this on their own and he had only asked me to join them because I was here.

I said: “Well, I’m supposed to be doing lessons, and then I was going to deal with the herbs I’ve been drying in the stillroom.”

Was it my fancy or was he relieved?

He said with some alacrity—or perhaps I imagined that—“Well, let’s get going, shall we? Days are getting very short.”

They went off and I went back into the house feeling depressed.

The morning seemed endless. I kept wondering whether they had returned. I went to the stables twice. The horse Carlotta was riding was not there.

It was about four o’clock and they had not returned. I was too restless to remain in the house. I decided to go for a ride. I loved Tomtit and he always seemed to understand my moods. I thought irrationally I might not be as attractive as Carlotta but animals loved me far more than they ever had her. She rode with grace and ease but there was no rapport between her and her horses. She would have laughed me to scorn if she heard me say that. Matt had understood. There was that feeling between him and his horses and with Belle, of course.

As we rode along I thought I heard the sound of a shot. I stopped and listened. Someone potting a hare or rabbit in the woods, I thought. The workers on the land did it often.

Without thinking I allowed Tomtit to lead where he would and took the familiar road to Enderby.

I stopped in a clump of trees and looked at the house. I tried to think of practical things and I thought while Carlotta is here we must talk to her about doing something about the house.

My gaze wandered over the creeper-covered walls, now so beautiful, gleaming reddish in the pale sunshine of an autumn day. I looked towards the fenced-in land close by. It was very silent. The summer was over, there were few flowers left—just a sprinkling of campion and shepherd’s purse, a clump of gorse here and there, and woolly seed heads of thistles and a little roundwort.

So many of the birds had gone now. I saw a sparrow hawk hovering, looking for prey, and heard the sudden cry of a gull.

That meant stormy weather. They flew inland when gales and wind and rain were threatening. I marvelled how they could sense these conditions long before we could. We were about three miles from the sea and whenever we heard the gulls we always said: “Bad weather on the way.”

It was warm for November. What was the old saying: “A cold November, a warm Christmas.” Perhaps it worked the other way too.

As I sat there taking comfort from the contemplation of nature, which I had been able to do from the time I was aware of anything at all, I saw a movement in the fenced-off land. I was not far from the gate and could see through the bars. I remained still and silent, wondering who it was who had ventured there.

It was a man. He came to the gate and unlocked it. I saw that it was my father and that he carried a gun under his arm.

My impulse was to call to him; then I decided not to. Ever since Belle had been trapped there he had shown a disinclination to talk about the land. I decided therefore that I would not let him know I was here. He might wonder why I came. I hid myself among the trees. It would not be easy to explain the impulse which prompted me. So I thought: Let well alone.

I watched him walk away in the direction of the Dower House. Then I continued my ride.

When I returned Carlotta was back from hers. Matt had returned to Grasslands and we did not see him again that night.

The next morning he came over in some consternation.

“Belle has not been home all night,” he said.

I was very concerned.

“It is so unlike her,” he said. “I know she likes to roam about on her own, but she always returns at night.”

“You don’t think she is caught in a trap, do you?”

“Oh, no. Your father has shown his disapproval of them. I don’t think anyone would use them after what happened to the Rooks.”

“Let’s go out and look for her,” I said.

We went everywhere we could think of. We even went into the fenced land and I got the key of the house and we explored that.

They had been Belle’s favourite haunts but there was no sign of her.

It started to rain while we were looking.

“That will bring her in,” said Matt. “She hates the rain.” We went back to Grasslands. Matt went all over the house and grounds calling to Belle, but there was no sign of her.

That brings me to that day when my whole world was turned upside down—a day I cannot bear to think of even now.

The sky was overcast and it was dark when I awoke. It had been raining heavily during the night, and although it had let up for a while, by the appearance of the clouds it would start again at any moment.

Matt came over in the morning.

I saw him coming and called: “Any news of her?”

He shook his head blankly.

Carlotta came down in her riding habit. “Let’s go out and look for the dog,” she said to Matt.

They went off together. I could have gone with them but I declined as I had the previous morning and they made no effort to persuade me.

I could not concentrate on my lessons, and Miss Leveret said: “I think we’d better abandon lessons until that dog is found.”

The day seemed endless again. What had happened to time? The clouds were still heavy but the rain had kept off. I decided that Tomtit could comfort me and, who knew, I might come across Belle. Hurt perhaps, shut up somewhere. It was possible; she had a passion for exploring, she might have crept into some hut and the owner could have come along and locked her in not knowing she was there.

As usual I went past Enderby and suddenly a thought hit me. It was about here that I had heard the sound of a shot. I had seen my father emerge from the land with a gun under his arm.

No. It was impossible. I marshalled my thoughts. The shot which I had heard could reasonably be supposed to have been made by my father. Had I not seen him with the gun under his arm?

Belle had been fascinated by the land and by Enderby generally.

It seemed possible that he had found the dog there, been so angry—his temper was fierce when aroused—and shot her.

To kill Belle—that lovely, happy, friendly, creature whom I had loved so much! And to think it had been done by my father, whom I also loved.

I would not believe it.

But the more I thought of it the more likely it seemed.

I slipped off from Tomtit’s back and tethered him to a tree.

“I won’t be long,” I said. “Wait for me. There’s a good boy. But I must go in there. I must see what I can discover.”

Tomtit pawed the ground twice. An answer to my pat. He understood. He was to wait for me.

I climbed over the gate and was inside the enclosure. I suppose it was because of the rumours attached to the place that I felt a sense of evil. It was as though eyes watched me, as though trees would take on the shape of monsters if I turned my back on them. Little girl fears. Relics of my childhood days when I had plagued Emily Philpots to tell me gruesome stories by day and then when darkness fell wished I hadn’t.

I was wishing I hadn’t come now. What did I hope to find? If he had shot Belle … No, I would not believe it. I could not bear to think of that dear creature lying stiff and silent with a shot through her head.

I was being foolish. My father often went out with his gun. He had just decided to look at the land. Perhaps he had been contemplating what he would do with it. There had been so much talk about that lately.

Nevertheless I went walking on. The leaves were wet and slushy. The wind had brought the last of the leaves off the trees and bushes. My feet made a swishing noise which broke the silence of the air.

“Belle,” I called softly. “You’re not hiding here, are you?”

I kept thinking of her as she had looked at the charades, when she had bounded in and laid the dirty old shoe at Matt’s feet—a tribute of love and loyalty. I could see her at this moment, her head on one side, her tail thumping the floor as she had sat down revelling in the old shoe as though it were the Golden Fleece or the Holy Grail.

“Belle, oh, Belle, where are you? Come home, Belle.”

I had come to that spot where she had found the shoe. And then I noticed … The ground had been disturbed recently. It had been dug up and carefully replaced. A terrible understanding came to me. I knew that Belle was underneath that soil.

I stood staring at the patch for some time. I was so overcome by emotion that I could not move.

Two dreadful realities struck me. Belle had been shot and my father had killed her and buried her.

“Oh, father, how could you?” I murmured. “What harm had she done? She came in here and she found the shoe. It was natural to her; she was delighted with her find. Why were you so angry when she was caught in the trap? Why is it so important?”

That was the question. Why?

It had grown dark in the wood. A heavy raindrop fell on my upturned face. The threatened rain was starting again.

The gloom in the wood had increased. It was overpowering. It was evil … evil … all around me. I sensed it. It was true about the will-o’-the wisps. They were here in this evil land which turned good kind men like my father into murderers. For Belle had been murdered. I called it so because Belle was very dear to me. And my father, who was also dear to me, had done it. What was it about this evil spot which changed people?

I had to get away from it. I wanted to be alone to think. I wanted to see Matt and tell him what I had discovered. Or did I? I would not tell anyone that I had seen my father with a gun.

Then the most fearful thought of all struck me. What was hidden in this place which could have this effect on my father?

I was seized with a sudden fear. I must get away. I was caught up in something evil and I must escape from it as soon as I could.

I started to run and as I did so it seemed that the trees reached out to catch me. I found progress difficult through the sodden leaves. I caught my foot and for a horrible moment thought I was going to fall. The prospect of spending a night in this place appalled me.

I caught at a tree trunk. My hand was grazed from the contact but it saved me from a fall. I rushed on. I was caught and held and felt faint with horror but it was only a bramble which had caught my sleeve. At last I came panting to the gate.

The rain was now pelting down. I was going to be saturated if I went back in this. Moreover, it was falling in such sheets that one could hardly see where one was going.

Then I thought of the house. How I was to wish later that I had not done so. But then perhaps it was inevitable and best for me to know.

I untethered Tomtit, who whinnied with pleasure at the sight of me.

“It can’t last long like this,” I said to him. “We’ll wait a bit. There’s an outhouse close to the house.”

I took him over and it was difficult to find our way in the blinding rain. There was just room for him in the shed. I patted him and he nuzzled against me.

I decided to wait in the house porch because I could get more shelter there.

Murmuring that I would not be long and that we would go as soon as the rain abated a little, I stumbled towards the house.

I reached the porch and leaned against the door. To my amazement it opened. It had evidently not been properly shut.

I went inside. It was a relief to get out of the wind and rain. I stood in the great hall and looked towards the minstrels’ gallery.

How gloomy it was. There was an atmosphere of menace, I always thought, in this house even when the sun was shining. But in the gloom it really was forbidding.

Even so it offered comfort after the conditions outside.

I don’t know why it is one can sense human presence but one often does, and as I stood there the firm conviction came to me that I was not alone in the house.

“Is anyone there?” I said. My voice seemed lost in the sound of the rain outside. A sudden flash of lightning illuminated the hall. It startled me so much that I gasped. A few seconds later came the roar of thunder.

A great desire came to me. “Get out.” It was as though a voice was warning me. I stood uncertainly. The darkness outside had deepened. It was like the dead of night.

Then suddenly the hall was lit up by another flash of lightning. I was staring at the minstrels’ gallery expecting to see something there. There was nothing. I braced myself for the tremendous clap of thunder. The storm was right overhead.

I stood leaning against the wall. My heart was beating so fiercely that it seemed as though it would choke me. I waited for the next burst of thunder. It did not come. As I stood there, the darkness lifted. I could see the curtains at the gallery. I could have fancied they moved, but that was only fancy.

And yet I had the conviction that someone was in this house.

“Go away,” said the voice of common sense.

But I could not go. Something was impelling me to stay.

I was in a state of shock, I believe. I was obsessed by the certainty that my father had killed Belle and buried her in the forbidden wood and that there was some dark secret there which I dared not discover. I felt that it would wrench the whole structure of my life if I found out.

It was as though I could hear voices, whispering voices, voices of the Rooks fabricating tales about my father, gossip, rumour. But there was something there. Normally I should be afraid to stay in this house. Now, although I sensed more than I ever had before that atmosphere of doom which hung over it, it did not frighten me. Or perhaps I was so afraid of reality—of what might lie under the soil of the forbidden wood—that I could not feel this fear of the supernatural. There was so much that could be explained to the human mind going on around me—that was if one could piece the evidence together.

There was another flash of lightning, less brilliant than those which had gone before, and some seconds passed before I heard the thunder. The storm was moving away. It had become lighter.

I wondered why the door was not shut. We always locked the doors when we left. It was not as though it was empty of furniture. All Robert Frinton’s furniture had been left here when he died and had remained since. Carlotta had wished it that way and it had been her house and her furniture—left to her by the adoring Robert Frinton, uncle of the father whom she had never known.

I looked up the staircase and it was as though some force impelled me to mount it.

I did so slowly. I could still hear the rain pelting down outside. I looked into the gallery. There was no one there.

Someone must have forgotten to lock the door, I told myself. Why not go out? Go to comfort poor Tomtit, who would be waiting patiently for me in the outhouse.

But I went up the stairs. I was going to look through the house to see if anyone was there.

I had a fantastic idea that the house was beckoning me on; I could almost fancy it mocked me.

“Silly little Damaris, always such a child.”

That was like Carlotta’s voice.

“When I, as a child, went and explored the haunted house I hid in a cupboard. It was called Carlotta’s cupboard after that. Robert Frinton said he was reminded of me every time he used it.”

Carlotta had loved to tell me tales like that when she was younger but so very much my senior—seeming to be more so then than now.

Oddly enough my fear had left me, although never had the house seemed more sinister. It was simply because I was not really here. I was in the wood looking down at that patch of land which I believed to be Belle’s grave.

Now I had reached the first-floor landing. I thought I heard whispering voices. I stood still listening. Silence … deep silence.

I imagined it, I thought. It was easy to imagine voices with the rain pelting against the window and the wind sighing through the branches of the trees which would be completely leafless after this violent storm.

I opened the door of the bedroom which Carlotta had liked best of all. The room with the four-poster bed with the red velvet curtains, the bed where I had come across her lying and talking to herself.

I stepped into the room. I took a few paces forward and almost tripped over something lying on the floor. I looked down. There was enough light to show me a riding habit … dove grey with a hat with a little blue feather.

I gave a little gasp. At that moment a flash of lightning illuminated the room and I saw them clearly. Carlotta and Matt. They were lying on the bed … naked … They were entwined about each other.

I took one look and turned. I felt sick. I did not know what to do, what to think. My mind was a blank. As I shut the door the clap of thunder burst out.

I ran. I did not know where I was running. All I wanted to do was to get away. I could not bear to think of what I had seen, of what it implied. It revolted me, nauseated me.

I did not know where I was running. I was unaware of the rain beating down on me. I came to the gate of the forbidden land. Where to hide? Where to be alone with my jumbled thoughts? In there … there at the side of Belle’s grave.

I climbed the gate and went stumbling through the leaves. I flung myself down beside the disturbed earth. I lay there trying hard not to think of that scene in the bedroom.

It was dark. It was still raining but it was a softer rain now. I felt dazed and lost to the world. I was not sure where I was. Then I remembered. I was in the wood and Belle was murdered and I had seen something in the bedroom at Enderby which I could never forget. It had shattered my own personal dream; but it had done more than that. I did not want to know anymore. I wanted to forget. My father … my mother … my sister … I could not bear to be with them. I wanted to be alone … by myself … here in the forbidden wood.

My mind started to wander, I think, because I fancied I saw the will-o’-the-wisps dancing around me as though to claim me as one of their band. I was not afraid of them. I understood something of human unhappiness now. I just wanted to be wrapped round in nothingness. “Nothing, nothing,” I whispered. “Let it stay like this for ever.”

It was long after that night before I wrote again in my journal. They found me in the morning. It was my father who came into the wood looking for me and carried me home. Tomtit, sensing that something was wrong, had late that night left the hut and gone back to the Dower House. They were at that time very anxious about me and when he came back alone they were frantic with anxiety.

Then they searched … all through that night of rain and storm.

I had a raging fever and I came near to death. For a whole year I was in my bed. My mother nursed me with all the love and tenderness of which she was capable.

They didn’t question me. I was too ill for that. It was more than three months before I discovered that the Pilkingtons had left. Elizabeth had grown tired of the country, they said, and had left for London and put Grasslands up for sale. Matt had left a week or so after that terrible night.

My limbs were stiff even when I was recovered, and for a long time it was agony to move my hands. How devoted my mother was to me, how tender was my father. I found that I loved him just as much as I ever had, and we never spoke of Belle. I think he knew that I had gone to look for Belle and what I feared, for he had found me at that spot.

Carlotta did not come to see me. “She was here for a long time in the beginning,” said my mother. “She was so anxious about you. She wouldn’t go until she knew you were going to recover. I have never seen Carlotta so put about. Then she had to go home of course. She had been away so long. When you are well enough we will go to Eyot Abbass.”

Sometimes I thought I would never be well again. The pains in my limbs were excruciating at times and they were stiff when I tried to walk so that I tired easily.

My mother would read to me, my father played chess with me. They were anxious to show me I was their precious child.

So the time began to pass.